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diff --git a/22878-h/22878-h.htm b/22878-h/22878-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..371cd02 --- /dev/null +++ b/22878-h/22878-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13462 @@ +<!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. 2 (of 2) + + +Author: George Borrow + +Editor: F. Hindes Groome + +Release Date: October 3, 2007 [eBook #22878] + +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<br /> +<i>WITH NOTES AND AN INTRODUCTION</i><br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> F. HINDES GROOME</p> +<p style="text-align: center">VOLUME II</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>WITH A FRONTISPIECE</i></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="Picture of Norwich Cathedral" src="images/p0s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span> CHAPTER XLIX</h2> +<p>Singular Personage—A Large Sum—Papa of +Rome—We are Christians—Degenerate +Armenians—Roots of Ararat—Regular Features.</p> +<p>The Armenian! I frequently saw this individual, availing +myself of the permission which he had given me to call upon +him. A truly singular personage was he, with his love of +amassing money, and his nationality so strong as to be akin to +poetry. Many an Armenian I have subsequently known fond of +money-getting, and not destitute of national spirit; but never +another who, in the midst of his schemes of lucre, was at all +times willing to enter into a conversation on the structure of +the Haik language, or who ever offered me money to render into +English the fables of Z--- in the hope of astonishing the +stock-jobbers of the Exchange with the wisdom of the Haik +Esop.</p> +<p>But he was fond of money, very fond. Within a little +time I had won his confidence to such a degree that he informed +me that the grand wish of his heart was to be possessed of two +hundred thousand pounds.</p> +<p><!-- page 2--><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +2</span>“I think you might satisfy yourself with the +half,” said I. “One hundred thousand pounds is +a large sum.”</p> +<p>“You are mistaken,” said the Armenian, “a +hundred thousand pounds is nothing. My father left me that +or more at his death. No, I shall never be satisfied with +less than two.”</p> +<p>“And what will you do with your riches,” said I, +“when you have obtained them? Will you sit down and +muse upon them, or will you deposit them in a cellar, and go down +once a day to stare at them? I have heard say that the +fulfilment of one’s wishes is invariably the precursor of +extreme misery, and forsooth I can scarcely conceive a more +horrible state of existence than to be without a hope or +wish.”</p> +<p>“It is bad enough, I dare say,” said the Armenian; +“it will, however, be time enough to think of disposing of +the money when I have procured it. I still fall short by a +vast sum of the two hundred thousand pounds.”</p> +<p>I had occasionally much conversation with him on the state and +prospects of his nation, especially of that part of it which +still continued in the original country of the Haiks—Ararat +and its confines, which, it appeared, he had frequently +visited. He informed me that since the death of the last +Haik monarch, which occurred in the eleventh century, Armenia had +been governed both temporally and spiritually by certain +personages called patriarchs; their temporal authority, however, +was much circumscribed by the Persian and Turk, especially the +former, of whom the Armenian spoke with much hatred, whilst their +spiritual authority had at various times been considerably +undermined <!-- page 3--><a name="page3"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 3</span>by the emissaries of the Papa of Rome, +as the Armenian called him.</p> +<p>“The Papa of Rome sent his emissaries at an early period +amongst us,” said the Armenian, “seducing the minds +of weak-headed people, persuading them that the hillocks of Rome +are higher than the ridges of Ararat; that the Roman Papa has +more to say in heaven than the Armenian patriarch, and that puny +Latin is a better language than nervous and sonorous +Haik.”</p> +<p>“They are both dialects,” said I, “of the +language of Mr. Petulengro, one of whose race I believe to have +been the original founder of Rome; but, with respect to religion, +what are the chief points of your faith? you are Christians, I +believe.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the Armenian, “we are Christians +in our way; we believe in God, the Holy Spirit, and Saviour, +though we are not prepared to admit that the last Personage is +not only Himself, but the other two. We believe. . . +” and then the Armenian told me of several things which the +Haiks believed or disbelieved. “But what we find most +hard of all to believe,” said he, “is that the man of +the mole hills is entitled to our allegiance, he not being a +Haik, or understanding the Haik language.”</p> +<p>“But, by your own confession,” said I, “he +has introduced a schism in your nation, and has amongst you many +that believe in him.”</p> +<p>“It is true,” said the Armenian, “that even +on the confines of Ararat there are a great number who consider +that mountain to be lower than the hillocks of Rome; but the +greater number of degenerate Armenians are to be found amongst +those who have wandered to the West; most of the Haik Churches of +the West consider Rome to be higher <!-- page 4--><a +name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>than +Ararat—most of the Armenians of this place hold that dogma; +I, however, have always stood firm in the contrary +opinion.”</p> +<p>“Ha! ha!”—here the Armenian laughed in his +peculiar manner—“talking of this matter puts me in +mind of an adventure which lately befell me, with one of the +emissaries of the Papa of Rome, for the Papa of Rome has at +present many emissaries in this country, in order to seduce the +people from their own quiet religion to the savage heresy of +Rome; this fellow came to me partly in the hope of converting me, +but principally to extort money for the purpose of furthering the +designs of Rome in this country. I humoured the fellow at +first, keeping him in play for nearly a month, deceiving and +laughing at him. At last he discovered that he could make +nothing of me, and departed with the scowl of Caiaphas, whilst I +cried after him, ‘The roots of Ararat are <i>deeper</i> +than those of Rome.’”</p> +<p>The Armenian had occasionally reverted to the subject of the +translation of the Haik Esop, which he had still a lurking desire +that I should execute; but I had invariably declined the +undertaking, without, however, stating my reasons. On one +occasion, when we had been conversing on the subject, the +Armenian, who had been observing my countenance for some time +with much attention, remarked, “Perhaps, after all, you are +right, and you might employ your time to better advantage. +Literature is a fine thing, especially Haik literature, but +neither that nor any other would be likely to serve as a +foundation to a man’s fortune: and to make a fortune should +be the principal aim of every one’s life; therefore listen +to me. Accept a seat <!-- page 5--><a +name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>at the desk +opposite to my Moldavian clerk, and receive the rudiments of a +merchant’s education. You shall be instructed in the +Armenian way of doing business—I think you would make an +excellent merchant.”</p> +<p>“Why do you think so?”</p> +<p>“Because you have something of the Armenian +look.”</p> +<p>“I understand you,” said I; “you mean to say +that I squint!”</p> +<p>“Not exactly,” said the Armenian, “but there +is certainly a kind of irregularity in your features. One +eye appears to me larger than the other—never mind, but +rather rejoice; in that irregularity consists your +strength. All people with regular features are fools; it is +very hard for them, you’ll say, but there is no help: all +we can do, who are not in such a predicament, is to pity those +who are. Well! will you accept my offer? No! you are +a singular individual; but I must not forget my own +concerns. I must now go forth, having an appointment by +which I hope to make money.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>CHAPTER L</h2> +<p>Wish Fulfilled—Extraordinary +Figure—Bueno—Noah—The Two Faces—I +Don’t Blame Him—Too Fond of Money—Were I an +Armenian.</p> +<p>The fulfilment of the Armenian’s grand wish was nearer +at hand than either he or I had anticipated. Partly owing +to the success of a bold speculation, in which he had some time +previously engaged, and partly owing to the bequest of a large +sum of money by one of his nation who died at this period in +Paris, he found himself in the possession of a fortune somewhat +exceeding two hundred thousand pounds; this fact he communicated +to me one evening about an hour after the close of ’Change; +the hour at which I generally called, and at which I mostly found +him at home.</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “and what do you intend to +do next?”</p> +<p>“I scarcely know,” said the Armenian. +“I was thinking of that when you came in. I +don’t see anything that I can do, save going on in my +former course. After all, I was perhaps too moderate in +making the possession of two hundred thousand pounds the summit +of my ambition; there are many individuals in this town who +possess three <!-- page 7--><a name="page7"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 7</span>times that sum, and are not yet +satisfied. No, I think I can do no better than pursue the +old career; who knows but I may make the two hundred thousand +three or four?—there is already a surplus, which is an +encouragement; however, we will consider the matter over a goblet +of wine; I have observed of late that you have become partial to +my Cyprus.”</p> +<p>And it came to pass that, as we were seated over the Cyprus +wine, we heard a knock at the door. “Adelante!” +cried the Armenian; whereupon the door opened, and in walked a +somewhat extraordinary figure—a man in a long loose tunic +of a stuff striped with black and yellow; breeches of plush +velvet, silk stockings, and shoes with silver buckles. On +his head he wore a high-peaked hat; he was tall, had a hooked +nose, and in age was about fifty.</p> +<p>“Welcome, Rabbi Manasseh,” said the +Armenian. “I know your knock—you are welcome; +sit down.”</p> +<p>“I am welcome,” said Manasseh, sitting down; +“he! he! he! you know my knock—I bring you +money—<i>bueno</i>!”</p> +<p>There was something very peculiar in the sound of that +<i>bueno</i>—I never forgot it.</p> +<p>Thereupon a conversation ensued between Rabbi Manasseh and the +Armenian, in a language which I knew to be Spanish, though a +peculiar dialect. It related to a mercantile +transaction. The Rabbi sighed heavily as he delivered to +the other a considerable sum of money.</p> +<p>“It is right,” said the Armenian, handing a +receipt. “It is right; and I am quite +satisfied.”</p> +<p>“You are satisfied—you have taken money. +<!-- page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span><i>Bueno</i>, I have nothing to say against your being +satisfied.”</p> +<p>“Come, Rabbi,” said the Armenian, “do not +despond; it may be your turn next to take money; in the meantime, +can’t you be persuaded to taste my Cyprus?”</p> +<p>“He! he! he! señor, you know I do not love +wine. I love Noah when he is himself; but, as Janus, I love +him not. But you are merry; <i>bueno</i>, you have a right +to be so.”</p> +<p>“Excuse me,” said I; “but does Noah ever +appear as Janus?”</p> +<p>“He! he! he!” said the Rabbi, “he only +appeared as Janus once—una vez quando estuvo borracho; +which means—”</p> +<p>“I understand,” said I; “when he was . . . +” and I drew the side of my right hand sharply across my +left wrist.</p> +<p>“Are you one of our people?” said the Rabbi.</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “I am one of the Goyim; but I +am only half enlightened. Why should Noah be Janus when he +was in that state?”</p> +<p>“He! he! he! you must know that in Lasan akhades wine is +janin.”</p> +<p>“In Armenian, kini,” said I; “in Welsh, +gwin; Latin, vinum; but do you think that Janus and janin are +one?”</p> +<p>“Do I think? Don’t the commentators say +so? Does not Master Leo Abarbenel say so, in his +‘Dialogues of Divine Love’?”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “I always thought that Janus +was a god of the ancient Romans, who stood in a temple open in +time of war, and shut in time of peace; he was represented with +two faces, which—which—”</p> +<p><!-- page 9--><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>“He! he! he!” said the Rabbi, rising from his +seat; “he had two faces, had he? And what did those +two faces typify? You do not know; no, nor did the Romans +who carved him with two faces know why they did so; for they were +only half enlightened, like you and the rest of the Goyim. +Yet they were right in carving him with two faces looking from +each other—they were right, though they knew not why; there +was a tradition among them that the Janinoso had two faces, but +they knew not that one was for the world which was gone, and the +other for the world before him—for the drowned world, and +for the present, as Master Leo Abarbenel says in his +‘Dialogues of Divine Love.’ He! he! he!” +continued the Rabbi, who had by this time advanced to the door, +and, turning round, waved the two forefingers of his right hand +in our faces; “the Goyims and Epicouraiyim are clever men, +they know how to make money better than we of Israel. My +good friend there is a clever man, I bring him money, he never +brought me any; <i>bueno</i>, I do not blame him, he knows much, +very much; but one thing there is my friend does not know, nor +any of the Epicureans, he does not know the sacred thing—he +has never received the gift of interpretation which God alone +gives to the seed—he has his gift, I have mine—he is +satisfied, I don’t blame him, <i>bueno</i>.”</p> +<p>And, with this last word in his mouth, he departed.</p> +<p>“Is that man a native of Spain?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Not a native of Spain,” said the Armenian, +“though he is one of those who call themselves Spanish +Jews, and who are to be found scattered throughout Europe, +speaking the Spanish language <!-- page 10--><a +name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>transmitted +to them by their ancestors, who were expelled from Spain in the +time of Ferdinand and Isabella.”</p> +<p>“The Jews are a singular people,” said I.</p> +<p>“A race of cowards and dastards,” said the +Armenian, “without a home or country; servants to servants; +persecuted and despised by all.”</p> +<p>“And what are the Haiks?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Very different from the Jews,” replied the +Armenian; “the Haiks have a home—a country, and can +occasionally use a good sword; though it is true they are not +what they might be.”</p> +<p>“Then it is a shame that they do not become so,” +said I; “but they are too fond of money. There is +yourself, with two hundred thousand pounds in your pocket, +craving for more, whilst you might be turning your wealth to the +service of your country.”</p> +<p>“In what manner?” said the Armenian.</p> +<p>“I have heard you say that the grand oppressor of your +country is the Persian; why not attempt to free your country from +his oppression?—you have two hundred thousand pounds, and +money is the sinew of war.”</p> +<p>“Would you, then, have me attack the Persian?”</p> +<p>“I scarcely know what to say; fighting is a rough trade, +and I am by no means certain that you are calculated for the +scratch. It is not every one who has been brought up in the +school of Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno. All I can say +is, that if I were an Armenian, and had two hundred thousand +pounds to back me, I would attack the Persian.”</p> +<p>“Hem!” said the Armenian.</p> +<h2><!-- page 11--><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span>CHAPTER LI</h2> +<p>The One Half-Crown—Merit in Patience—Cementer of +Friendship—Dreadful Perplexity—The Usual +Guttural—Armenian Letters—Much Indebted to +You—Pure Helplessness—Dumb People.</p> +<p>One morning on getting up I discovered that my whole worldly +wealth was reduced to one half-crown—throughout that day I +walked about in considerable distress of mind; it was now +requisite that I should come to a speedy decision with respect to +what I was to do; I had not many alternatives, and, before I had +retired to rest on the night of the day in question, I had +determined that I could do no better than accept the first +proposal of the Armenian, and translate under his superintendence +the Haik Esop into English.</p> +<p>I reflected, for I made a virtue of necessity, that, after +all, such an employment would be an honest and honourable one; +honest, inasmuch as by engaging in it I should do harm to nobody; +honourable, inasmuch as it was a literary task, which not every +one was capable of executing. It was not every one of the +booksellers’ writers of London who was competent to +translate the Haik Esop. I determined to accept the offer +of the Armenian.</p> +<p>Once or twice the thought of what I might have <!-- page +12--><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>to +undergo in the translation from certain peculiarities of the +Armenian’s temper almost unsettled me; but a mechanical +diving of my hand into my pocket, and the feeling of the solitary +half-crown, confirmed me; after all, this was a life of trial and +tribulation, and I had read somewhere or other that there was +much merit in patience, so I determined to hold fast in my +resolution of accepting the offer of the Armenian.</p> +<p>But all of a sudden I remembered that the Armenian appeared to +have altered his intentions towards me: he appeared no longer +desirous that I should render the Haik Esop into English for the +benefit of the stock-jobbers on Exchange, but rather that I +should acquire the rudiments of doing business in the Armenian +fashion, and accumulate a fortune, which would enable me to make +a figure upon ’Change with the best of the +stock-jobbers. “Well,” thought I, withdrawing +my hand from my pocket, whither it had again mechanically dived, +“after all, what would the world, what would this city be, +without commerce? I believe the world, and particularly +this city, would cut a very poor figure without commerce; and +then there is something poetical in the idea of doing business +after the Armenian fashion, dealing with dark-faced Lascars and +Rabbins of the Sephardim. Yes, should the Armenian insist +upon it, I will accept a seat at the desk, opposite the Moldavian +clerk. I do not like the idea of cuffs similar to those the +Armenian bestowed upon the Moldavian clerk; whatever merit there +may be in patience, I do not think that my estimation of the +merit of patience would be sufficient to induce me to remain +quietly sitting under the infliction of cuffs. I think <!-- +page 13--><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>I should, in the event of his cuffing me, knock the +Armenian down. Well, I think I have heard it said +somewhere, that a knock-down blow is a great cementer of +friendship; I think I have heard of two people being better +friends than ever after the one had received from the other a +knock-down blow.”</p> +<p>That night I dreamed I had acquired a colossal fortune, some +four hundred thousand pounds, by the Armenian way of doing +business, but suddenly awoke in dreadful perplexity as to how I +should dispose of it.</p> +<p>About nine o’clock next morning I set off to the house +of the Armenian; I had never called upon him so early before, and +certainly never with a heart beating with so much eagerness; but +the situation of my affairs had become very critical, and I +thought that I ought to lose no time in informing the Armenian +that I was at length perfectly willing either to translate the +Haik Esop under his superintendence, or to accept a seat at the +desk opposite to the Moldavian clerk, and acquire the secrets of +Armenian commerce. With a quick step I entered the +counting-room, where, notwithstanding the earliness of the hour, +I found the clerk, busied as usual at his desk.</p> +<p>He had always appeared to me a singular being, this same +Moldavian clerk. A person of fewer words could scarcely be +conceived: provided his master were at home, he would, on my +inquiring, nod his head; and, provided he were not, he would +invariably reply with the monosyllable, no, delivered in a +strange guttural tone. On the present occasion, being full +of eagerness and impatience, I was about to pass by him to the +<!-- page 14--><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>apartment above, without my usual inquiry, when he +lifted his head from the ledger in which he was writing, and, +laying down his pen, motioned to me with his forefinger, as if to +arrest my progress; whereupon I stopped, and, with a palpitating +heart, demanded whether the master of the house was at +home. The Moldavian clerk replied with his usual guttural, +and, opening his desk, ensconced his head therein.</p> +<p>“It does not much matter,” said I, “I +suppose I shall find him at home after ’Change; it does not +much matter, I can return.”</p> +<p>I was turning away with the intention of leaving the room; at +this moment, however, the head of the Moldavian clerk became +visible, and I observed a letter in his hand, which he had +inserted in the desk at the same time with his head; this he +extended towards me, making at the same time a side-long motion +with his head, as much as to say that it contained something +which interested me.</p> +<p>I took the letter, and the Moldavian clerk forthwith resumed +his occupation. The back of the letter bore my name, +written in Armenian characters; with a trembling hand I broke the +seal, and, unfolding the letter, I beheld several lines also +written in the letters of Mesroub, the Cadmus of the +Armenians.</p> +<p>I stared at the lines, and at first could not make out a +syllable of their meaning; at last, however, by continued +staring, I discovered that, though the letters were Armenian, the +words were English; in about ten minutes I had contrived to +decipher the sense of the letter; it ran somewhat in this +style:—</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 15--><a name="page15"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 15</span>“<span class="smcap">My Dear +Friend</span>,—The words which you uttered in our last +conversation have made a profound impression upon me; I have +thought them over day and night, and have come to the conclusion +that it is my bounden duty to attack the Persians. When +these lines are delivered to you, I shall be on the route to +Ararat. A mercantile speculation will be to the world the +ostensible motive of my journey, and it is singular enough that +one which offers considerable prospect of advantage has just +presented itself on the confines of Persia. Think not, +however, that motives of lucre would have been sufficiently +powerful to tempt me to the East at the present moment. I +may speculate, it is true, but I should scarcely have undertaken +the journey but for your pungent words inciting me to attack the +Persians. Doubt not that I will attack them on the first +opportunity. I thank you heartily for putting me in mind of +my duty. I have hitherto, to use your own words, been too +fond of money-getting, like all my countrymen. I am much +indebted to you; farewell! and may every prosperity await +you.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>For some time after I had deciphered the epistle, I stood as +if rooted to the floor. I felt stunned—my last hope +was gone; presently a feeling arose in my mind—a feeling of +self-reproach. Whom had I to blame but myself for the +departure of the Armenian? Would he have ever thought of +attacking the Persians had I not put the idea into his head? he +had told me in his epistle that he was indebted to me for the +idea. But for that, he might at the present moment have +been in London, increasing his fortune by his usual methods, and +I <!-- page 16--><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>might be commencing under his auspices the translation +of the Haik Esop, with the promise, no doubt, of a considerable +remuneration for my trouble; or I might be taking a seat opposite +the Moldavian clerk, and imbibing the first rudiments of doing +business after the Armenian fashion, with the comfortable hope of +realising, in a short time, a fortune of three or four hundred +thousand pounds; but the Armenian was now gone, and farewell to +the fine hopes I had founded upon him the day before. What +was I to do? I looked wildly around, till my eyes rested on +the Moldavian clerk, who was writing away in his ledger with +particular vehemence. Not knowing well what to do or to +say, I thought I might as well ask the Moldavian clerk when the +Armenian had departed, and when he thought that he would +return. It is true it mattered little to me when he +departed, seeing that he was gone, and it was evident that he +would not be back soon; but I knew not what to do, and in pure +helplessness thought I might as well ask; so I went up to the +Moldavian clerk, and asked him when the Armenian had departed, +and whether he had been gone two days or three? Whereupon +the Moldavian clerk, looking up from his ledger, made certain +signs, which I could by no means understand. I stood +astonished, but, presently recovering myself, inquired when he +considered it probable that the master would return, and whether +he thought it would be two months or—my tongue +faltered—two years; whereupon the Moldavian clerk made more +signs than before, and yet more unintelligible; as I persisted, +however, he flung down his pen, and, putting his thumb into his +mouth, moved it rapidly, causing the nail to sound against the +lower jaw; <!-- page 17--><a name="page17"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 17</span>whereupon I saw that he was dumb, and +hurried away, for I had always entertained a horror of dumb +people, having once heard my mother say, when I was a child, that +dumb people were half demoniacs, or little better.</p> +<h2><!-- page 18--><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>CHAPTER LII</h2> +<p>Kind of Stupor—Peace of God—Divine +Hand—Farewell, Child—The Fair—Massive +Edifice—Battered Tars—Lost! Lost!—Good Day, +Gentlemen.</p> +<p>Leaving the house of the Armenian, I strolled about for some +time; almost mechanically my feet conducted me to London Bridge, +to the booth in which stood the stall of the old apple-woman; the +sound of her voice aroused me, as I sat in a kind of stupor on +the stone bench beside her; she was inquiring what was the matter +with me.</p> +<p>At first, I believe, I answered her very incoherently, for I +observed alarm beginning to depict itself upon her +countenance. Rousing myself, however, I in my turn put a +few questions to her upon her present condition and +prospects. The old woman’s countenance cleared up +instantly; she informed me that she had never been more +comfortable in her life; that her trade, her <i>honest</i> +trade—laying an emphasis on the word honest—had +increased of late wonderfully; that her health was better, and, +above all, that she felt no fear and horror “here,” +laying her hand on her breast.</p> +<p>On my asking her whether she still heard voices in the night, +she told me that she frequently did; <!-- page 19--><a +name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>but that the +present were mild voices, sweet voices, encouraging voices, very +different from the former ones; that a voice, only the night +previous, had cried out about “the peace of God,” in +particularly sweet accents; a sentence which she remembered to +have read in her early youth in the primer, but which she had +clean forgotten till the voice the night before brought it to her +recollection.</p> +<p>After a pause, the old woman said to me, “I believe, +dear, that it is the blessed book you brought me which has +wrought this goodly change. How glad I am now that I can +read; but oh what a difference between the book you brought to me +and the one you took away. I believe the one you brought is +written by the finger of God, and the other by—”</p> +<p>“Don’t abuse the book,” said I, “it is +an excellent book for those who can understand it; it was not +exactly suited to you, and perhaps it had been better that you +had never read it—and yet, who knows? Peradventure, +if you had not read that book, you would not have been fitted for +the perusal of the one which you say is written by the finger of +God;” and, pressing my hand to my head, I fell into a deep +fit of musing. “What, after all,” thought I, +“if there should be more order and system in the working of +the moral world than I have thought? Does there not seem in +the present instance to be something like the working of a Divine +hand? I could not conceive why this woman, better educated +than her mother, should have been, as she certainly was, a worse +character than her mother. Yet perhaps this woman may be +better and happier than her mother ever was; perhaps she is so +already—perhaps this <!-- page 20--><a +name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>world is not +a wild, lying dream, as I have occasionally supposed it to +be.”</p> +<p>But the thought of my own situation did not permit me to +abandon myself much longer to these musings. I started +up. “Where are you going, child?” said the +woman, anxiously. “I scarcely know,” said I; +“anywhere.” “Then stay here, +child,” said she; “I have much to say to +you.” “No,” said I, “I shall be +better moving about;” and I was moving away, when it +suddenly occurred to me that I might never see this woman again; +and turning round I offered her my hand, and bade her good +bye. “Farewell, child,” said the old woman, +“and God bless you!” I then moved along the +bridge until I reached the Southwark side, and, still holding on +my course, my mind again became quickly abstracted from all +surrounding objects.</p> +<p>At length I found myself in a street or road, with terraces on +either side, and seemingly of interminable length, leading, as it +would appear, to the south-east. I was walking at a great +rate—there were likewise a great number of people, also +walking at a great rate; also carts and carriages driving at a +great rate; and all—men, carts, and carriages—going +in the selfsame direction, namely, to the south-east. I +stopped for a moment and deliberated whether or not I should +proceed. What business had I in that direction? I +could not say that I had any particular business in that +direction, but what could I do were I to turn back? only walk +about well-known streets; and, if I must walk, why not continue +in the direction in which I was to see whither the road and its +terraces led: I was here in a <i>terra incognita</i>, and <!-- +page 21--><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>an unknown place had always some interest for me; +moreover, I had a desire to know whither all this crowd was +going, and for what purpose. I thought they could not be +going far, as crowds seldom go far, especially at such a rate; so +I walked on more lustily than before, passing group after group +of the crowd, and almost vying in speed with some of the +carriages, especially the hackney-coaches; and, by dint of +walking at this rate, the terraces and houses becoming somewhat +less frequent as I advanced, I reached in about three-quarters of +an hour a kind of low dingy town, in the neighbourhood of the +river; the streets were swarming with people, and I concluded, +from the number of wild-beast shows, caravans, gingerbread +stalls, and the like, that a fair was being held. Now, as I +had always been partial to fairs, I felt glad that I had fallen +in with the crowd which had conducted me to the present one, and, +casting away as much as I was able all gloomy thoughts, I did my +best to enter into the diversions of the fair; staring at the +wonderful representations of animals on canvas hung up before the +shows of wild beasts, which, by the bye, are frequently found +much more worthy of admiration than the real beasts themselves; +listening to the jokes of the merry-andrews from the platforms in +front of the temporary theatres, or admiring the splendid tinsel +dresses of the performers who thronged the stages in the +intervals of the entertainments; and in this manner, occasionally +gazing and occasionally listening, I passed through the town till +I came in front of a large edifice looking full upon the majestic +bosom of the Thames.</p> +<p>It was a massive stone edifice, built in an antique <!-- page +22--><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>style, and black with age, with a broad esplanade +between it and the river, on which, mixed with a few people from +the fair, I observed moving about a great many individuals in +quaint dresses of blue, with strange three-cornered hats on their +heads; most of them were mutilated; this had a wooden +leg—this wanted an arm; some had but one eye; and as I +gazed upon the edifice, and the singular-looking individuals who +moved before it, I guessed where I was. “I am at +---,” <a name="citation22"></a><a href="#footnote22" +class="citation">[22]</a> said I; “these individuals are +battered tars of Old England, and this edifice, once the +favourite abode of Glorious Elizabeth, is the refuge which a +grateful country has allotted to them. Here they can rest +their weary bodies; at their ease talk over the actions in which +they have been injured; and, with the tear of enthusiasm flowing +from their eyes, boast how they have trod the deck of fame with +Rodney, or Nelson, or others whose names stand emblazoned in the +naval annals of their country.”</p> +<p>Turning to the right, I entered a park or wood consisting of +enormous trees, occupying the foot, sides, and top of a hill +which rose behind the town; there were multitudes of people among +the trees, diverting themselves in various ways. Coming to +the top of the hill, I was presently stopped by a lofty wall, +along which I walked, till, coming to a small gate, I passed +through, and found myself on an extensive green plain, on one +side bounded in part by the wall of the park, and on the others, +in the distance, by extensive ranges of houses; to the south-east +was a lofty eminence, partially clothed with wood. The +plain exhibited an animated scene, a kind of continuation of the +fair below; <!-- page 23--><a name="page23"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 23</span>there were multitudes of people upon +it, many tents, and shows; there was also horse-racing, and much +noise and shouting, the sun shining brightly overhead. +After gazing at the horse-racing for a little time, feeling +myself somewhat tired, I went up to one of the tents, and laid +myself down on the grass. There was much noise in the +tent. “Who will stand me?” said a voice with a +slight tendency to lisp. “Will you, my +lord?” “Yes,” said another voice. +Then there was a sound as of a piece of money banging on a +table. “Lost! lost! lost!” cried several +voices; and then the banging down of the money, and the +“Lost! lost! lost!” were frequently repeated; at last +the second voice exclaimed, “I will try no more; you have +cheated me.” “Never cheated any one in my life, +my lord—all fair—all chance. Them that finds, +wins—them that can’t finds, loses. Any one else +try? Who’ll try? Will you, my lord?” and +then it appeared that some other lord tried, for I heard more +money flung down. Then again the cry of “Lost! +lost!”—then again the sound of money, and so +on. Once or twice, but not more, I heard “Won! +won!” but the predominant cry was “Lost! +lost!” At last there was a considerable hubbub, and +the words “Cheat!” “Rogue!” and +“You filched away the pea!” were used freely by more +voices than one, to which the voice with the tendency to lisp +replied, “Never filched a pea in my life; would scorn +it. Always glad when folks wins; but, as those here +don’t appear to be civil, nor to wish to play any more, I +shall take myself off with my table; so, good day, +gentlemen.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 24--><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>CHAPTER LIII</h2> +<p>Singular Table—No Money—Out of Employ—My +Bonnet—We of the Thimble—Good Wages—Wisely +Resolved—Strangest Way in the World—Fat +Gentleman—Not Such Another—First Edition—Not +Very Easy—Won’t Close—Avella +Gorgio—Alarmed Look.</p> +<p>Presently a man emerged from the tent, bearing before him a +rather singular table; it appeared to be of white deal, was +exceedingly small at the top, and with very long legs. At a +few yards from the entrance he paused, and looked round, as if to +decide on the direction which he should take; presently, his eye +glancing on me as I lay upon the ground, he started, and appeared +for a moment inclined to make off as quick as possible, table and +all. In a moment, however, he seemed to recover assurance, +and, coming up to the place where I was, the long legs of the +table projecting before him, he cried, “Glad to see you +here, my lord.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said I, “it’s a fine +day.”</p> +<p>“Very fine, my lord; will your lordship play? Them +that finds, wins—them that don’t finds, +loses.”</p> +<p>“Play at what?” said I.</p> +<p>“Only at the thimble and pea, my lord.”</p> +<p>“I never heard of such a game.”</p> +<p><!-- page 25--><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>“Didn’t you? Well, I’ll soon +teach you,” said he, placing the table down. +“All you have to do is to put a sovereign down on my table, +and to find the pea, which I put under one of my thimbles. +If you find it,—and it is easy enough to find it,—I +give you a sovereign besides your own: for them that finds, +wins.”</p> +<p>“And them that don’t finds, loses,” said I; +“no, I don’t wish to play.”</p> +<p>“Why not, my lord?”</p> +<p>“Why, in the first place, I have no money.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you have no money, that of course alters the +case. If you have no money, you can’t play. +Well, I suppose I must be seeing after my customers,” said +he, glancing over the plain.</p> +<p>“Good day,” said I.</p> +<p>“Good day,” said the man slowly, but without +moving, and as if in reflection. After a moment or two, +looking at me inquiringly, he added, “Out of +employ?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “out of employ.”</p> +<p>The man measured me with his eye as I lay on the ground. +At length he said, “May I speak a word or two to you, my +lord?”</p> +<p>“As many as you please,” said I.</p> +<p>“Then just come a little out of hearing, a little +further on the grass, if you please, my lord.”</p> +<p>“Why do you call me my lord?” said I, as I arose +and followed him.</p> +<p>“We of the thimble always calls our customers +lords,” said the man; “but I won’t call you +such a foolish name any more; come along.”</p> +<p>The man walked along the plain till he came to the side of a +dry pit, when, looking round to see that no one was nigh, he laid +his table on the grass, <!-- page 26--><a name="page26"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 26</span>and, sitting down with his legs over +the side of the pit, he motioned me to do the same. +“So you are in want of employ,” said he, after I had +sat down beside him.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “I am very much in want of +employ.”</p> +<p>“I think I can find you some.”</p> +<p>“What kind?” said I.</p> +<p>“Why,” said the man, “I think you would do +to be my bonnet.”</p> +<p>“Bonnet!” said I; “what is that?”</p> +<p>“Don’t you know? However, no wonder, as you +had never heard of the thimble and pea game, but I will tell +you. We of the game are very much exposed; folks when they +have lost their money, as those who play with us mostly do, +sometimes uses rough language, calls us cheats, and sometimes +knocks our hats over our eyes; and what’s more, with a kick +under our table, cause the top deals to fly off; this is the +third table I have used this day, the other two being broken by +uncivil customers: so we of the game generally like to have +gentlemen go about with us to take our part, and encourage us, +though pretending to know nothing about us; for example, when the +customer says, ‘I’m cheated,’ the bonnet must +say, ‘No, you a’n’t, it is all right;’ +or, when my hat is knocked over my eyes, the bonnet must square, +and say, ‘I never saw the man before in all my life, but I +won’t see him ill-used;’ and so, when they kicks at +the table, the bonnet must say, ‘I won’t see the +table ill-used, such a nice table, too; besides, I want to play +myself;’ and then I would say to the bonnet, ‘Thank +you, my lord, them that finds, wins;’ and then the bonnet +plays, and I lets the bonnet win.”</p> +<p><!-- page 27--><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>“In a word,” said I, “the bonnet means +the man who covers you, even as the real bonnet covers the +head.” <a name="citation27a"></a><a href="#footnote27a" +class="citation">[27a]</a></p> +<p>“Just so,” said the man; “I see you are +awake, and would soon make a first-rate bonnet.”</p> +<p>“Bonnet,” said I, musingly; “bonnet; it is +metaphorical.”</p> +<p>“Is it?” said the man.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “like the cant +words—”</p> +<p>“Bonnet is cant,” said the man; “we of the +thimble, as well as all clyfakers and the like, understand cant, +as, of course, must every bonnet; so, if you are employed by me, +you had better learn it as soon as you can, that we may discourse +together without being understood by every one. Besides +covering his principal, a bonnet must have his eyes about him, +for the trade of the pea, though a strictly honest one, is not +altogether lawful; so it is the duty of the bonnet, if he sees +the constable coming, to say, ‘The Gorgio’s +welling.’” <a name="citation27b"></a><a +href="#footnote27b" class="citation">[27b]</a></p> +<p>“That is not cant,” said I, “that is the +language of the Rommany Chals.” <a +name="citation27c"></a><a href="#footnote27c" +class="citation">[27c]</a></p> +<p>“Do you know those people?” said the man.</p> +<p>“Perfectly,” said I, “and their language +too.”</p> +<p>“I wish I did,” said the man; “I would give +ten pounds and more to know the language of the Rommany +Chals. There’s some of it in the language of the pea +and thimble; how it came there I don’t know, but so it +is. I wish I knew it, but it is difficult. +You’ll make a capital bonnet; shall we close?”</p> +<p>“What would the wages be?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Why, to a first-rate bonnet, as I think you would <!-- +page 28--><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +28</span>prove, I could afford to give from forty to fifty +shillings a week.”</p> +<p>“Is it possible?” said I.</p> +<p>“Good wages, a’n’t they?” said the +man.</p> +<p>“First-rate,” said I; “bonneting is more +profitable than reviewing.”</p> +<p>“Anan?” said the man.</p> +<p>“Or translating; I don’t think the Armenian would +have paid me at that rate for translating his Esop.”</p> +<p>“Who is he?” said the man.</p> +<p>“Esop?”</p> +<p>“No, I know what that is, Esop’s cant for a +hunchback; but t’other?”</p> +<p>“You should know,” said I.</p> +<p>“Never saw the man in all my life.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you have,” said I, “and felt him too; +don’t you remember the individual from whom you took the +pocket-book?”</p> +<p>“Oh, that was he? Well, the less said about that +matter the better; I have left off that trade, and taken to this, +which is a much better. Between ourselves, I am not sorry +that I did not carry off that pocket-book; if I had, it might +have encouraged me in the trade, in which, had I remained, I +might have been lagged, sent abroad, as I had been already +imprisoned; so I determined to leave it off at all hazards, +though I was hard up, not having a penny in the world.”</p> +<p>“And wisely resolved,” said I; “it was a bad +and dangerous trade; I wonder you should ever have embraced +it.”</p> +<p>“It is all very well talking,” said the man, +“but there is a reason for everything; I am the son of a +Jewess, by a military officer,”—and then the man <!-- +page 29--><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>told me his story. I shall not repeat the +man’s story, it was a poor one, a vile one; at last he +observed, “So that affair which you know of determined me +to leave the filching trade, and take up with a more honest and +safe one; so at last I thought of the pea and thimble, but I +wanted funds, especially to pay for lessons at the hands of a +master, for I knew little about it.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “how did you get over that +difficulty?”</p> +<p>“Why,” said the man, “I thought I should +never have got over it. What funds could I raise? I +had nothing to sell; the few clothes I had I wanted, for we of +the thimble must always appear decent, or nobody would come near +us. I was at my wits’ end; at last I got over my +difficulty in the strangest way in the world.”</p> +<p>“What was that?”</p> +<p>“By an old thing which I had picked up some time +before—a book.”</p> +<p>“A book?” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes, which I had taken out of your lordship’s +pocket one day as you were walking the streets in a great +hurry. I thought it was a pocket-book at first, full of +bank-notes, perhaps,” continued he, laughing. +“It was well for me, however, that it was not, for I should +have soon spent the notes; as it was, I had flung the old thing +down with an oath, as soon as I brought it home. When I was +so hard up, however, after the affair with that friend of yours, +I took it up one day, and thought I might make something by it to +support myself a day with. Chance or something else led me +into a grand shop; there was a man there who seemed to be the +master, talking to a jolly, portly old gentleman, who seemed <!-- +page 30--><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +30</span>to be a country squire. Well, I went up to the +first, and offered it for sale; he took the book, opened it at +the title-page, and then all of a sudden his eyes glistened, and +he showed it to the fat, jolly gentleman, and his eyes glistened +too, and I heard him say ‘How singular!’ and then the +two talked together in a speech I didn’t understand—I +rather thought it was French, at any rate it wasn’t cant; +and presently the first asked me what I would take for the +book. Now I am not altogether a fool, nor am I blind, and I +had narrowly marked all that passed, and it came into my head +that now was the time for making a man of myself, at any rate I +could lose nothing by a little confidence; so I looked the man +boldly in the face, and said, ‘I will have five guineas for +that book, there a’n’t such another in the whole +world.’ ‘Nonsense,’ said the first man, +‘there are plenty of them, there have been nearly fifty +editions, to my knowledge; I will give you five +shillings.’ ‘No,’ said I, +‘I’ll not take it, for I don’t like to be +cheated, so give me my book again;’ and I attempted to take +it away from the fat gentleman’s hand. +‘Stop,’ said the younger man, ‘are you sure +that you won’t take less?’ ‘Not a +farthing,’ said I; which was not altogether true, but I +said so. ‘Well,’ said the fat gentleman, +‘I will give you what you ask;’ and sure enough he +presently gave me the money; so I made a bow, and was leaving the +shop, when it came into my head that there was something odd in +all this, and, as I had got the money in my pocket, I turned +back, and, making another bow, said, ‘May I be so bold as +to ask why you gave me all this money for that ’ere dirty +book? When I came into the shop, I should have been glad to +<!-- page 31--><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>get a shilling for it; but I saw you wanted it, and +asked five guineas.’ Then they looked at one another, +and smiled, and shrugged up their shoulders. Then the first +man, looking at me, said, ‘Friend, you have been a little +too sharp for us; however, we can afford to forgive you, as my +friend here has long been in quest of this particular book; there +are plenty of editions, as I told you, and a common copy is not +worth five shillings; but this is a first edition, and a copy of +the first edition is worth its weight in gold.’”</p> +<p>“So, after all, they outwitted you,” I +observed.</p> +<p>“Clearly,” said the man; “I might have got +double the price, had I known the value; but I don’t care, +much good may it do them, it has done me plenty. By means +of it I have got into an honest, respectable trade, in which +there’s little danger and plenty of profit, and got out of +one which would have got me lagged, sooner or later.”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “you ought to remember that +the thing was not yours; you took it from me, who had been +requested by a poor old apple-woman to exchange it for a +Bible.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said the man, “did she ever get her +Bible?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “she got her +Bible.”</p> +<p>“Then she has no cause to complain; and, as for you, +chance or something else has sent you to me, that I may make you +reasonable amends for any loss you may have had. Here am I +ready to make you my bonnet, with forty or fifty shillings a +week, which you say yourself are capital wages.”</p> +<p>“I find no fault with the wages,” said I, +“but I don’t like the employ.”</p> +<p>“Not like bonneting,” said the man; “ah, I +<!-- page 32--><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +32</span>see, you would like to be principal; well, a time may +come—those long white fingers of yours would just serve for +the business.”</p> +<p>“Is it a difficult one?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Why, it is not very easy: two things are +needful—natural talent, and constant practice; but +I’ll show you a point or two connected with the +game;” and, placing his table between his knees as he sat +over the side of the pit, he produced three thimbles, and a small +brown pellet, something resembling a pea. He moved the +thimbles and pellet about, now placing it to all appearance under +one, and now under another. “Under which is it +now?” he said at last. “Under that,” said +I, pointing to the lowermost of the thimbles, which, as they +stood, formed a kind of triangle. “No,” said +he, “it is not, but lift it up;” and, when I lifted +up the thimble, the pellet, in truth, was not under it. +“It was under none of them,” said he, “it was +pressed by my little finger against my palm;” and then he +showed me how he did the trick, and asked me if the game was not +a funny one; and, on my answering in the affirmative, he said, +“I am glad you like it; come along and let us win some +money.”</p> +<p>Thereupon, getting up, he placed the table before him, and was +moving away; observing, however, that I did not stir, he asked me +what I was staying for. “Merely for my own +pleasure,” said I; “I like sitting here very +well.” “Then you won’t close?” said +the man. “By no means,” I replied; “your +proposal does not suit me.” “You may be +principal in time,” said the man. “That makes +no difference,” said I; and, sitting with my legs over the +pit, I forthwith began to decline an <!-- page 33--><a +name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>Armenian +noun. “That a’n’t cant,” said the +man; “no, nor Gypsy, either. Well, if you won’t +close, another will; I can’t lose any more time;” and +forthwith he departed.</p> +<p>And after I had declined four Armenian nouns, of different +declensions, I rose from the side of the pit, and wandered about +amongst the various groups of people scattered over the +green. Presently I came to where the man of the thimbles +was standing, with the table before him, and many people about +him. “Them who finds, wins, and them who can’t +finds, loses,” he cried. Various individuals tried to +find the pellet, but all were unsuccessful, till at last +considerable dissatisfaction was expressed, and the terms rogue +and cheat were lavished upon him. “Never cheated +anybody in all my life,” he cried; and, observing me at +hand, “didn’t I play fair, my lord?” he +inquired. But I made no answer. Presently some more +played, and he permitted one or two to win, and the eagerness to +play with him became greater. After I had looked on for +some time, I was moving away: just then I perceived a short, +thick personage, with a staff in his hand, advancing in a great +hurry; whereupon, with a sudden impulse, I exclaimed—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Shoon thimble-engro;<br /> +Avella Gorgio.” <a name="citation33"></a><a +href="#footnote33" class="citation">[33]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>The man, who was in the midst of his pea and thimble process, +no sooner heard the last word of the distich, than he turned an +alarmed look in the direction of where I stood; then, glancing +around, <!-- page 34--><a name="page34"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 34</span>and perceiving the constable, he +slipped forthwith his pellet and thimbles into his pocket, and, +lifting up his table, he cried to the people about him, +“Make way!” and with a motion with his head to me, as +if to follow him, he darted off with a swiftness which the short, +pursy constable could by no means rival; and whither he went, or +what became of him, I know not, inasmuch as I turned away in +another direction.</p> +<h2><!-- page 35--><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>CHAPTER LIV</h2> +<p>Mr. Petulengro—Rommany Rye—Lil +Writers—One’s Own Horn—Lawfully earnt +Money—The Wooded Hill—A Great Favourite—The +Shop Window—Much Wanted.</p> +<p>And, as I wandered along the green, I drew near to a place +where several men, with a cask beside them, sat carousing in the +neighbourhood of a small tent. “Here he comes,” +said one of them, as I advanced, and standing up he raised his +voice and sang:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here the Gypsy gemman see,<br /> +With his Roman jib and his rome and dree—<br /> +Rome and dree, rum and dry<br /> +Rally round the Rommany Rye.” <a name="citation35a"></a><a +href="#footnote35a" class="citation">[35a]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was Mr. Petulengro, who was here diverting himself with +several of his comrades; they all received me with considerable +frankness. “Sit down, brother,” said Mr. +Petulengro, “and take a cup of good ale.”</p> +<p>I sat down. “Your health, gentlemen,” said +I, as I took the cup which Mr. Petulengro handed to me.</p> +<p>“Aukko tu pios <a name="citation35b"></a><a +href="#footnote35b" class="citation">[35b]</a> adrey +Rommanis. Here is your health in Rommany, brother,” +said Mr. <!-- page 36--><a name="page36"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 36</span>Petulengro; who, having refilled the +cup, now emptied it at a draught.</p> +<p>“Your health in Rommany, brother,” said Tawno +Chikno, to whom the cup came next.</p> +<p>“The Rommany Rye,” said a third.</p> +<p>“The Gypsy gentleman,” exclaimed a fourth, +drinking.</p> +<p>And then they all sang in chorus—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here the Gypsy gemman see,<br /> +With his Roman jib and his rome and dree—<br /> +Rome and dree, rum and dry<br /> +Rally round the Rommany Rye.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“And now, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, +“seeing that you have drunk and been drunken, you will +perhaps tell us where you have been, and what about?”</p> +<p>“I have been in the Big City,” said I, +“writing lils.” <a name="citation36"></a><a +href="#footnote36" class="citation">[36]</a></p> +<p>“How much money have you got in your pocket, +brother?” said Mr. Petulengro.</p> +<p>“Eighteenpence,” said I; “all I have in the +world.”</p> +<p>“I have been in the Big City, too,” said Mr. +Petulengro; “but I have not written lils—I have +fought in the ring—I have fifty pounds in my pocket—I +have much more in the world. Brother, there is considerable +difference between us.”</p> +<p>“I would rather be the lil-writer, after all,” +said the tall, handsome, black man; “indeed, I would wish +for nothing better.”</p> +<p>“Why so?” said Mr. Petulengro.</p> +<p>“Because they have so much to say for themselves,” +said the black man, “even when dead <!-- page 37--><a +name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>and +gone. When they are laid in the churchyard, it is their own +fault if people a’n’t talking of them. Who will +know, after I am dead, or bitchadey pawdel, that I was once the +beauty of the world, or that you Jasper were—”</p> +<p>“The best man in England of my inches. +That’s true, Tawno—however, here’s our brother +will perhaps let the world know something about us.”</p> +<p>“Not he,” said the other, with a sigh; +“he’ll have quite enough to do in writing his own +lils, and telling the world how handsome and clever he was; and +who can blame him? Not I. If I could write lils, +every word should be about myself and my own tacho Rommanis <a +name="citation37"></a><a href="#footnote37" +class="citation">[37]</a>—my own lawful wedded wife, which +is the same thing. I tell you what, brother, I once heard a +wise man say in Brummagem, that ‘there is nothing like +blowing one’s own horn,’ which I conceive to be much +the same thing as writing one’s own lil.”</p> +<p>After a little more conversation, Mr. Petulengro arose, and +motioned me to follow him. “Only eighteenpence in the +world, brother!” said he, as we walked together.</p> +<p>“Nothing more, I assure you. How came you to ask +me how much money I had?”</p> +<p>“Because there was something in your look, brother, +something very much resembling that which a person showeth who +does not carry much money in his pocket. I was looking at +my own face this morning in my wife’s looking-glass—I +did not look as you do, brother.”</p> +<p>“I believe your sole motive for inquiring,” said +I, “was to have an opportunity of venting a foolish <!-- +page 38--><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>boast, and to let me know that you were in possession of +fifty pounds.”</p> +<p>“What is the use of having money unless you let people +know you have it?” said Mr. Petulengro. “It is +not every one can read faces, brother; and, unless you knew I had +money, how could you ask me to lend you any?”</p> +<p>“I am not going to ask you to lend me any.”</p> +<p>“Then you may have it without asking; as I said before, +I have fifty pounds, all lawfully earnt money, got by fighting in +the ring—I will lend you that, brother.”</p> +<p>“You are very kind,” said I; “but I will not +take it.”</p> +<p>“Then the half of it?”</p> +<p>“Nor the half of it; but it is getting towards evening, +I must go back to the Great City.”</p> +<p>“And what will you do in the Boro Foros?” <a +name="citation38"></a><a href="#footnote38" +class="citation">[38]</a></p> +<p>“I know not,” said I.</p> +<p>“Earn money?”</p> +<p>“If I can.”</p> +<p>“And if you can’t?”</p> +<p>“Starve!”</p> +<p>“You look ill, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro.</p> +<p>“I do not feel well; the Great City does not agree with +me. Should I be so fortunate as to earn some money, I would +leave the Big City, and take to the woods and fields.”</p> +<p>“You may do that, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, +“whether you have money or not. Our tents and horses +are on the other side of yonder wooded hill; come and stay with +us; we shall all be glad of your company, but more especially +myself and my wife Pakomovna.”</p> +<p><!-- page 39--><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +39</span>“What hill is that?” I demanded.</p> +<p>And then Mr. Petulengro told me the name of the hill. +“We shall stay on t’other side of the hill a +fortnight,” he continued; “and, as you are fond of +lil writing, you may employ yourself profitably whilst +there. You can write the lil of him whose dook <a +name="citation39a"></a><a href="#footnote39a" +class="citation">[39a]</a> gallops down that hill every night, +even as the living man was wont to do long ago.”</p> +<p>“Who was he?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Jemmy Abershaw,” <a name="citation39b"></a><a +href="#footnote39b" class="citation">[39b]</a> said Mr. +Petulengro; “one of those whom we call Boro drom engroes, +and the Gorgios highwaymen. I once heard a rye say that the +life of that man would fetch much money; so come to the other +side of the hill, and write the lil in the tent of Jasper and his +wife Pakomovna.”</p> +<p>At first I felt inclined to accept the invitation of Mr. +Petulengro; a little consideration, however, determined me to +decline it. I had always been on excellent terms with Mr. +Petulengro, but I reflected that people might be excellent +friends when they met occasionally in the street, or on the +heath, or in the wood; but that these very people when living +together in a house, to say nothing of a tent, might +quarrel. I reflected, moreover, that Mr. Petulengro had a +wife. I had always, it is true, been a great favourite with +Mrs. Petulengro, who had frequently been loud in her commendation +of the young rye, as she called me, and his turn of conversation; +but this was at a time when I stood in need of nothing, lived +under my parents’ <!-- page 40--><a name="page40"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 40</span>roof, and only visited at the tents +to divert and to be diverted. The times were altered, and I +was by no means certain that Mrs. Petulengro, when she should +discover that I was in need both of shelter and subsistence, +might not alter her opinion both with respect to the individual +and what he said—stigmatising my conversation as saucy +discourse, and myself as a scurvy companion; and that she might +bring over her husband to her own way of thinking, provided, +indeed, he should need any conducting. I therefore, though +without declaring my reasons, declined the offer of Mr. +Petulengro, and presently, after shaking him by the hand, bent +again my course towards the Great City.</p> +<p>I crossed the river at a bridge considerably above that hight +of London; for, not being acquainted with the way, I missed the +turning which should have brought me to the latter. +Suddenly I found myself in a street of which I had some +recollection, and mechanically stopped before the window of a +shop at which various publications were exposed; it was that of +the bookseller to whom I had last applied in the hope of selling +my ballads or Ab Gwilym, and who had given me hopes that, in the +event of my writing a decent novel, or a tale, he would prove a +purchaser. As I stood listlessly looking at the window, and +the publications which it contained, I observed a paper affixed +to the glass by wafers with something written upon it. I +drew yet nearer for the purpose of inspecting it; the writing was +in a fair round hand—“A Novel or Tale is much +wanted,” was what was written.</p> +<h2><!-- page 41--><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>CHAPTER LV</h2> +<p>Bread and Water—Fair Play—Fashionable +Life—Colonel B---—Joseph Sell—The Kindly +Glow—Easiest Manner Imaginable.</p> +<p>“I must do something,” said I, as I sat that night +in my lonely apartment, with some bread and a pitcher of water +before me.</p> +<p>Thereupon taking some of the bread, and eating it, I +considered what I was to do. “I have no idea what I +am to do,” said I, as I stretched my hand towards the +pitcher, “unless”—and here I took a +considerable draught—“I write a tale or a novel . . . +That bookseller,” I continued, speaking to myself, +“is certainly much in need of a tale or a novel, otherwise +he would not advertise for one. Suppose I write one; I +appear to have no other chance of extricating myself from my +present difficulties; surely it was Fate that conducted me to his +window.”</p> +<p>“I will do it,” said I, as I struck my hand +against the table; “I will do it.” Suddenly a +heavy cloud of despondency came over me. Could I do +it? Had I the imagination requisite to write a tale or a +novel? “Yes, yes,” said I, as I struck my hand +again against the table, “I can manage it; give me fair +play, and I can accomplish anything.”</p> +<p><!-- page 42--><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>But should I have fair play? I must have something +to maintain myself with whilst I wrote my tale, and I had but +eighteenpence in the world. Would that maintain me whilst I +wrote my tale? Yes, I thought it would, provided I ate +bread, which did not cost much, and drank water, which cost +nothing; it was poor diet, it was true, but better men than +myself had written on bread and water; had not the big man told +me so? or something to that effect, months before?</p> +<p>It was true there was my lodging to pay for; but up to the +present time I owed nothing, and perhaps, by the time that the +people of the house asked me for money, I should have written a +tale or a novel, which would bring me in money; I had paper, +pens, and ink, and, let me not forget them, I had candles in my +closet, all paid for, to light me during my night work. +Enough, I would go doggedly to work upon my tale or novel.</p> +<p>But what was the tale or novel to be about? Was it to be +a tale of fashionable life, about Sir Harry Somebody, and the +Countess Something? But I knew nothing about fashionable +people, and cared less; therefore how should I attempt to +describe fashionable life? What should the tale consist +of? The life and adventures of some one. +Good—but of whom? Did not Mr. Petulengro mention one +Jemmy Abershaw? Yes. Did he not tell me that the life +and adventures of Jemmy Abershaw would bring in much money to the +writer? Yes, but I knew nothing of that worthy. I +heard, it is true, from Mr. Petulengro, that when alive he +committed robberies on the hill on the side of which Mr. +Petulengro had pitched his tents, and that his ghost still +haunted the hill at midnight; <!-- page 43--><a +name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>but those +were scant materials out of which to write the man’s +life. It is probable, indeed, that Mr. Petulengro would be +able to supply me with further materials if I should apply to +him, but I was in a hurry, and could not afford the time which it +would be necessary to spend in passing to and from Mr. +Petulengro, and consulting him. Moreover, my pride revolted +at the idea of being beholden to Mr. Petulengro for the materials +of the history. No, I would not write the history of +Abershaw. Whose then—Harry Simms? Alas, the +life of Harry Simms had been already much better written by +himself than I could hope to do it; and, after all, Harry Simms, +like Jemmy Abershaw, was merely a robber. Both, though bold +and extraordinary men, were merely highwaymen. I questioned +whether I could compose a tale likely to excite any particular +interest out of the exploits of a mere robber. I want a +character for my hero, thought I, something higher than a mere +robber; some one like—like Colonel B---. By the way, +why should I not write the life and adventures of Colonel B--- of +Londonderry, in Ireland?</p> +<p>A truly singular man was this same Colonel B--- <a +name="citation43a"></a><a href="#footnote43a" +class="citation">[43a]</a> of Londonderry, in Ireland; a +personage of most strange and incredible feats and daring, who +had been a partisan soldier, a bravo—who, assisted by +certain discontented troopers, nearly succeeded in stealing the +crown and regalia from the Tower of London; who attempted to hang +the Duke of Ormond, at Tyburn; <a name="citation43b"></a><a +href="#footnote43b" class="citation">[43b]</a> and whose <!-- +page 44--><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>strange, eventful career did not terminate even with his +life, his dead body, on the circulation of an unfounded report +that he did not come to his death by fair means, having been +exhumed by the mob of his native place, where he had retired to +die, and carried in the coffin through the streets.</p> +<p>Of his life I had inserted an account in the “Newgate +Lives and Trials”; it was bare and meagre, and written in +the stiff, awkward style of the seventeenth century; it had, +however, strongly captivated my imagination, and I now thought +that out of it something better could be made; that, if I added +to the adventures, and purified the style, I might fashion out of +it a very decent tale or novel. On a sudden, however, the +proverb of mending old garments with new cloth occurred to +me. “I am afraid,” said I, “any new +adventures which I can invent will not fadge well with the old +tale; one will but spoil the other.” I had better +have nothing to do with Colonel B---, thought I, but boldly and +independently sit down and write the “Life of Joseph +Sell.”</p> +<p>This Joseph Sell, dear reader, was a fictitious personage who +had just come into my head. I had never even heard of the +name, but just at that moment it happened to come into my head; I +would write an entirely fictitious narrative, called the +“Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell, the Great +traveller.”</p> +<p>I had better begin at once, thought I; and removing the bread +and the jug, which latter was now empty, I seized pen and paper, +and forthwith essayed to write the “Life of Joseph +Sell,” but soon discovered that it is much easier to +resolve upon a thing than to achieve it, or even to commence it; +<!-- page 45--><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>for the life of me I did not know how to begin, and, +after trying in vain to write a line, I thought it would be as +well to go to bed, and defer my projected undertaking till the +morrow.</p> +<p>So I went to bed, but not to sleep. During the greater +part of the night I lay awake, musing upon the work which I had +determined to execute. For a long time my brain was dry and +unproductive; I could form no plan which appeared feasible. +At length I felt within my brain a kindly glow; it was the +commencement of inspiration; in a few minutes I had formed my +plan; I then began to imagine the scenes and the incidents. +Scenes and incidents flitted before my mind’s eye so +plentifully, that I knew not how to dispose of them; I was in a +regular embarrassment. At length I got out of the +difficulty in the easiest manner imaginable, namely, by +consigning to the depths of oblivion all the feebler and less +stimulant scenes and incidents, and retaining the better and more +impressive ones. Before morning I had sketched the whole +work on the tablets of my mind, and then resigned myself to sleep +in the pleasing conviction that the most difficult part of my +undertaking was achieved.</p> +<h2><!-- page 46--><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span>CHAPTER LVI</h2> +<p>Considerably Sobered—Power of Writing—The +Tempter—Hungry Talent—Work Concluded.</p> +<p>Rather late in the morning I awoke; for a few minutes I lay +still, perfectly still; my imagination was considerably sobered; +the scenes and situations which had pleased me so much over night +appeared to me in a far less captivating guise that +morning. I felt languid and almost hopeless—the +thought, however, of my situation soon roused me—I must +make an effort to improve the posture of my affairs; there was no +time to be lost; so I sprang out of bed, breakfasted on bread and +water, and then sat down doggedly to write the “Life of +Joseph Sell.”</p> +<p>It was a great thing to have formed my plan, and to have +arranged the scenes in my head, as I had done on the preceding +night. The chief thing requisite at present was the mere +mechanical act of committing them to paper. This I did not +find at first so easy as I could wish—I wanted mechanical +skill; but I persevered, and before evening I had written ten +pages. I partook of some bread and water; and, before I +went to bed that night, I had completed fifteen pages of my +“Life of Joseph Sell.”</p> +<p><!-- page 47--><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>The next day I resumed my task—I found my power of +writing considerably increased; my pen hurried rapidly over the +paper—my brain was in a wonderfully teeming state; many +scenes and visions which I had not thought of before were +evolved, and, as fast as evolved, written down; they seemed to be +more pat to my purpose, and more natural to my history, than many +others which I had imagined before, and which I made now give +place to these newer creations: by about midnight I had added +thirty fresh pages to my “Life and Adventures of Joseph +Sell.”</p> +<p>The third day arose—it was dark and dreary out of doors, +and I passed it drearily enough within; my brain appeared to have +lost much of its former glow, and my pen much of its power; I, +however, toiled on, but at midnight had only added seven pages to +my history of Joseph Sell.</p> +<p>On the fourth day the sun shone brightly—I arose, and, +having breakfasted as usual, I fell to work. My brain was +this day wonderfully prolific, and my pen never before or since +glided so rapidly over the paper; towards night I began to feel +strangely about the back part of my head, and my whole system was +extraordinarily affected. I likewise occasionally saw +double—a tempter now seemed to be at work within me.</p> +<p>“You had better leave off now for a short space,” +said the tempter, “and go out and drink a pint of beer; you +have still one shilling left—if you go on at this rate, you +will go mad—go out and spend sixpence, you can afford it, +more than half your work is done.” I was about to +obey the suggestion of the tempter, when the idea struck me that, +if I did not complete the work whilst the <!-- page 48--><a +name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>fit was on +me, I should never complete it; so I held on. I am almost +afraid to state how many pages I wrote that day of the +“Life of Joseph Sell.”</p> +<p>From this time I proceeded in a somewhat more leisurely +manner; but, as I drew nearer and nearer to the completion of my +task, dreadful fears and despondencies came over me—It will +be too late, thought I; by the time I have finished the work, the +bookseller will have been supplied with a tale or a novel. +Is it probable that, in a town like this, where talent is so +abundant—hungry talent too, a bookseller can advertise for +a tale or a novel, without being supplied with half a dozen in +twenty-four hours? I may as well fling down my pen—I +am writing to no purpose. And these thoughts came over my +mind so often, that at last, in utter despair, I flung down the +pen. Whereupon the tempter within me said—“And, +now you have flung down the pen, you may as well fling yourself +out of the window; what remains for you to do?” Why +to take it up again, thought I to myself, for I did not like the +latter suggestion at all—and then forthwith I resumed the +pen, and wrote with greater vigour than before, from about six +o’clock in the evening until I could hardly see, when I +rested for a while, when the tempter within me again said, or +appeared to say—“All you have been writing is stuff, +it will never do—a drug—a mere drug;” and +methought these last words were uttered in the gruff tones of the +big publisher. “A thing merely to be sneezed +at,” a voice like that of Taggart added; and then I seemed +to hear a sternutation,—as I probably did, for, recovering +from a kind of swoon, I found myself shivering <!-- page 49--><a +name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>with +cold. The next day I brought my work to a conclusion.</p> +<p>But the task of revision still remained; for an hour or two I +shrank from it, and remained gazing stupidly at the pile of paper +which I had written over. I was all but exhausted, and I +dreaded, on inspecting the sheets, to find them full of +absurdities which I had paid no regard to in the furor of +composition. But the task, however trying to my nerves, +must be got over; at last, in a kind of desperation, I entered +upon it. It was far from an easy one; there were, however, +fewer errors and absurdities than I had anticipated. About +twelve o’clock at night I had got over the task of +revision. “To-morrow, for the bookseller,” said +I, as my head sank on the pillow. “Oh me!”</p> +<h2><!-- page 50--><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>CHAPTER LVII</h2> +<p>Nervous Look—The Bookseller’s Wife—The Last +Stake—Terms—God Forbid!—Will You Come to +Tea?—A Light Heart.</p> +<p>On arriving at the bookseller’s shop, I cast a nervous +look at the window, for the purpose of observing whether the +paper had been removed or not. To my great delight the +paper was in its place; with a beating heart I entered, there was +nobody in the shop; as I stood at the counter, however, +deliberating whether or not I should call out, the door of what +seemed to be a back-parlour opened and out came a well dressed +lady-like female, of about thirty, with a good-looking and +intelligent countenance. “What is your business, +young man?” said she to me, after I had made her a polite +bow. “I wish to speak to the gentleman of the +house,” said I. “My husband is not within at +present,” she replied; “what is your +business?” “I have merely brought something to +show him,” said I, “but I will call +again.” “If you are the young gentleman who has +been here before,” said the lady, “with poems and +ballads, as, indeed, I know you are,” she added, smiling, +“for I have seen you through the glass door, I am afraid it +will be useless; that is,” she added, with another smile, +“if you bring us nothing <!-- page 51--><a +name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>else.” “I have not brought you poems +and ballads now,” said I, “but something widely +different; I saw your advertisement for a tale or a novel, and +have written something which I think will suit; and here it +is,” I added, showing the roll of paper which I held in my +hand. “Well,” said the bookseller’s wife, +“you may leave it, though I cannot promise you much chance +of its being accepted. My husband has already had several +offered to him; however, you may leave it; give it me. Are +you afraid to entrust it to me?” she demanded somewhat +hastily, observing that I hesitated. “Excuse +me,” said I, “but it is all I have to depend upon in +the world; I am chiefly apprehensive that it will not be +read.” “On that point I can reassure +you,” said the good lady, smiling, and there was now +something sweet in her smile. “I give you my word +that it shall be read; come again to-morrow morning at eleven, +when, if not approved, it shall be returned to you.”</p> +<p>I returned to my lodging, and forthwith betook myself to bed, +notwithstanding the earliness of the hour. I felt tolerably +tranquil; I had now cast my last stake, and was prepared to abide +by the result. Whatever that result might be, I could have +nothing to reproach myself with; I had strained all the energies +which nature had given me in order to rescue myself from the +difficulties which surrounded me. I presently sank into a +sleep, which endured during the remainder of the day, and the +whole of the succeeding night. I awoke about nine on the +morrow, and spent my last threepence on a breakfast somewhat more +luxurious than the immediately preceding ones, <!-- page 52--><a +name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>for one penny +of the sum was expended on the purchase of milk.</p> +<p>At the appointed hour I repaired to the house of the +bookseller; the bookseller was in his shop. +“Ah,” said he, as soon as I entered, “I am glad +to see you.” There was an unwonted heartiness in the +bookseller’s tones, an unwonted benignity in his +face. “So,” said he, after a pause, “you +have taken my advice, written a book of adventure; nothing like +taking the advice, young man, of your superiors in age. +Well, I think your book will do, and so does my wife, for whose +judgment I have a great regard; as well I may, as she is the +daughter of a first-rate novelist, deceased. I think I +shall venture on sending your book to the press.” +“But,” said I, “we have not yet agreed upon +terms.” “Terms, terms,” said the +bookseller; “ahem! well, there is nothing like coming to +terms at once. I will print the book, and give you half the +profit when the edition is sold.” “That will +not do,” said I; “I intend shortly to leave London: I +must have something at once.” “Ah, I +see,” said the bookseller, “in distress; frequently +the case with authors, especially young ones. Well, I +don’t care if I purchase it of you, but you must be +moderate; the public are very fastidious, and the speculation may +prove a losing one after all. Let me see, will five . . . +hem”—he stopped. I looked the bookseller in the +face; there was something peculiar in it. Suddenly it +appeared to me as if the voice of him of the thimble sounded in +my ear, “Now is your time, ask enough, never such another +chance of establishing yourself; respectable trade, pea and +thimble.” “Well,” said I at last, +“I have no objection to <!-- page 53--><a +name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>take the +offer which you were about to make, though I really think +five-and-twenty guineas to be scarcely enough, everything +considered.” “Five-and-twenty guineas!” +said the bookseller; “are you—what was I going to +say—I never meant to offer half as much—I mean a +quarter; I was going to say five guineas—I mean pounds; I +will, however, make it guineas.” “That will not +do,” said I; “but, as I find we shall not deal, +return me my manuscript, that I may carry it to some one +else.” The bookseller looked blank. “Dear +me,” said he, “I should never have supposed that you +would have made any objection to such an offer; I am quite sure +that you would have been glad to take five pounds for either of +the two huge manuscripts of songs and ballads that you brought me +on a former occasion.” “Well,” said I, +“if you will engage to publish either of those two +manuscripts, you shall have the present one for five +pounds.” “God forbid that I should make any +such bargain,” said the bookseller; “I would publish +neither on any account; but, with respect to this last book, I +have really an inclination to print it, both for your sake and +mine; suppose we say ten pounds.” “No,” +said I, “ten pounds will not do; pray restore me my +manuscript.” “Stay,” said the bookseller, +“my wife is in the next room, I will go and consult +her.” Thereupon he went into his back room, where I +heard him conversing with his wife in a low tone; in about ten +minutes he returned. “Young gentleman,” said +he, “perhaps you will take tea with us this evening, when +we will talk further over the matter.”</p> +<p>That evening I went and took tea with the <!-- page 54--><a +name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>bookseller +and his wife, both of whom, particularly the latter, overwhelmed +me with civility. It was not long before I learned that the +work had been already sent to the press, and was intended to +stand at the head of a series of entertaining narratives, from +which my friends promised themselves considerable profit. +The subject of terms was again brought forward. I stood +firm to my first demand for a long time; when, however, the +bookseller’s wife complimented me on my production in the +highest terms, and said that she discovered therein the germs of +genius, which she made no doubt would some day prove ornamental +to my native land, I consented to drop my demand to twenty +pounds, stipulating, however, that I should not be troubled with +the correction of the work.</p> +<p>Before I departed, I received the twenty pounds, and departed +with a light heart to my lodgings.</p> +<p>Reader, amidst the difficulties and dangers of this life, +should you ever be tempted to despair, call to mind these latter +chapters of the life of Lavengro. There are few positions, +however difficult, from which dogged resolution and perseverance +may not liberate you.</p> +<h2><!-- page 55--><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>CHAPTER LVIII</h2> +<p>Indisposition—A Resolution—Poor +Equivalents—The Piece of Gold—Flashing Eyes—How +Beautiful!—Bon Jour, Monsieur.</p> +<p>I had long ago determined to leave London as soon as the means +should be in my power, and, now that they were, I determined to +leave the Great City; yet I felt some reluctance to go. I +would fain have pursued the career of original authorship which +had just opened itself to me, and have written other tales of +adventure. The bookseller had given me encouragement enough +to do so; he had assured me that he should be always happy to +deal with me for an article (that was the word) similar to the +one I had brought him, provided my terms were moderate; and the +bookseller’s wife, by her complimentary language, had given +me yet more encouragement. But for some months past I had +been far from well, and my original indisposition, brought on +partly by the peculiar atmosphere of the Big City, partly by +anxiety of mind, had been much increased by the exertions which I +had been compelled to make during the last few days. I felt +that, were I to remain where I was, I should die, or become a +confirmed valetudinarian. I would go forth into the +country, travelling on foot, and, by exercise <!-- page 56--><a +name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>and inhaling +pure air, endeavour to recover my health, leaving my subsequent +movements to be determined by Providence.</p> +<p>But whither should I bend my course? Once or twice I +thought of walking home to the old town, stay some time with my +mother and my brother, and enjoy the pleasant walks in the +neighbourhood; but, though I wished very much to see my mother +and my brother, and felt much disposed to enjoy the said pleasant +walks, the old town was not exactly the place to which I wished +to go at this present juncture. I was afraid that people +would ask, Where are your Northern Ballads? Where are your +alliterative translations from Ab Gwilym—of which you were +always talking, and with which you promised to astonish the +world? Now, in the event of such interrogations, what could +I answer? It is true I had compiled Newgate Lives and +Trials, and had written the life of Joseph Sell, but I was afraid +that the people of the old town would scarcely consider these as +equivalents for the Northern Ballads and the songs of Ab +Gwilym. I would go forth and wander in any direction but +that of the old town.</p> +<p>But how one’s sensibility on any particular point +diminishes with time; at present I enter the old town perfectly +indifferent as to what the people may be thinking on the subject +of the songs and ballads. With respect to the people +themselves, whether, like my sensibility, their curiosity has +altogether evaporated, or whether, which is at least equally +probable, they never entertained any, one thing is certain, that +never in a single instance have they troubled me with any remarks +on the subject of the songs and ballads.</p> +<p><!-- page 57--><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span>As it was my intention to travel on foot, with a bundle +and a stick, I despatched my trunk containing some few clothes +and books to the old town. My preparations were soon made; +in about three days I was in readiness to start.</p> +<p>Before departing, however, I bethought me of my old friend the +apple-woman of London Bridge. Apprehensive that she might +be labouring under the difficulties of poverty, I sent her a +piece of gold by the hands of a young maiden in the house in +which I lived. The latter punctually executed her +commission, but brought me back the piece of gold. The old +woman would not take it; she did not want it, she said. +“Tell the poor thin lad,” she added, “to keep +it for himself, he wants it more than I.”</p> +<p>Rather late one afternoon I departed from my lodging, with my +stick in one hand and a small bundle in the other, shaping my +course to the south-west: when I first arrived, somewhat more +than a year before, I had entered the city by the +north-east. As I was not going home, I determined to take +my departure in the direction the very opposite to home.