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L  A  V  E  N  G  R  O 

THE   SCHOLAR,  TME   (iVr.-V, 

THE  PRIEST 


BY    GEORGE    BORROW 


A  V'WK'.'nrON  «..(,'NTAINTN<-  I  HE  T  .sALlT.-r^L-^i     jv  r 

UMi:.    MS.    VAK'f^»  i;\?.    Vi.M.AM  L.''l  Y 

AND   r'OIES   n\  TIT:    \L'T!'0.   ^'F 

7HEI.I>V-  0-   *:i:OKGI-  LO-.:.^AV 


LONDON 
JOHN   MURRAY.  ALljr.MARLi:  STREL'i' 


i 


LAVENGRO 

THE  SCHOLAR.  THE   GYPSY, 

THE  PRIEST 


BY    GEORGE    BORROW 


A  NEW  EDITION  CONTAINING  THE  UNALTERED  TEXT 

OF  THE  ORIGINAL   ISSUE;   SOME  SUPPRESSED 

EPISODES  NOW  PRINTED  FOR  THE  FIRST 

TIME  J   MS.  VARIORUM.  VOCABULARY 

AND  NOTES  BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

THE  LIFE  OF  GEORGE  BORROW 


LONDON 
JOHN  MURRAY,  ALBEMARLE  STREET 

1907 


First  EDmoN  •  1851 

Second  Edition 

Third  Edition 187a 

Fourth  Edition zSSB 

Fifth  Edition 1896 

Sixth  (Definitive)  Edition    .      6/-      Mcarch,  2900 

Reprinted .    July^  1902 

Reprinted    ....•••   May^  1904 
R^rinted    ....    Thin  Paper  .  Ati^,^  1905 

Reprinted 6/-      .   Jan,,  1907 

Rented .  Sept,t  Z907 

Reprinted a/6  net  .  Sept,,  1907 


■y 


•- 


[OBidDTAL  Tneui  Paos.] 

4 

lVvENGRO; 


THE  SCHOMB-THE  GYP8Y-THE  PBIEST. 


Bt   GEORGE   BOBBOW, 

4IITBOB  or  *'tHB  BIBLK  ni  SPAIX"   AKD   "TBI  OYPSIU  OF  BBAXM 


W  THBEB  YOLUMBS— YOIi.  L 


LONDON: 
JOHN  MURRAY,  ALBEMARLE  STREET. 

■ 

1861. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

(1851.) 

In  compliance  with  the  advice  of  certain  friends  who  are 
desirous  that  it  may  not  be  supposed  that  the  following 
.  work  has  been  written  expressly  for  the  present  times,  the 
author  begs  leave  to  state  that  it  was  planned  in  the  year 
1842,  and  all  the  characters  sketched  before  the  conclusion 
of  the  yeajr  1843.  The  contents  of  the  volumes  here  offered 
to  the  public  have,  with  the  exception  of  the  Preface, 
existed  in  manuscript  for  a  very  considerable  time. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

(1851.) 

In  the  following  pages  I  have  endeavoured  to  describe  a 
dream,  partly  of  study,  partly  of  adventure,  in  which  will 
be  found  copious  notices  of  books,  and  many  descriptions 
of  life  and  manners,  some  in  a  very  unusual  form. 

The  scenes  of  action  lie  in  the  British  Islands.  Pray 
be  not  displeased,  gentle  reader,  if  perchance  thou  hast 
imagined  that  I  was  about  to  conduct  thee  to  distant 
lands,  and  didst  promise  thyself  much  instruction  and 
entertainment  from  what  I  might  tell  thee  of  them.  I  do 
assure  thee  that  thou  hast  no  reason  to  be  displeased, 
inasmuch  as  there  are  no  countries  in  the  world  less  known 
by  the  British  than  these  selfsame  British  Islands,  or  where 
more  strange  things  are  every  day  occurring,  'Whether  in 
road  or  street,  house  or  dingle. 

The  time  embraces  nearly  the  first  quarter  of  the 
present  century.  This  information,  again,  may  perhaps  be 
anything  but  agreeable  to  thee ;  it  is  a  long  time  to  revert 
to — ^but  fret  not  thyself,  many  matters  which  at  present 
much  occupy  the  public  mind  originated  in  some  degree 
towards  the  latter  end  of  that  period,  and  some  of  them 
will  be  treated  of. 

The  principal  actors  in  this  dream,  or  drama,  are,  as 
you  will  have  gathered  from  the  title-page,  a  Scholar,  a 
Gypsy,  and  a  Priest  Should  you  imagine  that  these  three 
form  one,  permit  cat  to  assure  you  that  you  are  very  much 
mistaken*  Should  there  be  something  of  the  Gypsy 
manifest  in  the  Scholar,  there  is  certainly  nothing  of  the 
Priest  With  respect  to  the  Gypsy — decidedly  the  most 
entertaining  character  of  the  three — there  is  certainly  no- 
thing of  the  Scholar  or  the  Priest  in  him ;  and  as  for  the 


§ 


:o 


viii  PREPACB  OP  iSsi, 

Priest,  though  there  may  be  something  in  him  both  of 
scholarship  and  gypsyism,  neither  the  Scholar  nor  the 
Gypsy  would  feel  at  all  flattered  by  being  confounded 
with  him. 

Many  characters  which  may  be  called  subordinate  will 
be  found,  and  it  is  probable  that  some  of  these  characters 
will  afford  much  more  interest  to  the  reader  than  those 
styled  the  principal.  The  favourites  with  the  writer  are  a 
brave  old  soldier  and  his  helpmate,  an  ancient  gentlewoman 
who  sold  apples,  and  a  strange  kind  of  wandering  man  and 
his  wife. 

Amongst  the  many  things  attempted  in  this  book  is 
the  encouragement  of  charity,  and  free  and  genial  manners, 
and  the  exposure  of  humbug,  of  which  there  are  various 
kinds,  but  of  which  the  most  perfidious,  the  most  debasing, 
and  the  most  cruel,  is  the  humbug  of  the  Priest 

Yet  let  no  one  think  that  irreligion  is  advocated  in  this 
book.  With  respect  to  religious  tenets,  I  wish  to  observe 
that  I  am  a  member  of  the  Church  of  England,  into  whose 
communion  I  was  baptised,  and  to  which  my  forefathers 
belonged.  Its  being  the  religion  in  which  I  was  baptised, 
and  of  my  forefathers,  would  be  a  strong  inducement  to  me 
to  cling  to  it;  for  I  do  not  happen  to  be  one  of  those 
choice  spirits  "  who  turn  from  their  banner  when  the  battle 
bears  strongly  against  it,  and  go  over  to  the  enemy,"  and 
who  receive  at  first  a  hug  and  a  ''  viva/'  and  in  the  sequel 
contempt  and  spittle  in  the  face ;  but  my  chief  reason  for 
belonging  to  it  is,  because,  of  all  Churches  calling  them- 
selves Christian  ones,  I  believe  there  is  none  so  good,  so 
well  founded  upon  Scripture,  or  whose  ministers  are,  upon 
the  whole,  so  exemplary  in  their  lives  and  conversation,  so 
well  read  in  the  Book  from  which  they  preach,  or  so  versed 
in  general  learning,  so  useful  in  their  immediate  neighbour- 
hoods, or  so  unwilling  to  persecute  people  of  other 
denominations  for  matters  of  doctrine. 

In  the  communion  of  this  Church,  and  with  the  religious 
consolation  of  its  ministers,  I  wish  and  hope  to  live  and  die, 
and  in  its  and  their  defence  will  at  all  times  be  ready,  if 
required,  to  speak,  though  humbly,  and  to  fight,  though 
feebly,  against  enemies,  whether  carnal  or  spiritual. 


PREFACE  OP  1851. 


And  is  there  no  prieslcraft  in  the  Church  of  England  ? 
There  is  certainly,  or  rather  there  was,  a  modicum  of  priest- 
craft in  the  Churdi  of  England,  but  I  have  generally  found 
that  those  who  are  most  vehement  against  the  Church  of 
England  are  chiefly  dissatisfied  with  her  because  there  is 
only  a  modicum  of  that  article  in  her.  Were  she  stuffed 
to  the  very  cupola  with  it,  like  a  certain  other  Church, 
they  would  have  much  less  to  say  against  the  Church  of 
England. 

By  the  other  Church  I  mean  Rome.  Its  system  was 
once  prevalent  in  England,  and,  during  the  period  that  it 
prevailed  there,  was  more  prolific  of  debasement  and  crime 
than  all  other  causes  united.  The  people  and  the  govern- 
ment at  last  becoming  enlightened  by  means  of  the 
Scripture,  spumed  it  from  the  island  with  disgust  and 
horror,  the  land  instantly  after  its  disappearance  becoming 
a  fair  field,  in  which  arts,  sciences,  and  all  the  amiable 
virtues  flourished,  instead  of  being  a  pestilent  marsh  where 
swine-like  ignorance  wallowed,  and  artful  hypocrites,  like 
so  many  wills-o'-the-wisp,  played  antic  gambols  about, 
around  and  above  debased  humanity. 

But  Popery  still  wished  to  play  her  old  part,  to  regain 
her  lost  dominion,  to  reconvert  the  smiling  land  into  the 
pestilential  morass,  where  she  could  play  again  her  old 
antics.  From  the  period  of  the  Reformation  in  England 
up  to  the  present  time,  she  has  kept  her  emissaries  here — 
individuals  contemptible  in  intellect,  it  is  true,  but  cat-like 
and  gliding,  who,  at  her  bidding,  have  endeavoured,  as 
much  as  in  their  power  has  lain,  to  damp  and  stifle  every 
genial,  honest,  loyal  and  independent  thought,  and  to 
reduce  minds  to  such  a  state  of  dotage  as  would  enable 
their  old  Popish  mother  to  do  what  she  pleased  with  them. 

And  in  every  country,  however  enlightened,  there  are 
always  minds  inclined  to  grovelling  superstition — minds 
fond  of  eating  dust  and  swallowing  clay — minds  never  at 
rest,  save  when  prostrate  before  some  fellow  in  a  surplice ; 
and  these  Popish  emissaries  found  always  some  weak 
enough  to  bow  down  before  them,  astounded  by  their 
dreadful  denunciations  of  eternal  woe  and  damnation  to 
any  who  should  refuse  to  believe  their  Romania ;  but  they 


PREP  ACS  OP  1851. 


played  a  poor  game — the  law  protected  the  servants  of 
Scripture,  and  the  priest  with  his  beads  seldom  ventured 
to  approach  any  but  the  remnant  of  those  of  the  eikono- 
latry — representatives  of  worm-eaten  houses,  their  debased 
dependants  and  a  few  poor  crazy  creatures  among  the 
middle  classes — ^he  played  a  poor  game,  and  the  labour  was 
about  to  prove  almost  entirely  in  vain,  when  the  English 
Legislature,  in  compassion  or  contempt,  or,  yet  more  pro- 
bably, influenced  by  that  spirit  of  toleration  and  kindness 
whidi  is  so  mixed  up  with  Protestantism,  removed  almost 
entirely  the  disabilities  under  which  Popery  laboured,  and 
enabled  it  to  raise  its  head  and  to  speak  out  almost  without 
fear. 

And  it  did  raise  its  head,  and,  though  it  spoke  with 
some  little  fear  at  first,  soon  discarded  every  relic  of  it ; 
went  about  the  land  uttering  its  damnation  cry,  gathering 
around  it — and  for  doing  so  many  thanks  to  it — the 
favourers  of  priestcraft  who  lurked  within  the  walls  of  the 
Church  of  England ;  frightening  with  the  loudness  of  its 
voice  the  weak,  the  timid  and  the  ailing;  perpetrating, 
whenever  it  had  an  opportunity,  that  species  of  crime  to 
which  it  has  ever  been  most  partiaX—deaMed  robbery; 
for  as  it  IS  cruel,  so  is  it  dastardly.  Yes,  it  went  on  enlist- 
ing, plundering  and  uttering  its  terrible  threats  till — ^till  it 
became,  as  it  always  does  when  left  to  itself,  a  fool,  a  very 
fool.  Its  plunderings  might  have  been  overlooked,  and  so 
might  its  insolence,  had  it  been  common  insolence,  but 
it — ,  and  then  the  roar  of  indignation  which  arose  from 
outraged  England  against  the  viper,  the  frozen  viper  which 
it  had  permitted  to  warm  itself  upon  its  bosom.' 

But  thanks.  Popery,  you  have  done  all  that  the  friends 
of  enlightenment  and  religious  liberty  could  wish ;  but  if 
ever  there  were  a  set  of  foolish  ones  to  be  found  under 
Heaven,  surely  it  is  the  priestly  rabble  who  came  over  from 
Rome  to  direct  the  grand  movement,  so  long  in  its  getting 
up. 

But  now  again  the  damnation  cry  is  withdrawn,  there  is 
a  subdued  meekness  in  your  demeanour,  you  are  now  once 
more  harmless  as  a  lamb.  Well,  we  shall  see  how  the  trick 
— "  the  old  trick" — will  serve  you. 


PREFACE   TO  THE    SECOND  EDITION. 

(187a.) 

Lavmgro  made  its  first  appearance  more  than  one  and 
twenty  years  ago.  It  was  treated  in  anything  but  a 
courteous  manner.  Indeed,  abuse  ran  riot,  and  many  said 
that  the  book  was  killed.  If  by  killed  was  meant  knocked 
down  and  stunned,  which  is  die  Irish  acceptation  of  the 
word — ^there  is  a  great  deal  about  Ireland  in  the  book — 
they  were  right  enough.  It  was  not  dead,  however,  oh  dear 
no  I  as  is  tolerably  well  shown  by  the  present  edition,  which 
has  been  long  called  for. 

The  chief  assailants  of  the  book  were  the  friends  of 
Popery  in  England.  They  were  enraged  because  the 
audior  stood  up  for  the  religion  of  his  fathers,  his  country, 
and  the  Bible,  against  the  mythology  of  a  foreign  priest 
As  for  the  Pope — ^but  the  Pope  has  of  late  had  his  mis- 
fortunes, so  no  harsh  language.  To  another  subject  I 
From  the  Pope  to  the  Gypsies !  From  the  Roman  Pontiff 
to  the  Romany  Chals  I 

A  very  remarkable  set  of  people  are  the  Gypsies ; 
frequent  mention  is  made  of  them  in  Lavengro^  and  from 
their  peculiar  language  the  word  ''Lavengro"  is  taken. 
They  first  attracted  notice  in  Germany,  where  they  ap- 
peared in  immense  numbers  in  the  early  part  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  a  period  fraught  with  extraordinary  events:  the 
coming  of  the  Black  Death ;  the  fortunes  and  misfortunes 
of  the  Emperor  Sigismund ;  the  quarrels  of  the  Three 
Popes — the  idea  of  three  Popes  at  one  time  I — ^the  burning 
alive  of  John  Huss  ;  the  advance  of  the  Crescent,  and  the 
battle  of  Agincourt.  They  were  of  dark  complexion,  some 
of  them  of  nearly  negro  blackness,  and  spoke  a  language 
of  their  own,  though  many  could  converse  in  German  and 


xii  PREFACE  OP  187a. 


other  tongues.  They  called  themselves  Zingary  and 
Romany  Chals,  and  the  account  they  gave  of  themselves 
was  that  they  were  from  Lower  Egypt,  and  were  doing 
penance,  by  a  seven  years*  wandering,  for  the  sin  of  their 
forefathers,  who  of  old  had  refused  hospitality  to  the  Virgin 
and  Child.  They  did  not  speak  truth,  however ;  the  name 
they  bore,  Zingary,  and  which,  slightly  modified,  is  still 
borne  by  their  descendants  in  various  countries,  shows  that 
they  were  not  from  Egypt,  but  from  a  much  more  distant 
land,  Hindostan;  for  Zingaro  is  Sanscrit,  and  signifies 
a  man  of  mixed  race,  a  mongrel ;  whilst  their  conduct  was 
evidently  not  that  of  people  engaged  in  expiatory  pilgrim- 
3ge ;  for  the  women  told  the  kosko  bokht,  the  good  luck, 
the  buena  ventura;  kaured,  that  is,  filched  money  and 
valuables  from  shop-boards  and  counters  by  a  curious 
motion  of  the  hands,  and  poisoned  pigs  and  hogs  by  means 
of  a  certain  drug,  and  then  begged,  and  generally  obtained, 
the  carcases,  which  cut  up  served  their  families  for  food ; 
the  children  begged  and  stole ;  whilst  the  men,  who  it  is 
true  professed  horse-clipping,  farriery  and  fiddling,  not 
unfrequently  knocked  down  travellers  and  plundered  them. 
The  hand  of  justice  of  course  soon  fell  heavily  upon  them  ; 
men  of  Egypt,  as  they  were  called,  were  seized,  hung,  or 
maimed ;  women  scourged  or  branded ;  children  whipped ; 
but  no  severity  appeared  to  have  any  effect  upon  the 
Zingary ;  wherever  they  went  (and  they  soon  found  their 
way  to  almost  every  country  in  Europe),  they  adhered  to 
their  evil  practices.  Before  the  expiration  of  the  fifteenth 
century  bands  of  them  appeared  in  England  with  their 
horses,  donkeys  and  tilted  carts.  How  did  they  contrive 
to  cross  the  sea  with  their  carts  and  other  property  ?  By 
means  very  easy  to  people  with  money  in  their  -pockets, 
which  the  Gypsies  always  have,  by  paying  for  their  pas- 
sage ;  just' as  the  Hungarian  tribe  did,  who  a  few  years  ago 
came  to  England  with  their  horses  and  vehicles,  and  who, 
whilst  encamping  with  their  English  brethren  in  the  love- 
liest of  all  forests,  Epping  Wesh,  exclaimed  "  Sore  si  mensar 
St  men  ".♦ 

The  meaning  of  Zingary,  one  of  the  names  by  which 

*  We  are  all  relations,  all  aUke ;  all  who  are  with  us  are  ourselves. 


PREFACE  OP  187a.  xiii 


the  pseudo-penitents  from  Lower  Egypt  called  themselves, 
has  been  given  above.  Now  for  that  of  the  other,  Romany 
Chals,  a  name  in  which  the  English  Gypsies  delight,  who 
have  entirely  dropped  that  of  Zingary.  The  meaning  of 
Romany  Chals  is  lads  of  Rome  or  Rama ;  Romany  signify- 
ing that  which  belongs  to  Rama  or  Rome,  and  Chal  a  son 
or  lad,  being  a  Zingaric  word  connected  with  the  SAilo  of 
Scripture,  the  meaning  of  which  may  be  found  in  the 
Lexicon  of  the  brave  old  Westphalian  Hebraist,  Johannes 
Buxtorf.^ 

The  Gypsies  of  England,  the  Zigany,  Zigeuner,  and 
other  tribes  of  the  Continent,  descendants  of  the  old 
Zingary  and  Romany  Chals,  retain  many  of  the  charac- 
teristics of  their  forefathers,  and,  though  difTering  from 
each  other  in  some  respects,  resemble  each  other  in  many. 
They  are  much  alike  in  hue  and  feature ;  speak  amongst 
themselves  much  the  same  tongue ;  exercise  much  the  same 
trades,  and  are  addicted  to  the  same  evil  practices.  There 
is  a  little  English  Gypsy  gillie,  or  song,  of  which  the 
following  quatrain  is  a  translation,  containing  four  queries, 
to  all  of  which  the  English  Roman6  might  respond  by 
Ava,  and  the  foreign  Chal  by  the  same  affirmative  to  the 
three  first,  if  not  to  the  last : — 

Can  yoa  speak  the  Roman  tongue  ? 

Can  yoa  make  the  fiddle  ring  ? 

Can  yon  poison  a  jolly  hog  ? 

And  split  the  stick  for  the  linen  string  ? 

So  much  for  the  Gypsies.  There  are  many  other 
things  in  the  book  to  which  perhaps  the  writer  ought  to 
advert ;  but  he  is  weary,  and,  moreover,  is  afraid  of  weary- 
ing others.  He  will,  therefore,  merely  add  that  every  book 
must  eventually  stand  or  fall  by  its  deserts ;  that  praise, 
however  abundant,  will  not  keep  a  bad  book  alive  for  any 
considerable  time,  nor  abuse,  however  virulent,  a  good  one 
for  ever  in  the  dust;  and  he  thinks  himself  justified  in 
saying,  that  were  there  not  some  good  in  Lavengro,  it 
would  not  again  be  raising  its  head,  notwithstanding  all 
it  underwent  one  and  twenty  years  ago. 

1  Chal  is  simply  the  contraction  of  c^avd/,  a  form  cognate  with  ehavard  the 
diminutive  of  chaud,  a  lad.  Chavdl  is  still  common  in  Spain,  both  among  the 
Gypsies  and  the  kiwer  orders  of  Spaniards.— Ep. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  L 


rAoi 


I 


Birth — My  Father— Tamerlane— Ben  Brain— French  Protestants— East 
AngUa— Sorrow  and  Ttoublet— Thie  Peace— A  Beautiful  Child— Foreign 
Grave— Mirron— Alpine  Country— Embleois— Slow  of  Speech— The  Jew 
—Strange  Getturet •       •       • 

CHAPTER  U. 

Barracks  and  Lodging»— A  Camp— The  Viper— A  Delicate  Child— Black- 
berry Time— Meum  and  Tuum — Hytbe— The  Golgotha — Daneman's 
Skull— Superhuman  Stature— Stirring  Times— The  Sea-Bord         .       •       9 

CHAPTER  III. 

Pretty  D  .  .  .—The  Venerable  Church— The  Stricken  Heart— Dormant 
Energies- The  Small  Packet— Nerves— The  Books— A  Picture— Moun- 
tein-hke  Billows— The  Foot-Print— Spirit  of  De  Foe— Reasoning  Powers 
—Terrors  of  God— Heads  of  the  Dragons— High-Church  Clerk— A 
Journey— ^Tbe  Drowned  Country «      IS 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Norman  Cross— Wide  Expanse— Vive  I'Empereur— Unpruned  Woods— Man 
with  the  Bag— Froth  and  Conceit- 1  b^  your  Pardon— Growing  Timid 
—About  Three  o^Clock— Taking  One's  Ease— Cheek  on  the  (Sound- 
King  of  the  A^pers — French  King— Frenchmen  and  Water     .       •       •      13 

CHAPTER  V. 

The  Tent— Man  and  Woman — Dark  and  Swarthy— Manner  of  Speaking — 
Bad  Money— Transfixed— Faltering  Tone— Uttle  Basket— High  Opinion 
—Plenty  of  Good— Keeping  Guard— Tilted  Cart— Rubricab— Jasper— 
The  Right  Sort— The  Horseman  of  the  Lane— John  Newton— IIm  Alarm 
—Gentle  Brothers 09 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Three  Years— Lilly's  Grammar — Proficiency— Ignorant  of  Figures— The 
School  Bell — Order  of  Succession- Persecution— What  are  we  to  do  ?— 
Northward— A  Goodly  Scene— Haunted  Ground— Feats  of  Chivalry- 
Rivers— Over  the  Brig     38 

CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Castle— A  Fathef^s  Inquiries— Scotch  Language— A  Determination— Bui 
hin  Digri— Good  Scotchman— Difference  of  Races — Ne'er  a  Haggis— 
Pugnadogi  People— What  are  ye,  Man?— The  Nor  Loch— Gestures 
Wild— The  Bickar— New  Town  Champion— Wild  Looking  Figure- 
Headlong        •       •       • «       •       •     41 


xvi  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


FAOl 


Expert  Qimben— The  CrifK-Somethiiig  Red— The  Horrible  Edge— David 
Hamrt— Fine  Materials— The  Greatest  Victory— Extraordinary  Robber 
—The  Ruling  Paision p 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Napoleon- The  Storm— The  Cove— Up  the  Country— The  Trembling  Hand 
—Irish— Tough  Battle— Tipperary  Hills— Elegant  Lodgings— A  Speech 
—Fair  Specimen— Orangemen 56 

CHAPTER  X. 

Protestant  Young  Gentlemen- The  Greek  Letters— Open  Chimney— Murtagh 
—Paris  and  Salamanca— Nothing  to  Do— To  Whit,  to  Whool— T%e 
Pack  of  Cards— Before  Christmas   . 69 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Templemore — Devil's  Mountain — No  Companion— Force  of  Circumstance- 
Way  of  the  World— Ruined  Castle— Grim  and  Desolate— The  Donjon- 
Old  Woman— My  ovm  House 66 

CHAPTER  Xn. 

A  Visit— Figure  of  a  Man— The  Dog  of  Peace— The  Raw  Wound- The 
Guard-Room— Boy  Soldier — Person  in  Authority — Never  Solitary^ 
Clergyman  and  Family — Still  Hunting— Fairy  Man — Near  Sunset— 
Bagg— Left-Handed  Hitter— Irish  and  Supernatural— At  Swanton 
Morley »        ....      71 

CHAPTER  XIIL 

Groom  and  Cob— Strength  and  Symmetry— Where's  the  Saddle?— The  First 
Ride— No  more  Fatigue — Love  for  Horses — Pursuit  of  Words — Philo- 
log&t  and  Pegasus— The  Smith— What  more,  Agrah?— Sassanach  Ten 
Pence  78 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  fine  old  City— Norman  Master- Work— Lollards'  Hole— Good  Blood— The 
Spaniard's  Sword— Old  Retired  Officer— Writing  to  a  Duke— God  Help 
the  Child — Nothing  like  Jacob— Irish  Brigades — Old  Sergeant  Meredith 
— I  have  been  Young— idleness— Only  Course  Open — The  Bookstall— 
A  Portrait— A  Banished  Priest 84 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Monsieur  Dante— Condemned  Musket— Sporting— Sweet  Rivulet — The  Earl's 
Home— The  Pool— The  Sonorous  Voice — What  dost  thou  Read  ?— Man 
of  Peace — 2^har  and  Mishna— Money  Changers 91 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Fair  of  Horses— Looks  of  Respect— The  Fast  Trotter— Pair  of  Eyep— Strange 
Men — ^Jasper,  Your  Pal — Force  of  Blood — Young  Lady  with  Diamonds 
—Not  quite  so  Beautiful 97 


CONTENTS.  xvii 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


PAOB 


The  Tents— Pleasant  Discourse— I  am  Pharaoh— Shifting  for  One's  Self— 
Horae-Shoes— This  is  Wonderfiil— Bless  your  Wisdom— A  Pretty 
ManoBUvie— 111  Day  to  the  Romans — My  Name  is  Heme— Singular 
People— An  Original  Speech— Word  Master— Speakmg  Romanly       •    zoa 


,  CHAPTER  XVIIL 


Fitted  for  a  Churchman— Erratic  Course— The  Bitter 
Draught- Principle  of  Woe— Thou  Wonldst  be  Joyous— What  Ails  You  ? 
—Poor  Child  of  Clay X09 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Agreeable  Delusions— Youth— A  Profession— Ab  Gwilym— Glorious  English 
Law— There  They  Pass— My  Dear  Old  Master— The  Deal  Desk- 
Language  of  the  Tents— Where  is  Morfydd?— <3o  To— Only  Onoe— 
[Physiognomy— The  Poet  Parkinson] 1x3 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Silver  Grey— Good  Word  for  Everybody— A  Remarkable  Youth— Clients- 
Grades  in  Society— The  Archdeacon— {The  Wake  of  Freya}— Reading 
the  Bible  ..••.••••,...    196 

CHAPTER  XXL 

The  Eldest  Son— Saying  of  Wild  Finland— The  Critical  Time— Vaunting 
Polls— One  TUng  Wanted— A  Father's  Blessing— Miracle  of  Art— The 
Pope's  Home— Young  Enthusiast— Pictures  en  England— Pttsist  and 
Wrestle— The  Little  Dark  Man 134 

CHAPTER  XXIL 

Desire  lor  Novd^r— Lhes  of  the  Lawless— Countenances— Old  Yicoroan  and 
Dune— We  Live  Near  the  Sea— Uncouth-looking  Volume— The  Other 
Condition— Diaoitheao— A  Dilemma — The  Antinomian— Lodowick 
MnggletOD— Almost  Blind— Anders  Vedd 139 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  Two  Individuals— The  Long  Pipo— The  Germans— Wsrther— The 
Female  Quaker— Suickle— Gibbon— Jesus  of  Bethlehem— Fill  Your  Glass 
—Sbakespeare— English  at  Minden— Melancholy  Swayne  Vonved— The 
Fifth  Dinner— Strange  Doctrines— Are  You  Happy  ?— Improve  Yourself 
in  German t       •    146 

f  CHAPTER  XXIV. 

^  Th«  Alehouse  Keeper— Compossion  for  the  Rich— Old  English  Gentleman- 
How  is  this  ?— Madeira— The  Greek  Parr— Twenty  Languages— Whiter's 
Health— About  the  Fight— A  Sporting  Gentleman— The  Flattened  Nose 
—Lend  us  that  Pintle— The  Surly  Nod 153 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

Doubts— Wise  King  of  Jerusalem— Let  Me  Seo— A  Thousand  Yeai»— 
Nothinff  New— The  Crowd— The  Hymn— Faith— Charles  Wesley- 
There  He  Stood— Farewell,  Brother— Death— Sun,  Moon  and  Stars— 
Wfaid  on  the  Heath.  159 


I 


xviii  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

PAOB 

The  Flower  of  the  QnM-^D^ys-jd^Ea^i^sm-'Tbe  ReDdeK?oiis--Jew»— 
Bruisers  of  England^Winter,  Spring— Well-earned  Bays— The  Fight— > 
Huge  Black  Cloud— Frame  of  Adamant — The  Storm— Dakkeripens — 
The  Barouche— The  Rain-Gushes  .        .  .  .  •    x66 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

My  Father— Prematnre  Decay-— The  Easy  Chair— A  Few  Questk>ns— So  Yoo 
Told  Me— A  Difficult  Language— They  Call  it  Haik— Misused  Op- 
portunities— Saul — Want  of  Candour — Don't  Weep — Heaven  Forgive 
Me — Dated  from  Paris — I  Wish  He  Were  Here — A  Father*s  Remini- 
scences— Farewell  to  Vanities  .  ..••...    xyt 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
My  Brother's  Arrival— The  Interview— Night— A  Dying  Father— Christ       •    179 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

The  Greeting— Queer  Figure— Cheer  Up— The  Cheerful  Fire— It  Will  Do— 

The  Sally  Forth— Trepidation— Let  Him  Come  in x8x 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

The  Sinister  Glance— Excellent  Correspondent— Quite  Original — My  System 
— A  Losing  Trade — Merit — Starting  a  Review — What  Have  You  Got  ?— 
Stop  \^Dairym4ut*s  Daughter^^OiSoid.  Principles — More  Conversation 
—How  is  This? 185 

CHAPTER  XXXL 

The  Walk— London's  Cheape— Street  of  the  Lombards— Strange  Bridge- 
Main  Arch— The  Roaring  Gulf— The  Boat— Cly-Faking— A  Comfort— 
The  Book— The  Blessed  Woman— No  Trap 191 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

The  Tanner— {Cromwell— The  Dairyman*!  Dattghtery^Ttat  Hotel— Drink- 
ing Claret — London  Toumal— New  Field— Commonplaceness — Hie 
Three  Individaals— Botheration — Frank  and  Ardent       •       •       .       •    X96 

CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

Dine  with  the  Publisher— Religions — ^Na  Animal  Food— Unprofitable  Dis- 
cussions— Principles  of  Criticism — ^The  Book  Market — Newgate  Lives — 
Goethe  a  Drug— German  Acquirements — Moral  Dignity         •       •       .    aoa 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

The  Two  Volumes— A  Young  Author— Intended  Editor— Qointillan — Loose 

Money     •        ,',",- 007 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Francis  Ardry— Certain  Sharpers— Brave  and  Eloquent— Opposites— Flinging 
the  Bones— Strange  Places — Doe  Fightmg— Learning  and  Letters- 
Batch  of  Dogs— Redoubled  Application         •  •       •        •    aog 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXXVL 

rAos 

Oocapatioin—TYBdttttors  Traditore— Ode  to  the  Miit— Apple  and  Pear^ 
Reviewing— Current  Literature^Obcford-like  Manner— A  Plain  Story — 
IU-rqsa]Ated  Mind— Unsnoffsd  Candle— Strange  Dreams  •       .    914 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

My  Brother— Fits  of  Cirlng— M^or  Elect— The  Committee— The  Norman 
Arch— A  Word  of  Greek— Church  and  State— At  My  Own  Expense— If 
Yon  Pleaae 219 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Painter  of  the  Heroic— 111  Go  I— A  Modest  Peep— Who  is  This?— A 
Capital  Pharaoh  —  Disproportionably  Short  —  Imaginary  Picture— 
English  Figures 223 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

No  Ambofity  Whatever— Interference— Wondrons  Farrago— Brandt  and 
Simensee— What  a  Life  1— The  Hearse— Mortal  Relics— Grsat  Poei-^ 
Fashkm  and  Fame— What  a  Difference  t—[Portobello]  •        ...    397 

CHAPTER  XL. 

London  Bridge— Why. Not?— Evoy  Heart  has  its  Bitters— Wicked  Boys— 
-    GrvememfBbok — Such  a  Fright — Honour  Bright        •       .        •        .    340 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

Decease  of  the  Review— Homer  Himself— Bread  and  Cheese— Finger  and 
Thumb— Impossible  to  Find— Something  Grand— Universal  Mixture- 
Some  Other  Publisher     844 

CHAPTER  XLII. 
Francis  Ardry— That  Won't  do,  Sir— Observe  my  Gestures— I  Think  You 


Improve— Better   than   Politics— Delightful  Young  Frenchwoman— A 
Burning  Shame— Magnificent  Impudence— Paunch— Voltaire— Lump  of 


248 

CHAPTER  XLIIL 
Progress— GkMrious  John— Utterly  Unintelligible— What  a  Diiferaioe  1        •    253 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

The  Old  Spot— A  Long  History- Thou  Shalt  Not  Steal— No  Harm— Edoca- 
tion— Necessity — Foam  on  Your  Lip— Apples  and  Pears— What  Will 
YouRead-Metaphor-The  Fur  Cap— I  Don't  Know  Him  •       •       •    055 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

Bought  and  Exchanged— Quite  Empty— A  New  Firm— Bibles— Countenance 
of  a  Lion— Clap  of  Thunder— A  Tmoe  with  This— I  Have  Lost  It— 
deafly  a  R]|tht— Goddess  of  the  Mint     •       •       .  •       •       •    t6o 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

sonnter- Drag  Him 
— Hdngs  of  Importance— Philological  Matters— Mother  of  Languages— 


The  Pi^pocket-^range  Renoounter— Drag  Him  Along— A  Great  Service 

lotber 


»6S 


o  CONTENTS, 

^—— — — — — — — ^— ^— — — ^— i^— — — — ^— I   ■  ■   ■      — ^— ^i—^—— — ^       I   . 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 

PAOK 

New  Acq«aintuioe— Wired  Caaes^Bread  and  Wtn&— Armenian  Colonies- 
Learning  Without  Mone7~What  a  Language— The  Tide— Your  Foible 
— Learning  of  the  Haiks — Old  Proverb — Prosing  Invitation  .  •    969 

CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

What  to  do— Strong  Enough— Fame  and  Profit— Alliterative  Euphony— 
Excellent  Fellow— Listen  to  Me — A  Plan — Bagnigge  Wdls   .        .        »    *74 

CHAPTER  XUX. 

Singular  Personage— A  Large  Sum— Papa  of  Rome— We  are  Christians- 
Degenerate  Anneaiaos — Roots  of  Ararat — Regular  Features  .  .978 

CHAPTER  U 

Wish  Fulfilled— fijctraordiitaiT  Figure— Bueno— Noah— The  Two  Fbcet  I 
Doo't  Bbune  Him— Too  Fond  of  Moaej— Were  I  an  Armenian  a8i 

CHAPTER  LL 

The  One  Half-Crown— Merit  In  Patience— Oementer  of  Friendship— Dread- 
ful Porplextty— The  Usual  Guttural— Armenian  Letters-^Mucb  Indebted 
to  You — Pure  Helplessness — Dumb  People 284 

CHAPTER  LIL 

Kind  of  Stupor— Peace  of  Qod— Divine  Hand— Farewell.  Child— The  Fair— 
Massive  Edifice— Battered  Tart— Lost  I  Lost !— Good  Day,  Gentlemen    888 

CHAPTER  LIIL 

Singular  TaUft— No  Mooejr— Qgt  ^  Employ— My  Bonnet— We  of  the 
Thimble— Good  Wagea— Wisely  Resolved— Strangest  Way  in  the  World 
—Fat  Gentleman— Not  Such  Another— First  Edition— Not  Very  Fast— 
Won't  Cloee— Avdla  Gorgio— Alarmed  Look age 

CHAPTER  LIV. 

Mr.  Petulencro— Rommanv  Rye— Lil  Writers— One's  Ovm  Horn— Lawfully 
Easnt  Money— The  wooded  Hill— A  Great  Favourite— The  Shop 
Window— Much  Wanted 999 

CHAPTER  LV. 

Bread  and  Water— Fan*  Plar— Fashionable  Life— Colonel  B ^Joseph  Sell 

—Tt^  Kindly  Glow— Eiasiest -Manner  Imaginable 3P3 

CHAPTER  LVL 

Considerably  Sobered— Power  of  Writing— The  Tempter— Hungry  Talent— 


jiy  5 
Coi 


Work  Concluded 906 

CHAPTER  LVII. 

Nervous  Look— The   Bookseller's  Wife— The   Last  Stake— Terms— God 
Forbidt—Wm  You  Come  to  Tea?— A  Light  Heart       ....    909 


CONTENTS.  nd 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

4Ddispositioii— A  Resolntion— Poor  EqiUTaleats— The  Piece  of  Gold—- Flasb- 
ing  Eyes — How  Beaatifal  t — Boojour,  Monsieur 311 

CHAPTER  LIX. 

The  Milestone— The  Meditation-- Want  to  Get  Up?— The  Off-hand  Leader 
--Sixteen  Shillings— The  Near-hand  Wheeler— AU  Right       .        .        .3x5 

CHAPTER  LX. 

like  Still  Hour— A  Thrill— The  Wondrous  Circle— The  Shepherd— Heaps 
and  &irrows — What  do  you  Mean?^Milk  of  the  Plains— Hengist 
spared  it— No  Presents 318 

CHAPTER  LXL 
The  River— Arid  Down»— A  Prospect 33a 

CHAPTER  LXn. 

The  Hostelry — Life  Uncertain— Open  Countenance— The  Grand  Point- 
Thank  you.  Master— A  Hard  Mother— Poor  Dear  I — Considerable  Odds 
—The  Better  Coontry— English  Fashion— Landlord-looking  Person      .    334 


CHAPTER  LXni. 

Primitive  Habits — Rosy-faced  Damsel— A  Pleasant  Moment — Suit  of  Black 
—The  Furtive  Glance— The  Mighty  Round— Degenerate  Times— The 
Newspaper— The  Evfl  Chance— I  CongratulaU  You       ....    300 

CHAPTER  LXIV. 

New  Acquaintance— Old  French  Style— The  Portrait— Tadtumity— The 
Evergreen  Tree — The  Dark  Hour— The  Flash- Ancestors— A  Fortunate 
Man— A  Posthumous  Child— Antagonistic  Ideas — ^The  Hawks— Flaws 
— The  Pony— Irresistible  Impulse— Favourable  Crisis — The  Topmost 
Branch— Twenty  Feet— Heartily  Ashamed 334 

CHAPTER  LXV. 

Maternal  An»et^— The  Baronet— Liule  Zest— Country  Life— Mr.  Speaker  I 
—The  Cravmg— Spirited  Address— An  Author 342 

CHAPTER  LXVI. 

Trepidations— Subtle  Pnnciple— Perverse  Imagination— Are  they  Mine^— 
Another  Book— How  Hard  I— Agricultural  Dinner— Incomprehensible 
Actions— Inmost  Bosom— Give  it  Up— Chance  Resemblance— Rascally 
Newspaper •••    346 

CHAPTER  LXVII. 

Dteuxbed  Slumbers— The  Bed-Post— Two  Wizards— What  can  I  Do?— Real 
Library— The  Rev.  Mr.  Platitude— Tolenitk>n  to  Dissenters— Paradox- 
Sword  of  Sl  Peter— Enemy  to  Humbug— High  Prindples— False  Con- 
ooid— The  Damsel— What  Religion?— Farther  ConvenatXMi— That 
would  never  Do  1— May  You  Prosper  I    .....••    551 


nil  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  LXVin. 

Elastic  StOH-DiaooDSoIate  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— ^lX-£92t— 
Wife— Gr^  Moll— A  Bible~«Half  and  Half— What  to  do— Halflnclmed 
—In  No  Time— On  One  Condition— Don't  Stare— Like  the  Wind .       .    359 

CHAPTER  LXIX. 

Effects  of  Com— One  Night  Longer— The  Hoofs— A  Stumble— Are  You 
Hurt?— What  a  Difference — Drowsy— Maze  of  Bushes— Housekeeping 
—Sticks  and  Furze— The  Drilt-way— Account  of  Stock— Anvil  and 
Bellowa— Twenty  Years 369 

CHAPTER  DUL 

New  Professbn— Beautiful  Night— Jupiter— Sharp  and  Shrill— The  Rom- 
many  Chi— All  Alone— Three  and  Sixpence— What  is  Rommany?— Be 
OYil— Puraco  Tute— Slight  Start— She  Will  Be  Grateful— The  Rustling    375 

CHAPTER  LXXL 

Friend  of  Slingsfay— 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— Dlgw  of  GypsiiGS— The 
Dog— Ely's  Church— Get  Up.  Bebee— The  Vehicle— Can  you  Speak  1— 
The  Oil    •       •        .       .       • 381 

CHAPTER  LXXIL 

Desired  Effect— The  Three  Oaks— Winifred— Things  of  Ttme— With  Godii 
Will- The  Preacher— Creature  Comforts— Croesaw— Welsh  and  English 
-•Mayor  of  Chester 391 

CHAPTER  LXXIII. 

Morning  Hymn— Much  Alone— John  Bunyan— Beholden  to  Nobody— Sixty- 
five— ^ber  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      •        •       .        .    396 

CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

The  Following  Day— Pride— Thriving  Trade— Tylwyth  Teg— Ellis  Wyn— 
Sleeping  Bard— Incalculable  Good— Fearful  Agony— The  Tale     •       •    403 

CHAPTER  LXXV. 

Takine  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  CluU— Pleasing 
Anticipation •       •       •       .    407 

CHAPTER  LXXVL 

Hasty  Farewell— Lofty  Rock— Wrestlings  of  Jacob— No  Rest— Ways  of 
Providenoe— Two  Females — Foot  of  the  Cross — Enemy  of  Souls — Per- 
plexed^Lueky  Hour— Valetudinarian — Methodists— Fervent  in  Prayer 
-*You  Saxons— Weak  Creature9--^Very  Agreeable— Almost  Happy^ 
Kindness  and  Solicitude •       .       .       .    413 


i 


^ 


CONTENTS.  zxtii 


CHAPTER  LXXVII. 

FAOB 

Getting  Late— Seven  Yean  Old— Chastening— Go  Forth— London  Bridge— 
Same  £ye»— Common  Occurrence — Very  Sleepy 421 

CHAPTER  LXXVin. 
Low  and  Calm— Much  Better— Blessed  Effect— No  Answer— Such  a  Sermon    434 

CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

D«ep  Interest— Goodly  Country- Two  Mansions— Welshman's  Candle— 
Beautiful  Universe— Godly  Discourse— Fine  Church— Points  of  Doctrine 
—Strange  Adventures— Paltrv  Cause— Roman  Pontiff— Evil  Spirit        .    426 

CHAPTER  LXXX. 
The  Bonier— Thank  Yoa  Both— Pipe  and  Fiddle— Taliesin  .       •       •       •431 

CHAPTER  LXXXL 

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 
Scruggia— Like  a  Wild  Cat— Fair  Play— Pleasant  Enough  Spot— No 
Gk>ves 433 

CHAPTER  LXXXH. 

Offence  and  Defence— I'm  Satisfied— Fond  of  Solitude— Possession  of  Property 
— Chal  Devlehi— Wmiiing  Path       •...••••    441 

CHAPTER  LXXXUL 

Highbr  Poetical— Volondr— Grecian  Mvthok)|or— Making  a  Petul— Tongues 
01  Flame  ■  Hammering— Spite  of  Dukkerm — Heaviness.       •  •    444 

CHAPTER  LXXXIV. 

Seven]  Causes— From  and  Eftes— Gloom  and  Twilight— What  Should  I  Do  ? 
—Our  Father— Fellow  Men— What  a  Mercy  {—Almost  Calm— Fresh 
Store— History  of  Saul— Pitch  Dark .    448 

CHAPTER  LXXXV. 

Free  and  iDdependent— I  Don't  See  Why— Oats— A  Noise— Unwelcome 
Visitors— What's  the  Matter  ?— Good  Day  to  Ye— The  TaQ  Girl— Dovre- 
fidd— Blow  on  the  Face— Civil  Enough— What's  This?— Vulgar  Woman 
— Hands  Off— Gasping  for  Breath— Long  Melford— A  Prettv  Manoeuvre 
—A  Long  Draught— %igns  of  Animation— It  Won't  Do — No  Malice* 
BftdPeo^      •       • 453 

CHAPTER  LXXXVI. 

At  Tea— Vapours— Isopd  Berners— Softly  and  Kindly— Sweet  Pretty 
Creature— Bread  and  Water— Two  Sailors— Tnith  and  Constancy— 
Very  Strangely        •  ^ •       •       •4^3 

CHAPTER  LXXXVII. 
Hribbwbof  VoioM-  No  Offenoe— Nodding— The  Gucrti       «       •  •4^ 


XXIV  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVIIL 


PAQB 


A  Radical—Simple-Looking  Man— Church  of  England— The  President— 
Aristocracy  —  Gin  and  Water  —  Mending  tlw  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 469 

CHAPTER  LXXXIX. 

The  Dingle— Give  them  Ale— Not  over  Complimentary — America— Goodly 
Land— Washington— Promiscuous  Company — Language  ot  the  Roads 
— ^The  Old  Women — Numerals— The  Man  in  Black       •       •  .    477 

CHAPTER  XC. 

Buona  Sera- Rather  Apprehensive— The  Steep  Bank— Lovely  Virgin— Hospi- 
tality— ^Tory  Minister— Custom  of  the  Country— Sneering  Smile- 
Wandering  Zigan— Gypsies'  Cloaks — Certain  Faculty— Acute  Answer 
— Various  Ways— Addio— Best  Hollands        ......    48a 

.     CHAPTER  XCL 
Ekcohioiis— Advamiroiis  English— Opaque  Forests— The  Greatest  Patience    489 

CHAPTER  XCn. 

The  Landlord— Rather  Too  Old— Without  a  Shilling— Reputation— A  Fort- 
night Ago— Liquids— The  Main  Chance— Respectability— Irrational 
Beings — Parliament  Cove — My  Brewer .    491 

CHAPTER  XCHL 

Another  Visit— A  la  Margutte— Clever  Man— Napoleon's  Estimate— Another 
Sutue 496 

CHAPTER  XCIV. 

Prerogative— Feeling  of  Gratitude— A  Long  Hbtory— 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— News- 
paper Editors— Charles  the  Simple— High-flying  Ditty— Dissenters — 
Lower  Classes— Priestley's  House— Horseflesh*— Aostin— Renovating 
(llas»— Money— Quite  Original       ........    499 

CHAPTER  XCV. 

Wooded  Retreat— Fresh  Shoes— Wood  Fire- Ash,  when  Green— Queen  of 
China— Cleverest  People— What's  a  Declension  ?— The  First  Noun — 
Thunder— Deep  Olive— What  Do  You  Mean?— Koul  Adonai— The 
Thick  Bushes— Wood  Pigeon— Old  Goethe 5x0 

CHAPTER  XCVI. 

A  Shout- A  Fire  Ball— See  to  the  H(Jbes— Passing  Away— Gap  in  the 
Hedge— On  Three  Wheels— Why  Do  You  Stop?— No  Craven  Heart— 
The  Cordial— Across  the  Country— Small  Bags 517 


r 

/ 


m 


CONTENTS.  IX? 


CHAPTER  XCVII. 

Fire  of  Gharaoal— TIm  New  Comer— No  Wonder  I— Not  a  Blacksmitb— A 
Lofe  AfEidr— Gretna  Green— A  Cool  Thoosand— Family  Estates- 
Borough  Interest— Grand  Education— Let  us  Hear— Already  Quarrel- 
ling—Honourable Parents— Most  Heroically— Not  Common  BK>ple— 
F^esh  Charcoal Saa 

CHAPTER  XCVIIL 

Ab  Eiordium— Fine  Shipa— High  Barbaiy  Captains— Free-Bom  Englishmen 
—Monstrous  Figure— Swash-Buckler— The  Grand  Coaches— The  Foot* 
men — ^A  Travelling  Expedition — Black  Jack — Nelson's  Cannon— Phar- 
aoh's Butler— A  DiUgenoe— Two  Passengers— Sharking  Priest— Virgilio 
'-Lessons  in  Italian— ^Two  Opinions— Holy  Maxy- raestly  Confeder- 
ates—Methodist Chapel— Eternal  City— Foaming  at  the  Mouth— Like  a 
Sepulchre— All  for  Themselves  599 

CHAPTER  XCIX. 

A  Cloister- Half-Englisb— New  Acquaintance— Fits  of  Absence— Turning 
Papist — Purposes  of  Charity— Fordgn  Religion — Melancholy — Elbowing 
and  Pushing— Outlandish  Sight— The  Figure— I  Don't  Care  for  You— 
RosT-faced  Rascal— One  Good- Religion  of  my  Country— Fellow  of 
Spirit— A  Dispute— The  Next  Morning— Female  Doll— Proper  Dignity 
—Fetish  Country S40 

CHAPTER  C 

NotUmr  but  Gloom— Sporting  Character— Gouty  Tory— Servant's  Club— 
PaOtict— Reformado  Footman— Perontkm— Good-Night      «       •       •    549 


Editor's  Postscript .  •       •    553 

*'<*" 555 

GyptyLirt ......    S68 


► 


A 


LIST   OP   ILLUSTRATIONS 


George  Borrow,  from  the  Portrait  by  Phillips, 
R.A.,  in  the  possession  of  John  Murray 
{photogravure) Frontispiece 

Edinburgh  Castle To  face  page    45 


A  Typical  Irish  Castle  (Cashel)  . 

Entrance  to  Grammar  School,  Norwich     •       . 

The  Erpingham  Gate,  Norwich,  from  the  Cathe- 
dral Close    ....... 

Earlham  Hall,  near  Norwich      •       •       .       • 

"  Marshland  Shales  ** 

Rackham's  Offices,  Tuck*s  Court,  St.    Giles', 
Norwich       •«..... 

William  Taylor  of  Norwich  (a  1765,  d.  1836)  . 

Stonehenge        

Mumpers'  Dingle        •••••• 


68 
84 

88 

93 
98 

114 
146 
318 

444 


LAVENGRO. 
(1851.) 


CHAPTER  I. 


Om  an  evening  of  July,  in  the  year  i8*S  at  East  D ,  a 

beautiful  little  town  in  a  certain  district  of  East  Anglia,  I  firet 
saw  the  light^ 

My  father  was  a  Cornish  man,  the  youngest,  as  I  have  heard 
him  say,  of  seven  brothers.  He  sprang  from  a  family  of 
gentlemen,  or,  as  some  people  would  call  them,  gentiildtres,  for 
they  were  not  very  wealthy ;  they  had  a  coat  of  arms,  however, 
and  lived  on  their  own  property  at  a  place  called  Tredinnock, 
which  being  interpreted  means  the  house  on  the  hUl^  which  house 
and  the  neighbouring  acres  had  been  from  time  immemorial 
in  their  possession.  I  mention  these  particulars  that  the  reader 
may  see  at  once  that  I  am  not  altogether  of  low  and  plebeian 
origin ;  the  present  age  is  highly  aristocratic,  and  I  am  convinced 
that  the  public  will  read  my  pages  with  more  zest  from  being 
told  that  I  am  a  gentilldtrt  by  birth  with  Cornish  blood  *  in  my 
veins,  of  a  family  who  lived  on  their  own  property  at  a  place 
bearing  a  Celtic  name,  signifying  the  house  on  the  hill,  or  more 
strictly  the  house  on  the  hillock. 

My  father  was  what  is  generally  termed  a  posthumous  child 
— ^in  other  words,  the  gtnHll&ire  who  begot  him  never  had  the 
satisfkction  of  invoking  the  blessing  of  the  Father  of  All  upon  his 
head,  having  departed  this  life  some  months  before  the  birth  of 
his  youngest  son.  The  boy,  therefore,  never  knew  a  father's 
care ;  he  was,  however,  well  tended  by  his  mother,  whose  favourite 
he  was ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  his  brethren,  the  youngest  of 
whom  was  considerably  older  than  himself,  were  rather  jealous  of 

1  MS,,  *'  On  the  fifth  day  of  July,  1803,  at  East  D ,  a  beautiful  little  town 

to  the  western  division  of  Norfolk,  I  first  saw  the  light ". 

•  "  In  CornwaU  are  the  best  gentlemen." — Com.  Frov* 

I 


i  LA  VBNGRO.  [1758. 

him.  I  never  heard,  however,  that  they  treated  him  with  any 
marked  unkindness;  and  it  will  be  as  well  to  observe  here 
that  I  am  by  no  means  well  acquainted  with  his  early 
history,  of  which,  indeed,  as  I  am  not  writing  his  life,  it  is  not 
necessary  to  say  much.  Shortly  after  his  mother's  death,  which 
occurred  when  he  was  eighteen,  he  adopted  the  profession  of 
arms,  which  he  followed  during  the  remainder  of  his  life,  and  in 
which,  had  circumstances  permitted,  he  would  probably  have 
shone  amongst  the  best  By  nature  he  was  cool  and  collected, 
slow  to  anger,  though  perfectly  fearless,  patient  of  control,  of 
great  strength,  and,  to  crown  all,  a  proper  man  with  his  hands. 

With  far  inferior  qualifications  many  a  man  has  become  a 
field-marshal  or  general ;  similar  ones  made  Tamerlane,  who  was 
not  a  gentii/d^re,  but  the  son  of  a  blacksmith,  emperor  of  one- 
third  of  the  world ;  but  the  race  is  not  always  for  the  swift,  nor 
the  battle  for  the  strong,  indeed  I  ought  rather  to  say  very  seldom ; 
certain  it  is,  that  my  father,  with  all  his  high  military  qualifications, 
never  became  emperor,  field-marshal,  or  even  general ;  indeed,  he 
had  never  an  opportunity  of  distinguishing  himself  save  in  one 
battle,  and  that  took  place  neither  in  Flanders,  Egypt,  nor  on  the 
banks  of  the  Indus  or  Oxus,  but  in  Hyde  Park. 

Smile  not,  gentle  reader,  many  a  battle  has  been  fought  in  Hyde 
Park,  in  which  as  much  skill,  science  and  bravery  have  been 
displayed  as  ever  achieved  a  victory  in  Flanders  or  by  the  Indus. 
In  such  a  combat  as  that  to  which  I  allude,  I  opine  that  even 
Wellington  or  Napoleon  would  have  been  heartily  glad  to  cry  for 
quarter  ere  the  lapse  of  five  minutes,  and  even  the  Blacksmith 
Tartar  would,  perhaps,  have  shrunk  from  the  exponent  with  whom, 
after  having  had  a  dispute  with  him,^  my  father  engaged  n  single 
combat  for  one  hour,  at  the  end  of  which  time  the  champions 
shook  hands  and  retired,  each  having  experienced  quite  enough 
of  the  other's  prowess.  The  name  of  my  father's  antagonist  was 
Brain. 

What!  still  a  smile?  did  you  never  hear  that  name  before? 
I  cannot  help  it !  Honour  to  Brain,  who  four  months  after  the 
event  which  I  have  now  narrated  was  champion  of  England, 
having  conquered  the  heroic  Johnson.  Honour  to  Brain,  who 
at  the  end  of  other  four  months,  worn  out  by  the  dreadful  blows 
which  he  had  received  in  his  many  '  combats,  expired  in  the  arms 
of  my  father,  who  read  the  Bible  to  him  in  his  latter  moments — 
Big  Ben  Brain. 

1  AfS.t  "after  being  insulted  by  him**. 
*  So  in  MSS, ;  "  manly."  an  erratum. 


«77a-l 


MY  PARENTS. 


You  no  longer  smile,  even  you  have  heard  of  Big  Ben. 

I  have  already  hinted  that  my  father  never  rose  to  any  very  ex- 
alted rank  in  his  profession,  notwithstanding  his  prowess  and  other 
qualifications*    After  serving  for  many  years  in  the  line>  he  at  last 

entered  as  captain  in  the  militia  raiment  of  the  Earl  of ,^ 

at  that  period  just  raised,  and  to  which  he  was  sent  by  the  Duke 
of  York  to  instruct  the  young  levies  in  military  manoeuvres  and 
discipline ;  and  in  this  mission  I  believe  he  perfectly  succeeded, 
competent  judges  having  assured  me  that  the  regiment  in  question 
soon  came  by  his  means  to  be  considered  as  one  of  the  roost 
brilliant  in  the  service,  and  inferior  to  no  regiment  of  the  line  in 
appearance  or  discipline* 

As  the  head-quarters  of  this  corps  were  at  D ,  the  duties 

of  my  father  not  unirequently  carried  him  to  that  place,  and  it  was 
on  one  of  these  occasions  that  he  became  acquainted  with  a 
young  person  of  the  neighbourhood,  for  whom  he  formed  an 
attachment,  which  was  returned ;  and  this  young  person  was  my 
mother. 

She  was  descended  from  a  hmi\y  of  French  Protestants,  natives 
of  Caen,  who  were  obliged  to  leave  their  native  country  when  old 
Louis,  at  the  instigation  of  the  Pope,  thought  fit  to  revoke  the 
Edict  of  Nantes.  Their  name  was  Petrement,  and  I  have  reason 
for  believing  that  they  were  people  of  some  consideration ;  that 
they  were  noble  hearts  and  good  Christians  they  gave  sufficient 
proof  in  scorning  to  bow  the  knee  to  the  tyranny  of  Rome.  So 
they  left  beautiful  Normandy  for  their  faith's  sake,  and  with  a  few 
louis  d'ors  in  their  purse,  a  Bible  in  the  vulgar  tongue,  and  a 
couple  of  old  swords,  which,  if  report  be  true,  had  done  service 
in  the  Huguenot  ?rars,  they  crossed  the  sea  to  the  isle  of  civil 
peace  and  religious  liberty,  and  established  themsdves  in  East 
Anglia. 

And  many  other  Huguenot  families  bent  their  steps  thither, 
and  devoted  themselves  to  agriculture  or  the  mechanical  arts ; 
and  in  the  venerable  old  city,  the  capital  of  the  province,  in  the 
northern  shadow  of  the  Castle  of  De  Burgh,  the  exiles  built  for 
themselves  a  church  where  they  praised  God  in  the  French  tongue, 
and  to  which,  at  particular  seasons  of  the  year,  they  were  in  the 
habit  of  flocking  from  country  and  from  town  to  sing — 

"  Thou  hast  provided  for  us  a  goodly  earth ;  Thou  waterest 
her  furrows,  Thou  sendest  rain  into  the  little  valleys  thereof. 
Thou  makest  it  soft,  with  the  drops  of  rain,  and  blessest  the 
increase  of  it". 

1 J/5.,  *•  Orfbnl  -. 


\ 


/ 


LA  VBNGRO.  [1793. 


I  have  been  told  that  in  her  younger  da3r8  my  mother  was 
strikingly  handsome ;  this  I  can  easily  believe.  I  never  knew  her 
in  her  youth,  for  though  she  was  very  young  when  she  married 
my  father  (who  was  her  senior  by  many  years)  she  had  attained 
the  middle  age  befoje  I  was  bom,  no  children  having  been 
vouchsafed  to  my  parents  in  the  early  stages  of  their  union. 
Yet  even  at  the  present  day,  now  that  years  threescore  and  ten 
have  passed  over  her  head,  attended  with  sorrow  and  troubles 
manifold,  poorly  chequered  with  scanty  joys,  can  I  look  on  that 
countenance  and  doubt  that  at  one  time  beauty  decked  it  as 
with  a  glorious  garment?  Hail  to  thee,  my  parent!  as  thou 
sittest  there,  in  thy  widow's  weeds,  in  the  dusky  parlour  in 
the  house  overgrown  with  the  lustrous  ivy  of  the  sister  isle, 
the  solitary  house  at  the  end  of  the  retired  court  shaded  by  lofty 
poplars.  Hail  to  thee,  dame  of  the  oval  face,  olive  complexion, 
and  Grecian  forehead;  by  thy  table  seated  with  the  mighty 
volume  of  the  good  Bishop  Hopkins  spread  out  before  thee; 
there  is  peace  in  thy  countenance,  my  mother ;  it  is  not  worldly 
peace,  however,  not  the  deceitful  peace  which  lulls  to  bewitching 
slumbers,  and  from  which,  let  us  pray,  humbly  pray,  that  every 
sinner  may  be  roused  in  time  to  implore  mercy  not  in  vain ! 
Thine  is  the  peace  of  the  righteous,  my  mother,  of  those  to 
whom  no  sin  can  be  imputed,  the  score  of  whose  misdeeds  has 
been  long  since  washed  a?ray  by  the  blood  of  atonement,  which 
imputeth  righteousness  to  those  who  trust  in  it.  It  was  not 
always  thus,  my  mother;  a  time  was,  when  the  cares,  pomps 
and  vanities  of  this  world  agitated  thee  too  much ;  but  that  time 
is  gone  by,  another  and  a  better  has  succeeded,  there  is  peace 
now  on  thy  countenance,  the  true  peace;  peace  around  thee, 
too,  in  thy  solitary  dwelling,  sounds  of  peace,  the  cheerful 
hum  of  the  kettle  and  the  purring  of  the  immense  Angola, 
which  stares  up  at  thee  from  its  settle  with  its  almost  human 
eyes. 

No  more  earthly  cares  and  affections  now,  my  mother  ?  Yes, 
one.  Why  dost  thou  suddenly  raise  thy  dark  and  still  brilliant 
eye  from  the  volume  with  a  somewhat  startled  glance?  What 
noise  is  that  in  the  distant  street  ?  Merely  the  noise  of  a  hoof— 
a  sound  common  enough ;  it  draws  nearer,  nearer,  and  now  it 
stops  before  thy  gate.  Singular  I  And  now  there  is  a  pause,  a 
long  pause.  Ha !  thou  hearest  something — ^a  footstep,  a  swift 
but  heavy  footstep  I  thou  risest,  thou  tremblest ;  there  is  a  hand 
on  the  pin  of  the  outer  door ;  there  is  some  one  in  the  vestibule ; 
and  now  the  door  of  thy  apartment  opens ;  there  is  a  reflection 


1800-1803.]  JOHN  AND  GBORGB.  5 

on  the  mirror  behind  thee — a  travelling  hat,  a  grey  head  and 
sunburnt  face.    ^^  My  dearest  Son ! "    "  My  darling  Mother ! " 

YeSi  mother,  thou  didst  recognise  in  the  distant  street  the 
hoof-tramp  of  the  wanderer's  horse. 

I  was  not  the  only  child  of  my  parents ;  I  had  a  brother  some 
three  years  older  than  myself.  He  was  a  beautiful  child;  one 
of  those  occasionally  seen  in  England,  and  in  England  alone ; 
a  rosy,  angelic  face,  blue  eyes,  and  light  chestnut  hair.  It  was 
not  exactly  an  Anglo-Saxon  countenance,  in  which,  by-the-bye, 
there  is  generally  a  cast  of  loutishness  and  stupidity ;  it  partook, 
to  a  certain  extent,  of  the  Celtic  character,  particularly  in  the  fire 
and  vivacity  which  illumined  it ;  his  face  was  the  mirror  of  his 
mind;  perhaps  no  disposition  more  amiable  was  ever  found 
amongst  the  children  of  Adam,  united,  however,  with  no  incon- 
siderable portion  of  high  and  dauntless  spirit  So  great  was  his 
beauty  in  infancy,  that  people,  especially  those  of  the  poorer 
classes,  would  foUow  the  nurse  who  carried  him  about  in  order 
to  look  at  and  bless  his  lovely  face.  At  the  age  of  three  mcmths 
an  attempt  was  made  to  snatch  him  from  his  mother's  arms  in 
the  streets  of  London,  at  the  moment  she  was  about  to  enter  a 
coach;  indeed,  his  appearance  seemed  to  operate  so  powerfully 
upon  every  person  who  beheld  him*  that  my  parents  were  under 
continual  apprehension  of  losing  him ;  his  b^uty,  however,  was 
perhaps  surpassed  by  the  quickness  of  his  parts.  He  mastered 
his  letters  in  a  few  hours,  and  in  a  day  or  two  could 'decipher 
the  names  of  people  on  the  doors  of  houses  and  over  the  shop 
windows. 

As  he  grew  up,  his  personal  appearance  became  less  prepos- 
sessing, his  quickness  and  cleverness,  however,  rather  increased ; 
and  I  may  say  of  him,  that  with  respect  to  everything  which  he 
took  in  hand  he  did  it  better  and  more  speedily  than  any  other 
person*  Perhaps  it  will  be  asked  here,  what  became  of  him? 
Alas !  alas !  his  was  an  early  and  a  foreign  grave.  As  I  have  said 
before,  the  race  is  not  always  for  the  swift,  nor  the  battle  for  the 
strong. 

^d  now,  doubtless,  after  the  above  portrait  of  my  brother, 
painted  in  the  very  best  style  of  Rubens,  the  reader  will  conceive 
himself  justified  in  expecting  a  full-length  one  of  myself,  as  a 
child,  for  as  to  my  present  appearance,  I  suppose  he  will  be 
tolerably  content  with  that  flitting  glimpse  in  the  mirror.  But  he 
must  excuse  me ;  I  have  no  intention  of  drawing  a  portrait  of 
myself  in  childhood ;  indeed  it  would  be  difficult,  for  at  that 
time  I  never  looked  into  mirrors.    No  attempts,  however,  were 


LA  VBNGRO.  fiSos. 


ever  made  to  steal  me  in  my  infancyi  and  I  never  heard  that  my 
parents  entertained  the  slightest  apprehension  of  losing  me  by 
the  hands  of  kidnappers,  though  I  remember  perfectly  well  that 
people  were  in  the  habit  of  standing  still  to  look  at  me,  ay,  more 
than  at  my  brother ;  from  which  premises  the  reader  may  form  any 
conclusion  with  respect  to  my  appearance  which  seemeth  good 
unto  him  and  reasonable.  Should  he,  being  a  good-natured 
person  and  always  inclined  to  adopt  the  charitable  side  in  any 
doubtful  point,  be  willing  to  suppose  that  I,  too,  was  eminently 
endowed  by  nature  with  personal  graces,  I  tell  him  frankly  that 
I  have  no  objection  whatever  to  his  entertaining  that  idea; 
moreover,  that  I  heartily  thank  him,  and  shall  at  all  times  be 
disposed,  under  similar  circumstances,  to  exercise  the  same 
species  of  charity  towards  himself. 

With  respect  to  my  mind  and  its  qualities  I  shall  be  more 
explicit ;  for,  were  I  to  maintain  much  reserve  on  this  point,  many 
things  which  appear  in  these  memoirs  would  be  highly  mysterious 
to  the  reader,  indeed  incomprehensible.  Perhaps  no  two  indivi- 
duals were  ever  more  unlike  in  mind  and  disposition  than  my 
brother  and  myself.  As  light  is  opposed  to  darkness,  so  was  that 
happy,  brilliant,  cheerful  child  to  the  sad  and  melancholy  being 
who  sprang  from  the  same  stock  as  himself,  and  was  nurtured  by 
the  same  milk. 

Once,  when  travelling  in  an  Alpine  country,  I  arrived  at  a 
considerable  elevation;  I  saw  in  the  distance,  &r  below,  a 
beautiful  stream  hastening  to  the  ocean,  its  rapid  waters  here 
sparkling  in  the  sunshine,  and  there  tumbling  merrily  in  cascades. 
On  its  banks  were  vineyards  and  cheerful  villages ;  close  to  wheie 
I  stood,  in  a  granite  basin  with  steep  and  precipitous  sides, 
slumbered  a  deep,  dark  lagoon,  shaded  by  black  pines,  cypresses 
and  yews.  It  was  a  wild,  savage  spot,  strange  and  singular; 
ravens  hovered  above  the  pines,  filling  the  air  with  their  uncouth 
notes,  pies  chattered,  and  I  heard  the  cry  of  an  eagle  from  a 
neighbouring  peak;  there  lay  the  lake,  the  dark,  solitary  and 
almost  inaccessible  lake ;  gloomy  shadows  were  upon  it,  which, 
strangely  modified  as  gusts  of  wind  agitated  the  surface,  occasion^ 
ally  assumed  the  shape  of  monsters.  So  I  stood  on  the  Alpine 
elevation,  and  looked  now  on  the  gay  distant  river,  and  now  at 
the  dark  granite-encircled  lake  close  beside  me  in  the  lone 
solitude,  and  I  thought  of  my  brother  and  myself.  I  am  no 
moraliser;  but  the  gay  and  rapid  river  and  the  dark  and  silent 
lake,  were,  of  a  verity,  no  bad  emblems  of  us  two. 

Sp  far  from  bein^  quick  aind  clever  like  my  brother^  and  abl^ 


tios.]  ^^J2  JBW.  7 


to  riiral  the  litenoy  feat  which  I  have  recorded  of  him,  many 
years  elapsed  before  I  was  able  to  understand  the  nature  of 
betters*  or  to  connect  them.  A  lover  of  nooks  and  retired  corners, 
I  was  as  a  child  in  the  habit  of  fleeing  from  society,  and  of  sitting 
Jor  hours  together  with  my  head  on  my  breast.  What  I  was 
thinking  about,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  at  this  distance  of 
time ;  I  remember  perfectly  well,  however,  being  ever  conscious 
of  a  peculiar  heaviness  within  me,  and  at  times  of  a  strange 
sensation  of  fear,  which  occasionally  amounted  to  horror,  and 
for  which  I  could  assign  no  real  cause  whatever. 

By  nature  slow  of  speech,  I  took  no  pleasure  in  conversation, 
nor  in  hearing  the  voices  of  ray  fellow-creatures.  When  people 
addressed  me  I  not  unfrequently,  especially  if  they  were  strangers, 
turned  away  my  head  from  them,  and  if  they  persisted  in  their 
notice  burst  into  tears,  which  singularity  of  behaviour  by  no 
means  tended  to  dispose  people  in  my  favour.  I  was  as  much 
disliked  as  my  brother  was  deservedly  beloved  and  admired.  My 
parents,  it  is  true,  were  always  kind  to  me ;  and  my  brother,  who 
was  good  nature  itself,  was  continually  lavishing  upon  me  every 
mark  of  affection. 

There  was,  however,  one  individual  who,  in  the  days  of  my 
childhood,  was  disposed  to  form  a  favourable  opinion  of  me.  One 
day,  a  Jew — I  had  quite  forgotten  the  circumstance,  but  I  was  long 
subsequently  informed  of  it — one  day  a  travelling  Jew  knocked 
at  the  door  of  a  fisirmhouse  in  which  we  had  taken  apartments.  I 
was  near  at  hand,  sitting  in  the  bright  sunshine,  drawing  strange 
lines  on  the  dust  with  my  fingers,  an  ape  and  dog  were  my  com- 
panions. The  Jew  looked  at  me  and  asked  me  some  questions, 
to  which,  though  I  was  quite  able  to  speak,  I  returned  no  answer. 
On  the  door  being  opened,  the  Jew,  after  a  few  words,  probably 
relating  to  pedlary,  demanded  who  the  child  was,  sitting  in  the 
sun ;  the  maid  replied  that  I  was  her  mistress's  youngest  son,  a 
child  weak  Aere^  pointing  to  her  forehead.  The  Jew  looked  at 
me  again,  and  then  said :  "  Ton  my  conscience,  my  dear,  I  believe 
ftat  you  must  be  troubled  there  yourself  to  tell  me  any  such  thing. 
It  is  not  my  habit  to  speak  to  children,  inasmuch  as  I  hate  them, 
because  they  often  follow  me  and  fling  stones  after  me ;  but  I  no 
sooner  looked  at  that  child  than  I  was  forced  to  speak  to  it  His 
not  answering  me  shows  his  sense,  for  it  has  never  been  the 
custom  of  the  wise  to  fling  away  their  words  in  indifferent  talk 
and  conversation.  The  child  is  a  sweet  child,  and  has  all  the  look 
of  one  of  our  people's  children.  Fool,  indeed !  did  I  not  see  his 
e^es  sparkle  just  now  when  the  monkey  seized  the  dog  by  the 


LA  VBNGRO.  [1805 


ear?  they  shone  like  my  own  diamonds — does  your  good  lady 
want  any,  real  and  fine?  Were  it  not  for  what  you  tell  me,  I 
should  say  it  was  a  prophet's  child.  Fool,  indeed !  he  can  write 
already,  or  I'll  forfeit  the  box  which  I  carry  on  my  back,  and  for 
which  I  should  be  loth  to  take  two  hundred  pounds ! "  He  then 
leaned  forward  to  inspect  the  lines  which  I  had  traced.  All  of  a 
sudden  he  started  back,  and  grew  white  as  a  sheet ;  then,  taking  off 
his  hat,  he  made  some  strange  gestures  to  me,  cringing,  chattering, 
and  showing  his  teeth,  and  shortly  departed,  muttering  something 
about  "  holy  letters,"  and  talking  to  himself  in  a  strange  tongue. 
The  words  of  the  Jew  were  in  due  course  of  time  reported  to  my 
mother,  who  treasured  them  in  her  heart,  and  from  that  moment 
began  to  entertain  brighter  hopes  of  her  youngest-born  than  she 
had  ever  before  ventured  to  foster. 


CHAPTER  II. 


I  HAVE  been  a  wanderer  the  greater  part  of  my  life;  indeed  I 
remember  only  two  periods,  and  these  by  no  means  lengthy,  when 
I  was,  strictly  speaking,  stationary.  I  was  a  soldier's  son,  and  as 
the  means  of  my  father  were  by  no  means  sufficient  to  support 
two  establishments,  his  family  invariably  attended  him  wherever 
he  went,  so  that  from  my  infancy  I  was  accustomed  to  travelling 
and  wandering,  and  looked  upon  a  monthly  change  of  scene  and 
residenct  as  a  matter  of  course.  Sometimes  we  lived  In  barracks, 
sometimes  in  lodgings,  but  generally  in  the  former,  always  eschew- 
ing the  latter  from  motives  of  economy,  save  when  the  barracks 
were  inconvenient  and  uncomfortable ;  and  they  must  have  been 
highly  so  indeed  to  have  discouraged  us  from  entering  them ;  for 
though  we  were  gentry  (pray  bear  that  in  mind,  gentle  reader), 
gentry  by  birth,  and  incontestably  so  by  my  father's  bearing  the 
commission  of  good  old  George  the  Third,  we  were  notjlne  gentry^ 
but  people  who  could  put  up  with  as  much  as  any  genteel  Scotch 
family  who  find  it  convenient  to  live  on  a  third  floor  in  London, 
or  on  a  sixth  at  Edinburgh  or  Glasgow.  It  was  not  a  little  that 
could  discourage  us.  We  once  lived  within  the  canvas  walls  of  a 
camp,  at  a  place  called  Pett,  in  Sussex ;  and  I  believe  it  was  at 
this  place  that  occurred  the  first  circumstance,  or  adventure,  call 
it  which  you  will,  that  I  can  remember  in  connection  with  my- 
self.   It  was  a  strange  one,  and  I  will  relate  it. 

It  happened  that  my  brother  and  myself  were  playing  one 
evening  in  a  sandy  lane,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  this  Pett  camp ; 
our  mother  was  at  a  slight  distance.  All  of  a  sudden,  a  bright 
yellow,  and,  to  my  infantine  eye,  beautiful  and  glorious  object 
made  its  appearance  at  the  top  of  the  bank  from  between  the 
thick  quickset,  and,  gliding  down,  began  to  move  across  the  lane 
to  the  other  side,  like  a  line  of  golden  light.  Uttering  a  cry  of 
pleasure,  I  sprang  forward,  and  seized  it  nearly  by  the  middle. 
A  strange  sensation  of  numbing  coldness  seemed  to  pervade  my 
whole  arm,  which  surprised  me  the  more  as  the  object  to  the  eye 
appeared  so  warm  and  sunlike.  I  did  not  drop  it,  however,  but, 
))olding  it  up,  looked  at  it  intently,  as  its  head  dangled  about  9 

(9) 


lo  LA  VBNGRO,  [1806. 

foot  from  my  hand.  It  made  no  resistance ;  I  felt  not  even  the 
shghtest  struggle;  but  now  my  brother  began  to  scream  and 
shriek  like  one  possessed.  "  O  mother,  mother  1  **  said  he,  "  the 
viper  I  my  brother  has  a  viper  in  his  hand  1 "  He  then,  like  one 
frantic,  made  an  effort  to  snatch  the  creature  away  from  me.  The 
viper  now  hissed  amain,  and  raised  its  head,  in  which  were  eyes 
like  hot  coals,  menacing,  not  myself,  but  my  brother.  I  dropped 
my  captive,  for  I  saw  my  mother  running  towards  me ;  and  the 
reptile,  after  standing  for  a  moment  nearly  erect,  and  still  hissing 
furiously,  made  off,  and  disappeared.  The  whole  scene  is  now 
before  me,  as  vividly  as  if  it  occurred  yesterday — the  goigeous 
viper,  my  poor  dear  frantic  brother,  my  agitated  parent,  and  a 
frightened  hen  clucking  under  the  bushes;  and  yet  I  was  not 
three  years  old. 

It  is  my  firm  belief  that  certain  individuals  possess  an  inherent 
power,  or  fascination,  over  certain  creatures,  otherwise  I  should 
be  unable  to  account  for  many  feats  which  I  have  witnessed,  and, 
indeed,  borne  a  share  in,  connected  with  the  taming  of  brutes  and 
reptiles.  I  have  known  a  savage  and  vicious  mare,  whose  stall 
it  was  dangerous  to  approach,  even  when  bearing  provender,  wel- 
come, nevertheless,  with  every  appearance  of  pleasure,  an  uncouth, 
wiry-headed  man,  with  a  frightfully  seamed  face,  and  an  iron  hook 
supplying  the  place  of  his  right  hand,  one  whom  the  animal  had 
never  seen  before,  playfully  bite  his  hair  and  cover  his  ftice  with 
gentle  and  endearing  kisses;  and  I  have  already  stated  how  a 
viper  would  permit,  without  resentment,  one  child  to  take  it  up 
in  his  hand,  whilst  it  showed  its  dislike  to  the  approach  of  another 
by  the  fiercest  hissings.  Philosophy  can  explain  many  strange 
things,  but  there  are  some  which  are  a  far  pitch  above  her,  and 
this  is  one. 

I  should  scarcely  relate  another  circumstance  which  occurred 
about  this  time  but  for  a  singular  effect  which  it  produced  upon 
my  constitution.  Up  to  this  period  I  had  been  rather  a  delicate 
child ;  whereas,  almost  immediately  after  the  occurrence  to  which 
I  allude,  I  became  both  hale  and  vigorous,  to  the  great  astonish- 
ment of  my  parents,  who  naturally  enough  expected  that  it  would 
produce  quite  a  contrary  effect. 

It  happened  that  my  brother  and  myself  were  disporting 
ourselves  in  certain  fields  near  the  good  town  of  Canterbury.  A 
female  servant  had  attended  us,  in  order  to  take  care  that  we 
came  to  no  mischief  She,  however,  it  seems,  had  matters  of 
her  own  to  attend  to,  and,  allowing  us  to  go  where  we  listed, 
^m^tined  in  ope  corner  of  a  field,  in  earnest  conversation  witli 


i8o6-7.]  HYTHE,  ix 

a  red<oated  dragoon.  Now  it  chanced  to  be  blackberry  time, 
and  the  two  children  wandered  under  the  hedges,  peering 
anxiously  among  them  in  quest  of  that  trash  so  grateful  to 
urchins  of  their  degree.  We  did  not  find  much  of  it,  however, 
and  were  soon  separated  in  the  pursuit.  All  at  once  I  stood 
still,  and  could  scarcely  believe  my  eyes.  I  had  come  to  a  spot 
where,  almost  covering  the  hedge,  hung  clusters  of  what  seemed 
fruit,  deliciously-tempting  fruit — something  resembling  grapes  of 
various  colours,  green,  red  and  purple.  Dear  me,  thought  I, 
how  fortunate!  yet  have  I  a  right  to  gather  it?  is  it  mine?  for 
the  observance  of  the  law  of  meum  and  tuum  had  early  been 
impressed  upon  my  mind,  and  I  entertained,  even  at  that  tender 
age,  the  utmost  horror  for  theft ;  so  I  stood  staring  at  the  varie- 
gated dusters,  in  doubt  as  to  what  I  should  do.  I  know  not  how 
I  argued  the  matter  in  my  mind ;  the  temptation,  however,  was 
at  last  too  strong  for  me,  so  I  stretched  forth  my  hand  and  ate. 
I  remember  perfectly  well,  that  the  taste  of  this  strange  fruit  was 
by  no  means  so  pleasant  as  the  appearance ;  but  the  idea  of  eating 
fruit  was  sufficient  for  a  child,  and,  after  all,  the  flavour  was  much 
superior  to  that  of  sour  apples,  so  I  ate  voraciously.  How  long 
I  continued  eating  I  scarcdy  know.  One  thing  is  certain,  that  I 
never  left  the  field  as  I  entered  it,  being  carried  home  in  the  arms 
of  the  dragoon  in  strong  convulsions,  in  which  I  continued  for 
several  hours.  About  midnight  I  awoke,  as  if  from  a  troubled 
sleep,  and  beheld  my  parents  bending  over  my  couch,  whilst  the 
regimental  surgeon,  with  a  candle  in  his  hand,  stood  nigh,  the 
light  feebly  reflected  on  the  whitewashed  walls  of  the  barrack- 
room* 

Another  circumstance  connected  with  my  infancy,  and  I  have 
done.  I  need  offer  no  apology  for  relating  it,  as  it  subsequently 
exerdsed  considerable  influence  over  my  pursuits.  We  were,  if 
I  remember  right,  in  the  vicinity  of  a  place  called  Hythe,  in  Kent 
One  sweet  evening,  in  the  latter  part  of  summer,  our  mother  took 
her  two  little  boys  by  the  hand,  for  a  wander  about  the  fields. 
In  the  course  of  our  stroll  we  came  to  the  village  church  ]  an  old 
grey-headed  sexton  stood  in  the  porch,  who,  perceiving  that  we 
were  strangers,  invited  us  to  enter.  We  were  presently  in  the 
interior,  wandering  about  the  aisles,  looking  on  the  walls,  and 
inspecting  the  monuments  of  the  notable  dead.  I  can  scarcely 
state  what  we  saw ;  how  should  I  ?  I  was  a  child  not  yet  four 
jrears  old,  and  yet  I  think  I  remember  the  evening  sun  streaming 
to  through  a  stained  window  upon  the  dingy  mahogany  pulpit, 
tad  flin^ng  a  rich  lustre  upon  the  faded  tin^  of  an  ancient 


z«  LA  VBNGRO.  [1806-7. 

banner.  And  now  once  more  we  were  outside  the  building, 
where,  against  the  wall,  stood  a  low-eaved  pent-house,  into  which 
we  looked.  It  was  half-filled  with  substances  of  some  kind,  which 
at  first  looked  like  large  grey  stones.  The  greater  part  were  lying 
in  layers ;  some,  however,  were  seen  in  confused  and  mouldering 
heaps,  and  two  or  three,  which  had  perhaps  rolled  down  from 
the  rest,  lay  separately  on  the  floor.  "  Skulls,  madam,"  said  the 
sexton ;  "  skulls  of  the  old  Danes !  Long  ago  they  came  pirating 
into  these  parts ;  and  then  there  chanced  a  mighty  shipwreck,  for 
God  was  angry  with  them,  and  He  sunk  them ;  and  their  skulls, 
as  they  came  ashore,  were  placed  here  as  a  memorial.  There 
were  many  more  when  I  was  young,  but  now  they  are  fast  dis- 
appearing. Some  of  them  must  have  belonged  to  strange  fellows, 
madam.  Only  see  that  one;  why,  the  two  young  gentry  can 
scarcely  lift  it!"  And,  indeed,  my  brother  and  myself  had 
entered  the  Golgotha,  and  commenced  handling  these  gnm 
relics  of  mortality.  One  enormous  skull,  lying  in  a  comer,  had 
fixed  our  attention,  and  we  had  drawn  it  forth.  Spirit  of  eld,  what 
a  skull  was  yon  I 

I  still  seem  to  see  it,  the  huge  grim  thing ;  many  of  the  others 
were  large,  strikingly  so,  and  appeared  fully  to  justify  the  old  man's 
conclusion  that  their  owners  must  have  been  strange  fellows ;  but, 
compared  with  this  mighty  mass  of  bone,  they  looked  small  and 
diminutive,  like  those  of  pigmies ;  it  must  have  belonged  to  a 
giant,  one  of  those  red-haired  warriors  of  whose  strength  and 
stature  such  wondrous  tales  are  told  in  the  ancient  chronicles 
of  the  north,  and  whose  grave-hills,  when  ransacked,  occasionally 
reveal  secrets  which  fill  the  minds  of  puny  modems  with  astonish- 
ment and  awe.  Reader,  have  you  ever  pored  days  and  nights 
over  the  pages  of  Snorro?  probably  not,  for  he  wrote  in  a 
language  which  few  of  the  present  day  understand,  and  few 
would  be  tempted  to  read  him  tamed  down  by  Latin  dragomans. 
A  brave  old  l>ook  is  that  of  Snorro,  containing  the  histories  and 
adventures  of  old  northern  kings  and  champions,  who  seemed  to 
have  been  quite  different  men,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  feats 
which  they  performed,  from  those  of  these  days.  One  of  the 
best  of  his  histories  is  that  which  describes  the  life  of  Harald 
Haardraade,  who,  after  manifold  adventures  by  land  and  sea, 
now  a  pirate,  now  a  mercenary  of  the  Greek  emperor,  became 
King  of  Norway,  and  eventually  perished  at  the  battle  of  Stanford 
Bridge,  whilst  engaged  in  a  gallant  onslaught  upon  England. 
Now,  I  have  often  thought  that  the  old  Kemp,  whose  mouldering 
$kull  in  the  golgotha  of  Hythe  my  brother  and  myself  could 


la©;.]  STIRRING  TIMES.  13 


scarcely  lilt,  must  have  resembled  in  one  respect  at  least  this 
Harald,  whom  Snorro  describes  as  a  great  and  wise  raler  and  a 
determined  leader,  dangerous  in  battle,  of  fair  presence,  and 
measuring  m  height  just  Jhe  e/ls,*  neither  more  nor  less. 

I  never  forgot  the  Daneman's  skull ;  like  the  apparition  of  the 
viper  in  the  sandy  lane,  it  dwelt  in  the  mind  of  the  boy,  affording 
copious  food  for  the  exercise  of  imagination.  From  that  moment 
with  the  name  of  Dane  were  associated  strange  ideas  of  strength, 
daring,  and  superhuman  stature ;  and  an  undefinable  curiosity  for 
all  that  is  connected  with  the  Danish  race  began  to  pervade  me ; 
and  if,  long  after,  when  I  became  a  student,  I  devoted  myself 
with  peculiar  eest  to  Danish  lore  and  the  acquirement  of  the  old 
Norse  tongue  and  its  dialects,  I  can  only  explain  the  matter  by 
the  early  impression  received  at  Hythe  from  the  tale  of  the  old 
sexton,  beneath  the  pent-house,  and  the  sight  of  the  Danish  skull 

And  thus  we  went  on  straying  from  place  to  place,  at  Hythe 
toKlay,  and  perhaps  within  a  week  looking  out  from  our  hostel- 
window  upon  the  streets  of  old  Winchester,  our  motions  ever  in 
accordance  with  the  ''  route  **  of  the  regiment,  so  habituated  to 
change  of  scene  that  it  had  become  almost  necessary  to  our 
existence.  Pleasant  were  those  days  of  my  early  boyhood ;  and 
a  melancholy  pleasure  steals  over  me  as  I  recall  them.  Those 
were  stirring  times  of  which  I  am  speaking,  and  there  was  much 
passing  around  me  calculated  to  captivate  the  imagination.  The 
dreadful  struggle  which  so  long  convulsed  Europe,  and  in  which 
England  bore  so  prominent  a  part,  was  then  at  its  hottest;  we 
were  at  war,  and  determination  and  enthusiasm  shone  in  every 
face ;  man,  woman  and  child  were  eager  to  fight  the  Frank,  the 
hereditary,  but,  thank  God,  never  dreaded  enemy  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race.  "  Love  your  country  and  beat  the  French,  and  then 
never  mind  what  happens,**  was  the  cry  of  entire  England.  Oh, 
those  were  days  of  power,  gallant  days,  bustling  days,  worth  the 
bravest  days  of  chivalry,  at  least ;  tall  battalions  of  native  warriors 
were  marching  through  the  land;  there  was  the  glitter  of  the 
bayonet  and  the  gleam  of  the  sabre;  the  shrill  squeak  of  the 
fife  and  loud  rattling  of  the  drum  were  heaid  in  the  streets  of 
country  towns,  and  the  loyal  shouts  of  the  inhabitants  greeted 
the  soldiery  on  their  arrival,  or  cheered  them  at  their  departure. 
And  now  let  us  leave  the  upland,  and  descend  to  the  sea-bord ; 
there  is  a  sight  for  you  upon  the  billows  I  A  dozen  men-of-war 
are  gliding  majestically  out  of  port,  their  long  buntings  streaming 

*  Nonregian  tUft-Hibout  eight  feet 


14  LA  VBNORO.  [1807-8. 


from  the  top-gallant  masts,  calling  on  the  skulking  FreDchman  to 
come  forth  from  his  bights  and  bays ;  and  what  looms  upon  us 
▼onder  from  the  fog-bank  in  the  east?  a  gallant  frigate  towing 
behind  her  the  long  low  hull  of  a  crippled  privateer,  which  but 
three  short  days  ago  had  left  Dieppe  to  skim  the  sea,  and  whose 
crew  of  ferocious  hearts  are  now  cursing  their  imprudence  in  an 
Enghsh  hold.  Stirring  times  those*  which  I  love  to  recall,  for 
they  were  days  of  gallantry  and  enthusiasmi  and  were  moreover 
the  days  of  my  boyhood. 


^  __ 


CHAPTER  IIL 


And  when  I  was  between  six  and  seven  years  of  age  we  were  once 
more  at  D — — ,  the  place  of  my  birth,  whither  my  father  had  been 
despatched  on  the  recruiting  service.  I  have  already  said  that  it 
was  a  beautiful  little  town — at  least  it  was  at  the  time  of  which  I 
am  speaking ;  what  it  is  at  present  I  know  not,  for  thirty  years  and 
more  have  elapsed  since  I  last  trod  its  streets.  It  will  scarcely 
have  improved,  for  how  could  it  be  better  than  it  then  was  ?    I 

love  to  think  on  thee,  pretty,  quiet  D ,  thou  pattern  of  an 

English  coimtry  town,  with  thy  clean  but  narrow  streets  branching 
out  from  thy  modest  market-place,  with  thine  old-fashioned  houses, 
with  here  and  there  a  roof  of  venerable  thatch,  with  thy  one  half- 
aristocratic  mansion,  where  resided  thy  Lady  Bountiful — she,  the 
generous  and  kind,  who  loved  to  visit  the  sick,  leaning  on  her 
golden-headed  cane,  whilst  the  sleek  old  footman  walked  at  a 
respectful  distance  behind.  Pretty,  quiet  D ,  with  thy  vener- 
able church,  in  which  moulder  the  mortal  remains  of  England's 
sweetest  and  most  pious  bard. 

Yes,  pretty  D ,  I  could  always  love  thee,  were  it  but  for 

the  sake  of  him  who  sleeps  beneath  the  marble  slab  in  yonder 
quiet  chancel.  It  was  within  thee  that  the  long-oppressed  bosom 
heaved  its  last  sigh,  and  the  crushed  and  gentle  spirit  escaped 
from  a  world  in  which  it  had  known  nought  but  sorrow.  Sorrow ! 
do  I  say  ?  How  faint  a  word  to  express  the  misery  of  that  bruised 
reed ;  misery  so  dark  that  a  blind  worm  like  myself  is  occasionally 
tempted  to  exclaim,  Better  had  the  world  never  been  created 
than  that  one  so  kind,  so  harmless,  and  so  mild,  should  have 
undergone  such  intolerable  woe !  But  it  is  over  now,  for,  as  there 
is  an  end  of  joy,  so  has  affliction  its  termination.  Doubtless  the 
Ail-wise  did  not  afflict  him  without  a  cause.  Who  knows  but 
within  that  unhappy  frame  lurked  vicious  seeds  which  the  sun- 
beams of  joy  and  prosperity  might  have  called  into  life  and 
vigour?  Perhaps  the  withering  blasts  of  misery  nipped  that 
which  otherwise  might  have  terminated  in  fruit  noxious  and 
lamentable.  But  peace  to  the  unhappy  one,  he  is  gone  to  his 
rest;  the  deathlike  face  is  no  longer  occasionally  seen  timidlf 

('5) 


i6  LA  VBNGRO.  [1809-xa 

and  mournfully  looking  for  a  moment  through  the  window-pane 

upon  thy  market-place,  quiet  and  pretty  D ;  the  hind  in  thy 

neighbourhood  no  longer  at  evening-fall  views,  and  starts  as  he 
views,  the  dark  lathy  figure  moving  beneath  the  hazels  and  alders 
of  shadowy  lanes,  or  by  the  side  of  murmuring  trout  streams; 
and  no  longer  at  early  dawn  does  the  sexton  of  the  old  church 
reverently  doff  his  hat,  as,  supported  by  some  kind  friend,  the 
death-stricken  creature  totters  along  the  church-path  to  that 
mouldering  edifice  with  the  low  roof,  inclosing  a  spring  of 
sanatory  waters,  built  and  devoted  to  some  saint — if  the  legend 
over  the  door  be  true,  by  the  daughter  of  an  East  Anglian 
king. 

But  to  return  to  my  own  history.  I  had  now  attained  the 
age  of  six.  Shall  I  state  what  intellectual  progress  I  had  been 
making  up  to  this  period  ?  Alas !  upon  this  point  I  have  little  to 
say  calculated  to  afford  either  pleasure  or  edification.  I  had 
increased  rapidly  in  size  and  in  strength ;  the  growth  of  the  mind, 
however,  had  by  no  means  corresponded  with  that  of  the  body. 
It  is  true,  I  had  acquired  my  letters,  and  was  by  this  time  able  to 
read  imperfectly,  but  this  was  all ;  and  even  this  poor  triumph 
Qver  absolute  ignorance  would  never  have  been  effected  but  for 
the  unremitting  attention  of  my  parents,  who,  sometimes  by  threats, 
sometimes  by  entreaties,  endeavoured  to  rouse  the  dormant  energies 
of  my  nature,  and  to  bend  my  wishes  to  the  acquisition  of  the 
rudiments  of  knowledge;  but  in  influencing  the  wish  lay  the 
difficulty.  Let  but  the  will  of  a  human  being  be  turned  to  any 
particular  object,  and  it  is  ten  to  one  that  sooner  or  later  he 
achieves  it  At  this  time  I  may  safely  say  that  I  harboured 
neither  wishes  nor  hopes ;  I  had  as  yet  seen  no  object  calculated 
to  call  them  forth,  and  yet  I  took  pleasure  in  many  things  which 
perhaps  unfortunately  were  all  within  my  sphere  of  enjoyment.  I 
loved  to  look  upon  the  heavens,  and  to  bask  in  the  rays  of  the 
sun,  or  to  sit  beneath  hedgerows  and  listen  to  the  chirping  of 
the  birds,  indulging  the  while  in  musing  and  meditation  as  far 
as  my  very  limited  circle  of  ideas  would  permit ;  but,  unlike  my 
brother,  who  was  at  this  time  at  school,  and  whose  rapid  progress 
in  every  branch  of  instruction  astonished  and  delighted  his  pre- 
ceptors, I  took  no  pleasure  in  books,  whose  use,  indeed,  I  could 
scarcely  comprehend,  and  bade  fair  to  be  as  arrant  a  dunce  as 
ever  brought  the  blush  of  shame  into  the  cheeks  of  anxious  and 
affectionate  parents. 

But  the  time  was  now  at  hand  when  the  ice  which  had  hitherto 
bound  the  mind  of  the  child  with  its  benumbing  power  was  to 


t8o9-xa]  THE  SMALL  PACKEt.  iy 

be  thawed,  and  a  world  of  sensations  and  ideas  awakened  to 
which  it  had  hitherto  been  an  entire  stranger.  One  day  a  young 
lady,  an  intimate  acquaintance  of  our  family,  and  godmother  to 
my  brother,  drove  up  to  the  house  in  which  we  dwelt ;  she  staid 
some  time  conversing  with  my  mother,  and  on  rising  to  depart  she 
put  down  on  the  table  a  small  packet,  exclaiming :  '*  I  have  brought 
a  h'ttle  present  for  each  of  the  boys :  the  one  is  a  History  of 
England,  which  I  intend  for  my  godson  when  he  returns  from 

school,  the  other  is "  and  here  she  said  something  which 

escaped  my  ear,  as  I  sat  at  some  distance,  moping  in  a  comer : 
*'I  intend  it  for  the  youngster  yonder,"  pointing  to  myself;  she 
then  departed,  and,  my  mother  going  out  shortly  after,  I  was  left 
alone. 

I  remember  for  some  time  sitting  motionless  in  my  corner, 
with  my  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground ;  at  last  I  lifted  my  head  and 
looked  upon  the  packet  as  it  lay  on  the  table.  All  at  once  a 
strange  sensation  came  over  me,  such  as  I  had  never  experienced 
before— a  singular  blending  of  curiosity,  awe  and  pleasure,  the 
lemembrance  of  which,  even  at  this  distance  of  time,  produces  a 
remarkable  eflect  upon  my  nervous  system.  What  strange  things 
are  the  nerves — I  mean  those  more  secret  and  mysterious  ones  in 
which  I  have  some  notion  that  the  mind  or  soul,  call  it  which  you 
will,  has  its  habitation ;  how  they  occasionally  tingle  and  vibrate 
before  any  coming  event  closely  connected  with  the  future  weal 
or  woe  of  the  human  being.  Such  a  feeling  was  now  within  me, 
certainly  independent  of  what  the  eye  had  seen  or  the  ear  had 
heard.  A  book  of  some  description  had  been  brought  for  me,  a 
present  by  no  means  calculated  to  interest  me ;  what  cared  I  for 
books?  I  had  already  many  into  which  I  never  looked  but  from 
compulsion;  friends,  moreover,  had  presented  me  with  similar 
things  before,  which  I  had  entirely  disregarded,  and  what  was 
there  in  this  particular  book,  whose  very  title  I  did  not  know, 
calculated  to  attract  me  more  than  the  rest  ?  yet  something  within 
told  me  that  my  fate  was  connected  with  the  book  which  had 
been  last  brought ;  so,  after  looking- on  the  packet  from  my  corner 
for  a  considerable  time,  I  got  up  and  went  to  the  table. 

The  packet  was  lying  where  it  had  been  left — I  took  it  up ; 
had  the  envelope,  which  consisted  of  whitish  brown  paper,  been 
secured  by  a  string  or  a  seal,  I  should  not  have  opened  it,  as  I 
should  have  considered  such  an  act  almost  in  the  light  of  a  crime ; 
the  books,  however,  had  been  merely  folded  up,  and  I  therefore 
considered  that  there  could  be  no  possible  harm  in  inspecting 
them,  more  especially  as  I  had  received  no  injunction  to  the 

a 


i8  LA  VBNGRO.  [1809- zO. 

contrary.  Perhaps  there  was  something  unsound  in  this  reasoning, 
something  sophistical;  but  a  child  is  sometimes  as  ready  as  a 
grown-up  person  in  finding  excuses  for  doing  that  which  he  is 
inclined  to.  But  whether  the  action  was  right  or  wrong,  and  I 
am  afraid  it  was  not  altogether  right,  I  undid  the  packet.  It 
contained  three  books,  two  from  their  similarity  seemed  to  be 
separate  parts  of  one  and  the  same  work  -,  they  were  handsomely 
bound,  and  to  them  I  first  turned  my  attention.  I  opened  them 
successively  and  endeavoured  to  make  out  their  meaning ;  their 
contents,  however,  as  far  as  I  was  able  to  understand  them,  were 
by  no  means  interesting :  whoever  pleases  may  read  these  books 
for  me,  and  keep  them  too,  into  the  bargain,  said  I  to  myself. 

I  now  took  up  th^  third  book.  It  did  not  resemble  the  others, 
being  longer  and  considerably  thicker ;  the  binding  was  of  dingy 
calf-skin.  I  opened  it,  and  as  I  did  so  another  strange  thrill  of 
pleasure  shot  through  my  frame.  The  first  object  on  which  my 
eyes  rested  was  a  picture ;  it  was  exceedingly  well  executed,  at 
least  the  scene  which  it  represented  made  a  vivid  impression  upon 
me,  which  would  hardly  have  been  the  case  had  the  artist  not 
been  faithful  to  nature.  A  wild  scene  it  was — a  heavy  sea  and 
rocky  shore,  with  mountains  in  the  background^  above  which  the 
moon  was  peering.  Ngt  far  from  the  shore,  upon  the  water,  was 
a  boat  with  two  figures  in  it,  one  of  which  stood  at  the  bow, 
pointing  with  what  I  knew  to  be  a  gun  at  a  dreadful  shape  in  the 
water;  fire  was  flashing  from  the  muzzle  of  the  gun,  and  the 
monster  appeared  to  be  transfixed.  I  almost  thought  I  heard  its 
cry.  I  remained  motionless,  gazing  upon  the  picture,  scarcely 
daring  to  draw  my  breath,  lest  the  new  and  wondrous  world 
should  vanish  of  which  I  had  now  obtained  a  glimpse.  "  Who 
are  those  people,  and  what  could  have  brought  them  into  that 
strange  situation  ?  '*  I  asked  of  myself ;  and  now  the  seed  of 
curiosity,  which  had  so  long  lain  dormant,  began  to  expand,  and  I 
vowed  to  myself  to  become  speedily  acquainted  with  the  whole 
history  of  the  people  in  the  boat.  After  looking  on  the  picture 
till  every  mark  and  line  in  it  were  familiar  to  me,  I  turned  over 
various  leaves  till  I  came  to  another  engraving ;  a  new  source  of 
wonder — a  low  sandy  beach  on  which  the  furious  sea  was  breaking 
in  mountain-like  billows;  cloud  and  rack  deformed  the  firma- 
ment, which  wore  a  dull  and  leaden-like  hue;  gulls  and  other 
aquatic  fowls  were  toppling  upon  the  blast,  or  skimming  over  the 
tops  of  the  maddening  waves — "Mercy  upon  him!  he  must  be 
drowned  1 "  I  exclaimed,  as  my  eyes  fell  upon  a  poor  wretch  who 
appeared  to  be  striving  to  reach  the  shore ;  he  was  upon  his  legs 


i8o9-xa]  SPIRIT  OP  DB  FOB.  19 

but  was  evidently  half-smothered  with  the  brine ;  high  above  his 
head  curled  a  horrible  billow,  as  if  to  engulf  him  for  ever.  "  He 
must  be  drowned!  he  must  be  drowned  1"  I  almost  shrieked, 
and  dropped  the  book*  I  soon  snatched  it  up  again,  and  now 
my  eye  lighted  on  a  third  picture :  again  a  shore,  but  what  a  sweet 
and  lovely  one,  and  how  I  wished  to  be  treading  it ;  there  were 
beautiful  shells  lying  on  the  smooth  white  sand,  some  were  empty 
like  those  I  had  occasionally  seen  on  marble  mantelpieces,  but 
oat  of  others  peered  the  heads  and  bodies  of  wondrous  crayfish ; 
a  wood  of  thick  green  trees  skirted  the  beach  and  partly  shaded  it 
from  the  rays  of  the  sun,  which  shone  hot  above,  while  blue  waves 
slightly  crested  with  foam  were  gently  curling  against  it;  there 
was  a  human  figure  upon  the  beach,  wild  and  uncouth,  clad  in  the 
skins  of  animals,  with  a  huge  cap  on  his  head,  a  hatdiet  at  his 
girdle,  and  in  his  hand  a  gun ;  his  feet  and  l^s  were  bare ;  he 
stood  in  an  attitude  of  horror  and  surprise ;  his  body  was  bent  far 
back,  and  his  eyes,  which  seemed  starting  out  of  his  head,  were 
fixed  upon  a  mark  on  the  sand — a  large  distinct  mark — a  human 
footprint  I 

Reader,  is  it  necessary  to  name  the  book  which  now  stood 
open  in  my  hand,  and  whose  very  prints,  feeble  expounders  of  its 
wondrous  lines,  had  produced  within  me  emotions  strange  and 
novel  ?  Scarcely,  for  it  was  a  book  which  has  exerted  over  the 
minds  oi  Englishmen  an  influence  certainly  greater  than  any  other 
of  modem  times,  which  has  been  in  most  people's  hands,  and  with 
the  contents  of  which  even  those  who  cannot  read  are  to  a  certain 
extent  acquainted ;  a  book  from  which  the  most  luxuriant  and 
fertile  of  our  modern  prose  writers  have  drunk  inspiration ;  a 
book,  moreover,  to  which,  from  the  hardy  deeds  which  it  narrates, 
and  the  spirit  of  strange  and  romantic  .enterprise  which  it  tends 
to  awaken,  England  owes  many  of  her  astonishing  discoveries  both 
by  sea  and  land,  and  no  inconsiderable  part  of  her  naval  glory. 

Hail  to  thee,  spirit  of  De  Foe  I  What  does  not  my  own  poor 
self  owe  to  thee  ?  England  has  better  bards  than  either  Greece  or 
Rome,  yet  I  could  spare  them  easier  far  than  De  Foe,  ^*  unabashed 
De  Foe,"  as  the  hunchbacked  rhymer  styled  him. 

The  true  chord  had  now  been  touched.'  A  raging  curiosity 
with  respect  to  the  contents  of  the  volume,  whose  engravings  had 
fascinated  my  eye,  burned  within  me,  and  I  never  rested  until  I 
had  fully  satisfied  it.  Weeks  succeeded  weeks,  months  followed 
months,  and  the  wondrous  volume  was  my  only  study  and  principal 
source  of  amusement  For  hours  together  I  would  sit  poring  over 
a  page  till  I  had  become  acquainted  with  the  import  of  every  line. 


LA  VBNORO.  [i8o9-xa 


My  progress,  slow  enough  at  first,  became  by  degrees  more  rapid, 
till  at  last,  under  "a  shoulder  of  mutton  sail,"  I  found  myself 
cantering  before  a  steady  breeze  over  an  ocean  of  enchantment, 
so  well  pleased  with  my  voyage  that  I  cared  not  how  long  it  might 
be  ere  it  reached  its  termination. 

And  it  was  in  this  manner  that  I  first  took  to  the  paths  of 
knowledge. 

About  this  time  I  began  to  be  somewhat  impressed  with 
religious  feelings.  My  parents  were,  to  a  certain  extent,  religious 
people;  but,  though  they  had  done  their  best  to  afibrd  me 
instruction  on  religious  points,  I  had  either  paid  no  attention  to 
what  they  endeavoured  to  communicate,  or  had  listened  with  an 
ear  far  too  obtuse  to  derive  any  benefit.  But  my  mind  had  now 
become  awakened  from  the  drovrsy  torpor  in  which  it  had  lain  so 
long,  and  the  reasoning  powers  which  I  possessed  were  no  longer 
inactive.  Hitherto  I  had  entertained  no  conception  whatever  of 
the  nature  and  properties  of  God,  and  with  the  most  perfect 
indifference  had  heard  the  Divine  name  proceeding  from  the 
mouths  of  the  people — frequently,  alas!  on  occasions  when  it 
ought  not  to  be  employed;  but  I  now  never  heard  it  without 
a  tremor,  for  I  now  knew  that  God  was  an  awful  and  inscrutable 
being,  the  maker  of  sdl  things;  that  we  were  His  children,  and  that  we 
by  our  sins,  had  justly  offended  Him ;  that  we  were  in  very  great 
peril  from  His  anger,  not  so  much  in  this  life,  as  in  another  and  far 
stranger  state  of  being  yet  to  come ;  that  we  had  a  Saviour  withal 
to  whom  it  was  necessary  to  look  for  help:  upon  this  point, 
however,  I  was  yet^venr  much  in  the  dark,  as,  indeed,  were  most 
of  those  with  whom  I  was  connected.  The  power  and  terrors 
of  God  were  uppermost  in  my  thoughts ;  they  fascinated  though 
they  astounded  me.  Twice  every  Sunday  I  was  regularly  taken 
to  the  church,  where  from  a  comer  of  the  large,  spacious  pew, 
lined  with  black  leather,  I  would  fix  my  eyes  on  the  dignified 
high-church  rector,  and  the  dignified  high-church  clerk,  and  watch 
the  movement  of  their  lips,  from  which,  as  they  read  their 
respective  portions  of  the  venerable  liturgy,  would  roll  many  a 
portentous  word  descriptive  of  the  wondrous  works  of  the  Most 
High. 

Rutor,  *'Thou  didst  divide  the  sea,  through  Thy  power: 
Thou  brakest  the  heads  of  the  dragons  in  the  waters." 

Philoh,  "Thou  smotest  the  heads  of  Leviathan  in  pieces: 
and  gavest  him  to  be  meat  for  the  people  in  the  wilderness." 

Rector,  *'Thou  broughtest  out  fountains  and  waters  out  of 
the  hard  rocks :  Thou  driedst  up  mighty  waters." 


x809-ia]  HIGH-CHURCH  CLERK.  ai 


Maai^ 


PhiloA.  "The  day  is  Thine,  and  the  night  is  Thine:  Thou 
hast  prepared  the  light  and  the  sun.'* 

Peace  to  your  memories  dignified  rector  and  yet  more  dignified 
derk !  by  this  time  ye  are  probably  gone  to  your  long  homes,  and 
your  voices  are  no  longer  heard  sounding  down  the  aisles  of  .the 
▼enerable  church ;  nay,  doubtless,  this  has  already  long  since  been 
the  fote  of  him  of  the  sonorous  "  Amen !  ^ — ^the  one  of  the  two 
whO|  with  all  due  respect  to  the  rector,  principally  engrossed  my 
boyish  admiration-^e^  at  least,  is  scarcely  now  among  the  living  I 
Living  I  why,  I  have  heard  say  that  he  blew  a  fife — for  he  was  a 
musical  as  well  as  a  Christian  professor — a  bold  fife«  to  cheer  the 
Guards  and  the  brave  Marines  as  they  marched  with  measured 
step^  obeying  an  insane  command,  up  Bunker's  height,  whilst  the 
rifles  of  the  sturdy  Yankees  were  sending  the  leaden  hail  sharp 
and  thick  amidst  the  red-coated  ranks ;  for  Philoh  had  not  always 
been  a  man  of  peace,  nor  an  exhorter  to  turn  the  other  cheek  to 
the  smiter,  but  had  even  arrived  at  the  dignity  of  a  halberd  in  his 
country's  service  before  his  six-foot  form  required  rest,  and  the 
grey-haired  veteran  retired,  after  a  long  peregrination,  to  his 
native  town,  to  enjoy  ease  and  respectability  on  a  pension  of 
^'eighteen-pence  a  day";  and  well  did  his  fellow-townsmen  act 
whm,  to  increiise  that  ease  and  respectability,  and  with  a  thought- 
ful r^jard  for  the  dignity  of  the  good  church  service,  they  made 
him  clerk  and  precentor — the  man  of  the  tall  form  and  of  the 
audible  voioe,  which  sounded  loud  and  clear  as  his  own  Bunker 
fife.  Well,  peace  to  thee,  thou  fine  old  chap,  despiser  of  dissen- 
ter^ and  hater  of  papists,  as  became  a  dignified  and  high-church 
deik;  if  thou  art  in  thy  grave  the  better  for  thee;  thou  wert 
fitted  to  adore  a  bygone  time,  when  loyalty  was  in  vogue,  and 
smiling  content  ky  like  a  sunbeam  upon  the  land,  but  thou 
wouldst  be  sadly  out  of  place  in  these  days  of  cold  philosophic 
htitudinarian  doctrine,  universal  tolerism^  and  half-concealed 
rebellion — ^rare  times,  no  doubt,  for  papists  and  dissenters,  but 
which  would  assuredly  have  broken  the  heart  of  the  loyal  soldier 
of  George  the  Third,  and  the  dignified  high-church  derk  of  pretty 
D . 

We  passed  many  months  at  this  place.  Nothing,  however, 
occurred  requiring  any  particular  notice,  relating  to  myself,  beyond 
what  I  have  already  stated,  and  I  am  not  writing  the  history  of 
others.  At  length  my  father  was  recalled  to  his  regiment,  which  at 
that  time  was  stationeid  at  a  place  called  Norman  Cross,  in  Lincoln- 
shire, or  rather  Huntingdonshire,  at  some  distance  from  the  old 
town  of  Peterborough.    For  this  place  he  departed,  leaving  my 


aa  LAVBNGRO.  [i8io-ix. 

mother  asd  myself  to  follow  in  a  few  days.  Our  journey  was  a 
singular  one.  On  the  second  day  we  reached  a  marshy  and  fenny 
country,  which  owing  to  immense  quantities  of  rain  which  had 
lately  fallen,  was  completely  submerged.  At  a  large  town  we  got 
on  board  a  kind  of  passage-boat,  crowded  with  people ;  it  had 
neither  sails  nor  oars,  and  those  were  not  the  days  of  steam- 
vessels  ;  it  was  a  treck-schuyt,  and  was  drawn  by  horses. 

Young  as  I  was,  there  was  much  connected  with  this  journey 
which  highly  surprised  me,  and  which  brought  to  my  remembrance 
particular  scenes  described  in  the  book  which  I  now  generally 
carried  in  my  bosom.  The  country  was,  as  I  have  already  said, 
submerged — entirely  drowned-*no  land  was  visible;  the  trees 
were  growing  bolt  upright  in  the  flood,  whilst  farmhouses  and 
cottafftti  were  standing  insulated ;  the  horses  which  drew  us  were 
up  tolhe  knees  in  water,  and,  on  coming  to  blind  pools  and 
"  greedy  depths,"  were  not  unfrequently  swimming,  in  which  case 
the  boys  or  urchins  who  mounted  them  sometimes  stood,  some- 
times knelt,  upon  the  saddle  and  pillions.  No  accident,  however, 
occurred  either  to  the  quadrupeds  or  bipeds,  who  appeared 
respectively  to  be  quite  aufait  in  their  business,  and  extricated 
themselves  with  the  greatest  ease  from  places  in  which  Pharaoh 
and  all  his  host  would  have  gone  to  the  bottom.  Nightfall 
brought  us  to  Peterborough,  and  from  Ihence  we  were  not  slow 
in  reaching  the  place  of  our  destination. 


^'  \ 


CHAPTER  IV. 


And  a  strange  place  it  was,  this  Norman  Cross,  and,  at  the  time 
of  which  I  am  speaking,  a  sad  cross  to  many  a  Norman,  being 
what  was  then  styled  a  French  prison,  that  is,  a  receptacle  for 
captives  made  in  the  French  war.  It  consisted,  if  I  remember 
right,  of  some  five  or  six  casernes,  very  long,  and  immensely 
high ;  each  standing  isolated  from  the  rest,  upon  a  spot  of  ground 
which  might  average  ten  acms,  and  which  was  fenced  round  with 
lofty  palisades,  the  whole  being  compassed  about  by  a  4fnrering 
wall,  beneath  which,  at  intervals,  on  both  sides  sentinels  were 
stationed,  whilst,  outside,  upon  the  field,  stood  commodious 
wooden  barracks,  capable  of  containing  two  regiments  of  infantry, 
intended  to  serve  as  guards  upon  the  captives.  Such  was  the 
station  or  prison  at  Norman  Cross,  where  some  six  thousand 
French  and  other  foreigners,  followers  of  the  grand  Corsican, 
were  now  immured. 

What  a  strange  appearance  had  those  n^ighty  casernes,  with  their 
blank  blind  walls,  without  windows  or  grating,  and  their  slanting 
roofs,  out  of  which,  through  orifices  where  the  tiles  had  been 
removed,  would  be  protruded  dozens  of  grim  heads,  feasting  their 
prison-sick  eyes  on  the  wide  expanse  of  country  unfolded  from 
that  airy  height  Ah !  there  was  much  misery  in  those  casernes ; 
and  from  those  roofs,  doubtless,  many  a  wistful  look  was  turned  in 
the  direction  of  lovely  France.  Much  had  the  poor  inmates  to 
endure,  and  much  to  complain  o^  to  the  disgrace  of  England  be 
it  said— of  England,  in  general  so  kind  and  bountiful.  Rations 
of  carrion  meat,  and  bread  from  which  I  have  seen  the  very 
hounds  occasionally  turn  away,  were  unworthy  entertainment 
even  for  the  most  ruffian  enemy,  when  helpless  and  a  captive; 
and  such,  alas !  was  the  fare  in  those  casernes.  And  then,  those 
visits,  or  rather  ruthless  inroads,  called  in  the  slang  of  the  place  ^ 
"straw-plait  hunts,"  when,  in  pursuit  of  a  contraband  article, 
which  the  prisoners,  in  order  to  procure  themselves  a  few  of  the 
necessaries  and  comforts  of  existence,  were  in  the  habit  of  making, 

>  MS.,  '*  ia  regimental  tlaDg  *'• 

(23) 


34  LA  VBNGRO.  [1810-zi 

red-coated  battalions  were  marched  into  the  prisons,  who,  with 
the  bayonet's  point,  carried  havoc  and  ruin  into  every  poor 
convenience  which  ingenious  wretchedness  had  been  endeavour- 
ing to  raise  around  it;  and  then  the  triumphant  exit  with  the 
miserable  booty ;  and,  worst  of  all,  the  accursed  bonfire,  on  the 
barrack  parade,  of  the  plait  contraband,  beneath  the  view  of  the 
glaring  eyeballs  from  those  lofty  roofs,  amidst  the  hurrahs  of  the 
troops,  frequently  drowned  in  the  curses  poured  down  from  above 
like  a  tempest-shower,  or  in  the  terrific  war-whoop  of  "  PTve 
fEmpereur/'* 

It  was  midsummer  when  we  arrived  at  this  place,  and  the 
weather,  which  had  for  a  long  time  been  wet  and  gloomy,  now 
became  bright  and  glorious.  I  was  subjected  to  but  little  control, 
and  passed  my  time  pleasantly  enough,  principally  in  wandering 
about  the  neighbouring  country.  It  was  flat  and  somewhat  fenny, 
a  district  more  of  pasture  than  agriculture,  and  not  very  thickly 
inhabited  I  soon  became  well  acquainted  with  it.  At  the 
distance  of  two  miles  from  t&e  station  was  a  large  lake,  styled  in 
the  dialect  of  the  country  a  ''  mere,''  about  whose  borders  tall 
reeds  were  growing  in  abundance.  This  was  a  frequent  haunt  of 
mine;  but  my  favourite  place  of  resort  was  a  wild  sequestered 
spot  at  a  somewhat  greater  distance.  Here,  surrounded  with 
woods,  and  thick  groves,  was  the  seat  of  some  ancient  family, 
deserted  by  the  proprietor,  and  only  inhabited  by  a  rustic  servant 
or  two.  A  place  more  solitary  and  wild  could  scarcely  be 
imagined ;  the  garden  and  walks  were  overgrown  with  weeds  and 
briars,  and  the  unpruned  woods  were  so  tankled  as  to  be  almost 
impervious.  About  this  domain  I  would  wander  till  overtaken 
by  fatigue,  and  then  I  would  sit  down  with  my  back  against  some 
beech,  elm  or  stately  alder  tree,  and,  taking  out  my  TOok,  would 
pass  hours  in  a  state  of  unmixed  enjoyment,  my  eyes  now  fixed 
on  the  wondrous  pages,  now  glancing  at  the  sylvan  scene  around ; 
and  sometimes  I  would  drop  the  book  and  listen  to  the  voice  of 
the  rooks  and  wild  pigeons,  and  not  unfrequently  to  the  croaking 
of  multitudes  of  frogs  from  the  neighbouring  swamps  and  fens. 

In  going  to  and  from  this  place  I  frequently  passed  a  tall, 
elderly  individual,  dressed  in  rather  a  quaint  &shion,  with  a  skin 
cap  on  his  head  and  stout  gaiters  on  his  legs ;  on  his  shoulders 
hung  a  moderate  sized  leathern  sack ;  he  seemed  fond  of  loitering 
near  sunny  banks,  and  of  groping  amidst  furze  and  low  scrubby 
bramble  bushes,  of  which  there  were  plenty  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Norman  Cross.  Once  I  saw  him  standing  in  the  middle  of  a 
dusty  road,  looking  intently  at  a  large  mark  which  seemed  to  have 


iSio-xx.]  THE  SNAKE  HUNTER.  «5 

been  drawn  across  it,  as  if  by  a  walking-stick.  "  He  must  have 
been  a  \arge  one/'  the  old  man  muttered  half  to  himself,  ''  or  he 
would  not  have  left  such  a  trail,  I  wonder  if  he  is  near ;  he  seems 
to  have  moved  this  way/'  He  then  went  behind  some  bushes 
which  grew  on  the  right  side  of  the  road,  and  appeared  to  be 
in  quest  of  something,  moving  behind  the  bushes  with  his  head 
downwards,  and  occasionally  striking  their  roots  with  his  foot. 
At  length  he  exclaimed,  "  Here  he  is  1 "  and  forthwith  I  saw  him 
dart  amongst  the  bushes.  There  was  a  kind  of  scuffling  noise, 
the  rustling  of  branches,  and  the  crackling  of  dry  sticks.  *'  I 
have  him!"  said  the  man  at  last;  "I  have  got  hikn!"  and 
presently  he  made  his  appearance  about  twenty  yards  down  the 
road,  holding  a*  large  viper  in  his  hand.  "  What  do  you  think  of 
that,  my  boy?"  said  he^  as  I  went  up  to  him;  *'what  do  you 
think  of  catching  such  a  thing  as  that  with  the  naked  hand  ? " 
"What  do  I  think?"  said  I.  "Why,  that  I  could  do  as  much 
myselfl"  "  You  do,"  said  the  man,  "  do  you  ?  Lord  I  how  the 
young  people  in  these  days  are  given  to  conceit;  it  did  not 
use  to  be  so  in  my  time;  when  I  was  a  child,  cbilder  knew 
how  to  behave  themselves ;  but  the  childer  of  these  days  are  full 
of  conceit,  full  of  froth,  like  the  mouth  of  this  viper  " ;  and  with 
bis  forefinger  and  thumb  he  squeezed  a  considerable  quantity  of 
foam  from  the  jaws  of  the  viper  down  upon  the  road  "  The 
childer  of  these  days  are  a  generation  of — God  forgive  me,  what 
was  I  about  to  say ! "  said  the  old  man ;  and  opening  his  bag  he 
thrust  the  reptile  into  it,  which  a{^)eared  far  from  empty.  I 
passed  on.  As  I  was  retvu^ning,  towards  the  evening,  I  overtook 
the  old  man,  who  was  wending  in  the  same  direction.  "  Good- 
evening  to  you,  sir,"  said  I,  taking  ofif  a  cap  which  I  wore  on  my 
head.  "  Good-evening,"  said  the  old  man ;  and  then,  looking  at 
me,  "  How's  this  ?  "  said  he,  "  you  ar'n't,  sure,  the  child  I  met  in 
the  morning?"  '*Yes,"  said  I,  ''I  am;  what  makes  you  doubt 
It?"  ''Why,  you  were  then  all  froth  and  conceit,"  said  the  old 
man,  "  and  now  you  take  off  your  cap  to  me"  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,"  said  I,  ''if  I  was  frothy  and  conceited;  it  ill  becomes  a 
child  like  me  to  be  so."  "  That's  true,  dear,"  said  the  old  man ; 
"well,  as  you  have  begged  my  pardon,  I  truly  forgive  you." 
"Thank  you,"  said  I;  "have  you  caught  any  more  of  those 
things?"  "Only  four  or  five,"  said  the  old  man;  "they  are 
getting  scarce,  though  this  used  to  be  a  great  neighbourhood  for 
5iem."  "  And  what  do  you  do  with  them ? "  said  I ;  "do  you 
carry  them  home  and  plav  with  them ! "  "1  sometimes  play  with 
one  or  two  that  I  tamet'  said  tlie  old  man ;  "  but  I  hunt  them 


36  LA  VBNGRO.  [1810-1 1. 

mostly  for  the  fat  which  they  contain,  out  of  which  I  make  unguents 
which  are  good  for  various  sore  troubles,  especially  for  the 
rheumatism. '  "  And  do  you  get  your  living  by  hunting  these 
creatures?"  I  demanded.  "Not  altogether,"  said  the  old  man; 
"besides  being  a  viper-hunter,  I  am  what  they  call  a  herbalist, 
one  who  knows  the  virtue  of  particular  herbs ;  I  gather  them  at 
the  proper  season,  to  make  medicines  with  for  the  sick."  "And  do 
you  live  in  the  neighbourhood  ?  "  I  demanded.  "  You  seem  very 
fond  of  asking  .questions,  child.  No,  I  do  not  live  in  this 
neighbourhood  in  particular,  I  travel  about ;  I  have  not  been  in 
this  neighbourhood  till  lately  for  some  years." 

From  this  time  the  old  man  and  myself  formed  an  acquaint- 
ance; I  often  accompanied  him  in  his  wanderings  about  the 
neighbourhood,  and  on  two  or  three  occasions  assisted  him  in 
catching  the  reptiles  which  he  hunted.  He  generally  carried  a 
viper  with  him  which  he  had  made  quite  tame,  and  from  which 
he  had  extracted  the  poisonous  fangs ;  it  would  dance  and  perform 
various  kinds  of  tricks.  He  was  fond  of  telling  me  anecdotes 
connected  with  his  adventures  with  the  reptile  species.  '*  But," 
said  he  one  day,  sighing,  "  I  must  shortly  give  up  this  business,  I 
am  no  longer  the  man  I  was,  I  am  become  timid,  and  when  a 
person  is  timid  in  viper-hunting  he  had  better  leave  off,  as  it  is 
quite  clear  his  virtue  is  leaving  him.  I  got  a  fright  some  years 
ago,  which  I  am  ouite  sure  I  shall  never  get  the  better  of;  my 
hand  has  been  shaty  more  or  less  ever  since."  "  What  frightened 
you?"  said  I.  "I  had  better  not  tell  you,"  said  the  old  man, 
"or  you  may  be  frightened  too,  lose  your  virtue,  and  be  no  longer 
good  for  the  business."  "  I  don't  care,"  said  I ;  "  I  don't  intend 
to  follow  the  business ;  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  an  officer,  like  my 
father."    "  Well,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  once  saw  the  king  of  the 

vipers,  and  since  then "    "The  king  of  the  vipers ! "  said  I, 

interrupting  him;  "have  the  vipers  a  king?"  "As  sure  as  we 
have,"  said  the  old  man,  "as  sure  as  we  have  King  George 
to  rule  over  us,  have  these  reptiles  a  king  to  rule  over  them." 
"And  where  did  you  see  him?"  said  I.  "I  will  tell  you,"  said 
the  old  man,  "though  I  don't  like  talking  about  the  matter. 
It  may  be  about  seven  years  ago  that  I  happened  to  be  far  down 
yonder  to  the  west,  on  Uie  other  side  of  England,  nearly  two  hun- 
dred miles  from  here,  following  my  business.  It  was  a  very  sultry 
day,  I  remember,  and  I  had  been  out  several  hours  catching 
creatures.  It  might  be  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
when  I  found  myself  on  some  heathy  land  near  the  sea,  on  the 
ridge  of  a  hill,  the  side  of  which,  nearly  as  far  down  as  the  sea, 


iSio-ii.]  KING  OP  THE  VIPERS.  97 

was  heath ;  but  on  the  top  there  was  arable  ground,  which  had 
been  planted,  and  from  which  the  harvest  had  been  gathered — 
oats  or  barley,  I  know  not  which — but  I  remember  that  the 
ground  was  covered  with  stubble.  Well,  about  three  o'clock,  as 
I  told  you  before,  what  with  the  heat  of  the  day  and  from  having 
walked  about  for  hours  in  a  lazy  way,  I  felt  very  tired;  so  I 
determined  to  have  a  sleep,  and  I  laid  myself  down,  my  head  just 
on  the  ridge  of  the  hill,  towards  the  field,  and  my  body  over  the 
side  down  amongst  the  heath ;  my  bag,  which  was  nearly  filled 
with  creatures,  lay  at  a  little  distance  from  my  face ;  the  creatures 
were  struggling  in  it,  I  remember,  and  I  thought  to  myself,  how 
much  more  comfortably  off  I  was  than  they ;  I  was  taking  my  ease 
on  the  nice  open  hill,  cooled  with  the  breezes,  whilst  they  were  in 
the  nasty  close  bag,  coiling  about  one  another,  and  breaking  their 
very  hearts,  all  to  no  purpose ;  and  I  felt  quite  comfortable  and 
happy  in  the  thought,  and  little  by  little  closed  my  eyes,  and  fell 
into  the  sweetest  snooze  that  ever  I  was  in  in  all  my  life;  and 
there  I  lay  over  the  hill's  side,  with  my  head  half  in  the  field,  I 
don't  know  how  long,  all  dead  asleep.  At  last  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  heard  a  noise  in  my  sleep,  something  like  a  thing  moving, 
very  faint,  however,  far  away ;  then  it  died,  and  then  it  came  again 
upon  my  ear  as  I  slept,  and  now  it  appeared  almost  as  if  I  heard 
crackle,  crackle ;  then  it  died  again,  or  I  became  yet  more  dead 
asleep  than  before,  I  know  not  which,  but  I  certainly  lay  some 
time  without  hearing  it.  All  of  a  sudden  I^ecame  awake^  and 
there  was  I,  on  the  ridge  of  the  hill,  with  my  cheek  on  the  ground 
towards  the  stubble,  with  a  noise  in  my  ear  like  that  of  something 
moving  towards  me,  amongst  the  stubble  of  the  field ;  well,  I  lay 
a  moment  or  two  listening  to  the  noise,  and  then  I  became 
frightened,  for  I  did  not  like  the  noise  at  all,  it  sounded  so  odd ; 
so  I  rolled  myself  on  my  belly,  and  looked  towards  the  stubble. 
Mercy  upon  us  I  there  was  a  huge  snake,  or  rather  a  dreadful 
viper,  for  it  was  all  yellow  and  gold,  moving  towards  me,  bearing 
its  head  about  a  foot  and  a  half  above  the  ground,  the  dry  stubble 
crackling  beneath  its  outrageous  belly.  It  might  be  about  five 
yards  off  when  I  first  saw  it,  making  straight  towards  me,  child, 
as  if  it  would  devour  me.  I  lay  quite  still,  for  I  was  stupefied 
with  horror,  whilst  the  creature  came  still  nearer;  and  now  it  was 
nearly  upon  me,  when  it  suddenly  drew  back  a  little,  and  then — 
what  do  you  think  ? — it  lifted  its  head  and  chest  high  in  the  air, 
and  high  over  my  face  as  I  looked  up,  flickering  at  me  with  its 
tongue  as  if  it  would  fly  at  my  face.  Child,  what  I  felt  at  that 
moment  I  can  scarcdy  say,  but  it  was  a  sufficient  punishment  for 
all  the  sins  I  ever  committed ;  and  there  we  two  were,  I  looking 


a8  LAVBNGRO.  [1810-11. 

up  at  the  viper,  and  the  viper  looking  down  upon  me,  flickering 
at  me  with  its  tongue.  It  was  only  the  kindness  of  God  that 
saved  me :  all  at  once  there  was  a  loud  noise,  the  report  of  a  gun, 
for  a  fowler  was  shooting  at  a  covey  of  birds,  a  little  way  off  in  the 
stubble.  Whereupon  the  viper  sunk  its  head,  and  immediately 
made  off  over  the  ridge  of  the  hill,  down  in  the  direction  of  the 
sea.  As  it  passed  by  me,  however — and  it  passed  close  by  me — 
it  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if  it  was  doubtful  whether  it  should  not 
seize  me ;  it  did  not,  however,  but  made  off  down  the  hill.  It  has 
often  struck  me  that  he  was  angry  with  me,  and  came  upon  me 
unawares  for  presuming  to  meddle  with  his  people,  as  I  have  always 
been  in  the  habit  of  doing." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "how  do  you  know  that  it  was  the  king  of  the 
vipers  ?  " 

"  How  do  I  know?**  said  the  old  man,  "who  else  should  it 
be  ?  There  was  as  much  difference  between  it  and  other  reptiles 
as  between  King  George  and  other  people." 

"Is  King  George,  then,  different  from  other  people?"  I 
demanded. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  old  man ;  "  I  have  never  seen  him 
myself,  but  I  have  heard  people  say  that  he  is  a  ten  times  greater 
man  than  other  folks ;  indeed,  it  stands  to  reason  that  he  must  be 
different  from  the  rest,  else  people  would  not  be  so  eager  to  set 
him.  Do  you  think,  child,  that  people  would  be  fools  enough  to 
run  a  matter  of  twenty  or  thirty  miles  to  see  the  king,  provided 
King  George " 

"  Haven't  the  French  a  king  ?     I  demanded. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  "  or  something  much  the  same,  and 
a  queer  one  he  is ;  not  quite  so  big  as  King  George,  they  say,  but 
quite  as  terrible  a  fellow.    What  of  him  ?  " 

'*  Suppose  he  should  come  to  Norman  Cross  1  '* 

"  What  should  he  do  at  Norman  Cross,  child  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  were  talking  about  the  vipers  in  your  bag  breaking 
their  hearts,  and  so  on,  and  their  king  coming  to  help  them. 
Now,  suppose  the  French  king  should  hear  of  his  people  being  in 
trouble  at  Norman  Cross,  and " 

"  He  can't  come,  child,"  said  the  old  man,  rubbing  his  hands, 
"the  water  lies  between.  The  French  don't  like  the  water; 
neither  vipers  nor  Frenchmen  take  kindly  to  the  water,  child." 

When  the  old  man  left  the  country,  which  he  did  a  few  days 
after  the  conversation  which  I  have  just  related,  he  left  me  the 
reptile  whidi  he  had  tamed  and  rendered  quite  harmless  by 
removing  the  fangs.  I  was  in  the  habit  of  feeiding  it  with  milk, 
and  frequently  carried  it  abroad  with  me  in  my  walks. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Omb  day  it  happen^  tfaaty  being  on  my  rambles,  I  entered  a  green 
lane  which  I  had  never  teeti  before ;  at  first  it  was  rather  narrow, 
but  as  I  advanced  it  became  considerably  wider ;  in  the  middle  was 
a  drift-way  with  deep  ruts,  but  right  and  left  was  a  space  carpeted 
with  a  swaj^  of  trefoil  and  clover ;  there  was  no  lack  of  trees,  chiefly 
ancient  oaks,  which,  flinging  out  their  arms  from  either  side,  nearly 
formed  a  canopy,  and  afforded  a  pleasing  shelter  from  the  rays  of 
the  sun,  which  was  burning  fiercely  above.  Suddenly  a  group  of 
objects  attracted  my  attention.  Beneath  one  of  the  largest  of  the 
trees,  upon  the  grass,  was  a  kind  of  low  tent  or  booth,  from  the  top 
of  which  a  thin  smoke  was  curling ;  beside  it  stood  a  couple  of  light 
carts,  whilst  two  or  three  lean  horses  or  ponies  were  cropping  the 
herbage  which  was  growing  nigh.  Wondering  to  whom  this  odd 
tent  could  belong,  I  advanced  till  I  was  close  before  it,  when  I 
found  that  it  consisted  of  two  tilts,  like  those  of  waggons,  placed 
upon  the  ground  and  fironting  each  other,  connected  behind  by  a 
sail  or  large  piece  of  canvas,  which  was  but  partially  drawn  across 
the  top ;  upon  the  ground,  in  the  intervening  space,  was  a  fire, 
over  which,  supported  by  a  kind  of  iron  crowbar,  hung  a  caldron. 
My  advance  had  been  so  noiseless  as  not  to  alarm  the  inmates, 
who  consisted  of  a  man  and  woman,  who  sat  apart,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  fire ;  they  were  both  busily  employed — the  man  was 
carding  plaited  straw,  whilst  the  woman  seemed  to  be  rubbing 
something  with  a  white  powder,  some  of  which  l2^  on  a  plate 
beside  her.  Suddenly  the  man  looked  up,  and,  perceiving  me, 
uttered  a  strange  kind  of  cry,  and  the  next  moment  both  the 
woman  and  himself  were  on  their  feet  and  rushing  upon  me. 

I  retreated  a  few  steps,  yet  without  turning  to  flee.  I  was 
not,  hwever,  without  apprehension,  which,  indeed,  the  appear- 
ance of  these  two  people  was  well  calculated  to  inspire.  The 
woman  was  a  stout  figure,  seemingly  between  thirty  and  forty; 
she  wore  no  cap,  and  her  long  hair  fell  on  either  side  of  her 
head,  like  horse-tails,  half-way  down  her  waist ;  her  skin  was 
dark  and  swarthy,  like  that  of  a  toad,  and  the  expression  of  her 
countenance  was  particularly  evil ;  her  arms  were  bare,  and  her 

(»9) 


50  LAVBNGRO.  [1810-11. 

bosom  was  but  half-concealed  by  a  slight  bodice,  below  which  she 
wore  a  coarse  petticoat,  her  only  other  article  of  dress.  Th^  man 
was  somewhat  younger,  but  of  a  figure  equally  wild ;  his  frame 
was  long  and  lathy,  but  his  arms  were  remarkably  short,  his  neck 
was  rather  bent,  he  squinted  slightly,  and  his  mouth  was  much 
awry ;  his  complexion  was  dark,  but,  unlike  that  of  the  woman, 
was  more  ruddy  than  livid ;  there  was  a  deep  scar  on  his  cheek, 
something  like  the  impression  of  a  halfpenny.  The  dress  was 
quite  in  keeping  with  the  figure:  in  his  hat,  which  was  slightly 
peaked,  was  stuck  a  peacock's  feather ;  over  a  waistcoat  of  hide, 
untanned  and  with  the  hair  upon  it,  he  wore  a  rough  jerkin  of 
russet  hue;  smallclothes  of  leather,  which  had  probably  once 
belonged  to  a  soldier,  but  with  which  pipeclay  did  not  seem  to 
have  come  in  contact  for  many  a  year,  protected  his  lower  man 
as  far  as  the  knee ;  his  legs  were  cased  in  long  stockings  of  blue 
worsted,  and  on  his  shoes  he  wore  immense  old-fashioned  buckles. 

Such  were  the  two  beings  who  now  came  rushing  upon  me ; 
the  man  was  rather  in  advance,  brandishing  a  ladle  in  his  hand. 

"  So  I  have  caught  you  at  last,'^  said  he ;  "  111  teach  ye,  you 
young  highwayman,  to  come  skulking  about  my  properties ! " 

Young  as  I  was,  I  remarked  that  his  manner  of  speaking  was 
different  from  that  of  any  people  with  whom  I  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  associating.  It  was  quite  as  strange  as  his  appearance, 
and  yet  it  nothing  resembled  the  foreign  English  which  I  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  hearing  through  the  palisades  of  the  prison  ; 
he  could  scarcely  be  a  foreigner. 

•'  Your  properties  I "  said  I ;  "  I  am  in  the  King's  Lane.  Why 
did  you  put  them  there,  if  you  did  not  wish  them  to  be  seen  ?  " 

"  On  the  spy,"  said  the  woman,  "  hey  ?  I'll  drown  him  in  the 
sludge  in  the  toad-pond  over  the  hedge." 

"  So  we  will,"  said  the  man,  "  drown  him  anon  in  the  mud ! " 

"  Drown  me,  will  you  ?  "  said  I ;  "  I  should  like  to  see  you ! 
What's  all  this  about?  Was  it  because  I  saw  you  with  your 
hands  full  of  straw  plait,  and  my  mother  there " 

"Yes,"  said  the  woman ;  ''what  was  I  about  ?" 

Myself.  How  should  I  know  ?     Making  bad  money,  perhaps ! 

And  it  will  be  as  well  here  to  observe,  that  at  this  time  there 
was  much  bad  money  in  circulation  in  the  neighbourhood, 
generally  supposed  to  be  fabricated  by  the  prisoners,  so  that  this 
&lse  coin  and  straw  plait  formed  the  standard  subjects  of 
conversation  at  Norman  Cross. 

"  111  strande  thee,"  said  the  beldame,  dashing  at  me.  "  Bad 
money,  is  it  ? " 


t8xo-xx.]  EGYPTIANS.  S< 


'*  Leave  him  to  me,  wifelkin,"  said  the  man,  interposing ;  "  you 
shall  now  see  how  I'll  baste  him  down  the  lane." 

Afyse/f.  I  tell  you  what,  my  chap,  you  had  better  put  down 
that  thing  of  yours ;  my  father  lies  concealed  within  my  tepid 
breast,  and  if  to  me  you  offer  any  harm  or  wrong,  1*11  call  him 
forth  to  help  me  with  his  forked  tongue. 

Afan.  What  do  you  mean,  ye  Bengui's  bantling?  I  never 
beard  such  discourse  in  all  my  life ;  playman's  speech  or  French- 
man's talk — which,  I  wonder  ?  Your  father !  tell  the  mumping 
villain  that  if  he  comes  near  my  fire  I'll  serve  him  out  as  I  will 
you.  Take  that — Tiny  Jesus!  what  have  we  got  here?  Oh, 
delicate  Jesus  I  what  is  the  matter  with  the  child  ? 

I  had  made  a  motion  which  the  viper  understood ;  and  now, 
partly  disengaging  itself  from  my  bosom,  where  it  had  lain  perdu, 
it  raised  its  head  to  a  level  with  my  face,  and  stared  upon  my 
enemy  with  its  glittering  eyes. 

The  man  stood  like  one  transfixed,  and  the  ladle  with  which 
&e  had  aimed  a  blow  at  me,  now  hung  in  the  air  like  the  hand 
which  held  it ;  his  mouth  was  extended,  and  his  cheeks  became  of 
a  pale  yellow,  save  alone  that  place  which  bore  the  mark  which  I 
have  already  described,  and  this  shone  now  portentously,  like  fire. 
He  stood  in  this  manner  for  some  time ;  at  last  the  ladle  fell  from 
his  hand,  and  its  falling  appeared  to  rouse  him  from  his  stupor. 

'*  I  say,  wifelkin,"  said  he  in  a  faltering  tone,  *'  did  you  ever 
see  the  like  of  this  here  ? " 

But  the  woman  had  retreated  to  the  tent,  from  the  entrance  of 
which  her  loathly  face  was  now  thrust,  with  an  expression  partly 
of  terror  and  partly  of  curiosity.  After  gazing  some  time  longer 
at  the  viper  and  myself,  the  man  stooped  down  and  took  up  the 
ladle;  then,  as  if  somewhat  more  assured,  he  moved  to  the  tent, 
where  he  entered  into  conversation  with  the  beldame  in  a  low  voice. 
Of  their  discourse,  though  I  could  hear  the  greater  part  of  it,  I 
understood  not  a  single  word ;  and  I  wondered  what  it  could  be, 
for  1  knew  by  the  sound  that  it  was  not  French.  At  last  the  man, 
in  a  somewhat  louder  tone,  appeared  to  put  a  question  to  the 
woman,  who  nodded  her  head  affirmatively,  and  in  a  moment  or 
two  produced  a  small  stooU  which  she  delivered  to  him.  He 
placed  it  on  the  ground,  close  by  the  door  of  the  tent,  first  rubbing 
it  with  his  sleeve,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of  polishing  its  surface. 

Man,  Now,  my  precious  little  gentleman,  do  sit  down  here 
by  the  poor  people's  tent ;  we  wish  to  be  civil  in  our  slight  way. 
Don't  be  angry,  and  say  no;  but  look  kindly  upon  us,  and 
satisfied,  my  precious  little  God  AUnighty 


La  VBtfGkO.  [i8io-tt. 


Woman,  Yes,  my  gorgious  angel,  sit  down  by  the  poor  bodies' 
fire,  and  eat  a  sweetmeat  We  want  to  ask  you  a  question  or  two ; 
only  first  put  that  serpent  away. 

Myself.  I  can  sit  down,  and  bid  the  serpent  go  to  sleep,  that's 
easy  enough ;  but  as  for  eating  a  sweetmeat,  how  can  I  do  that  ? 
I  have  not  got  one,  and  where  am  I  to  get  it  ? 

IVoman.  Never  fear,  my  tiny  tawny,  we  can  give  you  one, 
such  as  you  never  ate,  I  dare  say,  however  far  you  may  have  come 

The  serpent  sunk  into  its  usual  resting-place,  and  I  sat  down 
on  the  stool.  The  woman  opened  a  box,  and  took  out  a  strange 
little  basket  or  hamper,  not  much  larger  than  a  man's  fist,  and 
formed  of  a  delicate  kind  of  matting.  It  was  sewed  at  the  top ; 
but.,  ripping  it  open  with  a  knife,  she  held  it  to  me,  and  I  saw,  to 
my  surprise,  that  it  contained  candied  fruits  of  a  diark  green  hue, 
tempting  enough  to  one  of  my  age.  "  There,  my  tiny,"  said  she ; 
"  taste,  and  tell  me  how  you  like  them." 

"Very  much,"  said  I ;  "where  did  you  get  them?" 

The  beldame  leered  upon  me  for  a  moment,  then,  nodding 
her  head  thrice,  with  a  knowing  look,  said  :  "  Who  knows  better 
than  yourself,  my  tawny  ?  " 

Now,  I  knew  nothing  about  the  matter ;  but  I  saw  that  these 
strange  people  had  conceived  a  very  high  opinion  of  the  abilities 
of  their  visitor,  which  I  was  nothing  loath  to  encourage.  I  there- 
fore answered  boldly,  "  Ah  1  who  indeed ! " 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  man ;  "  who  should  know  better  than 
yourself,  or  who  so  well  ?  And  now  my  tiny  one,  let  me  ask  you 
one  thing — ^you  didn't  come  to  do  us  any  harm  ?" 

"No,"  said  I,  "I  had  no  dislike  to  you;  though,  if  you  were 
to  meddle  with  me " 

Man.  Of  course,  my  gorgious,  of  course  you  would ;  and 
quite  right  too.  Meddle  with  you! — ^what  right  have  we?  I 
should  say  it  would  not  be  quite  safe.  I  see  how  it  is;  you 
are  one  of  them  there ; — and  he  bent  his  head  towards  his  left 
shoulder. 

Myself.  Yes,  I  am  one  of  them — for  I  thought  he  was  alluding 
to  the  soldiers, — ^you  had  best  mind  what  you  are  about,  I  can 
tell  you. 

Man.  Don't  doubt  we  will  for  our  own  sake ;  Lord  bless  you, 
wifelkin,  only  think  that  we  should  see  one  of  them  there  when 
we  least  thought  about  it.  Well,  I  have  heard  of  such  things, 
though  I  never  thought  to  see  one;  however,  seeing  is  be- 
lieving.   Well !  now  you  are  come,  and  are  not  going  to  dc 


i6io-xx.l  THE  EGYPTIANS.  JS 

us  any  mischief,  I  hope  you  will  stay ;  you  can  do  us  plenty  of 
good  if  you  will. 

Myself,  What  good  can  I  do  you  ? 

Man.  What  good  ?  plenty !  Would  you  not  bring  us  luck  ?  I 
have  heard  say,  that  one  of  them  there  always  does,  if  it  will  but 
settle  down.  Stay  with  us,  you  shall  have  a  tilted  cart  all  to 
yourself  if  you  like.  We'll  make  you  our  little  Grod  Almightyi 
and  say  our  prayers  to  you  every  morning! 

Myself.  That  would  be  nice;  and  if  you  were  to  give  me 
plenty  of  these  things,  I  should  have  no  objection.  But  what 
would  my  father  say?    I  think  he  would  hardly  let  me. 

Man,  Why  not  ?  he  would  be  with  you ;  and  kindly  would 
we  treat  him.  Indeed,  without  your  father  you  would  be  nothing 
at  all. 

Myself.  That's  true ;  but  I  do  not  think  he  could  be  spared 
from  his  regiment.  I  have  heard  him  say  that  they  could  do 
nothing  without  him. 

Man.  His  regiment!  What  are  you  talking  about? — what 
does  the  child  mean  ? 

Myself.  What  do  I  mean  I  why,  that  my  father  is  an  officer 
man  at  the  barracks  yonder,  keeping  guard  over  the  French 
prisoners* 

Man,  Oh !  then  that  sap  Is  not  your  father ! 

Myself  What,  the  snake  ?    Why,  no !    Did  you  think  he  was  ? 

Man.  To  be  sure  we  did.     Didn't  you  tell  me  so  ? 

Myself  Why,  yes ;  but  who  would  have  thought  you  would 
have  believed  it?  It  is  a  tame  one.  I  hunt  vi^^ers  and  tame 
them. 

Man.  O — ^h! 

"  O— h  !  '*  grunted  the  woman,  "  that's  it,  is  it  ?* 

The  man  and  woman,  who  during  this  conversation  had 
resumed  their  former  positions  within  the  tent,  looked  at  each 
other  with  a  queer  look  of  surprise,  as  if  somewhat  disconcerted 
at  what  they  now  heard.  They  then  entered  into  discourse  with 
each  other  in  the  same  strange  tongue  which  had  already  puzzled 
me.  At  length  the  man  looked  me  in  the  face,  and  said,  some- 
what hesitatingly,  ''so  you  are  not  one  of  them  there,  after 
all?" 

Myself  One  of  them  there?    I  don't  know  what  you  mean. 

Man.  Why,  we  have  been  thinking  you  were  a  goblin — a 
devilkin !  However,  I  see  how  it  is :  you  are  a  sap-engro,  a 
chap  who  catches  snakes,  and  plays  tricks  with  them !  Well,  it 
comes  very  nearly  to  the  same  thing;  and  if  you  please  to  list 

3 


34  LA  VENGRO.  [x8xo-xx. 

with  us,  and  bear  us  pleasant  company,  we  shall  be  glad  of  you. 
rd  take  my  oath  upon  it  that  we  might  make  a  mort  of  money  by 
you  and  that  sap,  and  the  tricks  it  could  do;  and,  as  you  seem 
fly  to  everything,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  would  make  a  prime 
hand  at  telling  fortunes. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  I. 

Man.  Of  course.  And  you  might  stiU  be  our  God  Almighty, 
or  at  any  rate  our  clergyman,  so  you  should  live  in  a  tilted  cart 
by  yourself  and  say  prayers  to  us  night  and  morning — to  wifelkin 
here,  and  all  our  family ;  there's  plenty  of  us  when  we  are  all 
together;  as  I  said  before^  you  seem  fly,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
you  could  read. 

'*0h,  yesl"  said  I,  "I  can  read;"  and,  eager  to  display  my 
accomplishments,  I  took  my  book  out  of  my  pocket,  and  opening 
it  at  random,  proceeded  to  read  how  a  certain  man  whilst 
wandering  about  a  certain  solitary  island,  entered  a  cave,  the 
mouth  of  which  was  overgrown  with  brushwood,  and  how  he 
was  nearly  frightened  to  death  in  that  cave  by  something  which 
he  saw. 

*'  That  will  do,"  said  the  man ;  "  that's  the  kind  of  prayers  for 
me  and  my  family,  ar'n't  they,  wifelkin  ?  I  never  heard  more  deli- 
cate prayers  in  all  my  life  1  Why,  they  beat  the  rubricals  hollow  I 
— and  here  comes  my  son  Jasper.^  I  say,  Jasper,  here's  a 
young  sap-engro  that  can  read,  and  is  more  fly  than  yourself. 
Shake  hands  with  him;    I  wish  ye  to  be  two  brothers." 

With  a  swift  but  stealthy  pace  Jasper  came  towards  us  from 
the  farther  part  of  the  lane ;  on  reaching  the  tent  he  stood  still, 
and  looked  fixedly  upon  me  as  I  sat  upon  the  stool;  I  looked 
fixedly  upon  him.  A  queer  look  had  Jasper ;  he  was  a  lad  of  some 
twelve  or  thirteen  years,  with  long  arms,  unlike  the  singular  being 
who  called  himself  his  JFather ;  his  complexion  was  ruddy,  but  his 
face  was  seamed,  though  it  did  not  bear  the  peculiar  scar  which 
disfigured  the  countenance  of  the  other;  nor,  though  roguish 
enough,  a  certain  evil  expression  which  that  of  the  other  bore, 
and  which  the  face  of  the  woman  possessed  in  a  yet  more  remark- 
able degree.  For  the  rest,  he  wore  drab  breeches,  with  certain 
strings  at  the  knee,  a  rather  gay  waistcoat,  and  tolerably  white 
shirt ;  under  his  arm  he  bore  a  mighty  whip  of  whalebone  with 
a  brass  knob,  and  upon  his  head  was  a  hat  without  either  top 
or  brim. 

y  There^  Jasper  1  shake  hands,  with  the  sap-engra" 

^  MS,,  "  Ambrote"  throughout  the  book. 


i8io-ix«]  JASPER.  55 

'*Can  he  box,  fiither?"  said  Jasper,  surveying  me  rather 
contemptuously.  ''I  should  think  not,  he  loolu  so  puny  and 
small." 

''Hold  your  peace,  toclV*  said  the  man;  "he  can  do  more 
than  that — I  teU  you  he's  fly;  he  carries  a  sap  about,  which 
would  sting  a  ninny  like  you  to  dead." 

"  What,  a  sap^ngro  1 "  said  the  boy,  with  a  singular  whine, 
and,  stooping  down,  he  leered  curiously  in  my  &ce,  kindly, 
however,  and  then  patted  me  on  the  head*  ''A  sap-engro,". 
he  ejaculated;   "lori" 

"  Yes,  and  one  of  the  right  sort,"  said  the  man ;  *'  I  am  glad  we 
have  met  with  him ;  he  is  going  to  list  with  us,  and  be  our  clergy- 
man and  God  Almighty,  a'n't  you,  my  tawny  ?" 

" I  don't  know,"  said  I ;  "I  must  see  what  my  father  will  say." 

"Your  father;  bahl" but  here  he  stopped,  for  a  sound 

was  heard  like  the  rapid  galloping  of  a  horse,  not  loud  and 
distinct  as  on  a  road,  but  dull  and  heavy  as  if  upon  a  grass 
sward;  nearer  and  nearer  it  came,  and  the  man,  starting  up, 
rushed  out  of  the  tent,  and  looked  around  anxiously.  I  arose 
from  the  stool  upon  which  I  had  been  seated,  and  just  at  that 
moment,  amidst  a  crashing  of  boughs  and  sticks,  a  man  on  horse- 
back bounded  over  the  hed^  into  the  lane  at  a  few  yards'  distance 
from  where  we  were ;  from  the  impetus  of  the  leap  the  horse  was 
nearly  down  on  his  knees ;  the  rider,  however,  by  dint  of  vigorous 
handling  of  the  reins,  prevented  him  from  falling,  and  then  rode 
up  to  the  tent.  **Tis  Nat,"  said  the  man;  "what  brings  him 
here?"  The  new  comer  was  a  stout,  burly  fellow,  about  the 
middle  age;  he  had  a  savage,  determined  look,  and  his  face  was 
nearly  covered  over  with  carbuncles ;  he  wore  a  broad  slouching 
hat,  and  was  dressed  in  a  grey  coat,  cut  in  a  fashion  which  I 
afterwards  learnt  to  be  the  genuine  Newmarket  cut,  the  skirts 
being  exceedingly  short ;  his  waistcoat  was  of  red  plush,  and  he 
wore  broad  corduroy  breeches  and  white  top-boots.  The  steed 
which  carried  him  was  of  iron  grey,  spirited  and  powerful,  but 
covered  with  sweat  and  foam.  The  fellow  glanced  fiercely  and 
suspiciously  around,  and  said  something  to  the  man  of  the  tent 
in  a  harsh  and  rapid  voice.  A  short  and  hurried  conversation 
ensued  in  the  strange  tongue.  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  off  this 
new  comer.  Oh^  that  half-jockey  half-bruiser  countenance,  I 
never  forgot  it!  More  than  fifteen  years  afterwards  I  found 
myself  amidst  a  crowd  before  Newgate;  a  gallows  was  erected, 
and  beneath  it  stood  a  criminal,  a  notorious  malefactor.  I 
recognised  him  at  once;   the  horseman  of  the  lane  is  now 


36  LA  VBNGRO.  [x8xo-ix. 


beneath  the  fatal  tree,  but  nothing  altered ;  still  the  same  man ; 
jerking  his  head  to  the  right  and  left  with  the  same  fierce  and 
under  glance,  just  as  if  the  affairs  of  this  world  had  the  same 
kind  of  interest  to  the  last ;  grey  coat  of  Newmarket  cut,  plush 
waistcoat,  corduroys,  and  boots,  nothing  altered ;  but  the  head, 
alas !  is  bare  and  so  is  the  nedc.  Oh,  crime  and  virtue,  virtue 
and  crime  1 — it  was  old  John  Newton,  I  think,  who,  when  he 
saw  a  man  going  to  be  hanged,  said :  *'  There  goes  John  Newton, 
but  for  the  grace  of  God  I " 

But  the  lane,  the  lane,  all  was  now  in  confusion  in  the  lane ; 
the  man  and  woman  were  employed  in  striking  the  tents  and  in 
making  hurried  preparations  for  departure ;  the  boy  Jasper  was 
putting  the  harness  upon  the  ponies  and  attaching  them  to  the 
carts ;  and,  to  increase  the  singularity  of  the  scene,  two  or  three 
wild-looking  women  and  girls,  in  red  cloaks  and  immense  black 
beaver  bonnets,  came  from  I  know  not  what  direction,  and,  after 
exchanging  a  few  words  with  the  others,  commenced  with  fierce 
and  agitated  gestures  to  assist  them  in  their  occupation.  The 
rider  meanwhile  sat  upon  his  horse,  but  evidently  in  a  state  of 
great  impatience ;  he  muttered  curses  between  his  teeth,  spurred 
the  animal  furiously,  and  then  reigned  it  in,  causing  it  to  rear  itself 
up  nearly  perpendicular.  At  last  he  said :  **  Curse  ye,  for  Romans, 
how  slow  ye  are  1  well,  it  is  no  business  of  mine,  stay  here  all  day 
if  you  like ;  I  have  given  ye  warning,  I  am  off  to  the  big  north 
road.  However,  before  I  go,  you  had  better  give  me  all  you  have 
of  that." 

''Truly  spoken,  Nat,  my  pal,"  said  the  man;  ''give  it  him, 
mother.  There  it  is ;  now  be  off  as  soon  as  you  please,  and  rid 
us  of  evil  company." 

The  woman  had  handed  him  two  bags  formed  of  stocking, 
half  full  of  something  heavy,  which  looked  dirough  them  for  all 
the  world  like  money  of  some  kind.  The  fellow,  on  receiving 
them,  thrust  them  without  ceremony  into  the  pockets  of  his  coat, 
and  then,  without  a  word  of  farewell  salutation,  departed  at  a 
tremendous  rate,  the  hoofs  of  his  horse  thundering  for  a  long 
time  on  the  hard  soil  of  the  neighbouring  road,  till  the  sound 
finally  died  away  in  the  distance.  The  strange  people  were  not 
slow  in  completing  their  preparations,  and  then,  flogging  their 
animals  terrifically,  hurried  away  seemingly  in  the  same  direction. 

The  boy  Jasper  was  last  of  the  band.  As  he  was  following 
the  rest,  he  stopped  suddenly,  and  looked  on  the  ground  appearing 
to  muse ;  then,  turning  round,  he  came  up  to  me  where  I  was 
standing,  leered  in  my  £sice,  and  then,  thrusting  out  his  hand,  he 


x8xo-ix.]  JASPER.  37 

said,  '*  Good-bye,  Sap,  I  dare  say  we  shall  meet  again,  remember 
we  are  brothers,  two  gentle  brothers." 

Then  whining  forth,  "What  a  sap-engro,  lor  I"  he  gave  me  a 
parting  leer,  and  hastened  away. 

I  remained  standing  in  the  lane  gazins;  after  the  retreating 
company.  "A  strange  set  of  people,**  said  I  at  last,  ''I  wonder 
who  thqr  can  be," 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Years  passed  on,  even  three  years ;  during  this  period  I  had 
increased  considerably  in  stature  and  in  strength,  and,  let  ^  us 
hope^  improved  in  mind ;  for  I  had  entered  on  the  study  of  the 
Latin  language.  The  very  first  person  to  whose  care  I  was 
entrusted  for  the  acquisition  of  Latin  was  an  did  friend  of  my 
fiather's,  a  clergyman  who  kept  a  seminary  at  a  town  the  very 
next  we  visited  after  our  departure  from  "the  Cross".  Under 
his  instruction,  however^  I  continued  only  a  few  weeks,  as  we 
speedily  left  the  place.  ''Captain,"  said  this  divine,  when  my 
father  came  to  take  leave  of  him  on  the  eve  of  our  departure,  "  I 
have^a  friendship  for  you,  and  therefore  wish  to  give  you  a  piece 
of  advice  concerning  this  son  of  yours.  You  are  now  removing 
him  from  my  care;  you  do  wrong,  but  we  will  let  that  pass. 
Listen  to  me :  there  is  but  one  good  school  book  in  the  world — 
the  one  I  use  in  my  seminary — Lilly's  Latin  Grammar,  in  which 
your  son  has  already  made  some  progress.  If  you  are  anxious 
for  the  success  of  your  son  in  life,  for  the  correctness  of  his 
conduct  and  the  soundness  of  his  principles,  keep  him  to  Lilly's 
Grammar.  If  you  can  by  any  means,  either  fair  or  foul,  induce 
him  to  get  by  heart  Lilly's  Latin  Grammar,  you  may  set  your 
heart  at  rest  with  respect  to  him ;  I,  myself,  will  be  his  warrant 
I  never  yet  knew  a  boy  that  was  induced,  either  by  fair  means  or 
foul,  to  learn  Lilly's  Latin  Grammar  by  heart,  who  did  not  turn 
out  a  man,  provided  he  lived  long  enough. 

My  father,  who  did  not  understand  the  classical  languages, 
received  with  respect  the  advice  of  his  old  friend,  and  from  that 
moment  conceived  the  highest  opinion  of  Lilly's  Latin  Grammar. 
During  three  years  I  studied  Ully's  Latin  Grammar  under  the 
tuition  of  various  schoolmasters,  for  I  travelled  with  the  r^ment, 
and  in  every  town  in  which  we  were  stationary  I  was  invariably 
(God  bless  my  father !)  sent  to  the  classical  academy  of  the  place. 
It  chanced,  by  good  fortune,  that  in  the  generality  of  these  schools 
the  grammar  of  Lilly  was  in  use ;  when,  however,  that  was  not  the 
case,  it  made  no  difference  in  my  educational  course,  my  father 
always  stipulating  with  the  masters  that  I  should  be  daily  examined 

a8^ 


i8ia.]  LILLVS  GRAMMAR.  39 

in  Lilly.  At  the  end  of  the  three  years  I  had  the  whole  by  heart ; 
you  had  only  to  repeat  the  first  two  or  three  words  of  any  sentence 
in  any  part  of  the  book,  and  forthwith  I  would  open  cry,  commenc* 
ing  without  blundering  and  hesitation,  and  continue  till  you 
were  glad  to  beg  me  to  leave  off,  with  many  expressions  of 
admiration  at  my  proficiency  in  the  Latin  language.  Sometimes, 
however,  to  convince  you  how  well  I  merited  these  encomiums,  I 
would  follow  you  to  the  bottom  of  the  stair,  and  even  into  the 
street,  repeating  in  a  kind  of  sing-song  measure  the  sonorous  lines 
of  the  golden  sdioolmaster.  If  I  am  here  asked  whether  I  under- 
stood anything  of  what  I  had  got  by  heart,  I  reply — *'  Never  mind, 
I  understand  it  all  now,  and  believe  that  no  one  ever  yet  got  Lilly's 
Latin  Grammar  by  heart  when  young,  who  repented  of  3ie  feat  at 
a  mature  age  "• 

And  when  my  father  saw  that  I  had  accomplished  my  task, 
he  opened  his  mouth,  and  said,  '*  Truly  this  is  more  than  I 
expected.  I  did  not  think  that  there  had  been  so  much  in  you, 
either  of  application  or  capacity ;  you  have  now  learnt  all  that  is 

necessary,  if  my  friend  Dr.  B ^'s  opinion  was  sterling,  as  I 

have  no  doubt  it  was.  You  are  still  a  child,  however,  and  must 
yet  go  to  school,  in  order  that  you  may  be  kept  out  of  evil  com- 
pany. Perhaps  you  may  still  contrive,  now  you  have  exhausted 
the  bam,  to  pick  up  a  grain  or  two  in  the  barnyard  You  are  still 
ignorant  of  figures,  I  believe,  not  that  I  would  mention  figures  in 
the  same  day  with  Lilly's  Grammar." 

These  words  were  uttered  in  a  place  called ,  in  the  north, 

or  in  the  road  to  the  north,  to  which,  for  some  time  past,  our 
corps  had  been  slowly  advancing.  I  was  sent  to  the  school  of  the 
place,  which  chanced  to  be  a  day  school.  It  was  a  somewhat 
extraordinary  one,  and  a  somewhat  extraordinary  event  occurred  to 
me  within  its  walls. 

It  occupied  part  of  the  farther  end  of  a  small  plain,  or  square, 
at  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  close  to  some  extensive  bleaching 
fields.  It  was  a  long  low  building  of  one  room,  with  no  upper 
storey ;  on  the  top  was  a  kind  of  wooden  box,  or  sconce,  which  I 
at  first  mistook  for  a  pigeon-house,  but  which  in  reality  contained  a 
bell,  to  which  was  attached  a  rope,  which,  passing  through  the 
ceiling,  hung  dangling  in  the  middle  of  the  school-room.  I  am 
the  more  particu^  in  mentioning  this  appurtenance,  as  I  had 
soon  occasion  to  scrape  acquaintance  with  it  in  a  manner  not 
very  agreeable  to  my  feelings.  The  master  was  very  proud  of  his 
bell,  if  I  might  judge  from  the  foct  of  his  eyes  being  frequently 
tnmed  to  that  part  of  the  ceiling  from  which  the  rope  depended. 


40  LA  VENGRO.  [x8xa. 

Twice  every  day,  namely,  after  the  morning  and  evening  tasks 
had  been  gone  through,  were  the  boys  rung  out  of  school  by  the 
monotonous  jingle  of  this  belL  This  ringing  out  was  rather  a 
lengthy  afiiadr,  for,  as  the  master  was  a  man  of  order  and  method, 
the  boys  were  only  permitted  to  go  out  of  the  room  one  by  one ; 
and  as  they  were  rather  numerous,  amounting,  at  least,  to  one 
hundred,  and  were  taught  to  move  at  a  pace  ot  suitable  decorum, 
at  least  a  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed  from  the  commencement  of 
the  march  before  the  last  boy  could  make  his  exit  The  office 
of  bell-ringer  was  performed  by  every  boy  successively ;  and  it  so 
happened  that,  the  very  first  day  of  my  attendance  at  the  school, 
the  turn  to  ring  the  bell  had,  by  order  of  succession,  arrived  at 
the  place  which  had  been  allotted  to  me ;  for  the  master,  as  I 
have  already  observed,  was  a  man  of  method  and  order,  and  every 
boy  had  a  particular  seat,  to  which  he  became  a  fixture  as  long  as 
he  continued  at  the  school 

So,  upon  this  day,  when  the  tasks  were  done  and  completed, 
and  the  boys  sat  with  their  hats  and  caps  in  their  hands,  anxiously 
expecting  the  moment  of  dismissal,  it  was  suddenly  notified  to  me, 
by  the  urchins  who  sat  nearest  to  me,  that  I  must  get  up  and  ring 
the  bell.  Now,  as  this  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  been  at  the 
school,  I  was  totally  unacquainted  with  the  process,  which  I  had 
never  seen,  and,  indeed,  had  never  heard  of  till  that  moment  I 
therefore  sat  still,  not  imagining  it  possible  that  any  such  duty  could 
be  required  of  me.  But  now,  with  not  a  little  confusion,  I  perceived 
that  the  eyes  of  all  the  boys  m  the  school  were  fixed  upon  me. 
Presently  there  were  nods  and  winks  in  the  direction  of  the  bell- 
rope;  and,  as  these  produced  no  effect,  uncouth  visages  were 
made,  like  those  of  monkeys  when  enraged ;  teeth  were  gnashed, 
tongues  thrust  out,  and  even  fists  were  bent  at  me.  The  master, 
who  stood  at  the  end  of  the  room,  with  a  huge  ferule  under  his 
arm,  bent  full  upon  me  a  look  of  stem  appeal ;  and  the  ushers, 
of  whom  there  were  four,  glared  upon  me,  each  from  his  own 
particular  comer,  as  I  vainly  turned,  in  one  direction  and  another, 
in  search  of  one  reassuring  look. 

But  now,  probably  in  obedience  to  a  sign  from  the  master, 
the  boys  in  my  immediate  neighbourhood  began  to  maltreat  me. 
Some  pinched  me  with  their  fingers,  some  buffeted  me,  whilst 
others  pricked  me  with  pins  or  the  points  of  compasses.  These 
arguments  were  not  without  effect.  I  sprang  from  my  seat,  and 
endeavoured  to  escape  along  a  double  line  of  benches,  thronged 
with  boys  of  all  ages,  from  the  urchin  of  six  or  seven,  to  the 
nondescript  of  sateen  or  seventeen.     It  was  like  running  the 


i8ia.]  THE  SCHOOL  BELL.  41 

gauntlet;  every  one,  great  or  small,  pinching,  kicking,  or  other- 
wise maltreating  me  as  I  passed  by. 

Goaded  on  in  this  manner,  I  at  length  reached  the  middle  of 
the  room,  where  dangled  the  bell-rope,  the  cause  of  all  my 
sufferings.  I  should  have  passed  it — for  my  confusion  was  so 
great,  that  I  was  quite  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  what  all  this  could 
mean,  and  almost  believed  myself  under  the  influence  of  an  ugly 
dream — but  now  the  boys  who  were  seated  in  advance  in  the 
row,  arose  with  one  accord,  and  barred  my  farther  progress ;  and 
one,  doubtless  more  sensible  that  the  rest,  seizing  the  rope,  thrust 
it  into  my  hand.  I  now  began  to  perceive  that  the  dismissal  of 
the  school,  and  my  own  release  from  torment,  depended  upon  this 
self  same  rope.  I  therefore  in  a  fit  of  desperation,  pulled  it  once 
or  twice,  and  then  left  off,  naturally  supposing  that  I  had  done 
quite  enough.  The  boys  who  sat  next  the  door,  no  sooner  heard 
the  bell,  tlmn,  rising  from  their  seats,  they  moved  out  at  the  door. 
The  bell,  however,  had  no  sooner  ceased  to  jingle,  than  they 
stopped  short,  and,  turning  round,  stared  at  the  master,  as  much 
as  to  say,  ''What  are  we  to  do  now?"  This  was  too  much 
for  the  patience  of  the  man  of  method,  which  my  previous 
stupidity  had  already  nearly  exhausted.  Dashing  forward  into 
the  mididle  of  the  room,  he  struck  me  violently  on  the  shoulders 
with  his  ferule,  and  snatching  the  rope  out  of  my  hand,  exclaimed, 
with  a  stentorian  voice,  and  genuine  Yorkshire  accent,  '*  Prodigy 
of  ignorance  I  dost  not  even  know  how  to  ring  a  bell  ?  Must  I 
myself  instruct  thee?"  He  then  commenced  pulling  at  the  bell 
with  such  violence,  that  long  before  half  the  school  was  dismissed 
the  rope  broke,  and  the  rest  of  the  boys  had  to  depart  without 
their  accustomed  music. 

But  I  must  not  linger  here,  though  I  could  say  much  about 
the  school  and  the  pedagogue  highly  amusing  and  diverting, 
which,  however,  I  suppress,  in  order  to  make  way  for  matters  of 
yet  greater  interest  On  we  went^  northwards,  northwards  1  and, 
as  we  advanced,  I  saw  that  the  country  was  becoming  widely 
different  from  those  parts  of  merry  England  in  which  we  had 

Ereviously  travelled.  It  was  wilder  and  less  cultivated,  and  more 
roken  with  hills  and  hillocks.  The  people,  too,  of  these  regions 
appeared  to  partake  of  something  of  the  character  of  their  country. 
They  were  coarsely  dressed ;  tall  and  sturdy  in  frame ;  their  voices 
were  deep  and  guttural ;  and  the  half  of  the  dialect  which  they 
spoke  was  unintelligible  to  my  ears. 

I  often  wondered  where  we  could  be  going,  for  I  was  at  this 
time  about  as  ignorant  of  geography  as  I  was  of  most  other  things 


42  LA  VBNGRO.  [iBiy 

However,  I  held  my  peace,  asked  no  questions,  and  patiently 
awaited  the  issue. 

Northward,  northward,  still !  And  it  came  to  pass  that,  one 
morning,  I  found  myself  extended  on  the  bank  of  a  river.  It  was 
a  beautiful  morning  of  early  spring;  small  white  clouds  were 
floating  in  the  heaven,  occasionally  veiling  the  countenance  of 
the  sun,  whose  light,  as  they  retired,  would  again  burst  forth, 
coursing  like  a  race-hotse  over  the  scene — and  a  goodly  scene  it 
was  I  Before  me^  across  the  water,  on  an  eminence,  stood  a  white 
old  city,  surrounded  with  lofty  walls,  above  which  rose  the  tops  of 
tall  houses,  with  here  and  there  a  church  or  steeple.  To  my  right 
hand  was  a  long  and  massive  bridge»  with  many  arches  and  of 
antique  architecture,  which  travers^  the  river.  The  river  was  a 
noble  one,  the  broadest  that  I  had  hitherto  seen.  Its  waters,  of 
a  greenish  tinge,  poured  with  impetuosity  beneath  the  narrow 
arches  to  meet  the  sea,  close  at  hand,  as  the  boom  of  the  billows 
breaking  distinctly  upon  a  beach  declared.  There  were  songs 
upon  the  river  from  the  fisher-barks ;  and  occasionally  a  chorus, 
plaintive  and  wild,  such  as  I  had  never  heard  before,  the  words 
of  which  I  did  not  understand,  but  which,  at  the  present  time, 
down  the  long  avenue  of  years,  seem  in  memory's  ear  to  sound 
like  "  Horam,  coram,  dago  ".  Several  robust  fellows  were  near  me, 
some  knee-deep  in  water,  employed  in  hauling  the  seine  upon  the 
strand.  Huge  fish  were  struggling  amidst  the  meshes — princely 
salmon, — ^their  brilliant  mail  of  blue  and  silver  flashing  in  the 
morning  beam ;  so  goodly  and  gay  a  scene^  in  truth,  had  never 
greeted  my  boyish  eye. 

And,  as  I  gazed  upon  the  prospect,  my  bosom  b^;an  to  heave, 
and  my  tears  to  trickle.  Was  it  the  beauty  of  the  scene  which 
gave  rise  to  these  emotions?  Possibly;  for  though  a  poor 
ignorant  child — a  half-wild  creature — I  was  not  insensible  to  the 
loveliness  of  nature,  and  took  pleasure  in  the  happiness  and 
handiworks  of  my  fellow-creatures.  Yet,  perhaps,  in  something 
more  deep  and  mysterious  the  feelings  which  then  pervaded  me 
might  originate.  Who  can  lie  down  on  £lvir  Hill  without 
experiencing  something  of  the  sorcery  of  the  place  ?  Flee  from 
Elvir  Hill,  young  swain,  or  the  maids  of  Elle  will  have  power 
over  you,  and  you  will  go  elf-wild  I — so  say  the  Danes.  I  had 
unconsciously  laid  myself  down  upon  haunted  ground  ;  and  I  am 
willing  to  imagine  that  what  I  then  experienced  was  rather 
connected  with  the  world  of  spirits  and  dreams  than  with  what  I 
actually  saw  and  heard  around  me.  Surely  the  elves  and  genii  of 
ihc  place  were  conversing,  by  tome  inscrutable  means,  with  the 


1813.]  BERWICK'UPON-TWEBD.  43 

lirinciple  of  intelligence  lurking  within  the  poor  uncultivated  clod  1 
Perhaps  to  that  ethereal  principle,  the  wonders  of  the  past,  as 
connected  with  that  stream,  the  glories  of  the  present,  and  even 
the  history  of  the  future,  were  at  that  moment  being  revealed. 
Of  how  many  feats  of  chivalry  had  those  old  walls  been  witness, 
when  hostile  kings  contended  for  their  possession  ? — ^how  many 
an  army  from  the  south  and  from  the  north  had  trod  that  old 
bridge  ? — what  red  and  noble  blood  had  crimsoned  those  rushing 
waters  ? — what  strains  had  been  sung,  ay,  were  yet  being  sung,  on 
its  banks  ? — some  soft  as  Doric  reed ;  some  fierce  and  sharp  as 
those  of  Norwegian  Skaldaglam ;  some  as  replete  with  wild  and 
wizard  force  as  Finland's  runes,  singing  of  Kalevala's  moors,  and 
the  deeds  of  Woinomoinen  1  Honour  to  thee,  thou  island  stream  I 
Onward  may  thou  ever  roll,  fresh  and  green,  rejoicing  in  thy 
bright  past,  diy  glorious  present,  and  in  vivid  hope  of  a  triumphant 
future  1  Flow  on,  beautiful  one  I — ^which  of  the  world's  streams 
canst  thou  envy,  with  thy  beauty  and  renown?  Stately  is  the 
Danube,  rolling  in  its  might  through  lands  romantic  with  the  wild 
exploits  of  Turk,  Polak,  and  Magyar !  Lovely  is  the  Rhine  1  on 
its  shelvy  banks  grows  the  racy  grape ;  and  strange  old  keeps  of 
robber-knights  of  yore  are  reflected  in  its  waters,  from  picturesque 
crags  and  airy  headlands ! — yet  neither  the  stately  Danube,  nor 
the  beauteous  Rhine,  with  all  their  fame,  though  abundant, 
needst  thou  envy,  thou  pure  island  stream ! — and  far  less  yon 
turbid  river  of  oldi  not  modem,  renown,  guigling  beneath  the 
walls  of  what  was  once  proud  Rome,  towering  Rome,  Jupiter's 
town,  but  now  vile  Rome,  crumbling  Rome,  Batuscha's  town,  far 
less  needst  thou  envy  the  turbid  Tiber  of  bygone  fame,  creeping 
sadly  to  the  sea,  surcharged  with  the  abominations  of  modern 
Rome — how  unlike  to  thee,  thou  pure  island  stream  1 

And,  as  I  lay  on  the  bank  and  wept,  there  drew  nigh  to  me  a 
man  in  the  habiliments  of  a  fisher.  He  was  bare-legged,  of  a 
weather-beaten  countenance,  and  of  stature  approaching  to  the 
gigantic  ''What  is  the  calktnt  greeting  for?"  said  he,  as  he 
stopped  and  surveyed  me.  ''Has  ony  body  wrought  ye  ony 
harm?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of^"  I  replied,  rather  guessing  at  than 
understanding  his  question;  "  I  was  crying  because  I  could  not 
help  it !    I  say,  old  one,  what  is  the  name  of  this  river  ?  " 

"  Hout !  I  now  see  what  you  was  greeting  at — ^at  your  ain 
ignorance,  nae  doubt — 'tis  very  great  I  Weel,  I  will  na  fash  you 
with  reproaches,  but  even  enlighten  ye,  since  you  seem  a  decent 
man's  cmuiDi  and  you  speir  a  civil  question.    Yon  river  it  called 


44  LA  VBNGRO.  [18x3. 

the  Tweed;  and  yonder,  over  the  brig,  is  Scotland.    Did  je 
never  hear  of  the  Tweed,  my  bonny  man  ?  " 

*'  No,"  said  I,  as  I  rose  from  the  grass,  and  proceeded  to  cross 
the  bridge  to  the  town  at  which  we  had  arrived  the  preceding 
night ;  "  I  never  heard  of  it ;  but  now  I  have  seen  it,  I  shall  not 
soon  forget  it  I  ** 


CHAPTER  VIL 


It  was  not  long  before  we  found  ourselves  at  Edinburgh,  or  rather 
in  the  Castle,  into  which  the  regiment  marched  with  drums 
beating,  colours  flying,  and  a  long  train  of  baggage-waggons 
behind.  The  Castle  was,  as  I  suppose  it  is  now,  a  garrison  for 
soldiers.  Two  other  regiments  were  already  there;  the  one  an 
Irish,  if  I  remember  right,  the  other  a  small  Highland  corps. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  much  about  this  Castle,  which 
everybody  has  seen;  on  which  account,  doubtless,  nobody  has 
ever  yet  thought  fit  to  describe  it — at  least  that  I  am  aware.  Be 
this  as  it  may,  I  have  no  intention  of  describing  it,  and  shall 
content  myself  with  observing,  that  we  took  up  our  abode  in  that 
immense  building,  or  caserne,  of  modern  erection,  which  occupies 
the  entire  eastern  side  of  the  bold  rock  on  which  the  Castle  stands. 
A  gallant  caserne  it  was — the  best  and  roomiest  that  I  had 
hitherto  seen — rather  cold  and  windy,  it  is  true,  especially  in  the 
winter,  butxommanding  a  noble  prospect  of  a  range  of  distant 
hiUs,  which  I  was  told  were  **  the  hieland  hills,"  and  of  a  broad 
arm  of  the  sea,  which  I  heard  somebody  say  was  the  Firth  of 
Forth. 

My  brother,  who,  for  some  years  past,  had  been  receiving  his 
education  in  a  certain  celebrated  school  in  England,  was  now  with 
us ;  and  it  came  to  pass,  that  one  day  my  father,  as  he  sat  at 
table,  looked  steadfiastly  on  my  brother  and  myself,  and  then 
addressed  my  mother :  **  During  my  journey  down  hither  I  have 
lost  no  opportunity  of  making  inquiries  about  these  people,  the 
Scotch,  amongst  whom  we  now  are,  and  since  I  have  been  here  I 
have  observed  them  attentively.  From  what  I  have  heard  and 
seen,  I  should  say  that  upon  the  whole  they  are  a  very  decent  set 
of  people ;  they  seem  acute  and  intelligent,  and  I  am  told  that 
their  system  of  education  is  so  excellent,  that  every  person  is 
learned — more  or  less  acquainted  with  Greek  and  Latin.  There 
is  one  thing,  however,  connected  with  them,  which  is  a  great 
drawback — the  horrid  jargon  which  they  speak.  However  learned 
they  may  be  in  Greek  and  Latin,  their  English  is  execrable;  and 
yet  Tm  told  it  is  not  so  bad  as  it  was.    I  was  in  company  the 

(45) 


46  LA  VBNGRO.  [1813 

other  day  with  an  Englishman  who  has  resided  here  many  years. 
We  were  talking  about  the  country  and  its  people.  'I  should 
like  both  very  well/  said  I,  *  were  it  not  for  the  language.  I  wish 
sincerely  our  Parliament,  which  is  passing  so  many  foolish  acts 
every  year,  would  pass  one  to  force  these  Scotch  to  speak  English.' 
'I  wish  so  too/  said  he.  'The  language  is  a  disgrace  to  the 
British  Government ;  but,  if  you  had  heard  it  twenty  years  ago, 
captain ! — if  you  bad  heard  it  as  it  was  spoken  when  I  first  came 
to  Edinburgh!'" 

"Only  custom,"  said  my  mother.  *'I  dare  say  the  language 
is  now  what  it  was  then." 

" I  don't  know,"  said  my  father ;  ''though  I  dare  say  you  are 
right ;  it  could  never  have  been  worse  than  it  is  at  present  But 
now  to  the  point.  Were  it  not  for  the  language,  which,  if  the 
boys  were  to  pick  it  up,  might  ruin  their  prospects  in  iife^ — were 
it  not  for  that,  I  should  very  much  like  to  send  them  to  a  school 
there  is  in  this  place,  which  everybody  talks  about — the  High 
School,  I  think  they  call  it.  Tis  said  to  be  the  best  school  in 
the  whole  island ;  but  the  idea  of  one's  children  speaking  Scotch 
— ^broad  Scotch  I  I  must  think  the  matter  over." 

And  he  did  think  the  matter  over;  and  the  result  of  his 
deliberation  was  a  determination  to  send  us  to  the  school  Let 
me  call  thee  up  before  my  mind's  eye,  High  School,  to  which, 
every  morning,  the  two  English  brothers  took  their  way  from  the 
proud  old  Oistle  through  the  lofty  streets  of  the  Old  Town. 
High  School  I-— called  so,  I  scarcely  know  why ;  neither  lofty  in 
thyself,  nor  by  position,  being  situated  in  a  fiat  bottom ;  oblong 
structure  of  tawny  stone,  with  many  windows  fenced  with  iron 
netting — with  thy  long  hall  below,  and  thy  five  cliambers  above, 
for  the  reception  of  the  five  classes,  into  which  the  eight  hundred 
urchins,  who  styled  thee  instructress,  were  divided.  Thy  learned 
rector  and  his  four  subordinate  dominies ;  thy  strange  old  porter 
of  the  tall  form  and  grizzled  hair,  hight  Boee,  and  doubtless  of 
Norse  ancestry,  as  his  name  declares ;  perhaps  of  the  blood  of 
Bui  hin  Digri,  the  hero  of  northern  song — ^the  Jomsborg  Viking 
who  clove  Thorsteinn  Midlangr  asunder  in  the  dread  sea  battle  of 
Horunga  Vog,  and  who,  when  the  fight  was  lost  and  his  own  two 
hands  smitten  off,  seized  two  chests  of  gold  with  his  bloody 
stumps,  and,  springing  with  them  into  the  sea,  cried  to  the  scanty 
relics  of  his  crew,  "Overboard  now,  all  Bui's  lads  I"  Yes,  I 
remember  all  about  thee,  and  how  at  eight  of  every  mom  we  were 
all  gathered  together  with  one  accord  in  the  long  hall,  from  which, 
after  the  litanies  had  been  read  (for  so  I  will  call  them,  being  an 


i8x5.]  HIGH  SCHOOL.  47 

Episcopalian),  the  five  classes  from  the  five  sets  of  benches  trotted 
off  in  long  files,  one  boy  after  the  other,  up  the  five  spiral  stair- 
cases of  stone,  each  class  to  its  destination;  and  well  do  I 
remember  how  we  of  the  third  sat  hushed  and  still,  watched  by 
the  eye  of  the  dux,  until  the  door  opened^  and  in  walked  that 
model  of  a  good  Scotchman,  the  shrewd,  intelligent,  but  warm- 
hearted and  kind  dominie,  the  respectable  Carson. 

And  in  this  school  I  b^an  to  construe  the  Latin  language, 
which  I  had  never  done  before,  notwithstanding  my  long  and 
diligent  study  of  Lilly,  which  illustrious  grammar  was  not  used  at 
Edinburgh,  nor  indeed  known.  Greek  was  only  taught  in  the 
fifth  or  highest  class,  in  which  my  brother  was ;  as  for  myself,  I 
never  got  beyond  the  third  during  the  two  years  that  I  remained 
at  this  seminary.  I  certainly  acquired  here  a  considerable  insight 
in  the  Latin  tongue ;  and,  to  the  scandal  of  my  father  and  horror 
of  my  mother,  a  thorough  proficiency  in  the  Scotch,  which,  in 
less  than  two  months,  usurped  the  place  of  the  English,  and  so 
obstinately  maintained  its  ground,  that  I  still  can  occasionally 
detect  its  lingering  remains.  I  did  not  spend  my  time  unpleasantly 
at  this  school,  though,  first  of  all,  I  had  to  pass  through  an  ordeal 

''Scotland  is  a  better  country  than  England,"  said  an  ugly, 
blear-eyed  lad,  about  a  head  and  shoulders  taller  than  myself,  the 
leader  of  a  gang  of  varlets  who  surrounded  me  in  the  play-ground, 
on  the  first  day,  as  soon  as  the  morning  lesson  was  over.  "Scot- 
land is  a  far  better  country  than  England,  in  every  respect ** 

''Is  it?"  said  L  "Then  you  ought  to  be  very  thankful  for 
not  having  been  born  in  England." 

"  That's  just  what  I  am,  ye  loon ;  and  every  morning  when  I 
say  my  prayers,  I  thank  God  for  not  being  an  Englishman.  The 
Sootch  are  a  much  better  and  braver  people  than  the  English." 

"It  may  be  so,"  said  I,  "for  what  I  know — indeed,  till  I 
came  here,  I  never  heard  a  word  either  about  the  Scotch  or  their 
country." 

"Are  ye  making  fun  of  us,  ye  English  puppy?"  said  the 
blear^yed  lad;  "take  that  I"  and  I  was  presently  beaten  black 
and  blue.  And  thus  did  I  first  become  aware  of  the  difference 
of  races  and  their  antipathy  to  each  other. 

"  Bow  to  the  storm,  and  it  shall  pass  over  you."  I  held  my 
peace,  and  silently  submitted  to  the  superiority  of  the  Scotch — 
in  numberu  This  was  enough ;  from  an  object  of  persecution  I 
soon  became  one  of  patronage,  especially  amongst  the  champions 
of  the  class.  "The  English,"  said  the  blear-eyed  lad,  "though  a 
wee  bit  behind  the  Scotch  in  strength  and  fortitudej  are  nae  to 


4B  LA  VBNGRO.  [1813 

be  sneezed  at,  being  far  ahead  of  the  Irish,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
French,  a  pack  of  cowardly  acoundrets.  And  with  regard  to  the 
English  country,  it  is  na  Scotland,  it  is  true,  but  it  has  its  gude 
properties;  and,  though  there  is  ne'er  a  haggis  in  a'  the  land, 
there's  an  unco  deal  o'  gowd  and  siller*  I  respect  England,  for 
I  have  an  auntie  married  there." 

The  Scotch  are  certainly  a  most  pugnacious  people;  their 
whole  history  proves  it.  Witness  their  incessant  wars  with  the 
English  in  the  olden  time,  and  their  internal  feuds,  highland  and 
lowland,  clan  with  clan,  family  with  fomily,  Saxon  with  Gael  In 
my  time,  the  school-boys,  for  want,  perhaps,  of  English  urchins 
to  contend  with,  were  continually  fighting  with  each  other ;  every 
noon  there  was  at  least  one  pugilistic  encounter,  and  sometimes 
three.  In  one  month  I  witnessed  more  of  these  encounters  than 
I  had  ever  previously  seen  under  similar  circumstances  in  England 
After  all,  there  was  not  much  harm  done.  Harm!  what  harm 
could  result  from  short  chopping  blows,  a  hug,  and  a  tumble? 
I  was  witness  to  many  a  sounding  whack,  some  blood  shed,  "  a 
blue  ee"  now  and  then,  but  nothing  more.  In  England,  on  the 
contrary,  where  the  lads  were  comparatively  mild,  gentle,  and 
pacific,  I  had  been  present  at  more  than  one  death  caused  by 
blows  in  boyish  combats,  in  which  the  oldest  of  the  victors  had 
scarcely  reached  thirteen  years;  but  these  blows  were  in  the 
jugular,  given  with  the  full  force  of  the  arm  shot  out  horizontally 
from  the  shoulder. 

But,  the  Scotch — though  by  no  means  proficients  in  boxing  (and 
how  should  they  box,  seeing  that  they  have  never  had  a  teacher  ?) 
— are,  I  repeat,  a  most  pugnacious  people ;  at  least  they  were  in 
my  time.  Anything  served  them,  that  is,  the  urchins,  as  a 
pretence  for  a  fray,  or,  Dorically  speaking,  a  dicker;  every  street 
and  close  was  at  feud  with  its  neighbour ;  the  lads  of  the  school 
were  at  feud  with  the  young  men  of  the  college,  whom  they  pelted 
in  winter  with  snow,  and  in  summer  with  stones ;  and  then  the 
feud  between  the  Old  and  New  Town  ! 

One  day  I  was  standing  on  the  ramparts  of  the  castle  on  the 
south-western  side  which  overhangs  the  green  brae,  where  it  slopes 
down  into  what  was  in  those  days  the  green  swamp  or  morass, 
called  by  the  natives  of  Auld  Reekie  the  Nor  Loch;  it  was  a 
dark  gloomy  day,  and  a  thin  veil  of  mist  was  beginning  to  settle 
down  upon  the  brae  and  the  morass.  I  could  perceive,  however, 
that  there  was.  a  skirmish  taking  place  in  the  latter  spot.  I  had 
an  indistinct  view  of  two  parties — apparently  of  urchins — and  I 
beard  whoops  and  shrill  cries.    Eager  to  know  the  cause  of  this 


xSis-l  ^^fi  BtCkBRS.  49 

disturbance,  I  left  the  castle,  and  descending  the  brae  reached 
the  borders  of  the  morass,  where  was  a  runnel  of  water  and 
the  remains  of  an  old  wall,  on  the  other  side  of  which  a  narrow 

eth  led  across  the  swamp;  upon  this  path  at  a  little  distance 
fore  me  there  was  ''a  bicker'*.  I  pushed  forward,  but  had 
scarcely  crossed  the  ruined  wall  and  runnel,  when  the  party 
nearest  to  me  gave  way,  and  in  great  confusion  came  running  m 
my  direction.  As  they  drew  nigh,  one  of  them  shouted  to  me, 
*'Wha  are  ye,  mon?  are  ye  o'  the  Auld  Toon?"  I  made  no 
answer.  ''Ha!  ye  are  o'  the  New  Toon;  De'il  tak  ye,  we'll 
moorder  ye;**  and  the  next  moment  a  huge  stone  sung  past  my 
head.  "  Let  me  be,  ye  fiile  bodies,"  said  I,  "  I'm  no  of  either  of 
ye,  I  liye  yonder  aboon  in  the  casde."  ''Ah I  ye  live  in  the 
castle ;  then  ye're  an  auld  tooner ;  come  gie  us  your  help,  mon, 
and  dinna  stand  there  staring  like  a  dunnot,  we  want  help  sair 
eneugh.    Here  are  stanes." 

For  my  own  part  I  wished  for  nothing  better,  and,  rushing 
forward,  I  placed  myself  at  the  head  of  my  new  associates,  and 
commenced  flinging  stones  fiast  and  desperately.  The  other 
party  now  gave  way  in  their  turn,  closely  followed  by  ourselves ; 
I  was  in  the  van  and  about  to  stretch  out  my  hand  to  seize  the 
hindermost  boy  of  the  enemy,  when,  not  being  acquainted  with 
the  miry  and  difficult  paths  of  the  Nor  Loch,  and  in  my  eagerness 
taking  no  heed  of  my  footing,  I  plunged  into  a  quagmire,  into  which 
I  sank  as  far  as  my  shoulders.  Our  adversaries  no  sooner  per- 
ceived this  disaster,  than,  setting  up  a  shout,  they  wheeled  round  and 
attacked  us  most  vehemently.  Had  my  comrades  now  deserted 
me,  my  life  had  not  been  worth  a  stmw's  purchase,  I  should  either 
have  been  smothered  in  the  quag,  or,  what  is  more  probable,  had 
my  brains  beaten  out  with  stones;  but  they  behaved  like  true 
Scots,  and  fought  stoutly  around  their  comrade,  until  I  was 
extricated,  whereupon  both  parties  retired,  the  night  being  near 
at  hand. 

"Ye  are  na  a  bad  hand  at  flinging  stanes,"  said  the  lad 
who  first  addressed  me,  as  we  now  returned  up  the  brae ;  "  your 
aim  is  right  dangerous,  mon,  I  saw  how  ye  skelpit  them,  ye 
maun  help  us  agin  thae  New  Toon  blackguards  at  our  next 
bicker." 

So  to  the  next  bicker  I  went,  and  to  many  mbre,  which 
speedily  followed  as  the  summer  advanced ;  the  party  to  which  I 
had  given  my  help  on  the  first  occasion  consisted  merely  of 
outlyers,  posted  about  half  way  up  the  hill,  for  the  purpose  of 
overlooking  the  movements  of  the  enemy. 

4 


50  LA  VBNGRO.  [1813- 

Did  the  latter  draw  nigh  in  any  considerable  force,  messengeis 
were  forthwith  despatched  to  the  '^auld  toon,"  especially  to  the 
filthy  alleys  and  closes  of  the  High  Street,  which  forthwidi  would 
di^orge  swarms  ot  bare-headed  and  bare-footed  "  callants/'  who, 
with  gestures  wild  and  "eldrich  screech  and  hollo,"  might  fre- 
quently be  seen  pouring  down  the  sides  of  the  hill.  I  have  seen 
upwards  of  a  thousand  engaged  on  either  side  in  these  frays, 
which  I  have  no  doubt  were  full  as  desperate  as  the  fights 
described  in  the  Iliad,  and  which  were  certainly  much  more 
bloody  than  the  combats  of  modern  Greece  in  the  war  of  in- 
dependence. The  callants  not  only  employed  their  hands  in  hurling 
stones,  but  not  unfrequently  slings ;  at  the  use  of  which  they  were 
very  expert,  and  which  occasionally  dislodged  teeth,  shattered 
jaws,  or  knocked  out  an  eye.  Our  opponents  certainly  laboured 
under  considerable  disadvantage,  being  compelled  not  only  to 
wade  across  a  deceitful  bog,  but  likewise  to  clamber  up  part  of  a 
steep  hill  before  they  could  attack  us ;  nevertheless,  their  deter- 
mination was  such,  and  such  their  impetuosity,  that  we  had 
sometimes  difficulty  enough  to  maintain  our  own.  I  shall  never 
forget  one  bicker,  the  last  indeed  which  occurred  at  that  time,  as 
the  authorities  of  the  town,  alarmed  by  the  desperation  of  its 
character,  stationed  forthwith  a  body  of  police  on  the  hill  side  to 
prevent,  in  future,  any  such  breaches  of  the  peace. 

It  was  a  beautiful  Sunday  evening,  the  rays  of  the  descending 
sun  were  reflected  redly  from  the  grey  walls  of  the  castle,  and  from 
the  black  rocks  on  which  it  was  founded.  The  bicker  had  long 
since  commenced,  stones  from  sling  and  hand  were  flying;  but 
the  callants  of  tlie  New  Town  were  now  carrying  everything  before 
them. 

A  full-grown  baker's  apprentice  was  at  their  head;  he  was 
foaming  with  rage,  and  had  taken  the  field,  as  I  was  told,  in  order 
to  avenge  his  brother,  whose  eye  had  been  knocked  out  in  one  ot 
the  late  bickers.  He  was  no  slinger,  or  finger,  but  brandished  in 
his  right  hand  the  spoke  of  a  cart-wheel,  like  my  countryman  Tom 
Hickathrift  of  old  in  his  encounter  with  the  giant  of  the  Lincoln- 
shire fen.  Protected  by  a  piece  of  wicker-work  attached  to  his 
left  arm,  he  rushed  on  to  the  fray,  disregarding  the  stones  which 
were  showered  against  him,  and  was  ably  seconded  by  his 
followers.  Our  own  party  was  chased  half  way  up  the  hill,  where 
I  was  struck  to  the  ground  by  the  baker,  after  having  been  foiled 
in  an  attempt  which  I  had  made  to  fling  a  handful  of  earth  into 
his  eyes.  All  now  appeared  lost,  the  Auld  Toon  was  in  full 
retreat    I  myself  lay  at  the  baker's  feet,  who  had  just  raised  his 


^ 


1813.]  THB  BICKERS.  $1 

spoke,  probably  to  give  me  the  c{mf  de  grAce^ — it  was  an  awful 
moment  Just  then  I  heard  a  shout  and  a  rushing  sound.  A 
wild-looking  figure  is  descending  the  hill  with  terrible  bounds ;  it 
is  a  lad  of  some  fifteen  years ;  he  is  bare-headed^  and  his  red 
uncombed  hair  stands  on  end  like  hedgehogs'  bristles ;  his  frame 
is  lithy,  like  that  of  an  antelope,  but  he  has  prodigious  breadth  of 
chest ;  he  wears  a  military  undress,  that  of  the  regiment,  even  of 
a  drummer,  for  it  is  wild  Davy,  whom  a  month  before  I  had  seen 
enlisted  on  Leith  Links  to  serve  King  George  with  drum  and 
drumstick  as  long  as  his  services  might  be  required,  and  who, 
ere  a  week  had  elapsed,  had  smitten  with  his  fist  Drum-Major 
Elxigood,  who,  incensed  at  his  own  inaptitude,  had  threatened 
him  with  the  cane ;  he  has  been  in  confinement  for  weeks,  this  is 
the  first  day  of  his  liberation,  and  he  is  now  descending  the  hill 
with  horrid  bounds  and  shoutings;  he  is  now  about  five  yards 
distant,  and  the  baker,  who  apprehends  that  something  dangerous 
is  at  hand  prepares  himself  for  the  encounter ;  but  what  avails  the 
strength  of  a  baker,  even  full  grown  ? — what  avails  the  defence  of 
a  wicker  shield?  what  avails  the  wheel-spoke,  should  there  be  an 
opportunity  of  using  it,  against  the  impetus  of  an  avalanche  or  a 
cannon  ball? — for  to  either  of  these  might  that  wild  figure  be 
compared,  which,  at  the  distance  of  five  yards,  sprang  at  once  with 
head,  hands,  feet  and  body,  all  together,  upon  the  champion  of 
the  New  Town,  tumbling  him  to  the  earth  amain.  And  now  it 
was  the  turn  of  the  Old  Town  to  triumph.  Our  late  discomfited 
host,  returning  on  its  steps,  overwhelmed  the  fallen  champion 
with  blows  of  every  kind,  and  then,  led  on  by  his  vanquisher  who 
had  assumed  his  arms,  namely,  the  wheelspoke  and  wicker  shield, 
fairly  cleared  the  brae  of  their  adversaries,  whom  they  drove  down 
headlong  into  the  morass. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Meanwhile  I  had  become  a  daring  cragsman,  a  character  to 
which  an  English  lad  has  seldom  opportunities  of  aspiring;  for 
in  England  there  are  neither  crags  nor  mountains.  Of  these, 
however,  as  is  well  known,  there  is  no  lack  in  Scotland,  and  the 
habits  of  individuals  are  invariably  in  harmony  with  the  country  in 
which  they  dwell.  The  Scotch  are  expert  climbers,  and  I  was 
DOW  a  Scot  in  most  things,  particularly  in  language.  The  castle 
in  which  I  dwelt  stood  upon  a  rock,  a  bold  and  craggy  one,  which, 
at  first  sight,  would  seem  to  bid  defiance  to  any  feet  save  those 
of  goats  and  chamois ;  but  patience  and  perseverance  generally 
enable  mankind  to  overcome  things  which,  at  first  sight,  appear 
impossible.  Indeed,  what  is  there  above  man's  exertions  ?  Un- 
wearied determination  will  enable  him  to  run  with  the  horse,  to 
swim  with  the  fish,  and  assuredly  to  compete  with  the  chamois 
and  the  goat  in  agility  and  sureness  of  foot  To  scale  the  rock 
was  merely  child's  play  for  the  Edinbro'  callants.  It  was  my  own 
favourite  diversion.  I  soon  found  that  the  rock  contained  all 
manner  of  strange  crypts,  crannies,  and  recesses,  where  owls 
nestled,  and  the  weasel  brought  forth  her  young;  here  and  there 
were  small  natural  platforms,  overgrown  with  long  grass  and 
various  kinds  of  plants,  where  the  climber,  if  so  disposed,  could 
stretch  himself,  and  either  give  his  eyes  to  sleep  or  his  mind  to 
thought ;  for  capital  places  were  these  same  platforms  either  for 
repose  or  meditation.  The  boldest  features  of  the  rock  are 
descried  on  the  southern  side,  where,  after  shelving  down  gently 
firom  the  wall  for  some  distance,  it  terminates  abruptly  in  a 
precipice,  black  and  horrible,  of  some  three  hundred  feet  at  least, 
as  if  the  axe  of  nature  had  been  here  employed  cutting  sheer 
down,  and  leaving  behind  neither  excrescence  nor  spur — a  dizzy 
precipice  it  is,  assimilating  much  to  those  so  frequent  in  the  flinty 
hills  of  Northern  Africa,  and  exhibiting  some  distant  resemblance 
to  that  of  Gibraltar,  towering  in  its  horridness  above  the  neutral 
ground. 

It  was  now  holiday  time,  and  having  nothing  particular  where- 
with to  occupy  myself,  I  not  unfrequently  passed  the  greater  part 


x8i5*i4*]  DAVID  HAGGART.  53 

of  the  day  upon  the  rocks.  Once,  after  scaling  the  western  crags, 
and  creeping  round  a  sharp  angle  of  the  wall,  overhung  by  a  kind 
of  watch  tower,  I  found  myself  on  the  southern  side.  Still  keeping 
dose  to  the  wall,  I  was  proceeding  onward,  for  I  was  bent  upon  a 
long  excursion  which  should  embrace  half  the  circuit  of  the  castle, 
when  suddenly  my  eye  was  attracted  by  the  appearance  of  some- 
thing red,  far  below  me ;  I  stopped  shorty  and,  looking  fixedly 
upon  it,  perceived  that  it  was  a  human  being  in  a  kind  of  red 
jacket,  seated  on  the  extreme  verge  of  the  precipice,  which  I 
have  already  made  a  faint  attempt  to  describe.  Wondering  who 
it  could  be,  I  shouted;  but  it  took  not  the  slightest  notice, 
remaining  as  immovable  as  the  rock  on  which  it  sat.  ^  I  should 
never  have  thought  of  going  near  that  edge,"  said  I  to  myself; 
''however,  as  you  have  done  it,  why  should  not  I?  And  I 
should  like  to  know  who  you  are."  So  I  commenced  the 
descent  of  the  rock,  but  with  great  care,  for  I  had  as  yet  never 
been  in  a  situation  so  dangerous ;  a  slight  moisture  exuded  from 
the  palms  of  my  hands,  my  nerves  were  tingling,  and  my  brain 
was  somewhat  dizzy — and  now  I  had  arrived  within  a  few  yards 
of  the  figure,  and  had  recognised  it :  it  was  the  wild  drummer 
who  had  turned  the  tide  of  battle  in  the  bicker  on  the  Castle 
Brae.  A  small  stone  which  I  dislodged  now  rolled  down  the 
rock,  and  tumbled  into  the  abyss  close  beside  him*  He  turned 
his  head,  and  after  looking  at  me  for  a  moment  somewhat  vacantly, 
he  resumed  his  f(»mer  attitude.  I  drew  yet  nearer  to  the  horrible 
edge ;  not  dose,  however,  for  fear  was  on  me. 

''What  are  you  thinking  of,  David?"  said  I,  as  I  sat  behind 
him  and  trembled,  for  I  repeat  that  I  was  afraid. 

David  Hdggart,  I  was  thinking  of  Willie  Wallace. 

Myst^.  You  had  better  be  thinking  of  yourself,  man.  A 
strange  place  this  to  come  to  and  think  of  William  Wallace. 

David Haggart.  Why  so?  Is  not  his  tower  just  beneath  our 
feet? 

Myself.  You  mean  the  auld  ruin  by  the  side  of  the  Nor  Loch 
— ^the  ugly  stane  bulk,  from  the  foot  of  which  flows  the  spring 
into  the  dyke,  where  the  watercresses  grow? 

David  Haggart.  Just  sae,  Geordie. 

Myself.  And  why  were  ye  thinking  of  him?  The  English 
hanged  him  long  since,  as  I  have  heard  say. 

David  If aggart.  I  was  thinking  that  I  should  wish  to  be  like  him. 

Myself  Do  ye  mean  that  ye  would  wish  to  be  hanged  ? 

David  Ha^rt.  I  wad  na  flinch  firom  that,  Geordie,  if  I 
might  be  a  great  man  first. 


54  LA  VBNGRO.  [1813-14. 

Myself.  And  wha  kens,  Davie,  how  great  you  may  be,  even 
without  hanging?  Are  ye  not  in  the  high  road  of  preferment? 
Are  ye  not  a  bauld  drummer  already  ?  Wha  kens  how  high  ye 
may  rise?    perhaps  to  be  general,  or  drum-major. 

David  Haggart,  I  hae  na  wish  to  be  drum-major ;  it  were  na 
great  things  to  be  like  the  doited  carle,  Else-than-gude,  as  they 
call  him ;  and,  troth,  he  has  nae  his  name  for  naething.  But  I 
should  have  nae  objection  to  be  a  general,  and  to  fight  the 
French  and  Americans,  and  win  myself  a  name  and  a  fame  like 
Willie  Wallace,  and  do  brave  deeds,  such  as  I  have  been  reading 
about  in  his  story  book. 

Myself,  Ye  are  a  fule,  Davie ;  the  story  book  is  full  of  lies. 
Wallace,  indeed  I  the  wuddie  rebel !  I  have  heard  my  father 
say  that  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  was  worth  twenty  of  Willie 
Wallace. 

David  Haggart.  Ye  had  better  sae  naething  agin  Willie 
Wallace,  Geordie,  for,  if  ye  do,  De'il  hae  me,  if  I  dinna  tumble 
ye  doon  the  craig. 

Fine  materials  in  that  lad  for  a  hero,  yon  will  say.  Yes, 
indeed,  for  a  hero,  or  for  what  he  afterwards  became.  In  other 
times,  and  under  other  circumstances,  he  might  have  made  what 
is  generally  termed  a  great  man,  a  patriot,  or  a  conqueror.  As 
it  was,  the  very  qualities  which  might  then  have  pushed  him  on 
to  fortune  and  renown  were  the  cause  of  his  ruin.  The  war 
over,  he  fell  into  evil  courses;  for  his  wild  heart  and  ambitious 
spirit  could  not  brook  the  sober  and  quiet  pursuits  of  honest 
industry. 

"Can  an  Arabian  steed  submit  to  be  a  vile  drudge?"  cries 
the  fatalist  Nonsense !  A  man  is  not  an  irrational  creature,  but 
a  reasoning  being,  and  has  something  within  him  beyond  mere 
brutal  instinct  The  greatest  victory  which  a  man  can  achieve 
is  over  himself,  by  which  is  meant  those  unruly  passions  which 
are  not  convenient  to  the  time  and  place.  David  did  not  do 
this ;  he  gave  the  reins  to  his  wild  heart,  instead  of  curbing  it, 
and  became  a  robber,  and,  alasl  alas!  he  shed  blood — under 
peculiar  circumstances,  it  is  true,  and  without  malice  prepense 
— and  for  that  blood  he  eventually  died,  and  justly;  for  it 
was  that  of  the  warden  of  a  prison  from  which  he  was  escaping, 
and  whom  he  slew  with  one  blow  of  his  stalwart  arm. 

Tamerlane  and  Haggart!  Haggart  and  Tamerlane!  Both 
these  men  were  robbers,  and  of  low  birth,  yet  one  perished  on 
an  ignoble  scaffold,  and  the  other  died  emperor  of  the  world 


1813-14.]  DAVID  HAGGART.  55 


Is  this  justice?  The  ends  of  the  two  men  were  widely  dissimilar 
— yet  what  is  the  intrinsic  difference  between  them  ?  Very  great 
indeed;  the  one  acted  according  to  his  lights  and  his  country, 
not  so  the  other.  Tamerlane  was  a  heathen,  and  acted  according 
to  his  lights ;  he  was  a  robber  where  all  around  were  robbers,  but 
he  became  the  avenger  of  God — God's  scourge  on  unjust  kings, 
on  the  cruel  Bajazet,  who  had  plucked  out  his  own  brothers' 
eyes;  he  became  to  a  certain  extent  the  purifier  of  the  East, 
its  regenerator;  his  equal  never  was  before,  nor  has  it  since 
been  seen.  Here  the  wild  heart  was  profitably  employed,  the 
wild  strength,  the  teeming  brain.  Onward,  Lame  one  1  Onward, 
Tamur — ^lankl  Haggart.  .  •  . 

But  peace  to  thee,  poor  David  I  why  should  a  mortal  worm  be 
sitting  in  judgment  over  thee?  The  Mighty  and  Just  One  has 
already  judged  thee,  and  perhaps  above  thou  hast  received  pardon 
for  thy  crimes,  which  could  not  be  pardoned  here  below ;  and 
now  that  thy  feverish  existence  has  closed,  and  thy  once  active 
form  become  inanimate  dust,  thy  very  memory  all  but  forgotten, 
I  vrill  say  a  few  words  about  thee,  a  few  words  soon  also  to  be 
forgotten.  Thou  wast  the  most  extraordinary  robber  that  ever 
lived  within  the  belt  of  Britain ;  Scotland  rang  with  thy  exploits, 
and  England,  too,  north  of  the  Humber;  strange  deeds  also 
didst  thou  achieve  when,  fleeing  from  justice,  thou  didst  find 
thyself  in  the  Sister  Isle ;  busy  wast  thou  there  in  town  and  on 
curragh,  at  fair  and  race-course,  and  also  in  the  solitary  place. 
Ireland  thought  thee  her  child,  for  who  spoke  her  brogue  better 
than  thyself? — she  felt  proud  of  thee,  and  said,  "  Sure,  O'Hanlon 
is  come  again."  What  might  not  have  been  thy  fate  in  the  far 
west  in  America,  whither  thou  hadst  turned  thine  eye,  saying,  '*  I 
will  go  there,  and  become  an  honest  man  I "  But  thou  wast  not 
to  go  there,  I>avid — the  blood  which  thou  hadst  shed  in  Scotland 
was  to  be  required  of  thee ;  the  avenger  was  at  hand,  the  avenger 
of  blood.  Seized,  manacled,  brought  back  to  thy  native  land, 
condemned  to  die,  thou  wast  left  in  thy  narrow  cell  and  told  to 
make  the  most  of  thy  time,  for  it  was  short :  and  there,  in  thy 
narrow  cell,  and  thy  time  so  short,  thou  didst  put  the  crowning 
stcme  to  thy  strange  deeds,  by  that  strange  history  of  thyself, 
penned  by  tixy  own  hand  in  the  robber  tongue.  Thou  mightest 
have  been  better  employed,  David  1 — ^but  the  ruling  passion  was 
strong  with  thee,  even  in  the  jaws  of  death.  Thou  mightest  have 
been  better  employed ! — but  peace  be  with  thee,  I  repeat,  and  th€ 
Almighty's  grace  and  pardon. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Onward,  onward  I  and  after  we  had  sojourned  in  Scotland  nearly 
two  years,  the  long  continental  war  had  been  brought  to  an  end ; 
Napoleon  was  humbled  for  a  time,  and  the  Bourbons  restored  to 
a  land  which  could  have  well  have  dispensed  with  them.  We 
returned  to  England,  where  the  corps  was  disbanded,  and  my 
parents  with  their  family  retired  to  private  life.  I  shall  pass  over 
in  silence  the  events  of  a  year,  which  offer  little  of  interest  as  far 
as  connected  with  me  and  mine  Suddenly,  however,  the  sound 
of  war  was  heard  again ;  Napoleon  had  broken  forth  from  Elba, 
and  everything  was  in  confusion.  Vast  military  preparations  were 
again  made,  our  own  corps  was  levied  anew,  and  my  brother 
became  an  officer  in  it ;  but  the  danger  was  soon  over,  Napoleon 
was  once  more  quelled  and  chained  for  ever,  like  Prometheus,  to 
his  rock.  As  the  corps,  however,  though  so  recently  levied,  had 
already  become  a  very  fine  one,  thanks  to  my  father's  energetic 
drilling,  the  Government  very  properly  determined  to  turn  it  to 
some  account,  and,  as  disturbances  were  apprehended  in  Ireland 
about  this  period,  it  occurred  to  them  that  they  could  do  no  better 
than  despatch  it  to  that  country. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  1815  we  set  sail  from  a  port  in 
Essex ;  we  were  some  eight  hundred  strong,  and  were  embarked 
in  two  ships,  very  large,  but  old  and  crazy ;  a  storm  overtook  us 
when  off  Beachy  Head,  in  which  we  had  nearly  foundered.  I 
was  awakened  early  in  the  morning  by  the  howling  of  the  wind, 
and  the  uproar  on  deck.  I  kept  myself  close,  however,  as  is  still 
my  constant  practice  on  similar  occasions,  and  waited  the  result 
with  that  apathy  and  indifference  which  (violent  sea-sickness  is 
sure  to  produce.  We  shipped  several  seas,  and  once  the  vessel 
missing  stays — which,  to  do  it  justice,  it  generally  did  at  every 
third  or  fourth  tack — ^we  escaped  almost  by  a  miracle  from  being 
dashed  upon  the  foreland.  On  the  eighth  day  of  our  voyage  we 
were  in  sight  of  Ireland.  The  weather  was  now  calm  and  serene, 
the  sun  shone  brightly  on  the  sea  and  on  certain  green  hills  in  the 
distance,  on  which  I  descried  what  at  first  sight  I  believed  to  be 

(56) 


iSis-]  IRELAND.  57 

two  ladies  gathering  flowerSi  which,  however,  on  our  nearer 
ai^roach,  proved  to  be  two  tall  white  towers,  doubtless  built  for 
some  purpose  or  other,  though  I  did  not  learn  for  what. 

We  entered  a  kind  of  bay,  or  cove,  by  a  narrow  inlet ;  it  was 
a  beautiful  and  romantic  place  this  cove,  very  spacious,  and  being 
nearly  land-locked,  was  sheltered  from  every  wind.  A  small 
island,  every  inch  of  which  was  covered  with  fortifications,  appeared 
to  swim  upon  the  waters,  whose  dark  blue  denoted  their  immense 
depth ;  tall  green  hills,  which  ascended  gradually  from  the  shore, 
formed  the  background  to  the  west ;  they  were  carpeted  to  the 
top  with  turf  of  the  most  vivid  green,  and  studded  here  and  there 
with  woods,  seemingly  of  oak;  there  was  a  strange  old  castle 
half-way  up  the  ascent,  a  village  on  a  crag — ^but  the  mists  of 
morning  were  half  veiling  the  scene  when  I  surveyed  it,  and 
the  mists  of  time  are  now  hanging  densely  between  it  and 
my  no  longer  youthful  eye ;  I  may  not  describe  it ; — ^nor  will  I 
try. 

Leaving  the  ship  in  the  cove,  we  passed  up  a  wide  river  in 
boats  till  we  came  to  a  city  where  we  disembarked.  It  was  a  large 
city,  as  large  as  Edinbuiigh  to  my  eyes ;  there  were  plenty  of  fine 
bouses,  but  little  neatness ;  the  streets  were  full  of  impurities ; 
handsome  equipages  rolled  along,  but  the  greater  part  of  the 
population  were  in  rags ;  beggars  abounded ;  there  was  no  lack 
of  merriment,  however ;  boisterous  shouts  of  laughter  were  heard 
on  every  side.  It  appeared  a  city  of  contradictions.  After  a  few 
days'  rest  we  marched  from  this  place  in  two  divisions.  My  father 
commanded  the  second ;  I  walked  by  his  side. 

Our  route  lay  up  the  country ;  the  country  at  first  offered  no 
very  remarkable  feature ;  it  was  pretty,  but  tame.  On  the  second 
day,  however,  its  appearance  had  altered,  it  had  become  more 
wild ;  a  range  of  distant  mountains  bounded  the  horizon.  We 
passed  through  several  villages,  as  I  suppose  I  may  term  them, 
of  low  huts,  the  walls  formed  of  rough  stones  without  mortar, 
the  roof  of  flags  laid  over  watdes  and  wicker-work  ;  they  seemed 
to  be  inhabited  solely  by  women  and  children ;  the  latter  were 
naked,  the  former,  in  general,  blear-eyed  beldames,  who  sat  beside 
the  doors  on  low  stools,  spinning.  We  saw,  however,  both  men 
and  women  working  at  a  distance  in  the  fields. 

I  was  thirsty ;  and  going  up  to  an  ancient  crone,  employed  in 
the  manner  which  I  have  described,  I  asked  her  for  water;  she 
looked  me  in  the  fiice,  appeared  to  consider  for  a  moment,  then 
tottering  into  her  hut,  presently  reappeared  with  a  small  pipkin  of 
milk,  which  she  offered  to  me  with  a  trembling  hand.    I  drank 


58  LA  VBNGRO.  [1815 

the  milk ;  it  was  sour,  but  I  found  it  highly  refreshing.  I  then 
took  out  a  penny  and  offered  it  to  her,  whereupon  she  shook  her 
head,  smiled,  and,  patting  my  face  with  her  skinny  hand,  murmured 
some  words  in  a  tongue  which  I  had  never  heard  before. 

I  walked  on  by  my  father's  side,  holding  the  stirrup-leather  of 
his  horse ;  presently  several  low  uncouth  cars  passed  by,  drawn 
by  starved  cattle ;  die  drivers  were  tall  fellows,  with  dark  features 
and  athletic  frames — ^they  wore  long  loose  blue  cloaks  with  sleeves, 
which  last,  however,  dangled  unoccupied ;  these  cloaks  appeared 
in  tolerably  good  condition,  not  so  their  under  garments.  On 
their  heads  were  broad  slouching  hats ;  the  generality  of  them 
were  bare-footed.  As  they  passed^  the  soldiers  jested  with  them 
in  the  patois  of  East  Anglia,  whereupon  the  fellows  laughed  and 
appeared  to  jest  with  the  soldiers ;  but  what  they  said  who  knows, 
it  being  in  a  rough  guttural  language,  strange  and  wild.  The 
soldiers  stared  at  each  other,  and  were  silent. 

**  A  strange  language  that  1 "  said  a  young  officer  to  my  father, 
''  I  don't  understand  a  word  of  it ;  what  can  it  be  ?  " 

*' Irish,''  said  my  father,  with  a  loud  voice,  ''and  a  bad 
language  it  is ;  I  have  known  it  of  old,  that  is,  I  have  often  heard 
it  spoken  when  I  was  a  guardsman  in  London.  There's  one 
part  of  London  where  all  the  Irish  live — at  least  all  the  worst  of 
them — and  there  they  hatch  their  villanies  and  speak  this  tongue ; 
it  is  that  which  keeps  them  together  and  makes  them  dangerous. 
I  was  once  sent  there  to  seize  a  couple  of  deserters — ^Irish — who 
had  taken  refuge  among  their  companions;  we  found  them  in 
what  was  in  my  time  called  a  Atn^  that  is,  a  house  where  only 
thieves  and  desperadoes  are  to  be  found.  Knowing  on  what  kind 
of  business  I  was  bound,  I  had  taken  with  me  a  sergeant's  party ; 
it  was  well  I  did  so.  We  found  the  deserters  in  a  large  room, 
with  at  least  thirty  ruffians,  horrid-looking  fellows,  seated  about  a 
long  table,  drinking,  swearing,  and  talking  Irish.  Ah!  we  had 
a  tough  batde,  I  remember;  Uie  two  fellows  did  nothing,  but  sat 
still,  thinking  it  best  to  be  quiet ;  but  the  rest,  with  an  ubbubboo, 
like  the  blowing  up  of  a  powder-magazine,  sprang  up,  brandishing 
their  sticks ;  for  these  fellows  always  carry  sticks  with  them,  even 
to  bed,  and  not  unfrequently  spring  up  in  their  sleep,  striking  left 
and  right" 

"  And  did  you  take  the  deserters  ?  "  said  the  officer. 

"  Yes,"  said  my  father ;  "  for  we  formed  at  the  end  of  the  room, 
and  charged  with  fixed  bayonets,  which  compelled  the  others  to 
yield  notwithstanding  their  numbers ;  but  the  worst  was  when  we 
got  out  into  the  street;  the  whole  district  had  become  alarmed. 


x8i5.]  CLONMEL.  59 


and  hundreds  came  pouring  down  upon  us — ^men,  women,  and 
children.  Women,  did  I  say ! — they  looked  fiends,  half  naked, 
with  their  hair  hanging  down  over  their  bosoms ;  they  tore  up  the 
▼ery  pavement  to  hurl  at  us,  sticks  rang  about  our  ears,  stones, 
and  Irish — I  liked  the  Irish  worst  of  all,  it  sounded  so  horrid, 
especially  as  I  did  not  understand  it    It's  a  bad  language." 

"A  queer  tongue,"  said  I,  "I  wonder  if  I  could  learn  it?" 

**  Learn  it  t "  said  my  hther ;  ** what  should  you  learn  it  for? 
— however,  I  am  not  afraid  of  that  It  is  not  like  Scotch ;  no 
person  can  leain  it,  save  those  who  are  bom  to  it,  and  even  in 
Ireland  the  respectable  people  do  not  speak  it,  only  the  wilder 
sort,  like  those  we  have  passed." 

Within  a  day  or  two  we  had  reached  a  tall  range  of  mountains 
running  north  and  south,  which  I  was  told  were  those  of  Tipperary ; 
along  the  skirts  of  these  we  proceeded  till  we  came  to  a  town,  the 
principal  one  of  these  regions.  It  was  on  the  bank  of  a  beautiful 
river,  which  separated  it  from  the  mountains.  It  was  rather  an 
ancient  place,  and  might  contain  some  ten  thousand  inhabitants ; 
I  found  that  it  was  our  destination ;  there  were  extensive  barracks 
at  the  £uther  end,  in  which  the  corps  took  up  its  quarters ;  with 
respect  to  ourselves,  we  took  lodgings  in  a  house  which  stood  in 
the  principal  street. 

*^  You  never  saw  more  degant  lodgings  than  these,  captain," 
said  the  master  of  the  house,  a  tall,  hand^me,  and  athletic  man 
who  came  up  whilst  our  little  family  were  seated  at  dinner  late  in 
the  afternoon  of  the  day  of  our  arrival ;  "  they  beat  anything  in 
this  town  of  Clonmel.  I  do  not  let  them  for  the  sake  of  interest, 
and  to  none  but  gentlemen  in  the  army,  in  order  that  myself  and 
my  wife,  who  is  from  Londonderry,  may  have  the  advantage  of 
pleasant  company,  genteel  company ;  ay,  and  Protestant  company, 
captain.  It  did  my  heart  good  when  I  saw  your  honour  ride  in 
at  the  head  of  all  those  fine  fellows,  real  Protestants,  I'll  engage, 
not  a  Papist  among  them — they  are  too  good-looking  and  honest- 
looking  for  that.  So  I  no  sooner  saw  your  honour  at  the  head  of 
your  army,  with  that  handsome  young  gentleman  holding  by  your 
stirrup,  than  I  said  to  my  wife.  Mistress  Hyne,  who  is  from 
Londonderry,  '  God  bless  me,'  said  I,  '  what  a  truly  Protestant 
countenance,  what  a  noble  bearing,  and  what  a  sweet  young 
gentleman.  By  the  silver  hairs  of  his  honour — and  sure  enough 
I  never  saw  hairs  more  regally  silver  than  those  of  your  honour — 
by  his  honour's  gray  silver  hairs,  and  by  my  own  soul,  which  is 
not  worthy  to  be  mentioned  in  the  same  day  with  one  of  them — 
it  would  be  no  more  than  decent  and  civil  to  run  out  and  welcome 


6o  LAVENGRO.  [i8xs 

such  a  father  and  son  coming  in  at  the  head  of  such  a  Protestant 
military.'  And  then  my  wife,  who  is  from  Londonderry,  Mistress 
Hyne,  looking  me  in  the  face  like  a  fairy  as  she  v^  '  You  may  say 
that/  says  she.  '  It  would  be  but  decent  and  civil,  honey.'  And 
your  honour  knows  how  I  ran  out  of  my  own  door  and  welcomed 
your  honour  riding,  in  company  with  your  son  who  was  walking ; 
how  I  welcomed  ye  both  at  the  head  of  your  royal  regiment,  and 
how  I  shook  your  honour  by  the  hand,  saying,  I  am  glad  to  see 
your  honour,  and  your  honour's  son,  and  your  honour's  royal 
military  Protestant  r^ment  And  now  I  have  you  in  the  house, 
and  right  proud  I  am  to  have  ye  one  and  all :  one,  two,  three, 
four,  true  Protestants  every  one,  no  Papists  here;  and  I  have 
made  bold  to  bring  up  a  bottle  of  claret  which  is  now  waiting 
behind  the  door;  and,  when  your  honour  and  your  family  have 
dined,  I  will  make  bold  too  to  bring  up  Mistress  Hyne,  from  Lon- 
donderry, to  introduce  to  your  honour's  lady,  and  then  we'll  drink 
to  the  health  of  King  George,  God  bless  him ;  to  the  '  glorious  and 
immortal ' — ^to  Boyne  water — ^to  your  honour's  speedy  promotion 
to  be  Lord  Lieutenant,  and  to  the  speedy  downfall  of  the  Pope 
and  Saint  Anthony  of  Padua." 

Such  was  the  speech  of  the  Irish  Protestant  addressed  to  my 
fieither  in  the  long  lofty  dining-room  with  three  windows,  looking 
upon  the  High  street  of  the  good  town  of  Clonmel,  as  he  sat  at 
meat  with  his  family,  after  saying  grace  like  a  true-hearted  respect- 
able soldier  as  he  was. 

"A  bigot  and  an  Orangeman  1"  Oh,  yesl  It  is  easier  to 
apply  epithets  of  opprobrium  to  people  than  to  make  yourself 
acquainted  with  their  history  and  position.  He  was  a  specimen, 
and  a  faxt  specimen^  of  a  most  remarkable  body  of  men,  who 
during  two  centuries  have  fought  a  good  fight  in  Ireland  in  the 
cause  of  civilisation  and  religious  truth ;  they  were  sent  as  colonists, 
few  in  number,  into  a  barbarous  and  unhappy  country,  where  ever 
since,  though  surrounded  with  difficulties  of  every  kind,  they  have 
maintained  their  ground ;  theirs  has  been  no  easy  life,  nor  have 
their  lines  &llen  upon  very  pleasant  places ;  amidst  darkness  they 
have  held  up  a  lamp^  and  it  would  be  well  for  Ireland  were  all  her 
children  like  these  her  adopted  ones.  ''  But  they  are  fierce  and 
sanguinary,"  it  is  said.  Ay,  ay  I  they  have  not  unfrequently 
opposed  the  keen  sword  to  the  savage  pike.  ''But  they  are 
bigoted  and  narrow-minded."  Ay,  ay  1  they  do  not  like  idolatry, 
and  will  not  bow  the  knee  before  a  stone  1  "  But  their  language 
is  frequently  indecorous.*^  Go  to,  my  dainty  one,  did  ye  ever 
listen  to  the  voice  of  Papist  cursing  ? 


i8z5.]  CLONMBL.  6z 

The  Irish  Protestants  have  fieiults,  numerous  ones;  but  the 
greater  number  of  these  may  be  traced  to  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  their  position.  But  they  have  virtues,  numerous  ones ; 
and  their  virtues  are  their  own,  their  industry,  their  energy,  and 
their  undaunted  resolution  are  their  own.  They  have  been 
vilified  and  traduced — bet  what  would  Ireland  be  without  them  ? 
I  repeat,  that  it  would  be  well  for  her  were  all  her  sons  no  worse 
than  these  much  calumniated  children  of  her  adoption. 


CHAPTER  2L 


Wb  continued  at  this  place  for  some  months,  during  which  time 
the  soldiers  performed  their  duties,  whatever  they  were;  and  I, 
having  no  duties  to  perform,  was  sent  to  school.  I  had  been  to 
English  schools,  and  to  the  celebrated  one  of  Edinburgh;  but 
my  education,  at  the  present  day,  would  not  be  what  it  is — 
p^ect,  had  I  never  had  the  honour  of  being  alumnus  in  an  Irish 
seminary. 

''  Captain,"  said  our  kind  host,  "  you  would,  no  doubt,  wish 
that  the  young  gentleman  should  enjoy  every  advantage  which  the 
town  may  afford  towards  helping  him  on  in  the  path  of  genteel 
learning.  It's  a  great  pity  that  he  should  waste  his  time  in  idle- 
ness—-doing  nothing  else  than  what  he  says  he  has  been  doing 
for  the  last  fortnight — fishing  in  the  river  for  trouts  which  he 
never  catches,  and  wandering  up  the  glen  in  the  mountain  in 
search  of  the  hips  that  grow  there.  Now,  we  have  a  school  here, 
where  he  can  learn  the  most  elegant  Latin,  and  get  an  insight  into 
the  Greek  letters,  which  is  desirable ;  and  where,  moreover,  he 
will  have  an  opportunity  of  making  acquaintance  with  all  the 
Protestant  young  gentlemen  of  the  place,  the  handsome  well- 
dressed  young  persons  whom  your  honour  sees  in  the  church  on 
the  Sundays,  when  your  honour  goes  there  in  the  morning,  with 
the  rest  of  the  Protestant  military;  for  it  is  no  Papist  school, 
though  there  may  be  a  Papist  or  two  there — a  few  poor  farmers' 
sons  from  the  country,  with  whom  there  is  no  necessity  for  your 
honour's  child  to  form  any  acquaintance  at  all,  at  all  I " 

And  to  the  school  I  went,  where  I  read  the  Latin  tongue  and 
the  Greek  letters,  with  a  nice  old  clergyman,  who  sat  behind  a 
black  oaken  desk,  with  a  huge  Elzevir  Flaccus  before  him,  in  a 
long  gloomy  kind  of  hall,  with  a  broken  stone  floor,  the  roof 
festooned  with  cobwebs,  the  walls  considerably  dilapidated,  and 
covered  over  with  strange  figures  and  hieroglyphics,  evidently 
produced  by  the  application  of  burnt  stick ;  and  there  I  made 
acquaintance  with  Uie  Protestant  young  gentlemen  of  the  place, 
who,  with  whatever  klat  they  might  appear  at  church  on  a 
Sunday,  did  assuredly  not  exhibit  to  much  advantage  in  the 

(6a) 


18x5-]  MURTAGH.  63 

school-room  on  the* week*  days,  either  with  respect  to  clothes  or 
looks.  And  there  I  was  in  the  habit  of  sitting  on  a  large  stone, 
before  the  roaring  fire  in  the  huge  open  chimney,  and  entertaining 
certain  of  the  Protestant  young  gentlemen  of  my  own  age,  seated 
on  similar  stones,  with  extraordinary  accounts  of  my  own  adven- 
tures and  those  of  the  corps,  with  an  occasional  anecdote  extracted 
from  the  story-books  of  Hickathrift  and  Wight  Wallace,  pretending 
to  be  conning  the  lesson  all  the  while. 

And  there  I  made  acquaintance,  notwithstanding  the  hint  of 
the  landlord,  with  the  Papist  "gasoons,"  as  they  were  called,  the 
farmers'  sons  from  the  countrv ;  and  of  these  gasoons,  of  which 
there  were  three,  two  might  be  reckoned  as  nothing  at  all ;  in 
the  third,  however,  I  soon  discovered  that  there  was  something 
extraordinary. 

He  was  about  sixteen  years  old,  and  above  six  feet  high, 
dressed  in  a  gray  suit ;  the  coat,  from  its  size,  appeared  to  have 
been  made  for  him  some  ten  years  before.  He  was  remarkably 
narrow-chested  and  round-shouldered,  owing,  perhaps,  as  much  to 
the  tightness  of  his  garment  as  to  the  hand  of  nature.  His  &ce 
was  long,  and  his  complexion  swarthy,  relieved,  however,  by  certain 
freckles,  with  which  the  skin  was  plentifully  studded.  He  had 
strange  wandering  eyes,  gray,  and  somewhat  unequal  in  size ;  they 
seldom  rested  on  the  book,  but  were  generally  wandering  about 
the  room  from  one  object  to  another.  Sometimes  he  would  fix 
them  intently  on  the  wall ;  and  then  suddenly  starting,  as  if  from 
a  reverie,  he  would  commence  making  certain  mysterious  move- 
ments with  his  thumbs  and  forefingers,  as  if  he  were  shuffling 
something  from  him. 

One  morning,  as  he  sat  by  himself  on  a  bench,  engaged  in 
this  manner,  I  went  up  to  him  and  said,  "  Good  day,  Murtagh ; 
yoQ  do  not  seem  to  have  much  to  do." 

"  Faith,  you  may  say  that,  Shorsha  dear  1  it  is  seldom  much  to 
do  that  I  have." 

"  And  what  are  you  doing  with  your  hands  ?  " 

**  Faith,  then,  if  I  must  tell  you,  I  was  e'en  dealing  with  the 
cards." 

**  Do  you  play  much  at  cards  ?  " 

''Sorra  a  game,  Shorsha,  have  I  played  with  the  cards  since 
my  uncle  Phdim,  the  thief,  stole  away  the  ould  pack,  when  he 
went  to  settle  in  Uie  county  Waterford  1 " 

*'  But  you  have  other  things  to  do  ?  " 

"Sorra  anything  else  has  Murtagh  to  do  that  he  cares  about; 
and  that  makes  me  dread  so  going  home  at  nights." 


LA  VBNOrtO.  [181S. 


"I  should  like  to  know  all  about  you;  where  do  you  live, 
joy?" 

**  Faith,  then,  ye  shall  know  all  about  me,  and  where  I  lire. 
It  is  at  a  place  called  the  Wilderness  that  I  live,  and  they  call  it 
so,  because  it  is  a  fearful  wild  place,  without  any  house  near  it  but 
my  father's  own ;  and  that's  where  I  live  when  at  home." 

**  And  your  father  is  a  farmer,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  You  may  say  that ;  and  it  is  a  farmer  I  should  have  been, 
like  my  brother  Denis,  had  not  my  uncle  Phelim,  the  thief  1  tould 
my  lather  to  send  me  to  school,  to  learn  Greek  letters,  that  I 
might  be  made  a  saggart  of  and  sent  to  Paris  and  Salamanca." 

"  And  you  would  rather  be  a  farmer  than  a  priest?  " 

'*  You  may^  say  that  1  for,  were  I  a  £urmer,  like  the  rest,  I 
should  have  something  to  do,  like  the  rest,  something  that  I 
cared  for,  and  I  should  come  home  tired  at  night  and  fall  asleep, 
as  the  rest  do,  before  the  fire;  but  when  I  comes  home  at  night  I 
am  not  tired,  for  I  have  been  doing  nothing  all  day  that  I  care 
for ;  and  then  I  sits  down  and  stares  about  me,  and  at  the  fire^ 
till  I  become  frighted ;  and  then  I  shouts  to  my  brother  Denis, 
or  to  the  gasoons,  '  Get  up,  I  say,  and  let's  be  doing  something ; 
tell  us  a  tale  of  Finn-ma-Coul,  and  how  he  lay  down  in  the 
Shannon's  bed  and  let  the  river  flow  down  his  jaws ! '  Arrah, 
Shorsha,  I  wish  you  would  come  and  stay  with  us,  and  tell  us 
some  o'  your  sweet  stories  of  your  ownsdf  and  the  snake  ye 
carried  about  wid  ye.  Faith,  Shorsha  dear!  that  snake  bates 
anything  about  Finn-ma-Coul  or  Brian  Boroo,  the  thieves  two,  bad 
luck  to  them  1 " 

'*  And  do  they  get  up  and  tell  you  stories  ?  " 

'*  Sometimes  they  does,  but  oftenmost  they  curses  me  and 
bids  me  be  quiet !  But  I  can't  be  quiet,  either  before  the  fire  or 
abed ;  so  I  runs  out  of  the  house,  and  stares  at  the  rocks,  at  the 
trees,  and  sometimes  at  the  cloudis,  as  they  run  a  race  across  the 
bright  moon ;  and  the  more  I  stares,  the  more  frighted  I  grows, 
till  I  screeches  and  holloas.  And  last  night  I  went  into  the  barn 
and  hid  my  face  in  the  straw ;  and  there,  as  I  lay  and  shivered  in 
the  straw,  I  heard  a  voice  above  my  head  singing  out '  To  whit, 
to  whoo  1 '  and  then  up  I  starts  and  runs  into  the  house,  and  falls 
over  my  brother  Denis,  as  he  lies  at  the  fire.  '  What's  that  for  ? ' 
says  he.  'Get  up,  you  thief!'  says  I,  'and  be  helping  me.  I 
have  been  out  in  the  barn,  and  an  owl  has  crow'd  at  me! '" 

"  And  what  has  this  to  do  with  playing  cards  ?  " 

"  Little  enough,  Shorsha  dear  I — If  there  were  card-playing,  I 
should  not  be  frighted." 


iSzs-]  MURTAGM.  65 


"  And  why  do  you  not  play  at  cards  ?  " 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  the  thief,  my  uncle  Phelim,  stole  away 
the  pack  ?  If  we  had  the  pack,  my  brother  Denis  and  the  gasoons 
would  be  ready  enough  to  get  up  from  their  sleep  before  the  fire, 
and  play  cards  with  me  for  ha'pence,  or  eggs,  or  nothing  at  all ; 
but  the  pack  is  gone — bad  luck  to  the  thief  who  took  it  1 " 

"  And  why  don't  you  buy  another  ?  " 

*^  Is  it  of  buying  you  are  speaking?  And  where  am  I  to  get 
the  money?" 

'<  Ah  !  that's  another  thing !  " 

*' Faith  it  is,  honey! — And  now  the  Christmas  holidays  is 
coming,  when  I  shaU  be  at  home  by  day  as  well  as  night,  and 
then  what  am  I  to  do?  Since  I  have  been  a  saggarting,  I  have 
been  good  for  nothing  at  all — neither  for  work  nor  Greek — only 
to  play  cards  1    Faith,  it's  going  mad  I  will  be  I " 

"  I  say,  Murtagh  1 " 

••  Yes,  Shorsha  dear  I " 

*'  I  have  a  pack  of  cards." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  Shorsha  mavoumeen !  you  don't  say  that 
you  have  cards  fifty-two  ?  " 

**  I  do,  though ;  and  they  are  quite  new — never  been  once 
used." 

"And  you'll  be  lending  them  to  me,  I  warrant?  " 

"  Don't  think  it  I    But  I'll  sell  them  to  you,  joy,  if  you  like." 

^*£[anam  man  Diaull  am  I  not  after  telling  you  that  I  have 
no  money  at  all?" 

"But  you  have  as  good  as  money,  to  me,  at  least;  and  I'll 
take  it  in  exchange." 

"  What's  that,  Shorsha  dear  ?  " 

••  Irish  I " 

"Irish?" 

"  Yes,  you  speak  Irish ;  I  heard  you  talking  it  the  other  day 
to  the  cripple.    You  shall  teach  me  Irish." 

"  And  is  it  a  language-master  you'd  be  making  of  me  ?  " 

"To  be  sure  I — what  better  can  you  do? — it  would  help  you 
to  pass  your  time  at  school  You  can't  learn  Greek,  so  you  must 
teach  Irish  1 " 

Before  Christmas,  Murtagh  was  playing  at  cards  with 
his  brother  Denis,  and  I  could  speak  a  considerable  quantity 
of  broken  Irish. 


' 


CHAPTER  XI. 


When  Christmas  was  over,  and  the  new  year  commenced,  we 
broke  up  our  quarters,  and  marched  away  to  Templemore.  This 
was  a  large  military  station,  situated  in  a  wild  and  thinly  inhabited 
country.  Extensive  bogs  were  in  the  neighbourhood,  connected 
with  the  huge  bog  of  Allan,  the  Palus  Mseotis  of  Ireland.  Here 
and  there  was  seen  a  ruined  castle  looming  through  the  mists  of 
winter;  whilst,  at  the  distance  of  seven  miles,  rose  a  singular 
mountain,  exhibiting  in  its  brow  a  chasQ,  or  vacuum,  just,  for  all 
the  world,  as  if  a  piece  had  been  bitten  out ;  a  feat  which,  according 
to  the  tradition  of  the  country,  had  actually  been  performed  by 
his  Satanic  majesty,  who,  after  flying  for  some  leagues  with  the 
morsel  in  his  mouth,  becoming  weary,  dropped  it  in  the  vicinity  of 
Cashel,  where  it  may  now  be  seen  in  the  shape  of  a  bold  bluff  hill, 
crowned  with  the  ruins  of  a  stately  edifice,  probdbly  built  by 
some  ancient  Irish  king. 

We  had  been  here  only  a  few  days,  when  my  brother,  who,  as 
I  have  before  observed,  had  become  one  of  his  Majesty's  officers, 
was  sent  on  detachment  to  a  village  at  about  ten  miles'  distance. 
He  was  not  sixteen,  and,  though  three  years  older  than  myself, 
scarcely  my  equal  in  stature,  for  I  had  become  tall  and  large- 
limbed  for  my  age;  but  there  was  a  spirit  in  him  that  would  not 
have  disgraced  a  general ;  and,  nothing  daunted  at  the  considerable 
responsibility  which  he  was  about  to  incur,  he  marched  sturdily 
out  of  the  barrack-yard  at  the  head  of  his  party,  consisting  of 
twenty  light-infantry  men,  and  a  tall  grenadier  sergeant,  selected 
expressly  by  my  father  for  the  soldier-like  qualities  which  he 
possessed,  to  accompany  his  son  on  this  his  firat  expedition.  So 
out  of  the  barrack-yard,  with  something  of  an  air,  marched  my 
dear  brother,  his  single  drum  and  fife  playing  the  inspiring  old 
melody, 

Marlbrouk  is  gone  to  the  wars, 
He'll  never  return  no  more  1 

I  soon  missed  my  brother,  for  I  was  now  alone,  with  no  being 

(66) 


i8x4]  TBMPLBMORB. 


at  all  assimilating  in  age*  with  whom  I  could  exchange  a  word. 
Of  late  years,  from  being  almost  constantly  at  school,  I  had  cast 
aside,  in  a  great  degree,  my  unsocial  habits  and  natural  reserve, 
but  in  the  desolate  region  in  which  we  now  were  there  was  no 
school ;  and  I  felt  doubly  the  loss  of  my  brother,  whom,  moreover, 
I  tenderly  loved  for  his  own  sake.  Books  I  had  none,  at  least 
such  "  as  I  cared  about ; "  and  with  respect  to  the  old  volume, 
the  wonders  of  which  had  first  beguiled  me  into  common  reading, 
I  had  so  frequently  pored  over  its  pages,  that  I  had  almost  got  its 
contents  by  heart.  I  was  therefore  in  danger  of  falling  into  the 
same  predicament  as  Murtagh,  becoming  "frighted"  from  having 
nothing  to  do !  Nay,  I  had  not  even  his  resources ;  I  cared  not 
for  cards,  even  if  I  possessed  them,  and  could  find  people  disposed 
to  play  with  them.  However,  I  made  the  most  of  circumstances, 
and  roamed  about  the  desolate  fields  and  bogs  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, sometimes  entering  the  cabins  of  the  peasantry,  with  a 
'^  God's  blessing  upon  you,  good  people  1 "  where  I  would  take 
my  seat  on  the  "  stranger's  stone "  at  the  corner  of  the  hearth, 
and,  looking  them  full  in  the  &ce,  would  listen  to  the  carles  and 
carlines  talking  Irish. 

Ah,  that  Irish !  How  frequently  do  circumstances,  at  first 
sight  the  most  trivial  and  unimportant,  exercise  a  mighty  and 
permanent  influence  on  our  habits  and  pursuits  I — how  frequently 
is  a  stream  turned  aside  from  its  natural  course  by  some  little  rpck 
or  knoll,  causing  it  to  make  an  abrupt  turn  1  On  a  wild  road  in 
Ireland  I  had  heard  Irish  spoken  for  the  first  time ;  and  I  was 
seized  with  a  desire  to  learn  Irish,  the  acquisition  of  which,  in 
my  case,  became  the  stepping-stone  to  other  languages.  I  had 
previously  learnt  Latin,  or  rather  Lilly;  but  neither  Latin  nor 
Lillymadie  me  a  philologist  I  had  frequently  heard  French  and 
other  languages,  but  had  felt  little  desire  to  become  acquainted 
with  them ;  and  what  it  may  be  asked,  was  there  connected  with 
the  Irish  calculated  to  recommend  it  to  my  attention  ? 

First  of  all,  and  principally,  I  believe,  the  strangeness  and 
singularity  of  its  tones ;  then  there  was  something  mysterious  and 
uncommon  associated  with  its  use.  It  was  not  a  school  language, 
to  acquire  which  was  considered  an  imperative  duty  -,  no,  no ;  nor 
was  it  a  drawing-room  language,  drawled  out  occasionally,  in 
shreds  and  patches,  by  the  ladies  of  generals  and  other  great 
dignitaries,  to  the  ineffable  dismay  of  poor  officers'  wives. 
Nothing  of  the  kind;  but  a  speech  spoken  in  out-of-the-way 
desolate  places,  and  in  cut-throat  kens,  where  thirty  ruffians,  at 
the  sight  of  the  king's  minions,  would  spring  up  with  brandished 


68  LA  VBNORO.  [x8i& 

sticks  and  an  **  ubbubboo,  like  the  blowing  up  of  a  powder- 
magazine''.  Such  were  the  points  connected  with  the  Irish, 
which  first  awakened  in  my  mind  the  desire  of  acquiring  it ;  and 
by  acquiring  it  I  became,  as  I  have  already  said,  enamoured  of 
languages.  Having  learnt  one  by  choice,  I  speedily,  as  the  reader 
will  perceive^  learnt  others,  some  of  which  were  widely  different 
fh>m  Irish. 

Ah,  that  Irish  1  I  am  much  indebted  to  it  in  more  ways  than 
one.  But  I  am  afraid  I  have  followed  the  way  of  the  world, 
which  is  very  much  wont  to  neglect  original  friends  and  bene- 
factors. I  frequently  find  myself,  at  present,  turning  up  my  nose 
at  Irish,  when  I  hear  it  in  the  street ;  yet  I  have  still  a  kind  of 
regard  for  it,  the  fine  old  language : 

A  labhair  Padruic  nHnsrfml  nan  riegh. 

One  of  the  most  peculiar  features  of  this  part  of  Ireland  is  the 
ruined  castles,  which  are  so  thick  and  numerous  that  the  face  of 
the  country  appears  studded  with  them,  it  being  difficult  to  choose 
any  situation  from  which  one,  at  least,  may  not  be  descried. 
They  are  of  various  ages  and  styles  of  architecture,  some  of  great 
antiquity,  like  the  stately  remains  which  crown  the  Crag  of 
Cashel;  others  built  by  the  early  English  conquerors;  others, 
and  probably  the  greater  part,  erections  of  the  times  of  Elizabeth 
and  CromwelL  The  whole,  speaking  monuments  of  the  troubled 
and  insecure  state  of  the  country,  from  the  most  remote  periods 
to  a  comparatively  modem  time. 

From  the  windows  of  the  room  where  I  slept  I  had  a  view  of 
one  of  these  old  places — an  indistinct  one,  it  is  true,  the  distance 
being  too  great  to  permit  me  to  distinguish  more  than  the  general 
outline.  I  had  an  anxious  desire  to  explore  it  It  stood  to  the 
south-east ;  iu  which  direction,  however,  a  black  bog  intervened, 
which  had  more  than  once  baffled  all  my  attempts  to  cross  it. 
One  morning,  however,  when  the  sun  shone  brightly  upon  the 
old  building,  it  appeared  so  near,  that  I  felt  ashamed  at  not  being 
able  to  accomplish  a  feat  seemingly  so  easy ;  I  determined,  there- 
fore, upon  another  trial.  I  reached  the  bog,  and  was  about  to 
venture  upon  its  black  surface,  and  to  pick  my  way  amongst  its 
innumerable  holes,  yawning  horribly,  and  half  filled  with  water 
black  as  soot,  when  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  there  was 
a  road  to  the  south,  by  following  which  I  mig^t  find  a  more 
convenient  route  to  the  object  of  my  wishes.  The  event  justified 
my  expectations,  for,  after  following  the  road  for  some  three  miles, 


A;;^' 

-i 


• 


x8x6.]  rHE  RUINED  CASTLE.  69 

l.«  nil  ■  I     ■  >  .  

seemingly  in  the  direction  of  the  Devil's  Mountain,  I  suddenly 
beheld  the  casde  on  my  left 

I  diverged  from  the  road,  and,  crossing  two  or  three  iields, 
came  to  a  small  grassy  plain,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood  the 
castle.  About  a  gun-shot  to  the  south  was  a  small  village,  which 
had,  probably,  in  ancient  days,  sprung  up  beneath  its  protection. 
A  kind  of  awe  came  over  me  as  I  approached  the  old  building.  The 
sun  no  longer  shone  upon  it,  and  it  looked  so  grim,  so  desolate 
and  solitary;  and  here  was  I  in  that  wild  country,  alone  with 
that  grim  building  before  me.  The  village  was  within  sight,  it  is 
true ;  but  it  might  be  a  village  of  the  dead  for  what  I  knew ;  no 
sound  issued  from  it,  no  smoke  was  rising  from  its  roofs,  neither 
man  nor  beast  was  visible,  no  life,  no  motion — it  looked  as  desolate 
as  the  castle  itself.  Yet  I  was  bent  on  the  adventure,  and  moved 
on  towards  the  castle  across  the  green  plain,  occasionally  casting 
a  startled  glance  around  me ;  and  now  I  was  close  to  it. 

It  was  surrounded  by  a  quadrangular  wall,  about  ten  feet  in 
height,  with  a  square  tower  at  each  corner.  At  first  I  could  dis- 
cover no  entrance ;  walking  round,  however,  to  the  northern  side, 
I  found  a  wide  and  lofty  gateway  with  a  tower  above  it,  similar 
to  those  at  the  angles  of  the  wall ;  on  this  side  the  ground  sloped 
gently  down  towards  the  bog,  which  was  here  skirted  by  an  abun- 
dant growth  of  copsewood,  and  a  few  evergreen  oaks.  I  passed 
through  the  gateway,  and  found  myself  within  a  square  enclosure 
of  about  two  acres.  On  one  side  rose  a  round  and  lofty  keep,  or 
donjon,  with  a  conical  roof,  part  of  which  had  fallen  down,  strew- 
ing the  square  with  its  ruins.  Close  to  the  keep,  on  the  other 
side,  stood  the  remains  of  an  oblong  house,  built  something  in 
the  modem  style,  with  various  window-holes ;  nothing  remained 
but  the  bare  walls  and  a  few  projecting  stumps  of  beams,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  half  burnt.  The  interior  of  the  walls  was 
blackened,  as  if  by  fire ;  fire  also  appeared  at  one  time  to  have 
raged  out  of  the  window-holes,  for  the  outside  about  them  was 
black,  portentously  sa 

'*  I  wonder  what  has  been  going  on  here ! "  I  exclaimed. 

There  were  echoes  along  the  walls  as  I  walked  about  the 
court  I  entered  the  keep  by  a  low  and  frowning  doorway :  the 
lower  floor  consisted  of  a  large  dungeon-like  room,  with  a  vaulted 
roof;  on  the  left  hand  was  a  winding  staircase  in  the  thickness 
of  the  wall ;  it  looked  anything  but  inviting ;  yet  I  stole  softly 
up,  my  heart  beating.  On  the  top  of  the  first  flight  of  stairs  was 
an  arched  doorway ;  to  the  left  was  a  dark  passage ;  to  the  right,* 
stain  leading  still  higher.    I  stepped  under  the  arch  and  found 


TO  .^  LAVBNGRO.  \  [1816 

myself  in  an  apartment  somewhat  similar  to  the  one  below,  but 
higher.    There  was  an  object  at  the  farther  end. 

An  old  woman,  at  least  eighty,  was  seated  on  a  stone,  cower- 
ing over  a  few  sticks  burning  feebly  on  what  had  once  been  a 
right  noble  and  cheerful  hearth  ;  her  side-glance  was  towards  the 
doorway  as  I  entered,  for  she  had  heard  my  footsteps.  I  stood 
suddenly  still,  and  her  haggard  glance  rested  on  my  face. 

'*  Is  this  your  house,  mother  ?  "  I  at  length  demanded,  in  the 
language  which  I  thought  she  would  best  understand. 

•■  "  Yes,  my  house,  my  own  house ;  the  house  of  the  broken- 
hearted." 

"  Any  other  person's  house  ?  "  I  demanded. 

**  My  own  house,  the  beggar's  house^the  accursed  house  of 
Cromwell  I " 


CHAPTER  XIL 


Onb  morning  I  set  out,  designing  to  pay  a  visit  to  my  brothor  at 
the  place  where  he  was  detached ;  the  distance  was  rather  con- 
siderable, yet  I  hoped  to  be  back  by  evening  fall,  for  I  was  now 
a  shrewd  walker,  thanks  to  constant  practice.  I  set  out  early, 
and  directing  my  course  towards  the  north,  I  had  in  less  than 
two  hours  accomplished  considerably  more  than  half  of  the 
journey.  The  weather  had  at  first  been  propitious :  a  slight  frost 
bad  rendered  the  ground  firm  to  the  tread,  and  the  skies  were 
dear ;  but  now  a  change  came  over  the  scene :  the  skies  darkened 
and  a  heavy  snow-storm  came  on ;  the  road  then  lay  straight 
through  a  bog,  and  was  bounded  by  a  deep  trench  on  both  sides ; 
I  was  making  the  best  of  my  way,  keeping  as  nearly  as  I  could 
in  the  middle  of  the  road,  lest,  blinded  by  the  snow  which  was 
frequently  borne  into  my  eyes  by  the  wind,  I  might  fall  into  the 
dyke,  when  all  at  once  I  heard  a  shout  to  windward,  and  turning 
my  eyes  I  saw  the  figure  of  a  man,  and  what  appeared  to  be  an 
animal  of  some  kind,  coming  across  the  bog  with  great  speed,  in 
the  direction  of  mysdf ;  the  nature  of  the  ground  seemed  to  ofier 
but  little  impediment  to  these  beings,  both  clearing  the  holes  and 
abysses  which  lay  in  their  way  with  surprising  agility ;  the  animal 
was,  however,  some  slight  way  in  advance,  and,  bounding  over 
the  d^ce,  appeared  on  the  road  just  before  me*  It  was  a  dog,  of 
what  species  I  cannot  tell,  never  having  seen  the  like  before  or 
since ;  the  head  was  large  and  round,  the  ears  so  tiny  as  scarcely 
to  be  discernible,  the  eyes  of  a  fiery  red ;  in  size  it  was  rather 
small  than  large,  and  the  coat,  which  was  remarkably  smooth,  as 
yMte  as  the  DBilling  flakes.  It  placed  itself  directly  in  my  path, 
and  showing  its  teeth,  and  Imstling  its  coat,  appeared  determined 
to  prevent  my  progress*  I  had  an  ashen  stick  in  my  hand,  with 
whidi  I  threatened  it ;  this,  however,  only  served  to  increase  its 
fory ;  it  rushed  upon  me,  and  I  had  the  utmost  difficulty  to  pre- 
serve myself  from  its  £ui^ 

**  What  are  you  doing  with  the  dog,  the  fairy  dog  ?  "  said  a 
ooaa  who  at  this  time  likewise  cleared  the  dyke  at  a  bound. 

71 


f» 


7a  LA  VBNGRO,  [1816. 

He  was  a  very  tall  man,  rather  well-dressed  as  it  should  seem ; 
his  garments,  however,  were  like  my  own,  so  covered  with  snow 
that  I  could  scarcely  discern  their  quality. 

"  What  are  ye  doing  with  the  dog  of  peace  ?  " 

**  I  wish  he  would  show  himself  one,"  said  I ;  ''  I  said  nothing 
to  him,  but  he  placed  himself  in  my  road,  and  would  not  let  me 
pass." 

"  Of  course  he  would  not  be  letting  you  till  he  knew  where 
ye  were  going." 

"  He*s  not  much  of  a  fairy,"  said  I,  "or  he  would  know  that 
without  asking ;  tell  him  that  I  am  going  to  see  my  brother." 

'*  And  who  is  your  brother,  little  Sas  ? 

"  What  my  father  is,  a  royal  soldier.' 

"Oh,  ye  are  going  then  to  the  detachment  at ;  by  my 

shoul,  I  have  a  good  mind  to  be  spoiling  your  journey." 

"You  are  doing  that  already,"  said  I,  "keeping  me  here 
talking  about  dogs  and  fairies ;  you  had  better  go  home  and  get 
some  salve  to  cure  that  place  over  your  eye ;  it's  catching  cold 
youll  be,  in  so  much  snow." 

On  one  side  of  the  man's  forehead  there  was  a  raw  and  staring 
wound,  as  if  from  a  recent  and  terrible  blow. 

"  Faith,  then  I'll  be  going,  but  it's  taking  you  wid  roe  I  will 
be." 

"  And  where  will  you  take  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  then,  to  Ryan's  Castle,  little  Sas." 

"You  Qo  not  speak  the  language  very  correctly,"  said  I; 
** it  is  not  Sas  you  should  call  me — 'tis  Sassannach"  and  forth- 
with I  accompanied  the  word  with  a  speech  full  of  flowers  of 
Irish  rhetoric. 

The  man  looked  upon  me  for  a  moment,  fixedly,  then,  bend- 
ing his  head  towards  his  breast,  he  appeared  to  be  undergoing 
a  kind  of  convulsion,  which  was  accompanied  by  a  sound  some- 
thing resembling  laughter ;  presently  he  looked  at  me,  and  there 
was  a  broad  grin  on  his  features. 

"  By  my  shoul,  it's  a  thing  of  peace  I'm  thinking  ye." 

But  now  with  a  whisking  sound  came  running  down  the  road 
a  hare ;  it  was  nearly  upon  us  before  it  perceived  us ;  suddenly 
stopping  short,  however,  it  sprang  into  the  bog  on  the  right-hand 
side ;  after  it  amain  bounded  the  dog  of  peace,  followed  by  the 
man,  but  not  until  he  had  nodded  to  me  a  &rewell  salutation. 
In  a  few  moments  I  lost  sight  of  him  amidst  the  snow-flakes. 

The  weather  was  again  clear  and  fine  before  I  reached  the 
place  of  detachment     It  was  ^  little  wooden  barrack,  sunounded 


x8i&]  LOUGHMORB.,  73 


by  a  wall  of  the  same  material ;  a  sentinel  stood  at  the  gate,  I 
passed  by  him,  and,  entering  the  building,  found  myself  fn  a  rude 
kind  of  guard-room ;  several  soldiers  were  lying  asleep  on  a  wooden 
couch  at  one  end,  others  lounged  on  benches  by  the  side  of  a  turf 
fire.  The  tall  sergeant  stood  before  the  fire,  holding  a  cooking 
utensil  in  his  left  hand;  on  seeing  me,  he  made  the  military 

salutatioHi 

"Is  my  brother  here?"  said  I,  rather  timidly,  dreading  to 
hear  that  he  was  out,  perhaps  for  the  day. 

''The  ensign  is  in  his  room,  sir,"  said  Bagg,  "I  am  now 
preparing  his  meal,  which  will  presendy  be  ready ;  you  will  find 
the  ensign  above  stairs,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  broken  ladder  which 
led  to  some  place  above. 

And  there  I  found  him — ^the  boy  soldier — ^in  a  kind  of  upper 
lofty  so  low  that  I  could  touch  with  my  hands  the  sooty  rafters ; 
the  floor  was  of  rough  boards,  through  the  joints  of  which  you 
could  see  the  gleam  of  the  soldiers'  fire,  and  occasionally  discern 
their  figures  as  they  moved  about;  in  one  comer  was  a  camp 
bedstead,  by  the  side  of  which  hung  the  child's  sword,  gorget,  and 
sash ;  a  deal  table  stood  in  the  proximity  of  the  rusty  grate,  where 
smoked  and  smouldered  a  pile  of  black  turf  from  the  bog — a  deal 
table  without  a  piece  of  baize  to  cover  it,  yet  fraught  with  things 
not  devoid  of  interest :  a  Bible,  given  by  a  mother ;  the  Odyssey, 
the  Greek  Odyssey;  a  flute,  with  broad  silver  keys;  crayons, 
moreover,  and  water  colours,  and  a  sketch  of  a  wild  prospect 
near,  which*  though  but  half  finished,  afibrded  ample  proof  of  the 
excellence  and  skill  of  the  boyish  hand  now  occupied  upon  it. 

Ah !  he  was  a  sweet  being,  that  boy  soldier,  a  plant  of  early 
promise,  bidding  fair  to  become  in  after  time  all  that  is  great, 
good,  and  admirable.  I  have  read  of  a  remarkable  Welshman, 
of  whom  it  was  said,  when  the  grave  closed  over  him,  that  he 
could  frame  a  harp,  and  play  it ;  build  a  ship,  and  sail  it ;  com- 
pose an  ode,  and  set  it  to  music.  A  brave  fellow  that  son  of 
Wales — but  I  had  once  a  brother  who  could  do  more  and  better 
than  this,  but  the  grave  has  closed  over  him,  as  over  the  gallant 
Welshman  of  yore ;  there  are  now  but  two  that  remember  him — 
the  one  who  bore  him,  and  the  being  who  was  nurtured  at  the 
same  breast.  He  was  taken,  and  I  was  left !  Truly,  the  ways  of  ^ 
Providence  are  inscrutable. 

"You  seem  to  be  very  comfortable,  John,"  said  I,  looking 
around  the  room  and  at  the  various  objects  which  I  have  described 
above :  ''you  have  a  good  roof  over  your  head,  and  have  all  your 
things  about  you." 


74  LA  VBNGRO.  |.i8i6. 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  comfortable,  George,  in  many  respects ;  I 
am,  moreover,  independent,  and  feel  myself  a  man  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life — independent  did  I  say  ? — that's  not  the  word,  I 
am  something  much  higher  than  that ;  here  am  I,  not  sixteen  yet, 
a  person  in  authority,  like  the  centurion  in  the  book  there,  with 
twenty  Englishmen  under  me,  worth  a  whole  legion  of  his 
men,  and  that  fine  fellow  Bagg  to  wait  upon  me,  and  take  my 
orders.  Oh !  these  last  six  weeks  have  passed  like  hours  of 
heaven." 

**  But  your  time  must  frequently  hang  heavy  on  your  hands ; 
this  is  a  strange  wild  place,  and  you  must  be  very  solitary  ?  " 

'*  I  am  never  solitary ;  I  have,  as  you  see,  all  my  things  about 
me,  and  there  is  plenty  of  company  below  stairs.  Not  that  I  mix 
wi^  the  soldiers ;  if  I  did,  good-bye  to  my  authority ;  but  when  I 
am  alone  I  can  hear  all  their  discourse  through  the  planks,  and  I 
often  laugh  to  myself  at  the  funny  things  they  say." 

"  And  have  you  any  acquaintance  here  ?  " 

"The  very  best;  much  better  than  the  Colonel  and  the  rest, 
at  their  grand  Templemore ;  I  had  never  so  many  in  my  whole 
life  before.  One  has  just  left  me,  a  gentleman  who  lives  at  a 
distance  across  the  bog ;  he  comes  to  talk  with  me  about  Greek, 
and  the  Odyssey,  for  he  is  a  very  learned  man,  and  understands 
the  old  Irish  and  various  other  strange  languages.  He  has  had  a 
dispute  with  Bagg.  On  hearing  his  name,  he  called  him  to  him, 
and,  after  looking  at  him  for  some  time  with  great  curiosity,  said 
that  he  was  sure  he  was  a  Dane.  Bagg,  however,  took  the  com- 
pliment in  dudgeon,  and  said  that  he  was  no  more  a  Dane  than 
himself,  but  a  true-bom  Englishman,  and  a  sergeant  of  six  years' 
standing." 

"  And  what  other  acquaintance  have  you  ?  " 

**  All  kinds ;  the  whole  neighbourhood  can't  make  enough  of 
me.  Amongst  others  there's  the  clergyman  of  the  parish  and  his 
family ;  such  a  venerable  old  man,  such  fine  sons  and  daughters  ! 
I  am  treated  by  them  like  a  son  and  a  brother — I  might  be  always 
with  them  if  I  pleased ;  there's  one  drawback,  however,  in  going 
to  see  them ;  there's  a  horrible  creature  in  the  house,  a  kind  of 
tutor,  whom  they  keep  more  from  charity  than  anything  else ;  he 
is  a  Papist  and,  they  say,  a  priest;  you  should  see  him  scowl 
sometimt)s  at  my  red  coat,  for  he  hates  the  king,  and  not  unfre- 
quently,  *¥hen  the  king's  health  is  drunk,  curses  him  between  his 
teeth.  1  once  got  up  to  strike  him,  but  the  youngest  of  the 
sisters,  wno  is  the  handsomest,  caught  my  arm  and  pointed  to  her 
forehead." 


x8i6.]  JBRRY  GRANT.  75 

-* 

"And  what  does  your  duty  consist  of?  Have  you  nothing 
else  to  do  than  pay  visits  and  receive  them  ?  ^ 

**  We  do  what  is  required  of  us :  we  guard  this  edifice,  perform 
our  evolutions,  and  help  the  excise ;  I  am  frequently  called  up  in 
the  dead  of  night  to  go  to  some  wild  place  or  other  in  quest  of  an 
illicit  still ;  this  last  part  of  our  duty  is  poor  mean  work,  I  don't 
like  it,  nor  more  does  Bagg ;  though  without  it,  we  should  not  see 
much  active  service,  for  the  neighbourhood  is  qnitt;  save  the 
poor  creatures  with  their  stills,  not  a  soul  is  stirring.  Tis  true, 
there's  Jerry  Grant." 

"  And  who  is  Jerry  Grant  ?  " 

**  Did  you  never  hear  of  him  ?  that's  strange,  the  whole  country 
is  talking  about  him ;  he  is  a  kind  of  outlaw,  rebel,  or  robber, 
all  three,  I  daresay;  there's  a  hundred  pounds  offered  for  his 
head." 

"  And  where  does  he  live  ?  " 

"  His  proper  home,  they  say,  is  in  the  Queen's  County,  where 
he  has  a  band ;  but  he  is  a  strange  fellow,  fond  of  wandering  about 
by  himself  amidst  the  bogs  and  mountains,  and  living  in  the  old 
castles ;  occasionally  he  quarters  himself  in  the  peasants'  houses, 
who  let  him  do  just  what  he  pleases ;  he  is  free  of  his  money,  and 
often  does  them  good  turns,  and  can  be  good-humoured  enough, 
so  they  don't  dislike  him.  Then  he  is  what  they  call  a  fairy  man, 
a  person  in  league  with  ^ries  and  spirits,  and  able  to  work  much 
harm  by  supernatural  means,  on  which  account  they  hold  him  in 
great  awe ;  he  is,  moreover,  a  mighty  strong  and  tall  fellow.  Bagg 
has  seen  him." 

"Has  he?" 

"  Yes !  and  felt  him ;  he  too  is  a  strange  one.  A  few  days 
ago  he  was  told  that  Grant  had  been  seen  hovering  about  an  old 
castle  some  two  miles  off  in  the  bog ;  so  one  afternoon  what  does 
he  do  but,  without  saying  a  word  to  me — for  which,  by-the-bye, 
I  ought  to  put  him  under  arrest,  though  what  I  should  do  without 
Bagg  I  have  no  idea  whatever — ^what  does  he  do  but  walk  off  to 
the  castley  intending,  as  I  suppose,  to  pay  a  visit  to  Jerry.  He 
had  some  difficulty  in  getting  there  on  account  of  the  turf-holes 
in  the  bog,  which  he  was  not  accustomed  to ;  however,  thither  at 
last  he  got  and  went  in.  It  was  a  strange  lonesome  place,  he 
says^  and  he  did  not  much  like  the  look  of  it ;  however,  in  he 
went,  and  searched  about  from  the  bottom  to  the  top  and  down 
agaioi  but  could  find  no  one;  he  shouted  and  hallooed,  but 
nobody  answered,  save  the  rooks  and  choughs,  which  started  up 
in  great  numbers.    ^I  hav6  lost  my  trouble,'  said  Bagg,  and  left 


76  LA  VBNGRO.  Lz8x& 

the  castle.  It  was  now  late  in  the  afternoon,  near  sunset,  when 
about  half-way  over  the  bog  he  met  a  man " 

"  And  that  man  was " 

*'  Jerry  Grant !  there's  no  doubt  of  it  Bagg  says  it  was  the 
most  sudden  thing  in  the  world.  He  was  moving  along,  making 
the  best  of  his  way,  thinking  of  nothing  at  all  save  a  public-house 
at  Swanton  Morley,  which  he  intends  to  take  when  he  gets  home 
and  the  regiment  is  disbanded — though  I  hope  that  will  not  be  for 
some  time  yet :  he  had  just  leaped  a  turf-hole,  and  was  moving  on, 
when,  at  the  distance  of  about  six  yards  before  him,  he  saw  a  fellow 
coming  straight  towards  him.  Bagg  says  that  he  stopped  short, 
as  suddenly  as  if  he  had  heard  the  word  halt,  when  marching  at 
double-quick  time.  It  was  quite  a  surprise,  he  says,  and  he  can't 
imagine  how  the  fellow  was  so  close  upon  him  before  he  was 
aware.  He  was  an  immense  tall  fellow — Bagg  thinks  at  least  two 
inches  taller  than  himself — ^very  well  dressed  in  a  blue  coat  and 
buff  breeches,  for  all  the  world  like  a  squire  when  going  out  hunt- 
ing. Bagg,  however,  saw  at  once  that  he  had  a  rogui^  air,  and 
he  was  on  his  guard  in  a  moment.  '  Good  evening  to  ye^  sodger,' 
says  the  fellow,  stepping  close  up  to  Bagg,  and  staring  him  in  the 
face.  'Good  evening  to  you,  sirl  I  hope  you  are  well,'  says 
Bagg.  'You  are  looking  after  some  one?  '  says  the  fellow. 
'Just  so,  sir,'  says  Bagg,  and  forthwith  seized  him  by  the  collar; 
the  man  laughed,  Bagg  says  it  was  such  a  strange  awkward  laugh. 
'  Do  you  know  whom  you  have  got  hold  of,  sodger?'  said  he.  '  I 
believe  I  do,  sir,'  said  Bagg,  'and  in  that  belief  will  hold  you  fast 
in  the  name  of  King  George,  and  the  quarter  sessions ;'  the  next 
moment  he  was  sprawling  with  his  heeb  in  the  air.  Bagg  says 
there  was  nothing  remarkable  in  that ;  he  was  only  flung  by  a 
kind  of  wrtetling  trick,  which  he  could  easily  have  baffled,  had 
he  been  aware  of  it  '  You  will  not  do  that  again,  sir,'  said  he, 
as  he  got  up  and  put  himself  on  his  guard.  The  fellow  laughed 
again  more  strangely  and  awkwardly  than  before ;  then,  bending 
his  body  and  moving  his  head  from  one  side  to  the  other  as  a  cat 
does  before  she  springs,  and  crying  out,  '  Here's  for  ye,  sodger  1 ' 
he  made  a  dart  at  Bagg,  rushing  in  with  his  head  foremost 
'  That  will  do,  sir,'  says  Bagg,  and  drawing  himself  back  he  put 
in  a  left-handed  blow  with  all  the  force  of  his  body  and  arm,  just 
over  the  fellow's  right  eye — Bagg  is  a  left-handed  hitter,  you  must 
know — and  it  was  a  blow  of  that  kind  which  won  him  ills  famous 
battle  at  Edinburgh  with  the  big  Highland  sergeant.  Bagg  sajrs 
that  he  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  blow,  more  especially  when  he 
saw  the  fellow  reel,  fling  ant  his  arms,  and  &11  to  the  ground. 


i8i«.l  BAOO.  77 

'And  now,  sir/  said  he,  '  III  make  bold  to  hand  you  over  to  the 
quarter  sessions,  and,  if  there  is  a  hundred  pounds  for  taking  you, 
who  has  more  right  to  it  than  myself? '  So  he  went  forward,  but 
ere  he  could  lay  hold  of  his  man  the  other  was  again  on  his  legs, 
and  was  prepared  to  renew  the  combat  They  grappled  each 
other — Bagg  says  he  had  not  much  fear  of  the  result,  as  he  now 
felt  himaelf  the  best  man,  the  other  seeming  half  stunned  with  the 
blow — ^but  just  then  there  came  on  a  blast,  a  horrible  roaring  wind 
bearing  night  upon  its  wings,  snow,  and  sleet,  and  hail.  Bagg  says  he 
had  the  fdlow  by  the  throat  quite  fasf,  as  he  thought,  but  suddenly 
he  became  bewildered,  and  knew  not  where  he  was ;  and  the  man 
seemed  to  melt  away  from  his  grasp,  and  the  wind  howled  more 
and  more,  and  the  night  poured  down  darker  and  darker,  the 
snow  and  the  sleet  thicker  and  more  blinding.  '  Lord  have  mercy 
upon  us  1 '  said  Bagg. 

Myself.  A  strange  adventure  that ;  it  is  well  that  Bagg  got 
home  alive. 

John.  He  says  that  the  fight  was  a  fair  fight,  and  that  the 
fling  he  got  was  a  fair  fling,  the  result  of  a  common  enough 
wrestling  trick.  But  with  respect  to  the  storm,  which  rose  up 
just  in  time  to  save  the  fellow,  he  is  of  opinion  that  it  was  not 
fair,  but  something  Irish  and  supernatural. 

Myself.  I  dare  say  he's  right.  I  have  read  of  withcraft  in 
the  Bible. 

John.  He  wishes  much  to  have  one  more  encounter  with  the 
fellow ;  he  says  that  on  &ir  ground,  and  in  flne  weather,  he  has 
no  doubt  that  he  could  master  him,  and  hand  him  over  to  the 
quarter  sessions.  He  says  that  a  hundred  pounds  would  be  no 
bad  thing  to  be  disbanded  upon ;  for  he  wishes  to  take  an  inn  at 
Swanton  Morley,  keep  a  cock-pit,  and  live  respectably. 

Myself  He  is  quite  right;  and  now  kiss  me,  my  darling 
brother,  for  I  must  go  back  through  the  bog  to  Templemore. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 


And  it  came  to  pass  that,  as  I  was  standing  by  the  door  of  the 
barrack  stable,  one  of  the  graoms  came  out  to  me,  saying,  "  I  say, 
young  gentleman,  I  wish  you  would  give  the  cob  a  breathing  this 
fine  morning." 

"  Why  do  you  wish  me  to  mount  him  ?  **  said  I ;  "  you  know 
he  is  dangerous.  I  saw  him  fling  you  off  his  back  only  a  few 
days  ago.*' 

"  Why  I  that's  the  very  thing,  master.  I'd  rather  see  anybody 
on  his  back  than  myself;  he  does  not  like  me;  but,  to  them  he 
does,  he  can  be  as  gentle  as  a  lamb." 

"  But  suppose,"  said  I,  "  that  he  should  not  like  me  ?  " 

"We  shall  soon  see  that,  master,"  said  the  groom;  *'  and,  if 
so  be  he  shows  temper,  I  will  be  the  first  to  tell  you  to  get 
down.  But  there's  no  fear  of  that ;  you  have  never  angered  or 
insulted  him,  and  to  such  as  you,  I  say  again,  he'll  be  as  gentle  as 
a  lamb." 

"And  how  came  you  to  iusult  him,"  said  I,  "knowing  his 
temper  as  you  do  ?  " 

"Merely  through  forgetfulness,  master.  I  was  riding  him 
about  a  month  ago,  and  having  a  stick  in  my  hand,  I  struck  him, 
thinking  I  was  on  another  horse,  or  rather  thinking  of  nothing  at 
all.  He  has  never  foigiven  me^  though  before  that  time  he  was 
the  only  friend  I  had  in  the  world ;  I  should  like  to  see  you  on 
him,  master." 

"  I  should  soon  be  off  him ;  I  can't  ride." 

"  Then  you  are  all  right,  master ;  there's  no  fear.  Trust  him 
for  not  hurting  a  young  gentleman,  an  officer's  son  who  can't  ride. 
If  you  were  a  blackguard  dragoon,  indeed,  with  long  spurs,  'twere 
another  thing ;  as  it  is,  he'll  treat  you  as  if  he  were  the  elder 
brother  that  loves  you.  Ride  1  he'll  soon  teach  you  to  ride,  if 
you  leave  the  matter  with  him.  He's  the  best  riding  master  in 
all  Ireland,  and  the  gentlest." 

The  cob  was  led  forth ;  what  a  tremendous  creature  I  I  had 
frequently  seen  him  before,  and  wondered  at  him ;  he  was  barely 
fifteen  hands,  but  he  had  the  girth  of  a  metropolitan  dray-horse, 

(78) 


itid]  THB  FIRST  RIDB.  79 


his  head  was  small  in  comparison  with  his  immense  neck,  which 
carved  down  nobly  to  his  wide  back.  His  chest  was  broad  and 
fine,  and  his  shoulders  models  of  symmetry  and  strength;  he 
stood  well  and  powerfully  upon  his  legs,  which  were  somewhat 
short.  In  a  word,  he  was  a  gallant  specimen  of  the  genuine  Irish 
cob,  a  species  at  one  time  not  uncommon,  but  at  the  present  day 
nearly  extinct. 

"  There !  '*  said  the  groom,  as  he  looked  at  him,  half-admir- 
ingly,  half-sorrowfuUy,  "  with  sixteen  stone  on  his  back,  he'll  trot 
fourteen  miles  in  one  hour ;  with  your  nine  stone,  some  two  and 
half  more,  ay,  and  clear  a  six-foot  wall  at  the  end  of  it." 

"  I'm  half  afraid, "  said  I ;  "  I  had  rather  you  would  ride  him." 

"  I'd  rather  so,  too,  if  he  would  let  me ;  but  he  remembers 
the  blow.  Now,  don't  be  afraid,  young  master,  he's  longing  to 
go  out  himself.  He's  been  trampling  with  his  feet  these  three 
days,  and  I  know  what  that  means ;  he'll  let  anybody  ride  him 
but  myself,  and  thank  them ;  but  to  me  he  says,  '  No  I  you 
struck  me'". 

"  But,  *'  said  I,  "  where's  the  saddle  ?  " 

«  Never  mind  the  saddle ;  if  you  are  ever  to  be  a  frank  rider, 
you  must  begin  without  a  saddle ;  besides,  if  he  felt  a  saddle,  he 
would  think  you  don't  trust  him,  and  leave  you  to  yourself. 
Now,  before  you  mount,  make  his  acquaintance — see  there,  how 
he  kisses  you  and  licks  your  face,  and  see  how  he  lifts  his  foot, 
that's  to  shake  hands.  You  may  tfust  him — ^now  you  are  on  his 
back  at  last ;  mind  how  you  hold  the  bridle — gently,  gently  1  I'ts 
not  four  pair  of  hands  like  yours  can  hold  him  if  he  wishes  to  be 
off.     Mind  what  I  tell  you — leave  it  all  to  him."  t^ 

Off  went  the  cob  at  a  slow  and  gentle  trot,  too  fast  and  rough, 
however,  for  so  inexperienced  a  rider.  I  soon  felt  myself  sliding 
off,  the  animal  perceived  it  too,  and  instantly  stood  stone  stiU  till 
I  had  righted  myself;  and  now  the  groom  came  up  :  "  When  you 
feel  yourself  going, "  said  he,  '*  don't  lay  hold  of  the  mane,  that's 
no  use;  mane  never  yet  saved  man  from  falling,  no  nibre  than 
straw  firom  drowning ;  it's  his  sides  you  must  cling  to  with  your 
calves  and  feet,  till  you  learn  to  balance  yourself.  That's  it,  now 
abroad  with  you ;  I'll  bet  my  comrade  a  pot  of  beer  that  you'll 
be  a  regular  rough  rider  by  the  time  you  come  back." 

And  so  it  proved ;  I  followed  the  directions  of  the  groom,  and 
the  cob  gave  me  every  assistance.  How  easy  is  riding,  after  the 
first  timidity  is  got  over,  to  supple  and  youthful  limbs ;  and  there 
is  no  second  fear.  The  creature  soon  found  that  the  nerves  of 
his  rider  were  in  proper  tone.    Turning  his  head  half  round  he 


LA  VBNGRO.  [i8i«. 


made  a  kind  of  whining  noise,  flung  out  k  little  foam,  and  set 
oE 

In  less  than  two  hours  I  had  made  the  circuit  of  the  Devil's 
Mountain,  and  was  returning  along  the  road,  bathed  with  per- 
spiration, but  screaming  with  delight;  the  cob  laughing  in  his 
equine  way,  scattering  foam  and  pebbles  to  the  left  and  r^ht, 
and  trotting  at  the  rate  of  sixteen  miles  an  hour. 

Oh,  that  ride !  that  first  ride ! — ^most  truly  it  was  an  epoch  in 
my  existence ;  and  I  still  look  back  to  it  with  feelings  of  longing 
and  regret.  People  may  talk  of  first  love — it  is  a  very  agreeable 
^event,  I  dare  say — but  give  me  the  flush,  and  triumph,  and 
glorious  sweat  of  a  first  ride,  like  mine  on  the  mighty  cob !  My 
whole  frame  was  shaken,  it  is  true ;  and  during  one  long  week  I 
could  hardly  move  foot  or  hand ;  but  what  of  that  ?  By  that  one 
trial  I  had  become  free,  as  I  may  say,  of  the  whole  equine 
species.  No  more  fatigue,  no  more  stiffness  of  joints,  after  that 
first  ride  round  the  Devil's  Hill  on  the  cob. 

Oh,  that  cob  I  that  Irish  cob  I — may  the  sod  lie  lightly  over 
the  bones  of  the  strongest,  speediest,  and  most  gallant  of  its 
kind !  Oh !  the  days  when,  issuing  from  the  barrack-gate  of 
Templemore,  we  commenced  our  hurry-skurry  just  as  inclination 
led — now  across  the  fields — direct  over  stone  walls  and  running 
brooks — mere  pastime  for  the  cob ! — sometimes  along  the  road 
to  Thurles  and  Holy  Cross,  even  to  distant  Cahirl — what  was 
distance  to  the  cob? 

It  was  thus  that  the  passion  for  the  equine  race  was  first 
awakened  within  me — a  passion  which,  up  to  the  present  time, 
has  been  rather  on  the  increase  than  diminishing.  It  is  no  blind 
passion ;  the  horse  being  a  noble  and  generous  creature,  intended 
by  the  All- Wise  to  be  the  helper  and  friend  of  man,  to  whom  he 
stands  next  in  the  order  of  creation.  On  many  occasions  of  my  life 
I  have  been  much  indebted  to  the  horse,  and  have  found  in  him 
a  friend  and  coadjutor,  when  human  help  and  sympathy  were  not 
to  be  obtained.  It  is  therefore  natural  enough  that  I  should  love 
the  horse ;  but  the  love  which  I  entertain  for  him  has  always  been 
blended  with  respect ;  for  I  soon  perceived  that,  though  disposed 
to  be  the  firiend  and  helper  of  man,  be  is  by  no  means  inclined  to 
be  his  slave ;  in  which  respect  he  differs  from  the  dog,  who  will 
crouch  when  beaten ;  whereas  the  horse  spurns,  for  he  is  aware 
of  his  own  worth,  and  that  he  carries  death  within  the  horn  of  his 
heel.  If,  therefore,  I  found  it  easy  to  love  the  horse,  I  found  it 
equally  natural  to  respect  him. 

I   much   question    whether  philology,    or   the    passion    for 


i8z6.]  HORSBS  AND  LANGUAGES.  8i 

languages,  requires  so  little  of  an  apology  as  the  love  for  horses. 
It  has  been  said,  I  believe,  that  the  more  languages  a  man 
speaks,  the  more  a  man  is  he ;  which  is  very  true,  provided  he 
acquires  languages  as  a  medium  for  becoming  acquainted  with 
the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  the  various  sections  into  which  the 
human  race  is  divided;  but,  in  that  case,  he  should  rather  be 
termed  a  philosopher  than  a  philologist — between  which  two  the 
difference  is  wide  indeed  1  An  individual  may  speak  and  read  a 
dozen  languages,  and  yet  be  an  exceedingly  poor  creature,  scarcely 
half  a  man ;  and  the  pursuit  of  tongues  for  their  own  sake,  and 
the  mere  satisfaction  of  acquiring  them,  surely  argues  an  intellect 
of  a  very  low  order ;  a  mind  disposed  to  be  satisfied  with  mean 
and  grovelling  things;  taking  more  pleasure  in  the  trumpery 
casket  than  in  the  precious  treasure  which  it  contains,  in  the 
pursuit  of  words,  than  in  the  acquisition  of  ideas. 

I  cannot  help  thinking  that  it  was  fortunate  for  myself,  who 
am,  to  a  certain  extent,  a  philologist,  that  with  me  the  pursuit  of 
languages  has  been  always  modified  by  the  love  of  horses ;  for 
scarcely  had  I  turned  my  mind  to  the  former,  when  I  also 
mounted  the  wild  cob,  and  hurried  forth  in  the  direction  of  the 
Devil's  Hill,  scattering  dust  and  flint-stones  on  every  side ;  that 
ride,  amongst  other  things,  taught  me  that  a  lad  with  thews  and 
sinews  was  intended  by  nature  for  something  better  than  mere 
word-culling;  and  if  I  have  accomplished  anything  in  after  life 
worthy  of  mentioning,  I  believe  it  may  partly  be  attributed  to  the 
Ideas  which  that  ride,  by  setting  my  blood  in  a  glow,  infused  into 
my  brain.  I  might,  otherwise,  have  become  a  mere  philologist ; 
one  of  those  beings  who  toil  night  and  day  in  culling  useless 
words  for  some  opus  magnum  which  Murray  will  never  publish, 
and  nobody  ever  read — beings  without  enthusiasm,  who,  having 
never  mounted  a  generous  steed,  cannot  detect  a  good  point  in 
P^asus  himself;  like  a  certain  philologist,  who,  though  ac- 
quainted with  the  exact  value  of  every  word  in  the  Greek  and 
Latin  languages,  could  observe  no  particular  beauty  in  one  of  the 
most  glorious  of  Homer's  rhapsodies.^  Wdat  knew  he  of  Pegasus  ? 
he  had  never  mounted  a  generous  steed ;  the  merest  jockey,  had 
the  strain  been  interpreted  to  him,  would  have  called  it  a  brave 
song  Ir— I  return  to  the  brave  cob. 

On  a  certain  day  I  had  been  out  on  an  excursion.    In   a 

>  MS.,  "  like  Um  philologist  Sctliger,  wbo^  though  acquainted  with  the  eanct 
filue  of  emy  word  iu  the  Latin  language,  could  lee  no  beauty  in  the  '  Enchant- 
ments of  C^idia,'  the  master-piece  of  the  prince  of  Roman  poets.  What  knew 
he,"  etc 

6 


8a  LA  VBNGRO.  [1816. 

cross-road,  at  some  distance  from  the  Satanic  hill^  the  animal 
which  I  rode  cast  a  shoe.  By  good  luck  a  small  village  was  at 
hand,  at  the  entrance  of  which  was  a  large  shed,  from  which 
proceeded  a  most  furious  noise  of  hammering.  Leading  the  cob 
by  the  bridle,  I  entered  boldly.  "  Shoe  this  horse,  and  do  it 
quickly,  a  gough,  "  said  I  to  a  wild  gnmy  figure  of  a  man,  whom 
I  found  alone,  fashioning  a  piece  of  iron. 

"  Arrigodyuit  t "  said  the  fellow,  desisting  from  his  work  and 
staring  at  me. 

'*  O  yes,  I  have  money,"  said  I,  "  and  of  the  best ;  "  and  I 
pulled  out  an  English  shilling. 

"  Tabhair  chugam^''  said  the  smith,  stretching  out  his  grimy 
hand. 

**  No,  I  shaVt,*'  said  I ;  "  some  people  are  glad  to  get  their 
money  when  their  work  is  done." 

The  fellow  hammered  a  little  longer  and  then  proceeded  to 
shoe  the  cob,  after  having  first  surveyed  it  with  attention.  He 
performed  his  job  rather  roughly,  and  more  than  once  appeared 
to  give  the  animal  unnecessary  pain,  frequently  making  use  of 
loud  and  boisterous  words.  By  the  time  the  work  was  done,  the 
creature  was  in  a  state  of  high  excitement,  and  plunged  and  tore. 
The  smith  stood  at  a  short  distance,  seeming  to  enjoy  the  irrita- 
tion of  the  animal,  and  showing,  in  a  remarkable  manner,  a  huge 
fiing,  which  projected  ft'om  the  under  jaw  of  a  very  wry  mouth. 

**  You  deserve  better  handling,"  said  I,  as  I  went  up  to  the 
cob  and  fondled  it ;  whereupon  it  whinnied,  and  attempted  to 
touch  my  face  with  its  nose. 

*'  Are  ye  not  afraid  of  that  beast  ?  "  said  the  smith,  showing 
his  fang.     ''  Arrah,  it's  vicious  that  he  looks  ! " 

"  It's  at  you,  then  ! — I  don't  fear  him  ;  "  and  thereupon  I 
passed  under  the  horse,  between  his  hind  legs. 

"  And  is  that  all  you  can  do,  agrah  ?  "  said  the  smith* 

"No,"  said  I,  "  I  can  ride  him." 

"  Ye  can  ride  him,  and  what  else,  agrah  ?  " 

**  I  can  leap  him  over  a  six-foot  wall,"  said  I. 

**  Over  a  wall,  and  what  more,  agrah  ?  " 

•*  Nothing  more,"  said  I ;  '*  what  more  would  you  have  ?  " 

"  Can  you  do  this,  agrah  ?  "  said  the  smith,  and  he  uttered  a 
word  which  I  had  never  heard  before,  in  a  sharp  pungent  tone. 
The  effect  upon  myself  was  somewhat  extraordinary,  a  strange 
thrill  ran  through  me ;  but  with  regard  to  the  cob  it  was  terrible ; 
the  animal  forthwith  became  like  one  mad,  and  reared  and  kicked 
with  the  utmost  desperation. 


i8i6.1  THE  FAIRY  SMITH.  83 

"  Can  yoa  do  that,  agrah  ?  "  said  the  smith. 
"What  is  it?"  said  I,  retreating,  "I  never  saw  the  horse  so 
before." 

"  Go  between  his  legs,  agrah,"  said  the  smith,  ^  his  hinder 
legs ;  "  and  he  again  showed  his  fang. . 

"  I  dare  not," said  I,  "he  would  kill  me.'' 
"  He  would  kill  ye  I  and  how  do  ye  know  that,  agrah  ?  ** 
**  1  feel  he  would,"  said  I,  "  something  tells  me  so." 
'*  And  it  tells  ye  truth,  agrah ;  but  it's  a  fine  beast,  and  it's 
a  pity  to  see  him  in  such  a  state :  Is  agam  atCt  kigeas  " — ^and  here 
he  uttered  another  word  in  a  voice  singularly  modified,  but  sweet 
and  almost  plaintive ;  the  effect  of  it  was  as  instantaneous  as  that 
of  the  other,  but  how  dififerent ! — the  animal  lost  all  its  fury  and 
became  at  once  calm  and  gentle.    The  smith  went  up  to  it,  coaxed 
and  patted  it,  making  use  of  various  sounds  of  equal  endearment ; 
then  turning  to  me,  and  holding  out  once  more  the  grimy  hand, 
he  said  :  "  And  now  ye  will  be  giving  me  the  Sassanach  tenpence, 
agrah?" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


From  the  wild  scenes  which  I  have  attempted  to  describe  in  the 
latter  pages  I  must  now  transport  the  reader  to  others  of  a  widely 
different  character.  He  must  suppose  himself  no  longer  in  Ire- 
land, but  in  the  eastern  comer  of  merry  England.  Bogs,  ruins 
and  mountains  have  disappeared  amidst  the  vapours  of  the  west  : 
I  have  nothing  more  to  say  of  them ;  the  region  in  which  we  are 
now  is  not  famous  for  objects  of  that  kind ;  perhaps  it  flatters 
itself  that  it  can  produce  fairer  and  better  things,  of  some  of  which 
let  me  speak ;  there  is  a  fine  old  city  before  us,  and  first  of  that 
let  me  speak. 

A  fine  old  city,  truly,  is  that,  view  it  from  whatever  side  you 
will ;  but  it  shows  best  from  the  east,  where  the  ground,  bold  and 
elevated,  overlooks  the  iniT  and  fertile  valley  in  which  it  stands. 
Gazing  from  those  heights,  the  eye  beholds  a  scene  which  cannot 
fail  to  awaken,  even  in  the  least  sensitive  bosom,  feelings  of  plea- 
sure and  admiration.  At  the  foot  of  the  heights  flows  a  narrow 
and  deep  river,  with  an  antique  bridge  communicating  with  a  long 
and  narrow  suburb,  flanked  on  either  side  by  rich  meadows  of  the 
brightest  green,  beyond  which  spreads  the  city,  the  fine  old  city, 
perhaps  the  most  curious  specimen  at  present  extant  of  the  genu- 
ine old  English  town.  Yes,  there  it  spreads  from  north  to  south, 
with  its  venerable  houses,  its  numerous  gardens,  its  thrice  twelve 
churches,  its  mighty  mound,  which,  if  tradition  speaks  true,  was 
raised  by  human  hands  to  serve  as  the  grave  heap  of  an  old 
heathen  king,  who  sits  deep  within  it,  with  his  sword  in  his  hand 
and  his  gold  and  silver  treasures  about  him.  There  is  a  grey  old 
castle  upon  the  top  of  that  mighty  mound ;  and  yonder,  rising  three 
hundred  feet  above  the  soil,  from  among  those  noble  forest  trees,  be- 
hold that  old  Norman  master-work,  that  cloud-encircled  cathedral 
spire,  around  which  a  garrulous  army  of  rooks  and  choughs  con- 
tinuaJly  wheel  their  flight.  Now,  who  can  wonder  that  the  children 
of  that  fine  old  city  are  proud  of  her,  and  offer  up  prayers  for  her 
prosperity?  I,  myself,  who  was  not  born  within  her  walls,  offer 
up  prayers  for  her  prosperity,  that  want  may  never  visit  her 
cottages,  vice  her  palaces,  and  that  the  abomination  of  idolatry 

(84) 


i8i6-X7.]  NORWICH.  85 

I 
_  _  ■       1 1 ' .  '    - 

may  never  pollute  her  temples.  Ha,  idolatry !  the  reign  of 
idolatry  has  been  over  there  for  many  a  long  year,  never  more, 
let  us  hope,  to  return ;  brave  hearts  in  that  old  town  have  borne 
witness  against  it  and  sealed  their  testimony  with  their  hearts' 
blood — most  precious  to  the  Lord  is  the  blood  of  His  saints  1  we 
are  not  far  from  hallowed  ground.  Observe  ye  not  yon  chalky 
precipice  to  the  right  of  the  Norman  bridge  ?  On  this  side  of  the 
stream,  upon  its  brow,  is  a  piece  of  ruined  wall,  the  last  relic  of 
what  was  of  old  a  stately  pile,  whilst  at  its  foot  is  a  place  called 
the  Lollards'  Hole ;  and  with  good  reason,  for  many  a  saint  of 
God  has  breathed  his  last  beneath  that  white  precipice,  bearing 
witness  against  Popish  idolatry,  midst  flame  and  pitch ;  many  a 
grisly  procession  has  advanced  along  that  suburb,  across  the  old 
bridge,  towards  the  Lollards'  Hole:  furious  priests  in  front,  a 
calm  pale  martyr  in  the  midst,  a  pitying  multitude  behind.  It 
has  had  its  martyrs,  the  venerable  old  town  ! 

Ah !  there  is  good  blood  in  that  old  city,  and  in  the  whole 
circumjacent  region  of  which  it  is  the  capital.  The  Angles  pos- 
sessed the  land  at  an  early  period,  which,  however,  they  were 
eventually  compelled  to  share  with  hordes  of  Danes  and  North- 
men, who  flocked  thither  across  the  sea  to  found  hearthsteads  on 
its  fertile  soil.  The  present  race,  a  mixture  of  Angles  and  Danes, 
still  preserve  much  which  speaks  strongly  of  their  northern  an- 
cestry; amongst  them  ye  will  find  the  light-brown  hair  of  the 
north,  the  strong  and  burly  forms  of  the  north,  many  a  wild 
superstition,  ay,  and  many  a  wild  name  connected  with  the  ancient 
history  of  the  north  and  its  sublime  mythology ;  the  warm  heart 
and  the  strong  heart  of  the  old  Danes  and  Saxons  still  beats  in 
those  regions,  and  there  ye  will  find,  if  an3rwhere,  old  northern 
hospitality  and  kindness  of  manner,  united  with  energy,  persever- 
ance and  dauntless  intrepidity ;  better  soldiers  or  mariners  never 
bled  in  their  country's  battles  than  those  nurtured  in  those  regions 
and  within  those  old  walls.  It  was  yonder,  to  the  west,  that  the 
great  naval  hero  of  Britain  first  saw  the  light ;  he  who  annihilated 
the  sea  pride  of  Spain  and  dragged  the  humbled  banner  of  France 
in  triumph  at  his  stem.  He  was  bom  yonder  towards  the  west, 
and  of  him  there  is  a  glorious  relic  in  that  old  town  ;  in  its  dark 
flint  guildhouse,  the  roof  of  which  you  can  just  descry  rising  above 
that  maze  of  buildings,  in  the  upper  hall  of  justice,  is  a  species  of 
glass  shrine,  in  which  the  relic  is  to  be  seen  :  a  sword  of  curious 
workmanship,  the  blade  is  of  keen  Toledan  steel,  the  heft  of 
ivory  and  mother-of-pearl.  'Tis  the  sword  of  Cordova,  won  in 
bloodiest  fiay  off  St  Vincent's  promontory,  and  presented  by 


M  LA  VBNGkO.  [1816-17 

-■'■■■■  ■  I  I  I         n      ■ ■ 

Nelson  to  the  old  capital  of  the  much-loved  land  of  his  birth. 
Yes,  the  proud  Spaniard's  sword  is  to  be  seen  in  yonder  guild- 
house,  in  the  glass  case  affixed  to  the  wall ;  many  other  relics  has 
the  good  old  town,  but  none  prouder  than  the  Spaniard's  sword. 

Such  was  the  place  to  which^  when  the  war  was  over,  my 
father  retired :  it  was  here  that  the  old  tired  soldier  set  hiznseLT 
down  with  his  little  family.  He  had  passed  the  greater  part  of 
his  life  in  meritorious  exertion  in  the  service  of  his  country,  and 
his  chief  wish  now  was  to  spend  the  remainder  of  his  days  in 
quiet  and  respectability;  his  means,  it  is  true,  were  not  very 
ample;  fortunate  it  was  that  his  desires  corresponded  with  them : 
with  a  small  fortune  of  his  own,  and  with  his  half-pay  as  a  royal 
soldier,  he  had  no  fears  for  himself  or  for  his  faithful  partner  and 
helpmate ;  but  then  his  children  I  how  was  he  to  provide  for  them  ? 
how  launch  them  upon  the  wide  ocean  of  the  world  ?  This  was, 
perhaps,  the  only  thought  which  gave  him  uneasiness,  and  I 
believe  that  many  an  old  retired  officer  at  that  time,  and  under 
similar  circumstances,  experienced  similar  anxiety;  had  the  war 
continued,  their  children  would  have  been^  of  course,  provided  for 
in  the  army,  but  peace  now  reigned,  and  the  military  career  was 
closed  to  all  save  the  scions  of  the  aristocracy,  or  those  who  were 
in  some  degree  connected  with  that  privileged  order,  an  advantage 
which  few  of  these  old  officers  could  boast  of;  they  had  slight 
influence  with  the  great,  who  gave  themselves  very  little  trouble 
either  about  them  or  their  families. 

''  I  have  been  writing  to  the  Duke/'  said  my  father  one  day 
to  my  excellent  mother,  alter  we  bad  been  at  home  somewhat 
better  than  a  year,  *'  I  have  been  writing  to  the  Duke  of  York 
about  a  commission  for  that  eldest  boy  of  ours.  He,  however, 
affords  me  no  hopes ;  he  says  that  his  list  is  crammed  with  names, 
and  that  the  greater  number  of  the  candidates  have  better  claims 
than  my  son." 

**  I  do  not  see  how  that  can  be,**  said  my  mother. 

"Nor  do  I,"  replied  my  father.  "I  see  the  sons  of  bankers 
and  merchants  gazetted  every  month,  and  I  do  not  see  what 
claims  they  have  to  urge,  unless  they  be  golden  ones.  However, 
I  have  not  served  my  king  fifty  years  to  turn  grumbler  at  this 
time  of  life.  I  suppose  that  the  people  at  the  head  of  affairs 
know  what  is  most  proper  and  convenient ;  perhaps  when  the  lad 
sees  how  difficult,  nay,  how  impossible  it  is  that  he  should  enter 
the  army,  he  will  turn  his  mind  to  some  other  profession;  I 
wish  he  may  I " 

'*I  think  he  has  already,''  said  my  mother;  "you  see  how 


1816-17.]  NORWICH.  87 

fond  he  is  of  the  arts,  of  drawing  and  painting,  and,  as  far  as  I 
can  judge,  what  he  has  already  done  is  very  respectable;  his 
mind  seems  quite  turned  that  way,  and  I  heard  him  say  the  other 
day  that  he  would  soqner  be  a  Michael  Angelo  than  a  general 
officer.  But  you  are  always  talking  of  him ;  what  do  you  think 
of  doing  with  the  other  child  ?  " 

''What,  indeed!"  said  my  father;  "that  is  a  consideration 
irfiich  gives  me  no  little  uneasiness.  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  much 
more  difficult  to  settle  him  in  life  than  his  brother.  What  is  he 
fitted  for,  even  were  it  in  my  power  to  provide  for  him  ?  God 
help  the  child  1  I  bear  him  no  ill-will,  on  the  contrary  all  love 
and  affection ;  but  I  cannot  shut  my  eyes ;  there  is  something  so 
strange  about  him  1  How  he  behaved  in  Ireland !  I  sent  him 
to  school  to  leam  Greek,  and  he  picked  up  Irish  1 '' 

"  And  Greek  as  well,"  said  my  mother.  "  I  heard  him  say 
the  other  day  that  he  could  read  St.  John  in  the  original  tongue." 

"You  will  find  excuses  for  him,  I  know,"  said  my  father. 
''You  tdl  me  I  am  always  talking  of  my  first-bom;  I  might 
retort  by  saying  you  are  always  thinking  of  the  other ;  but  it  is 
the  way  of  women  always  to  side  with  the  second-bom.  There's 
whatVher-name  in  the  Bible,  by  whose  wiles  the  old  blind  man 
was  induced  to  give  to  his  second  son  the  blessing  which  was  the 
birthright  of  the  other.  I  wish  I  had  been  in  his  place  1  I  should 
not  have  .been  so  easily  deceived  I  no  disguise  would  ever  have 
caused  me  to  mistake  an  impostor  for  [my  first-bora.  Though  I 
must  say  for  this  boy  that  he  is  nothing  like  Jacob ;  he  is  neither 
smooth  nor  sleek,  and,  though  my  second-born,  is  already  taller 
and  larger  than  his  brother/' 

"  Just  so,"  said  my  mother, "  his  brother  would  make  a  far  better 
Jacob  than  he." 

"  I  will  hear  nothing  against  my  first-born,"  said  my  father, 
"  even  in  the  way  of  insinuation :  he  is  my  joy  and  pride — the 
very  image  of  myself  in  my  youthful  days,  long  before  I  fought 
Big  Ben,  though  perhaps  not  quite  so  tall  or  strong  built.  As  for 
the  other,  God  bless  the  child !  I  love  him,  I'm  sure ;  but  I 
must  be  blind  not  to  see  the  difference  between  him  and  his 
brother.  Why,  he  has  neither  my  hair  nor  my  eyes ;  and  then 
his  countenance  I  why,  'tis  absolutely  swarthy,  God  forgive  me ! 
I  had  almost  said  like  that  of  a  gypsy,  but  I  have  nothing  to  say 
against  that ;  the  boy  is  not  to  be  blamed  for  the  colour  of  his 
face,  nor  for  his  hair  and  eyes ;  but,  then,  his  ways  and  manners  1 
I  confess  I  do  not  like  them,  and  that  they  give  me  no  little 
uneasiness.    I  know  that  he  kept  very  strange  company  when  he 


LA  VBNGRO.  [181617. 


was  in  Ireland ;  people  of  evil  report,  of  whom  terrible  things 
were  said — horse-witches  and  the  like.  I  questioned  him  once 
or  twice  upon  the  matter,  and  even  threatened  him,  but  it  was  of  no 
use ;  he  put  on  a  look  as  if  he  did  not  understand  me,  a  regular 
Irish  look,  just  such  a  one  as  those  rascals  assume  when  they  wish 
to  appear  all  innocence  and  simplicity,  and  they  full  of  malice  and 
deceit  all  the  time.  I  don't  like  them ;  they  are  no  friends  to  old 
England,  or  its  old  king,  God  bless  him  I  They  are  not  good 
subjects,  and  never  were ;  always  in  league  with  foreign  enemies. 
When  I  was  in  the  Coldstream,  long  before  the  Revolution,  I 
used  to  hear  enough  about  the  Irish  brigades  kept  by  the  French 
kings,  to  be  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  the  English  whenever  opportunity 
served.  Old  Sergeant  Meredith  once  told  me,  that  in  the  time  of 
the  Pretender  there  were  always  in  London  alone,  a  dozen  of 
fellows  connected  with  these  brigades,  with  the  view  of  seducing 
the  king's  soldiers  from  their  all^iance,  and  persuading  them  to 
desert  to  France  to  join  the  honest  Irish,  as  they  were  called. 
One  of  these  traitors  once  accosted  him  and  proposed  the  matter 
to  him,  offering  handfuls  of  gold  if  he  could  induce  any  of  his 
comrades  to  go  over.  Meredith  appeared  to  consent,  but  secretly 
gave  information  to  his  colonel ;  the  fellow  was  seized,  and  certain 
traitorous  papers  found  upon  him ;  he  was  hanged  before  Newgate, 
and  died  exulting  in  his  treason.  His  name  was  Michael  Nowlan. 
That  ever  son  of  mine  should  have  been  intimate  with  the  Papist 
Irish,  and  have  learnt  their  language  I " 

**  But  he  thinks  of  other  things  now,'*  said  my  mother. 

"  Other  languages,  you  mean,"  said  my  father.  "  It  is  strange 
that  he  has  conceived  such  a  zest  for  the  study  of  ^languages ;  no 
sooner  did  he  come  home  than  he  persuaded  me  to  send  him  to 
that  old  priest  to  learn  French  and  Italian,  and,  if  I  remember 
right,  you  abetted  him ;  but,  as  I  said  before,  it  is  in  the  nature 
of  women  invariably  to  take  the  part  of  the  second-bom.  Well, 
there  is  no  harm  in  learning  French  and  Italian,  perhaps  much 
good  in  his  case,  as  they  may  drive  the  other  tongue  out  of  his 
head.  Irish  1  why,  he  might  go  to  the  university  but  for  that ; 
but  how  would  he  look  when,  on  being  examined  with  respect  to 
his  attainments,  it  was  discovered  that  he  understood  Irish? 
How  did  you  learn  it  ?  they  would  ask  him ;  how  did  you  become 
acquainted  with  the  language  of  Papists  and  rebels?  The  boy 
would  be  sent  away  in  disgrace." 