</p> +<p>Just as I was about to cross the street called the Haymarket, +at the lower part, a cabriolet, drawn by a magnificent animal, +came dashing along at a furious rate; it stopped close by the +curb-stone where I was, a sudden pull of the reins nearly +bringing the spirited animal upon its haunches. The Jehu +who had accomplished this feat was Francis Ardry. A small +beautiful female, with flashing eyes, dressed in the extremity of +fashion, sat beside him.</p> +<p>“Holloa, friend,” said Francis Ardry, +“whither bound?”</p> +<p><!-- page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>“I do not know,” said I; “all I can +say, is, that I am about to leave London.”</p> +<p>“And the means?” said Francis Ardry.</p> +<p>“I have them,” said I, with a cheerful smile.</p> +<p>“<i>Qui est celui-ci</i>?” demanded the small +female, impatiently.</p> +<p>“<i>C’est . . . mon ami le plus intime</i>; so you +were about to leave London without telling me a word,” said +Francis Ardry, somewhat angrily.</p> +<p>“I intended to have written to you,” said I: +“what a splendid mare that is.”</p> +<p>“Is she not?” said Francis Ardry, who was holding +in the mare with difficulty; “she cost a hundred +guineas.”</p> +<p>“<i>Qu’est-ce qu’il dit</i>?” demanded +his companion.</p> +<p>“<i>Il dit que le jument est bien beau</i>.”</p> +<p>“<i>Allons</i>, <i>mon ami</i>, <i>il est +tard</i>,” said the beauty, with a scornful toss of her +head; “<i>allons</i>!”</p> +<p>“<i>Encore un moment</i>,” said Francis Ardry; +“and when shall I see you again?”</p> +<p>“I scarcely know,” I replied: “I never saw a +more splendid turn-out.”</p> +<p>“<i>Qu’est-ce qu’il dit</i>?” said the +lady again.</p> +<p>“<i>Il dit que tout l’équipage est en assez +bon goût</i>.”</p> +<p>“<i>Allons</i>, <i>c’est un ours</i>,” said +the lady; “<i>le cheval même en a peur</i>,” +added she, as the mare reared up on high.</p> +<p>“Can you find nothing else to admire but the mare and +the equipage?” said Francis Ardry, reproachfully, after he +had with some difficulty brought the mare to order.</p> +<p>Lifting my hand, in which I held my stick, I took off my +hat. “How beautiful!” said I, looking the lady +full in the face.</p> +<p>“<i>Comment</i>?” said the lady, inquiringly.</p> +<p><!-- page 59--><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>“<i>Il dit que vous êtes belle comme un +ange</i>,” said Francis Ardry, emphatically.</p> +<p>“<i>Mais</i>, <i>à la bonne heure! +arrêtez</i>, <i>mon ami</i>,” said the lady to +Francis Ardry, who was about to drive off; “<i>je voudrais +bien causer un moment avec lui</i>; <i>arrêtez</i>, <i>il +est délicieux</i>.—<i>Est-ce bien ainsi que vous +traitez vos amis</i>?” said she, passionately, as Francis +Ardry lifted up his whip. “<i>Bon jour</i>, +<i>Monsieur</i>, <i>bon jour</i>,” said she, thrusting her +head from the side and looking back, as Francis Ardry drove off +at the rate of thirteen miles an hour.</p> +<h2><!-- page 60--><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +60</span>CHAPTER LIX</h2> +<p>The Milestone—The Meditation—Want to Get +Up?—The Off-hand Leader—Sixteen Shillings—The +Near-hand Wheeler—All Right.</p> +<p>In about two hours I had cleared the Great City, and got +beyond the suburban villages, or rather towns, in the direction +in which I was travelling; I was in a broad and excellent road, +leading I knew not whither. I now slackened my pace, which +had hitherto been great. Presently, coming to a milestone +on which was graven nine miles, I rested against it, and looking +round towards the vast city, which had long ceased to be visible, +I fell into a train of meditation.</p> +<p>I thought of all my ways and doings since the day of my first +arrival in that vast city—I had worked and toiled, and, +though I had accomplished nothing at all commensurate with the +hopes which I had entertained previous to my arrival, I had +achieved my own living, preserved my independence, and become +indebted to no one. I was now quitting it, poor in purse, +it is true, but not wholly empty; rather ailing it may be, but +not broken in health; and, with hope within my bosom, had I not +cause upon the whole to be thankful? Perhaps there were +some who, arriving at the same time under not more favourable +circumstances, had <!-- page 61--><a name="page61"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 61</span>accomplished much more, and whose +future was far more hopeful—Good! But there might be +others who, in spite of all their efforts, had been either +trodden down in the press, never more to be heard of, or were +quitting that mighty town broken in purse, broken in health, and, +oh! with not one dear hope to cheer them. Had I not, upon +the whole, abundant cause to be grateful? Truly, yes!</p> +<p>My meditation over, I left the milestone and proceeded on my +way in the same direction as before until the night began to +close in. I had always been a good pedestrian; but now, +whether owing to indisposition or to not having for some time +past been much in the habit of taking such lengthy walks, I began +to feel not a little weary. Just as I was thinking of +putting up for the night at the next inn or public-house I should +arrive at, I heard what sounded like a coach coming up rapidly +behind me. Induced, perhaps, by the weariness which I felt, +I stopped and looked wistfully in the direction of the sound; +presently up came a coach, seemingly a mail, drawn by four +bounding horses—there was no one upon it but the coachman +and the guard; when nearly parallel with me it stopped. +“Want to get up?” sounded a voice, in the true +coachman-like tone—half querulous, half +authoritative. I hesitated; I was tired, it is true, but I +had left London bound on a pedestrian excursion, and I did not +much like the idea of having recourse to a coach after +accomplishing so very inconsiderable a distance. +“Come, we can’t be staying here all night,” +said the voice, more sharply than before. “I can ride +a little way, and get down whenever I like,” thought I; +<!-- page 62--><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>and springing forward I clambered up the coach, and was +going to sit down upon the box, next the coachman. +“No, no,” said the coachman, who was a man about +thirty, with a hooked nose and red face, dressed in a fashionably +cut great-coat, with a fashionable black castor on his +head. “No, no, keep behind—the box +a’n’t for the like of you,” said he, as he +drove off; “the box is for lords, or gentlemen at +least.” I made no answer. “D--- that +off-hand leader,” said the coachman, as the right-hand +front horse made a desperate start at something he saw in the +road; and, half rising, he with great dexterity hit with his long +whip the off-hand leader a cut on the off cheek. +“These seem to be fine horses,” said I. The +coachman made no answer. “Nearly thoroughbred,” +I continued; the coachman drew his breath, with a kind of hissing +sound, through his teeth. “Come, young fellow, none +of your chaff. Don’t you think, because you ride on +my mail, I’m going to talk to you about ’orses. +I talk to nobody about ’orses except lords.” +“Well,” said I, “I have been called a lord in +my time.” “It must have been by a +thimble-rigger, then,” said the coachman, bending back, and +half turning his face round with a broad leer. “You +have hit the mark wonderfully,” said I. “You +coachmen, whatever else you may be, are certainly no +fools.” “We a’n’t, +a’n’t we?” said the coachman. +“There you are right; and, to show you that you are, +I’ll now trouble you for your fare. If you have been +amongst the thimble-riggers you must be tolerably well cleared +out. Where are you going?—to ---? I think I +have seen you there. The fare is sixteen shillings. +Come, tip us the blunt; <!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 63</span>them that has no money can’t +ride on my mail.”</p> +<p>Sixteen shillings was a large sum, and to pay it would make a +considerable inroad on my slender finances; I thought, at first, +that I would say I did not want to go so far; but then the fellow +would ask at once where I wanted to go, and I was ashamed to +acknowledge my utter ignorance of the road. I determined, +therefore, to pay the fare, with a tacit determination not to +mount a coach in future without knowing whither I was +going. So I paid the man the money, who, turning round, +shouted to the guard—“All right, Jem; got fare to +---;” <a name="citation63"></a><a href="#footnote63" +class="citation">[63]</a> and forthwith whipped on his horses, +especially the off-hand leader, for whom he seemed to entertain a +particular spite, to greater speed than before—the horses +flew.</p> +<p>A young moon gave a feeble light, partially illuminating a +line of road which, appearing by no means interesting, I the less +regretted having paid my money for the privilege of being hurried +along it in the flying vehicle. We frequently changed +horses; and at last my friend the coachman was replaced by +another, the very image of himself—hawk nose, red face, +with narrow-rimmed hat and fashionable benjamin. After he +had driven about fifty yards, the new coachman fell to whipping +one of the horses. “D--- this near-hand +wheeler,” said he, “the brute has got a +corn.” “Whipping him won’t cure him of +his corn,” said I. “Who told you to +speak?” said the driver, with an oath; “mind your own +business; ’tisn’t from the like of you I am to learn +to drive ’orses.” Presently I fell into a +broken kind of slumber. In <!-- page 64--><a +name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>an hour or +two I was aroused by a rough voice—“Got to ---, young +man; get down if you please.” I opened my +eyes—there was a dim and indistinct light, like that which +precedes dawn; the coach was standing still in something like a +street; just below me stood the guard. “Do you mean +to get down,” said he, “or will you keep us here till +morning? other fares want to get up.” Scarcely +knowing what I did, I took my bundle and stick and descended, +whilst two people mounted. “All right, John,” +said the guard to the coachman, springing up behind; whereupon +off whisked the coach, one or two individuals who were standing +by disappeared, and I was left alone.</p> +<h2><!-- page 65--><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>CHAPTER LX</h2> +<p>The Still Hour—A Thrill—The Wondrous +Circle—The Shepherd—Heaps and Barrows—What do +you Mean?—Milk of the Plains—Hengist Spared +it—No Presents.</p> +<p>After standing still a minute or two, considering what I +should do, I moved down what appeared to be the street of a small +straggling town; presently I passed by a church, which rose +indistinctly on my right hand; anon there was the rustling of +foliage and the rushing of waters. I reached a bridge, +beneath which a small stream <a name="citation65"></a><a +href="#footnote65" class="citation">[65]</a> was running in the +direction of the south. I stopped and leaned over the +parapet, for I have always loved to look upon streams, especially +at the still hours. “What stream is this, I +wonder?” said I, as I looked down from the parapet into the +water, which whirled and gurgled below.</p> +<p>Leaving the bridge, I ascended a gentle acclivity, and +presently reached what appeared to be a tract of moory undulating +ground. It was now tolerably light, but there was a mist or +haze abroad which prevented my seeing objects with much +precision. I felt chill in the damp air of the early morn, +and <!-- page 66--><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>walked rapidly forward. In about half an hour I +arrived where the road divided into two, at an angle or tongue of +dark green sward. “To the right or the left?” +said I, and forthwith took, without knowing why, the left-hand +road, along which I proceeded about a hundred yards, when, in the +midst of the tongue of sward formed by the two roads, +collaterally with myself, I perceived what I at first conceived +to be a small grove of blighted trunks of oaks, barked and +grey. I stood still for a moment, and then, turning off the +road, advanced slowly towards it over the sward; as I drew +nearer, I perceived that the objects which had attracted my +curiosity, and which formed a kind of circle, were not trees, but +immense upright stones. A thrill pervaded my system; just +before me were two, the mightiest of the whole, tall as the stems +of proud oaks, supporting on their tops a huge transverse stone, +and forming a wonderful doorway. I knew now where I was, +and, laying down my stick and bundle, and taking off my hat, I +advanced slowly, and cast myself—it was folly, perhaps, but +I could not help what I did—cast myself, with my face on +the dewy earth, in the middle of the portal of giants, beneath +the transverse stone.</p> +<p>The spirit of Stonehenge was strong upon me!</p> +<p>And after I had remained with my face on the ground for some +time, I arose, placed my hat on my head, and, taking up my stick +and bundle, wandered round the wondrous circle, examining each +individual stone, from the greatest to the least; and then, +entering by the great door, seated myself upon an immense broad +stone, one side of which was supported by several small ones, and +the <!-- page 67--><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>other slanted upon the earth; and there, in deep +meditation, I sat for an hour or two, till the sun shone in my +face above the tall stones of the eastern side.</p> +<p>And as I still sat there, I heard the noise of bells, and +presently a large number of sheep came browsing past the circle +of stones; two or three entered, and grazed upon what they could +find, and soon a man also entered the circle at the northern +side.</p> +<p>“Early here, sir,” said the man, who was tall, and +dressed in a dark green slop, and had all the appearance of a +shepherd; “a traveller, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “I am a traveller. Are +these sheep yours?”</p> +<p>“They are, sir; that is, they are my +master’s. A strange place this, sir,” said he, +looking at the stones; “ever here before?”</p> +<p>“Never in body, frequently in mind.”</p> +<p>“Heard of the stones, I suppose; no wonder—all the +people of the plain talk of them.”</p> +<p>“What do the people of the plain say of them?”</p> +<p>“Why, they say—How did they ever come +here?”</p> +<p>“Do they not suppose them to have been +brought?”</p> +<p>“Who should have brought them?”</p> +<p>“I have read that they were brought by many thousand +men.”</p> +<p>“Where from?”</p> +<p>“Ireland.”</p> +<p>“How did they bring them?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“And what did they bring them for?”</p> +<p><!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>“To form a temple, perhaps.”</p> +<p>“What is that?”</p> +<p>“A place to worship God in.”</p> +<p>“A strange place to worship God in.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“It has no roof.”</p> +<p>“Yes it has.”</p> +<p>“Where?” said the man, looking up.</p> +<p>“What do you see above you?”</p> +<p>“The sky.”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>“Well!”</p> +<p>“Have you anything to say?”</p> +<p>“How did these stones come here?”</p> +<p>“Are there other stones like these on the plains?” +said I.</p> +<p>“None; and yet there are plenty of strange things on +these downs.”</p> +<p>“What are they?”</p> +<p>“Strange heaps, and barrows, and great walls of earth +built on the tops of hills.”</p> +<p>“Do the people of the plain wonder how they came +there?”</p> +<p>“They do not.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>“They were raised by hands.”</p> +<p>“And these stones?”</p> +<p>“How did they ever come here?”</p> +<p>“I wonder whether they are here?” said I.</p> +<p>“These stones?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“So sure as the world,” said the man; “and, +as the world, they will stand as long.”</p> +<p>“I wonder whether there is a world.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> +<p><!-- page 69--><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>“An earth, and sea, moon and stars, sheep and +men.”</p> +<p>“Do you doubt it?”</p> +<p>“Sometimes.”</p> +<p>“I never heard it doubted before.”</p> +<p>“It is impossible there should be a world.”</p> +<p>“It a’n’t possible there shouldn’t be +a world.”</p> +<p>“Just so.” At this moment a fine ewe, +attended by a lamb, rushed into the circle and fondled the knees +of the shepherd. “I suppose you would not care to +have some milk,” said the man.</p> +<p>“Why do you suppose so?”</p> +<p>“Because, so be, there be no sheep, no milk, you know; +and what there ben’t is not worth having.”</p> +<p>“You could not have argued better,” said I; +“that is, supposing you have argued; with respect to the +milk you may do as you please.”</p> +<p>“Be still, Nanny,” said the man; and producing a +tin vessel from his scrip, he milked the ewe into it. +“Here is milk of the plains, master,” said the man, +as he handed the vessel to me.</p> +<p>“Where are those barrows and great walls of earth you +were speaking of?” said I, after I had drank some of the +milk; “are there any near where we are?”</p> +<p>“Not within many miles; the nearest is yonder +away,” said the shepherd, pointing to the south-east. +“It’s a grand place, that, but not like this; quite +different, and from it you have a sight of the finest spire in +the world.”</p> +<p>“I must go to it,” said I, and I drank the +remainder of the milk; “yonder, you say.”</p> +<p><!-- page 70--><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>“Yes, yonder; but you cannot get to it in that +direction, the river lies between.”</p> +<p>“What river?”</p> +<p>“The Avon.”</p> +<p>“Avon is British,” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the man, “we are all British +here.”</p> +<p>“No, we are not,” said I.</p> +<p>“What are we then?”</p> +<p>“English.”</p> +<p>“A’n’t they one?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Who were the British?”</p> +<p>“The men who are supposed to have worshipped God in this +place, and who raised these stones.”</p> +<p>“Where are they now?”</p> +<p>“Our forefathers slaughtered them, spilled their blood +all about, especially in this neighbourhood, destroyed their +pleasant places, and left not, to use their own words, one stone +upon another.”</p> +<p>“Yes, they did,” said the shepherd, looking aloft +at the transverse stone.</p> +<p>“And it is well for them they did; whenever that stone, +which English hands never raised, is by English hands thrown +down, woe, woe, woe to the English race; spare it, English! +Hengist spared it!—Here is sixpence.”</p> +<p>“I won’t have it,” said the man.</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“You talk so prettily about these stones; you seem to +know all about them.”</p> +<p>“I never receive presents; with respect to the stones, I +say with yourself, How did they ever come here?”</p> +<p>“How did they ever come here?” said the +shepherd.</p> +<h2><!-- page 71--><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +71</span>CHAPTER LXI</h2> +<p>The River—Arid Downs—A Prospect.</p> +<p>Leaving the shepherd, I bent my way in the direction pointed +out by him as that in which the most remarkable of the strange +remains of which he had spoken lay. I proceeded rapidly, +making my way over the downs covered with coarse grass and fern; +with respect to the river of which he had spoken, I reflected +that, either by wading or swimming, I could easily transfer +myself and what I bore to the opposite side. On arriving at +its banks, I found it a beautiful stream, but shallow, with here +and there a deep place, where the water ran dark and still.</p> +<p>Always fond of the pure lymph, I undressed, and plunged into +one of these gulfs, from which I emerged, my whole frame in a +glow, and tingling with delicious sensations. After +conveying my clothes and scanty baggage to the farther side, I +dressed, and then with hurried steps bent my course in the +direction of some lofty ground; I at length found myself on a +high road, leading over wide and arid downs; following the road +for some miles without seeing anything remarkable, I supposed at +length that I had taken the wrong path, and wended on slowly and +disconsolately for some <!-- page 72--><a name="page72"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 72</span>time, till, having nearly surmounted +a steep hill, I knew at once, from certain appearances, that I +was near the object of my search. Turning to the right near +the brow of the hill, I proceeded along a path which brought me +to a causeway leading over a deep ravine, and connecting the hill +with another which had once formed part of it, for the ravine was +evidently the work of art. I passed over the causeway, and +found myself in a kind of gateway which admitted me into a square +space of many acres, surrounded on all sides by mounds or +ramparts of earth. <a name="citation72a"></a><a +href="#footnote72a" class="citation">[72a]</a> Though I had +never been in such a place before, I knew that I stood within the +precincts of what had been a Roman encampment, and one probably +of the largest size, for many thousand warriors might have found +room to perform their evolutions in that space, in which corn was +now growing, the green ears waving in the morning wind.</p> +<p>After I had gazed about the space for a time, standing in the +gateway formed by the mounds, I clambered up the mound to the +left hand, and on the top of that mound I found myself at a great +altitude; beneath, at the distance of a mile, was a fair old +city, situated amongst verdant meadows, watered with streams, and +from the heart of that old city, from amidst mighty trees, I +beheld towering to the sky the finest spire in the world.</p> +<p>And after I had looked from the Roman rampart for a long time, +I hurried away, and, retracing my steps along the causeway, +regained the road, and, passing over the brow of the hill, +descended to the city of the spire. <a name="citation72b"></a><a +href="#footnote72b" class="citation">[72b]</a></p> +<h2><!-- page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>CHAPTER LXII</h2> +<p>The Hostelry—Life Uncertain—Open +Countenance—The Grand Point—Thank You, Master—A +Hard Mother—Poor Dear!—Considerable Odds—The +Better Country—English Fashion—Landlord-looking +Person.</p> +<p>And in the old city I remained two days, passing my time as I +best could—inspecting the curiosities of the place, eating +and drinking when I felt so disposed, which I frequently did, the +digestive organs having assumed a tone to which for many months +they had been strangers—enjoying at night balmy sleep in a +large bed in a dusky room, at the end of a corridor, in a certain +hostelry in which I had taken up my quarters—receiving from +the people of the hostelry such civility and condescension as +people who travel on foot with bundle and stick, but who +nevertheless are perceived to be not altogether destitute of +coin, are in the habit of receiving. On the third day, on a +fine sunny afternoon, I departed from the city of the spire.</p> +<p>As I was passing through one of the suburbs, I saw, all on a +sudden, a respectable-looking female fall down in a fit; several +persons hastened to her assistance. “She is +dead,” said one. “No, she is not,” said +another. “I am afraid she is,” said <!-- page +74--><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>a +third. “Life is very uncertain,” said a +fourth. “It is Mrs. ---,” said a fifth; +“let us carry her to her own house.” Not being +able to render any assistance, I left the poor female in the +hands of her townsfolk, and proceeded on my way. I had +chosen a road in the direction of the north-west, it led over +downs where corn was growing, but where neither tree nor hedge +was to be seen; two or three hours’ walking brought me to a +beautiful valley, abounding with trees of various kinds, with a +delightful village at its farthest extremity; passing through it +I ascended a lofty acclivity, on the top of which I sat down on a +bank, and, taking off my hat, permitted a breeze, which swept +coolly and refreshingly over the downs, to dry my hair, dripping +from the effects of exercise and the heat of the day.</p> +<p>And as I sat there, gazing now at the blue heavens, now at the +downs before me, a man came along the road in the direction in +which I had hitherto been proceeding: just opposite to me he +stopped, and, looking at me, cried—“Am I right for +London, master?”</p> +<p>He was dressed like a sailor, and appeared to be between +twenty-five and thirty years of age—he had an open manly +countenance, and there was a bold and fearless expression in his +eye.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, in reply to his question; +“this is one of the ways to London. Do you come from +far?”</p> +<p>“From ---,” said the man, naming a well-known +seaport.</p> +<p>“Is this the direct road to London from that +place?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“No,” said the man; “but I had to visit two +or <!-- page 75--><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>three other places on certain commissions I was +entrusted with; amongst others to ---, where I had to take a +small sum of money. I am rather tired, master; and, if you +please, I will sit down beside you.”</p> +<p>“You have as much right to sit down here as I +have,” said I, “the road is free for every one; as +for sitting down beside me, you have the look of an honest man, +and I have no objection to your company.”</p> +<p>“Why, as for being honest, master,” said the man, +laughing and sitting down by me, “I haven’t much to +say—many is the wild thing I have done when I was younger; +however, what is done, is done. To learn, one must live, +master; and I have lived long enough to learn the grand point of +wisdom.”</p> +<p>“What is that?” said I.</p> +<p>“That honesty is the best policy, master.”</p> +<p>“You appear to be a sailor,” said I, looking at +his dress.</p> +<p>“I was not bred a sailor,” said the man, +“though, when my foot is on the salt water, I can play the +part—and play it well too. I am now from a long +voyage.”</p> +<p>“From America?” said I.</p> +<p>“Farther than that,” said the man.</p> +<p>“Have you any objection to tell me?” said I.</p> +<p>“From New South Wales,” said the man, looking me +full in the face.</p> +<p>“Dear me,” said I.</p> +<p>“Why do you say ‘Dear me’?” said the +man.</p> +<p>“It is a very long way off,” said I.</p> +<p>“Was that your reason for saying so?” said the +man.</p> +<p>“Not exactly,” said I.</p> +<p><!-- page 76--><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>“No,” said the man, with something of a +bitter smile; “it was something else that made you say so; +you were thinking of the convicts.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “what then?—you are no +convict.”</p> +<p>“How do you know?”</p> +<p>“You do not look like one.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, master,” said the man, cheerfully; +“and, to a certain extent, you are right—bygones are +bygones—I am no longer what I was, nor ever will be again; +the truth, however, is the truth—a convict I have +been—a convict at Sydney Cove.”</p> +<p>“And you have served out the period for which you were +sentenced, and are now returned?”</p> +<p>“As to serving out my sentence,” replied the man, +“I can’t say that I did; I was sentenced for fourteen +years, and I was in Sydney Cove little more than half that +time. The truth is that I did the Government a +service. There was a conspiracy amongst some of the +convicts to murder and destroy—I overheard and informed the +Government; mind one thing, however, I was not concerned in it; +those who got it up were no comrades of mine, but a bloody gang +of villains. Well, the Government, in consideration of the +service I had done them, remitted the remainder of my sentence; +and some kind gentlemen interested themselves about me, gave me +good books and good advice, and, being satisfied with my conduct, +procured me employ in an exploring expedition, by which I earned +money. In fact, the being sent to Sydney was the best thing +that ever happened to me in all my life.”</p> +<p><!-- page 77--><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +77</span>“And you have now returned to your native +country. Longing to see home brought you from New South +Wales.”</p> +<p>“There you are mistaken,” said the man. +“Wish to see England again would never have brought me so +far; for, to tell you the truth, master, England was a hard +mother to me, as she has proved to many. No, a wish to see +another kind of mother—a poor old woman whose son I +am—has brought me back.”</p> +<p>“You have a mother, then?” said I. +“Does she reside in London?”</p> +<p>“She used to live in London,” said the man; +“but I am afraid she is long since dead.”</p> +<p>“How did she support herself?” said I.</p> +<p>“Support herself! with difficulty enough; she used to +keep a small stall on London Bridge, where she sold fruit; I am +afraid she is dead, and that she died perhaps in misery. +She was a poor sinful creature; but I loved her, and she loved +me. I came all the way back merely for the chance of seeing +her.”</p> +<p>“Did you ever write to her,” said I, “or +cause others to write to her?”</p> +<p>“I wrote to her myself,” said the man, +“about two years ago; but I never received an answer. +I learned to write very tolerably over there, by the assistance +of the good people I spoke of. As for reading, I could do +that very well before I went—my poor mother taught me to +read, out of a book that she was very fond of; a strange book it +was, I remember. Poor dear!—what I would give only to +know that she is alive.”</p> +<p>“Life is very uncertain,” said I.</p> +<p>“That is true,” said the man, with a sigh.</p> +<p><!-- page 78--><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>“We are here one moment, and gone the next,” +I continued. “As I passed through the streets of a +neighbouring town, I saw a respectable woman drop down, and +people said she was dead. Who knows but that she too had a +son coming to see her from a distance, at that very +time.”</p> +<p>“Who knows, indeed,” said the man. +“Ah, I am afraid my mother is dead. Well, God’s +will be done.”</p> +<p>“However,” said I, “I should not wonder at +your finding your mother alive.”</p> +<p>“You wouldn’t?” said the man, looking at me +wistfully.</p> +<p>“I should not wonder at all,” said I; +“indeed, something within me seems to tell me you will; I +should not much mind betting five shillings to five pence that +you will see your mother within a week. Now, friend, five +shillings to five pence—”</p> +<p>“Is very considerable odds,” said the man, rubbing +his hands; “sure you must have good reason to hope, when +you are willing to give such odds.”</p> +<p>“After all,” said I, “it not unfrequently +happens that those who lay the long odds lose. Let us hope, +however. What do you mean to do in the event of finding +your mother alive?”</p> +<p>“I scarcely know,” said the man; “I have +frequently thought that if I found my mother alive I would +attempt to persuade her to accompany me to the country which I +have left—it is a better country for a man—that is a +free man—to live in than this; however, let me first find +my mother—if I could only find my mother—”</p> +<p>“Farewell,” said I, rising. “Go your +way, <!-- page 79--><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>and God go with you—I will go mine.” +“I have but one thing to ask you,” said the +man. “What is that?” I inquired. +“That you would drink with me before we part—you have +done me so much good.” “How should we +drink?” said I; “we are on the top of a hill where +there is nothing to drink.” “But there is a +village below,” said the man; “do let us drink before +we part.” “I have been through that village +already,” said I, “and I do not like turning +back.” “Ah,” said the man, sorrowfully, +“you will not drink with me because I told you I +was—” “You are quite mistaken,” +said I, “I would as soon drink with a convict as with a +judge. I am by no means certain that, under the same +circumstances, the judge would be one whit better than the +convict. Come along! I will go back to oblige +you. I have an odd sixpence in my pocket, which I will +change, that I may drink with you.” So we went down +the hill together to the village through which I had already +passed, where, finding a public-house, we drank together in true +English fashion, after which we parted, the sailor-looking man +going his way and I mine.</p> +<p>After walking about a dozen miles, I came to a town, where I +rested for the night. The next morning I set out again in +the direction of the north-west. I continued journeying for +four days, my daily journeys varying from twenty to twenty-five +miles. During this time nothing occurred to me worthy of +any especial notice. The weather was brilliant, and I +rapidly improved both in strength and spirits. On the fifth +day, about two o’clock, I arrived at a small town. +Feeling hungry, I entered a decent-looking inn—within <!-- +page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>a kind of bar I saw a huge, fat, landlord-looking +person, with a very pretty, smartly-dressed maiden. +Addressing myself to the fat man, “House!” said I, +“House! Can I have dinner, House?”</p> +<h2><!-- page 81--><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>CHAPTER LXIII</h2> +<p>Primitive Habits—Rosy-faced Damsel—A Pleasant +Moment—Suit of Black—The Furtive Glance—The +Mighty Round—Degenerate Times—The Newspaper—The +Evil Chance—I Congratulate You.</p> +<p>“Young gentleman,” said the huge fat landlord, +“you are come at the right time; dinner will be taken up in +a few minutes; and such a dinner,” he continued, rubbing +his hands, “as you will not see every day in these +times.”</p> +<p>“I am hot and dusty,” said I, “and should +wish to cool my hands and face.”</p> +<p>“Jenny!” said the huge landlord, with the utmost +gravity, “show the gentleman into number seven, that he may +wash his hands and face.”</p> +<p>“By no means,” said I, “I am a person of +primitive habits, and there is nothing like the pump in weather +like this.”</p> +<p>“Jenny,” said the landlord, with the same gravity +as before, “go with the young gentleman to the pump in the +back kitchen, and take a clean towel along with you.”</p> +<p>Thereupon the rosy-faced clean-looking damsel went to a +drawer, and producing a large, thick, but snowy white towel, she +nodded to me to <!-- page 82--><a name="page82"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 82</span>follow her; whereupon I followed +Jenny through a long passage into the back kitchen.</p> +<p>And at the end of the back kitchen there stood a pump; and +going to it I placed my hands beneath the spout, and said, +“Pump, Jenny;” and Jenny incontinently, without +laying down the towel, pumped with one hand, and I washed and +cooled my heated hands.</p> +<p>And, when my hands were washed and cooled, I took off my +neckcloth, and, unbuttoning my shirt collar, I placed my head +beneath the spout of the pump, and I said unto Jenny, “Now, +Jenny, lay down the towel, and pump for your life.”</p> +<p>Thereupon Jenny, placing the towel on a linen-horse, took the +handle of the pump with both hands and pumped over my head as +handmaid had never pumped before; so that the water poured in +torrents from my head, my face, and my hair down upon the brick +floor.</p> +<p>And, after the lapse of somewhat more than a minute, I called +out with a half-strangled voice, “Hold, Jenny!” and +Jenny desisted. I stood for a few moments to recover my +breath, then taking the towel which Jenny proffered, I dried +composedly my hands and head, my face and hair; then, returning +the towel to Jenny, I gave a deep sigh and said, “Surely +this is one of the pleasant moments of life.”</p> +<p>Then, having set my dress to rights, and combed my hair with a +pocket-comb, I followed Jenny, who conducted me back through the +long passage, and showed me into a neat sanded parlour on the +ground floor.</p> +<p>I sat down by a window which looked out upon the dusty street; +presently in came the handmaid, <!-- page 83--><a +name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>and commenced +laying the tablecloth. “Shall I spread the table for +one, sir,” said she, “or do you expect anybody to +dine with you?”</p> +<p>“I can’t say that I expect anybody,” said I, +laughing inwardly to myself; “however, if you please you +can lay for two, so that if any acquaintance of mine should +chance to step in, he may find a knife and fork ready for +him.”</p> +<p>So I sat by the window, sometimes looking out upon the dusty +street, and now glancing at certain old-fashioned prints which +adorned the wall over against me. I fell into a kind of +doze, from which I was almost instantly awakened by the opening +of the door. Dinner, thought I; and I sat upright in my +chair. No, a man of the middle age, and rather above the +middle height, dressed in a plain suit of black, made his +appearance, and sat down in a chair at some distance from me, but +near to the table, and appeared to be lost in thought.</p> +<p>“The weather is very warm, sir,” said I.</p> +<p>“Very,” said the stranger, laconically, looking at +me for the first time.</p> +<p>“Would you like to see the newspaper?” said I, +taking up one which lay upon the window seat.</p> +<p>“I never read newspapers,” said the stranger, +“nor, indeed . . . ” Whatever it might be that +he had intended to say he left unfinished. Suddenly he +walked to the mantelpiece at the farther end of the room, before +which he placed himself with his back towards me. There he +remained motionless for some time; at length, raising his hand, +he touched the corner of the mantelpiece with his finger, +advanced towards the chair which he had left, and again seated +himself.</p> +<p><!-- page 84--><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>“Have you come far?” said he, suddenly +looking towards me, and speaking in a frank and open manner, +which denoted a wish to enter into conversation. “You +do not seem to be of this place.”</p> +<p>“I come from some distance,” said I; +“indeed, I am walking for exercise, which I find as +necessary to the mind as the body. I believe that by +exercise people would escape much mental misery.”</p> +<p>Scarcely had I uttered these words when the stranger laid his +hand, with seeming carelessness, upon the table, near one of the +glasses; after a moment or two he touched the glass with his +finger as if inadvertently, then, glancing furtively at me, he +withdrew his hand and looked towards the window.</p> +<p>“Are you from these parts?” said I at last, with +apparent carelessness.</p> +<p>“From this vicinity,” replied the stranger. +“You think, then, that it is as easy to walk off the bad +humours of the mind as of the body?”</p> +<p>“I, at least, am walking in that hope,” said +I.</p> +<p>“I wish you may be successful,” said the stranger; +and here he touched one of the forks which lay on the table near +him.</p> +<p>Here the door, which was slightly ajar, was suddenly pushed +open with some fracas, and in came the stout landlord, supporting +with some difficulty an immense dish, in which was a mighty round +mass of smoking meat garnished all round with vegetables; so high +was the mass that it probably obstructed his view, for it was not +until he had placed it upon the table that he appeared to observe +the stranger; he almost started, and quite out of breath +exclaimed, “God bless me, your <!-- page 85--><a +name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>honour; is +your honour the acquaintance that the young gentleman was +expecting?”</p> +<p>“Is the young gentleman expecting an +acquaintance?” said the stranger.</p> +<p>There is nothing like putting a good face upon these matters, +thought I to myself; and, getting up, I bowed to the +unknown. “Sir,” said I, “when I told +Jenny that she might lay the tablecloth for two, so that in the +event of any acquaintance dropping in he might find a knife and +fork ready for him, I was merely jocular, being an entire +stranger in these parts, and expecting no one. Fortune, +however, it would seem has been unexpectedly kind to me; I +flatter myself, sir, that since you have been in this room I have +had the honour of making your acquaintance; and in the strength +of that hope I humbly entreat you to honour me with your company +to dinner, provided you have not already dined.”</p> +<p>The stranger laughed outright.</p> +<p>“Sir,” I continued, “the round of beef is a +noble one, and seems exceedingly well boiled, and the landlord +was just right when he said I should have such a dinner as is not +seen every day. A round of beef, at any rate such a round +of beef as this, is seldom seen smoking upon the table in these +degenerate times. Allow me, sir,” said I, observing +that the stranger was about to speak, “allow me another +remark. I think I saw you just now touch the fork, I +venture to hail it as an omen that you will presently seize it, +and apply it to its proper purpose, and its companion the knife +also.”</p> +<p>The stranger changed colour, and gazed upon me in silence.</p> +<p>“Do, sir,” here put in the landlord; “do, +sir, <!-- page 86--><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>accept the young gentleman’s invitation. +Your honour has of late been looking poorly, and the young +gentleman is a funny young gentleman, and a clever young +gentleman; and I think it will do your honour good to have a +dinner’s chat with the young gentleman.”</p> +<p>“It is not my dinner hour,” said the stranger; +“I dine considerably later; taking anything now would only +discompose me; I shall, however, be most happy to sit down with +the young gentleman; reach me that paper, and, when the young +gentleman has satisfied his appetite, we may perhaps have a +little chat together.”</p> +<p>The landlord handed the stranger the newspaper, and, bowing, +retired with his maid Jenny. I helped myself to a portion +of the smoking round, and commenced eating with no little +appetite. The stranger appeared to be soon engrossed with +the newspaper. We continued thus a considerable +time—the one reading and the other dining. Chancing +suddenly to cast my eyes upon the stranger, I saw his brow +contract; he gave a slight stamp with his foot, and flung the +newspaper to the ground, then stooping down he picked it up, +first moving his forefinger along the floor, seemingly slightly +scratching it with his nail.</p> +<p>“Do you hope, sir,” said I, “by that +ceremony with the finger to preserve yourself from the evil +chance?”</p> +<p>The stranger started; then, after looking at me for some time +in silence, he said, “Is it possible that +you—?”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said I, helping myself to some more of +the round, “I have touched myself in my younger days, both +for the evil chance and the <!-- page 87--><a +name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>good. +Can’t say, though, that I ever trusted much in the +ceremony.” <a name="citation87"></a><a href="#footnote87" +class="citation">[87]</a></p> +<p>The stranger made no reply, but appeared to be in deep +thought; nothing farther passed between us until I had concluded +the dinner, when I said to him, “I shall now be most happy, +sir, to have the pleasure of your conversation over a pint of +wine.”</p> +<p>The stranger rose; “No, my young friend,” said he, +smiling, “that would scarce be fair. It is my turn +now—pray do me the favour to go home with me, and accept +what hospitality my poor roof can offer; to tell you the truth, I +wish to have some particular discourse with you which would +hardly be possible in this place. As for wine, I can give +you some much better than you can get here: the landlord is an +excellent fellow, but he is an innkeeper after all. I am +going out for a moment, and will send him in, so that you may +settle your account; I trust you will not refuse me, I only live +about two miles from here.”</p> +<p>I looked in the face of the stranger—it was a fine +intelligent face, with a cast of melancholy in it. +“Sir,” said I, “I would go with you though you +lived four miles instead of two.”</p> +<p>“Who is that gentleman?” said I to the landlord, +after I had settled his bill; “I am going home with +him.”</p> +<p><!-- page 88--><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>“I wish I were going too,” said the fat +landlord, laying his hand upon his stomach. “Young +gentleman, I shall be a loser by his honour’s taking you +away; but, after all, the truth is the truth—there are few +gentlemen in these parts like his honour, either for learning or +welcoming his friends. Young gentleman, I congratulate +you.” <a name="citation88"></a><a href="#footnote88" +class="citation">[88]</a></p> +<h2><!-- page 89--><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>CHAPTER LXIV</h2> +<p>New Acquaintance—Old French Style—The +Portrait—Taciturnity—The Evergreen Tree—The +Dark Hour—The Flash—Ancestors—A Fortunate +Man—A Posthumous Child—Antagonist Ideas—The +Hawks—Flaws—The Pony—Irresistible +Impulse—Favourable Crisis—The Topmost +Branch—Twenty Feet—Heartily Ashamed.</p> +<p>I found the stranger awaiting me at the door of the inn. +“Like yourself, I am fond of walking,” said he, +“and when any little business calls me to this place I +generally come on foot.”</p> +<p>We were soon out of the town, and in a very beautiful +country. After proceeding some distance on the high road, +we turned off, and were presently in one of those mazes of lanes +for which England is famous; the stranger at first seemed +inclined to be taciturn; a few observations, however, which I +made appeared to rouse him, and he soon exhibited not only +considerable powers of conversation, but stores of information +which surprised me. So pleased did I become with my new +acquaintance, that I soon ceased to pay the slightest attention +either to place or distance. At length the stranger was +silent, and I perceived that we had arrived at a handsome iron +gate and a lodge; the stranger having rung a bell, the gate was +opened by an old <!-- page 90--><a name="page90"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 90</span>man, and we proceeded along a gravel +path, which in about five minutes brought us to a large brick +house, built something in the old French style, having a spacious +lawn before it, and immediately in front a pond in which were +golden fish, and in the middle a stone swan discharging +quantities of water from its bill. We ascended a spacious +flight of steps to the door, which was at once flung open, and +two servants with powdered hair, and in livery of blue plush, +came out and stood one on either side as we passed the +threshold. We entered a large hall, and the stranger, +taking me by the hand, welcomed me to his poor home, as he called +it, and then gave orders to another servant, but out of livery, +to show me to an apartment, and give me whatever assistance I +might require in my toilet. Notwithstanding the plea as to +primitive habits which I had lately made to my other host in the +town, I offered no objection to this arrangement, but followed +the bowing domestic to a spacious and airy chamber, where he +rendered me all those little nameless offices which the somewhat +neglected state of my dress required. When everything had +been completed to my perfect satisfaction, he told me that if I +pleased he would conduct me to the library, where dinner would be +speedily served.</p> +<p>In the library I found a table laid for two; my host was not +there, having as I supposed not been quite so speedy with his +toilette as his guest. Left alone, I looked round the +apartment with inquiring eyes; it was long and tolerably lofty, +the walls from the top to the bottom were lined with cases +containing books of all sizes and bindings; there was a globe or +two, a couch, and an easy chair. Statues and busts there +were none, and only one <!-- page 91--><a name="page91"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 91</span>painting, a portrait, that of my +host, but not him of the mansion. Over the mantelpiece, the +features staringly like, but so ridiculously exaggerated that +they scarcely resembled those of a human being, daubed evidently +by the hand of the commonest sign-artist, hung a half-length +portrait of him of round of beef celebrity—my sturdy host +of the town.</p> +<p>I had been in the library about ten minutes, amusing myself as +I best could, when my friend entered; he seemed to have resumed +his taciturnity—scarce a word escaped his lips till dinner +was served, when he said, smiling, “I suppose it would be +merely a compliment to ask you to partake?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said I, seating myself; +“your first course consists of troutlets, I am fond of +troutlets, and I always like to be companionable.”</p> +<p>The dinner was excellent, though I did but little justice to +it from the circumstance of having already dined; the stranger +also, though without my excuse, partook but slightly of the good +cheer; he still continued taciturn, and appeared lost in thought, +and every attempt which I made to induce him to converse was +signally unsuccessful.</p> +<p>And now dinner was removed, and we sat over our wine, and I +remember that the wine was good, and fully justified the +encomiums of my host of the town. Over the wine I made sure +that my entertainer would have loosened the chain which seemed to +tie his tongue—but no! I endeavoured to tempt him by +various topics, and talked of geometry and the use of the globes, +of the heavenly sphere, and the star Jupiter, which I said I had +heard was a very large star, also of the evergreen tree, which, +according to Olaus, stood of old before the heathen <!-- page +92--><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +92</span>temple of Upsal, and which I affirmed was a +yew—but no, nothing that I said could induce my entertainer +to relax his taciturnity.</p> +<p>It grew dark, and I became uncomfortable; “I must +presently be going,” I at last exclaimed.</p> +<p>At these words he gave a sudden start; “Going,” +said he, “are you not my guest, and an honoured +one?”</p> +<p>“You know best,” said I; “but I was +apprehensive I was an intruder; to several of my questions you +have returned no answer.”</p> +<p>“Ten thousand pardons!” he exclaimed, seizing me +by the hand; “but you cannot go now, I have much to talk to +you about—there is one thing in +particular—”</p> +<p>“If it be the evergreen tree at Upsal,” said I, +interrupting him, “I hold it to have been a yew—what +else? The evergreens of the south, as the old bishop +observes, will not grow in the north, and a pine was unfitted for +such a locality, being a vulgar tree. What else could it +have been but the yew—the sacred yew which our ancestors +were in the habit of planting in their churchyards? +Moreover, I affirm it to have been the yew for the honour of the +tree; for I love the yew, and had I home and land, I would have +one growing before my front windows.”</p> +<p>“You would do right, the yew is indeed a venerable tree, +but it is not about the yew.”</p> +<p>“The star Jupiter, perhaps?”</p> +<p>“Nor the star Jupiter, nor its moons; an observation +which escaped you at the inn has made a considerable impression +upon me.”</p> +<p>“But I really must take my departure,” said I; +“the dark hour is at hand.”</p> +<p><!-- page 93--><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>And as I uttered these latter words the stranger touched +rapidly something which lay near him—I forget what it +was. It was the first action of the kind which I had +observed on his part since we sat down to table.</p> +<p>“You allude to the evil chance,” said I; +“but it is getting both dark and late.”</p> +<p>“I believe we are going to have a storm,” said my +friend, “but I really hope that you will give me your +company for a day or two; I have, as I said before, much to talk +to you about.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “I shall be most happy to be +your guest for this night; I am ignorant of the country, and it +is not pleasant to travel unknown paths by night—dear me, +what a flash of lightning!”</p> +<p>It had become very dark; suddenly a blaze of sheet lightning +illumed the room. By the momentary light I distinctly saw +my host touch another object upon the table.</p> +<p>“Will you allow me to ask you a question or two?” +said he at last.</p> +<p>“As many as you please,” said I; “but shall +we not have lights?”</p> +<p>“Not unless you particularly wish it,” said my +entertainer; “I rather like the dark, and though a storm is +evidently at hand, neither thunder nor lightning has any terrors +for me. It is other things I quake at—I should rather +say ideas. Now permit me to ask you . . .”</p> +<p>And then my entertainer asked me various questions, to all of +which I answered unreservedly; he was then silent for some time, +at last he exclaimed, “I should wish to tell you the +history of my life—though not an adventurous one, I think +it contains some things which will interest you.”</p> +<p><!-- page 94--><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>Without waiting for my reply he began. Amidst +darkness and gloom, occasionally broken by flashes of lightning, +the stranger related to me, as we sat at table in the library, +his truly touching history.</p> +<p>“Before proceeding to relate the events of my life, it +will not be amiss to give you some account of my ancestors. +My great-grandfather on the male side was a silk mercer, in +Cheapside, who, when he died, left his son, who was his only +child, a fortune of one hundred thousand pounds, and a splendid +business; the son, however, had no inclination for trade, the +summit of his ambition was to be a country gentleman, to found a +family, and to pass the remainder of his days in rural ease and +dignity, and all this he managed to accomplish; he disposed of +his business, purchased a beautiful and extensive estate for four +score thousand pounds, built upon it the mansion to which I had +the honour of welcoming you to-day, married the daughter of a +neighbouring squire, who brought him a fortune of five thousand +pounds, became a magistrate, and only wanted a son and heir to +make him completely happy; this blessing, it is true, was for a +long time denied him; it came, however, at last, as is usual, +when least expected. His lady was brought to bed of my +father, and then who so happy a man as my grandsire; he gave away +two thousand pounds in charities, and in the joy of his heart +made a speech at the next quarter sessions; the rest of his life +was spent in ease, tranquillity, and rural dignity; he died of +apoplexy on the day that my father came of age; perhaps it would +be difficult to mention a man who in all respects was so +fortunate as my grandfather: his death was <!-- page 95--><a +name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>sudden it is +true, but I am not one of those who pray to be delivered from a +sudden death.</p> +<p>“I should not call my father a fortunate man; it is true +that he had the advantage of a first-rate education; that he made +the grand tour with a private tutor, as was the fashion at that +time; that he came to a splendid fortune on the very day that he +came of age; that for many years he tasted all the diversions of +the capital; that, at last determined to settle, he married the +sister of a baronet, an amiable and accomplished lady, with a +large fortune; that he had the best stud of hunters in the +county, on which, during the season, he followed the fox +gallantly; had he been a fortunate man he would never have cursed +his fate, as he was frequently known to do; ten months after his +marriage his horse fell upon him, and so injured him, that he +expired in a few days in great agony. My grandfather was, +indeed, a fortunate man; when he died he was followed to the +grave by the tears of the poor—my father was not.</p> +<p>“Two remarkable circumstances are connected with my +birth—I am a posthumous child, and came into the world some +weeks before the usual time, the shock which my mother +experienced at my father’s death having brought on the +pangs of premature labour; both my mother’s life and my own +were at first despaired of; we both, however, survived the +crisis. My mother loved me with the most passionate +fondness, and I was brought up in this house under her own +eye—I was never sent to school.</p> +<p>“I have already told you that mine is not a tale of +adventure; my life has not been one of action, but of wild +imaginings and strange sensations; I <!-- page 96--><a +name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span>was born with +excessive sensibility, and that has been my bane. I have +not been a fortunate man.</p> +<p>“No one is fortunate unless he is happy, and it is +impossible for a being constructed like myself to be happy for an +hour, or even enjoy peace and tranquillity; most of our pleasures +and pains are the effects of imagination, and wherever the +sensibility is great, the imagination is great also. No +sooner has my imagination raised up an image of pleasure, than it +is sure to conjure up one of distress and gloom; these two +antagonist ideas instantly commence a struggle in my mind, and +the gloomy one generally, I may say invariably, prevails. +How is it possible that I should be a happy man?</p> +<p>“It has invariably been so with me from the earliest +period that I can remember; the first playthings that were given +me caused me for a few minutes excessive pleasure: they were +pretty and glittering; presently, however, I became anxious and +perplexed, I wished to know their history, how they were made, +and what of—were the materials precious; I was not +satisfied with their outward appearance. In less than an +hour I had broken the playthings in an attempt to discover what +they were made of.</p> +<p>“When I was eight years of age my uncle the baronet, who +was also my godfather, sent me a pair of Norway hawks, with +directions for managing them; he was a great fowler. Oh, +how rejoiced was I with the present which had been made me, my +joy lasted for at least five minutes; I would let them breed, I +would have a house of hawks; yes, that I +would—but—and here came the unpleasant +idea—suppose they were to fly away, how very +annoying! Ah, but, said hope, there’s little fear of +<!-- page 97--><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +97</span>that; feed them well and they will never fly away, or if +they do they will come back, my uncle says so; so sunshine +triumphed for a little time. Then the strangest of all +doubts came into my head; I doubted the legality of my tenure of +these hawks; how did I come by them? why, my uncle gave them to +me; but how did they come into his possession? what right had he +to them? after all, they might not be his to give.—I passed +a sleepless night. The next morning I found that the man +who brought the hawks had not departed. ‘How came my +uncle by these hawks?’ I anxiously inquired. +‘They were sent to him from Norway, master, with another +pair.’ ‘And who sent them?’ +‘That I don’t know, master, but I suppose his honour +can tell you.’ I was even thinking of scrawling a +letter to my uncle to make inquiry on this point, but shame +restrained me, and I likewise reflected that it would be +impossible for him to give my mind entire satisfaction; it is +true he could tell who sent him the hawks, but how was he to know +how the hawks came into the possession of those who sent them to +him, and by what right they possessed them or the parents of the +hawks? In a word, I wanted a clear valid title, as lawyers +would say, to my hawks, and I believe no title would have +satisfied me that did not extend up to the time of the first +hawk, that is, prior to Adam; and, could I have obtained such a +title, I make no doubt that, young as I was, I should have +suspected that it was full of flaws.</p> +<p>“I was now disgusted with the hawks, and no wonder, +seeing all the disquietude they had caused me; I soon totally +neglected the poor birds, and they would have starved had not +some of the servants <!-- page 98--><a name="page98"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 98</span>taken compassion upon them and fed +them. My uncle, soon hearing of my neglect, was angry, and +took the birds away; he was a very good-natured man, however, and +soon sent me a fine pony; at first I was charmed with the pony; +soon, however, the same kind of thoughts arose which had +disgusted me on a former occasion. How did my uncle become +possessed of the pony? This question I asked him the first +time I saw him. Oh, he had bought it of a Gypsy, that I +might learn to ride upon it. A Gypsy; I had heard that +Gypsies were great thieves, and I instantly began to fear that +the Gypsy had stolen the pony, and it is probable that for this +apprehension I had better grounds than for many others. I +instantly ceased to set any value upon the pony, but for that +reason, perhaps, I turned it to some account; I mounted it, and +rode it about, which I don’t think I should have done had I +looked upon it as a secure possession. Had I looked upon my +title as secure, I should have prized it so much, that I should +scarcely have mounted it for fear of injuring the animal; but +now, caring not a straw for it, I rode it most unmercifully, and +soon became a capital rider. This was very selfish in me, +and I tell the fact with shame. I was punished, however, as +I deserved; the pony had a spirit of its own, and, moreover, it +had belonged to Gypsies; once, as I was riding it furiously over +the lawn, applying both whip and spur, it suddenly lifted up its +heels, and flung me at least five yards over its head. I +received some desperate contusions, and was taken up for dead; it +was many months before I perfectly recovered.</p> +<p>“But it is time for me to come to the touching part of +my story. There was one thing that I <!-- page 99--><a +name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>loved better +than the choicest gift which could be bestowed upon me, better +than life itself—my mother;—at length she became +unwell, and the thought that I might possibly lose her now rushed +into my mind for the first time; it was terrible, and caused me +unspeakable misery, I may say horror. My mother became +worse, and I was not allowed to enter her apartment, lest by my +frantic exclamations of grief I might aggravate her +disorder. I rested neither day nor night, but roamed about +the house like one distracted. Suddenly I found myself +doing that which even at the time struck me as being highly +singular; I found myself touching particular objects that were +near me, and to which my fingers seemed to be attracted by an +irresistible impulse. It was now the table or the chair +that I was compelled to touch; now the bell-rope; now the handle +of the door; now I would touch the wall, and the next moment +stooping down, I would place the point of my finger upon the +floor: and so I continued to do day after day; frequently I would +struggle to resist the impulse, but invariably in vain. I +have even rushed away from the object, but I was sure to return, +the impulse was too strong to be resisted: I quickly hurried +back, compelled by the feeling within me to touch the +object. Now I need not tell you that what impelled me to +these actions was the desire to prevent my mother’s death; +whenever I touched any particular object, it was with the view of +baffling the evil chance, as you would call it—in this +instance my mother’s death.</p> +<p>“A favourable crisis occurred in my mother’s +complaint, and she recovered; this crisis took place about six +o’clock in the morning; almost simultaneously <!-- page +100--><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>with it there happened to myself a rather remarkable +circumstance connected with the nervous feeling which was rioting +in my system. I was lying in bed in a kind of uneasy doze, +the only kind of rest which my anxiety, on account of my mother, +permitted me at this time to take, when all at once I sprang up +as if electrified, the mysterious impulse was upon me, and it +urged me to go without delay, and climb a stately elm behind the +house, and touch the topmost branch; otherwise—you know the +rest—the evil chance would prevail. Accustomed for +some time as I had been, under this impulse, to perform +extravagant actions, I confess to you that the difficulty and +peril of such a feat startled me; I reasoned against the feeling, +and strove more strenuously than I had ever done before; I even +made a solemn vow not to give way to the temptation, but I +believe nothing less than chains, and those strong ones, could +have restrained me. The demoniac influence, for I can call +it nothing else, at length prevailed; it compelled me to rise, to +dress myself, to descend the stairs, to unbolt the door, and to +go forth; it drove me to the foot of the tree, and it compelled +me to climb the trunk; this was a tremendous task, and I only +accomplished it after repeated falls and trials. When I had +got amongst the branches, I rested for a time, and then set about +accomplishing the remainder of the ascent; this for some time was +not so difficult, for I was now amongst the branches; as I +approached the top, however, the difficulty became greater, and +likewise the danger; but I was a light boy, and almost as nimble +as a squirrel, and, moreover, the nervous feeling was within me, +impelling me upward. It was only by <!-- page 101--><a +name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>means of a +spring, however, that I was enabled to touch the top of the tree; +I sprang, touched the top of the tree, and fell a distance of at +least twenty feet, amongst the branches; had I fallen to the +bottom I must have been killed, but I fell into the middle of the +tree, and presently found myself astride upon one of the boughs; +scratched and bruised all over, I reached the ground, and +regained my chamber unobserved; I flung myself on my bed quite +exhausted; presently they came to tell me that my mother was +better—they found me in the state which I have described, +and in a fever besides. The favourable crisis must have +occurred just about the time that I performed the magic touch; it +certainly was a curious coincidence, yet I was not weak enough, +even though a child, to suppose that I had baffled the evil +chance by my daring feat.</p> +<p>“Indeed, all the time that I was performing these +strange feats, I knew them to be highly absurd, yet the impulse +to perform them was irresistible—a mysterious dread hanging +over me till I had given way to it; even at that early period I +frequently used to reason within myself as to what could be the +cause of my propensity to touch, but of course I could come to no +satisfactory conclusion respecting it; being heartily ashamed of +the practice, I never spoke of it to any one, and was at all +times highly solicitous that no one should observe my +weakness.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 102--><a name="page102"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 102</span>CHAPTER LXV</h2> +<p>Maternal Anxiety—The Baronet—Little +Zest—Country Life—Mr. Speaker!—The +Craving—Spirited Address—An Author.</p> +<p>After a short pause my host resumed his narration. +“Though I was never sent to school, my education was not +neglected on that account; I had tutors in various branches of +knowledge, under whom I made a tolerable progress; by the time I +was eighteen I was able to read most of the Greek and Latin +authors with facility; I was likewise, to a certain degree, a +mathematician. I cannot say that I took much pleasure in my +studies; my chief aim in endeavouring to accomplish my tasks was +to give pleasure to my beloved parent, who watched my progress +with anxiety truly maternal. My life at this period may be +summed up in a few words; I pursued my studies, roamed about the +woods, walked the green lanes occasionally, cast my fly in a +trout stream, and sometimes, but not often, rode a-hunting with +my uncle. A considerable part of my time was devoted to my +mother, conversing with her and reading to her; youthful +companions I had none, and as to my mother, she lived in the +greatest retirement, devoting herself to the superintendence of +my education, and the practice of acts <!-- page 103--><a +name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>of charity; +nothing could be more innocent than this mode of life, and some +people say that in innocence there is happiness, yet I +can’t say that I was happy. A continual dread +overshadowed my mind, it was the dread of my mother’s +death. Her constitution had never been strong, and it had +been considerably shaken by her last illness; this I knew, and +this I saw—for the eyes of fear are marvellously +keen. Well, things went on in this way till I had come of +age; my tutors were then dismissed, and my uncle the baronet took +me in hand, telling my mother that it was high time for him to +exert his authority; that I must see something of the world, for +that, if I remained much longer with her, I should be +ruined. ‘You must consign him to me,’ said he, +‘and I will introduce him to the world.’ My +mother sighed and consented; so my uncle the baronet introduced +me to the world, took me to horse-races and to London, and +endeavoured to make a man of me according to his idea of the +term, and in part succeeded. I became moderately +dissipated—I say moderately, for dissipation had but little +zest for me.</p> +<p>“In this manner four years passed over. It +happened that I was in London in the height of the season with my +uncle, at his house; one morning he summoned me into the parlour, +he was standing before the fire, and looked very serious. +‘I have had a letter,’ said he; ‘your mother is +very ill.’ I staggered, and touched the nearest +object to me; nothing was said for two or three minutes, and then +my uncle put his lips to my ear and whispered something. I +fell down senseless. My mother was . . . I remember nothing +for a long <!-- page 104--><a name="page104"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 104</span>time—for two years I was out +of my mind; at the end of this time I recovered, or partly +so. My uncle the baronet was very kind to me; he advised me +to travel, he offered to go with me. I told him he was very +kind, but I would rather go by myself. So I went abroad, +and saw, amongst other things, Rome and the Pyramids. By +frequent change of scene my mind became not happy, but tolerably +tranquil. I continued abroad some years, when, becoming +tired of travelling, I came home, found my uncle the baronet +alive, hearty, and unmarried, as he still is. He received +me very kindly, took me to Newmarket, and said that he hoped by +this time I was become quite a man of the world; by his advice I +took a house in town, in which I lived during the season. +In summer I strolled from one watering-place to another; and, in +order to pass the time, I became very dissipated.</p> +<p>“At last I became as tired of dissipation as I had +previously been of travelling, and I determined to retire to the +country, and live on my paternal estate; this resolution I was +not slow in putting into effect; I sold my house in town, +repaired and refurnished my country house, and, for at least ten +years, lived a regular country life; I gave dinner parties, +prosecuted poachers, was charitable to the poor, and now and then +went into my library; during this time I was seldom or never +visited by the magic impulse, the reason being, that there was +nothing in the wide world for which I cared sufficiently to move +a finger to preserve it. When the ten years, however, were +nearly ended, I started out of bed one morning in a fit of +horror, exclaiming, ‘Mercy, mercy! what will become of <!-- +page 105--><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>me? I am afraid I shall go mad. I have +lived thirty-five years and upwards without doing anything; shall +I pass through life in this manner? Horror!’ +And then in rapid succession I touched three different +objects.</p> +<p>“I dressed myself and went down, determining to set +about something; but what was I to do?—there was the +difficulty. I ate no breakfast, but walked about the room +in a state of distraction; at last I thought that the easiest way +to do something was to get into Parliament, there would be no +difficulty in that. I had plenty of money, and could buy a +seat; but what was I to do in Parliament? Speak, of +course—but could I speak? ‘I’ll try at +once,’ said I, and forthwith I rushed into the largest +dining-room, and, locking the door, I commenced speaking; +‘Mr. Speaker,’ said I, and then I went on speaking +for about ten minutes as I best could, and then I left off, for I +was talking nonsense. No, I was not formed for Parliament; +I could do nothing there. What—what was I to do?</p> +<p>“Many, many times I thought this question over, but was +unable to solve it; a fear now stole over me that I was unfit for +anything in the world, save the lazy life of vegetation which I +had for many years been leading; yet, if that were the case, +thought I, why the craving within me to distinguish myself? +Surely it does not occur fortuitously, but is intended to rouse +and call into exercise certain latent powers that I possess? and +then with infinite eagerness I set about attempting to discover +these latent powers. I tried an infinity of pursuits, +botany and geology amongst the rest, but in vain; I was fitted +for none of them. I <!-- page 106--><a +name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>became very +sorrowful and despondent, and at one time I had almost resolved +to plunge again into the whirlpool of dissipation; it was a +dreadful resource, it was true, but what better could I do?</p> +<p>“But I was not doomed to return to the dissipation of +the world. One morning a young nobleman, who had for some +time past showed a wish to cultivate my acquaintance, came to me +in a considerable hurry. ‘I am come to beg an +important favour of you,’ said he; ‘one of the county +memberships is vacant—I intend to become a candidate; what +I want immediately is a spirited address to the electors. I +have been endeavouring to frame one all the morning, but in vain; +I have, therefore, recourse to you as a person of infinite +genius; pray, my dear friend, concoct me one by the +morning.’ ‘What you require of me,’ I +replied, ‘is impossible; I have not the gift of words; did +I possess it I would stand for the county myself, but I +can’t speak. Only the other day I attempted to make a +speech, but left off suddenly, utterly ashamed, although I was +quite alone, of the nonsense I was uttering.’ +‘It is not a speech that I want,’ said my friend, +‘I can talk for three hours without hesitating, but I want +an address to circulate through the county, and I find myself +utterly incompetent to put one together; do oblige me by writing +one for me, I know you can; and, if at any time you want a person +to speak for you, you may command me not for three but for six +hours. Good morning; to-morrow I will breakfast with +you.’ In the morning he came again. +‘Well,’ said he, ‘what success?’ +‘Very poor,’ said I; ‘but judge for +yourself;’ and I put into his hand a manuscript of several +pages. My <!-- page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 107</span>friend read it through with +considerable attention. ‘I congratulate you,’ +said he, ‘and likewise myself; I was not mistaken in my +opinion of you; the address is too long by at least two-thirds, +or I should rather say, that it is longer by two-thirds than +addresses generally are; but it will do—I will not curtail +it of a word. I shall win my election.’ And in +truth he did win his election; and it was not only his own but +the general opinion that he owed it to the address.</p> +<p>“But, however that might be, I had, by writing the +address, at last discovered what had so long eluded my +search—what I was able to do. I, who had neither the +nerve nor the command of speech necessary to constitute the +orator—who had not the power of patient research required +by those who would investigate the secrets of nature, had, +nevertheless, a ready pen and teeming imagination. This +discovery decided my fate—from that moment I became an +author.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 108--><a name="page108"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 108</span>CHAPTER LXVI</h2> +<p>Trepidations—Subtle Principle—Perverse +Imagination—Are they Mine?—Another Book—How +Hard!—Agricultural Dinner—Incomprehensible +Actions—Inmost Bosom—Give it Up—Chance +Resemblance—Rascally Newspaper.</p> +<p>“An author,” said I, addressing my host; “is +it possible that I am under the roof of an author?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said my host, sighing, “my name is so +and so, and I am the author of so and so; it is more than +probable that you have heard both of my name and works. I +will not detain you much longer with my history; the night is +advancing, and the storm appears to be upon the increase. +My life since the period of my becoming an author may be summed +briefly as an almost uninterrupted series of doubts, anxieties, +and trepidations. I see clearly that it is not good to love +anything immoderately in this world, but it has been my +misfortune to love immoderately everything on which I have set my +heart. This is not good, I repeat—but where is the +remedy? The ancients were always in the habit of saying, +‘Practise moderation,’ but the ancients appear to +have considered only one portion of the subject. It is very +possible to practise moderation in some things, in drink and <!-- +page 109--><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>the like—to restrain the appetites—but can +a man restrain the affections of his mind, and tell them, so far +you shall go, and no farther? Alas, no! for the mind is a +subtle principle, and cannot be confined. The winds may be +imprisoned; Homer says that Odysseus carried certain winds in his +ship, confined in leathern bags, but Homer never speaks of +confining the affections. It were but right that those who +exhort us against inordinate affections, and setting our hearts +too much upon the world and its vanities, would tell us how to +avoid doing so.</p> +<p>“I need scarcely tell you, that no sooner did I become +an author, than I gave myself up immoderately to my +vocation. It became my idol, and, as a necessary +consequence, it has proved a source of misery and disquietude to +me, instead of pleasure and blessing. I had trouble enough +in writing my first work, and I was not long in discovering that +it was one thing to write a stirring and spirited address to a +set of county electors, and another widely different to produce a +work at all calculated to make an impression upon the great +world. I felt, however, that I was in my proper sphere, and +by dint of unwearied diligence and exertion I succeeded in +evolving from the depths of my agitated breast a work which, +though it did not exactly please me, I thought would serve to +make an experiment upon the public; so I laid it before the +public, and the reception which it met with was far beyond my +wildest expectations. The public were delighted with it, +but what were my feelings? Anything, alas! but those of +delight. No sooner did the public express its satisfaction +at the result of my endeavours, than my perverse <!-- page +110--><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +110</span>imagination began to conceive a thousand chimerical +doubts; forthwith I sat down to analyse it; and my worst enemy, +and all people have their enemies, especially authors—my +worst enemy could not have discovered or sought to discover a +tenth part of the faults which I, the author and creator of the +unfortunate production, found or sought to find in it. It +has been said that love makes us blind to the faults of the loved +object—common love does, perhaps—the love of a father +to his child, or that of a lover to his mistress, but not the +inordinate love of an author to his works, at least not the love +which one like myself bears to his works: to be brief, I +discovered a thousand faults in my work, which neither public nor +critics discovered. However, I was beginning to get over +this misery, and to forgive my work all its imperfections, +when—and I shake when I mention it—the same kind of +idea which perplexed me with regard to the hawks and the Gypsy +pony rushed into my mind, and I forthwith commenced touching the +objects around me, in order to baffle the evil chance, as you +call it; it was neither more nor less than a doubt of the +legality of my claim to the thoughts, expressions, and situations +contained in the book; that is, to all that constituted the +book. How did I get them? How did they come into my +mind? Did I invent them? Did they originate with +myself? Are they my own, or are they some other +body’s? You see into what difficulty I had got; I +won’t trouble you by relating all that I endured at that +time, but will merely say that after eating my own heart, as the +Italians say, and touching every object that came in my way for +six months, I at length flung my <!-- page 111--><a +name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>book, I +mean the copy of it which I possessed, into the fire, and began +another.</p> +<p>“But it was all in vain; I laboured at this other, +finished it, and gave it to the world; and no sooner had I done +so, than the same thought was busy in my brain, poisoning all the +pleasure which I should otherwise have derived from my +work. How did I get all the matter which composed it? +Out of my own mind, unquestionably; but how did it come +there—was it the indigenous growth of the mind? And +then I would sit down and ponder over the various scenes and +adventures in my book, endeavouring to ascertain how I came +originally to devise them, and by dint of reflecting I remembered +that to a single word in conversation, or some simple accident in +a street, or on a road, I was indebted for some of the happiest +portions of my work; they were but tiny seeds, it is true, which +in the soil of my imagination had subsequently become stately +trees, but I reflected that without them no stately trees would +have been produced, and that, consequently, only a part in the +merit of these compositions which charmed the world—for +they did charm the world—was due to myself. Thus, a +dead fly was in my phial, poisoning all the pleasure which I +should otherwise have derived from the result of my brain +sweat. ‘How hard!’ I would exclaim, looking up +to the sky, ‘how hard! I am like Virgil’s +sheep, bearing fleeces not for themselves.’ But, not +to tire you, it fared with my second work as it did with my +first; I flung it aside, and, in order to forget it, I began a +third, on which I am now occupied; but the difficulty of writing +it is immense, my extreme desire to be original sadly cramping +the powers of <!-- page 112--><a name="page112"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 112</span>my mind; my fastidiousness being so +great that I invariably reject whatever ideas I do not think to +be legitimately my own. But there is one circumstance to +which I cannot help alluding here, as it serves to show what +miseries this love of originality must needs bring upon an +author. I am constantly discovering that, however original +I may wish to be, I am continually producing the same things +which other people say or write. Whenever, after producing +something which gives me perfect satisfaction, and which has cost +me perhaps days and nights of brooding, I chance to take up a +book for the sake of a little relaxation, a book which I never +saw before, I am sure to find in it something more or less +resembling some part of what I have been just composing. +You will easily conceive the distress which then comes over me; +’tis then that I am almost tempted to execrate the chance +which, by discovering my latent powers, induced me to adopt a +profession of such anxiety and misery.</p> +<p>“For some time past I have given up reading almost +entirely, owing to the dread which I entertain of lighting upon +something similar to what I myself have written. I scarcely +ever transgress without having almost instant reason to +repent. To-day, when I took up the newspaper, I saw in a +speech of the Duke of Rhododendron, at an agricultural dinner, +the very same ideas, and almost the same expressions which I had +put into the mouth of an imaginary personage of mine, on a widely +different occasion; you saw how I dashed the newspaper +down—you saw how I touched the floor; the touch was to +baffle the evil chance, to prevent the critics detecting any +similarity between <!-- page 113--><a name="page113"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 113</span>the speech of the Duke of +Rhododendron at the agricultural dinner, and the speech of my +personage. My sensibility on the subject of my writings is +so great, that sometimes a chance word is sufficient to unman me, +I apply it to them in a superstitious sense; for example, when +you said some time ago that the dark hour was coming on, I +applied it to my works—it appeared to bode them evil +fortune; you saw how I touched, it was to baffle the evil chance; +but I do not confine myself to touching when the fear of the evil +chance is upon me. To baffle it I occasionally perform +actions which must appear highly incomprehensible; I have been +known, when riding in company with other people, to leave the +direct road, and make a long circuit by a miry lane to the place +to which we were going. I have also been seen attempting to +ride across a morass, where I had no business whatever, and in +which my horse finally sank up to its saddle-girths, and was only +extricated by the help of a multitude of hands. I have, of +course, frequently been asked the reason of such conduct, to +which I have invariably returned no answer, for I scorn +duplicity; whereupon people have looked mysteriously, and +sometimes put their fingers to their foreheads. ‘And +yet it can’t be,’ I once heard an old gentleman say; +‘don’t we know what he is capable of?’ and the +old man was right; I merely did these things to avoid the evil +chance, impelled by the strange feeling within me; and this evil +chance is invariably connected with my writings, the only things +at present which render life valuable to me. If I touch +various objects, and ride into miry places, it is to baffle any +mischance befalling me as an author, to prevent my books getting +into disrepute; in nine <!-- page 114--><a +name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>cases out +of ten to prevent any expressions, thoughts, or situations in any +work which I am writing from resembling the thoughts, +expressions, and situations of other authors, for my great wish, +as I told you before, is to be original.</p> +<p>“I have now related my history, and have revealed to you +the secrets of my inmost bosom. I should certainly not have +spoken so unreservedly as I have done, had I not discovered in +you a kindred spirit. I have long wished for an opportunity +of discoursing on the point which forms the peculiar feature of +my history with a being who could understand me; and truly it was +a lucky chance which brought you to these parts; you who seem to +be acquainted with all things strange and singular, and who are +as well acquainted with the subject of the magic touch as with +all that relates to the star Jupiter, or the mysterious tree at +Upsal.”</p> +<p>Such was the story which my host related to me in the library, +amidst the darkness, occasionally broken by flashes of +lightning. Both of us remained silent for some time after +it was concluded.</p> +<p>“It is a singular story,” said I, at last, +“though I confess that I was prepared for some part of +it. Will you permit me to ask you a question?”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” said my host.</p> +<p>“Did you never speak in public?” said I.</p> +<p>“Never.”</p> +<p>“And when you made this speech of yours in the +dining-room, commencing with Mr. Speaker, no one was +present?”