*'  Be  under  no  apprehension,  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  has  long 
since  forgotten  it." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  my  fisither;  **fnT,  between  our- 


I  I 


ft 


'~v 


/    '- 


/ 


\ 


; 


1816-17.]  NORWICH.  89 

\       ^ 

I  sdvesi  I  love  the  poor  child  ;  ay,  quite  as  well  as  my  first-born. 

I  I  trust  they  will  do  well,  and  that  God  will  be  their  shield  and 

i  guide ;  I  have  no  doubt  He  will,  for  I  have  read  something  in 

(  the  Bible  to  that  effect.    What  is  that  text  about  the  young  ravens 

being  fed  ?  " 

'*  I   know  a  better  than  that/'  said  my  mother ;  "  one  of 
David's  own  words,  '  I  have  been  young  and  now  am  grown  old, 
yet  never  have  I  seen  the  righteous  man  forsaken,  or  hi^  seed 
begging  their  bread '." 
i  I  have  heard  talk  of  the  pleasures  of  idleness,  yet  it  is  my  own 

*  firm  belief  that  no  one  ever  yet  took  pleasure  in  it.     Mere  idle- 

ness is  the  most  disagreeable  state  of  existence,  and  both  mind 
and  body  are  continually  making  efforts  to  escape  from  it.  It 
has  been  said  that  idleness  is  the  parent  of  mischief,  which  is 
very  true ;  but  mischief  itself  is  merely  an  attempt  to  escape  from 
the  dreary  vacuum  of  idleness.  There  are  many  tasks  and 
occupations  which  a  man  is  unwilling  to  perform,  but  let  no  one 
think  that  he  is  therefore  in  love  with  idleness ;  he  turns  to  some- 
thing which  is  more  agreeable  to  his  inclination,  and  doubtless 
more  suited  to  his  nature ;  but  he  is  not  in  love  with  idleness. 
A  boy  may  play  the  truant  from  school  because  he  dislikes  books 
and  study  ;  but,  depend  upon  it,  he  intends  doing  something  the 
while — to  go  fishing,  or  perhaps  to  take  a  walk ;  and  who  knows 
I  but  that  from  such  excursions  both  his  mind  and  body  may  derive 

more  benefit  than  from  books  and  school  ?  Many  people  go  to 
sleep  to  escape  from  idleness ;  the  Spaniards  do ;  and,  according 
to  the  French  account,  John  Bull,  the  'squire,  hangs  himself  in 
the  month  of  November ;  but  the  French,  who  are  a  very  sensible 
people,  attribute  the  action,  "  i  unegrande  enviede  sedhennuyer; " 
he  wishes  to  be  doing  something,  say  they,  and  having  nothing 
better  to  do,  he  has  recourse  to  the  cord. 

It  was  for  want  of  something  better  to  do  that,  shortly  after 
my  return  home,  I  applied  myself  to  the  study  of  languages.  By 
the  acquisition  of  Irish,  with  the  first  elements  of  which  I  had 
become  acquainted  under  the  tuition  of  Murtagh,  I  had  con- 
tracted a  certain  zest  and  inclination  for  the  pursuit.  Yet  it  is 
probable,  that  had  I  been  launched  about  this  time  into  some 
agreeable  career,  that  of  arms,  for  example,  for  which,  being  the 
son  of  a  soldier,  I  had,  as  was  natural,  a  sprt  of  penchant,  I 
might  have  thought  nothing  more  of  the  acquisition  of  tongues 
of  any  kind;  but,  having  nothing  to  do,  I  followed  the  only 
course  suited  to  my  genius  which  appeared  open  to  me. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  one  day,  whilst  wandering  listlessly 


i 


I 


90  LA  VENGRO.  [1816-17. 

about  the  streets  of  the  old  town,  I  came  to  a  small  book-stall, 
and  stopping,  commenced  turning  over  the  books ;  I  took  up  at 
least  a  dozen,  and  almost  instantly  flung  them  down.  What  were 
they  to  me?  At  last,  coming  to  a  thick  volume,  I  opened  iti 
and  after  inspecting  its  contents  for  a  few  minutes,  I  paid  for  it 
what  was  demanded,  and  forthwith  carried  it  home. 

It  was  a  tessara-glot  grammar — a  strange  old  book,  printed 
somewhere  in  Holland,  which  pretended  to  be  an  easy  guide  to 
the  acquirement  of  the  French,  Italian,  Low  Dutch,  and  English 
tongues,  by  means  of  which  any  one  conversant  in  any  one  of 
these  languages  could  make  himself  master  of  the  other  three. 
I  turned  my  attention  to  the  French  and  Italian.  The  old  book 
was  not  of  much  value ;  I  derived  some  benefit  from  it,  however, 
and,  conning  it  intensely,  at  the  end  of  a  few  weeks  obtained  some 
insight  into  the  structure  of  these  two  languages.  At  length  I 
had  learnt  all  that  the  book  was  capable  of  informing  me,  yet 
was  still  far  from  the  goal  to  which  it  had  promised  to  conduct 
me.  ''I  wish  I  had  a  master?"  I  exclaimed;  and  the  master 
was  at  hand.  In  an  old  court  of  the  old  town  lived  a  certain 
elderly  personage,  perhaps  sixty,  or  thereabouts ;  he  was  rather 
tall,  and  something  of  a  robust  make,  with  a  countenance  in 
which  bluffness  was  singularly  blended  with  vivacity  and  grimace ; 
and  with  a  complexion  which  would  have  been  ruddy,  but  for  a 
yellow  hue  which  rather  predominated.  His  dress  consisted  ot 
a  snuff-coloured  coat  and  drab  pantaloons,  the  former  evidently 
seldom  subjected  to  the  annoyance  of  a  brush,  and  the  latter  ex- 
hibiting here  and  there  spots  of  something  which,  if  not  grease, 
bore  a  strong  resemblance  to  it ;  add  to  these  articles  an  immense 
frill,  seldom  of  the  purest  white,  but  invariably  of  the  finest 
French  cambric,  and  you  have  some  idea  of  his  dress.  He  had 
rather  a  remarkable  stoop,  but  his  step  was  rapid  and  vigorous, 
and  as  he  hurried  along  the  streets,  he  would  glance  to  the  right 
and  left  with  a  pair  of  big  eyes  like  plums,  and  on  recognising 
any  one  would  exalt  a  pair  of  grizzled  eyebrows,  and  slightly  kiss 
a  tawny  and  ungloved  hand.  At  certain  hours  of  the  day  he 
might  be  seen  entering  the  doors  of  female  boarding-schools, 
generally  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  and  perhaps  another  just 
peering  from  the  orifice  of  a  capacious  back  pocket ;  and  at  a 
certain  season  of  the  year  he  might  be  seen,  dressed  in  white, 
before  the  altar  of  a  certain  small  popish  chapel,  chanting  from 
the  breviary  in  very  intelligible  Latin^  or  perhaps  reading  from  the 
desk  in  utterly  unintelhgible  English.  Such  was  my  preceptor  in 
the  French  and  Italian  tongues.  "  Exul  sacerdos ;  vone  banished 
e^rit     I  came  into  England  twenty-five  years  ago, '  my  dear.' " 


CHAPTER  XV. 


So  I  studied  French  and  Italian  under  the  tuition  of  the  banished 
priest,  to  whose  house  I  went  r^ularly  every  evening  to  receive 
instruction.  I  made  considerable  progress  in  the  acquisition  of 
the  two  languages.  I  found  the  French  by  far  the  most  difficult, 
chiefly  on  account  of  the  accent,  which  my  master  himself  pos- 
sessed in  no  great  purity,  being  a  Norman  by  birth.  The  Italian 
was  my  favourite. 

'*  Pous  serez  un  jour  un  grand  philologue^  num  chtr^  said 
the  old  man,  on  our  arriving  at  the  conclusion  of  Dante's  Hell. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  be  something  better,"  said  I«  "  before  I  die, 
or  I  shall  have  lived  to  little  purpose." 

*' That's  true,  my  dear!  philologist — one  small  poor  dog. 
What  would  you  wish  to  be  ?  '* 

'*  Many  things  sooner  than  that ;  for  example,  I  would  rather 
be  like  him  who  wrote  this  book.** 

"  Quai^  Monsieur  Dante  t  He  was  a  vagabond,  my  dear, 
forced  to  fly  from  his  country.  No,  my  dear,  if  you  would  be 
like  one  poet,  be  like  Monsieur  Boileau  ;  he  is  the  poet" 

"  I  don't  think  so." 

**  How,  not  think  so !  He  wrote  very  respectable  verses ; 
lived  and  died  much  respected  by  everybody.  T'other,  one  bad 
dog,  forced  to  fly  from  his  country — died  with  not  enough  to 
pay  his  undertaker." 

**  Were  you  not  forced  to  flee  from  your  country  ?  " 

"  That  very  true ;  but  there  is  much  difference  between  me 
and  this  Dante*  He  fled  from  country  because  he  had  one  bad 
tongue  which  he  shook  at  his  betters.  I  fly  because  benefice 
gone,  and  head  going ;  not  on  account  of  the  badness  of  my 
tongue." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  you  can  return  now ;  the  Bourbons  are 
lestored." 

"  I  find  myself  very  well  here ;  not  bad  country.  //  est  vrai 
^e  la  JF^ance  sera  toujours  la  France;  but  all  are  dead  there 
who  knew  me.    I  find  myself  very  well  here.    Preach  in  popish 

(91) 


99  LA  VBNGRO.  [1817 

chapel,  teach  schismatic,  that  is  Protestant,  child  tongues  and 
literature.  I  find  myself  very  well ;  and  why  ?  Because  I  know 
how  to  govern  my  tongue ;  never  call  people  hard  names.  Ma 
fin\  ily  a  beaucoup  de  difference  enire  mot  et  ce  sacrk  de  Dante.^ 

Under  this  old  man,  who  was  well  versed  in  the  southern 
languages,  besides  studying  French  and  Italian,  I  acquired  some 
knowledge  of  Spanish.  But  I  did  not  devote  my  time  entirely  to 
philology ;  I  had  other  pursuits.  I  had  not  forgotten  the  roving 
life  I  had  led  in  former  days,  nor  its  delights;  neither  was  I 
formed  by  Nature  to  be  a  pallid  indoor  student.  No,  no  I  I  was 
fond  of  other  and,  I  say  it  boldly,  better  things  than  study.  I 
had  an  attachment  to  the  angle,  ay,  and  to  the  gun  likewise.  In 
our  house  was  a  condemned  musket,  bearing  somewhere  on  its 
lock,  in  rather  antique  characters,  "Tower,  1746";  with  this 
weapon. I  had  already,  in  Ireland,  performed  some  execution 
among  the  rooks  and  choughs,  and  it  was  now  again  destined  to 
be  a  source  of  solace  and  amusement  to  me,  in  the  winter  season, 
especially  on  occasions  of  severe  frost  when  birds  abounded. 
Sallying  forth  with  it  at  these  times,  far  into  the  country,  I  seldom 
returned  at  night  without  a  string  of  bullfinches,  blackbirds,  and 
linnets  hanging  in  triumph  round  my  neck.  When  I  reflect  on 
the  immense  quantity  of  powder  and  shot  which  I  crammed  down 
the  muzzle  of  my  uncouth  fowling-piece,  I  am  less  surprised  at 
the  number  of  birds  which  I  slaughtered,  than  that  I  never  blew 
my  hands,  face,  and  old  honey-combed  gun,  at  one  and  the  same 
time,  to  pieces. 

But  the  winter,  alas  1  (I  speak  as  a  fowler)  seldom  lasts  in 
England  more  than  three  or  four  months ;  so,  during  the  rest  of 
the  year,  when  not  occupied  with  my  philological  studies,  I  had 
to  seek  for  other  diversions.  I  have  already  given  a  hint  that  I 
was  also  addicted  to  the  angle.  Of  course  there  is  no  comparison 
between  the  two  pursuits,  the  rod  and  line  seeming  but  very  poor 
trumpery  to  one  who  has  had  the  honour  of  carrying  a  noble 
firelock.  There  is  a  time,  however,  for  all  things ;  and  we  return 
to  any  favourite  amusement  with  the  greater  zest,  from  being 
compelled  to  relinquish  it  for  a  season.  So,  if  I  shot  birds  in 
winter  with  my  firelock,  I  caught  fish  in  summer,  or  attempted  so 
to  do,  with  my  angle.  I  was  not  quite  so  successful,  it  is  true, 
with  the  latter  as  with  the  former — possibly  because  it  afforded 
me  less  pleasure.  It  was,  indeed,  too  much  of  a  listless  pastime 
to  inspire  me  with  any  great  interest.  I  not  unfrequently  fell  into 
a  doze  whilst  sitting  on  the  bank,  and  more  than  once  let  my  rod 
drop  from  my  hands  into  the  water. 


z8x7.]  BARLHAM.  93 

■ '  ■     ■  '.      "  ■"       ■     ■■  ■    .11  -1 1— ■  ,    ■ 

At  some  distance  from  the  city,  behind  a  range  of  hilly  ground 
which  rises  towards  the  south-west,  is  a  small  river,  the  waters  of 
which,  after  many  meanderings,  eventually  enter  the  principal 
river  of  the  district,  and  assist  to  swell  the  tide  which  it  roUs  down 
to  the  ocean.  It  is  a  sweet  rivulet,  and  pleasant  it  is  to  trace  its 
course  from  its  spring-head,  high  up  in  the  remote  regions  of 
Eastern  Anglia,  till  it  arrives  in  the  valley  behind  yon  rising 
ground ;  and  pleasant  is  that  valley,  truly  a  goodly  spot,  but  most 
lovely  where  yonder  bridge  crosses  the  little  stream.  Beneath  its 
arch  the  waters  rush  garrulously  into  a  blue  pool,  and  are  there 
stilled  for  a  time,  for  the  pool  is  deep,  and  they  appear  to  have 
sunk  to  sleep.  Farther  on,  however,  you  hear  their  voice  again, 
where  they  ripple  gaily  over  yon  gravelly  shallow.  On  the  left, 
the  hill  slopes  gently  down  to  the  margin  of  the  stream.  On  the 
right  is  a  green  level,  a  smiling  meadow,  grass  of  the  richest  decks 
the  side  cf  the  slope ;  mighty  trees  also  adorn  it,  giant  elms,  the 
nearest  of  which,  when  the  sun  is  nigh  its  meridiaoi^  fling  a  broad 
shadow  upon  the  fiace  of  the  pool ;  through  yon  vista  you  catdi  a 
glimpse  of  the  ancient  brick  of  an  old  English  halL  It  has  a 
stately  look,  that  old  building,  indistinctly  seen,  as  it  is,  among 
those  umbrageous  trees ;  you  might  almost  suppose  it  an  earl's 
home ;  and  such  it  was,  or  rather  upon  its  site  stood  an  earl's 
home,  in  days  of  old,  for  there  some  old  Kemp,  some  Sigurd,  or 
Thorkild,  roaming  in  quest  of  a  hearthstead,  settled  down  in  the 
gray  old  time,  when  Tbor  and  Freya  were  yet  gods,  and  Odin  was 
a  portentous  name.  Yon  old  hall  is  still  called  the  Earl's  Home, 
though  the  hearth  of  Sigurd  is  now  no  more,  and  the  bones  of  the 
old  Kemp,  and  of  Sigrith  his  dame,  have  been  mouldering  for  a 
thousand  years  in  some  neighbouring  knoll — perhaps  yonder,  where 
those  tall  Norwegian  pines  shoot  up  so  boldly  into  the  air.  It  is 
said  that  the  old  earl's  galley  was  once  moored  where  is  now  that 
blue  pool,  for  the  waters  of  that  valley  were  not  always  sweet; 
yon  valley  was  once  an  arm  of  the  sea,  a  salt  lagoon,  to  which  the 
war-bnrks  of  '*  Sigurd,  in  search  of  a  home,''  found  Uieir  way. 

I  \vaa  in  ibe  habit  of  spending  many  an  hour  on  the  banks  of 
that  rivulet,  with  my  rod  in  my  hand,  and,  when  tired  with  anglings 
would  stretch  m>^elf  on  the  grass,  and  gaze  upon  the  waters  as 
they  glided  past ;  and  not  unfrequently,  divesting  myself  of  my 
dress,  I  would  plunge  into  the  deep  pool  which  I  have  already 
mentioned,  for  I  had  long  since  learned  to  swim.  And  it  came  tc 
pass,  that  on  one  hot  summer's  day,  after  bathing  in  the  pool,  I 
passed  along  the  meadow  till  I  came  to  a  shallow  part,  and, 
wading  over  to  the  opposite  side,  I  adjusted  my  dress,  and  com- 


94  LA  VENGRO.  [1817. 

« 

menced  fishing  in  another  pool,  beside  which  was  a  small  clump 
of  hazels. 

And  there  I  sat  upon  the  bank,  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill  which 
slopes  down  from  "the  Earl's  Home";  my  float  was  on  the 
waters,  and  my  back  was  towards  the  old  hall.  I  drew  up  many 
fish,  small  and  great,  which  I  took  from  off  the  hook  mechanically 
and  flung  upon  the  bank,  for  I  was  almost  unconscious  of  what  I 
was  about,  for  my  mind  was  not  with  my  fish.  I  was  thinking  of 
my  earlier  years — of  the  Scottish  crags  and  the  heaths  of  Ireland — 
and  sometimes  my  mind  would  dwell  on  my  studies — on  the 
sonorous  stanzas  of  Dante,  rising  and  falling  like  the  waves  of  the 
sea—- or  would  strive  to  remember  a  couplet  or  two  of  poor 
Monsieur  Boileau. 

"Canst  thou  answer  to  thy  conscience  for  pulling  all  those 
fish  out  of  the  water,  and  leaving  them  to  gasp  in  the  sun  ?  "  said 
a  voice,  clear  and  sonorous  as  a  bell. 

I  started,  and  looked  round.  Close  behind  me  stood  the  tall 
figure  of  a  man,  dressed  in  raiment  of  quaint  and  singular  fashion, 
but  of  goodly  materials.  He  was  in  the  prime  and  vigour  of 
manhood ;  his  features  handsome  and  noble,  but  fiill  of  calmness 
and  benevolence ;  at  least  I  thought  so,  though  they  were  some- 
what shaded  by  a  hat  of  finest  beaver,  with  broad  drooping  eaves. 

"  Surely  that  is  a  very  cruel  diversion  in  which  thou  indulgest, 
my  young  friend,*'  he  continued. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  if  it  be,  sir,"  said  I,  rising ;  "  but  I  do  not 
think  it  cruel  to  fish." 

*' What  are  thy  reasons  for  not  thinking  so? " 

"  Fishing  b  mentioned  frequently  in  Scripture.  Simon  Peter 
was  a  fisherman." 

"  True ;  and  Andrew  and  his  brother.  But  thou  forgettest : 
they  did  not  follow  fishing  as  a  diversion,  as  I  fear  thou  doest 
Thou  readest  the  Scriptures  ?  " 

"Sometimes." 

"Sometimes?  not  daily?  that  is  to  be  regretted.  What  pro- 
fession dost  thou  make?  I  mean  to  what  religious  denomination 
dost  thou  belong,  my  young  friend  ?  " 

"  Church." 

'*It  is  a  very  good  profession — there  is  much  of  Scripture 
contained  in  its  liturgy.  Dost  thou  read  aught  besides  the 
Scriptiu-es?" 

"  Sometimes.'*" 

"  What  dost  thou  read  besides  ?  " 

"  Greek,  and  Dante." 


1817.]  THE  MAN  OP  PBACB.  95 

*' Indeed  I  then  thou  hast  the  advantage  over  myself;  I  can 
only  read  the  former.  Well,  I  am  rejoiced  to  find  that  thou  hast 
other  pursuits  besides  thy  fishing.     Dost  thou  know  Hebrew  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Thou  shouldst  study  it  Why  dost  thou  not  undertake  the 
gtudy?" 

"  I  have  no  books." 

^  I  will  lend  thee  books,  if  thou  wish  to  undertake  the  study. 
I  live  yonder  at  the  hall,  as  perhaps  thou  knowest.  I  have  a 
library  there,  in  which -are  many  curious  books,  both  in  Greek 
and  Hebrew,  which  I  will  show  to  thee,  whenever  thou  mayest 
find  it  convenient  to  come  and  see  me.  Farewell  1  I  am  glad  to 
find  that  thou  hast  pursuits  more  satisfinctory  than  thy  cruel 
fbhing." 

And  the  man  of  peace  departed,  and  left  me  on  the  bank  of 
the  stream.  Whether  from  the  effect  of  his  words,  or  from  want 
of  inclination  to  the  sport,  I  know  not,  but  from  that  day  I  became 
less  and  less  a  practitioner  of  that  **  cruel  fishing  "•  I  rarely  flung 
line  and  angle  into  the  water,  but  I  not  unfrequently  wandered 
by  the  banks  of  the  pleasant  rivulet.  It  seems  singular  to  me,  on 
reflection,  that  I  never  availed  myself  of  his  kind  invitation.  I 
say  singular,  for  the  extraordinary,  under  whatever  form,  had  long 
had  no  slight  interest  for  me ;  and  I  had  discernment  enough  to 
perceive  that  yon  was  no  common  man.  Yet  I  went  not  near 
him,  certainly  not  from  bashfulness,  or  timidity,  feelings  to  which 
I  had  long  been  an  entire  stranger.  Am  I  to  regret  this  ?  perhaps, 
for  I  might  have  learned  both  wisdom  and  righteousness  from 
those  calm,  quiet  lips,  and  my  after-course  might  hdve  been 
widely  different.  As  it  was,  I  fell  in  with  other  guess  companions, 
from  whom  I  received  widely  different  impressions  than  those  I 
might  have  derived  from  him.  When  many  years  had  rolled  on, 
long  after  I  had  attained  manhood,  and  had  seen  and  suffered 
much,  and  when  our  first  interview  had  long  since  been  effaced 
from  the  mind  of  the  man  of  peace,  I  visited  him  in  his  venerable 
hall,  and  partook  of  the  hospitality  of  his  hearth.  And  there  I 
saw  his  gentle  partner  and  his  fair  children,  and  on  the  morrow 
he  showed  me  the  books  of  which  he  had  spoken  years  before, 
by  the  side  of  the  stream.  In  the  low  quiet  chamber,  whose  one 
window,  shaded  by  a  gigantic  elm,  looks  down  the  slope  towards 
the  pleasant  stream,  he  took  from  the  shelf  his  learned  books, 
Zohar  and  Mishna,  Toldoth  Jesu  and  Abarbenel. 

^'  I  am  fond  of  these  studies,''  said  he,  "  which,  perhaps,  is 
not  to  be  wondered  at,  seeing  that  our  people  have  been  compared 


96  LA  VBNGRO.  [18x7. 

to  the  Jews.  In  one  respect  I  confess  we  are  similiar  to  them : 
we  are  fond  of  getting  money.  I  do  not  like  this  last  author,  this 
Abarbenely  the  worse  for  having  been  a  money-changer.  I  am  a 
banker  myself,  as  thou  knowest" 

And  would  there  were  many  like  him,  amidst  the  money- 
changers of  princes !  The  hall  of  many  an  earl  lacks  the  bounty, 
the  i»dace  of  many  a  prelate  the  piety  and  learning,  which  adorn 
the  quiet  Quaker's  home  1 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


I  WAS  Standing  on  the  castle  hill  in  the  midst  of  a  fair  of  horses. 

I  have  already  had  occasion  to  mention  this  castle.  It  is  the 
remains  of  what  was  once  a  Norman  stronghold,  and  is  perched 
upon  a  round  mound  or  monticle,  in  the  midst  of  the  old  city 
Steep  is  this  mound  and  scarped,  evidently  by  the  hand  of  man ; 
a  deep  gorge,  over  which  is  flung  a  bridge,  separates  it,  on  the 
south,  from  a  broad  swell  of  open  ground  called  *'  the  hill ; " 
of  old  the  scene  of  many  a  tournament  and  feat  of  Norman 
chivalry,  but  now  much  used  as  a  show-place  for  cattle,  where 
those  who  buy  and  sell  beeves  and  other  beasts  resort  at  stated 
periods. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  I  stood  upon  this  hill,  observing  a  £sur 
of  horses. 

The  reader  is  already  aware  that  I  had  long  since  conceived 
a  passion  for  the  equine  race,  a  passion  in  which  circumstances 
had  of  late  not  permitted  me  to  indulge.  I  had  no  horses  to  ride, 
but  I  took  pleasure  in  looking  at  them ;  and  I  had  already  attended 
more  than  one  of  these  fairs:  the  present  was  lively  enough, 
indeed,  horse  fairs  are  seldom  dull.  There  was  shouting  and 
whooping,  neighing  and  braying;  there  was  galloping  and  trot- 
ting ;  fellows  with  highlows  and  white  stockings,  and  with  many 
a  string  dangling  from  the  knees  of  their  tight  breeches,  were 
running  desperately,  holding  horses  by  the  halter,  and  in  some 
cases  dragging  them  along ;  there  were  long-tailed  steeds,  and 
dock-tailed  steeds  of  every  degree  and  breed ;  there  were  droves 
of  wild  ponies,  and  long  rows  of  sober  cart  horses ;  there  were 
donkeys,  and  even  mules  :  the  last  rare  things  to  be  seen  in  damp, 
misty  England,  for  the  mule  pines  in  mud  and  rain,  and  thrives 
best  with  a  hot  sun  above  and  a  burning  sand  below.  There 
were — oh,  the  gallant  creatures!  I  hear  their  neigh  upon  the 
wind;  there  were — goodliest  sight  of  all — certain  enormous 
quadrupeds  only  seen  to  perfection  in  our  native  isle,  led  about 
by  dapper  grooms,  their  manes  ribandcd  and  their  tails  curiously 
dubbed  and  balled.  Ha  I  ha  I — how  distinctly  do  they  say,  ha  I 
hal 

(97)  7 


98  LA  VBNGRO.  [1817. 

An  old  man  draws  nigh,  he  is  mounted  on  a  lean  pony,  and 
he  leads  by  the  bridle  one  of  these  animals ;  nothing  very  remark- 
able about  that  creature,  unless  in  being  smaller  than  the  rest  and 
gentle,  which  they  are  not ;  he  is  not  of  the  sightliest  look ;  he  is 
almost  dun,  and  over  one  eye  a  thick  film  has  gathered.  But 
stay  I  there  is  something  remarkable  about  that  horse,  there  is 
something  in  his  action  in  which  he  differs  from  all  the  rest.  As 
he  advances,  the  clamour  is  hushed  I  all  eyes  are  turned  upon 
him — what  looks  of  interest — of  respect — and,  what  is  this? 
people  are  taking  off  their  hats — surely  not  to  that  steed  1  Yes, 
verily  I  men,  especially  old  men,  are  taking  off  their  hats  to  that 
one-eyed  steed,  and  I  hear  more  than  one  deep-drawn  ah  I 

"What  horse  is  that?"  said  I  to  a  very  old  fellow,  the 
counterpart  of  the  old  man  on  the  pony,  save  that  the  last  wore  a 
ikded  suit  of  velveteen,  and  this  one  was  dressed  in  a  white  frock. 

**  The  best  in  mother  England,"  said  the  very  old  man,  taking 
a  knobbed  stick  from  his  mouth,  and  looking  me  in  the  face,  at 
first  carelessly,  but  presently  with  something  like  interest ;  **  he 
is  old  like  myself,  but  can  still  trot  his  twenty  miles  an  hour. 
You  won't  live  long,  my  swain ;  tall  and  overgrown  ones  like 
thee  never  does ;  yet,  if  you  should  chance  to  reach  my  years, 
you  may  boast  to  thy  great  grand  hdfs,  thou  hast  seen  Marshland 
Shales." 

Amain  I  did  for  the  horse  what  I  would  neither  do  for  earl  or 
baron,  doffed  my  hat ;  yes !  I  doffed  my  hat  to  the  wondrous 
horse,  the  fast  trotter,  the  best  in  mother  England ;  and  I,  too, 
drew  a  deep  ah !  and  repeated  the  words  of  the  old  fellows  around. 
"Such  a  horse  as  this  we  shall  never  see  again ;  a  pity  that  he  is 
so  old." 

Now  during  all  this  time  I  had  a  kind  of  consciousness  that 
I  had  btten  tl^  object  of  some  person's  observation ;  that  eyes 
were  fastened  upon  me  from  somewhere  in  the  crowd.  Some- 
times I  thought  myself  watched  from  before,  sometimes  from 
behind;  and  occasionally  methought  that,  if  I  just  turned  my 
head  to  the  right  or  left,  I  should  meet  a  peering  and  inquiring 
glance ;  and,  indeed,  once  or  twice  I  did  turn,  expecting  to  see 
somebody  whom  I  knew,  yet  always  without  success ;  though  it 
appeared  to  me  that  I  was  but  a  moment  too  late,  and  that  some 
one  had  just  slipped  away  from  the  direction  to  which  I  turned, 
like  the  figure  in  a  magic  lanthorn.  Once  I  was  quite  sure  that 
there  were  a  pair  of  eyes  glaring  over  my  right  shoulder ;  my 
attention,  however,  was  so  fully  occupied  with  the  objects  which 
I  have  attempted  to  describe,  that  I  thought  very  little  of  this 


i8i7.)  TOMBLAND  FAIR.  gg 

coming  and  going,  this  flitting  and  dodging  of  I  knew  not  whom 
or  what.  It  was,  after  all,  a  matter  of  sheer  indifference  to  me 
who  was  looking  at  m&  I  could  only  wish,  whomsoever  it  might 
be,  to  be  more  profitably  employed;  so  I  continued  enjoying 
what  I  saw;  and  now  there  was  a  change  in  the  scene,  the 
wondrous  old  horse  departed  with  his  aged  guardian;  other 
objects  of  interest  are  at  hand ;  two  or  three  men  on  horseback 
are  hurrying  through  the  crowd,  they  are  widely  different  in  their 
appearance  from  the  other  people  of  the  fair;  not  so  much  in 
dress»  for  they  are  clad  something  after  the  fashion  of  rustic 
jockeys,  but  in  their  look — no  light  brown  hair  have  they,  no 
ruddy  cheeks,  no  blue  quiet  glances  belong  to  them;  their 
features  are  dark,  their  locks  long,  black  and  shining,  and  their 
eyes  are  wild ;  they  are  admirable  horsemen,  but  they  do  not  sit 
the  saddle  in  the  manner  of  common  jockeys,  they  seem  to  float 
or  hover  upon  it,  like  gulls  upon  the  waves ;  two  of  them  are 
mere  striplings,  but  the  third  is  a  very  tall  man  with  a  countenance 
heroically  l>^utiful,  but  wild,  wild,  wild.  As  they  rush  along, 
the  crowd  give  way  on  all  sides,  and  now  a  kind  of  ring  or  circus 
is  formed,  within  which  the  strange  men  exhibit  their  horseman- 
ship, rushing  past  each  other,  in  and  out,  after  the  manner  of  a 
reel,  the  tall  man  occasionally  balancing  himself  upon  the  saddle, 
and  standing  erect  on  one  foot.  He  had  just  regained  his  seat 
after  the  latter  feat,  and  was  about  to  push  his  horse  to  a  gallop, 
when  a  figure  started  forward  close  from  beside  me,  and  laying 
his  hand  on  his  neck,  and  pulling  him  gently  downward,  appeared 
to  whisper  something  into  his  ear ;  presently  the  tall  man  raised 
hts  head,  and,  scanning  the  crowd  for  a  moment  in  the  direction 
in  which  I  was  standing,  fixed  his  eyes  full  upon  me,  and  anon  the 
countenance  of  the  whisperer  was  turned,  but  only  in  part,  and 
the  side-glance  of  another  pair  of  wild  eyes  was  directed  towards 
my  face,  out  the  entire  visage  of  the  big  black  man  half  stooping 
as  he  was,  was  turned  full  upon  mine. 

But  now,  with  a  nod  to  the  figure  who  had  stopped  him,  and 
with  another  inquiring  glance  at  myself,  the  big  man  once  more 
put  his  steed  into  motion,  and  after  riding  round  the  ring  a  few 
more  times  darted  through  a  lane  in  the  crowd,  and  followed  by 
his  two  companions  disappeared,  whereupon  the  figure  who  had 
whispered  to  him  and  had  subsequently  remained  in  the  middle 
of  the  space,  came  towards  me,  and  cracking  a  whip  which  he 
held  in  his  hand  so  loudly  that  the  report  was  nearly  equal  to  that 
of  a  pocket  pistol,  he  cried  in  a  strange  tone : — 

"  What !  the  sap-cngro  ?    Lor  I  the  sap-engro  upon  the  hill  1  ** 


xoo  LA  VBNGRO.  [1817. 


"  I  remember  that  word,"  said  I, ''  and  I  almost  think  I  remem- 
ber you.    You  can't  be " 

*'  Jasper,  your  pal !    Truth,  and  no  lie,  brother." 
'^  It  is  strange  that  you  should  have  known  me/'  said  I.     "  I 
am  certain,  but  for  the  word  you  used,  I  should  never  have  re- 
cognised you." 

''  Not  so  strange  as  you  may  think,  brother ;  there  is  some- 
thing in  your  face  which  would  prevent  people  from  forgetting 
you,  even  though  they  might  wish  it ;  and  your  face  is  not  much 
altered  since  the  time  you  wot  of,  though  you  are  so  much  grown. 
I  thought  it  was  you,  but  to  make  sure  I  dodged  about,  inspect- 
ing you.  I  believe  you  felt  me,  though  I  never  touched  you ;  a 
sign,  brother,  that  we  are  akin,  that  we  are  dui  palor — two  rela- 
tions. Your  blood  beat  when  mine  was  near,  as  mine  always 
does  at  the  coming  of  a  brother ;  and  we  became  brothers  in  that 
lane." 

**  And  where  are  you  staying  ?  "  said  I ;  ''in  this  town  ?  " 
"  Not  in  the  town ;  the  like  of  us  don't  find  it  exactly  whole- 
some to  stay  in  towns ;  we  keep  abroad.    But  I  have  little  to  do 
here — come  with  me  and  I'll  show  you  where  we  stiuy." 

We  descended  the  hill  in  the  direction  of  the  north,  and 
passing  along  the  suburb  reached  the  old  Norman  bridge,  which 
we  crossed ;  the  chalk  precipice,  with  the  ruin  on  its  top,  was 
now  before  us ;  but  turning  to  the  left  we  walked  swiftly  along, 
and  presently  came  to  some  rising  ground,  which  ascending,  we 
found  ourselves  upon  a  wild  moor  or  heath. 

"  You  are  one  of  them,"  said  I,  '*  whom  people  call " 

"Just  so,"  said  Jasper;  "but  never  mmd  what  people  call 


us." 


''  And  that  tall  handsome  man  on  the  hill,  whom  you  whim- 
pered ?    I  suppose  he's  one  of  ye.    What  is  his  name  ?  " 

'*  Tawno  Chikno,"  said  Jasper,  "  which  means  the  small  one ; 
we  call  him  such  because  he  is  the  biggest  man  of  all  our  nation. 
You  say  he  is  handsome,  that  is  not  the  word,  brother ;  he's  the 
beauty  of  the  world.  Women  run  wild  at  the  sight  of  Tawno. 
An  earl's  daughter,  near  London — a  fine  young  lady  with  diamonds 
round  her  nedc — fell  in  love  with  Tawno.  I  have  seen  that  lass 
on  a  heath,  as  this  may  be,  kned  down  to  Tawno,  clasp  his  feet, 
begging  to  be  his  wife — or  anything  else — if  she  might  go  with 
him.  Sut  Tawno  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  her.  '  I  have 
a  wife  of  my  own,'  said  he,  *  a  lawful  Rommany  wife,  whom  I 
love  better  than  the  whole  world,  jealous  though  she  sometimes 
be'." 


i8i7.]  MOUSBHOLD  HEATH.  loi 

'*  And  is  she  very  beautiful  ?  '*  said  I. 

"  Why,  you  know,  brother,  beauty  is  frequently  a  matter  of 
taste ;  however,  as  you  ask  my  opinion,  I  should  say  not  quite  so 
beautiful  as  himself." 

We  had  now  arrived  at  a  small  valley  between  two  hills  or 
downs,  the  sides  of  which  were  covered  with  furze.  In  the  midst 
of  this  valley  were  various  carts  and  low  tents  forming  a  rude  kind 
of  encampment ;  several  dark  children  were  playing  about,  who 
took  no  manner  of  notice  of  us.  As  we  passed  one  of  the  tents, 
however,  a  canvas  screen  was  lifted  up,  and  a  woman  supported 
upon  a  crutch  hobbled  out.  She  was  about  the  middle  age,  and, 
besides  being  lame,  was  bitterly  ugly;  she  was  very  slovenly 
dressed,  and  on  her  swarthy  features  iU  nature  was  most  visibly 
stamped  She  did  not  deign  me  a  look,  but  addressing  Jasper  in 
a  tongue  which  I  did  not  understand,  appeared  to  put  some  eager 
questions  to  him. 

'*  He's  coming,"  said  Jasper,  and  passed  on.  '*  Poor  fellow," 
said  he  to  me,  "  he  has  scarcely  been  gone  an  hour  and  she's 

i'ealous  already.    Well,"  he  continued,  "what  do  you  think  of 
ler  ?  you  have  seen  her  now  and  can  judge  for  yourself— that  'ere 
woman  is  Tawno  Chikno's  wife  1 " 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


Wb  went  to  the  farthest  of  the  tents,  which  stood  at  a  slight  dis- 
tance from  the  rest,  and  which  exactly  resembled  the  one  which  I 
have  described  on  a  former  occasion  ;  we  went  in  and  sat  down, 
one  on  each  side  of  a  small  fire  which  was  smouldering  on  the 
ground,  there  was  no  one  else  in  the  tent  but  a  tali  tawny  woman 
of  middle  age,  who  was  busily  knitting.  "  Brother,"  said  Jasper^ 
'*  I  wish  to  bold  some  pleasant  discourse  with  you." 

"  As  much  as  you  please,**  said  I,  "  provided  you  can  find 
anything  pleasant  to  talk  about." 

**  Never  fear,"  said  Jasper ;  <'  and  first  of  all  we  will  talk  of 
yourself.    Where  have  you  been  all  this  long  time  ?  " 

**  Here  and  there,"  said  I^ ''  and  far  and  near,  going  about 
with  the  soldiers ;  but  there  is  no  soldiering  now,  so  we  have  sat 
down,  father  and  family,  in  the  town  there. 

"  And  do  you  still  hunt  snakes  ?  "  said  Jasper. 

'*  No,"  said  I,  "  I  have  given  up  that  long  ago ;  I  do  better 
now :  read  books  and  learn  languages." 

"Well^  I  am  sorry  you  have  given  up  your  snake-hunting; 
many's  the  strange  talk  I  have  had  with  our  people  about  your 
snake  and  yourself,  and  how  you  frightened  my  father  and  mother 
in  the  lane." 

"  And  where  are  your  father  and  mother  ?  " 

"  Where  I  shall  never  see  them,  brother ;  at  least,  I  hope  so." 

"Not  dead?" 

''  No,  not  dead ;  they  are  bitchadey  pawdeL" 

"  What's  that  ?  " 

"  Sent  across — ^banished." 

^'  Ah  I  I  understand  ;  I  am  sorry  for  them.  And  so  you  are 
here  alone  ?  " 

**  Not  quite  alone,  brother !  " 

**  No,  not  alone ;  but  with  the  rest — Tawno  Chikno  takes  care 
of  you." 

"Takes  care  of  me,  brother  I 

"  Yes,  stands  to  you  in  the  place  of  a  father — keeps  you  out 
of  harm's  way." 

(loa) 


If 


i8x7.]  PLEASANT  DISCOURSE.  X03 


ff 


"  What  do  you  take  me  for,  brother  7  ** 

**  For  about  three  years  older  than  myself.*' 

**  Perhaps ;  but  you  are  of  the  Gorgios»  and  I  am  a  Rommany 
Chal.    Tawno  Chikno  take  care  of  Jasper  Petulengro ! 

"  Is  that  your  name  ? 

•*  Don't  you  like  it  ? 

'^  Very  much,  I  never  heard  a  sweeter ;  it  is  something  like 
what  you  call  me." 

**  The  horse-shoe  master  and  the  snake-fellow,  I  am  the  first." 

"Who  gave  you  that  name?  " 

"  Ask  Pharaoh." 

"  I  would,  if  he  were  here,  but  I  do  not  see  him." 

"  I  am  Pharaoh." 

"  Then  you  are  a  king." 

"  Chachipen,  pal." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  Where  are  your  languages  ?  You  want  two  things,  brother : 
mother  sense  and  gentle  Rommany." 

''  What  makes  you  think  that  I  want  sense  ?  " 

^*  That,  being  so  old,  you  can't  yet  guide  yourself  1 " 

"  I  can  r^ul  Dante,  Jasper." 

"  Anan,  brother." 

**  I  can  charm  snakes,  Jasper." 

"  I  know  you  can,  brother." 

**  Yes,  and  horses  too ;  bring  me  the  most  vicious  in  the  land, 
if  I  whisper  he'll  be  tame." 

"Then  the  more  shame  for  you — a  snake-fellow — a  horse- 
witch — and  alil-reader — yet  you  can't  shift  for  yourself.  I  laugh 
at  you,  brother  I " 

"  Then  you  can  shift  for  yourself?  " 

'*  For  myself  and  for  others,  brother." 

'*  And  what  does  Chikno  ?  " 

"Sells  me  horses,  when  I  bid  him.  Those  horses  on  the 
chong  were  mine." 

"  And  has  he  none  of  his  own  ?  " 

**  Sometimes  he  has ;  but  he  is  not  so  well  off  as  myself. 
When  my  father  and  mother  were  bitchadey  pawdel,  which,  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  they  were,  for  chiving  wafodo  dloovu,  they  left 
me  all  they  had,  whidi  was  not  a  little,  and  I  became  the  head 
of  our  family,  which  was  not  a  small  one.  I  was  not  older  than 
vou  when  that  happened ;  yet  our  people  said  they  had  never  a 
better  krallis  to  contrive  and  plan  for  them  and  to  keep  them  in 
order.    And  this  is  so  well  known,  that  many  Rommany  Chals, 


X04  LA  VENGRO.  [1817. 

not  of  our  family,  come  and  join  themselves  to  us,  living  with  us 
for  a  time,  in  order  to  better  themselves,  more  especially  those  of 
the  poorer  sort,  who  have  little  of  their  own.  Tawno  is  one  of 
these." 

"  Is  that  fine  fellow  poor  ?  " 

"  One  of  the  poorest,  brother.  Handsome  as  he  is,  he  has 
not  a  horse  of  his  own  to  ride  on.  Perhaps  we  may  put  it  down 
to  his  wife^  who  cannot  move  alK)ut,  being  a  cripple,  as  you  saw." 

**  And  you  are  what  is  called  a  Gypsy  King  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay ;  a  Rommany  Krai." 

"  Are  there  other  kings  ?  " 

"  Those  who  call  themselves  so ;  but  the  true  Pharaoh  is 
Petulengro." 

"  Did  Pharaoh  make  horse-shoes?  " 

"  The  first  who  ever  did,  brother." 

•*  Pharaoh  lived  in  Egypt." 

"  So  did  we  once,  brother." 

"  And  you  left  it  ?  " 

•'  My  fathers  did,  brother." 

"  And  why  did  they  come  here  ?  " 

"  They  had  their  reasons,  brother.** 

"  And  you  are  not  English  ?  " 

"  We  are  not  Gorgios." 

"  And  you  have  a  language  of  your  own  ?  " 

"  Avali." 

"  This  is  wonderful." 

*<  Ha,  ha  t "  cried  the  woman,  who  had  hitherto  sat  knitting  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  tent,  without  saying  a  word,  though  not 
inattentive  to  our  conversation,  as  I  could  perceive  by  certain 
glances  which  she  occasionally  cast  upon  us  both.  **  Ha,  ha  I  " 
she  screamed,  fixing  upon  me  two  eyes,  which  shone  like  burning 
coals,  and  which  were  filled  with  an  expression  both  of  scorn  and 
malignity,  "  It  is  wonderful,  is  it,  that  we  should  have  a  language 
of  our  own  ?  What,  you  grudge  the  poor  people  the  speech  they 
talk  among  themselves  ?  That's  just  like  you  Gorgios,  you  would 
have  everybody  stupid,  single-tongued  idiots,  like  yourselves.  We 
are  taken  before  the  Poknees  of  the  gav,  myself  and  sister,  to  give 
an  account  of  ourselves.  So  I  says  to  my  sister's  little  boy,  speak- 
ing Rommany,  I  sa3r8  to  the  little  boy  who  is  with  us,  *  Run  to  my 
son  Jasper,  and  the  rest,  and  tell  them  to  be  off,  there  are  hawks 
abroad  *.  So  the  Poknees  questions  us,  and  lets  us  go,  not  being 
able  to  make  anything  of  us ;  but,  as  we  are  going,  he  calls  us 
back.     *Good  woman,'  says  the  Poknees,'  what  was  that  I  heard 


i8i7.]  A  RUM  LANGUAGE.  105 

yoa  say  just  now  to  the  little  boy  ? '  'I  was  telling  him,  your 
worship,  to  go  and  see  the  time  of  day,  and,  to  save  trouble,  I 
said  it  in  our  own  language.'  '  Where  did  you  get  that  language?' 
says  the  Poknees.  '  Tis  oar  own  language,  sir,'  I  tells  him,  '  we 
did  not  steal  it'  *  Shall  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  good  woman  ? ' 
says  the  Poknees.  '  I  would  thank  you,  sir/  says  I, '  for  'tis  often 
we  are  asked  about  it.'  '  Well,  then,'  says  the  Poknees, '  it  is  no 
language  at  all,  merely  a  made-up  gibberish/  '  Oh,  bless  your 
wisdom,'  says  I,  with  a  curtsey, '  you  can  tell  us  irtiat  our  language 
is  without  understanding  it ! '  Another  time  we  meet  a  parson. 
*Good  woman,'  says  he,  'what's  that  you  are  talking?  Is  it 
broken  language ? '  'Of  course,  your  reverence,'  says  I, '  we  are 
broken  people ;  give  a  shilling,  your  reverence,  to  the  poor  broken 
woman.'    Oh,  these  Grorgios  I  they  grudge  us  our  very  language ! " 

"  She  called  you  her  son,  Jasper  ?  " 

"  I  am  her  son,  brother." 

"  I  thought  you  said  your  parents  were " 

"  Bitchadey  pawdel ;  you  thought  right,  brother.  This  is  my 
wife's  mother." 

"  Then  you  are  inarried,  Jasper  ?  " 

"  Ay,  truly ;  I  am  husband  and  father.  You  will  see  wife  and 
chabo  anon." 

"  Where  are  they  now  ?  " 

"  In  the  gav,  penning  dukkerin." 

"  We  were  talking  of  language,  Jasper  ?  " 

"  True,  brother." 

"  Yours  must  be  a  rum  one  ?  " 

"  Tis  called  Rommany." 

"  I  would  gladly  know  it," 

"  You  need  it  sorely." 

••  Would  you  teach  it  me  ?  " 

"  None  sooner." 

"  Suppose  we  begin  now." 

"  Suppose  we  do,  brother." 

"  Not  whilst  I  am  here,"  said  the  woman,  flinging  her  knit- 
ting down,  and  starting  upon  her  feet ;  "  not  whilst  I  am  here  shall 
thisGoigio  learn  Rommany.  A  pretty  manoeuvre,  truly ;  and  what 
would  be  the  end  of  it  ?  I  goes  to  the  farming  ker  with  my  sister 
to  tell  a  fortune,  and  earn  a  few  sixpences  for  the  chabes.  I  see . 
a  jolly  pig  in  the  yard,  and  I  says  to  my  sister,  speaking  Rom- 
many, '  I)o  so  and  so,'  says  I ;  which  the  farming  man  hearing, 
asks  what  we  are  talking  about.  '  Nothing  at  all,  master,'  says  I ; 
*  something  about  the  weather ' ;  when  who  should  start  up  from 


106  LA  VBNGRO.  [1817. 

behind  a  pale,  where  he  has  been  listening,  but  this  ugly  gorgioi 
crying  out,  '  They  are  after  poisoning  your  pigs,  neighbour ! '  so 
that  we  are  glad  to  run,  I  and  my  sister,  with  perhaps  the  farm- 
engro  shouting  after  us.  Says  my  sister  to  me,  when  we  have 
got  fairly  off,  '  How  came  that  ugly  one  to  know  what  you  said  to 
me  ? '  Whereupon  I  answers, '  It  all  comes  of  my  won  Jasper,  who 
brings  the  gorgio  to  our  fire,  and  must  needs  be  teaching  him '. 
'  Who  was  fool  there  ? '  says  my  sister.  '  Who,  indeed,  but  my 
son  Jasper,'  I  answers.  And  here  should  I  be  a  greater  fool  to 
sit  still  and  suffer  it ;  which  I  will  not  da  I  do  not  like  the  look  of 
him ;  he  looks  over-gorgious.  An  ill  day  to  the  Romans  when  he 
masters  Rommany ;  and  when  I  says  that,  I  pens  a  true  dukkerin.^ 

''  What  do  you  call  God,  Jasper  ?  " 

''  You  had  better  be  jawing,**  said  the  woman,  raising  her  voice 
to  a  terrible  scream ;  "  you  haid  better  be  moving  off,  my  Gorgio ; 
hang  you  for  a  keen  one,  sitting  there  by  the  fire,  and  stealing  my 
language  before  my  face.  Do  you  know  whom  you  have  to  deal 
with  ?  Do  you  know  that  I  am  dangerous  ?  My  name  is  Heme, 
and  I  comes  of  the  hairy  ones !  " 

And  a  hairy  one  she  looked  I  She  wore  her  hair  clubbed 
upon  her  head,  fastened  with  many  strings  and  ligatures;  but 
now,  tearing  these  off,  her  locks,  originally  jet  black,  but  now 
partially  grizzled  with  age,  fell  down  on  every  side  of  her,  covering 
her  face  and  back  as  far  down  as  her  knees.  No  she-bear  of 
Lapland  ever  looked  more  fierce  and  hairy  than  did  that  woman, 
as,  standing  in  the  open  part  of  the  tent,  with  her  head  bent  down, 
and  her  shoulders  drawn  up,  seemingly  about  to  precipitate  herself 
upon  me,  she  repeated,  again  and  again,— 

"  My  name  is  Heme,  and  I  comes  of  the  hairy  ones  I *' 

"  I  call  God  Duvel,  brother." 

"  It  sounds  very  like  Devil." 

"  It  doth,  brother,  it  doth.** 

"  And  what  do  you  call  divine,  I  mean  godly  ?  '* 

"  Oh  f  I  call  that  duvelskoe.'* 

*'  I  am  thinking  of  somethings  Jasper." 

''What  are  you  thinking  of,  brother? " 

"Would  it  not  be  a  rum  thing  if  divine  and  devilish  were 
originally  one  and  the  same  word  ?  " 

"  It  would,  brother,  it  would " 

From  this  time  I  had  frequent  interviews  with  Jasper,  some- 
times in  his  tent,  sometimes  on  the  heath,  about  which  we  would 
roam  for  hours,   discoursing  on  various  matters.     Sometimes 


i8i7-iai  ~  word^mastbr:*  wj 

mounted  on  one  of  his  horses,  of  which  he  had  several,  I  would 
accompany  him  to  various  fairs  and  markets  in  the  neighbourhoody 
to  which  he  went  on  his  own  afTairs,  or  those  of  his  tribe.  I  soon 
found  that  I  had  become  acquainted  with  a  most  singular  people, 
whose  habits  and  pursuits  awakened  within  me  the  highest  interest. 
Of  all  c(Hinected  with  them,  however,  their  language  was  doubtless 
that  which  exercised  the  greatest  influence  over  my  imagination. 
I  had  at  first  some  suspicion  that  it  would  prove  a  mere  made-up 
gibberish.  But  I  was  soon  undeceived.  Broken,  corrupted,  and 
half  in  ruins  as  it  was,  it  was  not  long  before  I  found  that  it  was 
an  original  speech,  far  more  so,  indeed,  than  one  or  two  others  of 
high  name  and  celebrity,  which,  up  to  that  time,  I  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  regarding  with  respect  and  veneration.  Indeed, 
many  obscure  points  connected  with  the  vocabulary  of  these 
languages,  and  to  which  neither  classic  nor  modem  lore  afforded 
any  clue,  I  thought  I  could  now  clear  up  by  means  of  this  strange 
broken  toi^e,  spoken  by  people  who  dwelt  among  thickets  and 
furze  bushes,  in  tents  as  tawny  as  their  feces,  and  whom  the 
generality  of  mankind  designated,  and  with  much  semblance  of 
justice,  as  thieves  and  vagabonds.  But  where  did  this  speech 
come  from,  and  who  were  they  who  spoke  it?  These  were 
questions  which  I  could  not  solve,  and  which  Jasper  himsdC 
when  pressed,  confessed  his  inability  to  answer.  *'  But,  whoever 
we  be,  brother,**  said  he,  "  we  are  an  old  people,  and  not  what 
folks  in  general  imagine,  broken  gorgios;  and,  if  we  are  not 
Egyptians,  we  are  at  any  rate  Rommany  chals  t " 

''Rommany  chals  1  I  should  not  wonder  after  all,"  said  I, 
"that  these  people  had  something  to  do  with  the  founding  of 
Rome.  Rome,  it  is  said,  was  built  by  vagabonds ;  who  knows 
but  that  some  tribe  of  the  kind  settled  down  thereabouts,  and 
called  the  town  which  they  built  after  their  name ;  but  whence 
did  they  come  originally  ?  ah !  there  is  the  difficulty." 

But  abandoning  these  questions,  which  at  that  time  were  iax 
too  profound  for  me,  I  went  on  studying  the  language,  and  at  the 
same  time  the  characters  and  manners  of  these  strange  people. 
My  rapid  progress  in  the  former  astonished,  while  it  delighted, 
Jasper.  "Well  no  longer  call  you  Sap-engro,  brother/'  said  he; 
"but  rather  Lav-engro,  which  in  the  language  of  the  gorgios 
meaneth  Word  Master."  "  Nay,  brother,'*  said  Tawno  Chikno, 
with  whom  I  had  become  very  intimate,  "  you  had  better  call  him 
Cooro-mengro,  I  have  put  on  the  gloves  with  him,  and  find  him  a 
pure  fist  master ;  I  like  him  for  that,  for  I  am  a  Cooro-mengro 
myself,  and  was  born  at  Brummagem." 


io8  LA  VBNGRO.  [18x7-18 

"  I  likes  him  for  his  modesty,"  said  Mrs.  Chikno ;  ''  I  never 
hears  any  ill  words  come  from  his  mouth,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
much  sweet  language.  His  talk  is  golden,  and  he  has  taught  my 
eldest  to  say  his  prayers  in  Rommany,  which  my  rover  had  never 
the  grace  to  do."  **  He  is  the  pal  of  my  rom,*'  said  Mrs.  Petulengro, 
who  was  a  very  handsome  woman,  ''  and  therefore  I  likes  him, 
and  not  less  for  his  being  a  rye ;  folks  calls  me  high-minded,  and 
perhaps  I  have  reason  to  be  so ;  before  I  married  Pharaoh  I  had 
an  offer  from  a  lord — I  likes  the  young  rye,  and,  if  he  chooses  to 
follow  us,  he  shall  have  my  sister.  What  say  you,  mother  ?  should 
not  the  young  rye  have  my  sister  Ursula  ?  '* 

"  I  am  going  to  my  people,"  said  Mrs.  Heme,  pladng  a  bundle 
upon  a  donkey,  which  was  her  own  peculiar  property ;  "  I  am 
going  to  Yorkshire,  for  I  can  stand  this  no  longer.  You  say  you 
like  him ;  in  that  we  differs :  I  hates  the  goigio,  and  would  like, 
speaking  Rbmanly,  to  mix  a  little  poison  with  his  waters.  And 
how  go  to  Lundra,  my  children,  I  goes  to  Yorkshire.  Take  my 
blessing  with  ye,  and  a  little  bit  of  a  gillie  to  cheer  your  hearts 
with  when  ye  are  weary.  In  all  kinds  of  weather  have  we  lived 
together ;  but  now  we  are  parted,  I  goes  broken-heartcd.  I  can't 
keep  you  company ;  ye  are  no  longer  Rommany.  To  gain  a  bad 
brother,  ye  have  lost  a  good  mother." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


So  the  gypsies  departed :  Mrs.  Heme  to  Yorkshire,  and  the  rest 
to  London.  As  for  myself,  I  continued  in  the  house  of  my  parents, 
passing  my  time  in  much  the  same  manner  as  I  have  already 
described,  prmcipally  in  philological  pursuits.  But  I  was  now 
sixteen,  and  it  was  highly  necessary  that  I  should  adopt  some 

Erofession,  unless  I  intended  to  fritter  away  my  existence,  and  to 
e  a  useless  burden  to  those  who  had  given  me  birth.  But  what 
profession  was  I  to  choose  ?  there  being  none  in  the  wide  world 
perhaps  for  which  I  was  suited ;  nor  was  there  any  one  for  which 
I  felt  any  decided  inclination,  though  perhaps  there  existed  within 
me  a  lurking  penchant  for  the  profession  of  arms,  which  was 
natural  enough,  as,  from  my  earliest  infancy,  I  had  been  accustomed 
to  military  sights  and  sounds ;  but  this  profession  was  then  closed, 
as  I  have  already  hinted,  and,  as  I  believe,  it  has  since  continued, 
to  those  who,  like  myself,  had  no  better  claims  to  urge  than  the 
services  of  a  father. 

My  father,  who,  for  certain  reasons  of  his  own,  had  no  very  high 
opinion  of  the  advantages  resulting  from  this  career,  would  have 
gladly  seen  me  enter  the  Church.  His  desire  was,  however, 
considerably  abated  by  one  or  two  passages  of  my  life,  which 
occurred  to  his  recollection.  He  particularly  dwelt  on  the 
unheardof  manner  in  which  I  had  picked  up  the  Irish  language, 
and  drew  from  thence  the  conclusion  that  I  was  not  fitted  by 
nature  to  cut  a  respectable  figure  at  an  English  university.  "  He 
will  fly  o£f  in  a  tangent,"  said  he,  ''and,  when  called  upon  to 
exhibit  his  skill  in  Greek,  will  be  found  proficient  in  Irish;  I 
have  observed  the  poor  lad  attentively,  and  really  do  not  know 
what  to  make  of  him ;  but  I  am  afraid  he  will  never  make  a 
churchman  I"  And  I  have  no  doubt  that  my  exceUent  father 
was  right,  both  in  his  premises  and  the  conclusion  at  which  he 
arrived.  I  had  undoubtedly,  at  one  period  of  my  life,  forsaken 
Greek  for  Irish,  and  the  instructions  of  a  learned  Protestant 
divine  for  those  of  a  Papist  gassoon,  the  card-fancying  Murtagh ; 
and  of  late,  though  I  kept  it  a  strict  secret,  I  had  abandoned  in  a 

(109) 


zio  LA  VBNGRO.  [x8i8. 

great  measure  the  study  of  the  beautiful  Italian,  and  the  recitation 
of  the  sonorous  terzets  of  the  Divine  Comedy,  in  which  at  one 
time  I  took  the  greatest  delight,  in  order  to  become  acquainted 
with  the  broken  speech,  and  yet  more  broken  songs,  of  certain 
houseless  wanderers  whom  I  had  met  at  a  horse  fair.  Such  an  erratic 
course  was  certainly  by  no  means  in  consonance  with  the  sober 
and  unvarying  routine  of  college  study.  And  my  father,  who  was 
a  man  of  excellent  common  sense,  displayed  it,  in  not  pressing 
me  to  adopt  a  profession  which  required  qualities  of  mind  which 
he  saw  I  did  not  possess. 

Other  professions  were  talked  of,  amongst  which  the  law; 
but  now  an  event  occurred  which  had  nearly  stopped  my  career, 
and  merged  all  minor  points  of  solicitude  in  anxiety  for  my  life. 
My  strength  and  appetite  suddenly  deserted  me^  and  I  began  to 
pine  and  droop.  Some  said  that  I  had  overgrown  myself,  and 
that  these  were  the  symptoms  of  a  rapid  decline ;  I  grew  worse 
and  worse,  and  was  soon  stretched  upon  my  bed,  from  which  it 
seemed  scarcely  probable  that  I  should  ever  more  rise,  the 
physicians  themselves  giving  but  slight  hopes  of  my  recovery ; 
as  for  myself,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  die,  and  felt  quite  resigned. 
I  was  sadly  ignorant  at  that  time,  and,  when  I  thought  of  death, 
it  appeared  to  me  little  else  than  a  pleasant  sleep,  and  I  wished 
for  sleep,  of  which  I  got  but  little.  It  was  well  that  I  did  not 
die  that  time,  for  I  repeat  that  I  was  sadly  ignorant  of  many  im- 
portant things.  I  did  not  die,  for  somebody  coming,  gave  me 
a  strange,  bitter  draught ;  a  decoction,  I  believe,  of  a  bitter  root 
which  grows  on  commons  and  desolate  places;  and  the  person 
who  gave  it  me  was  an  ancient  female,  a  kind  of  doctress,  who 
had  been  my  nurse  in  my  infancy,  and  who,  hearing  of  my  state, 
had  come  to  see  me ;  so  I  drank  the  draught,  and  became  a  little 
better,  and  I  continued  taking  draughts  made  from  the  bitter 
root  till  I  manifested  symptoms  of  convalescence. 

But  how  much  more  quickly  does  strength  desert  the  human 
frame  than  return  to  it  i  I  had  become  convalescent,  it  is  true,  but 
my  state  of  feebleness  was  truly  pitiable.  I  believe  it  is  in  that 
state  that  the  most  remarkable  feature  of  human  physiology  fre- 
quently exhibits  itself.  Oh,  how  dare  I  mention  the  dark  feeling 
of  mysterious  dread  which  comes  over  the  mind,  and  which  the 
lamp  of  reason,  though  burning  bright  the  while,  is  unable  to 
dispel  I  Art  thou,  as  leeches  say,  the  concomitant  of  disease — 
the  result  of  shattered  nerves?  Nay,  rather  the  principle  of 
woe  itself,  the  fpuntain  head  of  all  sorrow  co-existent  with  man, 
whose  influence  be  feels  when  yet  unborui  and  whose  workings 


1818-19.]  THE  BITTER  DRAUGHT.  xii 


he  testifies  with  his  earliest  cries,  when,  '*  drowned  in  tears/  he 
first  beholds  the  light ;  for,  as  the  sparks  fly  upwards,  so  is  man 
bom  to  trouble,  and  woe  doth  he  bring  with  him  into  the  worlds 
even  thyself*  dark  one»  terrible  one,  causeless,  unbegotten,  with- 
out a  father.  Oh,  how  unfrequently  dost  thou  bresdc  down  the 
barriers  which  divide  thee  from  the  poor  soul  of  man,  and  over- 
cast its  sunshine  with  thy  gloomy  shadow !  In  the  brightest  days 
of  prosperity — ^in  the  midst  of  health  and  wealth — ^how  sentient 
is  the  poor  human  creature  of  thy  neighbourhood  !  how  instinc- 
tively aware  that  the  flood-gates  of  horror  may  be  cast  open,  and 
the  dark  stream  engulf  him  for  ever  and  ever !  Then  is  it  not 
lawful  for  man  to  exclaim,  '*  Better  that  I  had  never  been  born  !  ^ 
Fool,  for  thyself  thou  wast  not  bom,  but  to  fulfil  the  inscrutable 
decrees  of  thy  Creator ;  and  how  dost  thou  know  that  this  dark 
principle  is  not,  afler  all,  thy  best  friend  ;  that  it  is  not  that  which 
tempers  the  whole  mass  of  thy  corruption  ?  It  may  be,  for  what 
thou  knowest,  the  mother  of  wisdom,  and  of  great  works ;  it  is 
the  dread  of  the  honor  of  the  night  that  makes  the  pilgrim  hasten 
on  his  way.  When  thou  feelest  it  nigh,  let  thy  safety  word  be 
** Onward'*;  if  thou  tarry,  thou  art  overwhelmed.  Courage! 
build  great  works — ^'tis  urging  thee — it  is  ever  nearest  the  favou- 
rites of  God — the  fool  knows  little  of  it  Thou  wouldst  be  joyous, 
wottldst  thou  ?  then  be  a  fool.  What  great  work  was  ever  the 
result  of  joy,  the  puny  one  ?  Who  have  been  the  wise  ones,  the 
mighty  ones,  the  conquering  ones  of  this  earth  ?  the  joyous  ?  I 
believe  not.  The  fool  is  happy,  or  comparatively  so-~certainly 
the  least  sorrowful,  but  he  is  still  a  fool ;  and  whose  notes  are 
sweetest,  those  of  the  nightingale,  or  of  the  siUy  lark  ? 

**  What  ails  you,  my  child  ?  "  said  a  mother  to  her  son,  as  he 
lay  on  a  couch  under  the  influence  of  the  dreadful  one ;  "  what 
ails  you  ?  you  seem  afraid ! " 

Bay.  And  so  I  am ;  a  dreadful  fear  is  upon  me. 

Maihtr,  But  of  what ;  there  is  no  one  can  harm  you  ;  of  \K^hat 
are  you  apprehensive  ? 

Bey.  Of  nothing  that  I  can  express  \  I  know  not  what  I  am 
afraid  of,  but  afraid  I  am. 

Maiher*  Perhaps  you  see  sights  and  visions ;  I  knew  a  lady 
ooce  who  was  continually  thinking  that  she  saw  an  armed  man 
threaten  her,  but  it  was  only  an  imagination,  a  phantom  of  the 
brsun. 

Bey.  No  armed  man  threatens  me ;  and  'tis  not  a  thing  like 
that  would  cause  me  any  fear.    Did  an  armed  man  threaten  me, 


iia  LAVBNGRO.  [1818-19. 


I  would  get  up  and  fight  him ;  weak  as  I  am,  I  would  wish  for 
nothing  better,  for  then,  perhaps,  I  should  lose  this  fear ;  mine 
\a  a  dread  of  I  know  not  what,  and  there  the  horror  lies. 

Mother.  Your  forehead  is  cool,  and  your  speech  collected 
Do  you  know  where  you  are  ? 

Bqy^  I  know  where  I  ami  and  I  see  things  just  as  they  are ; 
you  are  beside  me,  and  upon  the  table  there  is  a  book  which 
was  written  by  a  Florentine ;  all  this  I  see,  and  that  there  is  no 
ground  for  being  afraid.  I  am,  moreover,  quite  cool,  and  feel  no 
pain— but,  but 

And  then  there  was  a  burst  of  ^^gemitij  sospiri  ed  alH  guai^. 
Alas,  alas,  poor  child  of  clay  !  as  the  sparks  fly  upward,  so  wast 
thou  bom  to  sorrow — Onward  1  ^ 

1 J/5.  noU:  "  Written  in  1843  ". 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


It  has  been  said  by  this  or  that  writer,  I  scarcely  know  by  whom, 
that,  in  proportion  as  we  grow  old,  and  oar  time  becomes  short, 
the  swifter  does  it  pass,  until  at  last,  as  we  approach  the 
borders  of  the  grave,  it  assumes  all  the  speed  and  impetuosity  of 
a  river  about  to  precipitate  itself  into  an  abyss ;  this  is  doubtless 
the  case,  provided  we  can  carry  to  the  grave  those  pleasant 
thoughts  and  delusions  which  alone  render  life  agreeable,  and  to 
which  even  to  the  very  last  we  would  gladly  ding;  but  what 
becomes  of  the  swiftness  of  time,  when  the  mind  sees  the  vanity 
of  human  pursuits  ?  which  is  sure  to  be  the  case  whep  its  fondest, 
dearest  hopes  have  been  blighted  at  the  very  moment  when  the 
harvest  was  deemed  securCi  What  becomes  from  that  moment, 
I  repeat,  of  the  shortness  of  time  ?  I  put  not  the  question  to 
those  who  have  never  known  that  trial ;  they  are  satisfied  with 
themselves  and  all  around  them,  with  what  they  have  done  and 
vet  hope  to  do ;  some  carry  their  delusions  with  them  to  the 
t>orders  of  the  grave,  ay,  to  the  very  moment  when  they  fall  into 
it ;  a  beautiful  golden  cloud  surrounds  them  to  the  last,  and  such 
talk  of  the  shortness  of  time ;  through  the  medium  of  that  cloud 
the  world  has  ever  been  a  pleasant  world  to  them ;  their  only 
rtgtet  is  that  they  are  so  soon  to  quit  it ;  but  oh,  ye  dear  delud^ 
httuts,  it  is  not  every  one  who  is  so  fortunate  1 

To  the  generality  of  mankind  there  is  no  period  like  youth. 
The  generality  are  far  from  fortunate;  but  the  period  of  youth, 
even  to  the  least  so,  offers  moments  of  considerable  happiness, 
for  they  are  not  only  disposed,  but  able  to  enjoy  most  things 
within  their  reach.  With  what  trifles  at  that  period  are  we  content ; 
the  things  from  which  in  after-life  we  should  turn  away  in  disdain 
please  us  then,  for  we  are  in  the  midst  of  a  golden  cloudy  and 
everything  seems  decked  with  a  golden  hue.  Never  during  any 
portion  of  my  life  did  time  flow  on  more  speedily  than  during  the 
two  or  three  years  immediately  succeeding  the  period  to  whidi  we 
arrived  in  the  preceding  chapter.  Since  then  it  has  flagged  often 
enough ;  sometimes  it  has  seemed  to  stand  entirely  still;  and  the 

("3^  8 


z  14  LA  VBNGRO.  [  1819. 

reader  may  easily  judge  how  it  fares  at  the  present,  from  the 
circumstance  of  my  taking  pen  in  hand,  and  endeavouring  to 
write  down  the  passages  of  my  life — a  last  resource  with  most 
people.  But  at  the  period  to  which  I  allude  I  was  just,  as  I  may 
say,  entering  upon  life ;  I  had  adopted  a  profession,  and — to  keep 
up  my  character,  simultaneously  with  that  profession — ^the  study 
of  a  new  language ;  I  speedily  became  a  proficient  in  the  one,  but 
ever  remained  a  novice  in  the  other :  a  novice  in  the  law,  but  a 
perfect  master  in  the  Welsh  tongue. 

Yes  I  very  pleasant  times  were  those,  when  within  the  womb 
of  a  lofty  deal  desk,  behind  which  I  sat  for  some  eight  hours 
every  day,  transcribing  (when  I  imagined  eyes  were  upon  me) 
documents  of  every  description  in  every  possible  hand,  Biackstone 
kept  company  with  Ab  Gwilym — the  polished  English  lawyer  of 
the  last  century,  who  wrote  long  and  prosy  chapters  on  the  rights  of 
things — ^with  a  certain  wild  Welshman,  who  some  four  hundred  years 
before  that  time  indited  immortal  cowydds  and  odes  to  the  wives 
of  Cambrian  chieftains — ^more  particularly  to  one  Morfydd,  the 
wife  of  a  certain  hunchbacked  dignitary  called  by  the  poet  face- 
tiously Bwa  Bach — generally  terminating  with  the  modest  request 
of  a  little  private  parlance  beneath  the  green  wood  bough,  with  no 
other  witness  than  the  eos,  or  nightingale,  a  request  which,  if  the 
poet  himself  may  be  believed — ^rather  a  doubtful  point — ^was 
seldom,  very  seldom,  denied.  And  by  what  strange  chance  had 
Ab  Gwilym  and  Biackstone,  two  personages  so  exceedingly 
different,  been  thus  brought  together?  From  what  the  reader 
already  knows  of  me,  he  may  be  quite  prepared  to  find  me 
reading  the  former ;  but  what  could  have  induced  me  to  take  up 
Biackstone,  or  rather  the  law  ? 

I  have  ever  loved  to  be  as  explicit  as  possible;  on  which 
account,  perhaps,  I  never  attained  to  any  proficiency  in  the  law, 
the  essence  of  which  is  said  to  be  ambiguity ;  most  questions  may 
be  answered  in  a  few  words,  and  this  among  the  rest,  though 
connected  with  the  law.  My  parents  deemed  it  necessary  that  I 
should  adopt  some  profession,  they  named  the  law ;  the  law  was 
as  agreeable  to  me  as  any  other  profession  within  my  reach,  so  I 
adopted  the  law,  and  the  consequence  was,  that  Biackstone,  pro- 
bably for  the  first  time,  found  himself  in  company  with  Ab  Gwilym. 
By  adopting  the  law  I  had  not  ceased  to  be  Lavengro. 

So  I  sat  behind  a  desk  many  hours  in  the  day,  ostensibly 
engaged  in  transcribing  documents  of  various  kinds.  The  scene  of 
my  labours  was  a  strange  old  house,  occupying  one  side  of  a  long 
and  narrow  court,  into  which,  however,  the  greater  number  of  the 


( • 


i8i9^]  ENGLISH  LA  W.  1x5 

windows  looked  not,  but  into  an  extensive  garden,  filled  with 
fruit  trees,  in  the  rear  of  a  large,  handsome  house,  belonging  to  a 
highly  respectable  gentleman,  who^  mcyennant  un  dimceur  con- 
stdirabU^  had  consented  to  instruct  my  father's  youngest  son  in 
the  mysteries  of  glorious  English  law.  Ah  1  would  that  I  could 
describe  the  good  gentleman  in  the  manner  which  he  deserves ; 
he  has  long  since  sunk  to  his  place  in  a  respectable  vault,  in  the 
aisle  of  a  very  respectable  church,  whilst  an  exceedingly  respect- 
able marble  aiab  against  the  neighbouring  wall  tells  on  a  Sunday 
some  eye  wandering  from  its  prayer-book  that  his  dust  lies  below ; 
to  secure  such  respectabilities  in  death,  he  passed  a  most  respect- 
able life.  Let  no  one  sneer,  he  accomplished  much ;  his  life  was 
peaceful,  so  was  his  death.  Aie  these  tnfies?  I  wish  I  could 
describe  him,  for  I  loved  the  man,  and  with  reason,  for  he  was 
ever  kind  to  me,  to  whom  kindness  has  not  always  been  shown ; 
and  he  was,  moreover,  a  choice  specimen  of  a  class  which  no 
longer  exists — a  gentleman  lawyer  of  the  old  school.  I  would 
fain  describe  him,  but  figures  with  which  he  has  nought  to  do 
press  forward  and  keep  him  from  my  mind's  eye ;  there  they  pass, 
Spaniard  and  Moor,  Gypsy,  Turk,  and  livid  Jew.  But  who  is 
that  7  what  that  thick  pursy  man  in  the  loose,  snuif-coloured  great- 
coat, with  the  white  stockings,  drab  breeches,  and  silver  buckles 
on  his  shoes?  that  man  with  the  bull  neck,  and  singular  head, 
immense  in  the  lower  part,  especially  about  the  jaws,  but  tapering 
upwaffd  like  a  pear ;  Uie  man  with  the  bushy  brows,  small  grey 
eyes,  replete  with  cat-like  expression,  whose  grizzled  hair  is  cut 
close,  and  whose  ear-lobes  are  pierced  with  small  golden  rings  ? 
Oh  I  that  is  not  my  dear  old  master,  but  a  widely  diJerent  person- 
age. Bon  jmtr^  Monsieur  Vidocq  I  expressions  de  ma  pari  h 
MonsUur  U  Baron  Taylor^  But  here  comes  at  last  my  veritable 
old  master  I 

A  more  respectable-looking  individual  was  never  seen;  he 
really  looked  wiiat  he  was,  a  gentleman  of  the  law — there  was 
nothing  of  the  pettifogger  about  him.  Somewhat  under  the  middle 
size,  and  somewhat  rotund  in  person,  he  was  always  dressed  in  a 
foil  sm't  of  Mack,  never  worn  long  enough  to  become  threadbare. 
His  face  was  rubicund,  and  not  without  keenness ;  but  the  most 
remarkable  thing  about  him  was  the  crown  of  his  head,  which  was 
bald,  and  shone  like  polished  ivory,  nothing  moxe  white,  smooth, 
and  lustrous.  Some  people  have  said  that  he  wore  false  calves, 
probably  because  his  black  silk  stockings  never  exhibited  a 
wrinkle;   they  might  just  as  well  have  said  that  he  waddled, 

ii/5..  "AMoosieiir  Peyraoourt  '  or  **  PierroDOurt  *'. 


ii6  LAVENGRO.  [1819. 

because  his  shoes  creaked;  for  these  last,  which  were  always 
without  a  speck,  and  polished  as  his  crown,  though  of  a  different 
hue,  did  creaky  as  he  walked  rather  slowly.  I  cannot  say  that  I 
ever  saw  him  walk  tet. 

He  had  a  handsome  practice,  and  might  have  died  a  very 
rich  man,  much  richer  than  he  did,  had  he  not  been  in  the  habit 
of  giving  rather  expensive  dinners  to  certain  great  people,  who 
gave  him  nothing  in  return,  ezoqpt  their  company ;  I  could  never 
discover  his  reasons  for  doing  so,  as  he  always  appeared  to  me  a 
remarkably  quiet  man,  by  nature  averse  to  noise  and  bustle ;  but 
in  all  dispositions  there  are  anomalies.  I  have  already  said  that 
he  lived  in  a  handsome  house,  and  I  may  as  well  here  add  that 
he  had  a  very  handsome  wife,  who  both  dressed  and  talked  ex* 
ceedingly  well. 

So  I  sat  behind  the  deal  desk,  engaged  in  copying  documents 
of  various  kinds ;  and  in  the  apartment  in  which  I  sat,  and  in  the 
adjoining  ones,  there  were  others,  some  of  whom  likewise  copied 
documents,  while  some  were  engaged  in  the  yet  more  difficult 
task  of  drawing  them  up ;  and  some  of  these,  sons  of  nobody, 
were  paid  for  the  work  they  did,  whilst  others,  like  myseU^ 
sons  of  somebody,  paid  for  being  permitted  to  work,  which 
as  our  principal  observed,  was  but  reasonable,  forasmuch  as  we 
not  unfrequently  utterly  spoiled  the  greater  part  of  the  work 
intrusted  to  our  hands. 

There  was  one  part  of  the  day  when  I  generally  found  myself 
quite  alone,  I  mean  at  the  hour  when  the  rest  went  home  to  their 
principal  meal ;  I,  being  the  youngest,  was  left  to  take  care  of  the 
premises,  to  answer  the  bell,  and  so  forth,  till  relieved,  which  was 
seldom  before  the  expiration  of  an  hour  and  a  half,  when  I  my- 
self went  home ;  this  period,  however,  was  anything  but  disagree- 
able to  me,  for  it  was  then  that  I  did  what  best  pleased  me,  and, 
leaving  off  copying  the  documents,  I  sometimes  indulged  in  a  fit 
of  musing,  my  chin  resting  on  both  my  hands,  and  my  elbows 
planted  on  the  desk ;  or,  opening  the  desk  aforesaid,  i  would  take 
out  one  of  the  books  contained  within  it,  and  the  book  which  I 
took  out  was  almost  invariably,  not  Blackstone,  but  Ab  Gwilym. 

Ahf  that  Ab  Gwilym !  I  am  much  indebted  to  him,  and  it  were 
ungrateful  on  my  part  not  to  devote  a  few  iines  to  him  and  his 
songs  in  this  my#history.  Start  not,  reader,  I  am  not  going  to 
trouble  you  with  a  poetical  dissertation ;  no,  no  1  I  know  my  duty 
too  well  to  introduce  anything  of  the  kind ;  but  I,  who  imagine  I 
know  several  things,  and  amongst  others  the  workings  of  your 
mind  at  this  moment,  have  an  idea  that  you  are  anxious  to  learn 


i8i^]  AB  QWILYM.  1x7 

A  little,  a  yery  little,  more  about  Ab  Gwiljrm  than  I  have  hitherto 
told  you,  the  two  or  three  words  that  I  have  dropped  having 
awakened  within  you  a  languid  kind  of  curioiity.  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  that  he  makes  one  of  the  some  half-docen 
leally  great  poets  whose  verses,  in  whatever  language  they  wrote^ 
exist  at  the  present  day,  and  are  more  or  less  known.  It  matters 
little  how  I  first  became  acquainted  with  the  writings  of  this  man, 
and  how  the  short  thick  volume,  stufied  fiill  with  his  immortal 
imaginii^;8,  first  came  into  my  hands.  I  was  studying  Welsh, 
and  I  fdOi  in  with  Ab  Gwiljrm  by  no  very  strange  <^ance.  But 
before  I  say  more  about  Ab  Gwilym,  I  must  be  permitted — I 
really  must — ^to  say  a  word  or  two  about  the  language  in  which 
he  wrote,  that  same  "  Sweet  Welsh  ^  If  I  remember  right,  I 
found  the  language  a  difficult  one ;  in  mastering  it,  however,  I 
derived  unexpected  assistance  from  what  of  Irish  remained  in 
my  head,  and  I  soon  found  that  they  were  cognate  dialects, 
springing  fixnn  some  <dd  tongue  which  itself  perhaps,  had  sprung 
from  one  much  older.  And  here  I  cannot  help  observing 
cursorily  that  I  every  now  and  then,  whilst  studying  this  Welsh, 
generally  supposed  to  be  the  original  tongue  of  Britain,  en- 
countered words  which,  according  to  the  lexioographen,  were 
venoable  words,  highly  expressive,  showing  the  wonderful  power 
and  originality  of  tibe  Wdsh,  in  which,  however,  they  were  no 
longer  used  in  common  discourse,  but  were  relics,  precious  relics, 
of  Uie  first  speech  of  Britain,  perhaps  of  the  world;  with  which 
words,  however,  I  was  already  well  acquamtCMl,  and  which  I  had 
picked  up,  not  in  learned  books,  classic  books,  and  in  tongues  of 
old  renown,  but  whilst  listening  to  Mr.  Petulengro  and  Tawno 
Cfaikno  talking  over  their  every-day  a&ivs  in  the  language  of 
the  tents ;  which  circumstance  did  not  fieul  to  give  rise  to  deep 
reflection  in  those  moments  when,  planting  my  elbows  on  the 
deal  desk,  I  rested  my  chin  upon  my  hands.  But  it  is  probable 
that  I  should  have  abandoned  the  pursuit  of  the  Welsh  language, 
after  obtaining  a  very  superficial  acquaintance  with  it|  had  it  not 
been  for  Ab  Gwilym. 

A  strange  songster  was  that  who,  pretending  to  be  captivated 
by  every  woman  he  saw,  was,  in  reality,  in  love  with  nature 
alone — wild,  beautiful,  solitary  nature — her  mountains  and  cas- 
cades, her  forests  and  streams,  her  birds,  fishes,  and  wild  animals. 
Go  to^  Ab  Gwiljrm,  with  thy  pseudo-amatory  odes,  to  Morfydd, 
or  this  or  that  other  lady,  fair  or  ugly ;  little  didst  thou  care  for 
any  of  them,  Dame  Nature  was  thy  love,  however  thou  mayest 
seek  to  disguise  the  truUi.    Yes,  yes,  send  thy  love-message  to 


ii8  LAVENGRO.  [1819. 

Morfydd,  the  fair  wanton.  By  whom  dost  tboa  send  it,  I  would 
know?  by  the  salmon,  forsooth,  which  haunts  the  rushing  stream ! 
the  glorious  salmon  which  bounds  and  gambols  in  the  flashing 
water,  and  whose  ways  and  circumstances  thou  so  well  describest 
— see,  there  he  hurries  upwards  through  the  flashing  water. 
Halloo  t  what  a  glimpse  of  glory — but  where  is  Morfydd  the 
while?  What,  another  message  to  the  wife  of  Bwa  Bach?  Ay, 
truly ;  and  by  whom  ? — ^the  wind  I  the  swift  wind,  the  rider  of 
the  world,  whose  course  is  not  to  be  stayed ;  who  gallops  o'er  the 
mountain,  and,  when  he  comes  to  broadest  river,  asks  neither  for 
boat  nor  ferry ;  who  has  described  the  wind  so  well — ^his  speed 
and  power  ?  But  where  is  Morfydd  ?  And  now  thou  art  awaiting 
Morfydd,  the  wanton,  the  wife  of  the  Bwa  Bach ;  thou  art  awaiting 
her  beneath  the  tall  trees,  amidst  the  underwood ;  but  she  comes 
not ;  no  Morfydd  is  there.  Quite  right,  Ab  Gwilym ;  what  wantest 
thou  with  Morfydd  ?  But  another  form  is  nigh  at  hand,  that  of 
red  Reynard,  who,  seated  upon  his  chine  at  the  mouth  of  l^is 
cave,  looks  very  composedly  at  thee ;  thou  startest,  bendest  thy 
bow,  thy  cross-bow,  intending  to  hit  Reynard  with  the  bolt  just 
about  the  jaw;  but  the  boW  breaks,  Reynard  barks  and  dis- 
appears into  his  cave,  which  by  thine  own  account  reaches  hell — 
and  then  thou  ravest  at  the  misfortune  of  thy  bow,  and  the  non- 
appearance of  Morfydd,  and  abusest  Reynard.  Go  to,  thou 
carest  neither  for  thy  bow  nor  for  Morfydd,  thou  merely  seekest 
an  opportunity  to  speak  of  Reynard ;  and  who  has  described  him 
like  thee?  the  brute  with  the  sharp  shrill  cry,  the  black  reverse  of 
melody,  whose  iace  sometimes  wears  a  smile  like  the  devil's  in  the 
Evangile.  But  now  thou  art  actually  with  Morfydd ;  yes,  she  has 
stolen  from  the  dwelling  of  the  Bwa  Bach  and  has  met  thee 
beneath  those  rocks — she  is  actually  with  thee,  Ab  Gwilym ;  but 
she  is  not  long  with  thee,  for  a  storm  comes  on,  and  thunder 
shatters  the  rocks — Morfydd  flees  I  Quite  right,  Ab  Gwilym; 
thou  hadst  no  need  of  her,  a  better  theme  for  song  is  the  voice  of 
the  Lord — the  rock  shatterer — ^than  the  frail  wife  of  the  Bwa 
Bach.  Go  to,  Ab  Gwilym,  thou  wast  a  wiser  and  a  better  man 
than  thou  wouldst  fain  have  had  people  believe. 

But  enough  of  thee  and  thy  songs !  Those  times  passed 
rapidly  away ;  with  Ab  Gwilym  in  my  hand,  I  was  in  the  midst 
of  enchanted  ground,  in  which  I  experienced  sensations  akin  to 
those  I  had  felt  of  yore  whilst  spelling  my  way  through  the 
wonderful  book — ^the  delight  of  my  childhood  I  say  akin,  for 
perhaps  only  once  in  our  lives  do  we  experience  unmixed  wonder 
and  delif^t;  and  these  I  had  already  known. 


iSi^  THB  POET  PARKINSON.  119 


[It  was  my  own  fault  if  I  did  not  acquire  considerable  know- 
ledge of  life  and  character,  in  the  place  to  which  my  kind  parents 
had  sent  me.  I  performed  the  tasks  that  were  allotted  to  me  in 
the  profession  I  had  embraced,  if  not  very  scrupulously,  yet, 
perhaps  as  well  as  could  be  expected  in  one  who  was  occupied 
by  many  and  busy  thoughts  of  his  own.  I  copied  what  was  set 
before  me^  and  admitted  those  who  knocked  at  the  door  of  the 
sanctuary  of  law  and  conveyancing,  performing  the  latter  office 
indeed  from  choice,  long  after  it  had  ceased  to  be  part  of  my 
duty  by  the  arrival  of  another,  and  of  course  a  junior,  pupil. 

I  scarcely  know  what  induced  ine  to  take  pleasure  in  this 
taskj  yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  I  did  take  pleasure  in  it, 
otherwise  I  should  scarcely  have  performed  it  so  readily.  It  has 
been  said,  I  believe,  that  whatever  we  do  am  amort,  we  are  sure 
to  do  well,  and  I  dare  say  that,  as  a  general  rule,  this  may 
bold  good.  One  thing  is  certain,  that  with  whatever  satisfaction 
to  myself  I  performed  the  task,  I  was  not  equally  fortunate  in 
pleasing  my  employer,  who  complained  of  my  want  of  discrimina- 
tion and  yet,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  last  is  a  quality  upon 
which  I  not  only  particularly  valued  myself  at  the  time,  but  still 
do  in  a  high  degree.  I  made  a  point  never  to  admit  any  persons 
without  subjecting  them  to  the  rigorous  investigation  of  die  pair 
of  eyes  that  providence  had  been  pleased  to  place  in  my  head. 
To  Uiose  who  pleased  me  not,  I  was  little  better  than  a  Cerberus 
whom  it  was  very  difficult  to  pass;  whilst  to  others,  I  was  all 
easiness  and  condescension,  ushering  them  straight  to  the  sanctum 
sanctorum,  in  which,  behind  a  desk  covered  with  letters  and 
papers,  stood — for  he  never  sat  down  to  his  desk — the  respectable 
individual  whose  lawful  commands  to  obey  and  whose  secrets  to 
keep  I  had  pledged  myself  by  certain  articles  duly  stamped  and 
signed. 

'^This  will  never  do,"  said  he  to  me  one  day;  ''you  will 
make  me  a  bankrupt,  unless  you  alter  your  conduct  There  is 
scarcely  one  of  my  respectable  clients  but  complains  of  your 
incivility.  I  speak  to  you,  my  poor  boy,  as  much  on  your  own 
account  as  on  mine.  I  quite  tremble  for  you.  Are  you  aware  of 
the  solecisms  you  commit?  Only  yesterday  you  turned  Sir 
Edward  from  the  door,  and  immediately  after  you  admitted 
Parkinson  the  poet  1  What  an  insult  to  a  gentleman  to  be  turned 
from  the  door,  and  a  strolling  vagabond  to  be  admitted  before 
his  eyes ! " 

*'  I  can't  help  it,"  said  I ;  ''  I  used  my  best  powers  of  discrim- 
ination ;  I  looked  both  full  in  the  face,  and  the  one  struck  me  as 


X90  LA  VENGRO.  [1819. 

being  an  honest  man,  whilst  the  other  had  the  verj  look  of  a 
slave  driver." 

^*  In  the  h.ct  ?  Bless  me !  But  you  looked  at  their  diess,  I 
suppose  ?    You  looked  at  Sir  Edward's  dress  ?  " 

**No/'  said  I,  "  I  merely  looked  at  his  countenance." 

'*  Which  you  thought  looked  like  that  of  a  slave  driver.  Well, 
he's  been  in  the  Indies,  where  he  made  his  fortune ;  so,  perhaps, 
you  may  not  be  so  far  out    However,  be  more  cautious  in  future  \ 

look  less  at  people's  countenances  and  more  at  their 1  dare 

say  you  understand  me :  admit  every  decent  person,  and  if  you 
turn  away  anybody,  pray  let  it  be  the  poet  Parkinson  .  .  ." 

Keeping  the  admonition  of  my  principal  in  view,  I  admitted 
without  word  or  comment,  provided  the  possessors  had  a  decent 
coat  to  their  backs,  all  kinds  of  countenances — ^honest  counten- 
ances, dishonest  countenances,  and  those  which  were  neither. 
Amongst  all  these,  some  of  which  belonged  to  naval  and  military 
officers,  notaries  public,  magistrates,  bailiffs,  and  young  ecclesi- 
astics— ^die  latter  with  spotless  neck-doths  and  close-shaven  chins 
— ^there  were  three  countenances  which  particularly  pleased  me : 
the  first  being  that  of  an  ancient  earl,  who  wore  a  pig-tail,  and 
the  back  of  whose  coat  was  white  with  powder:  the  second, 
that  of  a  yeoman  ninety  years  old  and  worth  ^^90,000,  who, 
dressed  in  an  entire  suit  of  whitish  corduroyt  sometimes  slowly 
trotted  up  the  court  on  a  tall  heavy  steed,  which  seemed  by  no 
means  imused  to  the  plough.  The  third  was  that  of  the  poet 
Parkinson. 

I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  remember  the  business  which 
brought  this  last  individual  so  frequently  to  our  office,  for  he  paid 
us  a  great  many  visits. 

I  am  inclined  to  believe,  however,  that  he  generally  carried 
in  his  pocket  a  bundle  of  printed  poems  of  his  own  composition, 
on  the  sale  of  which  he  principally  depended  for  his  subsistence. 
He  was  a  man  of  a  singular,  though  to  me  by  no  means  unpleasant 
countenance ;  he  wore  an  old  hat  and  a  snuff-coloured  greatcoat, 
and  invariably  carried  in  his  hand  a  stout  cudgel  like  a  man  much 
in  the  habit  of  walking,  which  he  probably  was,  from  the  circum- 
stance of  his  being  generally  covered  with  dust  in  summer,  and  in 
winter  splashed  with  mud  from  head  to  foot. 

'*  You  cannot  see  the  principal  to  day,  Mr.  Parkinson,"  said  I 
to  him  once,  as  unannounced  he  entered  the  room  where  I  sat 
alone ;  ''  he  is  gone  out  and  will  not  return  for  some  time." 

''  Well,  thars  unfortunate,  for  I  want  to  consult  him  on  some 
particular  business." 


z8i9.]  THB  FIRST  CASE.  ni 

'^What  business  is  it?  Perhaps  I  can  be  of  service  to  you. 
Does  it  relate  to  the  common  law  P"* 

"  I  suppose  so,  for  I  am  told  it  is  a  common  assault ;  but  I 
had  better  wait  till  the  gentleman  comes  home  You  are  rather 
too  young;  and  besides  I  have  other  matters  to  consult  him 
about;  I  have  two  or  three  papers  in  my  pocket  .  .  •** 

V  You  cannot  see  him  to-digty,"  said  I ;  ^  but  you  were  talking 
of  an  ananh*    Has  any  one  been  beating  you  ?** 

**  Not  exactly ;  I  got  into  a  bit  of  a  ruffle,  and  am  threatened 
with  an  action." 

"  Oh  t  so  you  have  been  beating  somebody." 

"  And  if  I  did,  how  could  I  help  it  ?  I'll  tell  you  how  it  hap- 
pened. I  have  a  gift  of  making  verses,  as  perhaps  you  know — 
in  hctt  everybody  knows.  When  I  had  sowed  my  little  trifle  of 
com  in  the  bit  of  ground  that  my  &ther  left  me,  having  nothing 
better  to  do,  I  sat  down  and  wrote  a  set  of  lines  to  my  lord,  in 
whidi  I  told  him  what  a  fine  old  gentleman  he  was.  Then  I 
took  my  stidk  and  walked  off  to ,  wherey  after  a  little  diffi- 
culty, I  saw  my  lord,  and  read  the  verses  to  him  which  I  had 
made,  offering  to  print  them  if  he  thought  proper.  Well,  he 
was  mightily  pleased  with  them,  and  said  they  were  too  good  to 
be  printed,  and  b^ged  that  I  would  do  no  such  thing,  which  I 
promised  him  I  would  not,  and  left  him,  not  before,  however, 
he  had  given  me  a  King  James*  guinea,  which  they  say  is  worth 
two  of  King  George's.  Well,  I  made  my  bow  and  went  to  the 
village,  and  in  going  past  the  ale-house  I  thought  I  would  just 
step  in,  which  I  did.  The  house  was  full  of  people,  chiefly 
&rmers,  and  when  they  saw  me  they  asked  me  to  sit  down  and 
take  a  glass  with  them,  which  I  did,  and  being  called  upon  for 
a  song  I  sang  one,  and  then  b^gan  tdking  about  myself  and  how 
much  my  lo^  thought  of  me,  and  I  repeated  the  lines  which  I 
had  written  to  him,  and  showed  them  Uie  James*  guinea  he  had 
given  me.  You  should  have  seen  the  fiu^es  they  cast  upon  me 
at  the  sight  of  the  gold ;  they  couldn't  stand  it,  for  it  was  a  con- 
firmation to  their  envious  hearts  of  all  I  had  told  them.  Presently 
one  called  me  a  boasting  fool,  and  getting  up  said  that  my  lord 
was  a  yet  greater  fool  for  listening  to  me,  and  then  added  that 
the  lines  I  had  been  reading  were  not  of  my  own  making.  '  No^ 
yoQ  dog,'  said  he^  *  they  are  not  of  your  own  making ;  you  got 
somebodv  to  make  them  for  you.'  Now,  I  do  not  mind  being 
called  a  boaster,  nor  a  dog  either,  but  when  he  told  me  that  my 
verses  were  not  my  own,  I  couldn't  contain  myself,  so  I  told  him 
he  lied,  whereupon  he  flung  a  gbss  of  liquor  in  my  face,  and  I 
knocked  him  down." 


133  LA  VBNGRO.  [1819. 


'*  Mr.  Parkinson, '  said  I»  *'  are  you  much  in  the  habit  of 
writing  verses  to  great  people  ?  "  » 

"Great  and  small.  I  consider  nothing  too  high  or  too 
low.  I  have  written  verses  upon  the  king,  and  upon  a  prize  oz ; 
for  the  first  I  got  nothing,  but  the  owner  of  the  ox  at  Christmas 
sent  me  the  better  part  of  the  chine." 

'*  In  (act,  you  write  on  all  kinds  of  subjects." 

"  And  I  carry  them  to  the  people  whom  I  think  they'll  please." 

"  And  what  subjects  please  b^  ?  " 

**  Animals ;  my  work  chiefly  lies  in  the  country,  and  people 
in  the  country  prefer  their  animate  to  anything  else." 

**  Have  you  ever  written  on  amatory  subjects  ?  " 

"  When  young  people  are  about  to  be  married,  I  sometimes 
write  in  that  style ;  but  it  doesn't  take.  People  think,  perhaps, 
that  I  am  jesting  at  them,  but  no  one  thinks  I  am  jesting  at  bis 
horse  or  his  ox  when  I  speak  well  of  them.  There  was  an  old 
lady  who  had  a  peacock ;  I  sent  her  some  lines  upon  the  bird ; 
she  never  forgot  it,  and  when  she  died  she  left  me  the  bird 
stuffed  and  ten  pounds." 

''  Mr.  Parkinson,  you  put  me  very  much  in  mind  of  the  Welsh 
baids." 

*' The  Weteh  what?" 

*<  Bards.    Did  you  never  hear  of  them  ?  " 

"  Can't  say  that  I  ever  did." 

"  You  do  not  understand  Welsh  ?  " 

"  I  do  not." 

"  Well,  provided  you  did,  I  should  be  strongly  disposed  to 
imagine  that  you  imitated  the  Welsh  bards." 

"  I  imitate  no  one,"  said  Mr.  Parkinson ;  *'  though  if  you 
mean  by  the  Welsh  bards  the  singing  bards  of  the  country,  it  is 
possible  we  may  resemble  one  another ;  only  I  would  scorn  to 
imitate  anybody,  even  a  bard." 

"  I  was  not  speaking  of  birds,  but  bards — ^Webh  poets — and 
it  is  surprising  how  mud^  the  turn  of  your  genius  coincides  with 
theirs.  Why,  the  subjects  of  hundreds  of  their  compositions  are 
the  very  subjects  which  you  appear  to  delight  in,  and  are  the 
inost  profitable  to  you — beeves,  horses,  hawks — which,  they  de- 
scribed to  their  owners  in  colours  the  most  glowing  and  natural, 
and  then  begged  them  as  presents.  I  have  even  seen  in  Wdsh 
an  ode  to  a  peacock.** 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Parkinson,  **  and  I  tdl  you  again  that 
I  imitate  nobody." 

"  Do  you  travel  much  about  ?  '^ 


zSi9.]  JUDGE  AND  JURY.  las 

"  Aye,  ftye.  As  soon  as  I  have  got  my  seed  into  the  ground, 
or  my  crop  into  my  barn,  I  lock  up  my  home  and  set  out  from 
bouse  to  house  and  village  to  village»  and  many  is  the  time  I  sit 
down  beneath  the  hedges  and  take  out  my  pen  and  inkhom. 
It  is  owing  to  that,  I  suppose,  that  I  have  been  called  the  flying 
poet/'  .  .  .   [JVan/ing.] 

"  It  appears  to  me,  young  man/'  said  Parkinson,  "  that  you 
are  making  game  of  me." 

"  I  should  as  much  scorn  to  make  game  of  any  one,  as  you 
would  scorn  to  imitate  any  one,  Mr.  Parkinson." 

"  Well,  so  much  the  better  for  us  both.  But  we'll  now  talk 
of  my  affair.  Are  you  man  enough  to  give  me  an  opinion  upon 
it?" 

"Quite  so,* said  I,  *'  Mr.  Parkinson.  I  understand  the  case 
clearly,  and  I  unhesitatingly  assert  that  any  action  for  battery 
brought  against,  you  would  be  flung  out  of  court,  and  the  bringer 
of  said  action  be  obliged  to  pay  the  costs,  the  original  assault 
having  been  perpetiated  by  himself  when  he  flung  the  liquor  in 
your  face ;  and  to  set  your  mind  perfectly  at  ease  I  will  read  to 
you  what  Lord  Chief  Justice  Blackstone  says  upon  the  subject." 

**  Thank  you,"  said  Parkinson,  after  I  had  read  him  an  entire 
chapter  on  the  rights  of  persons,  expounding  as  I  went  along. 
"  I  see  you  understand  the  subject,  and  are  a  respectable  young 
man — ^which  I  rather  doubted  at  first  from  your  countenance, 
which  shows  the  folly  of  taking  against  a  person  for  the  cast  of 
his  face  or  the  glance  of  his  eye.  Now,  I'll  maintain  that  you 
are  a  respectable  young  man,  whoever  says  to  the  contrary  ;  and 
that  some  day  or  other  you  will  be  an  honour  to  your  profession 
and  a  credit  to  your  friends.  I  like  chapter  and  verse  when  I 
ask  a  question,  and  you  have  given  me  both ;  you  shall  never 
want  my  good  word;  meanwhile,  if  there  is  anything  that  I  can 
oblige  you  in " 

**  There  is,  Mr.  Parkinson,  diere  is." 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

**  It  has  just  occurred  to  me  that  you  could  give  me  a  hint 
or  two  at  versification.  I  have  just  commenced,  but  I  find  it  no 
easy  matter,  the  rhymes  are  particularly  perplexing." 

"  Are  you  quite  serious  ?  " 

"Quite  so;  and  to  convince  you,  here  is  an  ode  of  Ab 
Gvrilym  which  I  am  translating,  but  I  can  get  no  farther  than 
the  first  verse." 

"Why,  that  was  just  my  case  when  I  first  began,*'  said 
Pairkinaon. 


134  ^^  VBNGRO.  [1619. 

* 

**  I  think  I  have  been  tolerably  successful  in  the  first  verse, 
and  that  I  have  not  only  gotten  the  sense  of  the  author,  but  that 
alliteration,  which,  as  you  may  perhaps  be  aware,  is  one  of  the 
most  peculiar  features  of  Welsh  poetry.  In  the  ode  to  which  I 
allude  the  poet  complains  of  the  barbarity  of  his  mistress,  Mor- 
fydd,  and  what  an  unthankful  task  it  is  to  be  the  poet  of  a  beauty 
so  proud  and  disdainful,  which  sentiment  I  have  partly  rendered 
thus : — 

Mins  if  a  task  by  no  mmhs  meny, 

in  which  you  observe  that  the  first  word  of  the  line  and  the  last 
two  commence  with  the  same  letter,  according  to  the  principle 
of  Welsh  prosody.  But  now  cometh  the  difiiculty.  What  is  the 
rhyme  for  merry  ?  " 

" Zondonderryt"  said  the  poet  without  hesitation,  "as  you 
will  see  by  the  poem  which  I  addressed  to  Mr.  C,  the  celebrated 
Whig  agriculturist,  on  its  being  reported  that  the  king  was  about 
to  pay  him  a  visit: — 

Bui  if  in  our  town  k$  would  wish  to  be  msrry 

Pray  donH  let  him  bring  with  him  Lord  Londonderry^ 

which  two  lines  procured  me  the  best  friend  I  ever  had  in  my 
Hfe." 

•'  They  are  certainly  fine  lines,"  I  observed,  "  and  I  am  not 
at  all  surprised  that  the  agriculturist  was  pleased  with  them  ;  but 
I  am  afraid  that  I  cannot  turn  to  much  account  the  hint  which 
they  convey.  How  can  I  possibly  introduce  Londonderry  into 
my  second  line  ?  " 

"  I  see  no  difficulty,"  said  Parkinson ;  "just  add:^ 

/  iing  proud  Mary  of  Londonderry 

to  your  first  line,  and  I  do  not  see  what  objection  could  be  made 
to  the  couplet,  as  they  call  it.** 

"  No  farther,"  said  I,  "  than  that  she  was  not  of  Londonderry^ 
which  was  not  even  built  at  the  time  she  lived." 

"  Well,  have  your  own  way,"  said  Parkinson ;  **  I  see  that 
you  have  not  had  the  benefit  of  a  classical  education." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  never  seem  to  have  heard  of  poetical  license." 

"  I  see,"  said  I,  "  that  I  must  give  up  alliteration.  Allitera- 
tion and  rhyme  together  will,  I  am  afraid,  be  too  much  for  me. 
Perhaps  the  couplet  had  best  stand  thus : — 

/  long  have  had  a  duty  hard^ 

I  long  have  been  fair  Morfydi^t  bard. 


i«i9.]  EXIT  PORTA.  wj 

**  That  won't  do,"  said  Parkinson. 

"Why  not?" 

*'  Because  'tis  not  English.  Bard,  indeed !  I  tell  you  what, 
young  man,  you  have  no  talent  (or  poetry;  if  you  had,  you 
would  not  want  my  help.  No,  no;  cleave  to  your  own  pro- 
fession and  you  will  be  an  honour  to  it,  but  leave  poetry  to  me. 
I  counsel  you  as  a  friend.    Good-morning  to  you.  "J 


CHAPTER  XX. 


"  I  AM  afiaid  that  I  have  not  acted  very  wisely  in  putting  this  boy 
of  oars  to  the  law,"  said  my  father  to  my  mother,  as  they  sat 
together  one  summer  evening  in  their  little  garden,  beneath  the 
shade  of  some  tall  poplars. 

Yes,  there  sat  my  father  in  the  garden  chair  which  leaned 
against  the  wall  of  his  quiet  home,  the  haven  in  which  he  had 
sought  rest,  and,  praise  be  to  God,  found  it,  after  many  a  year  of 
poorly  requited  toil ;  there  he  sat,  with  locks  of  silver  gray  which 
set  off  so  nobly  his  fine  bold  but  benevolent  face^  his  faithful 
consort  at  his  side,  and  his  trusty  dog  at  his  feet — an  eccentric 
animal  of  the  genuine  regimental  breed,  who,  bom  amongst  red- 
coats, had  not  yet  become  reconciled  to  those  of  any  other  hue, 
barking  and  tearing  at  them  when  they  drew  near  the  door,  but 
testifying  his  fond  reminiscence  of  the  former  by  hospitable 
waggings  of  the  tail  whenever  a  uniform  made  its  appearance — at 
present  a  very  unfrequent  occurrence. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  not  done  right  in  putting  him  to  the 
law,"  said  my  father,  resting  his  chin  upon  his  gold-headed  bamboo 
cane. 

*'  Why,  what  makes  you  think  so?"  said  my  mother. 

"  I  have  been  taking  my  usual  evening  walk  up  the  road,  with 
the  animal  here,"  said  my  father ;  "  and,  as  I  walked  along,  I 

overtook  the  boy's  roaster,  Mr.  S- .^    We  shook  hands,  and 

after  walking  a  little  way  farther,  we  turned  back  together,  talking 
about  this  and  that ;  the  state  of  the  country,  the  weather,  and 
the  dog,  which  he  greatly  admired ;  for  he  is  a  good-natured  man, 
and  has  a  good  word  for  everybody,  though  the  dog  all  but  bit 
him  when  he  attempted  to  coax  his  head ;  after  the  dc^,  we  b^an 
talking  about  the  boy ;  it  was  myself  who  introduced  that  subject : 
I  thought  it  was  a  good  opportunity  to  learn  how  he  was  getting 
on,  so  I  asked  what  he  thought  of  my  son ;  he  hesitated  at  first, 
seeming  scarcely  to  know  what  to  say ;  at  length  be  came  out 

iJ/5.,  "SimpMa^ 
("6) 


i8aa]  KING'S  COURT.  127 

With  'Oh,  a  very  extiaordinaiy  youth,  a  most  remarkahlc  youth 
indeed,  captain  I'  *  Indeed,'  said  I,  '  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  but  I 
hope  you  find  him  steady  ? '  '  Steady,  steady,'  said  he,  *  why,  yes, 
he's  steady,  I  cannot  say  that  he  is  not  steady.'  '  Come,  come,' 
said  I,  beginning  to  be  rather  uneasy,  *  I  see  plainly  that  you  are 
not  altogether  satisfied  with  him ;  I  was  afraid  you  would  not  be, 
far,  though  he  is  my  own  son,  I  am  anything  but  blind  to  his 
imperfections :  but  do  tell  me  what  particular  fault  you  have  to 
find  with  him;  and  I  will'do  my  best  to  make  him  alter  his 
conduct.'  'No  fault  to  find  with  him,  captain,  I  assure  you,  no 
fimlt  whaterer ;  the  youth  is  a  remarkable  youth,  an  extraordinary 

youth,  only' — As  I  told  you  before,  Mr.  S is  the  best-natured 

man  in  the  world,  and  it  was  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that 
I  could  get  him  to  say  a  single  word  to  the  disadvantage  of  the 
boy,  for  whom  he  seems  to  entertain  a  very  great  regard.  At  last 
I  forced  the  truth  from  him,  and  grieved  I  was  to  hear  it ;  though 
I  must  confess  I  was  somewhat  prepared  for  it  It  appears  that 
the  lad  has  a  total  want  of  discrimination." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  my  mother. 

"  You  can  understand  nothing  that  would  seem  for  a  moment 
to  impugn  the  conduct  of  that  child.  I  am  not,  however,  so 
blind ;  want  of  discrimination  was  the  word,  and  it  both  sounds 
well,  and  is  expressive*  It  appears  that,  since  he  has  been  placed 
whane  he  is,  he  has  been  guilty  of  the  grossest  blunders ;  only  the 
other  day,  Mr.  S told  me,  as  he  was  engaged  in  close  con- 
versation with  one  of  his  principal  clients,  the  boy  came  to  tell 
him  that  a  person  wanted  particularly  to  speak  with  him ;  and,  on 
going  out,  he  found  a  lamentable  figure  with  one  eye,  who  came 
to  a^  for  chanty;  whom,  nevertheless,  the  lad  had  ushered  into 
a  private  room,  and  installed  in  an  arm-chair,  like  a  justice  of  the 
peace,  instead  of  teUmg  him  to  go  about  his  business — now  what 
did  that  show,  but  a  total  want  of  discrimination  ? " 

"  I  wish  we  may  never  have  anything  worse  to  reproach  him 
with,"  said  my  mother. 

*'  I  don't  know  what  worse  we  could  reproach  him  with,"  said 
my  father :  "  I  mean  of  course  as  far  as  his  profession  is  con* 
cemed:  discrimination  is  the  very  key-stone;  if  he  treated  all 
people  alike,  he  would  soon  become  a  b^;gar  himself;  there  are 
grades  in  society  as  well  as  in  the  army ;  and  according  to  those 
mrades  we  should  fashion  our  behaviour,  else  there  would  instantly 
be  an  end  of  all  order  and  discipline.  I  am  afraid  that  the  child 
is  too  condescending  to  his  inferiors,  whilst  to  his  superiors  he  is 
apt  to  be  unbending  enough ;  I  don't  believe  that  would  do  in 


123  LA  VBNGRO.  [i8ao 

the  world ;  I  am  sure  it  would  not  in  the  army.  He  told  me 
another  anecdote  with  respect  to  his  behaviour,  which  shocked 
me  more  than  the  oth^  had  done.  It  appears  that  his  wife,  who, 
by-the^bye,  is  a  very  fine  woman,  and  highly  fiishionabley  gave 
him  permission  to  ask  the  boy  to  tea  one  evraing,  for  she  is 
herself  rather  partial  to  the  lad ;  there  had  been  a  great  dinner 
party  there  that  day,  and  there  were  a  great  many  foshionable 
people,  so  the  boy  went  and  behaved  very  well  and  modestly  for 
some  time,  and  was  rather  noticed,  till,  unluckily,  a  very  great 
gentleman,  an  archdeacon  I  think,  put  some  questions  to  him, 
and,  finding  that  he  understood  the  languages,  began  talking  to 
him  about  the  classics.  What  do  you  think  ?  the  boy  had  the 
impertinence  to  say  that  the  classics  were  much  overvalued,  and 
amongst  other  things  that  some  horrid  fellow  or  other,  some. 
Welshman  I  think  (thank  God  it  was  not  an  In'shman),  was  a 
better  poet  than  Ovid ;  the  company  were  of  course  horrified ; 
the  ardideacon,  who  is  seventy  years  of  age,  and  has  ;£7ooo  a 
year,  took  snuff  and  turned  away.    Mrs.  S-- —  turned  up  her 

eyes,  Mr.  S ,  however,  told  me  with  his  usual  good-nature 

(I  suppose  to  spare  my  feelings)  that  he  rather  enjoyed  the  thing, 
and  thought  it  a  capital  joke." 

'<  I  think  so  too,'*  said  my  mother. 

*'  I  do  not,"  said  my  father ;  **  that  a  boy  of  his  years  should 
entertain  an  opinion  of  his  own — I  mean  one  which  militates 
against  all  established  authority — is  astounding ;  as  well  might  a 
raw  recruit  pretend  to  offer  an  unfavourable  opinion  on  the  manual 
and  platoon  exercise;  the  idea  is  preposterous;  the  lad  is  too 
independent  by  half.  I  never  yet  knew  one  of  an  independent 
spirit  get  on  in  the  army ;  the  secret  of  success  in  the  army  is  the 
spirit  of  subordination." 

"Which  is  a  poor  spirit  after  all,"  said  my  mother;  **but  the 
child  is  not  in  the  army." 

*'  And  it  is  well  for  him  that  he  is  not,"  said  my  father ;  "  but 
you  do  not  talk  wisely,  the  world  is  a  field  of  battle,  and  he  who 
leaves  the  ranks,  what  can  he  expect  but  to  be  cut  down  ?  I  call 
his  present  behaviour  leaving  the  ranks,  and  going  vapouring 
about  without  orders ;  his  only  chance  lies  in  falling  in  again  as 
quick  as  possible ;  does  he  think  he  can  carry  the  day  by  himself? 
an  opinion  of  his  own  at  these  years !  I  confess  I  am  exceedingly 
uneasy  about  the  lad." 

[**  I  am  not,"  said  my  mother ;  "  I  have  no  doubt  that  Provid- 
ence will  take  care  of  him." 

"  I  repeat  that  I  am  exceedingly  uneasy,"  said  my  faiher ;  "  I 


i«2a]  THE  "  IVAKB  OP  FREYA  ».  129 

can't  help  being  so,  and  would  give  my  largest  piece  of  coin  to 
know  what  kind  of  part  he  will  play  in  life." 

**Snch  curiosity  is  blamabte,"  said  my  mother,  "highly  so. 
Let  us  leave  these  things  to  Providence,  and  hope  for  the  best; 
but  to  wish  to  pry  into  thefuture,  which  is  hidden  from  us,  and 
wisely  too,  is  mighty  wicked.  Tempt  not  Fravidence.  I  eaiiy 
contracted  a  dread  of  that  sin.  When  I  was  only  a  child,  some« 
thing  occurred  connected  with  divii^  into  the  future^  which  had, 
I  hope,  a  salutary  effect  on  my  subsequent  conduct.  The  fright 
which  I  got  then,  I  shall  never  forget.  But  it  is  getting  dark,  and 
we  had  better  go  into  the  house." 

"  We  are  well  enough  here,"  said  my  father ;  '*  go  on  with 
your  discourse.  You  were  speaking  of  tempting  Providence,  and 
of  having  been  frightened." 

'*  It  was  a  long  time  ago,"  said  my  mother,  "  when  I  was  quite 
a  child,  and  I  was  only  a  humble  assistant  in  the  affair.  Your 
wish  to  dive  into  the  future  brought  it  to  my  recollection.  It  was, 
perhaps,  only  a  foolish  affair  sifter  all,  and  I  would  rather  not 
talk  about  it,  especially  as  it  is  growing  dark.  We  had  better 
go  in." 

''  A  tale  with  any  terror  in  it  is  all  the  better  for  being  told  in 
die  dark  hour,"  said  my  father ;  "  you  are  not  afraid,  I  hope." 

*^Afiraid,  indeed!  Of  what  should  I  be  afraid?  And  yet  I 
know  not  how  it  is,  I  feel  a  chill,  as  if  something  was  casting  a 
cold  shadow  upon  n>e.  By-the-bye,  I  have  often  heard  that  child 
talk  of  ao  indescribable  fear  which  sometimes  attacks  him  and 
which  he  calls  the  shadow.  I  wonder  if  it  at  all  resembles  what  I 
am  feeling  now  I" 

"  Never  mind  the  child  or  his  shadow,"  said  my  father,  '<  but 
let  us  hear  the  story." 

**  I  have  no  objection  to  tell  it ;  but  perhaps  after  all  it  is  mere 
nonsense  and  will  only  make  you  laugh." 

''  Why,  then,  so  much  the  better  \  it  will  perhaps  drive  from 
my  head  what  Mr.  Simpson  told  me,  which  I  certainly  considered 
to  be  no  laughing  matter,  though  you  and  he  did.  I  would  hear 
the  story  by  all  means." 

"  Well,  so  you  shall.  Tis  said,  however,  that  a  superstition 
lies  at  the  bottom  of  it,  as  old  as  the  Danes.  So,  at  least,  says 
the  child,  who  by  some  meaons  or  other  has  of  late  become 
acquainted  with  their  language.  He  says  that  of  old  they  wor- 
shipped a  god  whose  name  vras  Frey,  and  that  this  Frey  had  a 
wife." 

"  Indeed  I  ^  said  my  father,  *'  and  v^o  told  you  this  ?  " 

o 


1 30  LA  VENGRO.  [182a 

''Why,  the  child,"  said  my  mother  hesitatingly;  "it  was  he 
that  told  me." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  it  will  indeed  prove  a  foolish  story/'  sa;d 
my  father;  "the  child  is  mixed  up  with  it  already." 

"  He  is  fwt  mixed  up  with  it,"  said  my  mother.  **  What  I 
am  about  to  relate  occurred  many  a  long  year  before  he  was  bom. 
But  he  is  fond  of  hearing  odd  tales ;  and  some  lime  ago  when  he 
was  poorly,  I  told  him  this  one  amongst  others,  and  it  was  then 
he  made  the  observation  that  it  is  a  relic  of  the  worship  of  the 
Danes.  Truly  the  child  talked  both  sensibly  and  learnedly.  The 
Danes,  he  said,  were  once  a  mighty  people,  and  were  masters  of 
the  land  where  we  at  present  are ;  that  they  had  gods  of  their 
own,  strange  and  wild  like  themselves,  and  that  it  was  their  god 
Frey  who  gave  his  name  to  what  we  call  Friday." 

"  All  this  may  be  true,"  said  my  father,  *'  but  I  should  never 
think  of  quoting  the  child  as  an  authority." 

''  You  jpust  not  be  too  hard  on  him,"  said  my  mother.  "So 
this  Frey  nad  a  wife  whose  name  was  Freya,  and  the  child  says 
that  the  old  pagans  considered  them  as  the  gods  of  love  and 
marriage,  and  worshipped  them  as  such;  and  that  all  young 
damsds  were  in  the  habit  of  addressing  themselves  to  Freya  in 
their  love  adventures,  and  of  requesting  her  assistance.  He  told 
me,  and  he  quite  frightened  me  when  he  said  it,  that  a  certain 
night  ceremony,  in  which  I  took  part  in  my  early  youth,  and 
which  is  the  affair  to  which  I  have  alluded,  was  in  every  point 
heathenish,  being  neither  more  nor  less  than  an  invocation  to  this 
Freya,  the  wife  of  the  old  pagan  god." 

"AndT  what  ceremony  might  it  be?"  demanded  my  fiaither. 
**  It  is  getting  something  dark, '  he  added,  glancing  around. 

'*It  is  so,"  said  my  mother;  ''but  these  tales,  you  know,  are 
best  suited  to  the  dark  hour.  The  ceremony  was  rather  a 
singular  one;  the  child,  however,  explains  it  rationally  enough. 
He  says  that  this  Freya  was  not  only  a  very  comely  woman,  but 
also  psffticularly  neat  in  her  person,  and  that  she  invariably  went 
dressed  in  snow-white  b'nen." 

''And  how  came  the  child  to  know  all  this?  '*  demanded  my 
fiither. 

"  Oh,  that's  his  af&ir.  I  am  merely  repeating  what  he  tells 
tne.  He  reads  strange  books  and  converses  with  strange  people. 
What  he  says,  however,  upon  this  matter,  seems  sensible  enough, 
lliis  Freya  was  fond  of  snow-white  linen." 

"  And  what  has  that  to  do  with  the  story  ?  " 

"  Everything.    I  have  told  you  that  the  young  maidens  were 


iSaa]  THB  "  WAKB  OP  FRBYA  ».  13c 

ai  the  habit  of  praying  to  her  and  requesting  her  fitvour  and 
aasistance  in  their  love  adventures,  which  it  seems  she  readily 
granted  to  those  whom  she  took  any  interest  in.  Now  the 
readiest  way  to  secure  this  interest  and  to  procure  her  assistance 
in  any  matter  of  the  heart,  was  to  flatter  her  on  the  point  where 
she  was  the  most  sensible.    Whence  the  offering.'' 

'^  And  what  was  the  offering  ?  " 

**  It  was  once  a  common  belief  that  the  young  maiden  who 
should  wash  her  linen  white  in  pure  running  water  and  should 
'watch'  it  whilst  drying  before  a  fire  from  eleven  to  twelve  at 
night,  would,  at  the  stroke  of  midnight,  see  the  face  of  the  man 
appear  before  her  who  was  destined  to  be  her  husband,  and  the 
child  says  that  this  was  the  '  Wake  of  Fnya '." 

''I  have  heard  of  it  before,"  said  my  father,  *'but  under 
another  name.    So  you  were  engaged  in  one  of  these  watchings." 

''  It  was  DO  fault  of  mine,"  said  my  mother ;  "  for,  as  I  told 
yoo,  I  was  very  young,  scarcely  ten  years  of  t%t ;  but  I  had  a 
sister  considerably  older  than  myself,  a  nice  girl,  but  somewhat 
giddy  and  mther  unsettled  Perhaps,  poor  tlung,  she  had  some 
cause ;  for  a  young  man  to  whom  she  had  been  betrothed,  had 
died  suddenly,  which  was  of  course  a  terrible  disappointment  to 
her.  Well,  it  is  at  such  times  that  strange  ideas,  temptations 
perhaps,  come  into  our  head.  To  be  brief,  she  had  a  mighty 
desire  to  know  whether  she  was  doomed  to  be  married  or  not.  I 
remember  that  at  that  time  there  were  many  odd  beliefs  and 
superstitions  which  have  since  then  died  away ;  for  those  times 
were  not  like  these;  there  were  highwaymen  in  the  land,  and 
people  during  the  winter  evenings  used  to  sit  round  the  fire  and 
tell  wonderful  tales  of  those  wild  men  and  their  horses ;  and  these 
tales  diey  would  blend  with  ghost  stories  and  the  like.  My  sister 
was  acquainted  with  all  the  tales  and  superstitions  afloat  and  believed 
in  than.  So  she  determined  upon  the  wake,  the  night-watch  of 
Fre^  as  the  child  calls  it.  But  with  all  her  curiosity  she  was  a 
timid  creature,  and  was  afraid  to  perform  the  ceremony  alone. 
So  she  told  me  of  her  plan,  and  begged  me  to  stand  by  her. 
Now,  though  I  was  a  child,  I  had  a  spirit  of  my  own  and  likewise 
a  curiosity ;  and  though  I  had  other  sisters,  I  loved  her  best  of  all 
of  them,  so  I  promised  her  that  I  would  stand  by  her.  Then  we 
made  our  prepuations.  The  first  thing  we  did  was  to  walk  over 
to  the  town,  which  was  about  three  miles  distant — ^the  pretty 
little  rural  town  which  you  and  the  child  admire  so  much,  and  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  which  I  was  bom — ^to  purchase  the  article 
we  were  in  need  of.    After  a  considerable  search  we  found  such 


iSt  LA  VENORO.  IiSao. 

an  one  as  we  thought  would  suit.  It  was  of  the  best  Holland, 
and  I  remember  that  it  cost  us  all  the  little  pocket  money  we 
could  muster.  This  we  brought  home ;  and  that  same  night  my 
sister  put  it  on  and  wore  it  for  that  once  only.  We  had  washed 
it  in  a  brook  on  the  other  side  of  the  moor.  I  remember  the 
spot  well ;  it  was  in  a  little  poql  beneath  an  old  hollow  oak.  The 
next  night  we  entered  on  the  ceremony  itself. 

''  It  happened  to  be  Saturday,  which  was  lucky  for  ub,  as  my 
fa&er  that  night  would  be  at  the  town,  whither  he  went  every 
Saturday  to  sell  grain ;  for  he  fiurmed  his  own  little  estate,  as  you 
know." 

"  I  remember  him  well,"  said  my  father ;  "  he  preferred  ale  to 
wine." 

''  My  father  was  of  the  old  race,"  said  my  mother,  '*  and  lived 
in  the  days  of  the  highw^vymen  and  their  horses,  when  *  ale  was 
ale,'  as  he  used  to  say,  and  '  was  good  for  man  and  beast  '•  We 
knew  that  on  the  night  in  question  he  would  not  be  home  till  very 
lite ;  so  we  offered  to  sit  up  for  him  in  lieu  of  the  servant,  who  was 
glad  enough  in  such  weather,  and  after  a  hard  day's  work,  to  escape 
to  her  bed.  My  mother  was  indisposed  and  had  retired  to  rest 
early.  Well  do  I  remember  that  night;  it  was  the  beginning  ot 
December,  and  the  weather  for  some  time  past  had  been  piercingly 
cold.  The  wind  howled  through  the  leafless  boughs,  and  there  was 
every  appearance  of  an  early  and  severe  winter,  as  indeed  befel. 
Long  before  eleven  o'clock  all  was  hushed  and  quiet  widiin  the 
house,  and  indeed  without  (nothing  was  heard),  except  the  cold 
wind  which  howled  mournfully  in  gusts.  The  house  was  an  old 
farm-house,  and  we  sat  in  the  large  kitchen  with  its  stone  floor, 
awaiting  the  first  stroke  of  the  eleventh  hour.  It  struck  at  last, 
and  then  all  pale  and  trembling  we  hung  the  garment  to  dry 
before  the  fire  which  we  had  piled  up  with  wood,  and  set  the 
door  ajar,  for  that  was  an  essential  point.  The  door  was  lofty 
and  opened  upon  the  farmyard,  through  which  there  was  a  kind 
of  thoroughfare,  very  seldom  used,  it  is  true,  and  at  each  end  of  it 
there  was  a  gate  by  which  wayfarers  occasionally  passed  to  shorten 
the  way.  There  we  sat  without  speaking  a  word,  shivering  with 
cold  and  fear,  listening  to  the  clock  which  went  slowly,  tick, 
tick,  and  occasioually  starting  as  the  door  creaked  on  its  hinges, 
or  a  half-burnt  billet  fell  upon  the  hearth.  My  sister  was  ghastly 
white,  as  white  as  the  garment  which  was  drying  before  the  fire* 
And  now  half  an  hour  had  elapsed  and  it  was  time  to  tturn.  .  . 
This  we  did,  I  and  my  sister,  without  saying  a  word,  and  then  we 
again  sank  on  our  chairs  on  either  side  of  the  fire.    I  was  tired. 


xSm]  THE  «  WAKB  OP  PREY  A  \  131 

and  as  the  clock  went  tick-a-tick,  I  began  to  feel  myself  dozing. 
I  did  doze,  I  believe.  All  of  a  sudden  I  sprang  up.  The  clock 
was  striking  one,  two,  but  ere  it  could  give  the  third  chime, 
mercy  upon  us !  we  heard  the  gate  slam  to  with  a  tremendous 
noise.  •  .  ." 

"  Well,  and  what  happened  then  ?  " 

"  Happened  1  before  I  could  recover  myself,  my  sister  had 
sprung  to  the  door  and  both  locked  and  bolted  it.  The  next 
moment  she  was  in  convulsions.  I  scarcely  knew  what  happened ; 
and  yet  it  appeared  to  me  for  a  moment  that  something  pressed 
i^ainst  the  door  with  a  low  moaning  sound.  Whether  it  was  the 
wind  or  not,  I  can't  say.  I  shall  never  forget  that  night.  About 
two  hours  later,  my  father  came  home.  He^ad  been  set  upon 
by  a  highwayman  whom  he  beat  off." 

"  And  what  was  the  result  ?  " 

**The  result?  why,  my  sister  was  ill  for  many  weeks.  Poor 
thing,  she  never  throve,  married  poorly,  flung  herself  away." 

**  I  don't  see  much  in  the  story,''  said  my  father ;  "  I  should 
have  laughed  at  it,  only  there  is  one  thing  I  don't  like." 

"What is  that?" 

''Why,  the  explanation  of  that  strange  child.  It  seems  so 
odd  that  he  should  be  able  to  interpret  it  The  idea  came  this 
moment  into  my  head.  I  daresay  it's  all  nonsense,  but,  but  .  •  •" 
^   "  Oh,  I  daresay  it's  nonsense.    Let  us  go  in." 

"  If,  after  all,  it  should  have  been  the  worship  of  a  demon ! 
Your  sister  was  punished,  you  say — she  never  throve ;  now  how 
do  we  know  that  you  may  not  be  punished  too  ?  That  child  with 
his  confusion  of  tongues " 

"  I  really  think  you  are  too  hard  upon  him.  After  all,  though 
not,  perhaps,  all  you  could  wish,  he  is  not  a  bad  child ;  he  is 
always  ready  to  read  the  Bible.  Let  us  go  in ;  he  is  in  the  room 
above  us ;  at  least  he  was  two  hours  ago.  I  left  him  there  bend- 
ing over  his  books ;  I  wonder  what  he  has  been  doing  all  this 
time.    Let  us  go  in,  and  he  shall  read  to  us."] 

"  I  am  getting  old,"  said  my  father ;  "  and  I  love  to  hear  the 
Bible  read  to  me,  for  my  own  sight  is  something  dim ;  yet  I  do 
not  wish  the  child  to  read  to  me  this  night,  I  cannot  so  soon 
foiget  what  I  have  heard ;  but  I  hear  my  eldest  son's  voice,  he  is 
now  entering  the  gate ;  he  shall  read  the  Bible  to  us  this  night 
What  say  you  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXL 


Thb  ddest  son  >  The  regard  and  affection  which  my  fatner 
entertained  for  his  first-bom  were  natural  enough,  and  appeared 
to  none  more  so  than  myself,  who  cherished  the  same  feelings 
towards  him.  What  he  was  as  a  boy  the  reader  already  knows, 
for  the  reader  has  seen  him  as  a  boy ;  fain  would  I  describe  him 
at  the  time  of  which  I  am  now  speaking,  when  he  had  attained  the 
verge  of  manhood,  but  the  pen  fails  me,  and  I  attempt  not  the 
task;  and  yet  it  ought  to  be  an  easy  one,  for  how  fi«quently  does 
his  form  visit  my  mind's  eye  in  slumber  and  in  wakefulness,  in 
the  light  of  day,  and  in  the  night  watches ;  but  last  night  I  saw 
him  in  his  beauty  and  his  strength ;  he  was  about  to  speak,  and 
my  ear  was  on  the  stretch,  when  at  once  I  awoke,  and  there  was 
I  alone,  and  the  n^ht  storm  was  howling  amidst  the  branches  of 
the  pines  which  surround  my  lonely  dwelling:  "Listen  to  the 
moaning  of  the  pine,  at  whose  root  thy  hut  is  fiutened," — a 
saying  £at,  of  wild  Finland,  in  which  there  is  wisdom ;  I  listened, 
and  thought  of  life  and  death.  •  .  .  Of  ail  human  beings  that  I 
have  ever  known,  that  elder  brother  was  the  most  inuik  and 
generous,  ay,  and  the  quickest  and  readiest,  and  the  hesi  adapted 
to  do  a  great  thing  needful  at  the  critical  time,  when  the  delay  of 
a  poment  would  be  fatal  I  have  known  him  dash  from  a  steep 
bank  into  a  stream  in  his  full  dress,  and  pull  out  a  man  who  was 
drowning;  yet  there  were  twenty  otheis  bathing  in  the  water,  who 
might  have  saved  him  by  putting  out  a  hand,  without  inconveni- 
ence to  themselves,  which,  however,  they  did  not  do,  but  stared 
with  stupid  surprise  at  the  drowning  one's  struggles.  Yes,  whilst 
some  shouted  from  the  bank  to  those  in  the  water  to  save  the 
drowning  one,  and  those  in  the  water  did  nothing,  my  brother 
neither  shouted  nor  stood  still,  but  dashed  from  the  bank  and  did 
the  one  thing  needful,  which,  under  such  circumstances,  not  one 
man  in  a  million  would  have  done.  Now,  who  can  wonder  that 
a  biave  old  man  should  love  a  son  like  this,  and  prefer  him  to 
any  other? 

"  My  boy,  my  own  boV|  you  are  the  very  image  of  mysdf  the 
day  I  took  off  my  coat  m  the  park  to  fight  Big  Ben/'  said  my 

(»34) 


iSaxJ  "  THB  ELDEST  SONJ'  135 

father,  on  meeting  his  son  wet  and  dripping,  immediately  after  hb 
bold  feat  And  who  cannot  excuse  the  honest  pride  of  the  old  man 
— the  stout  old  man  ? 

Ay,  old  man,  that  son  was  worthy  of  thee,  and  thou  wast 
worthy  of  such  a  son ;  a  noble  specimen  wast  thou  of  those  strong 
single-minded  Englishmen,  who,  without  making  a  parade  either 
of  religion  or  loyalty,  feared  God  and  honoured  their  king,  and 
were  not  particularly  friendly  to  the  French,  whose  vaunting  polls 
they  occasionally  broke,  as  at  Minden  and  Malplaquet,  to  the 
confusion  vast  of  the  eternal  foes  of  the  English  land.  I,  who 
was  so  little  like  thee  that  thou  understoodst  me  not,  and  in  whom 
with  justice  thou  didst  feel  so  little  pride,  had  yet  perception 
enough  to  see  sdl  thy  worth,  and  to  feel  it  an  honour  to  be  able 
to  call  myself  thy  son ;  and  if  at  some  no  distant  time,  when  the 
foreign  enemy  ventures  to  insult  our  shore,  I  be  permitted  to 
break  some  vaunting  poll,  it  will  be  a  triumph  to  me  to  think  that, 
if  thou  hadst  lived,  diou  wouldst  have  hailed  the  deed,  and  mightest 
yet  discover  some  distant  semblance  to  thyself,  the  day  when  thou 
didst  all  but  vanquish  the  mighty  Brain. 

I  have  already  spoken  of  my  brother's  taste  for  painting,  and 
the  progress  he  had  made  in  that  beautiful  art  It  is  probable 
that,  if  circumstances  had  not  eventually  diverted  his  mind  from 
the  pursuit,  he  would  have  attained  excellence,  and  left  behind 
him  some  enduring  monument  of  his  powers,  for  he  had  an 
imagination  to  conceive,  and  that  yet  rarer  endowment,  a  hand 
capable  of  giving  life,  body,  and  reality  to  the  conceptions  of  his 
mind ;  periuy>s  he  wanted  one  thing,  the  want  of  which  is  but  too 
often  fatal  to  the  sons  of  genius,  and  without  which  genius  is  little 
mcve  than  a  splendid  toy  in  the  hands  of  the  possessor — persever- 
ance, dogged  perseverance,  in  his  proper  calling ;  otherwise,  though 
the  grave  had  closed  over  him,  he  might  still  be  living  in  the 
admiration  of  his  fellow-creatures.  O  ye  gifted  ones,  follow  your 
calling,  for,  however  various  your  talents  may  be,  ye  can  have 
but  one  calling  capable  of  leading  ye  to  eminence  and  renown ; 
follow  resolutely  the  one  straight  path  before  you,  it  is  that  of 
your  good  angel,  let  neither  obstacles  nor  temptations  induce  ye 
to  leave  it;  bound  along  if  you  can ;  if  not  on  hands  and  knees 
follow  it,  perish  in  it,  if  needful ;  but  ye  need  not  fear  that ;  no 
one  ever  yet  died  in  the  true  path  of  his  calling  before  he  had 
attained  the  pinnacle.  Turn  into  other  paths,  and  for  a  momentary 
advantage  or  gratification  ye  have  sold  your  inheritance,  your 
immortality.    Ye  will  never  be  heard  of  after  death. 

**  My  father  has  given  me  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,"  said 


136  LA  VENGRO.  [i8ai. 

my  brother  to  me  one  morning,  ^and  something  which  is  better-— 
his  blessing.    I  am  going  to  leave  you." 

•'Where  are  you  going?" 

"  Where  ?  to  the  great  city ;  to  London,  to  be  sure.'' 

"  I  should  like  to  go  with  you." 

"  Pooh,"  said  my  brother,  '^  what  should  you  do  there  ?"  But 
don't  be  discouraged,  I  daresay  a  time  will  come  when  you  too  will 
go  to  London." 

And,  sure  enough,  so  it  did,  and  all  but  too  soon. 

"  And  what  do  you  purpose  doing  there  ?  "  I  demanded* 

*'  Oh,  I  go  to  improve  myself  in  art,  to  place  mjrself  under 
some  master  of  high  name,  at  least  I  hope  to  do  so  eventually. 
I  have,  however,  a  plan  in  my  head,  which  I  should  wish  first  to 
execute;  indeed,  I  do  not  think  I  can  test  till  I  have  done  so; 
every  one  talks  so  much  about  Italy,  and  the  wondrous  artists 
which  it  has  produced,  and  the  wondrous  pictures  which  are  to  be 
found  there ;  now  I  wish  to  see  Italy,  or  rather  Rome,  the  great 
city,  for  I  am  told  that  in  a  certain  room  there  is  contained  the 
grand  miracle  of  art." 

'*  And  what  do  you  call  it  ?  " 

"The  Transfiguration,  painted  by  one  Rafael,  and  it  is  said  to 
be  the  greatest  work  of  the  greatest  painter  which  the  world  has 
ever  known.  I  suppose  it  is  because  everybody  says  so,  that  I 
have  such  a  strange  desire  to  see  it.  I  have  already  made  myself 
well  acquainted  with  its  locality,  and  think  that  I  could  almost 
find  my  way  to  it  blindfold.  When  I  have  crossed  the  Tiber, 
which,  as  you  are  aware,  runs  through  Rome,  I  must  presently 
turn  to  the  right,  up  a  rather  shabby  street,  which  communicates 
with  a  large  square,  the  farther  end  of  which  is  entirely  occupied 
by  the  front  of  an  immense  church,  with  a  dome,  which  ascends 
almost  to  the  clouds,  and  this  church  they  call  St.  Peter's." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  I,  "  I  have  read  about  that  in  Keysler's  Travels/' 

"  Before  the  church,  in  the  square,  are  two  fountains,  one  on 
either  side,  casting  up  water  in  showers;  between  them,  in  the 
midst,  is  an  obelisk,  brought  from  Egypt,  and  covered  with 
mysterious  writing;  on  your  right  rises  an  edifice,  not  beautiful 
nor  grand,  but  huge  and  bulky,  where  lives  a  strange  kind  of 
priest  whom  men  call  the  Pope,  a  very  horrible  old  individual, 
who  would  fain  keep  Christ  in  leading-strings,  calls  the  Virgin 
Mary  the  Queen  of  Heaven,  and  himself  God's  Lieutenant*Genera] 
upon  earth.*' 

"  Ay,  ay,**  said  I,  "  I  have  read  of  him  in  Fox's  Book  of 
Martyrsr 


itoij  'OLD  CROMB.'  137 

"  Well,  I  do  not  go  straight  forward  up  the  flight  of  steps 
conducting  into  the  church,  but  I  turn  to  the  right,  and,  passing 
under  the  piazza,  find  mysdf  in  a  court  of  the  huge  bulky  house; 
and  then  ascend  various  staircases,  and  pass  along  various  corridors 
and  galleries,  all  of  which  I  couM  describe  to  you,  though  I  have 
never  seen  them ;  at  last  a  door  is  unlocked,  and  we  enter  a  room 
rather  high,  but  not  particularly  large,  commimicating  with  another 
room,  into  which,  however,  I  do  not  go,  though  there  are  noble 
things  in  that  second  room — ^immortal  things,  by  immortal  artists ; 
amongst  others,  a  grand  piece  of  Corregio ;  I  do  not  enter  it,  for 
the  grand  picture  of  the  world  is  not  there:  but  I  stand  still 
immediately  on  entering  the  first  room,  and  I  look  straight  before 
me,  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  though  there  are  noble  things 
both  on  the  right  and  left,  for  immediately  before  me  at  the 
£mher  end,  hanging  against  the  wall,  is  a  picture  which  arrests 
me,  and  I  can  see  nothing  else,  for  that  picture  at  the  fiuther  end 
hanging  against  the  wall  is  the  picture  of  the  world  .  *   " 

Yes,  go  thy  way,  young  enthusiast,  and,  whether  to  London 
town  or  to  old  Rome,  may  success  attend  thee ;  yet  strange  fears 
assaO  me  and  misgivings  on  thy  account.  Thou  canst  not  rest, 
thou  say'st,  till  thou  hast  seen  the  picture  in  the  chamber  at  old 
Rome  hanging  over  against  ^e  wall;  ay,  and  thus  thou  dost 
exemplify  &y  weakness — thy  strength  too,  it  may  be — ^for  the 
one  idea,  fantastic  yet  lovely,  which  now  possesses  thee,  could 
only  have  originated  in  a  genial  and  fervent  brain.  Well,  go,  if 
thou  must  go ;  yet  it  perhaps  were  better  for  thee  to  bide  in  thy 
native  land,  and  there,  with  fear  and  trembling,  with  groanings, 
with  straining  eyeballs,  toil,  drudge,  slave,  till  thou  hast  made 
excellence  thine  own ;  thou  wilt  scarcely  acquire  it  by  staring  at 
the  picture  over  against  the  door  in  the  high  chamber  of  old 
Rome.  Seekest  thou  inspiration  ?  thou  needest  it  not,  thou  hast 
it  already ;  and  it  was  never  yet  found  by  crossing  the  sea.  What 
hast  thou  to  do  with  old  Rome,  and  thou  an  Englishman  ?  **  Did 
thy  blood  never  glow  at  the  mention  of  thy  native  land?**  as  an 
artist  merely  ?  Yes,  I  trow,  and  with  reason,  for  thy  native  land 
need  not  grudge  old  Rome  her  **  pictures  of  ^e  world  '* ;  she  has 
pictures  of  her  own,  *' pictures  of  England" ;  and  is  it  a  new  thing 
to  toss  up  caps  and  shout — England  against  the  world?  Yes, 
against  the  world  in  all,  in  all ;  in  science  and  in  arms,  in  minstrel 
strain,  and  not  less  in  the  art  <' which  enables  the  hand  to  deceive 
the  intoxicated  soul  by  means  of  pictures  "•*    Seek'st  models  ?  to 

*lUO|MtOC}i 


158  LA  VBNQRO.  [1831. 

Gainsborough  and  Hogarth  turn,  not  names  of  the  world,  may 
be^  but  English  names — and  England  against  the  world  1  A  living 
master?  why,  there  be  comes  I  thou  hast  had  him  long,  he  has 
long  guided  thy  young  hand  towards  the  excellence  which  is  yet 
far  from  thee,  but  which  thou  canst  attain  if  thou  shouldst  persist 
and  wrestlCf  even  as  he  has  donet,  midst  gloom  and  despondency 
— ay,  and  even  contempt ;  he  who  now  comes  up  the  creaking 
stair  to  thy  little  studio  in  the  second  floor  to  inspect  thy  last 
effort  before  thou  departest,  the  little  stout  man  whose  face  is  veiy 
dark,  and  whose  eye  is  vivacious ;  that  man  has  attained  excellence^ 
destined  some  day  to  be  acknowledged,  though  not  till  he  is  cold, 
and  his  mortal  part  returned  to  its  kindred  clay.  He  has  painted, 
not  pictures  of  the  world,  but  English  pictures,  such  as  Gains- 
borough himself  might  have  done;  beautiful  rural  pieces,  with 
trees  which  might  well  tempt  the  wild  birds  to  perch  upon  them : 
thou  needest  not  run  to  Rome,  brother,  where  lives  the  old  Mario- 
later,  after  pictures  of  the  world,  whibt  at  home  there  are  pictures 
of  England ;  nor  needest  thou  even  go  to  London,  the  big  city, 
in  search  of  a  master,  for  thou  hast  one  at  home  in  the  old  East 
Anglian  town  who  can  instruct  thee  whilst  thou  needest  instruc- 
tion. Better  stay  at  home^  brother,  at  least  for  a  season,  and  toil 
and  strive  'midst  groanings  and  despondency  till  thou  hast  attained 
excellence  even  as  he  has  done — the  little  dark  man  with  the 
brown  coat  and  the  top-boots,  whose  name  will  one  day  be  con- 
sidered the  chief  ornament  of  the  old  town,  and  whose  works  will 
at  no  distant  period  rank  among  the  proudest  pictures  of  England 
— and  England  against  the  world  l-Ahy  master,  my  brother,  thy, 
at  present,  all  too  little  considered  master — Crome. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


But  to  proceed  with  my  own  story :  I  now  ceased  all  at  once  to 
take  much  pleasure  in  the  pursuits  which  formerly  interested  me, 
I  yawned  over  Ab  Gwiljon ;  even  as  I  now  in  my  mind's  eye 
perceive  the  reader  yawning  over  the  present  pages.  What  was 
the  cause  of  this  ?  Constitutional  lassitude,  or  a  desire  for  novelty  ? 
Both  it  is  probable  had  some  influence  in  the  matter,  but  I  rather 
think  that  the  latter  feeling  was  predominant  The  parting  words 
of  my  brother  had  sunk  into  my  mind.  He  had  talked  of  travel- 
ling in  strange  regions  and  seeing  strange  and  wonderful  objects, 
and  my  imagination  fell  to  work  and  drew  pictures  of  adventures 
wOd  and  fitntastici  and  I  thought  what  a  fine  thing  it  must  be  to 
travel,  and  I  wished  that  my  father  would  give  me  his  blessing, 
and  the  same  sum  that  he  had  given  my  brother,  and  bid  me  go 
forth  into  the  world ;  always  forgetting  that  I  had  neither  talents 
nor  energies  at  this  period  which  would  enable  me  to  make  any 
sttCcessftS  figure  on  its  stage. 

And  then  I  again  sought  up  the  book  which  had  so  captivated 
me  in  my  infimcy,  and  I  read  it  through ;  and  I  sought  up  others 
of  a  similar  character,  and  in  seeking  for  them  I  met  books  also 
of  adventure,  but  by  no  means  of  a  harmless  description,  lives  of 
wicked  and  lawless  men,  Munay  and  Latroon — ^boo3u  of  singular 
power,  but  of  coarse  and  prurient  imagination — books  at  one  time 
highly  in  vogue;  now  deservedly  forgotten,  and  most  difficult  to 
be  found. 

And  when  I  had  gone  through  these  books,  what  was  my 
state  of  mind?  I  had  derived  entertainment  firom  their  perusal, 
but  they  left  me  more  listless  and  unsettled  than  before,  and  I 
really  knew  not  what  to  do  to  pass  my  time*  My  phOological 
studies  had  become  distastefiil,  and  I  had  never  taken  any  pleasure 
in  the  duties  of  my  profession.  I  sat  behind  my  desk  in  a  state  of 
torpor,  my  mind  almost  as  blank  as  the  paper  before  me,  on  which 
I  rarely  traced  a  line.  It  was  always  a  relief  to  hear  the  bell  rin^ 
as  it  afforded  me  an  opportunity  of  doing  something  which  I  was 
yet  capable  of  doing,  to  rise  and  open  the  door  and  stare  in  the 

(139) 


140  LA  VBNORO.  [z8aa 

countenances  of  the  visitors.  All  of  a  sudden  I  fell  to  studying 
countenances,  and  soon  flattered  myself  that  I  had  made  consider- 
able progress  in  the  science. 

"There  is  no  faith  in  countenanceSi"  said  some  Roman  of 
old;  "trust  anything  but  a  person's  countenance."  "Not  trust 
a  man*s  countenance?"  say  some  modems,  "why,  it  is  the  only 
thing  in  many  people  that  we  can  trust ;  on  which  account  they 
keep  it  most  assiduously  out  of  the  way.  Trust  not  a  man's  words 
if  you  please,  or  you  may  come  to  very  erroneous  conclusions ; 
but  at  all  times  place  implicit  confidence  in  a  man's  countenance 
in  which  there  is  no  deceit ;  and  of  necessity  there  can  be  none. 
^  If  people  would  but  look  each  other  more  in  the  foce,  we  should 
^have  less  cause  to  complain  of  the  deception  of  the  world ;  noth- 
ing so  easy  as  physiognomy  nor  so  useful."  Somewhat  in  this 
latter  strain  I  thought,  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  speaking.  I 
am  now  older,  and  let  us  hope,  less  presumptuous.  It  is  true 
that  in  the  course  of  my  life  I  have  scarcely  ever  had  occasion 
to  repent  placing  confidence  in  individuals  whose  countenances 
have  prepossess^  me  in  their  fisivour ;  though  to  how  many  I  may 
have  been  unjust,  from  whose  countenances  I  may  have  drawn 
unfavourable  conclusions,  is  another  matter. 

But  it  had  been  decreed  by  Fate,  which  governs  our  every 
action,  that  I  was  soon  to  return  to  my  old  pursuits.  It  was 
written  that  I  should  not  yet  cease  to  be  Lavengro,  though  I  had 
become,  in  my  own  opinion,  a  kind  of  Lavater.  It  is  singular 
enough  that  my  renewed  ardour  for  philology  seems  to  have  been 
brought  about  indirectly  by  my  physiognomical  researches,  in 
which  had  I  not  indulged,  the  event  which  I  am  about  to  relate^ 
as  far  as  connected  with  myself,  might  never  have  occurred. 
Amongst  the  various  countenances  which  I  admitted  during  the 
period  of  my  answering  the  bell,  there  were  two  which  particularly 
pleased  me,  and  which  belonged  to  an  elderly  yeoman  and  his 
wife,  whom  some,  little  business  had  brought  to  our  law  sanctuary. 
I  believe  they  experienced  from  me  some  kindness  and  attention, 
which  won  the  old  people's  hearts.  So,  one  day,  when  their 
little  business  had  been  brought  to  a  conclusion,  and  they  chanced 
to  be  alone  with  me,  who  was  seated  as  usual  behind  the  deal  desk 
in  the  outer  room,  ^e  old  man  with  some  confusion  began  to  tell 
me  how  grateful  himself  and  dame  felt  for  the  many  attentions  I 
had  shown  them,  and  how  desirous  they  were  to  make  me  some 
remutieratfon.  "  Of  course,"  said  the  old  man,  "  we  must  be 
cautious  what  we  offer  to  so  fine  a  young  gentleman  as  yourself; 
we  have*  however,  something  we  think  will  just  suit  the  occasion, 


ztan]  THE  DANES.  141 

a  strange  kind  of  thing  which  people  say  is  a  book,  though  no  one 
that  my  <lame  or  myself  have  shown  it  to  can  make  anything  out 
of  it ;  so  as  we  are  told  that  you  are  a  fine  young  gentleman,  who 
can  read  all  the  tongues  of  the  earth  and  stars,  as  the  Bible  says, 
we  thought*  I  and  my  dame,  that  it  would  be  just  the  thing  you 
would  like ;  and  my  dame  has  it  now  at  the  bottom  of  her 
basket." 

*'  A  booky"  sad  I,  '*  how  did  you  come  by  it  ?  " 

**  We  live  near  the  sea,"  said  the  old  man ;  **  so  near  that 
sometimes  our  thatch  is  wet  with  the  spray ;  and  it  m^y  now  be  a 
year  ago  that  there  was  a  fearful  storm,  and  a  ship  was  driven 
ashore  during  the  night,  and  ere  the  mom  was  a  com{dete  wredc. 
When  we  got  up  at  da^ight,  there  were  the  poor  shivering  crew 
at  our  door ;  they  were  foreigners,  red-haired  men,  whose  speech 
we  did  not  understand ;  but  we  took  them  in,  and  warmed  them» 
and  they  remained  with  us  three  days ;  and  when  they  went  away 
they  left  behind  them  this  thing,  here  it  is»  part  of  the  contents  of 
a  box  which  was  washed  ashore." 

**  And  did  you  learn  who  they  were  ?  " 

'*Why,  yes;  they  made  us  understand  ttat  they  were 
Danes." 

Danes  I  thought  I,  Danes!  and  instantaneously,  huge  and 
grisly,  appeared  to  rise  up  before  my  vision  the  skull  of  the  old 
pirate  Dane,  even  as  I  haid  seen  it  of  yore  in  the  pent-house  of  the 
ancient  church  to  which,  with  my  mother  and  my  brother,  I  had 
wandered  on  the  memorable  summer  eve. 

And  now  the  old  man  handed  me  the  book ;  a  strange  and 
onoouth-looking  volume  enough.  It  was  not  very  large,  but  in- 
stead of  the  usual  covering  was  bound  in  wood*  and  was  compressed 
with  strong  iron  clasps.  It  was  a  printed  book,  but  the  pages 
were  not  of  paper,  but  vellum,  and  the  characters  were  black,  and 
resembled  those  generally  termed  Gothic. 

**  It  is  certainly  a  curious  book,"  said  I ;  ^'  and  I  should  like 
to  have  it,  bat  I  can't  think  of  taking  it  as  a  gift,  I  must  give  you 
an  equivalent,  I  never  take  presents  from  anybody." 

The  old  man  whispered  with  his  dame  and  chuckled,  and  then 
turned  his  £Bice  to  me  and  said,  with  another  chuckle :  **  Well,  we 
have  agreed  about  the  price ;  but  maybe  you  will  not  consent." 

**  I  don't  know,"  said  I ;  "  what  do  you  demand  ?  " 

**  Why,  that  you  shake  me  by  the  hand,  and  hold  out  your 
cheek  to  my  old  dame,  she  has  taken  an  affection  to  you." 

**  1  shall  be  very  glad  to  shake  you  by  the  hand,"  said  I,  "  but 
aa  Cor  the  other  condition  it  requires  consideration." 


14a  LA  VBNORO.  [itea 


"  No  coorideration  at  aU,**  said  the  old  man,  with 
like  a  sigh ;   ''  she  thinks  you  like  her  son,  our  only  child 
was  lost  twenty  years  ago  in  the  waves  of  the  North 


*'  Oh,  that  alters  the  case  altogether,"  said  I,  **  and  of  comae 
I  can  have  no  objection." 

And  now,  at  once,  I  shook  off  my  listlessness,  to  enable  me 
to  do  which  nothing  could  have  happened  more  opportune  than 
the  above  event  The  Danes,  the  Danes  1  And  I  was  at  last  to 
become  acquainted,  and  in  so  singular  a  manner,  with  the  speedi 
of  a  people  which  had  as  fiur  back  as  I  could  remember  exerdaed 
the  strongest  influence  over  my  imagination,  as  how  should  they 
not  1 — ^in  infancy  there  was  the  summer-eve  adventure,  to  which  I 
often  looked  back,  and  always  with  a  kind  of  strange  interest,  with 
respect  to  those  to  whom  such  gigantic  and  wondrous  bones  could 
belong  as  I  had  seen  on  that  occasion ;  and  more  than  this,  I  had 
been  in  Ireland,  and  there,  under  peculiar  circumstances,  this 
same  interest  was  increased  tenfold  I  had  mingled  much  whilst 
there  with  the  genuine  Irish — a  wild,  but  kind-hearted  raoe^  whose 
conversation  was  deeply  imbued  with  traditionary  km,  connected 
with  the  early  history  of  their  own  romantic  1an<^  and  from  them 
I  heard  enough  of  the  Danes,  but  nothing  commonplace^  for  they 
never  mentioned  them  but  in  tenns  which  tallied  well  with  my 
own  preconceived  ideas.  For  at  an  early  period  the  Danes  had 
invaded  Ireland,  and  had  subdued  it,  and,  though  eventually 
driven  out,  had  left  behind  them  an  enduring  remembrance  in 
the  minds  of  the  people,  who  loved  to  speaik  of  their  strength  and 
their  stature,  in  evidence  of  which  they  would  point  to  the  ancient 
rnths  or  mounds,  where  the  old  Danes  were  buried,  and  where 
bones  of  extraordinary  size  were  occasionally  exhumed.  And  as  the 
Danes  surpassed  other  people  in  strength,  so,  according  to  my 
narrators,  they  also  excelled  all  others  in  wisdom,  or  rather  in 
Draoiiheac^  or  Magic,  for  they  were  powerful  sorcerers,  they  said, 
compared  with  whom  the  faory  men  of  the  present  day  knew 
nothing  at  all,  at  all  I  and,  amongst  other  wonderful  things,  they 
knew  how  to  make  strong  beer  from  the  heather  that  grows  upon 
the  b<^  Little  wonder  if  the  interest^  the  mjrsterious  interest, 
which  I  had  early  felt  about  the  Danes,  was  increased  tenfold  by 
my  sojourn  in  Ireland. 

And  now  I  had  in  my  possession  a  Danish  book,  which,  from 
its  appearance,  might  be  supposed  to  have  belonged  to  the  very 
old  Danes  indeed ;  but  how  was  I  to  turn  it  to  any  account  ?  I 
had  the  book,  it  is  true,  but  I  did  not  understand  the  language 


i8m.]  MUGQLBTONIANS.  143 

and  how  was  I  to  overcome  that  difficulty  ?  hardly  by  poring  over 
the  book ;  yet  I  did  pore  over  the  book,  daily  and  nightly,  till  my 
eyes  were  dim,  and  it  appeared  to  me  ev^y  now  and  then  I 
enconntered  words  which  I  understood — English  words,  though 
stiangely  disguised ;  and  I  said  to  myself,  courage  1  English  and 
Danish  are  cognate  dialects,  a  time  will  come  when  I  shiJi  under* 
stand  this  Dsmish ;  and  then  I  pored  over  the  book  again,  but 
with  all  my  poring  I  could  not  understand  it ;  and  then  I  became 
angry,  and  I  bit  my  lips  till  the  blood  came ;  and  I  ooounonally 
tore  a  handful  from  my  hair  and  flung  it  upon  the  floor,  but  that 
did  not  mend  the  matter,  for  still  I  did  not  understand  the  book, 
iHiich,  however,  I  began  to  see  was  written  in  rhyme — a  circum- 
stance rather  difficult  to  discover  at  firsts  the  arrangement  of  the 
lines  not  differing  from  that  which  is  employed  in  prose ;  and  its 
being  written  in  rhyme  made  me  only  Uw  more  eager  to  under* 
stand  it. 

But  I  toiled  in  vain,  for  I  had  neither  gnunmar  nor  dictionary 
of  the  language ;  and  when  I  sought  for  them  could  procure 
neither ;  and  I  was  much  dispirited,  till  suddenly  a  bright  thought 
came  into  my  head,  and  I  said,  although  I  cannot  obtain  a 
dictionary  or  grammar,  I  can  perhaps  obtain  a  Bible  in  this 
language,  and  if  I  can  procure  a  BiUe,  I  can  learn  the  language, 
for  the  BiUe  in  every  tongue  contains  the  same  thing,  and  I  have 
only  to  compare  the  words  of  the  Danish  Bible  with  those  of 
tiie  English,  and,  if  I  persevere,  I  shall  in  time  acquire  the 
language  of  the  Danes ;  and  I  was  pleased  with  the  thought, 
which  I  considered  to  be  a  bright  one,  and  I  no  longer  bit  my 
lips,  <x  tore  my  hair,  but  took  my  hat,  andi  going  forth,  I  flung 
my  hat  into  the  air. 

And  when  my  hat  came  down,  I  put  it  on  my  head  and  x 
commenced  running,  directing  my  course  to  the  house  of  the  ^ 
Antinomian  preacher,  who  sold  books,  uid  whom  I  knew  to 
have  Bibles  in  various  tongues  amongst  the  number,  and  I 
arrived  out  of  breath,  and  I  found  the  Antinomian  in  his  little 
library,  dusting  his  books ;  and  the  Antinomian  clergyman  was  a 
tall  man  of  about  seventy,  who  wore  a  hat  with  a  broad  brim  and 
a  shallow  crown,  and  whose  manner  of  speaking  was  exceedingly 
nasal ;  and  when  I  saw  him,  I  cried,  out  of  breath,  "  Have  you  a 
Danish  Bible?"  and  he  replied,  *<What  do  you  want  it  for, 
friend  ?  "  and  I  answered,  ^*  to  learn  Danish  by ; "  "  and  may  be 
to  learn  thy  duty, "  replied  the  Antinomian  preacher.  ''Truly,  I 
have  it  not;  but,  as  you  are  a  customer  of  mine,  I  will  endeavour 
10  procure  you  one^  and  I  will  write  to  that  laudable  society 


144  ^  VSNORO.  [iSad. 

which  men  call  the  Bible  Society,  an  unworthy  member  of  which 
I  am,  and  I  hope  by  next  week  to  procure  what  you  desire." 

And  when  I  heard  these  words  of  the  old  man,  I  was  very 
glad,  and  my  heart  yearned  towards  him,  and  I  would  fain  enter 
into  conversation  with  him ;  and  I  said,  **  Why  are  you  an 
Antinomian  ?  For  my  part,  I  would  lather  be  a  dog  than  belong 
to  such  a  religion.''  ^*  Nay*  friend,"  said  the  Antinomian,  "  thou 
forejudgest  us ;  know  that  those  who  call  us  Antinomians  call  us 
so  despitefuUy,  we  do  not  acknowledge  the  designation."  ''  Then 
you  do  not  set  all  law  at  nought?"  said  I.  *'Far  be  it  from 
us,'*  said  the  old  man,  "  we  only  hope  that,  being  sanctified  by 
the  Spirit  from  above^  we  have  no  need  of  the  law  to  keep  us  in 
order.  Did  you  ever  hear  tell  of  Lodowick  Muggleton  ?  "  ''  Not 
I."  ^That  is  strange;  know  then  that  he  was  the  founder  of 
our  poor  society,  and  after  him  we  are  frequently,  though  op- 
probriously,  termed  Muggletonians,  for  we  are  Christians.  Here 
is  his  book,  which,  perhaps,  you  can  do  no  better  than  purchase, 
you  are  fond  of  rare  books,  and  this  is  both  curious  and  rare ;  I 
will  sell  it  cheap.  Thank  you,  and  now  be  gone,  I  will  do  all  I 
can  to  procure  the  Bible." 

And  in  this  manner  I  procured  the  Danish  Bible,  and  I  com- 
menced my  task ;  first  of  all,  however,  I  locked  up  in  a  closet  the 
volume  which  had  excited  my  curiosity,  saying,  ''Out  of  this 
closet  thou  comest  not  till  I  deem  myself  competent  to  read 
thee,"  and  then  I  sat  down  in  right  earnest,  comparing  every  line 
in  the  one  version  with  the  corresponding  one  in  the  other ;  and 
I  passed  entire  nights  in  this  manner,  till  I  was  almost  blind,  and 
the  task  was  tedious  enough  at  first,  but  I  quailed  not,  and  soon 
began  to  make  progress.  And  at  first  I  had  a  misgiving  that  the 
old  book  might  not  prove  a  Danish  book,  but  was  soon  reassured 
by  reading  many  words  in  the  Bible  which  I  remembered  to  have 
seen  in  the  book ;  and  then  I  went  on  right  merrily,  and  I  found 
that  the  language  which  I  was  studying  was  by  no  means  a 
difificult  one,  and  in  less  than  a  month  I  deaned  myself  able  to 
read  the  book. 

Anon,  I  took  the  book  from  the  closet,  and  proceeded  to  make 
myself  master  of  its  contents ;  I  had  some  difiiculty,  for  the 
language  of  the  book,  though  in  the  main  the  same  as  the 
language  of  the  Bible,  differed  from  it  in  some  points,  being 
apparently  a  more  ancient  dialect ;  by  degrees,  however,  I  over- 
came this  difficulty,  and  I  understood  the  contents  of  the  booki 
and  well  did  they  correspond  with  all  those  ideas  in  which  I  had 
indulged  connected  with  the  Danes.    For  the  book  was  a  book 


of  ballads,  about  the  deeds  of  knights  and  champions,  and  men 
of  huge  stature ;  ballads  which  from  time  immemorial  had  been 
sung  in  the  North,  and  which  some  two  centuries  before  the  time 
of  which  I  am  speaking  had  been  collected  by  one  Anders  Vedel, 
who  lived  with  a  certain  Tycho  Brahe,  and  assisted  him  in 
making  observations  upon  the  heavenly  bodies,  at  a  place  called 
Uranias  Castle,  on  the  litde  island  of  Hveen,  in  the  Cattegat. 


*w 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 


It  might  be  some  six  months  after  the  events  last  recorded,  that 
two  individuals  were  seated  together  in  a  certain  room,  in  a 
certain  street  of  the  old  town  which  I  have  so  frequently  had 
occasion  to  mention  in  the  preceding  pages ;  one  of  them  was  an 
elderly,  and  the  other  a  very  young  man,  and  they  sat  on  either 
side  of  the  fire-place,  beside  a  table,  on  which  were  fruit  and 
wine;  the  room  was  a  small  one,  and  in  its  furniture  exhibited 
notliing  remarkable.  Over  the  mantelpiece,  however,  hung  a 
small  picture  with  naked  figures  in  the  foreground,  and  with 
much  foliage  behind.  It  might  not  have  struck  every  beholder, 
for  it  looked  old  and  smoke-dried ;  but  a  connoisseur,  on  inspect- 
ing it  closely,  would  have  pronounced  it  to  be  a  Judgment  of 
Paris,  and  a  masterpiece  of  the  Flembh  School. 

The  forehead  of  the  elder  individual  was  high,  and  perhaps 
appeared  more  so  than  it  really  was,  from  the  hair  being  carefully 
brushed  back,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of  displaying  to  the  best 
advantage  that  part  of  the  cranium ;  his  eyes  were  large  and  full, 
and  of  a  light  brown,  and  might  have  been  called  heavy  and  dull, 
had  they  not  been  occasionally  lighted  up  by  a  sudden  gleam — 
not  so  brilliant,  however,  as  that  which  at  every  inhalation  shone 
from  the  bowl  of  the  long  clay  pipe  he  was  smoking,  but  which, 
from  a  certain  sucking  sound  which  about  this  time  began  to  be 
heard  from  the  bottom,  appeared  to  be  giving  notice  that  it 
would  soon  require  replenishment  from  a  certain  canister,  which, 
together  with  a  lighted  taper,  stood  upon  the  table  beside 
him. 

**  You  do  not  smoke?"  said  he,  at  length,  laying  down  his 
pipe,  and  directing  his  glance  to  his  companion. 

Now  there  was  at  least  one  thing  singular  connected  with  this 
last,  namely,  the  colour  of  his  hair,  which,  notwithstanding  his 
extreme  youth,  appeared  to  be  rapidly  becoming  grey.  He  had 
very  long  limbs,  and  was  apparently  tall  of  stature,  in  which 
he  differed  from  his  elderly  companion,  who  must  have  been 
somewhat  below  the  usual  height. 

(146) 


Wiu-iAH  Taylor  op  Norwich  (bo 


to      • 

m 
»     k    . 


*    k    • 


laSi.]  THE  ANGLO'GBRMANIST.  147 

"No,  I  can't  smoke,"  said  the  youth  in  reply  to  the  observa- 
tion of  the  other.  ''  I  have  often  tried,  but  could  never  succeed 
to  my  satisfaction." 

**  Is  it  possible  to  become  a  good  German  without  smoking  ?  " 
said  the  senior,  half-speaking  to  himself. 

'*  I  dare  say  not,"  said  the  youth  ;  "  but  I  shan't  break  my 
heart  on  that  account." 

"  As  for  breaking  your  heart,  of  course  you  would  never  think 
of  such  a  thing ;  he  is  a  fool  who  breaks  his  heart  on  any  ac- 
count j  but  it  is  good  to  be  a  German,  the  Germans  are  the  most 
philosophic  people  in  the  world,  and  the  greatest  smokers ;  now 
I  trace  their  philosophy  to  their  smoking." 

"I  have  heard  say  their  philosophy  is  all  smoke — is  that 
your  opinion  ?  " 

"  Why,'no ;  but  smoking  has  a  sedative  effect  upon  the  nerves, 
and  enables  a  man  to  bear  the  sorrows  of  this  life  (of  which  every 
one  has  his  share)  not  only  decently,  but  dignifiedly.  Suicide  is 
not  a  national  habit  in  Germany  as  it  is  in  England." 

"  But  that  poor  creature,  Werther,  who  committed  suicide, 
was  a  German." 

**  Werther  is  a  fictitious  character,  and  by  no  means  a  feli- 
citous one ;  I  am  no  admirer  either  of  Werther  or  his  author. 
But  I  should  say  that,  if  there  was  a  Werther  in  Germany,  he 
did  not  smoke.  Werther,  as  you  very  justly  observe,  was  a  poor 
creature." 

"  And  a  very  sinful  one ;  I  hav6  heard  my  parents  say  that 
suicide  is  a  great  crime." 

*'  Broadly,  and  without  qualification,  to  say  that  suicide  is 
a  crime,  is  speaking  somewhat  unphilosophically.  No  doubt 
suicide,  under  many  circumstances,  is  a  crime,  a  very  heinous  one. 
When  the  father  of  a  family,  for  example,  to  escape  from  certain 
difficulties,  commits  suicide,  he  commits  a  crime ;  there  are  those 
around  him  who  look  to  him  for  support,  by  the  law  of  nature, 
and  he  has  no  right  to  withdraw  himself  from  those  who  have  a 
claim  upon  his  exertions ;  he  is  a  person  who  decamps  with  other 
people's  goods  as  well  as  his  own.  Indeed,  there  can  be  no 
crime  which  is  not  founded  upon  the  depriving  others  of  some* 
thing  which  belongs  to  them.  A  man  is  hanged  for  setting  fire 
tahis  house  in  a  crowded  city,  for  he  burns  at  the  same  time  or 
damages  those  of  other  people ;  but  if  a  man  who  has  a  house  on 
a  heath  sets  fire  to  it,  he  is  not  hanged,  for  he  has  not  damaged 
or  endangered  any  other  individual's  property,  and  the  principle 
of  revenge,  upon  which  all  punishment  is  founded,  has  not  been 


248  LA  VBNGRO.  [i  Sax. 

aroused  Similar  to  such  a  case  is  that  of  the  man  who,  without 
any  family  ties,  commits  suicide ;  for  example,  were  I  to  do  the 
thing  this  evening,  who  would  have  a  right  to  c^  me  to  account  ? 
I  am  alone  in  the  world,  have  no  family  to  support  and,  so  far 
from  damaging  any  one,  should  even  benefit  my  heir  by  my  ac- 
celerated death.  However,  I  am  no  advocate  for  suicide  under 
any  circumstances ;  there  is  something  undignified  in  it,  unheroic, 
un-Germanic.  But  if  you  must  commit  suicide — and  there  is  no 
knowing  to  what  people  may  be  brought — always  contrive  to  do 
it  as  decorously  as  possible ;  the  decencies,  whether  of  life  or 
of  death,  should  never  be  lost  sight  ofl  I  remember  a^  female 
Quaker  who  committed  suicide  by  cutting  her  throat,  but  she  did 
it  decorously  and  decently :  kneeling  down  over  a  pail,  so  that 
not  one  drop  fell  upon  the  floor,  thus  exhibiting  in  her  last  act 
that  nice  sense  of  neatness  for  which  Quakers  are  distinguished. 
I  have  always  had  a  respect  for  that  woman's  memory." 

And  here,  filling  his  pipe  from  the  canister,  and  lighting  it  at 
the  taper,  he  recommenced  smoking  calmly  and  sedately. 

"But  is  not  suicide  forbidden  in  the  Bible?"  the  youth 
demanded. 

"Why,  no;  but  what  though  it  were  I — the  Bible  is  a  respect- 
able book,  but  I  should  hardly  call  it  one  whose  philosophy  is  of 
the  soundest.  I  have  said  that  it  is  a  respectable  book ;  I  mean 
respectable-from  its  antiquity^  and  from  containing,  as  Herder  says, 
'  the  earliest  records  of  the  human  race,*  though  those  records  are 
far  from  being  dispassionately  written,  on  which  account  they  are 
of  less  value  than  they  otherwise  might  have  been.  There  is  too 
much  passion  in  the  Bible,  too  much  violence ;  now,  to  come  to 
all  trudi,  especially  historic  truth,  requires  cool,  dispassionate  in- 
vestigation, for  which  the  Jews  do  not  appear  to  have  ever  been 
famous.  We  are  ourselves  not  famous  for  it,  for  we  are  a 
passionate  people  ;  the  Germans  are  not — ^they  are  not  a  passion- 
ate people — ^a  people  celebrated  for  their  oaths:  we  are.  The 
Germans  have  many  excellent  historic  writers,  we — 'tis  true  we 
have  Gibbon«  You  have  been  reading  Gibbon — ^what  do  you 
think  of  him  ?  *' 

**  I  think  him  a  very  wonderful  writer." 

"  He  is  a  wonderful  writer — one  sui  generis — uniting  the  per- 
spicuity of  the  English — for  we  are  perspicuous — ^witb  the  cool* 
dispassionate  reasoning  of  the  Germans.  Gibbon  sought  after 
the  truth,  found  it,  and  made  it  clear.*' 

**  Then  you  think  Gibbon  a  truthful  writer." 

"Why,  yes ;  who  shall  convict  Gibbon  of  falsehood  ?    Many 


i8ai.]  GIBBON.  149 

people  have  endeavoured  to  convict  Gibbon  of  falsehood ;  they 
have  followed  him  in  his  researches,  and  have  never  found  him 
once  tripping.  Oh,  he's  a  wonderful  writer !  his  power  of  con- 
densation is  admirable ;  the  lore  of  the  whole  world  is  to  be 
found  in  his  pages.  Sometimes  in  a  single  note  he  has  given  us 
the  result  of  the  study  of  years ;  or,  to  speak  metaphoric^ly,  *  he 
has  ransacked  a  thousand  Gulistans,  and  has  condensed  aU  his 
fragrant  booty  into  a  single  drop  of  otto  \" 

*'But  was  not  Gibbon  an  enemy  to  the  Christian  faith  ?** 

"Why,  no-;^he  was  rather  an  enemy  to  priestcraft,  so  am  I ; 
and  when  I  say  the  philosophy  of  the  Bible  is  in  many  respects 
unsound,  I  always  wish  to  make  an  exception  in  favour  of  that 
part  of  it  which  contains  the  life  and  sayings  of  Jesus  of  Bethlehem, 
to  which  I  must  always  concede  my  unqualified  admiration — of 
Jesus,  mind  you ;  for  with  his  followers  and  their  dogmas  I  have 
nothing  to  do.  Of  all  historic  characters,  Jesus  is  the  most 
beautiful  and  the  most  heroic.  I  have  always  been  a  friend  to 
hero-woTship,  it  is  the  only  rational  one,  and  has  always  been 
in  use  amongst  civilised  people — ^the  worship  of  spirits  is 
synonymous  with  barbarism — it  is  mere  fetish;  the  savages 
oif  West  Africa  are  all  spirit  worshippers.  But  there  is  some- 
thing i^ilosophic  in  the  worship  of  the  heroes  of  the  human 
race,  and  the  true  hero  is  the  benefactor.  Brahma,  Jupiter, 
Bacdius,  were  all  benefactors,  and,  therefore,  entitled  to  the 
worship  of  their  respective  peoples.  The  Celts  worshipped 
Hesus,  who  taught  them  to  plough,  a  highly  useful  art.  We,  who 
have  attained  a  much  higher  state  of  civilisation  than  the  Celts 
ever  did,  worship  Jesus,  the  first  who  endeavoured  to  teach  men 
to  behave  decently  and  decorously  under  all  circumstances ;  who 
was  the  foe  of  vengeance,  in  which  there  is  something  highly 
indecorous;  who  had  first  the  courage  to  lift  his  voice  against 
that  violent  dogma,  'an  eye  for  an  eye';  who  shouted  conquer, 
but  conquer  with  kindness ;  who  said  put  up  the  sword,  a  violent, 
onphilosophic  weapon;  and  who  finally  died  calmly  and  de- 
corously in  defence  of  his  philosophy.  He  must  be  a  savage  who 
denies  worship  to  the  hero  of  Golgotha." 

"  But  he  was  something  more  than  a  hero ;  he  was  the  Son  of 
God,  wasn't  he?" 

The  elderly  individual  made  no  immediate  answer ;  but,  alter 
a  few  more  whifis  from  his  pipe,  exclaimed :  "  Come,  fill  your 
glass  1    How  do  you  advance  with  your  translation  of  Tell  ?  " 

"  It  is  nearly  finished ;  but  I  do  not  think  I  shall  proceed  with 
it ;  I  begin  to  tbiiik  the  original  somewhat  dull." 


ISO  LA  VBNGRO.  [i8ai- 

"  There  you  are  wrong ;  it  is  the  masterpiece  of  Schiller,  the 
first  of  German  poets." 

''  It  may  be  so, "  said  the  youth.  ''  But,  pray  excuse  me,  I  do 
not  think  very  highly  of  German  poetry.  I  have  lately  been  read- 
ing Shakespeare,  and,  when  I  turn  from  him  to  the  Germans — 
even  the  best  of  them — they  appear  mere  pigmies.  You  will 
pardon  the  liberty  I  perhaps  take  in  saying  sa" 

"  I  like  that  every  one  should  have  an  opinion  of  his  own/' 
said  the  elderly  individual;  "and,  what  is  more,  declare  it. 
Nothing  displeases  me  more  than  to  see  people  assenting  to 
everything  that  they  hear  said ;  I  at  once  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  they  are  either  hypocrites,  or  there  is  nothing  in  them.  But, 
with  respect  to  Shakespeare,  whom  I  have  not  read  for  thirty 
years,  is  he  not  rather  given  to  bombast,  'crackling  bombast,'  as 
I  think  I  have  said  in  one  of  my  essays  ?  ** 

''  I  daresay  he  is,"  said  the  youth ;  *'  but  I  can't  help  thinking 
him  the  greatest  of  all  poets,  not  even  excepting  Homer.  I  would 
sooner  have  written  that  series  of  plays,  founded  on  the  fortunes 
of  the  House  of  Lancaster,  than  the  Iliad  itself.  The  events 
described  are  as  lofty  as  those  sung  by  Homer  in  his  great  work, 
and  the  characters  brought  upon  the  stage  still  more  interesting. 
I  think  Hotspur  as  much  of  a  hero  as  Hector,  and  young  Henry 
more  of  a  man  than  Achilles ;  and  then  there  is  the  fat  knight, 
the  quintessence  of  fun,  wit,  and  rascality.  Falstafif  is  a  creation 
beyond  the  genius  even  of  Homer^*' 

"  You  almost  tempt  me  to  read  Shakespeare  again — ^but  the 
Germans  ?  " 

''I  don't  admire  the  Germans,"  said  the  youth,  somewhat 
excited.  *'  I  don*t  admire  them  in  any  point  of  view.  I  have 
heard  my  father  say  that,  though  good  sharpshooters,  they  can't 
be  much  depended  upon  as  soldiers;  and  that  old  Sergeant 
Meredith  told  him  that  Minden  would  never  have  been  won  but 
for  the  two  English  regiments,  who  charged  the  French  with  fixed 
bayonets,  and  sent  them  to  the  right-about  in  double-quick  time. 
With  respect  to  poetry,  setting  Shakespeare  and  the  English 
altogether  aside,  I  think  there  is  another  Gothic  nation,  at  least, 
entitled  to  dispute  with  them  the  palm.  Indeed,  to  my  mind, 
there  is  more  genuine  poetry  contained  in  the  old  Danish  book 
which  I  came  so  strangely  by,  than  has  been  produced  in  Germany 
firom  the  period  of  the  Niebelungen  Lay  to  the  present." 

"  Ah,  the  Koempe  Viser  ?  "  said  the  elderly  individual,  breath- 
ing forth  an  immense  volume  of  smoke,  which  he  had  been 
collecting  during  the  declamation  of  his  young  companion.   ''  There 


i8«i.J  LEVI  ALIAS  MUCA.  151 

are  singular  things  in  that  book,  I  must  confess ;  and  I  thank  you 
for  showing  it  to  me,  or  rather  your  attempt  at  translation.  I  was 
struck  with  that  ballad  of  Orm  Ungarswayne,  who  goes  by  night 
to  the  grave-hill  of  his  father  to  seek  for  counsel.  And  then, 
again,  that  strange  melancholy  Swayne  Vonved,  who  roams  about 
the  world  propounding  people  riddles ;  slaying  those  who  cannot 
answer,  and  rewarding  those  who  can  with  golden  bracelets. 
Were  it  not  for  the  violence,  I  should  say  that  l^llad  has  a  philo- 
sophic tendency.  I  thank  you  for  making  me  acquainted  with 
the  book,  and  I  thank  the  Jew  Mousha  for  making  mc  acquainted 
with  you." 

''That  Mousha  was  a  strange  customer,"  said  the  youth, 
collecting  himself. 

"He  was  a  strange  customer,"  said  the  elder  individual, 
breathing  forth  a  gentle  cloud.  "  I  love  to  exercise  hospitality  to 
wandering  strangers,  especially  foreigners ;  and  when  he  came  to 
this  place,  pretending  to  teach  German  and  Hebrew,  I  asked  him 
to  dinner.  After  the  first  dinner,  he  asked  me  to  lend  him  five 
pounds ;  I  i^d  lend  him  five  pounds.  After  the  fifth  dinner,  he 
asked  me  to  lend  him  fifty  pounds ;  I  did  noi  lend  him  the  fifty 
pounds." 

' "  He  was  as  ignorant  of  German  as  of  Hebrew,"  said  the 
youth;  ''on  whidh  account  he  was  soon  glad,  I  suppose,  to 
transfer  his  pupil  to  some  one  else." 

"  He  told  me,"  said  the  elder  individual,  "  that  he  intended 
to  leave  a  town  where  he  did  not  find  sufficient  encouragement ; 
and,  at  the  same  time,  expressed  regret  at  being  obliged  to  abandon 
a  certain  extraordinary  pupil,  for  whom  he  had  a  i^articular  regard. 
Now  I,  who  have  taught  many  people  German  from  the  love 
which  I  bear  to  it,  and  the  desire  which  I  feel  that  it  should  be 
generally  diffused,  instantly  said,  that  I  should  be  happy  to  take 
bis  pupil  off  his  hands,  and  afford  htm  what  instruction  I  could 
in  German,  for,  as  to  Hebrew,  I  have  never  taken  much  interest 
in  it  Such  was  the  origin  of  our  acquaintance.  You  have  been 
an  apt  scholar.  Of  late,  however,  I  have  seen  little  of  you — what 
is  the  reason  ?  " 

The  youth  made  no  answer. 

"  You  think,  probably,  that  you  have  learned  all  I  can  teach 
you  ?    Well,  perhaps  you  are  right." 

"Not  so,  not  so,"  said  the  young  man  eagerly;  "before  I 
knew  you^  knew  nothing,  and  am  still  very  ignorant ;  but  of  late 
my  Other's  health  has  been  very  much  broken,  and  he  requires 
attention ;  his  spirits  also  have  become  low,  which,  to  tell  you  the 


isa  LA  VBNGRO.  [iSai. 

truth,  he  attributes  to  my  misconduct.  He  says  that  I  have 
imbibed  all  kinds  of  strange  notions  and  doctrines,  which  will,  in 
all  probability,  prove  my  ruin,  both  here  and  hereafter;  which— 
which " 

"  Ah  !  I  understand,"  said  the  elder,  with  another  calm  whiff. 
"  I  have  always  had  a  kind  of  respe<5t  for  your  father,  for  there  is 
something  remarkable  in  his  appearance,  something  heroic,  and  I 
would  fain  have  cultivated  his  acquaintance ;  the  feeling,  however, 
has  not  been  reciprocated.  I  met  him,  the  other  day^  up  the 
road,  with  his  cane  and  dog,  and  saluted  him ;  he  did  not  return 
my  salutation." 

*'  He  has  certain  opinions  of  his  own,"  said  the  youth,  "which 
are  widely  different  from  those  which  he  has  heard  that  you 
profess." 

*'  I  respect  a  man  for  entertaining  an  opinion  of  his  own,**  said 
the  elderly  individual.  "  I  hold  certain  opinions ;  but  I  should 
not  respect  an  individual  the  more  for  adopting  them.  All  I  wish 
for  is  tolerance,  which  I  myself  endeavour  to  practise.  I  have 
always  loved  the  truth,  and  sought  it ;  if  I  have  not  found  it,  the 
greater  my  misfortune." 

"  Are  you  happy  ?  "  said  the  young  man. 

*'  Why,  no  I  And,  between  ourselves,  it  is  that  which  induces 
me  to  doubt  sometimes  the  truth  of  my  opinions.  My  life,  upon 
the  whole,  I  consider  a  failure ;  on  which  account  I  would  not 
counsel  you,  or  any  one,  to  follow  my  example  too  closely.  It  is 
getting  late,  and  you  had  better  be  going,  especially  as  your  father, 
you  say,  is  anxious  about  you.  But,  as  we  may  never  meet  again» 
I  think  there  are  three  things  which  I  may  safely  venture  to  press 
upon  you.  The  first  is,  that  the  decencies  and  gentlenesses  should 
never  be  lost  sight  of,  as  the  practice  of  the  decencies  and  gentle- 
nesses is  at  all  times  compatible  with  independence  of  thought 
and  action.  The  second  thing  which  I  would  wish  to  impress 
upon  you  is,  that  there  is  always  some  eye  upon  us ;  and  that  it 
is  impossible  to  keep  anything  we  do  from  the  world,  as  it  will 
assuredly  be  divulged  by  somebody  as  soon  as  it  is  his  interest 
to  do  so.  The  third  thing  which  I  would  wish  to  press  upon 
you " 

"Yes,"  said  the  youth,  eagerly  bending  forward. 

"  Is "  and  here  the  elderly  individual  laid  down  his  pipe 

upon  the  table — "that  it  will  be  as  well  to  go  on  improving 
yourself  in  German  1 " 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


''  HoLLOAi  master  I  can  you  tell  us  where  the  fight  is  likely  to 
be?" 

Such  were  the  words  shouted  out  to  me  by  a  short  thick 
fellow  in  brown  top-boots,  and  bare-headed,  who  stood,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  at  the  door  of  a  country  alehouse  as  I  was 
passing  by. 

Now,  as  I  knew  nothing  about  the  fight,  and  as  the  appearance 
of  the  man  did  not  tempt  me  greatly  to  enter  into  conversation 
with  him,  I  merely  answered  in  the  negative  and  continued  my 
way. 

It  was  a  fine  lovely  morning  in  May,  the  sun  shone  bright 
above,  and  the  birds  were  carolling  in  the  hedgerows.  I  was 
wont  to  be  cheerful  at  such  seasons,  for,  firom  my  earliest  recollec* 
tion,  sunshine  and  the  song  of  birds  have  been  dear  to  me ;  yet, 
about  that  period,  I  was  not  cheerful,  my  mind  was  not  at  rest ; 
I  was  debating  within  myself,  and  the  debate  was  dreary  and  un- 
satisfactory enough.  I  sighed,  and  turning  my  eyes  upward,  I 
ejaculated :  "  What  is  truth  ?  "  But  suddenly,  by  a  violent  effort 
breaking  away  from  my  meditations,  I  hastened  forward;  one 
mile^  two  miles,  three  miles  were  speedily  left  behind ;  and  now 
I  came  to  a  grove  of  birch  and  other  trees,  and  opening  a  gate  I 
passed  up  a  kind  of  avenue,  and  soon  arriving  before  a  large 
brick  house,  of  rather  antique  appearance,  knocked  at  the  door. 

In  this  house  there  lived  a  gentleman  with  whom  I  had 
business.  He  was  said  to  be  a  genuine  old  English  gentleman, 
and  a  man  of  considerable  property ;  at  this  time,  however,  he 
wanted  a  thousand  pounds,  as  gentlemen  of  considerable  property 
every  now  and  then  do.  I  had  brought  him  a  thousand  pounds 
in  my  pocket,  for  it  is  astonishing  how  many  eager  helpers  the 
rich  find,  and  with  what  compassion  people  look  upon  their 
distresses.    He  was  said  to  have  good  wine  in  his  cellar. 

"  Is  your  master  at  home  ?  "  said  I,  to  a  servant  who  appeared 
at  the  door. 

**  His  worship  is  at  home,  young  man,"  said  the  servant,  as 
he  looked  at  my  shoes,  which  bore  evidence  that  I  had  come 


154  LA  VBNGRO.  [i8aa 

walking.  *'  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir/'  he  added,  as  he  looked  me 
in  the  face. 

''Ay,  ay,  servants,"  thought  I,  as  I  followed  the  man  into  the 
house,  "  always  look  people  in  the  face  when  you  open  the  door, 
and  do  so  before  you  look  at  their  shoes,  or  you  may  mistake  the 
heir  of  a  Prime  Minister  for  a  shopkeeper's  son." 

I  found  his  worship  a  jolly,  red-faced  gentleman,  of  about 
fifty-five;  he  was  dressed  in  a  green  coat,  white  corduroy 
breeches,  and  drab  gaiters,  and  sat  on  an  old-fashioned  leather 
sofa,  with  two  small,  thorough-bred,  black  English  terriers,  one 
on  each  side  of  him.  He  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  genuine 
old  English  gentleman  who  kept  good  wine  in  his  cellar. 

''  Sir,"  said  I»  ''  I  have  brought  you  a  thousand  pounds ;  **  and 
I  said  this  after  the  servant  had  retired,  and  the  two  terriers  had 
ceased  their  barking,  which  is  natural  to  all  such  dogs  at  the  sight 
of  a  stranger. 

And  when  the  magistrate  had  received  the  money,  and  signed 
and  returned  a  certain  paper  which  I  handed  to  him,  he  rubbed 
his  hands,  and  looking  very  benignantly  at  me,  exclaimed : — 

''And  now,  young  gentleman,  that  our  business  is  over, 
perhaps  you  can  tell  me  where  the  fight  is  to  take  place?" 

"  I  am  sorry,  sir,*'  said  I,  "  that  I  can't  inform  you,  but 
everybody  seems  to  be  anxious  about  it;"  and  then  I  told  him 
what  had  occurred  to  me  on  the  road  with  the  alehouse  keeper. 

"  I  know  him,"  said  his  worship ;  "  he's  a  tenant  of  mine,  and 
a  good  fellow,  somewhat  too  much  in  my  debt,  though.  But  how 
is  this,  young  gentleman,  you  look  as  if  you  had  been  walking ; 
you  did  not  come  on  foot  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  came  on  foot" 

"  On  foot  I  why,  it  is  sixteen  miles." 

"  I  shan't  be  tired  when  I  have  walked  back." 

•'  You  can't  ride,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Better  than  I  can  walk." 

"Then  why  do  you  walk?" 

"  I  have  frequently  to  make  journejrs  connected  with  my 
profession  ;  sometimes  I  walk,  sometimes  I  ride,  just  as  the  whim 
takes  me." 

"  Will  you  take  a  glass  of  wine  ?  " 

"  Yes.'^ 

"  That's  right ;  what  ^lall  it  be  ?  " 

"  Madeira ! " 

The  magistrate  gave  a  violent  slap  on  his  knee ;  "  I  like  your 
taste,"  said  he,  "  I  am  fond  of  a  glass  of  Madeira  myself,  and  can 


iSaa]  THB  MA  GISTRA  TB.  155 

give  you  such  a  one  as  you  will  not  drink  every  day ;  sit  down, 
young  gentleman*  you  shall  have  a  glass  of  Madeira,  and  the 
best  I  have." 

Thereupon  he  got  up,  and,  followed  by  his  two  terriers,  walked 
slowly  out  of  the  room. 

I  looked  round  the  room,  and,  seeing  nothing  which  promised 
me  much  amusement,  I  sat  down,  and  fell  again  into  my  former 
train  of  thought 

"  What  is  truth  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  the  magistrate,  returning  at  the  end  of  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  followed  by  the  servant  with  a  tray ;  ''  here's 
the  true  thing,  or  I  am  no  judge,  far  less  a  justice.  It  has  been 
thirty  years  in  my  cellar  last  Christmas.  There,''  said  he  to  the 
servant,  "put  it  down,  and  leave  my  young  friend  and  me  to 
ourselves.    Now,  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"  It  is  very  good,"  said  I. 

"  Did  you  ever  taste  better  Madeira? " 

**  I  never  before  tasted  Madeira." 

**  Then  you  ask  for  a  wine  without  knowing  what  it  is?  "^ 

'*  I  ask  for  it,  sir,  that  I  may  know  what  it  is." 

"  Well,  there  is  logic  in  that,  as  Parr  would  say ;  you  have 
heard  of  Parr?" 

"Old  Parr?" 

"Yes,  old  Parr,  but  not  that  Parr;  you  mean  the  English,  I 
the  Greek  Parr,  as  people  call  him." 

"  I  don't  know  him." 

"  Perhaps  not — rather  too  young  for  that,  but  were  you  of  my 
age,  you  might  have  cause  to  know  him,  coming  from  where  you 
do.  He  kept  school  there,  I  was  his  first  scholar;  he  flogged 
Greek  into  me  till  I  loved  him — ^and  he  loved  me.  He  came  to 
see  me  last  year,  and  sat  in  that  chair;  I  honour  Parr — he  knows 
much,  and  is  a  sound  man." 

"  Does  he  know  the  truth  ?  " 

'*  Know  the  truth !  he  knows  what's  good,  from  an  oyster  to 
an  ostrich — he's  not  only  sound  but  round." 

"  Suppose  we  drink  his  health  ?  " 

"Thank  you,  boy:  here's  Parr's  health,  and  Whiter's." 

"Who  is  Whiter?" 

"Don't  you  know  Whiter?  I  thought  everybody  knew  Reverend 
Whiter,  the  philologist,  though  I  suppose  you  scarcely  know  what 
that  means.  A  man  fond  of  tongues  and  languages,  quite  out 
of  your  way — he  understands  some  twenty;  what  do  you  say 
to  that?* 


156  LA  VBNGRO.  [1820. 

*'  Is  he  a  sound  man  ?  " 

^'Why,  as  to  that,  I  scarcely  know  what  to  say;  he  has  got 
queer  notions  in  his  head — ^wrote  a  book  to  prove  that  all  words 
came  originally  from  the  earth — ^who  knows  ?  Words  have  roots, 
and  roots  live  in  the  earth ;  but,  upon  the  whole,  I  should  not 
call  him  altogether  a  sound  man,  though  he  can  talk  Greek  nearly 
as  fast  as  Parr.'* 

"  Is  he  a  round  man  ?  " 

"Ay,  boy,  rounder  than  Parr;  TU  sing  you  a  song,  if  you 
like,  which  will  let  you  into  his  character: — 

'  Give  me  the  haunch  of  a  back  to  eat,  and  to  drink  Madeira  old, 

And  a  gentle  wife  to  rest  with,  and  in  my  arms  to  fold. 

An  Arabic  book  to  study,  a  Norfolk  cob  to  ride, 

And  a  house  to  live  in  ihttded  with  trees,  and  near  to  a  river  side ; 

With  such  good  things  around  me,  and  blessed  with  good  health  withal, 

Though  I  should  live  for  a  hundred  years,  for  death  I  would  not  call.* 

Here's  to  Whiter's  health — so  you  know  nothing  about  the  fight  ?  ** 

<'  No,  sir ;  the  truth  is,  that  of  late  I  have  been  very  much 
occupied  with  various  matters,  otherwise  I  should,  perhaps,  have 
been  able  to  afford  you  some  information.    Boxing  is  a  noble  art." 

"  Can  you  box  ?  " 

"  A  little." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  my  boy ;  I  honour  you,  and,  provided  your 
education  had  been  a  little  less  limited,  I  should  have  been  glad 
to  see  you  here  in  company  with  Parr  and  Whiter ;  both  can  box. 
Boxing  is,  as  you  say,  a  noble  art — a  truly  English  art;  may  I 
never  see  the  day  when  Englishmen  shall  feel  ashamed  of  it,  or 
blacklegs  and  blackguards  bring  it  into  disgrace !  I  am  a  magis- 
trate, and,  of  course^  cannot  patronise  the  thing  very  openly,  yet  I 
sometimes  see  a  prize-fight   I  saw  the  Game  Chicken  beat  GuUey." 

•'  Did  you  ever  see  Big  Ben  ?  " 

"  No,  why  do  you  ask  ?  '*  But  here  we  heard  a  noise,  like 
that  of  a  gig  driving  up  to  the  door,  which  was  immediately 
succeeded  by  a  violent  knocking  and  ringing,  and  after  a  little 
time,  the  servant  who  had  admitted  me  made  his  appearance  in 
the  room. 

''Sir/*  said  he,  with  a  certain  eagerness  of  manner,  "  here  are 
two  gentlemen  waiting  to  speak  to  you." 

^*  Gentlemen  waiting  to  speak  to  me !  who  are  they  ?  " 

^*  I  don't  know,  sir,''  said  the  servant ;  '*  but  they  look  like 
sporting  gentlemen,  and — and  " — here  he  hesitated ;  '^  from  a 
word  or  two  they  dropped,  I  almost  think  that  they  come  about 
the  fight" 


i8aa]  THURTBLL  AND  PAINTER.  157 

''About  the  fight,"  said  the  magistrate.  "No,  that  can 
hardly  be ;  however,  you  had  better  show  them  in." 

Heavy  steps  were  now  heard  ascending  the  stairs,  and  the 
servant  ushered  two  men  into  the  apartment  Again  there  was 
a  barking,  but  louder  than  that  which  had  been  directed  against 
myself,  for  here  were  two  intruders ;  both  of  them  were  remark- 
able looking  men,  but  to  the  foremost  of  them  the  most  particular 
notice  may  well  be  accorded:  he  was  a  man  somewhat  under 
thirty,  and  nearly  six  feet  in  height.  He  was  dressed  in  a  blue 
coat,  white  corduroy  breeches,  fastened  below  the  knee  with 
small  golden  buttons;  on  his  legs  he  wore  white  lamb's-wool 
stockings,  and  on  his  feet  shoes  reaching  to  the  ankles ;  round  his 
neck  was  a  handkerchief  of  the  blue  and  bird's-eye  pattern ;  he 
wore  neither  whiskers  nor  moustaches,  and  appeared  not  to 
delight  in  hair,  that  of  his  head,  which  was  of  a  light  brown,  being 
closely  cropped;  the  forehead  was  rather  high,  but  somewhat 
narrow ;  the  face  neither  broad  nor  sharp,  perhaps  rather  sharp 
than  broad ;  the  nose  was  almost  delicate ;  the  eyes  were  grey, 
with  an  expression  in  which  there  was  sternness  blended  with 
something  approaching  to  feline ;  his  complexion  was  exceedingly 
pale,  relieved,  however,  by  certain  pockmarks,  which  here  and 
there  studded  his  countenance ;  his  form  was  athletic,  but  lean ; 
his  arms  long.  In  the  whole  appearance  of  the  man  there  was  a 
blending  of  the  bluff  and  the  sharp.  You  might  have  supposed 
him  a  bruiser ;  his  dress  was  that  of  one  in  ail  its  minutiae ;  some- 
thing was  wanting,  however,  in  his  manner — the  quietness  of  the 
professional  man ;  he  rather  looked  liked  one  performing  the  part 
— ^well — ^vcry  well — but  still  performing  a  part.  His  companion  1 
— there,  indeed,  was  the  bruiser — ^no  mistake  about  him :  a  tall, 
massive  man,  with  a  broad  countenance  and  a  flattened  nose; 
dressed  iike  a  bruiser,  but  not  like  a  bruiser  going  into  the  ring ; 
he  wore  white  topped  boots,  and  a  loose  brown  jockey  coat. 

As  the  first  advanced  towards  the  table,  behind  which  the 
magistrate  sat,  he  doffed  a  white  castor  from  his  head,  and  made 
lather  a  genteel  bow;  looking  at  me,  who  sat  somewhat  on  one 
side^  he  gave  a  kind  of  nod  of  recognition. 

**MsLy  I  request  to  know  who  you  are,  gentlemen?"  said  the 
magistrate. 

'*Sir,"  said  the  man  in  a  deep,  but  not  unpleasant  voice, 

"allow  me  to  introduce  to  you  my  friend,  Mr. ^  the  celebrated 

pugilist ; "  and  he  motioned  with  his  hand  towards  the  massive 
man  with  the  flattened  nose. 

"  And  your  own  name,  sir  ?  **  said  the  magistrate. 

"My  name  is  no  nutter,^  said  the  man  ;  "were  I  to  mention 


Z58  LA  VBNGRO.  [i8ao 

it  to  you,  it  would  awaken  within  you  no  feeling  of  interest.  It 
is  neither  Kean  nor  Belcher,  and  I  have  as  yet  done  nothing  to 
distinguish  myself  like  either  of  those  individuals,  or  even  like 
my  friend  here.  However,  a  time  may  come — we  are  not  yet 
buried ;  and  whensoever  my  hour  arrives,  I  hope  I  shall  prove 
myself  equal  to  my  destiny,  however  high-*- 

'  Like  bird  that's  bred  amongst  the  Helicons '." 

And  here  a  smile  half-theatrical  passed  over  his  features. 

''  In  what  can  I  oblige  you,  sir  ?  **  said  the  magistrate. 

"  Well,  sir ;  the  soul  of  wit  is  brevity ;  we  want  a  place  for  an 
approaching  combat  between  my  friend  here  and  a  brave  from 
town.  Passing  by  your  broad  acres  this  fine  morning  we  saw  a 
pightle,  which  we  deemed  would  suit.  Lend  us  that  pightle,  and 
receive  our  thanks;  'twould  be  a  favouj,  though  not  much  to 
grant:  we  neither  ask  for  Stonehenge  nor  for  Tempe." 

My  friend  looked  somewhat  perplexed ;  after  a  moment,  how- 
ever, he  said,  with  a  firm  but  gentlemanly  air :  *'  Sir,  I  am  sorry 
that  I  cannot  comply  with  your  request ". 

"Not  comply!''  said  the  man,  his  brow  becoming  dark  as 
midnight;  and  with  a  hoarse  and  savage  tone:  ''Not  comply] 
why  not?" 

'*  It  is  impossible,  sir ;  utterly  impossible  I  " 

"  Why  so  ?  " 

''I  am  not  compelled  to  give  my  reasons  to  you,  sir,  nor 
to  any  man." 

"  Let  me  beg  of  you  to  alter  your  decision,"  said  the  man 
in  a  tone  of  profound  respect. 

**  Utterly  impossible,  sir ;  I  am  a  magistrate." 

"  Magistrate  1  then  fare  ye  well,  for  a  green-coated  buffer  and 
a  Harmanbeck." 

**Sirl"  said  the  magistrate,  springing  up  with  a  face  fiery 
with  wrath. 

But,  with  a  surly  nod  to  me,  the  man  left  the  apartment; 
and  in  a  moment  more  the  heavy  footsteps  of  himself  and  his 
companion  were  heard  descending  the  staircase. 

<' Who  is  that  man?"  said  my  friend,  turning  towards  me. 

"  A  sporting  gentleman,  well  known  in  the  place  from  which 
I  come." 

"  He  appeared  to  know  you." 

"I  have  occasionally  put  on  the  gloves  with  him." 

*'  What  is  his  name  ?  ^ 

»J/S.,  "JohnThurtdl". 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


There  was  one  question  which  I  was  continually  asking  myself 
at  this  period,  and  which  has  more  than  once  met  the  eyes  of  the 
reader  who  has  followed  me  through  the  last  chapter.  ''What 
is  truth?"  I  had  involved  myself  imperceptibly  in  a  drear> 
labyrinth  of  doubt,  and,  whichever  way  I  turned,  no  reason- 
able prospect  of  extricating  myself  appeared.  The  means  by 
which  I  had  brought  myself  into  this  situation  may  be  very 
briefly  told ;  I  had  inquired  into  many  matters,  in  order  that  I 
might  become  wise,  and  I  had  read  and  pondered  over  the  words 
of  the  wise,  so  called,  till  I  had  made  myself  master  of  the  sum 
of  human  wisdom ;  namely,  that  everything  is  enigmatical  and 
that  man  is  an  enigma  to  himself;  thence  the  cry  of  '^  What  is 
truth  ? "  I  had  ceased  to  believe  in  the  truth  of  that  in  which 
I  had  hitherto  trusted,  and  yet  could  find  nothing  in  which  I 
could  put  any  fixed  or  deliberate  belief.  I  was,  indeed,  in  a 
labyrinth  I  In  what  did  I  not  doubt  ?  With  respect  to  crime  and 
virtue  I  was  in  doubt ;  I  doubted  that  the  one  was  blameable  and 
the  other  praiseworthy.  Are  not  all  things  subjected  to  the  law 
of  necessity  ?  Assuredly ;  time  and  chance  govern  all  things : 
yet  how  can  this  be?  alasl 

Then  there  was  myself;  for  what  was  I  born?  Are  not  all 
things  bom  to  be  forgotten  ?  That's  incomprehensible :  yet  is  it 
not  so  ?  Those  butterflies  fall  and  are  forgotten.  *  In  what  is  man 
better  than  a  butterfly  ?  All  then  is  bom  to  be  forgotten.  Ah  1 
that  was  a  pang  indeed ;  'tis  at  such  a  moment  that  a  man  wishes 
to  die.  The  wise  king  of  Jerusalem,  who  sat  in  his  shady  arbours 
beside  his  sunny  fishpools,  saying  so  many  fine  things,  wished  to 
die,  when  he  saw  that  not  only  all  was  vanity,  but  that  he  himself 
was  vanity.  Will  a  time  come  when  all  will  be  forgotten  that  now 
18  beneath  the  sun  ?    If  so,  of  what  profit  is  life  ? 

In  truth,  it  was  a  sore  vexation  of  spirit  to  me  when  I  saw,  as 
the  wise  man  saw  of  old,  that  whatever  I  could  l)ppe  to  perform 
must  necessarily  be  of  very  temporary  duration  ;  iand  if  so,  why 
do  it  ?  I  said  to  myself,  whatever  name  I  can  acquire,  will  it 
endure  for  eternity?  scarcely  so.    A  thousand  years?    Let  me 

0S9)       * 


ite  LA  VENGRO.  [i8^ 

see  1  What  have  I  done  already  ?  I  have  learnt  Welsh,  and 
have  translated  the  songs  of  Ah  Gwilym,  some  ten  thousand  lines, 
into  English  rhyme ;  I  have  also  learnt  Danish,  and  have  rendered 
the  old  book  of  ballads  cast  by  the  tempest  upon  the  beach 
into  corresponding  English  metre.  Good  1  have  I  done  enough 
already  to  secure  mysdf  a  reputation  of  a  thousand  years  ?  No^ 
no  I  certainly  not ;  I  have  not  the  slightest  ground  for  hoping  that 
my  translations  from  the  Welsh  and  Danish  will  be  read  at  the 
end  of  a  thousand  years.  Well,  but  I  am  only  eighteen,  and  I 
have  not  stated  all  that  I  have  done ;  I  have  leamt  many  other 
tongues,  and  have  acquired  some  knowledge  even  of  Hebrew  and 
Arabic.  Should  I  go  on  in  this  way  till  I  am  forty,  I  must  then 
be  very  learned;  and  perhaps,  among  other  things,  may  have 
translated  the  Talmud,  and  some  of  the  great  works  of  the 
Arabians.  Pooh  t  all  thb  is  mere  learning  and  translation,  and 
such  will  never  secure  immortality.  Translation  is  at  best  an 
echo,  and  it  must  be  a  wonderful  echo  to  be  heard  after  the  lapse 
of  a  thousand  years.  No  1  all  I  have  already  done,  and  all  I  may 
yet  do  in  the  same  way,  I  may  reckon  as  nothing — ^mere  pastime ; 
something  else  must  be  done.  I  must  either  write  some  grand 
original  work,  or  conquer  an  empire ;  the  one  just  as  easy  as  the 
other.  But  am  I  competent  to  do  either?  Yes,  I  think  I  am, 
under  favourable  circumstances.  Yes,  I  think  I  may  promise 
myself  a  reputation  of  a  thousand  years,  if  I  do  but  give  myself  the 
necessary  trouble.  Well !  but  what's  a  thousand  years  after  all,  or 
twice  a  thousand  years  ?  Woe  is  me  t  I  may  just  as  well  sit  stilL 
''Would  I  had  never  been  bomP  I  said  to  myself;  and  a 
thought  would  occasionally  intrude.  But  was  I  ever  born?  Is 
not  all  that  I  see  a  lie — a  deceitful  phantom  ?  Is  there  a  world, 
and  earth,  and  sky?  Berkeley's  doctrine — Spinosa's  doctrine! 
Dear  reader,  I  had  at  that  time  never  read  either  Berkeley  or 
Spinosa.  I  have  still  never  read  them;  who  are  they,  men  of 
yesterday?  "All  is  a  lie — ^all  a  deceitful  phantom,''  are  old 
cries ;  they  come  naturally  from  the  mouths  of  those,  who,  casting 
aside  that  choicest  shield  against  madness,  simplicity,  would  fain 
be  wise  as  God,  and  can  only  know  that  they  are  naked.  This 
doubting  in  the  "  universal  all  **  is  almost  coeval  with  the  human 
race :  wisdom,  so  called,  was  early  sought  after.  All  is  a  lie — a 
deceitful  phantom — ^was  said  when  the  world  was  yet  young ;  its 
surface,  save  a  scanty  portion,  yet  untrodden  by  human  foot,  and 
when  the  great  tortoise  yet  crawled  about.  Ail  is  a  lie,  was  the 
doctrine  of  Buddh ;  and  Buddh  lived  thirty  centuries  before  the 
wise  king  of  Jerusalem,  who  sat  in  his  arbours^  beside  his  sunny 


fishpools,  sayiDg  many  fine  things,  and»  amongst  others,  "  There 
is  nothing  new  under  the  sun  1 " 


One  day,  whilst  I  bent  my  way  to  the  heath  of  which  I  have 
q)oken  on  a  former  occasion,  at  the  foot  of  the  hills  which  formed 
it  I  came  to  a  place  where  a  wagon  was  standing,  but  without 
horses,  the  shafts  resting  on  the  ground ;  there  was  a  crowd  about 
it,  which  extended  half-way  up  the  side  of  the  neighbouring  hilL 
The  wagon  was  occupied  by  some  half  a  dozen  men;  some 
sitting,  others  standing.  They  were  dressed  in  sober-coloured 
habiliments  of  black  or  brown,  cut  in  plain  and  rather  uncouth 
fashion,  and  partially  white  with  dust ;  their  hair  was  short,  and 
seemed  to  have  been  smoothed  down  by  the  application  of  the 
hand ;  all  were  bare-headed — ^sitting  or  standing,  all  were  bare- 
headed. One  of  them,  a  tall  man,  was  speaking,  as  I  arrived ; 
ere^  however,  I  could  distinguish  what  he  was  saying,  he  left  off, 
and  then  there  was  a  cry  for  a  hymn  ''to  the  glory  of  God" — 
that  was  the  word.  It  was  a  strange-sounding  hymn,  as  well  it 
might  be,  for  everybody  joined  in  it:  there  were  voices  of  all 
kinds,  of  men,  of  women,  and  of  children — of  those  who  could 
sir^  and  of  those  who  could  not — a  thousand  voices  all  joined, 
and  all  joined  heartily ;  no  voice  of  all  the  multitude  was  silent 
save  mine.  The  crowd  consisted  entirely  of  the  lower  classes, 
labourers,  and  mechanics,  and  their  wives  and  children — dusty 
people,  unwashed  people,  people  of  no  account  whatever,  and  yet 
they  did  not  look  a  mob.  And  when  that  hymn  was  over — and 
here  let  me  observe  that,  strange  as  it  sounded,  I  have  recalled 
that  hynm  to  mind,  and  it  has  seemed  to  tingle  in  my  ears  on 
occasions  when  all  that  pomp  and  art  could  do  to  enhance 
religious  solemnity  was  being  done — in  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
what  time  the  papal  band  was  in  full  play,  and  the  choicest 
choristers  of  Italy  poured  forth  their  melodious  tones  in  presence 
of  Batuschca  and  his  cardinals — on  the  ice  of  the  Neva,  what 
time  the  long  train  of  stately  priests,  with  their  noble  beards  and 
their  flowing  robes  of  crimson  and  gold,  with  their  ebony  and 
ivory  staves,  stalked  along,  chanting  their  Sclavonian  litanies  in 
advance  of  the  mighty  Emperor  of  the  North  and  his  Pribeijensky 
guard  of  giants,  towards  the  orifice  through  which  the  river,  rut>- 
ning  below  in  its  swiftness,  is  to  receive  the  baptismal  lymph— 
when  the  hymn  was  over,  another  man  in  the  wagon  proceeded 
to  address  the  people ;  he  was  a  much  younger  man  than  the  last 
speaker ;  somewhat  square  built  and  about  the  middle  height ;  his 
Cace  was  rather  broad,  but  expressive  of  much  intelligence,  and 

II 


i6a  LA  VENQRO.  [i8m. 

with  a  peculiar  calm  and  serioas  look ;  the  accent  in  which  he 
spoke  indicated  that  he  was  not  of  these  parts,  but  from  some 
distant  district  The  subject  of  his  address  was  fisdth,  and  how 
it  could  remove  mountains.  It  was  a  plain  address,  without  any 
attempt  at  ornament,  and  delivered  in  a  tone  which  was  neither 
loud  nor  vehement  The  speaker  was  evidently  not  a  practised 
one — once  or  twice  he  hesitated  as  if  for  words  to  express  his 
meaning,  but  still  he  held  on,  talking  of  faith,  and  how  it  could 
remove  mountains :  '*  It  is  the  only  thing  we  want,  brethren,  in 
this  world ;  if  we  have  that,  we  are  indeed  rich,  as  it  will  enable 
us  to  do  our  duty  under  all  circumstances,  and  to  bear  our  lot, 
however  hard  it  may  be — and  the  lot  of  all  mankind  is  hard — 
;he  lot  of  the  poor  is  hard,  brethren — and  who  knows  more  of  the 
poor  than  I  ? — a  poor  man  myself,  and  the  son  of  a  poor  man : 
but  are  the  rich  better  off?  not  so,  brethren,  for  God  is  just. 
The  rich  have  their  trials  too :  I  am  not  rich  myself,  but  I  have 
seen  the  rich  with  careworn  countenances ;  I  have  also  seen  them 
in  mad-houses ;  from  which  you  may  learn,  brethren,  that  the  lot 
of  all  mankind  is  hard ;  that  is,  till  we  lay  hold  of  faith,  which 
makes  us  comfortable  under  all  circumstances ;  whether  we  ride 
in  gilded  chariots  or  walk  bare-footed  in  quest  of  bread ;  whether 
we  be  ignorant,  whether  we  be  wise, — ^for  riches  and  poverty, 
ignorance  and  wisdom,  brethren,  each  brings  with  it  its  peculiar 
temptations.  Well,  under  all  these  troubles,  the  thing  which  I 
would  recommend  you  to  seek  is  one  and  the  same — faith ;  faith 
in  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  made  us  and  allotted  to  each  his 
station.  Eadi  has  something  to  do,  brethren.  Do  it,  therefore, 
but  always  in  fiauth ;  without  faith  we  shall  find  ourselves  some- 
times at  fault;  but  with  faith  never — for  6dth  can  remove  the 
difficulty.  It  will  teach  us  to  love  life,  brethren,  when  life  is 
becoming  bitter,  and  to  prize  the  blessings  around  us ;  for  as  every 
man  has  his  cares,  brethren,  so  has  each  man  his  blessings.  It 
will  likewise  teach  us  not  to  love  life  over  much,  seeing  that  we 
must  one  day  part  with  it.  It  will  teach  us  to  face  death  with 
resignation,  and  will  preserve  us  from  sinking  amidst  the  swelling 
of  the  river  Jordan." 

And  when  he  had  concluded  his  address,  he  said :  '*  Let  us 
sing  a  hymn,  one  composed  by  Master  Charles  Wesley — he  was 
my  countryman,  brethren. 

*  Jesus,  I  cast  my  soul  on  Thee, 
Mighty  and  merciful  to  save; 
Thou  shalt  to  death  go  down  with  me 
And  lay  me  gently  in  the  grave. 


itea]  "  BARB  WBLL,  BROTHER  I "  163 

This  body  then  ahall  rest  in  hope, 
This  body  which  the  worms  destroy ; 
For  Thou  shalt  surely  raise  me  up, 
To  glorious  liie  suid  endless  joy.*  '* 

FareweU,  preacher  with  the  plain  coat,  and  the  calm,  serious 
look  I  I  saw  thee  once  again,  and  that  was  lately — only  the  other 
day.  It  was  near  a  fishing  hamlet,  by  the  sea-side,  that  I  saw 
the  preacher  again.  He  stood  on  the  top  of  a  steep  monticle, 
used  by  pilots  as  a  look-out  for  vessels  approaching  that  coast, 
a  dangerous  one,  abounding  in  rocks  and  quicksands.  There  he 
stood  on  the  monticle,  preaching  to  weather-worn  fishermen  and 
mariners  gathered  below  upon  the  sand.  "Who  is  he?"  said  I 
to  an  old  fisherman,  who  stood  beside  me  with  a  book  of  hymns 
in  his  hand ;  but  the  old  man  put  his  hand  to  his  lips,  and  that 
was  the  only  answer  I  received.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  but  the 
voice  of  the  preacher  and  the  roaring  of  the  waves ;  but  the  voice 
was  heard  loud  above  the  roaring  of  the  sea,  for  the  preacher  now 
spoke  with  power,  and  his  voice  was  not  that  of  one  who  hesitates. 
There  he  stood — ^no  longer  a  young  man,  for  his  black  locks  were 
become  gray,  even  like  my  own ;  but  there  was  the  intelligent  face, 
and  the  calm,  serious  lodk  which  bad  struck  me  of  yore.  There 
stood  the  preacher,  one  of  those  men — and,  thank  God,  their 
number  is  not  few — who,  animated  by  the  spirit  of  Christ,  amidst 
much  poverty,  and,  alas  I  much  contempt,  persist  in  carrying 
the  light  of  the  Gc^pel  amidst  the  dark  parishes  of  what,  but  for 
their  instrumentality,  would  scarcely  be  Christian  England.  I 
would  have  waited  till  he  had  concluded,  in  order  that  I  might 
speak  to  him  and  endeavour  to  bring  back  the  ancient  scene  to 
his  recollection,  but  suddenly  a  man  came  hurrying  towards  the 
monticle,  mounted  on  a  speedy  horse,  and  holdhig  by  the  bridle 
one  yet  more  speedy,  and  he  whispered  to  me :  **  Why  loiterest 
thou  here? — knowest  thou  not  all  that  is  to  be  done  before 
midnight  ?  "  and  he  flung  me  the  bridle ;  and  I  mounted  on  the 
horse  of  great  speed,  and  I  followed  the  other,  who  had  already 
galloped  off.  And  as  I  departed,  I  waved  my  hand  to  him  on  the 
monticle,  and  I  shouted,  "  Farewell,  brother  1  the  seed  came  up  at 
last,  after  a  long  period  1 "  and  then  I  gave  the  speedy  horse  his 
way,  and  leaning  over  the  shoulder  of  the  galloping  horse,  I  said : 
**  Would  that  my  life  had  been  like  his — even  like  that  man's  1  *' 

I  now  wandered  along  the  heath,  till  I  came  to  a  place  where, 
beside  a  thick  furze,  sat  a  man,  his  eyes  fixed  intently  on  the  red 
ball  of  the  setting  sun. 

"That's  not  you,  Jasper P"* 


164  LA  VBNGRO.  [i8ao. 

"  Indeed,  brother ! " 

"  I've  not  seen  you  for  years." 

"  How  should  you,  brother? " 

'*  What  brings  you  here  ?  ** 

**  The  fight,  brother." 

"  Where  are  the  tents  ?" 

"  On  the  old  spot,  brother.' 

"  Any  news  since  we  parted  ? 

"Two  deaths,  brother." 

"Who  are  dead,  Jasper?" 

"Father  and  mother,  brother.** 

"Where  did  they  die?" 

"  Where  they  were  sent,  brother." 

"And  Mrs.  Heme?" 

"  She's  alive,  brother." 

"  Where  is  she  now  ?  " 

"  In  Yorkshire,  brother." 

"What  is  your  opinion  of  death,  Mr.  Petulengro?"  said  I,  as 
I  sat  down  beside  him. 

"  My  opinion  of  death,  brother,  is  much  the  same  as  that  in 
the  old  song  of  Pharaoh,  whidi  I  have  heard  my  grandam  sing : — 

'  Cana  marel  o  manus  chivios  andi  puv, 
Ta  rovel  pa  leste  o  chavo  ta  romi '. 

When  a  man  dies,  he  is  cast  into  the  earth,  and  his  wife  and  child 
sorrow  over  him.  If  he  has  neither  wife  nor  child,  then  his 
father  and  mother^  I  suppose ;  and  if  he  is  quite  alone  in  the 
world,  why,  then,  he  is  cast  into  the  earth,  and  there  is  an  end  of 
the  matter." 

"  And  do  you  think  that  is  the  end  of  a  man  ?  " 

"  There's  an  end  of  him,  brother,  more's  the  pity." 

"  Why  do  you  say  so  ?  " 

"  Life  is  sweet,  brother." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Think  so!  There's  night  and  day,  brother,  both  sweet 
things;  sun,  moon  and  stars,  brother,  all  sweet  things;  there's 
likewise  the  wind  on  the  heath.  Life  is  very  sweet,  brother;  who 
would  wish  to  die  ?  " 

"  I  would  wish  to  die ^" 

"  You  talk  like  a  gorgio — which  is  the  same  as  talking  like  a 
fool — ^were  you  a  Rommany  Chal  you  would  talk  wiser.  Wish  to 
die,  indeed !    A  Rommany  Chal  would  wish  to  live  for  ever  I " 

"  In  sickness,  Jasper?** 


iSaa]  EGYPTIAN  ETHICS.  165 

"  There's  the  sun  and  stars,  brother." 

'•  In  blindness,  Jasper?" 

"There's  the  wind  on  the  heath,  brother;  if  I  could  only 
feel  that,  I  would  gladly  live  for  ever.  Dosta>  we'll  now  go  to  the 
tents  and  put  on  the  gloves ;  and  I'll  tiy  to  make  you  feel  what 
a  sweet  thuig  it  is  to  be  alive,  brother  I  ' 


CHAFfER  XXVI. 


How  for  everything  there  is  a  time  and  a  season,  and  then  how 
does  the  glory  of  a  thing  pass  from  it,  even  like  the  flower  of  the 
grass  I  This  is  a  truism,  but  it  is  one  of  those  which  are  continu- 
ally forcing  themselves  upon  the  mind.  Many  years  have  not 
passed  over  my  head,  yet  during  those  which  I  can  call  to  remem- 
brance, how  many  things  have  I  seen  flourish,  pass  away,  and 
become  forgotten,  except  by  myself,  who,  in  spite  of  all  my 
endeavours,  never  can  forget  anything.  I  have  known  the  time 
when  a  pugilistic  encounter  between  two  noted  champions  was 
almost  considered  in  the  light  of  a  national  affiiir ;  when  tens  of 
thousands  of  individuab,  high  and  low,  meditated  and  brooded 
upon  it,  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  and  the  last  at  night,  until 
the  great  event  was  decided.  But  the  time  is  past,  and  many 
people  will  say,  thank  God  that  it  is ;  all  I  have  to  say  is,  that 
the  French  still  live  on  the  other  side  of  the  water,  and  are  still 
casting  their  eyes  hitherward — and  that  in  the  days  of  pugilism 
it  was  no  vain  boast  to  say,  that  one  Englishman  was  a  match  for 
two  of  t'other  race ;  at  present  it  would  be  a  vain  boast  to  say  so, 
for  these  are  not  the  days  of  pugilism. 

But  those  to  which  the  course  of  my  narrative  has  carried  me 
were  the  days  of  pugilism  ;  it  was  then  at  its  height,  and  conse- 
quently near  its  decline,  for  corruption  had  crept  into  the  ring ; 
and  how  many  things,  states  and  sects  among  the  rest,  owe  their 
decline  to  this  cause  1  But  what  a  bold  and  vigorous  aspect 
pugilism  wore  at  that  time !  and  the  great  battle  was  just  then 
coming  off;  the  day  had  been  decided  upon,  and  the  spot — a 
convenient  distance  from  the  old  town ;  and  to  the  old  town  were 
now  flocking  the  bruisers  of  England,  men  of  tremendous  renown. 
Let  no  one  sneer  at  the  bruisers  of  England — ^what  were  the 
gladiators  of  Rome,  or  the  bull-fighters  of  Spain,  in  its  palmiest 
days,  compared  to  England's  bruisers  ?  Pity  that  ever  corruption 
should  have  crept  in  amongst  them — but  of  that  I  wish  not  to 
talk ,  let  us  still  hope  that  a  spark  of  the  old  religion,  of  which 
they  were  the  priests  still  lingers  in  the  breasts  of  Englishmen. 

Ci66) 


rfflaa]  THE  BRUISERS  OP  ENGLAND.  167 


There  they  come,  the  bruisers^  from  far  London,  or  from  wher- 
ever else  they  might  chance  to  be  at  that  time,  to  the  great 
rendezvous  in  the  old  city  ;  some  came  one  way,  some  another : 
some  of  tip-top  reputation  came  with  peers  in  their  chariots,  for 
glory  and  fame  are  such  fair  things  that  even  peers  are  proud  to 
have  those  invested  therewith  by  their  sides ;  others  came  in  their 
own  gigs,  driving  their  own  bits  of  blood,  and  I  heard  one  say : 
*'  I  have  driven  through  at  a  heat  the  whole  iii  miles,  and  only 
stopped  to  bait  twice  *\  Oh,  the  blood-horses  of  old  England  I 
but  they  too  have  had  their  day — for  everything  beneath  the  sun 
there  is  a  season  and  a  time.  But  the  greater  number  come  just 
as  they  can  contrive ;  on  the  tops  of  coaches,  for  example ;  and 
amongst  these  there  are  fellows  with  dark  sallow  faces  and 
sharp  shining  eyes ;  and  it  is  these  that  have  planted  rottenness 
in  the  core  of  pugilism,  for  they  are  Jews,  and,  true  to  their  kind, 
have  only  base  lucre  in  view. 

It  was  fierce  old  Cobbett,  I  think,  who  first  said  that  the  Jews 
first  introduced  bad  faith  amongst  pugilists.  He  did  not  always 
speak  the  truth,  but  at  any  rate  he  spoke  it  when  he  made  that 
observation.  Strange  people  the  Jews — endowed  with  every  gift 
but  one,  and  that  the  highest,  genius  divine^ — genius  which  can 
alone  make  of  men  demigods,  and  elevate  them  above  earth  and 
what  is  earthy  and  what  is  grovelling ;  without  which  a  clever 
nation — and  who  more  clever  than  the  Jews  ? — ^may  have  Ram- 
bams  in  plenty,  but  never  a  Fielding  nor  a  Shakespeare;  a 
Rothschild  and  a  Mendoza,  yes — but  never  a  Kean  nor  a  Belcher. 

So  the  bruisers  of  England  are  come  to  be  present  at  the  grand 
fight  speedily  coming  off;  there  they  are  met  in  the  precincts  of 
the  old  town,  near  the  Field  of  the  Chapel,  planted  with  tender 
saplings  at  the  restoration  of  sporting  Charles,  which  are  now 
become  venerable  elms,  as  high  as  many  a  steeple ;  there  they 
are  met  at  a  fitting  rendezvous,  where  a  retired  coachman,  with 
one  leg,  keeps  an  hotel  and  a  bowling-green.  I  think  I  now  see 
them  upon  the  bowling-green,  the  men  of  renown,  amidst  hundreds 
of  people  with  no  renown  at  all,  who  gaze  upon  them  with  timid 
wonder.  Fame,  after  all,  is  a  glorious  thing,  though  it  lasts  only 
for  a  day.  There's  Cribb,  the  champion  of  England,  and  perhaps 
the  best  man  in  England ;  there  he  is,  with  his  huge,  massive 
figure,  and  face  wonderfully  like  that  of  a  lion.  There  is  Belcher, 
the  younger,  not  the  mighty  one,  who  is  gone  to  his  place,  but  the 
Teucer  Belcher,  the  most  scientific  pugilist  that  ever  entered  a 
ring,  onlv  wanting  strength  to  be,  I  won't  say  what.  He  appears 
to  walk  before  me  now,  as  he  did  that  evening,  with  his  white  hat. 


i68  LA  VBNGRO.  [x8aa 

white  greatcoat,  thin,  genteel  figure,  springy  step,  and  keen,  deter- 
mined eye.  Crosses  him — what  a  contrast ! — grim,  savage  Shelton, 
who  has  a  civil  word  for  nobody,  and  a  hard  blow  for  anybody — 
hard !  one  blow,  given  with  the  proper  play  of  his  athletic  arm, 
will  unsense  a  giant  Yonder  individual,  who  strolls  about  with 
his  hands  behind  him,  supporting  his  brown  coat  lappets,  under- 
sized, and  who  looks  anything  but  what  he  is,  is  the  king  of  the 
light  weights,  so  called, — Randall  I  the  terrible  Randall,  who  has 
Irish  blood  in  his  veins ;  not  the  better  for  that,  nor  the  worse ;  and 
not  far  from  him  is  his  last  antagonist,  Ned  Turner,  who,  though 
beaten  by  him,  still  thinks  himself  as  good  a  man,  in  which  he  is, 
perhaps,  right,  for  it  was  a  near  thing ;  and  **  a  better  shentleman,** 
in  which  he  is  quite  right,  for  he  is  a  Welshman.  But  how  shall 
I  name  them  all  ?  they  were  there  by  dozens,  and  all  tremendous 
in  their  way.  There  was  Bulldog  Hudson  and  fearless  Scroggins, 
who  beat  the  "-.jnqueror  of  Sam  the  Jew.  There  was  Black 
Richmond — no,  he  was  not  there,  but  I  knew  him  well ;  he  was 
the  most  dangerous  of  blacks,  even  with  a  broken  thigh.  There 
was  Purcell,  who  could  never  conquer  till  all  seemed  over  with 
him.  There  was— what !  shall  I  name  thee  last?  ay,  why  not? 
I  believe  that  thou  art  the  last  of  all  that  strong  family  still  above 
the  sod,  where  mayst  thou  long  continue — true  piece  of  English 
stuff,  Tom  of  Bedford — sharp  as  winter,  kind  as  spring. 

Hail  to  thee,  Tom  of  Bedford,  or  by  whatever  name  it  may 
please  thee  to  be  called.  Spring  or  Winter.  Hail  to  thee,  six-foot 
Englishman  of  the  brown  eye,  worthy  to  have  carried  a  six-foot 
bow  at  Flodden,  where  England's  yeomen  triumphed  over  Scot- 
land's king,  his  clans  and  chivalry.  Hail  to  thee,  last  of  England's 
bruisers,  i^r  all  the  many  victories  which  thou  hast  achieved — 
true  English  victories,  unbought  by  yellow  gold ;  need  I  recount 
them  ?  nay,  nay  1  they  are  already  well  known  to  &me — sufficient 
to  say  that  Bristol's  Bull  and  Ireland's  Champion  were  vanquished 
by  thee,  and  one  mightier  still,  gold  itself,  thou  didst  overcome ; 
for  gold  itself  strove  in  vain  to  deaden  the  power  of  thy  arm  ;  and 
thus  thou  didst  proceed  till  men  left  off  challenging  thee,  the  un- 
vanquishable,  the  incorruptible.  'Tis  a  treat  to  see  thee,  Tom  of 
Bedford,  in  thy  "  public  "  in  Holbom  way,  whither  thou  hast 
retired  with  thy  well-earned  bays.  'Tis  Friday  night,  and  nine 
by  Holbom  clock.  There  sits  the  yeoman  at  the  end  of  his  long 
room,  siuTounded  by  his  friends :  glasses  are  filled,  and  a  song  is 
the  cry,  and  a  song  is  sung  well  suited  to  the  place ;  it  finds  an 
echo  in  every  heart — fists  are  clenched,  arms  are  waved,  and  the 
portraits  of  the  mighty  fighting  men  of  yore,  Broughton  and  Slack 


iSml]  THB  "BATTLE''  OP  JULY  17.  169 

and  Ben,  which  adorn  the  walls,  appear  to  smile  grim  approbation, 
whilst  many  a  manly  voice  joins  in  the  bold  chorus : — 

*'  Here's  a  health  to  old  honest  John  Boll, 
When  he*8  gone  we  shan't  find  such  another, 

And  with  hearts  and  with  glasses  brim  full, 
We  will  drink  to  old  England,  his  mother  ". 

Bat  the  fight !  with  respect  to  the  fight,  what  shall  I  say  ? 
Little  can  be  said  about  it — ^it  was  soon  over ;  some  said  that  the 
brave  from  town,  who  was  reputed  the  best  man  of  the  two,  and 
whose  form  was  a  perfect  model  of  athletic  beauty,  allowed  him- 
self for  lucre  vile,  to  be  vanquished  by  the  massive  champion 
with  the  flattened  nose.  One  thing  is  certain,  that  the  former 
was  suddenly  seen  to  sink  to  the  earth  before  a  blow  of  by  no 
means  extraordinary  power.  Time,  time  I  was  called ;  but  there 
he  lay  upon  the  ground  apparently  senseless,  and  from  thence  he 
did  not  Uft  his  head  till  several  seconds  after  the  umpires  had  de- 
clared his  adversary  victor. 

There  were  shouts ;  indeed,  there's  never  a  lack  of  shouts  to 
celebrate  a  victory,  however  acquired ;  but  there  was  also  much 
grinding  of  teeth,  especially  amongst  the  fighting  men  from  town. 
''Torn  has  sold  us,"  said  they,  ''sold  us  to  the  yokels;  who 
would  have  thought  it?"  Then  there  was  fresh  grinding  of 
teeth,  and  scowling  brows  were  turned  to  the  heaven ;  but  what 
is  this  ?  is  it  possible,  does  the  heaven  scowl  too  ?  why,  only  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  ago — but  what  may  not  happen  in  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  ?  For  many  weeks  the  weather  had  been  of  the  most 
glorious  description,  the  eventful  day,  too,  had  dawned  gloriously, 
and  so  it  had  continued  till  some  two  hours  after  noon;  the 
fight  was  then  over ;  and  about  that  time  I  looked  up — ^what  a 
glorious  sky  of  deep  blue,  and  what  a  big,  fierce  sun  swimming 
high  above  in  the  midst  of  that  blue ;  not  a  cloud — ^there  had 
not  been  one  for  weeks — not  a  cloud  to  be  seen,  only  in  the  far 
west,  just  on  the  horizon,  something  like  the  extremity  of  a  black 
wing ;  that  was  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  and  now  the  whole 
northern  side  of  the  heaven  is  occupied  by  a  huge  black  cloud, 
and  the  sun  is  only  occasionally  seen  amidst  masses  of  driving 
vapour ;  what  a  change  i  but  another  fight  is  at  hand,  and  the 
pugilists  are  clearing  the  outer  ring ;  how  their  huge  whips  come 
crashing  upon  the  heads  of  the  yokeb  ;  blood  flows,  more  blood 
than  in  the  fight:  those  blows  are  given  with  right  good-will, 
those  are  not  sham  blows,  whether  of  whip  or  fist ;  it  is  with  fist 
that  grim  Shelton  strikes  down  the  big  yokel;  he  is  always 
dangerous,  grim  Shdtoni  but  now  particularly  so,  for  he  has  lost 


I70  LA  VBNGRO.  [iBzo. 

ten  pounds  betted  on  the  brave  who  sold  himself  to  the  yokels ; 
but  the  outer  ring  is  cleared;  and  now  the  second  fight  com- 
mences; it  is  between  two  champions  of  less  renown  than  the 
others,  but  is  perhaps  not  the  worse  on  that  account.  A  tall  thin 
boy  is  fighting  in  the  ring  with  a  man  somewhat  under  the  middle 
size,  with  a  frame  of  adamant ;  that's  a  gallant  boy  I  he's  a  yokd, 
but  he  comes  from  Brummagem,  and  he  does  credit  to  his  extraction ; 
but  his  adversary  has  a  frame  of  adamant :  in  what  a  strange  light 
they  fight,  but  who  can  wonder,  on  looking  at  that  frightful  cloud 
usurping  now  one  half  of  heaven,  and  at  the  sun  struggling  with 
sulphurous  vapour ;  the  face  of  the  boy,  which  is  turned  towards 
me,  looks  horrible  in  that  light,  but  he  is  a  brave  boy,  he  strikes 
his  foe  on  the  forehead,  and  the  report  of  the  blow  is  like  the 
sound  of  a  hammer  against  a  rock ;  but  there  is  a  rush  and  a 
roar  over  head,  a  wild  commotion,  the  tempest  is  banning  to 
break  loose;  there's  wind  and  dust,  a  crash,  rain  and  hail ;  is  it 
possible  to  fight  amidst  such  a  commotion  ?  yes  1  the  fight  goes 
on ;  again  the  boy  strikes  the  man  full  on  the  brow,  but  it  is  of 
no  use  striking  that  man,  his  frame  is  of  adamant.  "  Boy,  thy 
strength  is  beginning  to  give  way,  and  thou  art  becoming  confused ; " 
the  man  now  goes  to  work,  amidst  rain  and  hail.  "  Boy,  thou 
wilt  not  hold  out  ten  minutes  longer  against  rain,  hail,  and  the 
blows  of  such  an  antagonist." 

And  now  the  storm  was  at  its  height ;  the  black  thunder- 
cloud had  broken  into  many,  which  assumed  the  wildest  shapes 
and  the  strangest  colours,  some  of  them  unspeakably  glorious ; 
the  rain  poured  in  a  deluge,  and  more  than  one  water-spout  was 
seen  at  no  great  distance :  an  immense  rabble  is  hurrying  in  one 
direction ;  a  multitude  of  men  of  all  ranks,  peers  and  yokels, 
prize-fighters  and  Jews,  and  the  last  came  to  plunder,  and  are 
now  plundering  amidst  that  wild  confusion  of  hail  and  rain,  men 
and  horses,  carts  and  carriages.  But  all  hurry  in  one  direction, 
through  mud  and  mire;  there's  a  town  only  three  miles  distant, 
which  is  soon  reached,  and  soon  filled,  it  will  not  contain  one- 
third  of  that  mighty  rabble ;  but  there's  another  town  fiirther  on 
— ^the  good  old  city  is  farther  on,  only  twelve  miles ;  what's  tliat ! 
who'll  stay  here  ?  onward  to  the  old  town. 

Hurry  skurry,  a  mixed  multitude  of  men  and  horses,  carts 
and  carriages,  all  in  the  direction  of  the  old  town ;  and,  in  the 
midst  of  all  that  mad  chrong,  at  a  moment  when  the  rain  gushes 
were  coming  down  with  particular  fury,  and  the  artillery  of  the 
sky  was  pealing  as  I  had  never  heard  it  peal  before,  I  felt  some 
one  seize  me  by  the  arm — I  turned  round  and  beheld  Mr.  Petul- 
engro 


i82a]  THURTBLL.  171 

^  I  can't  hear  you,  Mr.  Petulengro,"  said  I ;  for  the  thunder 
drowned  the  words  which  he  appeared  to  be  uttering. 

'' Deaiiginni/'  I  heard  Mr.  Petulengro  say,  "it  thundereth. 
I  was  asking,  brother,  whether  you  believe  in  dukkeripens  ?  " 

"  I  do  not,  Mr.  Petulengro ;  but  this  is  strange  weather  to  be 
asking  me  whether  I  believe  in  fortunes." 

'*  Grondinni,"  said  Mr.  Petulengro,  **  it  haileth.  I  believe  in 
dukkeripens,  brother." 

"  And  who  has  more  right,"  said  I,  **  seeing  that  you  live  by 
them  ?    But  this  tempest  is  truly  horrible." 

"  Deaiginni,  grondinni  ta  villaminni !  It  thundereth,  it  haileth, 
and  also  fliuneth,"  said  Mr.  Petulengro.  "Look  up  there, 
brother  1** 

I  looked  up.  Connected  with  this  tempest  there  was  one 
feature  to  which  I  have  already  alluded — the  wonderful  colours 
of  the  clouds.  Some  were  of  vivid  green ;  others  of  the  brightest 
orange ;  others  as  black  as  pitch.  The  gypsy's  finger  was  pointed 
to  a  particular  part  of  the  sky. 

"  What  do  you  see  there,  brother  ?  • 

"  A  strange  kind  of  cloud" 

"What  does  it  look  like,  brother?  " 

'*  Something  like  a  stream  of  blood." 

"  That  cloud  foreshoweth  a  bloody  dukkeripen." 

"  A  bloody  fortune  i "  said  I.    "  And  whom  may  it  betide  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  1 "  said  the  gypsy. 

Down  the  way,  dashing  and  splashing  and  scattering  man, 
borse  and  cart  to  the  left  and  right,  came  an  open  barouche^ 
drawn  by  four  smoking  steeds^  with  postillions  in  scarlet  jackets, 
uid  leather  skull-caps.  Two  forms  were  conspicuous  in  it ;  that 
pf  the  successful  bruiser  and  of  his  friend  and  backer,  the  sport- 
tog  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance. 

'*  His  I "  said  the  g3rpsy,  pointing  to  the  latter,  whose  stem 
features  wore  a  smile  of  triumph,  as,  probably  recognising  me  in 
the  crowd,  he  nodded  in  the  direction  of  where  I  stood,  as  the 
barouche  hurried  by. 

There  went  the  barouche,  dashing  through  the  rain  gushes, 
utd  in  it  one  whose  boast  it  was  that  he  was  equal  to  "  either 
fortune  "«  Many  have  heard  of  that  man— many  may  be  desirous 
of  knowing  yet  more  of  him.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that 
tnan's  after-life— he  fulfilled  his  dukkeripen.  "A  bad,  violent 
nun  I "  Softly  friend ;  when  thou  wouldst  speak  harshly  of  the 
dead,  remember  that  thou  hast  not  yet  fulfilled  thy  own  duk- 
keripen! 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


My  father,  as  I  have  already  informed  the  reader,  had  been  en- 
dowed by  nature  with  great  corporeal  strength ;  indeed,  I  have 
been  assured  that,  at  the  period  of  his  prime,  his  figure  had  de- 
noted the  possession  of  almost  Herculean  powers.  The  strongest 
forms,  however,  do  not  always  endure  the  longest,  the  very  excess 
of  the  noble  and  generous  juices  which  they  contain  being  the 
cause  of  their  premature  decay.  But,  be  that  as  it  may,  the 
health  of  my  father,  some  few  years  after  his  retirement  from  the 
service  to  the  quiet  of  domestic  life,  underwent  a  considerable 
change ;  his  constitution  appeared  to  be  breaking  up ;  and  he 
was  subject  to  severe  attacks  from  various  disorders,  with  which, 
till  then,  he  had  been  utterly  unacquainted.  He  was,  however, 
wont  to  rally,  more  or  less,  after  his  illnesses,  and  might  still  oc- 
casionally be  seen  taking  his  walk,  with  his  cane  in  his  hand,  and 
accompanied  by  his  dog,  who  sympathised  entirely  with  him, 
pining  as  he  pined,  improving  as  he  improved,  and  never  leaving 
the  house  save  in  his  company ;  and  in  this  manner  matters  went 
on  for  a  considerable  time,  no  very  great  apprehension  with 
respect  to  my  father's  state  being  raised  either  in  my  mother's 
breast  or  my  own.  But,  about  six  months  after  the  period  at 
which  I  have  arrived  in  my  last  chapter,  it  came  to  pass  that  my 
father  experienced  a  severer  attack  than  on  any  previous  occasion. 
He  had  the  best  medical  advice ;  but  it  was  easy  to  see,  from 
the  looks  of  his  doctors,  that  they  entertained  but  slight  hopes  of 
bis  recovery.  His  sufferings  were  great,  yet  he  invariably  bore 
them  with  unshaken  fortitude.  There  was  one  thing  remarkable 
connected  with  his  illness ;  notwithstanding  its  severity,  it  never 
confined  him  to  his  bed.  He  was  wont  to  sit  in  his  little  parlour, 
in  his  easy  chair,  dressed  in  a  £aded  regimental  coat,  his  dog  at 
his  feet,  who  would  occasionally  lifl  his  head  from  the  hearth-rug 
on  which  he  lay,  and  look  his  master  wistfully  in  the  foce.  And 
thus  my  father  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  time,  sometimes  in 
prayer,  sometimes  in  meditation,  and  sometimes  in  reading  the 
Scriptures.    I  frequently  sat  with  him ;  though,  as  I  entertained  a 

(172) 


x8m.]  the  day  op  tub  WILL.  173 

great  awe  for  my  father,  I  used  to  feel  rather  ill  at  ease,  when,  as 
sometimes  happened,  I  found  myself  alone  with  him. 

"  I  wish  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,"  said  he  to  me,  one  day 
after  my  mother  had  left  the  room. 

**  I  will  answer  anything  you  may  please  to  ask  me,  my  dear 
father." 

"  What  have  you  been  about  lately  ?  " 

''I  have  been  occupied  as  usual,  attending  at  the  office  at  the 
appointed  hours." 

•*  And  what  do  you  do  there  ?  " 

**  Whatever  I  am  ordered." 

"  And  nothing  else  ?  " 

**  Oh,  yes !  sometimes  I  read  a  book." 

'•  Connected  with  your  profession  ?" 

**  Not  always ;  I  have  been  lately  reading  Armenian " 

"Whafsthat?" 

"  The  language  of  a  people  whose  country  is  a  region  on  the 
other  side  of  Asia  Minor." 

"  WeU ! " 

''A  region  abounding  with  mountains." 

"WeUl" 

"  Amongst  which  is  Mount  Ararat" 

"Well!" 

**  Upon  which,  as  the  Bible  informs  us,  the  ark  rested.' 

*•  Well ! " 

*^  It  is  the  language  of  the  people  of  those  regions." 

"So  you  told  me." 

**  And  I  have  been  reading  the  Bible  in  their  language." 

"  Well ! " 

**  Or  rather,  I  should  say,  in  the  ancient  language  of  these 
people;  from  which  I  am  told  the  modem  Armenian  difiers 
considerably." 

••  Well ! " 

"As  much  as  the  Italian  from  the  Latin." 

"Well!" 

''  So  I  have  been  reading  the  Bible  in  ancient  Armenian." 

"  You  told  me  so  before." 

**  I  found  it  a  highly  difficult  language." 

•*Yes." 

'*  Differing  widely  from  the  languages  in  general  with  which  f 
am  acquainted." 

"Yes." 

*'  Exhibiting,  however,  some  features  in  common  with  then" 


174  LA  VBNGRO.  [182a. 

"Yes." 

*'  And  sometimes  agreeing  remarkably  in  words  with  a  ceitain 
strange  wild  speech  wi£  which  I  became  acquainted " 

"Irish?" 

"  No,  father,  not  Irish — ^with  which  I  became  acquainted  by 
die  greatest  chance  in  the  world." 

"  Yes." 

**  But  of  which  I  need  say  nothing  further  at  present,  and 
which  I  should  not  have  mentioned  but  for  that  fact." 

•'WeU!" 

"  Which  I  consider  remarkable/' 

"  Yes." 

"  The  Armenian  is  copious." 

"Is  it?" 

"  With  an  alphabet  of  thirty-nine  letters,  but  it  is  harsh  and 
gutturaL" 

''Yes." 

"Like  the  language  of  most  mountainous  people — the 
Armenians  call  it  Haik." 

"Do  they?" 

"  And  themselves,  Haik,  also ;  they  are  a  remarkable  people, 
and,  though  their  original  habitation  is  the  Mountain  of  Ararat, 
they  are  to  be  found,  like  the  Jews,  all  over  the  world." 

"  Well  I " 

"  Well,  father,  that's  all  I  can  tell  you  about  the  Haiks,  or 
Armenians." 

"  And  what  does  it  all  amount  to  ?  " 

"Very  little,  father;  indeed,  there  is  very  little  known  about 
the  Armenians ;  their  early  history,  in  particular,  is  involved  in 
considerable  mystery." 

"And,  if  you  knew  all  that  it  was  possible  to  know  about 
them,  to  what  would  it  amount  ?  to  what  earthly  purpose  could  you 
turn  it  ?  have  you  acquired  any  knowledge  of  your  profession  ?  ** 

"  Very  little,  fether." 

"  Very  little  1    Have  you  acquired  all  in  your  power  ?  * 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  have,  father." 

"  And  yet  it  was  your  duty  to  have  done  so.  But  I  see  how 
it  is,  you  have  shamefully  misused  your  opportunities ;  you  are 
like  one,  who,  sent  into  the  field  to  labour,  passes  his  time  in 
flinging  stones  at  the  birds  of  heaven." 

"  I  would  scorn  to  fling  a  stone  at  a  bird,  father." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,  and  all  too  well,  and  this  attempt 
to  evade  deserved  reproof  by  feigned  simplicity  is  quite  in  character 


Z823.]  ARMENIAN.  175 

widi  your  general  behaviour.  I  have  ever  observed  about  you  a 
want  of  frankness,  which  has  distressed  me ;  you  never  speak  of 
what  you  are  about,  your  hopes,  or  your  projects,  but  cover  yoiu*- 
self  with  mystery.  I  never  knew  till  the  present  moment  that  you 
were  acquainted  with  Armenian/' 

** Because  you  never  asked  me,  father;  there's  nothing  to 
conceal  in  the  matter — I  will  tell  you  in  a  moment  how  I  came  to 

learn  Armenian.    A  lady  whom  I  met  at  one  of  Mrs. 's 

parties  took  a  fanqr  to  me,  and  has  done  me  the  honour  to  allow 
me  to  go  and  see  her  sometimes.  She  is  the  widow  of  a  rich 
clergyman,  and  on  her  husband's  death  came  to  this  place  to  live 
bringing  her  husband's  library  with  her.  I  soon  found  my  way  to 
it,  and  examined  every  book.  Her  husband  must  have  been  a 
learned  man,  for  amongst  much  Greek  and  Hebrew  I  found 
several  volumes  in  Armenian,  or  relating  to  the  language/' 

"  And  why  did  you  not  tell  me  of  this  before  ?  " 

"  Because  you  never  questioned  me ;  but,  I  repeat,  there  is 
nothing  to  conceal  in  the  matter.  The  lady  took  a  fancy  to  me, 
and,  being  fond  of  the  arts,  drew  my  portrait;  she  said  the 
expression  of  my  countenance  put  her  in  mind  of  Alfleri's  Saul." 

*'  And  do  you  stiU  visit  her?" 

'*No,  she  soon  grew  tired  of  me,  and  told  people  that  she 
found  me  very  stupid;  she  gave  me  the  Armenian  books, 
uowevcr. 

'*  Saul,"  said  my  father,  musingly,  *'  Saul,  I  am  afraid  she  was 
only  too  right  there;  he  disobeyed  the  commands  of  his  master, 
and  brought  down  on  his  head  the  vengeance  of  Heaven — he 
became  a  maniac,  prophesied,  and  flung  weapons  about  him." 

"  He  was,  inde^,  an  awfiil  character — I  hope  I  shan't  turn 
out  like  him." 

''God  forbid  1"  said  my  father,  solemnly;  ''but  in  many 
respects  you  are  headstrong  and  disobedient  like  him.  I  placed 
you  in  a  profession,  and  bought  you  to  make  yourself  master  of 
it*  by  giving  it  your  undivided  attention.  This,  however,  you 
did  not  do,  you  know  nothing  of  it,  but  tell  me  that  you  are 
acquainted  with  Armenian ;  but  what  I  dislike  most  is  your  want 
of  candour — you  are  my  son,  but  I  know  little  of  your  real 
history ;  you  may  know  fifty  things  for  what  I  am  aware ;  you  may 
know  how  to  shoe  a  horse,  for  what  I  am  aware." 

"Not  only  to  shoe  a  horse,  father,  but  to  make  horse-shoes." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  my  father ;  "  and  it  only  serves  to  prove 
what  I  was  just  saying,  that  I  know  little  about  you." 

"  But  you  easily  may»  my  dear  father ;  1  wili  tell  you  anything 


276  LA  VBNGRO.  [i&st. 

m 

that  you  may  wish  to  know — shall  I  inform  you  bow  I  learnt  Co 
make  horse-shoes  ?  " 

''  No/'  said  my  father ;  "  as  you  kept  it  a  secret  so  long,  it 
may  as  well  continue  so  still.  Had  you  been  a  frank,  open-heaxted 
boy>  like  one  I  could  name,  you  would  have  told  me  all  about  it 
of  your  own  accord.  But  I  now  wish  to  ask  you  a  serious  question 
— what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"To  do,  father?" 

'*  Yes !  the  time  for  which  you  were  articled  to  your  profession 
will  soon  be  expired,  and  I  shall  be  no  more." 

''  Do  not  talk  so,  my  dear  father,  I  have  no  doubt  that  you 
will  soon  be  better." 

"  Do  not  flatter  yourself;  I  feel  that  my  days  are  numbered. 
I  am  soon  going  to  my  rest,  and  I  have  need  of  rest,  for  I  am 
weary.  There,  there,  don't  weep !  Tears  will  help  me  as  little 
as  they  will  you ;  you  have  not  yet  answered  my  question.  Tell 
me  what  you  intend  to  do? " 

"  I  really  do  not  know  what  I  shall  do." 

"The  military  pension  which  I  enjoy  will  cease  with  my 
life.  The  property  which  I  shall  leave  behind  me  will  be  barely 
sufficient  for  the  maintenance  of  your  mother  respectably.  I 
again  ask  you  what  you  intend  to  do.  Do  you  think  you  can 
support  yourself  by  your  Armenian  or  your  other  acquirements  ?  " 

"  Alas  1  I  think  little  at  all  about  it ;  but  I  suppose  I  must 
push  into  the  world,  and  make  a  good  fight,  as  becomes  the  son 
of  him  who  fought  Big  Ben :  if  I  can't  succeed,  and  am  driven  to 
the  worst,  it  is  but  dying '* 

'*  What  do  you  mean  by  dying  ?  " 

"  Leaving  the  world ;  my  loss  would  scarcely  be  felt  I  have 
never  held  life  in  much  value,  and  every  one  has  a  right  to 
dispose  as  he  thinks  best  of  that  which  is  his  own." 

"Ah!  now  I  understand  you;  and  well  I  know  how  and 
where  you  imbibed  that  horrible  doctrine,  and  many  similar  ones 
which  I  have  heard  from  your  own  mouth ;  but  I  wish  not  to 
reproach  you — I  view  in  your  conduct  a  punishment  for  my  own 
sins,  and  I  bow  to  the  will  of  God.  Few  and  evil  have  been  my 
days  upon  the  earth ;  little  have  I  done  to  which  I  can  look  back 
with  satisfaction.  It  is  true  I  have  served  my  king  fifty  years,  and 
I  have  fought  with — Heaven  forgive  me,  what  was  I  about  to  say  I 
— but  you  mentioned  the  man's  name,  and  our  minds  willingly 
recall  our  ancient  follies.  Few  and  evil  have  been  my  days  upon 
earth,  I  may  say  with  Jacob  of  old,  though  I  do  not  mean  to  say 
that  my  case  is  so  hard  as  his ;  he  had  many  undutiful  children^ 


i8a3-l  WAITING.  ifj 

whilst  I  have  only ;  but  I  will  not  reproach  you.    I  have 

also  like  him  a  son  to  whom  I  can  look  with  hope,  who  may  yet 
preserve  my  name  when  I  am  gone,  so  let  me  be  thankful ;  per- 
haps, after  all,  I  have  not  lived  in  vain.  Boy,  when  I  am  gone, 
look  up  to  your  brother,  and  may  God  bless  you  both.  There, 
don't  weep ;  but  take  the  Bible,  and  read  me  something  about 
the  old  man  and  his  children." 

My  brother  had  now  been  absent  for  the  space  of  three  years« 

At  first  his  letters  had  been  frequent,  and  from  them  it  appeared 

that  he  was  following  his  profession  in  London  with  industry ; 

they  then  became  rather  rare,  and  my  father  did  not  always 

communicate  their  contents.     His  last  letter,  however,  had  filled 

him  and  our  whole  little  family  with  joy ;  it  was  dated  from  Paris, 

and  the  writer  was  evidently  in  high  spirits.    After  describing  in 

eloquent  terms  the  beauties  and  gaieties  of  the  French  capital, 

he  informed  us  how  he  had  plenty  of  money,  having  copied  a 

celebrated  picture  of  one  of  the  Italian  masters  for  a  Hungarian 

nobleman,  for  which  he  had  received  a  laige  sum.     *'  He  wishes 

me  to  go  with  him  to  Italy,**  added  he,  "but  I  am  fond  of  in- 

dqiendence ;  and,  if  ever  I  visit  old  Rome,  I  will  have  no  patrons 

near  me  to  distract  my  attention."     But  six  months  had  now 

elapsed  from  the  date  of  this  letter,  and  we  had  heard  no  further 

intelligence  of  my  brother.    My  father's  complaint  increased ;  the 

gout,  his  principal  enemy,  occasionally  mounted  high  up  in  his 

system,  and  we  had  considerable  difficulty  in  keeping  it  from  the 

stomadi,  where  it  generally  proves  fatal.    I  now  devoted  almost 

the  whole  of  my  time  to  my  father,  on  whom  his  faithful  partner 

also  lavished  every  attention  and  care.    I  read  the  Bible  to  him, 

which  was  his  chief  delight ;  and  also  occasionally  such  other 

books  as  I  thought  might  prove  entertaining  to  him.     His  spirits 

were  generally  rather  depressed.    The  absence  of  my  brother 

seemed  to  prey  upon  his  mind.     "I  wish  he  were  here,''  he 

would  frequently  exclaim,  "  I  can't  imagine  what  has  become  of 

him ;  I  trust,  however,  he  will  arrive  in  time."    He  still  sometimes 

rallied,  and  I  took  advantage  of  those  moments  of  comparative 

ease  to  question  him  upon  the  events  of  his  early  life.     My 

attentions  to  him  had  not  passed  unnoticed,  and  he  was  kind, 

fatherly,  and  unreserved.     I  had  never  known  my  father  so 

entertaining  as  at  these  moments,  when  his  life  was  but  too 

evidently  drawing  to  a  close.    I  had  n6  idea  that  he  knew  and 

had  seen  so  much ;  my  respect  for  him  increased,  and  I  looked 

uponhim  almost  with  admiration.     His  anecdotes  were  in  general 

highly  curious ;  some  of  them  related  to  people  in  the  highest 

It 


178  LA  VBNGRO.  [ifiaa- 

stations,  and  to  men  whose  names  were  closely  connected  with 
some  of  the  brightest  glories  of  our  native  land  He  had 
frequently  conversed — almost  on  terms  of  familiarity — with  good 
old  George.  He  had  known  the  conqueror  of  Tippoo  Saib ;  and 
was  the  friend  of  Townshend,  who,  when  Wolfe  fell,  led  the 
British  grenadiers  against  the  shrinking  regiments  of  Montcalm. 
'*  Pity,"  he  added,  **  that  when  old — old  as  I  am  now — ^he  should 
have  driven  his  own  son  mad  by  robbing  him  of  his  plighted 
bride ;  but  so  it  was ;  he  married  his  son's  bride.  I  saw  him  lead 
her  to  the  altar ;  if  ever  there  was  an  angelic  countenance^  it  was 
that  girl's ;  she  was  almost  too  fair  to  be  one  of  the  daughters  of 
women.  Is  there  anything,  boy,  that  you  would  wish  to  ask  me? 
now  is  the  time." 

''Yes,  father;  there  is  one  about  whom  I  would  fain  question 
you." 

''Who  is  it?  shall  I  tell  you  about  EUiot?" 

"No,  father,  not  about  Elliot;  but  pray  don't  be  angry;  I 
should  like  to  know  something  about  Big  Ben." 

"You  are  a  strange  lad,"  said  my  father;  "and,  though  of 
late  I  have  b^;un  to  entertain  a  more  favourable  opinion  than 
heretofore,  there  is  still  much  about  you  that  I  do  not  understand. 
Why  do  you  bring  up  that  name?  Don't  you  know  that  it  is  one 
of  my  temptations?  You  wish  to  know  something  about  him. 
Well!  I  will  oblige  you  this  once,  and  then  farewell  to  such 
vanities — something  about  him.  I  will  tell  you — ^his — ^skin  when 
he  flung  off  his  clothes — ^and  he  had  a  particular  knack  in  doing 
so— his  skin,  when  he  bared  his  mighty  chest  and  back  for 

combat ;  and  when  he  fought,  he  stood  so if  I  remember 

right — ^his  skin,  I  say,  was  brown  and  dusky  as  that  of  a  toad. 
Oh  me  1  I  wish  my  elder  son  was  here." 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 


At  last  my  brother  arrived ;  he  looked  pale  and  unwell ;  I  met 
him  at  the  door.    ''  You  have  been  long  absent ! "  said  I. 

'*  Yes/'  said  he^  "perhaps  too  long;  but  how  is  my  father?^ 

"  Very  poorly/'  said  I,  *'  he  has  had  a  fresh  attack ;  but  where 
have  you  been  of  late  ?  " 

"  Far  and  wide,"  said  my  brother ;  "  but  I  can't  tell  you  any- 
thing now,  I  must  go  to  my  father.  It  was  only  by  chance  that 
I  heard  of  his  illness." 

"  Stay  a  moment/'  said  I.  "  Is  the  world  such  a  fine  place 
as  you  supposed  it  to  be  before  you  went  away  ?  ** 

"  Not  quite/'  said  my  brother,  "  not  quite ;  indeed  I  wish — 
but  ask  me  no  questions  now,  I  must  hasten  to  my  father.*' 

There  was  another  question  on  my  tongue,  but  I  forebore ; 
for  the  eyes  of  the  young  man  were  full  of  tears.  I  pointed  with 
my  finger,  and  the  young  man  hastened  past  me  to  the  arms  of 
his  father. 

I  forebore  to  ask  my  brother  whether  he  had  been  to  old 
Rome. 

What  passed  between  my  father  and  brother  I  do  not  know  ; 
the  interview,  no  doubt,  was  tender  enough,  for  they  tenderly 
loved  each  other;  but  my  brother's  arrival  did  not  produce  the 
beneficial  effect  upon  my  father  which  I  at  first  hoped  it  would ; 
it  did  not  even  appear  to  have  raised  his  spirits.  He  was  com- 
posed enough,  however.  " I  ought  to  be  grateful,"  said  he;  "I 
wished  to  see  my  son,  and  God  has  granted  me  my  wish ;  what 
moie  have  I  to  do  now  than  to  bless  my  little  family  and  go  ?  " 

My  father's  end  was  evidently  at  hand. 

And  did  I  shed  no  tears?  did  I  breathe  no  sighs?  did  I 
never  wring  my  hands  at  this  period?  the  reader  will  perhaps  be 
asking.  Whatever  I  did  and  thought  is  best  known  to  God  and 
myself;  but  it  will  be  as  well  to  observe,  that  it  is  possible  to  feel 
deeply  and  yet  make  no  outward  sign. 

And  now  for  the  closing  scene. 

At  the  dead  hour  of  night,  it  might  be  about  two,  I  wa» 
awakened  from  sleep  by  a  cry  which  sounded  from  the  toont 

(179) 


i8o  LA  VBNGRO.  [zSn  Pbb^  94. 

immediately  below  that  in  which  I  slept.  I  knew  the  cry,  it  was 
the  cry  of  my  mother,  and  I  also  knew  its  import ;  yet  I  made  no 
effort  to  rise^  for  I  was  for  the  moment  paralysed.  Again  the  cry 
sounded,  yet  still  I  lay  motionless — ^the  stupidity  of  horror  was 
upon  me.  A  third  time,  and  it  was  then  that,  by  a  violent  effort 
bursting  the  spell  which  appeared  to  bind  me,  I  sprang  from  the 
bed  and  rushed  downstairs.  My  mother  was  running  wildly 
about  the  room ;  she  had  awoke  and  found  my  father  senseless  in 
the  bed  by  her  side.  I  essayed  to  raise  him,  and  after  a  few 
efforts  supported  him  in  the  bed  in  a  sitting  posture.  My 
brother  now  rushed  in,  and  snatching  up  a  light  that  was  burning, 
he  held  it  to  my  fother's  face.  **  The  surgeon,  the  surgeon ! "  1^ 
cried ;  then  dropping  the  light,  he  ran  out  of  the  room  followed 
by  my  mother ;  I  remained  alone,  supporting  the  senseless  form 
of  my  father ;  the  light  had  been  extinguished  by  the  fall,  and  an 
almost  total  darkness  reigned  in  the  room.  The  form  pressed 
heavily  against  my  bosom — at  last  methought  it  moved.  Yes,  I 
was  right,  there  was  a  heaving  of  the  breast,  and  then  a  gasping. 
Were  those  words  which  I  heard?  Yes,  they  were  words,  low 
and  indistinct  at  first,  and  then  audible.  The  mind  of  the  dying 
man  was  reverting  to  former  scenes.  I  heard  him  mention  names 
which  I  had  often  heard  him  mention  before.  It  was  an  awful 
moment;  I  felt  stupefied,  but  I  still  contrived  to  support  my 
dying  father.  There  was  a  pause,  again  my  father  spoke :  I  heard 
him  speak  of  Minden,  and  of  Meredith,  the  old  Minden  sergeant, 
and  then  he  uttered  another  name,  which  at  one  period  of  his  life 

was  much  on  his  lips,  the  name  of but  this  is  a  solemn  moment ! 

There  was  a  deep  gasp :  I  shook,  and  thought  all  was  over ;  but 
I  was  mistaken — my  father  moved  and  revived  for  a  moment ; 
he  supported  himself  in  bed  without  my  assistance.  I  make  no 
doubt  that  for  a  moment  he  was  perfectly  sensible,  and  it  was 
then  that,  clasping  his  hands,  he  uttered  another  name  clearly, 
distinctly — it  was  the  name  of  Christ  With  that  name  upon  his 
lips,  the  brave  old  soldier  sank  back  upon  my  bosom,  and,  with 
his  hands  still  clasped,  yielded  up  his  soul. 


[Eftd  of  Vol  /.,  1851.1 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


•*  One-and-ninepence,  sir,  or  the  things  which  you  have  brought 
with  you  will  be  taken  away  from  you  1  *' 

Such  were  the  first  words  which  greeted  my  ears,  one  damp, 
misty  morning  in  March,  as  I  dismounted  from  the  top  of  a  coach 
in  the  yard  of  a  London  inn. 

I  turned  round,  for  I  felt  that  the  words  were  addressed  to 
myself.  Plenty  of  people  were  in  the  yard — porters,  passengers, 
coachmen,  ostlers,  and  others,  who  appeared  to  be  intent  on 
anything  but  myself,  with  the  exception  of  one  individual  whose 
business  appeared  to  lie  with  me,  and  who  now  confronted  me  at 
the  distance  of  about  two  yards. 

I  looked  hard  at  the  man — and  a  queer  kind  of  individual  he 
was  to  look  at — a  rakish  figure,  about  thirty,  and  of  the  middle 
size,  dressed  in  a  coat  smartly  cut,  but  threadbare,  very  tight 
pantaloons  of  blue  stuff,  tied  at  the  ankles,  dirty  white  stockings, 
and  thin  shoes,  like  those  of  a  dancing-master ;  his  features  were 
not  ugly,  but  rather  haggard,  and  he  appeared  to  owe  his  com- 
plexion less  to  nature  than  carmine ;  in  fact,  in  every  respect,  a 
very  queer  figure. 

"  One-and-ninepence,  sir,  or  your  things  will  be  taken  away 
from  you  1 "  he  said,  in  a  kind  of  lisping  tone,  coming  yet  nearer 
tome. 

I  still  remained  staring  fixedly  at  him,  but  never  a  word 
answered.  Our  eyes  met ;  whereupon  he  suddenly  lost  the  easy 
impudent  air  which  he  before  wore.  He  glanced,  for  a  moment, 
at  my  fist,  which  I  had  by  this  time  clenched,  and  his  features 
became  yet  more  haggard ;  he  Altered ;  a  fresh  "  one-and-nine- 
pence  "  which  he  was  about  to  utter,  died  on  his  lips ;  he  shrank 
oack,  disappeared  behind  a  coach,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  him. 

"  One-and-ninepence,  or  my  things  will  be  taken  away  from 
me  I"  said  I  to  myself,  musingly,  as  I  followed  the  porter  to  whom 
I  had  delivered  my  scanty  baggage ;  "am  I  to  expect  many  of 
these  greetings  in  the  big  world  ?  Well,  never  mind;  I  think  I 
know  the  counter-sign  P'  And  I  clenched  my  fist  yet  harder 
than  before. 

(i8i) 


i8a  LA  VBNGRO.  [aND  April,  '24 


So  I  followed  the  porter  through  the  streets  of  London,  to  a 
lodging  which  had  been  prepared  for  me  by  an  acquaintance. 
The  morning,  as  I  have  before  said,  was  gloomy^  and  the  streets 
through  which  I  passed  were  dank  and  filthy ;  the  people,  also, 
looked  dank  and  filthy ;  and  so,  probably,  did  I,  for  the  night 
had  been  rainy,  and  I  had  come  upwards  of  a  hundred  miles  on 
the  top  of  a  coach ;  my  heart  had  sunk  within  me  by  the  time  we 
reached  a  dark  narrow  street  in  which  was  the  lodging. 

"  Cheer  up,  young  man,"  said  the  porter,  "  we  shall  have  a 
fine  afternoon  I  '* 

And  presently  I  found  myself  in  the  lodging  which  had  been 
prepared  for  me.  It  consisted  of  a  small  room,  up  two  pair  of 
stairs,  in  which  I  was  to  sit,  and  another  still  smaller  above  it,  in 
which  I  was  to  sleep.  I  remember  that  I  sat  down,  and  looked 
disconsolate  about  me— everything  seemed  so  cold  and  dingy. 
Yet  how  little  is  required  to  make  a  situation — ^however  cheerless 
at  first  sight— cheerful  and  comfortable.  The  people  of  the 
house,  who  looked  kindly  upon  me,  lighted  a  fire  in  the  dingy 
grate ;  and,  then,  what  a  change  t — the  dingy  room  seemed  dingy 
no  more  I  Oh,  the  luxury  of  a  cheerful  fire  after  a  chill  night's 
journey  1  I  drew  near  to  the  blazing  grate,  rubbed  my  hands 
and  felt  glad. 

And,  when  I  had  warmed  myself,  I  turned  to  the  table,  on 
which,  by  this  time,  the  people  of  the  house  had  placed  my 
breakfast ;  and  I  ate  and  I  drank ;  and,  as  I  ate  and  drank,  I 
mused  within  myself,  and  my  eyes  were  frequently  directed  to  a 
small  green  box,  which  constituted  part  of  my  luggage,  and  which, 
with  the  rest  of  my  things,  stood  in  one  comer  of  the  room,  tOl  at 
last,  leaving  my  breakfast  unfinished,  I  rose,  and,  going  to  the  box, 
unlocked  it,  and  took  out  two  or  three  bundles  of  papers  tied 
with  red  tape,  and,  placing  them  on  the  table,  I  resumed  my  seat 
and  my  breakfast,  my  eyes  intently  fixed  upon  the  bundles  of 
papers  all  the  time. 

And  when  I  had  drained  the  last  cup  of  tea  out  of  a  dingy 
teapot,  and  ate  the  last  slice  of  the  dingy  loaf,  I  untied  one  of 
the  bundles,  and  proceeded  to  look  over  the  papan,  which  were 
closely  written  over  in  a  singular  hand,  and  I  read  for  some  time^ 
till  at  last  I  said  to  myself,  "  It  will  do  "•  And  then  I  looked  at 
the  other  bundle  for  some  time,  without  untying  it ;  and  at  last  I 
said,  '*  It  will  do  also ".  And  then  I  turned  to  the  fire,  and, 
putting  my  feet  against  the  sides  of  the  grate,  I  leaned  back  on 
my  chair,  and,  with  my  eyes  upon  the  fire,  fell  into  deep  thought 

And  there  I  continued  in  thought  before  the  fire,  until  my 


i8a4.]  '*THB  BIO  WORLD."  183 


eyes  dosed,  and  I  fell  asleep ;  which  was  not  to  be  wondered  at, 
after  the  fatigue  and  cold  which  I  had  lately  undergone  on  the 
ooacb-top ;  and,  in  my  sleep,  I  imagined  myself  still  there,  amidst 
darkness  and  rain,  hurrying  now  over  wild  heaths,  and  now  along 
roads  overhung  with  thick  and  umbrageous  trees,  and  sometimes 
methought  I  heard  the  horn  of  the  guard,  and  sometimes  the 
voice  of  the  coachman,  now  chiding,  now  encouraging  his  horses, 
as  they  toiled  through  the  deep  and  miry  ways.  At  length  a 
tremendous  crack  of  a  whip  saluted  the  tympanum  of  my  ear, 
and  I  started  up  broad  awake,  nearly  oversetting  the  chair  on 
which  I  reclined — and,  lo  1  I  was  in  the  dingy  room  before  the 
fire,  which  was  by  this  time  half-extinguished.  In  my  dream  I 
had  confounded  the  noise  of  the  street  with  those  of  my  night 
journey ;  the  crack  which  had  aroused  me  I  soon  found  proceeded 
from  the  whip  of  a  carter,  who,  with  many  oaths,  was  flogging  his 
team  below  the  window. 

Looking  at  a  clock  which  stood  upon  the  mantel-piece,  I  per- 
ceived that  it  was  past  eleven ;  whereupon  I  said  to  myself,  "  I  am 
wasting  my  time  foolishly  and  unprofitably,  forgetting  that  I  am 
now  in  the  big  world,  without  anything  to  depend  upon  save  my 
own  exertions";  and  then  I  adjusted  my  dress,  and,  locking  up 
the  bundle  of  papers  which  I  had  not  read,  I  tied  up  the  other, 
and,  taking  it  under  my  arm,  I  went  down  stairs ;  and,  after  ask- 
ing a  question  or  two  of  the  people  of  the  house,  I  sallied  forth 
into  the  street  with  a  determined  look,  though  at  heart  I  felt 
somewhat  timorous  at  the  idea  of  venturing  out  alone  into  the 
mazes  of  the  mighty  city,  of  which  I  had  heard  much,  but  of 
which,  of  my  own  knowledge,  I  knew  nothing. 

I  had,  however,  no  great  cause  for  anxiety  in  the  present  in- 
stance ;  I  easily  found  my  way  to  the  place  which  I  was  in  quest 
of-*one  of  the  many  new  squares  on  the  northern  side  of  the 
metropolis,  and  which  was  scarcely  ten  minutes'  walk  from  the 
street  in  which  I  bad  taken  up  my  abode.  Arriving  before  the 
door  of  a  tolerably  large  house  which  bore  a  certain  number,  I 
stood  still  for  a  moment  in  a  kind  of  trepidation,  looking  anxiously 
at  the  door ;  I  then  slowly  passed  on  till  I  came  to  the  endjof  the 
squaie,  where  I  stood  still  and  pondered  for  awhile.  Suddenly, 
however,  like  one  who  has  formed  a  resolution,  I  clenched  my 
right  hand,  flinging  my  hat  somewhat  on  one  side,  and,  turning 
back  with  haste  to  the  door  before  which  I  had  stopped,  I  sprang 
up  the  steps,  and  gave  a  loud  rap,  ringing  at  the  same  time  the 
bdl  of  the  area.  After  the  lapse  of  a  minute  the  door  was 
opened  by  a  maid-servant  of  no  very  cleanly  or  prepossessing 


i84  LA  VBNGRO.  [1824. 

appearance,  of  whom  I  demanded,  in  a  tone  of  some  hauteur^ 
whether  the  master  of  the  house  was  at  home.  Glancing  for  a 
moment  at  the  white  paper  bundle  beneath  my  arm,  the  handmaid 
made  no  reply  in  words^  but,  with  a  kind  of  toss  of  her  head,  flung 
the  door  open,  standing  on  one  side  as  if  to  let  me  enter.  I  did 
enter;  and  the  handmaid,  having  opened  another  door  on  the 
right  hand,  went  in,  and  said  something  which  I  could  not  hear; 
after  a  considerable  pause,  however,  I  heard  the  voice  of  a  man 
say,  '^  Let  him  come  in  " ;  whereupon  the  handmaid,  coming  out, 
motioned  me  to  enter,  and,  on  my  obeying,  instantly  dos^  the 
door  behind  m^ 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


There  were  two  individuals  in  the  room  in  which  I  now  found 
myself;  it  was  a  small  study,  surrounded  with  bookcases,  the 
window  looking  out  upon  the  square.  Of  these  individuals  he 
who  appeared  to  be  the  principal  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire- 
place. He  was  a  tall,  stout  man,  about  sixty,  dressed  in  a  loose 
morning  gown.  The  expression  of  his  countenance  would  have 
been  bluff  but  for  a  certain  sinister  glance,  and  his  complexion 
might  have  been  called  rubicund  but  for  a  considerable  tinge  ot 
bilious  yellow.  He  eyed  me  askance  as  I  entered.  The  other, 
a  pale,  shrivelled-looking  person,  sat  at  a  table  apparently  engaged 
with  an  account-book ;  he  took  no  manner  of  notice  of  me,  never 
(mce  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  page  before  him. 

"Well,  sir,  what  is  your  pleasure?"  said  the  big  man,  in  a 
rough  tone,  as  I  stood  Uiere  looking  at  him  wistfully — as  well  I 
might — for  upon  that  man,  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  speaking, 
my  principal,  I  may  say  my  only,  hopes  rested. 

**  Sir,"  said  I,  "  my  name  is  so-and-so,  and  I  am  the  bearer  of 
a  letter  to  you  from  Mr.  so-and-so,  an  old  friend  and  corres- 
pondent of  yours." 

The  countenance  of  the  big  man  instantly  lost  the  suspicious 
and  lowering  expression  which  it  had  hitherto  exhibited ;  he  strode 
forward  and,  seizing  me  by  the  hand,  gave  me  a  violent  squeeze. 

*'  My  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  am  rejoiced  to  see  you  in  London. 
I  have  been  long  anxious  for  the  pleasure — ^we  are  old  friends, 
though  we  have  never  before  met  Taggart,"^  said  he  to  the 
man  who  sat  at  the  desk,  **  this  is  our  excellent  correspondent,  the 
friend  and  pupil  of  our  other  excellent  correspondent." 

The  pale,  shrivelled-looking  man  slowly  and  deliberately 
raised  his  head  from  the  account-book,  and  surveyed  me  for  a 
moment  or  two ;  not  the  slightest  emotion  was  observable  in  his 
countenance.  It  appeared  to  me,  however,  that  I  could  detect  a 
droll  twinkle  in  his  eye ;  his  curiosity,  if  he  had  any,  was  soon 

iJ/5.,  "Bartlett". 
(l8S) 


i86  LA  VBNGRO.  [1&14. 

gratified ;  he  made  me  a  kind  of  bow,  pulled  out  a  snuff-box,  took 
a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  again  bent  his  head  over  the  page. 

*'  And  now,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  big  man,  "  pray  sit  down, 
and  tell  me  the  cause  of  your  visit  I  hope  you  intend  to  remain 
here  a  day  or  two." 

''More  than  that,"  said  I,  "  I  am  come  to  take  up  my  abode 
in  London." 

''  Glad  to  hear  it ;  and  what  have  you  been  about  of  late  ?  got 
anything  which  will  suit  me  ?  Sir,  I  admire  your  style  of  writing, 
and  your  manner  of  thinking ;  and  I  am  much  obliged  to  my 
good  friend  and  correspondent  for  sending  me  some  of  your 
productions.  I  inserted  them  all^  and  wished  there  had  been 
more  of  them— quite  original,  sir,  quite;  took  with  the  public, 
especially  the  essay  about  the  non-existence  of  anything.  I  don't 
exactly  agree  with  you,  though ;  I  have  my  own  peculiar  ideas 
about  matter — as  you  know,  of  course,  from  the  book  I  have 
published.  Nevertheless,  a  very  pretty  piece  of  speculative 
philosophy — ^no  such  thing  as  matter — impossible  that  there 
should  be — ex  mhiio — what  is  the  Greek  ?  I  have  forgot — very 
pretty  indeed;  very  original" 

''  I  am  afraid,  sir,  it  was  very  wrong  to  write  such  trash,  and 
yet  more  to  allow  it  to  be  published." 

"  Trash !  not  at  all ;  a  very  pretty  piece  of  speculative  philo- 
sophy; of  course  you  were  wrong  in  saying  there  is  no  world. 
The  world  must  exist,  to  have  the  shape  of  a  pear ;  and  that  the 
world  is  shaped  like  a  pear,  and  not  like  an  apple,  as  the  fools  of 
Oxford  say,  I  have  satisfactorily  proved  in  my  book.  Now,  if 
there  were  no  world,  what  would  become  of  my  system?  But 
what  do  you  propose  to  do  in  London  ?  " 

''Here  \s  the  letter,  sir,"  said  I,  "of  our  good  friend,  which  I 
have  not  yet  given  to  you ;  I  believe  it  will  explain  to  you  the 
circumstances  under  which  I  come." 

He  took  the  letter,  and  perused  it  with  attention.  "Hem  I" 
said  he,  with  a  somewhat  altered  manner,  "  my  friend  tdls  me  that 
you  are  come  up  to  London  with  the  view  of  turning  your  literajcy 
talents  to  account,  and  desiies  me  to  assist  you  in  my  capacity  of 
publisher  in  bringing  forth  two  or  three  works  which  you  have 
prepared.  My  good  friend  is  perhaps  not  aware  that  for  some 
time  past  I  have  given  up  publishing — ^was  obliged  to  do  so — ^had 
many  severe  losses — do  nothing  at  present  in  that  line,  save 
sending  out  the  Magazine  once  a  month ;  and,  between  ourselves 
am  thinking  of  disposing  of  that — ^wish  to  retire — ^high  time  at  my 
age— so  you  see ^ 


1024.]  SIR  RICHARD.  187 

*'  I  am  very  sorry,  sir,  to  hear  that  you  cannot  assist  me  "  (and 
I  remember  that  I  felt  very  nervous) ;  " I  had  hoped—" 

"A  losing  trade,  I  assure  you^  sir;  literature  is  a  drug. 
Taggart,  what  o'clock  is  it?" 

''Well,  sir!''  said  I,  rising,  ''as  you  cannot  assist  me,  I  will 
DOW  take  my  leave ;  I  thank  you  sincerely  for  your  kind  reception, 
and  wOl  trouble  you  no  longer." 

"  Oh,  don't  go.  I  wish  to  have  some  further  conversation  with 
you ;  and  perhaps  I  may  hit  upon  some  plan  to  benefit  you.  I 
honour  merit,  and  always  make  a  point  to  encourage  it  when  I 

can ;  but Taggart,  go  to  the  bank,  and  tell  them  to  dishonour 

the  bill  twelve  months  after  date  for  thirty  pounds  which  becomes 
due  to-morrow.  I  am  dissatisfied  with  that  fellow  who  wrote  the 
fairy  tales,  and  intend  to  give  him  all  the  trouble  in  my  power. 
Make  haste." 

Taggart  did  not  appear  to  be  in  any  particular  haste.  First 
of  all,  he  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  then,  rising  firom  his  chair,  slowly 
and  deliberately  drew  his  wig,  for  he  wore  a  wig  of  a  brown  colour, 
rather  more  over  his  forehead  than  it  had  previously  been,  buttoned 
his  coat,  and,  taking  his  hat,  and  an  umbrella  which  stood  in  a 
comer,  made  me  a  low  bow,  and  quitted  the  room. 

"  Well,  sir,  where  were  we  ?  Oh,  I  remember,  we  were  talking 
about  merit.  Sir,  I  always  wish  to  encourage  merit,  especially 
when  it  comes  so  highly  reconunended  as  in  the  present  instance. 
Sir,  my  good  firiend  and  correspondent  speaks  of  you  in  the 
highest  terms.  Sir,  I  honour  my  good  friend,  and  have  the 
highest  respect  for  his  opinion  in  all  matters  connected  with 
literature — ^rather  eccentric  though.  Sir,  my  good  friend  has 
done  my  periodical  more  good  and  more  harm  than  all  the  rest 
of  my  correspondents.  Sir,  I  shall  never  forget  the  sensation 
caused  by  the  appearance  of  his  article  about  a  certain  personage 
whom  he  proved — and  I  think  satisfactorily — ^to  have  been  a 

legionary  soldier — ^rather  startling,  was  it  not?    The  S ^  of 

the  world  a  common  soldier,  in  a  marching  regiment ! — original, 
but  startling;  sir,  I  honour  my  good  friend." 

"So  you  have  renounced  publishing,  sir,"  said  I,  "with  the 
exception  of  the  Magazine  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes ;  except  now  and  then,  under  the  rose ;  the  old 
coachman,  you  know,  likes  to  hear  the  whip.  Indeed,  at  the  present 
moment,  I  am  thinking  of  starting  a  Review  on  an  entirely  new  and 
original  principle ;  and  it  just  struck  me  that  you  might  be  of  high 
utility  in  the  undertaking — what  do  you  think  of  the  matter  ?  " 

ti/5.,  •«8ivloar". 


388  LA  VBNGRO.  [1824. 

^*  I  should  be  happy,  sir,  to  render  you  any  assistance,  but  I 
am  afraid  the  employment  you  propose  requires  other  qualifica- 
tions than  I  possess ;  however,  I  can  make  the  essay.  My  chief 
intention  in  coming  to  London  was  to  lay  before  the  world  what 
I  had  prepared ;  and  I  had  hoped  by  your  assistance " 

'^  Ah  1  I  see,  ambition  I  Ambition  is  a  yery  pretty  thing ;  but, 
sir,  we  must  walk  before  we  run,  according  to  the  old  saying-* 
what  is  that  you  have  got  under  your  arm  ?  " 

'*  One  of  the  works  to  which  I  was  alluding ;  the  one,  indeed, 
which  I  am  most  anxious  to  lay  before  the  world,  as  I  hope  to 
derive  from  it  both  profit  and  reputation." 

*'  Indeed  1  what  do  you  call  it  ?  " 

'*  Ancient  songs  of  Denmark,  heroic  and  romantic,  translated 
by  myself,  with  notes  philological,  critical  and  historical." 

"  Then,  sir,  I  assure  you  that  your  time  and  labour  have  been 
entirely  flung  away;  nobody  would  read  your  ballads,  if  you 
were  to  give  them  to  the  world  to-morrow.*' 

*'  I  am  sure,  sir,  that  you  would  say  otherwise  if  you  would 
permit  me  to  read  one  to  you ; "  and,  without  waiting  for  the 
answer  of  the  big  man,  nor  indeed  so  much  as  looking  at  him, 
to  see  whether  he  was  inclined  or  not  to  hear  me,  I  undid  my 
manuscript,  and  with  a  voice  trembling  vrith  eagerness,  I  read  to 
the  following  effect : — 

Buckshank  bold  and  Elfinstone, 

And  more  than  I  can  mention  here, 
They  caused  to  be  built  so  stout  a  ship, 

And  unto  Iceland  they  would  steer. 

They  launched  the  ship  upon  the  main, 
Which  bellowed  like  a  wrathful  bear; 

Down  to  the  bottom  the  vessel  sank, 
A  laidly  Trold  has  dragged  it  there. 

Down  to  the  bottom  sank  young  Roland. 

And  round  about  he  groped  awhile ; 
Until  he  found  the  path  which  led 

Unto  the  bower  of  EUenlyle. 

"  Stop  1 "  said  the  publisher ;  "  very  pretty,  indeed,  and  very 
original ;  beats  Scott  hollow,  and  Percy  too :  but,  sir,  the  day  for 
these  things  is  gone  by ;  nobody  at  present  cares  for  Percy,  nor 
for  Scott,  either,  save  as  a  novelist ;  sorry  to  discourage  meri^  sir, 
but  what  can  I  do  ?    What  else  have  you  got  ?  " 

"The  songs  of  Ab  Gwilym,  the  Welsh  bard,  also  translated  by 
myself,  with  notes  critical,  philological  and  historicaL" 


iaa4.]  PHILIPPICS.  1^9 

"  Pass  on— what  else  ? " 

"  Nothing  else/'  said  I,  folding  up  my  manuscript  with  a  sigh^ 
**  unless  it  be  a  romance  in  the  German  style ;  on  which,  I  confess^ 
I  set  Tery  little  Talue." 

"Wfld?" 

*•  Yes,  sir,  very  wild." 

"  Like  the  Miller  of  the  Black  Valley  ?  " 

•*  Yes,  sir,  very  much  like  the  Miller  of  the  Black  Valley.'' 

"Well,  that's  better,"  said  the  publisher;  "and  yet,  I  don't 
know,  I  question  whether  any  one  at  present  cares  for  the  miller 
himself.  No,  sir,  the  time  for  those  things  is  also  gone  by ; 
German,  at  present,  is  a  drug ;  and,  between  ourselves,  nobody 
has  contributed  to  make  it  so  more  than  my  good  friend  and 
correspondent;  but,  sir,  I  see  you  are  a  young  gentleman  of 
infinite  merit,  and  I  always  wish  to  encourage  merit.  Don't 
you  think  you  could  write  a  series  of  evangelical  tales?" 

"  Evangelical  tales,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  evangelical  novels." 

"  Something  in  the  style  of  Herder?" 

"  Herder  is  a  drug,  sir ;  nobody  cares  for  Herder — thanks  to 
my  good  friend.  Sir,  I  have  in  yon  drawer  a  hundred  pages 
about  Herder,  which  I  dare  not  insert  in  my  periodical ;  it  would 
sink  it,  sir.  No,  sir,  something  in  the  style  of  the  /dairyman's 
Daughter!* 

"  I  never  heard  of  the  work  till  the  present  moment" 

"Then,  sir,  procure  it  by  all  means.  Sir,  I  could  afford  as 
much  as  ten  pounds  for  a  well-written  tale  in  the  style  of  the 
Dairyman's  Daughter;  that  is  the  kind  of  literature,  sir,  that 
sells  at  the  present  day  !  It  is  not  the  Miller  of  the  Black  Valley — 
no,  sir,  nor  Herder  either,  that  will  suit  the  present  taste;  the 
evangelical  body  is  becoming  very  strong,  sir — the  canting 
scoundrels ^ 

"But,  sir,  surely  you  would  not  pander  to  a  scoundrelly 
taste?" 

"  Then,  sir,  I  must  give  up  business  altogether.  Sir,  I  have  a 
great  respect  for  the  goddess  Reason — an  infinite  respect,  sir; 
indeed,  in  my  time,  I  have  made  a  great  many  sacrifices  for  her ; 
but,  sir,  I  cannot  altogether  ruin  myself  for  the  goddess  Reason. 
Sir,  I  am  a  friend  to  Liberty,  as  is  well  known ;  but  I  must  also 
be  a  fiiend  to  my  own  family.  It  is  with  the  view  of  providing 
for  a  son  of  mine  that  I  am  about  to  start  the  Review  of  which  I 
was  speaking.  He  has  taken  it  into  his  head  to  marry,  sir,  and  I 
must  do  something  for  him,  for  he  can  do  but  little  for  himself. 


]^  LA  VBNORO,  [z8a4. 

Well,  SIT,  I  am  a  friend  to  Liberty,  as  I  said  before,  and  likewise  a 
friend  to  Reason ;  but  I  tell  you  frankly  that  the  Review  which  I 
intend  to  get  up  under  the  rose,  and  present  him  with  when  it  is 
established,  will  be  conducted  on  Oxford  principles."  ^ 

*' Orthodox  principles,  I  suppose  you  mean,  sir?" 

"I  do,  sir;  I  am  fio  linguist,  but  I  believe  the  words  are 
synonymous." 

Much  moreconveriation  passed  between  us,  and  it  was  agreed 
that  I  should  become  a  contributor  to  the  Oxford  Review.  I 
stipulated,  however,  that,  as  I  knew  little  of  politics,  and  cared 
less,  no  other  articles  should  be  required  from  me  than  such  as 
were  connected  with  belles-lettres  and  philology ;  to  this  the  big 
man  readily  assented.  ''Nothing  will  be  required  from  you," 
said  he,  ''  but  what  you  mention ;  and  now  and  then,  perhaps,  a 
paper  on  metaphysics.  You  understand  German,  and  perhaps  it 
would  be  desirable  that  you  should  review  Kant;  and  in  a 
review  of  Kant,  sir,  you  could  introduce  to  advantage  your 
peculiar  notions  about  ex  nihilo,**  He  then  reverted  to  the  subject 
of  the  Dairyman's  Daughter^  which  I  promised  to  take  into  con- 
sideration. As  I  was  going  away,  he  invited  me  to  dine  with  him 
on  the  ensuing  Sunday. 

"  That's  a  strange  man  1 "  said  I  to  myself,  after  I  had  left  the 
house,  "  he  is  evidently  very  clever ;  but  I  cannot  say  that  I  like  him 
much,  with  his  Oxford  Reviews  and  Dairyman's  Daughters.  But 
what  can  I  do  ?  I  am  almost  without  a  friend  in  the  world.  I 
wish  I  could  find  some  one  who  would  publish  my  ballads,  or  my 
songs  of  Ab  Gwilym.  In  spite  of  what  the  big  man  says,  I  am 
convinced  that,  once  published,  they  would  bring  me  much  fame 
and  profit  But  how  is  this  ? — what  a  beautiful  sun  I — ^the  porter 
was  right  in  saying  that  the  day  would  dear  up — I  will  now  go  to 
my  dingy  lodging,  lock  up  my  manuscripts  and  then  take  a  stroll 
about  the  big  city." 

1  MS.,  "  High  Tory  principles ' . 


CHAPTER  XXM. 

So  I  set  out  on  my  walk  to  see  the  wondey  of  the  big  city,  and,  as 
chance  would  have  it,  I  directed  my  course  to  the  east.  The  day, 
as  I  have  already  said,  had  become  very  fine,  so  that  I  saw  the 
great  city  to  advantage,  and  the  wonders  thereof  and  much  I 
admired  all  I  saw ;  and,  amongst  other  things,  the  huge  cathedral, 
standing  so  proudly  on  the  most  commanding  ground  in  the  big 
city;  and  I  looked  up  to  the  mighty  dome,  surmounted  by  a 
golden  cross,  and  I  said  within  myself:  ^*That  dome  must  needs 
be  the  finest  in  the  world  " ;  and  I  gazed  upon  it  till  my  eyes 
reeled,  and  my  brain  became  dizzy,  and  I  thought  that  the  dome 
would  fall  and  crush  me ;  and  I  shrank  within  myself,  and  struck 
yet  deeper  into  the  heart  of  the  big  city. 

*'  O  Cheapside !  Cheapside  1 "  said  I,  as  I  advanced  up  that 
mighty  thoroughfare,  "  truly  thou  art  a  wonderful  place  for  hurry, 
noise  and  riches  I  Men  talk  of  the  bazaars  of  the  East — I  have 
never  seen  them,  but  I  dare  say  that,  compared  with  thee^ 
they  are  poor  places,  silent  places,  abounding  with  empty  boxes. 
O  thou  pride  of  London's  east  I — mighty  mart  of  old  renown  1 — 
for  thou  art  not  a  place  of  yestercky :  long  before  the  Roses 
red  and  white  battled  in  fair  England,  thou  didst  exist — a  place  of 
throng  and  bustle — ^a  place  of  gold  and  silver,  perfumes  and  fine 
linen.  Centuries  ago  thou  couldst  extort  the  praises  even  of  the 
fiercest  foes  of  England.  Fierce  bards  of  Wales,  sworn  foes  of 
England,  sang  thy  praises  centuries  ago ;  and  even  the  fiercest  of 
them  all.  Red  Julius  himself,  wild  Glendower's  bard,  had  a  word 
of  praise  for  London's  **  Cheape,"  for  so  the  bards  of  Wales  styled 
thee  in  their  flowing  odes.  Then,  if  those  who  were  not  English, 
and  hated  England  and  all  connected  therewith,  had  yet  much 
to  say  in  thy  praise,  when  thou  wast  fisir  inferior  to  what  thou  art 
now,  why  should  true-born  Englishmen,  or  those  who  call  them- 
selves so,  turn  up  their  noses  at  thee,  and  scoff  thee  at  the  present 
day,  as  I  believe  they  do?  But,  let  others  do  as  they  will,  I,  at 
least,  wh#  am  not  only  an  Englishman,  but  an  East  Englishman, 
will  not  turn  up  my  nose  at  thee,  but  will  praise  and  extol  thee, 
calling  thee  mart  of  the  world — ^a  place  of  wonder  and  astonish- 
ment ] — and,  were  it  right  and  fitting  to  wish  that  anything  should 

(191) 


194  LA  VBNGRO.  [1824. 

endure  for  ever,  I  would  say  prosperity  to  Cheapside,  throughout 
all  ages — may  it  be  the  world's  resort  for  Inerchandise^  world 
without  end. 

And  when  I  had  passed  through  the  Cheape  I  entered  another 
street,  which  led  up  a  kind  of  ascent,  and  which  proved  to  be  the 
street  of  the  Lombards,  called  so  from  the  name  of  its  founders ; 
and  I  walked  rapidly  up  the  street  of  the  Lombards,  neither 
looking  to  the  right  nor  left,  for  it  had  no  interest  for  me^  though 
I  had  a  kind  of  consciousness  that  mighty  things  were  being 
transacted  behind  its  wall^f;  but  it  wanted  the  throng,  bustle  and 
outward  magnificence  of  the  Cheape,  and  it  had  never  been 
spoken  of  by  "  ruddy  bards  I "  And,  when  I  had  got  to  the  end 
of  the  street  of  the  Lombards,  I  stood  still  for  some  time,  de- 
liberating within  m3rself  whether  I  should  turn  to  the  right  or  the 
left,  or  go  straight  forward,  and  at  last  I  turned  to  the  right,  down 
a  street  of  rapid  descent,  and  presently  found  myself  upon  a  bridge 
which  traversed  the  river  which  runs  by  the  big  city. 

A  strange  kind  of  bridge  it  was;  huge  and  massive,  and 
seemingly  of  great  antiquity.  It  had  an  arched  back,  like  that  of 
a  hog,  a  high  balustrade^  and  at  either  side,  at  intervals,  were 
stone  bowers  bulking  over  the  river,  but  open  on  the  other  side, 
and  furnished  with  a  semicircular  bench.  Though  the  bridge  was 
wide — ^very  wide — it  was  all  too  narrow  for  the  concourse  upon  it. 
Thousands  of  human  beings  were  pouring  over  the  bridge.  But 
what  chiefly  struck  my  attention  was  a  double  row  of  carts  and 
wagons,  the  generality  drawn  by  horses  as  large  as  elephants,  each 
row  striving  hard  in  a  different  direction,  and  not  unfrequently 
brought  to  a  standstill.  Oh  the  cracking  of  whips,  the  shouts  and 
oaths  of  the  carters,  and  the  grating  of  wheels  upon  the  enormous 
stones  that  formed  the  pavement!  In  fact,  there  was  a  wild 
hurly-burly  upon  the  bridge,  which  nearly  deafened  me.  But,  if 
upon  the  bridge  there  was  a  confusion,  below  it  there  was  a  con- 
fusion ten  times  confounded.  The  tide,  which  was  fast  ebbing, 
obstructed  by  the  immense  piers  of  the  old  bridge,  poured  beneath 
the  arches  with  a  fall  of  several  feet,  forming  in  the  river  below  as 
many  whirlpools  as  there  were  arches.  Truly  tremendous  was  the 
roar  of  the  descending  waters,  and  the  bellow  of  the  tremendous 
gulfs,  which  swallowed  them  for  a  time,  and  then  cast  them 
forth,  foaming  and  frothing  from  their  horrid  wombs.  Slowly 
advancing  along  the  bridge,  I  came  to  the  highest  {Jbint,  and 
there  I  stood  still,  close  beside  one  of  the  stone  bowers,  in  which, 
beside  a  fruitstall,  sat  an  old  woman,  with  a  pan  of  charcoal  at 
her  feet,  and  a  book  in  her  hand,  in  which  she  appeared  to  be 
reading  intently^    There  I  stood,  just  above  the  principal  archi 


1824.1  THE  STROLL.  193 

looking  through  the  balustrade  at  the  scene  that  presented  itself — 
and  such  a  scene !  Towards  the  left  bank  of  the  river,  a  forest  of 
masts,  thick  and  close,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach ;  spacious 
wharfs,  sunnounted  with  gigantic  edifices ;  and,  far  away,  Caesar's 
Castle,  with  its  White  Tower,  To  the  right,  another  forest  of 
masts,  and  a  maze  of  buildings,  from  which,  here  and  there,  shot 
up  to  the  sky  chimneys  taller  than  Cleopatra's  Needle,  vomit- 
ing forth  huge  wreaths  of  that  black  smoke  which  forms  the 
canopy— occasionally  a  gorgeous  one — of  the  more  than  Babel 
city.  Stretching  before  me,  the  troubled  breast  of  the  mighty 
river,  and,  immoliately  below,  the  main  whirlpool  of  the  Thames 
— the  Maelstrom  of  the  bulwarks  of  the  middle  arch — a  grisly 
pool,  which,  with  its  superabundance  of  horror,  fascinated  me. 
Who  knows  but  I  should  have  leapt  into  its  depths? — I  have 
heard  of  such  things — but  for  a  rather  startling  occurrence  which 
broke  the  spelL  As  I  stood  upon  the  bridge,  gazing  into  the  jaws 
of  the  pool,  a  small  boat  shot  suddenly  through  the  arch  beneath 
my  feet.  There  were  three  peisons  in  it;  an  oarsman  in  the 
middle,  whilst  a  man  and  a  woman  sat  at  the  stem.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  thrill  of  horror  which  went  through  me  at  this  sudden 
apparition.  What ! — a  boat — ^a  small  boat — passing  beneath  that 
arch  into  yonder  roaring  gulf!  Yes,  yes,  down  through  that  awful 
water-way,  with  more  than  the  swiftness  of  an  arrow,  shot  the 
boat,  or  skiff,  right  into  the  jaws  of  the  pool.  A  monstrous 
breaker  curls  over  the  prow — there  is  no  hope;  the  boat  is 
swamped,  and  all  drowned  in  that  strangling  vortex.  No!  the 
boat,  which  appeared  to  have  the  buoyancy  of  a  feather,  skipped 
over  the  threatening  horror,  and  the  next  moment  was  out  of 
danger,  the  boatman — a  true  boatman  of  Cockaigne  that  — 
elevating  one  of  his  sculls  in  sign  of  triumph,  the  man  hallooing, 
and  the  woman,  a  true  Englishwoman  that— of  a  certain  class-* 
waving  her  shawl.  Whether  any  one  observed  them  save  myself, 
or  whether  the  feat  was  a  common  one,  I  know  not ;  but  nobody 
appeared  to  take  any  notice  of  them.  As  for  myself,  t  was  so 
excited,  that  I  strove  to  clamber  up  the  balustrade  of  the  bridge, 
in  order  to  obtain  a  better  view  of  the  daring  adventurers.  Before 
I  could  accomplish  my  design,  however,  I  felt  myself  seized  by  the 
body,  and,  turning  my  head,  perceived  the  old  fruit-woman,  who 
was  clinging  to  me. 

"  Nay,  dear  I  don't— don't ! "  said  she.  "  Don't  fling  yourself 
over — perhaps  you  may  have  better  luck  next  time ! " 

"  I  was  not  going  to  fling  myself  over,"  said  I,  dropping  from 
the  balustrade ;  '*  how  came  you  to  think  of  such  a  thing  ?  " 

13 


194  LA  VBNGRO.  [1834. 

'^Why,  seeing  you  clamber  up  so  fiercely,  I  thought  you 
might  have  had  ill  luck,  and  that  you  wished  to  make  away  with 
yourself." 

"  111  luck/'  said  I,  going  into  the  stone  bower  and  sitting  down. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  ill  luck  in  what  ?^' 

"  Why,  no  great  harm,  dear !  cly-faking,  perhaps." 

''Are  you  coming  over  me  with  dialectSi"  said  I,  "speaking 
unto  me  in  fashions  I  wot  nothing  of?'' 

"  Nay,  dear  1  don't  look  so  strange  with  thpse  eyes  of  your'n, 
nor  talk  so  strangely ;  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Nor  I  you ;  what  do  you  mean  by  dy-faking  ?" 

''  Lor,  dear  I  no  harm ;  only  taking  a  handkerchief  now  and  then." 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  a  Uiief  ?  " 

"  Nay,  dear  1  don't  make  use  of  bad  language ;  we  never  calls 
them  thieves  here,  but  prigs  and  fakers :  to  tdl  you  the  truth,  dear, 
seeing  you  spring  at  that  lailing  put  me  in  mind  of  my  own  dear 
son,  who  is  now  at  Bot'ny :  when  he  had  bad  luck,  he  always  used 
to  talk  of  flinging  himself  over  the  bridge ;  and,  sure  enough, 
when  the  traps  were  after  him,  he  did  fling  himself  into  the  river, 
but  that  was  off  the  bank ;  nevertheless,  the  traps  pulled  him  out, 
and  he  is  now  sufiering  his  sentence ;  so  you  see  you  may  speak 
out,  if  you  have  done  anything  in  the  harmless  line,  for  I  am  my 
son's  own  mother,  I  assure  you." 

"So  you  think  there's  no  harm  in  stealing?" 

"  No  harm  in  the  world,  dear  I  Do  you  think  my  own  child 
would  have  been  transported  for  it,  if  there  had  been  any  liarm 
in  it?  and  what's  more,  would  the  blessed  woman  in  the  book 
here  have  written  her  life  as  she  has  done,  and  given  it  to  the 
world,  if  there  had  been  any  harm  in  faking?  She^  too,  was 
what  they  call  a  thief  and  a  cut-purse ;  ay,  and  was  transported  for 
it,  like  my  dear  son ;  and  do  you  think  she  would  have  told  the 
world  so,  if  there  had  been  any  harm  in  the  thing?  Oh,  it  is  a 
comfort  to  me  that  the  blessed  woman  was  transported,  and  came 
back — for  come  back  she  did,  and  rich  too — ^for  it  is  an  assurance 
to  me  that  my  dear  son,  who  was  transported  too,  will  come  back 
like  her." 

"  What  was  her  name  ? '' 
,       "  Her  name,  blessed  Mary  Flanders." 

"  Will  you  let  me  look  at  the  book  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  that  I  will,  if  you  promise  me  not  to  run  away 
with  it." 