</p> +<p>“None in the world, I double-locked the door; <a +name="citation114"></a><a href="#footnote114" +class="citation">[114]</a> what do you mean?”</p> +<p>“An idea came into my head—dear me, how the <!-- +page 115--><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>rain is pouring!—but, with respect to your +present troubles and anxieties, would it not be wise, seeing that +authorship causes you so much trouble and anxiety, to give it up +altogether?”</p> +<p>“Were you an author yourself,” replied my host, +“you would not talk in this manner; once an author, ever an +author—besides, what could I do? return to my former state +of vegetation? no, much as I endure, I do not wish that; besides, +every now and then my reason tells me that these troubles and +anxieties of mine are utterly without foundation; that whatever I +write is the legitimate growth of my own mind, and that it is the +height of folly to afflict myself at any chance resemblance +between my own thoughts and those of other writers, such +resemblance being inevitable from the fact of our common human +origin. In short—”</p> +<p>“I understand you,” said I; “notwithstanding +your troubles and anxieties you find life very tolerable; has +your originality ever been called in question?”</p> +<p>“On the contrary, every one declares that originality +constitutes the most remarkable feature of my writings; the man +has some faults, they say, but want of originality is certainly +not one of them. He is quite different from others—a +certain newspaper, it is true, the ---, I think, once insinuated +that in a certain work of mine I had taken a hint or two from the +writings of a couple of authors which it mentioned; it happened, +however, that I had never even read one syllable of the writings +of either, and of one of them had never even heard the name; so +much for the discrimination of the ---. By the bye, what a +rascally newspaper that is!”</p> +<p>“A very rascally newspaper,” said I.</p> +<h2><!-- page 116--><a name="page116"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 116</span>CHAPTER LXVII</h2> +<p>Disturbed Slumbers—The Bed-Post—Two +Wizards—What can I Do?—Real Library—The Rev. +Mr. Platitude—Toleration to +Dissenters—Paradox—Sword of St. Peter—Enemy to +Humbug—High Principles—False Concord—The +Damsel—What Religion?—Farther Conversation—That +would never Do!—May you Prosper.</p> +<p>During the greater part of that night my slumbers were +disturbed by strange dreams. Amongst other things, I +fancied that I was my host; my head appeared to be teeming with +wild thoughts and imaginations, out of which I was endeavouring +to frame a book. And now the book was finished and given to +the world, and the world shouted; and all eyes were turned upon +me, and I shrank from the eyes of the world. And, when I +got into retired places, I touched various objects in order to +baffle the evil chance. In short, during the whole night, I +was acting over the story which I had heard before I went to +bed.</p> +<p>At about eight o’clock I awoke. The storm had long +since passed away, and the morning was bright and shining; my +couch was so soft and luxurious that I felt loth to quit it, so I +lay some time, my eyes wandering about the magnificent room to +which fortune had conducted me in so <!-- page 117--><a +name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>singular a +manner; at last I heaved a sigh; I was thinking of my own +homeless condition, and imagining where I should find myself on +the following morning. Unwilling, however, to indulge in +melancholy thoughts, I sprang out of bed and proceeded to dress +myself, and, whilst dressing, I felt an irresistible inclination +to touch the bedpost.</p> +<p>I finished dressing and left the room, feeling compelled, +however, as I left it, to touch the lintel of the door. Is +it possible, thought I, that from what I have lately heard the +long-forgotten influence should have possessed me again? but I +will not give way to it; so I hurried downstairs, resisting as I +went a certain inclination which I occasionally felt to touch the +rail of the banister. I was presently upon the gravel walk +before the house: it was indeed a glorious morning. I stood +for some time observing the golden fish disporting in the waters +of the pond, and then strolled about amongst the noble trees of +the park; the beauty and freshness of the morning—for the +air had been considerably cooled by the late storm—soon +enabled me to cast away the gloomy ideas which had previously +taken possession of my mind, and, after a stroll of about half an +hour, I returned towards the house in high spirits. It is +true that once I felt very much inclined to go and touch the +leaves of a flowery shrub which I saw at some distance, and had +even moved two or three paces towards it; but, bethinking myself, +I manfully resisted the temptation. “Begone!” I +exclaimed, “ye sorceries, in which I formerly +trusted—begone for ever vagaries which I had almost +forgotten; good luck is not to be obtained, or bad averted, by +<!-- page 118--><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +118</span>magic touches; besides, two wizards in one parish would +be too much, in all conscience.”</p> +<p>I returned to the house, and entered the library; breakfast +was laid on the table, and my friend was standing before the +portrait which I have already said hung above the mantelpiece; so +intently was he occupied in gazing at it that he did not hear me +enter, nor was aware of my presence till I advanced close to him +and spoke, when he turned round and shook me by the hand.</p> +<p>“What can possibly have induced you to hang up that +portrait in your library? it is a staring likeness, it is true, +but it appears to me a wretched daub.”</p> +<p>“Daub as you call it,” said my friend, smiling, +“I would not part with it for the best piece of +Raphael. For many a happy thought I am indebted to that +picture—it is my principal source of inspiration; when my +imagination flags, as of course it occasionally does, I stare +upon those features, and forthwith strange ideas of fun and +drollery begin to flow into my mind; these I round, amplify, or +combine into goodly creations, and bring forth as I find an +opportunity. It is true that I am occasionally tormented by +the thought that, by doing this, I am committing plagiarism; +though, in that case, all thoughts must be plagiarisms, all that +we think being the result of what we hear, see, or feel. +What can I do? I must derive my thoughts from some source +or other; and, after all, it is better to plagiarise from the +features of my landlord than from the works of Butler and +Cervantes. My works, as you are aware, are of a serio-comic +character. My neighbours <!-- page 119--><a +name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>are of +opinion that I am a great reader, and so I am, but only of those +features—my real library is that picture.”</p> +<p>“But how did you obtain it?” said I.</p> +<p>“Some years ago a travelling painter came into this +neighbourhood, and my jolly host, at the request of his wife, +consented to sit for his portrait; she highly admired the +picture, but she soon died, and then my fat friend, who is of an +affectionate disposition, said he could not bear the sight of it, +as it put him in mind of his poor wife. I purchased it of +him for five pounds—I would not take five thousand for it; +when you called that picture a daub, you did not see all the +poetry of it.”</p> +<p>We sat down to breakfast; my entertainer appeared to be in +much better spirits than on the preceding day; I did not observe +him touch once; ere breakfast was over a servant +entered—“The Reverend Mr. Platitude, sir,” said +he.</p> +<p>A shade of dissatisfaction came over the countenance of my +host. “What does the silly pestilent fellow mean by +coming here?” said he, half to himself; “let him come +in,” said he to the servant.</p> +<p>The servant went out, and in a moment reappeared, introducing +the Reverend Mr. Platitude. The Reverend Mr. Platitude, +having what is vulgarly called a game leg, came shambling into +the room; he was about thirty years of age, and about five feet +three inches high; his face was of the colour of pepper, and +nearly as rugged as a nutmeg grater; his hair was black; with his +eyes he squinted, and grinned with his lips, which were very much +apart, disclosing two very irregular rows of teeth; he was +dressed in the true Levitical <!-- page 120--><a +name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>fashion, in +a suit of spotless black, and a neckerchief of spotless +white.</p> +<p>The Reverend Mr. Platitude advanced winking and grinning to my +entertainer, who received him politely but with evident coldness; +nothing daunted, however, the Reverend Mr. Platitude took a seat +by the table, and, being asked to take a cup of coffee, winked, +grinned, and consented.</p> +<p>In company I am occasionally subject to fits of what is +generally called absence; my mind takes flight and returns to +former scenes, or presses forward into the future. One of +these fits of absence came over me at this time—I looked at +the Reverend Mr. Platitude for a moment, heard a word or two that +proceeded from his mouth, and saying to myself, “You are no +man for me,” fell into a fit of musing—into the same +train of thought as in the morning, no very pleasant one—I +was thinking of the future.</p> +<p>I continued in my reverie for some time, and probably should +have continued longer, had I not been suddenly aroused by the +voice of Mr. Platitude raised to a very high key. +“Yes, my dear sir,” said he, “it is but too +true; I have it on good authority—a gone Church—a +lost Church—a ruined Church—a demolished Church is +the Church of England. Toleration to Dissenters! oh, +monstrous!”</p> +<p>“I suppose,” said my host, “that the repeal +of the Test Acts will be merely a precursor of the emancipation +of the Papists?”</p> +<p>“Of the Catholics,” said the Reverend Mr. +Platitude. “Ahem. There was a time, as I +believe you are aware, my dear sir, when I was as much opposed to +the emancipation of the Catholics <!-- page 121--><a +name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>as it was +possible for any one to be; but I was prejudiced, my dear sir, +labouring under a cloud of most unfortunate prejudice; but I +thank my Maker I am so no longer. I have travelled, as you +are aware. It is only by travelling that one can rub off +prejudices; I think you will agree with me there. I am +speaking to a traveller. I left behind all my prejudices in +Italy. The Catholics are at least our +fellow-Christians. I thank Heaven that I am no longer an +enemy to Catholic emancipation.”</p> +<p>“And yet you would not tolerate Dissenters?”</p> +<p>“Dissenters, my dear sir; I hope you would not class +such a set as the Dissenters with Catholics?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps it would be unjust,” said my host, +“though to which of the two parties is another thing; but +permit me to ask you a question: Does it not smack somewhat of +paradox to talk of Catholics, whilst you admit there are +Dissenters? If there are Dissenters, how should there be +Catholics?”</p> +<p>“It is not my fault that there are Dissenters,” +said the Reverend Mr. Platitude; “if I had my will I would +neither admit there were any, nor permit any to be.” <a +name="citation121"></a><a href="#footnote121" +class="citation">[121]</a></p> +<p>“Of course you would admit there were such as long as +they existed; but how would you get rid of them?”</p> +<p>“I would have the Church exert its authority.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by exerting its authority?”</p> +<p>“I would not have the Church bear the sword in +vain.”</p> +<p><!-- page 122--><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>“What, the sword of St. Peter? You remember +what the Founder of the religion which you profess said about the +sword, ‘He who striketh with it . . . ’ I think +those who have called themselves the Church have had enough of +the sword. Two can play with the sword, Mr. +Platitude. The Church of Rome tried the sword with the +Lutherans: how did it fare with the Church of Rome? The +Church of England tried the sword, Mr. Platitude, with the +Puritans: how did it fare with Laud and Charles?”</p> +<p>“Oh, as for the Church of England,” said Mr. +Platitude, “I have little to say. Thank God, I left +all my Church of England prejudices in Italy. Had the +Church of England known its true interests, it would long ago +have sought a reconciliation with its illustrious mother. +If the Church of England had not been in some degree a schismatic +church, it would not have fared so ill at the time of which you +are speaking; the rest of the Church would have come to its +assistance. The Irish would have helped it, so would the +French, so would the Portuguese. Disunion has always been +the bane of the Church.”</p> +<p>Once more I fell into a reverie. My mind now reverted to +the past; methought I was in a small comfortable room wainscoted +with oak; I was seated on one side of a fireplace, close by a +table on which were wine and fruit; on the other side of the fire +sat a man in a plain suit of brown, with the hair combed back +from his somewhat high forehead; he had a pipe in his mouth, +which for some time he smoked gravely and placidly, without +saying a word; at length, after drawing at the pipe for some time +rather vigorously, he removed it from his <!-- page 123--><a +name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>mouth, and, +emitting an accumulated cloud of smoke, he exclaimed in a slow +and measured tone, “As I was telling you just now, my good +chap, I have always been an enemy to humbug.”</p> +<p>When I awoke from my reverie the Reverend Mr. Platitude was +quitting the apartment.</p> +<p>“Who is that person?” said I to my entertainer, as +the door closed behind him.</p> +<p>“Who is he?” said my host; “why, the Rev. +Mr. Platitude.”</p> +<p>“Does he reside in this neighbourhood?”</p> +<p>“He holds a living about three miles from here; his +history, as far as I am acquainted with it, is as follows. +His father was a respectable tanner in the neighbouring town, +who, wishing to make his son a gentleman, sent him to +college. Having never been at college myself, I cannot say +whether he took the wisest course; I believe it is more easy to +unmake than to make a gentleman; I have known many gentlemanly +youths go to college, and return anything but what they +went. Young Mr. Platitude did not go to college a +gentleman, but neither did he return one; he went to college an +ass, and returned a prig; to his original folly was superadded a +vast quantity of conceit. He told his father that he had +adopted high principles, and was determined to discountenance +everything low and mean; advised him to eschew trade, and to +purchase him a living. The old man retired from business, +purchased his son a living, and shortly after died, leaving him +what remained of his fortune. The first thing the Reverend +Mr. Platitude did, after his father’s decease, was to send +his mother and sister into Wales to live upon a small annuity, +assigning as a reason that he was <!-- page 124--><a +name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>averse to +anything low, and that they talked ungrammatically. Wishing +to shine in the pulpit, he now preached high sermons, as he +called them, interspersed with scraps of learning. His +sermons did not, however, procure him much popularity; on the +contrary, his church soon became nearly deserted, the greater +part of his flock going over to certain Dissenting preachers, who +had shortly before made their appearance in the +neighbourhood. Mr. Platitude was filled with wrath, and +abused Dissenters in most unmeasured terms. Coming in +contact with some of the preachers at a public meeting, he was +rash enough to enter into argument with them. Poor +Platitude! he had better have been quiet, he appeared like a +child, a very infant, in their grasp; he attempted to take +shelter under his college learning, but found, to his dismay, +that his opponents knew more Greek and Latin than himself. +These illiterate boors, as he had supposed them, caught him at +once in a false concord, and Mr. Platitude had to slink home +overwhelmed with shame. To avenge himself he applied to the +ecclesiastical court, but was told that the Dissenters could not +be put down by the present ecclesiastical law. He found the +Church of England, to use his own expression, a poor, powerless, +restricted Church. He now thought to improve his +consequence by marriage, and made up to a rich and beautiful +young lady in the neighbourhood; the damsel measured him from +head to foot with a pair of very sharp eyes, dropped a curtsey, +and refused him. Mr. Platitude, finding England a very +stupid place, determined to travel; he went to Italy; how he +passed his time there he knows best, to other people it is a +matter of little importance. <!-- page 125--><a +name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>At the end +of two years he returned with a real or assumed contempt for +everything English, and especially for the Church to which he +belongs, and out of which he is supported. He forthwith +gave out that he had left behind him all his Church of England +prejudices, and, as a proof thereof, spoke against sacerdotal +wedlock and the toleration of schismatics. In an evil hour +for myself he was introduced to me by a clergyman of my +acquaintance, and from that time I have been pestered, as I was +this morning, at least once a week. I seldom enter into any +discussion with him, but fix my eyes on the portrait over the +mantelpiece, and endeavour to conjure up some comic idea or +situation, whilst he goes on talking tomfoolery by the hour about +church authority, schismatics, and the unlawfulness of sacerdotal +wedlock; occasionally he brings with him a strange kind of being, +whose acquaintance he says he made in Italy,—I believe he +is some sharking priest who has come over to proselytise and +plunder. This being has some powers of conversation and +some learning, but carries the countenance of an arch villain; +Platitude is evidently his tool.”</p> +<p>“Of what religion are you?” said I to my host.</p> +<p>“That of the Vicar of Wakefield—good, quiet, +Church of England, which would live and let live, practises +charity, and rails at no one; where the priest is the husband of +one wife, takes care of his family and his parish—such is +the religion for me, though I confess I have hitherto thought too +little of religious matters. When, however, I have +completed this plaguy work on which I am engaged, I hope to be +able to devote more attention to them.”</p> +<p>After some farther conversation, the subjects <!-- page +126--><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +126</span>being, if I remember right, college education, +priggism, church authority, tomfoolery, and the like, I rose and +said to my host, “I must now leave you.”</p> +<p>“Whither are you going?”</p> +<p>“I do not know.”</p> +<p>“Stay here, then—you shall be welcome as many +days, months, and years as you please to stay.”</p> +<p>“Do you think I would hang upon another man? No, +not if he were Emperor of all the Chinas. I will now make +my preparations, and then bid you farewell.”</p> +<p>I retired to my apartment and collected the handful of things +which I carried with me on my travels.</p> +<p>“I will walk a little way with you,” said my +friend on my return.</p> +<p>He walked with me to the park gate; neither of us said +anything by the way. When we had come upon the road, I +said, “Farewell now; I will not permit you to give yourself +any farther trouble on my account. Receive my best thanks +for your kindness; before we part, however, I should wish to ask +you a question. Do you think you shall ever grow tired of +authorship?”</p> +<p>“I have my fears,” said my friend, advancing his +hand to one of the iron bars of the gate.</p> +<p>“Don’t touch,” said I, “it is a bad +habit. I have but one word to add: should you ever grow +tired of authorship follow your first idea of getting into +Parliament; you have words enough at command; perhaps you want +manner and method; but, in that case, you must apply to a +teacher, you must take lessons of a master of +elocution.”</p> +<p><!-- page 127--><a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +127</span>“That would never do!” said my host; +“I know myself too well to think of applying for assistance +to any one. Were I to become a parliamentary orator, I +should wish to be an original one, even if not above +mediocrity. What pleasure should I take in any speech I +might make, however original as to thought, provided the gestures +I employed and the very modulation of my voice were not my +own? Take lessons, indeed! why, the fellow who taught me, +the professor, might be standing in the gallery whilst I spoke; +and, at the best parts of my speech, might say to himself, +‘That gesture is mine—that modulation is +mine.’ I could not bear the thought of such a +thing.”</p> +<p>“Farewell,” said I, “and may you +prosper. I have nothing more to say.”</p> +<p>I departed. At the distance of twenty yards I turned +round suddenly; my friend was just withdrawing his finger from +the bar of the gate.</p> +<p>“He has been touching,” said I, as I proceeded on +my way; “I wonder what was the evil chance he wished to +baffle.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 128--><a name="page128"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 128</span>CHAPTER LXVIII</h2> +<p>Elastic Step—Disconsolate Party—Not the +Season—Mend your Draught—Good +Ale—Crotchet—Hammer and +Tongs—Schoolmaster—True Eden Life—Flaming +Tinman—Twice my Size—Hard at Work—My Poor +Wife—Grey Moll—A Bible—Half and Half—What +to Do—Half Inclined—In No Time—On One +Condition—Don’t Stare—Like the Wind.</p> +<p>After walking some time, I found myself on the great road, at +the same spot where I had turned aside the day before with my +new-made acquaintance, in the direction of his house. I now +continued my journey as before, towards the north. The +weather, though beautiful, was much cooler than it had been for +some time past; I walked at a great rate, with a springing and +elastic step. In about two hours I came to where a kind of +cottage stood a little way back from the road, with a huge oak +before it, under the shade of which stood a little pony and a +cart, which seemed to contain various articles. I was going +past—when I saw scrawled over the door of the cottage, +“Good beer sold here;” upon which, feeling myself all +of a sudden very thirsty, I determined to go in and taste the +beverage.</p> +<p>I entered a well-sanded kitchen, and seated myself on a bench, +on one side of a long white <!-- page 129--><a +name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>table; the +other side, which was nearest to the wall, was occupied by a +party, or rather family, consisting of a grimy-looking man, +somewhat under the middle size, dressed in faded velveteens, and +wearing a leather apron—a rather pretty-looking woman, but +sun-burnt, and meanly dressed, and two ragged children, a boy and +girl, about four or five years old. The man sat with his +eyes fixed upon the table, supporting his chin with both his +hands; the woman, who was next him, sat quite still, save that +occasionally she turned a glance upon her husband with eyes that +appeared to have been lately crying. The children had none +of the vivacity so general at their age. A more +disconsolate family I had never seen; a mug, which, when filled, +might contain half a pint, stood empty before them; a very +disconsolate party indeed.</p> +<p>“House!” said I; “House!” and then as +nobody appeared, I cried again as loud as I could, “House! +do you hear me, House!”</p> +<p>“What’s your pleasure, young man?” said an +elderly woman, who now made her appearance from a side +apartment.</p> +<p>“To taste your ale,” said I.</p> +<p>“How much?” said the woman, stretching out her +hand towards the empty mug upon the table.</p> +<p>“The largest measure-full in your house,” said I, +putting back her hand gently. “This is not the season +for half-pint mugs.”</p> +<p>“As you will, young man,” said the landlady; and +presently brought in an earthen pitcher which might contain about +three pints, and which foamed and frothed withal.</p> +<p>“Will this pay for it?” said I, putting down +sixpence.</p> +<p><!-- page 130--><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>“I have to return you a penny,” said the +landlady, putting her hand into her pocket.</p> +<p>“I want no change,” said I, flourishing my hand +with an air.</p> +<p>“As you please, young gentleman,” said the +landlady, and then making a kind of curtsey, she again retired to +the side apartment.</p> +<p>“Here is your health, sir,” said I to the +grimy-looking man, as I raised the pitcher to my lips.</p> +<p>The tinker, for such I supposed him to be, without altering +his posture, raised his eyes, looked at me for a moment, gave a +slight nod, and then once more fixed his eyes upon the +table. I took a draught of the ale, which I found +excellent. “Won’t you drink?” said I, +holding the pitcher to the tinker.</p> +<p>The man again lifted up his eyes, looked at me, and then at +the pitcher, and then at me again. I thought at one time +that he was about to shake his head in sign of refusal, but no, +he looked once more at the pitcher, and the temptation was too +strong. Slowly removing his head from his arms, he took the +pitcher, sighed, nodded, and drank a tolerable quantity, and then +set the pitcher down before me upon the table.</p> +<p>“You had better mend your draught,” said I to the +tinker, “it is a sad heart that never rejoices.”</p> +<p>“That’s true,” said the tinker, and again +raising the pitcher to his lips, he mended his draught as I had +bidden him, drinking a larger quantity than before.</p> +<p>“Pass it to your wife,” said I.</p> +<p>The poor woman took the pitcher from the man’s hand; +before, however, raising it to her lips, she looked at the +children. True mother’s heart, thought I to myself, +and taking the half-pint mug, <!-- page 131--><a +name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>I made her +fill it, and then held it to the children, causing each to take a +draught. The woman wiped her eyes with the corner of her +gown, before she raised the pitcher and drank to my health.</p> +<p>In about five minutes none of the family looked half so +disconsolate as before, and the tinker and I were in deep +discourse.</p> +<p>Oh, genial and gladdening is the power of good ale, the true +and proper drink of Englishmen. He is not deserving of the +name of Englishman who speaketh against ale, that is good ale, +like that which has just made merry the hearts of this poor +family; and yet there are beings, calling themselves Englishmen, +who say that it is a sin to drink a cup of ale, and who on coming +to this passage will be tempted to fling down the book and +exclaim, “The man is evidently a bad man, for behold, by +his own confession, he is not only fond of ale himself, but is in +the habit of tempting other people with it.” Alas! +alas! what a number of silly individuals there are in this world; +I wonder what they would have had me do in this +instance—given the afflicted family a cup of cold water? go +to! They could have found water in the road, for there was +a pellucid spring only a few yards distant from the house, as +they were well aware—but they wanted not water. What +should I have given them? meat and bread? go to! They were +not hungry; there was stifled sobbing in their bosoms, and the +first mouthful of strong meat would have choked them. What +should I have given them? Money! what right had I to insult +them by offering them money? Advice! words, words, words; +friends, there is a time for everything; <!-- page 132--><a +name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>there is a +time for a cup of cold water; there is a time for strong meat and +bread; there is a time for advice, and there is a time for ale; +and I have generally found that the time for advice is after a +cup of ale. I do not say many cups; the tongue then +speaketh more smoothly, and the ear listeneth more benignantly; +but why do I attempt to reason with you? do I not know you for +conceited creatures, with one idea—and that a foolish +one;—a crotchet, for the sake of which ye would sacrifice +anything, religion if required—country? There, fling +down my book, I do not wish ye to walk any farther in my company, +unless you cast your nonsense away, which ye will never do, for +it is the breath of your nostrils; fling down my book, it was not +written to support a crotchet, for know one thing, my good +people, I have invariably been an enemy to humbug.</p> +<p>“Well,” said the tinker, after we had discoursed +some time, “I little thought, when I first saw you, that +you were of my own trade.”</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Nor am I, at least not exactly. +There is not much difference, ’tis true, between a tinker +and a smith.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. You are a whitesmith then?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Not I, I’d scorn to be anything so +mean; no, friend, black’s the colour; I am a brother of the +horse-shoe. Success to the hammer and tongs.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. Well, I shouldn’t have thought you +had been a blacksmith by your hands.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I have seen them, however, as black as +yours. The truth is, I have not worked for many a day.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. Where did you serve first?</p> +<p><!-- page 133--><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span><i>Myself</i>. In Ireland.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. That’s a good way off, isn’t +it?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Not very far; over those mountains to the +left, and the run of salt water that lies behind them, +there’s Ireland.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. It’s a fine thing to be a +scholar.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Not half so fine as to be a tinker.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. How you talk!</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Nothing but the truth; what can be better +than to be one’s own master? Now a tinker is his own +master, a scholar is not. Let us suppose the best of +scholars, a schoolmaster for example, for I suppose you will +admit that no one can be higher in scholarship than a +schoolmaster; do you call his a pleasant life? I +don’t; we should call him a school-slave, rather than a +schoolmaster. Only conceive him in blessed weather like +this, in his close school, teaching children to write in +copy-books, “Evil communication corrupts good +manners,” or “You cannot touch pitch without +defilement,” or to spell out of Abedariums, or to read out +of Jack Smith, or Sandford and Merton. Only conceive him, I +say, drudging in such guise from morning till night, without any +rational enjoyment but to beat the children. Would you +compare such a dog’s life as that with your own—the +happiest under heaven—true Eden life, as the Germans would +say,—pitching your tent under the pleasant hedge-rows, +listening to the song of the feathered tribes, collecting all the +leaky kettles in the neighbourhood, soldering and joining, +earning your honest bread by the wholesome sweat of your +brow—making ten holes—hey, what’s this? +what’s the man crying for?</p> +<p>Suddenly the tinker had covered his face with <!-- page +134--><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>his hands, and begun to sob and moan like a man in the +deepest distress; the breast of his wife was heaved with emotion; +even the children were agitated, the youngest began to roar.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. What’s the matter with you; what +are you all crying about?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i> (uncovering his face). Lord, why to hear +you talk; isn’t that enough to make anybody cry—even +the poor babes? Yes, you said right, ’tis life in the +Garden of Eden—the tinker’s; I see so now that +I’m about to give it up.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Give it up! you must not think of such a +thing.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. No, I can’t bear to think of it, +and yet I must; what’s to be done? How hard to be +frightened to death, to be driven off the roads!</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Who has driven you off the roads?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. Who! the Flaming Tinman.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Who is he?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. The biggest rogue in England, and the +cruellest, or he wouldn’t have served me as he has +done—I’ll tell you all about it. I was born +upon the roads, and so was my father before me, and my mother +too; and I worked with them as long as they lived, as a dutiful +child, for I have nothing to reproach myself with on their +account; and when my father died I took up the business, and went +his beat, and supported my mother for the little time she lived; +and when she died I married this young woman, who was not born +upon the roads, but was a small tradesman’s daughter, at +Gloster. She had a kindness for me, and, notwithstanding +her friends were against the match, she married the poor tinker, +and came to live with him upon the roads. Well, young man, +for six or seven years <!-- page 135--><a +name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>I was the +happiest fellow breathing, living just the life you described +just now—respected by everybody in this beat; when in an +evil hour comes this Black Jack, this Flaming Tinman, into these +parts, driven as they say out of Yorkshire—for no good you +may be sure. Now there is no beat will support two tinkers, +as you doubtless know; mine was a good one, but it would not +support the flying tinker and myself, though if it would have +supported twenty it would have been all the same to the flying +villain, who’ll brook no one but himself; so he presently +finds me out, and offers to fight me for the beat. Now, +being bred upon the roads, I can fight a little, that is with +anything like my match, but I was not going to fight him, who +happens to be twice my size, and so I told him; whereupon he +knocks me down, and would have done me farther mischief had not +some men been nigh and prevented him; so he threatened to cut my +throat, and went his way. Well, I did not like such usage +at all, and was woundily frightened, and tried to keep as much +out of his way as possible, going anywhere but where I thought I +was likely to meet him; and sure enough for several months I +contrived to keep out of his way. At last somebody told me +that he was gone back to Yorkshire, whereupon I was glad at +heart, and ventured to show myself, going here and there as I did +before. Well, young man, it was yesterday that I and mine +set ourselves down in a lane, about five miles from here, and +lighted our fire, and had our dinner, and after dinner I sat down +to mend three kettles and a frying pan which the people in the +neighbourhood had given me to mend—for, as I told you +before, I have a good connection, owing to my <!-- page 136--><a +name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>honesty. Well, as I sat there hard at work, happy +as the day’s long, and thinking of anything but what was to +happen, who should come up but this Black Jack, this king of the +tinkers, rattling along in his cart, with his wife, that they +call Grey Moll, by his side—for the villain has got a wife, +and a maid-servant too; the last I never saw, but they that has, +says that she is as big as a house, and young, and well to look +at, which can’t be all said of Moll, who, though +she’s big enough in all conscience, is neither young nor +handsome. Well, no sooner does he see me and mine, than, +giving the reins to Grey Moll, he springs out of his cart, and +comes straight at me; not a word did he say, but on he comes +straight at me like a wild bull. I am a quiet man, young +fellow, but I saw now that quietness would be of no use, so I +sprang up upon my legs, and being bred upon the roads, and able +to fight a little, I squared as he came running in upon me, and +had a round or two with him. Lord bless you, young man, it +was like a fly fighting with an elephant—one of those big +beasts the show-folks carry about. I had not a chance with +the fellow, he knocked me here, he knocked me there, knocked me +into the hedge, and knocked me out again. I was at my last +shifts, and my poor wife saw it. Now my poor wife, though +she is as gentle as a pigeon, has yet a spirit of her own, and +though she wasn’t bred upon the roads, can scratch a +little; so when she saw me at my last shifts, she flew at the +villain—she couldn’t bear to see her partner +murdered—and scratched the villain’s face. Lord +bless you, young man, she had better have been quiet: Grey Moll +no sooner saw what she was about, than springing out of the <!-- +page 137--><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +137</span>cart, where she had sat all along perfectly quiet, save +a little whooping and screeching to encourage her +blade:—Grey Moll, I say (my flesh creeps when I think of +it—for I am a kind husband, and love my poor +wife)—</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Take another draught of the ale; you look +frightened, and it will do you good. Stout liquor makes +stout heart, as the man says in the play.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. That’s true, young man; +here’s to you—where was I? Grey Moll no sooner +saw what my wife was about, than springing out of the cart, she +flew at my poor wife, clawed off her bonnet in a moment, and +seized hold of her hair. Lord bless you, young man, my poor +wife, in the hands of Grey Moll, was nothing better than a pigeon +in the claws of a buzzard hawk, or I in the hands of the Flaming +Tinman, which when I saw, my heart was fit to burst, and I +determined to give up everything—everything to save my poor +wife out of Grey Moll’s claws. “Hold!” I +shouted. “Hold, both of you—Jack, Moll. +Hold, both of you, for God’s sake, and I’ll do what +you will: give up trade, and business, connection, bread, and +everything, never more travel the roads, and go down on my knees +to you in the bargain.” Well, this had some effect; +Moll let go my wife, and the Blazing Tinman stopped for a moment; +it was only for a moment, however, that he left off—all of +a sudden he hit me a blow which sent me against a tree; and what +did the villain then? why the flying villain seized me by the +throat, and almost throttled me, roaring—what do you think, +young man, that the flaming villain roared out?</p> +<p><!-- page 138--><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span><i>Myself</i>. I really don’t +know—something horrible, I suppose.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. Horrible, indeed; you may well say +horrible, young man; neither more nor less than the +Bible—“A Bible, a Bible!” roared the Blazing +Tinman; and he pressed my throat so hard against the tree that my +senses began to dwaul away—a Bible, a Bible, still ringing +in my ears. Now, young man, my poor wife is a Christian +woman, and, though she travels the roads, carries a Bible with +her at the bottom of her sack, with which sometimes she teaches +the children to read—it was the only thing she brought with +her from the place of her kith and kin, save her own body and the +clothes on her back; so my poor wife, half distracted, runs to +her sack, pulls out the Bible, and puts it into the hand of the +Blazing Tinman, who then thrusts the end of it into my mouth with +such fury that it made my lips bleed, and broke short one of my +teeth which happened to be decayed. “Swear,” +said he, “swear, you mumping villain, take your Bible oath +that you will quit and give up the beat altogether, or +I’ll”—and then the hard hearted villain made me +swear by the Bible, and my own damnation, half-throttled as I +was, to—to—I can’t go on—</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Take another draught—stout +liquor—</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. I can’t, young man, my +heart’s too full, and what’s more, the pitcher is +empty.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. And so he swore you, I suppose, on the +Bible, to quit the roads?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. You are right, he did so, the Gypsy +villain.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Gypsy! Is he a Gypsy?</p> +<p><!-- page 139--><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span><i>Tinker</i>. Not exactly; what they call a half +and half. His father was a Gypsy, and his mother, like +mine, one who walked the roads.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Is he of the Smiths—the +Petulengres?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. I say, young man, you know a thing or +two; one would think, to hear you talk, you had been bred upon +the roads. I thought none but those bred upon the roads +knew anything of that name—Petulengres! No, not he, +he fights the Petulengres whenever he meets them; he likes nobody +but himself, and wants to be king of the roads. I believe +he is a Boss, <a name="citation139"></a><a href="#footnote139" +class="citation">[139]</a> or a --- at any rate he’s a bad +one, as I know to my cost.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. And what are you going to do?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. Do! you may well ask that; I don’t +know what to do. My poor wife and I have been talking of +that all the morning, over that half-pint mug of beer; we +can’t determine on what’s to be done. All we +know is, that we must quit the roads. The villain swore +that the next time he saw us on the roads he’d cut all our +throats, and seize our horse and bit of a cart that are now +standing out there under the tree.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. And what do you mean to do with your +horse and cart?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. Another question! What shall we do +with our cart and pony? they are of no use to us now. Stay +on the roads I will not, both for my oath’s sake and my +own. If we had a trifle of money, we were thinking of going +to Bristol, where I might get up a little business, but we have +none; our last three farthings we spent about the mug of +beer.</p> +<p><!-- page 140--><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +140</span><i>Myself</i>. But why don’t you sell your +horse and cart?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. Sell them, and who would buy them, unless +some one who wished to set up in my line; but there’s no +beat, and what’s the use of the horse and cart and the few +tools without the beat?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I’m half inclined to buy your cart +and pony, and your beat too.</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. You! How came you to think of such +a thing?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Why, like yourself, I hardly know what to +do. I want a home and work. As for a home, I suppose +I can contrive to make a home out of your tent and cart; and as +for work, I must learn to be a tinker, it would not be hard for +one of my trade to learn to tinker; what better can I do? +Would you have me go to Chester and work there now? I +don’t like the thoughts of it. If I go to Chester and +work there, I can’t be my own man; I must work under a +master, and perhaps he and I should quarrel, and when I quarrel I +am apt to hit folks, and those that hit folks are sometimes sent +to prison; I don’t like the thought either of going to +Chester or to Chester prison. What do you think I could +earn at Chester?</p> +<p><i>Tinker</i>. A matter of eleven shillings a week, if +anybody would employ you, which I don’t think they would +with those hands of yours. But whether they would or not, +if you are of a quarrelsome nature, you must not go to Chester; +you would be in the castle in no time. I don’t know +how to advise you. As for selling you my stock, I’d +see you farther first, for your own sake.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Why?</p> +<p><!-- page 141--><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</span><i>Tinker</i>. Why! you would get your head +knocked off. Suppose you were to meet him?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Pooh, don’t be afraid on my +account; if I were to meet him I could easily manage him one way +or other. I know all kinds of strange words and names, and, +as I told you before, I sometimes hit people when they put me +out.</p> +<p>Here the tinker’s wife, who for some minutes past had +been listening attentively to our discourse, interposed, saying, +in a low soft tone: “I really don’t see, John, why +you shouldn’t sell the young man the things, seeing that he +wishes for them, and is so confident; you have told him plainly +how matters stand, and if anything ill should befall him, people +couldn’t lay the blame on you; but I don’t think any +ill will befall him, and who knows but God has sent him to our +assistance in time of need.”</p> +<p>“I’ll hear of no such thing,” said the +tinker; “I have drunk at the young man’s expense, and +though he says he’s quarrelsome, I would not wish to sit in +pleasanter company. A pretty fellow I should be, now, if I +were to let him follow his own will. If he once sets up on +my beat, he’s a lost man, his ribs will be stove in, and +his head knocked off his shoulders. There, you are crying, +but you shan’t have your will though; I won’t be the +young man’s destruction . . . If, indeed, I thought he +could manage the tinker—but he never can; he says he can +hit, but it’s no use hitting the tinker;—crying +still! you are enough to drive one mad. I say, young man, I +believe you understand a thing or two; just now you were talking +of knowing hard words and names—I don’t wish to send +you to your mischief—you say you know hard <!-- page +142--><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>words and names; let us see. Only on one +condition I’ll sell you the pony and things; as for the +beat it’s gone, isn’t mine—sworn away by my own +mouth. Tell me what’s my name; if you can’t, +may I—”</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Don’t swear, it’s a bad +habit, neither pleasant nor profitable. Your name is +Slingsby—Jack Slingsby. There, don’t stare, +there’s nothing in my telling you your name: I’ve +been in these parts before, at least not very far from +here. Ten years ago, when I was little more than a child, I +was about twenty miles from here in a post chaise, at the door of +an inn, <a name="citation142"></a><a href="#footnote142" +class="citation">[142]</a> and as I looked from the window of the +chaise, I saw you standing by a gutter, with a big tin ladle in +your hand, and somebody called you Jack Slingsby. I never +forget anything I hear or see; I can’t, I wish I +could. So there’s nothing strange in my knowing your +name; indeed, there’s nothing strange in anything, provided +you examine it to the bottom. Now what am I to give you for +the things?</p> +<p>I paid Slingsby five pounds ten shillings for his stock in +trade, cart, and pony—purchased sundry provisions of the +landlady, also a waggoner’s frock, which had belonged to a +certain son of hers, deceased, gave my little animal a feed of +corn, and prepared to depart.</p> +<p>“God bless you, young man,” said Slingsby, shaking +me by the hand, “you are the best friend I’ve had for +many a day: I have but one thing to tell you, Don’t cross +that fellow’s path if you can help it; and +stay—should the pony refuse to go, just touch him so, and +he’ll fly like the wind.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 143--><a name="page143"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 143</span>CHAPTER LXIX</h2> +<p>Effects of Corn—One Night Longer—The Hoofs—A +Stumble—Are You Hurt?—What a +Difference!—Drowsy—Maze of +Bushes—Housekeeping—Sticks and Furze—The +Drift-way—Account of Stock—Anvil and +Bellows—Twenty Years.</p> +<p>It was two or three hours past noon when I took my departure +from the place of the last adventure, walking by the side of my +little cart; the pony, invigorated by the corn, to which he was +probably not much accustomed, proceeded right gallantly; so far +from having to hasten him forward by the particular application +which the tinker had pointed out to me, I had rather to repress +his eagerness, being, though an excellent pedestrian, not +unfrequently left behind. The country through which I +passed was beautiful and interesting, but solitary: few +habitations appeared. As it was quite a matter of +indifference to me in what direction I went, the whole world +being before me, I allowed the pony to decide upon the matter; it +was not long before he left the high road, being probably no +friend to public places. I followed him I knew not whither, +but, from subsequent observation, have reason to suppose that our +course was in a north-west direction. At length night came +upon us, and a cold wind sprang up, which was succeeded by a +drizzling rain.</p> +<p><!-- page 144--><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>I had originally intended to pass the night in the +cart, or to pitch my little tent on some convenient spot by the +road’s side; but, owing to the alteration in the weather, I +thought that it would be advisable to take up my quarters in any +hedge alehouse at which I might arrive. To tell the truth, +I was not very sorry to have an excuse to pass the night once +more beneath a roof. I had determined to live quite +independent, but I had never before passed a night by myself +abroad, and felt a little apprehensive at the idea; I hoped, +however, on the morrow, to be a little more prepared for the +step, so I determined for one night—only for one night +longer—to sleep like a Christian; but human determinations +are not always put into effect, such a thing as opportunity is +frequently wanting, such was the case here. I went on for a +considerable time, in expectation of coming to some rustic +hostelry, but nothing of the kind presented itself to my eyes; +the country in which I now was seemed almost uninhabited, not a +house of any kind was to be seen—at least I saw +none—though it is true houses might be near without my +seeing them, owing to the darkness of the night, for neither moon +nor star was abroad. I heard, occasionally, the bark of +dogs; but the sound appeared to come from an immense +distance. The rain still fell, and the ground beneath my +feet was wet and miry; in short, it was a night in which even a +tramper by profession would feel more comfortable in being housed +than abroad. I followed in the rear of the cart, the pony +still proceeding at a sturdy pace, till methought I heard other +hoofs than those of my own nag; I listened for a moment, and +distinctly heard the sound of hoofs approaching at a great <!-- +page 145--><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +145</span>rate, and evidently from the quarter towards which I +and my little caravan were moving. We were in a dark +lane—so dark that it was impossible for me to see my own +hand. Apprehensive that some accident might occur, I ran +forward, and, seizing the pony by the bridle, drew him as near as +I could to the hedge. On came the hoofs—trot, trot, +trot; and evidently more than those of one horse; their speed as +they advanced appeared to slacken—it was only, however, for +a moment. I heard a voice cry, “Push on,—this +is a desperate robbing place,—never mind the dark;” +and the hoofs came on quicker than before. +“Stop!” said I, at the top of my voice; “stop! +or . . . ” Before I could finish what I was about to +say there was a stumble, a heavy fall, a cry, and a groan, and +putting out my foot I felt what I conjectured to be the head of a +horse stretched upon the road. “Lord have mercy upon +us! what’s the matter?” exclaimed a voice. +“Spare my life,” cried another voice, apparently from +the ground; “only spare my life, and take all I +have!” “Where are you, Master Wise?” +cried the other voice. “Help! here, Master +Bat,” cried the voice from the ground, “help me up or +I shall be murdered.” “Why, what’s the +matter?” said Bat. “Some one has knocked me +down, and is robbing me,” said the voice from the +ground. “Help! murder!” cried Bat; and, +regardless of the entreaties of the man on the ground that he +would stay and help him up, he urged his horse forward and +galloped away as fast as he could. I remained for some time +quiet, listening to various groans and exclamations uttered by +the person on the ground; at length I said, “Holloa! are +you hurt?” “Spare <!-- page 146--><a +name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>my life, +and take all I have!” said the voice from the ground. +“Have they not done robbing you yet?” said I; +“when they have finished let me know, and I will come and +help you.” “Who is that?” said the voice; +“pray come and help me, and do me no mischief.” +“You were saying that some one was robbing you,” said +I; “don’t think I shall come till he is gone +away.” “Then you ben’t he?” said +the voice. “Ar’n’t you robbed?” +said I. “Can’t say I be,” said the voice; +“not yet at any rate; but who are you? I don’t +know you.” “A traveller whom you and your +partner were going to run over in this dark lane; you almost +frightened me out of my senses.” +“Frightened!” said the voice, in a louder tone; +“frightened! oh!” and thereupon I heard somebody +getting upon his legs. This accomplished, the individual +proceeded to attend to his horse, and with a little difficulty +raised him upon his legs also. “Ar’n’t +you hurt?” said I. “Hurt!” said the +voice; “not I; don’t think it, whatever the horse may +be. I tell you what, my fellow, I thought you were a +robber; and now I find you are not, I have a good +mind—” “To do what?” +“To serve you out; ar’n’t you +ashamed—?” “At what?” said I; +“not to have robbed you? Shall I set about it +now?” “Ha, ha!” said the man, dropping +the bullying tone which he had assumed; “you are +joking—robbing! who talks of robbing? I wonder how my +horse’s knees are; not much hurt, I think—only +mired.” The man, whoever he was, then got upon his +horse; and, after moving him about a little, said, “Good +night, friend; where are you?” “Here I +am,” said I, “just behind you.” +“You are, are you? Take <!-- page 147--><a +name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +147</span>that.” I know not what he did, but probably +pricking his horse with the spur the animal kicked out violently; +one of his heels struck me on the shoulder, but luckily missed my +face; I fell back with the violence of the blow, whilst the +fellow scampered off at a great rate. Stopping at some +distance, he loaded me with abuse, and then, continuing his way +at a rapid trot, I heard no more of him.</p> +<p>“What a difference!” said I, getting up; +“last night I was fêted in the hall of a rich genius, +and to-night I am knocked down and mired in a dark lane by the +heel of Master Wise’s horse—I wonder who gave him +that name? And yet he was wise enough to wreak his revenge +upon me, and I was not wise enough to keep out of his way. +Well, I am not much hurt, so it is of little +consequence.”</p> +<p>I now bethought me that, as I had a carriage of my own, I +might as well make use of it; I therefore got into the cart, and, +taking the reins in my hand, gave an encouraging cry to the pony, +whereupon the sturdy little animal started again at as brisk a +pace as if he had not already come many a long mile. I lay +half reclining in the cart, holding the reins lazily, and +allowing the animal to go just where he pleased, often wondering +where he would conduct me. At length I felt drowsy, and my +head sank upon my breast; I soon aroused myself, but it was only +to doze again; this occurred several times. Opening my eyes +after a doze somewhat longer than the others, I found that the +drizzling rain had ceased, a corner of the moon was apparent in +the heavens, casting a faint light; I looked around for a moment +or two, but my eyes <!-- page 148--><a name="page148"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 148</span>and brain were heavy with slumber, +and I could scarcely distinguish where we were. I had a +kind of dim consciousness that we were traversing an unenclosed +country—perhaps a heath; I thought, however, that I saw +certain large black objects looming in the distance, which I had +a confused idea might be woods or plantations; the pony still +moved at his usual pace. I did not find the jolting of the +cart at all disagreeable, on the contrary, it had quite a +somniferous effect upon me. Again my eyes closed; I opened +them once more, but with less perception in them than before, +looked forward, and, muttering something about woodlands, I +placed myself in an easier posture than I had hitherto done, and +fairly fell asleep.</p> +<p>How long I continued in that state I am unable to say, but I +believe for a considerable time; I was suddenly awakened by the +ceasing of the jolting to which I had become accustomed, and of +which I was perfectly sensible in my sleep. I started up +and looked around me, the moon was still shining, and the face of +the heaven was studded with stars; I found myself amidst a maze +of bushes of various kinds, but principally hazel and holly, +through which was a path or drift-way with grass growing on +either side, upon which the pony was already diligently +browsing. I conjectured that this place had been one of the +haunts of his former master, and, on dismounting and looking +about, was strengthened in that opinion by finding a spot under +an ash tree which, from its burnt and blackened appearance, +seemed to have been frequently used as a fireplace. I will +take up my quarters here, thought I; it is an excellent spot for +me to commence my new profession in; I was quite right to trust +myself to the <!-- page 149--><a name="page149"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 149</span>guidance of the pony. +Unharnessing the animal without delay, I permitted him to browse +at free will on the grass, convinced that he would not wander far +from a place to which he was so much attached; I then pitched the +little tent close beside the ash tree to which I have alluded, +and conveyed two or three articles into it, and instantly felt +that I had commenced housekeeping for the first time in my +life. Housekeeping, however, without a fire is a very sorry +affair, something like the housekeeping of children in their toy +houses; of this I was the more sensible from feeling very cold +and shivering, owing to my late exposure to the rain, and +sleeping in the night air. Collecting, therefore, all the +dry sticks and furze I could find, I placed them upon the +fireplace, adding certain chips and a billet which I found in the +cart, it having apparently been the habit of Slingsby to carry +with him a small store of fuel. Having then struck a spark +in a tinder-box and lighted a match, I set fire to the +combustible heap, and was not slow in raising a cheerful blaze; I +then drew my cart near the fire, and, seating myself on one of +the shafts, hung over the warmth with feelings of intense +pleasure and satisfaction. Having continued in this posture +for a considerable time, I turned my eyes to the heaven in the +direction of a particular star; I, however, could not find the +star, nor indeed many of the starry train, the greater number +having fled, from which circumstance, and from the appearance of +the sky, I concluded that morning was nigh. About this time +I again began to feel drowsy; I therefore arose, and having +prepared for myself a kind of couch in the tent, I flung myself +upon it and went to sleep.</p> +<p><!-- page 150--><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</span>I will not say that I was awakened in the morning by +the carolling of birds, as I perhaps might if I were writing a +novel; I awoke because, to use vulgar language, I had slept my +sleep out, not because the birds were carolling around me in +numbers, as they had probably been for hours without my hearing +them. I got up and left my tent; the morning was yet more +bright than that of the preceding day. Impelled by +curiosity, I walked about endeavouring to ascertain to what place +chance, or rather the pony, had brought me; following the +drift-way for some time, amidst bushes and stunted trees, I came +to a grove of dark pines, through which it appeared to lead; I +tracked it a few hundred yards, but seeing nothing but trees, and +the way being wet and sloughy, owing to the recent rain, I +returned on my steps, and, pursuing the path in another +direction, came to a sandy road leading over a common, doubtless +the one I had traversed the preceding night. My curiosity +satisfied, I returned to my little encampment, and on the way +beheld a small footpath on the left winding through the bushes, +which had before escaped my observation. Having reached my +tent and cart, I breakfasted on some of the provisions which I +had procured the day before, and then proceeded to take a regular +account of the stock formerly possessed by Slingsby the tinker, +but now become my own by right of lawful purchase.</p> +<p>Besides the pony, the cart, and the tent, I found I was +possessed of a mattress stuffed with straw on which to lie, and a +blanket to cover me, the last quite clean and nearly new; then +there was a frying pan and a kettle, the first for cooking any +food which required cooking, and the second for <!-- page +151--><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>heating any water which I might wish to heat. I +likewise found an earthen teapot and two or three cups; of the +first I should rather say I found the remains, it being broken in +three parts, no doubt since it came into my possession, which +would have precluded the possibility of my asking anybody to tea +for the present, should anybody visit me, even supposing I had +tea and sugar, which was not the case. I then overhauled +what might more strictly be called the stock in trade; this +consisted of various tools, an iron ladle, a chafing pan and +small bellows, sundry pans and kettles, the latter being of tin, +with the exception of one which was of copper, all in a state of +considerable dilapidation—if I may use the term; of these +first Slingsby had spoken in particular, advising me to mend them +as soon as possible, and to endeavour to sell them, in order that +I might have the satisfaction of receiving some return upon the +outlay which I had made. There was likewise a small +quantity of block tin, sheet tin, and solder. “This +Slingsby,” said I, “is certainly a very honest man, +he has sold me more than my money’s worth; I believe, +however, there is something more in the cart.” +Thereupon I rummaged the farther end of the cart, and, amidst a +quantity of straw, I found a small anvil and bellows of that kind +which are used in forges, and two hammers such as smiths use, one +great, and the other small.</p> +<p>The sight of these last articles caused me no little surprise, +as no word which had escaped from the mouth of Slingsby had given +me reason to suppose that he had ever followed the occupation of +a smith; yet, if he had not, how did he come by them? I sat +down upon the shaft, and pondered <!-- page 152--><a +name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>the +question deliberately in my mind; at length I concluded that he +had come by them by one of those numerous casualties which occur +upon the roads, of which I, being a young hand upon the roads, +must have a very imperfect conception; honestly, of +course—for I scouted the idea that Slingsby would have +stolen this blacksmith’s gear—for I had the highest +opinion of his honesty, which opinion I still retain at the +present day, which is upwards of twenty years from the time of +which I am speaking, during the whole of which period I have +neither seen the poor fellow, nor received any intelligence of +him.</p> +<h2><!-- page 153--><a name="page153"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 153</span>CHAPTER LXX</h2> +<p>New Profession—Beautiful Night—Jupiter—Sharp +and Shrill—The Rommany Chi—All +Alone—Three-and-Sixpence—What is Rommany?—Be +Civil—Parraco Tute—Slight Start—She will be +Grateful—The Rustling.</p> +<p>I passed the greater part of the day in endeavouring to teach +myself the mysteries of my new profession. I cannot say +that I was very successful, but the time passed agreeably, and +was therefore not ill spent. Towards evening I flung my +work aside, took some refreshment, and afterwards a walk.</p> +<p>This time I turned up the small footpath, of which I have +already spoken. It led in a zigzag manner through thickets +of hazel, elder, and sweet briar; after following its windings +for somewhat better than a furlong, I heard a gentle sound of +water, and presently came to a small rill, which ran directly +across the path. I was rejoiced at the sight, for I had +already experienced the want of water, which I yet knew must be +nigh at hand, as I was in a place to all appearance occasionally +frequented by wandering people, who I was aware never take up +their quarters in places where water is difficult to be +obtained. Forthwith I stretched myself on the ground, and +took a long and delicious <!-- page 154--><a +name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>draught of +the crystal stream, and then, seating myself in a bush, I +continued for some time gazing on the water as it purled tinkling +away in its channel through an opening in the hazels, and should +have probably continued much longer had not the thought that I +had left my property unprotected compelled me to rise and return +to my encampment.</p> +<p>Night came on, and a beautiful night it was; up rose the moon, +and innumerable stars decked the firmament of heaven. I sat +on the shaft, my eyes turned upwards. I had found it: there +it was twinkling millions of miles above me, mightiest star of +the system to which we belong: of all stars, the one which has +most interest for me—the star Jupiter.</p> +<p>Why have I always taken an interest in thee, O Jupiter? +I know nothing about thee, save what every child knows, that thou +art a big star, whose only light is derived from moons. And +is not that knowledge enough to make me feel an interest in +thee? Ay, truly, I never look at thee without wondering +what is going on in thee; what is life in Jupiter? That +there is life in Jupiter who can doubt? There is life in +our own little star, therefore there must be life in Jupiter, +which is not a little star. But how different must life be +in Jupiter from what it is in our own little star! Life +here is life beneath the dear sun—life in Jupiter is life +beneath moons—four moons—no single moon is able to +illumine that vast bulk. All know what life is in our own +little star; it is anything but a routine of happiness here, +where the dear sun rises to us every day: then how sad and moping +must life be in mighty Jupiter, on which <!-- page 155--><a +name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>no sun ever +shines, and which is never lighted save by pale moon-beams! +The thought that there is more sadness and melancholy in Jupiter +than in this world of ours, where, alas! there is but too much, +has always made me take a melancholy interest in that huge +distant star.</p> +<p>Two or three days passed by in much the same manner as the +first. During the morning I worked upon my kettles, and +employed the remaining part of the day as I best could. The +whole of this time I only saw two individuals, rustics, who +passed by my encampment without vouchsafing me a glance; they +probably considered themselves my superiors, as perhaps they +were.</p> +<p>One very brilliant morning, as I sat at work in very good +spirits, for by this time I had actually mended in a very +creditable way, as I imagined, two kettles and a frying pan, I +heard a voice which seemed to proceed from the path leading to +the rivulet; at first it sounded from a considerable distance, +but drew nearer by degrees. I soon remarked that the tones +were exceedingly sharp and shrill, with yet something of +childhood in them. Once or twice I distinguished certain +words in the song which the voice was singing; the words +were—but no, I thought again I was probably +mistaken—and then the voice ceased for a time; presently I +heard it again, close to the entrance of the footpath; in another +moment I heard it in the lane or glade in which stood my tent, +where it abruptly stopped, but not before I had heard the very +words which I at first thought I had distinguished.</p> +<p>I turned my head; at the entrance of the footpath, which might +be about thirty yards from the place where I was sitting, I +perceived the figure <!-- page 156--><a name="page156"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 156</span>of a young girl; her face was turned +towards me, and she appeared to be scanning me and my encampment; +after a little time she looked in the other direction, only for a +moment, however; probably observing nothing in that quarter, she +again looked towards me, and almost immediately stepped forward; +and, as she advanced, sang the song which I had heard in the +wood, the first words of which were those which I have already +alluded to.</p> +<blockquote><p>“The Rommany chi<br /> +And the Rommany chal<br /> +Shall jaw tasaulor<br /> +To drab the bawlor<br /> +And dook the gry<br /> +Of the farming rye.” <a name="citation156"></a><a +href="#footnote156" class="citation">[156]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>A very pretty song, thought I, falling again hard to work upon +my kettle; a very pretty song, which bodes the farmers much +good. Let them look to their cattle.</p> +<p>“All alone here, brother?” said a voice close by +me, in sharp but not disagreeable tones.</p> +<p>I made no answer, but continued my work, click, click, with +the gravity which became one of my profession. I allowed at +least half a minute to elapse before I even lifted up my +eyes.</p> +<p>A girl of about thirteen was standing before me; her features +were very pretty, but with a peculiar expression; her complexion +was a clear olive, and her jet black hair hung back upon her +shoulders. <!-- page 157--><a name="page157"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 157</span>She was rather scantily dressed, and +her arms and feet were bare; round her neck, however, was a +handsome string of corals, with ornaments of gold; in her hand +she held a bulrush.</p> +<p>“All alone here, brother?” said the girl, as I +looked up; “all alone here, in the lane; where are your +wife and children?”</p> +<p>“Why do you call me brother?” said I; “I am +no brother of yours. Do you take me for one of your +people? I am no Gypsy; not I, indeed!”</p> +<p>“Don’t be afraid, brother, you are no +Roman—Roman, indeed! you are not handsome enough to be a +Roman; not black enough, tinker though you be. If I called +you brother, it was because I didn’t know what else to call +you. Marry, come up, brother, I should be sorry to have you +for a brother.”</p> +<p>“Then you don’t like me?”</p> +<p>“Neither like you, nor dislike you, brother; what will +you have for that kekaubi?”</p> +<p>“What’s the use of talking to me in that +un-Christian way; what do you mean, young gentlewoman?”</p> +<p>“Lord, brother, what a fool you are! every tinker knows +what a kekaubi is. I was asking you what you would have for +that kettle.”</p> +<p>“Three-and-sixpence, young gentlewoman; isn’t it +well mended?”</p> +<p>“Well mended! I could have done it better myself; +three-and-sixpence! it’s only fit to be played at football +with.”</p> +<p>“I will take no less for it, young gentlewoman; it has +caused me a world of trouble.”</p> +<p>“I never saw a worse mended kettle. I say, +brother, your hair is white.”</p> +<p><!-- page 158--><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +158</span>“’Tis nature; your hair is black; nature, +nothing but nature.”</p> +<p>“I am young, brother; my hair is +black—that’s nature: you are young, brother; your +hair is white—that’s not nature.”</p> +<p>“I can’t help it if it be not, but it is nature +after all; did you never see grey hair on the young?”</p> +<p>“Never! I have heard it is true of a grey lad, and +a bad one he was. Oh, so bad.”</p> +<p>“Sit down on the grass, and tell me all about it, +sister; do to oblige me, pretty sister.”</p> +<p>“Hey, brother, you don’t speak as you +did—you don’t speak like a Gorgio, you speak like one +of us, you call me sister.”</p> +<p>“As you call me brother; I am not an uncivil person +after all, sister.”</p> +<p>“I say, brother, tell me one thing, and look me in the +face—there—do you speak Rommany?”</p> +<p>“Rommany! Rommany! what is Rommany?”</p> +<p>“What is Rommany? our language to be sure; tell me, +brother, only one thing, you don’t speak +Rommany?”</p> +<p>“You say it.”</p> +<p>“I don’t say it, I wish to know. Do you +speak Rommany?”</p> +<p>“Do you mean thieves’ slang—cant? no, I +don’t speak cant, I don’t like it, I only know a few +words; they call a sixpence a tanner, don’t +they?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said the girl, sitting down +on the ground, “I was almost thinking—well, never +mind, you don’t know Rommany. I say, brother, I think +I should like to have the kekaubi.”</p> +<p>“I thought you said it was badly mended?”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, brother, but—”</p> +<p><!-- page 159--><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>“I thought you said it was only fit to be played +at football with?”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, brother, but—”</p> +<p>“What will you give for it?”</p> +<p>“Brother, I am the poor person’s child, I will +give you sixpence for the kekaubi.”</p> +<p>“Poor person’s child; how came you by that +necklace?”</p> +<p>“Be civil, brother; am I to have the kekaubi?”</p> +<p>“Not for sixpence; isn’t the kettle nicely +mended?”</p> +<p>“I never saw a nicer mended kettle, brother; am I to +have the kekaubi, brother?”</p> +<p>“You like me then?”</p> +<p>“I don’t dislike you—I dislike no one; +there’s only one, and him I don’t dislike, him I +hate.”</p> +<p>“Who is he?”</p> +<p>“I scarcely know, I never saw him, but ’tis no +affair of yours, you don’t speak Rommany; you will let me +have the kekaubi, pretty brother?”</p> +<p>“You may have it, but not for sixpence, I’ll give +it to you.”</p> +<p>“Parraco tute, that is, I thank you, brother; the +rikkeni [pretty] kekaubi is now mine. Oh, rare! I +thank you kindly, brother.”</p> +<p>Starting up, she flung the bulrush aside which she had +hitherto held in her hand, and, seizing the kettle, she looked at +it for a moment, and then began a kind of dance, flourishing the +kettle over her head the while, and singing—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The Rommany chi<br /> +And the Rommany chal<br /> +Shall jaw tasaulor<br /> +To drab the bawlor<br /> +And dook the gry<br /> +Of the farming rye.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 160--><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +160</span>“Good bye, brother, I must be going.”</p> +<p>“Good bye, sister; why do you sing that wicked +song?”</p> +<p>“Wicked song, hey, brother! you don’t understand +the song!”</p> +<p>“Ha, ha! Gypsy daughter,” said I, starting up and +clapping my hands, “I don’t understand Rommany, +don’t I? You shall see; here’s the answer to +your gillie—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The Rommany chi<br /> +And the Rommany chal<br /> +Love luripen<br /> +And dukkeripen,<br /> +And hokkeripen,<br /> +And every pen<br /> +But lachipen<br /> +And tatchipen.’” <a name="citation160"></a><a +href="#footnote160" class="citation">[160]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>The girl, who had given a slight start when I began, remained +for some time after I had concluded the song, standing motionless +as a statue, with the kettle in her hand. At length she +came towards me, and stared me full in the face. +“Grey, tall, and talks Rommany,” said she to +herself. In her countenance there was an expression which I +had not seen before—an expression which struck me as being +composed of fear, curiosity, and the deepest hate. It was +momentary, however, and was succeeded by one smiling, frank, and +open. “Ha, ha, brother,” <!-- page 161--><a +name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>said she, +“well, I like you all the better for talking Rommany; it is +a sweet language, isn’t it? especially as you sing +it. How did you pick it up? But you picked it up upon +the roads, no doubt? Ha, it was funny in you to pretend not +to know it, and you so flush with it all the time; it was not +kind in you, however, to frighten the poor person’s child +so by screaming out, but it was kind in you to give the rikkeni +kekaubi to the child of the poor person. She will be +grateful to you; she will bring you her little dog to show you, +her pretty juggal; <a name="citation161"></a><a +href="#footnote161" class="citation">[161]</a> the poor +person’s child will come and see you again; you are not +going away to-day, I hope, or to-morrow, pretty brother, +grey-haired brother—you are not going away to-morrow, I +hope?”</p> +<p>“Nor the next day,” said I, “only to take a +stroll to see if I can sell a kettle; good bye, little sister, +Rommany sister, dingy sister.”</p> +<p>“Good bye, tall brother,” said the girl, as she +departed, singing—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The Rommany chi,” etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“There’s something about that girl that I +don’t understand,” said I to myself; “something +mysterious. However, it is nothing to me, she knows not who +I am, and if she did, what then?”</p> +<p>Late that evening as I sat on the shaft of my cart in deep +meditation, with my arms folded, I thought I heard a rustling in +the bushes over against me. I turned my eyes in that +direction, but saw nothing. “Some bird,” said +I; “an owl, perhaps;” and once more I fell into +meditation; my mind wandered from one thing to <!-- page 162--><a +name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +162</span>another—musing now on the structure of the Roman +tongue—now on the rise and fall of the Persian +power—and now on the powers vested in recorders at quarter +sessions. I was thinking what a fine thing it must be to be +a recorder of the peace, when, lifting up my eyes, I saw right +opposite, not a culprit at the bar, but, staring at me through a +gap in the bush, a face wild and strange, half covered with grey +hair; I only saw it a moment, the next it had disappeared.</p> +<h2><!-- page 163--><a name="page163"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 163</span>CHAPTER LXXI</h2> +<p>Friend of Slingsby—All Quiet—Danger—The Two +Cakes—Children in the Wood—Don’t be +Angry—In Deep Thought—Temples Throbbing—Deadly +Sick—Another Blow—No Answer—How Old are +You?—Play and Sacrament—Heavy Heart—Song of +Poison—Drow of Gypsies—The Dog—Ely’s +Church—Get up, Bebee—The Vehicle—Can You +Speak?—The Oil.</p> +<p>The next day, at an early hour, I harnessed my little pony, +and, putting my things in my cart, I went on my projected +stroll. Crossing the moor, I arrived in about an hour at a +small village, from which, after a short stay, I proceeded to +another, and from thence to a third. I found that the name +of Slingsby was well known in these parts.</p> +<p>“If you are a friend of Slingsby you must be an honest +lad,” said an ancient crone; “you shall never want +for work whilst I can give it you. Here, take my kettle, +the bottom came out this morning, and lend me that of yours till +you bring it back. I’m not afraid to trust +you—not I. Don’t hurry yourself, young man; if +you don’t come back for a fortnight I shan’t have the +worse opinion of you.”</p> +<p>I returned to my quarters at evening, tired, but rejoiced at +heart; I had work before me for several <!-- page 164--><a +name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>days, +having collected various kekaubies which required mending, in +place of those which I left behind—those which I had been +employed upon during the last few days. I found all quiet +in the lane or glade, and, unharnessing my little horse, I once +more pitched my tent in the old spot beneath the ash, lighted my +fire, ate my frugal meal, and then, after looking for some time +at the heavenly bodies, and more particularly at the star +Jupiter, I entered my tent, lay down upon my pallet, and went to +sleep.</p> +<p>Nothing occurred on the following day which requires any +particular notice, nor indeed on the one succeeding that. +It was about noon on the third day that I sat beneath the shade +of the ash tree; I was not at work, for the weather was +particularly hot, and I felt but little inclination to make any +exertion. Leaning my back against the tree, I was not long +in falling into a slumber; I particularly remember that slumber +of mine beneath the ash tree, for it was about the sweetest +slumber that I ever enjoyed; how long I continued in it I do not +know; I could almost have wished that it had lasted to the +present time. All of a sudden it appeared to me that a +voice cried in my ear, “Danger! danger! +danger!” Nothing seemingly could be more distinct +than the words which I heard; then an uneasy sensation came over +me, which I strove to get rid of, and at last succeeded, for I +awoke. The Gypsy girl was standing just opposite to me, +with her eyes fixed upon my countenance; a singular kind of +little dog stood beside her.</p> +<p>“Ha!” said I, “was it you that cried +danger? What danger is there?”</p> +<p><!-- page 165--><a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>“Danger, brother? there is no danger; what danger +should there be? I called to my little dog, but that was in +the wood; my little dog’s name is not danger, but stranger; +what danger should there be, brother?”</p> +<p>“What, indeed, except in sleeping beneath a tree; what +is that you have got in your hand?”</p> +<p>“Something for you,” said the girl, sitting down +and proceeding to untie a white napkin; “a pretty manricli, +so sweet, so nice; when I went home to my people I told my +grandbebee how kind you had been to the poor person’s +child, and when my grandbebee saw the kekaubi, she said, +‘Hir mi devlis, <a name="citation165a"></a><a +href="#footnote165a" class="citation">[165a]</a> it won’t +do for the poor people to be ungrateful; by my God, I will bake a +cake for the young harko mescro.’” <a +name="citation165b"></a><a href="#footnote165b" +class="citation">[165b]</a></p> +<p>“But there are two cakes.”</p> +<p>“Yes, brother, two cakes, both for you; my grandbebee +meant them both for you—but list, brother, I will have one +of them for bringing them. I know you will give me one, +pretty brother, grey-haired brother—which shall I have, +brother?”</p> +<p>In the napkin were two round cakes, seemingly made of rich and +costly compounds, and precisely similar in form, each weighing +about half a pound.</p> +<p>“Which shall I have, brother?” said the Gypsy +girl.</p> +<p>“Whichever you please.”</p> +<p>“No, brother, no, the cakes are yours, not mine, it is +for you to say.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, give me the one nearest you, and take the +other.”</p> +<p>“Yes, brother, yes,” said the girl; and taking +<!-- page 166--><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>the cakes, she flung them into the air two or three +times, catching them as they fell, and singing the while. +“Pretty brother, grey-haired brother—here, +brother,” said she, “here is your cake, this other is +mine.”</p> +<p>“Are you sure,” said I, taking the cake, +“that this is the one I chose?”</p> +<p>“Quite sure, brother; but if you like you can have mine; +there’s no difference, however—shall I +eat?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sister, eat.”</p> +<p>“See, brother, I do; now, brother, eat, pretty brother, +grey-haired brother.”</p> +<p>“I am not hungry.”</p> +<p>“Not hungry! well, what then—what has being hungry +to do with the matter? It is my grandbebee’s cake +which was sent because you were kind to the poor person’s +child; eat, brother, eat, and we shall be like the children in +the wood that the Gorgios speak of.”</p> +<p>“The children in the wood had nothing to eat.”</p> +<p>“Yes, they had hips and haws; we have better. Eat, +brother.”</p> +<p>“See, sister, I do,” and I ate a piece of the +cake.</p> +<p>“Well, brother, how do you like it?” said the +girl, looking fixedly at me.</p> +<p>“It is very rich and sweet, and yet there is something +strange about it; I don’t think I shall eat any +more.”</p> +<p>“Fie, brother, fie, to find fault with the poor +person’s cake; see, I have nearly eaten mine.”</p> +<p>“That’s a pretty little dog.”</p> +<p>“Is it not, brother? that’s my juggal, my little +sister, as I call her.”</p> +<p><!-- page 167--><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +167</span>“Come here, juggal,” said I to the +animal.</p> +<p>“What do you want with my juggal?” said the +girl.</p> +<p>“Only to give her a piece of cake,” said I, +offering the dog a piece which I had just broken off.</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” said the girl, snatching the +dog away; “my grandbebee’s cake is not for +dogs.”</p> +<p>“Why, I just now saw you give the animal a piece of +yours.”</p> +<p>“You lie, brother, you saw no such thing; but I see how +it is, you wish to affront the poor person’s child. I +shall go to my house.”</p> +<p>“Keep still, and don’t be angry; see, I have eaten +the piece which I offered the dog. I meant no +offence. It is a sweet cake after all.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it, brother? I am glad you like +it. Offence! brother, no offence at all! I am so glad +you like my grandbebee’s cake, but she will be wanting me +at home. Eat one piece more of grandbebee’s <a +name="citation167"></a><a href="#footnote167" +class="citation">[167]</a> cake and I will go.”</p> +<p>“I am not hungry, I will put the rest by.”</p> +<p>“One piece more before I go, handsome brother, +grey-haired brother.”</p> +<p>“I will not eat any more, I have already eaten more than +I wished to oblige you; if you must go, good day to +you.”</p> +<p>The girl rose upon her feet, looked hard at me, then at the +remainder of the cake which I held in my hand, and then at me +again, and then stood for a moment or two, as if in deep thought; +presently an air of satisfaction came over her countenance, she +smiled and said, “Well, brother, well, do as you please, I +merely wished you to eat because you <!-- page 168--><a +name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>have been +so kind to the poor person’s child. She loves you so, +that she could have wished to have seen you eat it all; good bye, +brother, I dare say when I am gone you will eat some more of it, +and if you don’t, I dare say you have eaten enough +to—to—show your love for us. After all, it was +a poor person’s cake, a Rommany manricli, <a +name="citation168"></a><a href="#footnote168" +class="citation">[168]</a> and all you Gorgios are somewhat +gorgious. Farewell, brother, pretty brother, grey-haired +brother. Come, juggal.”</p> +<p>I remained under the ash tree seated on the grass for a minute +or two, and endeavoured to resume the occupation in which I had +been engaged before I fell asleep, but I felt no inclination for +labour. I then thought I would sleep again, and once more +reclined against the tree, and slumbered for some little time, +but my sleep was more agitated than before. Something +appeared to bear heavy on my breast, I struggled in my sleep, +fell on the grass, and awoke; my temples were throbbing, there +was a burning in my eyes, and my mouth felt parched; the +oppression about the chest which I had felt in my sleep still +continued. “I must shake off these feelings,” +said I, “and get upon my legs.” I walked +rapidly up and down upon the green sward; at length, feeling my +thirst increase, I directed my steps down the narrow path to the +spring which ran amidst the bushes; arriving there, I knelt down +and drank of the water, but on lifting up my head I felt +thirstier than before; again I drank, but with the like result; I +was about to drink for the third time, when I felt a dreadful +qualm which instantly robbed me of nearly all my strength. +What can be the matter with me, <!