I  took  the  book  from  her  hand;  a  short  thick  volume,  at 
least  a  century  old,  bound  with  greasy  black  leather.  I  turned 
the  yellow  and  dog's-eared  pages,  reading  here  and  there  a 


iSh-]  LONDON  BRIDGE.  195 

sentence.  Yes,  and  no  mistake !  ^is  pen,  his  style,  his  spirit 
might  be  observed  in  every  line  of  the  uncouth-looking  old 
volume — ^the  air,  the  style,  the  spirit  of  the  writer  of  the  book 
which  first  taught  me  to  read.  I  covered  my  face  with  my  hand, 
and  thought  of  my  childhood. 

''This  is  a  singular  book,^  said  I  at  last;  "but  it  does  not 
Bppeai  to  have  been  written  to  prove  that  thieving  is  no  harm, 
but  rather  to  show  the  terrible  consequences  of  crime :  it  contains 
a  deep  moral." 

"  A  deep  what,  dear  ?  " 

''A but  no  matter,  I  will  give  you  a  crown  for  this 

volume." 

**  No,  dear,  I  will  not  sell  the  volume  for  a  crown." 

*'  I  am  poor,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  will  give  you  two  silver  crowns 
for  your  volume." 

"  No,  dear,  I  will  not  sell  my  volume  for  two  silver  crowns ; 
no,  nor  for  the  golden  one  in  the  king's  tower  down  there; 
without  my  book  I  should  mope  and  pine,  and  perhaps  fling 
myself  into  the  river ;  but  I  am  glad  you  like  it,  which  shows  that 
I  was  right  about  you,  after  all ;  you  are  one  of  our  party,  and 
you  have  a  flash  about  that  eye  of  yours  which  puts  me  just  in 
mind  of  my  dear  son.  No,  dear,  I  won*t  sell  you  my  book ;  but, 
if  you  like,  you  may  have  a  peep  into  it  whenever  you  come  this 
way.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you ;  you  are  one  of  the  right  sort, 
for,  if  you  had  b^n  a  common  one,  you  would  have  run  away 
with  the  thing ;  but  you  scorn  such  behaviour,  and,  as  you  are  so 
flash  of  your  money,  though  you  say  you  are  poor,  you  may  give 
me  a  tanner  to  buy  a  little  baccy  with ;  I  love  baccy,  dear,  more 
by  token  that  it  comes  from  the  plantations  to  which  the  blessed 
woman  was  sent" 

"  What's  a  tanner  ?  "  said  I. 

"Lorl  don't  you  know>  dear?  Why,  a  tanner  is  sixpence; 
and,  as  you  were  talking  just  now  about  crowns,  it  will  be  as  well 
to  tell  you  that  those  of  our  trade  never  calls  them  crowns,  but 
bulls ;  but  I  am  talking  nonsense,  just  as  if  you  did  not  know  all 
that  already,  as  well  as  myself;  you  are  only  shamming — Fm  no 
trap,  dear,  nor  more  was  the  blessed  woman  in  the  book.  Thank 
you,  dear — ^thank  you  for  the  tanner ;  if  I  don't  spend  it,  I'll  keep 
it  in  remembrance  of  your  sweet  face.  What,  you  are  going  ? — 
well,  first  let  me  whisper  a  word  to  you.  If  you  have  any  dies  to 
sell  at  any  time,  I'll  buy  them  of  you  ;  all  safe  with  me ;  I  never 
'peachy  and  scorns  a  trap;  so  now,  dear,  God  bless  you!  and 
give  you  good  luck.  Thank  you  for  your  pleasant  company,  and 
thank  you  for  the  tanner." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


"Tanner!"  said  I  musingly,  as  I  left  the  bridge;  "Tanner! 
what  can  the  roan  who  cures  raw  skins  by  means  of  a  preparation 
of  oak  bark  and  other  materials  have  to  do  with  the  name  which 
these  fakers,  as  they  call  themselves,  bestow  on  the  smallest  silver 
coin  in  these  dominions  ?  Tanner !  I  can't  trace  the  connection 
between  the  man  of  bark  and  the  silver  coin,  unless  journeymen 
tanners  are  in  the  habit  of  working  for  sixpence  a  day.  But  I 
have  it,"  I  continued,  flourishing  my  hat  over  my  head,  "  tanner, 
in  this  instance,  is  not  an  English  word."  Is  it  not  surprising 
that  the  language  of  Mr.  Petulengro  and  of  Tawno  Chikno,  is 
continually  coming  to  my  assistance  whenever  I  appear  to  be  at  a 
nonplus  with  respect  to  the  derivation  of  crabbed  words  ?  I  have 
made  out  crabbed  words  in  iEschylus  by  means  of  the  speech  of 
Chikno  and  Petulengro,  and  even  in  my  Biblical  researches  I 
have  derived  no  slight  assistance  from  it.  It  appears  to  be  a 
kind  of  picklock,  an  open  sesame,  Tanner — Tawno!  the  one  is 
but  a  modification  of  the  other;  they  were  originally  identical, 
and  have  still  much  the  same  signification.  Tanner,  in  the 
language  of  the  apple-woman,  meaneth  the  smallest  of  English 
silver  coins;  and  Tawno,  in  the  language  of  the  Petulengros, 
though  bestowed  upon  the  biggest  of  the  Romans,  according  to 
strict  interpretation,  significth  a  little  child. 

So  I  left  the  bridge,  retracing  my  steps  for  a  considerable 
way,  as  I  thought  I  had  seen  enough  in  the  direction  in  which  I 
had  hitherto  been  wandering. 

[At  last  I  came  to  a  kind  of  open  place  from  which  three  large 
streets  branched,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  place  stood  the  figure 
of  a  man  on  horseback.  It  was  admirably  executed,  and  I  stood 
still  to  survey  it. 

*'Is  that  the  statue  of  Cromwell?"  said  I  to  a  drayman  who 
was  passing  by,  driving  a  team  of  that  enormous  breed  of  horses 
which  had  struck  me  on  the  bridge. 

"Who?"  said  the  man  in  a  surly  tone,  stopping  short.  - 

"  Cromwell,**  said  I ; "  did  you  never  hear  of  Oliver  Cromwell  ?  '*  J 

*'Oh,  Oliver,'*  said  the  drayman,  and  a  fine  burst  of  intel- 

(196) 


x8a4.]  CROMWELVS  STATUE.  197 

Ugence  lighted  op  his  broad  English  countenance.  '<To  be 
sure  I  have ;  yes,  and  read  of  him  toa  A  fine  fellow  was  Oliver, 
master,  and  the  poor  man's  friend.  Whether  that's  his  figure, 
though,  I  can't  say.  I  hopes  it  be«"  Then  touching  his  luit  to 
me,  he  followed  his  gigantic  team,  turning  his  head  to  look  at  the 
Statue  as  he  walked  along. 

That  man  had  he  lived  in  Oliver's  time  would  have  made  a 
capital  ironside,  especially  if  mounted  on  one  of  those  dray  horses 
of  his.  I  remained  looking  at  the  statue  some  time  longer. 
Turning  round,  I  perceived  that  I  was  close  by  a  bookseller's  shop, 
into  which,  after  deliberating  a  moment,  I  entered.  An  elderly, 
good-tempered  looking  man  was  standing  behind  the  counter. 

*'  Have  you  the  Dairyman's  Daughter  f**  I  demanded. 

''Just  one  copy,  young  gentleman,"  said  the  bookseller, 
rubbing  his  hands;  ''you  are  just  in  time,  if  you  want  one;  all 
the  rest  are  sold." 

"  What  kind  of  character  does  it  bear  ?  " 

"  Exc^lent  character,  young  gentleman ;  great  demand  for  it ; 
held  in  much  esteem,  especially  by  the  Evangelical  party." 

"  Who  are  the  Evangelical  party  ?  " 

"  Excellent  people,  young  gentleman,  and  excellent  customers 
of  mine,"  rubbing  his  hamls;  "but  setting  that  aside,"  he 
continual  gravely,  "religious,  good  men." 

"  Not  a  set  of  canting  scoundrels  ?  " 

The  bookseller  had  placed  a  small  book  upon  the  counter; 
but  he  now  suddenly  snatched  it  up  and  returned  it  to  the  shelf; 
then  looking  at  me  full  in  the  face,  he  said,  quietly:  '* Young 
gentleman,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  uncivil,  but  you  had  better  leave 
Xh&  shop." 

'*  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  have  offended  you,  but  I  was  merely 
repeating  what  I  had  heard." 

"Whoever  told  you  so  must  be  either  a  bad,  or  a  very 
ignorant,  man." 

"  I  wish  for  the  book." 

"  You  shall  not  have  it  at  any  price." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  have  my  reasons,"  said  the  bookseller. 

"  Will  you  have  the  kindness,"  said  I,  "  to  tell  me  whose  statue 
it  is  which  stands  there  on  horseback  ?  " 

"Charles  the  First" 

"  And  where  is  Crom well's  ?  " 

"  You  may  walk  far  enough  about  London,  or,  indeed,  about 
Ei^land,  bdbre  you  will  find  a  statue  of  Cromwell,  young  gentle- 


man." 


xgS  LA  VBNGRO.  [1824. 

^*  Well,  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  was  his." 

"  How  came  you  to  think  so  ?  " 

^*  I  thought  it  would  be  just  the  place  for  a  statue  to  the  most 
illustrious  Englishman.  It  is  where  I  would  place  one  were  I 
prime  minister." 

'<  Well,  I  do  think  that  Charles  would  look  better  a  little  farther 
down,  opposite  to  Whitehall,  for  example,*'  said  the  bookseller, 
rubbing  his  hands.     "  Do  you  really  wish  to  have  the  book  ?  " 

**  Very  much." 

*'  Well,  here  it  is ;  no  price,  young  gentleman ;  no  price — can't 
break  my  word — give  the  money,  if  you  like,  to  the  beggars  in  the 
street.  Cromwell  is  the  first  Englishman  who  endeavoured  to  put 
all  sects  on  an  equality.  Wouldn't  do,  though — ^world  too  fond 
of  humbug — still  is.  However,  good  day,  young  gentleman,  and 
when  you  are  prime  minister,  do  not  forget  the  two  statues."] 

I  should  say  that  I  scarcely  walked  less  than  thirty  miles  about 
the  big  city  on  the  day  of  my  first  arrival.  Night  came  on,  but 
still  I  was  walking  about,  my  eyes  wide  open,  and  admiring 
everything  that  presented  itself  to  them.  Everything  was  new  to 
me,  for  everything  is  different  in  I^ndon  from  what  it  is  elsewhere 
— ^the  people,  their  language,  the  horses,  the  timt  ensemble — even 
the  stones  of  London  are  different  from  others — at  least  it  appeared 
to  me  that  I  had  never  walked  with  the  same  ease  and  facility  on 
the  flag-stones  of  a  country  town  as  on  those  of  London ;  so  I 
continued  roving  about  till  night  came  on,  and  then  the  splendour 
of  some  of  the  shops  particularly  struck  me.  '*  A  regular  Arabian 
nights'  entertainment! "  said  I,  as  I  looked  into  one  on  Cornhill, 
gorgeous  with  precious  merchandise^  and  lighted  up  with  lustres, 
the  rays  of  which  were  reflected  from  a  hundred  mirrors. 

But,  notwithstanding  the  excellence  of  the  London  pavement, 
I  began  about  nine  o'clock  to  feel  myself  thoroughly  tired; 
painfully  and  slowly  did  I  drag  my  feet  along.  I  also  felt  very 
much  in  want  of  some  refreshment,  and  I  remembered  that  since 
breakfast  I  had  taken  nothing.  I  was  now  in  the  Strand,  and, 
glancing  about,  I  perceived  that  I  was  close  by  an  hotel,  which 
bore  over  the  door  the  somewhat  remarkable  name  of  Holy 
Lands.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation  I  entered  a  well-lighted 
passage^  and,  turning  to  the  left,  I  found  myself  in  a  well-lighted 
coffee-room,  with  a  well-dressed  and  frizzled  waiter  before  me. 
"Bring  me  some  claret,"  said  I,  for  I  was  rather  faint  than 
hungry,  and  I  felt  ashamed  to  give  a  humbler  order  to  so  well- 
dressed  an  individual.  The  waiter  looked  ^t  me  for  a  moment ; 
then,  making  a  low  bow,  he  bustled  off,  and  I  sat  myself  down  in 


x8t4.I  ^^^  "H0L7  LANDS''.  199 

the  box  nearest  to  the  window.  Presently  the  waiter  returned, 
bearing  beneath  his  left  arm  a  long  bottle,  and  between  the 
fingers  of  his  right  hand  two  large  purple  glasses ;  placing  the 
latter  on  the  table,  he  produced  a  cork-screw,  drew  the  cork  in  a 
twinkling,  set  the  bottle  down  before  me  with  a  bang,  and  then, 
standing  still,  appeared  to  watch  my  movements.  You  think  I 
don't  know  how  to  drink  a  glass  of  claret,  thought  I  to  myself. 
I'll  soon  show  you  how  we  drink  claret  where  I  come  from ;  and, 
filling  one  of  the  glasses  to  the  brim,  I  flickered  it  for  a  moment 
between  my  eyes  and  the  lustre,  and  then  held  it  to  my  nose; 
having  given  that  organ  full  time  to  test  the  bouquet  of  the  wine, 
I  applied  the  glass  to  my  lips,  taking  a  large  mouthful  of  the 
wine,  which  I  swallowed  slowly  and  by  degrees,  that  the  palate 
might  likewise  have  an  opportunity  of  performing  its  functions. 
A  second  mouthful  I  disposed  of  more  summarily ;  then,  placing 
the  empty  glass  upon  the  table,  I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  the  bottle, 
and  said — ^nothing ;  whereupon  the  waiter,  who  had  been  observ- 
ing the  whole  process  with  considerable  attention,  made  me  a 
bow  yet  more  low  than  before,  and  turning  on  his  heel,  retired 
with  a  smart  chuck  of  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say.  It  is  all  right ; 
the  young  man  is  used  to  claret. 

And  when  the  waiter  had  retired  I  took  a  second  glass  of  the 
wine,  which  I  found  excellent ;  and,  observing  a  newspaper  lying 
near  me,  I  took  it  up  and  began  perusing  it.  It  has  been 
observed  somewhere  that  people  who  are  in  the  habit  of  reading 
newspapers  every  day  are  not  unfrequently  struck  with  the  excel- 
lence of  style  and  general  talent  which  they  dispby.  Now,  if 
that  be  the  case,  how  must  I  have  been  surprised,  who  was 
reading  a  newspaper  for  the  first  time,  and  that  one  of  the  best 
of  the  London  Journals!  Yes,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  it  was 
nevertheless  true,  that,  up  to  the  moment  of  which  I  am  speaking, 
I  had  never  read  a  newspaper  of  any  description.  I  of  course 
had  frequently  seen  journals,  and  even  handled  them;  but,  as 
for  reading  them,  what  were  they  to  me?-^I  cared  not  for  news. 
But  here  I  was  now  with  my  cb^et  before  me,  perusing,  perhaps, 
the  best  of  all  the  London  Journals — it  was  not  the  —  and  I  was 
astonished:  an  entirely  new  field  of  literature  appeared  to  be 
opened  to  my  view.  It  was  a  discovery,  but  I  confess  rather  an 
unpleasant  one;  for  I  said  to  myself,  if  literary  talent  is  so  very 
common  in  London,  that  the  journals,  things  which,  as  their  very 
name  denotes,  are  ephemeral,  are  written  in  a  style  like  the  article 
I  have  been  perusing,  how  can  I  hope  to  distinguish  myself  in 
this  fajg  town,  when,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  don't  think  I  could 


200  LA  VENGRO.  [1824. 

write  anything  half  so  clever  as  what  I  have  been  reading.  And 
then  I  laid  down  the  paper,  and  fell  into  deep  musing ;  rousing 
myself  from  which,  I  took  a  glass  of  wine,  and  pouring  out  another, 
bqgan  musing  again.  What  I  have  been  reading,  thought  I,  is 
certainly  very  clever  and  very  talented ;  but  talent  and  cleverness 
I  think  I  have  heard  some  one  say  are  very  common-place  things, 
only  fitted  for  everyday  occasions.  I  question  whether  die  man 
who  wrote  the  book  I  saw  this  day  on  the  bridge  was  a  clever 
man ;  but,  after  all,  was  he  not  something  much  better  ?  I  don't 
think  he  could  have  written  this  article,  but  then  he  wrote  the 
book  which  I  saw  on  the  bridge.  Then,  if  he  could  not  have 
written  the  article  on  which  I  now  hold  my  forefinger — ^and  I  do 
not  believe  he  could — ^why  should  I  feel  discouraged  at  the 
consciousness  that  I,  too,  could  not  write  it  ?  I  certainly  could 
no  more  have  written  the  article  than  he  could;  but  then,  like 
him,  though  I  would  not  compare  myself  to  the  man  who  wrote 
the  book  I  saw  upon  the  bridge,  I  think  I  could — and  here  I 
emptied  the  glass  of  claret — write  something  better. 

Thereupon  I  resumed  the  newspaper;  and,  as  I  was  before 
struck  with  the  fluency  of  style  and  the  general  talent  which  it 
displayed,  I  was  now  equally  so  with  its  common-placeness  and 
want  of  originality  on  every  subject ;  and  it  was  evident  to  me 
that,  whatever  advantage  these  newspaper-writers  might  have  over 
me  in  some  points,  they  had  never  studied  the  Welsh  bards, 
translated  Kaempe  Viser,  or  been  under  the  pupilage  of  Mr. 
Petulengro  and  Tawno  Chikno. 

And  as  I  sat  conning  the  newspaper  three  individuals  entered 
the  room,  and  seated  themselves  in  the  box  at  the  farther  end  of 
which  I  was.  They  were  all  three  very  well  dressed ;  two  of 
them  elderly  gentlemen,  the  third  a  young  man  about  my  own 
age,  or  perhaps  a  year  or  two  older.  They  called  for  coffee ;  and, 
after  two  or  three  observations,  the  two  eldest  commenced  a  con- 
versation in  French,  which,  however,  though  they  spoke  it  fluently 
enough,  I  perceived  at  once  was  not  their  native  language ;  the 
young  man,  however,  took  no  part  in  their  conversation,  and 
when  they  addressed  a  portion  to  him,  which  indeed  was  but 
rarely,  merely  replied  by  a  monosyllable.  I  have  never  been  a 
listener,  and  I  paid  but  little  heed  to  their  discourse,  nor  indeed 
to  themselves;  as  I  occasionally  looked*  up,  however,  I  could 
perceive  that  the  features  of  the  young  man,  who  chanced  to  be 
seated  exactly  opposite  to  me,  wore  an  air  of  constraint  and 
vexation.  This  circumstance  caused  me  to  observe  him  more 
particularly  than  I  otherwise  should  have  done :  his  features  were 


i8s4.]  FRANCIS  ARDRY  aoi 

handsome  and  prepossessing;  he  had  dark  brown  hair,  and  a 
high-arched  forehead.  After  the  lapse  of  half  an  hour,  the  two 
elder  indiyiduals,  having  finished  their  coffee,  called  for  the 
waiter,  and  then  rose  as  if  to  depart,  the  young  man^  however, 
still  remaining  seated  in  the  box.  The  others,  having  reached 
the  door,  turned  found,  and,  finding  that  the  youth  did  not  follow 
them,  one  of  them  called  to  him  with  a  tone  of  some  authority ; 
whereupon  the  young  man  rose,  and,  pronouncing  half  audibly 
the  word  "botheration,"  rose  and  followed  them.  I  now  observed 
that  he  was  remarkably  tall.  All  three  left  the  house.  In  about 
ten  minutes,  finding  nothing  more  worth  reading  in  the  news- 
paper, I  laid  it  down,  and  though  the  claret  was  not  yet  exhausted, 
I  was  thinking  of  betaking  myself  to  my  lodgings,  and  was  about 
to  call  the  waiter,  when  I  heard  a  step  in  the  passage,  and  in 
another  moment,  the  tall  young  man  entered  the  room,  advanced 
to  the  same  box,  and,  sitting  down  nearly  opposite  to  me,  again  pro- 
nounced to  himself,  but  more  audibly  than  before,  the  same  word. 

"  A  troublesome  world  this,  sir,"  said  I,  looking  at  him. 

''Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  looking  fixedly  at  me;  "but  I 
am  afraid  we  bring  most  of  our  troubles  on  our  own  heads — at 
least  I  can  say  so  of  myself,"  he  added,  laughing.  Then,  after  a 
pause,  "  I  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  "  but  ahi  I  not  addressing  one 
of  my  own  country  ?  " 

'*  Of  what  country  are  you  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Ireland." 

"I  am  not  of  your  country,  sir;  but  I  have  an  infinite 
veneration  for  your  country,  as  Strap  said  to  the  French  soldier. 
Will  you  take  a  glass  of  wine  ?  " 

"Ah^  de  itmt  tnon  antr,  as  the  parasite  said  to  Gil  Bias,"  cried 
the  young  man,  laughing.    "  Here's  to  our  better  acquaintance  i " 

And  better  acquainted  we  soon  became ;  and  I  found  that,  in 
making  the  acquaintance  of  the  young  man,  I  had,  indeed,  made 
a  valuable  acquisition ;  he  was  accomplished,  highly  connected, 
and  bore  the  name  of  Francis  Ardry.^  Frank  and  ardent  he  was, 
and  in  a  very  little  time  had  told  me  much  that  related  to  himself, 
and  in  return  I  communicated  a  general  outline  of  my  own  history ; 
he  listened  with  profound  attention,  but  laughed  heartily  when  I 
told  him  some  particulars  of  my  visit  in  the  morning  to  the 
publisher,  whom  he  had  frequently  heard  of. 

We  left  the  house  together. 

'*  We  shall  soon  see  each  other  again,"  said  he,  as  we  separated 
at  the  door  of  my  lodging. 

>  AfS. ,  "  Afden  "  thronghoot. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


On  the  Sunday  I  was  punctual  to  my  appointment  to  dine  with 
the  publisher.  As  I  hurried  along  the  square  in  which  his  house 
stoodi  my  thoughts  were  fixed  so  intently  on  the  great  man  that 
I  passed  by  him  without  seeing  him.  He  had  observed  me, 
however^  and  joined  me  just  as  I  was  about  to  knock  at  the  door. 
"  Let  us  take  a  turn  in  the  square,"  said  he,  "  we  shall  not  dine  for 
half  an  hour." 

"Well,"  said  he,  as  we  were  walking  in  the  square,  "what 
have  you  been  doing  since  I  last  saw  you?" 

"I  have  been  looking  about  London,"  said  I,  "and  I  have 
bought  the  Dairyman* s  Daughter;  here  it  is." 

'*  Pray  put  it  up,"  said  the  publisher;  "  I  don't  want  to  look 
at  such  trash.  Well,  do  you  think  you  could  write  anything  like 
it?" 

«'  I  do  not,"  said  I. 

"  How  is  that  ?  "  said  the  publisher,  looking  at  me. 

"  Because,"  said  I,  "  the  man  who  wrote  it  seems  to  be  per- 
fectly well  acquainted  with  his  subject ;  and,  moreover,  to  write 
from  the  heart." 

'*  By  the  subject  you  mean 

"  Religion.' 


jeci  you  mean  —  " 

•« 


<'  And  a'n't  you  acquainted  with  religion  ? 

**  Very  little." 

<'  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  said  the  publisher  seriously,  *<  for  he 
who  sets  up  for  an  author  ought  to  be  acquainted  not  only  with 
religion,  but  religions,  and  indeed  with  all  subjects,  like  my  good 
friend  in  the  country.  It  is  well  that  I  have  changed  my  mind 
about  the  DairymarCs  Daughter^  or  I  really  don't  know  whom  I 
could  apply  to  on  the  subject  at  the  present  moment,  unless  to 
himself;  and  after  all,  I  question  whether  his  style  is  exactly 
suited  for  an  evangelical  novel." 

"  Then  you  do  not  wish  for  an  imitation  of  the  Dairymaris 
Daughter  f  " 

"I  do  not,  sir;   I  have  changed  my  mind,  as  I  told  you 

(ao2) 


4Ta  AnL,  '94.]         THE  SUNDA  7  DINNER.  903 

before ;  I  wish  to  employ  you  in  another  line,  but  will  communicate 
to  you  my  intentions  after  dinner." 

At  dinner,  besides  the  publisher  and  myself,  were  present  his 
wife  and  son,  with  his  newly-married  bride ;  the  wife  appeared  a 
quiet,  respectable  woman,  and  the  young  people  looked  very  happy 
and  good-natured ;  not  so  the  publisher,  who  occasionally  eyed 
both  with  contempt  and  dislike.  Connected  with  this  dinner 
there  was  one  thing  remarkable;  the  publisher  took  no  animal 
food,  but  contented  himself  with  feeding  voraciously  on  rice  and 
vegetables,  prepared  in  various  ways. 

"  You  eat  no  animal  food,  sir  ?  "  said  I. 

"I  do  not,  sir,"  said  he;  "I  have  forsworn  it  upwards  of 
twenty  years.  In  one  respect,  sir,  I  am  a  Brahmin.  I  abhor 
taking  away  life — the  brutes  have  as  much  right  to  live  as 
ourselves.*' 

"  But,"  said  I,  **  if  the  brutes  were  not  killed,  there  would  be 
such  a  superabundance  of  them,  that  the  land  would  be  overrun 
with  them." 

"  I  do  not  think  so,  sir ;  few  are  killed  in  India,  and  yet  there 
is  plenty  of  room." 

"But,"  said  I,  ''Nature  intended  that  they  should  be  de- 
stroyed, and  the  brutes  themselves  prey  upon  one  another,  and  it 
is  well  for  themselves  and  the  world  that  they  do  sa  What  would 
be  the  state  of  things  if  every  insect,  bird  and  worm  were  left  to 
perish  of  old  age?" 

"  We  will  change  the  subject,"  said  the  publisher ;  *'  I  have 
never  been  a  friend  to  unprofitable  discussions." 

I  looked  at  the  publisher  with  some  surprise,  I  had  not  been 
accustomed  to  be  spoken  to  so  magisterially;  his  countenance 
was  dressed  in  a  portentous  frown,  and  his  eye  looked  more 
sinister  than  ever;  at  that  moment  he  put  me  in  mind  of  some  of 
those  despots  of  whom  I  had  read  in  the  history  of  Morocco, 
whose  word  was  law.  He  merely  wants  power,  thought  I  to 
myself,  to  be  a  regular  Muley  Mehemet ;  and  then  I  sighed,  for 
I  remembered  how  very  much  I  was  in  the  power  of  that  man. 

The  dinner  over,  the  publisher  nodded  to  his  wife,  who 
departed,  followed  by  her  daughter-in-law.  The  son  looked  as  if 
he  would  Willingly  have  attended  them ;  he,  however,  remained 
seated;  and,  a  small  decanter  of  wine  being  placed  on  the  table, 
the  publisher  filled  two  glasses,  one  of  which  he  handed  to 
myself,  and  the  other  to  his  son,  saying:  ''Suppose  you  two 
drink  to  the  success  of  the  Review.  I  would  join  you,"  said  he, 
addressing  himself  to  me,  "but  I  drink  no  wine;  if  I  am  a 


304  LA  VBNORO.  [1844. 

Brahmin  with  respect  to  meat,  I  am  a  Mahometan  with  respect 
to  wine." 

So  the  son  and  I  drank  success  to  the  Review,  and  then  the 
young  man  asked  me  various  questions;  for  example — ^how  I  liked 
London? — Whether  I  did  not  think  it  a  very  fine  place? — 
Whether  I  was  at  the  play  the  night  before  ? — and  whether  I  was 
in  the  park  that  afternoon?  He  seemed  preparing  to  ask  me 
some  more  questions;  but,  receiving  a  furious  look  from  his 
fether,  he  became  silent,  filled  himself  a  glass  of  wine^  drank  it 
off,  looked  at  the  table  for  about  a  minute,  then  got  up,  pushed 
back  his  chair,  made  me  a  bow,  and  left  the  room. 

"Is  that  young  gentleman,  sir,"  said  I,  "well  versed  in  the 
prindples  of  criticism  ?  " 

"  He  is  not,  sir/'  said  the  publisher;  "and,  if  I  place  him  at 
the  head  of  the  Review  ostensibly,  I  do  it  merely  in  the  hope  of 
procuring  him  a  maintenance;  of  the  principle  of  a  thing  he 
knows  nothing,  except  that  the  principle  of  bread  is  wheat,  and 
that  the  principle  of  that  wine  is  grape.  Will  you  take  another 
gbss  ?  " 

I  looked  at  the  decanter ;  but  not  feeling  altogether  so  sure 
as  the  publisher's  son  with  respect  to  the  principle  of  what  it 
contained,  I  declined  taking  any  more. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  publisher,  adjusting  himself  in  his  chair, 
"he  knows  nothing  about  criticism,  and  will  have  nothing  more 
to  do  with  the  reviewals  than  carrying  about  the  books  to  those 
who  have  to  review  them ;  the  real  conductor  of  the  Review  will 
be  a  widely  different  person,  to  whom  I  will,  when  convenient, 
introduce  you.  And  now  we  will  talk  of  the  matter  which  we 
touched  upon  before  dinner :  I  told  you  then  that  I  had  changed 
my  mind  with  respect  to  you ;  I  have  been  considering  the  state 
of  the  market,  sir,  the  book  market,  and  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that,  though  you  might  be  profitably  employed  upon 
evangelical  novels,  you  could  earn  more  money  for  me,  sir,  and 
consequently  for  yourself,  by  a  compilation  of  Newgate  lives  and 
trials." 

"  Newgate  lives  and  trials ! " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  publisher,  "  Newgate  lives  and  trials ;  and 
now,  sir,  I  will  briefly  state  to  you  the  services  which  I  expect  you 
to  perform,  and  the  terms  I  am  willing  to  grant.  I  expect  you, 
sir,  to  compile  six  volumes  of  Newgate  lives  and  trials,  each 
volume  to  contain  by  no  manner  of  means  less  than  one  thousand 
pages ;  the  remuneration  which  you  will  receive  when  the  work  is 
completed  will  be  fifty  pounds,  which  is  likewise  intended  to  cover 


i8&f]  THB  TASK.  205 

any  expenses  yon  may  incur  in  procuring  books,  papers  and 
manuscripts  necessary  for  the  compilation.  Such  will  be  one  of 
your  employments,  sir, — such  the  terms.  In  the  second  place, 
yoa  will  be  expected  to  make  yourself  useful  in  the  Review 
— generally  useful,  sir — doing  whatever  is  required  of  you ;  for  it 
is  not  customary,  at  least  with  me,  to  permit  writers,  especially 
young  writers,  to  choose  their  subjects.  In  these  two  departments, 
sir,  namely,  compilation  and  reviewing,  I  had  yesterday,  after  due 
consideration,  determined  upon  employing  you.  I  had  intended 
to  employ  you  no  further,  sir — at  least  for  the  present ;  but,  sir, 
this  morning  I  received  a  letter  from  my  valued  friend  in  the 
country,  in  which  he  speaks  in  terms  of  strong  admiration  (I 
don't  overstate)  of  your  German  acquirements.  Sir,  he  says  that 
it  would  be  a  thousand  pities  if  your  knowledge  of  the  German 
language  should  be  lost  to  the  world,  or  even  permitted  to  sleep, 
and  he  entreats  me  to  think  of  some  plan  by  which  it  may  be 
turned  to  account  Sir,  I  am  at  all  times  willing,  if  possible,  to 
oblige  my  worthy  friend,  and  likewise  to  encourage  merit  and 
talent ;  I  have,  therefore,  determined  to  employ  you  in  German." 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  rubbing  my  hands,  "  you  are  very  kind,  and  so 
is  our  mutual  friend ;  I  shall  be  happy  to  make  myself  useful  in 
German ;  and  if  you  think  a  good  translation  from  Goethe — his 
•  Sorrows '  for  example,  or  more  particularly  his  'Faust ' " 

"Sir,"  said  the  publisher,  "Goethe  is  a  drug;  his  'Sorrows' 
are  a  drug,  so  is  his  'Faustus,'  more  especially  the  last,  since  that 

fool rendered  him  into  English.     No,  sir,  I  do  not  want  you 

to  translate  Goethe  or  anything  belonging  to  him  ;  nor  do  I  want 
you  to  translate  anything  from  the  German ;  what  I  want  you  to 
do,  is  to  translate  into  German.  I  am  willing  to  encourage  merit, 
sir;  and,  as  my  good  friend  in  his  last  letter  has  spoken  very 
highly  of  your  German  acquirements,  I  have  determined  that  you 
shall  translate  my  book  of  philosophy  into  German.'' 

"Your  book  of  philosophy  into  German,  sir?" 

**  Yes,  sir ;  my  book  of  philosophy  into  German.  I  am  not  a 
drug,  sir,  in  Germany,  as  Goethe  is  here,  no  more  is  my  book.  I 
intend  to  print  the  translation  at  Leipzig,  sir ;  and  if  it  turns  out 
a  profitable  speculation,  as  I  make  no  doubt  it  will,  provided  the 
translation  be  well  executed,  I  will  make  you  some  remuneration. 
Sir,  your  remuneration  will  be  determined  by  the  success  of  your 
translation." 

••  But,  sir " 

**  Sir,"  said  the  publisher,  interrupting  me,  "  you  have  heard 
my  intentions ;  I  consider  that  you  ought  to  feel  yourself  highly 


306  LAVBNGRO.  [1824. 

gratified  by  my  intentions  towards  you ;  it  is  not  frequently  that 
I  deal  with  a  writer,  especially  a  young  writer,  as  I  have  done 
with  you.  And  now,  sir,  permit  me  to  inform  you  that  I  wish  to 
be  alone.  This  is  Sunday  aftemooo»  sir ;  I  never  go  to  church, 
but  I  am  in  the  habit  of  spending  part  of  every  Sunday  afternoon 
alone — ^profitably,  I  hope,  sir — in  musing  on  the  magnificence  of 
nature  and  the  moral  dignity  of  man." 


i 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


*'  What  can't  be  cured  must  be  endured,"  and  '*it  is  hard  to  kick 
against  the  pricks  ''• 

At  the  period  to  which  I  have  brought  my  history,  I  bethought 
me  of  the  proverbs  with  which  I  have  headed  this  chapter,  and 
determined  to  act  up  to  their  spirit.  I  determined  not  to  fly  in 
the  face  of  the  publisher,  and  to  bear — ^what  I  could  not  cure — 
his  arrogance  and  vanity.  At  present,  at  the  conclusion  of  nearly 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  I  am  glad  that  I  came  to  that  determination, 
which  I  did  my  best  to  carry  into  effect. 

Two  or  three  days  after  our  last  interview,  the  publisher  made 
his  appearance  in  my  apartment;  he  bore  two  tattered  volumes 
under  his  arm,  which  he  placed  on  the  table.  "  I  have  brought 
you  two  volumes  of  lives,  sir,"  said  he,  **  which  I  yesterday  found 
in  my  garret ;  you  will  find  them  of  service  for  your  compilation. 
As  I  always  wish  to  behave  liberally  and  encourage  talent,  especi- 
ally youthful  talent,  I  shall  make  no  charge  for  them,  though  I 
should  be  justified  in  so  doing,  as  you  are  aware  that,  by  our 
agreement,  you  are  to  provide  any  books  and  materials  which 
may  be  necessary.     Have  you  been  in  quest  of  any  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  not  yet." 

*'  Then,  sir,  I  would  advise  you  to  lose  no  time  in  doing  so ; 
you  must  visit  all  the  bookstalls,  sir,  especially  those  in  the  by- 
streets and  blind  alleys.  It  is  in  such  places  that  you  will  find 
the  description  of  literature  you  are  in  want  of.  You  must  be  up 
and  doing,  sir ;  it  will  not  do  for  an  author,  especially  a  young 
author,  to  be  idle  in  this  town.  To-night  you  will  receive  my 
book  of  philosophy,  and  likewise  books  for  the  Review.  And, 
by-the-bye,  sir,  it  will  be  as  well  for  you  to  review  my  book  of 
philosopby  for  the  Review,  the  other  Reviews  not  having  noticed 
it  Sir,  before  translating  it,  I  wish  you  to  review  my  book  of 
philosophy  for  the  Review." 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  do  my  best,  sir." 

•*  Very  good,  sir ;  1  should  be  unreasonable  to  expect  anything 
beyond  a  person's  best.     And  now,  sir,  if  you  please,  I  will 

(207) 


ao8  LAVBNGRO.  [1824. 


conduct  you  to  the  future  editor  of  the  Review.    As  you  are  to 
co-operate,  sir,  I  deem  it  right  to  make  you  acquainted." 

The  intended  editor  was  a  little  old  man,  who  sat  in  a  kind  of 
wooden  pavilion  in  a  small  garden  behind  a  house  in  one  of  the 
purlieus  of  the  city,  composing  tunes  upon  a  piana  The  walls 
of  the  pavilion  were  covered  with  fiddles  of  various  sizes  and 
appearances,  and  a  considerable  portion  of  the  floor  occupied 
by  a  pile  of  books  all  of  one  size.  The  publisher  introduced 
him  to  me  as  a  gentleman  scarcely  less  eminent  in  literature  than 
in  music,  and  me  to  him  as  an  aspirant  critic — a  young  gentleman 
scarcely  less  eminent  in  philosophy  than  in  philology.  The  con- 
versation consisted  entirely  of  compliments  till  just  before  we 
separated,  when  the  future  editor  inquired  of  me  whether  I  had 
ever  read  Quintilian ;  and,  on  my  replying  in  the  negative,  ex- 
pressed his  surprise  that  any  gentleman  should  aspire  to  become 
a  critic  who  had  never  read  Quintilian,  with  the  comfortable 
information,  however,  that  he  could  supply  me  with  a  Quintilian 
at  half-price,  that  is,  a  translation  made  by  himself  some  years 
previously,  of  which  he  had,  pointing  to  the  heap  on  the  floor, 
still  a  few  copies  remaining  unsold.  For  some  reason  or  other, 
perhaps  a  poor  one,  I  did  not  purchase  the  editor's  translation  of 
Quintilian. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  publisher,  as  we  were  returning  from  our  visit 
to  the  editor,  "  you  did  right  in  not  purchasing  a  drug.  I  am  not 
prepared,  sir,  to  say  that  Quintilian  is  a  drug,  never  having  seen 
him ;  but  I  am  prepared  to  say  that  man's  translation  is  a  drug, 
judging  from  the  heap  of  rubbish  on  the  floor ;  besides,  sir,  you 
will  want  any  loose  money  you  may  have  to  purchase  the  descrip- 
tion of  literature  which  is  required  for  your  compilation." 

The  publisher  presently  paused  before  the  entrance  of  a  very 
forlorn-looking  street.  "  Sir,"  said  he,  after  looking  down  it  with 
attention,  **  I  should  not  wonder  if  in  that  street  you  find  works 
connected  with  the  description  of  literature  which  is  required  for 
your  compilation.  It  is  in  streets  of  this  description,  sir,  and 
blind  alleys,  where  such  works  are  to  be  found.  You  had  better 
search  that  street,  sir,  whilst  I  continue  my  way." 

I  searched  the  street  to  which  the  publisher  had  pointed,  and, 
in  the  course  of  the  three  succeeding  days,  many  others  of  a 
similar  kind.  I  did  not  find  the  description  of  literature  alluded 
to  by  the  publisher  to  be  a  drug,  but,  on  the  contrary,  both  scarce 
and  dear.  I  had  expended  much  more  than  my  loose  money 
long  before  I  could  procure  materials  even  for  the  first  volume 
of  my  compilation. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


One  evening  I  was  visited  by  the  tall  young  gentleman,  Francis 
Ardry,  whose  acquaintance  I  had  formed  at  the  coffee-house. 
As  it  is  necessary  that  the  reader  should  know  something  more 
about  this  young  man,  who  will  frequently  appear  in  the  course 
of  these  pages,  I  will  state  in  a  few  words  who  and  what  he  was. 
He  was  born  of  an  ancient  Roman  Catholic  family  in  Ireland ; 
his  parents^  whose  only  child  he  was,  had  long  been  dead.  His 
father,  who  had  survived  his  mother  several  years,  had  been  a 
spendthrift,  and  at  his  death  had  left  the  family  property  consider- 
ably embarrassed.  Happily,  however,  the  son  and  the  estate  fell 
into  the  hands  of  careful  guardians,  near  relations  of  the  family,  by 
whom  the  property  was  managed  to  the  best  advantage^  and  every 
means  taken  to  educate  the  young  man  in  a  manner  suitable 
to  his  expectations.  At  the  age  of  sixteen  he  was  taken  from  a 
celebrated  school  in  England  at  which  he  had  been  placed,  and 
sent  to  a  small  French  University,  in  order  that  he  might  form 
an  intinoate  and  accurate  acquaintance  with  the  grand  language 
of  the  continent.  There  he  continued  three  years,  at  the  end  of 
which  be  went,  under  the  care  of  a  French  abb^,  to  Germany  and 
Italy.  It  was  ii>  this  latter  country  that  he  first  began  to  cause 
his  guardians  serious  uneasiness.  He  was  in  the  hey-day  of 
youth  when  he  visited  Italy,  and  he  entered  wildly  into  the 
various  delights  of  that  fascinating  region,  and,  what  was  worse, 
falling  into  the  hands  of  certain  sharpers,  not  Italian,  but  English, 
he  was  fleeced  of  considerable  sums  of  money.  The  abb6,  who, 
it  seems,  was  an  excellent  individual  of  the  old  French  school, 
remonstrated  with  his  pupil  on  his  dissipation  and  extravagance ; 
but,  finding  his  remonstrances  vain,  very  properly  informed  the 
j^uardians  of  the  manner  of  life  of  his  charge.  They  were  not 
slow  in  commanding  Francis  Ardry  home;  andt  as  he  was 
entirely  in  their  power,  he  was  forced  to  comply.  He  had  been 
about  three  months  in  London  when  I  met  him  in  the  coffee-room, 
and  the  two  elderly  gentlemen  in  his  company  were  his  guardians. 
At  this  time  they  were  very  solicitous  that  he  should  choose  for 

(f09)  14 


^i6  La  vbngro.  [1824. 

himself  a  profession»  offering  to  his  choice  either  the  army  or  law 
— ^he  was  calculated  to  shine  in  either  of  these  professions — ^for, 
like  many  others  of  his  countrymen,  he  was  brave  and  eloquent ; 
but  he  did  not  wish  to  shackle  himself  with  a  profession.  As, 
however,  his  minority  did  not  terminate  till  he  was  three-and- 
twenty,  of  which  age  he  wanted  nearly  two  years,  during  which 
he  would  be  entirely  dependent  on  his  guardians,  he  deemed  it 
expedient  to  conceal,  to  a  certain  degree,  his  sentiments,  tempor- 
ising with  the  old  gentlemen,  with  whom,  notwithstanding  his 
many  irregularities,  he  was  a  great  favourite,  and  at  whose  death 
he  expected  to  come  into  a  yet  greater  property  than  that  which 
he  inherited  from  his  parents. 

Such  is  a  brief  account  of  Francis  Ardry — of  my  friend  Francis 
Ardry ;  for  the  acquaintance,  commenced  in  the  singular  manner 
with  which  the  reader  is  acquainted,  speedily  ripened  into  a  friend- 
ship which  endured  through  many  long  years  of  separation,  and 
which  still  endures  certainly  on  my  part,  and  on  his — if  he  lives ; 
but  it  is  many  years  since  I  have  heard  from  Firancis  Ardry. 

And  yet  many  people  would  have  thought  it  impossible  for 
our  friendship  to  have  lasted  a  week,  for  in  many  respects  no  two 
people  could  be  more  dissimilar.  He  was  an  Irishman,  I  an 
Englishman;  he  fiery,  enthusiastic  and  open-hearted,  I  neither 
fiery,  enthusiastic  nor  open-hearted;  he  fond  of  pleasure  and 
dissipation^  I  of  study  and  reflection.  Yet  it  is  of  such  dis- 
similar elements  that  the  most  lasting  friendships  are  formed: 
we  do  not  like  counterparts  of  ourselves.  "  Two  great  talkers  will 
not  travel  far  together,"  is  a  Spanish  saying ;  I  will  add^  "  Nor  two 
silent  people  '^ ;  we  naturally  love  our  opposites. 

So  Francis  Ardry  came  to  see  me,  and  right  glad  I  was  to  see 
him,  for  I  had  just  flung  my  books  and  papers  aside,  and  was 
wishing  for  a  little  social  converse ;  and  when  we  had  conversed 
for  some  little  time  together,  Francis  Ardry  proposed  that  we 
should  go  to  the  play  to  see  Kean ;  so  we  went  to  the  play,  and 
saw — not  Kean,  who  at  that  time  was  ashamed  to  show  himself, 
but — ^a  man  who  was  not  ashamed  to  show  himself,  and  who 
people  said  was  a  much  better  man  than  Kean — as  I  have  no 
doubt  he  was — though  whether  he  was  a  better  actor  I  cannot  say, 
for  I  never  saw  Kean.^ 


1  The  MS,  devdops  this  puagraph  fts  f oUows  :-^ 

So  Francis  Ardry  called  upon  me,  and  Hght  glad  I  was  that  he  did  so ;  and 
after  we  had  sat  conversing  for  some  time,  he  said,  "  Did  you  ever  see  Kean  ?  * 

"No/' said  I,  "  but  I  have  heard  boUi  of  hhn  and  of  Belcher.  Isboukllike 
to  see  either,  especially  the  latter.    Where  are  they  to  be  found  ?" 


1B24-]  BCCBNTRIC  PLACES.  six 

Two  or  three  evenings  after,  Francis  Ardry  came  to  see  me 
again,  and  again  we  went  out  together,  and  Francis  Ardry  took 
me  to — shall  I  say  ? — ^why  not  ? — a  gaming-house,  where  I  saw 
people  playing,  and  where  I  saw  Francis  Ardry  play  and  lose  five 
guineas,  and  where  I  lost  nothing,  because  I  did  not  play,  though 
1  fdt  somewhat  inclined ;  for  a  man  with  a  white  hat  and  a  spark- 
ling eye  held  up  a  box  which  contained  scHnething  which  rattled, 
and  asked  me  to  fling  the  bones.  "  There  is  nothing  like  flinging 
the  bones ! "  said  he,  and  then  I  thought  I  should  like  to  know 
what  kind  of  thing  flinging  the  bones  was ;  I,  however,  restrained 
myself.  "  There  is  nothing  like  flinging  the  bones  1 "  shouted  the 
man,  as  my  friend  and  myself  left  the  room. 

Long  life  and  prosperity  to  Francis  Ardry  I  but  for  him  I  should 
not  have  obtainc^d  knowledge  which  I  did  of  the  strange  and 
eccentric  places  of  London.  Some  of  the  places  to  which  he  took 
me  were  very  strange  places  mdeedl  but,  however  strange  the 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  latter,"  said  Frank,  **  but  if  you  wish  to  see  Kean, 
fOQ  had  better  come  with  roe  where  he  will  appear  to-night  after  a  long  absence. 
The  public  are  anxiously  waiting  for  him,  intending  to  pdt  him  off  the  stage." 

"  And  what  has  he  done,"  said  I,  "  to  be  pelted  off  the  stage  ?  " 

"  What  is  very  naughty,'*  said  Frank ;  "  breaking  one  of  the  commandments." 

"  And  did  be  break  the  commandment  on  the  stage  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Frank,  "  I  never  beard  that  he  broke  it  on  the  stage,  except  in 
the  way  of  his  profession." 

*'  Then,  wnat  have  the  public  to  do  with  the  matter  ?" 

*'  Tbej  think  they  have,**  said  Frank. 

And  then  we  went  out  together  to  see  Shakespeare's  "  Richard,"  or  rather  we 
went  to  see  the  man  who  was  to  personate  Shakespeare's  "  Richard  "—and  so  did 
tboasands ;  we  did  not  see  him,  however.  There  was  a  great  tumult,  I  remember, 
in  the  theatre.  The  man  who  was  to  perform  the  part  of  Richard,  and  who  it 
was  said  was  the  best  hand  for  interpreting  the  character  that  had  ever  appeared 
on  the  stage,  had  a  short  time  before  been  involved  in  a  disgraceful  afciir,  and 
this  was  to  be  his  first  appearance  on  the  stage  since  the  discovoy.  The  oonse- 
mience  was  that  crowds  nocked  to  the  theatre  with  the  firm  intention  of  expressing 
weir  indignation.  "  We  will  pelt  his  eves  out,"  said  a  man  who  sat  beside  me 
in  the  pit — ^for  we  sat  in  the  pit— and  who  bore  the  breach  of  all  the  command- 
ments m  his  face.  The  actor  in  question,  however,  who  perhaps  heard  the  threats 
which  were  vented  against  him,  very  prudently  kept  out  ot  the  way,  and  the 
manager  coming  forward  informed  the  public  that  another  would  perform  the 
port — whereupon  there  was  a  great  uproar.  *'  We  have  been  hnposed  upon,'* 
said  the  individual  who  sat  beside  me.  '*  I  came  here  for  nothing  else  than  to 
pelt  that  scoundrel  off  the  stage."  The  uproar,  however,  at  length  subsided, 
and  the  piece  commenced.  In  a  little  time  there  was  loud  applause.  The  actor 
who  had  appeared  in  plaoe  of  the  other  was  performinjg.  "  What  do  you  cltq> 
for  ?  "  said  I  to  the  individual  by  my  side,  who  was  dappmg  most  of  alL  "  What 
do  I  clap  for?"   said  the  man.    "Why,  to  encoorafe  Macready,  to  be  sure. 


Don*t  you  see  bow  divinely  he  acts?  why,  he  beats  Kean  hollow.  Besides  that, 
be*s  a  moral  man,  and  I  hke  morality."  **  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  I,  "  that 
he  was  never  immoral  ?  "  "I  neither  know  nor  care,"  said  the  man ;  "  all  I  know 
is  that  he  has  never  been  found  ouL  It  will  never  do  to  encourage  a  public  man 
who  has  been  found  out.    No,  no  1  the  morality  of  the  itafi  must  be  Men  alUr." 


ais  LA  VBNORO.  [1824 

places  were,  I  observed  that  the  inhabitants  thought  there  were 
no  places  like  their  several  places,  and  no  occupations  like  their 
several  occupations;  and  among  other  strange  places  to  which 
Francis  Ardry  conducted  me,  was  a  place  not  far  from  the  abbey 
church  of  Westminster. 

Before  we  entered  this  place  our  ears  were  greeted  by  a  con- 
fused hubbub  of  human  voices,  squealing  of  rats,  barking  of  dogs, 
and  the  cries  of  various  other  aniinals.  Here  we  beheld  a  kind  of 
cock*pit,  around  which  a  great  many  people,  seeming  of  all  ranks, 
but  chiefly  of  the  lower,  were  gathered,  and  in  it  we  saw  a  dog 
destroy  a  great  many  rats  in  a  very  small  period ;  and  when  the 
dog  had  destroyed  the  rats,  we  saw  a  fight  between  a  dog  and  a 
bear,  then  a  fight  between  two  dogs,  then 

After  the  diversions  of  the  day  were  over,  mv  (riend  introduced 
me  to  the  genius  of  the  place,  a  small  man  of  about  five  feet  high, 
with  a  very  sharp  countenance,  and  dressed  in  a  brown  jockey 
coat,  and  top  boots.  ''  Joey,"  ^  said  he,  "  this  is  a  friend  of  mine." 
Joey  nodded  to  me  with  a  patronising  air.  ^*  Glad  to  see  you,  sir ! 
— ^want  a  dog?" 

"No,"  said  I. 

*'  You  have  got  one,  then — want  to  match  him  ?  " 

"  We  have  a  dog  at  home,''  said  I,  "  in  the  country ;  but  I  can't 
say  I  should  like  to  match  him.  Indeed^  I  do  not  like  dog- 
fighting." 

"  Not  Uke  dog-fighting ! "  said  the  man,  staring. 

"  The  truth  is,  Joe,  that  he  is  just  come  to  town." 

"So  I  should  think;  he  looks  rather  green — not  like  dog- 
fighting  ! " 

"  Nothing  like  it,  is  there,  Joey  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  not ;  what  is  like  it  ?  A  time  will  come,  and 
that  speedily,  when  folks  will  give  up  everything  else,  and  follow 
dog-fighting." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Think  so  ?  Let  me  ask  what  there  is  that  a  man  wouldn't 
give  up  for  it?" 

"Why,"  said  I,  modestly,  "there's  religion." 

"  Religion  1  How  you  talk.  Why,  there's  myself,  bred  and 
bom  an  Independent,  and  intended  to  be  a  preacher,  didn't  I 
give  up  religion  for  dog-fighting  ?  Religion,  indeed !  If  it  were 
not  for  the  rascally  law,  my  pit  would  fill  better  on  Sundays  than 
any  other  time.    Who  would  go  to  church  when  they  could  come 


MS,  " Charlie "  and  "  Cbarlie'i"  throuchooL 


i«a4.1  DOG'PIGHTING.  «i3 

to  my  pit?  Religion !  why,  the  parsons  themselves  come  to  my 
pit ;  and  I  have  now  a  letter  in  my  pocket  from  one  of  them,  asking 
me  to  send  him  a  dog." 

"Well,  then,  politics,"  said  1. 

"  Politics  1  Why,  the  gemmen  in  the  House  would  leave  Pitt 
himself,  if  he  were  alive,  to  come  to  my  pit.  There  were  three  of 
the  best  of  them  here  to-night,  all  great  horators.  Get  on  with 
you,  what  comes  next?" 

"  Why,  there's  learning  and  letters." 

"Pretty  things,  truly,  to  keep  people  from  dog-fighting  1  ^Vhy, 
there's  the  young  gentlemen  from  the  Abbey  School  comes  here 
in  shoals,  leaving  books,  and  letters,  and  masters  too.  To  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  rather  wish  they  would  mind  their  letters,  for  a 
more  precious  set  of  young  blackguards  I  never  seed.  It  was 
only  the  other  day  I  was  thinking  of  calling  in  a  constable  for  my 
own  protection,  for  I  thought  my  pit  would  have  been  torn  down 
by  them." 

Scarcely  knowing  what  to  say,  I  made  an  observation  at  random. 
"You  show  by  your  own  conduct,"  said  I,  "that  there  are  other 
things  worth  following  besides  dog-fighting.  You  practise  rat- 
catching  and  badger-baiting  as  well." 

The  dog-fiancier  eyed  me  with  supreme  contempt. 

"Your  friend  here,"  said  he,  "might  well  call  you  a  new  one. 
When  I  talks  of  dog-fighting,  I  of  course  means  rat-catching  and 
badger-baiting,  ay,  and  bull-baiting  too,  just  as  when  I  speaks 
religiously,  when  I  says  one  I  means  not  one  but  |hree.  And 
talking  of  religion  puts  me  in  mind  that  I  have  something  else  to 
do  besides  chafling  here,  having  a  batch  of  dogs  to  send  off  by 
this  night's  packet  to  the  Pope  of  Rome." 

But  at  last  I  had  seen  enough  of  what  London  had  to  show, 
whether  strange  or  common-place,  so  at  least  I  thought,  and  I 
ceased  to  accompany  my  friend  in  his  rambles  about  town,  and 
to  partake  of  his  adventures.  Our  friendship,  however,  still 
continued  unabated,  though  I  saw,  in  consequence,  l&ss  of  him. 
I  reflected  that  time  was  passing  on,  that  the  little  money  I  had 
brought  to  town  was  fast  consuming,  and  that  I  had  nothing  to 
depend  upon  but  my  own  exertions  for  a  fresh  supply;  and  I 
returned  with  redoubled  application  to  my  pursuits. 


[ 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


I  coMPiLBD  the  ChronicUs  of  Newgate;  I  reviewed  books  for  the 
Review  established  on  an  entirely  new  principle ;  and  I  occasion- 
ally tried  my  best  to  translate  into  German  portions  of  the 
publisher's  philosophy.  In  this  last  task  I  experienced  more  than 
one  difficulty.  I  was  a  tolerable  German  scholar,  it  is  true,  and 
I  had  long  been  able  to  translate  from  German  into  English  with 
considerable  facility ;  but  to  translate  from  a  foreign  language  into 
your  own,  is  a  widely  different  thing  from  translating  from 
your  own  into  a  foreign  language;  and,  in  my  first  attempt  to 
render  the  publisher  into  German,  I  was  conscious  of  making 
miserable  failures,  from  pure  ignorance  of  German  grammar; 
however,  by  the  assistance  of  grammars  and  dictionaries,  and  by 
extreme  perseverance,  I  at  length  overcame  all  the  difficulties 
connected  with  the  German  language.  But  alas!  another 
difficulty  remained,  far  greater  than  any  connected  with  German 
— 2l.  difficulty  connected  with  the  language  of  the  publisher — ^the 
language  which  the  great  man  employed  in  his  writings  was  very 
hard  to  understand;  I  say  in  his  writings,  for  his  colloquial 
English  was  plain  enough.  Though  not  professing  to  be  a  scholar, 
he  was  much  addicted,  when  writing,  to  the  use  of  Greek  and 
Latin  terms,  not  as  other  people  used  them,  but  in  a  manner  of 
his  own,  which  set  the  auUiority  of  dictionaries  at  defiance ;  the 
consequence  was,  that  I  was  sometimes  utterly  at  a  loss  to  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  the  publisher.  Many  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
did  I  pass  at  this  period  staring  at  periods  of  the  publisher,  and 
wondering  what  he  could  mean,  but  in  vain^  till  at  last,  with  a 
shake  of  the  head,  I  would  snatch  up  the  pen,  and  render  the 
publisher  literally  into  German.  Sometimes  I  was  almost  tempted 
to  substitute  something  of  my  own  for  what  the  publisher  had 
written,  but  my  conscience  interposed;  the  awful  words  Traduitore 
iraditore  commenced  ringing  in  my  ears,  and  I  asked  myself 
whether  I  should  be  acting  honourably  towards  the  publisher, 
who  had  committed  to  me  the  delicate  task  of  translating  him  I 

into  German;  should  I  be  acting  honourably  towards  him,  in 
making  him  speak  in  German  in  a  manner  different  from  that  in 

(a  14) 


i8a4.]  PUBUSHBR'S  PHILOSOPHY,  9x5 

1 r-—     1        IIUIBB   M-^^^^^^l  ^  1^    I  II  l^B      III  ■  I  IHI 

which  he  expressed  himself  in  English  ?  No,  I  could  not  reconcile 
such  conduct  with  any  principle  of  honour;  by  substituting 
something  of  my  own  in  lieu  of  these  mysterious  passages  of  the 
publisher,  I  might  be  giving  a  fatal  Mow  to  his  whole  system  of 
phflosophy.  Besides,  when  translating  into  English,  had  I  treated 
foreign  authors  in  this  manner?  Had  I  treated  the  minstrels  of 
the  Kiaempe  Viser  in  this  manner?  Na  Had  I  treated  Ab 
Gwilym  in  this  manner?  Even  when  translating  his  Ode  to  the 
Mist,  in  which  he  is  misty  enough,  had  I  attempted  to  make 
Ab  Gwilym  less  misty?  No;  on  referring  to  my  translation,  I 
found  that  Ab  Gwilym  in  my  hands  was  quite  as  misty  as  in  his 
own.  Then,  seeing  that  I  had  not  ventur^  to  take  liberties  with 
people  who  had  never  put  themselves  into  my  hands  for  the 
purpose  of  being  rendered,  how  could  I  venture  to  substitute  my 
own  thoughts  and  ideas  for  the  publisher's,  who  had  put  himself 
into  my  Imnds  for  that  purpose?  Forbid  it  every  proper  feeling  1 
-*— so  I  told  the  Germans  in  the  publisher's  own  way,  the 
publisher's  tale  of  an  apple  and  a  pear. 

I  at  first  felt  much  inclined  to  be  of  the  publisher's  opinion 
with  respect  to  the  theory  of  the  pear.  After  all,  why  should  the 
earth  be  shaped  like  an  apple,  and  not  like  a  pear? — it  would 
certainly  gain  in  appearance  by  being  shaped  like  a  pear.  A  pear 
being  a  handsomer  fruit  than  an  apple,  the  publisher  is  probably 
right,  thought  I,  and  I  will  say  that  he  is  right  on  this  point  in 
the  notice  which  I  am  about  to  write  of  his  publication  for  the 
Review.  And  yet  I  don't  know,  said  I,  after  a  long  fit  of  musing 
— I  don't  know  but  what  there  is  more  to  be  said  for  the  Oxford 
theory.  The  world  may  be  shaped  like  a  pear,  but  I  don't  know 
that  it  is ;  but  one  thing  I  know,  which  is,  that  it  does  not  taste 
like  a  pear ;  I  have  always  liked  pears,  but  I  don't  like  the  world. 
The  worid  to  me  tastes  much  more  like  an  apple,  and  I  have 
never  liked  af^les.  I  will  uphold  the  Oxford  theory ;  besides,  I 
am  writing  in  an  Oxford  Review,  and  am  in  duty  bound  to  uphold 
the  Oxford  theory.  So  in  my  notice  I  asserted  that  the  world 
was  round ;  I  quoted  Scripture,  and  endeavoured  to  prove  that 
the  world  was  typified  by  the  apple  in  Saipture,  both  as  to  shape 
and  properties.  "An  apple  is  round,"  said  I,  "and  the  world  is 
round ;  the  apple  is  a  sour,  disagreeable  fruit,  and  who  has  tasted 
much  of  the  world  without  having  his  teeth  set  on  edge?"  I, 
however,  treated  the  publisher,  upon  the  whole,  in  the  most 
urbane  and  Oxford-like  manner;  complimenting  him  upon  his 
style,  acknowledging  the  general  soundness  of  his  views,  and  only 
diflering  with  him  in  the  affair  of  the  apple  and  pear. 


3t6  la  VBNGRO,  [i8a4. 

I  did  not  like  reviewing  at  all-  it  was  not  to  my  taste ;  it  was 
not  in  my  way ;  I  liked  it  far  less  than  translating  the  publisher's 
philosophy,  for  that  was  something  in  the  line  of  one  whom  a 
competent  judge  had  sumamed  **  Lavengro**.  I  never  could  under- 
stand why  reviews  were  instituted ;  works  of  merit  do  not  require 
to  be  reviewed,  they  can  speak  for  themselves,  and  require  no 
praising ;  works  of  no  merit  at  all  will  die  of  themselves,  they 
require  no  killing.  The  Review  to  which  I  was  attached  was,  as 
has  been  already  intimated,  established  on  an  entirely  new  plan ; 
it  professed  to  review  all  new  publications,  which  certainly  no 
Review  had  ever  professed  to  do  before,  other  Reviews  never 
pretending  to  review  more  than  one-tenth  of  the  current  literature 
of  the  day.  When  I  say  it  professed  to  review  all  new  publications, 
I  should  add,  which  should  be  sent  to  it;  for,  of  course,  the 
Review  would  not  acknowledge  the  existence  of  publications,  the 
authors  of  which  did  not  acknowledge  the  existence  of  the  Review. 
I  don't  think,  however,  that  the  Review  had  much  cause  to  com- 
plain of  being  n^lected ;  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  at  least 
nine-tenths  of  the  publications  of  the  day  were  sent  to  the  Review, 
and  in  due  time  reviewed.  1  had  good  opportunity  of  judging. 
I  was  connected  with  several  departments  of  the  Review,  though 
more  particularly  with  the  poetical  and  philosophic  ones.  An 
English  translation  of  Kant's  philosophy  made  its  appearanc^(on 
my  table  the  day  before  its  publication.  In  my  notice  of  this 
work,  I  said  that  the  English  shortly  hoped  to  give  the  Germans 
a  quid  pro  quo.  I  believe  at  that  time  authors  were  much  in  the 
habit  of  publishing  at  their  own  expense.  All  the  poetry  which 
I  reviewed  appeared  to  be  published  at  the  expense  of  the  authors. 
If  I  am  asked  how  I  comported  myself,  under  all  circumstances, 
as  a  reviewer,  I  answer,  I  did  not  forget  that  I  was  connected 
with  a  Review  established  on  Oxford  principles,  the  editor  of  which 
had  translated  Quintilian.  All  the  publications  which  fell  under 
my  notice  I  treated  in  a  gendemanly  and  Oxford-like  manner,  no 
personalities — no  vituperation — ^no  shabby  insinuations;  decorum, 
decorum  was  the  order  of  the  day.  Occasionally  a  word  of  admoni- 
tion, but  gently  expressed,  as  an  Oxford  under-graduate  might  have 
expressed  it,  or  master  of  arts.  How  the  authors  whose  publications 
were  consigned  to  my  colleagues  were  treated  by  them  I  know  not ; 
I  suppose  they  were  treated  in  an  urbane  and  Oxford-like  manner, 
but  I  cannot  say ;  I  did  not  read  the  reviewals  of  my  colleagues,  I 
did  not  read  my  own  after  they  were  printed.  I  did  not  like 
reviewing. 

Of  all  my  occupations  at  this  period  I  am  it^^  to  confess  I 


x8«4.]  RBFLBCTION&  aiy 

Vked  that  of  compiling  the  Newgate  Lives  and  Trials  the  best ; 
that  is,  after  I  had  sunnoiinted  a  kind  of  prejudice  which  I 
oxiginaiiy  entertained.  The  trials  were  entertaining  enough ;  but 
the  hves — ^how  full  were  they  of  wild  and  racy  adventures^  and  in 
what  racy,  genuine  language  were  they  told.  What  struck  me 
most  with  respect  to  these  lives  was  the  art  which  the  writers, 
whoever  they  were,  possessed  of  telling  a  plain  story.  It  is  no  easy 
thing  to  teU  a  story  plainly  and  distinctly  by  mouth ;  but  to  tell 
one  on  paper  is  difficult  indeed,  so  many  snares  lie  in  the  way. 
People  are  afraid  to  put  down  what  is  common  on  paper,  they 
seek  to  embellish  their  narratives,  as  they  think,  by  philosophic 
speculations  and  reflections ;  they  are  anxious  to  shine,  and  people 
who  are  anxious  to  shine  can  never  tell  a  plain  story.  "So 
I  went  with  them  to  a  music  booth,  where  they  made  me  almost 
drunk  with  gin,  and  t)egan  to  talk  their  flash  language,  which  I 
did  not  understand,"  says,  or  is  made  to  say,  Henry  Simms,  executed 
at  Tyburn  some  seventy  years  before  the  time  of  which  I  am  speak- 
ing. I  have  always  looked  upon  this  sentence  as  a  masterpiece 
of  the  narrative  style,  it  is  so  concise  and  yet  so  very  clear.  As  I 
gazed  on  passages  like  this,  and  there  were  many  nearly  as  good 
in  the  Newgate  Lhes^  I  often  sighed  that  it  was  not  my  fortune  to 
have  to  render  these  lives  into  German  rather  than  the  publisher's 
phik>sophy — his  tale  of  an  apple  and  pear. 

Mine  was  an  ill-regulated  mind  at  this  period.  As  I  read  over 
the  lives  of  these  robbers  and  pickpockets,  strange  doubts  began 
to  arise  in  my  mind  about  virtue  and  crime.  Years  before,  when 
quite  a  boy,  as  in  one  of  the  early  chapters  I  have  hinted,  I  had 
been  a  necessitarian ;  I  had  even  written  an  essay  on  crime  (I  have 
it  now  before  me,  penned  in  a  round,  boyish  hand),  in  which  I 
attempted  to  prove  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  crime  or  virtue, 
all  our  actions  being  the  result  of  circumstances  or  necessity. 
These  doubts  were  now  again  reviving  in  my  mind ;  I  could  not 
for  the  life  of  me  imagine  how,  taking  all  circumstances  into 
consideration,  these  highwaymen,  these  pickpockets,  should  have 
been  anything  else  than  highwaymen  and  pickpockets ;  any  more 
than  how,  taking  all  circumstances  into  consideration.  Bishop 
Latimer  (the  reader  is  aware  that  I  had  read  Fox*s  Book  of 
Martyrs)  should  have  been  anything  else  than  Bishop  Latimer. 
I  had  a  very  ill-regulated  mind  at  that  period. 

My  own  peculiar  ideas  with  respect  to  everything  being  a  lying 
dream  began  also  to  revive.  Sometimes  at  midnight,  after  having 
toiled  for  hours  at  my  occupations,  I  would  fling  myself  back  on 
my  chair,  look  about  the  poor  apartment,  dimly  lighted  by  an 


«x8  LA  VBNGRO.  [1894. 

unsnuffed  candle,  or  upon 'die  heaps  of  boolu  and  papers  before 
me,  and  exclaim :  ''  Do  I  exist  ?  Do  these  things,  which  I  think 
I  see  about  me,  exist,  or  do  they  not  ?  Is  not  everything  a  dream 
— a  deceitful  dream  ?  Is  not  ibis  apartment  a  dream-^e  furni- 
ture a  dream  ?  The  publisher  a  dream — ^his  philosophy  a  dream  ? 
Am  I  not  myself  a  dream — dreaming  about  translating  a  dream  ? 
I  can't  see  why  all  should  not  be  a  dream ;  what's  the  use  of  the 
reality  ?  "  And  then  I  would  pinch  myself,  and  snuff  the  burdened 
smoky  light.  **  I  can't  see,  for  the  life  of  me,  the  use  of  all  this ; 
therefore,  why  should  I  think  that  it  exists  ?  If  there  was  a  chance, 
a  probability  of  all  this  tending  to  anything,  I  might  believe ;  but 
-^ — **  and  then  I  would  stare  and  think,  and  after  some  time 
shake  my  head  and  return  again  to  my  occupations  for  an  hour  or 
two ;  and  then  I  would  perhaps  shake,  and  shiver,  and  yawn,  and 
look  wistfully  in  the  direction  of  my  sleeping  apartment;  and 
then,  but  not  wistfully,  at  the  papers  and  books  before  me ;  and 
sometimes  I  would  return  to  my  papers  and  books ;  but  oftener  I 
would  arise,  and,  after  another  yawn  and  shiver,  take  my  light, 
and  proceed  to  my  sleeping  chamber. 

They  say  that  light  fare  begets  light  dreams ;  my  fore  at  that 
time  was  light  enough,  but  I  had  anything  but  light  dreams,  for 
at  that  period  I  had  all  kind  of  strange  and  extravagant  dreams, 
and  amongst  other  things  I  dreamt  that  the  whole  world  had 
taken  to  dog-fighdng;  and  that  I,  myself,  had  taken  to  dog-fighting, 
and  that  in  a  vast  circus  I  backed  an  English  bulldog  against  the 
bloodhound  of  the  Pope  of  Rome. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIL 


0ns  morning  I  arose  somewhat  later  that  usual,  having  been 
occupied  during  the  greater  part  of  the  night  with  my  literary  toil. 
On  descending  from  my  chamber  into  the  sitting-room  I  found  a 
person  seated  by  the  fire,  whose  glance  was  directed  sideways  to 
the  table,  on  which  were  the  usual  preparations  for  my  morning's 
meal.  Forthwith  I  gave  a  cry,  and  sprang  forward  to  embrace 
the  person ;  for  the  person  by  the  fire,  whose  glance  was  directed 
to  the  table,  was  no  one  else  than  my  brother. 

^'And  how  are  things  going  on  at  home?"  said  I  to  my 
brother,  after  we  had  kissed  and  embraced.  ''How  is  my 
mother,  and  how  is  the  dog?" 

''  My  mother,  thank  God,  is  tolerably  well,**  said  my  brother, 
"  but  very  much  given  to  fits  of  crying.  As  for  the  dog,  he  is  not 
so  well ;  but  we  will  talk  more  of  these  matters  anon,"  said  my 
brother,  again  glancing  at  the  breakfast  things:  "I  am  very 
hungry,  as  you  may  suppose,  i^er  having  travelled  all  night" 

Thereupon  I  ezertei  myself  to  the  best  of  my  ability  to 
perform  the  duties  of  hospitality,  and  I  made  my  brother  welcome 
— I  may  say  more  than  welcome;  and,  when  the  rage  of  my 
brother's  hunger  was  somewhat  abated,  we  recommenced  talking 
about  the  matters  of  our  little  family,  and  my  brother  told  me 
much  about  my  mother ;  he  spoke  of  her  fits  of  crying,  but  said 
that  of  late  the  said  fits  of  crymg  had  much  diminished,  and  she 
appeared  to  be  taking  comfort ;  and  if  I  am  not  much  mistaken, 
my  brother  told  me  that  my  mother  had  of  late  the  prayer-book 
frequently  in  her  hand,  and  yet  oftener  the  Bible. 

We  were  silent  for  a  time ;  at  last  I  opened  my  mouth  and 
mentioned  the  dog. 

''The  dog,"  said  my  brother,  "is,  I  am  afraid,  in  a  very  poor 
way;  ever  since  the  death  he  has  done  nothing  but  pine  and 
take  on.  A  few  months  ago,  you  remember,  he  was  as  plump 
and  fine  as  any  dog  in  the  town ;  but  at  present  he  is  little  more 
than  skin  and  bone.  Once  we  lost  him  for  two  days,  and  never 
expected  to  see  him  again,  imagining  that  some  mischance  had 

(219) 


970  LA  VBNGRO.  [29TR  Apil,  '24. 

befallen  him;  at  length  I  found  him — where  do  you  think? 
Chancing  to  pass  by  the  churchyard,  I  found  him  seated  on  the 
grave ! " 

"  Very  strange,"  said  I ;  *'  but  let  us  talk  of  something  else. 
It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  come  and  see  me." 

*'  Oh,  as  for  that  matter,  I  did  not  come  up  to  see  you,  though 
of  course  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  having  been  rather  anxious 
about  you,  like  my  mother,  who  has  received  only  one  letter  from 
you  since  your  departure.  No,  I  did  not  come  up  on  purpose  to 
see  you ;  but  on  quite  a  different  account.  You  must  know  that 
the  corporation  of  our  town  have  lately  elected  a  new  mayor,  a 
person  of  numy  qualifications — big  and  portly,  with  a  voice  like 
Boanerges ;  a  religious  man,  the  possessor  of  an  immense  pew ; 
loyal,  so  much  so  that  I  once  heard  him  say  that  he  would  at  any 
time  go  three  miles  to  hear  any  one  sing  'God  save  the  King  *; 
moreover,  a  giver  of  excellent  dinners.  Such  is  our  present 
mayor;  who,  owing  to  his  loyalty,  his  religion,  and  a  little, 
perhaps,  to  his  dinners,  is  a  mighty  favourite;  so  much  so  that 
the  town  is  anxious  to  have  his  portrait  painted  in  a  superior 
style,  so  that  remote  posterity  may  know  what  kind  of  man  he 
was,  the  colour  of  his  hair,  his  air  and  gait.  So  a  committee  was 
formed  some  time  ago,  which  is  still  sitting ;  that  is,  they  dine 
with  the  mayor  every  day  to  talk  over  the  subject.  A  few  days 
since,  to  my  great  surprise,  they  made  their  appearance  in  my 
poor  studio,  and  desired  to  be  favoured  with  a  sight  of  some  of 
my  paintings ;  well,  I  showed  them  some,  and,  after  looking  at 
them  with  great  attention,  they  went  aside  and  whispered.  'He'll 
do,'  I  heard  one  say ;  '  yes,  he'll  do,'  said  another;  and  then  they 
came  to  me,  and  one  of  them,  a  little  man  with  a  hump  on  his 
back,  who  is  a  watchmaker,  assumed  the  ofSce  of  spokesman,  and 
made  a  long  speech  (the  old  town  has  been  always  celebrated 
for  orators)  in  which  he  told  me  how  much  they  had  been 
pleased  with  my  productions  (the  old  town  has  been  always 
celebrated  for  its  artistic  taste),  and,  what  do  you  think?  offered 
me  the  painting  of  the  mayor's  portrait,  and  a  hundred  pounds 
for  my  trouble. 

"Well,  of  course  I  was  much  surprised,  and  for  a  minute  or 
two  could  scarcely  speak ;  recovering  myself,  however,  I  made  a 
speech,  not  so  eloquent  as  that  of  the  watchmaker,  of  course, 
being  not  so  accustomed  to  speaking;  but  not  so  bad  either, 
taking  everything  into  consideration,  telling  them  how  flattered  I 
felt  by  the  honour  which  they  had  conferred  in  proposing  to  me 
such  an  undertaking;  expressing,  however,  my  fears  that  I  was 


ia34^]  JOHN'S  VISIT.  aax 

not  competent  to  the  task,  and  concluding  by  saying  what  a  pity 
It  was  that  Crome  was  dead.  'Crome,'  said  the  little  man, 
'Crome;  yes,  he  was  a  clever  man,  a  very  clever  man  in  his  way; 
be  was  good  at  painting  landscapes  and  farm-houses,  but  he 
would  not  do  in  the  present  instance,  were  he  alive.  He  had  no 
conception  of  the  heroic,  sir.  We  want  some  person  capable  of 
representing  our  mayor  striding  under  the  Norman  arch  out  of 
the  cathedml.'  At  the  mention  of  the  heroic,  an  idea  came  at 
once  into  my  head.  '  Oh,'  said  I,  '  if  you  are  in  quest  of  the 
heroic,  I  am  glad  that  you  came  to  me;  don't  mistake  me,'  I 
continued,  '  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  I  could  do  justice  to  your 
subject,  though  I  am  fond  of  the  heroic ;  but  I  can  introduce  you 
to  a  great  master  of  the  heroic,  fully  competent  to  do  justice  to 
your  mayor.  Not  to  me,  therefore,  be  the  painting  of  the  picture 
given,  but  to  a  friend  of  mine,  the  great  master  of  the  heroic,  to 
die  best,  the  strongest,  ry  KfmsrUrr^y  I  added,  for,  being  amongst 
ocators,  I  thought  a  word  of  Greek  would  tell." 

"  WeH,"  said  I,  "and  what  did  the  orators  say  ? " 

"They  gazed  dubiously  at  me  and  at  one  another,"  said  my 
brother ;  "at  last  the  watchmaker  asked  me  who  this  Mr.  Christo 
was ;  adding,  that  he  had  never  heard  of  such  a  person ;  that, 
from  my  recommendation  of  him,  he  had  no  doubt  that  he  was  a 
very  clever  man,  but  that  they  should  like  to  kpow  something 
more  about  him  before  giving  the  commission  to  him.  That  he 
had  heard  of  Christie  the  great  auctioneer,  who  was  considered 
to  be«an  excellent  judge  of  pictures;   but  be  supposed  that  I 

scarcely Whereupon,  interrupting  the  watchmaker,  I  told 

him  that  I  alluded  neither  to  Christo  nor  to  Christie,  but  to  the 
painter  of  Laaarus  rising  from  the  grave,  a  painter  under  whom  I 
had  myself  studied  during  some  months  that  I  had  spent  in 
London,  and  to  whom  I  was  indebted  for  much  connected  with 
the  heroic." 

"I  have  heard  of  him,"  said  the  watchmaker,  "and  his 
paintings  too ;  but  I  am  afraid  that  he  is  not  exactly  the  gentle^ 
man  by  whom  our  mayor  would  wish  to  be  painted.  I  have 
heard  say  that  he  is  not  a  very  good  friend  to  Church  and  State. 
Come,  young  man,"  he  added,  "  it  appears  to  me  that  you  are  too 
modest ;  I  like  your  style  of  painting,  so  do  we  all,  and — why 
should  I  mince  the  matter  ? — the  money  is  to  be  collected  in  the 
town,  why  should  it  go  into  a  stranger's  pocket,  and  be  spent  in 
London?" 

Thereupon  I  made  them  a  speech,  in  which  I  said  that  art 
had  nothing  to  do  with  Church  and  State,  at  least  with  English 


LA  VBNORO.  [1834. 


Church  and  State,  which  had  never  encouraged  it;  and  that, 
though  Church  and  State  were  doubtless  very  fine  things,  a  man 
might  be  a  very  good  artist  who  cared  not  a  straw  for  either.  I  then 
made  use  of  some  more  Greek  words,  and  told  them  how  painting 
was  one  of  the  Nine  Muses,  and  one  of  the  most  independent 
creatures  alive,  inspiring  whom  she  pleased,  and  asking  leave  of 
nobody ;  that  I  should  be  quite  unworthy  of  the  favours  of  the 
Muse  if,  on  the  present  occasion,  I  did  not  recommend  them  a 
man  whom  I  considered  to  be  a  much  greater  master  of  the 
heroic  than  myself;  and  that,  with  regard  to  the  money  being 
spent  in  the  city,  I  had  no  doubt  that  they  would  not  weigh  for  a 
moment  such  a  consideration  against  the  chance  of  getting  a  true 
heroic  picture  for  the  city.  I  never  talked  so  well  in  my  life,  and 
said  so  many  flattering  things  to  the  hunchback  and  his  friends, 
that  at  last  they  said  that  I  should  have  my  own  way ;  and  that 
if  I  pleased  to  go  up  to  London,  and  bring  down  the  painter  of 
Lazarus  to  paint  the  mayor^  I  might;  so  they  then  bade  me 
farewell,  and  I  have  come  up  to  London. 

*'  To  put  a  hundred  pounds  into  the  hands  of " 

"A  better  man  than  myself,"  said  my  brother,  ''of  course.' 
*' And  have  you  come  up  at  your  own  expense?" 
**  Yes/'  said  my  brother,  "  I  have  come  up  at  my  own  expense." 
I  made  no  answer,  but  looked  in  my  brother's  face.  We  then 
returned  to  the  former  subjects  of  conversation,  talking  of  the 
dead,  my  mother,  and  the  dog. 

After  some  time  my  brother  said :  ''  I  will  now  goeto  the 
painter,  and  communicate  to  him  the  business  which  has  brought 
me  to  town ;  and,  if  you  please,  I  will  take  you  with  me  and 
introduce  you  to  him  ".^  Having  expressed  my  willingnesSi  we 
descended  into  the  street* 


•f 


1  The  AfS.  odds :  *"  It  will,  perhnps,  be  as  well,  first  of  all,  to  go  to  tin 
exhibition  of  British  art,  which  is  at  present  open.  I  hear  he  has  a  picture  there, 
which  he  has  just  finished.  We  will  look  at  it,  and  from  that  you  may  form  a 
toIeraUe  estimate  of  his  powers.'  Thereupon  my  brother  led  the  way,  and  we 
presently  found  ourselves  m  the  Oallery  of  British  Art." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


Thb  painter  of  the  heroic  resided  a  great  way  off,  at  the  western 
end  of  the  town.  We  had  some  difficulty  in  obtaining  admission 
to  him,  a  maid-seryant,  who  c^ned  the  door,  eyeing  us  some- 
what suspiciously ;  it  was  not  until  my  brother  had  said  that  he 
was  a  friend  of  the  painter  that  we  were  permitted  to  pass  the 
threshold.  At  length  we  were  shown  into  the  studio,  where  we 
found  the  painter,  with  an  easel  and  brush,  standing  before  a  huge 
piece  of  canvas,  on  which  he  had  lately  commenced  painting  a 
heroic  picture.  The  painter  might  be  about  thirty-five  years  old ; 
he  had  a  dever,  intelligent  countenance,  with  a  shaip  grey  eye; 
his  hair  was  dark  brown,  and  cut  it-la  Rafaeli  as  I  was  subsequently 
toldj  that  is,  there  was  little  before  and  much  behind ;  he  did  not 
wear  a  neckcloth,  but,  in  its  stead,  a  black  riband,  so  that  his 
neck,  which  was  rather  fine,  was  somewhat  exposed ;  he  had  a 
broad,  muscular  breast,  and  I  make  no  doubt  that  he  would  have 
been  a  very  fine  figure,  but  unfortunately  his  legs  and  thighs  were 
scnnewhat  short  He  recognised  my  brotho*,  and  appeared  glad 
to  see  him. 

"  What  brings  you  to  London  ?  ^  said  he. 

Whereupon  my  brother  gave  him  a  brief  account  of  his  com? 
inission.  At  the  mention  of  the  hundred  pounds,  I  observed  the 
eyes  of  the  painter  glisten.  '*  Really,"  said  he,  when  my  brother 
had  concluded,  "  it  was  very  kind  to  think  of  me.  I  am  not  very 
fond  of  painting  portraits ;  but  a  mayor  is  a  mayor,  and  there  is 
something  grand  in  that  idea  of  the  Norman  arch.  I'll  go ;  more- 
over, I  am  just  at  this  moment  confoundedly  in  need  of  money, 
and  when  you  knocked  at  the  door,  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  I 
thought  it  was  some  dun.  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  bat  in  the 
capital  they  have  no  taste  for  the  heroic,  they  will  scarce  look  at  a 
heix>ic  picture ;  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  they  have  better  taste  in 
the  provinces.    FU  go ;  when  shall  we  set  off?  " 

Thereupon  it  was  arranged  between  the  painter  and  my  brother 
that  they  should  depart  the  next  day  but  one ;  they  then  began  to 
talk  of  art.    <<  I'll  stick  to  the  heroic,"  said  the  painter ;  *'  1  now 


as4  LAVBNGRO.  [1844. 

and  then  dabble  in  the  comici  but  what  I  do  gives  me  no  pleasure, 
the  comic  is  so  low;  there  is  nothing  like  the  heroic.  I  am 
engaged  here  on  a  heroic  picture,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the 
canvas ;  "  the  subject  is  *  Pharaoh  dismissing  Moses  from  Egypt,' 
after  the  last  plague — the  death  of  the  first-bom;  it  is  not 
far.  advanced — ^that  finished  figure  is  Moses  " :  they  both  looked 
at  the  canvas,  and  I,  standing  behind,  took  a  modest  peep.  The 
picture,  as  the  painter  said^  was  not  far  advanced,  the  Pharaoh 
was  merely  in  outline ;  my  eye  was,  of  course,  attracted  by  the 
finished  figure,  or  rather  what  the  painter  had  called  the 
finished  figure ;  but,  as  I  gazed  upon  it,  it  appeared  to  me  that 
there  was  something  defective — something  unsatisfactory  in  the 
figure.  I  concluded,  however,  that  the  painter,  notwithstanding 
what  he  had  said,  had  omitted  to  give  it  the  finishing  touch.  **  I 
intend  this  to  be  my  best  picture,*'  said  the  painter;  '*what  I 
want  now  is  a  face  for  Pharaoh ;  I  have  long  been  meditating  on 
a  face  for  Pharaoh."  Here,  chancing  to  cast  his  eye  upon  my 
countenance,  of  whom  he  had  scarcely  taken  any  manner  of 
notice,  he  remained  with  his  mouth  open  for  some  time.  "  Who 
is  this?"  said  he  at  last.  "  Oh,  this  is  my  brother,  I  foigot  to 
introduce  him  " 

We  presently  afterwards  departed;  my  brother  talked  much 
about  the  painter.  *'He  is  a  noble  fellow,'*  said  my  brother; 
"  but,  like  many  other  noble  fellows,  has  a  great  many  enemies ;  he 
is  hated  by  his  brethren  of  the  brush — all  the  land  and  water-scape 
painters  hate  him — but,  above  all,  the  race  of  portrait  painters, 
who  are  ten  times  more  numerous  than  the  other  two  sorts,  detest 
him  for  his  heroic  tendencies.  It  will  be  a  kind  of  triumph  to 
the  last,  I  fear,  when  they  hear  he  has  condescended  to  paint  a 
portrait ;  however,  that  Norman  arch  will  enable  him  to  escape 
from  their  malice— that  is  a  capital  idea  of  the  watchmaker,  that 
Norman  arch." 

I  spent  a  happy  day  with  my  brother.  On  the  morrow  he  went 
again  to  the  painter,  with  whom  he  dined ;  I  did  not  go  with  him. 
On  his  return  he  said:  *'The  painter  has  been  asking  a  great 
many  questions  about  you,  and  expressed  a  wish  that  you  would 
sit  to  him  as  Pharaoh;  he  thinks  you  would  make  a  capital 
Pharaoh ".  '^  I  have  no  wish  to  appear  on  canvas,"  said  I ; 
"moreover,  he  can  find  much  better  Pharaohs  than  myself;  and, 
if  he  wants  a  real  Pharaoh,  there  is  a  certain  Mr.  Petulengro." 
"Petulengro?"  said  my  brother;  "a  strange  kind  of  fellow  came 
up  to  me  some  time  ago  in  our  town,  and  asked  me  about  you ; 
when  I  inquired  his  name^  he  told  me  Petulengro.    No,  he  will 


1834-]  THS  MAYOtCS  PORTRAIT.  935 

not  do,  he  is  too  short ;  by-the-bye,  do  you  not  think  that  figure 
of  Moses  is  somewhat  short  ?"  And  then  it  appeared  to  me  that 
I  had  thought  the  figure  of  Moses  somewhat  short,  and  I  told  my 
brother  so.    ''  Ah  I "  said  my  brother. 

On  the  morrow  my  brother  departed  with  the  painter  for  the 
old  town,  and  there  the  painter  painted  the  mayor.  I  did  not  see 
the  picture  for  a  great  many  years,  when,  chancing  to  be  at  the 
old  town,  I  beheld  it. 

The  original  mayor  was  a  mighty,  portly  man,  with  a  bull's 
head,  black  hair,  body  like  that  of  a  dray  horse,  and  legs  and 
thighs  corresponding ;  a  man  six  foot  high  at  the  least.  To  his 
bull's  head,  black  hair  and  body  the  painter  had  done  justice ; 
there  was  one  point,  however,  in  which  the  portrait  did  not 
correspond  with  the  original — the  legs  were  disproportionably 
short,  the  painter  having  substituted  his  own  legs  for  those  of  the 
mavor,  which  when  I  perceived  I  rejoiced  that  I  had  not  consented 
to  oe  painted  as  Pharaoh,  for,  if  I  had,  the  chances  are  that  he 
would  have  served  me  in  exactly  a  similar  way  as  he  had  served 
Moses  and  the  mayor. 

Short  legs  in  a  heroic  picture  will  never  do ;  and,  upon  the 
whole,  I  think  the  painter's  attempt  at  the  heroic  in  painting  the 
mayor  of  the  old  town  a  decided  failure.  If  I  am  now  asked 
whether  the  picture  would  have  been  a  heroic  one  provided  the 
painter  had  not  substituted  his  own  legs  for  those  of  the  mayor, 
I  must  say,  I  am  afraid  not.  I  have  no  idea  of  making  heroic 
pictures  out  of  English  mayors,  even  with  the  assistance  of 
Norman  arches;  yet  I  am  sure  that  capital  pictures  might  be 
made  out  of  English  mayors,  not  issuing  from  Norman  arches, 
but  rather  from  the  door  of  the^  Checquers "  or  the  "  Brewers 
Three  ".  The  painter  in  question  had  great  comic  power,  which 
he  scarcely  ever  cultivated ;  he  would  fain  be  a  Rafael,  which  he 
never  could  be,  when  he  might  have  been  something  quite  as 
good — ^another  Hogarth ;  the  only  comic  piece  which  he  ever 
presented  to  the  world  being  something  little  inferior  to  the  best 
of  that  illustrious  master.  I  have  often  thought  what  a  capital 
picture  might  have  been  made  by  my  brother's  friend,  if,  instead 
of  making  the  mayor  issue  out  of  the  Norman  arch,  he  had  painted 
him  moving  under  the  sign  of  the  ''Checquers,"  or  the  "Three 
Brewers,"  with  mace — yes,  with  mace, — the  mace  appears  in  the 
picture  issuing  out  of  the  Norman  arch  behind  the  mayor, — ^but 
likewise  with  Snap,  and  with  whiffler,  quart  pot,  and  frying  pan, 
Billy  Blind,  and  Owlenglass,  Mr.  Petulengro  and  Pakomovna; 
then,  had  he  clapped  his  own  legs  upon  the  mayor,  or  any  one 

»5 


426  LA  VBNGRO.  [1834. 

dse  in  the  ooncoiirse^  what  matter?  But  I  repeat  that  I  have  no 
hope  of  making  heroic  pictures  out  of  English  mayors,  or,  indeed, 
out  of  English  figures  in  general.  England  may  be  a  land  of 
heroic  hearts,  but  it  is  not,  properly,  a  land  of  heroic  figures,  or 

heroic  posture-making,    Italy what  was  I  going  to  say  about 

Italy? 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


And  now  once  more  to  my  pursuits,  to  my  Uvts  and  Trials. 
However  partial  at  first  I  might  be  to  these  lives  and  trials,  it  was 
not  long  before  they  became  regular  trials  to  me,  owing  to  the 
whims  and  caprices  of  the  publisher.  I  had  not  been  long 
connected  with  him  before  I  discovered  that  he  was  wonderfully 
fond  of  interfering  with  other  people's  business — at  least  with  the 
business  of  those  who  were  under  his  control.  What  a  life  did 
his  unfortunate  authors  lead  1  He  had  many  in  his  employ  toiling 
at  all  kinds  of  subjects — I  call  them  authors  because  there  is 
something  respectable  in  the  term  author,  though  they  had  little 
authorship  in,  and  no  authority  whatever  over,  the  works  on  which 
diey  were  engaged.  It  is  true  the  publisher  interfered  with  some 
colour  of  reason,  the  plan  of  all  and  every  of  the  works  alluded  to 
having  originated  with  himself;  and,  be  it  observed,  many  of  his 
plans  were  highly  clever  and  promising,  for,  as  I  have  already 
had  occasion  to  say,  the  pubhsher  in  many  points  was  a  highly 
clever  and  sagacious  person ;  but  he  ought  to  have  been  contented 
with  planning  the  works  originally,  and  have  left  to  other  people 
the  task  of  executing  them,  instead  of  which  he  marred  everything 
by  his  rage  for  interference.  If  a  book  of  fairy  tales  was  being 
compiled,  he  was  sure  to  introduce  some  of  his  philosophy, 
explaining  the  faiiy  tale  by  some  theory  of  his  own.  Was  a 
book  of  anecdotes  on  hand,  it  was  sure  to  be  half-filled  with 
8a]rings  and  doings  of  himself  during  the  time  that  he  was 
common  councilman  of  the  city  of  London.  Now,  however 
fond  the  public  might  be, of  fairy  tales,  it  by  no  means  relished 
them  in  conjunction  with  the  publisher's  philosophy ;  and  however 
fond  of  anecdotes  in  general,  or  even  of  the  publisher  in  particular 
— for  indeed  there  were  a  great  many  anecdotes  in  circulation 
about  him  which  the  public  both  read  and  listened  to  very 
readily — ^it  took  no  pleasure  in  such  anecdotes  as  he  was  disposed 
to  relate  about  himself.  In  the  compilation  of  my  Lives  and 
TrialSf  I  was  exposed  to  incredible  mortification,  and  ceaseless 
trouble,  from  this  same  rage  for  interference.     It  is  true  be  could 

(as?) 


%a  LA  VBNORO.  [1824. 


not  introduce  his  philosophy  into  the  work,  nor  was  it  possible 
for  him  to  introduce  anecdotes  of  himself,  having  never  had  the 
good  or  evil  fortune  to  be  tried  at  the  bar ;  but  he  was  continually 
introducing — what,  under  a  less  apathetic  government  than  the 
one  then  being,  would  have  infallibly  subjected  him,  and  perhaps 
myself,  to  a  tnal — his  politics;  not  his  Oxford  or  pseudo  politics, 
but  the  politics  which  he  really  entertained,  and  which  were  of 
the  most  republican  and  violent  kind.  But  this  was  not  all; 
when  about  a  moiety  of  the  first  volume  had  been  printed,  he 
materially  altered  the  plan  of  the  work ;  it  was  no  longer  to  be  a 
collection  of  mere  Newgate  lives  and  trials,  but  of  lives  and  trials 
of  criminals  in  general,  foreign  as  well  as  domestic.  In  a  little 
time  the  work  became  a  wondrous  farrago,  in  which  Konigs- 
mark  the  robber  figured  by  the  side  of  Sam  Lynn,  and  tibe 
Marchioness  de  BrinviUiers  was  placed  in  contact  with  a  Chinese 
outlaw.  What  gave  me  the  most  trouble  and  annoyance,  was  the 
publisher's  remembering  some  life  or  trial,  foreign  or  domestic, 
which  he  wished  to  be  inserted,  and  which  I  was  forthwith  to  go 
in  quest  of  and  purchase  at  my  own  expense:  some  of  those 
lives  and  trials  were  by  no  means  easy  to  find.  "Where  is 
Brandt  and  Struensee  ?  "  cries  the  publisher ;  "  I  am  sure  I  don't 
know,"  I  replied ;  whereupon  the  publisher  falls  to  squealing  like 
one  of  Joey's  rats.    "  Find  me  up  Brandt  and  Struensee  by  next 

morning,  or "    •*Have  you  found  Brandt  and  Struensee?" 

cried  the  publisher,  on  my  appearing  before  him  next  morning. 
"  No,"  I  reply,  *'  I  can  hear  nothing  about  them ; "  whereupon 
the  publisher  falls  to  bellowing  like  Joey's  bull.  By  dint  of 
incredible  diligence,  I  at  length  discover  the  dingy  volume 
containing  the  lives  and  trials  of  the  celebrated  two  who  had 
brooded  treason  dangerous  to  the  state  of  Denmark.  I  purchase 
the  dingy  volume,  and  bring  it  in  triumph  to  the  publisher,  the 
perspiration  running  down  my  brow.  The  publbher  takes  the 
dingy  volume  in  his  hand,  he  examines  it  attentively,  then  puts 
it  down ;  his  countenance  is  calm  for  a  moment,  almost  benign. 
Another  moment  and  there  is  a  gleam  in  the  publisher's  sinister 
eye;  he  snatches  up  the  paper  containing  the  names  of  the 
worthies  which  I  have  intended  shall  figure  in  the  forthcoming 
volumes — ^he  glances  rapidly  over  it,  and  his  countenance  once 
more  assumes  a  terrific  expression.  "  How  is  this?"  he  exclaims; 
"I  can  scarcely  believe  my  eyes — the  most  important  life  and 
trial  omitted  to  be  found  in  the  whole  criminal  record — ^what 
gross,  what  utter  negligence  1  Where's  the  life  of  Fanner  Patch  ? 
Where's  the  trial  of  Yeoman  Patch  ?  " 


I3TH  July,  '24.]  THE  PROCESSION.  ss9 


"What  a  life !  what  a  dog's  life ! "  I  would  frequently  exclaim, 
after  escaping  from  the  presence  of  the  publisher. 

One  day,  after  a  scene  with  the  publisher  similar  to  that  which 
I  have  described  above,  I  found  myself  about  noon  at  the  bottom 
of  Oxford  Street,  where  it  forms  a  right  angle  with  the  road  which 
leads  or  did  lead  to  Tottenham  Court.  Happening  to  cast  my 
eyes  around,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  something  uncommon 
was  expected ;  people  were  standing  in  groups  on  the  pavement — 
the  upstair  windows  of  the  houses  were  thronged  with  faces, 
especially  those  of  women,  and  many  of  the  shops  were  partly, 
and  not  a  few  entirely  closed.  What  could  be  the  reason  of  all 
this  ?  All  at  once  I  bethought  me  that  this  street  of  Oxford  was 
no  other  than  the  far-famed  Tyburn  way.  Oh,  oh,  thought  I,  an 
execution ;  some  handsome  young  robber  is  about  to  be  executed 
at  the  farther  end;  just  so,  see  how  earnestly  the  women  are 
peering;  perhaps  another  Harry  Symms — Gentleman  Harry  as 
they  called  him — is  about  to  be  carted  along  this  street  to  Tyburn 
tree;  but  then  I  remembered  that  Tyburn  tree  had  long  since 
been  cut  down-,  and  that  criminals,  whether  young  or  old,  good- 
looking  or  ugly,  were  executed  before  the  big  stone  gaol,  which 
I  had  looked  at  with  a  kind  of  shudder  during  my  short  rambles 
in  the  city.  What  could  be  the  matter?  Just  then  I  heard 
various  voices  cry  ''There  it  comes ! "  and  all  heads  were  turned 
up  Oxford  Street,  down  which  a  hearse  was  slowly  coming :  nearer 
and  nearer  it  drew ;  presently  it  was  just  opposite  the  place  where 
I  was  standing,  when,  turning  to  the  left,  it  proceeded  slowly 
along  Tottenham  Road;  immediately  behind  the  hearse  were 
three  or  four  mourning  coaches,  full  of  people,  some  of  which, 
from  the  partial  glimpse  which  I  caught  of  them,  appeared  to  be 
foreigners;  behind  these  came  a  very  long  train  of  splendid 
carriages,  all  of  which,  without  one  exception,  were  empty. 

''Whose  Ixxly  is  in  that  hearse?"  said  I  to  a  dapper-looking 
individual  seemingly  a  shopkeq>er,  who  stood  beside  me  on  the 
pavement,  looking  at  the  procession. 

*'  The  mortal  relics  of  Lord  Byron,**  said  the  dapper-looking 
individual,  mouthing  his  words  and  smirking,  "the  illustrious 
poet,  which  have  been  just  brought  from  Greece,  and  are  being 
conveyed  to  the  family  vault  in shire." 

"An  illustrious  poet,  was  he?"  said  I. 

"  Beyond  all  criticism,''  said  the  dapper  man  ;  '^  all  we  of  the 
rising  generation  are  under  incalculable  obligation  to  Byron;  I 
mysdfi  in  particular,  have  reason  to  say  so ;  inidl  my  correspond- 
ence my  t^e  is  formed  on  the  Byronic  model." 


•50  LA  VBNGRO.  [1824. 

I  looked  at  the  individual  for  a  moment,  who  smiled  and 
smirked  to  himself  applause,  and  then  I  turned  my  eyes  upon  the 
hearse  proceeding  slowly  up  the  almost  endless  street  This  man, 
this  Byron,  had  for  many  years  past  been  the  demigod  of  England, 
and  his  verses  the  daily  food  of  those  who  read,  from  the  peer  to 
the  draper's  assistant ;  all  were  admirers,  or  rather  worshippers,  of 
Byron,  and  all  doated  on  his  verses ;  and  then  I  thought  of  those 
who,  with  genius  as  high  as  his,  or  higher,  had  lived  and  died 
neglected.  I  thought  of  Milton  abandoned  to  poverty  and  blind- 
ness ;  of  witty  and  ingenious  Butler  consigned  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  bailiffs ;  and  starving  Otway :  they  had  lived  n^lected 
and  despised,  and,  when  they  died,  a  few  poor  mourners  only  had 
followed  them  to  the  grave ;  but  this  Byron  had  been  made  a  half- 
god  of  when  living,  and  now  that  he  was  dead  he  was  followed 
by  worshipping  crowds,  and  the  very  sun  seemed  to  come  out  on 
purpose  to  grace  his  funeral.  And,  indeed,  the  sun,  which  for 
many  days  past  had  hidden  its  fiice  in  clouds,  shone  out  that 
morn  with  wonderful  brilliancy,  flaming  upon  the  black  hearse  and 
its  tall  ostrich  plumes,  the  mourning  coaches,  and  the  long  train 
of  aristocratic  carriages  which  followed  behind. 

*' Great  poet,  sir,"  said  the  dapper-looking  man,  ''great  poet, 
but  unhappy." 

Unhappy  ?  yes,  I  had  heard  that  he  had  been  unhappy ;  that 
he  had  roamed  about  a  fevered,  distempered  man,  taking  pleasure 
in  nothing — that  I  had  heard;  but  was  it  true?  was  he  really 
unhappy?  was  not  this  unhappiness  assumed,  with  the  view  of 
increasing  the  interest  which  the  world  took  in  him  ?  and  yet  who 
could  say?  He  might  be  unhappy  and  with  reason.  Was  he  a 
real  poet,  after  all?  might  he  not  doubt  himself?  might  he  not 
have  a  lurkii^  consciousness  that  he  was  undeserving  of  the 
homage  which  he  was  receiving?  that  it  could  not  last?  that  he 
was  rather  at  the  top  of  fashion  than  of  fame  ?  He  was  a  lordling, 
a  glittering,  gorgeous  lordling:  and  he  might  have  had  a  con- 
sciousness that  he  owed  much  of  his  celebrity  to  being  so ;  he 
might  have  felt  that  he  was  rather  at  the  top  of  fashion  than  of 
fame.  Fashion  soon  changes,  thought  I  eagerly  to  myself;  a 
time  will  come,  and  that  speedily,  when  he  will  be  no  longer  in  the 
fashion ;  when  this  idiotic  admirer  of  his,  who  is  still  grinning  at 
my  side,  shall  have  ceased  to  mould  his  style  on  Byron's ;  and 
this  aristocracy,  squirearchy,  and  what  not,  who  now  send 
their  empty  carriages  to  pay  respect  to  the  ^ishionable  corpse, 
shall  have  transferred  their  empty  worship  to  some  other  animate 
or  inanimate  thing.    Wdl,  perhaps  after  all  it  was  better  to  have 


X824.]  LORD  BYRON.  «3i 

been  mighty  Milton  in  bis  poverty  and  blindness — witty  and 
ingenious  Butler  consigned  to  the  tender  mercies  of  bailiffs,  and 
starving  Otway ;  they  might  enjoy  more  real  pleasure  than  this 
lordling;  they  must  have  been  aware  that  the  world  would  one 
day  do  them  justice — fame  after  death  is  better  than  the  top  of 
faishion  in  life.  They  have  left  a  fame  behind  them  which  shall 
never  die,  whilst  this  lordling — a  time  will  come  when  he 
will  be  out  of  fashion  and  forgotten.  And  yet  I  don't  know; 
didn't  he  write  "  Childe  Harold  "  and  that  ode  ?  Yes,  he  wrote 
"Childe  Harold  "  and  that  ode.  Then  a  time  will  scarcely  come 
when  he  will  be  forgotten.  Lords,  squires  and  cockneys  may  pass 
away,  but  a  time  will  scarcely  come  when  ''Childe  Harold  "  and  that 
ode  will  be  forgotten.    He  was  a  poet,  after  all,  and  he  must  have 

known  it;  a  r^  poet,  equal  to to what  a  destiny !  rank, 

beauty,  fashion,  immortality — he  could  not  be  unhappy ;  what  a 
difference  in  the  fate  of  men — I  wish  I  could  think  he  was  unhappy. 

I  turned  away. 

"  Great  poet,  sir,*'  said  the  dapper  man,  turning  away  too, ''  but 
unhappy — ^fate  of  genius,  sir ;  I,  too,  am  frequently  unhappy." 

Hurrying  down  the  street  to  the  right,  I  encountered  Francis 
Ardry. 

"  What  means  the  multitude  yonder  ? ''  he  demanded. 

"They  are  looking  after  the  hearse  which  is  carrying  the 
remains  of  Byron  up  Tottenham  Road." 

''  I  have  seen  the  man,*'  said  my  friend,  as  he  turned  back 
the  way  he  had  come,  '*  so  I  can  dispense  with  seeing  the  hearse 
— I  saw  the  living  man  at  Venice — ah,  a  great  poet." 

["  I  don't  think  so,"  said  I. 

"  Hey  I "  said  Frands  Ardry  .1 

**  A  perfumed  lordling." 

"Ah!" 

**  With  a  white  hand  loaded  with  gawds." 

••Ah!" 

"Who  wrote  verses." 

••  Ah  I " 

••  Replete  with  malignity  and  sensualism." 

••  Yes  I " 

•*  Not  half  so  great  a  poet  as  Milton." 

••No?" 

•'  Nor  Butler." 

••No?" 

"  Nor  Otway.** 

1  Mrdfti  throii|;ttout  the  AfS- 


*^  LA  VBNORO.  [i8a4. 

"No?" 

'*Nor  that  poor  boy  Chatterton,  who^  maddened  by  rascally 
patrons  and  publishers,  took  poison  at  last" 

"  No  ?  "  said  Francis  Ardry. 

''Why  do  you  keep  saying  ^No'  t  I  tell  you  that  I  am  no 
admirer  of  Byron." 

"  Well,''  said  Frank,  "  don't  say  so  to  any  one  else.  It  will  be 
thought  that  you  are  envious  of  his  glory,  as  indeed  I  almost 
think  you  are." 

'*  Envious  of  him ! "  said  I ;  "  how  should  I  be  envious  of  him  ? 
Besides,  the  man's  dead,  and  a  live  dog,  you  know " 

"You  do  not  think  so,"  said  Frank,  ''and  at  this  moment  I 
would  wager  something  that  you  would  wish  for  nothing  better 
than  to  exchange  places  with  that  lordling,  as  you  call  him,  cold 
as  he  is." 

"  Well,  who  knows  ?  "  said  I.  "  I  really  think  the  man  is  over- 
valued. There  is  one  thing  connected  with  him  which  must  ever 
prevent  any  one  of  right  feelings  from  esteeming  him ;  I  allude  to 
his  incessant  abuse  of  his  native  land,  a  lan^  too,  which  had 
made  him  its  idol." 

"  Ah  1  you  are  a  great  patriot,  I  know,"  said  Frank.  "  Come,  as 
you  are  fond  of  patriots,  I  will  show  you  the  patriot, /ar  excellence!^ 

"  If  you  mean  Bolus  Jones,"  said  I,  "  you  need  not  trouble 
yourself;  I  have  seen  him  already." 

"  I  don't  mean  him/  said  Frank.  "  By-the-bye,  he  came  to 
me  the  other  day  to  condole  with  me,  as  he  said,  on  the  woes  of 
my  bleeding  country.  Before  he  left  me  he  made  me  bleed,  for 
he  persuaded  me  to  lend  him  a  guinea.  No,  I  don't  mean  him, 
nor  any  one  of  his  stamp ;  I  mean  an  Irish  patriot,  one  who  thinks 
he  can  show  his  love  for  his  country  in  no  better  way  than  by 
beating  the  English." 

^  Beating  the  English  ?  "  said  I ;  "  I  should  like  to  see  him." 

Whereupon  taking  me  by  the  arm,  Francis  Ardry  conducted 
me  through  various  alleys,  till  we  came  to  a  long  street  which 
seemed  to  descend  towards  the  south. 

"  What  street  is  this  ?  "  said  I,  when  we  had  nearly  reached  the 
bottom. 

"  It  is  no  street  at  all,"  said  my  friend ;  "  at  least  it  is  not 
called  one  in  this  city  of  Cockaine ;  it  is  a  lane,  even  that  of  St. 
Martin;  and  that  church  that  you  see  there  is  devoted  to  him. 
It  is  one  of  the  few  fine  churches  in  London.  Malheureusement^ 
as  the  French  say,  it  is  so  choked  up  by  buildings  that  it  is 


X8S4-1  "  PORTOBBLLO."  «33 

impossible  to  see  it  at  twenty  3rards'  distance  from  any  side. 
Whenever  I  get  into  Parliament,  one  of  my  first  motions  shall 
be  to  remove  some  twenty  score  ojf  the  aforesaid  buildings.  But  I 
think  we  have  arrived  at  the  house  to  which  I  wished  to  conduct 
you." 

"  Yes,  I  see,  PartobtUo.'* 

About  twenty  yards  from  the  church,  on  the  left-hand  side  of 
the  street  or  lane,  was  a  mean-looking  house  having  something  of 
the  appearance  of  a  fifth-rate  inn.  Over  the  door  was  written  in 
large  characters  the  name  of  the  haven,  where  the  bluff  old  Vernon 
achieved  his  celebrated  victory  over  the  whiskered  Dons.  Enter- 
ing a  passage  on  one  side  of  which  was  a  bar-room,  Ardry  enquired 
of  a  middle-aged  man  who  stood  in  it  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  whether 
the  captain  was  at  home.  Having  received  for  an  answer  a  surly 
kind  of  *'  yes,"  he  motioned  me  to  follow  him,  and  after  reaching 
the  end  of  the  passage,  which  was  rather  dark^  he  b^an  to  ascend 
a  narrow,  winding  stair.  About  half-way  up  he  suddenly  stopped, 
for  at  that  moment  a  loud,  hoarse  voice  from  a  room  above 
commenced  singing  a  strange  kind  of  ditty. 

"The  captain  is  singing,"  said  Frank,  "and,  as  I  live, 
'Carolan's  Receipt  for  drinking  whisky'.  Let  us  wait  a  moment 
till  he  has  done»  as  he  would  probably  not  like  to  be  interrupted 
in  his  melody." 

CAROLAN*S  RECEIPT. 

■  Whether  tick  or  sound  m  v  receipt  was  the  same, 
To  Stafford  I  stepp'd  and  better  became ; 

A  visit  to  Stafford  s  bounteous  hall 
Was  the  best  receipt  of  all,  of  all. 

*  Midnig^ht  fell  round  us  and  drinking  found  us. 
At  morn  zipxn  flow'd  his  whisky ; 
By  his  msight  he  knew  *twas  the  only  way  true 
To  kMp  Torlough  alive  and  firisky. 

■  Now  deep  healths  quaffing,  now  screeching  now  laughing, 
At  my  harp-strings  tearing,  and  to  madness  nearing : 
That  was  the  life  I  led,  and  which  I  yet  do ; 

For  I  will  swear  it,  and  to  all  the  world  declare  it, 
If  yon  would  fain  be  happy,  you  must  aye  be ' 

**Foh/^  said  Francis  Ardry,  suddenly  pushing  open  the  door 
of  the  room  from  which  the  voice  proceeded ;  "  That's  the  word, 
I  think,  captain." 

"By  my  shoul,  Mr.  Francis  Ardry,  you  enter  with  considerable 
abruptness,  sirt''  said  one  of  two  men  who  were  seated  smoking  at 
a  common  deal  table,  in  a  large  ruinous  apartment  in  which  we 


•34  ^^  VBNGRO.  [iBia- 

now  found  ourselves.    "  You  enter  with  considerable  abruptness, 
sir/'  he  repeated ;  'Mo  you  know  on  whom  you  are  intruding  ?" 

*'  Perfectly  well/'  said  Francis ;  *'  I  am  standing  in  the  presence 
of  Torlough  O' Donahue,  formerly  captain  in  a  foreign  service,  and 
at  present  resident  in  London  for  the  express  purpose  of  beating 
all  the  English " 

**  And  some  of  the  Irish  too,  sir,  H  necessary/'  said  the  captain 
with  a  menacing  look.  '*  I  do  not  like  to  be  broken  in  upon  as  if 
I  were  a  nobody.  However,  as  you  are  here,  I  suppose  I  must 
abide  by  it.  I  am  not  so  little  of  a  gentleman  as  to  be  deficient 
in  the  rudiments  of  hospitality.  You  may  both  of  you  sit  down 
and  make  yourselves  aisy." 

But  th^  was  no  such  easy  matter,  the  only  two  chairs  in  the 
room  being  occupied  by  the  captain  and  the  other.  I  therefore 
leaned  against  the  door,  while  Ardry  strolled  about  the  apartment 

The  captain  might  be  about  forty.  His  head  was  immensely 
large,  his  complexion  ruddy,  and  his  features  rough,  coarse  and 
strongly  expressive  of  sullenness  and  ill-nature.  He  was  about 
the  middle  height,  with  a  frame  clumsily  made,  but  denoting 
considerable  strength.  He  wore  a  blue  coat,  the  la^^ts  of 
which  were  very  narrow,  but  Sfj  long  that  they  nearly  trailed  upon 
the  ground.  Yellow  leathern  breeches  unbuttoned  at  the  knee, 
dazzling  white  cotton  stockings  and  shoes  with  buckles,  adorned 
his  nether  man. 

His  companion,  who  was  apparently  somewhat  older  than 
himself,  was  dressed  in  a  coarse  greatcoat  and  a  glazed  hat 
exactly  resembling  those  worn  by  hackneys.  He  had  a  quiet, 
droll  countenance,  very  much  studded  with  carbuncles,  and  his 
nose,  which  was  very  long,  was  of  so  hooked  a  description  that 
the  point  of  it  nearly  entered  his  mouth. 

"Who  may  this  friend  of  yours  be?"  said  the  captain  to 
Ardry,  after  staring  at  me. 

''A  young  gentleman  much  addicted  to  philosophy,  poetry 
and  philology." 

"  Is  he  Irish  ?  " 

"  No,  he  is  English ;  but  I  have  heard  him  say  that  he  has  a 
particular  veneration  for  Ireland." 

"  He  has,  has  he ;  by  my  shoul,  then,  all  the  better  for  him. 
If  he  had  not  .  •  .  Can  he  fight?" 

"  I  think  I  have  heard  him  say  that  he  can  use  his  fists  when 
necessary." 

"  He  can,  can  he  ?  by  my  shoul,  I  should  like  to  try  him. 
But  first  of  all  I  have  another  customer  to  dispose  o£    I  have 


sea4']  BISHOP  SHARPS,  ns 


JQst  determined  to  send  a  challenge  to  Bishop  Sharpe  whom 
these  English  call  the  best  of  their  light  weights.^  Perhaps  he 
is,  but  if  I  don't " 

"  The  Bishop  is  a  good  man/'  interrupted  his  companion  of 
the  greatcoat  and  glazed  hat,  in  a  strange  croaky  tone. 

"Is  it  a  good  man  that  you  are  calling  him?*'  said  the 
captain.    *'  Well,  be  it  so ;  the  more  merit  in  my  baiting  him." 

"Thafs  true;  but  you  have  not  beat  him  yet,"  said  his 
companion. 

**  Not  bate  him  yet  ?  Is  not  there  the  paper  that  I  am  going 
to  write  the  challenge  on?  and  is  not  there  the  pen  and  the  ink 
that  I  am  going  to  write  it  with  ?  and  is  not  there  yourself,  John 
Turner,  my  hired  servant,  that's  bound  to  take  him  the  challenge 
when  'tis  written?" 

"  That's  true ;  here  we  are  all  four — ^pen,  ink,  paper,  and  John 
Turner;  but  there's  something  else  wanted  to  beat  Bishop  Sharpe." 

"What  else  is  wanted  ?"  shouted  the  captain. 

"  Why,  to  be  a  better  man  than  he." 

"And  ain't  I  that  man?" 

"Why,  that  remains  to  be  seen." 

"Ain't  I  an  Irishman?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  you  to  be  an  Irishman.  No  one,  to  hear  you 
talk,  but  would  think  you  that,  or  a  Frenchman.  I  was  in 
conversation  with  one  of  that  kind  the  other  day.  Hearing 
him  talk  rather  broken,  I  asked  him  what  countryman  he  was. 
*What  countryman  are  you?'  said  I. — *I?'  said  he,  'I  am  one 
Frenchman,'  and  then  he  looked  at  me  as  if  I  should  sink  into 
the  earth  under  his  feet. — '  You  are  not  the  better  for  that,'  said 
I;  'you  are  not  the  better  for  being  a  Frenchman,  I  suppose,' 
said  I. — 'How?'  said  he;  'I  am  of  the  great  nation  which  has 
won  all  the  battles  in  the  world.' — 'All  the  battles  in  the  world  ? ' 
said  I.  '  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo  ? '  said  I.  You 
should  have  seen  how  blue  he  looked.  '  Ah  I  you  can't  get  over 
ttiat,'  said  I ;  '  you  can't  get  over  the  battle  of  Waterloo,'  said  I." 

"Is  it  the  battle  of  Waterloo  you  are  speaking  of,  you  spal- 
peen ?  And  to  one  who  was  there,  an  Irish  cavalier,  fighting  in 
the  ranks  of  the  brave  French  I  By  the  powers  1  if  the  sacrifice 
would  not  be  too  great,  I  would  break  this  pipe  in  your  foce." 

"Why,  as  to  &at,  two  can  play  at  that,"  said  he  of  the  glazed 
hat,  smoking  on  very  composedly.  "  I  remember  I  once  said  so 
to  young  Cope — you  have  heard  of  young  Cope.  I  was  vally  to 
young  Cope  and  servant  of  all  work  twenty  year  ago  at  Brighton. 

1 "  Bishop  Sbupe,"  a  pugilist  of  thst  name  and  time. 


n$6  LA  VBNGRO.  [1804. 

So  one  morning  after  I  had  carried  up  his  boots,  he  rings  the 
bell  as  if  in  a  great  fury.  '  Do  you  call  these  boots  dean  ? ' 
said  young  Cope,  as  soon  as  I  showed  myself  at  the  door.  '  Do 
you  call  these  clean?'  said  he,  flinging  one  boot  at  my  head, 
and  then  the  other.  'Two  can  play  at  that  game,'  said  I, 
catching  the  second  boot  in  my  hand,  'two  can  play  at  that 
game,'  said  I,  aiming  it  at  young  Cope's  head — not  that  I  meant 
to  fling  it  at  young  Cope's  head,  for  young  Cope  was  a  gentleman; 
yes,  a  gentleman,  captain,  though  not  Irish,  for  he  paid  me  my 
wages." 

These  last  words  seemed  to  have  a  rather  quieting  effect  upon 
the  captain,  who  at  the  commencement  of  the  speech  had  grasped 
his  pipe  somewhat  below  the  bowl  and  appeared  by  his  glance  to 
be  meditating  a  lunge  at  the  eye  of  his  eccentric  servant,  who 
continued  smoking  and  talking  with  great  composure.  Suddenly 
replacing  the  end  of  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  the  man  turned  to  me^ 
and  in  a  tone  of  great  hauteur  said : — 

"So,  sir,  I  am  told  by  your  friend  there,  that  you  are  fond  of 
the  humanities." 

*'  Yes,"  said  I,  ''  I  am  very  fond  of  humanity,  and  was  always  a 
great  admirer  of  the  lines  of  Gay : — 

*  Cowards  are  cruel,  but  the  brave 
Love  mercy  and  delight  to  save '." 

'*  By  my  shoul,  sir,  it's  an  ignorant  beast  I'm  thinking  ye.  It 
was  not  humanify  I  was  speaking  of,  but  the  humanities^  which 
have  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  it"  Then  turning  to  Frank,  he 
demanded,  "Was  it  not  yourself,  Mr.  Francis  Ardry,  that  told 
me,  when  you  took  the  liberty  of  introducing  this  person  to  me^ 
that  he  was  addicted  to  philosophy,  prosody,  and  what  not?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  did,"  said  Frank. 

"Well,  sir,  and  are  not  those  the  humanities,  or  are  you  as 
ignorant  as  your  friend  here?" 

"You  pretend  to  be  a  humanist,  sir,"  said  he  to  me,  "but  I 
will  take  the  liberty  of  showing  your  utter  ignorance.  Now,  sir, 
do  you  venture  to  say  that  you  can  answer  a  question  connected 
with  the  Irish  humanities?" 

"  I  must  hear  it  first,"  said  I. 

"You  must  hear  it,  must  ye?  Then  you  shall  hear  it  to  your 
confusion.  A  pretty  humanist  I  will  show  you  to  be;  open  your 
ears,  sir  I " — 

*  Tfiubr  aia  simrmo  bh&s  V 

>  TJhw  orv  a^  my  d$atk. 


i8m«]  IRISH  POBTRY.  237 

"Now,  sir,  what  does  the  poet  mean  by  saying  that  there 
aie  three  looking  after  his  death?  Whom  does  he  allude  to,  sir? 
hey?" 

"The  devil,  the  worms,  and  his  children,"  said  I,  "who  are 
looking  after  three  things  which  they  can't  hope  to  get  before  he 
18  dead — ^the  children  his  property,  the  worms  his  body,  and  the 
devil  his  soul,  as  the  man  says  a  little  farther  on." 

The  captain  looked  at  me  malignantly. 

"  Now,  sir,  are  you  not  ashamed  of  yourself?  " 

"  Wherefore  ?  **  said  I.  "  Have  I  not  given  the  meaning  of  the 
poem?" 

"  You  have  expounded  the  elegy,  sir,  fairly  enough ;  I  find  no 
fault  with  your  interpretation.  What  I  mean  is  this :  Are  you  not 
ashamed  to  be  denying  your  country?" 

"I  never  denied  my  country;  I  did  not  even  mention  it. 
My  friend  there  told  you  I  was  an  Englishman,  and  he  spoke  the 
truth." 

"  Sorrow  be&ll  you  for  saying  so,"  said  the  captain.  "  But  I 
see  how  it  is,  you  have  been  bought ;  yes,  sir,  paid  money,  to  deny 
your  country ;  but  such  has  ever  been  the  policy  of  the  English ; 
they  can*t  bate  us,  so  they  buy  us.  Now  here's  myself.  No 
sooner  have  I  sent  this  challenge  to  Bishop  Sharpe  by  the  hands 
of  my  hired  servant,  than  I  expect  to  have  a  hundred  offers  to  let 
myself  be  beat  What  is  that  you  say,  sir  ?  "  said  he,  addressing 
his  companion  who  had  uttered  a  kind  of  inaudible  sound — **  No 
hopes  of  that,  did  you  say  ?  Do  you  think  that  I  could  be  bate 
without  allowing  myself  to  be  bate  ?  By  the  powers  ! — but  you 
are  beneath  my  notice.'' 

"Well,  sir,''  said  he,  fixing  his  eyes  on  me,  "though  you  have 
cheek  enough  to  deny  your  own  country,  I  trust  you  have  not 
enough  to  deny  the  merit  of  the  elegy.  What  do  you  think  of  the 
elegy,  sir?" 

"  I  think  it  very  sorry  stuff,"  said  I. 

'^  Hear  him ! "  said  ihe  captain  looking  about  him.  "  But  he 
has  been  bought,  paid  money,  to  deny  his  own  country  and  all 
that  belongs  to  it  Well,  sir,  what  do  you  think  of  Carolan, 
Carolan  the  Great?  What  do  you  think  of  his  Receipt^ 
sir?" 

"  I  think  it  very  sorry  stuff,  too." 

"Very  well,  sir,  very  well ;  but  I  hope  to  make  you  give  me 
a  receq)t  for  all  this  before  you  leave.  One  word  more.  I 
suppose  ottll  next  deny  that  we  have  any  poetry  or  music  at 
alL" 


«58  LA  VBNGRO.  [1844. 

**  Far  be  it  from  me  to  say  any  such  thing.  There  is  one  song 
connected  with  Ireland  which  I  have  always  thought  very  fine,  and 
likewise  the  music  that  accompanies  it" 

^  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  sir ;  there  is  one  piece  of  Irish  poetry 
and  music  which  meets  your  approbation  I  Pray  name  the  piece, 
sir." 

"  Croppies  Lie  Down  /" 

The  captain  sprang  to  his  feet  like  one  electrified. 

"  What,  sir  ?  "  said  he. 

«'  Croppies  Lie  Down/" 

The  captain  dashed  his  pipe  to  shivers  against  the  table ;  then 
tucking  up  the  sleeves  of  his  coat,  he  advan<^  to  within  a  yard  of 
me,  and  pushing  forward  his  head  somewhat  in  the  manner  of  a 
bull-dog  when  about  to  make  a  spring,  he  said  in  a  tone  of 
suppre^ed  fury :  "  I  think  I  have  heard  of  that  song  before,  sir ; 
but  nobody  ever  yet  cared  to  sing  it  to  me.  I  should  admire  to 
hear  from  your  lips  what  it  is.  Perhaps  you  will  sing  me  a  line  or 
two." 

"  With  great  pleasure,"  said  I : — 

*  There  are  many  brave  rivers  run  into  the  sea, 
But  the  best  of  them  all  is  Boyne  water  for  me ; 
There  Croppies  were  vanquished  and  terrified  fled, 
With  Jamie  the  runagate  kins  at  their  head. 

When  crossing  the  tord 

In  the  name  of  the  Lord, 
The  conqueror  brandished  his  conquering  iword ; 
Then  down,  down.  Croppies  lie  down  1  * 

''  By  the  powers !  a  very  pretty  song,  and  much  obliged  am  I 
to  ye  for  singing  it,  more  especially  as  it  gives  me  an  opportunity 
of  breaking  your  head,  you  long-limbed  descendant  of  a  Boyne 
trooper.  You  must  deny  your  countr)%  must  ye?  ye  dingy 
renegade! — the  black  North,  but  old  Ireland  still.    But  here's 

Connemara    for  ye — take  this — and  this Och,  murther! — 

What  have  we  got  here  .  .  .  ?  " 

...        .        ..•«.••        • 

''Who  and  what  is  this  O'Donahue?"  said  I  to  Frank  Ardry 
after  we  had  descended  into  the  street. 

"  An  ill-tempered  Irishman,"  said  Frank,  **  the  most  disagree- 
able animal  alive,  once  a  rare  bird  on  the  earth.  His  fitther,  after 
having  taught  him  some  Irish  and  less  I^tin,  together  with  an 
immoderate  hatred  of  the  English,  sent  him  abroad  at  the  age  of 
sixteen  to  serve  the  French.  In  that  service  he  continued  until 
the  time  of  the  general  peace,  when  he  quitted  it  for  the  Austrian. 


I894-]  '•  COA  CH,  YOUR  HONOUR  ?  "  a39 

I  first  became  acquainted  with  him  at  Vienna,  where  he  bore  the 
rank  of  captain,  but  had  the  character  of  a  notorious  gambler. 
It  was  owing,  I  believe,  to  his  gambling  practices  that  he  was 
eventually  obliged  to  leave  the  Austrian  service.  He  has  beex? 
in  London  about  six  months,  where  he  supports  himself  as  best 
he  can,  chiefly,  I  believe,  by  means  of  the  gaming-table.  His 
malignity  against  England  has  of  late  amounted  almost  to  insanity, 
and  has  been  much  increased  by  the  perusal  of  Irish  newspapers 
which  abound  with  invective  against  England  and  hyperbolical 
glorification  of  Ireland  and  the  Irish.  The  result  is  that  he  has 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  best  way  for  him  to  take  revenge 
for  the  injuries  of  Ireland  and  to  prove  the  immense  superiority 
of  the  Irish  over  the  English  will  be  to  break  the  head  of  Bishop 
Sharpe  in  the  ring." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  do  not  see  why  the  dispute,  if  dispute  there 
be,  should  not  be  settled  in  the  ring." 

*'  Nor  I  either,"  said  Frank,  **  and  I  could  wish  my  countrymen 
to  choose  none  other  than  O'Donahue.  With  respect  to  England 
and  Bishop  Sharpe  .  .  ." 

At  that  moment  a  voice  sounded  close  by  me :  ''  Coach,  your 
honour,  coach?  Will  carry  you  anywhere  you  like.'*  I  stopped, 
and  lo  the  man  of  the  greatcoat  and  glased  hat  stood  by  my  side. 

''  What  do  you  want  ?  "  said  I.  *'  Have  you  brought  me  any 
message  from  your  master?" 

*'  Master  ?  What  master  ?  Oh  1  you  mean  the  captain.  I 
left  him  rubbing  his  head.  No,  I  don't  think  you  will  hear  any- 
thing from  him  ip  a  hurry ;  he  has  had  enough  of  you*  All  I 
wish  to  know  is  whether  you  wish  to  ride." 

"  I  thought  you  were  the  captain's  servant." 

**  Yes,  I  look  after  the  spavined  roan  on  which  he  rides  about 
the  Park,  but  he's  no  master  of  mine — he  doesn't  pay  me.  Who 
cares?  I  don't  serve  him  for  money.  I  like  to  hear  his  talk 
about  Bishop  Sharpe  and  beating  the  English — Lord  help  him  1 
Now,  where  do  you  wish  to  go  ?  Any  coach  you  like — any  coach- 
man— ^and  nothing  to  pay." 

"  Why  do  you  wish  me  to  ride  ?  "  said  I. 

*'  Why,  for  serving  out  as  you  did  that  poor  silly  captain.  I 
think  what  he  got  will  satisfy  him  for  a  time.  No  more  talk  about 
Bishop  Sharpe  for  a  week  at  least.  Come,  come  along,  both  of 
you.    The  stand  is  dose  by,  and  I'll  drive  you  myself." 

"  Will  you  ride  ?  "  said  I  to  Francis  Ardry. 

"  No,"  said  Frank. 

**  Then  come  alone.    Where  shall  I  drive  you  ?  " 

"To  London  Bridge."! 


CHAPTER  XL. 


So  I  went  to  London  Bridge,  and  again  took  my  station  on  the 
spot  by  the  booth  where  I  had  stood  on  the  former  occasioa 
The  booth,  however,  was  empty ;  neither  the  apple-woman  noi 
her  stall  were  to  be  seen.  I  looked  over  the  balustrade  upon  the 
river ;  the  tide  was  now,  as  before,  rolling  beneath  the  arch  with 
frightful  impetuosity.  As  I  gazed  upon  the  eddies  of  the  whirlpool, 
I  thought  within  myself  how  soon  human  life  would  become 
extinct  there ;  a  plunge,  a  convulsive  flounder,  and  all  would  be 
over.  When  I  last  stood  over  that  abyss  I  had  felt  a  kind  of  impulse 
— a  £Eiscination :  I  had  resisted  it — I  did  not  plunge  into  it.  At 
present  I  felt  a  kind  of  impulse  to  plunge ;  but  the  impulse  was 
of  a  different  kind ;  it  proceeded  from  a  loathing  of  life.  I  looked 
wistfully  at  the  eddies — ^what  had  I  to  live  for? — ^what,  indeed  I 
I  thought  of  Brandt  and  Struensee,  and  Yeoman  Patch — should  I 
yield  to  the  impulses-why  not?  My  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
eddies.  All  of  a  sudden  I  shuddered;  I  thought  I  saw  heads  in 
the  pool;  human  bodies  wallovnng  confusedly;  eyes  turned  up 

to  heaven  with  hopeless  horror ;  was  that  water,  or Where 

was  the  impulse  now  ?  I  raised  my  eyes  from  the  pool,  I  looked 
no  more  upon  it — I  looked  forward,  far  down  the  stream  in  the 
distance.  "Hal  what  is  that?  I  thought  I  saw  a  kind  of  Fata 
Morgana,  green  meadows,  waving  groves,  a  rustic  home;  but  in 
the  far  distance — I  stared — I  stared — a  Fata  Morgana — ^it  was 
gone 


>i 


I  left  the  balustrade  and  walked  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
bridge,  where  I  stood  for  some  time  contemplating  the  crowd ;  I 
then  passed  over  to  the  other  side  with  the  intention  of  returning 
home;  just  half-way  over  the  bridge,  in  a  booth  immediately 
opposite  the  one  in  which  I  had  formerly  beheld  her,  sat  my 
friend,  the  old  apple-woman,  huddled  up  behind  her  stalL 

"Well,  mother,"  said  I,  "how  are  you?*'  The  old  woman 
lifted  her  head  with  a  startled  look. 

"  Don't  you  know  me?"  said  L 
Yes,  I  think  I.  do.     Ah,  yes,"  said  she,  as  her  features 

(240  ) 


t8a4.]  WICKBD  BOYS.  d4t 

beamed  with  recollection,  "  I  know  you,  dear ;  you  are  the  young 
lad  that  gave  me  the  tanner.    Well,  child,  got  anything  to  sell  ?" 

*<  Nothing  at  alV  said  I. 

"Bad  luck?" 

^  Yes,"  said  I,  "bad  enough,  and  ill  usage." 

"Ah,  I  suppose  they  caught  ye;  well,  child,  never  mind, 
better  luck  next  time ;  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  I,  sitting  down  on  the  stone  bench;  "  I 
thought  you  had  left  the  bridge — why  have  you  changed  your 
«de?" 

The  old  woman  shook. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,"  said  I,  "  are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  No,  child,  no ;  only " 

"  Only  what  ?    Any  bad  news  of  your  son  ?  " 

"No  child,  no;  nodiing  about  my  son.  Only  low,  child-— 
every  heart  has  its  bitters." 

"That's  true,"  said  I;  "well,  I  don't  want  to  know  your 
sorrows;  come,  where's  the  book?" 

The  apple-woman  shook  more  violently  than  before,  bent 
herself  down,  and  drew  her  cloak  more  closely  about  her  than 
before.    "  Book,  child,  what  book  ?  " 

"  Why,  blessed  Mary,  to  be  sure." 

"Oh,  that;  I  ha'n't  got  it,  child— I  have  lost  it,  have  left  it 
at  home." 

"Lost  it,"  said  I;  "left  it  at  home — ^what  db  you  mean? 
Come,  let  me  have  it" 

"  I  ha'n't  got  it,  child." 

"  I  believe  you  have  got  it  under  your  cloak." 

"Don't  tell  any  one,  dear;  don't — don't/'  and  the  apple 
woman  burst  into  tears. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you? "  said  I,  staring  at  her. 

"  You  want  to  take  my  book  from  me  ?  " 

"  Not  I,  I  care  nothing  about  it ;  keep  it,  if  you  like,  only 
tell  me  what's  the  matter?  " 

"  Why,  all  about  that  book." 

"The  book?" 

"  Yes,  they  wanted  to  take  it  from  me." 

"  Who  did  ?  " 

"  Why,  some  wicked  boys.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  Eight 
or  ten  days  ago,  I  sat  behind  my  stall,  reading  my  book ;  all  of 
a  sudden  I  felt  it  snatched  from  my  hand ;  up  I  started,  and  see 
three  rascals  of  boys  grinning  at  me ;  one  of  them  held  the  book 
in  his   hand.      '  What  book  is  this  ? '   said  he,  grinning  at  it. 

i6 


M  LA  VBNGRO.  [1834. 

^What  do  you  want  with  my  book?'  said  I,  dutching  at  it  over 
my  stall,  '  give  me  my  book.'  *  What  do  you  want  a  book  for  ? ' 
said  he,  holding  it  back ;  '  I  have  a  good  mind  to  fling  it  into  the 
Thames.'  *  Give  me  my  book/  I  shrieked ;  and»  snatching  at  it, 
I  fell  over  my  stall,  and  all  my  fruit  was  scattered  about  Off  ran 
the  boys— off  ran  the  rascal  with  my  book.  Oh  dear,  I  thought 
I  should  have  died;  up  I  got,  however,  and  ran  alter  them  as 
well  as  I  could.  I  thought  of  my  fruit ;  but  I  thought  more  of  my 
book«  I  left  my  fruit  and  ran  after  my  book.  '  My  book  I  my 
book ! '  I  shrieked,  '  murder  1  theft  1  robbery  I '  I  was  near  being 
crushed  under  the  wheels  of  a  cart ;  but  I  didn't  care — I  followed 
the  rascals.  *  Stop  them !  stop  them  T  I  ran  nearly  as  fast  as  they 
— they  couldn't  run  very  fjast  on  account  of  the  crowd.  At  last 
some  one  stopped  the  rascal,  whereupon  he  turned  round,  and 
flinging  the  book  at  me,  it  fell  into  the  mud ;  well,  I  picked  it  up 
and  kissed  it,  all  muddy  as  it  was.  'Has  he  robbed  you ?'  said 
the  man.  'Robbed  me,  indeed;  why,  he  had  got  my  book.' 
'Oh,  your  book,'  said  the  man,  and  laughed,  and  let  the  rascal 
go.    Ah,  he  might  laugh,  but " 

"Well,  goon." 

"  My  heart  beats  so.  Well,  I  went  back  to  my  booth  and 
picked  up  my  stall  and  my  fruits,  what  I  could  find  of  them.  I 
couldn't  keep  my  stall  for  two  days,  I  got  such  a  fright,  and  when 
I  got  round  I  couldn't  bide  the  b(x>th  where  the  thing  had 
happened,  so  I  came  over  to  the  other  side.  Oh,  the  rascals,  if 
I  could  but  see  them  hanged." 

"  For  what." 

"  Why  for  stealing  my  book." 

"  I  thought  you  didn't  dislike  stealing,  that  you  were  ready 
to  buy  things — there  was  your  son,  you  know " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure." 

"  He  took  things." 

"  To  be  sure  he  did." 

"  But  you  don*t  like  a  thing  of  yours  to  be  taken." 

"No»  that's  quite  a  different  thing;  what's  stealing  hand- 
kerchiefs, and  that  kind  of  thing,  to  do  with  taking  my  book; 
there's  a  wide  difference — don't  you  see?" 

"Yes,  I  see." 

"Do  you,  dear?  well,  bless  your  heart,  I'm  glad  you  da 
Would  you  like  to  look  at  the  book  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  think  I  should." 

''  Honour  bright?"  said  the  apple- woman,  looking  me  in  the 
eyes. 


x8j4.]  "  HONOUR  BRIGHT  ?  "  243 


**  Honour  bright/'  said  I,  looking  the  apple-woman  in  the  eyes. 

**  Well  then,  dear,  here  it  is,"  said  she,  taking  it  from  under 
her  cloak ;  "  read  it  as  long  as  you  like,  only  get  a  little  farther 
into  the  booth.    Don't  sit  so  near  the  edge — you  might 


f> 


I  went  deep  into  the  booth,  and  the  apple-woman,  bringing 
her  chair  round,  almost  confronted  me.  I  commenced  reading 
the  book,  and  was  soon  engrossed  by  it;  hours  passed  away, 
once  or  twice  I  lifted  up  my  eyes,  the  apple-woman  was  still 
confronting  me:  at  last  my  eyes  began  to  ache,  whereupon  I 
returned  the  book  to  the  apple-woman,  and  giving  her  another 
tanner,  walked  away. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


Time  passed  away,  and  with  it  the  Review,  which,  contrary  to 
the  publisher's  expectation,  did  not  prove  a  successful  speculation. 
About  four  months  after  the  period  of  its  birth  it  expired,  as  all 
Reviews  must  for  which  there  is  no  demand.  Authors  had 
ceased  to  send  their  publications  to  it,  and,  consequently,  to 
purchase  it ;  for  I  have  already  hinted  that  it  was  almost  entirely 
supported  by  authors  of  a  particular  class,  who  expected  to  see 
their  publications  foredoomed  to  immortality  in  its  pages.  The 
behaviour  of  these  authors  towards  this  unfortunate  publication  I 
can  attribute  to  no  other  cause  than  to  a  report  which  was  in- 
dustriously circulated,  namely,  that  the  Review  was  low,  and  that 
to  be  reviewed  in  it  was  an  infallible  sign  that  one  was  a  low 
person,  who  could  be  reviewed  nowhere  else.  So  authors  took 
fright ;  and  no  wonder,  for  it  will  never  do  for  an  author  to  be 
considered  low.  Homer  himself  has  never  yet  entirely  recovered 
from  the  injury  he  received  by  Lord  Chesterfield's  remark,  that 
the  speeches  of  his  heroes  were  frequently  exceedingly  low. 

So  the  Review  ceased,  and  the  reviewing  corps  no  longer 
existed  as  such ;  they  forthwith  returned  to  their  proper  avocations 
— the  editor  to  compose  tunes  on  his  piano,  and  to  the  task  of 
disposing  of  the  remaining  copies  of  his  Quintilian — the  inferior 
members  to  working  for  the  publisher,  being  to  a  man  dependanti 
of  his;  one,  to  composing  fairy  tales;  another,  to  collecting 
miracles  of  Popish  saints ;  and  a  third,  Newgate  lives  and  trials. 
Owing  to  the  bad  success  of  the  Review,  the  publisher  became 
more  furious  than  ever.  My  money  was  growing  short,  and  I 
one  day  asked  him  to  pay  me  for  my  labours  in  the  deceased 
publication. 

"Sir,"  said  the  publisher,  "what  do  you  want  the  money 
for?'' 

"Merely  to  live  on,"  I  replied;  "it  is  very  difficult  to  live 
in  this  town  without  money." 

"How  much  money  did  you  bring  with  you  to  town?" 
demanded  the  publisher. 

(*44) 


j 
I 
1  _•_ . A.  i  ** 


" 


B24,]  BREAD  AND  CHEESE,      t^  245 

**  Some  twenty  or  thirty  pounds,"  I  replied. 

«*  And  you  have  spent  it  already? " 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  not  entirely ;  but  it  is  fast  disappearing." 
'  Sir,"  said  the  publisher,  "  I  believe  you  to  be  extravagant ; 
yes,  sir,  extravagant ! 

"  On  what  grounds  do  you  suppose  me  to  be  so? " 

"  Sir,"  said  the  publisher,  •*  you  eat  meat." 

*'Yes,"  said  I,  ''I  eat  meat  sometimes:  what  should  I  eat?" 

" Bread,  sir,"  said  the  publisher;  "bread  and  cheese." 
So  I  do,  sir,  when  I  am  disposed  to  indulge ;  but  I  cannot 
often  afford  it — it  is  very  expensive  to  dine  on  bread  and  cheese, 
especially  when  one  is  fond  of  cheese,  as  I  am.  My  last  bread 
and  cheese  dinner  cost  me  fourteen  pence.  There  is  drink, 
sir ;  with  bread  and  cheese  one  must  drink  porter,  sir." 

"  Then,  sir,  eat  bread — bread  alone.  As  good  men  as  yourself 
have  eaten  bread  alone;  they  have  been  glad  to  get  it,  sir.  If 
with  bread  and  cheese  you  must  drink  porter,  sir,  with  bread 
alone  you  can,  perhaps,  drink  water,  sir." 

However,  I  got  paid  at  last  for  my  writings  in  the  Review,  not, 
it  is  true,  in  the  current  coin  of  the  realm,  but  in  certain  bills ; 
there  were  two  of  them,  one  payable  at  twelve,  and  the  other  at 
eighteen  months  after  date.  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  could 
turn  these  bills  to  any  account ;  at  last  I  found  a  person  who,  at 
a  discount  of  only  thirty  per  cent.,  consented  to  cash  them ;  not, 
however,  without  sundry  grimaces,  and,  what  was  still  more  galling, 
hdlding,  more  than  once,  the  unfortunate  papers  high  in  air 
between  his  forefinger  and  thumb.  So  ill,  indeed,  did  I  like 
this  last  action,  that  I  felt  much  inclined  to  snatch  them  away. 
I  restrained  myself,  however,  for  I  remembered  that  it  was  very 
difficult  to  live  without  money,  and  that,  if  the  present  person  did 
not  discount  the  bills,  I  should  probably  find  no  one  else  that 
would. 

But  if  the  treatment  which  I  had  experienced  from  the 
publisher,  previous  to  making  this  demand  upon  him,  was  difficult 
to  bear,  that  which  I  subsequently  underwent  was  far  more  so ; 
his  great  delight  seemed  to  consist  in  causing  me  misery  and 
mortification ;  if,  on  former  occasions,  he  was  continually  sending 
me  in  quest  of  lives  and  trials  difficult  to  find,  he  now  was  con- 
tinually demanding  lives  and  trials  which  i^  was  impossible  to 
find,  the  personages  whom  he  mentioned  never  having  lived,  nor 
consequently  been  tried.  Moreover,  some  of  my  best  lives  and 
trials  which  I  had  corrected  and  edited  with  particular  care,  and 
on  which  I  prided  myself  no  little,  he  caused  to  be  cancelled  after 


246  LAVBNGRO.  [18214. 

— ^ I     _     -L 1- ■  -rm-  -m-n-t 1 ^^M^i^rw^ i_«mm__m_i i 

they  had  passed  through  the  press.  Amongst  these  was  the  life 
of  "  Gentleman  Harry  ".  "  They  are  drugs,  sir,"  said  the  publisher^ 
"  drugs ;  that  life  of  Harry  Simms  has  long  been  the  greatest  drug 
in  the  calendar — ^has  it  not,  Taggart?" 

Taggart  made  no  answer  save  by  taking  a  pinch  of  snufid 
The  reader  has»  I  hope,  not  forgotten  Taggart,  whom  I  mentioned 
whilst  giving  an  account  of  my  first  morning's  visit  to  the  publisher. 
I  beg  Taggart's  pardon  for  faiavmg  been  so  long  silent  about  him ; 
but  he  was  a  very  silent  man — ^yet  there  was  much  in  Taggart — 
and  Taggart  had  always  been  civil  and  kind  to  me  in  his  peculiar 
way. 

"  Well,  young  gentleman,"  said  Taggart  to  me  one  mommg, 
when  we  chanced  to  be  alone  a  few  days  after  the  afiair  of  the 
cancelling,  "  how  do  you  like  authorship  ?  " 

**  I  scarcely  call  authorship  the  drudgery  I  am  engaged  in," 
said  I. 

"  What  do  you  call  authorship  ?  "  said  Taggart. 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  said  I ;  **  that  is,  I  can  scarcely  express 
what  I  think  it." 

*' Shall  I  help  you  out?"  said  Taggart,  turning  round  his 
chair,  and  looking  at  me. 

"  If  you  like,"  said  I. 

'*  To  write  something  grand,"  said  Taggart,  taking  snuff;  "  to 
be  stared  at — ^lifted  on  people's  shoulders " 

"Well,"  said  I,  "that  is  something  like  it." 

Taggart  took  snuff.  "Well,"  said  he,  "why  don't  you  write 
something  grand  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  said  I. 
What  ?  "  said  Taggart. 
Why,"  said  I,  "  there  are  those  ballads." 

Taggart  took  snuff. 

*^  And  those  wonderful  versions  from  Ab  Gwilym." 

Taggart  took  snuff  again. 

"  You  seem  to  be  very  fond  of  snuff,"  said  I,  looking  at  him 
angrily. 

Taggart  tapped  his  box. 

"  Have  you  taken  it  long  ?  " 

"  Three-and-twenty  years." 

"  What  snuff  do  you  take?  " 

"  Universal  mixture." 

"  And  you  find  it  of  use  ?  '• 

Taggart  tapped  his  box. 

"  In  what  respect? "  said  L 


CI 


X894-]  TAGQART.  247 

"  In  many — there  is  nothing  like  it  to  get  a  man  through ; 
but  for  snuff  I  should  scarcely  be  where  I  am  now." 

"  Have  you  been  long  here  ?  " 

"Three-and- twenty  years." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  I ;  "  and  snuff  brought  you  through  ?  Give 
me  a  pinch — ^pah,  I  don't  like  it,"  and  I  sneezed. 

'^  Take  another  pinch,"  said  Taggart. 

"No/'  said  I,  •'  I  don't  like  snuff" 

"  Then  you  will  never  do  for  authorship — at  feast  for  this 
kind." 

**  So  I  begin  to  think— what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

Taggart  took  snuff. 

"  You  were  talking  of  a  great  work — ^what  shall  it  be  ?  " 

Taggart  took  snuff. 

'*  Do  you  think  I  could  write  one? " 

Taggart  uplifted  his  two  forefingers  as  if  to  tap,  he  did  not, 
however. 

"  It  would  require  time,"  said  I,  with  half  a  sigh. 

Taggart  tapped  his  box. 

"  A  great  deal  of  time ;  I  really  think  that  my  ballads '* 

Taggart  took  snuff. 

**  If  published  would  do  me  credit  I'll  make  an  effort,  and 
offer  them  to  some  other  publisher." 

Taggart  took  a  double  quantity  of  snulL 


CHAPTER  XLIL 


Occasionally  I  called  on  Francis  Ardry.  This  young  gentleman 
resided  in  handsome  apartments  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a 
fashionable  square,  kept  a  livery  servant,  and  upon  the  whole, 
lived  in  very  good  style.  Going  to  see  him  one  day,  between 
one  and  two,  I  was  informed  by  the  servant  that  his  master  was 
engaged  for  the  moment,  but  that,  if  I  pleased  to  wait  a  few 
minutes,  I  should  find  him  at  liberty.  Having  told  the  man  that 
I  had  no  objection,  he  conducted  me  into  a  small  apartment 
which  served  as  antechamber  to  a  drawing-room;  the  door  of 
this  last  being  half-open,  I  could  see  Francis  Ardry  at  the  farther 
end,  speechifying  and  gesticulating  in  a  very  impressive  manner. 
The  servant,  in  some  confusion,  was  hastening  to  close  the  door, 
but,  ere  he  could  effect  his  purpose,  Francis  Ardry,  who  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  me,  exclaimed,  ''  Come  in— come  in  by  all 
means,"  and  then  proceeded,  as  before,  speechifying  and  ges- 
ticulating.   Filled  with  some  surprise,  I  obeyed  his  summons. 

On  entering  the  room  I  perceived  another  individual  to  whom 
Francis  Ardry  appeared  to  be  addressing  himself;  this  other  was 
'a  short,  spare  man  of  about  sixty ;  his  hair  was  of  a  badger  grey, 
and  his  face  was  covered  with  wrinkles — without  vouchsafing  me 
a  look,  he  kept  his  eye,  which  was  black  and  lustrous,  iixed  full 
on  Francis  Ardry,  as  if  paying  the  deepest  attention  to  his 
discourse.  All  of  a  sudden,  however,  he  cried  with  a  sharp, 
cracked  voice,  "  that  won't  do,  sir ;  that  won't  do— more  vehem- 
ence— ^your  argument  is  at  present  particularly  weak;  therefore, 
more  vehemence — you  must  confuse  them,  stun  them,  stultify 
them,  sir  ";  and,  at  each  of  these  injunctions,  he  struck  the  back  of 
his  right  hand  sharply  against  the  palm  of  the  left.  "  Good,  sir — 
good  1 ''  he  occasionally  uttered,  in  the  same  sharp,  cracked  tone, 
as  the  voice  of  Francis  Ardry  became  more  and  more  vehement 
*' Infinitely  goodl''  he  exclaimed,  as  Francis  Ardry  raised  his 
voice  to  the  highest  pitch ;  "and  now,  sir,  abate;  let  the  tempest 
of  vehemence  decline — gradually,  sir;  not  too  fast.  Good,  sir — 
very  good  T'  as  the  voice  of  Francis  Ardiy  declined  gradually  in 

(248) 


1824.]  THE  ELOCUTIONIST.  349 

vehemence.  '*  And  now  a  little  pathos,  sir — try  them  with  a  little 
pathos.  That  won't  do,  sir — that  won't  do/' — as  Francis  Ardry 
made  an  attempt  to  become  pathetic, — ''  that  will  never  pass  for 
pathos — ^with  tones  and  gesture  of  that  description  you  wUl  never 
redress  the  wrongs  of  your  country.  Now,  sir,  observe  my  gestures, 
and  pay  attention  to  die  tone  of  my  voice,  sir." 

Thereupon,  making  use  of  nearly  the  same  terms  which 
Francis  Ardry  had  employed,  the  individual  in  black  uttered 
several  sentences  in  tones  and  with  gestures  which  were  intended 
to  express  a  considerable  degree  of  pathos,  though  it  is  possible  that 
some  people  would  have  thought  both  the  one  and  the  other  highly 
ludicrous.  After  a  pause,  Francis  recommenced  imitating  the 
tones  and  the  gestures  of  his  monitor  in  the  most  admirable 
manner.  Before  he  had  proceeded  far,  however,  he  burst  into 
a  fit  of  laughter,  in  which  I  should,  perhaps,  have  joined,  provided 
it  were  ever  my  wont  to  laugh.  '*  Ha,  ha  1 "  said  the  other,  good 
humouredly,  ''you  are  laughing  at  me.  Well,  well,  I  merely 
wished  to  give  you  a  hint ;  but  you  saw  very  well  what  I  meant ; 
upon  the  whole,  I  think  you  improve.  But  I  must  now  go,  having 
two  other  pupils  to  visit  before  four." 

Then  taking  from  the  table  a  kind  of  three-cornered  hat^  and  a 
cane  headed  with  amber,  he  shook  Francis  Ardry  by  the  hand ; 
and,  after  glancing  at  me  for  a  moment,  made  me  a  half-bow, 
attended  with  a  strange  grimace,  and  departed. 

*'  Who  is  that  gentleman  ?  "  said  I  to  Francis  Ardry  as  soon  as 
we  were  alone. 

"Oh,  that  is *'  said  Frank  smiling,  "the  gentleman  who 

gives  me  lessons  in  elocution." 

"  And  what  need  have  you  of  elocution  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  merely  obey  the  commands  of  my  guardians,"  said 

Francis,  "who  insist  that  I  should,  with  the  assistance  of ,^ 

qualify  myself  for  Parliament ;  for  which  they  do  me  the  honour 
to  suppose  that  I  have  some  natural  talent  I  dare  not  disobey  them, 
for,  at  the  present  moment,  I  have  particular  reasons  for  wishing 
to  keep  on  good  terms  with  them." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  you  are  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  I  thought 
that  persons  of  your  religion  were  excluded  from  Parliament  ?  " 

"  Why,  upon  that  very  thing  the  whole  matter  hinges ;  people 
of  our  religion  are  determined  to  be  no  longer  excluded  from 
Parliament,  but  to  have  a  share  in  the  government  of  the  nation. 
Not  that  I  care  anything  about  the  matter ;  I  merely  obey  the 

IMS.  (apfMrattly)  '•  I- ,"  b«  M  p.  flT^. 


aso  LAVBNGRO,  [1824. 

will  of  my  guardians ;  my  thoughts  are  fixed  on  something  better 
than  politics." 

*'  I  understand  you,"  said  I ;  "  dog-fighting — well,  I  can  easily 
conceive  that  to  some  minds  dog-fighting "  ^ 

*'  I  was  not  thinking  of  dog-fighting/'  said  Francis  Ardry, 
interrupting  me. 

"  Not  thinking  of  dog-fighting  1 "  I  ejaculated. 

"  No,"  said  Francis  Ardry,  "something  higher  and  much  more 
rational  than  dog-fighting  at  present  occupies  my  thoughts." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  I,  ''  I  thought  I  heard  you  say,  that  there 
was  nothing  like  it ! " 

"  Like  what  ?  **  said  Francis  Ardry. 

''  Dog-fighting,  to  be  sure,"  said  I. 

"  Pooh,"  said  Francis  Ardry ;  "  who  but  the  gross  and  unrefined 
care  anything  for  dog-fighting?  That  which  at  present  engages 
my  waking  and  sleeping  thoughts  is  love — divine  love — there  is 
nothing  like  /Ao/.  Listen  to  me,  I  have  a  secret  to  confide  to 
you." 

And  then  Francis  Ardry  proceeded  to  make  me  his  confidant 
It  appeared  that  he  had  had  the  good  fortune  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  the  most  delightful  young  Frenchwoman  imagin- 
able, Annette  La  Noire  by  name,'  who  had  just  arrived  from  her 
native  country  with  the  intention  of  obtaining  the  situation  of 
governess  in  some  English  family ;  a  position  which,  on  account 
of  her  many  accomplishments,  she  was  eminently  qualified  to  fill. 
Francis  Ardry  had,  however,  persuaded  her  to  relinquish  her 
intention  for  the  present,  on  the  ground  that,  until  she  had 
become  acclimated  in  England,  her  health  would  probably 
suffer,  firom  the  confinement  inseparable  from  the  occupation  in 
which  she  was  desirous  of  engaging;  he  had,  moreover — for  it 
appeared  that  she  was  the  most  frank  and  confiding  creature  in 
the  world — succeeded  in  persuading  her  to  permit  him  to  hire  for 
her  a  very  handsome  first  floor  in  his  own  neighbourhood,  and  to 
accept  a  few  inconsiderable  presents  in  money  and  jewellery.  "  I 
am  looking  out  for  a  handsome  gig  and  horse,"  said  Francis 
Ardry,  at  the  conclusion  of  his  narration ;  "  it  were  a  burning 
shame  that  so  divine  a  creature  should  have  to  go  about  a  place 
like  London  on  foot,  or  in  a  paltry  hackney  coach." 

<*  But,"  said  I,  ''will  not  the  pursuit  of  politics  prevent  your 
devoting  much  time  to  this  fair  lady  ?  " 

^MS,,  *'  is  quite  ai  raoonal  an  amosement  at  politici  ". 
*  L0  Nmr  in  M&  .4 .  and  in  Rtm.  Ryt,  app. 


ias4-]  ^^^  NCIPA  TION.  asx 

■ 

^It  will  prevent  me  devoting  all  my  time,"  said  Francis 
Ardiy.  "as  I  gladly  would;  but  what  can  I  do?  My  guardians 
wish  me  to  qualify  myself  for  a  political  orator,  and  I  dare  not 
offend  them  by  a  refusal.  If  I  offend  my  guardians,  I  should  find 
it  impossible — ^unless  I  have  recourse  to  Jews  and  money-lenders 
— to  support  Annette,  present  her  with  articles  of  dress  and 
jewellery,  and  purchase  a  horse  and  cabriolet  worthy  of  conveying 
her  angelic  person  through  the  streets  of  London." 

After  a  pause,  in  which  Francis  Ardry  appeared  lost  in 
thought,  his  mind  being  probably  occupied  with  the  subject  of 
Annette,  I  broke  silence  by  observing:  **  So  your  fellow-religionists 
are  really  going  to  make  a  serious  attempt  to  procure  their 
emancipation  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Francis  Ardry  starting  from  his  reverie ;  "  every- 
thing has  been  arranged ;  even  a  leader  has  been  chosen,  at  least 
for  us  of  Ireland,  upon  the  whole  the  most  suitable  man  in  the 
woiid  for  the  occasion — a  barrister  of  considerable  talent,  mighty 
voice,  and  magnificent  impudence.  With  emancipation,  liberty 
and  redress  for  the  wrongs  of  Ireland  in  his  mouth,  he  is  to 
force  his  way  into  the  British  House  of  Commons,  dragging 
myself  and  others  behind  him — he  will  succeed,  and  when  he  is  in 

he  will  cut  a  figure ;  I  have  heard himself,^  who  has  heard  him 

speak,  say  that  he  will  cut  a  figure." 

"  And  is ^  competent  to  judge  ? "  I  demihded. 

''Who  but  he?"  said  Francis  Ardry  ;'* no  one  questions  his 
judgment  concerning  what  relates  to  elocution.  His  fiime  on  that 
point  is  so  well  established,  that  the  greatest  orators  do  not 

disdain  occasionally  to  consult  him ;  C '  himself,  as  I  have 

been  told,  when  anxious  to  produce  any  particular  effect  in  the 
House,  is  in  the  habit  of  calling  in ^  ((x  consultation." 

*'  As  to  matter,  or  manner? "  said  I. 

"Chiefly  the  latter,"  said  Francis  Ardry,  "though  he  is 
competent  to  give  advice  as  to  both,  for  he  has  been  an  orator  in 
his  day,  and  a  leader  of  the  people ;  though  he  confessed  to  me 
that  he  was  not  exactly  qualified  to  play  the  latter  part — '  I  want 
paunch,'  said  he." 

"  It  w  not  always  indispensable,"  said  I ;  "there  is  an  orator 
in  my  town,  a  hunchback  and  watchmaker,  without  it,  who  not 
only  leuls  the  people,  but  the  mayor  too ;  perhaps  he  has  a 
succedaneum  in  his  hunch ;  but,  tell  me,  is  Uie  leader  of  your 
movement  in  possession  of  that  which  wants ?  " 

>  J«.,  ••  L ^,-  or  "T,"  •MS,,  "  CAAiiiiig''. 


953  LA  VBNGRO.  [18^4. 

V  No  more  deficient  in  it  than  in  brass,"  said  Francis  Ardry. 

''  Well,"  said  I^  "  whatever  his  qualifications  may  be,  I  wish 
him  success  in  the  cause  which  he  has  taken  up— I  love  religious 
liberty." 

"  We  shall  succeed/'  said  Francis  Ardry ;  "  John  Bull  upon 
the  whole  is  rather  indifferent  on  the  subject,  and  then  we  are 
sure  to  be  backed  by  the  Radical  party,  who^  to  gratify  their 
political  prejudices,  would  join  with  Satan  himsdf." 

''There  is  one  thing,"  said  I,  ''connected  with  this  matter 
which  surprises  me — ^your  own  lukewarmness.  Yes,  making 
every  allowance  for  your  natural  predilection  for  dog-fighting,  and 
your  present  enamoured  state  of  mind,  your  apathy  at  the 
commencement  of  such  a  movement  is  to  me  unaccountable." 

"  You  wotlld  not  have  cause  to  complain  of  my  indifierence," 
said  Frank,  "provided  I  thought  my  country  would  be  benefited 
by  this  movement ;  but  I  happen  to  know  the  origin  of  it  The 
priests  are  the  originators,  '  and  what  country  was  ever  benefited 
by  a  movement  which  owed  its  origin  to  them  ? '  so  says  Voltaire, 
a  page  of  whom  I  occasionally  read.  By  the  present  move  they 
hope  to  increase  their  influence,  and  to  further  certain  designs 
which  they  entertain  both  with  regard  to  this  country  and 
Ireland.  I  do  not  speak  rashly  or  unadvisedly.  A  strange 
fellow — ^a  half-Italian,  half-English  priest, — who  was  recom- 
mended to  me*by  my  guardians,  partly  as  a  spiritual,  partly  as  a 
temporal  guide — has  let  me  into  a  secret  or  two ;  he  is  fond  of  a 
glass  of  gin  and  water,  and  over  a  glass  of  gin  and  water  cold, 
with  a  lump  of  sugar  in  it,  he  has  been  more  communicative, 
perhaps,  than  was  ^together  prudent.  Were  I  my  own  master, 
I  would  kick  him,  politics  and  religious  movements,  to  a 
considerable  distance.  And  now,  if  you  are  going  away,  do  so 
quickly ;  I  have  an  appointment  with  Annette,  and  must  make 
myself  fit  to  appear  before  her.'' 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 


By  the  month  of  October  I  had,  in  spite  of  all  difficulties  and 
obstacles,  accomplished  about  two-thirds  of  the  principal  task 
which  I  had  undertaken,  the  compiling  of  the  Newgate  lives ;  I 
had  also  made  some  progress  in  translating  the  publisher's 
philosophy  into  German.  But  about  this  time  I  began  to  see 
very  clearly  that  it  was  impossible  that  our  connection  should 
prove  of  long  duration ;  yet,  in  the  event  of  my  leaving  the  big 
man,  what  other  resource  had  I  ?  another  publisher?  But  what 
had  I  to  offer?  There  were  my  ballads,  my  Ab  Gwilym;  but 
then  I  thought  of  Taggart  and  his  snuff,  bis  pinch  of  snuff. 
However,  I  determined  to  see  what  could  be  done,  so  I  took  my 
ballads  under  my  arm,  and  went  to  various  publishers ;  some 
took  snuff,  others  did  not,  but  none  took  my  ballads  or  Ab 
Gwilym,  they  would  not  even  look  at  them.  One  asked  me  if  I 
had  anything  else — ^he  was  a  snuff-taker — I  said  yes ;  and  going 
home  returned  with  my  translation  of  the  German  novel,  to  which 
I  have  before  alluded.  After  keeping  it  for  a  fortnight,  he 
returned  it  to  me  on  my  visiting  him,  and,  taking  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  told  me  it  would  not  do.  There  were  marks  of  snuff  on 
the  outside  of  the  manuscript,  which  was  a  roll  of  paper  bound 
with  red  tape,  but  there  were  no  marks  of  snuff  on  the  interior  of 
the  manuscript,  from  which  I  concluded  that  he  had  never 
opened  it. 

I  had  oflen  heard  of  one  Glorious  John,  who  lived  at  the 
western  end  of  the  town ;  on  consulting  Taggart,  he  told  me  that 
it  was  possible  that  Glorious  John  would  publish  my  ballads  and 
Ab  Gwilym,  that  is,  said  he,  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff,  provided 
you  can  see  him ;  so  I  went  to  the  house  where  Glorious  John 
resided,  and  a  glorious  house  it  was,  but  I  could  not  see  Glorious 
John.  I  called  a  dozen  times,  but  I  never  could  see  Glorious 
John.  Twenty  years  after,  by  the  greatest  chance  in  the  world, 
I  saw  Glorious  John,  and  sure  enough  Glorious  John  published 
my  books,  but  they  were  different  books  from  the  first ;  I  never 
offered  my  t)allads  or  Ab  Gwilym  to  Glorious  John.    Glorious 

(253) 


254  ^^  VENGRO.  [1834. 

V 

John  was  no  snuff-taker.  He  asked  me  to  dinner,  and  treated 
me  with  superb  Rhenish  wine.  Glorious  John  is  now  gone  to 
his  rest,  but  I — what  was  I  going  to  say  ? — the  world  will  never 
forget  Glorious  John. 

So  I  returned  to  my  last  resource  for  the  time  then  being — ^to 
the  publisher,  persevering  doggedly  in  my  labour.  One  day,  on 
visiting  the  publisher,  I  found  him  stamping  with  fury  upon 
certain  fragments  of  paper. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  '*you  know  nothing  of  German;  I  have 
shown  your  translation  of  the  first  chapter  of  my  Philosophy  to 
several  Germans:  it  is  utterly  unintelligible  to  them.*'  "Did 
they  see  the  Philosophy?"  I  replied.  "They  did,  sir,  but  they 
did  not  profess  to  understand  English.''  "No  more  do  I,"  I 
replied,  "  if  that  Philosophy  be  English." 

The  publisher  was  furious — I  was  silent  For  want  of  a  pinch 
of  snuff,  I  had  recourse  to  something  which  is  no  bad  substitute 
for  a  pinch  of  snuff  to  those  who  can't  take  it,  silent  contempt ; 
at  first  it  made  the  publisher  more  furious,  as  perhaps  a  pinch  of 
snuff  would ;  it,  however,  eventually  calmed  him,  and  he  ordered 
me  back  to  my  occupations,  in  other  words,  the  compilation.  To 
be  brief,  the  compilation  was  completed,  I  got  paid  in  the  usual 
manner,  and  forthwith  left  him. 

He  was  a  clever  man,  but  what  a  difference  in  clever  men  I 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

It  was  post  mid-winter,  and  I  sat  on  London  Bridge,  in 
company  with  the  old  apple-woman :  she  had  just  returned  to 
the  other  side  of  the  bridge  to  her  place  in  the  booth  wheie  I 
had  originally  found  her.  This  she  had  done  after  repeated 
conversations  with  me ;  "  she  liked  the  old  place  best,"  she  said, 
which  she  would  never  have  left  but  for  the  terror  which  she 
experienced  when  the  boys  ran  away  with  her  book.  So  I  sat 
with  her  at  the  old  spot,  one  afternoon  past  mid-winter,  reading 
the  book,  of  which  I  had  by  this  time  come  to  the  last  pages.  I 
had  observed  that  the  old  woman  for  some  time  past  had  shown 
much  less  anxiety  about  the  book  than  she  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  doing.  I  was,  however,  not  quite  prepared  for  her  offering  to 
make  me  a  present  of  it,  which  she  did  that  afternoon;  when, 
having  finished  it,  I  returned  it  to  her,  with  many  thanks  for  the 
pleasure  and  instruction  I  had  derived  from  its  perusal.  "  You 
may  keep  it,  dear,"  said  the  old  woman,  with  a  sigh ;  "  you  may 
carry  it  to  your  lodging,  and  keep  it  for  your  own." 

Looking  at  the  old  woman  with  surprise,  I  exclaimed :  "  Is  it 
possible  that  you  are  willing  to  part  with  the  book  which  has 
been  your  source  of  comfort  so  long?" 

Whereupon  the  old  woman  entered  into  a  long  history,  from 
which  I  gathered  that  the  book  had  become  distasteful  to  her ; 
she  hardly  ever  opened  it  of  late,  she  said,  or  if  she  did,  it  was 
only  to  shut  it  again ;  also,  that  other  things  which  she  had  been 
fond  of,  though  of  a  widely  different  kind,  were  now  distasteful  to 
her.  Porter  and  beef-steaks  were  no  longer  grateful  to  her  palate, 
her  present  diet  chiefly  consisting  of  tea,  and  bread  and  butter. 

"Ah,"  said  I,  "you  have  been  ill,  and  when  people  are  ill, 
they  seldom  like  the  things  which  give  them  pleasure  when  they 
are  in  health."  I  learned,  moreover,  that  she  slept  little  at  night, 
and  had  all  kinds  of  strange  thoughts ;  that  as  she  lay  awake 
many  things  connected  with  her  youth,  which  she  had  quite 
forgotten^  came  into  her  mind.  There  were  certain  words  that 
came  into  her  mind  the  night  before  the  last,  which  were  con- 
tinually humming  in  her  ears:  I  found  that  the  words  were, 
*  Thou  shalt  not  steal ". 

(^55) 


256  LA  VBNGRO.  [1835. 

On  inquiring  where  she  had  first  heard  these  words,  I  learned 
that  she  had  read  them  at  school,  in  a  book  called  the  primer ; 
to  this  school  she  had  been  sent  by  her  mother,  who  was  a  poor 
widow,  who  followed  the  trade  of  apple-selling  in  the  very  spot 
where  her  daughter  followed  it  now.  It  seems  that  the  mother 
was  a  very  good  kind  of  woman,  but  quite  ignorant  of  letters,  the 
benefit  of  which  she  was  willing  to  procure  for  her  child;  and 
at  the  school  the  daughter  learned  to  read,  and  subsequently 
experienced  the  pleasure  and  benefit  of  letters,  in  being  able  to 
read  the  book  which  she  found  in  an  obscure  closet  of  her 
mother's  house,  and  which  had  been  her  principal  companion 
and  comfort  for  many  years  of  her  life. 

But,  as  I  have  said  before,  she  was  now  dissatisfied  with 
the  book,  and  with  most  other  things  in  which  she  had  taken 
pleasure ;  she  dwelt  much  on  the  words,  "  Thou  shalt  not  steal " ; 
she  had  never  stolen  things  herself,  but  then  she  had  bought 
things  which  other  people  had  stolen,  and  which  she  knew  ^d 
been  stolen ;  and  her  dear  son  had  been  a  thief,  which  he  perhaps 
would  not  have  been  but  for  the  example  which  she  set  him  in 
buying  things  from  characters,  as  she  called  them,  who  associated 
with  her. 

On  inquiring  how  she  had  become  acquainted  with  these 
characters,  I  learned  that  times  had  gone  hard  with  her ;  that  she 
had  married,  but  her  husband  had  died  after  a  long  sickness, 
which  had  reduced  them  to  great  distress;  that  her  fruit  trade 
was  not  a  profitable  one,  and  that  she  had  bought  and  sold  things 
which  had  been  stolen  to  support  herself  and  her  son.  That  for 
a  long  time  she  supposed  there  was  no  harm  in  doing  so,  as  her 
book  was  full  of  entertaining  tales  of  stealing;  but  she  now 
thought  that  the  book  was  a  bad  book,  and  that  learning  to  read 
was  a  bad  thing ;  her  mother  had  never  been  able  to  read,  but 
had  died  in  peace,  though  poor. 

So  here  was  a  woman  who  attributed  the  vices  and  follies  of 
her  life  to  being  able  to  read ;  her  mother,  she  said,  who  could 
not  read,  lived  respectably,  and  died  in  peace ;  and  what  was  the 
essential  difference  between  the  mother  and  daughter,  save  that 
the  latter  could  read?  But  for  her  literature  she  might  in  all 
probability  have  lived  respectably  and  honestly,  like  her  mother, 
and  might  eventually  have  died  in  peace,  which  at  present  she 
could  scarcely  hope  to  do.  Education  had  failed  to  produce  any 
good  in  this  poor  woman ;  on  the  contrary,  there  could  be  little 
doubt  that  she  had  been  injured  by  it.  Then  was  education  a 
bad  thing  ?    Rousseau  was  of  opinion  that  it  was ;  but  Rousseau 


ites-]  NBCBSSITY.  957 

was  a  Fienchmaiii  at  least  wrote  in  French,  and  I  cared  not  the 
snap  of  my  fingers  for  Rousseau.  But  education  has  certainly 
been  of  benefit  in  some  instances ;  well,  what  did  that  prove, 
but  that  partiality  existed  in  the  management  of  the  affitirs  of  the 
world.  If  education  was  a  benefit  to  some,  why  was  it  not  a 
benefit  to  others?  Could  some  avoid  abusing  it,  any  more  than 
others  could  avoid  turning  it  to  a  profitable  account?  I  did  not 
see  how  they  could ;  this  poor  simple  woman  found  a  book  in 
her  mother's  closet ;  a  book,  which  was  a  capital  book  for  those 
who  could  turn  it  to  the  account  for  which  it  was  intended ;  a 
book,  from  the  perusal  of  which  I  felt  myself  wiser  and  better, 
but  which  was  by  no  means  suited  to  the  intellect  of  this  poor 
simple  woman,  who  thought  that  it  was  written  in  praise  of  thieving ; 
yet  she  found  it,  she  read  it,  and — and  I  felt  myself  getting  into 
a  maze;  what  is  right?  thought  I;  what  is  wrong?  Do  I  exist? 
Does  the  world  exist?  if  it  does,  every  action  is  bound  up  with 
necessity. 

**  Necessity ! "  I  exclaimed,  and  cracked  my  finger  joints* 

**  Ah,  it  is  a  bad  thing,"  said  the  old  woman. 

"What  is  a  bad  thing?"  said  I. 

•*  Why,  to  be  poor,  dear." 

"You  talk  like  a  fool,"  said  I,  "  riches  and  poverty  are  only 
different  forms  of  necessity." 

"You  should  not  call  me  a  fool,  dear;  you  should  not  call 
your  own  nu)ther  a  fool" 

"  You  are  not  my  mother,"  said  I. 

"Not  your  mother,  dear? — no,  no  more  I  am;  but  your 
calling  me  fool  put  me  in  mmd  of  my  dear  son,  who  often  used 
to  call  me  fool — and  you  just  now  looked  as  he  sometimes  did^i 
with  a  blob  of  foam  on  your  lip." 

^  After  all,  I  don't  know  that  you  are  not  my  mother." 

"  Don't  you,  dear?  I'm  glad  of  it ;  I  wish  you  would  make  it 
out." 

"How  should  I  make  it  out?  who  can  speak  from  his  own 
knowledge  as  to  the  circumstances 'of  his  birth  ?  Besides,  before 
attempting  to  establish  our  relationship,  it  would  be  necessary  to 
prove  that  such  people  exist/' 

"What  people  dear?" 

"  You  and  I." 

"  Lord,  child,  you  are  mad ;  that  book  has  made  you  so." 

"Don't  abuse  it,"  said  I;  "the  book  is  an  excellent  one, 
that  is,  provided  it  exists." 

"  I  wish  it  did  not,"  said  the  old  woman ;  but  it  shan't  long ; 

17 


€56  LA  VBNQRQ.  [1895. 

I'll  bum  it,  or  fling  it  into  the  riTO — the  voices  of  ni^t  tell  me 
to  do  sa" 

"Tell  the  voices/'  said  I,  ''that  they  talk  nonsense;  die 
book,  if  it  exists,  is  a  good  book,  it  contains  a  deep  moral ;  have 
you  read  it  aU?" 

"All  the  funny  parts,  dear;  all  about  taking  things,  and  the 
manner  it  was  done;  as  for  the  rest,  I  could  not  exactly  make  it 
ouf 

**  Then  the  book  is  not  to  blame;  I  repeat  that  the  book  b  a 
good  book,  and  contains  deep  morality,  always  supposing  that 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  morality,  whidi  is  the  same  thing  as 
supposing  that  there  is  anything  at  all." 

''  Anything  at  all  1  Why,  a'n't  we  here  on  this  bridge,  in  my 
booth,  with  my  stall  and  my " 

"Apples  and  pears,  baked  hot,  you  would  say — I  don't  know; 
all  is  a  mystery,  a  deep  questioa  It  is  a  question,  and  probably 
always  will  be,  whether  there  is  a  world,  and  consequently  apples 
and  pears ;  and,  provided  there  be  a  world,  whether  that  world 
be  like  an  apple  or  a  pear." 

"  Don't  talk  so,  dear." 

"  I  won't ;  we  will  suppose  that  we  all  exist — ^world,  ourselves, 
apples,  and  pears :  so  you  wish  to  get  rid  of  the  book?** 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  wish  you  would  take  it" 

"  I  have  read  it,  and  have  no  further  use  for  it ;  I  do  not  need 
books :  in  a  little  time,  perhaps,  I  shall  not  have  a  {rface  wherein 
to  deposit  myself,  far  less  books." 

<'  Then  I  will  fling  it  into  the  river." 

"  Don't  do  that ;  here,  give  it  me*  Now  iriiat  shall  I  do  with 
it?  you  were  so  fond  of  it" 

"  I  am  so  no  longer." 

"  But  how  will  you  pass  your  time?  what  will  you  read? " 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  learned  to  read»  or,  if  I  had,  that  I  had 
only  read  the  books  I  saw  at  school :  the  primer  or  the  other." 

"  What  was  the  other? " 

"  I  think  they  called  it  the  Bible :  all  about  jGod,  and  Job, 
and  Je^us." 

"  Ah,  I  know  it" 

*•  You  have  read  it  ?  is  it  a  nice  book — all  true  ?  " 

"True,  true — I  don't  know  what  to  say;  but  if  the  world  be 
true,  and  not  all  a  lie,  a  fiction,  I  don't  see  why  the  Bible,  as  they 
call  it,  should  not  be  true.  By-the-bye,  what  do  you  call  Bible  in 
your  tongue,  or,  indeed,  book  of  any  kind  ?  as  Bible  merely  means 
a  book.'* 


ia«5-]  METAPHOR.  «59 

"What  do  I  call  the  Bible  in  my  language,  dear?** 

"  Yes,  the  language  of  those  who  bring  you  things.* 

"  The  language  of  those  who  did,  dear ;  they  bring  them  now 
no  longer.  'Riey  cadi  me  fool,  as  you  did,  dear,  just  now ;  they 
call  kimng  the  Bible,  which  means  taking  a  false  oath,  smacking 
calfskin." 

''That's  metaphor,"  said  I,  "English,  but  metaphorical; 
what  an  odd  language  1  So  you  would  like  to  have  a  Bible, — 
shaU  I  buy  you  one  ?  '* 

''  I  am  poor,  dear— no  money  since  I  left  off  the  other  trade." 

"Well,  then,  Til  buy  you  one." 

"  No,  dear,  no ;  you  are  poor,  and  may  soon  want  the  money ; 
but  if  you  can  take  me  one  conveniently  on  the  sly,  you  know — 
I  think  you  may,  for,  as  it  is  a  good  book,  I  suppose  there  can  be 
no  harm  in  taking  it." 

''That  will  never  do,"  said  I,  "more  espedally  as  I  should  be 
sure  to  be  caught,  not  having  made  taking  of  things  my  trade ; 
but  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do — try  and  exchange  this  book  of  yours 
for  a  Bible ;  who  knows  for  what  great  things  this  same  book  of 
yours  may  serve?" 

"Well,  dear,"  said  the  old  woman,  "do  as  you  please;  I 
should  like  to  see  the — ^what  do  you  call  it? — BiUe,  and  to  read 
it,  as  you  seem  to  think  it  true." 

"  Yes,'*  said  I,  "  seem ;  that  is  the  way  to  express  yourself  in 
this  maze  of  doubt — I  seem  to  think — these  apples  and  pears 
seem  to  be— and  here  seems  to  be  a  gentleman  who  wants  to 
purchase  either  one  or  the  other." 

A  person  had  stopped  before  the  apple-woman's  stall,  and  was 
glancing  now  at  the  fruit,  now  at  the  old  woman  and  myself;  he 
wore  a  blue  mantle,  and  had  a  kind  of  fur  cap  on  his  head ;  he 
was  somewhat  above  the  middle  stature ;  his  features  were  keeni 
but  rather  hard;  there  was  a  slight  obliquity  in  his  vision. 
Selecting  a  small  apple,  he  gave  the  old  woman  a  penny;  then, 
after  looking  at  me  scrutinizingly  for  a  moment,  he  moved  from 
the  booth  in  the  direction  of  Southwark. 

"  Do  you  know  who  that  man  is  ?  "  said  I  to  the  old  woman. 

"  NO)"  said  she,  "  except  that  he  is  one  of  my  best  customers ; 
he  frequently  stops,  takes  an  apple,  and  gives  me  a  penny ;  his  is 
the  only  piece  of  money  I  have  taken  this  blessed  day.  I  don't 
know  him,  but  he  has  once  or  twice  sat  down  in  the  booth  with 
two  strange-looking  men — Mulattos,  or  Lascars,  I  think  they  call 
them. 


^ 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


In  pursuance  of  my  promise  to  the  old  woman,  I  set  about  pro- 
curing her  a  Bible  with  all  convenient  speed,  placing  the  book 
which  she  had  intrusted  to  me  for  the  purpose  of  exdumge  in  my 
pocket.  I  went  to  several  shops,  and  asked  if  Bibles  were  to  be 
had :  I  found  that  there  were  plenty.  When,  however,  I  informed 
the  people  that  I  came  to  barter,  they  looked  blank,  and  declined 
treating  with  me,  saying  that  they  did  not  do  business  in  that 
way.  At  last  I  went  into  a  shop  over  the  window  of  which  I  saw 
written,  **  Books  bought  and  exchanged " :  there  was  a  smartish 
young  fellow  in  the  shop,  with  black  hair  and  whiskers.  **  Yon 
exchange?  "  said  I.  **  Yes,"  said  he,  *'  sometimes,  but  we  prefer 
selling ;  what  book  do  you  want  ?  "  <*  A  Bible,''  said  I.  ''  Ah,"  said 
he, ''  there's  a  great  demand  for  BiUes  just  now ;  all  kinds  of  people 
are  become  very  pious  of  late,"  he  added,  grinning  at  me ;  "I  am 
afraid  I  can't  do  business  with  you,  more  especially  as  the  master 
is  not  at  home.  What  book  have  you  brought?"  Taking  the 
book  out  of  my  pocket,  I  placed  it  on  the  counter.  The  young 
fellow  opened  the  book,  and  inspecting  the  title-page,  burst  into 
a  loud  laugh.  "  What  do  you  laugh  for  ?  "  said  I,  angrily,  and  half 
clenching  my  fist.  "  Laugh ! "  said  the  young  fellow ;  "  laugh  I 
who  could  help  laughing  ?  "  "I  could,"  said  I ;  "  I  see  nothing  to 
laugh  at ;  I  want  to  exchange  this  book  for  a  Bible."  <*  You  do  ?  " 
said  the  young  fellow ;  "  well,  I  daresay  there  are  plenty  who  would 
be  willing  to  exchange,  that  is,  if  they  dared.  I  wish  master  were 
at  home ;  but  that  would  never  do^  either.  Master's  a  family  man, 
the  Bibles  are  not  mine,  and  master  being  a  family  man,  is  sharp, 
and  knows  all  his  stock ;  I'd  buy  it  of  you,  but,  to  teU  you  the 
truth,  I  am  quite  empty  here,"  said  he,  pointing  to  his  pocket,  "  so 
I  am  afraid  we  can't  deal." 

Whereupon,  looking  anxiously  at  the  young  man,  "  what  am 
I  to  do?"  said  I ;  "  I  really  want  a  Bible  ". 

"  Can't  you  buy  one  ?  "  said  the  young  man ;  '*  have  you  no 
money?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  have  some,  but  I  am  merely  the  agent  of 
another;  I  came  to  exchange,  not  to  buy;  what  am  I  to  do?" 

(s6o) 


fftes-]  THE  BXCHANGB.  ^i     # 

■  I  *'  in  1——^  ■■Mill  I  — »—— ^— ^ 

'^I  don't  know,"  said  the  young  man,  thoughtfoHy,  laying 
down  the  book  on  the  counter ;  **  I  don't  know  what  you  can  do  | 
I  think  you  will  find  some  difficulty  in  this  bartering  job,  the 
trade  are  rather  precise."  All  at  once  he  laughed  louder  that 
before ;  suddenly  stopping;  however,  he  put  on  a  very  grave  look 
*'Take  my  advice,"  said  he;  ^ there  is  a  firm  established  in  thii 
neighbourhood  which  scarcely  sells  any  books  but  Bibles ;  they 
are  very  ridi,  and  pride  themselves  on  selling  their  books  at  the 
lowest  possible  price ;  apply  to  them,  who  knows  but  what  they 
will  exx^ange  with  you  ?  " 

Thereupon  I  demanded  with  some  eagerness  of  the  young 
man  the  direction  to  the  pbce  where  he  taught  it  possible  that 
I  might  effect  the  exchange — ^which  direction  the  young  fellow 
cheerfully  gave  me,  and,  as  I  turned  away^  had  the  civility  ta 
wish  me  success. 

I  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  house  to  which  the  young 
fellow  directed  me;  it  was  a  very  laige  house,  situated  in  a 
square,  and  upon  the  side  of  the  house  was  written  in  huge 
letters,  "  Bibles^  jnd  other  religious  books  ". 

At  the  door  of  the  house  were  two  or  three  tumbrils,  in  the 
act  of  bdng  loaded  with  chests,  very  much  resembling  tea- 
eheita;  one  of  the  chests  falling  down,  burst,  and  out  flew, 
not  tea,  but  various  books,  in  a  neat,  small  size,  and  in  neat 
leather  covers ;  Bibles,  said  I,— Bibles,  doubtless.  I  was  not 
quite  right,  nor  quite  wrong ;  picking  up  one  of  the  books,  I 
looked  at  it  for  a  moment,  and  found  it  to  be  the  New  Testa* 
ment.  "  Come,  young  lad,"  said  a  man  who  stood  by,  in  the 
dicss  of  a  portor,  **  put  that  book  down,  it  is  none  of  yours ;  if 
you  want  a  book,  go  in  and  deal  for  one." 

Deal,  thought  I,  deal, — ^the  man  seems  to  know  what  I  am 
coming  about, — and  going  in,  I  presently  found  myself  in  a  very 
huge  room.  Behind  a  counter  two  men  stood  with  their  backs 
10  a  sfdendid  fire,  warming  themselves,  for  the  weather  was  cold. 

Of  these  men  one  was  dressed  in  brown,  and  the  other  was 
diessed  in  Uack;  both  were  tall  men — he  who  was  dressed  in 
brown  was  thin,  and  had  a  particularly  ill-natured  countenance ; 
the  man  dressed  in  black  was  bulky,  his  features  were  noble,  but 
they  were  those  of  a  lion. 

"What  is  your  business,  young  man?"  said  the  precise 
personage,  as  I  stood  staring  at  him  and  his  companion. 

"  I  want  a  BiUe,"  said  I. 

''  What  price,  what  size  ?  "  said  the  predse-lookmg  man. 

"  As  to  size^"  said  I,  "  I  should  like  to  have  a  large  one 


i 

262  LA  VSNORO.  [xSss- 

--that  18,  if  you  can  aSbid  me  one— -I  do   not   oome   to 
buy." 

**  Oh,  friend,"  said  the  precise-looking  man,  ''  if  you  come 
hers  expecting  to  have  a  Bible  for  nothing,  you  are  mistalrfn — 
we " 

"I  would  scorn  to  have  a  Bible  for  nothing,*'  said  I,  ''or 
anything  else;  I  came  not  to  beg,  but  to  batter;  there  is  no 
shame  in  that,  especially  in  a  country  like  this,  where  all  folks 
barter." 

''Oh,  we  don't  barter,"  said  the  precise  man,  "at  least 
Bibles ;   you  had  better  depart." 

"  Stay,  brother,"  said  the  man  with  the  countenance  of  a  lion, 
"  let  us  ask  a  fiew  questions ;  this  may  be  a  very  important  case ; 
perhaps  the  young  man  has  had  convictions." 

*'  Not  I,"  I  exclaimed,  "  I  am  convinced  of  nothing,  and  with 
regard  to  the  Bible — I  don't  believe ^ 

"  Hey  I "  said  the  man  with  the  lion  countenance,  and  there 
he  stopped.  But  with  that "  Hey  "  the  walls  of  the  house  seemed 
to  shake,  the  windows  rattled,  and  the  porter  whom  I  had  seen  in 
front  of  the  house  came  running  up  the  steps,  and  looked  into 
the  apartment  through  the  glass  of  the  door. 

There  was  silence  for  about  a  minute — the  same  kind  of 
silence  which  succeeds  a  clap  of  thunder. 

At  last  ^he  man  with  the  lion  countenance,  who  had  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  me,  said  calmly :  "  Were  you  about  to  say  that 
you  don't  believe  in  the  Bible,  young  man  ?  " 

"  No  more  than  in  anything  else,"  said  I ;  "  you  were 
of  convictions — I  have  no  convictions.  It  is  not  easy  to 
in  the  Bible  till  one  is  convinced  that  there  is  a  Bible." 

"  He  seems  to  be  insane,"  said  the  prim*looking  man,  "  we 
had  better  order  the  porter  to  turn  him  out" 

'*  I  am  by  no  means  certain,"  said  I,  "that  the  porter  could 
turn  me  out ;  always  provided  there  is  a  porter,  and  this  system 
of  ours  be  not  a  lie,  and  a  dream." 

"Come,"  said  the  lion-looking  man,  impatiently,  "a  truce 
with  this  nonsense.  If  the  porter  cannot  turn  you  out,  perhaps 
some  other  person  can;  but  to  the  point — ^you  want  a  Bible?" 

"  I  do,"  said  I,  "  but  not  for  myself;  I  was  sent  by  another 
person  to  offer  something  in  exchange  for  one." 

"  And  who  is  that  person  ?  " 

"A  poor  old  woman,  who  has  had  what  you  call  coovictioos^ 
— ^heard  voices,  or  thought  she  heard  them — I  forgot  to  ask  her 
whether  they  were  loud  ones." 


xaas-l  "  ^VE  LOST  IT  I"  ^l    § 

"What  has  she  sent  to  offer  in  exchange?"  said  the  man, 
without  taking  any  notice  of  the  concluding  part  of  my 
speech. 

"  A  book,"  said  I. 

"  Let  me  see  it" 

*'  Nay,  brother,"  said  the  precise  man,  "  this  will  never  do ;  if 
we  once  adopt  the  system  of  barter,  we  shall  have  all  the  holders 
of  useless  rubbish  in  the  town  l^>plying  to  us." 

'<  I  wish  to  see  what  he  has  brought,"  said  the  other ; 
"perhaps  Baxter,  or  Jewell's  Apology,  either  of  whidi  would 
make  a  valuable  addition  to  our  collection.  Well,  young  man, 
what's  the  matter  with  you?" 

I  stood  like  one  petrified;  I  had  put  my  hand  into  my 
pocket— the  book  was  gone. 

**  What's  the  matter  ? "  repeated  the  man  with  the  lion 
countenance,  in  a  voice  very  much  resembling  thunder. 

"  I  have  it  not— I  have  lost  it  1 " 

"  A  pretty  story,  truly,"  said  the  precise-looking  man,  "lost  it !" 

**  You  had  better  retire,"  said  the  other. 

"  How  shall  I  appear  before  the  party  who  intrusted  me  with 
the  book?  She  will  certainly  think  tbat  I  have  purloined  it,  not- 
withstanding all  I  can  say;  nor,  indeed,  can  I  blame  her — 
appearances  are  certainly  against  me." 

"  They  are  so— you  had  better  retire." 

I  moved  towards  the  door.  "  Stay,  young  man,  one  word 
more ;  there  is  only  one  way  of  proceeding  which  would  induce 
me  to  believe  that  you  are  sincere." 

*<  What  is  that  ?  "  said  I,  stopping  and  looking  at  him 
anxiously. 

*'  The  purchase  of  a  Bible." 

''  Purchase  I "  said  I,  "  purchase  I  I  came  not  to  purchase* 
but  to  barter ;  such  was  my  instruction,  and  how  can  I  barter  if  I 
have  lost  the  book  ?  " 

The  other  made  no  answer,  and  turning  away  I  made  for  the 
door;  all  of  a  sudden  I  started,  and  turning  round,  *'  Dear  me," 
said  I,  '*  it  has  just  come  into  my  head,  that  if  the  book  was  lost 
by  my  negligence,  as  it  must  have  been,  I  have  clearly  a  right  to 
make  it  good". 

No  answer. 

*'  Yes,"  I  repeated,  "  I  have  clearly  a  right  to  make  it  good ; 
how  glad  I  am !  see  the  effect  of  a  little  reflection.  I  will  pur- 
chase a  Bible  instantly,  that  is,  if  I  have  not  lost " and  with 

considerable  agitation  I  felt  in  my  pocket. 


^    a64  LAVBNGRO.  [iteS- 


The  prim-looking  man  smiled :  **  I  rappose,"  said  he,  "  that 
he  has  lost  his  money  as  well  as  book  ". 

"No,"  said  I,  "I  have  not;"  and  pulling  out  my  hand  I 
displayed  no  less  a  sum  than  three  half-crowns. 

''  O,  noble  goddess  of  the  Mint  I  "  as  Dame  Charlotta 
Noidenflycht,  the  Swede,  said  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago, 
"great  is  thy  power;  how  energetically  the  possessicHi  of  thee 
speaks  in  fovour  of  man's  character  1 " 

"Only  half  a  crown  for  this  Bible?"  said  I,  putting  down 
the  money,  "  it  is  worth  three ; "  and  bowing  to  the  man  of  the 
noble  features,  I  departed  with  my  purchase. 

"  Queer  customer,"  said  the  prim-looking  man,  as  I  was  aboot 
to  close  the  door — ''don't  like  him." 

"  Why,  as  to  that,  I  scarcely  know  what  to  say,"  said  he  of 
the  countenance  of  a  lion. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 


A  PEW  days  after  the  occurrence  of  what  is  recorded  in  the  last 
chapter,  as  I  was  wandering  in  the  City,  chance  directed  my 
ibotsteps  to  an  alley  leading  from  one  narrow  street  to  another 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Chei^de.  Just  before  I  reached  Uie 
month  of  the  alley,  a  man  in  a  greatcoat,  closely  followed  by 
another,  passed  it;  and,  at  the  moment  in  which  they  were 
passing,  I  observed  the  man  behind  snatch  something  from  the 
pocket  of  the  other ;  whereupon,  darting  into  the  street,  I  seized 
the  hindermost  man  by  the  collar,  crying  at  the  same  time  to  the 
other,  "  My  good  friend,  this  person  has  just  picked  your  pocket ". 

The  individual  whom  I  addressed,  turning  round  with  a  start, 
glanced  at  me,  and  then  at  the  person  whom  I  held.  London 
is  die  place  for  strange  rencounters.  It  appeared  to  me  that  I 
recognised  both  individuals — ^the  man  whose  pocket  had  been 
picked  and  the  other;  the  latter  now  began  to  struggle  violently ; 
*^  1  have  picked  no  one's  pocket,"  said  he.  "  Rascal,"  said  the 
other,  "  you  have  got  my  pocket-book  in  your  bosom."  <<  No,  I 
have  not,"  said  the  other;  and  struggling  more  violently  than 
before,  the  pocket-book  dropped  from  his  bosom  upon  the  ground. 

The  other  was  now  tbont  to  lay  hands  upon  the  fellow,  who 
was  still  struggling^  "  You  had  better  take  up  your  book,"  said 
I ;  *'  I  can  hold  him."  He  followed  my  advice,  and,  taking  up 
hk  pocket-book,  surveyed  my  prisoner  with  a  ferocious  look, 
occasionaJly  glaring  at  me  Yes,  I  had  seen  him  before — it  was 
the  stranger  whom  I  had  observed  on  London  Bridge,  by  the 
Mall  of  the  old  apple-woman,  with  the  cap  and  ckiak;  but, 
instead  of  these,  he  now  wore  a  hat  and  greatcoat.  **Well," 
said  I,  at  hut, ''  what  am  I  to  do  with  this  gentleman  of  ours  ?** 
nodding  to  the  prisoner,  who  had  now  left  off  struggling.  **  Shall 
Ilethimso?'' 

"Gor*  said  the  other;  ''got  The  knave— 4he  rsscal;  let 
Um  go,  indeed  1  Not  so,  he  shall  go  before  the  Lord  Mayor, 
him  along." 

*' Oh,  let  me  go,"  said  the  other :  ''let  me  go;  this  is  the  first 

(a6s) 


a66  LA  VBNORO.  [1835. 

offence,  I  assure  ye — ^the  first  time  I  ever  thought  to  do  anything 
wrong." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  I,  "or  I  shall  be  angry  with  you. 
If  I  am  not  very  much  mistaken,  you  once  attempted  to  cheat 
me. 


''I  never  saw  you  before  in  all  my  life,"  said  the  fellow« 
though  his  countenance  seemed  to  belie  his  words. 

**  That  is  not  true,"  said  I ;  *'  you  are  the  man  who  attempted 
to  cheat  me  of  one-and-ninepence  in  the  coach-yard,  on  the  first 
morning  of  my  arrival  in  London." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  said  the  other ;  ''  a  confirmed  thief; " 
and  here  his  tones  became  peculiarly  sharp ;  "  I  woidd  fiun  see 
him  hanged— crucified.    Drag  him  along." 

"  I  am  no  constable,"  said  I ;  "  you  have  got  your  pocket- 
book — I  would  rather  you  would  bid  me  let  him  ga" 

«  Bid  you  let  him  go  I "  said  the  other  almost  fiiriously,  "  I 
command — stay,  what  was  I  going  to  say?  I  was  forgetting 
myself,"  he  observed  more  gently;  "but  he  stole  my  pocket- 
book  ;    if  you  did  but  know  what  it  contained." 

**  Well,  said  I,  "  if  it  contains  anything  valuable,  be  the  more 
thankful  that  you  have  recovered  it;  as  for  the  mani  I  will 
help  you  to  take  him  where  you  please ;  but  I  wish  you  would 
let  him  go." 

The  stranger  hesitated,  and  there  was  an  extraordinary  play 
of  emotion  in  his  features ;  he  looked  ferociously  at  the  pick- 
pocket, and*  more  than  once,  somewhat  suspiciously  at  myself; 
at  last  his  countenance  cleared,  and,  with  a  good  grace,  he  said, 
"Well,  you  have  done  me  a  great  service,  and  you  have  my 
consent  to  let  him  go;  but  &e  rascal  shall  not  escape  with 
impunity,"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  as  I  let  the  man  go,  and 
starting  forward,  before  the  fellow  could  escape,  he  struck  him 
a  violet  blow  on  the  &ce.  The  man  staggered^  and  had  nearly 
fiillen ;  recovering  himself,  however,  he  said :  "  I  tell  you  what, 
my  fellow,  if  I  ever  meet  you  in  this  street  in  a  dark  night,  and 
I  have  a  knife  about  me,  it  shall  be  the  worse  for  you ;  as  for 
yoUj  young  man,"  said  he  to  me ;  but,  observing  that  the  other 
was  making  towards  him,  he  left  whatever  he  was  about  to  say 
unfinished^  and,  taking  to  his  heels,  was  out  of  si^  in  a  moment 

The  stranger  and  myself  walked  in  the  direction  of  Cheapside^ 
the  way  in  which  he  had  been  originally  proceeding;  he  was 
silent  for  a  few  moments,  at  length  he  said :  "  You  have  really 
done  me  a  gpreat  service*  and  I  should  be  ungrateful  not  to 
acknowledge  it.     I  am  a  merchant;  and  a  merchant's  pocket- 


t8a5.]  LONDON  BRIDGE  PHILOLOGY.  §67 

book,  as  you  parhaps  knowt  containi  many  things  of  importance ; 
but  young  man/'  he  ezdaimed,  '^  I  think  I  have  seen  you  before ; 
I  thought  so  at  first,  but  where  I  cannot  exactly  say :  where  was 
it?"  I  mentioned  London  Bridge  and  the  old  apple-woman. 
''Oh,"  said  he^  and  smiled*  and  there  was  someOiing  peculiar 
in  hii  smile,  "I  remember  now.  Do  you  frequendy  sit  on 
London  Bridge?"  "Occasionally,"  said  I;  "that  old  woman 
is  an  old  friend  of  mine."  "Friend?"  said  the  stranger,  "I 
am  glad  of  it,  for  I  shall  know  where  to  find  you.  At  present  I 
am  going  to  'Change ;  time  you  know  is  precious  to  a  merchant." 
We  were  by  this  time  close  to  Cheapside.  "  Farewell,"  said  he, 
"  I  shall  not  forget  this  service.  I  trust  we  shall  soon  meet  again." 
He  then  shook  me  by  the  hand  and  went  his  way. 

The  next  day,  as  I  was  seated  beside  the  old  woman  in  the 
booth,  the  stranger  again  made  his  appearance,  and  after  a  word 
or  two,  sat  down  b^de  me;  the  old  woman  was  sometimes 
reading  the  Bible,  which  she  had  ahready  had  two  or  three  days 
in  her  possession,  and  sometimes  discoursing  with  me.  Our 
discourse  rolled  chiefly  on  philological  matters. 

"  What  do  you  call  bread  in  your  language  ?  "  said  L 

"You  mean  the  language  of  those  who  bring  me  things  to 
buy,  or  who  did ;  for,  as  I  told  you  before,  I  sha'n't  buy  any 
more ;  if  s  no  language  of  mine,  dear — they  call  bread  pannam 
in  their  language." 

"  Pannam  t "  said  I,  "  pannam  I  evidently  connected  with,  if 
not  derived  from,  the  Latin  panis;  even  as  the  word  tanner,  which 
signifieth  a  sixpence,  is  connected  with,  if  not  derived  from,  the 
Latin  tener,  which  is  itself  connected  with,  if  not  derived  from, 
tawno  or  tawner,  which,  in  the  language  of  Mr.  Petulengro,  signi- 
fieth a  sucking  child.  Let  me  see,  what  is  the  term  for  bread  in  the 
language  of  Mr.  Petulengro  ?  Morro,  or  manro,  as  I  have  some- 
times heard  it  called ;  is  there  not  some  connection  between  these 
words  and  panis?  Yes,  I  think  there  is;  and  I  should  not 
wonder  if  morro,  manro,  and  panis  were  connected,  perhaps 
derived  from  the  same  root ;  but  what  is  that  root  ?  I  don  t  know 
—I  wish  I  did ;  though,  perhaps,  I  should  not  be  the  happier. 
Morro— manro  1  I  rather  think  morro  is  the  oldest  form ;  it  is 
easier  to  say  morro  than  manro.  Morro  1  Irish,  aran ;  Welsh, 
bara ;  English,  bread.  I  can  see  a  resemblance  between  all  the 
words,  and  pannam  too ;  and  I  rather  think  that  the  Petulengrian 
word*is  the  elder.  How  odd  it  would  be  if  the  language  of 
Mr.  Petulengro  should  eventually  turn  out  to  be  the  mother  of  all 
the  languages  in  the  world ;  yet  it  is  certain  that  Uiere  are  some 


t68  LA  VBNORO.  [1885. 


languages  in  wfaidi  the  tenns  for  bread  have  no  cotmection 
the  word  nsed  by  Mr.  Petalengro,  notwithstanding  that  those 
languages,  in  many  other  points,  ohibit  a  dose  affinity  to  the 
laniuage  of  the  hotse-shoe  master:  for  example*  bread,  in 
Heorew,  is  Laham,  which  assuredly  exhibits  little  similitude 
to  the  word  used  by  the  aforesaid  Petnlengra     In  Armenian 

it  is " 

''  Zhats  1 "  said  the  stranger  starting  up.  '*  By  the  PMriareh 
and  the  Three  Holy  Churches,  this  is  wonderful  t  How  came 
you  to  know  aught  of  Armenian?'' 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 


Just  as  I  was  about  to  reply  to  the  interrogation  of  my  new- 
formed  acquaintancey  a  man,  with  a  dusky  countenance,  probably 
one  of  the  Lascars,  or  Mulattos,  of  whom  the  old  woman  had 
spoken,  came  up  and  whispered  to  him,  and  with  this  man  he 
presently  departed,  not  howeyer  before  he  had  told  me  the  place 
of  his  abode,  and  requested  me  to  visit  him. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  few  days,  I  called  at  the  house  which  he 
had  indicated.  It  was  situated  in  a  dark  and  narrow  street,  in  the 
heart  of  the  city,  at  no  great  distance  from  the  Bank.  I  entered 
a  counting-room,  in  which  a  solitary  clerk^  with  a  foreign  look, 
was  writing.  The  stranger  was  not  at  home ;  returning  the  next 
day,  however,  I  met  him  at  the  door  as  he  was  about  to  enter ;  he 
shook  me  warmly  by  the  hand.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said 
he,  **  follow  me,  I  was  just  thinking  of  you."  He  led  me  through 
the  counting-room  to  an  apartment  up  a  flight  of  stairs ;  before 
ascending,  however,  he  looked  into  the  book  in  which  the  foreign- 
visaged  clerk  was  writing,  and,  seemingly  not  satisfied  with  the 
manner  in  which  he  was  executing  his  task,  he  gave  him  two 
or  three  cuffs,  telling  him  at  the  same  time  that  he  deserved 
crucifixion. 

The  apartment  above  stairs,  to  which  he  led  me,  was  largef 
with  three  windows  which  opened  upon  the  street.  The  walls 
were  hung  with  wired  cases,  apparently  containing  books.  There 
was  a  table  and  two  or  three  chairs ;  but  the  principal  article  of 
furniture  was  a  long  sofa,  extending  from  the  door  by  which  we 
entered  to  the  farther  end  of  Uie  apartment.  Seating  himself 
upon  the  sofa,  my  new  acquaintance  motioned  me  to  a  seat 
beside  him,  and  then,  looking  me  full  in  the  face,  repeated  his 
former  inquiry.  "  In  the  name  of  all  that  is  wonderful,  how 
came  you  to  know  aught  of  my  language?" 

''There  is  nothing  wonderful  in  tl^t,'  said  I ;  "we  are  at  the 
commencement  of  a  philological  age,  every  one  studies  languages : 
that  is,  every  one  who  is  fit  for  nothing  else ;  philology  being  the 
last  resource  of  dulness  and  ennui,  I  have  got  a  little  in  advance 

(a69) 


•70  LA  VENGRO.  [1825. 

of  the  throng,  by  mastering  the  Armenian  alphabet;  but  I  fore- 
see the  time  when  every  unmarriageable  miss,  and  desperate 
blockhead,  will  likewise  have  acquired  the  letters  of  Mesroub, 
and  will  know  the  term  for  breadi  in  Armenian,  and  perhaps  that 
for  wine," 

''  Kini,"  said  my  companion ;  and  that  and  the  other  word 
put  me  in  mind  of  the  duties  of  hospitality.  ''Will  you  eat 
bread  and  drink  wine  with  me?" 

"Willingly,"  said  I.  Whereupon  my  companion,  unlocking 
a  closet,  produced  on  a  silver  salver,  a  loaf  of  bread,  with  a 
silver-handled  knife,  and  wine  in  a  silver  flask,  with  cups  of  the 
same  metal.  "  I  hope  you  like  my  fare,"  said  he,  afler  we  had 
both  eaten  and  drunk. 

"  I  like  your  bread,"  said  I,  "  for  it  is  stale ;  I  like  not  your 
wine,  it  is  sweet,  and  I  hate  sweet  wine." 

"It  is  wine  of  Cyprus,"  said  my  entertainer;  and,  when  I 
found  that  it  was  wine  of  Cyprus,  I  tasted  it  again,  and  the  second 
taste  pleased  me  much  better  than  the  first,  notwithstanding  that 
I  still  thought  it  somewhat  sweet.  "  So,"  said  I,  after  a  pause, 
looking  at  my  companion,  "  you  are  an  Armenian." 

"Yes,"  said  he,  ''an  Armenian  born  in  London,  but  not  less 
an  Armenian  on  that  account.  My  father  was  a  native  of  Ispahan, 
one  of  the  celebrated  Armenian  colony  which  was  established 
there  shortly  after  the  time  of  the  dreadful  hunger,  which  drove 
the  children  of  Haik  in  swarms  from  their  original  country,  and 
scattered  them  over  most  parts  of  the  eastern  and  western  world. 
In  Ispahan  he  passed  the  greater  portion  of  his  life,  following 
mercantile  pursuits  with  considerable  success.  Certain  enemies, 
however,  having  accused  him  to  the  despot  of  the  place,  of  using 
seditious  language,  he  was  compelled  to  flee,  leaving  most  of  his 
property  behind.  Travelling  in  the  direction  of  the  west,  he 
came  at  last  to  London,  where  he  established  himself,  and 
where  he  eventually  died,  leaving  behind  a  large  property  and 
myself,  his  only  child,  the  fruit  of  a  marriage  with  an  Armenian 
English  woman,  who  did  not  survive  my  birth  more  than 
three  months." 

The  Armenian  then  proceeded  to  tell  me  that  he  had  carriei 
on  the  business  of  his  father,  which  seemed  to  embrace  most 
matters,  from  buying  silks  of  Lascars,  to  speculating  in  the  funds, 
and  that  he  had  considerably  increased  the  property  which  his 
father  had  left  him.  He  candidly  confessed  that  he  was  wonder- 
fully fond  of  gold,  and  said  there  was  nothing  like  it  for  giving  a 
person  respectabflity  and  consideration  in  the  world;  to  which 


i8a5.]  THB  ARMENIAN.  tji 

assertion  I  made  no  answer,  being  not  exactly  prepared  to 
contradict  it. 

And,  when  he  had  related  to  me  his  history,  he  expressed  a 
desire  to  know  something  more  of  myself,  whereupon  I  gave  him 
the  outline  of  my  history,  concluding  with  saying :  "  I  am  now  a 
poor  author,  or  rather  a  philologist,  upon  the  streets  of  London, 
possessed  of  many  tongues,  which  I  find  of  no  use  in  the  world". 

''  Learning  without  money  is  anything  but  desirable,'*  said  the 
Armenian,  ''as  it  unfits  a  man  for  humble  occupations.  It  is 
true  that  it  may  occasionally  beget  him  friends ;  I  confess  to  you 
that  your  understanding  something  of  my  language  weighs  more 
with  me  than  the  service  you  rendered  me  in  rescuing  my  pocket- 
book  the  other  day  from  the  claws  of  that  scoundrel  whom  I  yet 
hope  to  see  hangad,  if  not  crucified,  notwithstanding  there  were 
in  that  pocket-book  papers  and  documents  of  considerable  value. 
Yes,  that  circumstance  makes  my  heart  warm  towards  you,  for  I 
am  proud  of  my  language — as  I  indeed  well  may  be — what  a 
language,  noble  and  energetic  t  quite  original,  differing  from  all 
others  DOth  in  words  and  structure." 

**  You  are  mistaken,"  said  I ;  *'  many  languages  resemble  the 
Armenian  both  in  structure  and  words." 

**  For  example  ?  "  said  the  Armenian. 

•'  For  example^"  said  I,  "the  English.'* 

**  The  English,"  said  the  Armenian ;  "  show  me  one  word  in 
which  the  English  resembles  the  Armenian." 

"  You  walk  on  London  Bridge,"  said  L 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Armenian. 

*'  I  saw  you  look  over  the  balustrade  the  other  morning." 

"True,"  said  the  Armenian. 

"  Well,  what  did  you  see  rushing  up  through  the  arches  with 
noise  and  foam  ?  " 

••>Vhat  was  it?"  said  the  Armenian.  "What  was  it? — ^you 
don't  mean  the  Hde  t " 

"Do  I  not?"  said  L 

"  Well,  what  has  the  tide  to  do  with  the  matter  ? " 

"  Much,"  said  I ;  "  what  is  the  tide? " 

"  The  ebb  and  flow  of  the  sea,"  said  the  Armenian. 

"  The  sea  itself;  what  is  the  Haik  word  for  sea  ?  " 

The  Armenian  gave  a  strong  gasp ;  then,  nodding  his  head 
thrice,  ''  you  are  right,"  said  he,  "  the  English  word  tide  is  the 
Armenian  for  sea ;  and  now  I  begin  to  perceive  that  there  are 

many  English  words  which  are  Armenian ;  there  is and 

and  there  again  in  French  there  is  — ^  and  -•^  derived  from  the 


•74  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

Annenian.  How  strange^  how  singular — I  thank  you.  It  is  a 
proud  thing  to  see  that  the  language  of  my  race  has  had  so  mudi 
influence  over  the  languages  of  the  world." 

I  saw  that  all  that  rdated  to  his  race  waa  the  weak  point  of 
the  Armenian.  I  did  not  flatter  the  Armenian  with  respect  to 
his  race  or  language*  "An  inconsiderable  people/'  said  I, 
''shrewd  and  industrious,  but  still  an  inconsidenU>le  people.  A 
language  bold  and  expressive,  and  of  some  antiquity,  derived, 
though  perhaps  not  immediatdy,  from  some  mtich  older  tongue. 
I  do  not  think  that  the  Armenian  has  had  any  influence  over 
the  formation  of  the  languages  oi  the  world.  I  am  not  much 
indebted  to  the  Armenian  for  the  solution  of  any  doubts ;  where- 
as to  the  language  of  Mr,  Petulengro " 

''I  have  heard  you  mention  that  name  before,"  said  the 
Armenian ;  "  who  is  Mr.  Petulengro  ?  " 

And  then  I  told  the  Armenian  who  Mr.  Petulengro  was.  The 
Armenian  spoke  contemptuously  of  Mr.  Petulengro  and  his  race. 
''  Don't  speak  contemptuously  of  Mr.  Petulengro,"  said  I,  "nor 
of  anything  belonging  to  him.  He  is  a  dark,  mysterious  person- 
age ;  all  connected  with  him  is  a  mystery,  especisdly  his  language ; 
but  I  believe  that  his  language  is  doomed  to  solve  a  great  phOo- 
logical  problem — Mr.  Petulengro " 

''You  appear  agitated, "(said  the  Armenian;  "take  another 
glass  of  wine ;  you  possess  a  great  deal  of  philological  knowledge, 
but  it  appears  to  me  that  the  language  of  this  Petulengro  is  your 
foible :  but  let  us  change  the  subject ;  I  fed  much  interested  in 
you,  and  would  lain  be  of  service  to  you.  Can  you  cast 
accounts?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Keep  books  ?  " 

"  I  have  an  idea  that  I  could  write  books,"  said  I ;  "  but,  as 
to  keepiiig  them "  and  here  again  I  shook  my  head. 

The  Armenian  was  silent  some  time ;  all  at  once,  glancing  at 
one  of  the  wire  cases,  with  which,  as  I  have  already  said,  the 
walls  of  the  room  were  hung,  he  asked  me  if  I  was  well  acquainted 
with  the  learning  of  the  Haiks.  "  The  books  in  these  cases,"  said 
he,  "contain  the  masterpieces  of  Haik  learning." 

"No,"  said  I,  "all  I  know  of  the  learning  of  the  Haiks  is 
their  translation  of  the  Bible." 

"  Ypu  have  never  read  Z ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  I  have  never  read  Z " 

"  I  have  a  plan,"  said  the  Armenian ;  ^  I  think  I  can  employ 
you  agreeably  and  profitably;  I  should  Uke  to  see  Z in  an 


I895-]  ^^'^K  ESOP.  973 

English  dress;  you  shall  translate  Z If  you  can  read  the 

Scriptures  m  Armenian,  you  can  translate  Z He  is  our 

Esop,  the  most  acute  and  clever  of  all  our  moral  writers — his 
philosophy " 

"  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  him/'  said  I. 

"  Wherefore  ?  "  said  the  Armenian. 

"  There  is  an  old  proverb,"  said  I,  "  that  '  a  burnt  child 
avoids  the  fire '.  I  have  burnt  my  hands  sufficiently  with  attempt* 
ii^  to  translate  philosophy,  to  make  me  cautious  of  venturing 
vpon  It  again ; "  and  then  I  told  the  Armenian  how  I  had  been 
persuaded  by  the  publisher  to  translate  his  {diilosophy  into 
German,  and  what  sony  thanks  I  had  received ;  **  and  who 
knows,"  said  I,  "  but  the  attempt  to  translate  Armenian  philo* 
sophy  into  English  might  be  attended  with  yet  moEre  disagreeable 
consequences. 

Tbie  Armenian  smiled.  *'  You  would  find  me  very  different 
from  the  publisher." 

**  In  many  pcunts  I  have  no  doubt  I  should,"  I  replied ;  "  but 
at  the  present  moment  I  feel  like  a  bixd  which  has  escaped  from 
a  cage,  and,  though  hungry,  feels  no  disposition  to  return.  Of 
what  nation  is  the  dark  man  below  stairs,  whom  I  saw  writing  at 
the  desk?" 

'*  He  is  a  Moldave/'  said  the  Armenian ;  *'  the  dog  (and  here 
his  eyes  sparkled)  deserves  to  be  crucified,  he  is  continually 
making  mistakes." 

The  Armenian  again  renewed  his  proposition  about  Z*-«», 
which  I  again  refrised,  as  I  felt  but  little  inclination  to  place 
myself  beneath  the  jurisdiction  of  a  person  who  was  in  the  habit 
of  cuffing  those  whom  he  employed^  when  they  made  mistakes. 
I  presently  took  my  departure;  not,  however,  before  I  had 
received  from  the  Armenian  a  pressing  invitation  to  call  upon 
him  whenever  I  should  feel  disposed* 


th 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 


AnxioiIS  thoughts  frequently  disturbed  me  at  this  time  with 
respect  to  what  I  was  to  do,  and  how  support  myself  in  the  Great 
City.  My  future  prospects  were  gloomy  enough,  and  I  looked 
forward  and  feared ;  sometimes  I  felt  half  dispc»ed  to  accq)t  the 
offer  of  the  Armenian,  and  to  commence  forthwith,  under  his 
superintendence,  the  translation  of  the  Haik  £sop;  but  Uie 
remembrance  of  the  cuffs  which  I  had  seen  him  bestow  upon  the 
Moldavian,  when  glancing  over  his  shoulder  into  the  ledger  or 
whatever  it  was  on  which  he  was  employed,  immediately  drove 
the  indination  from  my  mind.  I  could  not  support  the  idea  of 
the  possibility  of  his  staring  over  my  shoulder  upon  my  transla- 
tion of  the  Haik  Esop,  and,  dissatisfied  with  my  attempts,  treating 
me  as  he  had  treated  the  Moldavian  clerk ;  placing  myself  in  a 
position  which  exposed  me  to  such  treatment,  would  indeed  be 
plunging  into  the  fire  after  escaping  from  the  iJ7ing  pan.  The 
publisher,  insolent  and  overbearing  as  he  was,  whatever  he  might 
have  wished  or  thought,  had  never  lifted  his  hand  against  me»  or 
told  me  that  I  merited  crucifixion. 

What  was  I  to  do?  turn  porter?  I  was  strong;  but  there 
was  something  besides  strength  required  to  ply  tbe  trade  of  a 
porter-— a  mind  of  a  particularly  phlegmatic  temperament,  which 
I  did  not  possess.  What  should  I  do? — enlist  as  a  soldier?  I 
was  tall  enough;  but  something  besides  height  is  required  to 
make  a  man  play  with  credit  the  part  of  soldier,  I  mean  a  private 
one — a  spirit,  if  spirit  it  can  be  called,  which  will  not  only 
enable  a  man  to  submit  with  patience  to  insolence  and  abuse, 
and  even  to  cuffs  and  kicks,  but  occasionally  to  the  lash.  I  felt 
that  I  was  not  qualified  to  be  a  soldier,  at  least  a  private  one ; 
far  better  be  a  drudge  to  the  most  ferocious  of  publishers^  editing 
Newgate  lives,  and  writing  in  eighteenpenny  reviews — better  to 
translate  the  Haik  Esop,  under  the  superintendence  of  ten 
Armenians,  than  be  a  private  soldier  in  die  English  service;  I 
did  not  decide  rashly — I  knew  something  of  soldiering.  What 
should  I  do  ?  I  thought  that  I  would  make  a  last  and  desperate 
attempt  to  dispose  of  the  ballads  and  of  Ab  Gwilym. 


X895-]  WBAT  TO  DO  f  475 

I  had  still  aa  idea  thatt  provided  I  could  persuade  any  spiriled 

Kblisher  to  give  these  translations  to  the  world,  I  should  acquire 
th  considenihle  fame  and  profit ;  not,  perhaps,  a  world-embracing 
fame  such  as  Byron's,  but  a  &me  not  to  be  sneered  at,  which 
would  last  me  a  oonsidecable  time^  and  would  keep  my  heart  from 
breaking; — ^profit,  not  equal  to  that  which  Scott  had  made  by  his 
wondrous  novels,  but  which  would  prevent  me  from  starving,  and 
enable  me  to  achieve  some  other  literary  enterprise.  I  read  and 
re-read  my  ballads,  and  the  more  I  read  them  the  more  I  was 
convinced  that  the  public,  in  the  event  of  their  being  published, 
would  freely  purchase,  and  hail  them  with  the  merited  applause. 
Were  not  the  deeds  aiid  adventures  wonderful  and  heart^stirring, 
from  which  it  is  true  I  could  claim  no  merits  being  but  the 
translator;  but  had  I  not  rendered  them  into  English,  with  all 
their  mghud  fire?  Yes,  I  was  confident  I  had;  and  I  had  no 
doubt  tlttt  the  public  would  say  so.  And  then,  with  respect  to 
Ab  Gwilym,  had  I  not  done  as  much  justice  to  him  as  to  the 
Danish  Ballads ;  not  only  rendering  frithfully  his  thoughts,  ima* 
gery  and  phraseoli^,  but  even  preserving  in  my  translation  the 
alliterative  euphony  which  constitutes  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
features  of  Welsh  prosody?  Y^  I  had  accomplished  all  this; 
and  I  doubted  not  that  the  public  would  receive  my  translations 
from  Ab  Gwilym  with  quite  as  much  eagerness  as  my  verrion  of 
the  Danish  ballads.  But  I  found  the  publishers  as  un^actable 
as  ever,  and  to  this  day  the  public  has  never  had  an  opportunity 
of  doing  justice  to  the  glowing  fire  of  my  ballad  versification,  and 
the  alhterative  euphony  of  my  imitations  of  Ab  Gwilym. 

I  had  not  seen  Francis  Ardry  since  the  day  I  had  seen  him 
taking  lessons  in  elocution.  One  afternoon,  as  I  was  seated  at 
my  table,  my  head  resting  on  my  hands,  he  entered  my  apartment ; 
sitting  down,  he  inquired  of  me  why  I  had  not  been  to  see  him. 
**  I  might  ask  the  same  question  of  you,"  I  replied.  "  Where- 
fore have  you  not  been  to  see  me?"  Whereupon  Francis  Ardry 
told  me  that  he  had  been  much  engaged  in  his  oratorical  exercises, 
aJso  in  escorting  the  young  Frenchwoman  about  to  places  of 
public  amusement ;  he  then  again  questioned  me  as  to  the  reason 
of  my  not  having  been  to  see  him. 

I  returned  an  evasive  answer.  The  truth  was,  that  for  some 
time  past  my  appearance,  owing  to  the  state  of  my  finances,  had 
been  rather  shabby ;  and  I  did  not  wish  to  expose  a  &shionable 
voung  man  like  Francis  Ardry,  who  lived  in  a  fashionable  neigh- 
bourhoodf  to  Uie  imputation  of  having  a  shabby  acquaintance 
I  was  aware  that  Francis  Ardry  was  an  excellent  fellow ;  but,  on 


W!fi  LA  VSNGRO.  [1825. 


that  very  accounti  I  fdtp  under  existing  drcumstatices,  a 
in  risiting  him. 

It  ifl  very  possible  that  he  had  an  inkling  of  how  matters  stood, 
as  he  presently  b^an  to  talk  of  my  afiairs  and  prospects.  I  told 
him  of  my  late  ill  success  with  the  booksellers,  and  inveiglied 
against  their  blindness  to  \hdi  own  interest  in  refosing  to  publish 
my  translations.  "  The  last  that  I  addressed  myself  to,"  said  I, 
"  told  me  not  to  trouble  him  again,  unless  I  could  bring  him  a 
decent  novel  or  a  tale." 

'*  Well,"  said  Frank,  **  and  why  did  you  not  carry  him  a  decent 
novel  or  a  tale?" 

"  Because  I  have  neither,"  said  I ;  **  and  to  write  them  is,  I 
believe;  above  my  capacity.  At  present  I  feel  divested  of  all 
energy — ^heartless  and  almost  hopeless." 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  Fkancis  Ardry,  **  you  have  overworked 
yourself,  and,  worst  of  all,  to  no  purpose.  Take  my  advice ;  cast 
all  care  aside,  and  only  think  of  diverting  yourself  for  a  month  at 
least" 

"  Divert  myself,"  said  I ;  ''  and  where  am  I  to  find  the  means  ?  * 

"  Be  that  care  on  my  shoulders,"  said  Francis  Ardry.  "  Listen 
to  me — my  uncles  have  been  so  delighted  with  the  favourable 

accounts  which  they  have  lately  received  from  T of  my 

progress  in  oratory,  that,  in  the  warmth  of  their  hearts,  they 
made  me  a  present  yesterday  of  two  hundred  pounds.  This  is 
more  money  than  I  want,  at  least  for  the  present;  do  me  the 
favour  to  take  half  of  it  as  a  loan — ^hear  me,"  said  he,  observing 
that  I  was  about  to  interrupt  him,  "  I  have  a  plan  in  my  head — 
one  of  the  prettiest  in  the  world.  The  sister  of  my  charmer  is 
just  airived  from  France ;  she  cannot  speak  a  word  of  En^ish ; 
and,  as  Annette  and  myself  are  much  engaged  in  our  own  matters, 
we  cannot  pay  her  the  attention  which  we  should  wish,  and  which 
she  deserves,  for  she  is  a  truly  fascinating  creature,  although 
somewhat  differing  from  niy  charmer,  having  blue  eyes  and  flaxen 
hair ;  whilst  Annette,  on  the  contrary  — —  But  I  hope  you  wHl 
shortly  see  Annette.  Now  my  plan  is  this — ^Take  the  money, 
dress  yourself  fiuhionaUy,  and  conduct  Annette's  sister  to  Bag- 
nigge  Wells." 

**  And  what  should  we  do  at  Bagnigge  Wells  ?  " 

«  Do ! "  said  Francis  Ardry.    "  Dance ! " 

**  But,"  said  I,  *'  I  scarcely  know  anything  of  dancing." 

**  Then  here's  an  excellent  opportunity  of  improving  yourseU 
Like  most  Frenchwomeut  she  dances  divinely ;  however,  if  you 
object  to  Bagnigge  Wells  and  dancing,  go  to  Brighton,  and 


i8as]  FOOLISH  PLAN.  tjy 

remain  there  a  month  or  two,  at  the  end  of  which  time  you  can 
return  with  your  mind  refreshed  and  invigorated,  and  materials, 
perhaps,  for  a  tale  or  noveL" 

"  I  never  heard  a  more  foolish  plan,"  said  I,  "  or  one  less 
likely  to  terminate  profitably  or  satisfactorily.  I  thank  you, 
however,  far  your  offer,  which  is,  I  daresay,  well  meant.  If  I  am 
to  escape  from  my  cares  and  troubles,  and  find  my  mind  refreshed 
and  invigorated,  I  must  adopt  other  means  than  conducting  a 
French  demoiselle  to  Brighton  or  Bagnigge  Wells,  defraying  the 
eiqiense  by  bonowing  from  a  friend" 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 


Thb  Armenian  t  I  frequently  taw  this  individual,  availing  myielf 
of  the  permission  which  he  had  giyen  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  fiibles 
of  Z— —  in  the  hope  of  astonishing  the  stock-jobbos  of  the 
Exchange  with  the  wisdom  of  the  Haik  Bsop. 

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  he  possessed  of  two  hundred 
thousand  pounds. 

"  I  thmk  you  might  satisfy  yourself  with  the  half/'  said  I. 
''One  hundred  thousand  pounds  is  a  large  sum." 

''You  are  mistaken,"  said  the  Armenian,  "a  hundred  thousand 
pounds  is  nothing.  My  father  left  me  that  or  more  at  his  death. 
No ;  I  shall  never  be  satisfied  with  less  than  two." 

^' And  what  will  you  do  with  your  riches,"  said  I,  "  when  you 
have  obtained  them  ?  Will  you  sit  down  and  muse  upon  them, 
or  win  you  deposit  them  in  a  cellar,  and  go  down  once  a  day  to 
stare  at  them?  I  have  heard  say  that  the  fulfilment  of  one's 
wishes  is  invariably  the  precursor  of  extreme  misery,  and  forsooth 
I  can  scarcely  conceive  a  more  horrible  state  of  existence  than  to 
be  without  a  hope  or  wish." 

"It  is  bad  enough,  I  dare  say,"  said  the  Armenian ;  "it  will, 
however,  be  time  enough  to  think  of  disposing  of  the  money 
when  I  have  procured  it.  I  still  fall  short  by  a  vast  sum  of  the 
two  hundred  tiiousand  pounds." 

I  had  occasionally  much  conversation  with  him  on  the  state 
and  prospects  of  his  nation,  especially  of  that  part  of  it  which  still 
continued  in  the  original  country  of  the  Haiks — ^Ararat  and  its 

(a78) 


1895-]  ARARAT  AGAIN.  ^  ;i79 

% 
confines*  which,  it  appeared,  he  had  frequently  visited.  He 
infonned  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 ;  Uieir  temporal  authority,  however,  was  much 
circumscribed  by  the  Persian  and  Tuik,  especially  the  former,  of 
whom  the  Armenian  spoke  with  much  hatred,  whilst  their  spirit- 
ual authority  had  at  various  times  been  considerably  undermined 
by  the  emissaries  of  the  Papa  of  Rome,  as  the  Armenian  called 
him* 

''  The  Papa  of  Rome  sent  his  emissaries  at  an  early  period 
amongst  us,"  said  the  Armenian,  ''  seducing  the  minds  of  weak- 
head^  people,  persuading  them  that  the  hillocks  of  Rome  are 
higher  than  the  ridges  of  Ararat ;  that  the  Roman  Papa  has  more 
to  say  in  heaven  than  the  Armenian  patriarch,  and  that  puny 
Latin  is  a  better  language  than  nervous  and  sonorous  Haik." 

"They  are  both  dialects,"  said  I,  ''of  the  language  of  Mr. 
Petulengro,  one  of  whose  race  I  believe  to  have  been  the  original 
founder  of  Rome;  but,  with  respect  to  religion,  what  are  the 
chief  points  of  your  faith?  you  are  Christians,  I  believe." 

''Yes,"  said  the  Armenian,  "we  are  Christians  in  our  way; 
we  believe  in  God,  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  Saviour,  though  we  are 
not  pr^Mured  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  oi  disbelieved. 
"  But  what  we  find  most  hard  of  all  to  believe"  said  he,  "  is  that 
the  man  of  the  mole-hills  is  entitled  to  our  allegiance,  he  not 
being  a  Haik,  or  understanding  the  Haik  language." 

"  But,  by  your  own  confession,"  said  I,  "  he  has  introduced  a 
schism  in  your  nation,  and  has  amongst  you  many  that  believe 
in  him." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  the  Armenian,  "  that  even  on  the  confines 
of  Ararat  there  are  a  great  number  who  consider  that  mountain 
to  be  lower  thu  iht  Ullocks  of  Rome ;  but  the  greater  numba 
of  degenerate  Armenians  are  to  be  found  amongst  those  who 
have  wandered  to  the  west ;  most  of  the  Haik  churches  of  the 
west  consider  Rome  to  be  higher  than  Ararat — ^most  of  the 
Armenians  of  this  place  hold  that  dogma;  I,  however,  have 
sdways  stood  firm  in  the  contrary  opinion." 

"Hat  ha  I" — ^here  tiie  Armenian  laughed  in  his  peculiar 
manner — '*  talking  of  this  matter  puts  me  in  mind  of  an  adventure 
which  lately  befel  me,  with  one  of  the  emissaries  of  the  Papa  of 
Rome,  for  the  Papa  of  Rome  has  at  present  many  emissaries  in 


aSo  LA  VBNQRO.  [x8as. 

this  couQtryi  in  order  to  seduce  the  people  bom  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  extoit 
money  f(^  the  purpose  of  farthering  the  dedgns  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  Caii^has,  whilst  I  cried  after  him :  *  The  roots  of 
Ararat  are  du^  than  those  of  Rome '." 

The  Armenian  had  occasionally  reverted  to  the  subject  of  the 
translation  of  the  Haik  Esop,  which  he  had  still  a  luiking  desire 
that  I  should  execute ;  but  I  had  invariably  declined  the  under- 
taking, without,  however,  stating  my  reasons.  On  one  occasion, 
when  we  had  been  conversing  on  the  subject,  the  Armenian,  who 
had  been  observing  my  countenance  for  some  time  with  much 
attention,  remarked,  "  Perhaps,  after  all,  you  are  right,  and  you 
might  employ  your  time  to  better  advantage.  Literature  is  a  fine 
thing,  especially  Haik  literature,  but  neither  that  nor  any  other 
would  be  likely  to  serve  as  a  foundation  to  a  man's  fortune :  and 
to  make  a  fortune  should  be  the  principal  aim  of  every  one's 
life ;  therefore  listen  to  me.  Accept  a  seat  at  the  desk  opposite 
to  my  Moldavian  clerk,  and  receive  the  rudiments  of  a  merchant's 
education.  You  shall  be  instructed  in  the  Armenian  way  of  doing 
business — I  think  you  would  make  an  excellent  merchant.'* 
"Why  do  you  think  so?" 

*'  Because  you  have  something  of  the  Armenian  look." 
*<  I  understand  you,"  said  I ;  '*  you  mean  to  say  that  I  squint?" 
''  Not  exactly/'  said  the  Armenian,  **  but  thoe  is  certainly  a 
kind  of  irregulu'ity  in  your  features:  One  eye  appears  to  me 
laiger  than  the  other — ^never  mind,  but  rather  rejoice;  in  that 
irregularity  consists  your  strength.  All  people  with  regular  features 
are  fools;  it  is  veiy  hard  for  them,  youll  say,  but  there  is  no 
help :  all  we  can  do,  who  are  not  in  such  a  predicament,  is  to 
pity  those  who  are.  Well  1  will  you  accept  my  offer?  No  t  you 
are  a  singular  individual ;  but  I  must  not  forget  my  own  concerns. 
I  must  now  go  forth,  having  an  appointment  by  which  I  hope  to 
make  money." 


CHAPTER  L. 

Ths  fulfilment  of  the  Armenian's  grand  wish  was  nearer  at  hand 
than  either  he  or  I  had  anticipated.  Partly  owing  to  the  success 
of  a  bold  speculation,  in  which  he  had  some  time  previously 
engaged,  and  partly  owing  to  the  bequest  of  a  large  sum  of 
money  by  one  of  his  nation  who  died  at  this  period  in  Paris,  he 
found  himself  in  the  possession  of  a  fortune  somewhat  exceeding 
two  hundred  thousand  pounds ;  this  fact  he  communicated  to  me 
one  evening  about  an  hour  after  the  close  of  'Change,  the  hour 
at  which  I  generally  called,  and  at  which  I  mostly  found  him  at 
home. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  **  and  what  do  you  intend  to  do  next  ?  ** 

*'  I  scarcely  know/'  said  the  Armenian.  "  I  was  thinking  of 
that  when  you  came  in.  I  don't  see  anything  that  I  can  do,  save 
going  on  in  my  former  course.  After  all,  I  was  perhaps  too 
moderate  in  making  the  possession  of  two  hundred  thousand 
pounds  the  summit  of  my  ambition ;  there  are  many  individuals 
m  this  town  who  possess  three  times  that  sum,  and  are  not  yet 
satisfied.  No,  I  think  I  can  do  no  better  than  pursue  the  old 
career;  who  knows  but. I  may  make  the  two  hundred  thousand 
three  or  four  7 — there  is  already  a  surplus,  which  is  an  encourage- 
ment; however,  we  will  consider  the  matter  over  a  goblet  of 
wine;  I  have  observed  of  late  that  you  have  become  partial  to 
my  Cyprus." 

And  it  came  to  pass  that,  as  we  were  seated  over  the  Cyprus 
wine,  we  heard  a  knock  at  the  door.  *'  Adelante  I "  cried  the 
Armenian ;  whereui)on  the  door  opened,  and  in  walked  a  some- 
what extraordinary  figure — a  nutn  in  a  long  loose  tunic  of  a  stuff 
striped  with  black  and  yellow;  breeches  of  plush  velvet,  silk 
stockings,  and  shoes  with  silver  buckles.  On  his  head  he  wore 
a  high-peaked  hat ;  he  was  tall,  had  a  hooked  nose,  and  in  age 
was  about  fifty. 

"Welcome,  Rabbi  Manasseh,"  said  the  Armenian.  *'  I  know 
your  knock — ^you  are  welcome ;  sit  down." 

"  I  am  welcome,"  said  Manasseh,  sitting  down ;  "  he — he — 
he  I  you  know  my  knock — I  bring  you  money— Am^/i^  /  " 

There  was  something  very  peculiar  in  the  sound  of  that  Imeno 
— ^I  never  forgot  it 

(a8i) 


289  LA  VBNGRO.  [1835. 

Thereupon  a  conyemtion  ensued  between  Rabbi  Manaweh 
and  the  Armenian,  in  a  language  which  I  knew  to  be  Spanish, 
though  a  peculiar  dialect  It  rdated  to  a  mercantile  transaction. 
The  Rabbi  sighed  heavily  as  he  delivered  to  the  other  a  consider- 
able sum  of  money. 

"  It  is  right/'  said  the  Armeniani  handing  a  receipt.  "  It  is 
right ;  and  I  am  ^uite  satisfied." 

**  You  are  satisfied — ^you  have  taken  money.  Bumo^  I  have 
nothing  to  say  against  your  being  satisfied.'* 

''Come,  Rabbi,"  said  the  Armenian,  ''do  not  despond;  it 
may  be  your  turn  next  to  take  money ;  in  the  meantime,  can't 
you  be  persuaded  to  taste  my  Cyprus?" 

"  He — ^he — ^he  I  sefior,  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,  hteno  ;  you  have  a  right  to  be  so.'* 

**  Excuse  me,"  said  I,  ''but  does  Noah  ever  appear  as  Janus?" 

"  He — ^he — he  I "  said  the  Rabbi,  "  he  only  appeared  as  Janus 
once — una  vn  quando  estuvo  borracho  ;  which  means " 

"  I  understand,"  said  I ;  "  when  he  was "  and  I  drew 

the  side  of  my  right  hand  sharply  across  my  left  wrist. 

"  Are  vou  one  of  our  people  ?  "  said  the  Rabbi. 

"  No,'  said  I,  "  I  am  one  of  the  Goyim ;  but  I  am  only  half 
enlightened.  Why  should  Noah  be  Janus,  when  he  was  in  that 
sUte?" 

"  He — ^he — he  I  you  must  know  that  in  Lasan  akhades  wine 
is  janin." 

"In  Armenian,  kini,"  said  I;  "in  Welsh,  gwin;  Latin, 
vinum;  but  do  you  think  that  Janus  and  janin  are  one?" 

"  Do  I  think  ?  Don't  the  commentators  say  so  ?  Does  not 
Master  Leo  Abarbenel  say  so  in  his  Dialogues  of  Dhim  Lovef*' 

"  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  laces,  which 
—which *' 

"  He — ^he — he  I  ^  said  the  Rabbi,  rising  from  his  seat ;  ''be 
had  two  fiices,  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  thtjaninoso  had  two  &ces,  but  they  knew  not 
that  one  was  for  the  world  which  was  gone,  and  the  other  for  the 
world  before  him — for  the  drowned  worid,  and  for  the  present,  as 


i8f5-]  JANUS  VINOSUS.  983 

Master  Leo  Abarbend  says  in  his  Diahguis  of  Divine  Love, 
He — ^he — he  I''  continued  the  Rabbi,  who  had  by  this  time 
advanced  to  the  door,  and»  turning  round,  waved  the  two  fore- 
fingers of  his  right  hand  in  our  ^ces;  ''the  Goyim  and  Epi- 
couraiyim  are  clever  men,  they  know  how  to  make  money  better 
than  we  of  Israel.  My  good  friend  there  is  a  clever  man,  I  Imng 
him  money,  he  never  brought  me  any,  bueno;  I  do  not  blame 
him,  he  knows  much,  very  much;  but  one  thing  there  is  my 
friend  does  not  know,  nor  any  of  the  Epicureans,  he  does  not 
know  the  sacred  thing — ^he  has  never  received  the  gift  of  inter- 
pretation which  God  alone  gives  to  the  seed — ^he  has  his  gift,  I 
have  mine — he  is  satisfied,  I  don't  blame  him,  bueno.** 

And  with  this  last  word  in  his  mouth,  he  departed. 

*'  Is  that  man  a  native  of  Spain?''  I  demanded. 

''Not  a  native  of  Spain,"  said  the  Armenian,  "though  he  is 
one  of  those  who  call  themselves  Spanish  Jews,  and  who  are 
to  be  found  scattered  throughout  Europe,  speaking  the  Spanish 
language  transmitted  to  them  by  their  ancestors,  who  were 
expelled  from  Spain  in  the  time  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.'' 

"  The  Jews  are  a  singular  people,"  said  I. 

"  A  race  of  cowards  and  dastards,"  said  the  Armenian,  "  with- 
out a  home  or  country;  servants  to  servants;  persecuted  and 
despised  by  all." 

"And  what  are  the  Haiks?"  I  demanded. 

"Very  different  from  the  Jews,"  replied  the  Armenian ;  "the 
Haiks  have  a  home — a  country,  and  can  occasionaUy  use  a  good 
sword ;  though  it  is  true  they  are  not  what  they  might  be." 

"Then  it  is  a  shame  that  they  do  not  become  so,"  said  I ; 
^  but  they  are  too  fond  of  money.  There  is  yourself,  with  two 
hundred  thousand  pounds  in  your  pocket,  craving  for  more,  whilst 
you  might  be  turning  your  wealth  to  the  service  of  your  country." 

"In  what  manner?"  said  the  Armenian. 

"I  have  heard  you  say  that  the  grand  oppressor  of  your 
country^  is  the  Persian;  why  not  attempt  to  free  your  country 
from  his  oppression — ^you  have  two  hundred  thousand  pounds, 
and  money  is  the  sinew  of  war?" 

"  Would  you,  then,  have  me  attack  the  Persian  ?  " 

"  I  scarcely  know  what  to  say ;  fighting  is  a  rough  trade,  and 
I  am  by  no  means  certain  that  you  are  calculated  for  the  scratch. 
It  is  not  every  one  who  has  been  brought  up  in  the  school  of  Mr. 
Petulengro  and  Tawno  Chikno.  All  I  can  say  is,  that  if  I  were 
an  Armenian,  and  had  two  hundred  thousand  pounds  to  back  me. 
I  would  attack  the  Persian." 

"  Hem  I "  said  the  Armenian. 


CHAPTER  LL 


Okb  morning  on  getting  up  I  discovered  that  my  whole  worldly 
wealth  W18  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  pro- 
posal of  the  Armenian,  and  translate,  under  his  superintendence, 
the  Haik  Esop  into  English. 

I  reflected,  for  I  made  a  virtue  of  necessity,  that,  after  aD, 
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. 

Once  or  twice  the  thought  of  what  I  might  have  to  undergo 
in  the  translation  from  certain  peculiarities  of  the  Armenian's 
temper  almost  unsettled  me;  but  a  mechanical  diving  of  my 
hand  into  my  pocket,  and  the  feeling  of  the  solitary  half-crown, 
confirmed  me ;  after  all  this  was  a  life  of  trial  and  tribulation, 
and  I  had  read  somewhere  or  other  that  there  was  much  merit 
in  patience,  so  I  determined  to  hold  fisist  in  my  resolution  of 
accepting  the  offer  of  the  Armenian. 

But  all  of  a  sudden  I  remembered  that  the  Armenian  appeared 
to  have  altered  his  intentions  towards  me :  he  appeared  no  longer 
desirous  that  I  should  render  the  Haik  Esop  into  English  for  the 
benefit  of  the  stock-jobbers  on  Exchange,  but  rather  that  I  should 
acquire  the  rudiments  of  doing  business  in  the  Armenian  fashion, 
and  accumulate  a  fortune,  which  would  enable  me  to  make  a  figure 
upon  'Change  with  the  best  of  the  stock-jobbers.  "Well,"  thought 
I,  withdrawing  my  hand  from  my  pocket,  whither  it  had  i^in 
mechanically  dived,  "  after  all,  what  would  the  world,  what  would 

(284) 


1895-1  ONE  HALF-CROWN.  «8s 

tfiis city  be,  without  commerce?  I  bdieve  the  world,  and  paitica- 
larly  this  dty,  would  cut  a  very  poor  figure  without  commerce; 
and  then  there  is  something  poetical  in  the  idea  of  doing  business 
after  the  Armenian  tBobion,  dealing  with  dark-bced  Lascars  and 
Rabbins  of  the  Sephardim.  Yes,  should  the  Armenian  insist 
upon  it,  I  win  accept  a  seat  at  the  desk,  opposite  the  Mol- 
davian derk.  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  cuffii  similar  to  those  the 
Armenian  bestowed  upon  the  Moldavian  derk ;  whatever  merit 
there  may  be  in  patience,  I  do  not  think  that  my  estimation  of 
the  merit  of  patience  would  be  suffident  to  induce  me  to  remain 
quietly  sitting  under  the  infliction  of  cuffii.  I  think  I  should,  in 
the  event  of  his  cuffing  me,  knock  the  Armenian  down.  Well, 
I  think  I  have  heard  it  said  somewhere,  that  a  knock-down  blow 
is  a  great  cementer  of  friendship ;  I  think  I  have  heard  of  two 
people  being  better  friends  than  ever  after  the  one  had  recdved 
firom  the  other  a  knock-down  blow/* 

That  night  I  dreamed  I  had  acquired  a  colossal  fortune,  some 
four  hundred  thousand  pounds,  by  the  Armenian  way  of  doing 
business,  but  suddenly  awoke  in  dreadful  perplexity  as  to  how  I 
should  dispose  of  it. 

About  nine  o'clock  next  morning  I  set  off  to  the  house  of  the 
Armenian ;  I  had  never  called  upon  him  so  early  before,  and 
certainly  never  with  a  heart  beating  with  so  much  eageniess; 
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 
Bsop  under  his  superintendence,  or  to  accept  a  seat  at  the  desk 
opposite  to  the  Moldavian  derk,  and  acquire  the  secrets  of  Ar- 
menian commerce.  With  a  quick  step  I  (mtered  the  counting- 
room,  #here,  notwithstanding  the  earliness  of  the  hour,  I  fooml 
the  clerk  busied  as  usual  at  his  desk. 

He  had  always  appeared  to  me  a  singular  being,  this  same 
Moldavian  derk.  A  person  of  fewer  words  cotild  scarcely  be 
concdved.  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  monosylkble  ''no,"  ddivered  in  a 
strange  guttural  tone.  On  the  present  occasion,  bdng  full  of 
eagerness  and  impatience,  I  was  about  to  pass  by  him  to  the 
apartment  above,  without  my  usual  inquiry,  when  he  lifted  his 
head  bom  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,  wiUi  a  palpitating  heart, 
deimuided  whether  the  mailer  of  the  house  was  at  home?    The 


986  LA  VBNGRO.  [1895. 

Moldavian  derk  replied  with  his  usual  guttonl,  and,  opening  hia 
desk  ensconced  his  head  therein. 

**  It  does  not  much  matter,'*  said  It  *'  I  suppose  I  shall  find 
him  at  home  after  'Change ;  it  does  not  much  nuuter»  I  can 
return." 

I  was  turning  away  with  the  intention  of  leaving  the  room ; 
at  this  moment,  howevert  the  head  of  the  Moldavian  derk 
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  some- 
thing which  interested  me. 

I  took  the  letter,  and  the  Moldavian  clerk  forthwith  resumed 
his  occupation.  The  back  of  the  letter  bore  my  name,  written 
in  Armenian  characters.  With  a  trembling  hand  I  broke  the  seal, 
and,  unfolding  the  letter,  I  behdd  several  lines  also  written  in  the 
letters  of  Mesroub,  the  Cadmus  of  the  Armenians. 

I  stared  at  the  UneSy  and  at  first  could  not  make  out  a  syllable 
of  their  meaning ;  at  last,  however,  by  continued  staring,  I  dis- 
covered that,  though  the  letters  were  Armenian,  the  words  were 
English ;  in  about  ten  minutes  I  had  contrived  to  dedpher  the 
sense  of  the  letter ;  it  ran  somewhat  in  this  style : — 

'*  MY  DEAR  FRIKND, — 

"  The  words  which  you  uttered  in  qur  last  conversation 
have  made  a  profound  impression  upon  me;  I  have  thou^^t 
them  over  day  and  nigh^  and  have  come  to  the  condusion  that 
it  is  my  bounden  duty  to  attack  the  Persians.  When  diese  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  Penda.  Think  not,  however,  that  motives  of 
lucre  would  have  bem  suffidently  powerfiil  to  tempt  me  to  the 
East  at  Uie  present  moment.  I  may  speculate  it  is  true ;  but 
I  should  sou^cdy  have  undertaken  the  journey  but  for  your 
pungent  words  indting  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;  farewdll  and 
may  every  prosperity  await  you." 

For  some  time  after  I  had  dedphered  the  epistle^  I  stood  as 
if  rooted  to  the  floor.    I  felt  stunned— my  last  hope  was  gone 


ifos-l  THE  MOLDA  VIAN  CLERK.  387 

presently  a  feeling  arose  in.  my  mind — a  feeling  of  self-reproach. 
Whom  had  I  to  blame  but  myself  for  the  departure  of  the  Arme- 
nian? Would  he  have  ever  thought  of  attacking  the  Persians 
had  I  not  put  the  idea  into  his  head?  he  had  told  me  in  his 
epistle  that  he  was  indebted  to  me  for  the  idea.  But  for  that, 
he  might  at  the  present  moment  have  been  in  London,  increasing 
his  fortune  by  his  usual  methods,  and  I  might  be  commencing 
under  his  auspices  the  translation  of  the  Haik  Esop,  wiUi  the 
promise,  no  doubt,  of  a  considerable  remuneration  for  my  trouble ; 
ot  I  might  be  taking  a  seat  opposite  the  Moldamn  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 
Armeqian  was  now  gone,  and  fiuewell  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  derk  when  the  Annenian  had  departed,  and  when 
be  thot^t  he  would  return.  It  is  true  it  ma^ered  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 
filtered— 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 
bis  mouth  moved  it  rapidly,  causing  the  nail  to  sound  against 
the  lower  jaw ;  whereupon  I  saw  that  he  was  dumb,  and  harried 
away,  for  I  had  always  entertained  a  horror  of  dumb  people, 
having  once  heard  my  mother  sayf  when  I  was  a  childi  diat 
dumb  people  were  half  demoniacs,  or  little  better. 


CHAPTER  UI 


Leaviho  the  house  of  the  Anneniaii,  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  (M  apple- 
woman  ;  the  sound  of  her  voice  aroused  me,  as  I  sat  in  a  kind  of 
stupor  on  the  stone  bench  beside  her;  she  was  inquiring  what 
was  the  matter  with  me. 

At  first,  I  believe,  I  answered  her  very  incoherently,  (or  I 
observed  alarm  beginning  to  depict  itself  upon  her  countenance. 
Rousing  myself  however,  I  in  my  turn  put  a  few  questions  to  hcf 
upon  her  present  condition  and  prospects.  The  old  woman's 
countenance  cleared  up  instantly ;  she  informed  me  diat  she  had 
never  been  more  comfortable  in  her  life;  that  her  trade,  her 
Aomsi  tradc-^laying  an  emphasis  on  the  word  honest — ^had 
increased  of  late  wonderfully ;  that  her  health  was  better,  and, 
above  all,  that  she  felt  no  fear  and  horror  ^'here,"  laying  her  hand 
on  her  breast 

On  my  asking  her  whether  she  still  heard  voices  in  the  night, 
she  told  me  that  dae  frequently  did ;  but  that  the  present  were 
mild  voices,  sweet  voices,  encouraging  voices,  very  different  from 
the  former  ones ;  that  a  voice  only  the  night  previous,  had  cried 
out  about  **  the  peace  of  God/'  in  particularly  sweet  accents ;  a 
sentence  which  At  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. 

Aiker  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  brou^t  is  written 
by  the  finger  of  God,  and  the  other  by " 

**  Don  t  abuse  the  book,"  said  I,  *'  it  is  an  excellent  book  for 
those  who  can  understand  it ;  it  was  not  exactly  suited  to  you, 
and  perhaps  it  had  been  better  that  you  had  never  read  it — and  yet, 
who  knows?    Peradventurc,  if  you  had  not  read  that  book,  you 

(a88) 


iTtH  Mat,  1835.1        ^PARBWBLL,  CHILD."  a«9 

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 
ny  head,  I  fell  into  a  deep  fit  of  musing.  "What,  after  all/' 
thought  I,  **  if  there  should  be  more  order  and  system  in  the 
working  of  the  moral  world  than  I  have  thought  ?  Does  there 
not  seem  in  the  present  instance  to  be  something  like  the  working 
of  a  Divine  hand  ?  I  could  not  conceive  why  this  woman,  better 
educated  than  her  mother,  should  have  been,  as  she  certainly  was, 
a  worse  character  than  her  mother.  Yet  perhaps  this  woman 
may  be  better  and  happier  than  her  mother  ever  was ;  perhaps 
she  is  so  already — ^perhaps  this  world  is  not  a  wild,  lying  dream, 
as  I  have  occasionally  supposed  it  to  be." 

But  the  thought  of  my  own  situation  did  not  permit  me  to 
abandon  myself  much  longer  to  these  musings*  I  started  up. 
"  Where  are  you  going,  chUd  ?  "  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  oflfered  her  my  hand,  and  bade  her 
good-bye.  ''Farewell,  child,"  said  the  old  woman,  ''and  God 
Uess  you  1 "  I  then  moved  along  the  bridge  until  I  reached  the 
Southwark  side,  and,  still  holding  on  my  course,  my  mind  again 
became  quickly  abstracted  from  all  surrounding  objects. 

At  length  1  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  deliber- 
ated 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-kno?m  streets ;  and,  if  I  must  walk, 
why  not  continue  in  the  direction  in  which  I  was  to  see  whither 
the  road  and  its  terraces  led  ?  I  was  here  in  a  terra  incognita, 
and  an  unknown  place  had  always  some  interest  for  me ;  more- 
over^  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  Oeut,  especially  at  such  a  rate;  so  I 
walked  on  more  lustily  than  before,  passing  group  after  group 
of  the  crowd,  and  almost  vieing  in  speed  with  some  of  tha 


tgo  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

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  £ur  was  being  hdd.  Now,  as  I  had  always 
been  partial  to  fairs,  I  felt  glad  that  I  had  fallen  in  with  the 
crowd  which  had  conducted  me  to  the  present  one,  and,  casting 
away  as  much  as  I  was  able  all  gloomy  thoughts,  I  did  my  best 
to  enter  into  the  diversions  of  the  fair ;  staring  at  the  wonderful 
representations  of  animals  on  canvas  hung  up  before  the  shows 
of  wild  beasts,  which,  by-the-bye,  are  frequently  found  much 
more  worthy  of  admiration  than  the  real  beasts  themselves; 
listening  to  the  jokes  of  the  merry-andrews  from  the  platforms  in 
front  of  the  temporary  theatres,  or  admiring  the  splendid  tinsel 
dresses  of  the  performers  who  thronged  the  stages  in  the  intervals 
of  the  entertainments ;  and  in  this  manner,  occasionally  gazing 
and  occasionally  listening,  I  passed  through  the  town  till  I  came 
in  front  of  a  large  edifice  looking  full  upon  the  majestic  bosom  of 
the  Thames. 

It  was  a  massive  stone  edifice,  built  in  an  antique  style,  and 
black  with  age,  with  a  broad  esplanade  between  it  and  the  river, 
on  which,  mixed  with  a  few  people  from  the  fair,  I  observed 
moving  about  a  great  many  individuals  in  quaint  dresses  of  blue, 
with  strange  three-cornered  hats  on  their  heads ;  most  of  them 
were  mutilated;  this  had  a  wooden  leg — this  wanted  an  arm; 
some  had  but  one  eye ;  and  as  I  gazed  upon  the  edifice,  and  the 
singular-looking  individuals  who  moved  before  it,  I  guessed  where 

I  was.    *'  I  am  at "  said  I ;  ''  these  individuals  are  battered 

tars  of  Old  England,  and  this  edifice,  once  the  favourite  abode  of 
Glorious  Elizabeth,  is  the  refuge  which  a  grateful  country  has 
allotted  to  them.  Here  they  can  rest  their  weary  bodies ;  at  their 
ease  talk  over  the  actions  in  which  they  have  been  injured ;  and, 
with  the  tear  of  enthusiasm  flowing  from  their  eyes,  boast  how 
they  have  trod  the  deck  of  fame  with  Rodney,  or  Nelson,  or  others 
whose  names  stand  emblazoned  in  the  naval  annals  of  their 
country." 

Turning  to  the  right,  I  entered  a  park  or  wood  consisting  of 
enormous  trees,  occupying  the  foot,  sides,  and  top  of  a  hill,  which 
rose  behind  the  town ;  there  were  multitudes  of  people  among 
the  trees,  diverting  themselves  in  various  ways.  Coming  to  the 
top  of  the  hill,  I  was  presently  stopped  by  a  lofty  wall,  along 


1835.]  ORBBNWICH  PAIR.  sgi 

which  I  walked,  till,  coming  to  a  small  gate,  I  passed  through 
and  found  myself  on  an  extensive  green  plain,  on  one  side 
oounded  in  part  by  the  wall  of  the  park,  and  on  the  others,  in  the 
distance,  by  extensive  ranges  of  houses ;  to  the  south-east  was  a 
lofty  eminence,  partially  clothed  with  wood.  The  plain  exhibited 
an  animated  scene,  a  kind  of  continuation  of  the  fair  below;  there 
were  multitudes  of  people  upon  it,  many  tents,  and  shows ;  there 
was  also  horse-racing,  and  much  noise  and  shouting,  the  sun 
shining  brightly  overhead  After  gazing  at  the  horse-racing  for  a 
little  time,  feeling  myself  somewhat  tired,  I  went  up  to  one  of  the 
tents,  and  laid  myself  down  on  the  grass.  There  was  much  noise 
in  the  tent.  **  Who  will  stand  me  ?  "  said  a  voice  with  a  slight 
tendency  to  lisp.  "Will  you,  my  lord?"  "Yes,"  said  another 
voice.  Then  there  was  a  sound  as  of  a  piece  of  money  banging 
on  a  table.  "  Lost  1  lost  1  lost ! "  cried  several  voices ;  and  then 
the  banging  down  of  the  money,  and  the  "  lost  I  lost  I  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  find,  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  1 "  but  the 
predominant  cry  was  "Lostl  lost!"  At  last  there  was  a  con- 
siderable 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 ; 
soy  good-day,  gentlemen." 


CHAPTER  UII. 


Presently  a  man  emerged  from  the  tent,  bearing  before  him  a 
rather  singular  table ;  it  appeared  to  be  of  white  deal,  was  ex- 
ceedingly small  at  the  top»  and  with  very  long  legs.  At  a  few 
yards  from  the  entrance  he  paused,  and  looked  round,  as  if  to 
decide  on  the  direction  which  he  should  take ;  presently,  his  eye 
glancing  on  me  as  I  lay  upon  the  ground,  he  started,  and  appeared 
for  a  moment  inclined  to  make  off  as  quick  as  possible,  table  and 
all.  In  a  moment,  however,  he  seemed  to  recover  assurance, 
and,  coming  up  to  the  place  where  I  was,  the  long  legs  of  the 
table  projecting  before  him,  he  cried :  "  Glad  to  see  you  here»  my 
lord  ". 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I,  "  it's  a  fine  day-" 

"Very  fine,  my  lord;  will  your  lordship  play?  Them  that 
finds,  wins — them  that  don't  find,  loses." 

"  Play  at  what  ?  "  said  L 

'*  Only  at  the  thimble  and  pea,  my  lord." 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  game." 

"  Didn't  you  ?  Well,  I'll  soon  teach  you,"  said  he,  placing 
the  table  down.  '*  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  put  a  sovereign  down 
on  my  table,  and  to  find  the  pea,  which  I  put  under  one  of  my 
thimbles.  If  you  find  it — ^and  it  is  easy  enough  to  find  it — I 
give  you  a  sovereign  besides  your  own :  for  them  that  finds,  wins.^' 

**  And  them  that  don't  find,  loses,"  said  I ;  *'  no,  I  don't  wish 
to  play." 

"  Why  not,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  Why,  in  the  first  place,  I  have  no  money." 

'*Oh,  you  have  no  money;  that  of  course  alters  the  case.  If 
you  have  no  money,  you  can't  play.  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  be 
seeing  after  my  customers,^  said  he,  glancing  over  the  plain. 

"  Good-day,"  said  I. 

**  Good-day,"  said  the  man  slowly,  but  without  moving,  and 
as  if  in  reflection.  After  a  moment  or  two,  looking  at  me  inquir- 
ingly, he  added :  "  Out  of  employ  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "out  of  employ." 

(292) 


1835-]  PEA  AND  THIMBLS.  393 

The  man  measured  me  with  his  eye  as  I  lay  on  the  ground. 

At  length  he  said :  **  May  I  speak  a  word  or  two  to  you,  my 
lord?" 

"  As  many  as  you  please,"  said  I. 

*'  Then  just  come  a  little  out  of  hearing,  a  little  farther  on  the 
grass,  if  you  please,  my  lord.^ 

"Why  do  you  cdl  me  my  lord?"  said  I,  as  I  arose  and 
followed  him. 

"  We  of  the  thimble  always  calls  our  customers  lords,"  said 
the  man ;  ''  but  I  won't  call  you  such  a  foolish  name  any  more ; 
come  along." 

The  man  walked  along  the  plain  till  he  came  to  the  side  of  a 
dry  pit,  when  looking  round  to  see  that  no  one  was  nigh,  he  laid 
his  table  on  the  grass,  and,  sitting  down  with  his  legs  over  the 
side  of  the  pit,  he  motioned  me  to  do  the  same.  **  So  you  are  in 
want  of  employ,"  said  he,  after  I  had  sat  down  beside  him. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  am  very  much  in  want  of  employ." 

'*  I  think  I  can  find  you  some.'' 

"What  kind?"  said  I. 

"Why,"  said  the  man,  "I  think  you  would  do  to  be  my 
bonnet." 

"  Bonnet  I "  said  I,  "  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  However,  no  wonder,  as  you  had  never 
heard  of  the  thimble-and-pea  game,  but  I  will  tell  you.  We  of 
the  game  are  very  much  exposed;  folks  when  they  have  lost  their 
money,  as  those  who  play  with  us  mostly  do,  sometimes  uses 
rough  language,  calls  us  cheats,  and  sometimes  knocks  our  hats 
over  our  eyes;  and  what's  more,  with  a  kick  under  our  table, 
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,  mid  encourage  us,  though  pretending  to  know 
nothing  about  us ;  for  example,  when  the  customer  says,  '  I'm 
cheated,'  the  bonnet  must  say,  'No,  you  a'n't,  it  is  all  right';  or, 
when  my  hat  is  knocked  over  my  eyes,  the  bonnet  must  square, 
and  say,  *  I  never  saw  the  man  before  in  all  my  life,  but  I  won't 
see  him  ill-used';  and  so,  when  they  kicks  at  the  table,  the 
bonnet  must  say, '  I  won't  see  the  table  ill-used,  such  a  nice  table, 
too;  besides,  I  want  to  play  myself;'  and  then  I  would  say  to 
the  bonnet,  'Thank  you,  my  lord,  them  that  finds,  wins';  and 
then  the  bonnet  plays,  and  I  lets  the  bonnet  win." 

"  In  a  word,"  said  I,  "the  bonnet  means  the  man  who  covers 
yoUf  even  as  the  real  bonnel  covers  the  head." 


•94  ^^  VBNORO.  [1835. 

*'  Just  80,"  said  the  loan,  ''  I  see  yoa  ate  awake,  and  would 
soon  make  a  first-rate  bonnet" 

"Bonnet,"  said  I,  musingly;  ''bonnet;  it  is  metaphoricaL" 

*'l8it?"  said  the  man. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  like  the  cant  words " 

"  Bonnet  is  cant,"  said  the  man ;  "  we  of  the  thimble,  as  well 
as  all  clyfjaikers  and  the  like,  understand  cant,  as,  of  course,  must 
every  bonnet ;  so,  if  you  are  employed  by  me,  you  had  better 
learn  it  as  soon  as  you  can,  that  we  may  discourse  together 
without  being  understood  by  every  one.  Besides  covering  his 
principal,  a  bonnet  must  have  his  eyes  about  him,  for  the  trade 
of  the  pea,  though  a  strictly  honest  one,  is  not  altogether  lawful ; 
so  it  is  the  duty  of  the  bonnet,  if  he  sees  the  constable  coming, 
to  say,  the  gorgio's  welling." 

''That  is  not  cant,"  said  I,  "that  is  the  language  of  the 
Rommany  Chals." 

"  Do  you  know  those  people? "  said  the  man. 

"  Perfectly,"  said  I,  "  and  their  language  too." 

"  I  wish  I  did,"  said  the  man,  "  I  would  give  ten  pounds  and 
more  to  know  the  language  of  the  Rommany  Chals.  There's 
some  of  it  in  the  language  of  the  pea  and  thimble ;  how  it  came 
there  I  don't  know,  but  so  it  is.  I  wish  I  knew  it,  but  it  is 
difficult    You'll  make  a  capital  bonnet;  shall  we  close?" 

"What  would  the  wages  be?"  I  demanded. 

"  Why,  to  a  first-rate  bonnet,  as  I  think  you  would  prove,  I 
could  afibrd  to  give  from  forty  to  fifty  shillings  a  week." 

"Is  it  possible?"  said  I. 

"  Good  wages,  a'n't  they  ?  "  said  the  man. 

"First  rat^"  said  I;  "bonneting  is  more  profitable  than 
reviewing." 

"  Anan  ?  "  said  the  num. 

"  Or  transUting ;  I  don't  think  the  Armenian  would  have 
paid  me  at  that  rate  for  translating  his  Bsop." 

"Who  is  he?"  said  the  man. 

"Esop?" 

"No,  I  know  what  that  is,  Esop's  cant  for  a  hunchback; 
bat  t'other  ?  " 

*'  Yon  should  know,"  said  I. 

"  Never  saw  the  man  in  all  my  life." 

"Yes,  you  have,"  said  I,  "and  felt  him  too;  don't  you 
remember  the  individual  from  whom  you  took  the  pocket-book?" 

"Oh,  that  was  he ;  well,  the  less  said  about  that  matter  the 
better ;  I  have  left  off  that  trade,  and  taken  to  this,  which  is  a 


i8»5.1  HISTORY.  «95 

much  better.  Between  ourselves,  I  am  not  sorry  that  I  did  not 
carry  off  that  pocket-book ;  if  I  had,  it  might  have  encouraged 
me  in  the  trade,  in  which,  had  I  remained,  I  might  have  been 
lagged,  sent  abroad,  as  I  had  been  already  imprisoned;  so  I 
determined  to  leave  it  off  at  all  hazards,  though  I  was  hard  up, 
not  having  a  penny  in  the  world." 

"  And  wisely  resolved,"  said  I,  "  it  was  a  bad  and  dangerous 
trade ;  I  wonder  you  should  ever  have  embraced  it." 

"  It  is  all  very  well  talking/'  said  the  man,  "  but  there  is  a 
reason  for  ever>'thing ;  I  am  the  son  of  a  Jewess,  by  a  military 
officer," — and  then  the  man  told  me  his  story.  I  shall  not  repeat 
the  man's  story,  it  was  a  poor  one,  a  vile  one ;  at  last  he  observed : 
"  So  that  affair  which  you  know  of  determined  me  to  leave  the 
filching  trade,  and  take  up  with  a  more  honest  and  safe  one ;  so 
at  last  I  thought  of  the  pea  and  thimble,  but  I  wanted  funds, 
especially  to  pay  for  lessons  at  the  hands  of  a  master,  for  I  knew 
little  about  it." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  how  did  you  get  over  that  difficulty  ?  " 

**  Why,"  said  the  man,  "  I  thought  I  should  never  have  got 
over  it.  What  funds  could  I  raise  ?  I  had  nothing  to  sell ;  the 
few  clothes  I  had  I  wanted,  for  we  of  the  thimble  must  always 
appear  decent,  or  nobody  would  come  near  us.  I  was  at  my 
wits'  end ;  at  last  I  got  over  my  difficulty  in  the  strangest  way  in 
the  world." 

"What  was  that?" 

''  By  an  old  thing  which  I  had  picked  up  some  time  before — 
a  book." 

"A  book?"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  which  I  h^  taken  out  of  your  lordship's  pocket  one 
day  as  you  were  walkmg  the  streets  in  a  great  hurry.  I  thought 
it  was  a  pocket-book  at  first,  full  of  bank  notes,  perhaps,"  con- 
tinued 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  firiend  of  yours,  I  took  it  up  one  day,  and  thought  I  might 
make  something  by  it  to  support  myself  a  day  with.  Chance  or 
something  else  led  me  into  a  grand  shop ;  there  was  a  man  there 
who  seemed  to  be  the  master,  talking  to  a  jolly,  portly  old 
gentleman,  who  seemed  to  be  a  country  squire.  Well,  I  went  up 
to  the  first,  and  offered  it  for  sale ;  he  took  the  book,  opened  it 
at  the  title-page,  and  then  all  of  a  sudden  his  eyes  glistened,  and 
he  showed  it  to  the  fat,  jolly  gentleman,  and  his  eyes  glistened 


296  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

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  sa  '  Well,'  said  the  fat  gentleman, '  I  will  give  you  what 
you  ask ; '  and  sure  enough  he  presently  gave  me  the  money ;  so 
I  made  a  bow,  and  was  leaving  the  shop,  when  it  came  into  my 
head  that  there  was  something  odd  in  all  this,  and,  as  I  had  got 
the  money  in  my  pocket,  I  turned  back,  and,  making  another 
bow,  said :  '  May  I  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  why  you  gave  me  all  this 
money  for  that  'ere  dirty  book?  When  I  came  into  the  shop,  I 
should  have  been  glad  to  get  a  shilling  for  it;  but  I  saw  you 
wanted  it,  and  asked  five  guineas.'  Then  they  looked  at  one 
another,  and  smiled,  and  shrugged  up  their  shoulders.  Then  the 
first  man,  looking  at  me,  said :  '  Friend,  you  have  been  a  little  too 
sharp  for  us ;  however,  we  can  afford  to  forgive  you,  as  my  friend 
here  has  long  been  in  quest  of  this  particular  book;  there  are 
plenty  of  editions,  as  I  told  you,  and  a  common  copy  is  not  worth 
five  shillings ;  but  this  is  a  first  edition,  and  a  copy  of  the  first 
edition  is  worth  its  weight  in  gold '." 

•*  So,  after  all,  they  outwitted  you,"  I  observed. 

"  Clearly,"  said  the  man ;  ''  I  might  have  got  double  the  price, 
had  I  known  the  value;  but  I  don't  care,  much  good  may  it  do 
them,  it  has  done  me  plenty.  By  means  of  it  I  have  got  into  an 
honest,  respectable  trade,  in  which  there's  little  danger  and  plenty 
of  profit,  and  got  out  of  one  which  would  have  got  me  lagged 
sooner  or  later." 

"  But,"  said  I,  **  you  ought  to  remember  that  the  thing  was 
not  yours ;  you  took  it  from  me,  who  had  been  requested  by  a 
poor  old  apple-woman  to  exchange  it  for  a  Bible." 

"Well,"  said  the  man,  ''did  she  ever  get  her  Bible?" 


UtoS-l  •'BONNBTINOJ'  997 


"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  she  got  her  Bible." 

"  Then  she  has  no  cause  to  complain ;  and,  as  for  you,  chance 
or  something  else  has  sent  you  to  me,  that  I  may  make  you 
reasonable  amends  for  any  loss  you  may  have  had.  Here  am  I 
ready  to  make  you  my  bonnet,  with  forty  or  fifty  shillings  a  week, 
which  you  say  yourself  are  capital  wages." 

''  I  find  no  fault  with  the  wages,"  said  I,  ''  but  I  don't  like  the 
employ." 

**  Not  like  bonneting,"  said  the  man ;  ''  ah,  I  see,  you  would 
like  to  be  principal ;  well,  a  time  may  come — those  long  white 
fingers  of  yours  would  just  serve  for  the  business." 

''  Is  it  a  difficult  one?"  I  demanded. 

**Why,  it  b  not  very  easy:  two  things  are  needful — natural 
talent,  and  constant  practice ;  but  111  show  you  a  point  or  two 
connected  with  the  game ; "  and,  placing  his  table  between  his 
knees  as  he  sat  over  the  side  of  the  pit,  he  produced  three 
thimbles,  and  a  small  brown  pellet,  something  resembling  a  pea. 
He  moved  the  thimble  and  pellet  about,  now  placing  it  to  all 
appearance  under  one,  and  now  under  another ;  "  Under  which 
is  it  now?"  he  said  at  last.  ''Under  that,"  said  I,  pointing  to 
the  lowermost  of  the  thimbles,  which,  as  they  stood,  formed  a 
kind  of  triangle.  "  No,"  said  he,  "  it  is  not,  but  lilt  it  up ; "  and, 
when  I  lifted  up  the  thimble,  the  pellet,  in  truth,  was  not  under  it. 
''It  was  under  none  of  them,"  said  he,  "it  was  pressed  by  my 
little  finger  against  my  palm ; "  and  then  he  showed  me  how  he 
did  the  trick,  and  asked  me  if  the  game  was  not  a  funny  one ; 
and,  on  my  answering  in  the  affirmative,  he  said :  "  I  am  glad  you 
like  it,  come  along  and  let  us  win  some  money". 

Thereupon,  getting  up,  he  placed  the  table  before  him,  and 
was  moving  away;  observing,  however,  that  I  did  not  stir,  he 
asked  me  what  I  was  staying  for.  "  Merely  for  my  own  pleasure," 
said  I, "  I  like  sitting  here  very  well"  "  Then  you  won't  close  ?  " 
said  the  man.  "  By  no  means,"  I  replied,  "  your  proposal  does 
not  suit  me."  "  You  may  be  principal  in  time,"  said  the  man. 
''  That  makes  no  difference,"  said  I ;  and,  sitting  with  my  legs 
over  the  pit,  I  forthwith  began  to  decline  an  Armenian  noun. 
"That  a'n't  cant,"  said  the  man ;  "  no,  nor  gypsy  either.  Well, 
if  you  won't  close,  another  will,  I  can't  lose  any  more  time,"  and 
forthwith  he  departed. 

And  after  I  had  declined  four  Armenian  nouns,  of  different 
declensions,  I  rose  from  the  side  of  the  pit,  and  wandered  about 
amongst  the  various  groups  of  people  scattered  over  the  green. 
Presently  I  came  to  where  the  man  of  the  thimbles  was  standing. 


1 


agS  LA  VBNQRO.  [1825. 

with  the  table  before  him,  and  many  people  about  him.  ''  Them 
who  finds,  wins,  and  them  who  can't  find,  loses,"  he  cried. 
Various  individuals  tried  to  find  the  pellet,  but  all  were  unsuccess- 
ful,  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  £Eur,  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  ^j  with  him  became  greater. 
After  I  had  looked  on  for  some  time,  I  was  moving  away ;  just 
then  I  perceived  a  short,  thick  personage,  with  a  staff  in  his  hand, 
advancing  in  a  great  hurry ;  whereupon  with  a  sudden  impulse,  I 
exclaimed : — 

Shoon  thimble-engro ; 
Avella  gorgio. 

The  man  who  was  in  the  midst  of  his  pea-and-thimble  process,  no 
sooner  heard  the  last  word  of  the  distich,  than  he  turned  an 
alarmed  look  in  the  direction  of  where  I  stood;  then,  glancing 
around,  and  perceiving  the  constable,  he  slipped  forthwith  his 
pellet  and  thimbles  into  his  pocket,  and,  lifting  up  his  table,  he 
cried  to  the  people  about  him,  "  Make  way ! "  and  with  a  motion 
of  his  head  to  me,  as  if  to  follow  him,  he  darted  off  with  a  swift- 
ness which  the  short,  pursy  constable  could  by  no  means  rival ; 
and  whither  he  went,  or  what  became  of  him,  I  know  not,  inas- 
much as  I  turned  away  in  another  direction. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 


And,  as  I  wandered  along  the  green,  I  drew  near  to  a  place 

where  several  men,  with  a  cask  beside  them,  sat  carousing  in  the 

neighbourhood  of  a  small  tent.    "  Here  he  comes/'  said  one  of 

them,  as  I  advanced,  and  standing  up  he  raised  his  voice  and 

sang: — 

Here  the  Oypsy  gemman  see, 

With  his  Roman  jib  and  his  rome  and  drc^— 

Rome  and  dree,  rum  and  dry 

Rally  round  the  Rommany  Rye. 

It  was  Mr.  Petulengro,  who  was  here  diverting  himself  with 
several  of  his  comrades ;  they  all  received  me  with  considerable 
frankness.  "  Sit  down,  brother,"  said  Mr.  Petulengro,  **  and  take 
a  cup  of  good  ale." 

I  sat  down.  "  Your  health,  gentlemen,"  said  I>  as  I  took  the 
cup  which  Mr.  Petulengro  handed  to  me. 

''Aukko  tu  pios  adrey  Rommanis.  Here  is  your  health 
in  Rommany,  brother/'  said  Mr.  Petulengro ;  who,  having  refilled 
the  cup,  now  emptied  it  at  a  draught 

''Your  health  in  Rommany,  brother/'  said  Tawno  Chikno,  to 
whom  the  cup  came  next. 

''  The  Rommany  Rye,"  said  a  third. 

''  The  Gypsy  gentleman,"  exclaimed  a  fourth,  drinking. 

And  then  they  all  sang  in  chorus : — 

Here  the  Oypsy  gemman  eee. 

With  his  Roman  jib  and  his  rome  and  dree— 

Rome  and  dree,  mm  and  dry 

Rally  round  the  Rommany  Rye. 

"And  now,  brother,"  said  Mr.  Petulengro,  ''seeing  that  you 
have  drunk  and  been  drunkeOf  you  will  perhaps  tell  us  where  you 
have  been,  and  what  about  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  in  the  Big  City,"  said  I,  "writing  His." 
"  How  much  money  have  you  got  in  your  podcet,  brother?** 
said  Mr.  Petulengro. 

(«99) 


300  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 


'*  Eighteen  pence,"  said  I ;  "all  I  have  in  the  world." 

"I  have  been  in  the  Big  City,  too,"  said  Mr.  Petulengro; 
''but  I  have  not  written  lils — I  have  fought  in  the  ring — I  have 
fifty  pounds  in  my  pocket — I  have  much  more  in  tibe  world. 
Brother,  there  is  considerable  difference  between  us." 

"I  would  rather  be  the  HI- writer,  after  all,"  said  the  tall, 
handsome,  black  man ;  '*  indeed,  I  would  wish  for  nothing  better." 

"Why  so?"  said  Mr.  Petulengro. 

"  Because  they  have  so  much  to  say  for  themselves,"  said  the 
black  man,  **  even  when  dead  and  gone.  When  they  are  laid  in 
the  churchyard,  it  is  their  own  fault  if  people  a'n't  talking  of  them. 
Who  will  know,  after  I  am  dead,  or  bitchadey  pawdel,  that  I  was 
once  the  beauty  of  the  world,  or  that  you,  Jasper,  were " 

"The  best  man  in  England  of  my  inches.  That's  true, 
Tawno— 4iowever,  here's  our  brother  will  perhaps  let  the  world 
know  something  about  us." 

"Not  he,"  said  the  other,  with  a  sigh;  "heTl  have  quite 
enough  to  do  in  writing  his  own  lils,  and  telling  the  world  how 
handsome  and  clever  he  was ;  and  who  can  blame  him  ?  Not  I. 
If  I  could  write  lils,  every  word  should  be  about  myself  and  my 
own  tacho  Rommanis — my  own  lawful  wedded  wife,  which  is  the 
same  thing.  I  tell  you  what,  brother,  I  once  heard  a  wise  man 
say  in  Brummagem,  that '  there  is  nothing  like  blowing  one's  own 
horn,'  which  I  conceive  to  be  much  the  same  thing  as  writing 
one's  own  liL" 

After  a  little  more  conversation,  Mr.  Petulengro  arose,  and 
motioned  me  to  follow  him.  "  Only  eighteen  pence  in  the  world, 
brother ! "  said  he,  as  we  walked  together. 

"Nothing  more,  I  assure  you.  How  came  you  to  ask  me 
how  much  money  I  had?" 

"Because  there  was  something  in  your  look,  brother,  some- 
thing very  much  resembling  that  which  a  person  showeth  who 
does  not  carry  much  money  in  his  pocket.  I  was  looking  at 
my  own  face  this  morning  in  my  wife's  looking-glass — I  did  not 
look  as  you  do,  brother." 

"I  believe  your  sole  motive  for  inquiring,"  said  I,  "was  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  venting  a  foolish  boast,  and  to  let  me 
know  that  you  were  in  possession  of  fifty  pounds." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  having  money  unless  you  let  people  know 
you  have  it?"  said  Mr.  Petulengro.  "It  is  not  every  one  can 
read  faces,  brother;  and,  unless  you  knew  I  had  money,  how 
could  you  ask  me  to  lend  you  any?" 

"  I  am  not  going  to  ask  you  to  lend  me  any." 


tSas.]  BLACKHBATH.  301 

**  Then  you  may  h&ve  it  without  asking ;  as  I  said  before,  I 
have  fifty  pounds,  all  lawfully  earnt  money,  got  by  fighting  in  the 
ring — I  will  lend  you  that,  brother." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  will  not  take  it." 

"Then  the  half  of  it?" 

"  Nor  the  half  of  it ;  but  it  b  getting  towards  evening,  I  must 
go  back  to  the  Great  City." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  in  the  Boro  Foros  ?  " 

**  I  know  not,"  said  I. 

"Earn  money?" 

"  If  I  can." 

"  And  if  you  can't  ?  " 

«  Starve ! " 

"  You  look  ill  brother,"  said  Mr.  Petulengro. 

"  I  do  not  feel  well ;  the  Great  City  does  not  agree  with  me. 
Should  I  be  so  fortunate  as  to  earn  some  money,  I  would  leave 
the  Big  City,  and  take  to  the  woods  and  fields." 

"You  may  do  thatj  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  aK 
be  glad  of  your  company,  but  more  especially  myself  and  my 
wife  Pakomovna." 

"  What  hill  is  that  ?  "  I  demanded. 

And  then  Mr.  Petulengro  told  me  the  name  of  the  hill.  *' We 
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  gallops 
down  that  hill  every  night,  even  as  the  living  man  was  wont  to 
do  long  ago." 

"Who  was  he?"  I  demanded. 

"Jemmy  Abershaw,"  said  Mr.  Petulengro;  "one  of  those 
whom  we  call  Boro-drom-engroes,  and  the  gorgios  highwaymen. 
I  once  heard  a  rye  say  that  the  life  of  that  man  would  fetch 
much  money;  so  come  to  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  and  write 
the  lil  in  the  tent  of  Jasper  and  his  wife  Pakomovna." 

At  first  I  felt  inclined  to  accept  the  invitation  of  Mr.  Petu- 
lengro ;  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 


30S  LA  VBNGRO.  [1835. 

a  great  fovourite  with  Mrs.  Petulengro,  who  had  frequently  been 
loud  in  her  commendation  of  the  young  rye,  as  she  called  me, 
and  his  turn  of  conversation;  but  this  was  at  a  time  when  I 
stood  in  need  of  nothing,  lived  under  my  parents'  roof,  and 
only  visited  at  the  tents  to  divert  and  to  be  diverted.  The  times 
were  altered,  and  I  was  by  no  means  certain  that  Mrs.  Petulengro, 
when  she  should  discover  that  I  was  in  need  both  of  shelter  and 
subsistence,  might  not  alter  her  opinion  both  with  respect  to  the 
individual  and  what  he  said — 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. 

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.  Sud- 
denly 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  tiie  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  wjw  written. 


CHAPTER  LV. 


M 


•I 


I  MUST  do  something,"  said  I,  as  I  sat  that  night  in  my  lonely 
apartment,  with  some  bread  and  a  pitcher  of  water  before  me. 
Thereupon  taking  some  of  the  bread,  and  eating  it,  I  con- 
sidered 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  novel,  otherwise  he  would 
not  advertise  for  one.  Suppose  I  write  one^  I  appear  to  have 
no  other  chance  of  extricating  myself  from  my  present  difficulties; 
surely  it  was  Fate  that  conducted  me  to  his  window." 

I  will  do  it,"  said  I,  as  1  struck  my  hand  against  the  table; 

I  will  do  it."  Suddenly  a  heavy  cloud  of  despondency  came 
over  me.  Could  I  do  it?  Had  1  the  imagination  requisite  to 
write  a  tale  or  a  novel  ?  "  Yes,  yes,"  said  I,  as  I  struck  my  hand 
again  against  the  table,  "  I  can  manage  it ;  give  me  fair  play,  and 
I  can  accomplish  anything." 

But  should  I  have  fair  play?  I  must  have  something  to 
maintain  myself  with  whilst  I  wrote  my  tale,  and  I  had  but 
eighteen  pence  in  the  world.  Would  that  maintain  me  whilst 
I  wrote  my  tale?  Yes,  I  thought  it  would,  provided  I  ate  bread, 
which  did  not  cost  much,  and  drank  water,  which  cost  nothing ; 
it  was  poor  diet,  it  was  true,  but  better  men  than  myself  bad 
written  on  bread  and  water;  had  not  the  big  man  told  me  so, 
or  something  to  that  effect,  months  before? 

It  was  true  there  was  my  lodging  to  pay  for ;  but  up  to  the 
present  time  I  owed  nothing,  and  perhaps,  by  the  time  the  people 
of  the  house  asked  me  for  money,  I  should  have  written  a  tale  or 
a  novel,  which  would  bring  me  in  money ;  I  had  paper,  pens  and 
ink,  and,  let  me  not  forget  them,  I  had  candles  in  my  closet,  all 
paid  for,  to  light  me  during  my  night  work.  Enough,  I  would 
go  doggedly  to  work  upon  my  tale  or  novel. 

But  what  was  the  tale  or  novel  to  be  about  ?  Was  it  to  be  a  tale 
of  fashionable  life^  about  Sir  Harry  Somebody,  and  the  Countess 

(303) 


504  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825^ 

Something?  But  I  knew  nothing  about  fashionable  people,  and 
cared  less ;  therefore  how  should  I  attempt  to  describe  fashionable 
life?  What  should  the  tale  consist  of?  The  life  and  adventures 
of  some  one.  Good — but  of  whom  ?  Did  not  Mr.  Petulengro 
mention  one  Jemmy  Abershaw?  Yes.  Did  he  not  tell  me  that 
the  life  and  adventures  of  Jemmy  Abershaw  would  bring  in  much 
money  to  the  writer?  Yes,  but  I  knew  nothing  of  that  worthy. 
I  heard,  it  is  true,  from  Mr.  Petulengro,  that  when  alive  he 
committed  robberies  on  the  hill,  on  the  side  of  which  Mr. 
Petulengro  had  pitched  his  tents,  and  that  his  ghost  still  haunted 
the  hill  at  midnight ;  but  those  were  scant  materials  out  of  which 
to  write  the  man's  life.  It  is  probable,  indeed,  that  Mr.  Petulengro 
would  be  able  to  supply  me  with  further  materials  if  I  should 
apply  to  him,  but  I  was  in  a  hurry,  and  could  not  afford  the  time 
which  it  would  be  necessary  to  spend  in  passing  to  and  from  Mr. 
Petulengro,  and  consulting  him.  Moreover,  my  pride  revolted 
at  the  idea  of  being  beholden  to  Mr.  Petulengro  for  the  materials 
of  the  history.  No,  I  would  not  write  the  history  of  Abershaw. 
Whose  then — Harry  Simms  ?  Alas,  the  life  of  Harry  Simms  had 
been  already  much  better  written  by  himself  than  I  could  hope 
to  do  it;  and,  after  all,  Harry  Simms,  like  Jemmy  Abershaw, 
was  merely  a  robber.  Both,  though  bold  and  extraordinary  men, 
were  merely  highwaymen.  I  questioned  whether  I  could  compose 
a  tale  likely  to  excite  any  particular  interest  out  of  the  exploits  of 
a  mere  robber.  I  want  a  character  for  my  hero,  thought  I, 
something  higher  than  a  mere  robber ;  some  one  like — like  Colonel 
B .  By  the  way,  why  should  I  not  write  the  life  and  adven- 
tures of  Colonel  B of  Londonderry,  in  Ireland  ? 

A  truly  singular  man  was  this  same  Colonel  B of  London- 
derry, 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 ;  and  whose  strange  eventful 
career  did  not  terminate  even  with  his  life,  his  dead  body,  on  the 
circulation  of  an  unfounded  report  that  he  did  not  come  to  his 
death  by  fair  means,  having  been  exhumed  by  the  mob  of  his 
native  place,  where  he  had  retired  to  die,  and  earned  in  the  coj£n 
through  the  streets. 

Of  his  life  I  had  inserted  an  account  in  the  Newgate  Lives  and 
Trials;  it  was  bare  and  meagre,  and  written  in  the  stiff,  awkward 
style  of  the  seventeenth  century ;  it  had,  however,  strongly  capti- 
vated my  imaii^ination  and  I  now  thought  that  out  of  it  something 


1^5-]  JOSEPH  SSLL  36S 

bettar  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  doth  occurred  to  me.  '^  I  am  afraid,"  said  I, 
"any  new  adventures  which  I  can  invent  will  not  fadge  well  with 
the  dd  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  ^e  life  of  Joseph  Sell. 

This  Joseph  Sell,  dear  reader,  was  a  fictitious  personage  who 
had  just  come  into  my  head.  I  had  never  even  heard  of  the 
name,  but  just  at  that  moment  it  happened  to  come  into  my  head ; 
I  would  write  an  entirely  fictitious  narrative,  called  the  Z^  and 
Adventures  of  Joseph  Sell^  the  Great  TVaveller. 

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 ;  for  the  life  of 
me  I  did  not  know  how  to  b^n,  and,  after  trying  in  vain  to  write 
a  line,  I  thought  it  would  be  as  well  to  go  to  bed,  and  defer  my 
projected  undertaking  till  the  morrow. 

So  I  went  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  During  the  greater  part 
of  the  night  I  lay  awake,  musing  upon  the  work  which  I  had 
determined  to  execute.  For  a  long  time  my  brain  was  dry  and 
unproductive;  I  could  form  no  plan  which  appeared  feasible. 
At  length  I  felt  within  my  brain  a  kindly  glow;  it  was  the 
commencement  of  inspiration ;  in  a  few  minutes  I  had  formed 
my  plan ;  I  then  began  to  imagine  the  scenes  and  the  incidents. 
Scenes  and  incidents  flitted  before  my  mind's  eye  so  plentifiilly 
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 
rooming  I  had  sketched  the  whole  work  on  the  tablets  of  my 
mind,  and  then  resigned  myself  to  sleep  m  the  pleasing  conviction 
that  the  most  difficult  part  of  my  undertaking  was  achieved. 


•o 


CHAPTER  LVI, 


Rather  Ute  in  the  morning  I  awoke ;  for  a  few  minutes  I  lay 
still«  perfectly  atill ;  vxy  ixnaginatioa  was  considerably  sobered ; 
the  soeaes  and  situations  which  had  pleased  me  so  much  over 
night  appeared  to  me  in  a  &r  less  captivating  guise  that  morning. 
I  felt  hmguid  and  almost  hopeless — ^the  thought,  however,  of  my 
situation  soon  roused  me — I  must  make  an  eifort  to  improve  the 
posture  of  my  afiairs ;  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost ;  so  I  sprang 
out  of  bedf  breakfasted  on  bread  and  water,  and  then  sat  down 
doggedly  to  write  the  life  of  Joseph  Sell 

It  was  a  great  thing  to  have  formed  my  plan,  and  to  have 
arranged  the  scenes  in  my  head,  as  I  had  done  on  the  preceding 
night.  The  chief  thing  requisite  at  present  was  the  mere  me- 
cluinical  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  ps^es.  I 
partook  of  some  bread  and  water ;  and,  before  I  went  to  bed  that 
night,  I  had  completed  fifteen  pages  of  my  life  of  Joseph  Sell, 

The  next  day  I  resumed  my  task-*-I  found  my  power  of 
writing  considerably  increased ;  my  pen  hurried  rapidly  over  the 
paper^*-my  brain  was  in  a  wooderfully  teeming  state;  many 
scenes  and  visions  which  I  had  not  thought  of  before  were  evolved^ 
and,  as  fast  as  evolved,  ^tten  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  Ztfi  and  Adventures  rf Joseph  Sell. 

The  third  day  arose — ^it  was  dark  and  dreary  out  of  doors, 
and  I  passed  it  drearily  enough  within;  my  brain  appeared  to 
have  lost  much  of  its  former  glow,  and  my  pen  much  of  its  power ; 
I,  however,  toiled  on,  but  at  midnight  had  only  added  seven 
pages  to  my  history  of  Joseph  Sell 

On  the  fourth  day  the  sun  shone  brightly — I  arose,  and, 
having  breakfasted  as  usual,  I  fell  to  work.  My  brain  was  this 
day  wonderfully  prolific,  and  my  pen  never  before  or  since  glided 

(3^) 


ites-]  ""A  MERE  DRUOr  507 

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  atrected.  I  likewise  occasionally  saw  double — a 
tempter  now  -seemed  to  be  at  work  within  me. 

''You  had  better  leave  off  now  for  a  short  space^"  said  the 
tempter,  ''and  go  out  and  drink  a  pint  of  beer;  you  have  still 
one  shilling  left — if  you  go  on  at  this  rate,  you  will  go  mad— go 
out  and  spend  sixpence,  you  can  afford  it,  more  than  half  your 
work  is  done."  I  was  about  to  obey  the  suggestion  of  the 
tempter,  when  the  idea  struck  me  that,  if  I  did  not  complete  the 
work  whilst  the  fit  was  on  me^  I  should  never  complete  it ;  so  I 
held  on.  I  am  almost  afraid  to  state  how  many  pages  I  wrote 
that  day  of  the  life  of  Joseph  Sell. 

From  this  time  I  proceeded  in  a  somewhat  more  leisurely 
manner ;  but,  as  I  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  completion  of 
my  task,  dreadful  fears  and  despondencies  came  over  me.  It 
will  be  too  late,  thought  I ;  by  the  time  I  have  finished  the  work, 
the  bookseller  will  have  been  supplied  with  a  tale  or  a  novel.  Is 
it  probable  that*  in  a  town  like  this,  where  talent  is  so  abundant 
— ^hungry  talent  too — a  bookseller  can  advertise  for  a  tale  or  a 
novel,  without  being  supplied  with  half  a  dozen  in  twenty-four 
hours?  I  may  as  well  fling  down  my  pen — I  am  writing  to  no 
purpose.  And  these  thoughts  came  over  my  mind  so  often,  that 
at  last,  in  utter  despair,  I  flung  down  the  pen.  Whereupon  the 
tempter  within  me  said :  "  And,  now  you  have  flung  down  the 
pen,  you  may  as  well  fling  yourself  out  of  the  window;  what 
remains  for  you  to  do?"  Why,  to  take  it  up  again,  thought  I  to 
myself,  for  I  did  not  like  the  latter  suggestion  at  all — and  then 
forthwith  I  resumed  the  pen,  and  wrote  with  greater  vigour  than 
before,  from  about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  until  I  could  hardly 
see,  when  I  rested  for  awhile,  when  the  tempter  within  me  again 
said,  or  appeared  to  say :  ''All  you  have  been  writing  is  stuff,  it 
will  never  do — 9l  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  shiver- 
ing with  cold.    The  next  day  I  brought  my  work  to  a  conclusion. 

But  the  task  of  revision  still  remained ;  for  an  hour  or  two  I 
shrank  from  it,  and  remained  gazing  stupidly  at  the  pile  of  paper 
which  I  had  written  over.  I  was  all  but  exhausted,  and  I  dreaded, 
on  inspecting  the  sheets,  to  find  them  full  of  absurdities  which  I 
had  paid  no  regard  to  in  the  furor  of  composition.     But  the  task. 


9o8  LA  VBNGRO.  [iflas* 

however  trying  to  my  nerves,  most  be  got  over ;  at  last,  in  a  kind 
of  desperation,  I  entered  upon  it.  It  was  hi  from  an  easy  one ; 
there  were,  however,  fewer  errors  and  absurdities  than  I  had 
anticipated.  About  twelve  o'clock  at  night  I  bad  got  over  the 
task  of  revision.  "To-morrow,  for  the  bookseller,"  said  I,  as  my 
beul  sank  on  the  pillow.    '*  Oh  me  f " 


CHAPTER  LVIl. 


On  arriving  at  the  bookseller's  shop,  I  cast  a  nervous  look  at  the 
windowi  for  the  purpose  of  observing  whether  the  paper  had  been 
removed  or  not  To  my  great  deUght  the  paper  was  in  its  phu:e ; 
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  yoimg  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  afiraid  it  will  be  useless ;  that  is,"  she  added  with  another 
smile,  "if  you  bring  us  nothing  else."  "I  have  not  brought 
you  poems  and  ballads  now,"  said  I,  "but  something  widely 
different;  I  saw  your  advertisement  for  a  tale  or  a  novel,  and 
have  written  something  which  I  think  will  suit ;  and  here  it  is," 
I  added,  showing  the  roll  of  paper  which  I  held  in  my  hand. 
"  Well,"  said  the  bookseller's  wife,  "  you  may  leave  it,  though  I 
cannot  promise  you  much  chance  of  its  being  accepted.  My 
husband  has  already  had  several  offered  to  him ;  however,  you 
may  leave  it;  give  it  me.  Are  you  afraid  to  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." 

I  returned  to  my  lodging,  and  forthwith  betook  myself  to  bed, 

(3^) 


510  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

notwithstanding  the  earliness  of  the  hour.  I  felt  tolerably  tran- 
quil ;  I  had  now  cast  my  last  stake,  and  was  prepared  to  abide 
by  the  result.  Whatever  that  result  might  be,  I  could  have 
nothing  to  reproach  myself  with ;  I  had  strained  all  the  energies 
which  nature  had  given  me  in  order  to  rescue  myself  from  the 
difficulties  which  surrounded  me.  I  presently  sank  into  a  sleep, 
which  endured  during  the  remainder  of  the  day,  and  the  whole  of 
the  succeeding  night  I  awoke  about  nine  on  the  morrow,  and 
spent  my  last  threepence  on  a  breakfast  somewhat  more  luxurious 
than  the  immediately  preceding  ones,  for  one  penny  of  the  sum 
was  expended  on  the  purchase  of  milk. 

At  the  appointed  hour  I  repaired  to  the  house  of  the  book- 
seller;  the  bookseller  was  in  his  shop.  *'  Ah,"  said  he,  as  soon 
as  I  entered,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  yoiu"  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  superion  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;  "aheml 
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  book- 
seller, "  in  distress ;  frequently  the  case  with  authois,  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  es- 
tablishing yourself;  respectable  trade,  pea  and  thimble  ".  "Well," 
said  I  at  last,  '*  I  have  no  objection  to  take  the  ofier  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 — ^whatwas  I  going  to 
say — I  never  meant  to  offer  half  as  much — I  mean  a  quarter ;  I 
was  going  to  say  five  guineas — I  mean  pounds ;  I  will,  however, 
make  it  up  guineas."    "That  will  not  do,"  said  I;  "but,  as  I 


1835.]  TWENTY  POUNDS.  3" 

find  we  shall  not  deal,  return  me  my  manuscript,  that  I  may 
carry  it  to  some  one  else."  The  bookseller  looked  blank.  '*  Dear 
me,"  said  he» ''  I  should  never  have  supposed  that  you  would  have 
made  any  objection  to  such  an  offer ;  I  am  quite  sure  that  you 
would  have  been  glad  to  take  five  pounds  for  either  of  the  two  huge 
manuscripts  of  songs  and  ballads  that  you  brought  me  on  a  former 
occasion. '  "  Well/'  said  I,  '*  if  you  will  engage  to  publish  either 
of  those  two  manuscripts,  you  shall  have  the  present  one  for  five 
pounds."  **  God  forbid  that  I  should  make  any  such  bargain," 
said  the  bookseller;  "I  would  publish  neither  on  any  account; 
but,  with  respect  to  this  last  book,  I  have  really  an  inclination 
to  print  it,  both  for  your  sake  and  mine;  suppose  we  say  ten 
pounds."  "No,"  said  I,  **  ten  pounds  will  not  do;  pray  restore 
me  my  manuscript."  "  Stay,"  said  the  bookseller,  **  my  wife  is  in 
the  next  room,  I  will  go  and  consult  her."  Thereupon  he  went 
into  his  back-room,  where  I  heard  him  conversing  with  his  wife 
in  a  low  tone ;  in  about  ten  minutes  he  returned.  "  Young 
gentleman,"  said  he,  ''perhaps  you  will  take  tea  with  us  this 
evening,  when  we  will  talk  further  over  the  matter." 

That  evening  I  went  and  took  tea  with  the  bookseller  and  his 
wife,  both  of  whom,  particularly  the  latter,  overwhelmed  me  with 
civility.  It  was  not  long  before  I  learned  that  the  work  had  been 
already  sent  to  the  press,  and  was  intended  to  stand  at  the  head 
of  a  series  of  entertaining  narratives,  from  which  my  friends 
promised  themselves  considerable  profit  The  subject  of  terms 
was  again  brought  forward.  I  stood  firm  to  my  first  demand  for 
a  long  time ;  when,  however,  the  bookseller's  wife  complimented 
me  on  my  production  in  the  highest  terms,  and  said  that  she 
discovered  therein  the  germs  of  genius,  which  she  made  no  doubt 
would  some  day  prove  ornamental  to  my  native  land,  I  consented 
to  drop  my  demand  to  twenty  pounds,  stipulating,  however,  that 
I  should  not  be  troubled  with  the  correction  of  the  work. 

Before  I  departed  I  received  the  twenty  pounds,  and  departed 
with  a  light  heart  to  my  lodgings. 

Reader,  amidst  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  this  life,  should 
you  ever  be  tempted  to  despair,  call  to  mind  these  latter  chapters 
of  the  life  of  Lavengro.  There  are  few  positions,  however  diffi- 
cult, from  which  dogged  resolution  and  perseverance  may  not 
liberate  you. 


CHAPTER  LVlll. 


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.  7  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  book- 
seller's  wife,  by  her  complimentary  language,  had  given  me  yet 
more  encouragement.  But  for  some  months  past  I  had  been 
hi  from  well,  and  my  original  indisposition,  brought  on  partly  by 
the  peculiar  atmosphere  of  the  Big  City,  partly  by  anxiety  of 
mind,  had  been  much  increased  by  the  exertions  which  I  had 
been  compelled  to  make  during  the  last  few  days.  I  felt  that, 
were  I  to  remain  where  I  was,  I  should  die,  or  become  a 
confirmed  valetudinarian.  I  would  go  forth  into  the  country, 
travelling  on  foot,  and,  by  exercise  and  inhaling  pure  air,  en- 
deavour to  recover  my  health,  leaving  my  subsequent  movements 
to  be  determined  by  Providence. 

But  whither  should  I  bend  my  course?  Once  or  twice  I 
thought  of  walking  home  to  the  old  town,  stay  some  time  with 
my  mother  and  my  brother,  and  enjoy  the  pleasant  walks  in  the 
neighbourhood;  but,  though  I  wished  very  much  to  see  my 
mother  and  my  brother,  and  felt  much  disposed  to  enjoy  the  said 
pleasant  walks,  the  old  town  was  not  exactly  the  place  to  which  I 
wished  to  go  at  this  present  juncture.  I  was  afraid  the  people 
would  ask,  Where  are  your  Northern  Ballads  ?  Where  are  your 
alliterative  translations  from  Ab  Gwilym — of  which  you  were 
always  talking,  and  with  which  you  promised  to  astonish  the 
world  ?  Now,  in  the  event  of  such  interrogations,  what  could  I 
answer?  It  is  true  I  had  compiled  Newgate  Lives  and  TYiais^ 
and  had  written  the  life  of  Joseph  Sell,  but  I  was  afraid  that  the 
people  of  the  old  town  would  scarcely  consider  these  as  equiva- 

(31a) 


S9if D  May,  1895.]  ^HiT  DBPA  RTURB.  313 

lents  for  the  Northern  Ballads  and  the  songs  of  Ab  Gwilym.  1 
would  go  forth  and  wander  in  any  direction  but  that  of  the  did 
town. 

But  how  one's  sensibility  on  any  particular  point  diminishes 
with  time  i  At  present,  I  enter  the  old  town  perfectly  indifferent 
as  to  what  the  people  may  be  thinking  on  the  subject  of  the 
songs  and  ballauis.  With  respect  to  the  people  themselves, 
whether,  like  my  sensibility,  their  curiosity  has  altogether  evapor- 
ated, or  whether,  which  is  at  least  equally  probable,  they  never 
entertained  any,  one  thing  is  certain,  that  never  in  a  single 
instance  have  they  troubled  me  with  any  remarks  on  the  subject 
of  the  songs  and  ballads. 

As  it  was  my  intention  to  travel  on  foot»  with  a  bundle  and 
a  stick,  I  despatched  my  trunk  containing  some  few  clothes  and 
books  to  the  old  to¥m.  My  preparations  were  soon  made;  in 
about  three  days  I  was  in  readiness  to  start. 

Before  departing,  however,  I  bethought  me  of  my  old  friend 
the  apple-woman  of  London  Bridge.  Apprehensive  that  she 
might  be  labouring  under  the  difficulties  of  poverty,  I  sent  her  a 
piece  of  gold  by  the  hands  of  a  young  maiden  in  the  house  in 
which  I  lived.  The  latter  punctually  executed  her  commission, 
but  brought  me  back  the  piece  of  gold.  The  old  woman  would 
not  take  it ;  she  did  not  want  it,  she  said.  "  Tell  the  poor  thin 
lad,"  she  added,  "  to  keep  it  for  himself,  he  wants  it  more  than  I." 

Rather  late  one  afternoon  I  departed  from  my  lodging,  with 
my  stick  in  one  hand  and  a  small  bundle  in  the  other,  {Raping 
my  course  to  the  south-west  When  I  first  arrived,  somewhat 
more  than  a  year  before,  I  had  entered  the  city  by  the  north-east 
As  I  was  not  going  home,  I  determined  to  take  my  departure  in 
the  direction  the  very  opposite  to  home. 

Just  as  I  was  about  to  cross  the  street  called  the  Haymarket 
at  the  lower  part,  a  cabriolet,  drawn  by  a  magnificent  animal, 
came  dashing  along  at  a  furious  rate ;  it  stopped  close  by  the 
curb-stone  where  I  was,  a  sudden  pull  of  the  reins  nearly 
bringing  the  spirited  animal  upon  its  haunches.  The  Jehu  who 
had  accomplished  this  feat  was  Francis  Ardiy.  A  small  beautiful 
female,  with  flashing  eyes,  dressed  in  the  extremity  of  fashion, 
sat  beside  him. 