-- page 169--><a +name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 169</span>thought I; +but I suppose I have made myself ill by drinking cold +water. I got up and made the best of my way back to my +tent; before I reached it the qualm had seized me again, and I +was deadly sick. I flung myself on my pallet, qualm +succeeded qualm, but in the intervals my mouth was dry and +burning, and I felt a frantic desire to drink, but no water was +at hand, and to reach the spring once more was impossible; the +qualms continued, deadly pains shot through my whole frame; I +could bear my agonies no longer, and I fell into a trance or +swoon. How long I continued therein I know not; on +recovering, however, I felt somewhat better, and attempted to +lift my head off my couch; the next moment, however, the qualms +and pains returned, if possible, with greater violence than +before. I am dying, thought I, like a dog, without any +help; and then methought I heard a sound at a distance like +people singing, and then once more I relapsed into my swoon.</p> +<p>I revived just as a heavy blow sounded upon the canvas of the +tent. I started, but my condition did not permit me to +rise; again the same kind of blow sounded upon the canvas; I +thought for a moment of crying out and requesting assistance, but +an inexplicable something chained my tongue, and now I heard a +whisper on the outside of the tent. “He does not +move, bebee,” said a voice which I knew. “I +should not wonder if it has done for him already; however, strike +again with your ran;” <a name="citation169"></a><a +href="#footnote169" class="citation">[169]</a> and then there was +another blow, after which another voice cried aloud in a strange +tone, “Is the gentleman of the house asleep, or is he +taking his dinner?” I remained quite silent and <!-- +page 170--><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span>motionless, and in another moment the voice continued, +“What, no answer? what can the gentleman of the house be +about that he makes no answer? perhaps the gentleman of the house +may be darning his stockings?” Thereupon a face +peered into the door of the tent, at the farther extremity of +which I was stretched. It was that of a woman, but owing to +the posture in which she stood, with her back to the light, and +partly owing to a large straw bonnet, I could distinguish but +very little of the features of her countenance. I had, +however, recognised her voice; it was that of my old +acquaintance, Mrs. Herne. “Ho, ho, sir!” said +she, “here you are. Come here, Leonora,” said +she to the Gypsy girl, who pressed in at the other side of the +door; “here is the gentleman, not asleep, but only +stretched out after dinner. Sit down on your ham, child, at +the door, I shall do the same. There—you have seen me +before, sir, have you not?”</p> +<p>“The gentleman makes no answer, bebee; perhaps he does +not know you.”</p> +<p>“I have known him of old, Leonora,” said Mrs. +Herne; “and, to tell you the truth, though I spoke to him +just now, I expected no answer.”</p> +<p>“It’s a way he has, bebee, <a +name="citation170"></a><a href="#footnote170" +class="citation">[170]</a> I suppose?”</p> +<p>“Yes, child, it’s a way he has.”</p> +<p>“Take off your bonnet, bebee, perhaps he cannot see your +face.”</p> +<p>“I do not think that will be of much use, child; +however, I will take off my bonnet—there—and shake +out my hair—there—you have seen this hair before, +sir, and this face—”</p> +<p>“No answer, bebee.”</p> +<p><!-- page 171--><a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +171</span>“Though the one was not quite so grey, nor the +other so wrinkled.”</p> +<p>“How came they so, bebee?”</p> +<p>“All along of this Gorgio, child.”</p> +<p>“The gentleman in the house you mean, bebee.”</p> +<p>“Yes, child, the gentleman in the house. God grant +that I may preserve my temper. Do you know, sir, my +name? My name is Herne, which signifies a hairy individual, +though neither grey-haired nor wrinkled. It is not the +nature of the Hernes to be grey or wrinkled, even when they are +old, and I am not old.”</p> +<p>“How old are you, bebee?”</p> +<p>“Sixty-five years, child—an inconsiderable +number. My mother was a hundred and one—a +considerable age—when she died, yet she had not one grey +hair, and not more than six wrinkles—an inconsiderable +number.”</p> +<p>“She had no griefs, bebee?”</p> +<p>“Plenty, child, but not like mine.”</p> +<p>“Not quite so hard to bear, bebee?”</p> +<p>“No, child, my head wanders when I think of them. +After the death of my husband, who came to his end untimeously, I +went to live with a daughter of mine, married out among certain +Romans who walk about the eastern counties, and with whom for +some time I found a home and pleasant society, for they lived +right Romanly, which gave my heart considerable satisfaction, who +am a Roman born, and hope to die so. When I say right +Romanly, I mean that they kept to themselves, and were not much +given to blabbing about their private matters in promiscuous +company. Well, things went on in this way for some time, +<!-- page 172--><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +172</span>when one day my son-in-law brings home a young Gorgio +of singular and outrageous ugliness, and, without much preamble, +says to me and mine, ‘This is my pal, a’n’t he +a beauty? fall down and worship him.’ +‘Hold,’ said I, ‘I for one will never consent +to such foolishness.’”</p> +<p>“That was right, bebee, I think I should have done the +same.”</p> +<p>“I think you would, child; but what was the profit of +it? The whole party makes an almighty of this Gorgio, lets +him into their ways, says prayers of his making, till things come +to such a pass that my own daughter says to me, ‘I shall +buy myself a veil and fan, and treat myself to a play and +sacrament.’ ‘Don’t,’ says I; says +she, ‘I should like for once in my life to be courtesied to +as a Christian gentlewoman.’”</p> +<p>“Very foolish of her, bebee.”</p> +<p>“Wasn’t it, child? Where was I? At the +fan and sacrament; with a heavy heart I put seven score miles +between us, came back to the hairy ones, and found them +over-given to gorgious companions; said I, ‘Foolish manners +is catching; all this comes of that there Gorgio.’ +Answers the child Leonora, ‘Take comfort, bebee, I hate the +Gorgios as much as you do.’”</p> +<p>“And I say so again, bebee, as much or more.”</p> +<p>“Time flows on, I engage in many matters, in most +miscarry. Am sent to prison; says I to myself, I am become +foolish. Am turned out of prison, and go back to the hairy +ones, who receive me not over courteously; says I, for their +unkindness, and my own foolishness, all the thanks to that +Gorgio. Answers to me the child, ‘I wish I could set +eyes upon him, bebee.’”</p> +<p><!-- page 173--><a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +173</span>“I did so, bebee; go on.”</p> +<p>“‘How shall I know him, bebee?’ says the +child. ‘Young and grey, tall, and speaks +Romanly.’ Runs to me the child, and says, +‘I’ve found him, bebee.’ ‘Where, +child?’ says I. ‘Come with me, bebee,’ +says the child. ‘That’s he,’ says I, as I +looked at my gentleman through the hedge.”</p> +<p>“Ha, ha! bebee, and here he lies, poisoned like a +hog.”</p> +<p>“You have taken drows, sir,” said Mrs. Herne; +“do you hear, sir? drows; tip him a stave, child, of the +song of poison.”</p> +<p>And thereupon the girl clapped her hands, and sang—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The Rommany churl<br /> +And the Rommany girl<br /> +To-morrow shall hie<br /> +To poison the sty<br /> +And bewitch on the mead<br /> +The farmer’s steed.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Do you hear that, sir?” said Mrs. Herne; +“the child has tipped you a stave of the song of poison: +that is, she has sung it Christianly, though perhaps you would +like to hear it Romanly; you were always fond of what was +Roman. Tip it him Romanly, child.”</p> +<p>“He has heard it Romanly already, bebee; ’twas by +that I found him out, as I told you.”</p> +<p>“Halloo, sir, are you sleeping? you have taken drows; +the gentleman makes no answer. God give me +patience!”</p> +<p>“And what if he doesn’t, bebee; isn’t he +poisoned like a hog? Gentleman, indeed! why call him +gentleman? if he ever was one he’s <!-- page 174--><a +name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>broke, and +is now a tinker, a worker of blue metal.”</p> +<p>“That’s his way, child,—to-day a tinker, +to-morrow something else; and as for being drabbed, <a +name="citation174a"></a><a href="#footnote174a" +class="citation">[174a]</a> I don’t know what to say about +it.”</p> +<p>“Not drabbed! what do you mean, bebee? but look there, +bebee; ha, ha! look at the gentleman’s motions.”</p> +<p>“He is sick, child, sure enough. Ho, ho! sir, you +have taken drows; what, another throe! writhe, sir, writhe, the +hog died by the drow of Gypsies; I saw him stretched at +evening. That’s yourself, sir. There is no +hope, sir, no help, you have taken drow; shall I tell you your +fortune, sir, your dukkerin? God bless you, pretty +gentleman, much trouble will you have to suffer, and much water +to cross; but never mind, pretty gentleman, you shall be +fortunate at the end, and those who hate shall take off their +hats to you.”</p> +<p>“Hey, bebee!” cried the girl; “what is this? +what do you mean? you have blessed the Gorgio!”</p> +<p>“Blessed him! no, sure; what did I say? Oh, I +remember, I’m mad; well, I can’t help it, I said what +the dukkerin dook <a name="citation174b"></a><a +href="#footnote174b" class="citation">[174b]</a> told me; +woe’s me, he’ll get up yet.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense, bebee! Look at his motions, he’s +drabbed, spite of dukkerin.”</p> +<p>“Don’t say so, child; he’s sick, ’tis +true, but don’t laugh at dukkerin, only folks do that that +know no better. I, for one, will never laugh at <!-- page +175--><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +175</span>the dukkerin dook. Sick again; I wish he was +gone.”</p> +<p>“He’ll soon be gone, bebee; let’s leave +him. He’s as good as gone; look there, he’s +dead.”</p> +<p>“No, he’s not, he’ll get up—I feel it; +can’t we hasten him?”</p> +<p>“Hasten him! yes, to be sure; set the dog upon +him. Here, juggal, look in there, my dog.”</p> +<p>The dog made its appearance at the door of the tent, and began +to bark and tear up the ground.</p> +<p>“At him, juggal, at him; he wished to poison, to drab +you. Halloo!”</p> +<p>The dog barked violently, and seemed about to spring at my +face, but retreated.</p> +<p>“The dog won’t fly at him, child; he flashed at +the dog with his eye, and scared him. He’ll get +up.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense, bebee! you make me angry; how should he get +up?”</p> +<p>“The dook tells me so, and, what’s more, I had a +dream. I thought I was at York, standing amidst a crowd to +see a man hung, and the crowd shouted ‘There he +comes!’ and I looked, and, lo! it was the tinker; before I +could cry with joy I was whisked away, and I found myself in +Ely’s big church, which was chock full of people to hear +the dean preach, and all eyes were turned to the big pulpit; and +presently I heard them say, ‘There he mounts!’ and I +looked up to the big pulpit, and, lo! the tinker was in the +pulpit, and he raised his arm and began to preach. Anon, I +found myself at York again, just as the drop fell, and I looked +up, and I saw not the tinker, but my own self hanging in the +air.”</p> +<p><!-- page 176--><a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +176</span>“You are going mad, bebee; if you want to hasten +him, take your stick and poke him in the eye.”</p> +<p>“That will be of no use, child, the dukkerin tells me +so; but I will try what I can do. Halloo, tinker! you must +introduce yourself into a quiet family, and raise +confusion—must you? You must steal its language, and, +what was never done before, write it down Christianly—must +you? Take that—and that;” and she stabbed +violently with her stick towards the end of the tent.</p> +<p>“That’s right, bebee, you struck his face; now +once more, and let it be in the eye. Stay, what’s +that? get up, bebee.”</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, child?”</p> +<p>“Some one is coming; come away.”</p> +<p>“Let me make sure of him, child; he’ll be up +yet.” And thereupon Mrs. Herne, rising, leaned +forward into the tent, and, supporting herself against the pole, +took aim in the direction of the farther end. “I will +thrust out his eye,” said she; and, lunging with her stick, +she would probably have accomplished her purpose had not at that +moment the pole of the tent given way, whereupon she fell to the +ground, the canvas falling upon her and her intended victim.</p> +<p>“Here’s a pretty affair, bebee,” screamed +the girl.</p> +<p>“He’ll get up yet,” said Mrs. Herne, from +beneath the canvas.</p> +<p>“Get up!—get up yourself; where are you? where is +your . . . Here, there, bebee, here’s the door; +there, make haste; they are coming.”</p> +<p>“He’ll get up yet,” said Mrs. Herne, +recovering her breath, “the dook tells me so.”</p> +<p><!-- page 177--><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span>“Never mind him or the dook; he is drabbed; come +away, or we shall be grabbed—both of us.”</p> +<p>“One more blow, I know where his head lies.”</p> +<p>“You are mad, bebee; leave the fellow—Gorgio +avella.” <a name="citation177"></a><a href="#footnote177" +class="citation">[177]</a></p> +<p>And thereupon the females hurried away.</p> +<p>A vehicle of some kind was evidently drawing nigh; in a little +time it came alongside of the place where lay the fallen tent, +and stopped suddenly. There was a silence for a moment, and +then a parley ensued between two voices, one of which was that of +a woman. It was not in English, but in a deep guttural +tongue.</p> +<p>“Peth yw hono sydd yn gorwedd yna ar y ddaear?” +said a masculine voice.</p> +<p>“Yn wirionedd—I do not know what it can be,” +said the female voice, in the same tongue.</p> +<p>“Here is a cart, and there are tools; but what is that +on the ground?”</p> +<p>“Something moves beneath it; and what was that—a +groan?”</p> +<p>“Shall I get down?”</p> +<p>“Of course, Peter, some one may want your +help.”</p> +<p>“Then I will get down, though I do not like this place, +it is frequented by Egyptians, and I do not like their yellow +faces, nor their clibberty clabber, as Master Ellis Wyn +says. Now I am down. It is a tent, Winifred, and see, +here is a boy beneath it. Merciful father! what a +face!”</p> +<p>A middle-aged man, with a strongly marked and serious +countenance, dressed in sober-coloured habiliments, had lifted up +the stifling folds of the <!-- page 178--><a +name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>tent, and +was bending over me. “Can you speak, my lad?” +said he in English; “what is the matter with you? if you +could but tell me, I could perhaps help you . . . ” +“What is that you say? I can’t hear you. +I will kneel down;” and he flung himself on the ground, and +placed his ear close to my mouth. “Now speak if you +can. Hey! what! no, sure, God forbid!” then starting +up, he cried to a female who sat in the cart, anxiously looking +on—“Gwenwyn! gwenwyn! yw y gwas wedi ei +gwenwynaw. The oil! Winifred, the oil!”</p> +<h2><!-- page 179--><a name="page179"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 179</span>CHAPTER LXXII</h2> +<p>Desired Effect—The Three +Oaks—Winifred—Things of Time—With God’s +Will—The Preacher—Creature +Comforts—Croesaw—Welsh and English—Mayor of +Chester.</p> +<p>The oil, which the strangers compelled me to take, produced +the desired effect, though, during at least two hours, it was +very doubtful whether or not my life would be saved. At the +end of that period the man said, that with the blessing of God, +he would answer for my life. He then demanded whether I +thought I could bear to be removed from the place in which we +were, “for I like it not,” he continued, “as +something within me tells me that it is not good for any of us to +be here.” I told him, as well as I was able, that I, +too, should be glad to leave the place; whereupon, after +collecting my things, he harnessed my pony, and, with the +assistance of the woman, he contrived to place me in the cart; he +then gave me a draught out of a small phial, and we set forward +at a slow pace, the man walking by the side of the cart in which +I lay. It is probable that the draught consisted of a +strong opiate, for after swallowing it I fell into a deep +slumber; on my awaking, I found that the shadows of night had +enveloped the earth—we were still moving on. <!-- +page 180--><a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +180</span>Shortly, however, after descending a declivity, we +turned into a lane, at the entrance of which was a gate. +This lane conducted to a meadow, through the middle of which ran +a small brook; it stood between two rising grounds; that on the +left, which was on the farther side of the water, was covered +with wood, whilst the one on the right, which was not so high, +was crowned with the white walls of what appeared to be a +farmhouse.</p> +<p>Advancing along the meadow, we presently came to a place where +grew three immense oaks, almost on the side of the brook, over +which they flung their arms, so as to shade it as with a canopy; +the ground beneath was bare of grass, and nearly as hard and +smooth as the floor of a barn. Having led his own cart on +one side of the midmost tree, and my own on the other, the +stranger said to me, “This is the spot where my wife and +myself generally tarry in the summer season, when we come into +these parts. We are about to pass the night here. I +suppose you will have no objection to do the same? Indeed, +I do not see what else you could do under present +circumstances.” After receiving my answer, in which +I, of course, expressed my readiness to assent to his proposal, +he proceeded to unharness his horse, and, feeling myself much +better, I got down, and began to make the necessary preparations +for passing the night beneath the oak.</p> +<p>Whilst thus engaged, I felt myself touched on the shoulder, +and, looking round, perceived the woman, whom the stranger called +Winifred, standing close to me. The moon was shining +brightly upon her, and I observed that she was very good looking, +with a composed, yet cheerful <!-- page 181--><a +name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 181</span>expression +of countenance; her dress was plain and primitive, very much +resembling that of a Quaker. She held a straw bonnet in her +hand. “I am glad to see thee moving about, young +man,” said she, in a soft, placid tone; “I could +scarcely have expected it. Thou must be wondrous strong; +many, after what thou hast suffered, would not have stood on +their feet for weeks and months. What do I +say?—Peter, my husband, who is skilled in medicine, just +now told me that not one in five hundred would have survived what +thou hast this day undergone; but allow me to ask thee one thing, +Hast thou returned thanks to God for thy +deliverance?” I made no answer, and the woman, after +a pause, said, “Excuse me, young man, but do you know +anything of God?” “Very little,” I +replied, “but I should say He must be a wondrous strong +Person, if He made all those big bright things up above there, to +say nothing of the ground on which we stand, which bears beings +like these oaks, each of which is fifty times as strong as +myself, and will live twenty times as long.” The +woman was silent for some moments, and then said, “I +scarcely know in what spirit thy words are uttered. If thou +art serious, however, I would caution thee against supposing that +the power of God is more manifested in these trees, or even in +those bright stars above us, than in thyself—they are +things of time, but thou art a being destined to an eternity; it +depends upon thyself whether thy eternity shall be one of joy or +sorrow.”</p> +<p>Here she was interrupted by the man, who exclaimed from the +other side of the tree, “Winifred, it is getting late, you +had better go <!-- page 182--><a name="page182"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 182</span>up to the house on the hill to +inform our friends of our arrival, or they will have retired for +the night.” “True,” said Winifred, and +forthwith wended her way to the house in question, returning +shortly with another woman, whom the man, speaking in the same +language which I had heard him first use, greeted by the name of +Mary; the woman replied in the same tongue, but almost +immediately said, in English, “We hoped to have heard you +speak to-night, Peter, but we cannot expect that now, seeing that +it is so late, owing to your having been detained by the way, as +Winifred tells me; nothing remains for you to do now but to +sup—to-morrow, with God’s will, we shall hear +you.” “And to-night, also, with God’s +will, provided you be so disposed. Let those of your family +come hither.” “They will be hither +presently,” said Mary, “for knowing that thou art +arrived, they will, of course, come and bid thee +welcome.” And scarcely had she spoke, when I beheld a +party of people descending the moonlit side of the hill. +They soon arrived at the place where we were; they might amount +in all to twelve individuals. The principal person was a +tall, athletic man, of about forty, dressed like a plain country +farmer; this was, I soon found, the husband of Mary; the rest of +the group consisted of the children of these two, and their +domestic servants. One after another they all shook Peter +by the hand, men and women, boys and girls, and expressed their +joy at seeing him. After which, he said, “Now, +friends, if you please, I will speak a few words to +you.” A stool was then brought him from the cart, +which he stepped on, and the people arranging themselves round +him, some <!-- page 183--><a name="page183"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 183</span>standing, some seated on the ground, +he forthwith began to address them in a clear, distinct voice; +and the subject of his discourse was the necessity, in all human +beings, of a change of heart.</p> +<p>The preacher was better than his promise, for, instead of +speaking a few words, he preached for at least three-quarters of +an hour; none of the audience, however, showed the slightest +symptom of weariness; on the contrary, the hope of each +individual appeared to hang upon the words which proceeded from +his mouth. At the conclusion of the sermon or discourse, +the whole assembly again shook Peter by the hand, and returned to +their house, the mistress of the family saying, as she departed, +“I shall soon be back, Peter, I go but to make arrangements +for the supper of thyself and company;” and, in effect, she +presently returned, attended by a young woman, who bore a tray in +her hands. “Set it down, Jessy,” said the +mistress to the girl, “and then betake thyself to thy rest; +I shall remain here for a little time to talk with my +friends.” The girl departed, and the preacher and the +two females placed themselves on the ground about the tray. +The man gave thanks, and himself and his wife appeared to be +about to eat, when the latter suddenly placed her hand upon his +arm, and said something to him in a low voice, whereupon he +exclaimed, “Ay, truly, we were both forgetful;” and +then getting up, he came towards me, who stood a little way off, +leaning against the wheel of my cart; and, taking me by the hand, +he said, “Pardon us, young man, we were both so engaged in +our own creature-comforts, that we forgot thee, but it is not too +late to repair our <!-- page 184--><a name="page184"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 184</span>fault; wilt thou not join us, and +taste our bread and milk?” “I cannot +eat,” I replied, “but I think I could drink a little +milk;” whereupon he led me to the rest, and seating me by +his side, he poured some milk into a horn cup, saying, +“‘Croesaw.’ That,” added he, with a +smile, “is Welsh for welcome.”</p> +<p>The fare upon the tray was of the simplest description, +consisting of bread, cheese, milk, and curds. My two +friends partook with a good appetite. “Mary,” +said the preacher, addressing himself to the woman of the house, +“every time I come to visit thee, I find thee less inclined +to speak Welsh. I suppose, in a little time, thou wilt +entirely have forgotten it; hast thou taught it to any of thy +children?” “The two eldest understand a few +words,” said the woman, “but my husband does not wish +them to learn it; he says sometimes, jocularly, that though it +pleased him to marry a Welsh wife, it does not please him to have +Welsh children. Who, I have heard him say, would be a +Welshman, if he could be an Englishman?” “I for +one,” said the preacher, somewhat hastily; “not to be +king of all England would I give up my birthright as a +Welshman. Your husband is an excellent person, Mary, but I +am afraid he is somewhat prejudiced.” “You do +him justice, Peter, in saying that he is an excellent +person,” said the woman; “as to being prejudiced, I +scarcely know what to say, but he thinks that two languages in +the same kingdom are almost as bad as two kings.” +“That’s no bad observation,” said the preacher, +“and it is generally the case; yet, thank God, the Welsh +and English go on very well, side by side, and I <!-- page +185--><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>hope will do so till the Almighty calls all men to +their long account.” “They jog on very well +now,” said the woman; “but I have heard my husband +say that it was not always so, and that the Welsh, in old times, +were a violent and ferocious people, for that once they hanged +the mayor of Chester.” “Ha, ha!” said the +preacher, and his eyes flashed in the moonlight; “he told +you that, did he?” “Yes,” said Mary; +“once, when the mayor of Chester, with some of his people, +was present at one of the fairs over the border, a quarrel arose +between the Welsh and the English, and the Welsh beat the +English, and hanged the mayor.” “Your husband +is a clever man,” said Peter, “and knows a great +deal; did he tell you the name of the leader of the Welsh? +No! then I will: the leader of the Welsh on that occasion was +---. He was a powerful chieftain, and there was an old feud +between him and the men of Chester. Afterwards, when two +hundred of the men of Chester invaded his country to take revenge +for their mayor, he enticed them into a tower, set fire to it, +and burnt them all. That --- was a very fine, +noble—God forgive me, what was I about to say!—a very +bad, violent man; but, Mary, this is very carnal and unprofitable +conversation, and in holding it we set a very bad example to the +young man here—let us change the subject.”</p> +<p>They then began to talk on religious matters. At length +Mary departed to her abode, and the preacher and his wife retired +to their tilted cart.</p> +<p>“Poor fellow, he seems to be almost brutally +ignorant,” said Peter, addressing his wife in their <!-- +page 186--><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +186</span>native language, after they had bidden me farewell for +the night.</p> +<p>“I am afraid he is,” said Winifred, “yet my +heart warms to the poor lad, he seems so forlorn.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 187--><a name="page187"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 187</span>CHAPTER LXXIII</h2> +<p>Morning Hymn—Much Alone—John Bunyan—Beholden +to Nobody—Sixty-five—Sober Greeting—Early +Sabbaths—Finny Brood—The Porch—No +Fortune-telling—The Master’s Niece—Doing +Good—Two or Three Things—Groans and +Voices—Pechod Ysprydd Glan.</p> +<p>I slept soundly during that night, partly owing to the +influence of the opiate. Early in the morning I was +awakened by the voices of Peter and his wife, who were singing a +morning hymn in their own language. Both subsequently +prayed long and fervently. I lay still till their devotions +were completed, and then left my tent. “Good +morning,” said Peter, “how dost thou +feel?” “Much better,” said I, “than +I could have expected.” “I am glad of +it,” said Peter. “Art thou hungry? yonder comes +our breakfast,” pointing to the same young woman I had seen +the preceding night, who was again descending the hill bearing +the tray upon her head.</p> +<p>“What dost thou intend to do, young man, this +day?” said Peter, when we had about half finished +breakfast. “Do,” said I; “as I do other +days, what I can.” “And dost thou pass this day +as thou dost other days?” said Peter. “Why +not?” said I; “what is there in this day different +<!-- page 188--><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +188</span>from the rest? it seems to be of the same colour as +yesterday.” “Art thou aware,” said the +wife, interposing, “what day it is? that it is Sabbath? +that it is Sunday?” “No,” said I, +“I did not know that it was Sunday.” “And +how did that happen?” said Winifred, with a sigh. +“To tell you the truth,” said I, “I live very +much alone, and pay very little heed to the passing of +time.” “And yet of what infinite importance is +time,” said Winifred. “Art thou not aware that +every year brings thee nearer to thy end?” “I +do not think,” said I, “that I am so near my end as I +was yesterday.” “Yes, thou art,” said the +woman; “thou wast not doomed to die yesterday; an invisible +hand was watching over thee yesterday; but thy day will come, +therefore improve the time; be grateful that thou wast saved +yesterday; and, oh! reflect on one thing; if thou hadst died +yesterday, where wouldst thou have been now?” +“Cast into the earth, perhaps,” said I. +“I have heard Mr. Petulengro say that to be cast into the +earth is the natural end of man.” “Who is Mr. +Petulengro?” said Peter, interrupting his wife, as she was +about to speak. “Master of the horse-shoe,” +said I; “and, according to his own account, king of +Egypt.” “I understand,” said Peter, +“head of some family of wandering Egyptians—they are +a race utterly godless. Art thou of them?—but no, +thou art not, thou hast not their yellow blood. I suppose +thou belongest to the family of wandering artisans called +---. I do not like you the worse for belonging to +them. A mighty speaker of old sprang up from amidst that +family.” “Who was he?” said I. +“John Bunyan,” <a name="citation188"></a><a +href="#footnote188" class="citation">[188]</a> replied Peter, +<!-- page 189--><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +189</span>reverently, “and the mention of his name reminds +me that I have to preach this day; wilt thou go and hear? the +distance is not great, only half a mile.” +“No,” said I, “I will not go and +hear.” “Wherefore?” said Peter. +“I belong to the Church,” said I, “and not to +the congregations.” “Oh! the pride of that +Church,” said Peter, addressing his wife in their own +tongue, “exemplified even in the lowest and most ignorant +of its members.” “Then thou, doubtless, meanest +to go to church,” said Peter, again addressing me; +“there is a church on the other side of that wooded +hill.” “No,” said I, “I do not mean +to go to church.” “May I ask thee +wherefore?” said Peter. “Because,” said +I, “I prefer remaining beneath the shade of these trees, +listening to the sound of the leaves, and the tinkling of the +waters.”</p> +<p>“Then thou intendest to remain here?” said Peter, +looking fixedly at me. “If I do not intrude,” +said I; “but if I do, I will wander away; I wish to be +beholden to nobody—perhaps you wish me to go?” +“On the contrary,” said Peter, “I wish you to +stay. I begin to see something in thee which has much +interest for me; but we must now bid thee farewell for the rest +of the day, the time is drawing nigh for us to repair to the +place of preaching; before we leave thee alone, however, I should +wish to ask thee a question—Didst thou seek thy own +destruction yesterday, and didst thou wilfully take that +poison?” “No,” said I; “had I known +there had been poison in <!-- page 190--><a +name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span>the cake I +certainly should not have taken it.” “And who +gave it thee?” said Peter. “An enemy of +mine,” I replied. “Who is thy +enemy?” “An Egyptian sorceress and +poison-monger.” “Thy enemy is a female. I +fear thou hadst given her cause to hate thee—of what did +she complain?” “That I had stolen the tongue +out of her head.” “I do not understand +thee—is she young?” “About +sixty-five.”</p> +<p>Here Winifred interposed. “Thou didst call her +just now by hard names, young man,” said she; “I +trust thou dost bear no malice against her?” +“No,” said I, “I bear no malice against +her.” “Thou art not wishing to deliver her into +the hand of what is called justice?” “By no +means,” said I; “I have lived long enough upon the +roads not to cry out for the constable when my finger is +broken. I consider this poisoning as an accident of the +roads; one of those to which those who travel are occasionally +subject.” “In short, thou forgivest thine +adversary?” “Both now and for ever,” said +I. “Truly,” said Winifred, “the spirit +which the young man displayeth pleases me much; I should be loth +that he left us yet. I have no doubt that, with the +blessing of God, and a little of thy exhortation, he will turn +out a true Christian before he leaveth us.” “My +exhortation!” said Peter, and a dark shade passed over his +countenance; “thou forgettest what I +am—I—I—but I am forgetting myself; the +Lord’s will be done; and now put away the things, for I +perceive that our friends are coming to attend us to the place of +meeting.”</p> +<p>Again the family which I had seen the night before descended +the hill from their abode. They <!-- page 191--><a +name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>were now +dressed in their Sunday’s best. The master of the +house led the way. They presently joined us, when a quiet +sober greeting ensued on each side. After a little time +Peter shook me by the hand and bade me farewell till the evening; +Winifred did the same, adding, that she hoped I should be visited +by sweet and holy thoughts. The whole party then moved off +in the direction by which we had come the preceding night, Peter +and the master leading the way, followed by Winifred and the +mistress of the family. As I gazed on their departing +forms, I felt almost inclined to follow them to their place of +worship. I did not stir, however, but remained leaning +against my oak with my hands behind me.</p> +<p>And after a time I sat me down at the foot of the oak with my +face turned towards the water, and, folding my hands, I fell into +deep meditation. I thought on the early Sabbaths of my +life, and the manner in which I was wont to pass them. How +carefully I said my prayers when I got up on the Sabbath morn, +and how carefully I combed my hair and brushed my clothes in +order that I might do credit to the Sabbath day. I thought +of the old church at pretty D---, the dignified rector, and yet +more dignified clerk. I thought of England’s grand +Liturgy, and Tate and Brady’s sonorous minstrelsy. I +thought of the Holy Book, portions of which I was in the habit of +reading between service. I thought, too, of the evening +walk which I sometimes took in fine weather like the present, +with my mother and brother—a quiet sober walk, during which +I would not break into a run, even to chase a butterfly, or yet +more a honey-bee, being fully convinced of the dread importance +<!-- page 192--><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +192</span>of the day which God had hallowed. And how glad I +was when I had got over the Sabbath day without having done +anything to profane it. And how soundly I slept on the +Sabbath night after the toil of being very good throughout the +day.</p> +<p>And when I had mused on those times a long while, I sighed and +said to myself, I am much altered since then; am I altered for +the better? And then I looked at my hands and my apparel, +and sighed again. I was not wont of yore to appear thus on +the Sabbath day.</p> +<p>For a long time I continued in a state of deep meditation, +till at last I lifted up my eyes to the sun, which, as usual +during that glorious summer, was shining in unclouded majesty; +and then I lowered them to the sparkling water, in which hundreds +of the finny brood were disporting themselves, and then I thought +what a fine thing it was to be a fish on such a fine summer day, +and I wished myself a fish, or at least amongst the fishes; and +then I looked at my hands again, and then, bending over the +water, I looked at my face in the crystal mirror, and started +when I saw it, for it looked squalid and miserable.</p> +<p>Forthwith I started up, and said to myself, I should like to +bathe and cleanse myself from the squalor produced by my late +hard life and by Mrs. Herne’s drow. I wonder if there +is any harm in bathing on the Sabbath day. I will ask +Winifred when she comes home; in the meantime I will bathe, +provided I can find a fitting place.</p> +<p>But the brook, though a very delightful place for fish to +disport in, was shallow, and by no means adapted for the +recreation of so large a being as myself; it was, moreover, +exposed, though I saw <!-- page 193--><a name="page193"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 193</span>nobody at hand, nor heard a single +human voice or sound. Following the winding of the brook I +left the meadow, and, passing through two or three thickets, came +to a place where between lofty banks the water ran deep and dark, +and there I bathed, imbibing new tone and vigour into my languid +and exhausted frame.</p> +<p>Having put on my clothes, I returned by the way I had come to +my vehicle beneath the oak tree. From thence, for want of +something better to do, I strolled up the hill, on the top of +which stood the farmhouse; it was a large and commodious building +built principally of stone, and seeming of some antiquity, with a +porch, on either side of which was an oaken bench. On the +right was seated a young woman with a book in her hand, the same +who had brought the tray to my friends and myself.</p> +<p>“Good day,” said I, “pretty damsel, sitting +in the farm porch.”</p> +<p>“Good day,” said the girl, looking at me for a +moment, and then fixing her eyes on her book.</p> +<p>“That’s a nice book you are reading,” said +I.</p> +<p>The girl looked at me with surprise. “How do you +know what book it is?” said she.</p> +<p>“How do I know—never mind; but a nice book it +is—no love, no fortune-telling in it.”</p> +<p>The girl looked at me half offended. +“Fortune-telling!” said she, “I should think +not. But you know nothing about it;” and she bent her +head once more over the book.</p> +<p>“I tell you what, young person,” said I, “I +know all about that book; what will you wager that I do +not?”</p> +<p>“I never wager,” said the girl.</p> +<p><!-- page 194--><a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +194</span>“Shall I tell you the name of it,” said I, +“O daughter of the dairy?”</p> +<p>The girl half started. “I should never have +thought,” said she, half timidly, “that you could +have guessed it.”</p> +<p>“I did not guess it,” said I, “I knew it; +and meet and proper it is that you should read it.”</p> +<p>“Why so?” said the girl.</p> +<p>“Can the daughter of the dairy read a more fitting book +than the ‘Dairyman’s Daughter’?”</p> +<p>“Where do you come from?” said the girl.</p> +<p>“Out of the water,” said I. +“Don’t start, I have been bathing; are you fond of +the water?”</p> +<p>“No,” said the girl, heaving a sigh; “I am +not fond of the water, that is, of the sea;” and here she +sighed again.</p> +<p>“The sea is a wide gulf,” said I, “and +frequently separates hearts.”</p> +<p>The girl sobbed.</p> +<p>“Why are you alone here?” said I.</p> +<p>“I take my turn with the rest,” said the girl, +“to keep at home on Sunday.”</p> +<p>“And you are—” said I.</p> +<p>“The master’s niece!” said the girl. +“How came you to know it? But why did you not go with +the rest and with your friends?”</p> +<p>“Who are those you call my friends?” said I.</p> +<p>“Peter and his wife.”</p> +<p>“And who are they?” said I.</p> +<p>“Do you not know?” said the girl; “you came +with them.”</p> +<p>“They found me ill by the way,” said I; “and +they relieved me: I know nothing about them.”</p> +<p>“I thought you knew everything,” said the +girl.</p> +<p><!-- page 195--><a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +195</span>“There are two or three things which I do not +know, and this is one of them. Who are they?”</p> +<p>“Did you never hear of the great Welsh preacher, Peter +Williams?”</p> +<p>“Never,” said I.</p> +<p>“Well,” said the girl, “this is he, and +Winifred is his wife, and a nice person she is. Some people +say, indeed, that she is as good a preacher as her husband, +though of that matter I can say nothing, having never heard her +preach. So these two wander over all Wales and the greater +part of England, comforting the hearts of the people with their +doctrine, and doing all the good they can. They frequently +come here, for the mistress is a Welsh woman, and an old friend +of both, and then they take up their abode in the cart beneath +the old oaks down there by the stream.”</p> +<p>“And what is their reason for doing so?” said I; +“would it not be more comfortable to sleep beneath a +roof?”</p> +<p>“I know not their reasons,” said the girl, +“but so it is; they never sleep beneath a roof unless the +weather is very severe. I once heard the mistress say that +Peter had something heavy upon his mind; perhaps that is the +cause. If he is unhappy, all I can say is, that I wish him +otherwise, for he is a good man and a kind—”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said I, “I will now +depart.”</p> +<p>“Hem!” said the girl, “I was +wishing—”</p> +<p>“What? to ask me a question?”</p> +<p>“Not exactly; but you seem to know everything; you +mentioned, I think, fortune-telling.”</p> +<p>“Do you wish me to tell your fortune?”</p> +<p>“By no means; but I have a friend at a distance at sea, +and I should wish to know—”</p> +<p><!-- page 196--><a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +196</span>“When he will come back? I have told you +already there are two or three things which I do not +know—this is another of them. However, I should not +be surprised if he were to come back some of these days; I would +if I were in his place. In the meantime be patient, attend +to the dairy, and read the ‘Dairyman’s +Daughter’ when you have nothing better to do.”</p> +<p>It was late in the evening when the party of the morning +returned. The farmer and his family repaired at once to +their abode, and my two friends joined me beneath the tree. +Peter sat down at the foot of the oak, and said nothing. +Supper was brought by a servant, not the damsel of the +porch. We sat round the tray, Peter said grace, but +scarcely anything else; he appeared sad and dejected, his wife +looked anxiously upon him. I was as silent as my friends; +after a little time we retired to our separate places of +rest.</p> +<p>About midnight I was awakened by a noise; I started up and +listened; it appeared to me that I heard voices and groans. +In a moment I had issued from my tent—all was +silent—but the next moment I again heard groans and voices; +they proceeded from the tilted cart where Peter and his wife lay; +I drew near, again there was a pause, and then I heard the voice +of Peter, in an accent of extreme anguish, exclaim, “Pechod +Ysprydd Glan—O pechod Ysprydd Glan!” and then he +uttered a deep groan. Anon, I heard the voice of Winifred, +and never shall I forget the sweetness and gentleness of the +tones of her voice in the stillness of that night. I did +not understand all she said—she spoke in her native +language, and I was some way apart; she appeared to endeavour to +console her <!-- page 197--><a name="page197"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 197</span>husband, but he seemed to refuse all +comfort, and, with many groans, repeated—“Pechod +Ysprydd Glan—O pechod Ysprydd Glan!” I felt I +had no right to pry into their afflictions, and retired.</p> +<p>Now “pechod Ysprydd Glan,” interpreted, is the sin +against the Holy Ghost.</p> +<h2><!-- page 198--><a name="page198"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 198</span>CHAPTER LXXIV</h2> +<p>The Following Day—Pride—Thriving +Trade—Tylwyth Teg—Ellis Wyn—Sleeping +Bard—Incalculable Good—Fearful Agony—The +Tale.</p> +<p>Peter and his wife did not proceed on any expedition during +the following day. The former strolled gloomily about the +fields, and the latter passed many hours in the farmhouse. +Towards evening, without saying a word to either, I departed with +my vehicle, and finding my way to a small town at some distance, +I laid in a store of various articles, with which I +returned. It was night, and my two friends were seated +beneath the oak; they had just completed their frugal +supper. “We waited for thee some time,” said +Winifred, “but, finding that thou didst not come, we began +without thee; but sit down, I pray thee, there is still enough +for thee.” “I will sit down,” said I, +“but I require no supper, for I have eaten where I have +been:” nothing more particular occurred at the time. +Next morning the kind pair invited me to share their +breakfast. “I will not share your breakfast,” +said I. “Wherefore not?” said Winifred, +anxiously. “Because,” said I, “it is not +proper that I be beholden to you for meat and drink.” +“But we are beholden to other people,” said +Winifred. <!-- page 199--><a name="page199"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 199</span>“Yes,” said I, +“but you preach to them, and give them ghostly advice, +which considerably alters the matter; not that I would receive +anything from them, if I preached to them six times a +day.” “Thou art not fond of receiving favours, +then, young man?” said Winifred. “I am +not,” said I. “And of conferring +favours?” “Nothing affords me greater +pleasure,” said I, “than to confer +favours.” “What a disposition!” said +Winifred, holding up her hands; “and this is pride, genuine +pride—that feeling which the world agrees to call so +noble. Oh, how mean a thing is pride! never before did I +see all the meanness of what is called pride!”</p> +<p>“But how wilt thou live, friend?” said Peter; +“dost thou not intend to eat?” “When I +went out last night,” said I, “I laid in a +provision.” “Thou hast laid in a +provision!” said Peter; “pray let us see it. +Really, friend,” said he, after I had produced it, +“thou must drive a thriving trade; here are provisions +enough to last three people for several days. Here are +butter and eggs, here is tea, here is sugar, and there is a +flitch. I hope thou wilt let us partake of some of thy +fare.” “I should be very happy if you +would,” said I. “Doubt not but we shall,” +said Peter; “Winifred shall have some of thy flitch cooked +for dinner. In the meantime, sit down, young man, and +breakfast at our expense—we will dine at thine.”</p> +<p>On the evening of that day, Peter and myself sat alone beneath +the oak. We fell into conversation; Peter was at first +melancholy, but he soon became more cheerful, fluent, and +entertaining. I spoke but little; but I observed that +sometimes what I said surprised the good Methodist. We had +been <!-- page 200--><a name="page200"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 200</span>silent some time. At length, +lifting up my eyes to the broad and leafy canopy of the trees, I +said, having nothing better to remark, “What a noble +tree! I wonder if the fairies ever dance beneath +it?”</p> +<p>“Fairies!” said Peter, “fairies! how came +you, young man, to know anything about the fair +family?”</p> +<p>“I am an Englishman,” said I, “and of course +know something about fairies; England was once a famous place for +them.”</p> +<p>“Was once, I grant you,” said Peter, “but is +so no longer. I have travelled for years about England, and +never heard them mentioned before; the belief in them has died +away, and even their name seems to be forgotten. If you had +said you were a Welshman, I should not have been surprised. +The Welsh have much to say of the Tylwyth Teg, or fair family, +and many believe in them.”</p> +<p>“And do you believe in them?” said I.</p> +<p>“I scarcely know what to say. Wise and good men +have been of opinion that they are nothing but devils, who, under +the form of pretty and amiable spirits, would fain allure poor +human beings; I see nothing irrational in the +supposition.”</p> +<p>“Do you believe in devils then?”</p> +<p>“Do I believe in devils, young man!” said Peter, +and his frame was shaken as if by convulsions. “If I +do not believe in devils, why am I here at the present +moment?”</p> +<p>“You know best,” said I; “but I don’t +believe that fairies are devils, and I don’t wish to hear +them insulted. What learned men have said they are +devils?”</p> +<p>“Many have said it, young man, and, amongst <!-- page +201--><a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +201</span>others, Master Ellis Wyn, in that wonderful book of +his, the ‘Bardd Cwsg.’”</p> +<p>“The ‘Bardd Cwsg,’” said I; +“what kind of book is that? I have never heard of +that book before.”</p> +<p>“Heard of it before! I suppose not; how should you +have heard of it before! By the bye, can you +read?”</p> +<p>“Very tolerably,” said I; “so there are +fairies in this book. What do you call it—the +‘Bardd Cwsg’?”</p> +<p>“Yes, the ‘Bardd Cwsg.’ You pronounce +Welsh very fairly; have you ever been in Wales?”</p> +<p>“Never,” said I.</p> +<p>“Not been in Wales; then, of course, you don’t +understand Welsh; but we were talking of the ‘Bardd +Cwsg,’—yes, there are fairies in the ‘Bardd +Cwsg,’—the author of it, Master Ellis Wyn, <a +name="citation201"></a><a href="#footnote201" +class="citation">[201]</a> was carried away in his sleep by them +over mountains and valleys, rivers and great waters, incurring +mighty perils at their hands, till he was rescued from them by an +angel of the Most High, who subsequently showed him many +wonderful things.”</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” said I, “but what were +those wonderful things?”</p> +<p>“I see, young man,” said Peter, smiling, +“that you are not without curiosity; but I can easily +pardon any one for being curious about the wonders contained in +the book of Master Ellis Wyn. The angel showed him the +course of this world, its pomps and vanities, its cruelty and its +pride, its crimes and deceits. On another occasion, the +<!-- page 202--><a name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +202</span>angel showed him Death in his nether palace, surrounded +by his grisly ministers, and by those who are continually falling +victims to his power. And, on a third occasion, the state +of the condemned in their place of everlasting +torment.”</p> +<p>“But this was all in his sleep,” said I, +“was it not?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Peter, “in his sleep; and on +that account the book is called ‘Gweledigaethau y Bardd +Cwsg,’ or, Visions of the Sleeping Bard.”</p> +<p>“I do not care for wonders which occur in sleep,” +said I. “I prefer real ones; and perhaps, +notwithstanding what he says, the man had no visions at +all—they are probably of his own invention.”</p> +<p>“They are substantially true, young man,” said +Peter; “like the dreams of Bunyan, they are founded on +three tremendous facts, Sin, Death, and Hell; and like his they +have done incalculable good, at least in my own country, in the +language of which they are written. Many a guilty +conscience has the ‘Bardd Cwsg’ aroused with its +dreadful sights, its strong sighs, its puffs of smoke from the +pit, and its showers of sparks from the mouth of the yet lower +gulf of—Unknown—were it not for the ‘Bardd +Cwsg’ perhaps I might not be here.”</p> +<p>“I would sooner hear your own tale,” said I, +“than all the visions of the ‘Bardd +Cwsg.’”</p> +<p>Peter shook, bent his form nearly double, and covered his face +with his hands. I sat still and motionless, with my eyes +fixed upon him. Presently Winifred descended the hill, and +joined us. “What is the matter?” said she, +looking at her husband, who still remained in the posture I <!-- +page 203--><a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +203</span>have described. He made no answer; whereupon, +laying her hand gently on his shoulder, she said, in the peculiar +soft and tender tone which I had heard her use on a former +occasion, “Take comfort, Peter; what has happened now to +afflict thee?” Peter removed his hands from his +face. “The old pain, the old pain,” said he; +“I was talking with this young man, and he would fain know +what brought me here, he would fain hear my tale, +Winifred—my sin: O pechod Ysprydd Glan! O pechod +Ysprydd Glan!” and the poor man fell into a more fearful +agony than before. Tears trickled down Winifred’s +face, I saw them trickling by the moonlight, as she gazed upon +the writhing form of her afflicted husband. I arose from my +seat; “I am the cause of all this,” said I, “by +my folly and imprudence, and it is thus I have returned your +kindness and hospitality; I will depart from you and wander my +way.” I was retiring, but Peter sprang up and +detained me. “Go not,” said he, “you were +not in fault; if there be any fault in the case it was mine; if I +suffer, I am but paying the penalty of my own iniquity;” he +then paused, and appeared to be considering: at length he said, +“Many things which thou hast seen and heard connected with +me require explanation; thou wishest to know my tale, I will tell +it thee, but not now, not to-night; I am too much +shaken.”</p> +<p>Two evenings later, when we were again seated beneath the oak, +Peter took the hand of his wife in his own, and then, in tones +broken and almost inarticulate, commenced telling me his +tale—the tale of the Pechod Ysprydd Glan.</p> +<h2><!-- page 204--><a name="page204"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 204</span>CHAPTER LXXV</h2> +<p>Taking a Cup—Getting to Heaven—After +Breakfast—Wooden Gallery—Mechanical +Habit—Reserved and Gloomy—Last Words—A Long +Time—From the Clouds—Ray of Hope—Momentary +Chill—Pleasing Anticipation.</p> +<p>“I was born in the heart of North Wales, the son of a +respectable farmer, and am the youngest of seven brothers.</p> +<p>“My father was a member of the Church of England, and +was what is generally called a serious man. He went to +church regularly, and read the Bible every Sunday evening; in his +moments of leisure he was fond of holding religious discourse +both with his family and his neighbours.</p> +<p>“One autumn afternoon, on a week day, my father sat with +one of his neighbours taking a cup of ale by the oak table in our +stone kitchen. I sat near them, and listened to their +discourse. I was at that time seven years of age. +They were talking of religious matters. ‘It is a hard +matter to get to heaven,’ said my father. +‘Exceedingly so,’ said the other. +‘However, I don’t despond, none need despair of +getting to heaven, save those who have committed the sin against +the Holy Ghost.’</p> +<p>“‘Ah!’ said my father, ‘thank God I +never committed that—how awful must be the state of a <!-- +page 205--><a name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +205</span>person who has committed the sin against the Holy +Ghost. I can scarcely think of it without my hair standing +on end;’ and then my father and his friend began talking of +the nature of the sin against the Holy Ghost, and I heard them +say what it was, as I sat with greedy ears listening to their +discourse.</p> +<p>“I lay awake the greater part of the night musing upon +what I had heard. I kept wondering to myself what must be +the state of a person who had committed the sin against the Holy +Ghost, and how he must feel. Once or twice I felt a strong +inclination to commit it, a strange kind of fear, however, +prevented me; at last I determined not to commit it, and, having +said my prayers, I fell asleep.</p> +<p>“When I awoke in the morning the first thing I thought +of was the mysterious sin, and a voice within me seemed to say, +‘Commit it’; and I felt a strong temptation to do so, +even stronger than in the night. I was just about to yield, +when the same dread, of which I have already spoken, came over +me, and, springing out of bed, I went down on my knees. I +slept in a small room alone, to which I ascended by a wooden +stair, open to the sky. I have often thought since that it +is not a good thing for children to sleep alone.</p> +<p>“After breakfast I went to school, and endeavoured to +employ myself upon my tasks, but all in vain; I could think of +nothing but the sin against the Holy Ghost; my eyes, instead of +being fixed upon my book, wandered in vacancy. My master +observed my inattention, and chid me. The time came for +saying my task, and I had not acquired it. My master +reproached me, and, yet more, he beat <!-- page 206--><a +name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 206</span>me; I felt +shame and anger, and I went home with a full determination to +commit the sin against the Holy Ghost.</p> +<p>“But when I got home my father ordered me to do +something connected with the farm, so that I was compelled to +exert myself; I was occupied till night, and was so busy that I +almost forgot the sin and my late resolution. My work +completed, I took my supper, and went to my room; I began my +prayers, and, when they were ended, I thought of the sin, but the +temptation was slight, I felt very tired, and was presently +asleep.</p> +<p>“Thus, you see, I had plenty of time allotted me by a +gracious and kind God to reflect on what I was about to do. +He did not permit the enemy of souls to take me by surprise, and +to hurry me at once into the commission of that which was to be +my ruin here and hereafter. Whatever I did was of my own +free will, after I had had time to reflect. Thus God is +justified; He had no hand in my destruction, but, on the +contrary, He did all that was compatible with justice to prevent +it. I hasten to the fatal moment. Awaking in the +night, I determined that nothing should prevent my committing the +sin. Arising from my bed, I went out upon the wooden +gallery; and having stood for a few moments looking at the stars, +with which the heavens were thickly strewn, I laid myself down, +and supporting my face with my hand, I murmured out words of +horror, words not to be repeated, and in this manner I committed +the sin against the Holy Ghost.</p> +<p>“When the words were uttered I sat up upon the topmost +step of the gallery; for some time I felt stunned in somewhat the +same manner as I once <!-- page 207--><a name="page207"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 207</span>subsequently felt after being stung +by an adder. I soon arose, however, and retired to my bed, +where, notwithstanding what I had done, I was not slow in falling +asleep.</p> +<p>“I awoke several times during the night, each time with +the dim idea that something strange and monstrous had occurred, +but I presently fell asleep again; in the morning I awoke with +the same vague feeling, but presently recollection returned, and +I remembered that I had committed the sin against the Holy +Ghost. I lay musing for some time on what I had done, and I +felt rather stunned, as before; at last I arose and got out of +bed, dressed myself, and then went down on my knees, and was +about to pray from the force of mechanical habit; before I said a +word, however, I recollected myself, and got up again. What +was the use of praying? I thought; I had committed the sin +against the Holy Ghost.</p> +<p>“I went to school, but sat stupefied. I was again +chidden, again beaten by my master. I felt no anger this +time, and scarcely heeded the strokes. I looked, however, +at my master’s face, and thought to myself, You are beating +me for being idle, as you suppose; poor man, what would you do if +you knew I had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost?</p> +<p>“Days and weeks passed by. I had once been +cheerful, and fond of the society of children of my own age; but +I was now reserved and gloomy. It seemed to me that a gulf +separated me from all my fellow-creatures. I used to look +at my brothers and schoolfellows, and think how different I was +from them; they had not done what I had. I seemed, in my +own eyes, a lone monstrous being, <!-- page 208--><a +name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>and yet, +strange to say, I felt a kind of pride in being so. I was +unhappy, but I frequently thought to myself, I have done what no +one else would dare to do; there was something grand in the idea; +I had yet to learn the horror of my condition.</p> +<p>“Time passed on, and I began to think less of what I had +done; I began once more to take pleasure in my childish sports; I +was active, and excelled at football and the like all the lads of +my age. I likewise began, what I had never done before, to +take pleasure in the exercises of the school. I made great +progress in Welsh and English grammar, and learnt to construe +Latin. My master no longer chid or beat me, but one day +told my father that he had no doubt that one day I should be an +honour to Wales.</p> +<p>“Shortly after this my father fell sick; the progress of +the disorder was rapid; feeling his end approaching, he called +his children before him. After tenderly embracing us, he +said, ‘God bless you, my children; I am going from you, but +take comfort, I trust that we shall all meet again in +heaven.’</p> +<p>“As he uttered these last words, horror took entire +possession of me. Meet my father in heaven,—how could +I ever hope to meet him there? I looked wildly at my +brethren and at my mother; they were all bathed in tears, but how +I envied them. They might hope to meet my father in heaven, +but how different were they from me, they had never committed the +unpardonable sin.</p> +<p>“In a few days my father died; he left his family in +comfortable circumstances, at least such as would be considered +so in Wales, where the wants of the people are few. My +elder brother <!-- page 209--><a name="page209"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 209</span>carried on the farm for the benefit +of my mother and us all. In course of time my brothers were +put out to various trades. I still remained at school, but +without being a source of expense to my relations, as I was by +this time able to assist my master in the business of the +school.</p> +<p>“I was diligent both in self-improvement and in the +instruction of others; nevertheless, a horrible weight pressed +upon my breast; I knew I was a lost being; that for me there was +no hope; that, though all others might be saved, I must of +necessity be lost: I had committed the unpardonable sin, for +which I was doomed to eternal punishment, in the flaming gulf, as +soon as life was over!—and how long could I hope to live? +perhaps fifty years; at the end of which I must go to my place; +and then I would count the months and the days, nay, even the +hours which yet intervened between me and my doom. +Sometimes I would comfort myself with the idea that a long time +would elapse before my time would be out; but then again I +thought that, however long the term might be, it must be out at +last; and then I would fall into an agony, during which I would +almost wish that the term were out, and that I were in my place; +the horrors of which I thought could scarcely be worse than what +I then endured.</p> +<p>“There was one thought about this time which caused me +unutterable grief and shame, perhaps more shame than grief. +It was that my father, who was gone to heaven, and was there +daily holding communion with his God, was by this time aware of +my crime. I imagined him looking down from the clouds upon +his wretched son, with a countenance <!-- page 210--><a +name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>of +inexpressible horror. When this idea was upon me, I would +often rush to some secret place to hide myself; to some thicket, +where I would cast myself on the ground, and thrust my head into +a thick bush, in order to escape from the horror-struck glance of +my father above in the clouds; and there I would continue +groaning till the agony had, in some degree, passed away.</p> +<p>“The wretchedness of my state increasing daily, it at +last became apparent to the master of the school, who questioned +me earnestly and affectionately. I, however, gave him no +satisfactory answer, being apprehensive that, if I unbosomed +myself, I should become as much an object of horror to him as I +had long been to myself. At length he suspected that I was +unsettled in my intellects; and, fearing probably the ill effect +of my presence upon his scholars, he advised me to go home; which +I was glad to do, as I felt myself every day becoming less +qualified for the duties of the office which I had +undertaken.</p> +<p>“So I returned home to my mother and my brother, who +received me with the greatest kindness and affection. I now +determined to devote myself to husbandry, and assist my brother +in the business of the farm. I was still, however, very +much distressed. One fine morning, however, as I was at +work in the field, and the birds were carolling around me, a ray +of hope began to break upon my poor dark soul. I looked at +the earth and looked at the sky, and felt as I had not done for +many a year; presently a delicious feeling stole over me. I +was beginning to enjoy existence. I shall never forget that +hour. I flung myself on the <!-- page 211--><a +name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 211</span>soil, and +kissed it; then, springing up with a sudden impulse, I rushed +into the depths of a neighbouring wood, and, falling upon my +knees, did what I had not done for a long, long time—prayed +to God.</p> +<p>“A change, an entire change, seemed to have come over +me. I was no longer gloomy and despairing, but gay and +happy. My slumbers were light and easy; not disturbed, as +before, by frightful dreams. I arose with the lark, and +like him uttered a cheerful song of praise to God, frequently and +earnestly, and was particularly cautious not to do anything which +I considered might cause His displeasure.</p> +<p>“At church I was constant, and when there listened with +deepest attention to every word which proceeded from the mouth of +the minister. In a little time it appeared to me that I had +become a good, very good young man. At times the +recollection of the sin would return, and I would feel a +momentary chill; but the thought quickly vanished, and I again +felt happy and secure.</p> +<p>“One Sunday morning, after I had said my prayers, I felt +particularly joyous. I thought of the innocent and virtuous +life I was leading; and when the recollection of the sin intruded +for a moment, I said, ‘I am sure God will never utterly +cast away so good a creature as myself.’ I went to +church, and was as usual attentive. The subject of the +sermon was on the duty of searching the Scriptures: all I knew of +them was from the Liturgy. I now, however, determined to +read them, and perfect the good work which I had begun. My +father’s Bible was upon the shelf, and <!-- page 212--><a +name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 212</span>on that +evening I took it with me to my chamber. I placed it on the +table, and sat down. My heart was filled with pleasing +anticipation. I opened the book at random, and began to +read; the first passage on which my eyes lighted was the +following:—</p> +<p>“‘He who committeth the sin against the Holy Ghost +shall not be forgiven, either in this world or the +next.’”</p> +<p>Here Peter was seized with convulsive tremors. Winifred +sobbed violently. I got up, and went away. Returning +in about a quarter of an hour, I found him more calm; he motioned +me to sit down; and, after a short pause, continued his +narration.</p> +<h2><!-- page 213--><a name="page213"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 213</span>CHAPTER LXXVI</h2> +<p>Hasty Farewell—Lofty Rock—Wrestlings of +Jacob—No Rest—Ways of Providence—Two +Females—Foot of the Cross—Enemy of +Souls—Perplexed—Lucky +Hour—Valetudinarian—Methodists—Fervent in +Prayer—You Saxons—Weak Creatures—Very +Agreeable—Almost Happy—Kindness and Solicitude.</p> +<p>“Where was I, young man? Oh, I remember, at the +fatal passage which removed all hope. I will not dwell on +what I felt. I closed my eyes, and wished that I might be +dreaming; but it was no dream, but a terrific reality: I will not +dwell on that period, I should only shock you. I could not +bear my feelings; so, bidding my friends a hasty farewell, I +abandoned myself to horror and despair, and ran wild through +Wales, climbing mountains and wading streams.</p> +<p>“Climbing mountains and wading streams, I ran wild +about, I was burnt by the sun, drenched by the rain, and had +frequently at night no other covering than the sky, or the humid +roof of some cave; but nothing seemed to affect my constitution; +probably the fire which burned within me counteracted what I +suffered from without. During the space of three years I +scarcely knew what befell <!-- page 214--><a +name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 214</span>me; my life +was a dream—a wild, horrible dream; more than once I +believe I was in the hands of robbers, and once in the hands of +Gypsies. I liked the last description of people least of +all; I could not abide their yellow faces, or their ceaseless +clabber. Escaping from these beings, whose countenances and +godless discourse brought to my mind the demons of the deep +Unknown, I still ran wild through Wales, I know not how +long. On one occasion, coming in some degree to my +recollection, I felt myself quite unable to bear the horrors of +my situation; looking round, I found myself near the sea; +instantly the idea came into my head that I would cast myself +into it, and thus anticipate my final doom. I hesitated a +moment, but a voice within me seemed to tell me that I could do +no better; the sea was near, and I could not swim, so I +determined to fling myself into the sea. As I was running +along at great speed, in the direction of a lofty rock, which +beetled over the waters, I suddenly felt myself seized by the +coat. I strove to tear myself away, but in vain; looking +round, I perceived a venerable hale old man, who had hold of +me. ‘Let me go!’ said I, fiercely. +‘I will not let thee go,’ said the old man, and now +instead of with one, he grappled me with both hands. +‘In whose name dost thou detain me?’ said I, scarcely +knowing what I said. ‘In the name of my Master, who +made thee and yonder sea; and has said to the sea, so far shalt +thou come, and no farther, and to thee, thou shalt do no +murder.’ ‘Has not a man a right to do what he +pleases with his own?’ said I. ‘He has,’ +said the old man, ‘but thy life is not thy own; thou art +accountable for it to thy God. Nay, I <!-- page 215--><a +name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span>will not +let thee go,’ he continued, as I again struggled; ‘if +thou struggle with me the whole day I will not let thee go, as +Charles Wesley says, in his “Wrestlings of Jacob”; +and see, it is of no use struggling, for I am, in the strength of +my Master, stronger than thou;’ and, indeed, all of a +sudden I had become very weak and exhausted; whereupon the old +man, beholding my situation, took me by the arm and led me gently +to a neighbouring town, which stood behind a hill, and which I +had not before observed; presently he opened the door of a +respectable-looking house, which stood beside a large building +having the appearance of a chapel, and conducted me into a small +room, with a great many books in it. Having caused me to +sit down, he stood looking at me for some time, occasionally +heaving a sigh. I was, indeed, haggard and forlorn. +‘Who art thou?’ he said at last. ‘A +miserable man,’ I replied. ‘What makes thee +miserable?’ said the old man. ‘A hideous +crime,’ I replied. ‘I can find no rest; like +Cain I wander here and there.’ The old man turned +pale. ‘Hast thou taken another’s life?’ +said he; ‘if so, I advise thee to surrender thyself to the +magistrate; thou canst do no better; thy doing so will be the +best proof of thy repentance; and though there be no hope for +thee in this world there may be much in the next.’ +‘No,’ said I, ‘I have never taken +another’s life.’ ‘What then, +another’s goods? If so, restore them seven-fold, if +possible: or, if it be not in thy power, and thy conscience +accuse thee, surrender thyself to the magistrate, and make the +only satisfaction thou art able.’ ‘I have taken +no one’s goods,’ said I. ‘Of what art +thou guilty, then?’ said he. ‘Art thou a +drunkard? a <!-- page 216--><a name="page216"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 216</span>profligate?’ +‘Alas, no,’ said I; ‘I am neither of these; +would that I were no worse.’</p> +<p>“Thereupon the old man looked steadfastly at me for some +time; then, after appearing to reflect, he said, ‘Young +man, I have a great desire to know your name.’ +‘What matters it to you what is my name?’ said I; +‘you know nothing of me.’ ‘Perhaps you +are mistaken,’ said the old man, looking kindly at me; +‘but at all events tell me your name.’ I +hesitated a moment, and then told him who I was, whereupon he +exclaimed with much emotion, ‘I thought so; how wonderful +are the ways of Providence. I have heard of thee, young +man, and know thy mother well. Only a month ago, when upon +a journey, I experienced much kindness from her. She was +speaking to me of her lost child, with tears; she told me that +you were one of the best of sons, but that some strange idea +appeared to have occupied your mind. Despair not, my +son. If thou hast been afflicted, I doubt not but that thy +affliction will eventually turn out to thy benefit; I doubt not +but that thou wilt be preserved, as an example of the great mercy +of God. I will now kneel down and pray for thee, my +son.’</p> +<p>“He knelt down, and prayed long and fervently. I +remained standing for some time; at length I knelt down +likewise. I scarcely knew what he was saying, but when he +concluded I said ‘Amen.’</p> +<p>“And when we had risen from our knees, the old man left +me for a short time, and on his return led me into another room, +where were two females; one was an elderly person, the wife of +the old man,—the other was a young woman of very +prepossessing appearance (hang not down thy head, Winifred), who +I soon found was a distant relation <!-- page 217--><a +name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>of the old +man,—both received me with great kindness, the old man +having doubtless previously told them who I was.</p> +<p>“I staid several days in the good man’s +house. I had still the greater portion of a small sum which +I happened to have about me when I departed on my dolorous +wandering, and with this I purchased clothes, and altered my +appearance considerably. On the evening of the second day, +my friend said, ‘I am going to preach, perhaps you will +come and hear me.’ I consented, and we all went, not +to a church, but to the large building next the house,—for +the old man, though a clergyman, was not of the established +persuasion,—and there the old man mounted a pulpit, and +began to preach. ‘Come unto Me, all ye that labour +and are heavy laden,’ etc. etc., was his text. His +sermon was long, but I still bear the greater portion of it in my +mind.</p> +<p>“The substance of it was that Jesus was at all times +ready to take upon Himself the burden of our sins, provided we +came to Him with a humble and contrite spirit, and begged His +help. This doctrine was new to me; I had often been at +church, but had never heard it preached before, at least so +distinctly. When he said that all men might be saved, I +shook, for I expected he would add, all except those who had +committed the mysterious sin; but no, all men were to be saved +who with a humble and contrite spirit would come to Jesus, cast +themselves at the foot of His cross, and accept pardon through +the merits of His blood-shedding alone. ‘Therefore, +my friends,’ said he, in conclusion, ‘despair +not—however guilty you may be, despair not—however +desperate <!-- page 218--><a name="page218"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 218</span>your condition may seem,’ said +he, fixing his eyes upon me, ‘despair not. There is +nothing more foolish and more wicked than despair; overweening +confidence is not more foolish than despair; both are the +favourite weapons of the enemy of souls.’</p> +<p>“This discourse gave rise in my mind to no slight +perplexity. I had read in the Scriptures that he who +committeth a certain sin shall never be forgiven, and that there +is no hope for him either in this world or the next. And +here was a man, a good man certainly, and one who, of necessity, +was thoroughly acquainted with the Scriptures, who told me that +any one might be forgiven, however wicked, who would only trust +in Christ and in the merits of His blood-shedding. Did I +believe in Christ? Ay, truly. Was I willing to be +saved by Christ? Ay, truly. Did I trust in +Christ? I trusted that Christ would save every one but +myself. And why not myself? simply because the Scriptures +had told me that he who has committed the sin against the Holy +Ghost can never be saved, and I had committed the sin against the +Holy Ghost,—perhaps the only one who ever had committed +it. How could I hope? The Scriptures could not lie, +and yet here was this good old man, profoundly versed in the +Scriptures, who bade me hope; would he lie? No. But +did the old man know my case? Ah, no, he did not know my +case! but yet he had bid me hope, whatever I had done, provided I +would go to Jesus. But how could I think of going to Jesus, +when the Scriptures told me plainly that all would be +useless? I was perplexed, and yet a ray of hope <!-- page +219--><a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +219</span>began to dawn in my soul. I thought of consulting +the good man, but I was afraid he would drive away the small +glimmer. I was afraid he would say, ‘Oh yes, every +one is to be saved, except a wretch like you; I was not aware +before that there was anything so +horrible,—begone!’ Once or twice the old man +questioned me on the subject of my misery, but I evaded him; +once, indeed, when he looked particularly benevolent, I think I +should have unbosomed myself to him, but we were +interrupted. He never pressed me much; perhaps he was +delicate in probing my mind, as we were then of different +persuasions. Hence he advised me to seek the advice of some +powerful minister in my own Church; there were many such in it, +he said.</p> +<p>“I staid several days in the family, during which time I +more than once heard my venerable friend preach; each time he +preached, he exhorted his hearers not to despair. The whole +family were kind to me; his wife frequently discoursed with me, +and also the young person to whom I have already alluded. +It appeared to me that the latter took a peculiar interest in my +fate.</p> +<p>“At last my friend said to me, ‘It is now time +thou shouldest return to thy mother and thy brother.’ +So I arose, and departed to my mother and my brother; and at my +departure my old friend gave me his blessing, and his wife and +the young person shed tears, the last especially. And when +my mother saw me, she shed tears, and fell on my neck and kissed +me, and my brother took me by the hand and bade me welcome; and +when our first emotions were subsided, my mother <!-- page +220--><a name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +220</span>said, ‘I trust thou art come in a lucky +hour. A few weeks ago my cousin (whose favourite thou +always wast) died and left thee his heir—left thee the +goodly farm in which he lived. I trust, my son, that thou +wilt now settle, and be a comfort to me in my old +days.’ And I answered, ‘I will, if so please +the Lord;’ and I said to myself, ‘God grant that this +bequest be a token of the Lord’s favour.’</p> +<p>“And in a few days I departed to take possession of my +farm; it was about twenty miles from my mother’s house, in +a beautiful but rather wild district; I arrived at the fall of +the leaf. All day long I busied myself with my farm, and +thus kept my mind employed. At night, however, I felt +rather solitary, and I frequently wished for a companion. +Each night and morning I prayed fervently unto the Lord; for His +hand had been very heavy upon me, and I feared Him.</p> +<p>“There was one thing connected with my new abode, which +gave me considerable uneasiness—the want of spiritual +instruction. There was a church, indeed, close at hand, in +which service was occasionally performed, but in so hurried and +heartless a manner that I derived little benefit from it. +The clergyman to whom the benefice belonged was a valetudinarian, +who passed his time in London, or at some watering-place, +entrusting the care of his flock to the curate of a distant +parish, who gave himself very little trouble about the +matter. Now I wanted every Sunday to hear from the pulpit +words of consolation and encouragement, similar to those which I +had heard uttered from the pulpit by my good and venerable +friend, but I was debarred from this privilege. At length, +<!-- page 221--><a name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +221</span>one day being in conversation with one of my labourers, +a staid and serious man, I spoke to him of the matter which lay +heavy upon my mind; whereupon, looking me wistfully in the face, +he said, ‘Master, the want of religious instruction in my +church was what drove me to the Methodists.’ +‘The Methodists,’ said I; ‘are there any in +these parts?’ ‘There is a chapel,’ said +he, ‘only half a mile distant, at which there are two +services every Sunday, and other two during the +week.’ Now it happened that my venerable friend was +of the Methodist persuasion, and when I heard the poor man talk +in this manner, I said to him, ‘May I go with you next +Sunday?’ ‘Why not?’ said he; so I went +with the labourer on the ensuing Sabbath to the meeting of the +Methodists.</p> +<p>“I liked the preaching which I heard at the chapel very +well, though it was not quite so comfortable as that of my old +friend, the preacher being in some respects a different kind of +man. It, however, did me good, and I went again, and +continued to do so, though I did not become a regular member of +the body at that time.</p> +<p>“I had now the benefit of religious instruction, and +also to a certain extent of religious fellowship, for the +preacher and various members of his flock frequently came to see +me. They were honest plain men, not exactly of the +description which I wished for, but still good sort of people, +and I was glad to see them. Once on a time, when some of +them were with me, one of them inquired whether I was fervent in +prayer. ‘Very fervent,’ said I. +‘And do you read the Scriptures often?’ said +he. ‘No,’ said I. ‘Why not?’ +said he. ‘Because I am afraid to see there my own +condemnation.’ <!-- page 222--><a +name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 222</span>They looked +at each other, and said nothing at the time. On leaving me, +however, they all advised me to read the Scriptures with fervency +and prayer.</p> +<p>“As I had told these honest people, I shrank from +searching the Scriptures; the remembrance of the fatal passage +was still too vivid in my mind to permit me. I did not wish +to see my condemnation repeated, but I was very fervent in +prayer, and almost hoped that God would yet forgive me by virtue +of the blood-shedding of the Lamb. Time passed on, my +affairs prospered, and I enjoyed a certain portion of +tranquillity. Occasionally, when I had nothing else to do, +I renewed my studies. Many is the book I read, especially +in my native language, for I was always fond of my native +language, and proud of being a Welshman. Amongst the books +I read were the odes of the great Ab Gwilym, whom thou, friend, +hast never heard of; no, nor any of thy countrymen, for you are +an ignorant race, you Saxons, at least with respect to all that +relates to Wales and Welshmen. I likewise read the book of +Master Ellis Wyn. The latter work possessed a singular +fascination for me, on account of its wonderful delineations of +the torments of the nether world.</p> +<p>“But man does not love to be alone; indeed, the +Scripture says that it is not good for man to be alone. I +occupied my body with the pursuits of husbandry, and I improved +my mind with the perusal of good and wise books; but, as I have +already said, I frequently sighed for a companion with whom I +could exchange ideas, and who could take an interest in my +pursuits; the want of such <!-- page 223--><a +name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 223</span>a one I +more particularly felt in the long winter evenings. It was +then that the image of the young person whom I had seen in the +house of the preacher frequently rose up distinctly before my +mind’s eye, decked with quiet graces—hang not down +your head, Winifred—and I thought that of all the women in +the world I should wish her to be my partner, and then I +considered whether it would be possible to obtain her. I am +ready to acknowledge, friend, that it was both selfish and wicked +in me to wish to fetter any human being to a lost creature like +myself, conscious of having committed a crime for which the +Scriptures told me there is no pardon. I had, indeed, a +long struggle as to whether I should make the attempt or +not—selfishness, however, prevailed. I will not +detain your attention with relating all that occurred at this +period—suffice it to say that I made my suit and was +successful; it is true that the old man, who was her guardian, +hesitated, and asked several questions respecting my state of +mind. I am afraid that I partly deceived him, perhaps he +partly deceived himself; he was pleased that I had adopted his +profession—we are all weak creatures. With respect to +the young person, she did not ask many questions; and I soon +found that I had won her heart. To be brief, I married her; +and here she is, the truest wife that ever man had, and the +kindest. Kind I may well call her, seeing that she shrinks +not from me, who so cruelly deceived her, in not telling her at +first what I was. I married her, friend; and brought her +home to my little possession, where we passed our time very +agreeably. Our affairs prospered, our garners were full, +and there was <!-- page 224--><a name="page224"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 224</span>coin in our purse. I worked in +the field; Winifred busied herself with the dairy. At night +I frequently read books to her, books of my own country, friend; +I likewise read to her songs of my own, holy songs and carols +which she admired, and which yourself would perhaps admire, could +you understand them; but I repeat, you Saxons are an ignorant +people with respect to us, and a perverse, inasmuch as you +despise Welsh without understanding it. Every night I +prayed fervently, and my wife admired my gift of prayer.</p> +<p>“One night, after I had been reading to my wife a +portion of Ellis Wyn, my wife said, ‘This is a wonderful +book, and containing much true and pleasant doctrine; but how is +it that you, who are so fond of good books, and good things in +general, never read the Bible? You read me the book of +Master Ellis Wyn, you read me sweet songs of your own +composition, you edify me with your gift of prayer, but yet you +never read the Bible.’ And when I heard her mention +the Bible I shook, for I thought of my own condemnation. +However, I dearly loved my wife, and as she pressed me, I +commenced on that very night reading the Bible. All went on +smoothly for a long time; for months and months I did not find +the fatal passage, so that I almost thought that I had imagined +it. My affairs prospered much the while, so that I was +almost happy,—taking pleasure in everything around +me,—in my wife, in my farm, my books and compositions, and +the Welsh language; till one night, as I was reading the Bible, +feeling particularly comfortable, a thought having just come into +my head that I would print some of my compositions, and purchase +a particular <!