''Holloa,  firiend,"  said  Fiancis  Ardry,  "whither  bound?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  I ;  "all  I  can  say  is,  that  I  am  about 
to  leave  London.** 

''  And  the  means  ?  "  said  Francis  Ardry. 

f*  I  have  them,"  said  I,  with  a  cheerful  smile. 


314  LAVBNGRO.  [18*5. 


i< 


Qui  est  ului'ciV^  demanded  the  small  female  impatiently. 

C^e$i mon  ami  le  plus  intime  ;  so  you  were  about  to 

leav^  London  without  telling  me  a  word/'  said  Francis  Ardry 
somewhat  angrily. 

''  I  intended  to  have  written  to  you/'  said  I :  ''  what  a  splendid 
mare  that  is  I " 

^'Is  she  not?"  said  Francis  Ardry,  who  was  hdding  in  the 
mare  with  difficulty ;  ''  she  cost  a  hundred  guineas." 

"  Quest'Ce  quil  ditV^  demanded  his  companion* 

''  //  dit  que  le  cheoal  est  Men  beauP 

^^Allonst  moH  ami^  il  est  tard^*  said  the  beauty,  with  a 
scornful  toss  of  her  head ;  "  aliens  I  *' 

** Encore  un  moment"  said  Francis  Ardry;  ''and  when  shall 
I  see  you  again  ?  " 

''  I  scarcely  know,"  I  replied :  "  I  never  saw  a  more  splendid 
turn-out" 

''  Qtiest'Ce  qtiilditf"  said  the  lady  again. 

"II  dit  que  tout  ttquipage  est  en  asset  Ifon  goitt'^ 

'*  Allans^  ^est  un  ours^*  said  the  lady ;  **  U  chevalmime  en  a 
peur"  added  she,  as  the  mare  reared  up  on  high. 

''Can  you  find  nothing  else  to  admire  but  the  mare  and  the 
equipage?"  said  Francis  Ardry  reproachfully,  after  he  had  with 
some  difficulty  brought  the  mare  to  order. 

Lifting  my  hand,  in  which  I  held  my  stick,  I  took  off  my  hat 
"  How  b^utiful  I "  said  I,  looking  the  lady  full  in  the  face. 

"  Comment  t "  said  the  lady  inquiringly. 

"  II  dit  que  vous  ites  belle  comme  un  ange"  said  Francis  Ardry 
emphatically. 

"Mais d  la  bonne  heure I  arritet^  mom  ami"  said  the  lady  to 
Francis  Ardry^  who  was  about  to  drive  off;  "je  voudrais  bien 
causer  un  moment  avec  lui;  arritezt  il  est  dilicieux,  Est-ce  bien 
ainsi  que  poustraitez  vos  amis  f  "  said  she  passionately,  as  Francis 
Ardry  lifted  up  his  whip.  "  Bonjour,  Monsieur,  bonjour"  said 
she,  thrusting  her  head  from  the  side  and  looking  back,  as  Francis 
Ardry  drove  off  at  the  rate  of  thirteen  miles  an  hour 


CHAPTER  LIX. 


In  about  two  hours  I  had  cleared  the  Great  City,  and  got  beyond 
the  suburban  villages,  or  rather  towns,  in  the  direction  in  which  I 
was  travelling ;  I  was  in  a  broad  and  excellent  road,  leading  I 
knew  not  whither.  I  now  slackened  my  pace,  which  had  hitherto 
been  great.  Presently,  coming  to  a  milestone  on  which  was 
graven  nine  miles,  I  rested  against  it,  and  looking  round  towards 
the  vast  city,  which  had  long  ceased  to  be  visible,  I  fell  into  a 
train  of  meditation. 

I  thought  of  all  my  ways  and  doings  since  the  day  of  my  first 
arrival  in  that  vast  city.  I  had  worked  and  toiled^  and,  though  I 
had  accomplished  nothing  at  all  commensurate  with  the  hopes 
which  I  had  entertained  previous  to  my  arrival,  I  had  achieved 
my  own  living,  preserved  my  independence,  and  become  indebted 
to  no  one.  I  was  now  quitting  it,  poor  in  purse,  it  is  true,  but 
not  wholly  empty;  rather  ailing,  it  may  be,  but  not  broken  in 
health ;  and,  with  hope  within  my  bosom,  had  I  not  cause  upon 
the  whole  to  be  thankful  ?  Perhaps  there  were  some  who,  arriving 
at  the  same  time  under  not  more  fayourable  circumstances,  had 
accomplished  much  more,  and  whose  future  was  hx  more  hopeful 
— GockI  I  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,  ohl  with  not  one  dear  hope  to  cheer  them. 
Had  I  not,  upon  the  whole,  abundant  cause  to  be  grateful? 
Truly,  yes  I 

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 
olring  to  indisposition  or  to  not  having  for  some  time  past  been 
much  in  the  habit  of  taking  such  lengthy  walks,  I  b^gan  to  fed 
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 
wfiat  sounded  like  a  coach  coming  up  rapidly  behind  me. 
Induced,  perhaps,  by  the  weariness  which  I  felt,  I  stopped  and 


3i6  LA  VENGRO.  [1895. 

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-qu«ulouB|  half- 
authoritadve.  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  shaqply  than  before.  "  I  can  ride 
a  little  way,  and  get  down  whenever  I  like,"  thought  I ;  and 
sfmnging  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  greatcoat,  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,  <»*  gentlemen  at  least."    I  made  no  answer.    "  D- that 

off-hand  leader,"  said  the  coachman,  as  the  right-hand  front  horse 
made  a  desperate  start  at  something  he  saw  in  the  road ;  and, 
half  rising,  he  with  great  dexterity  hit  with  his  long  whip  the  off- 
hand leader  a  cut  on  the  off  cheek.  "  These  seem  to  be  fine 
horses,"  said  I.  The  coachman  made  no  answer.  "Nearly 
thorough-bred,"  I  continued ;  the  coachman  drew  his  breath,  with 
a  kind  of  hissing  sound,  through  his  teeth.  "Come,  young 
fellow,  none  of  your  chaff.  Don't  you  think,  because  jrou  ride  on 
my  mail,  I'm  going  to  talk  to  you  about  'orses.  I  talk  to  nobody 
ubout  '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  vou  that  you 
are,  I'll  now  trouble  you  for  your  fare.  If  you  have  been  amongst 
the  thimble-riggers  you  must  be  tolerably  well  cleared  out.    Where 

are  you  going  ? — to ?     I  think  I  have  seen  you  there.    The 

fare  is  sixteen  shillings.  Come,  tip  us  the  blunt ;  them  that  has 
no  money  can't  ride  on  my  mail." 

Sixteen  shillings  was  a  large  sum,  and  to  pay  it  would  make  a 
considerable  inroad  on  my  slender  finances ;  I  thought,  at  first, 
that  I  would  say  I  did  not  want  to  go  so  far ;  but  then  the  fellow 
would  ask  at  once  where  I  wanted  to  go,  and  I  was  ashamed  to 


i8a5.1  AMBSBURY,  WILTS.  517 

acknowledge  my  utter  ignorance  of  the  road.  I  determined, 
therefore,  to  pay  the  fare,  with  a  tacit  determination  not  to  mount 
a  coach  in  future  without  knowing  whither  I  was  going.  So  I  paid 
the  man  the  money,  who,  turning  round,  shouted  to  the  guard — 

"  All  right,  Jem ;  got  fare  to  "  and  forthwith  whipped  on 

his  horses,  especially  the  off-hand  leader,  for  whom  he  seemed  to 
entertain  a  particular  spite,  to  greater  speed  than  before — ^the 
horses  flew. 

A  young  moon  gave  a  feeble  light,  partially  illuminating  a 
line  of  road  which,  appearing  by  no  means  interesting,  I  the  less 
regretted  having  paid  my  money  for  the  privilege  of  being  hurried 
along  it  in  the  flying  vehicle.  We  frequently  changed  horses; 
and  at  last  my  friend  the  coachman  was  replaced  by  another, 
the  very  image  of  himself-— hawk  nose,  red  hce,  wiUi  narrow- 
rimmed  hat  and  fiishionable  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  com."  "  Whipping  him  won't  cure  him  of  his  com," 
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 
leam  to  drive  'orses."  Presently  I  fell  into  a  broken  kind  of 
slumber.    -In  an  hour  or  two  I  was  aroused  by  a  rough  voice — 

"  Got  to f  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,  wUlst  two  people 
mounted.  "All  right,  John,"  said  the  guard  to  the  coachman, 
springing  up  behind ;  whereupon  off  whisked  the  coach,  one  or 
two  individuals  who  were  standing  by  disappeared,  and  I  was 
left  alone. 


CHAPTER  LZ. 


AiTBR  Standing  still  a  minnte  or  tiro,  oonsidering  what  I  should 
do,  I  moved  down  what  appeared  to  be  the  street  of  a  small 
straggling  town;  presently  I  passed  bj  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,  benealh 
which  a  small  stream  was  running  m  the  direction  of  die  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  guigled  below. 

Leaving  the  bridge,  I  ascended  a  gentle  acclivity,  and  presently 
reached  what  appeared  to  be  a  tract  of  moory  undulating  ground. 
It  was  now  tolerably  light,  but  there  was  a  mist  or  haze  abroad 
which  prevented  my  seeing  objects  with  much  precision.  I  felt  chiD 
in  the  damp  air  of  the  early  mom,  and  walked  rapidly  forward. 
In  about  half  an  hour  I  arrived  where  the  road  divided  into  two 
at  an  angle  or  tongue  of  daric  green  swud.  '*  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  con- 
ceived 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  ofif  my  hat,  I  ad- 
vanced 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. 

(518) 


•  .  ( 


xSas.]  STONBHBNQB.  SX9 

The  spirit  of  Stonehenge  was  strong  upon  me  l^^^ 

And  after  I  had  remained  with  my  face  on  the  ground  for 
some  time,  I  arose,  placed  my  hat  on  my  head,  and  taking  up 
my  stick  and  bundle,  wandered  around  the  wondrous  circle, 
examining  each  individual  stone,  from  the  greatest  to  the  least, 
and  then  entering  by  the  great  door,  seated  myself  upon  an 
immense  broad  stone^  one  side  of  which  was  supported  by 
several  small  ones,  and  the  other  slanted  upon  the  earth;  and 
there  in  deep  meditation  I  sat  for  an  hour  or  two,  till  the  sun 
shone  in  my  face  above  the  tall  stones  of  the  eastern  side. 

And  as  I  still  sat  there,  I  heard  the  noise  of  bells^  and 
presently  a  large  number  of  sheep  came  browzing  past  the  circle 
of  stones ;  two  or  three  entered,  and  grazed  upon  what  they 
could  find,  and  soon  a  man  also  entered  the  circle  at  the  northern 
side. 

"  Early  here,  sir,"  said  the  man,  who  was  tall,  and  dressed  in 
a  dark  green  slop,  and  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  shepherd ;  "  a 
traveller,  I  suppose?*' 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  **  I  am  a  traveller ;  are  these  sheep  yours  ?  " 

"They  are,  sir;  that  is,  they  are  my  master's.  A  strange 
place  this,  sir,"  said  he,  looking  at  the  stones;  "ever  here  before?" 

"  Never  in  body,  frequently  in  mind." 

"  Heard  of  the  stones,  I  suppose ;  no  wonder — all  the  people 
of  the  plain  talk  of  them." 

''  What  do  the  people  of  the  plain  say  of  them  ?  ^ 

"  Why,  they  say — How  did  they  ever  come  here  ?  " 

''  Do  they  not  suppose  them  to  have  been  brought  ?  " 
'  Who  should  have  brought  them  ?  " 

'*  I  have  read  that  they  were  brought  by  many  thousand  men." 

"Where  from?" 

"  Ireland" 

"  How  did  they  bring  them  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  And  what  did  they  bring  them  for?  " 

**  To  form  a  temple^  perhaps." 

"What  is  that ?'^ 

"  A  place  to  worship  God  in." 

"  A  strange  place  to  worship  God  in." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  It  has  no  roof." 

"  Yes,  it  has." 

"  Where? "  said  the  man  looking  up. 

"  What  do  you  see  above  you  ?  " 


3ad  LA  VBtfGkO.  t^^S- 

••  The  sky/* 

"WcU?" 

"WeU!" 

**  Have  you  anything  to  say  ?" 

'*  How  did  these  stones  come  here? " 

"  Are  there  other  stones  like  th»e  on  the  plains  ? ''  said  I. 

<<None;  and  yet  there  are  plenty  of  strange  things  on  these 
downs." 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 

"Strange  heaps,  and  barrowsi  and  great  walls  of  earth  buflt 
on  the  tops  of  hills." 

**  Do  the  people  of  the  plain  wonder  how  they  came  there?" 

"They  do  not" 

"Why?" 

"  They  were  raised  by  hands." 

"  And  these  stones  ?  " 

"  How  did  they  ever  come  here  ?  " 

"  I  wonder  whether  they  are  here?  "  said  I. 

"These  stones?" 

"Yes." 

"So  sure  as  the  world,"  said  the  man;  "and,  as  the  world, 
they  will  stand  as  long." 

"  I  wonder  whether  there  is  a  world" 

*•  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  An  earth  and  sea,  moon  and  stars,  sheep  and  men. 

"Do  you  doubt  it?" 

"  Sometimes." 

"  I  never  heard  it  doubted  before." 

"  It  is  impossible  there  should  be  a  world." 

"  It  a' n't  possible  there  shouldn't  be  a  world." 

"  Just  so. '  At  this  moment  a  fine  ewe  attended  by  a  larnb, 
rushed  into  the  circle  and  fondled  the  knees  of  the  shepherd. 
"I  suppose  you  would  not  care  to  have  some  milk,"  said  the 
man. 

"  Why  do  you  suppose  so  ?  " 

"  Because,  so  be,  there  be  no  sheep,  no  milk,  you  know ;  and 
what  there  ben't  is  not  worth  having." 

"You  could  not  have  argued  better,"  said  I;  "that  is, 
supposing  you  have  argued ;  with  respect  to  the  milk,  you  may  do 
as  you  please." 

"  Be  still,  Nanny,"  said  the  man ;  and  {Nrodudng  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. 


•9 


xto5.1  "  ^  yON  IS  BRITISH.  '*  s^i 

*<  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  ?  " 

"  Not  within  many  miles ;  the  nearest  is  yonder  away/'  said 
the  shepherd,  pointing  to  the  south-east.  "  It*s  a  grand  place,  that, 
but  not  like  this ;  quite  different,  and  from  it  you  have  a  sight  of 
the  finest  spire  in  the  world." 

"  I  must  go  to  it,"  said  I,  and  I  drank  the  remainder  of  the 
milk ;  "  yonder,  you  say." 

"  Yes,  yonder ;  but  you  cannot  get  to  it  in  that  direction,  the 
river  lies  between." 

"What  river?" 

"The  Avon/' 

"  Avon  is  British,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  man,  "  we  are  all  British  here." 

"  No,  we  are  not,"  said  I. 

"  What  are  we  then  ?  " 

"  English." 

"  A  n't  they  one  ?  " 

"  No/' 

' '  Who  were  the  British  ?  " 

"  The  men  who  are  supposed  to  have  worshipped  God  in  this 
place,  and  who  raised  these  stones." 

"  Where  are  they  now  ?  " 

"Our  forefathers  slaughtered  them,  spilled  their  blood  all 
about,  especially  in  this  neighbourhood,  destroyed  their  pleasant 
places,  and  left  not,  to  use  their  own  words,  one  stone  upon 
another." 

"Yes,  they  did,"  said  the  shepherd,  looking  aloft  at  the 
transverse  stone. 

"And  it  is  well  for  them  they  did;  whenever  that  stone, 
which  English  hands  never  raised,  is  by  English  hands  thrown 
4own,  woe,  woe,  woe  to  the  English  race;  spare  it,  English  1 
Hengist  spared  it ! — Here  is  sixpence." 

"  I  won't  have  it,"  said  the  man. 

"Why  not?" 

'*  You  talk  so  prettily  about  these  str  nes ;  you  seem  to  know 
all  about  them." 

"  I  never  receive  presents ;  with  respect  to  the  stones,  I  say 
with  yourself,  How  did  they  ever  come  here  1 " 

"  How  did  they  ever  come  here  1 "  said  the  shepherd. 


ai 


CHAPTER  LXI. 


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 
ray  way  over  the  downs  covered  with  coarse  grass  and  fern ;  with 
respect  to  the  river  of  which  he  had  spoken,  I  reflected  that,  either 
by  wading  or  swimming,  I  could  easily  transfer  myself  and  what 
I  bore  to  the  opposite  side.  On  arriving  at  its  banks,  I  found  it 
a  beautiful  stream,  but  shallow,  with  here  and  there  a  deep  place, 
where  the  water  ran  dark  and  still. 

Always  fond  of  the  pure  lymph,  I  undressed,  and  plunged 
into  one  of  these  gulfs,  from  which  I  emeiged,  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  disconso- 
lately for  some  time,  till,  having  nearly  surmounted  a  steep  hill, 
I  knew  at  once,  from  certain  appearances,  that  I  was  near  the 
object  of  my  search.  Turning  to  the  right  near  the  brow  of  the 
hill,  I  proceeded  along  a  path  which  brought  me  to  a  causeway 
leading  over  a  deep  ravine,  and  connecting  the  hill  with  another 
which  had  once  formed  part  of  it,  for  the  ravine  was  evidently 
the  work  of  art.  I  passed  over  the  causeway,  and  found  myself 
in  a  kind  of  gateway  which  admitted  me  into  a  square  space  of 
many  acres,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  mounds  or  ramparts  of 
earth.  Though  I  had  never  been  in  such  a  place  before,  I  knew 
that  I  stood  within  the  precincts  of  what  had  been  a  Roman 
encampment,  and  one  probably  of  the  largest  size,  for  many 
thousand  warriors  might  have  found  room  to  perform  their  evolu* 
tions  in  that  space,  in  which  corn  was  now  growing,  the  green 
ears  waving  in  the  morning  wind. 

After  I  had  gazed  about  the  space  for  a  time,  standing  in  the 

(322) 


1835.]  OLD  SARUM.  333 

gateway  formed  by  the  mounds,  I  clambered  up  the  mound  to 
the  left  hand,  and  on  the  top  of  that  mound  I  found  myself  at  a 
great  altitude ;  beneath,  at  the  distance  of  a  mile»  was  a  fair  old 
city,  situated  amongst  verdant  meadows,  watered  with  streams, 
and  from  the  heart  of  that  old  city,  from  amidst  mighty  trees,  I 
beheld  towering  to  the  sky  the  finest  spire  in  the  world. 

After  I  had  looked  from  the  Roman  rampart  for  a  long  time, 
I  hurried  away,  and,  retracing  my  steps  along  the  causeway,  re- 
gained the  road,  and,  passing  over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  descended 
to  the  city  of  the  spire. 


CHAPTER  LXII. 


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  civili^  and  condescension 
as  people  who  travel  on  foot  with  bundle  and  stick,  but  who 
nevertheless  are  perceived  to  be  not  altogether  destitute  of  coin, 
are  in  the  habit  of  receiving.  On  the  third  day,  on  a  fine  sunny 
afternoon,  I  departed  from  the  city  of  the  spire. 

As  I  was  passing  through  one  of  the  suburbs,  I  saw,  all  on  a 
sudden,  a  respectable-looking  female  fall  down  in  a  fit ;  several 
persons  hastened  to  her  assistance.  "She  is  dead,"  said  one. 
"  No,  she  is  not,"  said  another.     "  I  am  afraid  she  is,"  said  a 

third.    *'  Life  is  very  uncertain,"  said  a  fourth.     "  It  is  Mrs. " 

said  a  fifth ;  "let  us  carry  her  to  her  own  house."  Not  being 
able  to  render  any  assistance,  I  left  the  poor  female  in  the  hands 
of  her  townsfolk,  and  proceeded  on  my  way.  I  had  chosen  a 
road  in  the  direction  of  the  north-west,  it  led  over  downs  where 
corn  was  growing,  but  where  neither  tree  nor  hedge  were  to  be 
seen;  two  or  three  hours'  walking  brought  me  to  a  beautiful 
valley,  abounding  with  trees  of  various  kinds,  with  a  delightful 
village  at  its  farthest  extremity ;  passing  through  it  I  ascended  a 
lofty  acclivity,  on  the  top  of  which  I  sat  down  on  a  bank,  and 
taking  off  my  hat,  permitted  a  breeze,  which  swept  coolly  and 
refreshingly  over  the  downs,  to  dry  my  hair,  dripping  from  the 
effects  of  exercise  and  the  heat  of  the  day. 

And  as  I  sat  there,  gazing  now  at  the  blue  heavens,  now  at 
the  downs  before  me,  a  man  came  along  the  road  in  the  direction 
in  which  I  had  hitherto  been  proceeding :  just  opposite  to  me  he 
stopped,  and,  looking  at  me,  cried:  "Am  I  right  for  London, 
master?" 


z8»5-1  NORTH'WBST.  Saft 

He  was  dressed  like  a  sailor,  and  appeared  to  be  between 
twenty-five  and  thirty  years  of  age;  he  had  an  open  manly 
countenance,  and  there  was  a  bold  and  fearless  expression  in  his 
eye. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  in  reply  to  his  question ;  "  this  is  one  of  the 
ways  to  London.    Do  you  come  from  far  ?  '* 

"  From ,*'  said  the  man,  naming  a  well-known  sea-port. 

''Is  this  the  direct  road  to  London  from  that  place?"  I 
demanded. 

"  No,"  said  the  man ;  "  but  I  had  to  visit  two  or  three  other 
places  on  certain  commissions  I  was  entrusted  with;  amongst 

others  to ,  where  I  had  to  take  a  small  sum  of  money.    I 

am  rather  tired,  master;  and,  if  you  please,  I  will  sit  down  beside 
you." 

"  You  have  as  much  right  to  sit  down  here  as  I  have,"  said  I, 
"  the  road  is  free  for  every  one ;  as  for  sitting  down  beside  me, 
you  have  the  look  of  an  honest  man,  and  I  have  no  objection  to 
your  company." 

*'  Why,  as  for  being  honest,  master,"  said  the  man,  laughing 
and  sitting  down  by  me,  ''I  hav'n't  much  to  say — many  is 
the  wild  thing  I  have  done  when  I  was  younger ;  however,  what 
is  done,  is  done.  To  learn,  one  must  live,  master ;  and  I  have 
lived  long  enough  to  learn  the  grand  point  of  wisdom." 

"  What  is  that?"  said  L 

"  That  honesty  is  the  best  policy,  master." 

"  You  appear  to  be  a  sailor,"  said  I,  looking  at  his  dress. 

**  I  was  not  bred  a  sailor,"  said  the  man, ''  though,  when  my 
foot  is  on  the  salt  water,  I  can  play  the  part — and  play  it  well  toa 
I  am  now  from  a  long  voyage." 

"  From  America?  "  said  L 

**  Farther  than  that,"  said  the  man. 

"  Have  you'any  objection  to  tell  me? "  said  I. 

"  From  New  South  Wales,"  said  the  man,  looking  me  full  in 
the  face. 

*'  Dear  me,"  said  L 

**  Why  do  you  say  '  Dear  me '?  "  said  the  man. 

**  It  is  a  very  long  way  off,"  said  I. 

**  Was  that  your  reason  for  saying  so  ?  "  said  the  man. 

<«  Not  exactly,"  said  L 

"No,"  said  the  man,  with  something  of  a  bitter  smile;  "it 
was  something  else  that  made  you  say  so ;  you  were  thinking  of 
the  convicts." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  what  then— you  aie  no  convict." 


|a6  LA  VBNGRO.  [i8as. 

*  -  I      - 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  look  like  one." 

**  Thank  you,  master,"  said  the  man  cheerfully ;  <*  and,  to  a 
certain  extent,  you  are  right — ^bygones  are  bygones — I  am  no 
longer  what  I  was,  nor  ever  will  be  again ;  the  truth,  however,  is 
the  truth — a  convict  I  have  been — a  convict  at  Sydney  Cove," 

"And  you  have  served  out  the  period  for  whidi  you  were 
sentenced,  and  are  now  returned?" 

"  As  to  serving  out  my  sentence,"  replied  the  man,  "  I  can't 
say  that  I  did ;  I  was  sentenced  for  fourteen  years,  and  I  was  in 
Sydney  Cove  little  more  than  half  that  time.  The  truth  is  that  I 
did  the  Government  a  service.  There  was  a  conspiracy  amongst 
«ome  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  con- 
sideration of  the  service  I  had  done  them,  remitted  the  remainder 
of  my  sentence ;  and  some  kind  gentlemen  interested  themselves 
about  me,  gave  me  good  books  and  good  advice,  and,  being 
satisfied  with  my  conduct,  procured  me  employ  in  an^  exploring 
expedition,  by  which  I  earned  money.  In  fact,  the  being  sent  to 
Sydney  was  the  best  thing  that  ever  happened  to  me  in  all  my 
life." 

''And  you  have  now  returned  to  your  native  country. 
Longing  to  see  home  brought  you  from  New  South  Wales." 

** There  you  are  mistsdcen,"  said  the  man.  "Wish  to  see 
England  again  would  never  have  brought  me  so  £au: ;  for,  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  master,  England  was  a  hard  mother  to  me,  as  she 
has  proved  to  many.  No,  a  wish  to  see  another  kind  of  mother 
— a  poor  old  woman  whose  son  I  am — ^has  brought  me  back." 

"  You  have  a  mother,  then?"  said  I.  "  Does  she  reside  in 
London?" 

"  She  used  to  live  in  London,"  said  the  man ;  "  but  I  am 
afraid  she  is  long  since  dead." 

"  How  did  she  support  herself?  "  said  L 

"  Support  herself!  with  difficulty  enough ;  she  used  to  keep  a 
small  stall  on  London  Bridge,  where  she  sold  fruit ;  I  am  afraid 
she  is  dead,  and  that  she  died  perhaps  in  misery.  She  was  a 
poor  sinful  creature ;  but  I  loved  her,  and  she  loved  me.  I  came 
all  the  way  back  merely  for  the  chance  of  seeing  her^" 

**  Did  you  ever  write  to  her,"  said  I,  "  or  cause  others  to  write 
to  her?" 

"  I  wrote  to  her  myself,"  said  the  man,  "  about  two  years  ago ; 


tt 
n 


iftisO  THE  EX-CONVICT.  327 

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  dearl  what  I 
would  give  only  to  know  that  she  is  alive." 

''  Life  is  very  uncertain,"  said  I. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  the  man,  with  a  sigh. 
We  are  here  one  moment,  and  gone  the  next,"  I  continued. 
As  I  passed  through  the  streets  of  a  neighbouring  town,  I  saw 
a  respectable  woman  drop  down,  and  people  said  she  was  dead. 
Who  knows  but  that  she  too  had  a  son  coming  to  see  her  from  a 
distance,  at  that  very  time." 

"Who  knows,  Indeed,"  said  the  man.  "Ah,  I  am  afraid  my 
mother  is  dead.    Well,  God's  will  be  done.'' 

"  However,"  said  I,  "  I  should  not  wonder  at  your  finding 
your  mother  alive." 

''You  wouldn't?"  said  the  man,  looking  at  me  wistfully. 

"  I  should  not  wonder  at  all,"  said  I ;  "  indeed,  something 
within  me  seems  to  tell  me  you  will ;  I  should  not  much  mind 
betting  five  shillings  to  five  pence  that  you  will  see  your  mother 
within  a  week.     Now,  friend,  five  shillings  to  five  pence " 

''Is  very  considerable  odds,"  said  the  man,  rubbing  his 
hands;  "sure  you  must  have  good  reason  to  hope,  when  you 
are  willing  to  give  such  odds." 

"After  all,"  said  I,  "it  not  unfrequently  happens  that  those 
who  lay  the  long  odds  lose.  Let  us  hope,  however.  What 
do  you  mean  to  do  in  the  event  of  finding  your  mother 
alive?" 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  said  the  man ;  "  I  have  frequently  thought 
that  if  I  found  my  mother  alive  I  would  attempt  to  persuade  her 
to  accompany  me  to  the  country  which  I  have  left — it  is  a  better 
country  for  a  man — that  is  a  free  man — to  live  in  than  this ;  how- 
ever, let  me  first  find  my  mother — if  I  could  only  find  my 
mother ! " 

"  Farewell,*'  said  I,  rising.  "  Go  your  way,  and  God  go  with 
you — I  will  go  mine."  "  I  have  but  one  thing  to  ask  you,"  said 
the  man.  "What  is  that?"  I  inquired.  "That  you  would 
drink  with  me  before  we  part — you  have  done  me  so  much 
good."  "How  should  we  drink?"  said  I;  "we  are  on  the  top 
of  a  hill  where  there  is  nothing  to  drink."  "  But  there  is  a 
village  below,"  said  the  man ;  "  do  let  us  drink  before  we  part." 
*'  I  have  been  through  that  village  already/'  said  I,  "and  I  do 


328  LA  VENGRO.  [18^5. 

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  I  will  go  back  to  oblige 
you.  I  have  an  odd  sixpence  in  my  pocket,  which  I  will  change, 
that  I  may  drink  with  you."  So  we  went  down  the  hill  together 
to  the  village  through  which  I  had  already  passed,  where,  finding 
a  public-house,  we  drank  together  in  true  English  fashion,  after 
which  we  parted,  the  sailor-looking  man  going  his  way  and  I 
mine. 

After  walking  about  a  dozen  miles,  I  came  to  a  town,  where  I 
rested  for  the  night.  The  next  morning  I  set  out  again  in  the 
direction  of  the  north-west.  I  continued  journeying  for  four 
days,  my  daily  journeys  varying  from  twenty  to  twenty-five  miles. 
During  this  time  nothing  occurred  to  me  worthy  of  any  especial 
notice.  The  weather  was  brilliant,  and  I  rapidly  improved  both 
in  strength  and  spirits.  On  the  fifth  day,  about  two  o'clock,  I 
arrived  at  a  small  town.  Feeling  hungry,  I  entered  a  decent- 
looking  inn.  Within  a  kind  of  bar  I  saw  a  huge,  fat,  landlord- 
looking  person,  with  a  very  pretty,  smartly-dressed  maiden. 
Addressing  myself  to  the  fat  man,  ''  House  I  "  said  I,  '^  house  I 
Can  I  have  dinner,  house?" 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 


**  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  bis  hands,  "as  you  will 
not  see  every  day  in  these  times.'* 

'*  I  am  hot  and  dusty/'  said  I,  **  and  should  wish  to  cool  my 
hands  and  face." 

'*  Jenny  I "  said  the  huge  landlord,  with  the  utmost  gravity, 
**  show  the  gentleman  into  number  seven  that  he  may  wash  his 
hands  and  face/' 

"  By  no  means,"  said  I,  *'  I  am  a  person  of  primitive  habits, 
and  there  is  nothing  like  the  pump  in  weather  like  this." 

*'  Jenny  I "  said  the  landlord,  with  the  same  gravity  as  before, 
**  go  with  the  young  gentleman  to  the  pump  in  the  back  kitchen, 
and  take  a  clean  towel  along  with  you." 

Thereupon  the  rosy-faced  clean-looking  damsel  went  to  a 
drawer,  and  producing  a  large,  thick,  but  snowy-white  towel,  she 
nodded  to  me  to  follow  her ;  whereupon  I  followed  Jenny 
through  a  long  passage  into  the  back  kitchen. 

And  at  the  end  of  the  back  kitchen  there  stood  a  pump ;  and 
going  to  it  I  placed  my  hands  beneath  the  spout,  and  said, 
**  Pump,  Jenny,"  and  Jenny  incontinently,  without  laying  down 
the  towel,  pumped  with  one  hand,  and  I  washed  and  cooled  my 
heated  hands. 

And,  when  my  hands  were  washed  and  cooled,  I  took  off  my 
neckcloth,  and  unbuttoning  my  shirt  collar,  I  placed  my  head 
beneath  the  spout  of  the  pump,  and  I  said  unto  Jenny :  **  Now^ 
Jenny,  lay  down  the  towel,  and  pump  for  your  life  ". 

Thereupon  Jenny,  placing  the  towel  on  a  linen-horse,  took  the 
handle  of  the  pump  with  both  hands  and  pumped  over  my  head 
as  handmaid  had  never  pumped  before;  so  that  the  water  poured 
in  torrents  from  my  head,  my  face,  and  my  hair  down  upon  the 
brick  floor. 

And  after  the  lapse  of  somewhat  more  than  a  minute,  I  called 
out  with  a  half-«trangled  voice,  **  Hold^  Jenny  I "    and  Jenny 

(3«9) 


330  LA  VENGRO.  [1835. 

desisted.  I  stood  for  a  few  moments  to  recover  my  breath,  then 
taking  the  towel  which  Jenny  proffered,  I  dried  composedly  my 
hands  and  head,  my  face  and  hair ;  then,  returning  the  towel  to 
Jenny,  I  gave  a  deep  sigh  and  said :  <'  Surely  this  is  one  of  the 
pleasant  moments  of  life ". 

Then,  having  set  my  dress  to  rights,  and  combed  my  hair 
with  a  pocket  comb,  I  followed  Jenny,  who  conducted  me  back 
through  the  long  passage,  and  showed  me  into  a  neat,  sanded 
parlour  on  the  ground  floor. 

I  sat  down  by  a  window  which  looked  out  upon  the  dusty 
street ;  presently  in  came  the  handmaid,  and  commenced  laying 
the  table-cloth.  *'  Shall  I  spread  the  table  for  one,  sir,*'  said  she, 
"  or  do  you  expect  anybody  to  dine  with  you  ?  " 

''  I  can't  say  that  I  expect  anybody,"  said  I,  laughing  inwardly 
to  myself;  "however,  if  you  please  you  can  lay  for  two,  so  that 
if  any  acquaintance  of  mine  should  chance  to  step  in,  he  ma^ 
find  a  knife  and  fork  ready  for  him.'' 

So  I  sat  by  the  window,  sometimes  looking  out  upon  the  dusty 
street,  and  now  glancing  at  certain  old-fashioned  prints  which 
adorned  the  wall  over  against  me.  I  fell  into  a  kind  of  doze, 
from  which  I  was  almost  instantly  awakened  by  the  opening  of 
the  door.  Dinner,  thought  I ;  and  I  sat  upright  in  my  chair. 
No,  a  man  of  the  middle  age,  and  rather  above  the  middle 
height  dressed  in  a  plain  suit  of  black,  made  his  appearance,  and 
sat  down  in  a  chair  at  some  distance  from  me,  but  near  to  the 
table,  and  appeared  to  be  lost  in  thought. 

'*  The  weather  is  very  warm,  sir,"  said  I. 

''  Very,"  said  the  stranger  laconically,  looking  at  me  for  the 
first  time. 

^  Would  you  like  to  see  the  newspaper  ? "  said  I,  taking  up 
one  which  lay  on  the  window  seat. 

*'  I  never  read  newspapers,"  said  the  stranger,  "  nor,  indeed 

^"    Whatever  it  might  be  that  he  had  intended  to  say  he 

left  unfinished*  Suddenly  he  walked  to  the  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  comer  of  the  mantel- 
piece with  his  finger,  advanced  towards  the  chair  which  he  had 
left,  and  again  seated  himself. 

"  Have  you  come  far  ?  "  said  he,  suddenly  looking  towards  me, 
and  speaking  in  a  frank  and  open  manner,  which  denoted  a  wish 
to  enter  into  conversation.  "  You  do  not  seem  to  be  of  this 
place." 


1825.]  THB  INN.  531 

*'  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  tliat  by  exercise  people  would  escape  much  mental 
misery." 

Scarcely  had  I  uttered  these  words  when  the  stranger  laid  his 
hand,  with  seeming  carelessness,  upon  the  table,  near  one  of  the 
glasses;  after  a  moment  or  two  he  touched  the  glass  with  his 
finger  as  if  inadvertently,  then,  glancing  furtively  at  me,  he  with- 
drew his  hand  and  looked  towards  the  window. 

**  Are  you  from  these  parts  ?  '*  said  I  at  last,  with  apparent 
carelessness. 

**  From  this  vidnity,"  replied  the  stranger.  "  You  think,  then, 
that  it  is  as  easy  to  walk  off  the  bad  humours  of  the  mind  as  of 
the  body." 

"  I,  at  least,  am  walking  in  that  hope,"  said  I. 

'*  I  wish  you  may  be  successful/'  said  the  stranger ;  and  here 
he  touched  one  of  the  forks  which  lay  on  the  table  near  him. 

Here  the  door,  which  was  slightly  ajar,  was  suddenly  pushed 
open  with  some  fracas,  and  in  came  the  stout  landlord,  support- 
ing with  some  difficulty  an  immense  dish,  in  which  was  a  mighty 
round  mass  of  smoking  meat  garnished  all  round  with  vegetables ; 
so  high  was  the  mass  that  it  probably  obstructed  his  view,  for  it 
was  not  until  he  had  placed  it  upon  the  table  that  he  appeared 
to  observe  the  stranger ;  he  almost  started,  and  quite  out  of 
breath  exclaimed :  **  God  bless  me,  your  honour ;  is  your  honour 
the  acquaintance  that  the  young  gentleman  was  expecting  ?  " 

**  Is  the  young  gentleman  expecting  an  acquaintance  ?  "  said 
the  stranger. 

There  is  nothing  like  putting  a  good  face  upon  these  matters, 
thought  I  to  myself;  and^  getting  up,  I  bowed  to  the  unknown. 
"  Sir,"  said  I,  '*  when  I  told  Jenny  that  she  might  lay  the  table- 
doth  for  two,  so  that  in  the  event  of  any  acquaintance  dropping 
in  he  might  find  a  knife  and  fork  ready  for  him,  I  was  merdy 
jocular,  being  an  entire  stranger  in  these  parts,  and  expecting  no 
one.  Fortune,  however,  it  would  seem,  has  been  unexpectedly 
kind  to  me;  I  flatter  myself,  sir,  that  since  you  have  been  in 
this  room  I  have  had  the  honour  of  making  your  acquaintance ; 
and  in  the  strength  of  that  hope  I  humbly  entreat  you  to  honour 
me  with  your  company  to  dinner,  provided  you  have  not  already 
dined" 

The  stfanger  laughed  outright*. 

"  Sir,"  I  continued,  ''  the  round  of  beef  is  a  noble  one,  and 
seems  exceedingly  wdl  boiled,  and  the  landlord  was  just  right 


552  LA  VBNGRO.  [1815. 

when  he  said  I  should  hare  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  com- 
panion the  knife  also." 

The  stranger  changed  colour^  and  gazed  upon  me  in  silence. 

'^Do,  sir,"  here  put  in  the  landlord;  "do,  sir,  accept  the 
young  gentleman's  invitation.  Your  honour  has  of  late  been 
looking  poorly,  and  the  young  gentleman  is  a  funny  3roung  gentle- 
man, and  a  clever  young  gentleman  ;  and  I  think  it  will  do  your 
honour  good  to  have  a  dinner's  chat  with  the  young  gentleman." 

"  It  is  not  my  dinner  hour,"  said  the  stranger ;  "  I  dine  con- 
siderably later ;  taking  anything  now  would  only  discompose  me ; 
I  shall,  however,  be  most  happy  to  sit  down  with  the  young  gentle- 
man ;  reach  me  that  paper,  and,  when  the  young  gentleman  has 
satisfied  his  appetite,  we  may  perhaps  have  a  little  chat  together." 

The  landlord  handed  the  stranger  the  newspaper,  and,  bowing, 
retired  with  his  maid  Jenny.  I  helped  myself  to  a  portion  of  the 
smoking  round,  and  commenced  eating  with  no  little  appetite. 
The  stranger  appeared  to  be  soon  engrossed  with  the  newspaper. 
We  continued  thus  a  considerable  time — the  one  reading  and  the 
other  dining.  Chancing  suddenly  to  cast  my  eyes  upon  the 
stranger,  I  saw  his  brow  contract ;  he  gave  a  slight  stamp  with 
his  foot,  and  flung  the  newspaper  to  the  ground,  then  stooping 
down  he  picked  it  up,  first  moving  his  forefinger  along  the  floor, 
seemingly  slightly  scratching  it  with  his  nail. 

''Do  you  hope,  sir,"  said  I,  "by  that  ceremony  with  the 
finger  to  preserve  yourself  from  the  evil  chance  ?  " 

The  stranger  started;  then,  after  looking  at  me  for  some 
time  in  silence,  he  said :  "  Is  it  possible  that  you ?  " 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  I,  helping  myself  to  some  more  of  the  round, 
"  I  have  touched  myself  in  my  younger  days,  both  for  the  evil 
chance  and  the  good.  Can't  say,  though,  that  I  ever  trusted 
much  in  the  ceremony." 

The  stranger  made  no  reply,  but  appeared  to  be  in  deep 
thought;  nothing  further  passed  between  us  until  I  had  con- 
cluded 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  winel**. 

The  stranger  rose ;  "  No,  my  young  firiend,"  said  he,  smiliiic, 


i8as.]  THB  INVITATION.  333 

'*  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  par- 
ticular 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." 

I  looked  in  the  face  of  the  stranger — it  was  a  fine  intelligent 
face,  with  a  cast  of  melancholy  in  it.  "  Sir,*'  said  I,  "  I  would 
go  with  you  though  you  lived  four  miles  instead  of  two.'' 

'*  Who  is  that  gentleman  ?  "  said  I  to  the  landlord,  after  I 
had  settled  his  bill ;  "  I  am  going  home  with  him." 

"  I  wish  I  were  going  too,"  said  the  fat  landlord,  laying  his 
hand  upon  his  stomach.  **  Young  gentleman,  I  shall  be  a  loser 
by  his  honour's  taking  you  away ;  but,  after  all,  the  truth  is  the 
truth — ^there  are  few  gentlemen  in  these  parts  like  his  honour^ 
either  for  learning  or  welcoming  his  friends.  Young  gentleman, 
I  congratulate  you." 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 


I  FOUND  the  stranger  awaiting  me  at  the  door  of  the  inn.  ''Like 
yourself,  I  am  fond  of  walking,"  said  he,  "  and  when  any  little 
business  calls  me  to  this  place  I  generally  come  on  foot." 

We  were  soon  out  of  the  town,  and  in  a  very  beautiful  country. 
After  proceeding  some  distance  on  the  high  road,  we  turned  off, 
and  were  presently  in  one  of  those  mazes  of  lanes  for  which 
England  is  famous ;  the  stranger  at  first  seemed  inclined  to  be 
taciturn ;  a  few  observations,  however,  which  I  made,  appeared 
to  rouse  him,  and  he  soon  exhibited  not  only  considerable  powers 
of  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  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  fi*ont  a  pond  in 
which  were  golden  fish,  and  in  the  middle  a  stone  swan  discharg- 
ing quantities  of  water  from  its  bill.  We  ascended  a  spacious 
flight  of  steps  to  the  door,  which  was  at  once  flung  open,  and  two 
servants  with  powdered  hair,  and  in  livery  of  blue  plush,  came 
out  and  stood  one  on  either  side  as  we  passed  the  threshold.  We 
entered  a  large  hall,  and  the  stranger,  taking  me  by  the  hand, 
welcomed  me  to  his  poor  home,  as  he  called  it,  and  then  gave 
orders  to  another  servant,  but  out  of  livery,  to  show  me  to  an 
apartment,  and  give  me  whatever  assistance  I  might  require  in  my 
toilette.  Notwithstanding  the  plea  as  to  primitive  habits  which  I 
had  lately  made  to  my  other  host  in  the  town,  I  offered  no  objec- 
tion 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. 

(334) 


iSas]  THE  A UTHOR.  335 

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 
painting,  a  portrait,  that  of  my  host,  but  not  him  of  the  mansion. 
Over  the  mantelpiece,  the  features  staringly  like,  but  so  ridicu- 
lously 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 
st4irdy  host  of  the  town. 

I  had  been  in  the  library  about  ten  minutes,  amusing  myself 
as  I  best  could,  when  my  friend  entered^  he  seemed  to  have 
resumed  bis  taciturnity — scarce  a  word  escaped  his  lips  till  dinner 
was  served,  when  he  said,  smiling :  "  I  suppose  it  would  be  merely 
a  compliment  to  ask  you  to  partake  ?  ** 

''I  don't  know,"  said  I,  seating  myself;  "your  first  course 
consists  of  troutlets,  I  am  fond  of  troutlets,  and  I  always  like  to 
be  companionable." 

The  dinner  was  excellent,  though  I  did  but  little  justice  to  it 
from  the  circumstance  of  having  already  dined ;  the  stranger  also, 
though  without  my  excuse,  partook  but  slightly  of  the  good  cheer; 
he  still  continued  taciturn,  and  appeared  lost  in  thought,  and 
every  attempt  which  I  made  to  induce  him  to  converse  was  signally 
unsuccessful. 

And  now  dinner  was  removed,  and  we  sat  over  our  wine,  and 
I  remember  that  the  wine  was  good,  and  fully  justified  the  enco- 
miums of  my  host  of  the  town.  Over  the  wine  I  made  sure  that 
my  entertainer  would  have  loosened  the  chain  which  seemed  to 
tie  his  tongue — but  no  !  I  endeavoured  to  tempt  him  by  various 
topics,  and  talked  of  geometry  and  the  use  of  the  globes,  of  the 
heavenly  sphere,  and  the  star  Jupiter,  which  I  said  I  had  heard 
was  a  very  large  star,  also  of  the  evergreen  tree,  which,  according 
to  Olaus,  stood  of  old  before  the  heathen  temple  of  Upsal,  and 
which  I  affirmed  was  a  yew — but  no,  nothing  that  I  said  could 
induce  my  entertainer  to  relax  his  taciturnity. 

It  grew  dark,  and  I  became  uncomfortable  ;  "  I  must  presently 
be  going,"  I  at  last  exclaimed. 

At  these  words  he  gave  a  sudden  start ;  *'  Going,"  said  he, 
"  are  you  not  my  guest,  and  an  honoured  one  ?  " 

"  You  know  best,"  said  I ;  '*  but  I  was  apprehensive  I  was  an 
intruder ;  to  several  of  my  questions  you  have  returned  no  answer  " 


336  LA  VBNGRO.  [i^. 

**  Ten  thousand  pardons  i  "  he  e»chimed,  seising  me  by  the 
hand;  ''but  you  cannot  go  now,  I  have  much  to  talk  to  you 
about — there  is  one  thing  in  particular " 

"  If  it  be  the  evergreen  tree  at  Upsal,"  said  I,  interrupting 
him,  '*  I  hold  it  to  have  been  a  yew — what  else  ?  The  eveigreens 
of  the  south,  as  the  old  bishop  observes,  will  not  grow  in  the  norths 
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." 

"You  would  do  right ;  the  yew  is  indeed  a  venerable  tree,  but 
it  is  not  about  the  yew." 

**  The  star  Jupiter,  perhaps  ?  " 

*'  Nor  the  star  Jupiter,  nor  its  moons  ;  an  observation  which 
escaped  you  at  the  inn  has  made  a  considerable  impression  upon  me." 

"But  I  really  must  take  my  departure,"  said  I ;  "the  dark 
hour  is  at  hand." 

And  as  I  uttered  these  last  words,  the  stranger  touched  rapidly 
something  which  lay  near  him,  I  forget  what  it  was.  It  was  the 
first  action  of  the  kind  which  I  had  observed  on  his  part  since  we 
sat  down  to  table. 

"You  allude  to  the  evil  chance,"  said  I ;  "but  it  is  getting 
both  dark  and  late." 

"  I  believe  we  are  going  to  have  a  storm,"  said  my  friend, 
"  but  I  really  hope  that  you  will  give  me  your  company  for  a  day 
or  two ;  I  have,  as  I  said  before,  much  to  talk  to  you  about" 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  be  your  guest  for 
this  night ;  I  am  ignorant  <^  the  country,  and  it  is  not  pleasant  to 
travel  unknown  paths  by  night — dear  me,  what  a  flash  of  lightning  1 " 

It  had  become  very  dark ;  suddenly  a  blaze  of  sheet-lightning 
illumed  the  room.  By  the  momentary  light  I  distinctly  saw  my 
host  touch  another  object  upon  the  table. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you  a  question  or  two  ?  "  said  he 
at  last. 

"  As  many  as  you  please,"  said  I ;  "but  shall  we  not  have  lights?" 

"  Not  unless  you  particularly  wish  it,"  said  my  entertainer ;  *'  1 
rather  like  the  dark,  and  though  a  storm  is  evidently  at  hand,  neither 
thunder  not  lightning  have  any  terrors  for  me.  It  is  other  things  I 
quakeat^-I  should  rather  say  ideas.  Now,  permit  me  toaskyou " 

And  then  my  entertainer  asked  me  various  questions,  to  all 
of  which  I  answered  unreservedly ;  he  was  then  silent  for  some 


i8a5.]  THB  TOUCHING  STORY.  337 

time,  at  last  he  exclaimed :  "  I  should  wish  to  tell  you  the  history 
of  my  life ;  though  not  an  adventurous  one,  I  think  it  contains 
some  things  which  will  interest  you  ". 

Without  waiting  for  my  reply  he  began.  Amidst  darkness 
and  gloom,  occasionally  broken  by  flashes  of  lightning,  the 
stranger  related  to  me,  as  we  sat  at  the  table  in  the  library,  his 
truly  touching  history. 

"  Before  proceeding  to  relate  the  events  of  my  life,  it  will  not 
be  amiss  to  give  you  some  account  of  my  ancestors.  My  great- 
grandfather on  the  male  side  was  a  silk  mercer,  in  Cheapside,  who, 
when  he  died,  left  his  son,  who  was  his  only  child,  a  fortune  oJf 
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  digni^,  and  all  this 
he  managed  to  accomplish;  he  disposed  of  his  business,  pur- 
chased 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  sudden,  it  is  true,  but  I  am  not  one  of  those  who 
pray  to  be  delivered  from  a  sudden  death. 

"  I  should  not  call  my  father  a  fortunate  man ;  it  is  true  that 
he  had  the  advantage  of  a  first-rate  education ;  that  he  made  the 
grand  tour  with  a  private  tutor,  as  was  the  fashioi^  at  that  time ; 
&at  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 

32 


S3S  LA  VBMGRO.  (1895. 

fell  upon  him,  and  so  injured  him,  that  he  expired  in  a  few  days 
in  great  agony.  My  grandfather  was,  indeed,  a  fortunate  man; 
when  he  died  he  was  followed  to  the  grave  by  the  tears  of  the 
poor — my  father  was  not 

"  Two  remarkable  circumstances  are  coimected  with  my  birth 
— I  am  a  posthumous  child,  and  came  into  the  world  some  weeks 
before  the  usual  time,  the  shock  which  my  mother  experienced 
at  my  father's  death  having  brought  on  the  pangs  of  premature 
labour ;  both  my  mother's  life  and  my  own  were  at  first  despaired 
of;  we  both,  however,  survived  the  crisis.  My  mother  loved  me 
with  the  most  passionate  fondness,  and  I  was  brought  up  in  this 
house  under  her  own  eye — I  was  never  sent  to  schooL 

"  I  have  already  told  you  that  mine  is  not  a  tale  of  adventure ; 
my  life  has  not  been  one  of  action,  but  of  wild  imaginings  and 
strange  sensations;  I  was  bom  with  excessive  sensibility,  and 
that  has  been  my  bane.    I  have  not  been  a  fortunate  man. 

"  No  one  is  fortunate  unless  he  is  happy,  and  it  is  impossible 
for  a  being  constructed  like  myself  to  be  happy  for  an  hour,  or 
even  enjoy  peace  and  tranquillity ;  most  of  our  pleasures  and  pains 
are  th^  effects  of  imagination,  and  wherever  the  sensibility  is 
great,  the  imagination  is  great  also.  No  sooner  has  my  imagina- 
tion raised  up  an  image  of  pleasure,  than  it  is  sure  to  conjure  up 
one  of  distress  and  gloom ;  these  two  antagonistic  ideas  instantly 
commence  a  struggle  in  my  mind,  and  the  gloomy  one  generally, 
I  may  say  invariably,  prevails.  How  is  it  possible  that  I  should 
be  a  happy  man? 

"  It  has  invariably  been  so  with  me  from  the  earliest  period 
that  I  can  remember;  the  first  playthings  that  were  given  me 
caused  me  for  a  few  minutes  excessive  pleasure ;  they  were  pretty 
and  glittering;  presently,  however,  I  became  anxious  and  per- 
plexed, I  wished  to  know  their  history,  how  they  were  made,  and 
what  of — were  the  materials  precious;  I  was  not  satisfied  with 
their  outward  appearance.  In  less  than  an  hour  I  had  broken  the 
playthings  in  an  attempt  to  discover  what  they  were  made  of. 

"  When  I  was  eight  years  of  age  my  uncle  the  baronet,  who 
was  also  my  godfather,  sent  me  a  pair  of  Norway  hawks,  with 
directions  for  managing  them ;  he  was  a  great  fowler.  Oh,  how 
rejoiced  was  I  with  the  present  which  had  been  made  me,  my  joy 
lasted  for  at  least  five  minutes ;  I  would  let  them  breed,  I  would 
have  a  house  of  hawks ;  yes,  that  I  would — but—and  here  came 
the  unpleasant  idea — suppose  they  were  to  fly  away,  how  veiy 
annoying !  Ah,  but,  said  hope,  there's  little  fear  of  that ;  feed 
them  well  and  they  will  never  fiy  away,  or  if  they  do  they  will 


iflasl  ^^^  TOUCHING  STORY.  559 

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  thmking  of  scrawling  a  letter  to  my 
unde  to  make  inquiry  on  this  point,  but  shame  restrained  me, 
and  I  likewise  reflected  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to 
give  my  mind  entire  satisfaction ;  it  is  true  he  could  tell  who 
sent  him  the  hawks,  but  how  was  he  to  know  how  the  hawks  came 
into  the  possession  of  those  who  sent  them  to  him,  and  by  what 
right  they  possessed  them  or  the  parents  of  the  hawks.  In  a 
word,  I  wanted  a  clear  valid  title,  as  lawyers  would  say,  to  my 
hawks,  and  I  believe  no  title  would  have  satisfied  me  that  did  not 
extend  up  to  the  time  of  the  first  hawk,  that  is,  prior  to  Adam ; 
and,  could  I  have  obtained  such  a  title,  I  make  no  doubt  that, 
young  as  I  was,  I  should  have  suspected  that  it  was  full  of  flaws. 
"  I  was  now  disgusted  with  the  hawks,  and  no  wonder,  seeing 
all  the  disquietude  they  had  caused  me ;  I  soon  totally  neglected 
the  poor  birds,  and  they  would  have  starved  had  not  some  of  the 
servants  taken  compassion  upon  them  and  fed  them.  My  uncle, 
soon  hearing  of  my  neglect,  was  angry,  and  took  the  birds  away; 
he  was  a  very  good-natured  man,  however,  and  soon  sent  me  a 
fine  pony ;  at  first  I  was  charmed  with  the  pony,  soon,  however, 
the  same  kind  of  thoughts  arose  which  had  disgusted  me  on  a 
former  occasion.  How  did  my  uncle  become  possessed  of  the 
pony  ?  This  question  I  asked  him  the  first  time  I  saw  him.  Oh, 
he  had  bought  it  of  a  gypsy,  that  I  might  learn  to  ride  upon  it. 
A  gypsy;  I  had  heard  that  gypsies  were  great  thieves,  and  I 
instantly  began  to  fear  that  the  gypsy  had  stolen  the  pony,  and  it 
is  probable  that  for  this  apprehension  I  had  better  grounds  than 
for  many  others.  I  instantly  ceased  to  set  any  value  upon  the 
pony,  but  for  that  reason,  perhaps,  I  turned  it  to  some  account ; 
I  mounted  it,  and  rode  it  about,  which  I  don't  think  I  should 
have  done  had  I  looked  upon  it  as  a  secure  possession.  Had  I 
looked  upon  my  title  as  secure,  I  should  have  prized  it  so  much 
that  I  should  scarcely  have  mounted  it  for  fear  of  injuring  the 


340  LA  VBNGRO.  [i8ts- 


animal ;  but  now,  caring  not  a  straw  for  it,  I  rode  it  most  un- 
mercifully, 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 
bad  belonged  to  gypsies ;  once,  as  I  was  riding  it  furiously  over 
the  lawn,  applying  both  whip  and  spur,  it  suddenly  lifted  up  its 
heels,  and  flung  me  at  least  five  yards  over  its  head.  I  received 
some  desperate  contusions,  and  was  taken  up  for  dead ;  it  was 
many  months  before  I  perfectly  recovered. 

^  But  it  is  time  for  me  to  come  to  the  touching  part  of  my 
story.  There  was  one  thing  that  I  loved  better  than  the  choicest 
gift  which  could  be  bestowed  upon  me,  better  than  life  itself 
— ^my  mother;  at  length  she  became  unwell,  and  the  diought 
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  con- 
tinued to  do  day  after  day ;  frequently  I  would  struggle  to  resist 
the  impulse,  but  invariably  in  vain.  I  have  even  rushed  away 
firom  the  objecti  but  I  was  sure  to  return,  the  impulse  was  too 
strong  to  be  resisted :  I  quickly  hurried  back,  compelled  by  the 
feeling  within  me  to  touch  the  object.  Now,  I  need  not  tell  you 
that  what  impelled  me  to  these  actions  was  the  desire  to  prevent 
my  mother's  death ;  whenever  I  touched  any  particular  object,  it 
was  with  the  view  of  baffling  the  evil  chance,  as  you  would  call  it 
— in  this  instance  my  mother's  death. 

"  A  favourable  crisis  occurred  in  my  mother's  complaint,  and  she 
recovered ;  this  crisis  took  place  about  six  o'clock  in  the  morning ; 
almost  simultaneously  with  it  there  happened  to  myself  a  rather 
remarkable  circumstance  connected  with  the  nervous  feeling 
which  was  rioting  in  my  system.  I  was  lying  in  bed  in  a  kind  of 
uneasy  doze,  the  only  kind  of  rest  which  my  anxiety,  on  account 
of  my  mother,  permitted  me  at  this  time  to  take,  when  all  at  once 
I  sprang  up  as  if  electrified,  the  mysterious  impulse  was  upon 


iSas-]  THB  TOUCHING  STORT.  341 

mCt  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.  Aficustomed  for 
some  time  as  I  had  been,  under  this  impulse,  to  perform  extrava- 
gant 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  roe  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  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 
Cedlen  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  de- 
scribed, 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  bafiled  the 
evil  chance  by  my  daring  feat. 

''Indeed,  all  the  time  that  I  was  performing  these  strange 
feats,  I  knew  them  to  be  highly  absurd,  yet  the  impulse  to  perform 
them  was  irresistible — a  mysterious  dread  hanging  over  me  till 
I  had  given  way  to  it ;  even  at  that  early  period  I  frequently  used 
to  reason  within  myself  as  to  what  could  be  the  cause  of  my  pro- 
pensity to  touch,  but  of  course  I  could  come  to  no  satisfactory 
conclusion  respecting  it ;  being  heartily  ashamed  of  the  practice, 
I  never  spoke  of  it  to  any  one,  and  was  at  all  times  highly 
solicitous  that  no  one  should  observe  my  weakness.** 


CHAPTER  LXV. 


After  a  short  pause  my  host  resumed  his  narration.  "^Though 
I  was  never  sent  to  school^  my  education  was  not  n^lected  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  retire- 
ment, devoting  herself  to  the  superintendence  of  my  education, 
and  the  practice  of  acts  of  charity ;  nothing  could  be  more  inno- 
cent 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  liiat  tt  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 

(342) 


i8a5.]  STORY  CONTINUED.  343 

succeeded.  I  became  moderately  dissipated — I  say  modeniteiyy 
for  dissipation  had  but  little  xest  for  me. 

''Id  this  manner  four  years  passed  over.  It  happened  that  I 
was  in  London  in  the  height  of  the  season  with  my  uncle,  at  his 
house;  one  morning  he  summoned  me  into  the  parlour,  he  was 
standing  before  the  fire,  and  looked  very  serious*  '  I  have  had  a 
letter,'  said  he;  'your  mother  is  very  ill.'  I  staggered,  and 
touched  the  nearest  object  to  me;  nothing  was  said  for  two  or 
three  minutes,  and  then  my  uncle  put  his  lips  to  my  ear  and 
whispered  something.     I  fell  down  senseless.    My  mother  was 

I  remember  nothing  for  a  long  time — ^for  two  years  I  was  out 

of  my  mind ;  at  the  end  of  this  time  I  recovered,  or  partly  so. 
My  uncle  the  baronet  was  very  kind  to  me ;  he  advised  me  to 
travel,  he  offered  to  go  with  me.  I  told  him  he  was  very  kind, 
but  I  would  rather  go  by  myself.  So  I  went  abroad,  and  saw, 
amongst  other  things,  Rome  and  the  Pyramids.  By  frequent 
change  of  scene  my  mind  became  not  happy,  but  tolerably  tranquil. 
I  continued  abroad  some  years,  when,  becoming  tired  of  travelling, 
I  came  home,  found  my  uncle  the  baronet  alive,  hearty,  and 
unmarried,  as  he  still  is.  He  received  me  very  kindly,  took  me 
to  Newmarket,  and  said  that  he  hoped  by  this  time  I  was  become 
quite  a  man  of  the  world ;  by  his  advice  I  took  a  house  in  town, 
in  which  I  lived  during  the  season.  In  summer  I  strolled  from 
one  watering-place  to  another ;  and,  in  order  to  pass  the  time,  I 
became  very  dissipated. 

"At  last  I  became  as  tired  of  dissipation  as  I  had  previously 
been  of  travelling,  and  I  determined  to  retire  to  the  country,  and 
live  on  my  paternal  estate;  this  resolution  I  was  not  slow  in 
putting  into  effect ;  I  sold  my  house  in  town,  repaired  and  re- , 
furnished  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  I 
what  will  become  of  me?  I  am  afraid  I  shall  go  mad.  I  hove 
lived  thirty-five  years  and  upwards  without  doing  anything ;  shall 
I  pass  through  life  in  this  manner  ?  Horror  1 '  And  thei>  in 
vapid  succession  I  touched  three  different  objects. 

"  I  dressed  myself  and  went  down,  determining  to  set  about 
something ;  but  what  was  I  to  do  P-^there  was  the  difficulty.    I 


544  ^^  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

ate  no  breakfast,  but  walked  about  the  room  in  a  state  of  distrac- 
tion ;  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  ?  '  111  try  at 
once^'  said  I,  and  forthwith  I  rushed  into  the  largest  dining-room, 
and,  locking  the  door,  I  commenced  speaking ;  '  Mr.  Speaker,'  said 
I,  and  then  I  went  on  speaking  for  about  ten  minutes  as  I  best  could, 
and  then  I  left  off,  for  I  was  talking  nonsense.  No,  I  was  not 
formed  for  Parliament ;  I  could  do  nothing  there.  What — what 
was  I  to  do  ? 

'*Many,  many  times  I  thought  this  question  over,  but  was 
unable  to  solve  it ;  a  fear  now  stole  over  me  that  I  was  unfit  for 
anything  in  the  world,  save  the  lazy  life  of  vegetation  which  I  had  for 
many  years  been  leading ;  yet,  if  that  were  the  case,  thought  I,  why  the 
craving  within  me  to  distinguish  myself?  Surely  it  does  not  occur 
fortuitously,  but  is  intended  to  rouse  and  call  into  exercise  certain 
latent  powers  that  I  possess?  and  then  with  infinite  eagerness  I 
set  about  attempting  to  discover  these  latent  powers.  I  tried  an 
infinity  of  pursuits,  botany  and  geology  amongst  the  rest,  but  in 
vain ;  I  was  fitted  for  none  of  them.  I  became  very  sorrowful 
and  despondent,  and  at  one  time  I  had  almost  resolved  to  plunge 
again  into  the  whirlpool  of  dissipation ;  it  was  a  dreadful  resource, 
it  was  true,  but  what  better  could  I  do? 

"  But  I  was  not  doomed  to  return  to  the  dissipation  of  the 
world.  One  morning  a  young  nobleman,  who  had  for  some  time 
past  shown  a  wish  to  cultivate  my  acquaintance,  came  to  me  in  a 
considerable  huny.  '  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  ^nd  myself  utterly 
incompetent  to  put  one  together ;  do  oblige  me  by  writing  one  for 
mCf  I  know  you  can ;  and,  if  at  any  time  you  want  a  person  to 


iSas]  THB  SURPRISE.  345 

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.  'WelV  said  he,  'what  success?' 
'Very  poor,'  said  I;  *but  judge  for  yourself;'  and  I  put  into 
his  hand  a  manuscript  of  several  pages.  My  friend  read  it  through 
with  considerable  attention.  '  I  congratulate  you,'  said  he,  *  and 
likewise  myself;  I  was  not  mistaken  in  my  opinion  of  you;  the 
address  is  too  long  by  at  least  two-thirds,  or  I  should  rather  say  it 
is  longer  by  two-thirds  than  addresses  generally  are;  but  it  will 
do — I  will  not  curtail  it  of  a  word.  I  shall  win  my  election.' 
And  in  truth  he  did  win  his  election ;  and  it  was  not  only  his 
own  but  the  general  opinion  that  he  owed  it  to  the  address. 

**  But,  however  that  might  be,  I  had,  by  writing  the  address, 
at  last  discovered  what  had  so  long  eluded  my  search — ^what  I 
was  able  to  do.  I,  who  had  neither  the  nerve  nor  the  command 
of  speech  necessary  to  constitute  the  orator — who  had  not  the 
power  of  patient  research  required  by  those  who  would  investigate 
the  secrets  of  nature^  had,  nevertheless,  a  ready  pen  and  teeming 
imagination.  This  discovery  decided  my  fote — ^from  that  moment 
I  b^iame  an  author.'* 


CHAPTER  LXVI. 


''An  author,"  said  I,  addressing  my  host;  "is  it  possible  that  I 
am  under  the  roof  of  an  author?" 

''Yes/'  said  my  host,  sighing,  "my  name  is  so  and  so,  and  I 
am  the  author  of  so  and  so ;  it  is  more  than  probable  that  you 
have  heard  both  of  my  name  and  works.  I  will  not  detain  you 
much  longer  wi^h  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  immodeiatdy  every- 
thing 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 
practice  moderation  in  some  things,  in  drink  and  the  like — to 
restrain  the  appetites — ^but  can  a  man  restrain  the  affections  of  his 
mind,  and  tell  them,  so  far  you  shall  go,  and  no  farther  ?  Alas, 
no !  for  the  mind  is  a  subtle  principle,  and  cannot  be  confined. 
The  winds  may  be  imprisoned ;  Homer  says  that  Odysseus  carried 
certain  winds  in  his  ship,  confined  in  leathern  bags,  but  Homer 
never  speaks  of  confining  the  affections.  It  were  but  right  that 
those  who  exhort  us  against  inordinate  affections,  and  setting  our 
hearts  too  much  upon  the  world  and  its  vanities,  would  tdl  us 
how  to  avoid  doing  so. 

"  I  need  scarcely  tell  you,  that  no  sooner  did  I  become  an 
author,  than  I  gave  myself  up  immoderately  to  my  vocation.  It 
became  my  idol,  and,  as  a  necessary  consequence,  it  has  proved  a 
source  of  misery  and  disquietude  to  me,  instead  of  pleasure  and 
blessing.  I  had  trouble  enough  in  writing  my  first  work,  and  I 
was  not  long  in  discovering  that  it  was  one  thing  to  wn'te  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  pn^>er 

(346) 


1825.1  THE  SEQUEL.  347 

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  exacdy  please  me,  I  thought  would  serve  to 
make  an  experiment  upon  the  public;  so  I  laid  it  before  the 
public,  and  the  reception  which  it  met  with  was  far  beyond  my 
wildest  expectations.  The  public  were  delighted  with  it,  but 
what  were  my  feelings  ?  Anything,  alas !  but  those  of  delight 
No  sooner  did  the  public  express  its  satisfaction  at  the  result  of 
my  endeavours,  than  my  perverse  imagination  began  to  conceive 
a  thousand  chimerical  doubts ;  forthwith  I  sat  down  to  analyse  it ; 
and  my  worst  enemy,  and  all  people  have  their  enemies,  especially 
authors — my  worst  enemy  could  not  have  discovered  or  sought 
to  discover  a  tenth  part  of  the  faults  which  I,  the  author  and 
creator  of  the  unfortunate  production,  found  or  sought  to  find  in 
it.  It  has  been  said  that  love  makes  us  blind  to  the  &ults  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  inordin- 
ate 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 
feults  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  l^ality  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  1^  How  did  they  come  into  my 
mind?  Did  I  invent  them?  Did  they  originate  with  myself? 
Are  they  my  own,  or  are  they  some  other  body's?  You  see  into 
what  difficulty  I  had  got ;  I  won't  trouble  you  by  relating  all  that 
I  endured  at  that  time,  but  will  merely  say  that  after  eating  my 
own  heart,  as  the  Italians  say,  and  touching  every  object  that 
came  in  my  way  for  six  months,  I  at  length  flung  my  book,  I 
mean  the  copy  of  it  which  I  possessed,  into  the  fire,  and  began 
another. 

*'  But  it  was  all  in  vain ;  I  laboured  at  this  other,  finished  it, 
and  gave  it  to  the  world ;  and  no  sooner  had  I  done  so,  than  the 
same  thought  was  busy  in  my  brain,  poisoning  all  the  pleasure 
which  I  should  otherwise  have  derived  from  my  work.  How  did 
I  get  all  the  matter  which  composed  it  ?  Out  of  my  own  mind, 
unquestionably ;  but  how  did  it  come  there — ^was  it  the  indigenous 


34*  LA  VBNGRO.  [i8s» 

growth  of  the  mind  ?  Aiid  then  I  would  sit  down  and  pondei 
over  the  various  scenes  and  adventures  in  my  bode,  endeavouring 
to  ascertain  how  I  came  originally  to  devise  them,  and  by  dint 
of  reflecting  I  remembered  that  to  a  sin^  word  in  convenalion, 
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  subse- 
quently 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  phiai,  poisoning  all  the  pleasure  which  I 
should  otherwise  have  derived  from  the  result  of  my  brain  sweat. 
*  How  hard  1  *  I  would  exclaim,  looking  up  to  the  sky, '  how  hard  I 
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 
flrst ;  I  flung  it  aside  and,  in  order  to  forget  it,  I  began  a  third, 
on  which  I  am  now  occupied;  but  the  difficulty  of  writing 
it  is  immense,  my  extreme  desire  to  be  original  sadly  cramping 
the  powers  of  my  mind ;  my  fastidiousness  being  so  great  that  I 
invariably  reject  whatever  ideas  I  do  not  think  to  be  legitimately 
my  own.  But  there  is  one  circumstance  to  which  I  cannot  help 
alluding  here,  as  it  serves  to  show  what  miseries  this  love  of 
originality  must  needs  bring  upon  an  author.  I  am  constantly 
discovering  that,  however  original  I  may  wish  to  be,  I  am  continu- 
ally producing  the  same  things  which  other  people  say  or  write. 
Whenever,  after  producing  something  which  gives  me  perfect 
satisfaction,  and  which  has  cost  me  perhaps  days  and  nights  of 
brooding,  I  chance  to  take  up  a  book  for  the  sake  of  a  little 
relaxation,  a  book  which  I  never  saw  before,  I  am  sure  to  find  in 
it  something  more  or  less  resembling  some  part  of  what  I  have 
been  just  composing.  You  will  easily  conceive  the  distress  which 
then  comes  over  me;  'tis  then  that  I  am  almost  tempted  to 
execrate  the  chance  which,  by  discovering  my  latent  powers, 
induced  me  to  adopt  a  profession  of  such  anxiety  and  misery. 
**  For  some  time  past  I  have  given  up  reading  almost  entirely, 
owing  to  the  dread  which  I  entertain  of  lighting  upon  something 
similar  to  what  I  myself  have  written.  I  scarcely  ever  transgress 
without  having  almost  instant  reason  to  repent.  To-day,  when  I 
took  up  the  newspaper,  I  saw  in  a  speech  of  the  Duke  of  Rhodo 
dendron,  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  diflerent  occasion ; 


18S5-]  THB  SEQUEL.  549 

you  saw  how  I  dashed  the  newspaper  down — ^you  saw  how  I 
touched  the  floor;  the  touch  was  to  baffle  the  evil  chance,  to 
prevent  the  critics  detecting  any  similarity  between  the  speech  of 
the  Duke  of  Rhododendron  at  the  agricultural  dinner,  and  the 
speech  of  my  personage.  My  sensibility  on  the  subject  of  my 
writings  is  so  great,  that  sometimes  a  chance  word  is  sufficient 
to  unman  me,  I  apply  it  to  them  in  a  superstitious  sense ;  for 
example,  when  you  said  some  time  ago  that  the  dark  hour  was 
coming  on,  I  applied  it  to  my  works — it  appeared  to  bode  them 
evil  fortune;  you  saw  how  I  touched,  it  was  to  baffle  the  evil 
chance ;  but  I  do  not  confine  myself  to  touching  when  the  fear  of 
the  evil  chance  is  upon  me.  To  baffle  it  I  occasionally  perform 
actions  which  must  appear  highly  incomprehensible ;  I  have  been 
known,  when  riding  in  company  with  other  people,  to  leave  the 
direct  road,  and  make  a  long  circuit  by  a  miry  lane  to  the  place 
to  which  we  were  going.  I  have  also  been  seen  attempting  to 
ride  across  a  morass,  where  I  had  no  business  whatever,  and  in 
which  my  horse  finally  sank  up  to  its  saddle-girths,  and  was  only 
extricated  by  the  help  of  a  multitude  of  hands.  I  have,  of  course, 
frequently  been  asked  the  reason  for  such  conduct,  to  which  I 
have  invariably  returned  no  answer,  for  I  scorn  dupUcity ;  where- 
upon people  have  looked  mysteriously,  and  sometimes  put  their 
fingers  to  their  foreheads.  *  And  yet  it  can't  be,'  I  once  heard  an 
old  gentleman  say;  'don't  we  know  what  he  is  capable  of?'  and 
the  old  man  was  right ;  I  merely  did  these  things  to  avoid  the 
evil  chance,  impelled  by  the  strange  feeling  within  me ;  and  this 
evil  chance  is  invariably  connected  with  my  writings,  the  only 
things  at  present  which  render  life  valuable  to  me.  If  I  touch 
various  objects,  and  ride  into  miry  places,  it  is  to  baffle  any 
mischance  befalling  me  as  an  author,  to  prevent  my  books  getting 
into  disrepute ;  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  to  prevent  any  expressions, 
thoughts  or  situations  in  any  work  which  I  am  writing  from  re- 
sembling the  thoughts,  expressions  and  situations  of  other  authors, 
for  my  great  wish,  as  I  told  you  before,  is  to  be  original. 

"  I  have  now  related  my  history,  and  have  revealed  to  you  the 
secrets  of  my  inmost  bosom.  I  should  certainly  not  have  spoken 
so  unreservedly  as  I  have  done,  had  I  not  discovered  in  you  a 
kindred  spirit  I  have  long  wished  for  an  opportunity  of  dis- 
coursing 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  aU 
that  relates  to  the  star  Jupiter,  or  the  mysterious  tree  at  Upsal." 


350  LA  VSNGRO.  [iSas- 

Such  was  the  story  which  my  host  related  to  me  in  the  library, 
amidst  the  darkness,  occasionally  broken  by  flashes  of  lightning. 
Both  of  us  remained  silent  for  some  time  after  it  was  concluded. 

"  It  is  a  singular  story,"  said  I,  at  last^  "  though  I  confess  that 
I  was  prepared  for  some  part  of  it.  Will  you  permit  me  to  ask 
you  a  question  ?  " 

"  Certainly/'  said  my  host 

"  Did  you  never  speak  in  public  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Never." 

"  And  when  you  made  this  speech  of  yours  in  the  dining-room, 
commencing  with  Mr.  Speaker,  no  one  was  present  ?  " 

^  None  in  the  world,  I  double-locked  the  door ;  what  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  An  idea  came  into  my  head — dear  me»  how  the  rain  is  pour* 
ing — ^but,  with  respect  to  your  present  troubles  and  anxieties, 
would  it  not  be  wise,  seeing  that  authorship  causes  you  so  much 
trouble  and  anxiety,  to  give  it  up  altogether  ?  " 

"Were  you  an  author  yourself,"  replied  my  host,  "you  would 
not  talk  in  this  manner ;  once  an  author,  ever  an  author — ^besides, 
whft  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  a(  mine 
are  utterly  without  foundation ;  that  whatever  I  write  is  the  legiti- 
mate growth  of  my  own  mind,  and  that  it  is  the  height  of  folly  to 
afflict  myself  at  any  chance  resemblance  between  my  own  thoughts 
and  those  of  other  writers,  such  resemblance  being  inevitable  from 
the  fact  of  our  common  human  origin.    In  short " 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  I ;  "  notwithstanding  your  troubles 
and  anxieties  you  find  life  very  tolerable ;  has  your  originality  ever 
been  called  in  question  ?  " 

'*  On  the  contrary,  every  one  declares  that  originality  con- 
stitutes 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  dis- 
crimination of  the By-the-bye,  what  a  rascally  newspaper 

that  is ! " 

"A  very  rascally  newspaper,"  said  I. 

» Jl/5..  "The Times". 


CHAPTER  LXVIL 


During  the  greater  part  of  that  night  my  slumbers  were  disturbed 
by  strange  dreams*  Amongst  other  things,  I  fancied  that  I  was 
my  host;  my  head  appeared  to  be  teeming  with  wild  thoughts 
and  imaginations,  out  of  which  I  was  endeavouring  to  frame  a 
book.  And  now  the  book  was  finished  and  given  to  the  world, 
and  the  world  shouted ;  and  all  eyes  were  turned  upon  me,  and  I 
shrunk  from  the  eyes  of  the  world.  And,  when  I  got  into  retired 
places,  I  touched  various  objects  in  order  to  baffle  the  evil  chance. 
In  short,  during  the  whole  night,  I  was  acting  over  the  story  which 
I  had  beard  before  I  went  to  bed. 

At  about  eight  o'clock  I  awoke.  The  storm  had  long  since 
passed  away,  and  the  morning  was  bright  and  shining ;  my  couch 
was  so  soft  and  luxurious  that  I  felt  loth  to  quit  it,  so  I  lay  some 
time,  my  eyes  wandering  about  the  magnificent  room  to  which 
fortune  had  conducted  me  in  so  singular  a  manner;  at  last  I 
heaved  a  sigh ;  I  was  thinking  of  my  own  homeless  conditi(Mi,  and 
imagining  where  I  should  find  myself  on  the  following  morning. 
Unwilling,  however,  to  indulge  in  melancholy  thoughts,  I  sprang 
out  of  b^  and  proceeded  to  dress  myself,  and,  whilst  dressing,  I 
felt  an  irresistible  inclination  to  touch  the  bed-post. 

I  finished  dressing  and  left  the  room,  feeling  compelled,  how- 
ever, 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  in- 
fluence should  have  possessed  me  again  ?  but  I  will  not  give  way  to 
it ;  so  I  hurried  down  stairs,  resisting  as  I  went  a  certain  inclination 
which  I  occasionally  felt  to  touch  the  rail  of  the  bannister.  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 

(35') 


554  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

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  1 "  I  exclaimed,  "  ye 
sorceries,  in  which  I  formerly  trusted — begone  for  ever  vagaries 
which  I  had  almost  forgotten ;  good  luck  is  not  to  be  obtained, 
or  bad  averted,  by  magic  touches ;  besides,  two  wizards  in  one 
parish  would  be  too  much,  in  all  conscience." 

I  returned  to  the  house,  and  entered  the  library;  breakfast 
was  laid  on  the  table,  and  my  friend  was  standing  before  the 
portrait  which  I  have  already  said  hung  above  the  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. 

'*What  can  possibly  have  induced  you  to  hang  that  portrait 
up  in  your  library  ?  it  is  a  staring  likeness,  it  is  true,  but  it  appears 
to  me  a  wretched  daub." 

"  Daub  as  you  call  it,"  said  my  friend,  smiling,  "  1  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  occa- 
sionally 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  tor- 
mented by  the  thought  that,  by  doing  this,  I  am  committing 
plagiarism ;  though  in  that  case,  all  thoughts  must  be  plagiarisms, 
all  that  we  think  being  the  result  of  what  we  hear,  see  or  feel. 
What  can  I  do  ?  I  must  derive  my  thoughts  from  some  source 
or  other ;  and,  after  all,  it  is  better  to  plagiarise  from  the  features 
of  my  landlord  than  from  the  works  of  Butler  and  Cervantes. 
My  works,  as  you  are  aware,  are  of  a  serio-comic  character.  My 
neighbours  are  of  opinion  that  I  am  a  great  reader,  and  so  I  am, 
but  only  of  those  features — my  real  library  is  that  picture." 

** But  how  did  you  obtain  it?" 

"Some  years  ago  a  travelling  painter  came  into  this  neigh- 
bourhood, 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  aflectionate  dis- 
position, 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" 


ift»5.)  THB  RBV.  MR.  PLATITUDB.  353 

We  sat  down  to  breakfast ;  my  entertainer  appeared  to  be  in 
much  better  spirits  than  on  the  preceding  day ;  I  did  not  observe 
him  touch  once ;  ere  breakfast  was  over  a  servant  entered — ''The 
Reverend  Mr.  Platitude,  sir/'  said  he. 

A  shade  of  dissatisfaction  came  over  the  countenance  of  my 
host.  ''What  does  the  silly  pestilent  fellow  mean  by  coming 
here?''  said  he,  half  to  himself;  "let  him  come  in/'  said  he  to 
the  servant. 

The  servant  went  out,  and  in  a  moment  reappeared,  intro- 
ducing the  Reverend  Mr.  Platitude.  The  Reverend  Mr,  Plati- 
tude, 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  I/ndtical  fashion,  in  a  suit  of  spotless  black,  and  a 
neckerchief  of  spotless  white. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Platitude  advanced  winking  and  grinning 
to  my  entertainer,  who  received  him  politely  but  with  evident 
coldness ;  nothing  daunted,  however,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Platitude 
took  a  seat  by  the  table,  and,  being  asked  to  take  a  cup  of  coffee, 
winked,  grinned  and  consented. 

In  company  I  am  occasionally  subject  to  fits  of  what  is  gener- 
ally called  absence ;  my  mind  takes  flight  and  returns  to  former 
scenes,  or  presses  forward  into  the  future.  One  of  these  fits  of 
absence  came  over  me  at  this  time — I  looked  at  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Platitude  for  a  moment,  heard  a  word  or  two  that  proceeded 
from  his  mouth,  and  saying  to  myself,  "  You  are  no  man  for  me," 
fell  into  a  fit  of  musing — ^into  the  same  train  of  thought  as  in  the 
morning,  no  very  pleasant  one — I  was  thinking  of  the  future. 

I  continued  in  my  reverie  for  some  time,  and  probably  should 
have  continued  longer,  had  I  not  been  suddenly  aroused  by  the 
voice  of  Mr.  Platitude  raised  to  a  very  high  key.  "  Yes,  my  dear 
sir,"  said  he,  "  it  is  but  too  true ;  I  have  it  on  good  authority — ^a 
gone  church — a  lost  church — a  ruined  church — ^a  demolished 
church  is  the  Church  of  England.  Toleration  to  Dissenters! 
oh,  monstrous!" 

"  I  suppose,"  said  my  host,  "  that  the  repeal  of  the  Test  Acts 

will  be  merely  a  precursor  of  the  emancipation  of  the  Papists?  " 

"  Of  the  Catholics,"  said  the  Reverend  Mr.  Platitude.    "  Ahem. 

There  was  a  time,  as  I  believe  you  are  aware,  my  dear  sir,  when 

I  f  ms  as  much  opposed  to  the  emancipation  of  the  Catholics  as  it 

23 


[ 


354  LA  VBNGRO.  [xSas 

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  pre- 
judices ;  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  there.  I  am  speaking 
to  a  traveller.  I  left  behind  all  my  prejudices  in  Italy.  The 
Catholics  are  at  least  our  fellow-Christians.  I  thank  Heaven 
that  I  am  no  longer  an  enemy  to  Catholic  emancipation." 
'*And  yet  you  would  not  tolerate  Dissenters?'' 
"Dissenters,  my  dear  sir;  I  hope  you  would  not  class  such  a 
set  as  the  Dissenters  with  Catholics?'' 

** Perhaps  it  would  be  unjust,"  said  my  host,  "though  to 
which  of  the  two  parties  is  another  thing ;  but  permit  me  to  ask 
you  a  question :  Does  it  not  smack  somewhat  of  paradox  to  talk 
of  Catholics,  whilst  you  admit  there  are  Dissenters?  If  there  are 
Dissenters,  how  should  there  be  Catholics?" 

"It  is  not  my  fault  that  there  are  Dissenters,"  said  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Platitude;  "if  I  had  my  will  I  would  neither 
admit  there  were  any,  nor  permit  any  to  be." 

"  Of  course  you  would  admit  there  were  such  as  long  as  they 
existed ;  but  how  would  you  get  rid  of  them  ?  " 
"  I  would  have  the  Church  exert  its  authority." 
"What  do  you  mean  by  exerting  its  authority?" 
"  I  would  not  have  the  Church  bear  the  sword  in  vain." 
"What,  the  sword  of  St.  Peter?    You  remember  what  the 
founder  of  the  religion  which  you  profess  said  about  the  sword, 

'  He  who  striketh  with  it '    I  think  those  who  have  called 

themselves  the  Church  have  had  enough  of  the  sword.  Two  can 
play  with  the  sword,  Mr.  Platitude.  The  Church  of  Rome  tried 
the  sword  with  the  Lutherans :  how  did  it  fare  with  the  Church 
of  Rome?  The  Church  of  England  tried  the  sword,  Mr. 
Platitude,  with  the  Puritans:  how  did  it  fare  with  Laud  and 
Charles?" 

"  Oh,  as  for  the  Church  of  England,"  said  Mr.  Platitude,  <'  I 
have  little  to  say.  Thank  God  I  left  all  my  Church  of  England 
prejudices  in  Italy.  Had  the  Church  of  England  known  its  true 
interests,  it  would  long  ago  have  sought  a  reconciliation  with  its 
illustrious  mother.  If  the  Church  of  England  had  not  been  in 
some  degree  a  schismatic  church,  it  would  not  have  fared  so  ill 
at  the  time  of  which  you  are  speaking ;  the  rest  of  the  Church 
would  have  come  to  its  assistance.  The  Irish  would  have  helped 
it,  so  would  the  French,  so  would  the  Portuguese.  Disunion  has 
always  been  the  bane  of  the  Church.*' 


iSas.}  **S0  MAN  FOR  MSr  555 

Once  more  I  fell  into  a  reverie.  My  mind  now  reverted  to 
the  past;  methought  I  was  in  a  small,  comfortable  room  wain- 
scoted 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  fot 
some  time  rather  vigorously,  he  removed  it  from  his  mouth,  and 
emitting  an  accumulated  cloud  of  smoke,  he  exclaimed  in  a  slow 
and  measured  tone:  ''As  I  was  telling  you  just  now,  my  good 
chap,  I  have  always  been  an  enemy  to  humbug". 

When  I  awoke  from  my  reverie  the  Reverend  Mr.  Platitude 
was  quitting  the  apartment. 

"  Who  is  that  person  ?  "  said  I  to  my  entertainer,  as  the  door 
closed  behind  him. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  said  my  host ;  "  why,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Platitude." 

"  Does  he  reside  in  this  neighbourhood  ?  " 

"  He  holds  a  living  about  three  miles  from  here ;  his  history, 
as  far  as  I  am  acquainted  with  it,  is  as  follows :  His  father  was 
a  respectable  tanner  in  the  neighbouring  town,  who,  wishing  to 
make  his  son  a  gentleman,  sent  him  to  college  Having  never 
been  at  college  myself,  I  cannot  say  whether  he  took  the  wisest 
course;  I  believe  it  is  more  easy  to  unmake  than  to  make  a 
gentleman;  I  have  known  many  gentlemanly  youths  go  to 
college,  and  return  anything  but  what  they  went  Young  Mr. 
Platitude  did  not  go  to  college  a  gentleman,  but  neither  (Ud  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  &ther  that  he  had  adopted  high  principles,  and  was 
determined  to  discountenance  everything  low  and  mean;  ad- 
vised him  to  eschew  trade,  and  to  purchase  him  a  living.  The 
old  man  retired  from  business,  purchased  his  son  a  living,  and 
shortly  after  died,  leaving  him  what  remained  of  his  fortune. 
The  first  thing  the  Reverend  Mr.  Platitude  did  after  his  father's 
decease!  was  to  send  his  mother  and  sister  into  Wales  to  live 
upon  a  small  annuity,  assigning  as  a  reason  that  he  was  averse 
to  anything  low  and  that  they  talked  ungrammatically.  Wishing 
to  shine  in  the  pulpit,  he  now  preached  high  sermons,  as  he 
called  them,  interspersed  with  scraps  of  learning.  His  sermons 
did  not,  however,  procure  him  much  popularity ;  on  the  contrary, 
his  church  soon  became  nearly  deserted,  the  greater  part  of  his 
flock  going  over  to  certain  dissenting  preachers,  who  had  shortly 


356  LA  VBNGRO.  [xtes* 

before  made  their  appearance  in  the  neighbourhood.  Mr.  Plati- 
tude was  filled  with  wrath,  and  abused  Dissenters  in  most  un- 
measured 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  shelta:  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.  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 
oeing,  whose  acquaintance  he  says  he  made  in  Italy.  I  believe 
he  is  some  sharking  priest,  who  has  come  over  to  proselytize  and 
plunder.  This  being  has  some  powers  of  conversation  and  some 
learning,  but  carries  the  countenance  of  an  arch  villain; 
Platitude  is  evidently  his  tool" 

"  Of  what  religion  are  you  ?  "  said  I  to  my  host. 

"That  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield — good,  quiet.  Church  of 
England,  which  would  live  and  let  live,  practises  charity,  and  rails 


xaas-l  OOOD'BYB.  357 

at  no  one;  where  the  priest  It  the  husband  of  one  wife,  takes 
care  of  his  £unQy  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  oc 
which  I  am  engaged,  I  hope  to  be  able  to  devote  more  attentior 
to  them." 

After  some  further  conversation,  the  subjects  being,  if  I  re- 
member right,  college  education,  priggism,  church  authority, 
tomfoolery,  and  the  like,  I  rose  and  said  to  my  host,  ''  I  must 
now  leave  you". 

"  Whither  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

''Stay  iiere,  then — you  shall  be  welcome  as  many  days, 
months,  and  years  as  you  please  to  stay." 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  hang  upon  another  man  ?  No,  not 
if  he  were  Emperor  of  all  the  Chinas.  I  will  now  make  my 
preparations,  and  then  bid  you  fisLrewell." 

I  retired  to  my  apartment  and  collected  the  handful  of  things 
which  I  carried  with  me  on  my  travels. 

"I  will  walk  a  little  way  with  you,"  said  my  friend  on  my 
return. 

He  walked  with  me  to  the  park  gate ;  neither  of  us  said  any- 
thing by  the  way.  When  we  had  come  upon  the  road,  I  said : 
'* Farewell  now;  I  will  not  permit  you  to  give  yourself  any 
further  trouble  on  my  account  Receive  my  best  thanks  for  your 
kindness ;  before  we  part,  however,  I  should  wish  to  ask  you  a 
question.    Do  you  think  you  shall  ever  grow  tired  of  authorship  ?  " 

''  I  have  my  fears,"  said  my  friend,  advancing  his  hand  to  one 
of  the  iron  bars  of  the  gate. 

**  Don't  touch,"  said  I,  ''  it  is  a  bad  habit.  I  have  but  one 
word  to  add :  should  you  ever  grow  tired  of  authorship  follow 
your  first  idea  of  getting  into  Parliament;  you  have  words  enough 
at  command;  perhaps  you  want  manner  and  method;  but,  in 
that  case,  you  must  apply  to  a  teacher,  you  must  take  lessons  of 
a  master  of  elocution." 

"  That  would  never  do  I "  said  my  host ;  "  I  know  myself  too 
well  to  think  of  applying  for  assistance  to  any  one.  Were  I  to 
become  a  parliaments^  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,  pro- 
vided the  gestures  I  employed  and  the  very  modulation  of  my 
voice  were  not  my  own  7  Take  lessons,  indeed  1  why,  the  fellow 
who  taught  me,  the  professor,  might  be  standing  in  the  gallery 


358  LA  VSNORO.  [1835. 

whilst  I  spoke ;  and,  at  the  best  parts  of  my  speech,  might  say  to 
himself: '  That  gesture  is  mine — ^that  modulation  is  mine '.  I  could 
not  bear  the  thought  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Farewell/'  said  I,  "  and  may  you  prosper.  I  have  nothing 
more  to  say." 

I  departed.  At  the  distance  of  twenty  yards  I  turned  round 
suddenly ;  my  friend  was  just  withdrawing  his  finger  from  the  bar 
of  the  gate. 

'<  He  has.been  touching,"  said  I,  as  I  proceeded  on  my  way ; 
''  I  wonder  what  was  the  evil  chance  he  wished  to  baffle." 


[End  of  Vol  IL,  1851.) 


CHAPTER  LXVIIL 


After  walking  some  time,  I  found  myself  on  the  great  road,  at 
the  same  spot  where  I  bad  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  weatheii 
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  cart,  which  seemed  to 
contain  various  articles.  I  was  going  past,  when  I  saw  scrawled 
over  the  door  of  the  cottage,  "  Good  beer  sold  here  " ;  upon  which, 
feeling  myself  all  of  a  sudden  very  thirsty,  I  determined  to  go  in 
and  taste  the  beverage. 

I  entered  a  well-sanded  kitchen,  and  seated  myself  on  a  bench, 
on  one  side  of  a  long  white  table ;  the  other  side,  which  was  nearest 
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  oldL 
The  man  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  table,  supporting  his 
chin  with  both  his  hands ;  the  woman,  who  was  next  to  him,  sat 
quite  still,  save  that  occasionally  she  turned  a  glance  upon  her 
husband  with  eyes  that  appeared  to  have  been  lately  crying.  The 
children  had  none  of  the  vivacity  so  general  at  their  age.  A  more 
disconsolate  £imily  I  had  never  seen ;  a  mug,  which,  when  filled, 
might  contain  half  a  pint,  stood  empty  before  them ;  a  very  dis- 
consolate partv  indeed. 

''  House  I  said  I ;  "  House ! "  and  then  as  nobody  appeared, 
I  cried  again  as  loud  as  I  could,  "  House  I  do  you  hear  me, 
House ! " 

"  What's  your  pleasure,  young  man  7  "  said  an  elderly  woman, 
who  now  made  her  appearance  from  a  side  apartment. 

*'  To  taste  your  ale,"  said  I. 

C359) 


S6o  LA  VBNORO.  [zftrs- 

''How  much?"  said  the  woman,  stretching  oat  her  hand 
towards  the  empty  mug  upon  the  table. 

''  The  largest  measure-full  in  your  house/'  said  I,  putting  back 
her  hand  gently.    "  This  is  not  the  season  for  half-pint  mugs." 

"As  you  will,  young  man,"  said  the  landlady,  and  presently 
brought  in  an  earthen  pitcher  which  might  contain  about  three 
pints,  and  which  foamed  and  frothed  withaL 

«  Will  this  pay  for  it  7  "  said  I,  putting  down  sixpence. 

"  I  have  to  return  you  a  penny,"  said  the  landlady^  putting  her 
hand  into  her  pocket. 

**  I  want  no  change,"  said  I,  flourishing  my  hand  with  an  air. 

"As  you  please,  young  gentleman,"  said  the  landlady,  and 
then  making  a  kind  of  curtsey,  she  again  retired  to  the  side 
apartment. 

*'  Here  is  your  health,  sir,"  said  I  to  the  grimy-looking  man,  as 
I  raised  the  pitcher  to  my  lips. 

The  tinker,  for  such  I  supposed  hun  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  7  " 
said  I,  holding  the  pitcher  to  the  tinker. 

The  man  again  lifted  his  eyes,  looked  at  me,  and  then  at  the 
pitcher,  and  then  at  me  again.  I  thought  at  one  time  that  he  was 
about  to  shake  bis  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  pitchei 
down  before  me  upon  the  table. 

''You  had  better  mend  your  draught,"  said  I  to  the  tinker; 
''it  is  a  sad  heart  that  never  rejoices." 

"That's  true,"  said  the  tinker,  and  again  raising  the  pitcher  to 
his  lips,  he  mended  his  draught  as  I  had  bidden  him,  drinking  a 
larger  quantity  than  before. 

"  Pass  it  to  your  wife,"  said  I. 

The  poor  woman  took  the  pitcher  from  the  man's  hand; 
before,  however,  raising  it  to  her  lips,  she  looked  at  the  children. 
True  mother's  heart,  thought  I  to  myself,  and  taking  the  half-pint 
mug,  I  made  her  fill  it,  and  then  held  it  to  the  children,  causing 
each  to  take  a  draught  The  woman  wiped  her  eyes  with  the 
comer  of  her  gown  before  she  raised  the  pitcher  and  drank  to  my 
health. 

In  about  five  minutes  none  of  the  family  looked  half  so  dis- 
consolate as  before,  and  the  tinker  and  I  were  in  deep  discourse* 


xSaS-l  THE  BVICTBD  TINKER.  361 

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  do¥m  the  book  and  exclaim: 
"  The  man  is  evidently  a  bad  man,  for  behold,  by  his  own  con- 
fession, he  is  not  only  fond  of  ale  himself,  but  is  in  the  habit  of 
tempting  other  people  with  it ".  Alas !  alas  1  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  1  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  t  what  right  had  I  to  insult 
them  by  offering  them  money  ?  Advice !  words,  words,  words ; 
friends,  there  is  a  time  for  everything ;  there  is  a  time  for  a  cup 
of  cold  water ;  there  is  a  time  for  strong  meat  and  bread ;  there  is 
a  time  for  advice,  and  there  is  a  time  for  ale ;  and  I  have  generally 
found  that  the  time  for  advice  is  after  a  cup  of  ale — I  do  not  say 
many  cups ;  the  tongue  then  speaketh  more  smoothly,  and  the  ear 
listeneth  more  benignantly ;  but  why  do  I  attempt  to  reason  with 
you?  do  I  not  know  you  for  conceited  creatures,  with  one  idea — 
and  that  a  foolish  one— a  crotchet,  for  the  sake  of  which  ye  would 
sacrifice  anything,  religion  if  required — country  ?  There,  fling  down 
my  book,  I  do  not  wish  ye  to  walk  any  farther  in  my  company, 
unless  you  cast  your  nonsense  away,  which  ye  will  never  do,  for 
it  is  the  breath  of  your  nostrils ;  fling  down  my  book,  it  was  not 
written  to  support  a  crotchet,  for  know  one  thing,  my  good  people, 
I  have  invariably  been  an  enemy  to  humbug. 

"  Well,"  said  the  tinker,  after  we  had  discoursed  some  time, 
<'  I  little  thought  when  I  first  saw  you,  that  you  were  of  my  own 
trade." 

Myself. — Nor  am  I,  at  least  not  exactly.  There  is  not  much 
difference,  'tis  true,  between  a  tinker  and  a  smith. 

Tinker. — ^You  are  a  whitesmith,  then  ? 

Myself. — Not  I,  I'd  scorn  to  be  anything  so  mean ;  no,  friend, 
black's  the  colour ;  I  am  a  brother  of  the  horseshoe.  Success  to 
the  hammer  and  tonp. 


56c  LA  VBNORO.  [1835. 

Tinker, — Well,  I  shouldn't  have  thought  you  were  a  blacksmith 
by  your  hands. 

Myself, — I  have  seen  them,  however,  as  black  as  youfii  The 
truth  is,  I  have  not  worked  for  many  a  day. 

Tinker. — Where  did  you  serve  first? 

Mysetf. — In  Ireland. 

7Fff>^^.-— That's  a  good  way  off,  isn't  it  7 

Myself, — Not  very  far ;  over  those  mountains  to  the  left,  and 
the  run  of  salt  water  that  lies  behind  them,  there's  Ireland. 

Tinker. — It's  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  scholar. 

Myseff. — ^Not  half  so  fine  as  to  be  a  tinker. 

7>Vi>fc^r.— How  you  talk  I 

Myself — Nothing  but  the  truth ;  what  can  be  better  than  to 
^be  one's  own  master  ?  Now^  a  tinker  is  his  own  master,  a  scholar 
is  not  Let  us  suppose  the  best  of  scholars,  a  schoolmaster,  for 
example,  for  I  suppose  you  will  admit  that  no  one  can  be  higher 
in  scholarship  than  a  schoolmaster;  do  you  call  his  a  pleasant 
life?  I  don  t;  we  should  call  him  a  sdiool-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  firom  morning  till  night,  with- 
out 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  £den  life,  as  the  Germans  would  say, — 
pitching  your  tent  under  the  pleasant  hedge-row,  listenmg  to  the 
song  of  the  feathered  tribes,  collecting  all  the  leaky  kettles  in  the 
neighbourhood,  soldering  and  joining,  earning  your  honest  bread 
by  the  trtiolesome  sweat  of  your  brow — ^making  ten  holes — hey, 
what's  this?  what's  the  man  crying  for? 

Suddenlv  the  tinker  had  covered  his  fiice  with  his  hands,  and 
begun  to  sob  and  moan  like  a  man  in  the  deepest  distress ;  the 
breast  of  his  wife  was  heaved  with  emotion ;  even  the  children 
were  agitated,  the  youngest  began  to  roar. 

Myseff, — ^What  s  the  matter  with  you ;  what  are  you  all  crying 
l(Sout? 

Tinker  (uncovering  his  face). — Lord,  why  to  hear  you  talk ; 
isn't  that  enough  to  make  anyoody  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. 

Myseff* — Give  it  up  1  you  must  not  Uiink  of  such  a  thing. 


xSas-]  TBB  DANOBROUS  BEAT.  565 

Tinker. — No,  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it,  and  yet  I  must ; 
what's  to  be  done?  How  hard  to  be  frightened  to  death,  to  be 
driven  off  the  roads. 

Myself. — ^Who  has  driven  you  off  the  roads  7 

Tinker.— Yfho  I  the  Flaming  Tinman. 

^j^^.— Who  IS  he? 

Tinker, — The  biggest  rogue  in  England,  and  the  cruellest,  or 
he  wouldn't  have  served  me  as  he  has  done — I'll  tell  you  all 
about  it.  I  was  bom  upon  the  roads,  and  so  was  my  fiither 
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  bom  upon  the  roads,  but  was  a  small 
tradesman's  daughter,  at  Glo'ster.  She  had  a  kindness  for  me, 
and,  notwithstanding  her  friends  were  against  the  match,  she 
married  the  poor  tinker,  and  came  to  live  with  him  upon  the 
roads.  Well,  young  man,  for  six  or  seven  years  I  was  the 
happiest  fellow  breathing,  living  just  the  life  you  described  just 
now — respected  by  everybody  in  this  beat ;  when  in  an  evil  hour 
comes  this  Black  Jack,  this  flaming  tinman,  into  these  parts, 
driven  as  they  say  out  of  Yorkshire — for  no  good,  you  may  be 
sure.  Now,  there  is  no  beat  will  support  two  tinkers,  as  you 
doubtless  know ;  mine  was  a  good  one,  but  it  would  not  support 
the  flying  tinker  and  myself,  though  if  it  would  have  supported 
twenty  it  would  have  been  all  the  same  to  the  flying  villain,  who'll 
brook  no  one  but  himself;  so  he  presently  finds  me  out,  and 
offers  to  fight  me  for  the  b^t.  Now,  being  bred  upon  the  roads, 
I  can  fight  a  Uttle,  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  f^irther  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  possiUe, 
going  anywhere  but  where  I  thought  I  was  likely  to  meet  him ; 
and  sure  enough  for  several  mcMiths  I  contrived  to  keep  out  of 
his  way.  At  last  somebody  told  me  he  was  gone  back  to  York- 
shire, whereupon  I  was  glad  at  heart,  and  ventured  to  show 
myself,  going  here  and  there  as  I  did  before.  Well,  young  roan, 
it  was  vesterday  that  I  and  mine  set  ourselves  down  in  a  lane 
about  five  miles  from  here,  and  lighted  our  fixe,  and  bad  our 


3«4  LA  VBSQRO.  [xSaS- 

dinner,  and  after  dinner  I  sat  down  to  mend  three  kettles  and  a 
frying  pan  which  the  people  in  the  neighbourhood  had  given  me 
to  mend — for,  as  I  told  you  before,  I  have  a  good  connection, 
owing  to  my  honesty.  Well,  as  I  sat  there  hard  at  work,  happy 
as  the  day's  long,  and  thinking  of  anything  but  what  was  to 
happen,  who  should  come  up  but  this  Black  Jack,  this  king  of  the 
tinkers,  rattling  along  in  his  cart,  with  his  wife,  that  they  call  Grey 
Moll,  by  his  side — ^for  the  villain  has  got  a  wife,  and  a  maid 
servant  too ;  the  last  I  never  saw,  but  they  that  has,  says  that  she 
is  as  big  as  a  house,  and  young,  and  well  to  look  at,  which  can't 
be  all  said  of  Moll,  who,  though  she's  big  enough  in  all  conscience, 
is  neither  young  nor  handsome.  Well,  no  sooner  does  he  see  me 
and  mine,  than  giving  the  reins  to  Grey  Moll,  he  springs  out  of 
his  cart,  and  comes  straight  at  me ;  not  a  word  did  he  say,  but 
on  he  comes  straight  at  me  like  a  wild  bull.  I  am  a  quiet  man, 
young  fellow,  but  I  saw  now  that  quietness  would  be  of  no  use, 
so  I  sprang  up  upon  my  legs,  and  being  bred  upon  the  roads,  and 
able  to  fight  a  little,  I  squared  as  he  came  running  in  upon  me, 
and  had  a  round  or  two  with  him.  Lord  bless  you,  young  man, 
it  was  like  a  fly  fighting  with  an  elephant — one  of  those  big  beasts 
the  show-folks  carry  about.  I  had  not  a  chance  with  the  fellow, 
he  knocked  me  here,  he  knocked  me  there,  knocked  me  into  the 
hedge,  and  knocked  me  out  again.  I  was  at  my  last  shifts,  and 
my  poor  wife  saw  it  Now,  my  poor  wife,  though  she  is  as  gentle 
as  a  pigeon,  has  yet  a  spirit  of  her  own,  and  though  she  wasn't 
bred  upon  the  roads,  can  scratch  a  little,  so  when  she  saw  me  at 
my  last  shifts,  she  flew  at  the  villain — she  couldn't  bear  to  see  her 
partner  murdered — and  she  scratched  the  villain's  face.  Lord 
bless  you,  young  man,  she  had  better  have  been  quiet:  Grey 
Moll  no  sooner  saw  what  she  was  about,  than  springing  out  of  the 
cart,  where  she  had  sat  all  along  perfectly  quiet,  save  a  little 
whooping  and  screeching  to  encourage  her  blade — Grey  Moll,  I 
say  (my  flesh  creeps  when  I  think  of  it — for  I  am  a  kind  husband, 
and  love  my  poor  wife) 

Myself. — ^Take  another  draught  of  the  ale ;  you  look  frightened, 
and  it  will  do  you  good.  Stout  liquor  makes  stout  heart,  as  Uie 
man  says  in  the  play. 

Tinker. — That's  true,  young  man ;  here's  to  you — ^where  was 
I?  Grey  Moll  no  sooner  saw  what  my  wife  was  about,  than 
springing  out  of  the  cart,  she  flew  at  my  poor  wife,  clawed  off  her 
bonnet  in  a  moment,  and  seized  hold  of  her  hair.  Lord  bless 
you,  young  man,  my  poor  wife,  in  the  hands  of  Grey  Moll,  was 
r)othing  better  than  a  pigeon  in  the  claws  of  a  buzzard  hawki  or  I 


N 


iSas-]  BOSVILLB.  S^S 

in  the  hands  of  the  Flaming  Tinman,  which  when  I  saw,  my  heart 
was  fit  to  burst,  and  I  determined  to  give  up  everything — every- 
thing to  save  my  poor  wife  out  of  Grey  Moll's  claws.  ''  Hold ! " 
I  shouted.  ''  Hold,  both  of  you — Jack,  MoU.  Hold,  both  of 
vou,  for  God's  sake,  and  111  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  yon  m  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  villian  then  ?  why  the  flying  villain  seized 
me  by  the  throat,  and  almost  throttled  me,  roaring — what  do  you 
think,  young  man,  that  the  flaming  villain  roared  out  ? 

Myself, — I  really  don't  know — something  horrible,  I  suppose 

Jinher. — Horrible,  indeed ;  you  may  well  say  horrible,  voung 
man ;  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  Bible — ''  a  Bible,  a  Bible  1 " 
roared  the  Blazing  Tmman  ;  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  travek  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  fiiry  that  it  made  my  lips  bleed,  and  broke  short  one 
of  my  teeth  which  happened  to  be  decayed.  "Swear,"  said 
he,  "swear  you  mumping  villain,  take  your  Bible  oath  that  you 
will  quit  and  give  up  the  beat  altogether,  or  I'll " — and  then  the 
hard-hearted  villain  made  me  swear  by  the  Bible,  and  my  own 
damnation,  half-throttled  as  I  was — ^to — to— I  can't  go  on 

Myself. — ^Take  another  draught — stout  liquor 

Tinker, — I  can't,  young  man,  my  heart's  too  full,  and  what*s 
more,  the  pitcher  is  empty. 

Myself, — And  so  he  swore  you,  I  suppose,  on  the  Bible,  to 
quit  the  roads  ? 

Tinker. — ^You  are  right,  he  did  so,  the  gypsy  villain. 

Myself, — Gypsy !    Is  he  a  gypsy  ? 

Tinker, — Not  exactly ;  what  they  call  a  half  and  half.  His 
father  was  a  gypsy,  and  his  mother,  like  mme,  one  who  walked 
the  roads. 

Myself, — Is  he  of  the  Smiths — ^the  Petulengres  7 


366  LA  VBNORO.  [1835. 

Tinker. — I  say,  young  man,  you  know  a  thing  or  two ;  one 
would  think,  to  hear  you  talk,  you  had  been  bred  upon  the  roads. 
I  thought  none  but  those  bred  upon  the  roads  knew  anything  of 
that  name — Petulengres  I  No,  not  he,  he  fights  the  Petulengres 
whenever  he  meets  them ;  he  likes  nobody  but  himself,  and  wants 

to  be  king  of  the  roads.    I  believe  he  is  a  Boss,  or  a at  any 

rate  he's  a  bad  one,  as  I  know  to  my  cost. 

Myself. — And  what  are  you  going  to  do  7 

Tinker. — Do !  you  may  well  ask  that ;  I  don't  know  what  to 
do.  My  poor  wife  and  I  have  been  talking  of  that  all  the  morn- 
ing, 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. 

Myseif, — ^And  what  do  you  mean  to  do  with  your  horse  and 
cart? 

Tinkir. — Another  question  I  What  shall  we  do  with  our  cart 
and  pony  ?  they  are  of  no  use  to  us  now.  Stay  on  the  roads  I 
will  not,  both  for  my  oath's  sake  and  my  own.  If  we  had  a  trifle 
of  money,  we  were  thinking  of  going  to  Bristol,  where  I  might  get 
up  a  little  business,  but  we  have  none ;  our  last  three  farthings  we 
spent  about  the  mug  of  beer. 

Myself. — But  why  don't  you  sell  your  horse  and  cart  7 

7?>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? 

Myself. — I'm  half-inclined  to  buy  your  cart  and  pony,  and 
your  beat  too. 

Tinker. — ^You  I    How  came  you  to  think  of  such  a  thing  7 

Myself. — ^Why,  like  yourself,  I  hardly  know  what  to  do.  I 
want  a  home  and  work.  As  for  a  home,  I  suppose  I  can  contrive 
to  make  a  home  out  of  your  tent  and  cart ;  and  as  for  work,  I 
must  learn  to  be  a  tinker,  it  would  not  be  hard  for  one  of  my 
trade  to  learn  to  tinker ;  what  better  can  I  do  ?  Would  you  have 
me  go  to  Chester  and  work  there  now  7  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? 


zSas.]  THB  PURCHASE.  ^ 

TSnker.^-^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  quarrel- 
some 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,  Fd  see  you  farther  first,  for  your  own  sake. 

Myself.— ynxf} 

Tinker. — ^Why  I  you  would  get  your  head  knocked  ofL  Sup- 
pose you  were  to  meet  him  ? 

Myself. — Pooh,  don't  be  afraid  on  my  account ;  if  I  were  to 
meet  him  I  could  easily  manage  him  one  way  or  other.  I  know 
all  kinds  of  strange  words  and  names,  and,  as  I  told  you  before,  I 
sometimes  hit  people  when  they  put  me  out. 

Here  the  tinker's  wife,  who  for  some  minutes  past  had  been 
listening  attentively  to  our  discourse^  interposed,  saying,  in  a  low, 
soft  tone :  *^  I  really  don't  see,  John,  why  you  shouldn't  sell  the 
young  man  the  things,  seeing  that  he  wishes  for  them,  and  is  so 
confident ;  you  have  told  him  plainly  how  matters  stand,  and  if 
anything  ill  should  befidl  him,  people  couldn't  lay  the  blame  on 
you ;  but  I  don't  think  any  ill  will  befall  him,  and  who  knows  but 
God  has  sent  him  to  our  assistance  in  time  of  need." 

'<  I'll  hear  of  no  such  thing,"  said  the  tinker ;  ''  I  have  drunk 
at  the  young  man's  expense,  and  though  he  says  he's  quarrelsome, 
I  would  not  wish  to  sit  in  pleasanter  company.  A  pretty  fellow  I 
should  be,  now,  if  I  were  to  lei  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  I  you  are  enough  to  drive  one  mad. 
I  say,  young  man,  I  believe  you  understand  a  thing  or  two ;  just 
now  you  were  talking  of  knowing  hard  words  and  names — I  don't 
wish  to  send  you  to  your  mischief — you  say  you  know  hard  words 
and  names,  lei  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 " 

Myself. — Don't  swear,  it's  a  bad  habiti  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  (bx  from  here.  Ten  years 
ago,  when  I  was  little  more  than  a  child,  I  was  about  twenty  miles 


368  LA  VBNORO.  [1825. 

from  here  in  a  post-chaise  at  the  door  of  an  inn,  and  as  I  looked 
from  the  window  of  the  chaise,  I  saw  you  standing  by  a  gutter, 
with  a  big  tin  ladle  in  your  hand,  and  somebody  called  you  Jack 
Slingsby.  I  never  forget  anything  I  hear  or  see ;  I  can  t,  I  wish 
I  could.  So  there's  nothing  strange  in  my  knowing  your  name ; 
indeed,  there's  nothing  strange  in  an3rthing,  provided  you  examine 
it  to  the  bottom.    Now,  what  am  I  to  give  you  for  the  things  ? 

I  paid  Slingsby  five  pounds  ten  shillings  for  his  stock  in  trade, 
cart,  and  pony — purchased  sundry  provisions  of  the  landlady,  also 
a  wagoner's  frock,  which  had  belonged  to  a  certain  son  of  hers, 
deceased,  gave  my  little  animal  a  feed  of  com,  and  prepared  to 
depart. 

**  God  bless  you,  young  man,"  said  Slingsby,  shaking  me  by 
the  hand,  '*  you  are  the  best  friend  I've  had  for  many  a  day :  I 
have  but  one  thing  to  tell  you :  **  Don't  cross  that  fellow's  path  if 
you  can  help  it;  and  stay — should  the  pony  refuse  to  go,  just 
touch  him  so,  and  he'll  fly  like  the  wind." 


CHAPTER  LX13L 


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,  invigcMrated  by  the  com,  to  which  he  was 
probably  not  much  accustomed,  proceeded  right  gallantly;  so 
fiu:  from  having  to  hasten  him  forward  by  the  particular  applica* 
tion  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 
beautiiful  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  die  high 
road,  bemg  probably  no  friend  to  public  places.  I  followed  him 
I  knew  not  whither,  but,  from  subsequent  observation,  have 
reason  to  suppose  that  our  course  was  in  a  north«west  direction. 
At  length  night  came  upon  us,  and  a  cold  wind  sprang  up,  which 
was  succeeded  by  a  drizzling  rain. 

I  had  originally  intended  to  pass  the  night  in  the  cart,  or  to 

Eitch  my  little  tent  on  some  convenient  spot  by  the  road's  side ; 
ut,  owing  to  the  alteration  in  the  weathex,  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  tike  a  Christian ;  but  human  determina- 
tions 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 

(369)  24 


370  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

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  miiy;  in  short,  it  was  a 
night  in  which  even  a  tramper  by  profession  would  feel  more 
comfortable  in  being  housed  than  abroad.  I  followed  in  the  rear 
of  the  cart,  the  pony  still  proceeding  at  a  sturdy  pace,  till 
methought  I  heard  other  hoofs  than  those  of  my  own  nag;  I 
listened  for  a  moment,  and  distinctly  heard  the  sound  of  hoofs 
approaching  at  a  great  rate,  and  evidently  from  the  quarter 
towards  which  I  and  my  little  caravan  were  moving.  We  were  in 
a  dark  lane — so  dark  that  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  see  my  own 
hand.  Apprehensive  that  some  accident  might  occur,  I  ran 
forward,  and,  seizing  the  pony  by  the  bridle,  drew  him  as  near  as 
I  could  to  the  hedge.  On  came  the  hoofs — trot,  trot,  trot;  and 
evidently  more  than  those  of  one  horse;  their  speed  as  they 
advanced  appeared  to  slacken — ^it  was  only,  however,  for  a 
moment  I  heard  a  voice  cry,  ''Push  on,  this  is  a  desperate 
robbing  place,  never  mind  the  dark";  and  the  hoofs  came  on 
quicker  than  before.  "  Stop  1 "  said  I,  at  the  top  of  my  voice ; 
''  stop  1  or  — "  Before  I  could  finish  what  I  was  about  to  say 
there  was  a  stumble,  a  heavy  &11,  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  usl  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 
Uie  matter?"  said  Bat.  "Some  one  has  knocked  me  down, 
and  is  robbing  me,"  said  the  voice  from  the  ground.  "Helpl 
murder  I"  cried  Bat;  and,  regardless  of  the  entreaties  of  the 
man  on  the  ground  that  he  would  stay  and  help  him  up,  he  mrged 
his  horse  forward  and  galloped  away  as  fiast  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  1  are  you  hurt  ?  "  "  Spare  my  life,  and  take  all  I 
have ! "  said  the  voice  from  the  ground.  "  Have  they  not  done 
robbing  you  yet  ? "  said  I ;  "  when  they  have  finished  let  me 
know,  and  I  will  come  and  help  you."  "Who  is  that?"  said 
the  voice ;  "  pray  come  and  help  me,  and  do  me  no  mischief. " 
"  You  were  saying  that  some  one  was  robbing  you,"  said  I ; 


18*5.1  MIDNIGHT  ENCOUNTER.  371 

'* don't  think  I  6hall  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  I  oh  t "  and  thereupon  I 
heard  somebody  getting  upon  his  legs.  This  accomplished,  the 
individual  proceeded  to  attend  to  his  horse,  and  with  a  little  diffi- 
culty raised  him  upon  his  legs  also.  "  Ar'n't  you  hurt  ?  "  said  I. 
"  Hurt  1 "  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  I"  said  the  man,  dropping  the  bully- 
ing tone  which  he  had  assumed;  "you  are  joking — robbing  I 
who  talks  of  robbing?  I  wonder  how  my  horse's  knees  are ;  not 
much  hurt,  I  think— only  mired."  The  man,  whoever  he  was, 
then  got  upon  his  horse ;  and>  after  moving  him  about  a  little, 
said,  "Good-night,  friend;  where  are  you?"  "Here  I  am," 
said  I,  "just  behind  you.  "You  are,  are  you?  Take  that." 
I  know  not  what  he  did,  but  probably  pricking  his  horse  with  the 
spur  the  animal  kicked  out  violently ;  one  of  his  heels  struck  me 
on  the  shoulder,  but  luckily  missed  my  face ;  I  fell  back  with  the 
violence  of  the  blow,  whilst  the  fellow  scampered  off  at  a  great 
rate.  Stopping  at  some  distance,  he  loaded  me  with  abuse,  and 
then,  continuing  his  way  at  a  rapid  trot,  I  heard  no  more  of  him. 

"  What  a  difference  I  *  said  I,  getting  up ;  "  last  night  I  was 
ftted  in  the  hall  of  a  rich  genius,  and  to-night  I  am  knocked  down 
and  mired  in  a  dark  lane  by  the  heel  of  Master  Wise's  horse — I 
wonder  who  gave  him  that  name  ?  And  yet  he  was  wise  enough 
to  wreak  his  revenge  upon  me,  and  I  was  not  wise  enough  to  keep 
out  of  his  way.  Well,  I  am  not  much  hurt,  so  it  is  of  little 
consequence." 

I  now  bethought  me  that,  as  I  had  a  carriage  of  my  own,  I 
might  as  wdl  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 


57a  LA  VENORO.  [1845. 

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  comer  of  the  moon  was  apparent  in  the  heavens, 
casting  a  fisdnt  light ;  I  looked  around  for  a  moment  or  two,  but 
my  eyes  and  brain  were  heavy  with  slumber,  and  I  could  scarcely 
distinguish  where  we  were.  I  had  a  kind  of  dim  consciousness 
that  we  were  traversing  an  uninclosed  country— perhaps  a  heath ; 
I  thought,  however,  that  I  saw  certain  laige  bkck  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 
fiurly  fell  asleep. 

How  long  I  continued  in  that  state  I  am  unable  to  say,  but  I 
believe  for  a  considerable  time ;  I  was  suddenly  awakened  by  the 
ceasing  of  the  jolting  to  which  I  had  become  accustomed,  and  of 
which  I  was  perfectly  sensible  in  my  sleep.  I  started  up  and 
looked  around  me,  the  moon  was  still  shining,  and  the  dice  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  driftway  with  grass  growing  on  either  side, 
upon  which  the  pony  was  already  diligently  browsing.  I  con- 
jectured 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  fre- 
quently 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  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  dieir 
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 


iSas-l  HOUSBKBBPINO.  373 

in  the  night  air.  Collecting,  therefore,  all  the  dry  sticks  and  fiirze 
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,  firom  which  circumstance,  and  from  the  appearance  of 
the  sky,  I  concluded  that  morning  was  nigh.  About  this  time  I 
again  began  to  feel  drowsy;  I  therefore  arose,  and  having  prepared 
for  myself  a  kind  of  couch  in  the  tent,  I  flung  myself  upon  it  and 
went  to  sleep. 

I  win  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  ^et  more  bright  than 
that  of  the  preceding  day.  Impelled  by  curiosity,  I  walk^  about, 
endeavouring  to  ascertain  to  what  place  chance,  or  rather  the 
pony,  had  brought  me;  following  the  driftway  for  some  timci 
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  obser- 
vation. Having  reached  my  tent  and  cart,  I  breakfasted  on  some 
of  the  provisions  which  I  had  procured  the  day  before,  and  then 

Croceeded  to  take  a  regular  account  of  the  stock  formerly  possessed 
y  Slingsby  the  tinker,  but  now  become  my  own  by  right  of  lawful 
purchase. 

Besides  the  pony,  the  cart,  and  the  tent^  I  found  I  was  pos- 
sessed of  a  mattress  stufied  with  straw  on  which  to  lie,  and  a 
blanket  to  cover  me,  the  last  quite  clean  and  nearly  new ;  then 


374  ^^  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

there  was  a  fiying-pan  and  a  kettle^  the  first  for  cooking  any  food 
which  required  cooking,  and  the  second  for  heating  any  water 
which  I  might  wish  to  heat.  I  likewise  found  an  earthen  teapot 
and  two  or  three  cups ;  of  the  first  I  should  rather  say  I  found 
the  remains,  it  being  broken  in  three  parts,  no  doubt  since  it  came 
into  my  possession,  which  would  have  precluded  the  possibility  of 
my  asking  anybody  to  tea  for  the  present,  should  anybody  visit 
me,  even  supposing  I  had  tea  and  sugar,  which  was  not  the  case. 
I  then  overhauled  what  might  more  strictly  be  called  the  stock  in 
trade ;  this  consisted  of  various  tools,  an  iron  ladle,  a  chafing  pan 
and  small  bellows,  sundry  pans  and  kettles,  the  latter  being  of  tin, 
with  the  exception  of  one  which  was  of  copper,  all  in  a  state  of 
considerable  dilapidation — ^if  I  may  use  the  term ;  of  these  first 
Slingsby  had  spoken  in  particular,  advising  me  to  mend  them  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  to  endeavour  to  sell  them,  in  order  that  I 
might  have  the  satis&ction  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  rumaged  the  farther  end  of  the  cart,  and, 
amidst  a  quantity  of  straw,  I  found  a  small  anvil  and  bellows  of 
that  kind  which  are  used  in  forges,  and  two  hammers  such  as 
smiths  use,  one  great,  and  the  other  small. 

The  sight  of  these  last  articles  caused  me  no  little  surprise, 
as  no  word  which  had  escaped  from  the  mouth  of  Slingsby  had 
given  me  reason  to  suppose  that  he  had  ever  followed  Uie  occu- 
pation of  a  smith  ;  yet,  if  he  had  not,  how  did  he  come  by  them  ? 
I  sat  down  upon  the  shaft,  and  pondered  the  question  deliberately 
in  my  mind ;  at  length  I  concluded  that  he  had  come  by  them 
by  one  of  those  numerous  casualties  which  occur  upon  the  roads, 
of  which  I,  being  a  young  hand  upon  the  roads,  must  have  a  very 
imperfect  conception ;  honestly,  of  course— for  I  scouted  the  idea 
that  Slingsby  would  have  stolen  this  blacksmith's  gear — for  I  had 
the  highest  opinion  of  his  honesty,  which  opinion  I  still  retain  at 
the  present  day,  which  is  upwards  of  twenty  years  from  the  time 
of  which  I  am  speaking,  during  the  whole  of  which  period  I  have 
neither  seen  the  poor  fellow,  nor  received  any  intelligence  of  him- 


CHAPTER  LXX- 


I  PASSED  the  greater  part  of  the  day  in  endeavouring  to  teach 
myself  the  mysteries  of  my  new  profession.  I  cannot  say  that 
I  was  very  successful,  but  the  time  passed  agreeably,  and  was 
therefore  not  ill  spent.  Towards  evening  I  flung  my  work  aside, 
took  some  refreshment,  and  afterwards  a  walk. 

This  time  I  turned  up  the  small  footpath,  of  which  I  have 
already  spoken.  It  led  in  a  zigzag  manner  through  thickets  of 
hazel,  elder  and  sweet  briar;  after  following  its  windings  for 
somewhat  better  than  a  furlong,  I  heard  a  gentle  sound  of  water, 
and  presently  came  to  a  small  rill,  which  ran  directly  across  the 
path.  I  was  rejoiced  at  the  sight,  for  I  had  already  experienced 
the  want  of  water,  which  I  yet  knew  must  be  nigh  at  hand,  as 
I  was  in  a  place  to  all  appearance  occasionally  frequented  by 
wandering  people,  who  I  was  aware  never  take  up  their  quarters 
in  places  where  water  is  difficult  to  be  obtained.  Forthwith  I 
stretched  myself  on  the  ground,  and  took  a  long  and  delicious 
draught  of  the  crystal  stream,  and  then,  seating  myself  in  a  bush, 
I  continued  for  some  time  gazing  on  the  water  as  it  purled  tink- 
ling 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 

Nig^t  came  on,  and  a  beautifril  night  it  was ;  up  rose  the 
moon,  and  innumerable  stars  decked  &e  firmament  of  heaven. 
I  sat  on  the  shaft,  my  eyes  turned  upwards.  I  had  found  it : 
there  it  was  twinkling  millions  of  miles  above  me,  mightiest  star 
of  the  system  to  which  we  belong :  of  all  stars,  the  one  which 
has  the  most  interest  for  me — ^the  star  Jupiter. 

Why  have  I  always  taken  an  interest  in  thee,  O  Jupiter?  I 
know  nothing  about  thee,  save  what  every  child  knows,  that  thou 
art  a  big  star,  whose  only  light  is  derived  from  moons.  And  is 
not  that  knowledge  enough  to  make  me  feel  an  interest  in  thee  ? 
Ay,  truly,  I  never  look  at  thee  without  wondering  what  is  going 
on  in  thee ;  what  is  life  in  Jupiter  ?    That  there  is  life  in  Jupiter 

(375) 


576  LA  VBNGRO.  [1823. 

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  t  Life  here  is  life  boieath  the  dear  sun — life  in  Jupiter 
is  life  beneath  moons — four  moons — no  single  moon  is  able  to 
illumine  that  vast  bulk.  All  know  what  life  is  in  our  own  little 
star ;  it  is  anything  but  a  routine  of  happiness  here,  where  the 
dear  sun  rises  to  us  every  day :  then  how  sad  and  moping  must 
life  be  in  mighty  Jupiter,  on  which  no  sun  ever  shines,  and  which 
is  never  lighted  save  by  pale  moonbeams  I  The  thought  that 
there  is  more  sadness  and  melancholy  in  Jupiter  than  in  this 
world  of  ours,  where,  alas  1  there  is  but  too  much,  has  always 
made  me  take  a  melancholy  interest  in  that  huge,  distant  star.    ^ 

Two  or  three  days  passed  by  in  much  the  same  manner  as  the 
first.  During  the  morning  I  worked  upon  my  kettles,  and  em- 
ployed 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  pro- 
bably considered  themsdves  my  superiors,  as  perhaps  they  were* 

One  very  brilliant  morning,  as  I  sat  at  work  in  very  good 
spirits,  for  by  this  time  I  had  actually  mended  in  a  very  creditable 
way,  as  I  imagined,  two  kettles  and  a  frying-pan,  I  heard  a  voice 
which  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  padi  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 ;  pre- 
sently I  heard  it  again,  close  to  the  entrance  of  the  footpath ;  in 
another  moment  I  heard  it  in  the  lane  or  glade  in  which  stood 
my  tent,  where  it  abruptly  stopped,  but  not  before  I  had  heard 
the  very  words  which  I  at  first  thought  I  had  distinguished 

I  turned  my  head ;  at  the  entrance  of  the  footpath,  which 
might  be  about  thirty  yards  from  the  place  where  I  was  sitting, 
I  perceived  the  figure  of  a  young  girl ;  her  fiice  was  tnm^ 
towards  me,  and  she  appeared  to  be  scanning  me  and  my  en- 
campment ;  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  immedi- 
ately 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 ; — 


iSasJ  A    VISIT.  yrt 

The  Rommany  chi 
And  the  Rommany  cbalf 
Shall  jaw  tasaulor 
To  drab  the  bawlor» 
And  dook  the  gry 
Of  the  farming  lye. 

A  very  pretty  song,  thought  I,  falling  again  bard  to  work  upon 
my  kettle ;  a  very  pretty  song,  which  bodes  the  farmers  much  good. 
Let  them  look  to  their  cattle, 

*  All  alone  here,  brother  ?  *  said  a  voice  close  by  me,  in  sharp 
but  not  disagreeable  tones. 

I  made  no  answer,  but  continued  my  work,  click,  click,  with 
the  gravity  which  became  one  of  my  profession.  I  allowed  at 
least  half  a  minute  to  elapse  before  I  even  lifted  up  my  eyes. 

A  girl  of  about  thirteen  was  standing  before  me ;  her  features 
were  very  pretty,  but  with  a  peculiar  expression ;  her  complexion 
was  a  dear  olive,  and  her  jet  black  hair  hung  back  upon  her 
shoulders.  She  was  rather  scantily  dressed,  and  her  arms  and 
feet  were  bare ;  round  her  neck,  however,  was  a  handsome  string 
of  corals,  with  ornaments  of  gold :  in  her  hand  she  held  a  bulrush. 

"All  alone  here,  brother?"  said  the  girl,  as  I  looked  up;  "all 
alone  here,  in  the  lane ;  where  are  your  wife  and  children  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  brother  ?  "  said  I ;"  I  am  no  brother  of 
yours.  Do  you  take  me  for  one  of  your  people?  I  am  no 
gypsy;  not  I,  indeed  1" 

"Don't  be  aftaid,  brother,  you  are  no  Roman — Roman  in- 
deed, 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." 

"  Then  you  don't  like  me  ?  " 

''Neither  like  you,  nor  dislike  you,  brother;  what  will  you 
have  for  that  kekaubi?" 

"  What's  the  use  of  talking  to  me  in  that  unchristian  way ; 
what  do  you  mean,  young  gentlewoman?" 

"Lord,  brother,  what  a  fool  you  are;  every  tinker  knows 
what  a  kekaubi  is.  I  was  asking  you  what  you  would  have  for 
that  kettle." 

"  Three-and-sixpence,  young  gentlewoman ;  isn't  it  well 
mended  ?  " 

"Well  mended!  I  could  have  done  it  better  myself;  three- 
and-sixpence  I  it's  only  fit  to  be  played  at  football  with." 

"  I  will  take  no  less  for  it,  young  gentlewoman  ;  it  has  caused 
mt  a  world  of  trouble." 


378  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 


'*  I  never  saw  a  worse  mended  kettle.  I  say,  brother,  your 
hair  is  white/' 

"  'Tis  nature ;  your  hair  is  black ;  nature,  nothing  but  nature." 

"  I  am  young,  brother ;  my  hair  is  black — ^that's  nature :  you 
are  young,  brother;  your  hair  is  white — that's  not  nature." 

"  I  can't  help  it  if  it  be  not,  but  it  is  nature  after  all ;  did  you 
never  see  grey  hair  on  the  young  ?  " 

'*  Never  1  I  have  heard  it  is  true  of  a  grey  lad,  and  a  bad  one 
he  was.    Oh,  so  bad." 

"  Sit  down  on  the  grass,  and  tell  me  all  about  it,  sister;  do  to 
oblige  me,  pretty  sister." 

"  Hey,  brother,  you  don't  speak  as  you  did — you  don't  speak 
like  a  gorgio,  you  speak  like  one  of  us,  you  call  me  sister." 

"As  you  call  me  brother;  I  am  not  an  uncivil  person  after 
all,  sister." 

"  I  say,  brother,  tell  me  one  thing,  and  look  me  in  the  face — 
there — do  you  speak  Rommany  ?  " 

"  Rommany  I  Rommany  I  what  is  Rommany?  " 

"What  is  Rommany?  our  language,  to  be  sure;  tell  me, 
brother,  only  one  thing,  you  don't  speak  Rommany?" 

"  You  say  it" 

"  I  don't  say  it,  I  wish  to  know.    Do  you  speak  Rommany  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  thieves'  slang— cant  ?  no,  I  don't  speak  cant, 
I  don't  like  it,  I  only  know  a  few  words ;  they  call  a  sixpence  a 
tanner,  don't  they?" 

**  I  don't  know,"  said  the  girl,  sitting  down  on  the  ground, 
"I  was  almost  thinking — weU^  never  mind,  you  don't  know 
Rommanv.  I  say,  brother,  I  Uiink  I  should  like  to  have  the 
kekaubi.' 

'*  I  thought  you  said  it  was  badly  mended  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  brother,  but " 

"  I  thought  you  said  it  was  only  fit  to  be  played  at  football 
with?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  brother,  but " 

"  What  will  you  give  for  it  ?  " 

"  Brother,  I  am  the  poor  person's  child,  I  will  give  you  six- 
pence for  the  kekaubi." 

"  Poor  person's  child ;  how  came  you  by  that  necklace  ?  " 

"  Be  civil,  brother ;  am  Z  to  have  the  kekaubi  ?  " 

"  Not  for  sixpence ;  isn't  the  kettle  nicely  mended? 

"  I  never  saw  a  nicer  mended  kettle,  brother ;  am  I  to  have 
the  kekaubi,  brother  ?  " 

"  You  like  me  then  ?  " 


99 


iSas-l  ^^^  IDENTIFICATION.  379 

"  I  don't  dislike  you— I  dislike  no  one ;  there's  only  one»  and 
him  I  don't  dislike,  him  I  hate." 

"Who  is  he?" 

*'  I  scarcely  know,  I  never  saw  him,  but  'tis  no  affair  of  yours, 
you  don't  speak  Rommany ;  you  will  let  me  have  the  kekaubi, 
pretty  brother  ?  " 

*'  You  may  have  it,  but  not  for  sixpence,  I'll  give  it  to  you." 

"  Parraco  tute,  that  is,  I  thank  you,  brother ;  the  rikkeni 
kekaubi  is  now  mine.    0>  rare!  I  thank  you  kindly,  brother." 

Starting  up,  she  flung  the  buhush  aside  which  she  had  hither- 
to held  in  her  hand^  and  seizing  the  kettle,  she  looked  at  it  for  a 
moment,  and  then  began  a  kind  of  dance,  flourishing  the  kettle 
over  her  head  the  while,  and  singing — 

The  Rommany  chi 
And  the  Rommany  chal, 
ShaU  jaw  tasaulor 
To  drab  the  bawlor, 
And  dook  the  gry 
Of  the  iarming  rye. 


M 


"  Good-bye,  brother,  I  must  be  going. 

'*  Good-bye,  sister ;  why  do  you  sing  that  wicked  song  ? 

"  Wicked  song,  hey,  brother  1  you  don't  understand  the  song  1 

"  Ha,  ha  1  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  gilli 


'*  The  Rommany  chi 
And  the  Rommany  chal 
Love  Luripen 
And  dukkeripen, 
And  hokkeripen. 
And  every  pen 
But  Lachipen 
And  tatchipen." 

The  girl,  who  had  given  a  slight  start  when  I  began,  remained 
for  some  time  after  I  had  concluded  the  song,  standing  motion- 
less 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  hersel£  In  her  countenance  there 
was  an  expression  which  I  had  not  seen  before — an  expression 
which  struck  me  as  being  composed  of  fear,  curiosity  and  the 
deepest  hate.  It  was  momentary,  however,  and  was  succeeded 
by  one  smiling,  frank,  and  open.  "  Ha,  ha,  brother,"  said  she, 
"  well,  I  like  you  all  the  better  for  talking  Rommany ;  it  is  a 


Sfio  LA  VBNGRO.  [1895. 

sweet  language,  isn  t  it  ?  especially  as  you  sing  it.  How  did  you 
pick  it  up?  But  you  picked  it  up  upon  the  roads,  no  doubt? 
Ha,  it  was  funny  in  you  to  pretend  not  to  know  it,  and  you  so 
flush  with  it  all  the  time;  it  was  not  kind  in  you,  however,  to^ 
frighten  the  poor  person's  child  so  by  screaming  out,  but  it  was 
kind  in  you  to  give  the  rikkeni  kekaubi  to  the  child  of  the  poor 
person.  She  will  be  grateful  to  you ;  she  will  bring  you  her  little 
dog  to  show  you,  her  pretty  juggal ;  the  poor  person's  child  will 
come  and  see  you  again ;  you  are  not  going  away  to-day,  I  hope, 
or  to-morrow,  pretty  brother,  grey-hair'd  brother — ^you  are  not 
going  away  to-morrow,  I  hope?" 

<'  Nor  the  next  day,"  said  I,  "  only  to  take  a  stroll  to  see  if  I 
can  sell  a  kettle ;  good-bye,  little  sister^  Rommany  sister,  ding} 
sister." 

<<  Good-bye,  tall  brother,"  said  the  girl,  as  she  departed, 
singing  :— 

The  Rommany  chi,  etc 

"  There's  something  about  that  girl  that  I  don't  understand," 
said  I  to  myself ;  ''  something  mysterious.  However,  it  is  nothing 
to  me,  she  knows  not  who  I  am,  and  if  she  did,  what  then  ?  " 

Late  that  evening  as  I  sat  on  the  shaft  of  my  cart  in  deep 
meditation,  with  my  arms  folded,  I  thought  I  heard  a  rustling  in 
the  bushes  over  against  me.  I  turned  my  eyes  in  that  direction, 
but  saw  nothing.  ''Some  bird,"  said  I;  "an  owl,  perhaps;" 
and  once  more  I  fell  into  meditation ;  my  mind  wandered  from 
one  thing  to  another — musing  now  on  the  structure  of  the  Roman 
tongue — ^now  on  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  Persian  power — and  now 
on  the  powers  vested  in  recorders  at  quarter  sessions.  I  was! 
thinking  what  a  fine  thing  it  must  be  to  be  a  recorder  of  the  peace, 
when  lifting  up  my  eyes,  I  saw  right  opposite,  not  a  culprit  at  the 
bar,  but,  staring  at  me  through  a  gap  in  the  bush,  a  face  wild  and 
strange,  half-covered  with  grey  hair ;  I  only  saw  it  a  moment,  the 
next  it  bad  disappeared. 


f» 


CHAPTER  LXXL 


The  next  day  at  an  early  hour  I  harnessed  my  little  pony,  and, 
putting  my  things  in  my  cart,  I  went  on  my  projected  strpll. 
Crossing  the  moor,  I  arrived  in  about  an  hour  at  a  small  Tillage, 
from  which,  after  a  short  stay,  I  proceeded  to  another,  and  from 
thence  to  a  third.  I  found  that  the  name  of  Slingsby  was  well 
known  in  these  parts. 

''  If  you  are  a  friend  of  Slingsby  you  must  be  an  honest  lad, 
said  an  ancient  crone ;  "  you  shall  never  want  for  work  whilst  I 
can  give  it  you.  Here,  take  my  kettle,  the  bottom  came  out  this 
morning,  and  lend  me  that  of  yours  till  you  bring  it  back.  I'm 
not  afraid  to  trust  you — not  I.  Don't  hurry  yourself,  young  man ; 
if  you  don't  come  back  for  a  fortnight  I  shan't  have  the  worse 
opinion  of  you." 

I  returned  to  my  quarters  at  evening,  tired  but  rejoiced  at 
heart ;  I  had  work  before  me  for  several  days,  having  collected 
various  kekaubies  which  required  mending,  in  place  of  those  which 
I  left  behind — those  which  I  had  been  employed  upon  during  the 
last  few  days.  I  found  all  quiet  in  the  lane  or  glade,  and,  un- 
harnessing my  little  horse,  I  once  more  pitched  my  tent  in  the  old 
spot  beneath  the  ash,  lighted  my  fire«  ate  my  frugal  meal,  and 
then,  after  looking  for  some  time  at  the  heavenly  bodies,  and 
more  particularly  at  the  star  Jupiter,  I  entered  my  tent,  lay  down 
upon  my  pallet,  and  went  to  sleep. 

Nothing  occurred  on  the  following  day  which  requires  any 
particular  notice,  nor  indeed  on  the  one  succeeding  that.  It  was 
about  noon  on  the  third  day  that  I  sat  beneath  the  shade  of  the 
ash  tree ;  I  was  not  at  work,  for  the  weather  was  particularly  hot, 
and  I  felt  but  little  inclination  to  make  any  exertion.  Leaning 
my  back  against  the  tree,  I  was  not  long  in  falling  into  a  slumber. 
I  particularly  remember  that  slumber  of  mine  beneath  the  ash  tree, 
fior  it  was  about  the  sweetest  that  I  ever  enjoyed ;  how  long  I 
continued  in  it  I  do  not  know ;  I  could  almost  have  washed  that 
it  had  lasted  to  the  present  time.  All  of  a  sudden  it  appeared  to 
me  that  a  voice  cned  in  my  ear,  "  Danger  1  danger  I  danger  I " 

(381) 


38a  LA  VBNGRO.  [1895. 

Nothing  seemingly  could  be  more  distinct  than  the  words  which 
I  heard ;  then  an  uneasy  sensation  came  over  me,  which  I  strove 
to  get  rid  of,  and  at  last  succeeded,  for  I  awoke.  The  gypsy  girl 
was  standing  just  opposite  to  me,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  my 
countenance ;  a  singular  kind  of  little  dog  stood  beside  her. 

**  Ha ! "  said  I,  "  was  it  you  that  cried  danger  ?  What  danger 
is  there?" 

''Danger,  brother,  there  is  no  danger;  what  danger  should 
there  be.  I  called  to  my  little  dog,  but  that  was  in  the  wood ;  my 
little  dog's  name  is  not  danger,  but  stranger ;  what  danger  should 
there  be,  brother  ?  " 

''What,  indeed,  except  in  sleeping  beneath  a  tree;  what  is 
that  you  have  got  in  your  hand?  " 

"  Something  for  you,"  said  the  girl,  sitting  down  and  proceed- 
ing 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  tibe  kekaubi,  she  said :  '  Hir  mi  devlis,  it  won't  do  for  the 
poor  people  to  be  ungrateful ;  by  my  God,  I  will  bake  a  cake  for 
the  young  harko  mescro '." 

"  But  there  are  two  cakes.*' 

"Yes,  brother,  two  cakes,  both  for  you;  my  grandbebee 
meant  them  both  for  you — but  list,  brother,  I  will  have  one  of 
them  for  bringing  them.  I  know  you  will  give  me  one,  pretty 
brother,  grey-haired  brother — which  shall  I  have,  brother  ?  " 

In  the  napkin  were  two  round  cakes,  seemingly  made  of  rich 
and  costly  compounds,  and  precisely  similar  in  form,  each  weigh- 
ing about  half  a  pound. 

"  Which  shall  I  have,  brother?  "  said  the  gypsy  girl 

"  Whichever  you  please." 

"  No,  brother,  no,  the  cakes  are  yours,  not  mine,  it  is  for  you 
to  say." 

"Well,  then,  give  me  the  one  nearest  you,  and  take  the 
other. 

"  Yes,  brother,  yes,"  said  the  girl ;  and  taking  the  cakes,  she 
flung  them  into  the  air  two  or  three  times,  catchine;  them  as  they 
fell,  and  singing  the  while.  "  Pretty  brother,  grey-naired  brother 
— here,  brother,"  said  she,  "here  is  your  cake,  this  other  is 


mine." 


"  Are  you  sure,"  said  I,  taking  the  cake,  "  that  this  is  the  one 
I  chose  ?'^ 

"  Quite  sure,  brother ;  but  if  you  like  you  can  have  mine ; 
there's  no  difference ;  however — shall  I  eat  ?  " 


1815.]  THB  POISONED  CAKB.  583 


"Yes,  sister,  cat" 

"  See,  brother,  I  do ;  now,  brother,  eat,  pretty  brother,  grej- 
haired  brother." 

"  I  am  not  hungry." 

"  Not  hungry  !  well,  what  then — ^what  has  being  hungry  to  do 
with  th^  matter?  It  is  my  grandbebee's  cake  which  was  sent 
because  you  were  kind  to  the  poor  person '$  child ;  eat,  brother, 
eat,  and  we  shall  be  like  the  children  in  the  wood  that  the  gorgios 
speak  of." 

*'  The  children  in  the  wood  had  nothing  to  eat" 

"  Yes,  they  had  hips  and  haws ;  we  have  better.    Eat,  brother." 

''  See,  sister,  I  do,"  and  I  ate  a  piece  of  the  cake. 

"Well,  broUier,  how  do  you  like  it?"  said  the  girl,  looking 
fixedly  at  me. 

''  It  is  very  rich  and  sweet,  and  yet  there  is  something  strange 
about  it ;  I  don't  think  I  shall  eat  any  more." 

"Fie,  brother,  fie,  to  find  fault  with  the  poor  person's  cake; 
see,  I  have  nearly  eaten  mine,^ 

"  That's  a  pretty  little  dog.' 

"  Is  it  not,  brother  ?  that's  my  juggal,  my  little  sister,  as  I  call 
her." 

"  Come  here,  Juggal,"  said  I  to  the  animal. 

**  What  do  you  want  with  my  juggal  ?  "  said  the  girl. 

"  Only  to  give  her  a  piece  of  cake,"  said  I,  offering  the  dog  a 
piece  which  I  had  just  broken  off. 

**  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  the  girl,  snatching  the  dog  away ; 
"  my  grandbebee's  cake  is  not  for  dogs." 

"  Why,  I  just  now  saw  you  give  the  animal  a  piece  of  yours." 

"  You  lie,  brother,  you  saw  no  such  thing ;  but  I  see  how  it 
is,  you  wish  to  affront  the  poor  person's  child.  I  shall  go  to  my 
house." 

"  Keep  stfll,  and  don't  be  angry ;  see,  I  have  eaten  the  piece 
which  I  offered  the  dog.  I  meant  no  offence.  It  is  a  sweet  cake 
after  all." 

"  Isn't  it,  brother  ?  I  am  glad  you  like  it.  Offence  I  brother, 
no  offence  at  all !  I  am  so  glad  you  like  my  grandbebee's  cake, 
but  she  will  be  wanting  me  at  home.  Eat  one  piece  more  of 
grandbebee's  cake  and  I  will  go." 

"  I  am  not  hungry,  I  will  put  the  rest  by.' 

"  One  piece  more  before  I  go,  handsome  brother,  grey-haired 
brother." 

"  I  will  not  eat  any  more,  I  have  already  eaten  more  than  I 
wished  to  oblige  you ;  if  you  must  go,  good-day  to  you.'' 


•• 


f» 


584  t'^  VENGRO.  (lizi. 

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  satis&ction  came  over  her  countenance,  she 
smiled  and  said :  **  Well,  brother,  well,  do  as  you  please ;  I  merely 
wished  you  to  eat  because  you  have  been  so  land  to  the  poor 
person's  child.  She  loves  you  so,  that  she  could  have  wisheid  to 
have  seen  you  eat  it  all ;  good-bye,  brother,  I  daresay  when  I  am 
gone  you  will  eat  some  more  of  it,  and  if  you  don't  I  daresay  you 
have  eaten  enough  to— to— show  your  love  for  us.  After  all,  it 
was  a  poor  person's  cake,  a  Rommany  manridi,  and  all  you 
gorgios  are  somewhat  gorgious.  Farewell,  brother,  pretty  brother, 
grey-haired  brother.    Come,  juggal." 

I  remained  under  the  ash  tree  seated  on  the  grass  for  a  minute 
or  two,  and  endeavoured  to  resume  the  occupation  in  which  I 
had  been  engaged  before  I  fell  asleep,  but  I  felt  no  inclination 
for  labour.  I  then  thought  I  would  sleep  again,  and  once  more 
reclined  against  the  tree,  and  slumbered  for  some  little  time,  but 
my  sleep  was  more  agitated  than  before.  Something  appeared  to 
bear  heavy  on  my  breast.  I  struggled  in  my  sleep,  fell  on  the  grass, 
and  awoke ;  my  temples  were  throbbing,  there  was  a  burning  in 
my  eyes,  and  my  mouth  felt  parched ;  the  oppression  about  the 
chest  which  I  had  felt  in  my  sleep  still  continued*  "  I  must  shake 
off  these  feelings,"  said  I,  "and  get  upon  my  1^."  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  like  results ;  I  was  about  to 
drink  for  the  third  time,  when  I  felt  a  dreadful  qualm  which 
instantly  robbed  me  of  nearly  all  my  strength.  What  can  be  the 
matter  with  me,  thought  I;  but  I  suppose  I  have  made  myself 
ill  by  drinking  cold  water.  I  got  up  and  made  the  best  of  my 
way  back  to  my  tent ;  before  I  reached  it  the  qualm  had  seized 
me  again,  and  I  was  deadly  sick.  I  flung  myself  on  my  pallet; 
qualm  succeeded  qualm,  but  in  the  intervals  my  mouth  was  dry 
and  burning,  and  I  felt  a  frantic  desire  to  drink,  but  no  water 
was  at  hand,  and  to  reach  the  spring  once  more  was  impossible : 
the  qualms  continued,  deadly  pains  shot  through  my  whole  frame ; 
I  could  bear  my  agonies  no  longer,  and  I  fell  into  a  trance  or 
swoon.  How  long  I  continued  therein  I  know  not ;  on  recovering, 
however,  I  felt  somewhat  better,  and  attempted  to  lift  my  head 
off  my  couch ;  the  next  moment,  however,  the  qualms  and  pains 


1825]  MRS.  HBRNB.  385 

returned,  if  possible,  with  greater  violence  than  before.  I  am 
dying,  thought  I,  like  a  dog,  without  any  help;  and  then  me- 
thought  I  heard  a  sound  at  a  distance  like  people  singing,  and 
then  once  more  I  relapsed  into  my  swoon. 

I  revived  just  as  a  heavy  blow  sounded  upon  the  canvas  of 
the  tent.  I  started,  but  my  condition  did  not  permit  me  to  rise ; 
again  the  same  kind  of  blow  sounded  upon  the  canvas ;  I  thought 
for  a  moment  of  crying  out  and  requesting  assistance,  but  an 
inexplicable  something  chained  my  tongue,  and  now  I  heard  a 
whisper  on  the  outside  of  the  tent  "  He  does  not  move,  bebee," 
said  a  voice  which  I  knew.  **  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  has  done 
for  him  already ;  however,  strike  again  with  your  ran ; "  and  then 
there  was  another  blow,  after  which  another  voice  cried  aloud  in 
a  strange  tone :  **  Is  the  gentleman  of  the  house  asleep,  or  is  he 
taking  his  dinner?  "  I  remained  quite  silent  and  motionless,  and 
in  another  moment  the  voice  continued:  ''What,  no  answer? 
what  can  the  gentleman  of  the  house  be  about  that  he  makes  no 
answer  ?  Perhaps  the  gentleman  of  the  house  may  be  darning  his 
stockings  ?  "  Thereupon  a  face  peered  into  the  door  of  the  tent,  at 
the  farUier  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.  Heme.  "  Ho,  ho,  sir ! "  said  she,  **  here  you 
are.  Come  here,  Leonora,"  said  she  to  the  gypsy  girl,  who 
pressed  in  at  the  other  side  of  the  door ;  "  here  is  the  gentleman, 
not  asleep,  but  only  stretched  out  after  dinner.  Sit  down  on 
your  ham,  child,  at  the  door ;  I  shall  do  the  same.  There— you 
have  seen  me  before,  sir,  have  you  not  ?  " 

''The  gentleman  makes  no  answer,  bebee;  perhaps  he  does 
not  know  you." 

"  I  have  known  him  of  old,  Leonora,"  said  Mrs.  Heme ; 
"  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  though  I  spoke  to  him  just  now,  I 
expected  no  answer." 

'*  It's  a  way  he  has,  bebee,  I  suppose? " 

"  Yes,  child,  it's  a  way  he  has." 

**  Take  oflf  your  bonnet,  bebee ;  perhaps  he  cannot  see  your 
Cftce. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  will  be  of  much  use,  child ;  however,  I 
will  take  off  my  bonnet — there — and  shake  out  my  hair — there — 
you  have  seen  this  hair  before,  sir,  and  this  face " 

'*  No  answer,  bebee." 