-- page 225--><a name="page225"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 225</span>field of a neighbour—O +God—God! I came to the fatal passage.</p> +<p>“Friend, friend, what shall I say? I rushed +out. My wife followed me, asking me what was the +matter. I could only answer with groans—for three +days and three nights I did little else than groan. Oh, the +kindness and solicitude of my wife! ‘What is the +matter, husband, dear husband?’ she was continually +saying. I became at last more calm. My wife still +persisted in asking me the cause of my late paroxysm. It is +hard to keep a secret from a wife, especially such a wife as +mine, so I told my wife the tale, as we sat one night—it +was a mid-winter night—over the dying brands of our hearth, +after the family had retired to rest, her hand locked in mine, +even as it is now.</p> +<p>“I thought she would have shrunk from me with horror; +but she did not; her hand, it is true, trembled once or twice; +but that was all. At last she gave mine a gentle pressure; +and, looking up in my face, she said—what do you think my +wife said, young man?”</p> +<p>“It is impossible for me to guess,” said I.</p> +<p>“‘Let us go to rest, my love; your fears are all +groundless.’”</p> +<h2><!-- page 226--><a name="page226"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 226</span>CHAPTER LXXVII</h2> +<p>Getting Late—Seven Years Old—Chastening—Go +Forth—London Bridge—Same Eyes—Common +Occurrence—Very Sleepy.</p> +<p>“And so I still say,” said Winifred, +sobbing. “Let us retire to rest, dear husband; your +fears are groundless. I had hoped long since that your +affliction would have passed away, and I still hope that it +eventually will; so take heart, Peter, and let us retire to rest, +for it is getting late.”</p> +<p>“Rest!” said Peter; “there is no rest for +the wicked!”</p> +<p>“We are all wicked,” said Winifred; “but you +are afraid of a shadow. How often have I told you that the +sin of your heart is not the sin against the Holy Ghost: the sin +of your heart is its natural pride, of which you are scarcely +aware, to keep down which God in His mercy permitted you to be +terrified with the idea of having committed a sin which you never +committed.”</p> +<p>“Then you will still maintain,” said Peter, +“that I never committed the sin against the Holy +Spirit?”</p> +<p>“I will,” said Winifred; “you never +committed it. How should a child seven years old commit a +sin like that?”</p> +<p><!-- page 227--><a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +227</span>“Have I not read my own condemnation?” said +Peter. “Did not the first words which I read in the +Holy Scripture condemn me? ‘He who committeth the sin +against the Holy Ghost shall never enter into the kingdom of +God.’”</p> +<p>“You never committed it,” said Winifred.</p> +<p>“But the words! the words! the words!” said +Peter.</p> +<p>“The words are true words,” said Winifred, +sobbing; “but they were not meant for you, but for those +who have broken their profession, who, having embraced the cross, +have receded from their Master.”</p> +<p>“And what sayst thou to the effect which the words +produced upon me?” said Peter. “Did they not +cause me to run wild through Wales for years, like Merddin Wyllt +of yore; thinkest thou that I opened the book at that particular +passage by chance?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Winifred, “not by chance; it was +the hand of God directed you, doubtless for some wise +purpose. You had become satisfied with yourself. The +Lord wished to rouse thee from thy state of carnal security, and +therefore directed your eyes to that fearful passage.”</p> +<p>“Does the Lord then carry out His designs by means of +guile?” said Peter, with a groan. “Is not the +Lord true? Would the Lord impress upon me that I had +committed a sin of which I am guiltless? Hush, Winifred! +hush! thou knowest that I have committed the sin.”</p> +<p>“Thou hast not committed it,” said Winifred, +sobbing yet more violently. “Were they my last words, +I would persist that thou hast not committed <!-- page 228--><a +name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 228</span>it, though, +perhaps, thou wouldst, but for this chastening; it was not to +convince thee that thou hast committed the sin, but rather to +prevent thee from committing it, that the Lord brought that +passage before thy eyes. He is not to blame, if thou art +wilfully blind to the truth and wisdom of His ways.”</p> +<p>“I see thou wouldst comfort me,” said Peter, +“as thou hast often before attempted to do. I would +fain ask the young man his opinion.”</p> +<p>“I have not yet heard the whole of your history,” +said I.</p> +<p>“My story is nearly told,” said Peter; “a +few words will complete it. My wife endeavoured to console +and reassure me, using the arguments which you have just heard +her use, and many others, but in vain. Peace nor comfort +came to my breast. I was rapidly falling into the depths of +despair; when one day Winifred said to me, ‘I see thou wilt +be lost, if we remain here. One resource only +remains. Thou must go forth, my husband, into the wide +world, and to comfort thee I will go with thee.’ +‘And what can I do in the wide world?’ said I, +despondingly. ‘Much,’ replied Winifred, +‘if you will but exert yourself; much good canst thou do +with the blessing of God.’ Many things of the same +kind she said to me; and at last I arose from the earth to which +God had smitten me, and disposed of my property in the best way I +could, and went into the world. We did all the good we were +able, visiting the sick, ministering to the sick, and praying +with the sick. At last I became celebrated as the possessor +of a great gift of prayer. And people urged me to preach, +and Winifred urged me too, and at last I <!-- page 229--><a +name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 229</span>consented, +and I preached. I—I—outcast Peter, became the +preacher Peter Williams. I, the lost one, attempted to show +others the right road. And in this way I have gone on for +thirteen years, preaching and teaching, visiting the sick, and +ministering to them, with Winifred by my side heartening me +on. Occasionally I am visited with fits of indescribable +agony, generally on the night before the Sabbath; for I then ask +myself, how dare I, the outcast, attempt to preach the word of +God? Young man, my tale is told; you seem in +thought!”</p> +<p>“I am thinking of London Bridge,” said I.</p> +<p>“Of London Bridge!” said Peter and his wife.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “of London Bridge. I am +indebted for much wisdom to London Bridge; it was there that I +completed my studies. But to the point. I was once +reading on London Bridge a book which an ancient gentlewoman, who +kept the bridge, was in the habit of lending me; and there I +found written, ‘Each one carries in his breast the +recollection of some sin which presses heavy upon him. O! +if men could but look into each other’s hearts, what +blackness would they find there!’”</p> +<p>“That’s true,” said Peter. “What +is the name of the book?”</p> +<p>“‘The Life of Blessed Mary +Flanders.’”</p> +<p>“Some popish saint, I suppose,” said Peter.</p> +<p>“As much of a saint, I dare say,” said I, +“as most popish ones; but you interrupted me. One +part of your narrative brought the passage which I have quoted +into my mind. You said that after you had committed this +same sin of yours you <!-- page 230--><a name="page230"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 230</span>were in the habit, at school, of +looking upon your schoolfellows with a kind of gloomy +superiority, considering yourself a lone monstrous being who had +committed a sin far above the daring of any of them. Are +you sure that many others of your schoolfellows were not looking +upon you and the others with much the same eyes with which you +were looking upon them?”</p> +<p>“How!” said Peter, “dost thou think that +they had divined my secret?”</p> +<p>“Not they,” said I; “they were, I dare say, +thinking too much of themselves and of their own concerns to have +divined any secrets of yours. All I mean to say is, they +had probably secrets of their own, and who knows that the secret +sin of more than one of them was not the very sin which caused +you so much misery?”</p> +<p>“Dost thou then imagine,” said Peter, “the +sin against the Holy Ghost to be so common an +occurrence?”</p> +<p>“As you have described it,” said I, “of very +common occurrence, especially amongst children, who are, indeed, +the only beings likely to commit it.”</p> +<p>“Truly,” said Winifred, “the young man talks +wisely.”</p> +<p>Peter was silent for some moments, and appeared to be +reflecting; at last, suddenly raising his head, he looked me full +in the face, and, grasping my hand with vehemence, he said, +“Tell me, young man, only one thing, hast thou, too, +committed the sin against the Holy Ghost?”</p> +<p>“I am neither Papist, nor Methodist,” said I, +“but of the Church, and, being so, confess myself to no +one, but keep my own counsel; I will tell <!-- page 231--><a +name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 231</span>thee, +however, had I committed, at the same age, twenty such sins as +that which you committed, I should feel no uneasiness at these +years—but I am sleepy, and must go to rest.”</p> +<p>“God bless thee, young man,” said Winifred.</p> +<h2><!-- page 232--><a name="page232"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 232</span>CHAPTER LXXVIII</h2> +<p>Low and Calm—Much Better—Blessed Effect—No +Answer—Such a Sermon.</p> +<p>Before I sank to rest I heard Winifred and her husband +conversing in the place where I had left them; both their voices +were low and calm. I soon fell asleep, and slumbered for +some time. On my awakening I again heard them conversing, +but they were now in their cart; still the voices of both were +calm. I heard no passionate bursts of wild despair on the +part of the man. Methought I occasionally heard the word +Pechod proceeding from the lips of each, but with no particular +emphasis. I supposed they were talking of the innate sin of +both their hearts.</p> +<p>“I wish that man were happy,” said I to myself, +“were it only for his wife’s sake, and yet he +deserves to be happy for his own.”</p> +<p>The next day Peter was very cheerful, more cheerful than I had +ever seen him. At breakfast his conversation was animated, +and he smiled repeatedly. I looked at him with the greatest +interest, and the eyes of his wife were almost constantly fixed +upon him. A shade of gloom would occasionally come over his +countenance, but it almost instantly disappeared; perhaps it +proceeded <!-- page 233--><a name="page233"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 233</span>more from habit than anything +else. After breakfast he took his Welsh Bible and sat down +beneath a tree. His eyes were soon fixed intently on the +volume; now and then he would call his wife, show her some +passage, and appeared to consult with her. The day passed +quickly and comfortably.</p> +<p>“Your husband seems much better,” said I, at +evening-fall, to Winifred, as we chanced to be alone.</p> +<p>“He does,” said Winifred; “and that on the +day of the week when he was wont to appear most melancholy, for +to-morrow is the Sabbath. He now no longer looks forward to +the Sabbath with dread, but appears to reckon on it. What a +happy change! and to think that this change should have been +produced by a few words, seemingly careless ones, proceeding from +the mouth of one who is almost a stranger to him. Truly, it +is wonderful.”</p> +<p>“To whom do you allude,” said I, “and to +what words?”</p> +<p>“To yourself, and to the words which came from your lips +last night, after you had heard my poor husband’s +history. Those strange words, drawn out with so much +seeming indifference, have produced in my husband the blessed +effect which you have observed. They have altered the +current of his ideas. He no longer thinks himself the only +being in the world doomed to destruction,—the only being +capable of committing the never-to-be-forgiven sin. Your +supposition that that which harrowed his soul is of frequent +occurrence amongst children, has tranquillised him; the mist +which hung over his mind has cleared away, and he begins to see +the groundlessness of his <!-- page 234--><a +name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +234</span>apprehensions. The Lord has permitted him to be +chastened for a season, but his lamp will only burn the brighter +for what he has undergone.”</p> +<p>Sunday came, fine and glorious as the last. Again my +friends and myself breakfasted together—again the good +family of the house on the hill above, headed by the respectable +master, descended to the meadow. Peter and his wife were +ready to receive them. Again Peter placed himself at the +side of the honest farmer, and Winifred by the side of her +friend. “Wilt thou not come?” said Peter, +looking towards me with a face in which there was much +emotion. “Wilt thou not come?” said Winifred, +with a face beaming with kindness. But I made no answer, +and presently the party moved away, in the same manner in which +it had moved on the preceding Sabbath, and I was again left +alone.</p> +<p>The hours of the Sabbath passed slowly away. I sat +gazing at the sky, the trees, and the water. At last I +strolled up to the house and sat down in the porch. It was +empty; there was no modest maiden there, as on the preceding +Sabbath. The damsel of the book had accompanied the +rest. I had seen her in the procession, and the house +appeared quite deserted. The owners had probably left it to +my custody, so I sat down in the porch, quite alone. The +hours of the Sabbath passed heavily away.</p> +<p>At last evening came, and with it the party of the +morning. I was now at my place beneath the oak. I +went forward to meet them. Peter and his wife received me +with a calm and quiet greeting, and passed forward. The +rest of the party had broke into groups. There was a kind +of excitement <!-- page 235--><a name="page235"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 235</span>amongst them, and much eager +whispering. I went to one of the groups; the young girl of +whom I have spoken more than once, was speaking: “Such a +sermon,” said she, “it has never been our lot to +hear; Peter never before spoke as he has done this day—he +was always a powerful preacher, but oh, the unction of the +discourse of this morning, and yet more of that of the afternoon, +which was the continuation of it!” “What was +the subject?” said I, interrupting her. “Ah! +you should have been there, young man, to have heard it; it would +have made a lasting impression upon you. I was bathed in +tears all the time; those who heard it will never forget the +preaching of the good Peter Williams on the Power, Providence, +and Goodness of God.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 236--><a name="page236"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 236</span>CHAPTER LXXIX</h2> +<p>Deep Interest—Goodly Country—Two +Mansions—Welshman’s Candle—Beautiful +Universe—Godly Discourse—Fine Church—Points of +Doctrine—Strange Adventures—Paltry Cause—Roman +Pontiff—Evil Spirit.</p> +<p>On the morrow I said to my friends, “I am about to +depart; farewell!” “Depart!” said Peter +and his wife, simultaneously; “whither wouldst thou +go?” “I can’t stay here all my +days,” I replied. “Of course not,” said +Peter; “but we had no idea of losing thee so soon: we had +almost hoped that thou wouldst join us, become one of us. +We are under infinite obligations to thee.” +“You mean I am under infinite obligations to you,” +said I. “Did you not save my life?” +“Perhaps so, under God,” said Peter; “and what +hast thou not done for me? Art thou aware that, under God, +thou hast preserved my soul from despair? But, independent +of that, we like thy company, and feel a deep interest in thee, +and would fain teach thee the way that is right. Hearken, +to-morrow we go into Wales; go with us.” “I +have no wish to go into Wales,” said I. “Why +not?” said Peter, with animation. “Wales is a +goodly country; as the Scripture says—a land of brooks of +water, of fountains and depths, that <!-- page 237--><a +name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 237</span>spring out +of valleys and hills, a land whose stones are iron, and out of +whose hills thou mayest dig <i>lead</i>.”</p> +<p>“I dare say it is a very fine country,” said I, +“but I have no wish to go there just now; my destiny seems +to point in another direction, to say nothing of my +trade.” “Thou dost right to say nothing of thy +trade,” said Peter, smiling, “for thou seemest to +care nothing about it; which has led Winifred and myself to +suspect that thou art not altogether what thou seemest; but, +setting that aside, we should be most happy if thou wouldst go +with us into Wales.” “I cannot promise to go +with you into Wales,” said I; “but, as you depart +to-morrow, I will stay with you through the day, and on the +morrow accompany you part of the way.” +“Do,” said Peter: “I have many people to see +to-day, and so has Winifred; but we will both endeavour to have +some serious discourse with thee, which, perhaps, will turn to +thy profit in the end.”</p> +<p>In the course of the day the good Peter came to me, as I was +seated beneath the oak, and, placing himself by me, commenced +addressing me in the following manner:—</p> +<p>“I have no doubt, my young friend, that you are willing +to admit, that the most important thing which a human being +possesses is his soul; it is of infinitely more importance than +the body, which is a frail substance, and cannot last for many +years; but not so the soul, which, by its nature, is +imperishable. To one of two mansions the soul is destined +to depart, after its separation from the body, to heaven or hell; +to the halls of eternal bliss, where God and His holy angels +dwell, or to the place of endless <!-- page 238--><a +name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 238</span>misery, +inhabited by Satan and his grisly companions. My friend, if +the joys of heaven are great, unutterably great, so are the +torments of hell unutterably so. I wish not to speak of +them, I wish not to terrify your imagination with the torments of +hell: indeed, I like not to think of them; but it is necessary to +speak of them sometimes, and to think of them sometimes, lest you +should sink into a state of carnal security. Authors, +friend, and learned men, are not altogether agreed as to the +particulars of hell. They all agree, however, in +considering it a place of exceeding horror. Master Ellis +Wyn, who by the bye was a churchman, calls it, amongst other +things, a place of strong sighs, and of flaming sparks. +Master Rees Pritchard, <a name="citation238"></a><a +href="#footnote238" class="citation">[238]</a> who was not only a +churchman, but Vicar of Llandovery, and flourished about two +hundred years ago—I wish many like him flourished +now—speaking of hell, in his collection of sweet hymns, +called the ‘Welshman’s Candle,’ observes,</p> +<p>“‘The pool is continually blazing; it is very +deep, without any known bottom, and the walls are so high, that +there is neither hope nor possibility of escaping over +them.’</p> +<p>“But, as I told you just now, I have no great pleasure +in talking of hell. No, friend, no; I would sooner talk of +the other place, and of the goodness and hospitality of God +amongst His saints above.”</p> +<p>And then the excellent man began to dilate upon the joys of +heaven, and the goodness and hospitality of God in the mansions +above; explaining to me, in the clearest way, how I might get +there.</p> +<p>And when he had finished what he had to say, <!-- page +239--><a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 239</span>he +left me, whereupon Winifred drew nigh, and sitting down by me, +began to address me. “I do not think,” said +she, “from what I have observed of thee, that thou wouldst +wish to be ungrateful, and yet, is not thy whole life a series of +ingratitude, and to whom?—to thy Maker. Has He not +endowed thee with a goodly and healthy form; and senses which +enable thee to enjoy the delights of His beautiful +universe—the work of His hands? Canst thou not enjoy, +even to rapture, the brightness of the sun, the perfume of the +meads, and the song of the dear birds, which inhabit among the +trees? Yes, thou canst; for I have seen thee, and observed +thee doing so. Yet, during the whole time that I have known +thee, I have not heard proceed from thy lips one single word of +praise or thanksgiving to . . .”</p> +<p>And in this manner the admirable woman proceeded for a +considerable time, and to all her discourse I listened with +attention; and when she had concluded, I took her hand and said, +“I thank you,” and that was all.</p> +<p>On the next day everything was ready for our departure. +The good family of the house came to bid us farewell. There +were shaking of hands, and kisses, as on the night of our +arrival.</p> +<p>And as I stood somewhat apart, the young girl of whom I have +spoken so often, came up to me, and holding out her hand, said, +“Farewell, young man, wherever thou goest.” +Then, after looking around her, she said, “It was all true +you told me. Yesterday I received a letter from him thou +wottest of, he is coming soon. God bless you, young man; +who would have thought thou knewest so much!”</p> +<p><!-- page 240--><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +240</span>So, after we had taken our farewell of the good family, +we departed, proceeding in the direction of Wales. Peter +was very cheerful, and enlivened the way with godly discourse and +spiritual hymns, some of which were in the Welsh language. +At length I said, “It is a pity that you did not continue +in the Church; you have a turn for psalmody, and I have heard of +a man becoming a bishop by means of a less +qualification.”</p> +<p>“Very probably,” said Peter; “more the +pity. But I have told you the reason of my forsaking +it. Frequently, when I went to the church door, I found it +barred, and the priest absent; what was I to do? My heart +was bursting for want of some religious help and comfort; what +could I do? as good Master Rees Pritchard observes in his +‘Candle for Welshmen.’</p> +<p>“‘It is a doleful thing to see little children +burning on the hot coals for want of help; but yet more doleful +to see a flock of souls falling into the burning lake for want of +a priest.’”</p> +<p>“The Church of England is a fine church,” said I; +“I would not advise any one to speak ill of the Church of +England before me.”</p> +<p>“I have nothing to say against the Church,” said +Peter; “all I wish is that it would fling itself a little +more open, and that its priests would a little more bestir +themselves; in a word, that it would shoulder the cross and +become a missionary church.”</p> +<p>“It is too proud for that,” said Winifred.</p> +<p>“You are much more of a Methodist,” said I, +“than your husband. But tell me,” said I, +addressing myself to Peter, “do you not differ from the +Church in some points of doctrine? I, of course, as a true +<!-- page 241--><a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +241</span>member of the Church, am quite ignorant of the peculiar +opinions of wandering sectaries.”</p> +<p>“Oh, the pride of that Church!” said Winifred, +half to herself; “wandering sectaries!”</p> +<p>“We differ in no points of doctrine,” said Peter; +“we believe all the Church believes, though we are not so +fond of vain and superfluous ceremonies, snow-white neckcloths +and surplices, as the Church is. We likewise think that +there is no harm in a sermon by the road-side, or in holding free +discourse with a beggar beneath a hedge, or a tinker,” he +added, smiling; “it was those superfluous ceremonies, those +surplices and white neckcloths, and, above all, the necessity of +strictly regulating his words and conversation, which drove John +Wesley out of the Church, and sent him wandering up and down as +you see me, poor Welsh Peter, do.”</p> +<p>Nothing farther passed for some time; we were now drawing near +the hills: at last I said, “You must have met with a great +many strange adventures since you took up this course of +life?”</p> +<p>“Many,” said Peter, “it has been my lot to +meet with; but none more strange than one which occurred to me +only a few weeks ago. You were asking me, not long since, +whether I believed in devils? Ay, truly, young man; and I +believe that the abyss and the yet deeper Unknown do not contain +them all; some walk about upon the green earth. So it +happened, some weeks ago, that I was exercising my ministry about +forty miles from here. I was alone, Winifred being slightly +indisposed, staying for a few days at the house of an +acquaintance; I had finished afternoon’s worship—the +people had dispersed, and I was sitting solitary <!-- page +242--><a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 242</span>by +my cart under some green trees in a quiet retired place; suddenly +a voice said to me, ‘Good evening, Pastor’; I looked +up, and before me stood a man, at least the appearance of a man, +dressed in a black suit of rather a singular fashion. He +was about my own age, or somewhat older. As I looked upon +him, it appeared to me that I had seen him twice before whilst +preaching. I replied to his salutation, and perceiving that +he looked somewhat fatigued, I took out a stool from the cart, +and asked him to sit down. We began to discourse; I at +first supposed that he might be one of ourselves, some wandering +minister; but I was soon undeceived. Neither his language +nor his ideas were those of any one of our body. He spoke +on all kinds of matters with much fluency; till at last he +mentioned my preaching, complimenting me on my powers. I +replied, as well I might, that I could claim no merit of my own, +and that if I spoke with any effect, it was only by the grace of +God. As I uttered these last words, a horrible kind of +sneer came over his countenance, which made me shudder, for there +was something diabolical in it. I said little more, but +listened attentively to his discourse. At last he said that +I was engaged in a paltry cause, quite unworthy of one of my +powers. ‘How can that be,’ said I, ‘even +if I possessed all the powers in the world, seeing that I am +engaged in the cause of our Lord Jesus?’</p> +<p>“The same kind of sneer again came on his countenance, +but he almost instantly observed, that if I chose to forsake this +same miserable cause, from which nothing but contempt and +privation were to be expected, he would enlist me into another, +from which I might expect both profit and renown. An <!-- +page 243--><a name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +243</span>idea now came into my head, and I told him firmly, that +if he wished me to forsake my present profession and become a +member of the Church of England, I must absolutely decline; that +I had no ill-will against that Church, but I thought I could do +most good in my present position, which I would not forsake to be +Archbishop of Canterbury. Thereupon he burst into a strange +laughter, and went away, repeating to himself, ‘Church of +England! Archbishop of Canterbury!’ A few days +after, when I was once more in a solitary place, he again +appeared before me, and asked me whether I had thought over his +words, and whether I was willing to enlist under the banners of +his master, adding, that he was eager to secure me, as he +conceived that I might be highly useful to the cause. I +then asked him who his master was; he hesitated for a moment, and +then answered, ‘The Roman Pontiff.’ ‘If +it be he,’ said I, ‘I can have nothing to do with +him, I will serve no one who is an enemy of Christ.’ +Thereupon he drew near to me, and told me not to talk so much +like a simpleton; that as for Christ, it was probable that no +such person ever existed, but that if he ever did, he was the +greatest impostor the world ever saw. How long he continued +in this way I know not, for I now considered that an evil spirit +was before me, and shrank within myself, shivering in every limb; +when I recovered myself and looked about me, he was gone. +Two days after, he again stood before me, in the same place, and +about the same hour, renewing his propositions, and speaking more +horribly than before. I made him no answer; whereupon he +continued; but suddenly hearing a noise behind him, he looked +round and beheld <!-- page 244--><a name="page244"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 244</span>Winifred, who had returned to me on +the morning of that day. ‘Who are you?’ said +he, fiercely. ‘This man’s wife,’ said +she, calmly fixing her eyes upon him. ‘Begone from +him, unhappy one, thou temptest him in vain.’ He made +no answer, but stood as if transfixed: at length recovering +himself, he departed, muttering ‘Wife! wife! If the +fool has a wife, he will never do for us.’”</p> +<h2><!-- page 245--><a name="page245"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 245</span>CHAPTER LXXX</h2> +<p>The Border—Thank You Both—Pipe and +Fiddle—Taliesin.</p> +<p>We were now drawing very near the hills, and Peter said, +“If you are to go into Wales, you must presently decide, +for we are close upon the border.”</p> +<p>“Which is the border?” said I.</p> +<p>“Yon small brook,” said Peter, “into which +the man on horseback who is coming towards us is now +entering.”</p> +<p>“I see it,” said I, “and the man; he stops +in the middle of it, as if to water his steed.”</p> +<p>We proceeded till we had nearly reached the brook. +“Well,” said Peter, “will you go into +Wales?”</p> +<p>“What should I do in Wales?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Do!” said Peter, smiling; “learn +Welsh.”</p> +<p>I stopped my little pony. “Then I need not go into +Wales; I already know Welsh.”</p> +<p>“Know Welsh!” said Peter, staring at me.</p> +<p>“Know Welsh!” said Winifred, stopping her +cart.</p> +<p>“How and when did you learn it?” said Peter.</p> +<p>“From books, in my boyhood.”</p> +<p><!-- page 246--><a name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +246</span>“Read Welsh!” said Peter; “is it +possible?”</p> +<p>“Read Welsh!” said Winifred; “is it +possible?”</p> +<p>“Well, I hope you will come with us,” said +Peter.</p> +<p>“Come with us, young man,” said Winifred; +“let me, on the other side of the brook, welcome you into +Wales.”</p> +<p>“Thank you both,” said I, “but I will not +come.”</p> +<p>“Wherefore?” exclaimed both, simultaneously.</p> +<p>“Because it is neither fit nor proper that I cross into +Wales at this time, and in this manner. When I go into +Wales, I should wish to go in a new suit of superfine black, with +hat and beaver, <a name="citation246"></a><a href="#footnote246" +class="citation">[246]</a> mounted on a powerful steed, black and +glossy, like that which bore Greduv to the fight of +Catraeth. I should wish, moreover, to see the Welshmen +assembled on the border ready to welcome me with pipe and fiddle, +and much whooping and shouting, and to attend me to Wrexham, or +even as far as Machynllaith, where I should wish to be invited to +a dinner at which all the bards should be present, and to be +seated at the right hand of the president, who, when the cloth +was removed, should arise, and, amidst cries of silence, +exclaim—‘Brethren and Welshmen, allow me to propose +the health of my most respectable friend the translator of the +odes of the great Ab Gwilym, the pride and glory of +Wales.’”</p> +<p>“How!” said Peter, “hast thou translated the +works of the mighty Dafydd?”</p> +<p>“With notes critical, historical, and +explanatory.”</p> +<p><!-- page 247--><a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +247</span>“Come with us, friend,” said Peter. +“I cannot promise such a dinner as thou wishest, but +neither pipe nor fiddle shall be wanting.”</p> +<p>“Come with us, young man,” said Winifred, +“even as thou art, and the daughters of Wales shall bid +thee welcome.”</p> +<p>“I will not go with you,” said I. +“Dost thou see that man in the ford?”</p> +<p>“Who is staring at us so, and whose horse has not yet +done drinking? Of course I see him.”</p> +<p>“I shall turn back with him. God bless +you.”</p> +<p>“Go back with him not,” said Peter; “he is +one of those whom I like not, one of the clibberty clabber, as +Master Ellis Wyn observes—turn not with that +man.”</p> +<p>“Go not back with him,” said Winifred. +“If thou goest with that man, thou wilt soon forget all our +profitable counsels; come with us.”</p> +<p>“I cannot; I have much to say to him. Kosko +Divvus, Mr. Petulengro.”</p> +<p>“Kosko Divvus, Pal,” <a name="citation247"></a><a +href="#footnote247" class="citation">[247]</a> said Mr. +Petulengro, riding through the water; “are you turning +back?”</p> +<p>I turned back with Mr. Petulengro. Peter came running +after me: “One moment, young man,—who and what are +you?”</p> +<p>“I must answer in the words of Taliesin,” said I; +“none can say with positiveness whether I be fish or flesh, +least of all myself. God bless you both!”</p> +<p>“Take this,” said Peter, and he thrust his Welsh +Bible into my hand.</p> +<h2><!-- page 248--><a name="page248"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 248</span>CHAPTER LXXXI</h2> +<p>At a Funeral—Two Days Ago—Very Coolly—Roman +Woman—Well and Hearty—Somewhat Dreary—Plum +Pudding—Roman Fashion—Quite Different—The Dark +Lane—Beyond the Time—Fine Fellow—Such a +Struggle—Like a Wild Cat—Fair Play—Pleasant +Enough Spot—No Gloves.</p> +<p>So I turned back with Mr. Petulengro. We travelled for +some time in silence; at last we fell into discourse. +“You have been in Wales, Mr. Petulengro?”</p> +<p>“Ay, truly, brother.”</p> +<p>“What have you been doing there?”</p> +<p>“Assisting at a funeral.”</p> +<p>“At whose funeral?”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Herne’s, brother.”</p> +<p>“Is she dead, then?”</p> +<p>“As a nail, brother.”</p> +<p>“How did she die?”</p> +<p>“By hanging, brother.”</p> +<p>“I am lost in astonishment,” said I; whereupon Mr. +Petulengro, lifting his sinister leg over the neck of his steed, +and adjusting himself sideways in the saddle, replied, with great +deliberation, “Two days ago, I happened to be at a fair not +very far from here; I was all alone by myself, for our party were +upwards of forty miles off, when who should <!-- page 249--><a +name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 249</span>come up but +a chap that I knew, a relation, or rather, a connection of +mine—one of those Hernes. ‘Ar’n’t +you going to the funeral?’ said he; and then, brother, +there passed between him and me, in the way of questioning and +answering, much the same as has just now passed between I and +you; but when he mentioned hanging, I thought I could do no less +than ask who hanged her, which you forgot to do. ‘Who +hanged her?’ said I; and then the man told me that she had +done it herself,—been her own hinjiri; <a +name="citation249a"></a><a href="#footnote249a" +class="citation">[249a]</a> and then I thought to myself what a +sin and shame it would be if I did not go to the funeral, seeing +that she was my own mother-in-law. I would have brought my +wife, and, indeed, the whole of our party, but there was no time +for that; they were too far off, and the dead was to be buried +early the next morning; so I went with the man, and he led me +into Wales, where his party had lately retired, and when there, +through many wild and desolate places to their encampment, and +there I found the Hernes, and the dead body—the last laid +out on a mattress, in a tent, dressed Romaneskoenæs <a +name="citation249b"></a><a href="#footnote249b" +class="citation">[249b]</a> in a red cloak, and big bonnet of +black beaver. I must say for the Hernes that they took the +matter very coolly; some were eating, others drinking, and some +were talking about their small affairs; there was one, however, +who did not take the matter so coolly, but took on enough for the +whole family, sitting beside the dead woman, tearing her hair, +and refusing to take either meat or drink; it was the child +Leonora. I arrived at night-fall, and the <!-- page +250--><a name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +250</span>burying was not to take place till the morning, which I +was rather sorry for, as I am not very fond of them Hernes, who +are not very fond of anybody. They never asked me to eat or +drink, notwithstanding I had married into the family; one of +them, however, came up and offered to fight me for five +shillings; had it not been for them I should have come back as +empty as I went—he didn’t stand up five +minutes. Brother, I passed the night as well as I could, +beneath a tree, for the tents were full, and not over clean; I +slept little, and had my eyes about me, for I knew the kind of +people I was among.</p> +<p>“Early in the morning the funeral took place. The +body was placed not in a coffin but on a bier, and carried not to +a churchyard but to a deep dell close by; and there it was buried +beneath a rock, dressed just as I have told you; and this was +done by the bidding of Leonora, who had heard her bebee say that +she wished to be buried, not in gorgious fashion, but like a +Roman woman of the old blood, the kosko puro rati, <a +name="citation250a"></a><a href="#footnote250a" +class="citation">[250a]</a> brother. When it was over, and +we had got back to the encampment, I prepared to be going. +Before mounting my gry, <a name="citation250b"></a><a +href="#footnote250b" class="citation">[250b]</a> however, I +bethought me to ask what could have induced the dead woman to +make away with herself—a thing so uncommon amongst +Rommanies; whereupon one squinted with his eyes, a second spirted +saliver into the air, and a third said that he neither knew nor +cared; she was a good riddance, having more than once been nearly +the ruin of them all, from the quantity of brimstone she carried +about her. One, however, I suppose <!-- page 251--><a +name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 251</span>rather +ashamed of the way in which they had treated me, said at last, +that if I wanted to know all about the matter, none could tell me +better than the child, who was in all her secrets, and was not a +little like her; so I looked about for the child, but could find +her nowhere. At last the same man told me that he +shouldn’t wonder if I found her at the grave; so I went +back to the grave, and sure enough there I found the child +Leonora, seated on the ground above the body, crying and taking +on; so I spoke kindly to her, and said, ‘How came all this, +Leonora? tell me all about it.’ It was a long time +before I could get any answer; at last she opened her mouth and +spoke, and these were the words she said, ‘It was all along +of your Pal;’ <a name="citation251"></a><a +href="#footnote251" class="citation">[251]</a> and then she told +me all about the matter—how Mrs. Herne could not abide you, +which I knew before; and that she had sworn your destruction, +which I did not know before. And then she told me how she +found you living in the wood by yourself, and how you were +enticed to eat a poisoned cake; and she told me many other things +that you wot of, and she told me what perhaps you don’t +wot, namely, that finding you had been removed, she, the child, +had tracked you a long way, and found you at last well and +hearty, and no ways affected by the poison, and heard you, as she +stood concealed, disputing about religion with a Welsh +Methody. Well, brother, she told me all this; and, +moreover, that when Mrs. Herne heard of it, she said that a dream +of hers had come to pass. I don’t know what it was, +but something about herself, a tinker, and a dean; and then she +added, that it was all up with her, and that she must take a long +journey. Well, <!-- page 252--><a name="page252"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 252</span>brother, that same night Leonora, +waking from her sleep in the tent where Mrs. Herne and she were +wont to sleep, missed her bebee, <a name="citation252a"></a><a +href="#footnote252a" class="citation">[252a]</a> and, becoming +alarmed, went in search of her, and at last found her hanging +from a branch; and when the child had got so far, she took on +violently, and I could not get another word from her; so I left +her, and here I am.”</p> +<p>“And I am glad to see you, Mr. Petulengro; but this is +sad news which you tell me about Mrs. Herne.”</p> +<p>“Somewhat dreary, brother; yet, perhaps, after all, it +is a good thing that she is removed; she carried so much +Devil’s tinder about with her, as the man said.”</p> +<p>“I am sorry for her,” said I; “more +especially as I am the cause of her death—though the +innocent one.”</p> +<p>“She could not bide you, brother, that’s certain; +but that is no reason”—said Mr. Petulengro, balancing +himself upon the saddle—“that is no reason why she +should prepare drow to take away your essence of life; and, when +disappointed, to hang herself upon a tree: if she was +dissatisfied with you, she might have flown at you, and scratched +your face; or, if she did not judge herself your match, she might +have put down five shillings for a turn up between you and some +one she thought could beat you—myself, for example, and so +the matter might have ended comfortably; but she was always too +fond of covert ways, drows, and brimstones. This is not the +first poisoning affair she has been engaged in.”</p> +<p>“You allude to drabbing bawlor.” <a +name="citation252b"></a><a href="#footnote252b" +class="citation">[252b]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 253--><a name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +253</span>“Bah!” said Mr. Petulengro; +“there’s no harm in that. No, no! she has cast +drows <a name="citation253a"></a><a href="#footnote253a" +class="citation">[253a]</a> in her time for other guess things +than bawlor; both Gorgios and Romans have tasted of them, and +died. Did you never hear of the poisoned plum +pudding?”</p> +<p>“Never.”</p> +<p>“Then I will tell you about it. It happened about +six years ago, a few months after she had quitted us—she +had gone first amongst her own people, as she called them; but +there was another small party of Romans, with whom she soon +became very intimate. It so happened that this small party +got into trouble; whether it was about a horse or an ass, or +passing bad money, no matter to you and me, who had no hand in +the business; three or four of them were taken and lodged in --- +Castle, and amongst them was a woman; but the sherengro, or +principal man of the party, and who it seems had most hand in the +affair, was still at large. All of a sudden a rumour was +spread abroad that the woman was about to play false, and to +’peach the rest. Said the principal man, when he +heard it, ‘If she does, I am nashkado.’ <a +name="citation253b"></a><a href="#footnote253b" +class="citation">[253b]</a> Mrs. Herne was then on a visit +to the party, and when she heard the principal man take on so, +she said, ‘But I suppose you know what to do?’ +‘I do not,’ said he. ‘Then hir mi +devlis,’ said she, ‘you are a fool. But leave +the matter to me, I know how to dispose of her in Roman +fashion.’ Why she wanted to interfere in the matter, +brother, I don’t know, unless it was from pure +brimstoneness of disposition—she had no hand in the matter +which <!-- page 254--><a name="page254"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 254</span>had brought the party into +trouble—she was only on a visit, and it had happened before +she came; but she was always ready to give dangerous +advice. Well, brother, the principal man listened to what +she had to say, and let her do what she would; and she made a +pudding, a very nice one, no doubt—for, besides plums, she +put in drows and all the Roman condiments that she knew of; and +she gave it to the principal man, and the principal man put it +into a basket and directed it to the woman in --- Castle, and the +woman in the castle took it and—”</p> +<p>“Ate of it,” said I; “just like my +case!”</p> +<p>“Quite different, brother; she took it, it is true, but +instead of giving way to her appetite, as you might have done, +she put it before the rest whom she was going to impeach; perhaps +she wished to see how they liked it before she tasted it herself; +and all the rest were poisoned, and one died, and there was a +precious outcry, and the woman cried loudest of all; and she +said, ‘It was my death was sought for; I know the man, and +I’ll be revenged.’ And then the Poknees <a +name="citation254a"></a><a href="#footnote254a" +class="citation">[254a]</a> spoke to her and said, ‘Where +can we find him?’ and she said, ‘I am awake to his +motions; three weeks from hence, the night before the full moon, +at such and such an hour, he will pass down such a lane with such +a man.’”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “and what did the Poknees +do?”</p> +<p>“Do, brother! sent for a plastramengro <a +name="citation254b"></a><a href="#footnote254b" +class="citation">[254b]</a> from Bow Street, quite secretly, and +told him what the woman had said; and the night before the full +moon, the plastramengro went to the place which <!-- page +255--><a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +255</span>the juwa <a name="citation255a"></a><a +href="#footnote255a" class="citation">[255a]</a>had pointed out, +all alone, brother; and in order that he might not be too late, +he went two hours before his time. I know the place well, +brother, where the plastramengro placed himself behind a thick +holly tree, at the end of a lane, where a gate leads into various +fields, through which there is a path for carts and horses. +The lane is called the dark lane by the Gorgios, being much +shaded by trees. So the plastramengro placed himself in the +dark lane behind the holly tree; it was a cold February night, +dreary though; the wind blew in gusts, and the moon had not yet +risen, and the plastramengro waited behind the tree till he was +tired, and thought he might as well sit down; so he sat down, and +was not long in falling to sleep, and there he slept for some +hours; and when he awoke the moon had risen, and was shining +bright, so that there was a kind of moonlight even in the dark +lane; and the plastramengro pulled out his watch, and contrived +to make out that it was just two hours beyond the time when the +men should have passed by. Brother, I do not know what the +plastramengro thought of himself, but I know, brother, what I +should have thought of myself in his situation. I should +have thought, brother, that I was a drowsy scoppelo, <a +name="citation255b"></a><a href="#footnote255b" +class="citation">[255b]</a> and that I had let the fellow pass by +whilst I was sleeping behind a bush. As it turned out, +however, his going to sleep did no harm, but quite the contrary: +just as he was going away, he heard a gate slam in the direction +of the fields, and then he heard the low stumping of horses, as +if on soft ground, for the path in those fields is generally +soft, and at that time it had been lately ploughed <!-- page +256--><a name="page256"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +256</span>up. Well, brother, presently he saw two men on +horseback coming towards the lane through the field behind the +gate; the man who rode foremost was a tall big fellow, the very +man he was in quest of; the other was a smaller chap, not so +small either, but a light, wiry fellow, and a proper master of +his hands when he sees occasion for using them. Well, +brother, the foremost man came to the gate, reached at the hank, +undid it, and rode through, holding it open for the other. +Before, however, the other could follow into the lane, out bolted +the plastramengro from behind the tree, kicked the gate to with +his foot, and, seizing the big man on horseback, ‘You are +my prisoner,’ said he. I am of opinion, brother, that +the plastramengro, notwithstanding he went to sleep, must have +been a regular fine fellow.”</p> +<p>“I am entirely of your opinion,” said I, +“but what happened then?”</p> +<p>“Why, brother, the Rommany chal, after he had somewhat +recovered from his surprise, for it is rather uncomfortable to be +laid hold of at night-time, and told you are a prisoner; more +especially when you happen to have two or three things on your +mind which, if proved against you, would carry you to the nashky. +<a name="citation256"></a><a href="#footnote256" +class="citation">[256]</a> The Rommany chal, I say, clubbed +his whip, and aimed a blow at the plastramengro, which, if it had +hit him on the skull, as was intended, would very likely have +cracked it. The plastramengro, however, received it partly +on his staff, so that it did him no particular damage. +Whereupon, seeing what kind of customer he had to deal with, he +dropped his staff and seized the chal with both his hands, who +forthwith spurred his <!-- page 257--><a name="page257"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 257</span>horse, hoping, by doing so, either +to break away from him, or fling him down; but it would not +do—the plastramengro held on like a bulldog, so that the +Rommany chal, <a name="citation257a"></a><a href="#footnote257a" +class="citation">[257a]</a> to escape being hauled to the ground, +suddenly flung himself off the saddle, and then happened in that +lane, close by the gate, such a struggle between those +two—the chal and the runner—as I suppose will never +happen again. But you must have heard of it; every one has +heard of it; every one has heard of the fight between the Bow +Street engro <a name="citation257b"></a><a href="#footnote257b" +class="citation">[257b]</a> and the Rommany chal.”</p> +<p>“I never heard of it till now.”</p> +<p>“All England rung of it, brother. There never was +a better match than between those two. The runner was +somewhat the stronger of the two—all these engroes are +strong fellows—and a great deal cooler, for all of that +sort are wondrous cool people—he had, however, to do with +one who knew full well how to take his own part. The chal +fought the engro, brother, in the old Roman fashion. He +bit, he kicked, and screamed like a wild cat of Benygant; casting +foam from his mouth, and fire from his eyes. Sometimes he +was beneath the engro’s legs, and sometimes he was upon his +shoulders. What the engro found the most difficult, was to +get a firm hold of the chal, for no sooner did he seize the chal +by any part of his wearing apparel, than the chal either tore +himself away, or contrived to slip out of it; so that in a little +time the chal was three parts naked; and as for holding him by +the body, it was out of the question, for he was as slippery as +an eel. At last the engro seized the chal by the +Belcher’s handkerchief, <!-- page 258--><a +name="page258"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 258</span>which he +wore in a knot round his neck, and do whatever the chal could, he +could not free himself; and when the engro saw that, it gave him +fresh heart, no doubt: ‘It’s of no use,’ said +he; ‘you had better give in; hold out your hands for the +darbies, or I will throttle you.’”</p> +<p>“And what did the other fellow do, who came with the +chal?” said I.</p> +<p>“I sat still on my horse, brother.”</p> +<p>“You!” said I. “Were you the +man?”</p> +<p>“I was he, brother.”</p> +<p>“And why did you not help your comrade?”</p> +<p>“I have fought in the ring, brother.”</p> +<p>“And what had fighting in the ring to do with fighting +in the lane?”</p> +<p>“You mean not fighting. A great deal, brother; it +taught me to prize fair play. When I fought Staffordshire +Dick, t’other side of London, I was alone, brother. +Not a Rommany chal to back me, and he had all his brother pals +about him; but they gave me fair play, brother; and I beat +Staffordshire Dick, which I couldn’t have done had they put +one finger on his side the scale; for he was as good a man as +myself, or nearly so. Now, brother, had I but bent a finger +in favour of the Rommany chal, the plastramengro would never have +come alive out of the lane; but I did not, for I thought to +myself fair play is a precious stone; so you see, +brother—”</p> +<p>“That you are quite right, Mr. Petulengro, I see that +clearly; and now, pray proceed with your narration; it is both +moral and entertaining.”</p> +<p>But Mr. Petulengro did not proceed with his narration, neither +did he proceed upon his way; he had stopped his horse, and his +eyes were <!-- page 259--><a name="page259"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 259</span>intently fixed on a broad strip of +grass beneath some lofty trees, on the left side of the +road. It was a pleasant enough spot, and seemed to invite +wayfaring people, such as we were, to rest from the fatigues of +the road, and the heat and vehemence of the sun. After +examining it for a considerable time, Mr. Petulengro said, +“I say, brother, that would be a nice place for a +tussle!”</p> +<p>“I dare say it would,” said I, “if two +people were inclined to fight.”</p> +<p>“The ground is smooth,” said Mr. Petulengro; +“without holes or ruts, and the trees cast much +shade. I don’t think, brother, that we could find a +better place,” said Mr. Petulengro, springing from his +horse.</p> +<p>“But you and I don’t want to fight!”</p> +<p>“Speak for yourself, brother,” said Mr. +Petulengro. “However, I will tell you how the matter +stands. There is a point at present between us. There +can be no doubt that you are the cause of Mrs. Herne’s +death, innocently, you will say, but still the cause. Now, +I shouldn’t like it to be known that I went up and down the +country with a pal who was the cause of my mother-in-law’s +death, that’s to say, unless he gave me satisfaction. +Now, if I and my pal have a tussle, he gives me satisfaction; +and, if he knocks my eyes out, which I know you can’t do, +it makes no difference at all, he gives me satisfaction; and he +who says to the contrary, knows nothing of Gypsy law, and is a +dinelo <a name="citation259"></a><a href="#footnote259" +class="citation">[259]</a> into the bargain.”</p> +<p>“But we have no gloves!”</p> +<p>“Gloves!” said Mr. Petulengro, contemptuously, +“gloves! I tell you what, brother, <!-- page 260--><a +name="page260"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 260</span>I always +thought you were a better hand at the gloves than the naked fist; +and, to tell you the truth, besides taking satisfaction for Mrs. +Herne’s death, I wish to see what you can do with your +mawleys; <a name="citation260"></a><a href="#footnote260" +class="citation">[260]</a> so now is your time, brother, and this +is your place, grass and shade, no ruts or holes; come on, +brother, or I shall think you what I should not like to call +you.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 261--><a name="page261"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 261</span>CHAPTER LXXXII</h2> +<p>Offence and Defence—I’m Satisfied—Fond of +Solitude—Possession of Property—Chal +Devlehi—Winding Path.</p> +<p>And when I heard Mr. Petulengro talk in this manner, which I +had never heard him do before, and which I can only account for +by his being fasting and ill-tempered, I had of course no other +alternative than to accept his challenge; so I put myself into a +posture which I deemed the best both for offence and defence, and +the tussle commenced; and when it had endured for about half an +hour, Mr. Petulengro said, “Brother, there is much blood on +your face; you had better wipe it off;” and when I had +wiped it off, and again resumed my former attitude, Mr. +Petulengro said, “I think enough has been done, brother, in +the affair of the old woman; I have, moreover, tried what you are +able to do, and find you, as I thought, less apt with the naked +mawleys than the stuffed gloves; nay, brother, put your hands +down, I’m satisfied; blood has been shed, which is all that +can be reasonably expected for an old woman who carried so much +brimstone about her as Mrs. Herne.”</p> +<p>So the struggle ended, and we resumed our route, Mr. +Petulengro sitting sideways upon his <!-- page 262--><a +name="page262"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 262</span>horse as +before, and I driving my little pony-cart, and when we had +proceeded about three miles, we came to a small public-house, +which bore the sign of the “Silent Woman,” where we +stopped to refresh our cattle and ourselves; and as we sat over +our bread and ale, it came to pass that Mr. Petulengro asked me +various questions, and amongst others, how I intended to dispose +of myself; I told him that I did not know; whereupon, with +considerable frankness, he invited me to his camp, and told me +that if I chose to settle down amongst them, and become a Rommany +chal, I should have his wife’s sister Ursula, who was still +unmarried, and occasionally talked of me.</p> +<p>I declined his offer, assigning as a reason the recent death +of Mrs. Herne, of which I was the cause, although innocent. +“A pretty life I should lead with those two,” said I, +“when they came to know it.” +“Pooh,” said Mr. Petulengro, “they will never +know it. I shan’t blab, and as for Leonora, that girl +has a head on her shoulders.” “Unlike the woman +in the sign,” said I, “whose head is cut off. +You speak nonsense, Mr. Petulengro; as long as a woman has a head +on her shoulders she’ll talk,—but, leaving women out +of the case, it is impossible to keep anything a secret; an old +master of mine told me so long ago. I have moreover another +reason for declining your offer. I am at present not +disposed for society. I am become fond of solitude. I +wish I could find some quiet place to which I could retire to +hold communion with my own thoughts, and practise, if I thought +fit, either of my trades.” “What trades?” +said Mr. Petulengro. “Why, the one which I have +lately been engaged in, or my <!-- page 263--><a +name="page263"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 263</span>original +one, which I confess I should like better, that of a +kaulomescro.” <a name="citation263"></a><a +href="#footnote263" class="citation">[263]</a> “Ah, I +have frequently heard you talk of making horse-shoes,” said +Mr. Petulengro; “I, however, never saw you make one, and no +one else that I am aware; I don’t believe—come, +brother, don’t be angry, it’s quite possible that you +may have done things which neither I nor any one else has seen +you do, and that such things may some day or other come to light, +as you say nothing can be kept secret. Be that, however, as +it may, pay the reckoning and let us be going; I think I can +advise you to just such a kind of place as you seem to +want.”</p> +<p>“And how do you know that I have got wherewithal to pay +the reckoning?” I demanded. “Brother,” +said Mr. Petulengro, “I was just now looking in your face, +which exhibited the very look of a person conscious of the +possession of property; there was nothing hungry or sneaking in +it. Pay the reckoning, brother.”</p> +<p>And when we were once more upon the road, Mr. Petulengro began +to talk of the place which he conceived would serve me as a +retreat under present circumstances. “I tell you +frankly, brother, that it is a queer kind of place, and I am not +very fond of pitching my tent in it, it is so surprisingly +dreary. It is a deep dingle in the midst of a large field, +on an estate about which there has been a lawsuit for some years +past. I dare say you will be quiet enough, for the nearest +town is five miles distant, and there are only a few huts and +hedge public-houses in the neighbourhood. Brother, I am +fond of solitude myself, but not that kind of solitude; I like a +quiet heath, where I can <!-- page 264--><a +name="page264"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 264</span>pitch my +house, but I always like to have a gay stirring place not far +off, where the women can pen dukkerin, <a +name="citation264a"></a><a href="#footnote264a" +class="citation">[264a]</a> and I myself can sell or buy a horse, +if needful—such a place as the Chong Gav. <a +name="citation264b"></a><a href="#footnote264b" +class="citation">[264b]</a> I never feel so merry as when +there, brother, or on the heath above it, where I taught you +Rommany.”</p> +<p>Shortly after this discourse we reached a milestone, and a few +yards from the milestone, on the left hand, was a cross +road. Thereupon Mr. Petulengro said, “Brother, my +path lies to the left; if you choose to go with me to my camp, +good; if not, Chal Devlehi.” <a name="citation264c"></a><a +href="#footnote264c" class="citation">[264c]</a> But I +again refused Mr. Petulengro’s invitation, and, shaking him +by the hand, proceeded forward alone; and about ten miles farther +on I reached the town of which he had spoken, and, following +certain directions which he had given, discovered, though not +without some difficulty, the dingle which he had mentioned. +It was a deep hollow in the midst of a wide field; the shelving +sides were overgrown with trees and bushes, a belt of sallows +surrounded it on the top, a steep winding path led down into the +depths, practicable, however, for a light cart, like mine; at the +bottom was an open space, and there I pitched my tent, and there +I contrived to put up my forge. “I will here ply the +trade of kaulomescro,” said I.</p> +<h2><!-- page 265--><a name="page265"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 265</span>CHAPTER LXXXIII</h2> +<p>Highly Poetical—Volundr—Grecian +Mythology—Making a Petul—Tongues of +Flame—Hammering—Spite of +Dukkerin—Heaviness.</p> +<p>It has always struck me that there is something highly +poetical about a forge. I am not singular in this opinion: +various individuals have assured me that they can never pass by +one, even in the midst of a crowded town, without experiencing +sensations which they can scarcely define, but which are highly +pleasurable. I have a decided penchant for forges, +especially rural ones, placed in some quaint quiet spot—a +dingle, for example, which is a poetical place, or at a meeting +of four roads, which is still more so; for how many a +superstition—and superstition is the soul of +poetry—is connected with these cross roads! I love to +light upon such a one, especially after night-fall, as everything +about a forge tells to most advantage at night; the hammer sounds +more solemnly in the stillness; the glowing particles scattered +by the strokes sparkle with more effect in the darkness, whilst +the sooty visage of the sastramescro, half in shadow, and half +illumed by the red and partial blaze of the forge, looks more +mysterious and strange. On such occasions I draw in my +horse’s rein, and, seated in the saddle, endeavour to <!-- +page 266--><a name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +266</span>associate with the picture before me—in itself a +picture of romance—whatever of the wild and wonderful I +have read of in books, or have seen with my own eyes in +connection with forges.</p> +<p>I believe the life of any blacksmith, especially a rural one, +would afford materials for a highly poetical history. I do +not speak unadvisedly, having the honour to be free of the forge, +and therefore fully competent to give an opinion as to what might +be made out of the forge by some dexterous hand. Certainly, +the strangest and most entertaining life ever written is that of +a blacksmith of the olden north, a certain Volundr, or Velint, +who lived in woods and thickets, made keen swords—so keen, +indeed, that if placed in a running stream, they would fairly +divide an object, however slight, which was borne against them by +the water, and who eventually married a king’s daughter, by +whom he had a son, who was as bold a knight as his father was a +cunning blacksmith. I never see a forge at night, when +seated on the back of my horse, at the bottom of a dark lane, but +I somehow or other associate it with the exploits of this +extraordinary fellow, with many other extraordinary things, +amongst which, as I have hinted before, are particular passages +of my own life, one or two of which I shall perhaps relate to the +reader.</p> +<p>I never associate Vulcan and his Cyclops with the idea of a +forge. These gentry would be the very last people in the +world to flit across my mind whilst gazing at the forge from the +bottom of the dark lane. The truth is, they are highly +unpoetical fellows, as well they may be, connected as they are +with the Grecian mythology. At the <!-- page 267--><a +name="page267"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 267</span>very +mention of their names the forge burns dull and dim, as if +snowballs had been suddenly flung into it; the only remedy is to +ply the bellows, an operation which I now hasten to perform.</p> +<p>I am in the dingle making a horse-shoe. Having no other +horses on whose hoofs I could exercise my art, I made my first +essay on those of my own horse, if that could be called horse +which horse was none, being only a pony. Perhaps, if I had +sought all England, I should scarcely have found an animal more +in need of the kind offices of the smith. On three of his +feet there were no shoes at all, and on the fourth only a remnant +of one, on which account his hoofs were sadly broken and +lacerated by his late journeys over the hard and flinty +roads. “You belonged to a tinker before,” said +I, addressing the animal, “but now you belong to a +smith. It is said that the household of the shoemaker +invariably go worse shod than that of any other craft. That +may be the case of those who make shoes of leather, but it +shan’t be said of the household of him who makes shoes of +iron; at any rate it shan’t be said of mine. I tell +you what, my gry, whilst you continue with me, you shall both be +better shod, and better fed, than you were with your last +master.”</p> +<p>I am in the dingle making a petul; <a +name="citation267"></a><a href="#footnote267" +class="citation">[267]</a> and I must here observe, that whilst I +am making a horse-shoe, the reader need not be surprised if I +speak occasionally in the language of the lord of the +horse-shoe—Mr. Petulengro. I have for some time past +been plying the peshota, or bellows, endeavouring to raise up the +yag, or fire, in my primitive forge. The angar, or coals, +are now <!-- page 268--><a name="page268"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 268</span>burning fiercely, casting forth +sparks and long vagescoe chipes, <a name="citation268a"></a><a +href="#footnote268a" class="citation">[268a]</a> or tongues of +flame; a small bar of sastra, or iron, is lying in the fire, to +the length of ten or twelve inches, and so far it is hot, very +hot, exceeding hot, brother. And now you see me, prala, <a +name="citation268b"></a><a href="#footnote268b" +class="citation">[268b]</a> snatch the bar of iron, and place the +heated end of it upon the covantza, <a name="citation268c"></a><a +href="#footnote268c" class="citation">[268c]</a> or anvil, and +forthwith I commence cooring <a name="citation268d"></a><a +href="#footnote268d" class="citation">[268d]</a> the sastra as +hard as if I had been just engaged by a master at the rate of dui +caulor, or two shillings, a day, brother; and when I have beaten +the iron till it is nearly cool, and my arm tired, I place it +again in the angar, and begin again to rouse the fire with the +pudamengro, which signifies the blowing thing, and is another and +more common word for bellows; and whilst thus employed I sing a +Gypsy song, the sound of which is wonderfully in unison with the +hoarse moaning of the pudamengro, and ere the song is finished, +the iron is again hot and malleable. Behold, I place it +once more on the covantza, and recommence hammering; and now I am +somewhat at fault; I am in want of assistance; I want you, +brother, or some one else, to take the bar out of my hand and +support it upon the covantza, whilst I, applying a chinomescro, +or kind of chisel, to the heated iron, cut off with a lusty +stroke or two of the shukaro <a name="citation268e"></a><a +href="#footnote268e" class="citation">[268e]</a> baro, or big +hammer, as much as is required for the petul. But having no +one to help me, I go on hammering till I have fairly knocked off +as much as I want, and then I place the piece in the fire, and +again apply the bellows, <!-- page 269--><a +name="page269"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 269</span>and take up +the song where I left it off; and when I have finished the song, +I take out the iron, but this time with my plaistra, or pincers, +and then I recommence hammering, turning the iron round and round +with my pincers: and now I bend the iron, and, lo and behold! it +has assumed something of the outline of a petul.</p> +<p>I am not going to enter into farther details with respect to +the process—it was rather a wearisome one. I had to +contend with various disadvantages; my forge was a rude one, my +tools might have been better; I was in want of one or two highly +necessary implements, but, above all, manual dexterity. +Though free of the forge, I had not practised the albeytarian art +for very many years, never since—but stay, it is not my +intention to tell the reader, at least in this place, how and +when I became a blacksmith. There was one thing, however, +which stood me in good stead in my labour, the same thing which +through life has ever been of incalculable utility to me, and has +not unfrequently supplied the place of friends, money, and many +other things of almost equal importance—iron perseverance, +without which all the advantages of time and circumstance are of +very little avail in any undertaking. I was determined to +make a horse-shoe, and a good one, in spite of every +obstacle—ay, in spite of dukkerin. <a +name="citation269"></a><a href="#footnote269" +class="citation">[269]</a> At the end of four days, during +which I had fashioned and refashioned the thing at least fifty +times, I had made a petul such as no master of the craft need +have been ashamed of; with the second shoe I had less difficulty, +and, by the time I had made the fourth, I would have scorned to +take off my hat to the best smith in Cheshire.</p> +<p><!-- page 270--><a name="page270"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +270</span>But I had not yet shod my little gry: this I proceeded +now to do. After having first well pared the hoofs with my +churi, <a name="citation270a"></a><a href="#footnote270a" +class="citation">[270a]</a> I applied each petul hot, glowing +hot, to the pindro. <a name="citation270b"></a><a +href="#footnote270b" class="citation">[270b]</a> Oh, how +the hoofs hissed! and, oh, the pleasant pungent odour which +diffused itself through the dingle!—an odour good for an +ailing spirit.</p> +<p>I shod the little horse bravely—merely pricked him once, +slightly, with a cafi, <a name="citation270c"></a><a +href="#footnote270c" class="citation">[270c]</a> for doing which, +I remember, he kicked me down; I was not disconcerted, however, +but, getting up, promised to be more cautious in future; and +having finished the operation, I filed the hoof well with the rin +baro, then dismissed him to graze amongst the trees, and, putting +my smaller tools into the muchtar, I sat down on my stone, and, +supporting my arm upon my knee, leaned my head upon my +hand. Heaviness had come over me.</p> +<h2><!-- page 271--><a name="page271"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 271</span>CHAPTER LXXXIV</h2> +<p>Several Causes—Frogs and Efts—Gloom and +Twilight—What should I Do?—“Our +Father”—Fellow-men—What a Mercy!—Almost +Calm—Fresh Store—History of Saul—Pitch +Dark.</p> +<p>Heaviness had suddenly come over me, heaviness of heart, and +of body also. I had accomplished the task which I had +imposed upon myself, and now that nothing more remained to do, my +energies suddenly deserted me, and I felt without strength, and +without hope. Several causes, perhaps, co-operated to bring +about the state in which I then felt myself. It is not +improbable that my energies had been overstrained during the work +the progress of which I have attempted to describe; and every one +is aware that the results of overstrained energies are feebleness +and lassitude—want of nourishment might likewise have +something to do with it. During my sojourn in the dingle, +my food had been of the simplest and most unsatisfying +description, by no means calculated to support the exertion which +the labour I had been engaged upon required; it had consisted of +coarse oaten cakes and hard cheese, and for beverage I had been +indebted to a neighbouring pit, in which, in the heat of the day, +I frequently saw, not golden <!-- page 272--><a +name="page272"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 272</span>or silver +fish, but frogs and efts swimming about. I am, however, +inclined to believe that Mrs. Herne’s cake had quite as +much to do with the matter as insufficient nourishment. I +had never entirely recovered from the effects of its poison, but +had occasionally, especially at night, been visited by a grinding +pain in the stomach, and my whole body had been suffused with +cold sweat; and indeed these memorials of the drow have never +entirely disappeared—even at the present time they display +themselves in my system, especially after much fatigue of body +and excitement of mind. So there I sat in the dingle upon +my stone, nerveless and hopeless, by whatever cause or causes +that state had been produced—there I sat with my head +leaning upon my hand, and so I continued a long, long time. +At last I lifted my head from my hand, and began to cast anxious, +unquiet looks about the dingle—the entire hollow was now +enveloped in deep shade—I cast my eyes up; there was a +golden gleam on the tops of the trees which grew towards the +upper parts of the dingle; but lower down, all was gloom and +twilight—yet, when I first sat down on my stone, the sun +was right above the dingle, illuminating all its depths by the +rays which it cast perpendicularly down—so I must have sat +a long, long time upon my stone. And now, once more, I +rested my head upon my hand, but almost instantly lifted it again +in a kind of fear, and began looking at the objects before +me—the forge, the tools, the branches of the trees, +endeavouring to follow their rows, till they were lost in the +darkness of the dingle; and now I found my right hand grasping +convulsively the three fore fingers of the left, first +collectively, and then <!-- page 273--><a +name="page273"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +273</span>successively, wringing them till the joints cracked; +then I became quiet, but not for long.</p> +<p>Suddenly I started up, and could scarcely repress the shriek +which was rising to my lips. Was it possible? Yes, +all too certain; the evil one was upon me; the inscrutable horror +which I had felt in my boyhood had once more taken possession of +me. I had thought that it had forsaken me—that it +would never visit me again; that I had outgrown it; that I might +almost bid defiance to it; and I had even begun to think of it +without horror, as we are in the habit of doing of horrors of +which we conceive we run no danger; and lo! when least thought +of, it had seized me again. Every moment I felt it +gathering force, and making me more wholly its own. What +should I do?—resist, of course; and I did resist. I +grasped, I tore, and strove to fling it from me; but of what +avail were my efforts? I could only have got rid of it by +getting rid of myself: it was a part of myself, or rather it was +all myself. I rushed amongst the trees, and struck at them +with my bare fists, and dashed my head against them, but I felt +no pain. How could I feel pain with that horror upon +me! And then I flung myself on the ground, gnawed the +earth, and swallowed it; and then I looked round; it was almost +total darkness in the dingle, and the darkness added to my +horror. I could no longer stay there; up I rose from the +ground, and attempted to escape. At the bottom of the +winding path which led up the acclivity I fell over something +which was lying on the ground; the something moved, and gave a +kind of whine. It was my little horse, which had made that +place its lair; my little horse; my only companion and <!-- page +274--><a name="page274"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +274</span>friend in that now awful solitude. I reached the +mouth of the dingle; the sun was just sinking in the far west +behind me, the fields were flooded with his last gleams. +How beautiful everything looked in the last gleams of the +sun! I felt relieved for a moment; I was no longer in the +horrid dingle. In another minute the sun was gone, and a +big cloud occupied the place where he had been: in a little time +it was almost as dark as it had previously been in the open part +of the dingle. My horror increased; what was I to +do?—it was of no use fighting against the horror—that +I saw; the more I fought against it, the stronger it +became. What should I do: say my prayers? Ah! why +not? So I knelt down under the hedge, and said, “Our +Father”; but that was of no use; and now I could no longer +repress cries—the horror was too great to be borne. +What should I do? run to the nearest town or village, and request +the assistance of my fellow-men? No! that I was ashamed to +do; notwithstanding the horror was upon me, I was ashamed to do +that. I knew they would consider me a maniac, if I went +screaming amongst them; and I did not wish to be considered a +maniac. Moreover, I knew that I was not a maniac, for I +possessed all my reasoning powers, only the horror was upon +me—the screaming horror! But how were indifferent +people to distinguish between madness and the screaming +horror? So I thought and reasoned; and at last I determined +not to go amongst my fellow-men, whatever the result might +be. I went to the mouth of the dingle, and there, placing +myself on my knees, I again said the Lord’s Prayer; but it +was of no use—praying seemed to <!-- page 275--><a +name="page275"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 275</span>have no +effect over the horror; the unutterable fear appeared rather to +increase than diminish, and I again uttered wild cries, so loud +that I was apprehensive they would be heard by some chance +passenger on the neighbouring road; I therefore went deeper into +the dingle. I sat down with my back against a thorn bush; +the thorns entered my flesh, and when I felt them, I pressed +harder against the bush; I thought the pain of the flesh might in +some degree counteract the mental agony; presently I felt them no +longer—the power of the mental horror was so great that it +was impossible, with that upon me, to feel any pain from the +thorns. I continued in this posture a long time, undergoing +what I cannot describe, and would not attempt if I were +able. Several times I was on the point of starting up and +rushing anywhere; but I restrained myself, for I knew I could not +escape from myself, so why should I not remain in the +dingle? So I thought and said to myself, for my reasoning +powers were still uninjured. At last it appeared to me that +the horror was not so strong, not quite so strong upon me. +Was it possible that it was relaxing its grasp, releasing its +prey? Oh what a mercy! but it could not be; and yet—I +looked up to heaven, and clasped my hands, and said, “Our +Father.” I said no more—I was too agitated; and +now I was almost sure that the horror had done its worst.</p> +<p>After a little time I arose, and staggered down yet farther +into the dingle. I again found my little horse on the same +spot as before. I put my hand to his mouth—he licked +my hand. I flung myself down by him, and put my arms round +his neck; the creature whinnied, and appeared to sympathise <!-- +page 276--><a name="page276"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +276</span>with me. What a comfort to have any one, even a +dumb brute, to sympathise with me at such a moment! I clung +to my little horse, as if for safety and protection. I laid +my head on his neck, and felt almost calm. Presently the +fear returned, but not so wild as before; it subsided, came +again, again subsided; then drowsiness came over me, and at last +I fell asleep, my head supported on the neck of the little +horse. I awoke; it was dark, dark night—not a star +was to be seen—but I felt no fear, the horror had left +me. I arose from the side of the little horse, and went +into my tent, lay down, and again went to sleep.</p> +<p>I awoke in the morning weak and sore, and shuddering at the +remembrance of what I had gone through on the preceding day; the +sun was shining brightly, but it had not yet risen high enough to +show its head above the trees which fenced the eastern side of +the dingle, on which account the dingle was wet and dank, from +the dews of the night. I kindled my fire, and, after +sitting by it for some time to warm my frame, I took some of the +coarse food which I have already mentioned; notwithstanding my +late struggle, and the coarseness of the fare, I ate with +appetite. My provisions had by this time been very much +diminished, and I saw that it would be speedily necessary, in the +event of my continuing to reside in the dingle, to lay in a fresh +store. After my meal, I went to the pit and filled a can +with water, which I brought to the dingle, and then again sat +down on my stone. I considered what I should next do: it +was necessary to do something, or my life in this solitude would +be insupportable. What should I do? rouse up my forge and +fashion a horse-shoe? But I wanted nerve <!-- page 277--><a +name="page277"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 277</span>and heart +for such an employment; moreover, I had no motive for fatiguing +myself in this manner; my own horse was shod, no other was at +hand, and it is hard to work for the sake of working. What +should I do? read? Yes, but I had no other book than the +Bible which the Welsh Methodist had given me. Well, why not +read the Bible? I was once fond of reading the Bible; ay, +but those days were long gone by. However, I did not see +what else I could well do on the present occasion—so I +determined to read the Bible—it was in Welsh; at any rate +it might amuse me. So I took the Bible out of the sack, in +which it was lying in the cart, and began to read at the place +where I chanced to open it. I opened it at that part where +the history of Saul commences. At first I read with +indifference, but after some time my attention was riveted, and +no wonder, I had come to the visitations of Saul—those dark +moments of his, when he did and said such unaccountable things; +it almost appeared to me that I was reading of myself; I, too, +had my visitations, dark as ever his were. Oh, how I +sympathised with Saul, the tall dark man! I had read his +life before, but it had made no impression on me; it had never +occurred to me that I was like him; but I now sympathised with +Saul, for my own dark hour was but recently passed, and, perhaps, +would soon return again; the dark hour came frequently on +Saul.</p> +<p>Time wore away; I finished the book of Saul, and, closing the +volume, returned it to its place. I then returned to my +seat on the stone, and thought of what I had read, and what I had +lately undergone. All at once I thought I felt well-known +sensations, a cramping of the breast, and a tingling <!-- page +278--><a name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 278</span>of +the soles of the feet; they were what I had felt on the preceding +day—they were the forerunners of the fear. I sat +motionless on my stone, the sensations passed away, and the fear +came not. Darkness was now coming again over the earth; the +dingle was again in deep shade; I roused the fire with the breath +of the bellows, and sat looking at the cheerful glow; it was +cheering and comforting. My little horse came now and lay +down on the ground beside the forge; I was not quite +deserted. I again ate some of the coarse food, and drank +plentifully of the water which I had fetched in the +morning. I then put fresh fuel on the fire, and sat for a +long time looking on the blaze; I then went into my tent.</p> +<p>I awoke, on my own calculation, about midnight—it was +pitch dark, and there was much fear upon me.</p> +<h2><!-- page 279--><a name="page279"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 279</span>CHAPTER LXXXV</h2> +<p>Free and Independent—I Don’t See +Why—Oats—A Noise—Unwelcome +Visitors—What’s the Matter?—Good Day to +Ye—The Tall Girl—Dovrefeld—Blow on the +Face—Civil Enough—What’s This?—Vulgar +Woman—Hands off—Gasping for Breath—Long +Melford—A Pretty Manœuvre—A Long +Draught—Signs of Animation—It Won’t Do—No +Malice—Bad People.</p> +<p>Two mornings after the period to which I have brought the +reader in the preceding chapter, I sat by my fire at the bottom +of the dingle; I had just breakfasted, and had finished the last +morsel of food which I had brought with me to that solitude.</p> +<p>“What shall I now do?” said I to myself; +“shall I continue here, or decamp?—this is a sad +lonely spot—perhaps I had better quit it; but whither shall +I go? the wide world is before me, but what can I do +therein? I have been in the world already without much +success. No, I had better remain here; the place is lonely, +it is true, but here I am free and independent, and can do what I +please; but I can’t remain here without food. Well, I +will find my way to the nearest town, lay in a fresh supply of +provision, and come back, turning my back upon the world, which +has turned its back upon me. I don’t see why I should +not write a little sometimes; I have pens <!-- page 280--><a +name="page280"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 280</span>and an +ink-horn, and for a writing-desk I can place the Bible on my +knee. I shouldn’t wonder if I could write a capital +satire on the world on the back of that Bible; but, first of all, +I must think of supplying myself with food.”</p> +<p>I rose up from the stone on which I was seated, determining to +go to the nearest town, with my little horse and cart, and +procure what I wanted. The nearest town, according to my +best calculation, lay about five miles distant; I had no doubt, +however, that, by using ordinary diligence, I should be back +before evening. In order to go lighter, I determined to +leave my tent standing as it was, and all the things which I had +purchased of the tinker, just as they were. “I need +not be apprehensive on their account,” said I to myself; +“nobody will come here to meddle with them—the great +recommendation of this place is its perfect solitude—I dare +say that I could live here six months without seeing a single +human visage. I will now harness my little gry and be off +to the town.”</p> +<p>At a whistle which I gave, the little gry, <a +name="citation280"></a><a href="#footnote280" +class="citation">[280]</a> which was feeding on the bank near the +uppermost part of the dingle, came running to me, for by this +time he had become so accustomed to me, that he would obey my +call, for all the world as if he had been one of the canine +species. “Now,” said I to him, “we are +going to the town to buy bread for myself, and oats for +you—I am in a hurry to be back; therefore, I pray you to do +your best, and to draw me and the cart to the town with all +possible speed, and to bring us back; if you do your best, I +promise you oats on your return. You know the meaning of +oats, Ambrol?”</p> +<p><!-- page 281--><a name="page281"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +281</span>Ambrol whinnied as if to let me know that he understood +me perfectly well, as indeed he well might, as I had never once +fed him during the time that he had been in my possession without +saying the word in question to him. Now, Ambrol, in the +Gypsy tongue, signifieth a pear.</p> +<p>So I caparisoned Ambrol, and then, going to the cart, I +removed two or three things from it into the tent; I then lifted +up the shafts, and was just going to call to the pony to come and +be fastened to them, when I thought I heard a noise.</p> +<p>I stood stock still, supporting the shaft of the little cart +in my hand, and bending the right side of my face slightly +towards the ground, but I could hear nothing; the noise which I +thought I had heard was not one of those sounds which I was +accustomed to hear in that solitude—the note of a bird, or +the rustling of a bough; it was—there I heard it again, a +sound very much resembling the grating of a wheel amongst +gravel. Could it proceed from the road? Oh no, the +road was too far distant for me to hear the noise of anything +moving along it. Again I listened, and now I distinctly +heard the sound of wheels, which seemed to be approaching the +dingle; nearer and nearer they drew, and presently the sound of +wheels was blended with the murmur of voices. Anon I heard +a boisterous shout, which seemed to proceed from the entrance of +the dingle. “Here are folks at hand,” said I, +letting the shaft of the cart fall to the ground, “is it +possible that they can be coming here?”</p> +<p>My doubts on that point, if I entertained any, were soon +dispelled; the wheels, which had ceased moving for a moment or +two, were once again in <!-- page 282--><a +name="page282"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 282</span>motion, and +were now evidently moving down the winding path which led to my +retreat. Leaving my cart, I came forward and placed myself +near the entrance of the open space, with my eyes fixed on the +path down which my unexpected, and I may say unwelcome, visitors +were coming. Presently I heard a stamping or sliding, as if +of a horse in some difficulty; then a loud curse, and the next +moment appeared a man and a horse and cart; the former holding +the head of the horse up to prevent him from falling, of which he +was in danger, owing to the precipitous nature of the path. +Whilst thus occupied, the head of the man was averted from +me. When, however, he had reached the bottom of the +descent, he turned his head, and perceiving me, as I stood +bareheaded, without either coat or waistcoat, about two yards +from him, he gave a sudden start, so violent, that the backward +motion of his hand had nearly flung the horse upon his +haunches.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you move forward?” said a voice +from behind, apparently that of a female; “you are stopping +up the way, and we shall be all down upon one another;” and +I saw the head of another horse overtopping the back of the +cart.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you move forward, Jack?” said +another voice, also of a female, yet higher up the path.</p> +<p>The man stirred not, but remained staring at me in the posture +which he had assumed on first perceiving me, his body very much +drawn back, his left foot far in advance of his right, and with +his right hand still grasping the halter of the horse, which gave +way more and more, till it was clean down on its haunches.</p> +<p><!-- page 283--><a name="page283"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +283</span>“What’s the matter?” said the voice +which I had last heard.</p> +<p>“Get back with you, Belle, Moll,” said the man, +still staring at me, “here’s something not over canny +or comfortable.”</p> +<p>“What is it?” said the same voice; “let me +pass, Moll, and I’ll soon clear the way;” and I heard +a kind of rushing down the path.</p> +<p>“You need not be afraid,” said I, addressing +myself to the man. “I mean you no harm; I am a +wanderer like yourself—come here to seek for +shelter—you need not be afraid; I am a Roman chabo <a +name="citation283"></a><a href="#footnote283" +class="citation">[283]</a> by matriculation—one of the +right sort, and no mistake—Good day to ye, brother; I bid +ye welcome.”</p> +<p>The man eyed me suspiciously for a moment—then, turning +to his horse with a loud curse, he pulled him up from his +haunches, and led him and the cart farther down to one side of +the dingle, muttering, as he passed me, “Afraid! +Hm!”</p> +<p>I do not remember ever to have seen a more ruffianly looking +fellow; he was about six feet high, with an immensely athletic +frame; his face was black and bluff, and sported an immense pair +of whiskers, but with here and there a grey hair, for his age +could not be much under fifty. He wore a faded blue +frock-coat, corduroys, and highlows; on his black head was a kind +of red nightcap, round his bull neck a Barcelona +handkerchief—I did not like the look of the man at all.</p> +<p>“Afraid!” growled the fellow, proceeding to +unharness his horse; “that was the word, I +think.”</p> +<p>But other figures were now already upon the scene. +Dashing past the other horse and cart, <!-- page 284--><a +name="page284"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 284</span>which by +this time had reached the bottom of the pass, appeared an +exceedingly tall woman, or rather girl, for she could scarcely +have been above eighteen; she was dressed in a tight bodice and a +blue stuff gown; hat, bonnet, or cap she had none, and her hair, +which was flaxen, hung down on her shoulders unconfined; her +complexion was fair, and her features handsome, with a determined +but open expression—she was followed by another female, +about forty, stout and vulgar looking, at whom I scarcely +glanced, my whole attention being absorbed by the tall girl.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, Jack?” said the latter, +looking at the man.</p> +<p>“Only afraid, that’s all,” said the man, +still proceeding with his work.</p> +<p>“Afraid at what—at that lad? why, he looks like a +ghost—I would engage to thrash him with one +hand.”</p> +<p>“You might beat me with no hands at all,” said I, +“fair damsel, only by looking at me—I never saw such +a face and figure, both regal—why, you look like Ingeborg, +Queen of Norway; she had twelve brothers, you know, and could +lick them all, though they were heroes:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘On Dovrefeld in Norway,<br /> +Were once together seen,<br /> +The twelve heroic brothers<br /> +Of Ingeborg the queen.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“None of your chaffing, young fellow,” said the +tall girl, “or I will give you what shall make you wipe +your face; be civil, or you will rue it.”</p> +<p>“Well, perhaps I was a peg too high,” said <!-- +page 285--><a name="page285"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +285</span>I; “I ask your pardon—here’s +something a bit lower:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘As I was jawing to the gav yeck divvus<br +/> +I met on the drom miro Rommany chi—’” <a +name="citation285"></a><a href="#footnote285" +class="citation">[285]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>“None of your Rommany chies, young fellow,” said +the tall girl, looking more menacingly than before, and clenching +her fist; “you had better be civil, I am none of your +chies; and though I keep company with Gypsies, or, to speak more +proper, half-and-halfs, I would have you to know that I come of +Christian blood and parents, and was born in the great house of +Long Melford.”</p> +<p>“I have no doubt,” said I, “that it was a +great house; judging from your size I shouldn’t wonder if +you were born in a church.”</p> +<p>“Stay, Belle,” said the man, putting himself +before the young virago, who was about to rush upon me, “my +turn is first”—then, advancing to me in a menacing +attitude, he said, with a look of deep malignity, +“‘Afraid’ was the word, wasn’t +it?”</p> +<p>“It was,” said I, “but I think I wronged +you; I should have said, aghast, you exhibited every symptom of +one labouring under uncontrollable fear.”</p> +<p>The fellow stared at me with a look of stupid ferocity, and +appeared to be hesitating whether to strike or not: ere he could +make up his mind, the tall girl started forward, crying, +“He’s chaffing; let me at him;” and before I +could put myself on my guard, she struck me a blow on the face +which had nearly brought me to the ground.</p> +<p>“Enough,” said I, putting my hand to my cheek; +“you have now performed your promise, <!-- page 286--><a +name="page286"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 286</span>and made me +wipe my face: now be pacified, and tell me fairly the grounds of +this quarrel.”</p> +<p>“Grounds!” said the fellow; “didn’t +you say I was afraid; and if you hadn’t, who gave you leave +to camp on my ground?”</p> +<p>“Is it your ground?” said I.</p> +<p>“A pretty question,” said the fellow; “as if +all the world didn’t know that. Do you know who I +am?”</p> +<p>“I guess I do,” said I; “unless I am much +mistaken, you are he whom folks call the ‘Flaming +Tinman.’ To tell you the truth, I’m glad we +have met, for I wished to see you. These are your two +wives, I suppose; I greet them. There’s no harm +done—there’s room enough here for all of us—we +shall soon be good friends, I dare say; and when we are a little +better acquainted, I’ll tell you my history.”</p> +<p>“Well, if that doesn’t beat all!” said the +fellow.</p> +<p>“I don’t think he’s chaffing now,” +said the girl, whose anger seemed to have subsided on a sudden; +“the young man speaks civil enough.”</p> +<p>“Civil!” said the fellow, with an oath; “but +that’s just like you; with you it is a blow, and all +over. Civil! I suppose you would have him stay here, +and get into all my secrets, and hear all I may have to say to my +two morts.”</p> +<p>“Two morts!” said the girl, kindling up, +“where are they? Speak for one, and no more. I +am no mort of yours, whatever some one else may be. I tell +you one thing, Black John, or Anselo,—for t’other +a’n’t your name,—the same thing I told the +young man here, be civil, or you will rue it.”</p> +<p>The fellow looked at the girl furiously, but his <!-- page +287--><a name="page287"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +287</span>glance soon quailed before hers; he withdrew his eyes, +and cast them on my little horse, which was feeding amongst the +trees. “What’s this?” said he, rushing +forward and seizing the animal. “Why, as I am alive, +this is the horse of that mumping villain Slingsby.”</p> +<p>“It’s his no longer; I bought it and paid for +it.”</p> +<p>“It’s mine now,” said the fellow; “I +swore I would seize it the next time I found it on my beat; ay, +and beat the master too.”</p> +<p>“I am not Slingsby.”</p> +<p>“All’s one for that.”</p> +<p>“You don’t say you will beat me?”</p> +<p>“Afraid was the word.”</p> +<p>“I’m sick and feeble.”</p> +<p>“Hold up your fists.”</p> +<p>“Won’t the horse satisfy you?”</p> +<p>“Horse nor bellows either.”</p> +<p>“No mercy, then?”</p> +<p>“Here’s at you.”</p> +<p>“Mind your eyes, Jack. There, you’ve got +it. I thought so,” shouted the girl, as the fellow +staggered back from a sharp blow in the eye; “I thought he +was chaffing at you all along.”</p> +<p>“Never mind, Anselo. You know what to do—go +in,” said the vulgar woman, who had hitherto not spoken a +word, but who now came forward with all the look of a fury; +“go inapopli; <a name="citation287"></a><a +href="#footnote287" class="citation">[287]</a> you’ll smash +ten like he.”</p> +<p>The Flaming Tinman took her advice, and came in bent on +smashing, but stopped short on receiving a left-handed blow on +the nose.</p> +<p>“You’ll never beat the Flaming Tinman in that +way,” said the girl, looking at me doubtfully.</p> +<p><!-- page 288--><a name="page288"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +288</span>And so I began to think myself, when, in the twinkling +of an eye, the Flaming Tinman, disengaging himself of his +frock-coat, and dashing off his red nightcap, came rushing in +more desperately than ever. To a flush hit which he +received in the mouth he paid as little attention as a wild bull +would have done; in a moment his arms were around me, and in +another he had hurled me down, falling heavily upon me. The +fellow’s strength appeared to be tremendous.</p> +<p>“Pay him off now,” said the vulgar woman. +The Flaming Tinman made no reply, but, planting his knee on my +breast, seized my throat with two huge horny hands. I gave +myself up for dead, and probably should have been so in another +minute but for the tall girl, who caught hold of the handkerchief +which the fellow wore round his neck, with a grasp nearly as +powerful as that with which he pressed my throat.</p> +<p>“Do you call that fair play?” said she.</p> +<p>“Hands off, Belle,” said the other woman; +“do you call it fair play to interfere? hands off, or +I’ll be down upon you myself.”</p> +<p>But Belle paid no heed to the injunction, and tugged so hard +at the handkerchief, that the Flaming Tinman was nearly +throttled; suddenly relinquishing his hold of me, he started on +his feet, and aimed a blow at my fair preserver, who avoided it, +but said coolly—</p> +<p>“Finish t’other business first, and then I’m +your woman whenever you like; but finish it fairly—no foul +play when I’m by—I’ll be the boy’s +second, and Moll can pick up you when he happens to knock you +down.”</p> +<p>The battle during the next ten minutes raged <!-- page +289--><a name="page289"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +289</span>with considerable fury, but it so happened that during +this time I was never able to knock the Flaming Tinman down, but +on the contrary received six knock-down blows myself. +“I can never stand this,” said I, as I sat on the +knee of Belle, “I am afraid I must give in; the Flaming +Tinman hits very hard,” and I spat out a mouthful of +blood.</p> +<p>“Sure enough you’ll never beat the Flaming Tinman +in the way you fight—it’s of no use flipping at the +Flaming Tinman with your left hand; why don’t you use your +right?”</p> +<p>“Because I’m not handy with it,” said I; and +then getting up, I once more confronted the Flaming Tinman, and +struck him six blows for his one, but they were all left-handed +blows, and the blow which the Flaming Tinman gave me knocked me +off my legs.</p> +<p>“Now, will you use Long Melford?” said Belle, +picking me up.</p> +<p>“I don’t know what you mean by Long +Melford,” said I, gasping for breath.</p> +<p>“Why, this long right of yours,” said Belle, +feeling my right arm; “if you do, I shouldn’t wonder +if you yet stand a chance.”</p> +<p>And now the Flaming Tinman was once more ready, much more +ready than myself. I, however, rose from my second’s +knee as well as my weakness would permit me. On he came, +striking left and right, appearing almost as fresh as to wind and +spirit as when he first commenced the combat, though his eyes +were considerably swelled, and his nether lip was cut in two; on +he came, striking left and right, and I did not like his blows at +all, or even the wind of them, which <!-- page 290--><a +name="page290"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 290</span>was +anything but agreeable, and I gave way before him. At last +he aimed a blow which, had it taken full effect, would doubtless +have ended the battle, but owing to his slipping, the fist only +grazed my left shoulder, and came with terrific force against a +tree, close to which I had been driven; before the Tinman could +recover himself, I collected all my strength, and struck him +beneath the ear, and then fell to the ground completely +exhausted; and it so happened that the blow which I struck the +tinker beneath the ear was a right-handed blow.</p> +<p>“Hurrah for Long Melford!” I heard Belle exclaim; +“there is nothing like Long Melford for shortness, all the +world over.”</p> +<p>At these words I turned round my head as I lay, and perceived +the Flaming Tinman stretched upon the ground apparently +senseless. “He is dead,” said the vulgar woman, +as she vainly endeavoured to raise him up; “he is dead; the +best man in all the north country, killed in this fashion, by a +boy!” Alarmed at these words, I made shift to get on +my feet; and, with the assistance of the woman, placed my fallen +adversary in a sitting posture. I put my hand to his heart, +and felt a slight pulsation—“He’s not +dead,” said I, “only stunned; if he were let blood, +he would recover presently.” I produced a penknife +which I had in my pocket, and, baring the arm of the Tinman, was +about to make the necessary incision, when the woman gave me a +violent blow, and, pushing me aside, exclaimed, “I’ll +tear the eyes out of your head, if you offer to touch him. +Do you want to complete your work, and murder him outright, now +he’s asleep? you have had enough of <!-- page 291--><a +name="page291"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 291</span>his blood +already.” “You are mad,” said I; “I +only seek to do him service. Well, if you won’t let +him be blooded, fetch some water and fling it in his face; you +know where the pit is.”</p> +<p>“A pretty manœuvre!” said the woman; +“leave my husband in the hands of you and that limmer, who +has never been true to us—I should find him strangled or +his throat cut when I came back.” “Do you +go,” said I to the tall girl; “take the can and fetch +some water from the pit.” “You had better go +yourself,” said the girl, wiping a tear as she looked on +the yet senseless form of the tinker; “you had better go +yourself, if you think water will do him good.” I had +by this time somewhat recovered my exhausted powers, and, taking +the can, I bent my steps as fast as I could to the pit; arriving +there, I lay down on the brink, took a long draught, and then +plunged my head into the water; after which I filled the can, and +bent my way back to the dingle. Before I could reach the +path which led down into its depths, I had to pass some way along +its side; I had arrived at a part immediately over the scene of +the last encounter, where the bank, overgrown with trees, sloped +precipitously down. Here I heard a loud sound of voices in +the dingle; I stopped, and laying hold of a tree, leaned over the +bank and listened. The two women appeared to be in hot +dispute in the dingle. “It was all owing to you, you +limmer,” said the vulgar woman to the other; “had you +not interfered, the old man would soon have settled the +boy.”</p> +<p>“I’m for fair play and Long Melford,” said +the other. “If your old man, as you call him, could +have settled the boy fairly, he might for all <!-- page 292--><a +name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 292</span>I should +have cared, but no foul work for me; and as for sticking the boy +with our gulleys when he comes back, as you proposed, I am not so +fond of your old man or you that I should oblige you in it, to my +soul’s destruction.” “Hold your tongue, +or I’ll . . . ” I listened no farther, but +hastened as fast as I could to the dingle. My adversary had +just begun to show signs of animation; the vulgar woman was still +supporting him, and occasionally cast glances of anger at the +tall girl, who was walking slowly up and down. I lost no +time in dashing the greater part of the water into the +Tinman’s face, whereupon he sneezed, moved his hands, and +presently looked round him. At first his looks were dull +and heavy, and without any intelligence at all; he soon, however, +began to recollect himself, and to be conscious of his situation; +he cast a scowling glance at me, then one of the deepest +malignity at the tall girl, who was still walking about without +taking much notice of what was going forward. At last he +looked at his right hand, which had evidently suffered from the +blow against the tree, and a half-stifled curse escaped his +lips. The vulgar woman now said something to him in a low +tone, whereupon he looked at her for a moment, and then got upon +his legs. Again the vulgar woman said something to him; her +looks were furious, and she appeared to be urging him on to +attempt something. I observed that she had a clasped knife +in her hand. The fellow remained standing for some time as +if hesitating what to do; at last he looked at his hand, and, +shaking his head, said something to the woman which I did not +understand. The tall girl, however, appeared to overhear +him, and, <!-- page 293--><a name="page293"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 293</span>probably repeating his words, said, +“No, it won’t do; you are right there; and now hear +what I have to say,—let bygones be bygones, and let us all +shake hands, and camp here, as the young man was saying just +now.” The man looked at her, and then, without any +reply, went to his horse, which was lying down among the trees, +and kicking it up, led it to the cart, to which he forthwith +began to harness it. The other cart and horse had remained +standing motionless during the whole affair which I have been +recounting, at the bottom of the pass. The woman now took +the horse by the head, and leading it with the cart into the open +part of the dingle, turned both round, and then led them back, +till the horse and cart had mounted a little way up the ascent; +she then stood still and appeared to be expecting the man. +During this proceeding Belle had stood looking on without saying +anything; at last, perceiving that the man had harnessed his +horse to the other cart, and that both he and the woman were +about to take their departure, she said, “You are not +going, are you?” Receiving no answer, she continued: +“I tell you what, both of you, Black John, and you Moll, +his mort, <a name="citation293"></a><a href="#footnote293" +class="citation">[293]</a> this is not treating me over +civilly,—however, I am ready to put up with it, and to go +with you if you like, for I bear no malice. I’m sorry +for what has happened, but you have only yourselves to thank for +it. Now, shall I go with you, only tell me?” +The man made no manner of reply, but flogged his horse. The +woman, however, whose passions were probably under less control, +replied, with a screeching tone, “Stay where you are, you +jade, and may the curse of Judas cling to you,—stay with +the bit of a <!-- page 294--><a name="page294"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 294</span>mullo <a name="citation294a"></a><a +href="#footnote294a" class="citation">[294a]</a> whom you helped, +and my only hope is that he may gulley <a +name="citation294b"></a><a href="#footnote294b" +class="citation">[294b]</a> you before he comes to be . . . Have +you with us, indeed! after what’s past! no, nor nothing +belonging to you. Fetch down your mailla <a +name="citation294c"></a><a href="#footnote294c" +class="citation">[294c]</a> go-cart and live here with your +chabo.” She then whipped on the horse, and ascended +the pass, followed by the man. The carts were light, and +they were not long in ascending the winding path. I +followed to see that they took their departure. Arriving at +the top, I found near the entrance a small donkey-cart, which I +concluded belonged to the girl. The tinker and his mort +were already at some distance; I stood looking after them for a +little time, then taking the donkey by the reins I led it with +the cart to the bottom of the dingle. Arrived there, I +found Belle seated on the stone by the fireplace. Her hair +was all dishevelled, and she was in tears.</p> +<p>“They were bad people,” said she, “and I did +not like them, but they were my only acquaintance in the wide +world.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 295--><a name="page295"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 295</span>CHAPTER LXXXVI</h2> +<p>At Tea—Vapours—Isopel Berners—Softly and +Kindly—Sweet Pretty Creature—Bread and +Water—Two Sailors—Truth and Constancy—Very +Strangely.</p> +<p>In the evening of that same day the tall girl and I sat at tea +by the fire, at the bottom of the dingle; the girl on a small +stool, and myself, as usual, upon my stone.</p> +<p>The water which served for the tea had been taken from a +spring of pellucid water in the neighbourhood, which I had not +had the good fortune to discover, though it was well known to my +companion, and to the wandering people who frequented the +dingle.</p> +<p>“This tea is very good,” said I, “but I +cannot enjoy it as much as if I were well: I feel very +sadly.”</p> +<p>“How else should you feel,” said the girl, +“after fighting with the Flaming Tinman? All I wonder +at is that you can feel at all! As for the tea, it ought to +be good, seeing that it cost me ten shillings a pound.”</p> +<p>“That’s a great deal for a person in your station +to pay.”</p> +<p>“In my station! I’d have you to know, young +man—however, I haven’t the heart to quarrel with you, +you look so ill; and after all, it is a good sum <!-- page +296--><a name="page296"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +296</span>for one to pay who travels the roads; but if I must +have tea, I like to have the best; and tea I must have, for I am +used to it, though I can’t help thinking that it sometimes +fills my head with strange fancies—what some folks call +vapours, making me weep and cry.”</p> +<p>“Dear me,” said I, “I should never have +thought that one of your size and fierceness would weep and +cry!”</p> +<p>“My size and fierceness! I tell you what, young +man, you are not over civil this evening; but you are ill, as I +said before, and I shan’t take much notice of your +language, at least for the present; as for my size, I am not so +much bigger than yourself; and as for being fierce, you should be +the last one to fling that at me. It is well for you that I +can be fierce sometimes. If I hadn’t taken your part +against Blazing Bosville, you wouldn’t be now taking tea +with me.”</p> +<p>“It is true that you struck me in the face first; but +we’ll let that pass. So that man’s name is +Bosville; what’s your own?”</p> +<p>“Isopel Berners.”</p> +<p>“How did you get that name?”</p> +<p>“I say, young man, you seem fond of asking questions: +will you have another cup of tea?”</p> +<p>“I was just going to ask for another.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, here it is, and much good may it do you; as +for my name, I got it from my mother.”</p> +<p>“Your mother’s name, then, was Isopel?”</p> +<p>“Isopel Berners.”</p> +<p>“But had you never a father?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I had a father,” said the girl, sighing, +“but I don’t bear his name.”</p> +<p><!-- page 297--><a name="page297"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +297</span>“Is it the fashion, then, in your country for +children to bear their mother’s name?”</p> +<p>“If you ask such questions, young man, I shall be angry +with you. I have told you my name, and, whether my +father’s or mother’s, I am not ashamed of +it.”</p> +<p>“It is a noble name.”</p> +<p>“There you are right, young man. The chaplain in +the great house, where I was born, told me it was a noble name; +it was odd enough, he said, that the only three noble names in +the county were to be found in the great house; mine was one; the +other two were Devereux and Bohun.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by the great house?”</p> +<p>“The workhouse.”</p> +<p>“Is it possible that you were born there?”</p> +<p>“Yes, young man; and as you now speak softly and kindly, +I will tell you my whole tale. My father was an officer of +the sea, and was killed at sea as he was coming home to marry my +mother, Isopel Berners. He had been acquainted with her, +and had left her; but after a few months he wrote her a letter, +to say that he had no rest, and that he repented, and that as +soon as his ship came to port he would do her all the reparation +in his power. Well, young man, the very day before they +reached port they met the enemy, and there was a fight, and my +father was killed, after he had struck down six of the +enemy’s crew on their own deck; for my father was a big +man, as I have heard, and knew tolerably well how to use his +hands. And when my mother heard the news, she became half +distracted, and ran away into the fields and forests, totally +neglecting her business, for she was a small milliner; and so she +ran demented about the meads <!-- page 298--><a +name="page298"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 298</span>and forests +for a long time, now sitting under a tree, and now by the side of +a river—at last she flung herself into some water, and +would have been drowned, had not some one been at hand and +rescued her, whereupon she was conveyed to the great house, lest +she should attempt to do herself farther mischief, for she had +neither friends nor parents—and there she died three months +after, having first brought me into the world. She was a +sweet pretty creature, I’m told, but hardly fit for this +world, being neither large, nor fierce, nor able to take her own +part. So I was born and bred in the great house, where I +learnt to read and sew, to fear God, and to take my own +part. When I was fourteen I was put out to service to a +small farmer and his wife, with whom, however, I did not stay +long, for I was half starved, and otherwise ill-treated, +especially by my mistress, who one day attempting to knock me +down with a besom, I knocked her down with my fist, and went back +to the great house.”</p> +<p>“And how did they receive you in the great +house?”</p> +<p>“Not very kindly, young man—on the contrary, I was +put into a dark room, where I was kept a fortnight on bread and +water; I did not much care, however, being glad to have got back +to the great house at any rate—the place where I was born, +and where my poor mother died; and in the great house I continued +two years longer, reading and sewing, fearing God, and taking my +own part when necessary. At the end of the two years I was +again put out to service, but this time to a rich farmer and his +wife, with whom, however, I did not live long, less time, I +believe, than with the poor ones, being obliged to leave +for—”</p> +<p><!-- page 299--><a name="page299"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +299</span>“Knocking your mistress down?”</p> +<p>“No, young man, knocking my master down, who conducted +himself improperly towards me. This time I did not go back +to the great house, having a misgiving that they would not +receive me; so I turned my back to the great house where I was +born, and where my poor mother died, and wandered for several +days I know not whither, supporting myself on a few halfpence +which I chanced to have in my pocket. It happened one day, +as I sat under a hedge crying, having spent my last farthing, +that a comfortable-looking elderly woman came up in a cart, and +seeing the state in which I was, she stopped and asked what was +the matter with me; I told her some part of my story, whereupon +she said, ‘Cheer up, my dear; if you like, you shall go +with me, and wait upon me.’ Of course I wanted little +persuasion, so I got into the cart and went with her. She +took me to London and various other places, and I soon found that +she was a travelling woman, who went about the country with silks +and linen. I was of great use to her, more especially in +those places where we met evil company. Once, as we were +coming from Dover, we were met by two sailors, who stopped our +cart, and would have robbed and stripped us. ‘Let me +get down,’ said I; so I got down, and fought with them +both, till they turned round and ran away. Two years I +lived with the old gentlewoman, who was very kind to me, almost +as kind as a mother; at last she fell sick at a place in +Lincolnshire, and after a few days died, leaving me her cart and +stock in trade, praying me only to see her decently +buried—which I did, giving her a funeral fit for a +gentlewoman. After which I travelled the country—<!-- +page 300--><a name="page300"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +300</span>melancholy enough for want of company, but so far +fortunate, that I could take my own part when anybody was uncivil +to me. At last, passing through the valley of Todmorden, I +formed the acquaintance of Blazing Bosville and his wife, with +whom I occasionally took journeys for company’s sake, for +it is melancholy to travel about alone, even when one can take +one’s own part. I soon found they were evil people; +but, upon the whole, they treated me civilly, and I sometimes +lent them a little money, so that we got on tolerably well +together. He and I, it is true, had once a dispute, and +nearly came to blows; for once, when we were alone, he wanted me +to marry him, promising, if I would, to turn off Grey Moll, or, +if I liked it better, to make her wait upon me as a maid-servant; +I never liked him much, but from that hour less than ever. +Of the two, I believe Grey Moll to be the best, for she is at any +rate true and faithful to him, and I like truth and +constancy—don’t you, young man?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “they are very nice +things. I feel very strangely.”</p> +<p>“How do you feel, young man?”</p> +<p>“Very much afraid.”</p> +<p>“Afraid, at what? At the Flaming Tinman? +Don’t be afraid of him. He won’t come back, and +if he did, he shouldn’t touch you in this state; I’d +fight him for you; but he won’t come back, so you +needn’t be afraid of him.”</p> +<p>“I’m not afraid of the Flaming Tinman.”</p> +<p>“What, then, are you afraid of?”</p> +<p>“The evil one.”</p> +<p>“The evil one!” said the girl; “where is +he?”</p> +<p>“Coming upon me.”</p> +<p>“Never heed,” said the girl, “I’ll +stand by you.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 301--><a name="page301"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 301</span>CHAPTER LXXXVII</h2> +<p>Hubbub of Voices—No Offence—Nodding—The +Guests.</p> +<p>The kitchen of the public-house was a large one, and many +people were drinking in it; there was a confused hubbub of +voices.</p> +<p>I sat down on a bench behind a deal table, of which there were +three or four in the kitchen; presently a bulky man, in a green +coat of the Newmarket cut, and without a hat, entered, and +observing me, came up, and in rather a gruff tone cried, +“Want anything, young fellow?”</p> +<p>“Bring me a jug of ale,” said I, “if you are +the master, as I suppose you are, by that same coat of yours, and +your having no hat on your head.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be saucy, young fellow,” said the +landlord, for such he was; “don’t be saucy, or . . . +” Whatever he intended to say he left unsaid, for +fixing his eyes upon one of my hands, which I had placed by +chance upon the table, he became suddenly still.</p> +<p>This was my left hand, which was raw and swollen, from the +blows dealt on a certain hard skull in a recent combat. +“What do you mean by staring at my hand so?” said I, +withdrawing it from the table.</p> +<p>“No offence, young man, no offence,” said the <!-- +page 302--><a name="page302"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +302</span>landlord, in a quite altered tone; “but the sight +of your hand . . . ” then observing that our conversation +began to attract the notice of the guests in the kitchen, he +interrupted himself, saying in an undertone, “But +mum’s the word for the present, I will go and fetch the +ale.”</p> +<p>In about a minute he returned, with a jug of ale foaming +high. “Here’s your health,” said he, +blowing off the foam, and drinking; but perceiving that I looked +rather dissatisfied, he murmured, “All’s right, I +glory in you; but mum’s the word.” Then placing +the jug on the table, he gave me a confidential nod, and +swaggered out of the room.</p> +<p>What can the silly impertinent fellow mean, thought I; but the +ale was now before me, and I hastened to drink, for my weakness +was great, and my mind was full of dark thoughts, the remains of +the indescribable horror of the preceding night. It may +kill me, thought I, as I drank deep—but who cares? anything +is better than what I have suffered. I drank deep, and then +leaned back against the wall: it appeared as if a vapour was +stealing up into my brain, gentle and benign, soothing and +stilling the horror and the fear; higher and higher it mounted, +and I felt nearly overcome; but the sensation was delicious, +compared with that I had lately experienced, and now I felt +myself nodding; and, bending down, I laid my head on the table on +my folded hands.</p> +<p>And in that attitude I remained some time, perfectly +unconscious. At length, by degrees, perception returned, +and I lifted up my head. I felt somewhat dizzy and +bewildered, but the dark shadow had withdrawn itself from +me. And now once more I drank of the jug; this second +draught <!-- page 303--><a name="page303"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 303</span>did not produce an overpowering +effect upon me—it revived and strengthened me—I felt +a new man.</p> +<p>I looked around me; the kitchen had been deserted by the +greater part of the guests; besides myself, only four remained; +these were seated at the farther end. One was haranguing +fiercely and eagerly; he was abusing England, and praising +America. At last he exclaimed, “So when I gets to New +York, I will toss up my hat, and damn the King.”</p> +<p>That man must be a Radical, thought I.</p> +<h2><!-- page 304--><a name="page304"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 304</span>CHAPTER LXXXVIII</h2> +<p>A Radical—Simple-looking Man—Church of +England—The President—Aristocracy—Gin and +Water—Mending the Roads—Persecuting +Church—Simon de Montfort—Broken Bells—Get +Up—Not for the Pope—Quay of New +York—Mumpers’ Dingle—No Wish to +Fight—First Draught—A Poor Pipe—Half-a-crown +Broke.</p> +<p>The individual whom I supposed to be a Radical, after a short +pause, again uplifted his voice; he was rather a strong-built +fellow of about thirty, with an ill-favoured countenance, a white +hat on his head, a snuff-coloured coat on his back, and, when he +was not speaking, a pipe in his mouth. “Who would +live in such a country as England?” he shouted.</p> +<p>“There is no country like America,” said his +nearest neighbour, a man also in a white hat, and of a very +ill-favoured countenance—“there is no country like +America,” said he, withdrawing a pipe from his mouth; +“I think I shall”—and here he took a draught +from a jug, the contents of which he appeared to have in common +with the other—“go to America one of these days +myself.”</p> +<p>“Poor old England is not such a bad country, after +all,” said a third, a simple-looking man in a labouring +dress, who sat smoking a pipe without anything before him. +“If there was but a little <!-- page 305--><a +name="page305"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 305</span>more work +to be got, I should have nothing to say against her; I hope, +however—”</p> +<p>“You hope! who cares what you hope?” interrupted +the first, in a savage tone; “you are one of those sneaking +hounds who are satisfied with dogs’ wages—a bit of +bread and a kick. Work, indeed! who, with the spirit of a +man, would work for a country where there is neither liberty of +speech, nor of action? a land full of beggarly aristocracy, +hungry borough-mongers, insolent parsons, and ‘their . . . +wives and daughters,’ as William Cobbett says, in his +‘Register.’”</p> +<p>“Ah, the Church of England has been a source of +incalculable mischief to these realms,” said another.</p> +<p>The person who uttered these words sat rather aloof from the +rest; he was dressed in a long black surtout. I could not +see much of his face, partly owing to his keeping it very much +directed to the ground, and partly owing to a large slouched hat +which he wore; I observed, however, that his hair was of a +reddish tinge. On the table near him was a glass and +spoon.</p> +<p>“You are quite right,” said the first, alluding to +what this last had said, “the Church of England has done +incalculable mischief here. I value no religion three +halfpence, for I believe in none; but the one that I hate most is +the Church of England; so when I get to New York, after I have +shown the fine fellows on the quay a spice of me, by --- the +King, I’ll toss up my hat again, and --- the Church of +England too.”</p> +<p>“And suppose the people of New York should clap you in +the stocks?” said I.</p> +<p>These words drew upon me the attention of the <!-- page +306--><a name="page306"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +306</span>whole four. The Radical and his companion stared +at me ferociously; the man in black gave me a peculiar glance +from under his slouched hat; the simple-looking man in the +labouring dress laughed.</p> +<p>“What are you laughing at, you fool?” said the +Radical, turning and looking at the other, who appeared to be +afraid of him; “hold your noise; and a pretty fellow, +you,” said he, looking at me, “to come here, and +speak against the great American nation.”</p> +<p>“I speak against the great American nation!” said +I; “I rather paid them a compliment.”</p> +<p>“By supposing they would put me in the stocks! +Well, I call it abusing them, to suppose they would do any such +thing—stocks, indeed!—there are no stocks in all the +land. Put me in the stocks! why, the President will come +down to the quay, and ask me to dinner, as soon as he hears what +I have said about the King and Church.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder,” said I, “if you +go to America you will say of the President and country, what now +you say of the King and Church, and cry out for somebody to send +you back to England.”</p> +<p>The Radical dashed his pipe to pieces against the table. +“I tell you what, young fellow, you are a spy of the +aristocracy, sent here to kick up a disturbance.”</p> +<p>“Kicking up a disturbance,” said I, “is +rather inconsistent with the office of spy. If I were a +spy, I should hold my head down, and say nothing.”</p> +<p>The man in black partially raised his head, and gave me +another peculiar glance.</p> +<p>“Well, if you ar’n’t sent to spy, you are +sent to <!-- page 307--><a name="page307"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 307</span>bully, to prevent people speaking, +and to run down the great American nation; but you shan’t +bully me. I say, down with the aristocracy, the beggarly +British aristocracy. Come, what have you to say to +that?”</p> +<p>“Nothing,” said I.</p> +<p>“Nothing!” repeated the Radical.</p> +<p>“No,” said I; “down with them as soon as you +can.”</p> +<p>“As soon as I can! I wish I could. But I can +down with a bully of theirs. Come, will you fight for +them?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I.</p> +<p>“You won’t?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I; “though, from what I have seen +of them, I should say they are tolerably able to fight for +themselves.”</p> +<p>“You won’t fight for them,” said the +Radical, triumphantly; “I thought so; all bullies, +especially those of the aristocracy, are cowards. Here, +landlord,” said he, raising his voice, and striking against +the table with the jug, “some more ale—he won’t +fight for his friends.”</p> +<p>“A white feather,” said his companion.</p> +<p>“He! he!” tittered the man in black.</p> +<p>“Landlord, landlord!” shouted the Radical, +striking the table with the jug louder than before. +“Who called?” said the landlord, coming in at +last. “Fill this jug again,” said the other, +“and be quick about it.” “Does any one +else want anything?” said the landlord. +“Yes,” said the man in black; “you may bring me +another glass of gin and water.” “Cold?” +said the landlord. “Yes,” said the man in +black, “with a lump of sugar in it.”</p> +<p><!-- page 308--><a name="page308"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +308</span>“Gin and water cold, with a lump of sugar in +it,” said I, and struck the table with my fist.</p> +<p>“Take some?” said the landlord, inquiringly.</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “only something came into my +head.”</p> +<p>“He’s mad,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“Not he,” said the Radical. +“He’s only shamming; he knows his master is here, and +therefore has recourse to these manœuvres, but it +won’t do. Come, landlord, what are you staring +at? Why don’t you obey your orders? Keeping +your customers waiting in this manner is not the way to increase +your business.”</p> +<p>The landlord looked at the Radical, and then at me. At +last, taking the jug and glass he left the apartment, and +presently returned with each filled with its respective +liquor. He placed the jug with beer before the Radical, and +the glass with gin and water before the man in black, and then, +with a wink to me, he sauntered out.</p> +<p>“Here is your health, sir,” said the man of the +snuff-coloured coat, addressing himself to the one in black; +“I honour you for what you said about the Church of +England. Every one who speaks against the Church of England +has my warm heart. Down with it, I say, and may the stones +of it be used for mending the roads, as my friend William says in +his ‘Register.’”</p> +<p>The man in black, with a courteous nod of his head, drank to +the man in the snuff-coloured coat. “With respect to +the steeples,” said he, “I am not altogether of your +opinion; they might be turned to better account than to serve to +mend the roads; they might still be used as places of <!-- page +309--><a name="page309"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +309</span>worship, but not for the worship of the Church of +England. I have no fault to find with the steeples, it is +the Church itself which I am compelled to arraign; but it will +not stand long, the respectable part of its ministers are already +leaving it. It is a bad Church, a persecuting +Church.”</p> +<p>“Whom does it persecute?” said I.</p> +<p>The man in black glanced at me slightly, and then replied +slowly, “The Catholics.”</p> +<p>“And do those whom you call Catholics never +persecute?” said I.</p> +<p>“Never,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“Did you ever read ‘Fox’s Book of +Martyrs’?” said I.</p> +<p>“He! he!” tittered the man in black, “there +is not a word of truth in ‘Fox’s Book of +Martyrs.’”</p> +<p>“Ten times more than in the ‘Flos +Sanctorum,’” said I.</p> +<p>The man in black looked at me, but made no answer.</p> +<p>“And what say you to the Massacre of the Albigenses and +the Vaudois, ‘whose bones lie scattered on the cold +Alp,’ or the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes?”</p> +<p>The man in black made no answer.</p> +<p>“Go to,” said I, “it is because the Church +of England is not a persecuting Church, that those whom you call +the respectable part are leaving her; it is because they +can’t do with the poor Dissenters what Simon de Montfort +did with the Albigenses, and the cruel Piedmontese with the +Vaudois, that they turn to bloody Rome; the Pope will no doubt +welcome them, for the Pope, <!-- page 310--><a +name="page310"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 310</span>do you see, +being very much in want, will welcome—”</p> +<p>“Hallo!” said the Radical, interfering, +“what are you saying about the Pope? I say, Hurrah +for the Pope; I value no religion three halfpence, as I said +before, but if I were to adopt any, it should be the popish as +it’s called, because I conceives the popish to be the grand +enemy of the Church of England, of the beggarly aristocracy, and +the borough-monger system, so I won’t hear the Pope abused +while I am by. Come, don’t look fierce. You +won’t fight, you know, I have proved it; but I will give +you another chance—I will fight for the Pope, will you +fight against him?”</p> +<p>“Oh dear me, yes,” said I, getting up and stepping +forward. “I am a quiet peaceable young man, and, +being so, am always ready to fight against the Pope—the +enemy of all peace and quiet; to refuse fighting for the +aristocracy is a widely different thing from refusing to fight +against the Pope; so come on, if you are disposed to fight for +him. To the Pope broken bells, to Saint James broken +shells. No popish vile oppression, but the Protestant +succession. Confusion to the Groyne, hurrah for the Boyne, +for the army at Clonmel, and the Protestant young gentlemen who +live there as well.”</p> +<p>“An Orangeman,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“Not a Platitude,” said I.</p> +<p>The man in black gave a slight start.</p> +<p>“Amongst that family,” said I, “no doubt, +something may be done, but amongst the Methodist preachers I +should conceive that the success would not be great.”</p> +<p><!-- page 311--><a name="page311"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +311</span>The man in black sat quite still.</p> +<p>“Especially amongst those who have wives,” I +added.</p> +<p>The man in black stretched his hand towards his gin and +water.</p> +<p>“However,” said I, “we shall see what the +grand movement will bring about, and the results of the lessons +in elocution.”</p> +<p>The man in black lifted the glass up to his mouth, and, in +doing so, let the spoon fall.</p> +<p>“But what has this to do with the main question?” +said I; “I am waiting here to fight against the +Pope.”</p> +<p>“Come, Hunter,” said the companion of the man in +the snuff-coloured coat, “get up, and fight for the +Pope.”</p> +<p>“I don’t care for the young fellow,” said +the man in the snuff-coloured coat.</p> +<p>“I know you don’t,” said the other, +“so get up, and serve him out.”</p> +<p>“I could serve out three like him,” said the man +in the snuff-coloured coat.</p> +<p>“So much the better for you,” said the other, +“the present work will be all the easier for you; get up, +and serve him out at once.”</p> +<p>The man in the snuff-coloured coat did not stir.</p> +<p>“Who shows the white feather now?” said the +simple-looking man.</p> +<p>“He! he! he!” tittered the man in black.</p> +<p>“Who told you to interfere?” said the Radical, +turning ferociously towards the simple-looking man; “say +another word, and I’ll . . . ” “And +you!” said he, addressing himself to the man in black, +“a pretty fellow you to turn against me, <!-- page 312--><a +name="page312"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 312</span>after I had +taken your part! I tell you what, you may fight for +yourself. I’ll see you and your Pope in the pit of +Eldon, before I fight for either of you, so make the most of +it.”</p> +<p>“Then you won’t fight?” said I.</p> +<p>“Not for the Pope,” said the Radical; +“I’ll see the Pope—”</p> +<p>“Dear me!” said I, “not fight for the Pope, +whose religion you would turn to, if you were inclined for +any! I see how it is, you are not fond of fighting; but +I’ll give you another chance—you were abusing the +Church of England just now: I’ll fight for it—will +you fight against it?”</p> +<p>“Come, Hunter,” said the other, “get up, and +fight against the Church of England.”</p> +<p>“I have no particular quarrel against the Church of +England,” said the man in the snuff-coloured coat, +“my quarrel is with the aristocracy. If I said +anything against the Church, it was merely for a bit of +corollary, as Master William Cobbett would say; the quarrel with +the Church belongs to this fellow in black; so let him carry it +on. However,” he continued suddenly, “I +won’t slink from the matter either; it shall never be said +by the fine fellows on the quay of New York, that I +wouldn’t fight against the Church of England. So down +with the beggarly aristocracy, the Church, and the Pope, to the +bottom of the pit of Eldon, and may the Pope fall first, and the +others upon him.”</p> +<p>Thereupon, dashing his hat on the table, he placed himself in +an attitude of offence, and rushed forward. He was, as I +have said before, a powerful fellow, and might have proved a +dangerous <!-- page 313--><a name="page313"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 313</span>antagonist, more especially to +myself, who, after my recent encounter with the Flaming Tinman, +and my wrestlings with the evil one, was in anything but fighting +order. Any collision, however, was prevented by the +landlord, who, suddenly appearing, thrust himself between +us. “There shall be no fighting here,” said he; +“no one shall fight in this house, except it be with +myself; so if you two have anything to say to each other, you had +better go into the field behind the house. But, you +fool,” said he, pushing Hunter violently on the breast, +“do you know whom you are going to tackle with?—this +is the young chap that beat Blazing Bosville, only as late as +yesterday, in Mumpers’ Dingle. Grey Moll told me all +about it last night, when she came for some brandy for her +husband, who, she said, had been half killed; and she described +the young man to me so closely, that I knew him at once, that is, +as soon as I saw how his left hand was bruised, for she told me +he was a left-hand hitter. Ar’n’t it all true, +young man? Ar’n’t you he that beat Flaming +Bosville in Mumpers’ Dingle?” “I never +beat Flaming Bosville,” said I, “he beat +himself. Had he not struck his hand against a tree, I +shouldn’t be here at the present moment.” +“Hear! hear!” said the landlord; “now +that’s just as it should be; I like a modest man, for, as +the parson says, nothing sits better upon a young man than +modesty. I remember, when I was young, fighting with Tom of +Hopton, the best man that ever pulled off coat in England. +I remember, too, that I won the battle; for I happened to hit Tom +of Hopton in the mark, as he was coming in, so that he lost his +wind, and falling squelch on the ground, do ye see, <!-- page +314--><a name="page314"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 314</span>he +lost the battle, though I am free to confess that he was a better +man than myself; indeed, the best man that ever fought in +England; yet still I won the battle, as every customer of mine, +and everybody within twelve miles round, has heard over and over +again. Now, Mr. Hunter, I have one thing to say, if you +choose to go into the field behind the house, and fight the young +man, you can. I’ll back him for ten pounds; but no +fighting in my kitchen—because why? I keeps a decent +kind of an establishment.”</p> +<p>“I have no wish to fight the young man,” said +Hunter; “more especially as he has nothing to say for the +aristocracy. If he chose to fight for them, +indeed—but he won’t, I know: for I see he’s a +decent, respectable young man; and, after all, fighting is a +blackguard way of settling a dispute; so I have no wish to fight; +however, there is one thing I’ll do,” said he, +uplifting his fist, “I’ll fight this fellow in black +here for half-a-crown, or for nothing, if he pleases; it was he +that got up the last dispute between me and the young man, with +his Pope and his nonsense; so I will fight him for anything he +pleases, and perhaps the young man will be my second; whilst +you—”</p> +<p>“Come, Doctor,” said the landlord, “or +whatsoever you be, will you go into the field with Hunter? +I’ll second you, only you must back yourself. +I’ll lay five pounds on Hunter, if you are inclined to back +yourself; and will help you to win it as far, do you see, as a +second can; because why? I always likes to do the fair +thing.”</p> +<p>“Oh! I have no wish to fight,” said the man <!-- +page 315--><a name="page315"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +315</span>in black, hastily; “fighting is not my +trade. If I have given any offence, I beg anybody’s +pardon.”</p> +<p>“Landlord,” said I, “what have I to +pay?”</p> +<p>“Nothing at all,” said the landlord; “glad +to see you. This is the first time that you have been at my +house, and I never charge new customers, at least customers such +as you, anything for the first draught. You’ll come +again, I dare say; shall always be glad to see you. I +won’t take it,” said he, as I put sixpence on the +table; “I won’t take it.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you shall,” said I; “but not in +payment for anything I have had myself: it shall serve to pay for +a jug of ale for that gentleman,” said I, pointing to the +simple-looking individual; “he is smoking a poor +pipe. I do not mean to say that a pipe is a bad thing; but +a pipe without ale, do you see—”</p> +<p>“Bravo!” said the landlord, “that’s +just the conduct I like.”</p> +<p>“Bravo!” said Hunter. “I shall be +happy to drink with the young man whenever I meet him at New +York, where, do you see, things are better managed than +here.”</p> +<p>“If I have given offence to anybody,” said the man +in black, “I repeat that I ask pardon,—more +especially to the young gentleman, who was perfectly right to +stand up for his religion, just as I—not that I am of any +particular religion, no more than this honest gentleman +here,” bowing to Hunter; “but I happen to know +something of the Catholics—several excellent friends of +mine are Catholics—and of a surety the Catholic religion is +an ancient religion, and a widely-extended religion, though it +certainly is not a universal <!-- page 316--><a +name="page316"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 316</span>religion, +but it has of late made considerable progress, even amongst those +nations who have been particularly opposed to it—amongst +the Prussians and the Dutch, for example, to say nothing of the +English; and then, in the East, amongst the Persians, amongst the +Armenians.”</p> +<p>“The Armenians,” said I; “Oh dear me, the +Armenians—”</p> +<p>“Have you anything to say about these people, +sir?” said the man in black, lifting up his glass to his +mouth.</p> +<p>“I have nothing farther to say,” said I, +“than that the roots of Ararat are occasionally found to be +deeper than those of Rome.”</p> +<p>“There’s half-a-crown broke,” said the +landlord, as the man in black let fall the glass, which was +broken to pieces on the floor. “You will pay me the +damage, friend, before you leave this kitchen. I like to +see people drink freely in my kitchen, but not too freely, and I +hate breakages; because why? I keeps a decent kind of an +establishment.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 317--><a name="page317"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 317</span>CHAPTER LXXXIX</h2> +<p>The Dingle—Give them Ale—Not over +Complimentary—America—Many +People—Washington—Promiscuous Company—Language +of the Roads—The Old Women—Numerals—The Man in +Black.</p> +<p>The public-house where the scenes which I have attempted to +describe in the preceding chapters took place, was at the +distance of about two miles from the dingle. The sun was +sinking in the west by the time I returned to the latter +spot. I found Belle seated by a fire, over which her kettle +was suspended. During my absence she had prepared herself a +kind of tent, consisting of large hoops covered over with +tarpaulin, quite impenetrable to rain, however violent. +“I am glad you are returned,” said she, as soon as +she perceived me; “I began to be anxious about you. +Did you take my advice?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I; “I went to the public-house +and drank ale, as you advised me; it cheered, strengthened, and +drove away the horror from my mind—I am much beholden to +you.”</p> +<p>“I knew it would do you good,” said Belle, +“I remembered that when the poor women in the great house +were afflicted with hysterics, and fearful imaginings, the +surgeon, who was a good, <!-- page 318--><a +name="page318"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 318</span>kind man, +used to say, ‘Ale, give them ale, and let it be +strong.’”</p> +<p>“He was no advocate for tea, then?” said I.</p> +<p>“He had no objection to tea; but he used to say, +‘Everything in its season.’ Shall we take ours +now?—I have waited for you.”</p> +<p>“I have no objection,” said I; “I feel +rather heated, and at present should prefer tea to +ale—‘Everything in its season,’ as the surgeon +said.”</p> +<p>Thereupon Belle prepared tea, and, as we were taking it, she +said, “What did you see and hear at the +public-house?”</p> +<p>“Really,” said I, “you appear to have your +full portion of curiosity; what matters it to you what I saw and +heard at the public-house?”</p> +<p>“It matters very little to me,” said Belle; +“I merely inquired of you, for the sake of a little +conversation—you were silent, and it is uncomfortable for +two people to sit together without opening their lips—at +least I think so.”</p> +<p>“One only feels uncomfortable,” said I, “in +being silent, when one happens to be thinking of the individual +with whom one is in company. To tell you the truth, I was +not thinking of my companion, but of certain company with whom I +had been at the public-house.”</p> +<p>“Really, young man,” said Belle, “you are +not over complimentary; but who may this wonderful company have +been—some young . . .?” and here Belle stopped.</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “there was no young +person—if person you were going to say. There was a +big portly landlord, whom I dare say you have seen; a noisy +savage Radical, who wanted at first to fasten upon me a quarrel +about America, <!-- page 319--><a name="page319"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 319</span>but who subsequently drew in his +horns; then there was a strange fellow, a prowling priest, I +believe, whom I have frequently heard of, who at first seemed +disposed to side with the Radical against me, and afterwards with +me against the Radical. There, you know my company, and +what took place.”</p> +<p>“Was there no one else?” said Belle.</p> +<p>“You are mighty curious,” said I. “No, +none else, except a poor simple mechanic, and some common +company, who soon went away.”</p> +<p>Belle looked at me for a moment, and then appeared to be lost +in thought—“America!” said she, +musingly—“America!”</p> +<p>“What of America?” said I.</p> +<p>“I have heard that it is a mighty country.”</p> +<p>“I dare say it is,” said I; “I have heard my +father say that the Americans are first-rate marksmen.”</p> +<p>“I heard nothing about that,” said Belle; +“what I heard was, that it is a great and goodly land, +where people can walk about without jostling, and where the +industrious can always find bread; I have frequently thought of +going thither.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “the Radical in the +public-house will perhaps be glad of your company thither; he is +as great an admirer of America as yourself, though I believe on +different grounds.”</p> +<p>“I shall go by myself,” said Belle, +“unless—unless that should happen which is not +likely—I am not fond of Radicals no more than I am of +scoffers and mockers.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say that I am a scoffer and +mocker?”</p> +<p>“I don’t wish to say you are,” said Belle; +<!-- page 320--><a name="page320"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +320</span>“but some of your words sound strangely like +scoffing and mocking. I have now one thing to beg, which +is, that if you have anything to say against America, you would +speak it out boldly.”</p> +<p>“What should I have to say against America? I +never was there.”</p> +<p>“Many people speak against America who never were +there.”</p> +<p>“Many people speak in praise of America who never were +there; but with respect to myself, I have not spoken for or +against America.”</p> +<p>“If you liked America you would speak in its +praise.”</p> +<p>“By the same rule, if I disliked America I should speak +against it.”</p> +<p>“I can’t speak with you,” said Belle; +“but I see you dislike the country.”</p> +<p>“The country!”</p> +<p>“Well, the people—don’t you?”</p> +<p>“I do.”</p> +<p>“Why do you dislike them?”</p> +<p>“Why I have heard my father say that the American +marksmen, led on by a chap of the name of Washington, sent the +English to the right-about in double-quick time.”</p> +<p>“And that is your reason for disliking the +Americans?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “that is my reason for +disliking them.”</p> +<p>“Will you take another cup of tea?” said +Belle.</p> +<p>I took another cup; we were again silent. “It is +rather uncomfortable,” said I, at last, “for people +to sit together without having anything to say.”</p> +<p><!-- page 321--><a name="page321"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +321</span>“Were you thinking of your company?” said +Belle.</p> +<p>“What company?” said I.</p> +<p>“The present company.”</p> +<p>“The present company! oh, ah—I remember that I +said one only feels uncomfortable in being silent with a +companion, when one happens to be thinking of the +companion. Well, I had been thinking of you the last two or +three minutes, and had just come to the conclusion, that to +prevent us both feeling occasionally uncomfortably towards each +other, having nothing to say, it would be as well to have a +standing subject, on which to employ our tongues. Belle, I +have determined to give you lessons in Armenian.”</p> +<p>“What is Armenian?”</p> +<p>“Did you ever hear of Ararat?”</p> +<p>“Yes, that was the place where the ark rested; I have +heard the chaplain in the great house talk of it; besides, I have +read of it in the Bible.”</p> +<p>“Well, Armenian is the speech of people of that place, +and I should like to teach it you.”</p> +<p>“To prevent—”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay, to prevent our occasionally feeling +uncomfortable together. Your acquiring it besides might +prove of ulterior advantage to us both; for example, suppose you +and I were in promiscuous company,—at Court, for +example,—and you had something to communicate to me which +you did not wish any one else to be acquainted with, how safely +you might communicate it to me in Armenian.”</p> +<p>“Would not the language of the roads do as well?” +said Belle.</p> +<p>“In some places it would,” said I, “but not +<!-- page 322--><a name="page322"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +322</span>at Court, owing to its resemblance to thieves’ +slang. There is Hebrew, again, which I was thinking of +teaching you, till the idea of being presented at Court made me +abandon it, from the probability of our being understood, in the +event of our speaking it, by at least half a dozen people in our +vicinity. There is Latin, it is true, or Greek, which we +might speak aloud at Court with perfect confidence of safety, but +upon the whole I should prefer teaching you Armenian, not because +it would be a safer language to hold communication with at Court, +but because, not being very well grounded in it myself, I am +apprehensive that its words and forms may escape from my +recollection, unless I have sometimes occasion to call them +forth.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid we shall have to part company before I have +learnt it,” said Belle; “in the meantime, if I wish +to say anything to you in private, somebody being by, shall I +speak in the language of the roads?”</p> +<p>“If no roadster is nigh you may,” said I, +“and I will do my best to understand you. Belle, I +will now give you a lesson in Armenian.”</p> +<p>“I suppose you mean no harm,” said Belle.</p> +<p>“Not in the least; I merely propose the thing to prevent +our occasionally feeling uncomfortable together. Let us +begin.”</p> +<p>“Stop till I have removed the tea-things,” said +Belle; and, getting up, she removed them to her own +encampment.</p> +<p>“I am ready,” said Belle, returning, and taking +her former seat, “to join with you in anything which will +serve to pass away the time agreeably, provided there is no harm +in it.”</p> +<p><!-- page 323--><a name="page323"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +323</span>“Belle,” said I, “I have determined +to commence the course of Armenian lessons by teaching you the +numerals; but, before I do that, it will be as well to tell you +that the Armenian language is called Haik.”</p> +<p>“I am sure that word will hang upon my memory,” +said Belle.</p> +<p>“Why hang upon it?” said I.</p> +<p>“Because the old women in the great house used to call +so the chimney-hook, on which they hung the kettle; in like +manner, on the hake of my memory I will hang your +hake.”</p> +<p>“Good!” said I, “you will make an apt +scholar; but mind that I did not say hake, but haik; the words +are, however, very much alike; and, as you observe, upon your +hake you may hang my haik. We will now proceed to the +numerals.”</p> +<p>“What are numerals?” said Belle.</p> +<p>“Numbers. I will say the Haikan numbers up to +ten. There—have you heard them?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, try and repeat them.”</p> +<p>“I only remember number one,” said Belle, +“and that because it is me.”</p> +<p>“I will repeat them again,” said I, “and pay +greater attention. Now, try again.”</p> +<p>“Me, jergo, earache.”</p> +<p>“I neither said jergo, nor earache. I said yergou +and yerek. Belle, I am afraid I shall have some difficulty +with you as a scholar.”</p> +<p>Belle made no answer. Her eyes were turned in the +direction of the winding path which led from the bottom of the +hollow, where we were <!-- page 324--><a name="page324"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 324</span>seated, to the plain above. +“Gorgio shunella,” <a name="citation324a"></a><a +href="#footnote324a" class="citation">[324a]</a> she said, at +length, in a low voice.</p> +<p>“Pure Rommany,” said I; “where?” I +added, in a whisper.</p> +<p>“Dovey odoi,” <a name="citation324b"></a><a +href="#footnote324b" class="citation">[324b]</a> said Belle, +nodding with her head towards the path.</p> +<p>“I will soon see who it is,” said I; and starting +up, I rushed towards the pathway, intending to lay violent hands +on any one I might find lurking in its windings. Before, +however, I had reached its commencement, a man, somewhat above +the middle height, advanced from it into the dingle, in whom I +recognised the man in black whom I had seen in the +public-house.</p> +<h2><!-- page 325--><a name="page325"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 325</span>CHAPTER XC</h2> +<p>Buona Sera—Rather Apprehensive—The Steep +Bank—Lovely Virgin—Hospitality—Tory +Minister—Custom of the Country—Sneering +Smile—Wandering Zigan—Gypsies’ +Cloaks—Certain Faculty—Acute Answer—Various +Ways—Addio—Best Hollands.</p> +<p>The man in black and myself stood opposite to each other for a +minute or two in silence; I will not say that we confronted each +other that time, for the man in black, after a furtive glance, +did not look me in the face, but kept his eyes fixed, apparently +on the leaves of a bunch of ground nuts which were growing at my +feet. At length, looking around the dingle, he exclaimed, +“Buona sera, I hope I don’t intrude.”</p> +<p>“You have as much right here,” said I, “as I +or my companion; but you had no right to stand listening to our +conversation.”</p> +<p>“I was not listening,” said the man; “I was +hesitating whether to advance or retire; and if I heard some of +your conversation, the fault was not mine.”</p> +<p>“I do not see why you should have hesitated if your +intentions were good,” said I.</p> +<p>“I think the kind of place in which I found myself might +excuse some hesitation,” said the <!-- page 326--><a +name="page326"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 326</span>man in +black, looking around; “moreover, from what I had seen of +your demeanour at the public-house, I was rather apprehensive +that the reception I might experience at your hands might be more +rough than agreeable.”</p> +<p>“And what may have been your motive for coming to this +place?” said I.</p> +<p>“Per far visita a sua signoria, ecco il +motivo.”</p> +<p>“Why do you speak to me in that gibberish?” said +I; “do you think I understand it?”</p> +<p>“It is not Armenian,” said the man in black; +“but it might serve, in a place like this, for the +breathing of a little secret communication, were any common +roadster near at hand. It would not do at Court, it is +true, being the language of singing women, and the like; but we +are not at Court—when we are, I can perhaps summon up a +little indifferent Latin, if I have anything private to +communicate to the learned Professor.”</p> +<p>And at the conclusion of this speech the man in black lifted +up his head, and, for some moments, looked me in the face. +The muscles of his own seemed to be slightly convulsed, and his +mouth opened in a singular manner.</p> +<p>“I see,” said I, “that for some time you +were standing near me and my companion, in the mean act of +listening.”</p> +<p>“Not at all,” said the man in black; “I +heard from the steep bank above, that to which I have now +alluded, whilst I was puzzling myself to find the path which +leads to your retreat. I made, indeed, nearly the compass +of the whole thicket before I found it.”</p> +<p>“And how did you know that I was here?” I +demanded.</p> +<p><!-- page 327--><a name="page327"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +327</span>“The landlord of the public-house, with whom I +had some conversation concerning you, informed me that he had no +doubt I should find you in this place, to which he gave me +instructions not very clear. But, now I am here, I crave +permission to remain a little time, in order that I may hold some +communion with you.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “since you are come, you are +welcome; please to step this way.”</p> +<p>Thereupon I conducted the man in black to the fireplace, where +Belle was standing, who had risen from her stool on my springing +up to go in quest of the stranger. The man in black looked +at her with evident curiosity, then making her rather a graceful +bow, “Lovely virgin,” said he, stretching out his +hand, “allow me to salute your fingers.”</p> +<p>“I am not in the habit of shaking hands with +strangers,” said Belle.</p> +<p>“I did not presume to request to shake hands with +you,” said the man in black, “I merely wished to be +permitted to salute with my lips the extremity of your two +forefingers.”</p> +<p>“I never permit anything of the kind,” said Belle; +“I do not approve of such unmanly ways, they are only +befitting those who lurk in corners or behind trees, listening to +the conversation of people who would fain be private.”</p> +<p>“Do you take me for a listener then?” said the man +in black.</p> +<p>“Ay, indeed I do,” said Belle; “the young +man may receive your excuses, and put confidence in them if he +please, but for my part I neither admit them, nor believe +them;” and thereupon flinging her long hair back, which was +hanging over her cheeks, she seated herself on her stool.</p> +<p><!-- page 328--><a name="page328"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +328</span>“Come, Belle,” said I, “I have bidden +the gentleman welcome; I beseech you, therefore, to make him +welcome; he is a stranger, where we are at home, therefore, even +did we wish him away, we are bound to treat him +kindly.”</p> +<p>“That’s not English doctrine,” said the man +in black.</p> +<p>“I thought the English prided themselves on their +hospitality,” said I.</p> +<p>“They do so,” said the man in black; “they +are proud of showing hospitality to people above them, that is, +to those who do not want it, but of the hospitality which you +were now describing, and which is Arabian, they know +nothing. No Englishman will tolerate another in his house, +from whom he does not expect advantage of some kind, and to those +from whom he does, he can be civil enough. An Englishman +thinks that, because he is in his own house, he has a right to be +boorish and brutal to any one who is disagreeable to him, as all +those are who are really in want of assistance. Should a +hunted fugitive rush into an Englishman’s house, beseeching +protection, and appealing to the master’s feelings of +hospitality, the Englishman would knock him down in the +passage.”</p> +<p>“You are too general,” said I, “in your +strictures. Lord ---, the unpopular Tory minister, was once +chased through the streets of London by a mob, and, being in +danger of his life, took shelter in the shop of a Whig +linendraper, declaring his own unpopular name, and appealing to +the linendraper’s feelings of hospitality; whereupon the +linendraper, utterly forgetful of all party rancour, nobly +responded to the appeal, and telling his wife to conduct his +lordship upstairs, jumped over the <!-- page 329--><a +name="page329"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 329</span>counter, +with his ell in his hand, and placing himself with half a dozen +of his assistants at the door of his boutique, manfully +confronted the mob, telling them that he would allow himself to +be torn to a thousand pieces, ere he would permit them to injure +a hair of his lordship’s head: what do you think of +that?”</p> +<p>“He! he! he!” tittered the man in black.</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “I am afraid your own +practice is not very different from that which you have been just +now describing; you sided with the Radical in the public-house +against me as long as you thought him the most powerful, and then +turned against him when you saw he was cowed. What have you +to say to that?”</p> +<p>“Oh! when one is in Rome, I mean England, one must do as +they do in England; I was merely conforming to the custom of the +country, he! he! but I beg your pardon here, as I did in the +public-house. I made a mistake.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “we will drop the matter, +but pray seat yourself on that stone, and I will sit down on the +grass near you.”</p> +<p>The man in black, after proffering two or three excuses for +occupying what he supposed to be my seat, sat down upon the +stone, and I squatted down, Gypsy fashion, just opposite to him, +Belle sitting on her stool at a slight distance on my +right. After a time I addressed him thus: “Am I to +reckon this a mere visit of ceremony? should it prove so, it will +be, I believe, the first visit of the kind ever paid +me.”</p> +<p>“Will you permit me to ask,” said the man in black +. . . “the weather is very warm,” said he, +interrupting himself, and taking off his hat.</p> +<p><!-- page 330--><a name="page330"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +330</span>I now observed that he was partly bald, his red hair +having died away from the fore part of his crown—his +forehead was high, his eyebrows scanty, his eyes grey and sly, +with a downward tendency, his nose was slightly aquiline, his +mouth rather large—a kind of sneering smile played +continually on his lips, his complexion was somewhat +rubicund.</p> +<p>“A bad countenance,” said Belle, in the language +of the roads, observing that my eyes were fixed on his face.</p> +<p>“Does not my countenance please you, fair damsel?” +said the man in black, resuming his hat, and speaking in a +peculiarly gentle voice.</p> +<p>“How,” said I, “do you understand the +language of the roads?”</p> +<p>“As little as I do Armenian,” said the man in +black; “but I understand look and tone.”</p> +<p>“So do I, perhaps,” retorted Belle; “and, to +tell you the truth, I like your tone as little as your +face.”</p> +<p>“For shame,” said I; “have you forgot what I +was saying just now about the duties of hospitality? You +have not yet answered my question,” said I, addressing +myself to the man, “with respect to your visit.”</p> +<p>“Will you permit me to ask who you are?”</p> +<p>“Do you see the place where I live?” said I.</p> +<p>“I do,” said the man in black, looking around.</p> +<p>“Do you know the name of this place?”</p> +<p>“I was told it was Mumpers’ <a +name="citation330"></a><a href="#footnote330" +class="citation">[330]</a> or Gypsies’ Dingle,” said +the man in black.</p> +<p>“Good,” said I; “and this forge and tent, +what do they look like?”</p> +<p>“Like the forge and tent of a wandering Zigan; I have +seen the like in Italy.”</p> +<p><!-- page 331--><a name="page331"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +331</span>“Good,” said I; “they belong to +me.”</p> +<p>“Are you, then, a Gypsy?” said the man in +black.</p> +<p>“What else should I be?”</p> +<p>“But you seem to have been acquainted with various +individuals with whom I have likewise had acquaintance; and you +have even alluded to matters, and even words, which have passed +between me and them.”</p> +<p>“Do you know how Gypsies live?” said I.</p> +<p>“By hammering old iron, I believe, and telling +fortunes.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “there’s my forge, and +yonder is some iron, though not old, and by your own confession I +am a soothsayer.”</p> +<p>“But how did you come by your knowledge?”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said I, “if you want me to reveal the +secrets of my trade, I have, of course, nothing farther to +say. Go to the scarlet dyer, and ask him how he dyes +cloth.”</p> +<p>“Why scarlet?” said the man in black. +“Is it because Gypsies blush like scarlet?”</p> +<p>“Gypsies never blush,” said I; “but +Gypsies’ cloaks are scarlet.”</p> +<p>“I should almost take you for a Gypsy,” said the +man in black, “but for—”</p> +<p>“For what?” said I.</p> +<p>“But for that same lesson in Armenian, and your general +knowledge of languages; as for your manners and appearance I will +say nothing,” said the man in black, with a titter.</p> +<p>“And why should not a Gypsy possess a knowledge of +languages?” said I.</p> +<p>“Because the Gypsy race is perfectly illiterate,” +said the man in black; “they are possessed, it is <!-- page +332--><a name="page332"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +332</span>true, of a knavish acuteness, and are particularly +noted for giving subtle and evasive answers—and in your +answers, I confess, you remind me of them; but that one of the +race should acquire a learned language like the Armenian, and +have a general knowledge of literature, is a thing <i>che io non +credo afatto</i>.”</p> +<p>“What do you take me for?” said I.</p> +<p>“Why,” said the man in black, “I should +consider you to be a philologist, who, for some purpose, has +taken up a Gypsy life; but I confess to you that your way of +answering questions is far too acute for a +philologist.”</p> +<p>“And why should not a philologist be able to answer +questions acutely?” said I.</p> +<p>“Because the philological race is the most stupid under +heaven,” said the man in black; “they are possessed, +it is true, of a certain faculty for picking up words, and a +memory for retaining them; but that any one of the sect should be +able to give a rational answer, to say nothing of an acute one, +on any subject—even though the subject were +philology—is a thing of which I have no idea.”</p> +<p>“But you found me giving a lesson in Armenian to this +handmaid?”</p> +<p>“I believe I did,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“And you heard me give what you are disposed to call +acute answers to the questions you asked me?”</p> +<p>“I believe I did,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“And would any one but a philologist think of giving a +lesson in Armenian to a handmaid in a dingle?”</p> +<p>“I should think not,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“Well, then, don’t you see that it is possible for +<!-- page 333--><a name="page333"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +333</span>a philologist to give not only a rational, but an acute +answer?”</p> +<p>“I really don’t know,” said the man in +black.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with you?” said I.</p> +<p>“Merely puzzled,” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“Puzzled?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Really puzzled?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Remain so.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said the man in black, rising, +“puzzled or not, I will no longer trespass upon your and +this young lady’s retirement; only allow me, before I go, +to apologise for my intrusion.”</p> +<p>“No apology is necessary,” said I; “will you +please to take anything before you go? I think this young +lady, at my request, would contrive to make you a cup of +tea.”</p> +<p>“Tea!” said the man in black; “he! he! +I don’t drink tea; I don’t like it—if, indeed, +you had . . . ” and here he stopped.</p> +<p>“There’s nothing like gin and water, is +there?” said I, “but I am sorry to say I have +none.”</p> +<p>“Gin and water,” said the man in black; “how +do you know that I am fond of gin and water?”</p> +<p>“Did I not see you drinking some at the +public-house?”</p> +<p>“You did,” said the man in black, “and I +remember that, when I called for some, you repeated my +words. Permit me to ask, is gin and water an unusual drink +in England?”</p> +<p>“It is not usually drunk cold, and with a lump of +sugar,” said I.</p> +<p>“And did you know who I was by my calling for it +so?”</p> +<p><!-- page 334--><a name="page334"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +334</span>“Gypsies have various ways of obtaining +information,” said I.</p> +<p>“With all your knowledge,” said the man in black, +“you do not appear to have known that I was coming to visit +you?”</p> +<p>“Gypsies do not pretend to know anything which relates +to themselves,” said I; “but I advise you, if you +ever come again, to come openly.”</p> +<p>“Have I your permission to come again?” said the +man in black.</p> +<p>“Come when you please; this dingle is as free for you as +me.”</p> +<p>“I will visit you again,” said the man in +black—“till then, addio.”</p> +<p>“Belle,” said I, after the man in black had +departed, “we did not treat that man very hospitably; he +left us without having eaten or drunk at our expense.”</p> +<p>“You offered him some tea,” said Belle, +“which, as it is mine, I should have grudged him, for I +like him not.”</p> +<p>“Our liking or disliking him had nothing to do with the +matter; he was our visitor and ought not to have been permitted +to depart dry; living as we do in this desert, we ought always to +be prepared to administer to the wants of our visitors. +Belle, do you know where to procure any good Hollands?”</p> +<p>“I think I do,” said Belle, +“but—”</p> +<p>“I will have no buts. Belle, I expect that with as +little delay as possible you procure, at my expense, the best +Hollands you can find.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 335--><a name="page335"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 335</span>CHAPTER XCI</h2> +<p>Excursions—Adventurous English—Opaque +Forests—The Greatest Patience.</p> +<p>Time passed on, and Belle and I lived in the dingle; when I +say lived, the reader must not imagine that we were always +there. She went out upon her pursuits, and I went out where +inclination led me; but my excursions were very short ones, and +hers occasionally occupied whole days and nights. If I am +asked how we passed the time when we were together in the dingle, +I would answer that we passed the time very tolerably, all things +considered; we conversed together, and when tired of conversing I +would sometimes give Belle a lesson in Armenian; her progress was +not particularly brilliant, but upon the whole satisfactory; in +about a fortnight she had hung up one hundred Haikan numerals +upon the hake of her memory. I found her conversation +highly entertaining; she had seen much of England and Wales, and +had been acquainted with some of the most remarkable characters +who travelled the roads at that period; and let me be permitted +to say that many remarkable characters have travelled the roads +of England, of whom fame has never said a word. I loved to +hear her anecdotes of these people; some of whom I <!-- page +336--><a name="page336"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +336</span>found had occasionally attempted to lay violent hands +either upon her person or effects, and had invariably been +humbled by her without the assistance of either justice or +constable. I could clearly see, however, that she was +rather tired of England, and wished for a change of scene; she +was particularly fond of talking of America, to which country her +aspirations chiefly tended. She had heard much of America, +which had excited her imagination; for at that time America was +much talked of, on roads and in homesteads—at least, so +said Belle, who had good opportunities of knowing—and most +people allowed that it was a good country for adventurous +English. The people who chiefly spoke against it, as she +informed me, were soldiers disbanded upon pensions, the sextons +of village churches, and excisemen. Belle had a craving +desire to visit that country, and to wander with cart and little +animal amongst its forests: when I would occasionally object, +that she would be exposed to danger from strange and perverse +customers, she said that she had not wandered the roads of +England so long and alone, to be afraid of anything which might +befall in America; and that she hoped, with God’s favour, +to be able to take her own part, and to give to perverse +customers as good as they might bring. She had a dauntless +heart, that same Belle. Such was the staple of +Belle’s conversation. As for mine, I would endeavour +to entertain her with strange dreams of adventure, in which I +figured in opaque forests, strangling wild beasts, or discovering +and plundering the hordes of dragons; and sometimes I would +narrate to her other things far more genuine—how I had +tamed savage mares, wrestled with <!-- page 337--><a +name="page337"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 337</span>Satan, and +had dealings with ferocious publishers. Belle had a kind +heart, and would weep at the accounts I gave her of my early +wrestlings with the dark Monarch. She would sigh, too, as I +recounted the many slights and degradations I had received at the +hands of ferocious publishers; but she had the curiosity of a +woman; and once, when I talked to her of the triumphs which I had +achieved over unbroken mares, she lifted up her head and +questioned me as to the secret of the virtue which I possessed +over the aforesaid animals; whereupon I sternly reprimanded, and +forthwith commanded her to repeat the Armenian numerals; and, on +her demurring, I made use of words, to escape which she was glad +to comply, saying the Armenian numerals from one to a hundred, +which numerals, as a punishment for her curiosity, I made her +repeat three times, loading her with the bitterest reproaches +whenever she committed the slightest error, either in accent or +pronunciation, which reproaches she appeared to bear with the +greatest patience. And now I have given a very fair account +of the manner in which Isopel Berners and myself passed our time +in the dingle.</p> +<h2><!-- page 338--><a name="page338"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 338</span>CHAPTER XCII</h2> +<p>The Landlord—Rather Too Old—Without a +Shilling—Reputation—A Fortnight +Ago—Liquids—The Main +Chance—Respectability—Irrational +Beings—Parliament Cove—My Brewer.</p> +<p>Amongst other excursions, I went several times to the +public-house to which I introduced the reader in a former +chapter. I had experienced such beneficial effects from the +ale I had drunk on that occasion, that I wished to put its virtue +to a frequent test; nor did the ale on subsequent trials belie +the good opinion which I had at first formed of it. After +each visit which I made to the public-house, I found my frame +stronger and my mind more cheerful than they had previously +been. The landlord appeared at all times glad to see me, +and insisted that I should sit within the bar, where, leaving his +other guests to be attended to by a niece of his, who officiated +as his housekeeper, he would sit beside me and talk of matters +concerning “the ring,” indulging himself with a cigar +and a glass of sherry, which he told me was his favourite wine, +whilst I drank my ale. “I loves the conversation of +all you coves of the ring,” said he once, “which is +natural, seeing as how I have fought in a ring myself. Ah, +there is nothing like the ring; I wish I was not rather <!-- page +339--><a name="page339"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +339</span>too old to go again into it. I often think I +should like to have another rally—one more rally, and +then—but there’s a time for all things—youth +will be served, every dog has his day, and mine has been a fine +one—let me be content. After beating Tom of Hopton, +there was not much more to be done in the way of reputation; I +have long sat in my bar the wonder and glory of this here +neighbourhood. I’m content, as far as reputation +goes; I only wish money would come in a little faster; however, +the next main of cocks will bring me in something +handsome—comes off next Wednesday, at ---, have ventured +ten five-pound notes—shouldn’t say ventured +either—run no risk at all, because why? I knows my +birds.” About ten days after this harangue I called +again, at about three o’clock one afternoon. The +landlord was seated on a bench by a table in the common room, +which was entirely empty; he was neither smoking nor drinking, +but sat with his arms folded, and his head hanging down over his +breast. At the sound of my step he looked up. +“Ah,” said he, “I am glad you are come, I was +just thinking about you.” “Thank you,” +said I; “it was very kind of you, especially at a time like +this, when your mind must be full of your good fortune. +Allow me to congratulate you on the sums of money you won by the +main of cocks at ---. I hope you brought it all safe +home.” “Safe home!” said the landlord; +“I brought myself safe home, and that was all; came home +without a shilling, regularly done, cleaned out.” +“I am sorry for that,” said I; “but after you +had won the money, you ought to have been satisfied, and not +risked it again—how did you lose it? I hope not by +the pea and <!-- page 340--><a name="page340"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 340</span>thimble.” “Pea and +thimble,” said the landlord—“not I; those +confounded cocks left me nothing to lose by the pea and +thimble.” “Dear me,” said I; “I +thought that you knew your birds.” “Well, so I +did,” said the landlord; “I knew the birds to be good +birds, and so they proved, and would have won if better birds had +not been brought against them, of which I knew nothing; and so, +do you see, I am done, regularly done.” +“Well,” said I, “don’t be cast down; +there is one thing of which the cocks by their misfortune cannot +deprive you—your reputation; make the most of that, give up +cock-fighting, and be content with the custom of your house, of +which you will always have plenty, as long as you are the wonder +and glory of the neighbourhood.”</p> +<p>The landlord struck the table before him violently with his +fist. “Confound my reputation!” said he. +“No reputation that I have will be satisfaction to my +brewer for the seventy pounds I owe him. Reputation +won’t pass for the current coin of this here realm; and let +me tell you, that if it a’n’t backed by some of it, +it a’n’t a bit better than rotten cabbage, as I have +found. Only three weeks since I was, as I told you, the +wonder and glory of the neighbourhood; and people used to come to +look at me, and worship me; but as soon as it began to be +whispered about that I owed money to the brewer, they presently +left off all that kind of thing; and now, during the last three +days, since the tale of my misfortune with the cocks has got +wind, almost everybody has left off coming to the house, and the +few who does, merely comes to insult and flout me. It was +only last night that fellow, Hunter, called me an old <!-- page +341--><a name="page341"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +341</span>fool in my own kitchen here. He wouldn’t +have called me a fool a fortnight ago; ’twas I called him +fool then, and last night he called me old fool; what do you +think of that?—the man that beat Tom of Hopton, to be +called, not only a fool, but an old fool; and I hadn’t +heart, with one blow of this here fist into his face, to send his +head ringing against the wall; for when a man’s pocket is +low, do you see, his heart a’n’t much higher; but it +is of no use talking, something must be done. I was +thinking of you just as you came in, for you are just the person +that can help me.”</p> +<p>“If you mean,” said I, “to ask me to lend +you the money which you want, it will be to no purpose, as I have +very little of my own, just enough for my own occasions; it is +true, if you desired it, I would be your intercessor with the +person to whom you owe the money, though I should hardly imagine +that anything I could say—” “You are +right there,” said the landlord; “much the brewer +would care for anything you could say on my behalf—your +going would be the very way to do me up entirely. A pretty +opinion he would have of the state of my affairs if I were to +send him such a ’cessor as you; and as for your lending me +money, don’t think I was ever fool enough to suppose either +that you had any, or if you had that you would be fool enough to +lend me any. No, no, the coves of the ring knows better; I +have been in the ring myself, and knows what a fighting cove is, +and though I was fool enough to back those birds, I was never +quite fool enough to lend anybody money. What I am about to +propose is something very different from going to my landlord, or +lending any capital; something which, though it <!-- page +342--><a name="page342"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +342</span>will put money into my pocket, will likewise put +something handsome into your own. I want to get up a fight +in this here neighbourhood, which would be sure to bring plenty +of people to my house, for a week before and after it takes +place; and as people can’t come without drinking, I think I +could, during one fortnight, get off for the brewer all the sour +and unsaleable liquids he now has, which people wouldn’t +drink at any other time, and by that means, do you see, liquidate +my debt; then, by means of betting, making first all right, do +you see, I have no doubt that I could put something handsome into +my pocket and yours, for I should wish you to be the fighting +man, as I think I can depend upon you.” “You +really must excuse me,” said I; “I have no wish to +figure as a pugilist; besides, there is such a difference in our +ages; you may be the stronger man of the two, and perhaps the +hardest hitter, but I am in much better condition, am more active +on my legs, so that I am almost sure I should have the advantage, +for, as you very properly observed, ‘Youth will be +served.’” “Oh, I didn’t mean to +fight,” said the landlord; “I think I could beat you +if I were to train a little; but in the fight I propose I looks +more to the main chance than anything else. I question +whether half so many people could be brought together if you were +to fight with me as the person I have in view, or whether there +would be half such opportunities for betting, for I am a man, do +you see; the person I wants you to fight with is not a man, but +the young woman you keeps company with.”</p> +<p>“The young woman I keep company with,” said I, +“pray what do you mean?”</p> +<p><!-- page 343--><a name="page343"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +343</span>“We will go into the bar, and have +something,” said the landlord, getting up. “My +niece is out, and there is no one in the house, so we can talk +the . matter over quietly.” Thereupon I followed him +into the bar, where, having drawn me a jug of ale, helped himself +as usual to a glass of sherry, and lighted a cigar, he proceeded +to explain himself farther. “What I wants, is to get +up a fight between a man and a woman; there never has yet been +such a thing in the ring, and the mere noise of the matter would +bring thousands of people together, quite enough to drink +out—for the thing should be close to my house—all the +brewer’s stock of liquids, both good and bad.” +“But,” said I, “you were the other day boasting +of the respectability of your house; do you think that a fight +between a man and a woman close to your establishment would add +to its respectability?” “Confound the +respectability of my house!” said the landlord; “will +the respectability of my house pay the brewer, or keep the roof +over my head? No, no! when respectability won’t keep +a man, do you see, the best thing is to let it go and +wander. Only let me have my own way, and both the brewer, +myself, and every one of us, will be satisfied. And then +the betting—what a deal we may make by the +betting!—and that we shall have all to ourselves, you, I, +and the young woman; the brewer will have no hand in that. +I can manage to raise ten pounds, and if by flashing that about I +don’t manage to make a hundred, call me horse.” +“But, suppose,” said I, “the party should lose, +on whom you sport your money, even as the birds did?” +“We must first make all right,” said the landlord, +“as I told you before; the birds were <!-- page 344--><a +name="page344"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 344</span>irrational +beings, and therefore couldn’t come to an understanding +with the others, as you and the young woman can. The birds +fought fair; but I intend that you and the young woman should +fight cross.” “What do you mean by +cross?” said I. “Come, come,” said the +landlord, “don’t attempt to gammon me; you in the +ring, and pretend not to know what fighting cross is! That +won’t do, my fine fellow; but as no one is near us, I will +speak out. I intend that you and the young woman should +understand one another, and agree beforehand which should be +beat; and if you take my advice, you will determine between you +that the young woman shall be beat, as I am sure that the odds +will run high upon her, her character as a fist-woman being +spread far and wide, so that all the flats who think it will be +all right will back her, as I myself would, if I thought it would +be a fair thing.” “Then,” said I, +“you would not have us fight fair?” “By +no means,” said the landlord, “because why?—I +conceives that a cross is a certainty to those who are in it, +whereas by the fair thing one may lose all he has.” +“But,” said I, “you said the other day, that +you liked the fair thing.” “That was by way of +gammon,” said the landlord; “just, do you see, as a +Parliament cove might say, speechifying from a barrel to a set of +flats, whom he means to sell. Come, what do you think of +the plan?”</p> +<p>“It is a very ingenious one,” said I.</p> +<p>“A’n’t it?” said the landlord. +“The folks in this neighbourhood are beginning to call me +old fool; but if they don’t call me something else, when +they sees me friends with the brewer, and money in my pocket, my +name is not Catchpole. Come, <!-- page 345--><a +name="page345"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 345</span>drink your +ale, and go home to the young gentlewoman.”</p> +<p>“I am going,” said I, rising from my seat, after +finishing the remainder of the ale.</p> +<p>“Do you think she’ll have any objection?” +said the landlord.</p> +<p>“To do what?” said I.</p> +<p>“Why, to fight cross.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I do,” said I.</p> +<p>“But you will do your best to persuade her?”</p> +<p>“No, I will not,” said I.</p> +<p>“Are you fool enough to wish to fight fair?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “I am wise enough to wish not +to fight at all.”</p> +<p>“And how’s my brewer to be paid?” said the +landlord.</p> +<p>“I really don’t know,” said I.</p> +<p>“I’ll change my religion,” said the +landlord.</p> +<h2><!-- page 346--><a name="page346"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 346</span>CHAPTER XCIII</h2> +<p>Another Visit—<i>À la Margutte</i>—Clever +Man—Napoleon’s Estimate—Another Statue.</p> +<p>One evening Belle and myself received another visit from the +man in black. After a little conversation of not much +importance, I asked him whether he would not take some +refreshment, assuring him that I was now in possession of some +very excellent Hollands, which, with a glass, a jug of water, and +a lump of sugar, were heartily at his service; he accepted my +offer, and Belle going with a jug to the spring, from which she +was in the habit of procuring water for tea, speedily returned +with it full of the clear, delicious water of which I have +already spoken. Having placed the jug by the side of the +man in black, she brought him a glass and spoon, and a tea-cup, +the latter containing various lumps of snowy-white sugar: in the +meantime I had produced a bottle of the stronger liquid. +The man in black helped himself to some water, and likewise to +some Hollands, the proportion of water being about two-thirds; +then adding a lump of sugar, he stirred the whole up, tasted it, +and said that it was good.</p> +<p>“This is one of the good things of life,” he +added, after a short pause.</p> +<p><!-- page 347--><a name="page347"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +347</span>“What are the others?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“There is Malvoisia sack,” said the man in black, +“and partridge, and beccafico.”</p> +<p>“And what do you say to high mass?” said I.</p> +<p>“High mass!” said the man in black; +“however,” he continued, after a pause, “I will +be frank with you; I came to be so; I may have heard high mass on +a time, and said it too; but as for any predilection for it, I +assure you I have no more than for a long High Church +sermon.”</p> +<p>“You speak <i>à la Margutte</i>,” said +I.</p> +<p>“Margutte!” said the man in black, musingly, +“Margutte!”</p> +<p>“You have read Pulci, I suppose?” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” said the man in black, laughing; +“I remember.”</p> +<p>“He might be rendered into English,” said I, +“something in this style:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘To which Margutte answered with a sneer,<br +/> +I like the blue no better than the black,<br /> +My faith consists alone in savoury cheer,<br /> +In roasted capons, and in potent sack;<br /> +But above all, in famous gin and clear,<br /> +Which often lays the Briton on his back,<br /> +With lump of sugar, and with lymph from well,<br /> +I drink it, and defy the fiends of hell.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“He! he! he!” said the man in black; “that +is more than Mezzofante <a name="citation347"></a><a +href="#footnote347" class="citation">[347]</a> could have done +for a stanza of Byron.”</p> +<p>“A clever man,” said I.</p> +<p>“Who?” said the man in black.</p> +<p>“Mezzofante di Bologna.”</p> +<p>“He! he! he!” said the man in black; “now +<!-- page 348--><a name="page348"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +348</span>I know that you are not a Gypsy, at least a soothsayer; +no soothsayer would have said that—”</p> +<p>“Why,” said I, “does he not understand +five-and-twenty tongues?”</p> +<p>“Oh yes,” said the man in black; “and +five-and-twenty added to them; but, he! he! he! it was +principally from him, who is certainly the greatest of +Philologists, that I formed my opinion of the sect.”</p> +<p>“You ought to speak of him with more respect,” +said I; “I have heard say that he has done good service to +your See.”</p> +<p>“Oh yes,” said the man in black; “he has +done good service to our See, that is, in his way; when the +neophytes of the propaganda are to be examined in the several +tongues in which they are destined to preach, he is appointed to +question them, the questions being first written down for him, or +else, he! he! he!—Of course you know Napoleon’s +estimate of Mezzofante; he sent for the linguist from motives of +curiosity, and after some discourse with him, told him that he +might depart; then turning to some of his generals, he observed, +‘<i>Nous avons eu ici un exemple qu’un homme peut +avoir beaucoup de paroles avec bien peu +d’esprit</i>.’”</p> +<p>“You are ungrateful to him,” said I; “well, +perhaps, when he is dead and gone you will do him +justice.”</p> +<p>“True,” said the man in black; “when he is +dead and gone, we intend to erect him a statue of wood, on the +left-hand side of the door of the Vatican library.”</p> +<p>“Of wood?” said I.</p> +<p>“He was the son of a carpenter, you know,” <!-- +page 349--><a name="page349"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +349</span>said the man in black; “the figure will be of +wood, for no other reason, I assure you; he! he!”</p> +<p>“You should place another statue on the +right.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps we shall,” said the man in black; +“but we know of no one amongst the philologists of Italy, +nor, indeed, of the other countries inhabited by the faithful, +worthy to sit parallel in effigy with our illustrissimo; when, +indeed, we have conquered these regions of the perfidious by +bringing the inhabitants thereof to the true faith, I have no +doubt that we shall be able to select one worthy to bear him +company—one whose statue shall be placed on the right hand +of the library, in testimony of our joy at his conversion; for, +as you know, ‘There is more joy,’ etc.”</p> +<p>“Wood?” said I.</p> +<p>“I hope not,” said the man in black; “no, if +I be consulted as to the material for the statue, I should +strongly recommend bronze.”</p> +<p>And when the man in black had said this, he emptied his second +tumbler of its contents, and prepared himself another.</p> +<h2><!-- page 350--><a name="page350"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 350</span>CHAPTER XCIV</h2> +<p>Prerogative—Feeling of Gratitude—A Long +History—Alliterative Style—Advantageous +Specimen—Jesuit Benefice—Not Sufficient—Queen +Stork’s Tragedy—Good Sense—Grandeur and +Gentility—Ironmonger’s Daughter—Clan +Mac-Sycophant—Lick-Spittles—A +Curiosity—Newspaper Editors—Charles the +Simple—High-flying Ditty—Dissenters—Lower +Classes—Priestley’s House—Saxon +Ancestors—Austin—Renovating +Glass—Money—Quite Original.</p> +<p>“So you hope to bring these regions again beneath the +banner of the Roman See?” said I; after the man in black +had prepared the beverage, and tasted it.</p> +<p>“Hope!” said the man in black; “how can we +fail? Is not the Church of these regions going to lose its +prerogative?”</p> +<p>“Its prerogative?”</p> +<p>“Yes; those who should be the guardians of the religion +of England are about to grant Papists emancipation, and to remove +the disabilities from Dissenters, which will allow the Holy +Father to play his own game in England.”</p> +<p>On my inquiring how the Holy Father intended to play his game, +the man in black gave me to understand that he intended for the +present to cover the land with temples, in which the religion +<!-- page 351--><a name="page351"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +351</span>of Protestants would be continually scoffed at and +reviled.</p> +<p>On my observing that such behaviour would savour strongly of +ingratitude, the man in black gave me to understand that if I +entertained the idea that the See of Rome was ever influenced in +its actions by any feeling of gratitude I was much mistaken, +assuring me that if the See of Rome in any encounter should +chance to be disarmed and its adversary, from a feeling of +magnanimity, should restore the sword which had been knocked out +of its hand, the See of Rome always endeavoured on the first +opportunity to plunge the said sword into its adversary’s +bosom; conduct which the man in black seemed to think was very +wise, and which he assured me had already enabled it to get rid +of a great many troublesome adversaries, and would, he had no +doubt, enable it to get rid of a great many more.</p> +<p>On my attempting to argue against the propriety of such +behaviour, the man in black cut the matter short, by saying, that +if one party was a fool he saw no reason why the other should +imitate it in its folly.</p> +<p>After musing a little while, I told him that emancipation had +not yet passed through the legislature, and that perhaps it never +would; reminding him that there was often many a slip between the +cup and the lip; to which observation the man in black agreed, +assuring me, however, that there was no doubt that emancipation +would be carried, inasmuch as there was a very loud cry at +present in the land—a cry of “tolerance,” which +had almost frightened the Government out of its wits; who, to get +rid of the cry, was going <!-- page 352--><a +name="page352"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 352</span>to grant +all that was asked in the way of toleration, instead of telling +the people to “Hold their nonsense,” and cutting them +down, provided they continued bawling longer.</p> +<p>I questioned the man in black with respect to the origin of +this cry; but he said, to trace it to its origin would require a +long history; that, at any rate, such a cry was in existence, the +chief raisers of it being certain of the nobility, called Whigs, +who hoped by means of it to get into power, and to turn out +certain ancient adversaries of theirs called Tories, who were for +letting things remain <i>in statu quo</i>; that these Whigs were +backed by a party amongst the people called Radicals, a specimen +of whom I had seen in the public-house; a set of fellows who were +always in the habit of bawling against those in place; “and +so,” he added, “by means of these parties, and the +hubbub which the Papists and other smaller sects are making, a +general emancipation will be carried, and the Church of England +humbled, which is the principal thing which the See of Rome cares +for.”</p> +<p>On my telling the man in black that I believed that, even +among the high dignitaries of the English Church, there were many +who wished to grant perfect freedom to religions of all +descriptions, he said he was aware that such was the fact, and +that such a wish was anything but wise, inasmuch as, if they had +any regard for the religion they professed, they ought to stand +by it through thick and thin, proclaiming it to be the only true +one, and denouncing all others, in an alliterative style, as +dangerous and damnable; whereas, by their present conduct, they +were bringing their religion into contempt with the people at +large, who would <!-- page 353--><a name="page353"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 353</span>never continue long attached to a +Church the ministers of which did not stand up for it, and +likewise cause their own brethren, who had a clearer notion of +things, to be ashamed of belonging to it. “I speak +advisedly,” said he, in continuation, “there is one +Platitude.”</p> +<p>“And I hope there is only one,” said I; “you +surely would not adduce the likes and dislikes of that poor silly +fellow as the criterions of the opinions of any party?”</p> +<p>“You know him,” said the man in black, “nay, +I heard you mention him in the public-house; the fellow is not +very wise, I admit, but he has sense enough to know, that unless +a Church can make people hold their tongues when it thinks fit, +it is scarcely deserving the name of a Church; no, I think that +the fellow is not such a very bad stick, and that upon the whole +he is, or rather was, an advantageous specimen of the High Church +English clergy, who, for the most part, so far from troubling +their heads about persecuting people, only think of securing +their tithes, eating their heavy dinners, puffing out their +cheeks with importance on country justice benches, and +occasionally exhibiting their conceited wives, hoyden daughters, +and gawky sons at country balls, whereas +Platitude—”</p> +<p>“Stop,” said I; “you said in the +public-house that the Church of England was a persecuting Church, +and here in the dingle you have confessed that one section of it +is willing to grant perfect freedom to the exercise of all +religions, and the other only thinks of leading an easy +life.”</p> +<p>“Saying a thing in the public-house is a widely +different thing from saying it in the dingle,” said <!-- +page 354--><a name="page354"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +354</span>the man in black; “had the Church of England been +a persecuting Church, it would not stand in the position in which +it stands at present; it might, with its opportunities, have +spread itself over the greater part of the world. I was +about to observe that, instead of practising the indolent habits +of his High Church brethren, Platitude would be working for his +money, preaching the proper use of fire and fagot, or rather of +the halter and the whipping-post, encouraging mobs to attack the +houses of Dissenters, employing spies to collect the scandal of +neighbourhoods, in order that he might use it for sacerdotal +purposes, and, in fact, endeavouring to turn an English parish +into something like a Jesuit benefice in the south of +France.”</p> +<p>“He tried that game,” said I, “and the +parish said ‘Pooh, pooh,’ and, for the most part, +went over to the Dissenters.”</p> +<p>“Very true,” said the man in black, taking a sip +at his glass, “but why were the Dissenters allowed to +preach? why were they not beaten on the lips till they spat out +blood, with a dislodged tooth or two? Why, but because the +authority of the Church of England has, by its own fault, become +so circumscribed, that Mr. Platitude was not able to send a host +of beadles and sbirri to their chapel to bring them to reason, on +which account Mr. Platitude is very properly ashamed of his +Church, and is thinking of uniting himself with one which +possesses more vigour and authority.”</p> +<p>“It may have vigour and authority,” said I, +“in foreign lands, but in these kingdoms the day for +practising its atrocities is gone by. It is at present +almost below contempt, and is obliged to sue for grace <i>in +formâ paureris</i>.”</p> +<p><!-- page 355--><a name="page355"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +355</span>“Very true,” said the man in black; +“but let it once obtain emancipation, and it will cast its +slough, put on its fine clothes, and make converts by +thousands. ‘What a fine Church!’ they’ll +say; ‘with what authority it speaks! no doubts, no +hesitation, no sticking at trifles. What a contrast to the +sleepy English Church!’ They’ll go over to it +by millions, till it preponderates here over every other, when it +will of course be voted the dominant one; and then—and then +. . . ” and here the man in black drank a considerable +quantity of gin and water.</p> +<p>“What then?” said I.</p> +<p>“What then?” said the man in black; “why, +she will be true to herself. Let Dissenters, whether they +be Church of England, as perhaps they may still call themselves, +Methodist, or Presbyterian, presume to grumble, and there shall +be bruising of lips in pulpits, tying up to whipping-posts, +cutting off ears and noses—he! he! the farce of King Log +has been acted long enough; the time for Queen Stork’s +tragedy is drawing nigh;” and the man in black sipped his +gin and water in a very exulting manner.</p> +<p>“And this is the Church which, according to your +assertion in the public-house, never persecutes?”</p> +<p>“I have already given you an answer,” said the man +in black. “With respect to the matter of the +public-house, it is one of the happy privileges of those who +belong to my Church to deny in the public-house what they admit +in the dingle; we have high warranty for such double +speaking. Did not the foundation-stone of our Church, Saint +Peter, deny in the public-house <!-- page 356--><a +name="page356"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 356</span>what he had +previously professed in the valley?”</p> +<p>“And do you think,” said I, “that the people +of England, who have shown aversion to anything in the shape of +intolerance, will permit such barbarities as you have +described?”</p> +<p>“Let them become Papists,” said the man in black; +“only let the majority become Papists, and you will +see.”</p> +<p>“They will never become so,” said I; “the +good sense of the people of England will never permit them to +commit such an absurdity.”</p> +<p>“The good sense of the people of England!” said +the man in black, filling himself another glass.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “the good sense of not only +the upper, but the middle and lower classes.”</p> +<p>“And of what description of people are the upper +class?” said the man in black, putting a lump of sugar into +his gin and water.</p> +<p>“Very fine people,” said I, “monstrously +fine people; so, at least, they are generally believed to +be.”</p> +<p>“He! he!” said the man in black; “only those +think them so who don’t know them. The male part of +the upper class are in youth a set of heartless profligates; in +old age, a parcel of poor, shaking, nervous paillards. The +female part, worthy to be the sisters and wives of such +wretches—unmarried, full of cold vice, kept under by vanity +and ambition, but which, after marriage, they seek not to +restrain; in old age, abandoned to vapours and horrors; do you +think that such beings will afford any obstacle to the progress +of the Church in these regions, as soon as her movements are +unfettered?”</p> +<p><!-- page 357--><a name="page357"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +357</span>“I cannot give an opinion; I know nothing of +them, except from a distance. But what think you of the +middle classes?”</p> +<p>“Their chief characteristic,” said the man in +black, “is a rage for grandeur and gentility; and that same +rage makes us quite sure of them in the long-run. +Everything that’s lofty meets their unqualified +approbation; whilst everything humble, or, as they call it, +‘low,’ is scouted by them. They begin to have a +vague idea that the religion which they have hitherto professed +is low; at any rate, that it is not the religion of the mighty +ones of the earth, of the great kings and emperors whose shoes +they have a vast inclination to kiss, nor was used by the grand +personages of whom they have read in their novels and romances, +their Ivanhoes, their Marmions, and their Ladies of the +Lake.”</p> +<p>“Do you think that the writings of Scott have had any +influence in modifying their religious opinions?”</p> +<p>“Most certainly I do,” said the man in +black. “The writings of that man have made them +greater fools than they were before. All their conversation +now is about gallant knights, princesses, and cavaliers, with +which his pages are stuffed—all of whom were Papists, or +very High Church, which is nearly the same thing; and they are +beginning to think that the religion of such nice sweet-scented +gentry must be something very superfine. Why, I know at +Birmingham the daughter of an ironmonger, who screeches to the +piano the Lady of the Lake’s hymn to the Virgin Mary, +always weeps when Mary Queen of Scots is mentioned, and fasts on +the anniversary of the death of that very wise martyr, Charles +the First. Why, I <!-- page 358--><a +name="page358"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 358</span>would +engage to convert such an idiot to popery in a week, were it +worth my trouble. <i>O Cavalière Gualtiero avete +fatto molto in favore della Santa Sede</i>!”</p> +<p>“If he has,” said I, “he has done it +unwittingly; I never heard before that he was a favourer of the +popish delusion.”</p> +<p>“Only in theory,” said the man in black. +“Trust any of the clan Mac-Sycophant for interfering openly +and boldly in favour of any cause on which the sun does not shine +benignantly. Popery is at present, as you say, suing for +grace in these regions <i>in formâ pauperis</i>; but let +royalty once take it up, let old gouty George once patronise it, +and I would consent to drink puddle-water if, the very next time +the canny Scot was admitted to the royal symposium, he did not +say, ‘By my faith, yere Majesty, I have always thought, at +the bottom of my heart, that popery, as ill-scrapit tongues +ca’ it, was a very grand religion; I shall be proud to +follow your Majesty’s example in adopting +it.’”</p> +<p>“I doubt not,” said I, “that both gouty +George and his devoted servant will be mouldering in their tombs +long before royalty in England thinks about adopting +popery.”</p> +<p>“We can wait,” said the man in black; “in +these days of rampant gentility, there will be no want of kings +nor of Scots about them.”</p> +<p>“But not Walters,” said I.</p> +<p>“Our work has been already tolerably well done by +one,” said the man in black; “but if we wanted +literature, we should never lack in these regions hosts of +literary men of some kind or other to eulogise us, provided our +religion were in the <!-- page 359--><a name="page359"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 359</span>fashion, and our popish nobles +chose—and they always do our bidding—to admit the +canaille to their tables—their kitchen tables. As for +literature in general,” said he, “the Santa Sede is +not particularly partial to it, it may be employed both +ways. In Italy, in particular, it has discovered that +literary men are not always disposed to be +lick-spittles.”</p> +<p>“For example, Dante,” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the man in black, “a dangerous +personage; that poem of his cuts both ways; and then there was +Pulci, that Morgante of his cuts both ways, or rather one way, +and that sheer against us; and then there was Aretino, who dealt +so hard with the poveri frati; all writers, at least Italian +ones, are not lick-spittles. And then in +Spain,—’tis true, Lope de Vega and Calderon were most +inordinate lick-spittles; the Principe Constante of the last is a +curiosity in its way; and then the Mary Stuart of Lope; I think I +shall recommend the perusal of that work to the Birmingham +ironmonger’s daughter—she has been lately thinking of +adding ‘a slight knowledge of the magneeficent language of +the Peninsula’ to the rest of her accomplishments, he! he! +he! But then there was Cervantes, starving, but straight; +he deals us some hard knocks in that second part of his +Quixote. Then there were some of the writers of the +picaresque novels. No, all literary men are not +lick-spittles, whether in Italy or Spain, or, indeed, upon the +Continent; it is only in England that all—”</p> +<p>“Come,” said I, “mind what you are about to +say of English literary men.”</p> +<p>“Why should I mind?” said the man in black, <!-- +page 360--><a name="page360"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +360</span>“there are no literary men here. I have +heard of literary men living in garrets, but not in dingles, +whatever philologists may do; I may, therefore, speak out +freely. It is only in England that literary men are +invariably lick-spittles; on which account, perhaps, they are so +despised, even by those who benefit by their dirty +services. Look at your fashionable novel writers, he! +he!—and, above all, at your newspaper editors, ho! +ho!”</p> +<p>“You will, of course, except the editors of the --- from +your censure of the last class?” said I.</p> +<p>“Them!” said the man in black; “why, they +might serve as models in the dirty trade to all the rest who +practise it. See how they bepraise their patrons, the grand +Whig nobility, who hope, by raising the cry of liberalism, and by +putting themselves at the head of the populace, to come into +power shortly. I don’t wish to be hard, at present, +upon those Whigs,” he continued, “for they are +playing our game; but a time will come when, not wanting them, we +will kick them to a considerable distance: and then, when +toleration is no longer the cry, and the Whigs are no longer +backed by the populace, see whether the editors of the --- will +stand by them; they will prove themselves as expert lick-spittles +of despotism as of liberalism. Don’t think they will +always bespatter the Tories and Austria.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “I am sorry to find that you +entertain so low an opinion of the spirit of English literary +men; we will now return, if you please, to the subject of the +middle classes; I think your strictures upon them in general are +rather too sweeping—they are not altogether the foolish +<!-- page 361--><a name="page361"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +361</span>people which you have described. Look, for +example, at that very powerful and numerous body the Dissenters, +the descendants of those sturdy Patriots who hurled Charles the +Simple from his throne.”</p> +<p>“There are some sturdy fellows amongst them, I do not +deny,” said the man in black, “especially amongst the +preachers, clever withal—two or three of that class nearly +drove Mr. Platitude mad, as perhaps you are aware, but they are +not very numerous; and the old sturdy sort of preachers are fast +dropping off, and, as we observe with pleasure, are generally +succeeded by frothy coxcombs, whom it would not be very difficult +to gain over. But what we most rely upon as an instrument +to bring the Dissenters over to us is the mania for gentility, +which amongst them has of late become as great, and more +ridiculous than amongst the middle classes belonging to the +Church of England. All the plain and simple fashions of +their forefathers they are either about to abandon, or have +already done so. Look at the most part of their +chapels—no longer modest brick edifices, situated in quiet +and retired streets, but lunatic-looking erections, in what the +simpletons call the modern Gothic taste, of Portland stone, with +a cross upon the top, and the site generally the most conspicuous +that can be found. And look at the manner in which they +educate their children—I mean those that are wealthy. +They do not even wish them to be Dissenters—‘the +sweet dears shall enjoy the advantages of good society, of which +their parents were debarred.’ So the girls are sent +to tip-top boarding-schools, where amongst other trash they read +‘Rokeby,’ and are taught <!-- page 362--><a +name="page362"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 362</span>to sing +snatches from that high-flying ditty, the +‘Cavalier’—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Would you match the base Skippon, and +Massey, and Brown,<br /> +With the barons of England, who fight for the +crown?’—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>he! he! their own names. Whilst the lads are sent to +those hot-beds of pride and folly—colleges, whence they +return with a greater contempt for everything ‘low,’ +and especially for their own pedigree, than they went with. +I tell you, friend, the children of Dissenters, if not their +parents, are going over to the Church, as you call it, and the +Church is going over to Rome.”</p> +<p>“I do not see the justice of that latter assertion at +all,” said I; “some of the Dissenters’ children +may be coming over to the Church of England, and yet the Church +of England be very far from going over to Rome.”</p> +<p>“In the high road for it, I assure you,” said the +man in black; “part of it is going to abandon, the rest to +lose their prerogative, and when a Church no longer retains its +prerogative, it speedily loses its own respect, and that of +others.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “if the higher classes have +all the vices and follies which you represent, on which point I +can say nothing, as I have never mixed with them; and even +supposing the middle classes are the foolish beings you would +fain make them, and which I do not believe them as a body to be, +you would still find some resistance amongst the lower classes: I +have a considerable respect for their good sense and independence +of character; but pray let me hear your opinion of +them.”</p> +<p>“As for the lower classes,” said the man in <!-- +page 363--><a name="page363"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +363</span>black, “I believe them to be the most brutal +wretches in the world, the most addicted to foul feeding, foul +language, and foul vices of every kind; wretches who have neither +love for country, religion, nor anything save their own vile +selves. You surely do not think that they would oppose a +change of religion! why, there is not one of them but would +hurrah for the Pope, or Mahomet, for the sake of a hearty gorge +and a drunken bout, like those which they are treated with at +election contests.”</p> +<p>“Has your Church any followers amongst them?” said +I.</p> +<p>“Wherever there happens to be a Romish family of +considerable possessions,” said the man in black, +“our Church is sure to have followers of the lower class, +who have come over in the hope of getting something in the shape +of dole or donation. As, however, the Romish is not yet the +dominant religion, and the clergy of the English establishment +have some patronage to bestow, the churches are not quite +deserted by the lower classes; yet, were the Romish to become the +established religion, they would, to a certainty, all go over to +it; you can scarcely imagine what a self-interested set they +are—for example, the landlord of that public-house in which +I first met you, having lost a sum of money upon a cockfight, and +his affairs in consequence being in a bad condition, is on the +eve of coming over to us, in the hope that two old popish females +of property, whom I confess, will advance a sum of money to set +him up again in the world.”</p> +<p>“And what could have put such an idea into the poor +fellow’s head?” said I.</p> +<p><!-- page 364--><a name="page364"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +364</span>“Oh! he and I have had some conversation upon the +state of his affairs,” said the man in black; “I +think he might make a rather useful convert in these parts, +provided things take a certain turn, as they doubtless +will. It is no bad thing to have a fighting fellow, who +keeps a public-house, belonging to one’s religion. He +has been occasionally employed as a bully at elections by the +Tory party, and he may serve us in the same capacity. The +fellow comes of a good stock; I heard him say that his father +headed the High Church mob who sacked and burnt Priestley’s +house at Birmingham, towards the end of the last +century.”</p> +<p>“A disgraceful affair,” said I.</p> +<p>“What do you mean by a disgraceful affair?” said +the man in black. “I assure you that nothing has +occurred for the last fifty years which has given the High Church +party so much credit in the eyes of Rome as that,—we did +not imagine that the fellows had so much energy. Had they +followed up that affair by twenty others of a similar kind, they +would by this time have had everything in their own power; but +they did not, and, as a necessary consequence, they are reduced +to almost nothing.”</p> +<p>“I suppose,” said I, “that your Church would +have acted very differently in its place.”</p> +<p>“It has always done so,” said the man in black, +coolly sipping. “Our Church has always armed the +brute population against the genius and intellect of a country, +provided that same intellect and genius were not willing to +become its instruments and eulogists; and provided we once obtain +a firm hold here again, we would not fail to do so. We +would occasionally stuff the beastly rabble with <!-- page +365--><a name="page365"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +365</span>horseflesh and bitter ale, and then halloo them on +against all those who were obnoxious to us.”</p> +<p>“Horseflesh and bitter ale!” I replied.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the man in black; “horseflesh +and bitter ale—the favourite delicacies of their Saxon +ancestors, who were always ready to do our bidding after a +liberal allowance of such cheer. There is a tradition in +our Church, that before the Northumbrian rabble, at the +instigation of Austin, attacked and massacred the Presbyterian +monks of Bangor, they had been allowed a good gorge of horseflesh +and bitter ale. He! he! he!” continued the man in +black, “what a fine spectacle to see such a mob, headed by +a fellow like our friend the landlord, sack the house of another +Priestley!”</p> +<p>“Then you don’t deny that we have had a +Priestley,” said I, “and admit the possibility of our +having another? You were lately observing that all English +literary men were sycophants?”</p> +<p>“Lick-spittles,” said the man in black; +“yes, I admit that you have had a Priestley, but he was a +Dissenter of the old class; you have had him, and perhaps may +have another.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps we may,” said I. “But with +respect to the lower classes, have you mixed much with +them?”</p> +<p>“I have mixed with all classes,” said the man in +black, “and with the lower not less than the upper and +middle; they are much as I have described them; and of the three, +the lower are the worst. I never knew one of them that +possessed the slightest principle, no, not . . . It is true, +there was one fellow whom I once met, who . . . but it is a long +story, and the affair happened abroad.”</p> +<p><!-- page 366--><a name="page366"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +366</span>“I ought to know something of the English +people,” he continued, after a moment’s pause; +“I have been many years amongst them, labouring in the +cause of the Church.”</p> +<p>“Your See must have had great confidence in your powers, +when it selected you to labour for it in these parts,” said +I.</p> +<p>“They chose me,” said the man in black, +“principally because, being of British extraction and +education, I could speak the English language and bear a glass of +something strong. It is the opinion of my See, that it +would hardly do to send a missionary into a country like this who +is not well versed in English—a country where, they think, +so far from understanding any language besides his own, scarcely +one individual in ten speaks his own intelligibly; or an ascetic +person where, as they say, high and low, male and female, are, at +some period of their lives, fond of a renovating glass, as it is +styled—in other words, of tippling.”</p> +<p>“Your See appears to entertain a very strange opinion of +the English,” said I.</p> +<p>“Not altogether an unjust one,” said the man in +black, lifting the glass to his mouth.</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “it is certainly very kind +on its part to wish to bring back such a set of beings beneath +its wing.”</p> +<p>“Why, as to the kindness of my See,” said the man +in black, “I have not much to say; my See has generally in +what it does a tolerably good motive; these heretics possess in +plenty what my See has a great hankering for, and can turn to a +good account—money!”</p> +<p>“The Founder of the Christian religion cared nothing for +money,” said I.</p> +<p><!-- page 367--><a name="page367"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +367</span>“What have we to do with what the Founder of the +Christian religion cared for?” said the man in black. +“How could our temples be built, and our priests supported +without money? But you are unwise to reproach us with a +desire of obtaining money; you forget that your own Church, if +the Church of England be your own Church, as I suppose it is, +from the willingness which you displayed in the public-house to +fight for it, is equally avaricious; look at your greedy bishops, +and your corpulent rectors—do they imitate Christ in His +disregard for money? You might as well tell me that they +imitate Christ in His meekness and humility.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “whatever their faults may +be, you can’t say that they go to Rome for +money.”</p> +<p>The man in black made no direct answer, but appeared by the +motion of his lips to be repeating something to himself.</p> +<p>“I see your glass is again empty,” said I; +“perhaps you will replenish it?”</p> +<p>The man in black arose from his seat, adjusted his +habiliments, which were rather in disorder, and placed upon his +head his hat, which he had laid aside; then, looking at me, who +was still lying on the ground, he said—“I might, +perhaps, take another glass, though I believe I have had quite as +much as I can well bear; but I do not wish to hear you utter +anything more this evening, after that last observation of +yours—it is quite original; I will meditate upon it on my +pillow this night, after having said an ave and a pater—go +to Rome for money!” He then made Belle a low bow, +slightly motioned to me with his hand as if bidding <!-- page +368--><a name="page368"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +368</span>farewell, and then left the dingle with rather uneven +steps.</p> +<p>“Go to Rome for money,” I heard him say as he +ascended the winding path, “he! he! he! Go to Rome +for money, ho! ho! ho!”</p> +<h2><!-- page 369--><a name="page369"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 369</span>CHAPTER XCV</h2> +<p>Wooded Retreat—Fresh Shoes—Wood Fire—Ash, +when Green—Queen of China—Cleverest +People—Declensions—Armenian—Thunder—Deep +Olive—What Do You Mean?—Koul Adonai—The Thick +Bushes—Wood Pigeon—Old Goethe.</p> +<p>Nearly three days elapsed without anything of particular +moment occurring. Belle drove the little cart containing +her merchandise about the neighbourhood, returning to the dingle +towards the evening. As for myself, I kept within my wooded +retreat, working during the periods of her absence leisurely at +my forge. Having observed that the quadruped which my +companion drove was as much in need of shoes as my own had been +some time previously, I had determined to provide it with a set, +and during the aforesaid periods occupied myself in preparing +them. As I was employed three mornings and afternoons about +them, I am sure that the reader will agree that I worked +leisurely, or rather, lazily. On the third day Belle +arrived somewhat later than usual; I was lying on my back at the +bottom of the dingle, employed in tossing up the shoes which I +had produced, and catching them as they fell—some being +always in the air mounting or descending, somewhat after the +fashion of the waters of a fountain.</p> +<p><!-- page 370--><a name="page370"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +370</span>“Why have you been absent so long?” said I +to Belle; “it must be long past four by the day.”</p> +<p>“I have been almost killed by the heat,” said +Belle; “I was never out in a more sultry day—the poor +donkey, too, could scarcely move along.”</p> +<p>“He shall have fresh shoes,” said I, continuing my +exercise; “here they are quite ready; to-morrow I will tack +them on.”</p> +<p>“And why are you playing with them in that +manner?” said Belle.</p> +<p>“Partly in triumph at having made them, and partly to +show that I can do something besides making them; it is not every +one who, after having made a set of horse-shoes, can keep them +going up and down in the air, without letting one +fall.”</p> +<p>“One has now fallen on your chin,” said Belle.</p> +<p>“And another on my cheek,” said I, getting up; +“it is time to discontinue the game, for the last shoe drew +blood.”</p> +<p>Belle went to her own little encampment; and as for myself, +after having flung the donkey’s shoes into my tent, I put +some fresh wood on the fire, which was nearly out, and hung the +kettle over it. I then issued forth from the dingle, and +strolled round the wood that surrounded it; for a long time I was +busied in meditation, looking at the ground, striking with my +foot, half unconsciously, the tufts of grass and thistles that I +met in my way. After some time, I lifted up my eyes to the +sky, at first vacantly, and then with more attention, turning my +head in all directions for a minute or two; after which I +returned to the dingle. Isopel was seated near the fire, +over which the kettle was now hung; she had changed her +dress—no signs of the dust and fatigue of her late +excursion remained; she <!-- page 371--><a +name="page371"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 371</span>had just +added to the fire a small billet of wood, two or three of which I +had left beside it; the fire cracked, and a sweet odour filled +the dingle.</p> +<p>“I am fond of sitting by a wood fire,” said Belle, +“when abroad, whether it be hot or cold; I love to see the +flames dart out of the wood; but what kind is this, and where did +you get it?”</p> +<p>“It is ash,” said I, “green ash. +Somewhat less than a week ago, whilst I was wandering along the +road by the side of a wood, I came to a place where some peasants +were engaged in cutting up and clearing away a confused mass of +fallen timber: a mighty aged oak had given way the night before, +and in its fall had shivered some smaller trees; the upper part +of the oak, and the fragments of the rest, lay across the +road. I purchased, for a trifle, a bundle or two, and the +wood on the fire is part of it—ash, green ash.”</p> +<p>“That makes good the old rhyme,” said Belle, +“which I have heard sung by the old women in the great +house:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Ash, when green,<br /> +Is fire for a queen.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“And on fairer form of queen, ash fire never +shone,” said I, “than on thine, O beauteous queen of +the dingle.”</p> +<p>“I am half disposed to be angry with you, young +man,” said Belle.</p> +<p>“And why not entirely?” said I.</p> +<p>Belle made no reply.</p> +<p>“Shall I tell you?” I demanded. “You +had no objection to the first part of the speech, but you did not +like being called queen of the dingle. Well, if I had the +power, I would make you queen <!-- page 372--><a +name="page372"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 372</span>of +something better than the dingle—Queen of China. +Come, let us have tea.”</p> +<p>“Something less would content me,” said Belle, +sighing, as she rose to prepare our evening meal.</p> +<p>So we took tea together, Belle and I. “How +delicious tea is after a hot summer’s day, and a long +walk,” said she.</p> +<p>“I dare say it is most refreshing then,” said I; +“but I have heard people say that they most enjoy it on a +cold winter’s night, when the kettle is hissing on the +fire, and their children playing on the hearth.”</p> +<p>Belle sighed. “Where does tea come from?” +she presently demanded.</p> +<p>“From China,” said I; “I just now mentioned +it, and the mention of it put me in mind of tea.”</p> +<p>“What kind of country is China?”</p> +<p>“I know very little about it; all I know is, that it is +a very large country far to the East, but scarcely large enough +to contain its inhabitants, who are so numerous, that though +China does not cover one-ninth part of the world, its inhabitants +amount to one-third of the population of the world.”</p> +<p>“And do they talk as we do?”</p> +<p>“Oh no! I know nothing of their language; but I +have heard that it is quite different from all others, and so +difficult that none but the cleverest people amongst foreigners +can master it, on which account, perhaps, only the French pretend +to know anything about it.”</p> +<p>“Are the French so very clever, then?” said +Belle.</p> +<p>“They say there are no people like them, at least in +Europe. But talking of Chinese reminds <!-- page 373--><a +name="page373"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 373</span>me that I +have not for some time past given you a lesson in Armenian. +The word for tea in Armenian is—by the bye, what is the +Armenian word for tea?”</p> +<p>“That’s your affair, not mine,” said Belle; +“it seems hard that the master should ask the +scholar.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “whatever the word may be in +Armenian, it is a noun; and as we have never yet declined an +Armenian noun together, we may as well take this opportunity of +declining one. Belle, there are ten declensions in +Armenian!”</p> +<p>“What’s a declension?”</p> +<p>“The way of declining a noun.”</p> +<p>“Then, in the civilest way imaginable, I decline the +noun. Is that a declension?”</p> +<p>“You should never play on words; to do so is low, +vulgar, smelling of the pothouse, the workhouse. Belle, I +insist on your declining an Armenian noun.”</p> +<p>“I have done so already,” said Belle.</p> +<p>“If you go on in this way,” said I, “I shall +decline taking any more tea with you. Will you decline an +Armenian noun?”</p> +<p>“I don’t like the language,” said +Belle. “If you must teach me languages, why not teach +me French or Chinese?”</p> +<p>“I know nothing of Chinese; and as for French, none but +a Frenchman is clever enough to speak it—to say nothing of +teaching; no, we will stick to Armenian, unless, indeed, you +would prefer Welsh!”</p> +<p>“Welsh, I have heard, is vulgar,” said Belle; +“so, if I must learn one of the two, I will prefer +Armenian, which I never heard of till you <!-- page 374--><a +name="page374"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 374</span>mentioned +it to me; though, of the two, I really think Welsh sounds +best.”</p> +<p>“The Armenian noun,” said I, “which I +propose for your declension this night, is ---, which signifieth +Master.”</p> +<p>“I neither like the word nor the sound,” said +Belle.</p> +<p>“I can’t help that,” said I; “it is +the word I choose: Master, with all its variations, being the +first noun the sound of which I would have you learn from my +lips. Come, let us begin—</p> +<p>“A master. Of a master, etc. +Repeat—”</p> +<p>“I am not much used to say the word,” said Belle, +“but to oblige you I will decline it as you wish;” +and thereupon Belle declined Master in Armenian.</p> +<p>“You have declined the noun very well,” said I; +“that is, in the singular number; we will now go to the +plural.”</p> +<p>“What is the plural?” said Belle.</p> +<p>“That which implies more than one, for example, Masters; +you shall now go through Masters in Armenian.”</p> +<p>“Never,” said Belle, “never; it is bad to +have one master, but more I would never bear, whether in Armenian +or English.”</p> +<p>“You do not understand,” said I; “I merely +want you to decline Masters in Armenian.”</p> +<p>“I do decline them; I will have nothing to do with them, +nor with Master either; I was wrong to . . . What sound is +that?”</p> +<p>“I did not hear it, but I dare say it is thunder; in +Armenian—”</p> +<p>“Never mind what it is in Armenian; but why do you think +it is thunder?”</p> +<p><!-- page 375--><a name="page375"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +375</span>“Ere I returned from my stroll, I looked up into +the heavens, and by their appearance I judged that a storm was +nigh at hand.”</p> +<p>“And why did you not tell me so?”</p> +<p>“You never asked me about the state of the atmosphere, +and I am not in the habit of giving my opinion to people on any +subject, unless questioned. But, setting that aside, can +you blame me for not troubling you with forebodings about storm +and tempest, which might have prevented the pleasure you promised +yourself in drinking tea, or perhaps a lesson in Armenian, though +you pretend to dislike the latter?”</p> +<p>“My dislike is not pretended,” said Belle; +“I hate the sound of it, but I love my tea, and it was kind +of you not to wish to cast a cloud over my little pleasures; the +thunder came quite time enough to interrupt it without being +anticipated—there is another peal—I will clear away, +and see that my tent is in a condition to resist the storm; and I +think you had better bestir yourself.”</p> +<p>Isopel departed, and I remained seated on my stone, as nothing +belonging to myself required any particular attention; in about a +quarter of an hour she returned, and seated herself upon her +stool.</p> +<p>“How dark the place is become since I left you,” +said she; “just as if night were just at hand.”</p> +<p>“Look up at the sky,” said I; “and you will +not wonder; it is all of a deep olive. The wind is +beginning to rise; hark how it moans among the branches, and see +how their tops are bending; it brings dust on its wings—I +felt some fall on my face; and what is this, a drop of +rain?”</p> +<p><!-- page 376--><a name="page376"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +376</span>“We shall have plenty anon,” said Belle; +“do you hear? it already begins to hiss upon the embers; +that fire of ours will soon be extinguished.”</p> +<p>“It is not probable that we shall want it,” said +I, “but we had better seek shelter: let us go into my +tent.”</p> +<p>“Go in,” said Belle, “but you go in alone; +as for me, I will seek my own.”</p> +<p>“You are right,” said I, “to be afraid of +me; I have taught you to decline Master in Armenian.”</p> +<p>“You almost tempt me,” said Belle, “to make +you decline mistress in English.”</p> +<p>“To make matters short,” said I, “I decline +a mistress.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” said Belle, angrily.</p> +<p>“I have merely done what you wished me,” said I, +“and in your own style; there is no other way of declining +anything in English, for in English there are no +declensions.”</p> +<p>“The rain is increasing,” said Belle.</p> +<p>“It is so,” said I; “I shall go to my tent; +you may come if you please; I do assure you I am not afraid of +you.”</p> +<p>“Nor I of you,” said Belle; “so I will +come. Why should I be afraid? I can take my own part; +that is . . . ”</p> +<p>We went into the tent and sat down, and now the rain began to +pour with vehemence. “I hope we shall not be flooded +in this hollow,” said I to Belle. “There is no +fear of that,” said Belle; “the wandering people, +amongst other names, call it the dry hollow. I believe +there is a passage somewhere or other by which the wet is carried +<!-- page 377--><a name="page377"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +377</span>off. There must be a cloud right above us, it is +so dark. Oh! what a flash!”</p> +<p>“And what a peal!” said I; “that is what the +Hebrews call Koul Adonai—the voice of the Lord. Are +you afraid?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Belle, “I rather like to hear +it.”</p> +<p>“You are right,” said I; “I am fond of the +sound of thunder myself. There is nothing like it; Koul +Adonai behadar: the voice of the Lord is a glorious voice, as the +Prayer-Book version hath it.”</p> +<p>“There is something awful in it,” said Belle; +“and then the lightning—the whole dingle is now in a +blaze.”</p> +<p>“‘The voice of the Lord maketh the hinds to calve, +and discovereth the thick bushes.’ As you say, there +is something awful in thunder.”</p> +<p>“There are all kinds of noises above us,” said +Belle; “surely I heard the crashing of a tree?”</p> +<p>“‘The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedar +trees,’” said I, “but what you hear is caused +by a convulsion of the air; during a thunderstorm there are +occasionally all kinds of aërial noises. Ab Gwilym, +who, next to King David, has best described a thunderstorm, +speaks of these aërial noises in the following +manner:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Astonied now I stand at strains,<br /> +As of ten thousand clanking chains;<br /> +And once, methought, that overthrown,<br /> +The welkin’s oaks came whelming down;<br /> +Upon my head up starts my hair:<br /> +Why hunt abroad the hounds of air?<br /> +What cursèd hag is screeching high,<br /> +Whilst crash goes all her crockery?’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>You would hardly believe, Belle, that though I <!-- page +378--><a name="page378"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +378</span>offered at least ten thousand lines nearly as good as +those to the booksellers in London, the simpletons were so blind +to their interest as to refuse purchasing them!”</p> +<p>“I don’t wonder at it,” said Belle, +“especially if such dreadful expressions frequently occur +as that towards the end;—surely that was the crash of a +tree?”</p> +<p>“Ah!” said I, “there falls the cedar +tree—I mean the sallow; one of the tall trees on the +outside of the dingle has been snapped short.”</p> +<p>“What a pity,” said Belle, “that the fine +old oak, which you saw the peasants cutting up, gave way the +other night, when scarcely a breath of air was stirring; how much +better to have fallen in a storm like this, the fiercest I +remember.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think so,” said I; “after +braving a thousand tempests, it was meeter for it to fall of +itself than to be vanquished at last. But to return to Ab +Gwilym’s poetry: he was above culling dainty words, and +spoke boldly his mind on all subjects. Enraged with the +thunder for parting him and Morfydd, he says, at the conclusion +of his ode,</p> +<blockquote><p>‘My curse, O Thunder, cling to thee,<br /> +For parting my dear pearl and me!’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“You and I shall part, that is, I shall go to my tent, +if you persist in repeating from him. The man must have +been a savage. A poor wood-pigeon has fallen +dead.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “there he lies, just outside +the tent; often have I listened to his note when alone in this +wilderness. So you do not like Ab Gwilym; what say you to +old Goethe:—</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 379--><a name="page379"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 379</span>‘Mist shrouds the night, and +rack;<br /> +Hear, in the woods, what an awful crack!<br /> +Wildly the owls are flitting,<br /> +Hark to the pillars splitting<br /> +Of palaces verdant ever,<br /> +The branches quiver and sever,<br /> +The mighty stems are creaking,<br /> +The poor roots breaking and shrieking,<br /> +In wild mixt ruin down dashing,<br /> +O’er one another they’re crashing;<br /> +Whilst ’midst the rocks so hoary,<br /> +Whirlwinds hurry and worry.<br /> +Hear’st not, sister—’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Hark!” said Belle, “hark!”</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘Hear’st not, sister, a +chorus<br /> +Of voices—?’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“No,” said Belle, “but I hear a +voice.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 380--><a name="page380"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 380</span>CHAPTER XCVI</h2> +<p>A shout—A Fire-Ball—See to the +Horses—Passing Away—Gap in the Hedge—On Three +Wheels—Why Do You Stop?—No Craven Heart—The +Cordial—Across the Country—Small Bags.</p> +<p>I listened attentively, but I could hear nothing but the loud +clashing of branches, the pattering of rain, and the muttered +growl of thunder. I was about to tell Belle that she must +have been mistaken, when I heard a shout—indistinct, it is +true, owing to the noises aforesaid—from some part of the +field above the dingle. “I will soon see what’s +the matter,” said I to Belle, starting up. “I +will go too,” said the girl. “Stay where you +are,” said I; “if I need you, I will call;” +and, without waiting for any answer, I hurried to the mouth of +the dingle. I was about a few yards only from the top of +the ascent, when I beheld a blaze of light, from whence I knew +not; the next moment there was a loud crash, and I appeared +involved in a cloud of sulphurous smoke. “Lord have +mercy upon us!” I heard a voice say, and methought I heard +the plunging and struggling of horses. I had stopped short +on hearing the crash, for I was half stunned; but I now hurried +forward, and in a moment stood upon the plain. Here I was +instantly aware of <!-- page 381--><a name="page381"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 381</span>the cause of the crash and the +smoke. One of those balls, generally called fire-balls, had +fallen from the clouds, and was burning on the plain at a short +distance; and the voice which I had heard, and the plunging, were +as easily accounted for. Near the left-hand corner of the +grove which surrounded the dingle, and about ten yards from the +fire-ball, I perceived a chaise, with a postillion on the box, +who was making efforts, apparently useless, to control his +horses, which were kicking and plunging in the highest degree of +excitement. I instantly ran towards the chaise, in order to +offer what help was in my power. “Help me,” +said the poor fellow, as I drew nigh; but before I could reach +the horses, they had turned rapidly round, one of the fore-wheels +flew from its axle-tree, the chaise was overset, and the +postillion flung violently from his seat upon the field. +The horses now became more furious than before, kicking +desperately, and endeavouring to disengage themselves from the +fallen chaise. As I was hesitating whether to run to the +assistance of the postillion or endeavour to disengage the +animals, I heard the voice of Belle exclaiming, “See to the +horses; I will look after the man.” She had, it +seems, been alarmed by the crash which accompanied the fire-bolt, +and had hurried up to learn the cause. I forthwith seized +the horses by the heads, and used all the means I possessed to +soothe and pacify them, employing every gentle modulation of +which my voice was capable. Belle, in the meantime, had +raised up the man, who was much stunned by his fall; but, +presently recovering his recollection to a certain degree, he +came limping to me, holding his hand to his right thigh. +“The <!-- page 382--><a name="page382"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 382</span>first thing that must now be +done,” said I, “is to free these horses from the +traces; can you undertake to do so?” “I think I +can,” said the man, looking at me somewhat stupidly. +“I will help,” said Belle, and without loss of time +laid hold of one of the traces. The man, after a short +pause, also set to work, and in a few minutes the horses were +extricated. “Now,” said I to the man, +“what is next to be done?” “I don’t +know,” said he; “indeed, I scarcely know anything; I +have been so frightened by this horrible storm, and so shaken by +my fall.” “I think,” said I, “that +the storm is passing away, so cast your fears away too; and as +for your fall, you must bear it as lightly as you can. I +will tie the horses amongst those trees, and then we will all +betake us to the hollow below.” “And +what’s to become of my chaise?” said the postillion, +looking ruefully on the fallen vehicle. “Let us leave +the chaise for the present,” said I; “we can be of no +use to it.” “I don’t like to leave my +chaise lying on the ground in this weather,” said the man; +“I love my chaise, and him whom it belongs to.” +“You are quite right to be fond of yourself,” said I, +“on which account I advise you to seek shelter from the +rain as soon as possible.” “I was not talking +of myself,” said the man, “but my master, to whom the +chaise belongs.” “I thought you called the +chaise yours,” said I. “That’s my way of +speaking,” said the man; “but the chaise is my +master’s, and a better master does not live. +Don’t you think we could manage to raise up the +chaise?” “And what is to become of the +horses?” said I. “I love my horses well +enough,” said the man; “but <!-- page 383--><a +name="page383"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 383</span>they will +take less harm than the chaise. We two can never lift up +that chaise.” “But we three can,” said +Belle; “at least, I think so; and I know where to find two +poles which will assist us.” “You had better go +to the tent,” said I, “you will be wet +through.” “I care not for a little +wetting,” said Belle; “moreover, I have more gowns +than one—see you after the horses.” Thereupon, +I led the horses past the mouth of the dingle, to a place where a +gap in the hedge afforded admission to the copse or plantation on +the southern side. Forcing them through the gap, I led them +to a spot amidst the trees, which I deemed would afford them the +most convenient place for standing; then, darting down into the +dingle, I brought up a rope, and also the halter of my own nag, +and with these fastened them each to a separate tree in the best +manner I could. This done, I returned to the chaise and the +postillion. In a minute or two Belle arrived with two +poles, which, it seems, had long been lying, overgrown with +brushwood, in a ditch or hollow behind the plantation. With +these both she and I set to work in endeavouring to raise the +fallen chaise from the ground.</p> +<p>We experienced considerable difficulty in this undertaking; at +length, with the assistance of the postillion, we saw our efforts +crowned with success—the chaise was lifted up, and stood +upright on three wheels.</p> +<p>“We may leave it here in safety,” said I, +“for it will hardly move away on three wheels, even +supposing it could run by itself; I am afraid there is work here +for a wheelwright, in which case I cannot assist you; if you were +in need of a blacksmith it would be otherwise.” +“I don’t think either <!-- page 384--><a +name="page384"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 384</span>the wheel +or the axle is hurt,” said the postillion, who had been +handling both; “it is only the linch-pin having dropped out +that caused the wheel to fly off; if I could but find the +linch-pin!—though, perhaps, it fell out a mile +away.” “Very likely,” said I; “but +never mind the linch-pin, I can make you one, or something that +will serve: but I can’t stay here any longer; I am going to +my place below with this young gentlewoman, and you had better +follow us.” “I am ready,” said the man; +and after lifting up the wheel and propping it against the +chaise, he went with us, slightly limping, and with his hand +pressed to his thigh.</p> +<p>As we were descending the narrow path, Belle leading the way, +and myself the last of the party, the postillion suddenly stopped +short, and looked about him. “Why do you stop?” +said I. “I don’t wish to offend you,” +said the man, “but this seems to be a strange place you are +leading me into; I hope you and the young gentlewoman, as you +call her, don’t mean me any harm—you seemed in a +great hurry to bring me here.” “We wished to +get you out of the rain,” said I, “and ourselves too; +that is, if we can, which I rather doubt, for the canvas of a +tent is slight shelter in such a rain; but what harm should we +wish to do you?” “You may think I have +money,” said the man, “and I have some, but only +thirty shillings, and for a sum like that it would be hardly +worth while to—”</p> +<p>“Would it not?” said I; “thirty shillings, +after all, are thirty shillings, and for what I know, half a +dozen throats may have been cut in this place for that sum at the +rate of five shillings each; moreover, there are the horses, +which would serve to establish this young gentlewoman and myself +in <!-- page 385--><a name="page385"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +385</span>housekeeping, provided we were thinking of such a +thing.” “Then I suppose I have fallen into +pretty hands,” said the man, putting himself in a posture +of defence; “but I’ll show no craven heart; and if +you attempt to lay hands on me, I’ll try to pay you in your +own coin. I’m rather lamed in the leg, but I can +still use my fists; so come on both of you, man and woman, if +woman this be, though she looks more like a grenadier.”</p> +<p>“Let me hear no more of this nonsense,” said +Belle; “if you are afraid, you can go back to your +chaise—we only seek to do you a kindness.”</p> +<p>“Why, he was just now talking of cutting throats,” +said the man. “You brought it on yourself,” +said Belle; “you suspected us, and he wished to pass a joke +upon you; he would not hurt a hair of your head, were your coach +laden with gold, nor would I.” “Well,” +said the man, “I was wrong—here’s my hand to +both of you,” shaking us by the hands. +“I’ll go with you where you please, but I thought +this a strange lonesome place, though I ought not much to mind +strange lonesome places, having been in plenty of such when I was +a servant in Italy, without coming to any harm—come, let us +move on, for ’tis a shame to keep you two in the +rain.”</p> +<p>So we descended the path which led into the depths of the +dingle; at the bottom I conducted the postillion to my tent, +which, though the rain dripped and trickled through it, afforded +some shelter; there I bade him sit down on the log of wood, +whilst I placed myself as usual on my stone. Belle in the +meantime had repaired to her own place of abode. After a +little time, I produced a <!-- page 386--><a +name="page386"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 386</span>bottle of +the cordial of which I have previously had occasion to speak, and +made my guest take a considerable draught. I then offered +him some bread and cheese, which he accepted with thanks. +In about an hour the rain had much abated. “What do +you now propose to do?” said I. “I scarcely +know,” said the man; “I suppose I must endeavour to +put on the wheel with your help.” “How far are +you from your home?” I demanded. “Upwards of +thirty miles,” said the man; “my master keeps an inn +on the Great North Road, and from thence I started early this +morning with a family, which I conveyed across the country to a +hall at some distance from here. On my return I was beset +by the thunderstorm, which frightened the horses, who dragged the +chaise off the road to the field above, and overset it as you +saw. I had proposed to pass the night at an inn about +twelve miles from here on my way back, though how I am to get +there to-night I scarcely know, even if we can put on the wheel, +for, to tell you the truth, I am shaken by my fall, and the +smoulder and smoke of that fire-ball have rather bewildered my +head; I am, moreover, not much acquainted with the +way.”</p> +<p>“The best thing you can do,” said I, “is to +pass the night here; I will presently light a fire, and endeavour +to make you comfortable—in the morning we will see to your +wheel.” “Well,” said the man, “I +shall be glad to pass the night here, provided I do not intrude, +but I must see to the horses.” Thereupon I conducted +the man to the place where the horses were tied. “The +trees drip very much upon them,” said the man, “and +it will not do for them to remain here all night; they will <!-- +page 387--><a name="page387"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +387</span>be better out on the field picking the grass; but first +of all they must have a good feed of corn.” Thereupon +he went to his chaise, from which he presently brought two small +bags, partly filled with corn—into them he inserted the +mouths of the horses, tying them over their heads. +“Here we will leave them for a time,” said the man; +“when I think they have had enough, I will come back, tie +their fore-legs, and let them pick about.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 388--><a name="page388"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 388</span>CHAPTER XCVII</h2> +<p>Fire of Charcoal—The New Comer—No +Wonder!—Not a Blacksmith—A Love Affair—Gretna +Green—A Cool Thousand—Family Estates—Borough +Interest—Grand Education—Let us Hear—Already +Quarrelling—Honourable Parents—Most +Heroically—Not Common People—Fresh Charcoal.</p> +<p>It might be about ten o’clock at night. Belle, the +postillion, and myself sat just within the tent, by a fire of +charcoal which I had kindled in the chafing-pan. The man +had removed the harness from his horses, and, after tethering +their legs, had left them for the night in the field above to +regale themselves on what grass they could find. The rain +had long since entirely ceased, and the moon and stars shone +bright in the firmament, up to which, putting aside the canvas, I +occasionally looked from the depths of the dingle. Large +drops of water, however, falling now and then upon the tent from +the neighbouring trees, would have served, could we have +forgotten it, to remind us of the recent storm, and also a +certain chilliness in the atmosphere, unusual to the season, +proceeding from the moisture with which the ground was saturated; +yet these circumstances only served to make our party enjoy the +charcoal fire the more. There we sat bending over it: +Belle, with her long beautiful <!-- page 389--><a +name="page389"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 389</span>hair +streaming over her magnificent shoulders; the postillion smoking +his pipe, in his shirt-sleeves and waistcoat, having flung aside +his great-coat, which had sustained a thorough wetting; and I +without my waggoner’s slop, of which, it being in the same +plight, I had also divested myself.</p> +<p>The new comer was a well-made fellow of about thirty, with an +open and agreeable countenance. I found him very well +informed for a man in his station, and with some pretensions to +humour. After we had discoursed for some time on +indifferent subjects, the postillion, who had exhausted his pipe, +took it from his mouth, and, knocking out the ashes upon the +ground, exclaimed, “I little thought, when I got up in the +morning, that I should spend the night in such agreeable company, +and after such a fright.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “I am glad that your opinion +of us has improved; it is not long since you seemed to hold us in +rather a suspicious light.”</p> +<p>“And no wonder,” said the man, “seeing the +place you were taking me to! I was not a little, but very +much afraid of ye both; and so I continued for some time, though, +not to show a craven heart, I pretended to be quite satisfied; +but I see I was altogether mistaken about ye. I thought you +vagrant Gypsy folks and trampers; but now—”</p> +<p>“Vagrant Gypsy folks and trampers,” said I; +“and what are we but people of that stamp?”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said the postillion, “if you wish to +be thought such, I am far too civil a person to contradict you, +especially after your kindness to me, but—”</p> +<p>“But!” said I; “what do you mean by +but? I would have you to know that I am proud of <!-- page +390--><a name="page390"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +390</span>being a travelling blacksmith; look at these +donkey-shoes; I finished them this day.”</p> +<p>The postillion took the shoes and examined them. +“So you made these shoes?” he cried at last.</p> +<p>“To be sure I did; do you doubt it?”</p> +<p>“Not in the least,” said the man.</p> +<p>“Ah! ah!” said I, “I thought I should bring +you back to your original opinion. I am, then, a vagrant +Gypsy body, a tramper, a wandering blacksmith.”</p> +<p>“Not a blacksmith, whatever else you may be,” said +the postillion, laughing.</p> +<p>“Then how do you account for my making those +shoes?”</p> +<p>“By your not being a blacksmith,” said the +postillion; “no blacksmith would have made shoes in that +manner. Besides, what did you mean just now by saying you +had finished these shoes to-day? A real blacksmith would +have flung off three or four sets of donkey-shoes in one morning, +but you, I will be sworn, have been hammering at these for days, +and they do you credit—but why?—because you are no +blacksmith; no, friend, your shoes may do for this young +gentlewoman’s animal, but I shouldn’t like to have my +horses shod by you, unless at a great pinch indeed.”</p> +<p>“Then,” said I, “for what do you take +me?”</p> +<p>“Why, for some runaway young gentleman,” said the +postillion. “No offence, I hope?”</p> +<p>“None at all; no one is offended at being taken or +mistaken for a young gentleman, whether runaway or not; but from +whence do you suppose I have run away?”</p> +<p><!-- page 391--><a name="page391"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +391</span>“Why, from college,” said the man: +“no offence?”</p> +<p>“None whatever; and what induced me to run away from +college?”</p> +<p>“A love affair, I’ll be sworn,” said the +postillion. “You had become acquainted with this +young gentlewoman, so she and you—”</p> +<p>“Mind how you get on, friend,” said Belle, in a +deep serious tone.</p> +<p>“Pray proceed,” said I; “I dare say you mean +no offence.”</p> +<p>“None in the world,” said the postillion; +“all I was going to say was, that you agreed to run away +together, you from college, and she from boarding-school. +Well, there’s nothing to be ashamed of in a matter like +that, such things are done every day by young folks in high +life.”</p> +<p>“Are you offended?” said I to Belle.</p> +<p>Belle made no answer; but, placing her elbows on her knees, +buried her face in her hands.</p> +<p>“So we ran away together?” said I.</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said the postillion, “to Gretna +Green, though I can’t say that I drove ye, though I have +driven many a pair.”</p> +<p>“And from Gretna Green we came here?”</p> +<p>“I’ll be bound you did,” said the man, +“till you could arrange matters at home.”</p> +<p>“And the horse-shoes?” said I.</p> +<p>“The donkey-shoes you mean,” answered the +postillion; “why, I suppose you persuaded the blacksmith +who married you to give you, before you left, a few lessons in +his trade.”</p> +<p>“And we intend to stay here till we have arranged +matters at home?”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said the postillion, “till the old +<!-- page 392--><a name="page392"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +392</span>people are pacified, and they send you letters directed +to the next post town, to be left till called for, beginning with +‘Dear children,’ and enclosing you each a cheque for +one hundred pounds, when you will leave this place, and go home +in a coach like gentlefolks, to visit your governors; I should +like nothing better than to have the driving of you: and then +there will be a grand meeting of the two families, and after a +few reproaches, the old people will agree to do something +handsome for the poor thoughtless things; so you will have a +genteel house taken for you, and an annuity allowed you. +You won’t get much the first year, five hundred at the +most, in order that the old folks may let you feel that they are +not altogether satisfied with you, and that you are yet entirely +in their power; but the second, if you don’t get a cool +thousand, may I catch cold, especially should young madam here +present a son and heir for the old people to fondle, destined one +day to become sole heir of the two illustrious houses; and then +all the grand folks in the neighbourhood, who have—bless +their prudent hearts!—kept rather aloof from you till then, +for fear you should want anything from them—I say all the +carriage people in the neighbourhood, when they see how +swimmingly matters are going on, will come in shoals to visit +you.”</p> +<p>“Really,” said I, “you are getting on +swimmingly.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said the postillion, “I was not a +gentleman’s servant nine years without learning the ways of +gentry, and being able to know gentry when I see them.”</p> +<p>“And what do you say to all this?” I demanded of +Belle.</p> +<p><!-- page 393--><a name="page393"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +393</span>“Stop a moment,” interposed the postillion, +“I have one more word to say:—and when you are +surrounded by your comforts, keeping your nice little barouche +and pair, your coachman and livery servant, and visited by all +the carriage people in the neighbourhood—to say nothing of +the time when you come to the family estates on the death of the +old people—I shouldn’t wonder if now and then you +look back with longing and regret to the days when you lived in +the damp dripping dingle, had no better equipage than a pony or +donkey cart, and saw no better company than a tramper or Gypsy, +except once, when a poor postillion was glad to seat himself at +your charcoal fire.”</p> +<p>“Pray,” said I, “did you ever take lessons +in elocution?”</p> +<p>“Not directly,” said the postillion; “but my +old master, who was in Parliament, did, and so did his son, who +was intended to be an orator. A great professor used to +come and give them lessons, and I used to stand and listen, by +which means I picked up a considerable quantity of what is called +rhetoric. In what I last said, I was aiming at what I have +heard him frequently endeavouring to teach my governors as a +thing indispensably necessary in all oratory, a graceful +pere—pere—peregrination.”</p> +<p>“Peroration, perhaps?”</p> +<p>“Just so,” said the postillion; “and now +I’m sure I am not mistaken about you; you have taken +lessons yourself, at first hand, in the college vacations, and a +promising pupil you were, I make no doubt. Well, your +friends will be all the happier to get you back. Has your +governor much borough interest?”</p> +<p><!-- page 394--><a name="page394"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +394</span>“I ask you once more,” said I, addressing +myself to Belle, “what you think of the history which this +good man has made for us?”</p> +<p>“What should I think of it,” said Belle, still +keeping her face buried in her hands, “but that it is mere +nonsense?”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” said the postillion.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the girl, “and you know +it.”</p> +<p>“May my leg always ache, if I do,” said the +postillion, patting his leg with his hand; “will you +persuade me that this young man has never been at +college?”</p> +<p>“I have never been at college, but—”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said the postillion, +“but—”</p> +<p>“I have been to the best schools in Britain, to say +nothing of a celebrated one in Ireland.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, it comes to the same thing,” said the +postillion, “or perhaps you know more than if you had been +at college—and your governor—”</p> +<p>“My governor, as you call him,” said I, “is +dead.”</p> +<p>“And his borough interest?”</p> +<p>“My father had no borough interest,” said I; +“had he possessed any, he would perhaps not have died, as +he did, honourably poor.”</p> +<p>“No, no,” said the postillion, “if he had +had borough interest, he wouldn’t have been poor, nor +honourable, though perhaps a right honourable. However, +with your grand education and genteel manners, you made all right +at last by persuading this noble young gentlewoman to run away +from boarding-school with you.”</p> +<p>“I was never at boarding-school,” said Belle, +“unless you call—”</p> +<p><!-- page 395--><a name="page395"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +395</span>“Ay, ay,” said the postillion, +“boarding-school is vulgar, I know: I beg your pardon, I +ought to have called it academy, or by some other much finer +name—you were in something much greater than a +boarding-school.”</p> +<p>“There you are right,” said Belle, lifting up her +head and looking the postillion full in the face by the light of +the charcoal fire, “for I was bred in the +workhouse.”</p> +<p>“Wooh!” said the postillion.</p> +<p>“It is true that I am of good—”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay,” said the postillion, “let us +hear—”</p> +<p>“Of good blood,” continued Belle; “my name +is Berners, Isopel Berners, though my parents were +unfortunate. Indeed, with respect to blood, I believe I am +of better blood than the young man.”</p> +<p>“There you are mistaken,” said I; “by my +father’s side I am of Cornish blood, and by my +mother’s of brave French Protestant extraction. Now, +with respect to the blood of my father—and to be descended +well on the father’s side is the principal thing—it +is the best blood in the world, for the Cornish blood, as the +proverb says—”</p> +<p>“I don’t care what the proverb says,” said +Belle; “I say my blood is the best—my name is +Berners, Isopel Berners—it was my mother’s name, and +is better, I am sure, than any you bear, what ever that may be; +and though you say that the descent on the father’s side is +the principal thing—and I know why you say so,” she +added with some excitement—“I say that descent on the +mother’s side is of most account, because the +mother—”</p> +<p><!-- page 396--><a name="page396"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +396</span>“Just come from Gretna Green, and already +quarrelling!” said the postillion.</p> +<p>“We do not come from Gretna Green,” said +Belle.</p> +<p>“Ah, I had forgot,” said the postillion, +“none but great people go to Gretna Green. Well, +then, from church, and already quarrelling about family, just +like two great people.”</p> +<p>“We have never been to church,” said Belle, +“and to prevent any more guessing on your part, it will be +as well for me to tell you, friend, that I am nothing to the +young man, and he, of course, nothing to me. I am a poor +travelling girl, born in a workhouse: journeying on my occasions +with certain companions, I came to this hollow, where my company +quarrelled with the young man, who had settled down here, as he +had a right to do if he pleased; and not being able to drive him +out, they went away after quarrelling with me too, for not +choosing to side with them; so I stayed here along with the young +man, there being room for us both, and the place being as free to +me as to him.”</p> +<p>“And in order that you may be no longer puzzled with +respect to myself,” said I, “I will give you a brief +outline of my history. I am the son of honourable parents, +who gave me a first-rate education, as far as literature and +languages went, with which education I endeavoured, on the death +of my father, to advance myself to wealth and reputation in the +Big City; but failing in the attempt, I conceived a disgust for +the busy world, and determined to retire from it. After +wandering about for some time, and meeting with various +adventures, in one of which I contrived to obtain a pony, cart, +and certain tools, used by smiths and <!-- page 397--><a +name="page397"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 397</span>tinkers, I +came to this place, where I amused myself with making +horse-shoes, or rather pony-shoes, having acquired the art of +wielding the hammer and tongs from a strange kind of +smith—not him of Gretna Green—whom I knew in my +childhood. And here I lived, doing harm to no one, quite +lonely and solitary, till one fine morning the premises were +visited by this young gentlewoman and her companions. She +did herself anything but justice when she said that her +companions quarrelled with her because she would not side with +them against me; they quarrelled with her because she came most +heroically to my assistance as I was on the point of being +murdered; and she forgot to tell you that, after they had +abandoned her, she stood by me in the dark hour, comforting and +cheering me, when unspeakable dread, to which I am occasionally +subject, took possession of my mind. She says she is +nothing to me, even as I am nothing to her. I am of course +nothing to her, but she is mistaken in thinking she is nothing to +me. I entertain the highest regard and admiration for her, +being convinced that I might search the whole world in vain for a +nature more heroic and devoted.”</p> +<p>“And for my part,” said Belle, with a sob, +“a more quiet agreeable partner in a place like this I +would not wish to have; it is true he has strange ways and +frequently puts words into my mouth very difficult to utter, +but—but . . . ” and here she buried her face once +more in her hands.</p> +<p>“Well,” said the postillion, “I have been +mistaken about you; that is, not altogether, but in part. +You are not rich folks, it seems, but you are not common people, +and that I could have sworn. <!-- page 398--><a +name="page398"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 398</span>What I call +a shame is, that some people I have known are not in your place +and you in theirs, you with their estates and borough interest, +they in this dingle with these carts and animals; but there is no +help for these things. Were I the great Mumbo Jumbo above, +I would endeavour to manage matters better; but being a simple +postillion, glad to earn three shillings a day, I can’t be +expected to do much.”</p> +<p>“Who is Mumbo Jumbo?” said I.</p> +<p>“Ah!” said the postillion, “I see there may +be a thing or two I know better than yourself. Mumbo Jumbo +is a god of the black coast, to which people go for ivory and +gold.”</p> +<p>“Were you ever there?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“No,” said the postillion, “but I heard +plenty of Mumbo Jumbo when I was a boy.”</p> +<p>“I wish you would tell us something about +yourself. I believe that your own real history would prove +quite as entertaining, if not more, than that which you imagined +about us.”</p> +<p>“I am rather tired,” said the postillion, +“and my leg is rather troublesome. I should be glad +to try to sleep upon one of your blankets. However, as you +wish to hear something about me, I shall be happy to oblige you; +but your fire is rather low, and this place is chilly.”</p> +<p>Thereupon I arose, and put fresh charcoal on the pan; then +taking it outside the tent, with a kind of fan which I had +fashioned, I fanned the coals into a red glow, and continued +doing so until the greater part of the noxious gas, which the +coals are in the habit of exhaling, was exhausted. I then +brought it into the tent and reseated myself, scattering over the +coals a small portion of sugar. “No <!-- page +399--><a name="page399"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +399</span>bad smell,” said the postillion; “but upon +the whole I think I like the smell of tobacco better; and with +your permission I will once more light my pipe.”</p> +<p>Thereupon he relighted his pipe; and, after taking two or +three whiffs, began in the following manner.</p> +<h2><!-- page 400--><a name="page400"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 400</span>CHAPTER XCVIII</h2> +<p>An Exordium—Fine Ships—High Barbary +Captains—Free-born Englishmen—Monstrous +Figure—Swashbuckler—The Grand Coaches—The +Footmen—A Travelling Expedition—Black +Jack—Nelson’s Cannon—Pharaoh’s +Butler—A Diligence—Two Passengers—Sharking +Priest—Virgilio—Lessons in Italian—Two +Opinions—Holy Mary—Priestly +Confederates—Methodist Chapel—Veturini—Some of +Our Party—Like a Sepulchre—All for Themselves.</p> +<p>“I am a poor postillion, as you see; yet, as I have seen +a thing or two, and heard a thing or two of what is going on in +the world, perhaps what I have to tell you connected with myself +may not prove altogether uninteresting. Now, my friends, +this manner of opening a story is what the man who taught +rhetoric would call a hex—hex—”</p> +<p>“Exordium,” said I.</p> +<p>“Just so,” said the postillion; “I treated +you to a per—per—peroration some time ago, so that I +have contrived to put the cart before the horse, as the Irish +orators frequently do in the honourable House, in whose speeches, +especially those who have taken lessons in rhetoric, the +per—per—what’s the word?—frequently goes +before the exordium.</p> +<p>“I was born in the neighbouring county; my <!-- page +401--><a name="page401"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +401</span>father was land-steward to a squire of about a thousand +a year. My father had two sons, of whom I am the youngest +by some years. My elder brother was of a spirited, roving +disposition, and for fear that he should turn out what is +generally termed ungain, my father determined to send him to sea: +so once upon a time, when my brother was about fifteen, he took +him to the great sea-port of the county, where he apprenticed him +to a captain of one of the ships which trade to the high Barbary +coast. Fine ships they were, I have heard say, more than +thirty in number, and all belonging to a wonderful great +gentleman, who had once been a parish boy, but had contrived to +make an immense fortune by trading to that coast for gold-dust, +ivory, and other strange articles; and for doing so, I mean for +making a fortune, had been made a knight baronet. So my +brother went to the high Barbary shore, on board the fine vessel, +and in about a year returned and came to visit us; he repeated +the voyage several times, always coming to see his parents on his +return. Strange stories he used to tell us of what he had +been witness to on the high Barbary coast, both off shore and +on. He said that the fine vessel in which he sailed was +nothing better than a painted hell; that the captain was a +veritable fiend, whose grand delight was in tormenting his men, +especially when they were sick, as they frequently were, there +being always fever on the high Barbary coast; and that though the +captain was occasionally sick himself, his being so made no +difference, or rather it did make a difference, though for the +worse, he being when sick always more inveterate and malignant +than at other times. He said that once, when he himself +<!-- page 402--><a name="page402"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +402</span>was sick, his captain had pitched his face all over, +which exploit was much applauded by the other high Barbary +captains—all of whom, from what my brother said, appeared +to be of much the same disposition as my brother’s captain, +taking wonderful delight in tormenting the crews, and doing all +manner of terrible things. My brother frequently said that +nothing whatever prevented him from running away from his ship, +and never returning, but the hope he entertained of one day being +captain himself, and able to torment people in his turn, which he +solemnly vowed he would do, as a kind of compensation for what he +himself had undergone. And if things were going on in a +strange way off the high Barbary shore amongst those who came +there to trade, they were going on in a way yet stranger with the +people who lived upon it.</p> +<p>“Oh, the strange ways of the black men who lived on that +shore, of which my brother used to tell us at home!—selling +their sons, daughters, and servants for slaves, and the prisoners +taken in battle, to the Spanish captains, to be carried to +Havannah, and when there, sold at a profit, the idea of which, my +brother said, went to the hearts of our own captains, who used to +say what a hard thing it was that free-born Englishmen could not +have a hand in the traffic, seeing that it was forbidden by the +laws of their country; talking fondly of the good old times when +their forefathers used to carry slaves to Jamaica and Barbadoes, +realising immense profit, besides the pleasure of hearing their +shrieks on the voyage; and then the superstitions of the blacks, +which my brother used to talk of; their sharks’ teeth, +their wisps of fowls’ feathers, their <!-- page 403--><a +name="page403"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 403</span>half-baked +pots full of burnt bones, of which they used to make what they +called fetish, and bow down to, and ask favours of, and then, +perhaps, abuse and strike, provided the senseless rubbish did not +give them what they asked for; and then, above all, Mumbo Jumbo, +the grand fetish master, who lived somewhere in the woods, and +who used to come out every now and then with his fetish +companions; a monstrous figure, all wound round with leaves and +branches, so as to be quite indistinguishable, and, seating +himself on the high seat in the villages, receive homage from the +people, and also gifts and offerings, the most valuable of which +were pretty damsels, and then betake himself back again, with his +followers, into the woods. Oh, the tales that my brother +used to tell us of the high Barbary shore! Poor fellow! +what became of him I can’t say; the last time he came back +from a voyage, he told us that his captain, as soon as he had +brought his vessel to port and settled with his owner, drowned +himself off the quay, in a fit of the horrors, which it seems +high Barbary captains, after a certain number of years, are much +subject to. After staying about a month with us, he went to +sea again, with another captain; and, bad as the old one had +been, it appears the new one was worse, for, unable to bear his +treatment, my brother left his ship off the high Barbary shore, +and ran away up the country. Some of his comrades, whom we +afterwards saw, said that there were various reports about him on +the shore; one that he had taken on with Mumbo Jumbo, and was +serving him in his house in the woods, in the capacity of +swashbuckler, or life-guardsman; another, that he was gone in +quest of <!-- page 404--><a name="page404"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 404</span>a mighty city in the heart of the +negro country; another, that in swimming a stream he had been +devoured by an alligator. Now, these two last reports were +bad enough; the idea of their flesh and blood being bit asunder +by a ravenous fish, was sad enough to my poor parents; and not +very comfortable was the thought of his sweltering over the hot +sands in quest of the negro city; but the idea of their son, +their eldest child, serving Mumbo Jumbo as swashbuckler, was +worst of all, and caused my poor parents to shed many a scalding +tear.</p> +<p>“I stayed at home with my parents until I was about +eighteen, assisting my father in various ways. I then went +to live at the squire’s, partly as groom, partly as +footman. After living in the country some time, I attended +the family in a trip of six weeks, which they made to +London. Whilst there, happening to have some words with an +old ill-tempered coachman, who had been for a great many years in +the family, my master advised me to leave, offering to recommend +me to a family of his acquaintance who were in need of a +footman. I was glad to accept his offer, and in a few days +went to my new place. My new master was one of the great +gentry, a baronet in Parliament, and possessed of an estate of +about twenty thousand a year; his family consisted of his lady, a +son, a fine young man, just coming of age, and two very sweet +amiable daughters. I liked this place much better than my +first, there was so much more pleasant noise and bustle—so +much more grand company, and so many more opportunities of +improving myself. Oh, how I liked to see the grand coaches +drive up to the door, with the grand company! and though, <!-- +page 405--><a name="page405"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +405</span>amidst that company, there were some who did not look +very grand, there were others, and not a few, who did. Some +of the ladies quite captivated me; there was the Marchioness of +in particular. This young lady puts me much in mind of her; +it is true, the Marchioness, as I saw her then, was about fifteen +years older than this young gentlewoman is now, and not so tall +by some inches, but she had the very same hair, and much the same +neck and shoulders—no offence, I hope? And then some +of the young gentlemen, with their cool, haughty, +care-for-nothing looks, struck me as being very fine +fellows. There was one in particular, whom I frequently +used to stare at, not altogether unlike some one I have seen +hereabouts—he had a slight cast in his eye, and . . . but I +won’t enter into every particular. And then the +footmen! Oh, how those footmen helped to improve me with +their conversation! Many of them could converse much more +glibly than their masters, and appeared to have much better +taste. At any rate, they seldom approved of what their +masters did. I remember being once with one in the gallery +of the play-house, when something of Shakespeare’s was +being performed: some one in the first tier of boxes was +applauding very loudly. ‘That’s my fool of a +governor,’ said he; ‘he is weak enough to like +Shakespeare—I don’t;—he’s so confoundedly +low, but he won’t last long—going down. +Shakespeare culminated—I think that was the +word—culminated some time ago.’</p> +<p>“And then the professor of elocution, of whom my +governors used to take lessons, and of which lessons I had my +share, by listening behind the door; but for that professor of +elocution I should <!-- page 406--><a name="page406"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 406</span>not be able to round my +periods—an expression of his—in the manner I do.</p> +<p>“After I had been three years at this place, my mistress +died. Her death, however, made no great alteration in my +way of living, the family spending their winters in London, and +their summers at their old seat in S--- as before. At last, +the young ladies, who had not yet got husbands, which was strange +enough, seeing, as I told you before, they were very amiable, +proposed to our governor a travelling expedition abroad. +The old baronet consented, though young master was much against +it, saying they would all be much better at home. As the +girls persisted, however, he at last withdrew his opposition, and +even promised to follow them as soon as his parliamentary duties +would permit; for he was just got into Parliament, and, like most +other young members, thought that nothing could be done in the +House without him. So the old gentleman and the two young +ladies set off, taking me with them, and a couple of +ladies’ maids to wait upon them. First of all, we +went to Paris, where we continued three months, the old baronet +and the ladies going to see the various sights of the city and +the neighbourhood, and I attending them. They soon got +tired of sightseeing, and of Paris too; and so did I. +However, they still continued there, in order, I believe, that +the young ladies might lay in a store of French finery. I +should have passed my idle time at Paris, of which I had plenty +after the sight-seeing was over, very unpleasantly, but for Black +Jack. Eh! did you never hear of Black Jack? Ah! if +you had ever been an English servant in Paris, you would have +known Black Jack; not an English <!-- page 407--><a +name="page407"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +407</span>gentleman’s servant who has been at Paris for +this last ten years but knows Black Jack and his ordinary. +A strange fellow he was—of what country no one could +exactly say—for as for judging from speech, that was +impossible, Jack speaking all languages equally ill. Some +said he came direct from Satan’s kitchen, and that when he +gives up keeping ordinary, he will return there again, though the +generally-received opinion at Paris was, that he was at one time +butler to King Pharaoh; and that, after lying asleep for four +thousand years in a place called the Kattycombs, he was awaked by +the sound of Nelson’s cannon at the battle of the Nile, and +going to the shore, took on with the admiral, and became, in +course of time, ship steward; and that after Nelson’s death +he was captured by the French, on board one of whose vessels he +served in a somewhat similar capacity till the peace, when he +came to Paris, and set up an ordinary for servants, sticking the +name of Katcomb over the door, in allusion to the place where he +had his long sleep. But, whatever his origin was, Jack kept +his own counsel, and appeared to care nothing for what people +said about him, or called him. Yes, I forgot, there was one +name he would not be called, and that was +‘Portuguese.’ I once saw Black Jack knock down +a coachman, six foot high, who called him black-faced +Portuguese. ‘Any name but dat, you shab,’ said +Black Jack, who was a little round fellow, of about five feet +two; ‘I would not stand to be called Portuguese by Nelson +himself.’ Jack was rather fond of talking about +Nelson, and hearing people talk about him, so that it is not +improbable that he may have sailed with him; and with respect to +his <!-- page 408--><a name="page408"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 408</span>having been King Pharaoh’s +butler, all I have to say is, I am not disposed to give the +downright lie to the report. Jack was always ready to do a +kind turn to a poor servant out of place, and has often been +known to assist such as were in prison, which charitable +disposition he perhaps acquired from having lost a good place +himself, having seen the inside of a prison, and known the want +of a meal’s victuals, all which trials King Pharaoh’s +butler underwent, so he may have been that butler; at any rate, I +have known positive conclusions come to on no better premises, if +indeed as good. As for the story of his coming direct from +Satan’s kitchen, I place no confidence in it at all, as +Black Jack had nothing of Satan about him but blackness, on which +account he was called Black Jack. Nor am I disposed to give +credit to a report that his hatred of the Portuguese arose from +some ill treatment which he had once experienced when on shore, +at Lisbon, from certain gentlewomen of the place, but rather +conclude that it arose from an opinion he entertained that the +Portuguese never paid their debts, one of the ambassadors of that +nation, whose house he had served, having left Paris several +thousand francs in his debt. This is all that I have to say +about Black Jack, without whose funny jokes, and good ordinary, I +should have passed my time in Paris in a very disconsolate +manner.</p> +<p>“After we had been at Paris between two and three +months, we left it in the direction of Italy, which country the +family had a great desire to see. After travelling a great +many days in a thing which, though called a diligence, did not +exhibit much diligence, we came to a great big town, seated <!-- +page 409--><a name="page409"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +409</span>around a nasty salt-water bason, connected by a narrow +passage with the sea. Here we were to embark; and so we did +as soon as possible, glad enough to get away—at least I +was, and so I make no doubt were the rest, for such a place for +bad smells I never was in. It seems all the drains and +sewers of the place run into that same salt bason, voiding into +it all their impurities, which, not being able to escape into the +sea in any considerable quantity, owing to the narrowness of the +entrance, there accumulate, filling the whole atmosphere with +these same outrageous scents, on which account the town is a +famous lodging-house of the plague. The ship in which we +embarked was bound for a place in Italy called Naples, where we +were to stay some time. The voyage was rather a lazy one, +the ship not being moved by steam; for at the time of which I am +speaking, some five years ago, steam-ships were not so plentiful +as now. There were only two passengers in the grand cabin, +where my governor and his daughters were, an Italian lady and a +priest. Of the lady I have not much to say; she appeared to +be a quiet, respectable person enough, and after our arrival at +Naples I neither saw nor heard anything more of her; but of the +priest I shall have a good deal to say in the sequel (that, by +the bye, is a word I learnt from the professor of rhetoric), and +it would have been well for our family had they never met +him.</p> +<p>“On the third day of the voyage the priest came to me, +who was rather unwell with seasickness, which he, of course, felt +nothing of—that kind of people being never affected like +others. He was a finish-looking man of about forty-five, +but had something strange in his eyes, which I <!-- page 410--><a +name="page410"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 410</span>have since +thought denoted that all was not right in a certain place called +the heart. After a few words of condolence, in a broken +kind of English, he asked me various questions about our family; +and I, won by his seeming kindness, told him all I knew about +them—of which communicativeness I afterwards very much +repented. As soon as he had got out of me all he desired, +he left me; and I observed that during the rest of the voyage he +was wonderfully attentive to our governor, and yet more to the +young ladies. Both, however, kept him rather at a distance; +the young ladies were reserved, and once or twice I heard our +governor cursing him between his teeth for a sharking +priest. The priest, however, was not disconcerted, and +continued his attentions, which in a little time produced an +effect, so that, by the time we landed at Naples, our great folks +had conceived a kind of liking for the man, and when they took +their leave invited him to visit them, which he promised to +do. We hired a grand house or palace at Naples; it belonged +to a poor kind of prince, who was glad enough to let it to our +governor, and also his servants and carriages; and glad enough +were the poor servants, for they got from us what they never got +from the prince—plenty of meat and money; and glad enough, +I make no doubt, were the horses for the provender we gave them; +and I dare say the coaches were not sorry to be cleaned and +furbished up. Well, we went out and came in; going to see +the sights, and returning. Amongst other things we saw was +the burning mountain, and the tomb of a certain sorcerer called +Virgilio, who made witch rhymes, by which he could raise the +dead. Plenty of people came to see us, both English and +<!-- page 411--><a name="page411"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +411</span>Italians, and amongst the rest the priest. He did +not come amongst the first, but allowed us to settle and become a +little quiet before he showed himself; and after a day or two he +paid us another visit, then another, till at last his visits were +daily.</p> +<p>“I did not like that Jack Priest; so I kept my eye upon +all his motions. Lord! how that Jack Priest did curry +favour with our governor and the two young ladies; and he +curried, and curried, till he had got himself into favour with +the governor, and more especially with the two young ladies, of +whom their father was doatingly fond. At last the ladies +took lessons in Italian of the priest, a language in which he was +said to be a grand proficient, and of which they had hitherto +known but very little; and from that time his influence over +them, and consequently over the old governor, increased, till the +tables were turned, and he no longer curried favour with them, +but they with him—yes, as true as my leg aches, the young +ladies curried, and the old governor curried favour with that +same priest; when he was with them, they seemed almost to hang on +his lips, that is, the young ladies; and as for the old governor, +he never contradicted him, and when the fellow was absent, which, +by the bye, was not often, it was, ‘Father so-and-so said +this, and Father so-and-so said that; Father so-and-so thinks we +should do so-and-so, or that we should not do +so-and-so.’ I at first thought that he must have +given them something, some philtre or the like; but one of the +English maid-servants, who had a kind of respect for me, and who +saw much more behind the scenes than I did, informed me that he +was continually instilling strange notions into their heads, +striving, by every possible method, <!-- page 412--><a +name="page412"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 412</span>to make +them despise the religion of their own land, and take up that of +the foreign country in which they were. And sure enough, in +a little time, the girls had altogether left off going to an +English chapel, and were continually visiting places of Italian +worship. The old governor, it is true, still went to his +church, but he appeared to be hesitating between two opinions; +and once, when he was at dinner, he said to two or three English +friends, that since he had become better acquainted with it, he +had conceived a much more favourable opinion of the Catholic +religion than he had previously entertained. In a word, the +priest ruled the house, and everything was done according to his +will and pleasure; by degrees he persuaded the young ladies to +drop their English acquaintances, whose place he supplied with +Italians, chiefly females. My poor old governor would not +have had a person to speak to—for he never could learn the +language—but for two or three Englishmen who used to come +occasionally and take a bottle with him in a summer-house, whose +company he could not be persuaded to resign, notwithstanding the +entreaties of his daughters, instigated by the priest, whose +grand endeavour seemed to be to render the minds of all three +foolish, for his own ends. And if he was busy above stairs +with the governor, there was another busy below with us poor +English servants, a kind of subordinate priest, a low Italian; as +he could speak no language but his own, he was continually +jabbering to us in that, and by hearing him the maids and myself +contrived to pick up a good deal of the language, so that we +understood most that was said, and could speak it very fairly; +and the themes of his jabber were the <!-- page 413--><a +name="page413"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 413</span>beauty and +virtues of one whom he called Holy Mary, and the power and +grandeur of one whom he called the Holy Father; and he told us +that we should shortly have an opportunity of seeing the Holy +Father, who could do anything he liked with Holy Mary: in the +meantime we had plenty of opportunities of seeing Holy Mary, for +in every church, chapel, and convent to which we were taken, +there was an image of Holy Mary, who, if the images were dressed +at all in her fashion, must have been very fond of short +petticoats and tinsel, and who, if those said figures at all +resembled her in face, could scarcely have been half as handsome +as either of my two fellow-servants, not to speak of the young +ladies.</p> +<p>“Now it happened that one of the female servants was +much taken with what she saw and heard, and gave herself up +entirely to the will of the subordinate, who had quite as much +dominion over her as his superior had over the ladies; the other +maid, however, the one who had a kind of respect for me, was not +so easily besotted; she used to laugh at what she saw, and at +what the fellow told her, and from her I learnt that amongst +other things intended by these priestly confederates was robbery; +she said that the poor old governor had already been persuaded by +his daughters to put more than a thousand pounds into the +superior priest’s hands for purposes of charity and +religion, as was said, and that the subordinate one had already +inveigled her fellow-servant out of every penny which she had +saved from her wages, and had endeavoured likewise to obtain what +money she herself had, but in vain. With respect to myself, +the fellow shortly after made an attempt towards <!-- page +414--><a name="page414"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +414</span>obtaining a hundred crowns, of which, by some means, he +knew me to be in possession, telling me what a meritorious thing +it was to give one’s superfluities for the purposes of +religion. ‘That is true,’ said I, ‘and +if, after my return to my native country, I find I have anything +which I don’t want myself, I will employ it in helping to +build a Methodist chapel.’</p> +<p>“By the time that the three months were expired for +which we had hired the palace of the needy Prince, the old +governor began to talk of returning to England, at least of +leaving Italy. I believe he had become frightened at the +calls which were continually being made upon him for money; for +after all, you know, if there is a sensitive part of a +man’s wearing apparel, it is his breeches pocket; but the +young ladies could not think of leaving dear Italy and the dear +priest; and then they had seen nothing of the country, they had +only seen Naples; before leaving dear Italia they must see more +of the country and the cities; above all, they must see a place +which they called the Eternal City, or some similar nonsensical +name; and they persisted so that the poor governor permitted +them, as usual, to have their way; and it was decided what route +they should take—that is, the priest was kind enough to +decide for them, and was also kind enough to promise to go with +them part of the route, as far as a place where there was a +wonderful figure of Holy Mary, which the priest said it was +highly necessary for them to see before visiting the Eternal +City: so we left Naples in hired carriages, driven by fellows +they call veturini, cheating drunken dogs I remember they +were. Besides our own family <!-- page 415--><a +name="page415"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 415</span>there was +the priest and his subordinate, and a couple of hired +lackeys. We were several days upon the journey, travelling +through a very wild country, which the ladies pretended to be +delighted with, and which the governor cursed on account of the +badness of the roads; and when we came to any particularly wild +spot we used to stop, in order to enjoy the scenery, as the +ladies said; and then we would spread a horse-cloth on the +ground, and eat bread and cheese, and drink wine of the +country. And some of the holes and corners in which we +bivouacked, as the ladies called it, were something like this +place where we are now, so that when I came down here it put me +in mind of them. At last we arrived at the place where was +the holy image.</p> +<p>“We went to the house or chapel in which the holy image +was kept—a frightful ugly black figure of Holy Mary, +dressed in her usual way; and after we had stared at the figure, +and some of our party had bowed down to it, we were shown a great +many things which were called holy relics, which consisted of +thumb-nails, and fore-nails, and toe-nails, and hair and teeth, +and a feather or two, and a mighty thigh-bone, but whether of a +man or a camel, I can’t say; all of which things, I was +told, if properly touched and handled, had mighty power to cure +all kinds of disorders. And as we went from the holy house, +we saw a man in a state of great excitement: he was foaming at +the mouth, and cursing the holy image and all its household, +because, after he had worshipped it and made offerings to it, and +besought it to assist him in a game of chance which he was about +to play, it had left him in the lurch, allowing him to lose all +his <!-- page 416--><a name="page416"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 416</span>money. And when I thought of +all the rubbish I had seen, and the purposes which it was applied +to, in conjunction with the rage of the losing gamester at the +deaf and dumb image, I could not help comparing the whole with +what my poor brother used to tell me of the superstitious +practices of the blacks on the high Barbary shore, and their +occasional rage and fury at the things they worshipped; and I +said to myself, if all this here doesn’t smell of fetish +may I smell fetid.</p> +<p>“At this place the priest left us, returning to Naples +with his subordinate, on some particular business I +suppose. It was, however, agreed that he should visit us at +the Holy City. We did not go direct to the Holy City, but +bent our course to two or three other cities which the family +were desirous of seeing; but as nothing occurred to us in these +places of any particular interest, I shall take the liberty of +passing them by in silence. At length we arrived at the +Eternal City: an immense city it was, looking as if it had stood +for a long time, and would stand for a long time still; compared +with it, London would look like a mere assemblage of bee-skeps; +however, give me the bee-skeps with their merry hum and bustle, +and life and honey, rather than that huge town, which looked like +a sepulchre, where there was no life, no busy hum, no bees, but a +scanty sallow population, intermixed with black priests, white +priests, grey priests; and though I don’t say there was no +honey in the place, for I believe there was, I am ready to take +my Bible oath that it was not made there, and that the priests +kept it all for themselves.”</p> +<h2><!-- page 417--><a name="page417"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 417</span>CHAPTER XCIX</h2> +<p>A Cloister—Half English—New +Acquaintance—Mixed Liquors—Turning +Papist—Purposes of Charity—Foreign +Religion—Melancholy—Elbowing and +Pushing—Outlandish Sight—The Figure—I +Don’t Care for You—Merry Andrews—One +Good—Religion of My Country—Fellow of Spirit—A +Dispute—The Next Morning—Female Doll—Proper +Dignity—Fetish Country.</p> +<p>“The day after our arrival,” continued the +postillion, “I was sent, under the guidance of a lackey of +the place, with a letter, which the priest, when he left, had +given us for a friend of his in the Eternal City. We went +to a large house, and on ringing were admitted by a porter into a +cloister, where I saw some ill-looking, shabby young fellows +walking about, who spoke English to one another. To one of +these the porter delivered the letter, and the young fellow going +away, presently returned and told me to follow him; he led me +into a large room, where, behind a table, on which were various +papers, and a thing which they call, in that country, a crucifix, +sat a man in a kind of priestly dress. The lad having +opened the door for me, shut it behind me, and went away. +The man behind the table was so engaged in reading the letter +which I had brought, that at first he took no notice of me; <!-- +page 418--><a name="page418"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +418</span>he had red hair, a kind of half-English countenance, +and was seemingly about five-and-thirty. After a little +time he laid the letter down, appeared to consider a moment, and +then opened his mouth with a strange laugh, not a loud laugh, for +I heard nothing but a kind of hissing deep down the throat; all +of a sudden, however, perceiving me, he gave a slight start, but +instantly recovering himself, he inquired in English concerning +the health of the family, and where we lived: on my delivering +him a card, he bade me inform my master and the ladies that in +the course of the day he would do himself the honour of waiting +upon them. He then arose and opened the door for me to +depart.” The man was perfectly civil and courteous, +but I did not like that strange laugh of his, after having read +the letter. He was as good as his word, and that same day +paid us a visit. It was now arranged that we should pass +the winter in Rome—to my great annoyance, for I wished to +return to my native land, being heartily tired of everything +connected with Italy. I was not, however, without hope that +our young master would shortly arrive, when I trusted that +matters, as far as the family were concerned, would be put on a +better footing. In a few days our new acquaintance, who, it +seems, was a mongrel Englishman, had procured a house for our +accommodation; it was large enough, but not near so pleasant as +that we had at Naples, which was light and airy, with a large +garden. This was a dark, gloomy structure in a narrow +street, with a frowning church beside it; it was not far from the +place where our new friend lived, and its being so was probably +the reason why he <!-- page 419--><a name="page419"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 419</span>selected it. It was furnished +partly with articles which we bought, and partly with those which +we hired. We lived something in the same way as at Naples; +but though I did not much like Naples, I yet liked it better than +this place, which was so gloomy. Our new acquaintance made +himself as agreeable as he could, conducting the ladies to +churches and convents, and frequently passing the afternoon +drinking with the governor, who was fond of a glass of brandy and +water and a cigar, as the new acquaintance also was—no, I +remember, he was fond of gin and water, and did not smoke. +I don’t think he had so much influence over the young +ladies as the other priest, which was, perhaps, owing to his not +being so good-looking; but I am sure he had more influence with +the governor, owing, doubtless, to his bearing him company in +drinking mixed liquors, which the other priest did not do.</p> +<p>“He was a strange fellow, that same new acquaintance of +ours, and unlike all the priests I saw in that country, and I saw +plenty of various nations:—they were always upon their +guard, and had their features and voice modulated; but this man +was subject to fits of absence, during which he would frequently +mutter to himself; then, though he was perfectly civil to +everybody, as far as words went, I observed that he entertained a +thorough contempt for most people, especially for those whom he +was making dupes. I have observed him whilst drinking with +our governor, when the old man’s head was turned, look at +him with an air which seemed to say, ‘What a thundering old +fool you are!’ and at our young ladies, when their backs +were turned, with a glance which <!-- page 420--><a +name="page420"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 420</span>said +distinctly enough, ‘You precious pair of +ninny-hammers!’ and then his laugh—he had two kinds +of laughs—one which you could hear, and another which you +could only see. I have seen him laugh at our governor and +the young ladies, when their heads were turned away, but I heard +no sound. My mother had a sandy cat, which sometimes used +to open its mouth wide with a mew which nobody could hear, and +the silent laugh of that red-haired priest used to put me +wonderfully in mind of the silent mew of my mother’s +sandy-red cat. And then the other laugh, which you could +hear; what a strange laugh that was, never loud, yes, I have +heard it tolerably loud. He once passed near me, after +having taken leave of a silly English fellow—a limping +parson of the name of Platitude, who, they said, was thinking of +turning Papist, and was much in his company; I was standing +behind the pillar of a piazza, and as he passed he was laughing +heartily. Oh, he was a strange fellow, that same red-haired +acquaintance of ours!</p> +<p>“After we had been at Rome about six weeks, our old +friend the priest of Naples arrived, but without his subordinate, +for whose services he now perhaps thought that he had no +occasion. I believe he found matters in our family wearing +almost as favourable an aspect as he could desire: with what he +had previously taught them and shown them at Naples and +elsewhere, and with what the red-haired confederate had taught +them and shown them at Rome, the poor young ladies had become +quite hand-maids of superstition, so that they, especially the +youngest, were prepared to bow down to anything, and kiss +anything, however vile and ugly, provided a priest commanded +them; and <!-- page 421--><a name="page421"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 421</span>as for the old governor, what with +the influence which his daughters exerted, and what with the +ascendency which the red-haired man had obtained over him, he +dared not say his purse, far less his soul, was his own. +Only think of an Englishman not being master of his own +purse! My acquaintance, the lady’s maid, assured me +that, to her certain knowledge, he had disbursed to the +red-haired man, for purposes of charity, as it was said, at least +one thousand pounds during the five weeks we had been at +Rome. She also told me that things would shortly be brought +to a conclusion—and so indeed they were, though in a +different manner from what she and I and some other people +imagined; that there was to be a grand festival, and a mass, at +which we were to be present, after which the family were to be +presented to the Holy Father, for so those two priestly sharks +had managed it; and then . . . she said she was certain that the +two ladies, and perhaps the old governor, would forsake the +religion of their native land, taking up with that of these +foreign regions, for so my fellow-servant expressed it, and that +perhaps attempts might be made to induce us poor English servants +to take up with the foreign religion, that is herself and me, for +as for our fellow-servant, the other maid, she wanted no +inducing, being disposed body and soul to go over to it. +Whereupon, I swore with an oath that nothing should induce me to +take up with the foreign religion; and the poor maid, my +fellow-servant, bursting into tears, said that for her part she +would sooner die than have anything to do with it; thereupon we +shook hands and agreed to stand by and countenance one another: +and moreover, <!-- page 422--><a name="page422"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 422</span>provided our governors were fools +enough to go over to the religion of these here foreigners, we +would not wait to be asked to do the like, but leave them at +once, and make the best of our way home, even if we were forced +to beg on the road.</p> +<p>“At last the day of the grand festival came, and we were +all to go to the big church to hear the mass. Now it +happened that for some time past I had been much afflicted with +melancholy, especially when I got up of a morning, produced by +the strange manner in which I saw things going on in our family; +and to dispel it in some degree, I had been in the habit of +taking a dram before breakfast. On the morning in question, +feeling particularly low-spirited when I thought of the foolish +step our governor would probably take before evening, I took two +drams before breakfast; and after breakfast, feeling my +melancholy still continuing, I took another, which produced a +slight effect upon my head, though I am convinced nobody observed +it.</p> +<p>“Away we drove to the big church; it was a dark, misty +day, I remember, and very cold, so that if anybody had noticed my +being slightly in liquor, I could have excused myself by saying +that I had merely taken a glass to fortify my constitution +against the weather; and of one thing I am certain, which is, +that such an excuse would have stood me in stead with our +governor, who looked, I thought, as if he had taken one too; but +I may be mistaken, and why should I notice him, seeing that he +took no notice of me: so away we drove to the big church, to +which all the population of the place appeared to be moving.</p> +<p>“On arriving there we dismounted, and the <!-- page +423--><a name="page423"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +423</span>two priests, who were with us, led the family in, +whilst I followed at a little distance, but quickly lost them +amidst the throng of people. I made my way, however, though +in what direction I knew not, except it was one in which +everybody seemed striving, and by dint of elbowing and pushing I +at last got to a place which looked like the aisle of a +cathedral, where the people stood in two rows, a space between +being kept open by certain strangely-dressed men who moved up and +down with rods in their hands; all were looking to the upper end +of this place or aisle; and at the upper end, separated from the +people by palings like those of an altar, sat in +magnificent-looking stalls, on the right and the left, various +wonderful-looking individuals in scarlet dresses. At the +farther end was what appeared to be an altar, on the left hand +was a pulpit, and on the right a stall higher than any of the +rest, where was a figure whom I could scarcely see.</p> +<p>“I can’t pretend to describe what I saw exactly, +for my head, which was at first rather flurried, had become more +so from the efforts which I had made to get through the crowd; +also from certain singing, which proceeded from I know not where; +and, above all, from the bursts of an organ, which were +occasionally so loud that I thought the roof, which was painted +with wondrous colours, would come toppling down on those +below. So there stood I—a poor English +servant—in that outlandish place, in the midst of that +foreign crowd, looking at that outlandish sight, hearing those +outlandish sounds, and occasionally glancing at our party, which, +by this time, I distinguished at the opposite side to where I +stood, but much nearer <!-- page 424--><a +name="page424"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 424</span>the place +where the red figures sat. Yes, there stood our poor +governor, and the sweet young ladies, and I thought they never +looked so handsome before; and close by them were the sharking +priests, and not far from them was that idiotical parson +Platitude, winking and grinning, and occasionally lifting up his +hands as if in ecstasy at what he saw and heard, so that he drew +upon himself the notice of the congregation.</p> +<p>“And now an individual mounted the pulpit, and began to +preach in a language which I did not understand, but which I +believe to be Latin, addressing himself seemingly to the figure +in the stall; and when he had ceased, there was more singing, +more organ-playing, and then two men in robes brought forth two +things which they held up; and then the people bowed their heads, +and our poor governor bowed his head, and the sweet young ladies +bowed their heads, and the sharking priests, whilst the idiotical +parson Platitude tried to fling himself down; and then there were +various evolutions withinside the pale, and the scarlet figures +got up and sat down; and this kind of thing continued for some +time. At length the figure which I had seen in the +principal stall came forth and advanced towards the people; an +awful figure he was, a huge old man with a sugar-loaf hat, with a +sulphur-coloured dress, and holding a crook in his hand like that +of a shepherd; and as he advanced the people fell on their knees, +our poor old governor amongst them; the sweet young ladies, the +sharking priests, the idiotical parson Platitude, all fell on +their knees, and somebody or other tried to pull me on my knees; +but by this time I had become outrageous; all that my <!-- page +425--><a name="page425"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +425</span>poor brother used to tell me of the superstitions of +the high Barbary shore rushed into my mind, and I thought they +were acting them over here; above all, the idea that the sweet +young ladies, to say nothing of my poor old governor, were, after +the conclusion of all this mummery, going to deliver themselves +up body and soul into the power of that horrid-looking old man, +maddened me, and, rushing forward into the open space, I +confronted the horrible-looking old figure with the sugar-loaf +hat, the sulphur-coloured garments, and shepherd’s crook, +and shaking my fist at his nose, I bellowed out in +English—</p> +<p>“‘I don’t care for you, old Mumbo Jumbo, +though you have fetish!’</p> +<p>“I can scarcely tell you what occurred for some +time. I have a dim recollection that hands were laid upon +me, and that I struck out violently left and right. On +coming to myself, I was seated on a stone bench in a large room, +something like a guard-room, in the custody of certain fellows +dressed like Merry Andrews; they were bluff, good-looking, +wholesome fellows, very different from the sallow Italians; they +were looking at me attentively, and occasionally talking to each +other in a language which sounded very like the cracking of +walnuts in the mouth, very different from cooing Italian. +At last one of them asked me in Italian what had ailed me, to +which I replied, in an incoherent manner, something about Mumbo +Jumbo; whereupon the fellow, one of the bluffest of the lot, a +jovial, rosy-faced rascal, lifted up his right hand, placing it +in such a manner that the lips were between the forefinger and +thumb, then lifting up his right foot and drawing back his <!-- +page 426--><a name="page426"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +426</span>head, he sucked in his breath with a hissing sound, as +if to imitate one drinking a hearty draught, and then slapped me +on the shoulder, saying something which sounded like goot wine, +goot companion, whereupon they all laughed, exclaiming, ya, ya, +goot companion. And now hurried into the room our poor old +governor, with the red-haired priest. The first asked what +could have induced me to behave in such a manner in such a place, +to which I replied that I was not going to bow down to Mumbo +Jumbo, whatever other people might do. Whereupon my master +said he believed I was mad, and the priest said he believed I was +drunk; to which I answered that I was neither so mad nor drunk +but I could distinguish how the wind lay. Whereupon they +left me, and in a little time I was told by the bluff-looking +Merry Andrews I was at liberty to depart. I believe the +priest, in order to please my governor, interceded for me in high +quarters.</p> +<p>“But one good resulted from this affair; there was no +presentation of our family to the Holy Father, for old Mumbo was +so frightened by my outrageous looks that he was laid up for a +week, as I was afterwards informed.</p> +<p>“I went home, and had scarcely been there half an hour +when I was sent for by the governor, who again referred to the +scene in church, said that he could not tolerate such scandalous +behaviour, and that unless I promised to be more circumspect in +future he should be compelled to discharge me. I said that +if he was scandalised at my behaviour in the church, I was more +scandalised at all I saw going on in the family, which was +governed by two rascally priests, who, <!-- page 427--><a +name="page427"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 427</span>not content +with plundering him, appeared bent on hurrying the souls of us +all to destruction; and that with respect to discharging me, he +could do so that moment, as I wished to go. I believe his +own reason told him that I was right, for he made no direct +answer, but, after looking on the ground for some time, he told +me to leave him. As he did not tell me to leave the house, +I went to my room, intending to lie down for an hour or two; but +scarcely was I there when the door opened, and in came the +red-haired priest. He showed himself, as he always did, +perfectly civil, asked me how I was, took a chair and sat +down. After a hem or two he entered into a long +conversation on the excellence of what he called the Catholic +religion; told me that he hoped I would not set myself against +the light, and likewise against my interest; for that the family +were about to embrace the Catholic religion, and would make it +worth my while to follow their example. I told him that the +family might do what they pleased, but that I would never forsake +the religion of my country for any consideration whatever; that I +was nothing but a poor servant, but I was not to be bought by +base gold. ‘I admire your honourable feelings,’ +said he; ‘you shall have no gold; and as I see you are a +fellow of spirit, and do not like being a servant, for which I +commend you, I can promise you something better. I have a +good deal of influence in this place, and if you will not set +your face against the light, but embrace the Catholic religion, I +will undertake to make your fortune. You remember those +fine fellows to-day who took you into custody? they are the +guards of his Holiness. I have no doubt that <!-- page +428--><a name="page428"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 428</span>I +have interest enough to procure your enrolment amongst +them.’ ‘What,’ said I, ‘become +swash-buckler to Mumbo Jumbo up here! May +I—’—and here I swore—‘if I +do. The mere possibility of one of their children being +swash-buckler to Mumbo Jumbo on the high Barbary shore has always +been a source of heart-breaking to my poor parents. What, +then, would they not undergo, if they knew for certain that their +other child was swash-buckler to Mumbo Jumbo up +here?’ Thereupon he asked me, even as you did some +time ago, what I meant by Mumbo Jumbo? And I told him all I +had heard about the Mumbo Jumbo of the high Barbary shore; +telling him that I had no doubt that the old fellow up here was +his brother, or nearly related to him. The man with the red +hair listened with the greatest attention to all I said, and when +I had concluded, he got up, nodded to me, and moved to the door; +ere he reached the door I saw his shoulders shaking, and as he +closed it behind him I heard him distinctly laughing, to the tune +of—he! he! he!</p> +<p>“But now matters began to mend. That same evening +my young master unexpectedly arrived. I believe he soon +perceived that something extraordinary had been going on in the +family. He was for some time closeted with the governor, +with whom, I believe, he had a dispute; for my fellow-servant, +the lady’s maid, informed me that she heard high words.</p> +<p>“Rather late at night the young gentleman sent for me +into his room, and asked me various questions with respect to +what had been going on, and my behaviour in the church, of which +he <!-- page 429--><a name="page429"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +429</span>had heard something. I told him all I knew with +respect to the intrigues of the two priests in the family, and +gave him a circumstantial account of all that had occurred in the +church; adding that, under similar circumstances, I was ready to +play the same part over again. Instead of blaming me, he +commended my behaviour, told me I was a fine fellow, and said he +hoped that, if he wanted my assistance, I would stand by him: +this I promised to do. Before I left him, he entreated me +to inform him the very next time I saw the priests entering the +house.</p> +<p>“The next morning, as I was in the court-yard, where I +had placed myself to watch, I saw the two enter and make their +way up a private stair to the young ladies’ apartment; they +were attended by a man dressed something like a priest, who bore +a large box; I instantly ran to relate what I had seen to my +young master. I found him shaving. ‘I will just +finish what I am about,’ said he, ‘and then wait upon +these gentlemen.’ He finished what he was about with +great deliberation; then taking a horsewhip, and bidding me +follow him, he proceeded at once to the door of his +sisters’ apartment: finding it fastened, he burst it open +at once with his foot and entered, followed by myself. +There we beheld the two unfortunate young ladies down on their +knees before a large female doll, dressed up, as usual, in rags +and tinsel; the two priests were standing near, one on either +side, with their hands uplifted, whilst the fellow who brought +the trumpery stood a little way down the private stair, the door +of which stood open; without a moment’s hesitation, my +young master rushed forward, gave the image a cut or two with his +horsewhip—then <!-- page 430--><a name="page430"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 430</span>flying at the priests, he gave them +a sound flogging, kicked them down the private stair, and spurned +the man, box and image after them—then locking the door, he +gave his sisters a fine sermon, in which he represented to them +their folly in worshipping a silly wooden graven image, which, +though it had eyes, could see not; though it had ears, could hear +not; though it had hands, could not help itself; and though it +had feet, could not move about unless it were carried. Oh, +it was a fine sermon that my young master preached, and sorry I +am that the Father of the fetish, old Mumbo, did not hear +it. The elder sister looked ashamed, but the youngest, who +was very weak, did nothing but wring her hands, weep and bewail +the injury which had been done to the dear image. The young +man, however, without paying much regard to either of them, went +to his father, with whom he had a long conversation, which +terminated in the old governor giving orders for preparations to +be made for the family’s leaving Rome and returning to +England. I believe that the old governor was glad of his +son’s arrival, and rejoiced at the idea of getting away +from Italy, where he had been so plundered and imposed +upon. The priests, however, made another attempt upon the +poor young ladies. By the connivance of the female servant +who was in their interest they found their way once more into +their apartment, bringing with them the fetish image, whose body +they partly stripped, exhibiting upon it certain sanguine marks +which they had daubed upon it with red paint, but which they said +were the result of the lashes which it had received from the +horsewhip. The youngest girl believed all they said, and +kissed and embraced the <!-- page 431--><a +name="page431"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 431</span>dear image; +but the eldest, whose eyes had been opened by her brother, to +whom she was much attached, behaved with proper dignity; for, +going to the door, she called the female servant who had a +respect for me, and in her presence reproached the two deceivers +for their various impudent cheats, and especially for this their +last attempt at imposition; adding, that if they did not +forthwith withdraw and rid her sister and herself of their +presence, she would send word by her maid to her brother, who +would presently take effectual means to expel them. They +took the hint and departed, and we saw no more of them.</p> +<p>“At the end of three days we departed from Rome, but the +maid whom the priests had cajoled remained behind, and it is +probable that the youngest of our ladies would have done the same +thing if she could have had her own will, for she was continually +raving about her image, and saying she should wish to live with +it in a convent; but we watched the poor thing, and got her on +board ship. Oh, glad was I to leave that fetish country and +old Mumbo behind me!”</p> +<h2><!-- page 432--><a name="page432"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 432</span>CHAPTER C</h2> +<p>Nothing but Gloom—Sporting Character—Gouty +Tory—Servants’ Club—Politics—Reformado +Footman—Peroration—Good Night.</p> +<p>“We arrived in England, and went to our country seat, +but the peace and tranquillity of the family had been marred, and +I no longer found my place the pleasant one which it had formerly +been; there was nothing but gloom in the house, for the youngest +daughter exhibited signs of lunacy, and was obliged to be kept +under confinement. The next season I attended my master, +his son, and eldest daughter to London, as I had previously +done. There I left them, for hearing that a young baronet, +an acquaintance of the family, wanted a servant, I applied for +the place, with the consent of my masters, both of whom gave me a +strong recommendation; and, being approved of, I went to live +with him.</p> +<p>“My new master was what is called a sporting character, +very fond of the turf, upon which he was not very +fortunate. He was frequently very much in want of money, +and my wages were anything but regularly paid; nevertheless, I +liked him very much, for he treated me more like a friend than a +domestic, continually consulting me as to his affairs. At +length he was brought nearly to his <!-- page 433--><a +name="page433"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 433</span>last +shifts, by backing the favourite at the Derby, which favourite +turned out a regular brute, being found nowhere at the +rush. Whereupon, he and I had a solemn consultation over +fourteen glasses of brandy and water, and as many cigars—I +mean, between us—as to what was to be done. He wished +to start a coach, in which event he was to be driver, and I +guard. He was quite competent to drive a coach, being a +first-rate whip, and I dare say I should have made a first-rate +guard; but, to start a coach requires money, and we neither of us +believed that anybody would trust us with vehicles and horses, so +that idea was laid aside. We then debated as to whether or +not he should go into the Church; but to go into the +Church—at any rate to become a dean or bishop, which would +have been our aim—it is necessary for a man to possess some +education; and my master, although he had been at the best school +in England, that is, the most expensive, and also at College, was +almost totally illiterate, so we let the Church scheme follow +that of the coach. At last, bethinking me that he was +tolerably glib at the tongue, as most people are who are addicted +to the turf, also a great master of slang; remembering also that +he had a crabbed old uncle who had some borough interest, I +proposed that he should get into the House, promising in one +fortnight to qualify him to make a figure in it, by certain +lessons which I would give him. He consented; and during +the next fortnight I did little else than give him lessons in +elocution, following to a tittle the method of the great +professor, which I had picked up, listening behind the +door. At the end of that period, we paid a <!-- page +434--><a name="page434"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +434</span>visit to his relation, an old gouty Tory, who, at +first, received us very coolly. My master, however, by +flattering a predilection of his for Billy Pitt, soon won his +affections so much, that he promised to bring him into +Parliament; and in less than a month was as good as his +word. My master, partly by his own qualifications, and +partly by the assistance which he had derived, and still +occasionally derived from me, cut a wonderful figure in the +House, and was speedily considered one of the most promising +speakers; he was always a good hand at promising—he is at +present, I believe, a Cabinet Minister.</p> +<p>“But as he got up in the world he began to look down on +me. I believe he was ashamed of the obligation under which +he lay to me; and at last, requiring no farther hints as to +oratory from a poor servant like me, he took an opportunity of +quarrelling with me and discharging me. However, as he had +still some grace, he recommended me to a gentleman with whom, +since he had attached himself to politics, he had formed an +acquaintance, the editor of a grand Tory Review. I lost +caste terribly amongst the servants for entering the service of a +person connected with a profession so mean as literature; and it +was proposed at the Servants’ Club, in Park Lane, to eject +me from that society. The proposition, however, was not +carried into effect, and I was permitted to show myself among +them, though few condescended to take much notice of me. My +master was one of the best men in the world, but also one of the +most sensitive. On his veracity being impugned by the +editor of a newspaper, he called him out, and shot him through +<!-- page 435--><a name="page435"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +435</span>the arm. Though servants are seldom admirers of +their masters, I was a great admirer of mine, and eager to follow +his example. The day after the encounter, on my veracity +being impugned by the servant of Lord C--- in something I said in +praise of my master, I determined to call him out; so I went into +another room and wrote a challenge. But whom should I send +it by? Several servants to whom I applied refused to be the +bearers of it; they said I had lost caste, and they could not +think of going out with me. At length the servant of the +Duke of B--- consented to take it; but he made me to understand +that, though he went out with me, he did so merely because he +despised the Whiggish principles of Lord C---’s servant, +and that if I thought he intended to associate with me I should +be mistaken. Politics, I must tell you, at that time ran as +high amongst the servants as the gentlemen, the servants, +however, being almost invariably opposed to the politics of their +respective masters, though both parties agreed in one point, the +scouting of everything low and literary, though I think, of the +two, the liberal or reform party were the most inveterate. +So he took my challenge, which was accepted; we went out, Lord +C---’s servant being seconded by a reformado footman from +the palace. We fired three times without effect; but this +affair lost me my place; my master on hearing it forthwith +discharged me; he was, as I have said before, very sensitive, and +he said this duel of mine was a parody of his own. Being, +however, one of the best men in the world, on his discharging me +he made me a donation of twenty pounds.</p> +<p><!-- page 436--><a name="page436"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +436</span>“And it was well that he made me this present, +for without it I should have been penniless, having contracted +rather expensive habits during the time that I lived with the +young baronet. I now determined to visit my parents, whom I +had not seen for years. I found them in good health, and, +after staying with them for two months, I returned again in the +direction of town, walking, in order to see the country. On +the second day of my journey, not being used to such fatigue, I +fell ill at an inn on the Great North Road, and there I continued +for some weeks till I recovered, but by that time my money was +entirely spent. By living at the inn I had contracted an +acquaintance with the master and the people, and become +accustomed to inn life. As I thought that I might find some +difficulty in procuring any desirable situation in London, owing +to my late connection with literature, I determined to remain +where I was, provided my services would be accepted. I +offered them to the master, who, finding I knew something of +horses, engaged me as a postillion. I have remained there +since. You have now heard my story.</p> +<p>“Stay, you shan’t say that I told my tale without +a per—peroration. What shall it be? Oh, I +remember something which will serve for one! As I was +driving my chaise some weeks ago; I saw standing at the gate of +an avenue, which led up to an old mansion, a figure which I +thought I recognised. I looked at it attentively, and the +figure, as I passed, looked at me; whether it remembered me I do +not know, but I recognised the face it showed me full well.</p> +<p><!-- page 437--><a name="page437"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +437</span>“If it was not the identical face of the +red-haired priest whom I had seen at Rome, may I catch cold!</p> +<p>“Young gentleman, I will now take a spell on your +blanket—young lady, good night.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">the end</span>. +<a name="citation437"></a><a href="#footnote437" +class="citation">[437]</a></p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22" +class="footnote">[22]</a> Greenwich.</p> +<p><a name="footnote27a"></a><a href="#citation27a" +class="footnote">[27a]</a> Cf. French <i>chaperon</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote27b"></a><a href="#citation27b" +class="footnote">[27b]</a> The Gentile’s coming.</p> +<p><a name="footnote27c"></a><a href="#citation27c" +class="footnote">[27c]</a> Gypsy fellows.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33" +class="footnote">[33]</a> Hearken, thimbla,<br /> +Comes a Gentile.</p> +<p><a name="footnote35a"></a><a href="#citation35a" +class="footnote">[35a]</a> A meaningless verse.</p> +<p><a name="footnote35b"></a><a href="#citation35b" +class="footnote">[35b]</a> Rather, <i>Okki tiro +piomus</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote36"></a><a href="#citation36" +class="footnote">[36]</a> Books.</p> +<p><a name="footnote37"></a><a href="#citation37" +class="footnote">[37]</a> <i>Tátchi +rómadi</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote38"></a><a href="#citation38" +class="footnote">[38]</a> Great City.</p> +<p><a name="footnote39a"></a><a href="#citation39a" +class="footnote">[39a]</a> Meant for “ghost,” +but not real Anglo-Romany.</p> +<p><a name="footnote39b"></a><a href="#citation39b" +class="footnote">[39b]</a> <i>Jerry</i> Abershaw (<i>c.</i> +1773-95), a highwayman who haunted Wimbledon Common, and was +hanged on Kennington Common for shooting a constable.</p> +<p><a name="footnote43a"></a><a href="#citation43a" +class="footnote">[43a]</a> Thomas Blood (<i>c.</i> +1618-80). See T. Seccombe’s <i>Lives of Twelve Bad +Men</i> (1894).</p> +<p><a name="footnote43b"></a><a href="#citation43b" +class="footnote">[43b]</a> In December 1670.</p> +<p><a name="footnote63"></a><a href="#citation63" +class="footnote">[63]</a> ?Amesbury.</p> +<p><a name="footnote65"></a><a href="#citation65" +class="footnote">[65]</a> The Avon.</p> +<p><a name="footnote72a"></a><a href="#citation72a" +class="footnote">[72a]</a> The so-called (by Stukeley) +“Vespasian’s Ramparts.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote72b"></a><a href="#citation72b" +class="footnote">[72b]</a> Salisbury.</p> +<p><a name="footnote87"></a><a href="#citation87" +class="footnote">[87]</a> This practice is not so +uncommon. Dr. Johnson had a very similar habit in his +“sort of magical movement” (Life by Boswell, end of +year 1764); and a member of my own college at Oxford, nearly +thirty years ago, touched just like the man in +<i>Lavengro</i>. Once in the Schools he remembered he had +passed by a pebble which he had noticed in the High Street: he +tore up his papers, and went and picked up the pebble.</p> +<p><a name="footnote88"></a><a href="#citation88" +class="footnote">[88]</a> Mr. William Bodham Donne, the +examiner of plays 1857-74, was told by Borrow himself that this +“Man who Touched” was drawn from the author of +<i>Vathek</i>, William Beckford (1760-1844). There are +difficulties in the way of accepting this statement, among them +that Beckford had quitted Fonthill for Bath in 1822, three years +before Borrow went a-gypsying. Still, I believe there is +something in it.</p> +<p><a name="footnote114"></a><a href="#citation114" +class="footnote">[114]</a> A thing done oftener in books +than in reality.</p> +<p><a name="footnote121"></a><a href="#citation121" +class="footnote">[121]</a> Richard Hurrell Froude in a +letter of 1831 brands Dissenters as “the promoters of +damnable heresy.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote139"></a><a href="#citation139" +class="footnote">[139]</a> A branch of the great Gypsy +family of Boswell have contracted the surname to Boss.</p> +<p><a name="footnote142"></a><a href="#citation142" +class="footnote">[142]</a> At Tamworth in May 1812 (Knapp, +i. 105).</p> +<p><a name="footnote156"></a><a href="#citation156" +class="footnote">[156]</a> The Gypsy lass<br /> +And the Gypsy lad<br /> +Shall go to-morrow<br /> +To poison the pig<br /> +And bewitch the horse<br /> +Of the farmer gentleman.</p> +<p><a name="footnote160"></a><a href="#citation160" +class="footnote">[160]</a> The Gypsy lass<br /> +And the Gypsy lad<br /> +Love stealing<br /> +And fortune-telling,<br /> +And lying,<br /> +And every <i>-pen</i><br /> +But goodness<br /> +And truth.</p> +<p><a name="footnote161"></a><a href="#citation161" +class="footnote">[161]</a> Dog. Better, +<i>júkel</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote165a"></a><a href="#citation165a" +class="footnote">[165a]</a> By my God; not +Anglo-Romany.</p> +<p><a name="footnote165b"></a><a href="#citation165b" +class="footnote">[165b]</a> Coppersmith.</p> +<p><a name="footnote167"></a><a href="#citation167" +class="footnote">[167]</a> Grand-aunt’s.</p> +<p><a name="footnote168"></a><a href="#citation168" +class="footnote">[168]</a> Cake.</p> +<p><a name="footnote169"></a><a href="#citation169" +class="footnote">[169]</a> Rod.</p> +<p><a name="footnote170"></a><a href="#citation170" +class="footnote">[170]</a> Aunt.</p> +<p><a name="footnote174a"></a><a href="#citation174a" +class="footnote">[174a]</a> Poisoned.</p> +<p><a name="footnote174b"></a><a href="#citation174b" +class="footnote">[174b]</a> Fortune-telling spirit. I +never met the English Gypsy that used <i>dook</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote177"></a><a href="#citation177" +class="footnote">[177]</a> Gentile’s coming.</p> +<p><a name="footnote188"></a><a href="#citation188" +class="footnote">[188]</a> In my <i>Gypsy Folk-Tales</i> +(1899, pp. 293-95) I have discussed with some fulness +Bunyan’s possible Gypsy ancestry. The most +interesting point is that in 1586 at Launceston a child was +baptized “Nicholas, sonne of James Bownian, an Egiptian +rogue.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote201"></a><a href="#citation201" +class="footnote">[201]</a> Ellis Wynn (<i>c.</i> +1671-1741). Borrow himself at last printed his translation +of <i>The Sleeping Bard</i> at Yarmouth in 1860, and himself next +year reviewed it in the <i>Quarterly</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote238"></a><a href="#citation238" +class="footnote">[238]</a> Rhys Prichard (1579-1644).</p> +<p><a name="footnote246"></a><a href="#citation246" +class="footnote">[246]</a> Hat of beaver.</p> +<p><a name="footnote247"></a><a href="#citation247" +class="footnote">[247]</a> Good day, brother.</p> +<p><a name="footnote249a"></a><a href="#citation249a" +class="footnote">[249a]</a> Seems meant for +“hang-woman,” but there is no such word.</p> +<p><a name="footnote249b"></a><a href="#citation249b" +class="footnote">[249b]</a> Gipsy-wise—an odd +form.</p> +<p><a name="footnote250a"></a><a href="#citation250a" +class="footnote">[250a]</a> Good old blood. Should be +<i>rat</i>, not <i>rati</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote250b"></a><a href="#citation250b" +class="footnote">[250b]</a> Horse.</p> +<p><a name="footnote251"></a><a href="#citation251" +class="footnote">[251]</a> Brother, comrade.</p> +<p><a name="footnote252a"></a><a href="#citation252a" +class="footnote">[252a]</a> Aunt.</p> +<p><a name="footnote252b"></a><a href="#citation252b" +class="footnote">[252b]</a> Poisoning pigs.</p> +<p><a name="footnote253a"></a><a href="#citation253a" +class="footnote">[253a]</a> Poisons; not Anglo-Romany.</p> +<p><a name="footnote253b"></a><a href="#citation253b" +class="footnote">[253b]</a> Better, <i>náshado</i>, +hanged.</p> +<p><a name="footnote254a"></a><a href="#citation254a" +class="footnote">[254a]</a> Magistrate.</p> +<p><a name="footnote254b"></a><a href="#citation254b" +class="footnote">[254b]</a> Runner, detective.</p> +<p><a name="footnote255a"></a><a href="#citation255a" +class="footnote">[255a]</a> Woman. Rightly +<i>júvel</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote255b"></a><a href="#citation255b" +class="footnote">[255b]</a> No such word.</p> +<p><a name="footnote256"></a><a href="#citation256" +class="footnote">[256]</a> Seemingly “gallows,” +but no such word.</p> +<p><a name="footnote257a"></a><a href="#citation257a" +class="footnote">[257a]</a> Gypsy chap.</p> +<p><a name="footnote257b"></a><a href="#citation257b" +class="footnote">[257b]</a> <i>Engro</i> is a mere +termination, like <i>-er</i> in <i>runner</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote259"></a><a href="#citation259" +class="footnote">[259]</a> Fool.</p> +<p><a name="footnote260"></a><a href="#citation260" +class="footnote">[260]</a> Fists. +Prizefighters’ slang.</p> +<p><a name="footnote263"></a><a href="#citation263" +class="footnote">[263]</a> Blacksmith.</p> +<p><a name="footnote264a"></a><a href="#citation264a" +class="footnote">[264a]</a> Tell fortunes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote264b"></a><a href="#citation264b" +class="footnote">[264b]</a> Hill Town, Norwich, but better, +<i>Chúmba Gav</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote264c"></a><a href="#citation264c" +class="footnote">[264c]</a> “Go with +God.” Not English Romany.</p> +<p><a name="footnote267"></a><a href="#citation267" +class="footnote">[267]</a> Horse-shoe.</p> +<p><a name="footnote268a"></a><a href="#citation268a" +class="footnote">[268a]</a> Better, <i>yógesko +chivs</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote268b"></a><a href="#citation268b" +class="footnote">[268b]</a> Probably “brother,” +but not English Romany.</p> +<p><a name="footnote268c"></a><a href="#citation268c" +class="footnote">[268c]</a> Unknown to English Gypsies.</p> +<p><a name="footnote268d"></a><a href="#citation268d" +class="footnote">[268d]</a> Beating.</p> +<p><a name="footnote268e"></a><a href="#citation268e" +class="footnote">[268e]</a> Questionable.</p> +<p><a name="footnote269"></a><a href="#citation269" +class="footnote">[269]</a> Destiny.</p> +<p><a name="footnote270a"></a><a href="#citation270a" +class="footnote">[270a]</a> Knife.</p> +<p><a name="footnote270b"></a><a href="#citation270b" +class="footnote">[270b]</a> Foot. Not English +Romany.</p> +<p><a name="footnote270c"></a><a href="#citation270c" +class="footnote">[270c]</a> Nail, questionable.</p> +<p><a name="footnote280"></a><a href="#citation280" +class="footnote">[280]</a> Horse.</p> +<p><a name="footnote283"></a><a href="#citation283" +class="footnote">[283]</a> Son; better, +<i>chávo</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote285"></a><a href="#citation285" +class="footnote">[285]</a> As I was going to the town one +day<br /> +I met on the road my Gypsy lass.</p> +<p><a name="footnote287"></a><a href="#citation287" +class="footnote">[287]</a> In again.</p> +<p><a name="footnote293"></a><a href="#citation293" +class="footnote">[293]</a> Woman, thieves’ cant.</p> +<p><a name="footnote294a"></a><a href="#citation294a" +class="footnote">[294a]</a> Ghost.</p> +<p><a name="footnote294b"></a><a href="#citation294b" +class="footnote">[294b]</a> Knive, thieves’ cant.</p> +<p><a name="footnote294c"></a><a href="#citation294c" +class="footnote">[294c]</a> <i>Móila</i>, +donkey.</p> +<p><a name="footnote324a"></a><a href="#citation324a" +class="footnote">[324a]</a> Gentile listening.</p> +<p><a name="footnote324b"></a><a href="#citation324b" +class="footnote">[324b]</a> Yonder there.</p> +<p><a name="footnote330"></a><a href="#citation330" +class="footnote">[330]</a> <i>Mumper</i>, sling for +“vagabond.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote347"></a><a href="#citation347" +class="footnote">[347]</a> Cardinal Giuseppe Mezzofanti +(1774-1849), who could speak fifty-eight languages.</p> +<p><a name="footnote437"></a><a href="#citation437" +class="footnote">[437]</a> Did ever any other book break +off like this one? And <i>The Romany Rye</i> opens calmly +with: “I awoke at the first break of day, and, leaving the +postillion fast asleep, stepped out of the tent.”</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAVENGRO***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 22878-h.htm or 22878-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/8/7/22878 + + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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