9% 


386  LA  VBNGRO.  [iH% 


"Though  th€  one  was  not  quite  so  grey,  nor  the  other  so 
wrinkled." 

"  How  came  they  so,  bebee?  " 

"  All  along  of  this  gorgio,  child." 

"  The  gentleman  in  the  house,  you  mean,  bebee." 

''  Yes,  child,  the  gentleman  in  the  house.  God  grant  that  I 
may  preserve  my  temper.  Do  you  know,  sir,  my  name?  My 
name  is  Heme,  which  signifies  a  hairy  individual,  though  neither 
grey-haired  nor  wrinkled.  It  is  not  the  nature  of  the  Hemes  to 
be  grey  or  wrinkled,  even  when  they  are  old,  and  I  am  not  old." 

"  How  old  are  you,  bebee  ?  " 

''Sixty-five  years,  child — an  inconsiderable  number.  My 
mother  was  a  hundred  and  ofie — a  considerable  age — when  she 
died,  yet  she  had  not  on«  grey  hak,  and  not  more  than  six 
wrinkles — an  inconsiderable  number." 

"  She  had  no  griefs,  bebee?  " 

"  Plenty,  child,  but  not  like  mine." 

" Not  quite  so  hard  to  bear,  bebee?  " 

"  No,  child ;  my  head  wanders  when  I  think  of  them.  After 
the  death  of  my  husband,  who  came  to  his  end  untimeously,  I 
went  to  live  with  a  daughter  of  mine,  married  out  among  certain 
Romans  who  walk  about  the  eastern  counties,  and  with  whom  for 
some  time  I  found  a  home  and  pleasant  society,  for  they  lived 
right  Romanly,  which  gave  my  heart  considerable  ^tisfaction, 
who  am  a  Roman  bora,  and  hope  to  die  so.  When  I  say  right 
Romanly,  I  mean  that  they  kept  to  themselves,  and  were  not 
much  given  to  blabbing  about  their  private  matters  in  promiscuous 
company.  Well,  things  went  on  in  this  way  for  some  time^  when 
one  day  my  son-in-law  brings  home  a  young  gorgio  of  singular 
and  outrageous  ugliness,  and  without  much  preamble,  says  to  me 
and  mine,  '  This  is  my  pal,  a'n't  he  a  beauty  ?  fall  down  and 
worship  him '.  '  Hold,'  said  I,  '  I  for  one  will  never  consent  to 
such  foolishness.' " 

"That  .was  right,  bebee,  I  think  I  should  have  done  the 


same." 


''  I  think  you  would,  child ;  but  what  was  the  profit  of  it  ? 
The  whole  party  makes  an  almighty  of  this  gorgiOj  lets  him  into 
their  ways,  says  prayers  of  his  making,  till  things  come  to  such  a 
pass  that  my  own  diaughter  ssljs  to  me: '  I  shall  buy  myself  a  veU 
and  fan,  and  treat  myself  to  a  play  and  sacrament '.  '  Don't,' 
says  I ;  says  she,  '  I  should  like  for  once  in  my  life  to  be  courtesied 
to  as  a  Christian  gentlewoman  \** 

"  Very  foolish  of  her,  bebee." 


x8«5.1  "  YOirVE  TAKEN  DROWS,  SIRr  387 

"  Wasn't  it,  child  ?  Where  was  I  ?  At  the  £eui  and  sacra- 
inent ;  with  a  heavy  heart  I  put  seven  score  miles  between  us, 
came  back  to  the  hairy  ones,  and  found  them  over-given  to  gorgious 
companions ;  said  I,  *  foolish  manners  is  catching,  all  this  comes 
of  that  there  gorgio'.  Answers  the  child  Leonora, '  Take  comfort, 
bebee,  I  hate  the  gorgios  as  much  as  you  do  '•" 

**  And  I  say  so  again,  bebee,  as  much  or  more.'* 

''Time  flows  on,  I  engage  in  many  matters,  in  most  miscarry. 
Am  sent  to  prison  ;  says  I  to  myself,  I  am  become  foolish.  Am 
turned  out  of  prison,  and  go  back  to  the  hairy  ones,  who  receive 
me  not  over  courteously ;  says  I,  for  their  unkindness,  and  my 
own  foolishness,  all  the  thanks  to  that  gorgia  Answers  to  me 
the  child,  *  I  wish  I  could  set  eyes  upon  him,  bebee '." 

"  I  did  so,  bebee ;  go  on." 

''How  shall  I  know  him,  bebee?"  says  the  child.  'Young 
and  grey,  tall,  and  speaks  Romanly.'  Runs  to  me  the  child,  and 
says,  'IVe  found  him,  bebee '.  '  Where,  child  ? '  says  I.  '  Come 
with  me,  bebee,'  says  the  child.  'That's  he,'  says  I,  as  I  looked 
at  my  gentleman  through  the  hedge." 

"  Ha,  ha !  bebee,  and  here  he  lies,  poisoned  like  a  hog." 

"  You  have  taken  drows,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Heme ;  "  do  you 
hear,  sir  ?  drows ;  tip  him  a  stave,  child,  of  the  song  of  poison/' 

And  thereupon  the  girl  clapped  her  hands,  and  sang — 

The  Rommany  churl 
And  the  Rommany  girl, 
To-morrow  shall  hie 
To  poison  the  sty. 
And  bewitch  on  the  mead 
The  farmer's  steed. 

'*  Do  you  hear  that,  sir  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Heme ;  "  the  child  has 
tipped  you  a  stave  of  the  song  of  poison :  that  is,  she  has  sung  it 
Christianly,  though  perhaps  you  would  like  to  hear  it  Romanly ; 
you  were  always  fond  of  what  was  Roman.  Tip  it  him  Romanly, 
child." 

"  He  has  heard  it  Romanly  already,  bebee ;  'twas  by  that  I 
found  him  out,  as  I  told  you." 

"  Halloo,  sir,  are  you  sleeping  ?  you  have  taken  drows ;  the 
gentleman  makes  no  answer.    God  give  me  patience ! " 

"  And  what  if  he  doesn't,  bebee ;  isn't  he  poisoned  like  a  hog? 
Gentleman !  indeed,  why  call  him  gentleman?  If  he  ever  was  one 
he's  broke,  and  is  now  a  tinker,  a  worker  of  blue  metaL" 

"  That's  his  way,  child,  to-day  a  tinker,  to-morrow  something 
dse ;  and  as  for  being  drabbed,  I  don't  know  what  to  say  about  it.** 


388  LA  VBNGRO.  [iSs5- 

"  Not  drabbed  I  what  do  you  mean,  bebee  ?  bat  look  there, 
bebee ;  ha,  ha,  look  at  the  gentleman's  motions." 

"  He  is  sick,  child,  sure  enough.  Ho,  ho  I  sir,  you  have  taken 
drows  ;  what,  another  throe  1  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." 

"  Hey,  bebee  I  "  cried  the  girl ;  **  what  is  this  ?  what  do  you 
mean  ?  you  have  blessed  the  gorgio  !  '* 

"  Blessed  him  !  no,  sure ;  what  did  I  say  ?  (Mi,  I  remember, 
Fm  mad ;  well,  I  can't  help  it,  I  said  what  the  dukkerin  dook 
told  me ;  woe's  me  ;  he'll  get  up  yet." 

"  Nonsense,  bebee  I  Look  at  his  motions,  he's  drabbed,  spite 
of  dukkerin." 

*'  Don't  say  so,  child ;  he's  sick,  'tis  true,  but  don't  laugh  at 
dukkerin,  only  folks  do  that  that  know  no  better.  I,  for  one,  will 
never  laugh  at  the  dukkerin  dook.  Sick  again ;  I  wish  he  was 
gone." 

'*  He'll  soon  be  gone,  bebee ;  let's  leave  him.  He's  as  good  as 
gone ;  look  there,  he's  dead." 

"  No,  he's  not,  he'll  get  up — I  feel  it ;  can't  we  hasten  him  ?  " 

"  Hasten  him  1  yes,  to  be  sure ;  set  the  dog  upon  him.  Here, 
juggal,  look  in  there,  my  dog." 

The  dog  made  its  appearance  at  the  door  of  the  tent,  and 
began  to  bark  and  tear  up  the  ground. 

*'  At  him,  juggal,  at  him  ;  he  wished  to  poison,  to  drab  you. 
HaUoo !  " 

The  dog  barked  violently,  and  seemed  about  to  spring  at  my 
face,  but  retreated. 

"  The  dog  won't  fly  at  him,  child  ;  he  flashed  at  the  dog  with 
his  eye,  and  scared  him.    He'll  get  up." 

'*  Nonsense,  bebee !  you  make  me  angry ;  how  should  he  get 
up?" 

'*  The  dook  tells  me  so,  and,  what's  more,  I  had  a  dream.  I 
thought  I  was  at  York,  standing  amidst  a  crowd  to  see  a  man 
hung,  and  the  crowd  shouted,  '  There  he  comes  1 '  and  I  looked, 
and  lo  1  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  aU  eyes  were 


i8«5.]  "HE'LL  GBT  UP  YET!''  589 

tamed  to  the  big  pulpit ;  and  presently  I  heard  them  say,  *  There 
he  mounts  ! '  and  I  looked  up  to  the  big  pulpit,  and,  lo  1  the 
tinker  was  in  the  pulpit,  and  he  raised  his  arm  and  began  to  preach. 
Anon,  I  found  myself  at  York  again,  just  as  the  drop  fell,  and  I 
looked  up,  and  I  saw,  not  the  tinker,  but  my  own  self  hanging  in 
the  air." 

**  You  are  going  mad,  bebee ;  if  you  want  to  hasten  him,  take 
your  stick  and  poke  him  in  the  eye.'' 

"  That  will  be  of  no  use»  child,  the  dukkerin  tells  me  so  ;  but 
I  will  try  what  I  can  do.  Halloo,  tinker !  you  must  introduce 
yourself  into  a  quiet  family,  and  raise  confusion — must  you? 
You  must  steal  its  language,  and,  what  was  never  done  before, 
write  it  down  Christ ianly — must  you  ?  Take  that — ^and  that ; " 
and  she  stabbed  violently  with  her  stick  towards  the  end  of  the 
tent. 

'* That's  right,  bebee,  you  struck  his  face;  now,  once  more* 
and  let  it  be  in  the  eye.    Stay,  what's  that  ?  get  up,  bebee/' 

"  What's  the  matter,  child  ?  " 

"  Some  one  is  coming,  come  away." 

''  Let  me  make  sure  of  him,  child ;  he'll  be  up  yet."  And 
thereupon  Mrs.  Heme,  rising,  leaned  forward  into  the  tent,  and 
supporting  herself  against  the  pole,  took  aim  in  the  direction  of  the 
&rtber  end.  '*  I  will  thrust  out  his  eye/'  said  she ;  and,  lunging 
with  her  stick,  she  would  probably  have  accomplished  her  purpose 
bad  not  at  that  moment  the  pole  of  the  tent  given  way,  whereupon 
she  fell  to  the  ground,  the  canvas  falling  upon  her  and  her  in- 
tended victim. 

"  Here's  a  pretty  affair,  bebee,"  screamed  the  girl. 

"  He'll  get  up  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Heme,  from  beneath  the  canvas. 

"Get  up! — ^get  up  yourself;  where  are  you?  where  is  your 

Here,  there,  bebee,  here's  the  door;  there,  make  haste, 

they  are  coming." 

"  He'll  get  up  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Heme,  recovering  her  breath ; 
"  the  dook  tells  me  so." 

"  Never  mind  him  or  the  dook ;  he  is  drabbed ;  come  away, 
or  we  shall  be  grabbed— both  of  us." 

"  One  more  blow,  I  know  where  his  head  lies.' 

"You  are  mad,  bebee ;  leave  the  fellow — gorgio  avella.' 

And  thereupon  the  females  hurried  away. 

A  vehicle  of  some  kind  was  evidently  drawing  nigh ;  in  a 
little  time  it  came  alongside  of  the  place  where  lay  the  fallen  tent, 
and  stopped  suddenly.  There  was  a  silence  for  a  moment,  and 
then  a  parley  ensued  between  two  voices,  one  of  which  was  that 


ft 


390  LA  VBSGRO.  [1825. 

of  a  woman.  It  was  not  in  English,  bat  in  a  deep  guttural 
tongue. 

**  Fethyw  hano  sydd  yn  garwedd  yna  or  y  ddaearf*^  said  a 
masculine  voice. 

"  Yn  wirumedd—l  do  not  know  what  it  can  be,"  said  the 
female  voice,  in  the  same  tongue. 

**  Here  is  a  cart,  and  there  are  toob ;  but  what  is  that  on  the 
ground  ?  " 

*'  Something  moves  beneath  it ;  and  what  was  that — a  groan  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  get  down  ?  " 

**  Of  course,  Peter,  some  one  may  want  your  help." 

"  Then  I  will  get  down,  though  I  do  not  like  this  place,  it  is 
frequented  by  Egyptians,  and  I  do  not  like  their  yellow  faces,  nor 
their  clibberty  clabber,  as  Master  Ellis  Wyn  says.  Now,  I  am 
down.  It  is  a  tent,  Winifred,  and  see,  here  is  a  boy  beneath  it. 
Merciful  father  1  what  a  face  1 " 

A  middle-aged  man,  with  a  strongly  marked  and  serious 
countenance,  dressed  in  sober-coloured  habiliments,  had  lifted  up 
the  stifling  folds  of  the  tent  and  was  bending  over  me.  "  Can 
you  speak,  my  kd?"  said  he  in  English,  ''what  is  the  matter 
with  you?    If  you  could  but  tell  me,  I  could  perhaps  help 

you *'    ''  What  is  it  that  you  say  ?    I  can't  hear  you.     I  will 

kneel  down ; "  and  he  flung  himself  on  the  groimd,  and  placed 
his  ear  dose  to  my  mouth.  ''Now  speak  if  you  can.  Hey! 
what  1  no,  sure,  God  forbid  1 "  then  starting  up,  he  cried  to  a 
female  who  sat  in  the  cart,  anxiously  looking  on — Gwenwyni 
Gwemvyn  I  yw y  gwas  wedi  ei gwenwynaw.  The  oil!  Winifred, 
the  oU  I " 


CHAPTER  LXXII. 


Thb  oil,  which  the  strangers  compelled  roe  to  take,  produced  the 
desired  efTecti  though,  during  at  least  two  hours,  it  was  very  doubt- 
ful 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 ; 
^n  my  awaking,  I  found  that  the  shadows  of  night  had  enveloped 
the  earth — we  were  still  moving  on.  Shortly,  however,  after 
descending  a  declivity,  we  turned  into  a  lane,  at  the  entrance  of 
which  was  a  gate.  This  lane  conducted  to  a  meadow,  through 
the  middle  of  which  ran  a  small  brook;  it  stood  between  two 
rising  grounds,  that  on  the  left,  which  was  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  water,  was  covered  with  wood,  whilst  the  one  on  the  right, 
which  was  not  so  high,  was  crowned  with  the  white  walls  of  what 
appeared  to  be  a  farm-house. 

Advancing  along  the  meadow,  we  presently  came  to  a  place 
where  grew  three  immense  oaks,  almost  on  the  side  of  the  brook, 
over  which  they  flun^  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 
oave  no  objection  to  do  the  same?    Indeed,  I  do  not  see  what 

{S9t\ 


39a  LA  VBNGRO.  [1835. 

else  you  could  do  under  present  circumstances."  After  receiving 
my  answer,  in  which  I,  of  course,  expressed  my  readiness  to 
assent  to  his  proposal,  he  proceeded  to  unharness  his  horse,  and, 
feeling  myself  much  better,  I  got  down,  and  began  to  make 
the  necessary  preparations  for  passing  the  night  beneath  the  oak. 

Whilst  thus  engaged^  I  felt  myself  touched  on  the  shoulder, 
and,  looking  round,  perceived  the  woman,  whom  the  stranger 
called  Winifred,  standing  close  to  me.  The  moon  was  shining 
brightly  upon  her,  and  I  observed  that  she  was  very  good-looking, 
with  a  composed,  yet  cheerful  expression  of  countenance ;  her 
dress  was  plain  and  primitive,  very  much  resembling  that  of  a 
Quaker.  She  held  a  straw  bonnet  in  her  hand.  '^I  am  glad 
to  see  thee  moving  about,  young  man,"  said  she,  in  a  soft,  placid 
tone;  "I  could  scarcely  have  expected  it  Thou  must  be 
wondrous  strong ;  many,  after  what  thou  hast  suffered,  would  not 
have  stood  on  their  feet  for  weeks  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  no- 
thing 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  thy- 
self— they  are  things  of  time,  but  thou  art  a  being  destined  to  an 
eternity ;  it  depends  upon  thyself  whether  thy  eternity  shall  be 
one  of  joy  or  sorrow." 

Here  she  was  interrupted  by  the  man,  who  exclaimed  from 
the  other  side  of  the  tree :  "Winifred,  it  is  getting  late,  you  had 
better  go  up  to  the  house  on  the  hill  to  inform  our  friends  of  our 
arrival,  or  they  will  have  retired  for  the  night".  "True,"  said 
Winifred,  and  forthwith  wended  her  way  to  the  house  in  question, 
returning  shortly  with  another  woman,  whom  the  man,  speaking 
in  the  same  language  which  I  had  heard  him  first  use,  greeted  by 
the  name  of  Mary ;  the  woman  replied  in  the  same  tongue,  but 
almost  immediately  said,  in  English :  "  We  hoped  to  have  heard 


iSasl  ^^^  WELSH  PREACHER.  595 

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  kno?nng  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  moon- 
lit side  of  the  hill.  They  soon  arrived  at  the  place  where  we 
were;  they  might  amount  in  all  to  twelve  individuals.  The 
principal  person  was  a  tall,  athletic  man,  of  about  forty,  dressed 
like  a  plain  country  farmer ;  this  was,  I  soon  found,  the  husband 
of  Mary ;  the  rest  of  the  group  consisted  of  the  children  of  these 
two,  and  their  domestic  servants.  One  after  another  they  all 
shook  Peter  by  the  hand,  men  and  women,  boys  and  girls,  and 
expressed  their  joy  at  seeing  him.  After  which,  he  said :  "  Now, 
friends,  if  you  please,  I  will  speak  a  few  words  to  you ''.  A  stool 
was  then  brought  him  from  the  cart,  which  he  stepped  on,  and 
the  people  arranging  themselves  round  him,  some  standing,  some 
seated  on  the  ground,  he  forthwith  began  to  address  them  in  a 
clear,  distinct  voice;  and  the  subject  of  his  discourse  was  the 
necessity,  in  all  human  beings,  of  a  change  of  heart 

The  preacher  was  better  Uian  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  indi- 
vidual appeared  to  hang  upon  the  words  which  proceeded  from 
his  mouths  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  anangements  for 
the  supper  of  thyself  and  company  " ;  and,  in  effisct,  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  voices  whereupon  he 
exdaimed,  "  Ay,  truly,  we  were  both  forgetful " ;  and  then  getting 
up^  he  came  towards  me^  who  stood  a  little  way  off,  leaning 


394  ^^  VBNGRO.  [i8ss 

■  - 

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<omfort8  that  we  forgot  thee,  but  it  is  not  too  late 
to  repair  our  fault ;  wilt  thou  not  join  us,  and  taste  our  bread  and 
milk  ?"  ''  I  cannot  eat,"  I  replied,  '*  but  I  think  I  could  drink  a 
little  milk ; "  whereupon  he  led  me  to  the  rest,  and  seating  me  by 
his  side,  he  poured  some  milk  into  a  horn  cup,  saying :  " '  Croesaw\ 
That,*'  added  he  with  a  smile,  "is  Welsh  for  welcome," 

The  fare  upon  the  tray  was  of  the  simplest  description, 
consisting  of  bread,  cheese,  milk  and  curds.  My  two  friends 
partook  with  a  good  appetite.  ''Mary,"  said  the  preacher, 
addressing  himself  to  the  woman  of  the  house,  "every  time  I 
come  to  visit  thee,  I  find  thee  less  inclined  to  speak  Welsh.  I 
suppose,  in  a  little  time,  thou  wilt  entirely  have  forgotten 
it;  hast  thou  taught  it  to  any  of  thy  children?"  *<The  two 
eldest  understand  a  few  words,"  said  the  woman,  ''  but  my 
husband  does  not  wish  them  to  learn  it;  he  says  sometimes, 
jocularly,  that  though  it  pleased  him  to  marry  a  Welsh  wife,  it 
does  not  please  him  to  have  Welsh  children.  'Who,'  I  have 
heard  him  say,  'would  be  a  Welshman,  if  he  could  be  an 
Englishman?'"  "I  for  one,**  said  the  preacher,  somewhat 
hastily;  "not  to  be  king  of  all  England  would  I  give  up  my 
birthright  as  a  Welshman.  Your  husband  is  an  excellent  person, 
Mary,  but  I  am  afraid  he  is  somewhat  prejudiced."  "You  do 
him  justice,  Peter,  in  saying  that  he  is  an  excellent  person,"  said 
the  woman ;  "as  to  being  prejudiced,  I  scarcely  know  what  to 
say,  but  he  thinks  that  two  languages  in  the  same  kingdom  are 
almost  as  bad  as  two  kings."  "That's  no  bad  obsorvation," 
said  the  preacher,  "  and  it  is  generally  the  case ;  yet,  thank  God, 
the  Welsh  and  English  go  on  very  well,  side  by  side,  and  I  hope 
will  do  so  till  the  Almighty  calls  all  men  to  their  long  account" 
"They  jog  on  very  well  now,"  said  the  woman;  "but  I  have 
heard  my  husband  say  that  it  was  not  always  so,  and  diat  the 
Welsh,  in  old  times,  were  a  violent  and  ferocious  people,  for  that 
once  tliey  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  fisurs 
over  the  border,  a  quarrel  arose  between  the  Welsh  and  English, 
and  the  Welsh  beat  the  English  and  hanged  the  mayor."  "  Your 
husband  is  a  clever  man,*'  said  Peter,  "and  knows  a  great  deal; 
did  he  tell  you  the  name  of  the  leader  of  the  Welsh  ?  No  ?  tiien 
I  will :  the  Inder  of  the  Welsh  on  that  occasion  was  -**--    He 


i8a5  ]  "  GOD  PORGI VB  MBr  395 

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  1 — a  very  bad,  violent  man ;  but,  Mary, 
this  is  very  carnal  and  unprofitable  conversation,  and  in  holding 
it  we  set  a  very  bad  example  to  the  young  man  here — let  us 
change  the  subject." 

They  then  began  to  talk  on  religious  matters.  At  length 
Mary  departed  to  her  abode,  and  the  preacher  and  his  wife 
retired  to  their  tilted  cart. 

'*  Poor  fellow,  he  seems  to  be  almost  brutally  ignorant,"  said 
Peter,  addressing  his  wife  in  their  native  language,  after  they  had 
bidden  me  farewell  for  the  night 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is/'  said  Winifred ;  "yet  my  heart  warms  to 
the  poor  lad,  he  seems  so  forlorn." 


CHAPTER  LXXIIL 


I  SLEPT  soundly  during  that  night,  partly  owing  to  the  influence 
of  the  opiate.  Early  in  the  morning  I  was  awakened  by  die 
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  complete^  and 
then  left  my  tent  "Good-morning,"  said  Peter,  "how  dost 
thou  feel?"  "Much  better,"  said  I,  "than  I  could  have 
expected."  "  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Peter.  "  Art  thou  hungry? 
yonder  comes  our  breakfast,"  pointing  to  the  same  young  woman 
I  had  seen  the  preceding  night,  who  was  again  descending  the 
hill,  bearing  the  tray  upon  her  head. 

"  What  dost  thou  intend  to  do,  young  man,  this  day  ?  "  said 
Peter,  when  we  had  about  half  finished  breakfast  "  Do,"  said 
I,  "as  I  do  other  days,  what  I  can."  "And  dost  thou  pass 
this  day  as  thou  dost  other  days?"  said  Peter.  "Why  not?" 
said  I ;  "  what  is  there  in  this  day  different  from  the  rest  ?  it 
seems  to  be  of  the  same  colour  as  yesterday."  "Art  thou 
aware,"  said  the  wife  interposing,  "what  day  it  is?  that  it  is 
Sabbath  ?  that  it  is  Sunday  ?  "  "  No,"  said  I,  "  I  did  not  know 
that  it  was  Sunday."  "  And  how  did  that  happen  ?  "  said  Wini- 
fred with  a  sigh.  "To  tell  you  the  truth/'  said  I,  "  I  live  verv 
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  wiU  come,  therefore  improve 
the  time ;  be  grateful  that  thou  wast  saved  yesterday ;  and,  oh  I 
reflect  on  one  thing ;  if  thou  hadst  died  yesterday,  where  wouMst 
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 

(396) 


ifasl  DISCOURSE.  397 

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  fomily  of  wander- 
ing 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,"  replied 
Peter,  reverently,  "and  the  mention  of  his  name  reminds  me 
that  I  have  to  preach  this  day;  wilt  thou  go  and  hear?  the 
distance  is  not  great,  only  half  a  mile."  "  No,"  said  I,  "  I  will 
not  go  and  hear."  "  Wherefore  ?  "  said  Peter.  "  I  belong  to 
the  church,"  said  I,  "  and  not  to  the  congregations."  "  Oh ! 
the  pride  of  that  church,"  said  Peter,  addressing  his  wife  in  their 
own  tongue,  "  exemplified  even  in  the  lowest  and  most  ignorant 
of  its  members."  "Then  thou,  doubtless,  meanest  to  go  to 
church,"  said  Peter,  again  addressing  me;  "there  is  a  church 
on  the  other  side  of  that  wooded  hill.  "  No,"  said  I,  "  I  do  not 
mean  to  go  to  church."  "May  I  ask  thee  wherefore?"  said 
Peter.  "Because,"  said  I,  "I  prefer  remaining  beneath  the 
shade  of  these  trees,  listening  to  the  sound  of  the  leaves,  and 
the  tinkling  of  the  waters." 

"Then  thou  intendest  to  remain  here?"  said  Peter,  looking 
fixedly  at  me.  "  If  I  do  not  intrude,"  said  I ;  "  but  if  I  do,  I 
will  wander  away;  I  wish  to  be  beholden  to  nobody — ^perhaps 
you  wish  me  to  go?"  "On  the  contrary,"  said  Peter,  "I  wish 
you  to  stay.  I  begin  to  see  something  in  thee  which  has  much 
mterest  for  me ;  but  we  must  now  bid  thee  farewell  for  the  rest 
of  the  day,  the  time  is  drawing  nigh  for  us  to  repair  to  the  place 
of  preaching ;  before  we  leave  thee  alone,  however,  I  should  wish 
to  ask  thee  a  question :  Didst  thou  seek  thy  own  destruction 
yesterday,  and  didst  thou  wilfully  take  that  poison?"  "No," 
said  I;  "had  I  known  there  had  been  poison  in  the  cake,  I 
certainly  should  not  have  taken  it"  "And  who  gave  it  thee?" 
said  Peter.  "An  enemy  of  mine,"  I  replied.  "Who  is  thy 
enemy?"  "  An  Egyptian  sorceress  and  poisonmonger."  "  Thy 
enemy  is  a  female.  I  fear  thou  hadst  given  her  cause  to  hate 
thee— of  what  did  she  complain?"  "That  I  had  stolen  the 
tongue  out  of  her  head."  "  I  do  not  understand  thee — is  she 
young?"    "About  sixty-five." 

Here  Winifred  interposed.  "Thou  didst  call  her  just  now  by 
hard  names,  young  man,"  said  she ;  "  I  trust  thou  dost  bear  no 
malice  against  her.**    "No,"  said  I,  "I  bear  no  malice  against 


398  LA  VBNGRO.  (iftis- 

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  occasion- 
ally 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  fofgettest 
what  I  am — I — I — ^but  I  am  foigetting  myself;  the  Lord's  will  be 
done ;  and  now  put  away  the  things,  for  I  perceive  that  our  friends 
are  coming  to  attend  us  to  the  place  of  meeting." 

Again  the  family  which  I  had  seen  the  night  before 
descended  the  hill  from  their  abode.  They  were  now  dressed 
in  their  Sunday's  best  The  master  of  the  house  led  the  way. 
They  presently  joined  us,  when  a  quiet,  sober  greeting  ensued  on 
each  side.  After  a  little  time  Peter  shook  me  by  the  hand  and 
bade  me  farewell  till  the  evening;  Winifred  did  the  same,  adding, 
that  she  hoped  I  should  be  visited  by  sweet  and  holy  thoughts. 
The  whole  party  then  moved  off  in  the  direction  by  which  we 
had  come  the  preceding  night,  Peter  and  the  master  leading  the 
way,  followed  by  Winifred  and  the  mistress  of  the  family.  As  I 
gazed  on  their  departing  forms,  I  felt  almost  inclined  to  follow 
them  to  theu:  place  of  worship.  I  did  not  stir,  however,  but 
remained  leaning  against  my  oak  with  my  hands  behind  me. 

And  after  a  time  I  sat  me  down  at  the  foot  of  the  oak  with 
my  face  turned  towards  the  water,  and,  folding  my  hands,  I  fell 
into  deep  meditation.  I  thought  on  the  early  Sabbaths  of  my 
life,  and  the  manner  in  which  I  was  wont  to  pass  them.  How 
carefully  I  said  my  prayers  when  I  got  up  on  the  Sabbath  mom, 
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 


iSas.]  THB  SABBATH  DAY.  399 

convinced  of  the  dread  importance  of  the  day  which  God  had 
hallowed.  And  how  glad  I  was  when  I  had  got  over  the  Sabbath 
day  without  having  done  anything  to  profane  it.  And  how 
soundly  I  slept  on  the  Sabbath  night  after  the  toil  of  being  very 
good  throughout  the  day. 

And  when  I  had  mused  on  those  times  a  long  while,  I  sighed 
and  said  to  myself,  I  am  much  altered  since  then ;  am  I  altered 
for  the  better?  And  then  I  looked  at  my  hands  and  my  apparel, 
and  sighed  again.  I  vras  not  wont  of  yore  to  appear  thus  on  the 
Sabbath  day. 

For  a  long  time  I  continued  in  a  state  of  deep  meditation, 
till  at  last  I  lifted  up  my  ^es  to  the  sun,  which,  as  usual  during 
that  glorious  summer,  was  shining  in  unclouded  majesty;  and 
then  I  lowered  them  to  the  sparkling  water,  in  which  hundreds 
of  the  finny  brood  were  disporting  themselves,  and  then  I  thought 
what  a  fine  thing  it  was  to  be  a  fish  on  such  a  fine  summer  day, 
and  I  wished  myself  a  fish,  or  at  least  amongst  the  fishes ;  and 
then  I  looked  at  my  hands  again,  and  then,  bending  over  the 
water,  I  looked  at  my  face  in  the  crystal  mirror,  and  started  when 
I  saw  it,  for  it  looked  squalid  and  miserable. 

Forthwith  I  started  up,  and  said  to  myself,  I  should  like  to 
bathe  and  cleanse  myself  from  the  squalor  produced  by  my  late 
hard  life  and  by  Mrs.  Heme'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  bath^  provided  I  can 
find  a  fitting  place. 

But  the  brook,  though  a  very  delightful  place  for  fish  to 
disport  in,  was  shallow,  and  by  no  means  adapted  for  the 
recreation  of  so  large  a  being  as  myself;  it  was,  moreover, 
exposed,  though  I  saw  nobody  at  hand,  nor  heard  a  single 
human  voice  or  sound.  Following  the  winding  of  the  brook  I 
left  the  meadow,  and,  passing  through  two  or  three  thickets,  came 
to  a  place  where  between  lofty  banks  the  water  ran  deep  and 
dark,  and  there  I  bathed,  imbibing  new  tone  and  vigour  into  my 
languid  and  exhausted  frame. 

Having  put  on  my  clothes,  I  returned  by  the  way  I  had  come 
to  my  vehicle  beneath  the  oak  tree.  From  thence,  for  want  of 
something  better  to  do,  I  strolled  up  the  hill,  on  the  top  of  which 
stood  the  farm-house ;  it  was  a  large  and  commodious  building 
built  principally  of  stone,  and  seeming  of  some  antiquity,  with  a 
porch,  on  either  side  of  which  was  an  oaken  bench.  On  the 
right  was  seated  a  young  woman  with  a  book  in  her  hand,  the 
same  who  had  brought  the  tray  to  my  friends  and  myself. 


400  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

"Good-day,"  said  I,  "pretty  damsel,  sitting  in  the  farm 
porch." 

"  Good-day,"  said  the  girl,  looking  at  me  for  a  moment,  and 
then  fixing  her  eyes  on  her  book. 

*'  That's  a  nice  book  you  are  reading,"  said  T. 

The  girl  looked  at  me  with  surprise.  "  How  do  you  know  what 
book  it  is  ?  "  said  she. 

"  How  do  I  know — never  mind ;  but  a  nice  book  it  is — no  love, 
no  fortune-telling  in  it." 

The  girl  looked  at  me  half  offended.  "  Fortune-telling  1 "  said 
she,  **  I  should  think  not.  But  you  know  nothing  about  it ;  *'  and 
she  bent  her  head  once  more  over  the  book. 

"I  tell  you  what,  young  person,"  said  I,  "I  know  all  about 
that  book ;  what  will  you  wager  that  I  do  not  ?  " 

"  I  never  wager,"  said  the  girl. 

'*  Shall  t  tell  you  the  name  of  it,"  said  I,  "  O  daughter  of  the 
dairy  ?  " 

The  girl  half  started.  "  I  should  never  have  thought,"  said 
she,  half  timidly,  "  that  you  could  have  guessed  it." 

"  I  did  not  guess  it,"  said  I,  "  I  knew  it ;  and  meet  and  proper 
it  is  that  you  should  read  it." 

'*  Why  so?  "said  the  girl. 

"  Can  the  daughter  of  the  dairy  read  a  more  fitting  book  than 
the  Dairyman's  Daughter  f  " 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  "  said  the  girl. 

"  Out  of  the  water,"  said  I.  "  Don't  start,  I  have  been  bathing ; 
are  you  fond  of  the  water  ?  " 

•'  No,"  said  the  girl,  heaving  a  sigh ;  "  I  am  not  fond  of  the 
water,  that  is,  of  the  sea ; "  and  here  she  sighed  again. 

"The  sea  is  a  wide  gulf,"  said  I,  "and  frequently  separates 
hearts." 

The  girl  sobbed. 

"  Wliy  are  you  alone  here  ?  "  said  I. 

"  I  take  my  turn  with  the  rest,"  said  the  girl,  "  to  keep  at  home 
on  Sunday."    * 

**  And  you  are "  said  I. 

"The  master's  niece!"  said  the  girl.  "How  came  you  to 
know  it?  But  why  did  you  not  go  with  the  rest  and  with  your 
friends?" 

"  Who  are  those  you  call  my  friends  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Peter  and  his  wife." 

*•  And  who  are  they?"  said  I. 

"  Do  you  not  know  ?  "  said  the  girl ;  "  you  came  with  them." 


iftiS-]  ^^J5  DAIRYMAN'S  DAUGHTER.  401 

" They  found  me  ill  by  the  way/'  said  I ;  "and  they  relieved 
me :  I  know  nothing  about  them." 

*'  I  thought  you  knew  everything,"  said  the  girl. 

**  There  are  two  or  three  things  which  I  do  not  know,  and  this 
ia  one  of  them.    Who  are  they  ?  " 

''Did  you  never  hear  of  the  great  Welsh  preacher,  Peter 
Williams  ?  ^' 

"  Never,"  said  I. 

"  WeU,"  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  fre- 
quently come  here,  for  the  mistress  is  a  Welsh  woman,  and  an 
old  friend  of  both,  and  then  they  take  up  their  abode  in  the  cart 
beneath  the  old  oaks  down  there  by  the  stream." 

"  And  what  is  their  reason  for  doing  so  ?  "  said  I ;  "  would  it 
not  be  more  comfortable  to  sleep  beneath  a  roof?  " 

"  I  know  not  their  reasons,"  said  the  girl,  "  but  so  it  is ;  they 
never  sleep  beneath  a  roof  unless  the  weather  is  very  severe.  I 
once  heard  the  mistress  say  that  Peter  had  something  heavy  upon 
his  mind ;  perhaps  that  is  the  cause.  If  he  is  unhappy,  all  I  can 
say  iS|  that  I  wish  him  otherwise,  for  he  is  a  good  man  and  a 
kind " 


"  Thank  you,"  said  I,  "  I  will  now  depart." 

"Hem !"  said  the  girl,  "  I  was  wishing 

"  What  ?  to  ask  me  a  question  ?  " 


t9 


"  Not  exactly ;  but  you  seem  to  know  everything ;  you  men- 
tioned* I  think,  fortune-telling." 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  your  fortune?  " 

"  By  no  means ;  but  I  have  a  friend  at  a  distance  at  sea,  and 
I  should  wish  to  know  — 


uia  wisn  lu  kouw 

€4 


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  Dairy- 
man's  Daughter  when  you  have  nothing  better  to  do." 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  the  party  of  the  morning 
returned.  The  farmer  and  his  family  repaired  at  once  to  their 
abode,  and  my  two  friends  joined  me  beneath  the  tree.  Peter 
sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  oak,  and  said  nothing.    Supper  was 

a6 


409  LA  VBNGRO.  [1895. 

brought  by  a  servant,  not  the  damsel  of  the  porch.  We  sat  round 
the  tray,  Peter  said  grace,  but  scarcely  anything  else ;  he  appeared 
sad  and  dejected,  his  wife  looked  anxiously  upon  him.  I  was  as 
silent  as  my  friends ;  after  a  little  time  we  retired  to  our  separate 
places  of  rest. 

About  midnight  I  was  awakened  by  a  noise ;  I  started  up  and 
listened ;  it  appeared  to  me  that  I  heard  voices  and  groans.  In 
a  moment  I  had  issued  from  my  tent — ^all  was  silent — but  the 
next  moment  I  again  heard  groans  and  voices ;  they  proceeded 
from  the  tilted  cart  where  Peter  and  his  wife  lay ;  I  drew  near, 
again  there  was  a  pause,  and  then  I  heard  the  voice  of  Peter,  in 
an  accent  of  extreme  anguish,  exclaim :  "  Pechod  Ysprydd  Glan — 
O  peeked  Ysprydd  Glan  I "  and  then  he  uttered  a  deep  groan. 
Anon,  I  heard  the  voice  of  Winifred,  and  never  shall  I  forget  the 
sweetness  and  gentleness  of  the  tones  of  her  voice  in  the  stillness 
of  that  night  I  did  not  understand  all  she  said — she  spoke  in 
her  native  language,  and  I  was  some  way  apart ;  she  appeared  to 
endeavour  to  console  her  husband,  but  he  seemed  to  refuse  all 
comfort,  and,  with  many  groans,  repeated — ^^  Pechod  Ysprydd 
Gian—O  pechod  Ysprydd  Glan  i"  I  felt  I  had  no  right  to  pry 
into  their  afflictions,  and  retired. 

Now,  "pechod  Ysprydd  Glan^'  interpreted,  is  the  sin  against 
the  Holy  Ghost 


CHAPTER  LXXIV. 


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  farm-house.  Towards  evening, 
without  saying  a  word  to  either,  I  departed  with  my  vehicle,  and 
finding  my  way  to  a  small  town  at  some  distance,  I  laid  in  a  store 
of  various  articles,  with  which  I  returned.  It  was  night,  and  my 
two  friends  were  seated  beneath  the  oak ;  they  had  just  completed 
their  frugal  supper.  '*  We  waited  for  thee  some  time,"  said  Winifred, 
"  but  finding  that  thou  didst  not  come,  we  began  without  thee ;  but 
sit  down,  I  pray  thee,  there  is  still  enough  for  thee."  "  I  will  sit 
down,"  said  I,  "but  I  require  no  supper,  for  I  have  eaten  where 
I  have  been."  Nothing  more  particular  occurred  at  the  time. 
Next  morning  the  kind  pair  invited  me  to  share  their  breakfast 
"  I  will  not  share  your  breakfast,"  said  I.  "  Wherefore  not  ?  " 
said  Winifred  anxiously.  "Because,**  said  I,  "it  is  not  proper 
that  I  be  beholden  to  you  for  meat  and  drink."  "  But  we  are 
beholden  to  other  people,"  said  Winifred.  "Yes,"  said  I,  "but 
you  preach  to  them,  and  give  them  ghostly  advice,  which  con- 
siderably 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  msui,"  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  I " 

"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 

(403) 


LA  VENQRO.  [1825. 


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  breakfiast  at  our  expense 
— ^we  will  dine  at  thine." 

On  the  evening  of  that  day,  Peter  and  myself  sat  alone  beneath 
the  oak.  We  fell  into  conversation ;  Peter  was  at  first  melancholy, 
but  he  soon  became  more  cheerful,  fluent  and  entertaining.  I 
spoke  but  little,  but  I  observed  that  sometimes  what  I  said 
surprised  the  good  Methodist.  We  had  been  silent  some  time. 
At  length,  lifting  up  my  eyes  to  the  broad  and  leafy  canopy  of  the 
trees,  I  said,  having  nothing  better  to  remark,  "What  a  noble 
tree !    I  wonder  if  the  fairies  ever  dance  beneath  it  ?  " 

"Fairies ! "  said  Peter,  "  fairies !  how  came  you,  young  man, 
to  know  anything  about  the  fair  family?" 

"I  am  an  Englishman,"  said  I,  "and  of  course  know 
something  about  fairies;  England  was  once  a  famous  place  for 
them." 

"  Was  once,  I  grant  you,"  said  Peter,  "  but  is  so  no  longer. 
I  have  travelled  for  years  about  England,  and  never  heard  them 
mentioned  before ;  the  belief  in  them  has  died  away,  and  even 
their  name  seems  to  be  forgotten.  If  you  had  said  you  were  a 
Welshman,  I  should  not  have  been  surprised.  The  Welsh  have 
much  to  say  of  the  Tylwyth  Teg^  or  faXx  family,  and  many  believe 
in  them." 

"And  do  you  believe  in  them ?  "  said  I. 

"I  scarcely  know  what  to  say.  Wise  and  good  men  have 
been  of  opinion  that  they  are  nothing  but  devils,  who,  under  the 
form  of  pretty  and  amiable  spirits,  would  fain  allure  poor  human 
beings ;  I  see  nothing  irrational  in  the  supposition." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  devils,  then  ?  " 

"  Do  I  believe  in  devils,  young  man  1 "  said  Peter,  and  his 
frame  was  shaken  as  if  by  convulsions.  "  If  I  do  not  believe  in 
devils,  why  am  I  here  at  the  present  moment  ?  " 

"  You  know  best,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  don't  believe  that  fairies  are 
devils,  and  I  don't  wish  to  hear  them  insulted.  What  learned 
men  have  said  they  are  devils?" 

"  Many  have  said  it,  young  man,  and,  amongst  others,  Master 
Ellis  Wyn,  in  that  wonderful  book  of  his,  the  Bardd  CwsgP 

"  The  Bardd  Cwsg^'  said  I ;  "  what  kind  of  book  is  that  ?  I 
have  never  heard  of  that  book  before." 

"Heard  of  it  before;  I  suppose  not;  how  should  you  have 
heard  of  it  before !    By-the-bye,  can  you  read  ?  " 


iSas.]  THE  SLEEPING  BARD.  405 


"Very  tolerably,"  said  I ;  "  so  there  are  fairies  in  this  boot 
What  do  you  call  it— the  Bardd  Cwsg  f  " 

"Yes,  the  Bardd  Cwsg.  You  pronounce  Welsh  very  fairly; 
have  you  ever  been  in  Wales  ?  " 

"  Never,"  said  I. 

**  Not  been  in  Wales ;  then,  of  course,  you  don't  understand 
Welsh ;  but  we  were  talking  of  the  Bardd  Cwsg — yes,  there  are 
fairies  in  the  Bardd  Cwsg — the  author  o^  it.  Master  Ellis  Wyn, 
was  carried  away  in  his  sleep  by  them  over  mountains  and  valleys, 
rivers  and  great  waters^  incurring  mighty  perils  at  their  hands,  till 
he  was  rescued  from  them  by  an  angel  of  the  Most  High,,  who 
subsequently  showed  him  many  wonderful  things.'' 

« I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I  "but  what  were  those  wonderful 
things?" 

"  I  see»  young  man,"  said  Peter,  smiling,  "  that  you  are  not 
without  curiosity;  but  I  can  easily  pardon  anyone  for  being 
curious  about  the  wonders  contained  in  the  book  of  Master  Ellis 
Wyn.  The  angel  showed  him  the  course  of  this  world,  its  pomps 
and  vanities,  its  cruelty  and  its  pride,  its  crimes  and  deceits. 
On  another  occasion,  the  angel  showed  him  Death  in  his  nether 
palace,  surrounded  by  his  grisly  ministers,  and  by  those  who  are 
continually  falling  victims  to  his  power.  And,  on  a  third  occasion, 
the  state  of  the  condemned  in  their  place  of  everlasting  torment" 

'*  But  this  was  all  in  his  sleep,"  said  I,  ''  was  it  not  ?  " 

'*  Yes,"  said  Peter,  "  in  his  sleep ;  and  on  that  account  the 
book  is  called  GweUdigaetkau  y  Bardd  Cwsg,  or.  Visions  of  the 
Sleeping  Bard." 

''I  do  not  care  for  wonders  which  occur  in  sleep,"  said  I. 
''  I  prefer  real  ones ;  and  perhaps^  notwithstanding  what  he  says, 
the  man  had  no  visions  at  all — ^they  are  probably  of  his  own 
invention." 

"  They  are  substantially  true,  young  man,"  said  Peter;  "  like 
the  dreams  of  Bunyan,  they  are  founded  on  three  tremendous 
facts,  Sin,  Death,  and  Hell ;  and  like  his  they  have  done  incalcul- 
able good,  at  least  in  my  own  country,  in  the  language  in  which 
they  are  written.  Many  a  guilty  conscience  has  the  Bardd  Cwsg 
aroused  with  its  dreadful  sights,  its  strong  sighs,  its  puffs  of  smoke 
from  the  pit,  and  its  showers  of  sparks  from  the  mouth  of  the  yet 
lower  gulf  of  [the  deep]  Unknown.  Were  it  not  for  the  Bardd 
Cwsg  perhaps  I  might  not  be  here." 

''  I  would  sooner  hear  your  own  tale,"  said  I,  "  than  all  the 
visions  of  the  Bardd  Cwsg*' 

Peter  shook,  bent  his  fonn  nearly  double,  and  covered  his  fiM:e 


4o6  LA  VBNGRO,  [xa?5. 


with  his  hands.  I  sat  still  and  motionless^  with  my  eyes  fixed 
upon  him.  Presently  Winifred  descended  the  hill,  and  joined  us. 
"What  is  the  matter?"  said  she,  looking  at  her  husband,  who 
still  remained  in  the  posture  I  have  described  He  made  no 
answer;  whereupon,  laying  her  hand  gently  on  his  shoulder, 
she  said,  in  the  peculiar  soft  and  tender  tone  which  I  had  heard 
her  use  on  a  former  occasion,  "Take  comfort,  Peter;  what  has 
happened  now  to  afflict  thee  ?  **  Peter  removed  his  hands  from 
his  face.  "  The  old  pain,  the  old  pain,"  said  he ;  "I  was  talking 
with  this  young  man,  and  he  would  fain  know  what  brought  me 
here,  he  would  fain  hear  my  tale,  Winifred — my  sin :  O  pechod 
Ysprydd  Glan  I  O  pechod  Ysprydd  Glan  I "  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  1,  "  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  fiault  in  the  case,  it 
was  mine ;  if  I  suffer,  I  am  but  paying  the  penalty  of  my  own 
iniquity ; "  he  then  paused,  and  appeared  to  be  considering :  at 
length  he  said,  "  Many  things  which  thou  hast  seen  and  heard 
connected  with  me  require  explanation ;  thou  wishest  to  know  my 
tale,  I  will  tell  it  thee,  but  not  now,  not  to-night ;  I  am  too  much 
shaken  "• 

Two  evenings  later,  when  we  were  again  seated  beneath  the 
oak,  Peter  took  the  hand  of  his  wife  in  his  own,  and  then,  in 
tones  broken  and  almost  inarticulate,  commenced  telling  me  his 
talfr-^e  tale  of  the  Fechod  Ysprydd  Glan, 


CHAPTER  LXXr. 


**  I  WAS  bom  in  the  heart  of  North  Wales,  the  son  of  a  respect- 
able fanner,  and  am  the  youngest  of  seven  brothers. 

"  My  father  was  a  member  of  the  Church  of  England,  and 
was  what  is  generally  called  a  serious  man.  He  went  to  church 
r^ularly,  and  read  the  Bible  every  Sunday  evening;  in  his 
moments  of  leisure  he  was  fond  of  holding  religious  discourse 
both  with  his  family  and  his  neighbours. 

"  One  autumn  afternoon,  on  a  week  day,  my  father  sat  with 
one  of  his  neighbours  taking  a  cup  of  ale  by  the  oak  table  in  our 
stone  kitchen.  I  sat  near  them,  and  listened  to  their  discourse. 
I  was  at  that  time  seven  years  of  age.  They  were  talking  of 
religious  matters.  '  It  is  a  hard  matter  to  get  to  heaven,'  said 
my  father.  '  Exceedingly  so,'  said  the  other.  '  However,  I  don't 
despond,  none  need  despair  of  getting  to  heaven,  save  those  who 
have  committed  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost.' 

'* '  Ah  I '  said  my  father,  '  thank  God  I  never  committed  that 
— how  awful  must  be  the  state  of  a  person  who  has  committed 
the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost !  I  can  scarcely  think  of  it  with- 
out my  hair  standing  on  end ; '  and  then  my  father  and  his 
friend  be^ui  talking  of  the  nature  of  the  sin  against  the  Holy 
Ghost,  and  I  heard  them  say  what  it  was^  as  I  sat  with  greedy 
ears  listening  to  their  discourse. 

**  I  lay  awake  the  greater  part  of  the  night  musing  upon  what 
I  had  heard.  I  kept  wondering  to  myself  what  must  be  the  state 
of  a  person  who  had  committed  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghosts 
and  how  he  must  feel.  Once  or  twice  I  felt  a  strong  inclination 
to  commit  it — ^a  strange  kind  of  fear,  however,  prevented  me ;  at 
last  I  determined  not  to  commit  it,  and  having  said  my  prayers, 
I  fell  asleep. 

"  When  I  awoke  in  the  morning  the  first  thing  I  thought  of 
was  the  mysterious  sin,  and  a  voice  within  me  seemed  to  say, 
*  Commit  it*;  and  I  felt  a  strong  temptation  to  do  so,  even 
stronger  than  in  the  night  I  was  just  about  to  yield,  when  the 
same  dread,  of  which  I  have  already  spoken,  came  over  me,  and, 

U07) 


4o8  LA  VBNGRO.  [1895. 

springing  out  of  bed,  I  went  down  on  my  knees.  I  slept  in  a 
small  room  alone,  to  which  I  ascended  by  a  wooden  stair,  open 
to  the  sky.  I  have  often  thought  since  that  it  is  not  a  good 
thing  for  children  to  sleep  alone. 

"  After  breakfast  I  went  to  school,  and  endeavoured  to  em- 
ploy 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  say- 
ing my  task,  and  I  had  not  acquired  it.  My  master  reproached 
me,  and,  yet  more,  he  beat  me ;  I  felt  shame  and  anger,  and  I 
went  home  with  a  full  determination  to  commit  the  sin  against 
the  Holy  Ghost. 

«  But  when  I  got  home  my  father  ordered  me  to  do  some- 
thing 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  b^;an  my  prayers,  and* 
when  they  were  ended,  I  thought  of  the  sin,  but  the  temptation 
was  slight ;  I  felt  very  tired,  and  was  presently  asleep. 

"Thus,  ybu  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  surprisCi 
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  con- 
trary. He  did  all  that  was  compatible  with  justice  to  prevent  it 
I  hasten  to  the  fisital  moment  Awaking  in  the  ni^ht,  I  deter- 
mined that  nothing  should  prevent  my  committmg  the  sin. 
Arising  from  my  bed,  I  went  out  upon  the  wooden  g^lery,  and 
having  stood  for  a  few  moments  looking  at  the  stars,  with  which 
the  heavens  were  thickly  strewn,  I  laid  myself  down,  and  suppo^^ 
ing  my  face  with  my  hand,  I  murmured  out  words  of  horror — 
words  not  to  be  repeated — and  in  this  manner  I  committed  the 
sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost 

*'  When  the  words  were  uttered  I  sat  up  upon  the  topmost 
step  of  the  gallery ;  for  some  time  I  felt  stunned  in  somewhat 
the  same  manner  as  I  once  subsequently  felt  after  being  stung 
by  an  adder.  I  soon  arose,  however,  and  retired  to  my  bed, 
where,  notwithstanding  what  I  had  done,  I  was  not  slow  in  fall- 
ing asleep. 

*'  I  awoke  several  txam  during  the  nighti  each  tiip^  with  thf 


iflas*]  PETER'S  STORY.  409 

dim  idea  that  something  strange  and  monstrous  had  occurred, 
but  presently  I  fell  asleep  again ;  in  the  morning  I  awoke  with 
the  same  vague  feeling,  but  presently  recollection  returned,  and 
I  remembered  that  I  had  committed  the  sin  against  the  Holy 
Ghost.  I  lay  musing  for  some  time  on  what  I  had  done,  and  I 
felt  rather  stunned,  as  before ;  at  last  I  arose  and  got  out  of  bed, 
dressed  myself,  and  then  went  down  on  my  knees,  and  was  about 
to  pray  from  the  force  of  mechanical  habit ;  before  I  said  a  word, 
however,  I  recollected  myself,  and  got  up  again.  What  was  the 
use  of  praying  ?  I  thought ;  I  had  committed  the  sin  against  the 
Holy  Ghost. 

"  I  went  to  school,  but  sat  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 
hce^  and  thought  to  myself  you  are  beating  me  for  being  idle, 
as  you  suppose ;  poor  man,  what  would  you  do  if  you  Imew  I 
had  committed  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost? 

**  Days  and  weeks  passed  by.  I  had  once  been  cheerful,  and 
fond  of  the  society  of  children  of  my  own  age ;  but  I  was  now 
reserved  and  gloomy.  It  seemed  to  me  that  a  gulf  separated  me 
from  all  my  fdlow-creatures.  I  used  to  look  at  my  brothers  and 
schoolfellows,  and  think  how  different  I  was  from  them;  they 
had  not  done  what  I  had.  I  seemed,  in  my  own  eyes,  a  lone, 
monstrous  being,  and  yet,  strange  to  say,  I  felt  a  kind  of  pride 
in  being  so.  I  was  unhappy,  but  I  frequently  thought  to  myself, 
I  have  done  what  no  one  else  would  dare  to  do ;  there  was  some- 
thing grand  in  the  idea ;  I  had  yet  to  learn  the  horror  of  my 
conditioD. 

''  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  roaster  no  longer  chid  or  beat  me,  but  one  day  told  my  father 
that  he  had  no  doubt  that  one  day  I  should  be  an  honour  to 
Wales. 

"  Shortly  after  this  my  father  fell  sick ;  the  progress  of  the 
disorder  was  rapid;  feeling  his  end  approaching,  he  called  his 
children  before  him.  After  tenderly  embracing  us,  he  said :  'God 
bless  you,  my  children ;  I  am  going  from  you,  but  take  comfort, 
I  trust  that  we  shall  all  meet  again  in  heaven  '• 

*<  M  he  uttered  these  last  words,  horror  took  entire  possession 


4IO  LA  VENGRO.  (1835. 

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  1 
They  might  hope  to  meet  my  father  in  heaven,  but  how  different 
were  they  from  me — ^they  haid  never  committed  the  unpardonable 
sin. 

*'  In  a  few  days  my  father  died ;  he  left  his  family  in  comfort- 
able circumstances,  at  least  such  as  would  be  considered  so  in 
Wales,  where  the  wants  of  the  people  are  few.  My  elder  brother 
carried  on  the  hnn  for  the  benefit  of  my  mother  and  us  alL  In 
course  of  time  my  brothers  were  put  out  to  various  trades.  I 
still  remained  at  school,  but  without  being  a  source  of  expense  to 
my  relations,  as  I  was  by  this  time  able  to  assist  my  master  in 
the  business  of  the  school. 

**  I  was  diligent  both  in  self-improvement  and  in  the  instruction 
of  others;  nevertheless,  a  horrible  weight  pressed  upon  my  breast; 
I  knew  I  was  a  lost  being ;  that  for  me  there  was  no  hope ;  that, 
though  all  others  might  be  saved,  I  must  of  necessity  be  lost :  I 
had  committed  the  unpardonable  sin,  for  which  I  was  doomed  to 
eternal  punishment,  in  the  flaming  gulf,  as  soon  as  life  was  over ! — 
and  how  long  could  I  hope  to  live?  perhaps  fifty  years,  at  the 
end  of  which  I  must  go  to  my  place ;  and  then  I  would  count 
the  months  and  the  days,  nay,  even  the  hours  which  yet  inter- 
vened 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  honors  of  which  I 
thought  could  scarcely  be  worse  than  what  I  then  endured. 

"  There  was  one  thought  about  this  time  which  caused  me 
unutterable  grief  and  shame,  perhaps  more  shame  than  grief.  It 
was  that  my  father,  who  was  gone  to  heaven,  and  was  there  daily 
holding  communion  with  his  God,  was  by  this  timcaware  of  my 
crime.  I  imagined  him  looking  down  from  the  clouds  upon  his 
wretched  son,  with  a  countenance  of  inexpressible  horror.  When 
this  idea  was  upon  me,  I  would  often  rush  to  some  secret  place 
to  hide  myself— to  some  thicket,  where  I  would  cast  myself  on  the 
ground,  and  thrust  my  head  into  a  thick  bush,  in  order  to  escape 
from  the  horror-struck  glance  of  my  father  above  in  the  clouds ; 
and  there  I  would  continue  groaning  till  the  agony  had,  in  some 
degree,  passed  away. 

*'The  wretchedness  of  my  state  increasing  daily,  it  at  last 


xtesO  PETER'S  STORY.  411 

became  apparent  to  the  master  of  the  school,  who  questioned  me 
earnestly  and  affectionately.  I,  however,  gave  him  no  satisfactory 
answer,  being  apprehensive  that,  if  I  unbosomed  myself,  I  should 
become  as  much  an  object  of  horror  to  him  as  I  had  long  been 
to  myself.  At  length  he  suspected  that  I  was  unsettled  in  my. 
intellects;  and,  fearing  probably  the  ill  effect  of  my  presence 
upon  his  scholars,  he  advised  me  to  go  home — which  I  was  glad 
to  do,  as  I  felt  myself  every  day  becoming  less  qualified  for  the 
duties  of  the  office  which  I  had  undertaken. 

"So  I  returned  home  to  my  mother  and  my  brother,  who 
received  me  with  the  greatest  kindness  and  affection.  I  now 
determined  to  devote  myself  to  husbandry,  and  assist  my  brother 
in  the  business  of  the  farm.  I  was  still,  however,  very  much 
distressed.  One  fine  mornings  however,  as  I  was  at  work  in  the 
field,  and  the  birds  were  carolling  around  me,  a  ray  of  hope 
began  to  break  upon  my  poor  dark  soul.  I  looked  at  the  earth, 
and  looked  at  the  sky,  and  felt  as  I  had  not  done  for  many  a  year; 
presently  a  delicious  feeling  stole  over  me.  I  was  beginning  to 
enjoy  existence.  I  shall  never  forget  that  hour.  I  flung  myself 
on  the  soil,  and  kissed  it;  then,  springing  up  with  a  sudden 
impulse,  I  rushed  into  the  depths  of  a  neighbouring  wood,  and, 
falling  upon  my  knees,  did  what  I  had  not  done  for  a  long  time — 
prayed  to  God. 

"  A  change,  an  entire  change,  seemed  to  have  come  over  me. 
I  was  no  longer  gloomy  and  despairing,  but  gay  and  happy.  My 
slumbers  were  light  and  easy;  not  disturbed,  as  bdbre,  by 
frightful  dreams.  I  arose  with  the  lark,  and  like  him  uttered  a 
cheerful  song  of  praise  to  God,  frequently  and  earnestly^  and  was 
particularly  cautious  not  to  do  anything  which  I  considered  might 
cause  His  displeasure. 

"At  church  I  was  constant,  and  when  there  listened  with 
deepest  attention  to  every  word  which  proceeded  from  the  mouth 
of  the  minister.  In  a  little  time  it  appeared  to  me  that  I  had 
become  a  good,  very  good  young  man.  At  times  the  recollection 
of  the  sin  would  return,  and  I  would  feel  a  momentary  chill ;  but 
the  thought  quickly  vanished,  and  I  again  felt  happy  and  secure. 

"One  Sunday  morning,  after  I  had  said  my  prayers,  I  felt 
particularly  joyous.  I  thought  of  the  innocent  and  virtuous  life 
I  was  leading ;  and  when  the  recollection  of  the  sin  intruded  for 
a  moment,  I  said,  '  I  am  sure  God  will  never  utterly  cast  away 
80  good  a  creature  as  myself.  I  went  to  church,  and  was  as 
usual  attentive.  The  subject  of  the  sermon  was  on  the  duty  of 
the  Scriptures:   all  I  knew  of  them  was  from  the 


413  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

Liturgy.  I  now,  however,  determined  to  read  them,  and  perfect 
the  good  work  which  I  had  begui.  My  father's  Bible  was  upon 
the  shelf,  and  on  that  evening  I  took  it  with  me  to  my  chamber. 
I  placed  it  on  the  table,  and  sat  down.  My  heart  was  filled  with 
pleasing  anticipation.  I  opened  the  book  at  random,  and  began 
to  read;  the  first  passage  on  which  my  eyes  lighted  was  the 
following : — 

"  *  He  who  committeth  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost  shall 
not  be  forgiven,  either  in  this  world  or  the  next '." 

Here  Peter  was  seized  with  convulsive  tremors.  Winifi^ 
sobbed  violently.  I  got  up,  and  went  away.  Returning  in  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  I  found  him  more  calm ;  he  motioned  me 
to  sit  down ;  and,  after  a  short  pause,  continued  his  narration. 


CHAPTER  LXXVL 


"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  moun- 
tains and  wading  streams. 

''  Climbing  mountains  and  wading  streams,  I  ran  wild  about ; 
I  was  burnt  by  the  sun,  drenched  by  the  rain,  and  had  frequently 
at  night  no  other  covering  than  the  sky,  or  the  humid  roof  of  some 
cave.  But  nothing  seemed  to  affect  my  constitution ;  probably 
the  fire  which  burned  within  me  counteracted  what  I  suffered 
from  without.  During  the  space  of  three  years  I  scarcely  knew 
what  befel  me ;  my  life  was  a  dream — a  wild,  horrible  dream ; 
more  than  once  I  believe  I  was  in  the  hands  of  robbers,  and  once 
in  the  hands  of  gypsies.  I  liked  the  last  description  of  people 
least  of  all ;  I  could  not  abide  their  yellow  faces,  or  their  ceaseless 
clabber.  Escaping  from  these  beings  whose  countenances  and 
godless  discourse  brought  to  my  mind  the  demons  of  the  deep 
Unknown,  I  still  ran  wild  through  Wales,  I  know  not  how  long. 
On  one  occasion,  coming  in  some  d^ree  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  grtppled  me 

(413) 


414  ^^  VBSGRO.  (i8a5. 

with  both  hands.  '  In  whose  name  dost  thou  detain  me  ? '  said  I, 
scarcely  knowing  what  I  said.  '  In  the  name  of  my  Master,  who 
made  thee  and  yonder  sea,  and  has  said  to  the  sea,  so  far  shalt 
thou  come,  and  no  farther,  and  to  thee,  thou  shalt  do  no  murder.' 
'  Has  not  a  man  a  right  to  do  what  he  pleases  with  his  own  ? ' 
said  I.  '  He  has,'  said  the  old  man, '  but  thy  life  is  not  thy  own ; 
thou  art  accountable  for  it  to  thy  God.  Nay,  I  will  not  let  thee 
go/  he  continued,  as  I  again  struggled ;  '  if  thou  struggle  with  me 
the  whole  day  I  will  not  let  thee  go,  as  Charles  Wesley  says  in 
his  Wrestlings  of  Jacob;  and  see,  it  is  of  no  use  struggling,  for 
I  am,  in  the  strength  of  my  Master,  stronger  than  thou ; '  and, 
indeed,  all  of  a  sudden  I  had  become  very  weak  and  exhausted ; 
whereupon  the  old  man,  beholding  my  situation,  took  me  by  the 
arm  and  led  me  gently  to  a  neighbouring  town,  which  stood 
behind  a  hill,  and  which  I  had  not  before  observed ;  presently  he 
opened  the  door  of  a  respectable-looking  house,  which  stood 
beside  a  large  building  having  the  appearance  of  a  chapel,  and 
conducted  me  into  a  small  room,  with  a  great  many  books  in  it. 
Having  caused  me  to  sit  down,  he  stood  looking  at  me  for  some 
time,  occasionally  heaving  a  sigh.  I  was,  indeed,  haggard  and 
forlorn.  '  Who  art  thou  ? '  he  said  at  last  '  A  miserable  man,' 
I  replied.  'What  makes  thee  miserable?'  said  the  old  man. 
'  A  hideous  crime,'  I  replied.  '  I  can  find  no  rest ;  like  Cain,  I 
wander  here  and  there.'  The  old  man  turned  pale.  *  Hast  thou 
taken  another's  life? '  said  he ;  'if  so,  I  advise  thee  to  surrender 
thyself  to  the  magistrate ;  thou  canst  do  no  better ;  thy  doing  so 
will  be  the  best  proof  of  thy  repentance ;  and  though  there  be  no 
hope  for  thee  in  this  world  there  may  be  much  in  the  next'  *  No,' 
said  I,  '  I  have  never  taken  another's  life.'  '  What  then,  another's 
goods  ?  If  so,  restore  them  seven-fold  if  possible  :  or,  if  it  be 
not  in  thy  power,  and  thy  conscience  accuse  thee,  surrender  thyself 
to  the  magistrate,  and  make  the  only  satisfaction  thou  art  able.' 
'  I  have  taken  no  one's  goods,'  said  I.  '  Of  what  art  thou  guilty, 
then  ?  ^said  he.  *  Art  thou  a  drunkard  ?  a  profligate  ? ' '  Alas,  no,' 
said  I ;  '  I  am  neither  of  these ;  would  that  I  were  no  worse  1 ' 

''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  roe.' 
'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 


xSaS-l  PBTBIfS  STORY.  415 

of  Providence  I  I  have  heard  of  thee,  young  man,  and  know  thy 
mother  well.  Only  a  month  ago,  when  upon  a  journey,  I  experi- 
enced much  kindness  from  her.  She  was  speaking  to  me  of  her 
lost  child,  with  tears ;  she  told  me  that  you  were  one  of  the  best  of 
sons,  but  that  some  strange  idea  appeared  to  have  occupied  your 
mind.  Despair  not,  my  son.  If  thou  hast  been  afflicted,  I  doubt 
not  but  that  thy  affliction  will  eventually  turn  out  to  thy  benefit ;  I 
doubt  not  but  that  thou  wilt  be  preserved,  as  an  example  of  the 
great  mercy  of  God.  I  will  now  kneel  down  and  pray  for  thee, 
my  son.' 

**  He  knelt  down,  and  prayed  long  and  fervently.  I  remained 
standing  for  some  time;  at  length  I  knelt  down  likewise.  I 
scarcely  knew  what  he  was  saying,  but  when  he  concluded  I  said 
'  Amen  *. 

"  And  when  we  had  risen  from  our  knees,  the  old  man  left  me 
for  a  short  time,  and  on  his  return  led  me  into  another  room, 
where  were  two  females ;  one  was  an  elderly  person,  the  wife  of 
the  old  man,  the  other  was  a  young  woman  of  very  prepossessing 
appearance  (hang  not  down  thy  head,  Winifred),  who  I  soon 
found  was  a  distant  relation  of  the  old  man.  Both  received  me 
with  great  kindness,  the  old  man  having  doubtless  previously  told 
them  who  I  was. 

**  I  staid  several  days  in  the  good  man's  house.  I  had  still 
the  greater  portion  of  a  small  sum  which  I  happened  to  have 
about  me  when  I  departed  on  my  dolorous  wandering,  and  with 
this  I  purchased  clothes,  and  altered  my  appearance  considerably. 
On  the  evening  of  the  second  day,  my  fnend  said :  '  I  am  going 
to  preach,  perhaps  you  will  come  and  hear  me '.  I  consented, 
and  we  all  went,  not  to  a  church,  but  to  the  large  building  next 
the  house ;  for  the  old  man,  though  a  clergyman,  was  not  of  the 
established  persuasion,  and  there  the  old  man  mounted  a  pulpit, 
and  began  to  preach.  '  Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that  labour  and 
are  heavy  laden,*  etc.,  etc,  was  his  text.  His  sermon  was  long, 
but  I  still  bear  the  greater  portion  of  it  in  my  mind. 

"  The  substance  of  it  was  that  Jesus  was  at  all  times  ready  to 
take  upon  Himself  the  burden  of  our  sins,  provided  we  came  to 
Him  with  a  humble  and  contrite  spirit,  and  begged  His  help. 
This  doctrine  was  new  to  me ;  I  had  often  been  at  church,  but 
had  never  heard  it  preached  before,  at  least  so  distinctly.  When 
he  said  that  all  men  might  be  saved,  I  shook,  for  I  expected  he 
would  add,  all  except  those  who  had  committed  the  mysterious 
sin ;  but  no,  all  men  were  to  be  saved  who  with  a  humble  and 
contrite  spirit  would  come  to  Jesus,  cast  themselves  at  the  foot 


4x6  LA  VENGRO.  [1895. 

of  His  cross,  and  accept  pardon  through  the  merits  of  His  blood- 
shedding  alone.  *  Therefore,  my  friends/  said  he,  in  conclusion, 
•  despair  not — ^however  guilty  you  may  be,  despair  not — ^however 
desperate  your  condition  may  seem,*  said  he,  fixing  his  eyes  upon 
me,  'despair  not  There  is  nothing  more  foolish  and  more 
wicJced  than  despair ;  overweening  confidence  is  not  more  foolish 
than  despair ;  both  are  the  fisivourite  weapons  of  the  enemy  of 
souls.* 

"  This  discourse  gave  rise  in  my  mind  to  no  slight  perplexity. 
I  had  read  in  the  Scriptures  that  he  who  committeth  a  certain  sin 
shall  never  be  forgiven,  and  that  there  is  no  hope  for  him  either 
in  this  world  or  the  next.  And  here  was  a  man,  a  good  man 
certainly,  and  one  who,  of  necessity,  was  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  Scriptures,  who  told  me  that  any  one  might  be  forgiven, 
however  wicked,  who  would  only  trust  in  Christ  and  in  the  merits 
of  His  blood-shedding.  Did  I  believe  in  Christ  ?  Ay,  truly. 
Was  I  willing  to  be  saved  by  Christ?  Ay,  truly.  Did  I  trust  in 
Christ?  I  trusted  that  Christ  would  save  every  one  but  mysei£ 
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  easel  but  yet  he  had  bid 
me  hope,  whatever  I  had  done,  provided  I  would  go  to  Jesus. 
But  how  could  I  think  of  going  to  Jesus,  when  the  Scriptures 
told  me  plainly  that  all  would  be  useless  ?  I  was  perplexed,  and 
yet  a  ray  of  hope  began  to  dawn  in  my  soul.  I  thought  of  con- 
sulting 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,  jut  I 
evaded  him ;  once,  indeed,  when  he  looked  particularly  benevo* 
lent,  I  think  I  should  have  unbosomed  myself  to  him,  but  we 
were  interrupted.  He  never  pressed  me  much ;  perhaps  he  was 
delicate  in  probing  my  mind,  as  we  were  then  of  different 
persuasions.  Hence  he  advised  me  to  seek  the  advice  of  some 
powerful  minister  in  my  own  church ;  there  were  many  such  in 
It,  he  said. 

'*  I  staid  several  days  in  the  family,  during  which  time  I  more 


t8a5.]  PBTEIPS  STORY.  417 


than  once  heard  my  venamble  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 
&te. 

"  At  last  my  friend  said  to  me :  '  It  is  now  time  thou  shouldst 
return  to  thy  mother  and  thy  brother'.  So  I  arose,  and  departed 
to  my  mother  and  my  brother ;  and  at  my  departure  my  old  friend 
gave  me  his  blessing,  and  his  wife  and  the  young  person  shed 
tears,  the  last  especially.  And  when  my  mother  saw  me,  she 
shed  tears,  and  Ml  on  my  neck  and  kissed  me,  and  my  brother 
took  me  by  the  hand  and  bade  me  welcome ;  and  when  our  first 
emotions  were  subsided,  my  mother  said :  '  I  trust  thou  art  come 
in  a  lucky  hour.  A  few  weeks  ago  my  cousin  (whose  favourite 
thou  always  wast)  died  and  left  thee  his  heir — left  thee  the  goodly 
farm  in  which  he  Uved  I  trust,  my  son,  that  thou  wilt  now  settle, 
and  be  a  comfort  to  me  in  my  old  days.'  And  I  answered  :  '  I 
will,  if  so  please  the  Lord ' ;  and  I  said  to  myself, '  God  grant  that 
this  bequest  be  a  token  of  the  Lord's  favour '. 

"  And  in  a  few  days  I  departed  to  take  possession  of  my  farm ; 
it  was  about  twenty  miles  from  my  mother's  house,  in  a  beautiful 
but  rather  wild  district ;  I  arrived  at  the  frdl  of  the  leaf.  All  day 
long  I  busied  myself  with  my  farm,  and  thus  kept  my  mind  em- 
ployed. At  night,  however,  I  felt  rather  solitary,  and  I  frequently 
wished  for  a  companion.  Each  night  and  morning  I  prayed  fer- 
vently unto  the  Lord ;  for  His  hand  had  been  very  heavy  upon 
me,  and  I  feared  Him. 

"  There  was  one  thing  connected  with  my  new  abode,  which 
gave  me  considerable  uneasiness — the  want  of  spiritual  instructioiL 
There  was  a  church,  indeed,  close  at  hand,  in  which  service  was 
occasionally  perfcmned,  but  in  so  hurried  and  heartless  a  manner 
that  I  derived  little  benefit  from  it.  The  clergyman  to  whom  the 
benefice  belonged  was  a  valetudinarian,  who  passed  his  time  in 
London,  or  at  some  watering-place,  entrusting  the  care  of  his 
flock  to  the  curate  of  a  distant  parish,  who  gave  himself  very 
little  trouble  about  the  matter.  Now,  I  wanted  every  Sunday  to 
hear  from  the  pulpit  words  of  consolation  and  encouragement, 
similar  to  those  which  I  had  heard  uttered  from  the  pulpit  by  my 
good  and  venerable  friend,  but  I  was  debarred  from  this  privilege. 
At  length,  one  day  being  in  conversation  with  one  of  my  labourers, 
a  staid  and  serious  man,  I  spoke  to  him  of  the  matter  which  lay 
heavy  upon  my  mind ;  whereupon,  looking  me  wistfully  in  the 

«7 


4i8  LA  VENGRO.  [1895. 

hct,  he  said :  *  Master,  the  want  of  religious  instruction  in  my 
church  was  what  drove  me  to  the  Methodists'.  'The  Metho- 
dists/ 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  haf^ned 
that  my  venerable  friend  was  of  the  Methodist  persuasion,  and 
when  I  heard  the  poor  man  talk  in  this  manner,  I  said  to  him : 
'  May  I  go  with  you  next  Sunday?'  *  Why  not  ? '  said  he ;  so  I 
went  with  the  labourer  on  the  ensuing  Sabbath  to  the  meeting  of 
the  Methodists. 

''  I  liked  the  preaching  which  I  heard  at  the  chapel  very  well, 
though  it  was  not  quite  so  comfortable  as  that  of  my  old  friend, 
the  preacher  being  in  some  respects  a  different  kind  of  man.  It, 
however,  did  me  good,  and  I  went  again,  and  continued  to  do  so, 
though  I  did  not  become  a  regular  member  of  the  body  at  that 
time. 

*'  I  had  now  the  benefit  of  religious  instruction,  and  also  to  a 
certain  extent  of  religious  fellowship,  fcM:  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  g^d  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  fiexvent,'  said  I. 
'  And  do  you  read  the  Scriptures  often  ? '  said  he.  '  No,'  said  I. 
'  Why  not  ? '  said  he.  '  Because  I  am  afraid  to  see  there  my  own 
condemnation.'  They  looked  at  each  other,  and  said  nothing  at 
the  time.  On  leaving  me,  however,  they  all  advised  me  to  read 
the  Scriptures  with  fervency  and  prayer. 

''  As  I  had  told  these  honest  people,  I  shrank  from  searching 
the  Scriptures ;  the  remembrance  of  the  iatal  passage  was  stiU 
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  a£&irs  pros- 
pered, and  I  enjoyed  a  certain  portion  of  tranquillity.  Occasion- 
ally, 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  Welsh- 
man. 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, 
1  likewise  read  the  book  of  Master  Mis  Wyn.    The  latter  work 


ites-]  PBTB^S  STORY.  419 

possessed  a  smgular  fascination  for  me,  on  account  of  its  wonder- 
fal  delineations  of  the  tonnents  of  the  nether  world. 

"  Bat  man  does  not  love  to  be  alone ;  indeed,  the  Scripture 
says  that  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone.  I  occupied  my 
body  with  the  pursuits  of  husbandry,  and  I  improved  my  mind 
with  the  perusal  of  good  and  wise  books ;  but,  as  I  have  already 
said,  I  frequently  sighed  for  a  companion  with  whom  I  could 
exchange  ideas,  and  who  could  take  an  interest  in  my  pursuits ; 
the  want  of  such  a  one  I  more  particularly  felt  in  the  long  winter 
evenings.  It  was  then  that  the  image  of  the  young  person  whom 
I  had  seen  in  the  house  of  the  preacher  frequently  rose  up  distinctly 
before  my  mind's  eye,  decked  with  quiet  graces — hang  not  down 
your  head,  Winifred — and  I  thought  that  of  all  the  women  in  the 
world  I  should  wish  her  to  be  my  partner,  and  then  I  considered 
whether  it  would  be  possible  to  obtain  her.  I  am  ready  to  ac- 
knowledge, friend,  that  it  was  both  selfish  and  wicked  in  me  to 
wish  to  fetter  any  human  being  to  a  lost  creature  like  myself, 
conscious  of  having  committed  a  crime  for  which  the  Scriptures 
told  me  there  is  no  pardon.  I  had,  indeed,  a  long  struggle  as  to 
whether  I  should  make  the  attempt  or  not — selfishness,  however, 
prevailed.  I  will  not  detain  your  attention  with  relating  all  that 
occurred  at  this  period — suffice  it  to  say  that  I  made  my  suit  and 
was  successful ;  it  is  true  that  the  old  man,  who  was  her  guardian, 
hesitated,  and  asked  several  questions  respecting  my  state  of 
mind.  I  am  afraid  that  I  partly  deceived  him,  perhaps  he 
partly  deceived  himself ;  he  was  pleased  that  I  had  adopted  his 
profession — we  are  all  weak  creatures.  With  respect  to  the  young 
person,  she  did  not  ask  many  questions ;  and  I  soon  found  that  I 
had  won  her  heart.  To  be  brief,  I  married  her ;  and  here  she  is, 
the  truest  wife  that  ever  man  had,  and  the  kindest.  Kind  I  may 
well  call  her,  seeing  that  she  shrinks  not  from  me,  who  so  cruelly 
deceived  her,  in  not  telling  her  at  first  what  I  was.  I  married 
her,  friend,  and  brought  her  home  to  my  little  possession,  where 
we  passed  our  time  very  agreeably.  Our  affairs  prospered,  our 
garners  were  full,  and  there  was  coin  in  our  purse.  I  worked  in 
the  field ;  Winifred  busied  herself  with  the  dairy.  At  night  I 
frequently  read  books  to  her,  books  of  my  own  country,  friend ; 
I  likewise  read  to  her  songs  of  my  own,  holy  songs  and  carols 
which  she  admired,  and  which  yourself  would  perhaps  admire, 
could  you  understand  them;  but  I  repeat,  you  Saxons  are  an 
ignorant  people  with  respect  to  us,  and  a  perverse,  inasmuch  as 
you  despise  Welsh  without  understanding  it.  Every  night  I 
prayed  fervently,  and  my  wife  admired  my  gift  of  prayer. 


440  LA  VBNGRO.  [18S5. 

''  One  night,  after  I  bad  been  reading  to  my  wife  a  portion  of 
Ellis  Wyn,  my  wife  said :  '  This  is  a  wonderful  book,  and  contain- 
ing 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  purchaJse  a 
particular  field  of  a  neighbour — oh,  God — God  1  I  came  to  the 
fatal  passage. 

"Friend,  friend,  what  shall  I  say?  I  rushed  out.  My  wife 
followed  me,  asking  me  what  was  the  matter.  I  could  only 
answer  with  groans — for  three  days  and  three  nights  I  did  little 
else  than  groan.  Oh,  the  kindness  and  solicitude  of  my  wife  I 
'  What  is  the  matter,  husband,  dear  husband  ? '  she  was  continu- 
ally 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  fi-om  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  familyjhad  retired  to 
rest,  her  hand  locked  in  mine,  even  as  it  is  now. 

**  I  thought  she  would  have  shrunk  from  me  with  horror ;  but 
she  did  not ;  her  hand,  it  is  true,  trembled  once  or  twice ;  but 
that  was  all  At  last  she  gave  mine  a  gentle  pressure;  and, 
looking  up  in  my  face,  she  said — what  do  you  think  my  wife  said, 
young  man  ?  " 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  guess,"  said  I. 

**  *  Let  us  go  to  rest,  my  love ;  your  fears  are  all  groundless." 


CHAPTER  LXXVII. 

"  And  so  I  still  say,"  said  Winifred,  sobbing.  "  Let  us  retire  to 
rest,  dear  husband ;  your  fears  are  groundless.  I  had  hoped  long 
since  that  your  affliction  would  have  passed  away,  and  I  still  hope 
that  it  eventually  will ;  so  take  heart,  Peter^  and  let  us  retire  to 
rest»  for  it  is  getting  late." 

"  Rest  I "  said  Peter ;  "  there  is  no  rest  for  the  wicked ! " 

"  We  are  all  wicked,"  said  Winifred ;  "  but  you  are  afraid  of  a 
shadow.  How  often  have  I  told  you  that  the  sin  of  your  heart  is 
not  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost :  the  sin  of  your  heart  is  its 
natural  pride,  of  which  you  are  scarcely  aware,  to  keep  down 
which  God  in  His  mercy  permitted  you  to  be  terrified  with  the 
idea  of  having  committed  a  sin  which  you  never  committed." 

**Then  you  will  still  maintain,"  said  Peter,  "that  I  never 
committed  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Spirit?" 

"I  will,"  said  Winifred;  "you  never  committed  it.  How 
should  a  child  seven  years  old  commit  a  sin  like  that?" 

"Have  I  not  read  my  own  condemnation?"  said  Peter. 
"Did  not  the  first  words  whi«h  I  read  in  the  Holy  Scripture 
condemn  me  ?  *  He  who  committeth  the  sin  against  the  Holy 
Ghost  shall  never  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God.' " 

"You  never  committed  it,"  said  Winifred. 

"  But  the  words !  the  words  I  the  words  I "  said  Peter, 

"The  words  are  true  words,"  said  Winifred,  sobbing;  "but 
they  were  not  meant  for  you,  but  for  those  who  have  broken  then: 
profession,  who,  having  embraced  the  cross^  have  receded  from 
their  Master." 

"  And  what  sayest  thou  to  the  effect  which  the  words  produced 
upon  me?"  said  Peter.  "Did  they  not  cause  me  to  run  wild 
through  Wales  for  years,  like  Merddin  Wyllt  of  yore  ?  Thinkest 
thou  that  I  opened  the  book  at  that  particular  passage  by  chance  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Winifred,  "  not  by  chance ;  it  was  the  hand  of 
God  directed  you,  doubtless  for  some  wise  purpose.  You  had 
become  satisfied  with  yourselfl  The  Lord  wished  to  rouse  thee 
from  thy  state  of  carnal  security,  and  therefore  directed  your  eyes 
to  that  fearful  passage." 

"  Does  the  Lord  then  carry  out  His  designs  by  means  of 
ffuile?"  said  Peter,  with  a  groan.    "Is  not  the  Lord  true? 

(4a  I) 


423  LA  VENGRO.  [1835. 

Would  the  Lord  impress  upon  me  that  I  had  committed  a  sin 
of  which  I  am  guiltless  ?  Hush,  Winifred  1  hush  I  thou  knowest 
that  I  have  committed  the  sin." 

"Thou  hast  not  committed  it,"  said  Winifred,  sobbing  yet 
more  violently.  ''  Were  they  my  last  words,  I  would  persist  that 
thou  hast  not  committed  it,  though,  perhaps,  thou  wouldst,  but 
for  this  chastening;  it  was  not  to  convince  thee  that  thou  hast 
committed  the  sin,  but  rather  to  prevent  thee  from  committing 
it,  that  the  Lord  brought  that  passage  before  thy  eyes.  He  is 
not  to  blame,  if  thou  art  wilfully  blind  to  the  truth  and  wisdom 
of  His  ways." 

*'  I  see  thou  wouldst  comfort  me,"  said  Peter,  "as  thou  hast 
often  before  attempted  to  do.  I  would  fain  ask  the  young  man 
his  opinion." 

"  I  have  not  yet  heard  the  whole  of  your  history,"  said  L 

"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  ¥ride  world?'  said  I,  despondingly. 
'  Muchy'  replied  Winifred,  '  if  you  will  but  exert  yourself;  much 
good  canst  thou  do  with  the  blessing  of  God.'  Many  things 
of  the  same  kind  she  said  to  me ;  and  at  last  I  arose  from  the 
earth  to  which  God  had  smitten  me,  and  disposed  of  my  property 
in  the  best  way  I  could,  and  went  into  the  world.  We  did  all  the 
good  we  were  able,  visiting  the  sick,  ministering  to  the  sick,  and 
praying  with  the  sick.  At  last  I  became  celebrated  as  the  possessor 
of  a  great  gift  of  prayer.  And  people  urged  me  to  preach,  and 
Winifred  urged  me  too,  and  at  last  I  consented,  and  I  preached. 
I — I— outcast  Peter,  became  the  preacher,  Peter  Williams.  I,  the 
lost  one,  attempted  to  show  others  the  right  road.  And  in  this  way 
I  have  gone  on  for  thirteen  years,  preaching  and  teaching,  visiting 
the  sick,  and  ministering  to  them,  with  Winifred  by  my  side 
hearkening  me  on.  Occasionally  I  am  visited  with  fits  of  inde- 
scribable agony,  generally  on  the  night  before  the  Sabbath ;  for  I 
then  ask  myself,  how  dare  I,  the  outcast,  attempt  to  preach  the 
word  of  God  ?    Young  man,  my  tale  is  told ;  you  seem  in  thought  I  " 

"  I  am  thinking  of  London  Bridge,"  said  I. 

"  Of  London  Bridge  1 "  said  Peter  and  his  wife. 

''  Yes,"  said  I, ''  of  London  Bridge.    I  am  indebted  for  much' 


ifias-l  THB  COMFORTBR  COMPORTBD.  423 

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.  0 1  if  men  could  but  look 
into  each  other's  hearts,  what  blackness  would  they  find  there  I ' " 

"  That's  true,"  said  Peter.     "  What  is  the  name  of  the  book  ?  " 

«  The  Life  of  Blessed  Mary  Flanders^ 

**  Some  popish  saint,  I  suppose,"  said  Peter. 

"As  much  of  a  saint,  I  dare  say,"  said  I,  "as  most  popish 
ones;  but  you  interrupted  me.  One  part  of  your  narrative 
brought  the  passage  which  I  have  quoted  into  my  mind.  You 
said  that  after  you  had  committed  this  same  sin  of  yours  you 
were  in  the  habit,  at  school,  of  looking  upon  your  schoolfellows 
with  a  kind  of  gloomy  superiority,  considering  yourself  a  lone, 
monstrous  being  who  had  committed  a  sin  far  above  the  daring 
of  any  of  them.  Are  you  sure  that  many  others  of  your  school- 
fellows were  not  looking  upon  you  and  the  others  with  much  the 
same  eyes  with  which  you  were  looking  upon  them  ?  " 

"  How !  "  said  Peter,  "  dost  thou  think  that  they  had  divined 
my  secret?" 

"  Not  they,"  said  1 ;  "  they  were,  I  dare  say,  thinking  too 
much  of  themselves  and  of  their  own  concerns  to  have  divined 
any  secrets  of  yours.  All  I  mean  to  say  is,  they  had  probably 
secrets  of  their  own,  and  who  knows  that  the  secret  sin  of  more  than 
one  of  them  was  not  the  very  sin  which  caused  you  so  much  misery?  " 

**  Dost  thou  then  imagine,"  said  Peter,  "  the  sin  against  the 
Holy  Ghost  to  be  so  common  an  occurrence  ?  " 

''As  you  have  described  it,"  said  I,  "of  very  common 
occurrence,  especially  amongst  children,  who  are,  indeed,  the 
only  beings  likely  to  commit  it." 

"  Truly,"  said  Winifred,  "  the  young  man  talks  wisely." 

Peter  was  silent  for  some  moments,  and  appeared  to  be  re- 
flecting ;  at  last,  suddenly  raising  his  head,  he  looked  me  full  in 
the  face,  and,  grasping  my  hand  with  vehemence,  he  said :  "  Tell 
me,  young  man,  only  one  thing,  hast  thou,  too,  committed  the 
sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost?" 

"  I  am  neither  Papist  nor  Methodist,"  said  I,  "  but  of  the 
Church,  and,  being  so,  confess  myself  to  no  one,  but  keep  my  own 
counsel ;  I  will  tell  diee,  however,  had  I  committed,  at  the  same 
age,  twenty  such  sins  as  that  which  you  committed,  I  should  feel  no 
uneasiness  at  these  years — ^but  I  am  sleepy,  and  must  go  to  rest." 

"  God  bless  thee,  young  man,"  said  Winifred. 


CHAPTER  LXXVIII. 

Beforb  I  sank  to  rest  I  beard  Winifred  and  her  husband  con- 
versing 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 
thej  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  PedAod  pro- 
ceeding from  the  lips  of  each,  but  with  no  particular  emphasis.  I 
supposed  they  were  talking  of  the  innate  sin  of  both  their  hearts. 

"I  wish  that  man  were  happy,"  said  I  to  myself,  "were  it 
only  for  his  wife's  sake,  and  yet  he  deserves  to  be  happy  for  his  own.*' 

The  next  day  Peter  was  very  cheerful,  more  cheerful  than  I 
had  ever  seen  him.  At  breakfast  his  conversation  was  animated, 
and  he  smiled  repeatedly.  I  looked  at  him  with  the  greatest 
interest,  and  the  eyes  of  his  wife  were  almost  constantly  fixed 
upon  him.  A  shade  of  gloom  would  occasionally  come  over  his 
countenance,  but  it  almost  instantly  disappeared ;  perhaps  it  pro- 
ceeded more  from  habit  than  anything  else.  After  bradcfast  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  heip  some  passage,  and  appeared  to  consult 
with  her.    The  day  passed  quickly  and  comfortably. 

"  Your  husband  seems  much  better,"  said  I,  at  evening  fall, 
to  Winifred,  as  we  chanced  to  be  alone. 

"  He  does,"  said  Winifred ;  "  and  that  on  the  day  of  the  week 
when  he  was  wont  to  appear  most  melancholy,  for  to-morrow  is 
the  Sabbath.  He  now  no  longer  looks  forward  to  the  Sabbath 
with  dread,  but  appears  to  reckon  on  it.  What  a  happy  change  I 
and  to  think  that  this  change  should  have  been  produced  by  a  few 
words,  seemingly  careless  ones,  proceeding  from  the  mouth  of  one 
who  is  almost  a  stranger  to  him.    Truly,  it  is  wonderful." 

"  To  whom  do  you  allude,"  said  I,  " and  to  what  words?  " 

'/  To  yourself,  and  to  the  words  which  came  from  your  lips 
last  night,  after  you  had  heard  my  poor  husband's  history.  Those 
strange  words,  drawn  out  with  so  much  seeming  indifference, 
have  produced  in  my  husband  the  blessed  effect  which  you  have 

(4»4) 


x8a5.J  ANOTHER  SABBATH.  435 

obserred  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-foigiven  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  b^ins  to  see  the  groundlessness  of  his  apprehensions.  The 
Lord  has  permitted  him  to  be  chastened  for  a  season,  but  his 
lamp  will  only  bum  the  brighter  for  what  he  has  undergone." 

Sunday  came,  fine  and  glorious  as  the  last  Again  my  friends 
and  myself  breakfasted  together,  again  the  good  family  of  the 
house  on  the  hill  above,  headed  by  the  respectable  master, 
descended  to  the  meadow.  Peter  and  his  wife  were  ready  to 
receive  them.  Again  Peter  placed  himself  at  the  side  of  the 
honest  farmer,  and  Winifred  by  the  side  of  her  friend  ''  Wilt 
thou  not  come?  "  said  Peter,  looking  towards  me  with  a  face  in 
which  there  was  much  emotion.  "  Wilt  thou  not  come?  "  said  Wini- 
fred, with  a  face  beaming  with  kindness.  But  I  made  no  answer, 
and  presently  the  party  moved  away,  in  the  same  manner  in  which 
it  had  moved  on  the  preceding  Sabbath,  and  I  was  again  left  alone. 

The  hours  of  the  Sabbath  passed  slowly  away.  I  sat  gazing  at 
the  sky,  the  trees  and  the  water.  At  last  I  strolled  up  to  the 
house  and  sat  down  in  the  porch.  It  was  empty ;  there  was  no 
modest  maiden  there,  as  on  the  preceding  Sablkth.  The  damsel 
of  the  book  had  accompanied  the  rest.  I  had  seen  her  in  the 
procession,  and  the  house  appeared  quite  deserted  The  owners 
had  probably  left  it  to  my  custody,  so  I  sat  down  in  the  porch, 
quite  alone.    The  hours  of  the  Sabbath  passed  heavily  away. 

At  last  evening  came,  and  with  it  the  party  of  the  morning. 
I  was  now  at  my  place  beneath  the  oak.  I  went  forward  to  meet 
them.  Peter  and  his  wife  received  me  with  a  calm  and  quiet 
greeting,  and  passed  forward.  The  rest  of  the  party  had  broke 
into  groups.  There  was  a  kind  of  excitement  amongst  them,  and 
much  eager  whispering.  I  went  to  one  of  the  groups ;  the  young 
girl  of  whom  I  have  spoken  more  than  once,  was  speaking :  "  Such 
a  sermon,"  said  she,  "  it  has  never  been  our  lot  to  hear ;  Peter  never 
before  spoke  as  he  has  done  this  day — he  was  always  a  powerful 
preacher ;  but  oh,  the  unction  of  the  discourse  of  this  morning,  and 
yet  more  of  that  of  the  afternoon,  which  was  the  continuation  of  it." 
"What  was  the  subject?"  said  I,. interrupting  her.  '*Ahl  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 
fet^T  Williams  on  the  Power,  Providence  iind  Goodness  of  &k)." 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 


On  the  morrow  I  said  to  my  friends:  "I  am  about  to  depart; 
farewell ! "  "  Depart  I  "  said  Peter  and  his  wife  simultaneously, 
" whither  wouldst  thou  go ? "  "I  can't  stay  here  all  my  days,"  I 
replied.  "  Of  course  not,"  said  Peter,  "  but  we  had  no  idea  of 
losing  thee  so  soon :  we  had  almost  hoped  that  thou  wouldst  join 
us,  become  one  of  us.  We  are  under  infinite  obligations  to  thee." 
"You  mean  I  am  under  infinite  obligations  to  you,"  said  I. 
"  Did  you  not  save  my  life?"  "  Perhaps  so,  under  God,"  said 
Peter;  "and  what  hast  thou  not  done  for  me?  Art  thou  aware 
that,  under  God,  thou  hast  preserved  my  soul  from  despair  ?  But* 
independent  of  that,  we  like  thy  company,  and  feel  a  deep  interest 
in  thee,  and  would  fain  teach  thee  the  way  that  is  right.  Hearken, 
to-morrow  we  go  into  Wales ;  go  with  us.''  "  I  have  no  wish  to 
go  into  Wales,'  said  I.  "  Why  not  ?  "  said  Peter  with  animation. 
''Wales  is  a  goodly  country;  as  the  Scripture  says — a  land  of 
brooks  of  water,  of  fountains  and  depths,  that  spring  out  of  valleys 
and  hills,  a  land  whose  stones  are  iron,  and  out  of  whose  hills 
thou  mayest  dig  lead." 

**  I  daresay  it  is  a  very  fine  country,"  said  1,  "  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  m3rself  to 
suspect  that  thou  art  not  altogether  what  thou  seemest;  but, 
setting  that  aside,  we  should  be  most  happy  if  thou  wouldst  go 
with  us  into  Wales."  **  I  cannot  promise  to  go  with  you  into 
Wales,"  said  I ;  "  but,  as  you  depart  to-morrow,  I  will  stay  with 
you  through  the  day,  and  on  the  morrow  accompany  you  part  of  the 
way."  "  Do,"  said  Peter.  "  I  have  many  people  to  see  to-day,  and 
so  has  Winifred ;  but  we  will  both  endeavour  to  have  some  serious 
discourse  with  thee,  which,  perhaps,  will  turn  to  thy  profit  in  the  end." 

In  the  course  of  the  day  the  good  Peter  came  to  me,  as  I  was 
seated  beneath  the  oak,  and,  placing  himself  by  me,  commenced 
addressing  me  in  the  following  manner : — 

**  I  have  no  doubt,  my  young  friend,  that  you  are  willing  to 

(4a6) 


xSas-l  "^  THE  WELSHMAN'S  CANDLES  437 

admit,  that  the  most  important  thing  which  a  human  being  pos- 
sesses 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 
misery,  inhabited  by  Satan  and  his  grisly  companions.  My  friend, 
if  the  joys  of  heaven  are  great,  unutterably  great,  so  are  the 
torments  of  hell  unutterably  so.  I  wish  not  to  speak  of  them,  I 
wish  not  to  terrify  your  imagination  with  the  torments  of  hell ; 
indeed,  I  like  not  to  think  of  them ;  but  it  is  necessary  to  speak 
of  them  sometimes,  and  to  think  of  them  sometimes,  lest  you 
should  sink  into  a  state  of  carnal  security.  Authors,  friend,  and 
learned  men  are  not  altogether  agreed  as  to  the  particulars  of 
hell.  They  all  agree,  however,  in  considering  it  a  place  of 
exceeding  horror.  Master  Ellis  Wyn,  who  by-the-bye  was  a 
Churchman,  calls  it,. amongst  other  things,  a  place  of  strong  sighs, 
and  of  flaming  sparks.  Master  Rees  Pritchard,  who  was  not  only 
a  Churchman,  but  Vicar  of  Llandovery,  and  flourished  about  two 
hundred  years  ago — I  wish  many  like  him  flourished  now — 
speaking  of  hell,  in  his  collection  of  sweet  hymns,  called  the 
WeUhmafis  Candle^  observes : — 

'' '  The  pool  is  continuaUy  blazing ;  it  is  very  deep,  without 
any  known  bottom,  and  the  walls  are  so  high,  that  there  is  neither 
hope  nor  possibility  of  escaping  over  them  '• 

"  But,  as  I  told  you  just  now,  I  have  no  great  pleasure  in  talking 
of  hell.  No,  friend,  no ;  1  would  sooner  talk  of  the  other  place,  and 
of  the  goodness  and  hospitality  of  God  amongst  His  saints  above." 

And  then  the  excellent  man  began  to  dilate  upon  the  joys  of 
heaven,  and  the  goodness  and  hospitality  of  God  in  the  mansions 
above,  explaining  to  me,  in  the  clearest  way,  how  I  might  get  there. 

And  when  he  had  finished  what  he  had  to  say,  he  left  me, 
whereupon  Winifred  drew  nigh,  and  sitting  down  by  me,  began 
to  address  me.  ''I  do  not  think,"  said  she,  "  from  what  I  have 
observed  of  thee,  that  thou  wouldst  wish  to  be  ungrateful,  and 
yet,  is  not  thy  whole  life  a  series  of  ingratitude,  and  to  whom  ?-^ 
to  thy  Maker.  Has  He  not  endowed  thee  with  a  goodly  and 
healthy  form,  and  senses  which  enable  thee  to  enjoy  the  delights 
of  His  beautiful  universe — the  work  of  His  hands?  Canst  thou 
not  enjoy,  even  to  rapture,  the  brightness  of  the  sun,  the  perfume 
of  the  meads,  and  the  song  of  the  dear  birds,  which  inhabit 
among  the  trees?    Yes,  thou  canst;  for  I  have  seen  thee,  and 


448  LA  VBNGRO.  [xSsS- 

observed  thee  doing  so.  Yet,  during  the  whole  time  that  I  have 
known  thee,  I  have  not  heard  proceed  from  thy  lips  one  single 
word  of  praise  or  thanksgiving  to ** 

And  in  this  manner  the  admirable  woman  proceeded  (or  a 
considerable  time,  and  to  all  her  discourse  I  listened  with  attrition ; 
and  when  she  had  concluded  I  took  her  hand  and  said,  "  I  thank 
you,"  and  that  was  all. 

On  the  next  day  everything  was  ready  for  our  departure.  The 
good  fomily  of  the  house  came  to  bid  us  farewell.  There  were 
shaking  of  hands,  and  kisses,  as  on  the  night  of  our  arrival. 

And  as  I  stood  somewhat  apart,  the  young  girl  of  whom  I  have 
spoken  so  often  came  up  to  me,  and,  holding  out  her  hand,  said : 
"  Farewell,  young  man,  wherever  thou  goest ".  Then,  after  looking 
around  her,  she  said :  "  It  was  all  true  you  told  me.  Yesterday 
I  received  a  letter  from  him  thou  wottest  of,  he  is  coming  soon. 
God  bless  you,  young  man ;  who  would  have  thought  thou  knewest 
so  much ! " 

So  after  we  had  taken  our  farewell  of  (he  good  family,  we 
departed,  proceeding  in  the  direction  of  Wales.  Peter  was  very 
cheerful,  and  enlivened  the  way  with  godly  discourse  and  spiritusd 
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  be- 
coming a  bishop,  by  means  of  a  less  qualification  ". 

"Very  probably,"  said  Peter;  "more  the  pity.  But  I  have 
told  you  the  reason  of  my  forsaking  it  Frequently,  when  I  went 
to  the  church  door,  I  found  it  barred,  and  the  priest  absent ;  what 
was  I  to  do?  My  heart  was  bursting  for  want  of  some  rdigious 
help  and  comfort;  what  could  I  do !  as  good  Master  Rees  Pritchard 
observes  in  his  Candle  for  Welshmen : — 

" '  It  is  a  doleful  thing  to  see  little  children  burning  on  the 
hot  coals  for  want  of  help,  but  yet  more  doleful  to  see  a  flock  of 
souls  falling  into  the  burning  lake  for  want  of  a  priest  *." 

"  The  Church  of  England  is  a  fine  church,"  said  I ;  "  I  would 
not  advise  any  one  to  speak  ill  of  the  Church  of  England  before  me.*' 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  the  church,"  said  Peter ;  "all 
I  wish  is  that  it  would  fling  itself  a  little  more  open,  and  that  its 
priests  would  a  little  more  bestir  themselves ;  in  a  word,  that  it 
would  shoulder  the  cross  and  become  a  missionary  church." 

"  It  is  too  proud  for  that,"  said  Winifred. 

"You  are  much  more  of  a  Methodist,"  said  I,  "than  your 
husband.  But  tell  me,"  said  I,  addressing  myself  to  Peter,  "do 
you  not  differ  from  the  church  in  some  points  oi  doctrine  ?    I,  of 


iftis-l  POUNDSD  ON  A  ROCK.  449 

course,  m  a  true  member  of  the  church,  am  quite  ign<»ant  of  the 
peculiar  opinions  of  wandering  sectaries.*^ 

"  Oh,  the  pride  of  that  church  1 "  said  Winifred  half  to  herself ; 
"wandering  sectaries  1" 

"  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,  t})ose  surplices  and  white  neckcloths,  and, 
above  all,  the  necessity  of  strictly  regulating  his  words  and  conver- 
sation, which  drove  John  Wesley  out  of  the  church,  and  sent  him 
wandering  up  and  down  as  you  see  me,  poor  Welsh  Peter,  da*' 

Nothing  further  passed  for  some  time ;  we  were  now  drawing 
near  the  hills :  at  last  I  said :  "  You  must  have  met  with  a  great 
many  strange  adventures  since  you  took  up  this  course  of  life  ?  " 

"  Many,''  said  Peter,  "  it  has  been  my  lot  to  meet  with,  but 
none  more  strange  than  one  which  occurred  to  me  only  a  few 
weeks  ago.  You  were  asking  me,  not  long  since,  whether  I  be- 
lieved in  devils  ?  Ay,  truly,  young  man ;  and  I  believe  that  the 
abyss  and  the  yet  deeper  unknown  do  not  contain  them  all ;  some 
walk  about  upon  the  green  earth.  So  it  happened,  some  weeks 
ago,  that  I  was  exercising  my  ministry,  about  forty  miles  from 
here.  I  was  alone^  Winifred,  being  slightly  indisposed,  staying 
for  a  few  days  at  the  house  of  an  acquaintance ;  I  had  finished 
afternoon's  worship — the  people  had  dispersed,  and  I  was  sitting 
solitary  by  my  cart  under  some  green  trees  in  a  quiet,  retired 
place ;  suddenly  a  voice  said  to  me :  '  Good  evening.  Pastor ' ;  I 
looked  up,  and  before  me  stood  a  man,  at  least  the  appearance 
of  a  man,  dressed  in  a  black  suit  of  rather  a  singular  fashion.  He 
was  about  my  own  age,  or  somewhat  older.  As  I  looked  upon 
him,  it  appeared  to  me  that  I  had  seen  him  twice  before  whilst 
preaching.  I  replied  to  his  salutation,  and  perceiving  that  he 
looked  somewhat  fatigued,  I  took  out  a  stool  from  the  cart,  and 
asked  him  to  sit  down.  We  began  to  discourse ;  I  at  first 
supposed  that  he  might  be  one  of  ourselves,  some  wandering 
minister ;  but  I  was  soon  undeceived.  Neither  his  language  nor 
his  ideas  were  those  of  any  one  of  our  body.  He  spoke  on  all 
kinds  of  matters  with  much  fluency,  till  at  last  he  mentioned  my 

f  reaching,  complimenting  me  on  my  powers.  I  replied,  as  well 
might,  that  I  could  claim  no  merit  of  my  own,  and  that  if 
I  spoke  with  any  effect,  it  was  only  by  the  gmce  of  God.  As  I 
uttered  these  'ast  words,  a  horrible  kind  of  sneer  came  over  his 


430  LA  VBNGRO.  [iSdiS. 

countenance,  which  made  me  shudder,  for  there  was  something 
diabolical  in  it  I  said  little  more,  but  listened  attentively  to 
bis  discourse.  At  last  he  said  that  I  was  engaged  in  a  paltry 
cause,  quite  unworthy  of  one  of  my  powers.  'How  can  that 
be ,'  said  I, '  even  if  I  possessed  all  the  powers  in  the  world,  seeing 
that  I  am  engaged  in  the  cause  of  our  Lord  Jesus?' 

"The  same  kind  of  sneer  again  came  on  his  countenance,  but 
he  almost  instantly  observed  that  if  I  chose  to  forsake  this  same 
miserable  cause,  from  which  nothing  but  contempt  and  privation 
were  to  be  expected,  he  would  enlist  me  into  another,  from  which 
I  might  expect  both  profit  and  renown.  An  idea  now  came  into 
my  head,  and  I  told  him  (irmly,  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  Canter- 
bury. 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  l^  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  con- 
sidered that  an  evil  spirit  was  before  me,  and  shrank  within  mysdf, 
shivering  in  every  limb ;  when  I  recovered  myself  and  looked 
about  me,  he  was  gone.  Two  days  af\er,  he  again  stood  before 
me,  in  the  same  place,  and  about  the  same  hour,  renewing  his 
propositions,  and  speaking  more  horribly  than  before.  I  made  him 
no  answer,  whereupon  he  continued;  but  suddenly  hearing  a 
noise  behind  him,  he  looked  round  and  beheld  Winifred,  who 
had  returned  to  me  on  the  morning  of  that  day.  '  Who  are  you  ? ' 
satd  he  fiercely.  '  This  man's  wife,'  said  she,  calmly  fixing  her 
eyes  upon  him.  '  Begone  from  him,  unhappy  one,  thou  teroptest 
him  in  vain.'  He  made  no  answer,  but  stood  as  if  transfixed ; 
at  length  recovering  himself,  he  departed,  muttering  *  Wife  I  Wife  I 
If  the  fool  has  a  wife,  he  will  never  do  for  us.* " 


CHAPTER  LXXX. 


Wb  were  now  drawing  very  near  the  hills,  and  Peter  said,  **  If 
you  are  to  go  into  Wales,  you  must  presently  decide,  for  we  are 
close  upon  the  border  ". 

«  Which  is  the  border  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Yon  small  brook,"  said  Peter,  "  into  which  the  man  on 
horseback,  who  is  coming  towards  us,  is  now  entering.'' 

"  I  see  it,"  said  I,  "  and  the  man  ;  he  stops  in  the  middle  of 
it,  as  if  to  water  his  steed." 

We  proceeded  till  we  had  nearly  reached  the  brook.  "  Well," 
said  Peter,  "will  you  go  into  Wales ?" 

«*  What  should  I  do  in  Wales  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"  Do  ! "  said  Peter,  smiling,  "  learn  Welsh." 

I  stopped  my  little  pony.  **  Then  I  need  not  go  into  Wales ; 
I  already  know  Welsh." 

**  Know  Welsh  !  "  said  Peter,  staring  at  me. 

"  Know  Welsh  !  "  said  Winifred,  stopping  her  cart. 

"  How  and  when  did  you  lekm  it  ?  "  said  Peter. 

"  From  books,  in  my  boyhood." 

"  Read  Welsh  I  "  said  Peter,  "  is  it  possible  ?  " 

"  Read  Welsh  1 "  said  Winifred,  "  is  it  possible  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  will  come  with  us,"  said  Peter. 

"  Come  with  us,  young  man,"  said  Winifred ;  "let  me,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  brook,  welcome  you  into  Wales." 

"  Thank  you  both/'  said  I,  "  but  I  will  not  come." 

"Wherefore?"  exclaimed  both  simultaneously. 

"  Because  it  is  neither  fit  nor  proper  that  I  cross  into  Wales 
at  this  time,  and  in  this  manner.  When  I  go  into  Wales,  I  should 
wish  to  go  in  a  new  suit  of  superfine  black,  with  hat  and  beaver^ 
mounted  on  a  powerful  steed,  black  and  glossy,  like  that  which 
bore  Greduv  to  the  fight  of  Catraeth.  I  should  wish,  moreover, 
to  see  the  Welshmen  assembled  on  the  border  ready  to  welcome 
me  with  pipe  and  fiddle,  and  much  whooping  and  shouting,  and 
to  attend  me  to  Wrexham,  or  even  as  far  as  Machynllaith,  where 
I  should  wish  to  be  invited  to  a  dinner  at  which  all  the  bards 

(431) 


4i«  LA  VSNORO.  [xteS- 

should  be  present,  and  to  be  seated  at  the  right  hand  of  the 
president,  who,  when  the  cloth  was  removed,  should  arise,  and, 
amidst  cries  of  silence,  exclaim  —  'Brethren  and  Welshmen, 
allow  me  to  propose  the  health  of  my  most  respectable  friend  the 
translator  of  the  odes  of  the  great  Ab  Gwilym,  the  pride  and 
glory  of  Wales '." 

"  How ! "  said  Peter ;  "  hast  thou  translated  the  works  of  the 
mighty  Dafydd  ?  " 

"  With  notes  critical,  historical  and  explanatory." 

"  Come  with  us,  friend,"  said  Peter.  "  I  cannot  im>mi8e 
such  a  dinner  as  thou  wishest,  but  neither  pipe  nor  fiddle  shall  be 
wanting." 

"  Come  with  us,  young  man,"  said  Winifred,  "  even  as  thou 
art,  and  the  daughters  of  Wales  shall  bid  thee  welcome/' 

"  I  will  not  go  with  you/'  said  I.  "  Dost  thou  see  that  man 
in  the  ford?'' 

"  Who  is  staring  at  us  so,  and  whose  horse  has  not  yet  done 
drinking  ?    Of  course  I  see  him." 

"  I  shall  turn  back  with  him.    God  bless  you ! " 

"  Go  back  with  him  not,"  said  Peter,  "  he  is  one  of  those 
whom  I  like  not,  one  of  the  clibberty-clabber,  as  Master  Ellis 
Wyn  observes — ^tum  not  with  that  man." 

*'  Go  not  back  with  him,"  said  Winifred.  "  If  thou  goest 
with  that  man,  thou  wilt  soon  forget  all  our  profitable  counsels  ; 
come  with  us." 

"  I  cannot ;  I  have  much  to  say  to  him.  Kosko  Diwus^ 
Mr.  Petulengro." 

'*  Kosko  Diwus,  Pal,"  said  Mr.  Petulengro,  riding  through 
the  water ;  "  are  you  turning  back  ?  " 

I  turned  back  with  Mr.  Petulengro. 

Peter  came  running  after  me :  '*  One  moment,  young  man, 
who  and  what  are  you  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  my- 
self.    God  bless  you  both ! " 

**  Take  this,"  said  Peter ;  and  he  thrust  his  Welsh  Bible  into 
my  hand. 


CHAPTER  LXXXI. 


So  I  turned  back  with  Mr.  Petulengro.  We  travelled  for  some 
time  in  silence ;  at  last  we  fell  into  discourse.  *^  You  have  been 
in  Wales,  Mr.  Petulengro  ?  " 

"  Ay,  truly,  brother." 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  there  ?  '* 

**  Assisting  at  a  funeral." 

**  At  whose  funeral  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Hearne's,  brother.** 

"Is  she  dead,  then?" 

"  As  a  nail,  brother." 

«*  How  did  she  die  ?  " 

"  By  hanging,  brother." 

"  I  am  lost  in  astonishment,"  said  I ;  whereupon  Mr.  Petu- 
lengro, lifting  his  sinister  leg  over  the  neck  of  his  steed,  and 
adjusting  himself  sideways  in  the  saddle,  replied  with  great  de- 
liberation : — 

"  Two  days  ago,  I  happened  to  be  at  a  fair  not  very  far  from 
here;  I  was  all  alone  by  myself,  for  our  party  were  upwards  of 
forty  miles  off,  when  who  should  come  up  but  a  chap  that  I 
knew,  a  relation,  or  rather,  a  connection  of  mine— one  of  those 
Hearnes.  'Ar'n't  you  going  to  the  funeral?'  said  he ;  and  then, 
brother,  there  passed  between  him  and  me,  in  the  way  of  ques- 
tioning and  answering,  much  the  same  as  has  just  now  passed 
between  I  and  you  ;  but  when  he  mentioned  hanging,  I  thought 
I  could  do  no  less  than  ask  who  hanged  her,  which  you  forgot 
to  do.  '  Who  hanged  her  ?  *  said  I ;  and  then  the  man  told  me 
that  she  had  done  it  herself — been  her  own  hinjiri ;  and  then  I 
thought  to  myself  what  a  sin  and  shame  it  would  be  if  I  did  not 
go  to  the  funeral,  seeing  that  she  was  my  own  mother-in-law.  I 
would  have  brought  my  wife,  and,  indeed,  the  whole  of  our  party, 
but  there  was  no  time  for  that ;  they  were  too  far  oiT,  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 

(433)  a» 


434  ^^  VBSGRO.  [1895. 

to  their  encampment,  and  there  I  found  the  Heames,  and  the 
dead  body — ^the  last  laid  out  on  a  mattress,  in  a  tent,  dressed 
Romaneskoenscs,  in  a  red  cloak  and  big  bonnet  of  blade  heaver. 
I  must  say  for  the  Heames  that  they  took  the  matter  veiy  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,  teaitng  her  hair,  and  re- 
fusing to  take  either  meat  or  drink ;  it  was  the  child  Leonora. 
I  arrived  at  nightfall,  and  the  burying  was  not  to  take  place 
till  the  morning,  which  I  was  rather  sorry  for,  as  I  am  not  veiy 
fond  of  them  Heames,  who  are  not  very  fond  of  anybody.  They 
never  asked  me  to  eat  or  drink,  notwithstanding  I  had  married 
into  the  family ;  one  of  them^  however,  came  up  and  offered  to 
fight  me  for  five  shillings ;  had  it  not  been  for  them,  I  should 
have  come  back  as  empty  as  I  went — he  didn't  stand  up  five 
minutes.  Brother,  I  passed  the  night  as  well  as  I  could,  beneath 
a  tree,  for  the  tents  were  full,  and  not  over  clean ;  I  slept  little,  and 
had  my  eyes  about  me,  for  I  knew  the  kind  of  people  I  was  among. 
"Early  in  the  morning  the  funeral  took  place.  Thetxxly 
was  placed  not  in  a  cofiin  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  heaxd  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,  brother. 
When  it  was  over,  and  we  had  got  back  to  tfie  encampment,  I 
prepared  to  be  going.  Before  mounting  my  gry,  however,  I  be- 
thought me  to  ask  what  could  have  induced  the  dead  woman  to 
make  away  with  herself,  a  thing  so  uncommon  amongst  Romanies ; 
whereupon  one  squinted  with  his  eyes,  a  second  spirted  saliver  into 
the  air,  and  a  third  said  that  he  neither  knew  nor  cared ;  she  was 
a  good  riddance,  having  more  than  once  been  nearly  the  ruin 
of  them  all,  from  the  quantity  of  brimstone  she  carried  about 
her.  One,  however,  I  suppose,  rather  ashamed  of  the  way  in 
which  they  had  treated  me,  said  at  last,  that  if  I  wanted  to  know 
all  about  the  matter,  none  could  tell  me  better  than  the  child,  who 
was  in  all  her  secrets,  and  was  not  a  little  like  her ;  so  I  looked 
about  for  the  child,  but  could  find  her  nowhere.  At  last  the  same 
man  told  me  that  he  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  found  her  at  the  grave ; 
so  I  went  back  to  the  grave,  and  sure  enough  there  I  found  the 
child,  Leonora,  seated  on  the  ground  above  the  body,  crying  and 
taking  on ;  so  I  spoke  kindly  to  her,  and  said,  how  came  all  thiSi 


liz^)  MRS.  HERtfE'S  DBATM.  455 

Leonora?  teli  me  all  about  it  It  was  a  long  time  before 
I  could  get  any  answer ;  at  last  she  opened  her  mouth,  and  spoke, 
and  these  were  the  words  she  said :  '  It  was  all  along  of  your  pal '  { 
and  then  she  told  me  all  about  the  matter.  How  Mrs.  Hearne 
could  not  abide  you,  which  I  knew  before,  and  that  she  had  sworn 
yoiir  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  rdigicn  with  a  Welsh 
Methody.  Well,  brother,  she  told  me  all  this ;  and,  moreover, 
that  when  Mrs.  Hearne  heard  of  it,  she  said  that  a  dream  of  hers 
had  come  to  pass.  I  don't  know  what  it  was,  but  something 
about  herself,  a  tinker,  and  a  dean ;  and  then  she  added,  that  it 
was  all  up  with  her,  and  that  she  must  take  a  long  journey.  Well, 
brother,  that  same  night  Leonora,  waking  from  her  sleep  in  the 
tent,  where  Mrs.  Hearne  and  she  were  wont  to  sleep,  missed  her 
bebee,  and,  becoming  alarmed,  went  in  search  of  her,  and  at  last 
found  her  hanging  from  a  branch ;  and  when  the  child  had  got 
so  far,  she  took  on  violently,  and  I  could  not  get  another  word 
from  her ;  so  I  left  h^,  and  here  I  am.'' 

"And  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Petulengro ;  but  this  is  sad 
news  which  you  tell  me  about  Mrs.  Hearne." 

"Somewhat  dreary,  brother;  yet,  perhaps,  after  all,  it  is  a 
good  thing  that  she  is  removed;  she  canied  so  much  Devil's 
tinder  about  with  her,  as  the  man  said." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  her,"  said  I ;  "  more  especially  as  I  am  the 
cause  of  her  death — though  the  innocent  one." 

"She  could  not  bide  you,  brother,  that's  certain ;  but  that  is 
no  reason" — ^said  Mr.  Petulengro,  balancing  himself  upon  the 
saddle — "that  is  no  reason  why  she  should  prepare  drow  to  take 
away  your  essence  of  life,  and,  when  disappointed,  to  hang  her- 
self 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  com- 
fortably ;  but  she  was  always  too  fond  of  covert  ways,  drows  and 
brimstones.  This  is  not  the  first  poisoning  affair  she  has  been 
engaged  in." 


43^  LA  VBNGkO.  tx^5- 


*<  You  allude  to  drabbing  bawlor/' 

**  Bah  i "  said  Mr.  Petulengro ;  "  there's  no  harm  in  that.  No, 
no !  she  has  cast  drows  in  her  time  for  other  guess  things  than 
bawlor;  both  Gorgios  and  Romans  have  tasted  of  them,  and 
died.    Did  you  never  hear  of  the  poisoned  plum  pudding  ?  " 

«  Never." 

**Then  I  will  tell  you  about  it.  It  happened  about  six  years 
ago,  a  few  months  after  she  had  quitted  us — ^she  had  gone  first 
among  her  own  people,  as  she  called  them ;  but  there  was  another 
small  party  of  Romans,  with  whom  she  soon  became  very  intimate. 
It  so  happened  that  this  small  party  got  into  trouble ;  whether  it 
was  about  a  horse  or  an  ass,  or  passing  bad  money,  no  matter  to 
you  and  me,  who  had  no  hand  in  the  business ;  three  or  four  of 

them  were  taken  and  lodged  in  Castle,  and  amongst  them 

was  a  woman ;  but  the  sherengro,  or  principal  man  of  the  party, 
and  who  it  seems  had  most  hand  in  the  affair,  was  still  at  large. 
All  of  a  sudden  a  rumour  was  spread  abroad  that  the  woman  was 
about  to  play  false,  and  to  peach  the  rest  Said  the  principal 
man,  when  he  heard  it,  '  If  she  does,  I  am  nashkado '.  Mrs. 
Hearne  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  in- 
terfere in  the  matter,  brother,  I  don't  know,  unless  it  was  from 
pure  brimstoneness  of  disposition — she  had  no  hand  in  the  matter 
which  had  brought  the  party  into  trouble,  she  was  only  on  a  visit, 
and  it  had  happened  before  she  came ;  but  she  was  always  ready 
to  give  dangerous  advice.  Well,  brother,  the  principal  man 
listened  to  what  she  had  to  say,  and  let  her  do  what  she  would ; 
and  she  made  a  pudding,  a  very  nice  one,  no  doubt — ^for,  besides 
plums,  she  put  in  drows  and  all  the  Roman  condiments  that  she 
knew  of;  and  she  gave  it  to  the  principal  man,  and  the  principal 

man  put  it  into  a  basket  and  directed  it  to  the  woman  in Castle, 

and  the  woman  in  the  castle  took  it  and " 


"Ate  of  it,"  said  I,  "just  like  my  case?" 

"  Quite  different,  brother ;  she  took  it,  it  is  true,  but  instead 
of  giving  way  to  her  appetite  as  you  might  have  done,  she  put 
it  before  the  rest  whom  she  was  going  to  impeach — perhaps 
she  wished  to  see  how  they  liked  it  before  she  tasted  it  herself — 
and  all  the  rest  were  poisoned,  and  one  died,  and  there  was  a 
precious  outcry,  and  the  woman  cried  loudest  of  all;  and  she 
said :  '  It  was  my  deatl^  was  sought  for ;  I  know  the  man,  and  I'll 


ito5-l  ^^J5  PLC/Af  PUDDING.  437 

be  revenged/  and  then  the  Poknees  spoke  to  her  and  said,  *  Where 
can  we  find  him?'  and  she  said,  'I  am  awake  to  his  motions; 
three  weeks  from  hence,  the  night  before  the  full  moon,  at  such 
and  such  an  hour,  he  will  pass  down  such  a  lane  with  such  a 


man  . 


"  WeU,"  said  I,  "and  what  did  the  Poknees  do?" 
''  Do,  brother,  sent  for  a  plastramengro  from  Bow  Street,  quite 
secretly,  and  told  him  what  the  woman  had  said ;  and  the  night 
before  the  full  moon,  the  plastramengro  went  to  the  place  which 
the  juwa  had  pointed  out,  all  alone,  brother;  and,  in  order  that 
he  might  not  be  too  late,  he  went  two  hours  before  his  time.    I 
know  the  place  well,  brother,  where  the  plastramengro  placed 
himself  behind  a  thick  holly  tree,  at  the  end  of  a  lane,  where  a 
gate  leads  into  yarious  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  a  tree  till  he 
was  tired,  and  thought  he  might  as  well  sit  down ;  so  he  sat  down 
and  was  not  long  in  falling  to  sleep,  and  there  he  slept  for  some 
hours ;  and  when  he  awoke,  the  moon  had  risen,  and  was  shining 
bright,  so  that  there  was  a  kind  of  moonlight  even  in  the  dark 
lane ;  and  the  plastramengro  pulled  out  his  watch,  and  contrived 
to  make  out  that  it  was  just  two  hours  beyond  the  time  when  the 
men  should  have  passed  by.    Brother,  I  do  not  know  what  the 
plastramengro  thought  of  himself,  but  I  know,  brother,  what  I 
should  have  thought  of  myself  in  his  situation.    I  should  have 
thought,  brother,  that  I  was  a  drowsy  scoppelo,  and  that  I  had 
let  the  fellow  pass  by  whilst  I  was  sleeping  behind  a  bush.    As  it 
turned  out,  however,  his  going  to  sleep  did  no  harm,  but  quite  the 
contrary ;  just  as  he  was  going  away,  he  heard  a  gate  slam  in  the 
direction  of  the  fields,  and  then  he  heard  the  low  stumping  of 
horses,  as  if  (xi  sc^  ground,  for  the  path  in  those  fields  is  generally 
soft,  and  at  that  time  it  had  been  lately  ploughed  up.    Well, 
brother,  presently  he  saw  two  men  on  horseback  coming  towards 
the  lane  through  the  field  behind  the  gate ;  the  man  who  rode 
foremost  was  a  tall,  big  fellow,  the  very  man  he  was  in  quest  of: 
the  other  was  a  smaller  chap,  not  so  small  either,  but  a  light,  wiry 
fellow,  and  a  proper  master  of  his  hands  when  he  sees  occasion 
for  using  them.    Well,  brother,  the  foremost  man  came  to  the 
gate,  reached  at  the  bank,  undid  it,  and  rode  through,  holding  it 
open  for  the  other.    Before,  however,  the  other  oould  follow  into 


438  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

the  lane^  out  bolted  the  plastramengro  fiom  behind  the  tre^ 
kicked  the  gate  too  with  his  foot,  and,  seizing  the  big  man  on 
horseback,  ^You  are  my  prisoner,'  said  he.  I  am  of  opinion* 
brother,  that  the  plastramengro,  notwithstanding  he  went  to  sleep, 
must  have  been  a  regular  fine  fellow." 

"  I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion,"  said  I ;  "  but  what  happened 
then  ?  " 

"  Why,  brother,  the  Rommany  chal,  after  he  had  somewhat 
recovered  from  his  surprise,  for  it  is  rather  uncomfortable  to  be 
laid  hold  of  at  night-time,  and  told  you  are  a  prisoner ;  more 
especially  when  you  happen  to  have  two  or  three  things  on  your 
mind,  which,  if  proved  against  you,  would  carry  you  to  the  nashky. 
The  Rommany  chal,  I  say,  clubbed  his  whip,  and  aimed  a  blow 
at  the  plastramengro,  which,  if  it  had  hit  him  on  the  skull,  as  was 
intended,  would  very  likely  have  cracked  it.  The  plastramengro, 
however,  received  it  partly  on  his  staff,  so  that  it  did  him  no 
particular  damage.  Whereupon  seeing  what  kind  of  customer  he 
had  to  deal  with,  he  dropped  his  staff,  and  seized  the  chal  with 
both  his  hands,  who  forthwith  spurred  his  horse,  hoping  by  doing 
so,  either  to  break  away  from  him,  or  fling  him  down ;  but  it 
would  not  do— the  plastramengro  held  on  like  a  bulldog,  so  that 
the  Rommany  chal,  to  escape  being  hauled  to  the  ground,  sud- 
denly 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  and  the 
Rommany  chal." 

"  I  never  heard  of  it  till  now." 

"  All  England  rung  of  it,  brother.  There  never  was  a  better 
match  than  between  those  two.  The  runner  was  somewhat  the 
stronger  of  the  two — all  these  engroes  are  strong  fellows — and  a 
ffreat  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  diffi- 
cult, 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 
lioie  tbe  chal  was  three  partv  naked ;  wd  as  for  Mdiiig  bim  by 


i«a5.]  SATISFACTION.  459 


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  handker- 
chief, which  he  wore  in  a  knot  round  his  neck,  and  do  whatever 
the  chal  could,  he  could  not  free  himself ;  and  when  the  engro 
saw  that,  it  gave  him  fresh  heart,  no  doubt ;  '  It's  of  no  use,'  said 
he ;  *  you  had  better  give  in ;  hold  out  your  hands  for  the  darbies, 
or  I  will  throttle  you'/' 

"  And  what  did  the  other  fellow  do,  who  came  with  the  chal  ?  " 
said  I. 

"  I  sat  still  on  my  horse,  brother." 

"  You  ?  "  said  I.     "  Were  you  the  man  ?  " 

**  I  was  he,  brother." 

^'  And  why  did  you  not  help  your  comrade  ?  " 

^'  I  have  fought  in  the  ring,  brother." 

"And  what  had  fighting  in  the  ring  to  do  with  fighting  in 
the  lane  ?  " 

*<You  mean  not  fighting.  A  great  deal,  brother;  it  taught 
me  to  prize  fair  play.  When  I  fought  Staffordshire  Dick,  t'other 
side  of  London,  I  was  alone,  brother.  Not  a  Rommany  chal  to 
back  me,  and  he  had  all  his  brother  pals  about  him ;  but  they 
gave  me  fair  play,  brother;  and  I  beat  Staffordshire  Dick,  which 
I  couldn't  have  done  had  they  put  one  finger  on  his  side  the 
scale ;  for  he  was  as  good  a  man  as  myself,  or  nearly  so.  Now, 
brother,  had  I  but  bent  a  finger  in  favour  of  the  Rommany  chal 
the  pkstramengro  would  never  have  come  alive  out  of  the  lane ; 
but  I  did  not,  for  I  thought  to  myself  fisur  play  is  a  precious  stone ; 
so  you  see,  brother " 

"  That  you  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Petulengro ;  I  see  that  clearly ; 
and  now,  pray  proceied  with  your  narration ;  it  is  both  moral  and 
entertaining." 

But  Mr.  Petulengro  did  not  proceed  with  his  narration,  neither 
did  he  proceed  upon  his  way ;  he  had  stopped  his  horse,  and  his 
eyes  were  intently  fixed  on  a  broad  strip  of  grass  beneath  some 
lofty  trees,  on  the  left  side  of  the  road  It  was  a  pleasant  enough 
spot,  and  seemed  to  invite  wayfaring  people,  such  as  we  were,  to 
rest  from  the  fatigues  of  the  road,  and  the  heat  and  vehemence 
of  the  sun.  After  examining  it  for  a  considerable  time,  Mr. 
Petulengro  said  :  **  I  say,  brother,  that  would  be  a  nice  place  for 
a  tuzzle  I " 

"  I  daresay  it  would,"  said  I,  **  if  two  people  were  inclined  to 
fight" 

''The  ground  is  smooth,"  said  Mr.  Petulengro;  "without 
boles  or  rut^  and  the  trees  cast  much  shade.    I  don't  think. 


440  LA  VBNGRO.  [1835. 

brother,  that  we  could  find  a  better  place/'  said  Mr.  Petulengro, 
springing  from  his  horse. 

*'  But  you  and  I  don't  want  to  fight ! " 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  brother,"  said  Mr.  Petulengra  "  How- 
ever, 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.  Heame's  death,  innocently,  you  will  say,  but  still 
the  cause.  Now,  I  shouldn't  like  it  to  be  known  that  I  went  up 
and  down  the  country  with  a  pal  who  was  the  cause  of  my  mother- 
in-law's  death — that's  to  say,  unless  he  gave  me  satisfaction.  Now, 
if  I  and  my  pal  have  a  tuzzle,  he  gives  me  satisfaction  ;  and  if  he 
knocks  my  eyes  out,  which  I  know  you  can't  do,  it  makes  no 
difference  at  all,  he  gives  me  satisfaction ;  and  he  who  says  to 
the  contrary,  knows  nothing  of  gypsy  law,  and  is  a  dinelo  into 
the  bargain." 

"  But  we  have  no  gloves  I  " 

"  Gloves  1 "  said  Mr.  Fetulengro  contemptuously,  "  gloves  ! 
I  tell  you  what,  brother,  I  always  thought  you  were  a  better  hand 
at  the  gloves  than  the  naked  fist ;  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  be- 
sides taking  satisfaction  for  Mrs.  Heame's  death,  I  wish  to  see 
what  you  can  do  with  your  morleys  ;  so  now  is  your  timCj  brother, 
and  this  is  your  place,  grass  and  shade,  no  ruts  or  holes ;  come 
on,  brother,  or  I  shall  think  you  what  I  should  not  like  to  call 
you." 


CHAPTER  LXXXII. 


And  when  I  heard  Mr.  Petulengro  talk  in  this  manner,  which  I 
had  never  heard  him  do  before,  and  which  I  can  only  account  for 
by  his  being  fasting  and  ill-tempered,  I  had  of  course  no  other 
alternative  than  to  accept  his  challenge ;  so  I  put  myself  into  a 
posture  which  I  deemed  the  best  both  for  offence  and  defence^ 
and  the  tuzzle  commenced ;  and  when  it  had  endured  for  about 
half  an  hour,  Mr.  Petulengro  said:  "Brother^  there  is  much 
blood  on  your  face,  you  had  better  wipe  it  off";  and  when  I 
had  wiped  it  off,  and  again  resumed  my  former  attitude,  Mr. 
Petulengro  said :  '^  I  think  enough  has  been  done,  brother,  in  the 
affair  of  the  old  woman ;  I  have,  moreover,  tried  what  you  are 
able  to  do,  and  find  you  as  I  thought,  less  apt  with  the  naked 
morleys  than  the  stuffed  gloves;  nay,  brother,  put  your  hands 
down ;  I'm  satisfied ;  blood  has  been  shed,  which  is  all  that  can 
be  reasonably  expected  for  an  old  woman,  who  carried  so  much 
brimstone  about  her  as  Mrs.  Hearne  ". 

So  the  struggle  ended,  and  we  resumed  our  route,  Mr. 
Petulengro  sitting  sideways  upon  his  horse  as  before,  and  I  driving 
my  little  pony-cart;  and  when  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,  Ursulai  who  was  still  unmarried,  and  occasionally 
talked  of  me. 

I  declined  his  offer,  assigning  as  a  reason  the  recent  death  of 
Mrs.  Hearne,  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  Lepnor^^  that  girl  has  a 

(441) 


44a  LA  VBNGRO.  [iSas. 

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  caisei  it  is  impossible  to  keep  anything 
a  secret ;  an  old  master  of  mine  told  me  so  long  ago.  I  have 
moreover  another  reason  for  declining  your  offer.  I  am  at 
present  not  disposed  for  society.  I  am  become  fond  of  solitude. 
I  wish  I  could  find  some  quiet  place  to  which  I  could  retire  to 
hold  communion  with  my  own  thoughts,  and  practise,  if  I  thought 
fit,  either  of  my  trades.**  "  What  trades  ?  "  said  Mr.  Petulengro. 
"  Why,  the  one  which  I  have  lately  been  engaged  in,  or  my 
original  one,  which  I  confess  I  should  like  better,  that  of  a 
kaulomescro."  "  Ah,  I  have  frequently  heard  you  talk  of  making 
horse-shoes,"  said  Mr.  Petulengro.  "  I,  however,  never  saw  you 
make  one,  and  no  one  else  that  I  am  aware.  I  don't  believe — 
come,  brother,  don't  be  angry,  it's  quite  possible  that  you  may 
have  done  things  which  neither  I  nor  any  one  else  has  seen  you 
do,  and  that  such  things  may  some  day  or  other  come  to  light,  as 
you  say  nothing  can  be  kept  secret.  Be  that,  however,  as  it  may, 
pay  the  reckoning  and  let  us  be  going ;  I  think  I  can  advise  you 
to  just  such  a  kind  of  place  as  you  seem  to  want." 

^'  And  how  do  you  know  that  I  have  got  wherewithal  to  pay 
the  reckoning  ?  "  I  demanded.  *'  Brother,"  said  Mr.  Petulengro, 
"  I  was  just  now  looking  in  your  face,  which  exhibited  the  very 
look  of  a  person  conscious  of  the  possession  of  property ;  there 
was  nothing  hungry  or  sneaking  in  it  Pay  the  reckoning^ 
brother." 

And  when  we  were  once  more  upon  the  road  Mr.  Petulengro 
began  to  talk  of  the  place  which  he  conceived  would  serve  me  as 
a  retreat  under  present  circumstances.  "I  tell  you  frankly, 
brother,  that  it  is  a  queer  kind  of  place,  and  I  am  not  very  fond 
of  pitching  my  tent  in  it,  it  is  so  surprisingly  dreary.  It  is  a  deep 
dingle  in  the  midst  of  a  large  field,  on  an  estate  about  which  there 
has  been  a  lawsuit  for  some  years  past.  I  daresay  you  will  be 
quiet  enough,  for  the  nearest  town  is  five  miles  distant,  and  there 
are  only  a  few  huts  and  hedge  public-houses  in  the  neighbourhood. 
Brother,  I  am  fond  of  solitude  myself,  but  not  that  kind  of 
solitude ;  I  like  a  quiet  heath,  where  I  can  pitch  my  house,  but  I 
always  like  to  have  a  gay,  stirring  place  not  fiar  off,  where  the 
women  can  pen  dukkerin,  and  I  myself  can  sell  or  buy  a  horse, 
if  needful — such  a  place  as  the  Chong  Gav.  I  never  feel  so 
merry  as  when  there,  brother,  pr  Qn  the  l^eatb  ^bovi^  it,  wb^re  I 
taught  you  Rommany.  '^ 


x825]  THB  SEPARATION.  443 


III  ■ 


Shortly  after  this  discourse  we  reached  a  milestone,  and  a  few 
yards  from  the  milestone,  on  the  left  hand,  was  a  cross-road. 
Thereupon  Mr.  Petulengro  said :  **  Brother,  my  path  lies  to  the 
left ;  if  you  choose  to  go  with  me  to  my  camp,  good,  if  not,  Chal 
Devlehi  '\  But  I  again  refused  Mr.  Petulengro's  invitation,  and, 
shaking  him  by  the  hand,  proceeded  forward  alone,  and  about 
ten  miles  farther  on  I  reached  the  town  of  which  he  had  spoken, 
and  following  certain  directions  which  he  had  given,  discovered, 
though  not  without  some  difficulty,  the  dingle  which  he  had 
mentioned.  It  was  a  deep  hollow  in  the  midst  of  a  wide  field, 
the  shelving  sides  were  overgrown  with  trees  and  bushes,  a  belt 
of  sallows  surrounded  it  on  the  top,  a  steep  winding  path  led 
down  into  the  depths,  practicable,  however,  for  a  light  cart,  like 
mine ;  at  the  bottom  was  an  open  space,  and  there  I  pitched  my 
tent,  and  there  I  contrived  to  put  up  my  forge.  **  I  will  here  ply 
the  trade  of  kaulomescro,"  said  I. 


CHAPTER  LXXXIII. 


It  has  always  struck  me  that  there  is  something  highly  poetical 
about  a  forge.  I  am  not  singular  in  this  opinion :  various  indi- 
viduals 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  de6ne,  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  1  I  love  to  light 
upon  such  a  one,  especially  after  nightfall,  as  everything  about  a 
forge  tells  to  most  advantage  at  night ;  the  hammer  sounds  more 
solemnly  in  the  stillness ;  the  glowing  particles  scattered  by  the 
strokes  sparkle  with  more  effect  in  the  darkness,  whilst  the  sooty 
visage  of  the  sastramescro,  half  in  shadow,  and  half-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  associate  with  the  picture  be- 
fore me — in  itself  a  picture  of  romance — ^whatever  of  the  wild  and 
wonderful  I  have  read  of  in  books,  or  have  seen  with  my  own 
eyes  in  connection  with  forges. 

^  I  believe  the  life  of  any  blacksmith,  especially  a  rural  one, 
would  afford  materials  for  a  highly  poetical  history.  I  do  not 
speak  unadvisedly,  having  the  honour  to  be  free  of  the  forge,  and 
therefore  fully  competent  to  give  an  opinion  as  to  what  might  be 
made  out  of  the  forge  by  some  dextrous  hand.  Certainly,  the 
strangest  and  most  entertaining  life  ever  written  is  that  of  a 
blacksmith  of  the  olden  north,  a  certain  Volundr,  or  Velint,  who 
lived  in  woods  and  thickets,  made  keen  swords,  so  keen,  indeed, 
that  if  placed  in  a  running  stream,  they  would  fairly  divide  an 
object,  however  slight,  which  was  borne  against  them  by  die 
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  foige  at  night,  when  seated 

(444) 


iSas.]  MUMPERS^  DINGLB.  445 

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  extra- 
ordinary fellow,  with  many  other  extraordinary  things,  amongst 
which,  as  I  have  hinted  before,  are  particular  passages  of  my  own 
life,  one  or  two  of  which  I  shall  perhaps  relate  to  the  reader. 

I  never  associate  Vulcan  and  his  Cyclops  with  the  idea  of  a 
ibrge.  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  Grecian 
mythology.  At  the  very  mention  of  their  names  the  forge  bums 
dull  and  dim,  as  if  snow-balls  had  been  suddenly  flung  into  it ; 
the  only  remedy  is  to  ply  the  bellows,  an  operation  which  I  now 
hasten  to  perform. 

I  am  in  the  dingle  making  a  horse-shoe.  Having  no  other 
horses  on  whose  hoofs  I  could  exercise  my  art,  I  made  my  first 
essay  on  those  of  my  own  horse,  if  that  could  be  called  horse 
which  horse  was  none,  being  only  a  pony.  Perhaps  if  I  had 
sought  all  England,  I  should  scarcely  have  found  an  animal  more 
in  need  of  the  kind  offices  of  the  smith.  On  three  of  his  feet 
there  were  no  shoes  at  all,  and  on  the  fourth  only  a  remnant  of 
one,  on  which  account  his  hoofs  were  sadly  broken  and  lacerated 
by  his  late  journeys  over  the  hard  and  flinty  roads.  ''You 
belonged  to  a  tinker  before,"  said  I,  addressing  the  animal,  ''  but 
now  you  belong  to  a  smith.  It  is  said  that  the  household  of  the 
shoemaker  invariably  go  worse  shod  than  that  of  any  other  craft. 
That  may  be  the  case  of  those  who  make  shoes  of  leather,  but  it 
sha'n't  be  said  of  the  household  of  him  who  makes  shoes  of  iron ; 
at  any  rate,  it  sha'n't  be  said  of  mine.  I  tell  you  what,  my  gry, 
whilst  you  continue  with  me,  you  shall  both  be  better  shod,  and 
better  fed,  than  you  were  with  your  last  master." 

I  am  in  the  dingle  making  a  petul ;  and  I  must  here  observe, 
that  whilst  I  am  making  a  horse-shoe,  the  reader  need  not  be 
surprised  if  I  speak  occasionally  in  the  language  of  the  lord  of 
the  horse-shoe — Mr.  Petulengro.  I  have  for  some  time  past 
been  plying  the  peshota,  or  bellows,  endeavouring  to  raise  up  the 
yag,  or  fire,  in  my  primitive  forge.  The  angar,  or  coals,  are  now 
burning  fiercely,  casting  forth  sparks  and  long  vagescoe  chipes,  or 
tongues  of  flame ;  a  small  bar  of  sastra,  or  iron,  is  lying  in  the 
fire,  to  the  length  of  ten  or  twelve  inches,  and  so  fiir  it  is  hot,  very 
hot,  exceeding  hot,  brother.  And  now  you  see  me,  prak,  snatch 
the  bar  of  iron,  and  place  the  heated  end  of  it  upon  the  covantza, 
or  anvil,  and  forthwith  I  commence  cooring  the  sastra  as  hard  as 


446  LA  VBNGRO.  [iSas- 

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  b^n  again  to  rouse  the  fire  with  the  pudamengro, 
which  signifies  the  blowing  thing,  and  is  another  and  more 
common  word  for  bellows,  and  whilst  thus  employed  I  sing  a 
gypsy  song,  the  sound  of  which  is  wonderfully  in  unison  with  the 
hoarse  moaning  of  the  pudamengro,  and  ere  the  song  is  finished, 
the  iron  is  again  hot  and  malleable.  Behold,  I  place  it  once 
more  on  the  covantza,  and  recommence  hammering ;  and  now  I 
am  somewhat  at  fault ;  I  am  in  want  of  assistance ;  I  want  you, 
brother,  or  some  one  else,  to  take  the  bar  out  of  my  hand  and 
support  it  upon  the  covantza,  whilst  I,  applying  a  chinomescro, 
or  kind  of  chisel,  to  the  heated  iron,  cut  off  with  a  lusty  stroke  or 
two  of  the  shukaro  baro,  or  big  hammer,  as  much  as  is  required 
for  the  petul.  But  having  no  one  to  help  me,  I  go  on  hammering 
till  I  have  ^atirly  knocked  off  as  much  as  I  want,  and  then  I  place 
the  piece  in  the  fire,  and  again  apply  the  bellows,  and  take  up  the 
song  where  I  left  it  off;  and  when  I  have  finished  the  song,  I 
take  out  the  iron,  but  this  time  with  my  plaistra,  or  pincers,  and 
then  I  recommence  hammering,  turning  the  iron  round  and  round 
with  my  pincers :  and  now  I  bend  the  iron,  and  lo^  and  beholdt 
it  has  assumed  something  the  outline  of  a  petul. 

I  am  not  going  to  enter  into  further  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  toob 
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  fiiends,  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  spile  of  dukkerin. 
At  the  end  of  four  days,  during  which  I  had  fashioned  and 
refashioned  the  thing  at  least  fifty  times,  I  had  made  a  petul  such 
as  no  master  of  the  craft  need  have  been  ashamed  of;  with  the 
second  shoe  I  had  less  difficulty,  and,  by  the  time  I  had  made 


x825.]  HORSE  SHOBINO.  447 

the  fourth,  I  would  have  scorned  to  take  off  my  hat  to  the  best 
smith  in  Cheshire. 

But  I  had  not  yet  shod  my  little  gry ;  this  I  proceeded  now 
to  do.  After  having  first  well  pared  the  hoofs  with  my  churi,  I 
applied  each  petul  hot,  glowing  hot  to  the  pindro.  Oh,  how  the 
hooh  hissed;  and,  oh,  the  pleasant,  pungent  odour  which 
diffused  itself  through  the  dingle^  an  odour  good  for  an  ailing 
spirit 

I  shod  the  little  horse  bravely — ^merely  pricked  him  once, 
slightly,  with  a  cafi,  for  doing  which,  I  remember,  he  kicked  me 
down ;  I  was  not  disconcerted,  however,  but,  getting  up,  promised 
to  be  more  cautious  in  future ;  and  having  finished  the  operation, 
I  filed  the  hoof  well  with  the  rin  baro ;  then  dismissed  him  to 
graze  amongst  the  trees,  and,  putting  my  smaller  tools  into  the 
muchtar,  I  sat  down  on  my  stone,  and,  supporting  my  arm  upon 
my  knee,  leaned  my  head  upon  my  hand.  Heaviness  had  come 
over  me. 


CHAPTER  LXXXrV. 


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,  mj 
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  some- 
thing 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  or  silver  fish,  but  frogs  and  eftes 
swimming  about.  I  am,  however,  inclined  to  believe  that  Mrs. 
Hearne'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  Sjrstem, 
especially  after  much  fatigue  of  body  and  excitement  of  mind. 
So  there  I  sat  in  the  dingle  upon  my  stone,  nerveless  and  hope- 
less, 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 

(448^ 


ztes-]  THE  HORRORS.  449 

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,  en- 
deavouring  to  follow  their  rows,  till  they  were  lost  in  the  darkness 
of  the  dingle ;  and  now  I  found  my  right  hand  grasping  con- 
vulsively the  three  forefingers  of  the  left,  first  collectively,  and 
then  successively,  wringing  them  till  the  joints  cracked ;  then  I 
became  quiet,  but  not  for  long. 

Suddenly  I  started  up,  and  could  scarcely  repress  the  shriek 
which  was  rising  to  my  Ups.     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  b^un  to  think  of  it  without 
borrory  as  we  are  in  the  habit  of  doing  of  horrors  of  which  we 
conceive  we  run  no  danger ;  and,  lo  1  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  firom  me ;  but  of  what  avail  were  my  efforts?    I  could 
only  have  got  rid  of  it  by  getting  rid  of  myself:   it  was  part  of 
myself,  oi  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  t  and  then  I  flung  myself  on  the  ground, 
gnawed  the  earth  and  swallowed  it ;  and  then  I  looked  round ; 
it  was  ahnost  total  darkness  in  the  dingle,  and  the  darkness 
added  to  my  horror.     I  could  no  longer  stay  there ;  up  I  rose 
firom  the  ground,  and  attempted  to  escape ;  at  the  bottom  of  the 
winding  path  which  led  up  tbe  acclivity  I  fell  over  something 
which  was  lying  on  the  ground ;  the  something  moved,  and  gave 
a  kind  of  whine.    It  was  my  little  horse,  which  had  made  that 
place  its  lair;  my  little  horse,  my  only  companion  and  friend 
in  that  now  awful  solitude.    I  reached  the  mouth  of  the  dingle ; 
the  sun  was  just  sinking  in  the  far  west,  behind  me;  the  fields 
were  flooded  with  his  last  gleams.     How  beautifiil  everything 
lodged  in  the  last  gleams  of  the  sunl     I  felt  relieved  for  a 
moment;    I  was  no  longer  in  the  horrid  dingle;   in  another 

«9 


450  LA  VBNORO.  (x^S- 

minute  the  sun  was  gone,  and  a  big  cloud  occupied  the  |4ace 
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  h<»ror 
incr«ised ;  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  1  why  not? 
So  I  knelt  down  under  the  hedge,  and  said,  '*  Our  Father  " ;  but 
liiat  was  of  no  use;  and  now  I  could  no  longer  repress  cries ; 
the  horror  was  too  great  to  be  borne.  What  diould  I  do :  ran 
to  the  nearest  town  or  village,  and  request  the  asastance  of  my 
fellow-men  ?  No  1  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  aU  my  reasoning 
powers,  only  the  horror  was  upon  me-*-the  screaming  honor  1 
But  how  were  indifferent  people  to  distinguish  between  madness 
and  this  screaming  horror  ?  So  I  thought  and  reasoned ;  and  at  last 
I  determined  not  to  go  amongst  my  fdlow-men  whatever  the 
result  might  be.  I  went  to  the  mouth  of  the  dingle,  and  there 
placing  myself  on  my  knees,  I  again  said  the  Lord's  Prayer ;  but  it 
was  of  no  use ;  praying  seemed  to  have  no  eflect  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  neighbour- 
ing 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  op 
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  upoii  me.  Was  it  possible  that  it 
was  relaxing  its  grasp,  releasing  its  prey?  O  what  a  mercy !  but 
it  could  not  be---and  yet  I  looked  up  to  heaven,  and  clasped  my 
hands,  and  said,  *'  Our  Father  " .  I  said  no  more,  I  was  too  agi- 
tated; and  now  I  was  almost  sure  that  the  horror  had  done  its  wont 


xtes-]  THB  HORRORS.  451 

After  a  litUe  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  band.  I  flttng 
myself  down  by  him  and  put  my  arms  round  his  neck;  the 
creature  whinned,  and  appeared  to  sympathise  with  me ;  what  a 
comfort  to  have  any  one,  even  a  dumb  orute,  to  sympathise  with 
me  at  such  a  moment  I  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  bad  left  me.  I 
arose  from  the  side  of  the  little  horse,  and  went  into  my  tent,  lay 
down,  and  again  went  to  sleep. 

I  awoke  in  the  morning  weak  and  sore,  and  shuddering  at  the 
remembrance  of  what  I  had  gone  through  on  the  preceding  day ; 
the  sun  was  shining  brightly,  but  it  had  not  yet  risen  high  enough 
to  show  its  head  above  the  trees  which  fenced  the  eastern  side  of 
the  dingle,  on  which  account  the  dingle  was  wet  and  dank  from 
the  dews  of  the  night  I  kindled  my  fire,  and,  after  sitting  by  it 
for  some  time  to  warm  my  framcj  I  took  some  of  the  coarse  food 
which  I  have  already  mentioned ;  notwithstanding  my  late  struggle 
and  the  coarseness  of  the  fare,  I  ate  with  appetite.  My  provisions 
had  by  this  time  been  very  much  diminished,  and  I  saw  that  it 
would  be  speedily  necessary,  in  the  event  of  my  continuing  to 
reside  in  the  dingle,  to  lay  in  a  fresh  store.  After  my  meal  I 
went  to  the  pit  and  filled  a  can  with  water,  which  I  brought  to 
the  dingle,  and  then  again  sat  down  on  my  stone.  I  considered 
what  I  should  next  do ;  it  was  necessary  to  do  something,  or  my 
life  in  this  solitude  would  be  insupportable.  What  should  I  do? 
rouse  up  my  forge  and  fashion  a  horse-shoe?  but  I  wanted  nerve 
and  heart  for  such  an  employment ;  moreover,  I  had  no  motive 
for  fatiguing  myself  in  this  manner ;  my  own  horse  was  shod,  no 
other  was  at  hand,  and  it  is  hard  to  work  for  the  sake  of  working* 
What  should  I  do?  read?  Yes,  but  I  had  no  other  book  than 
the  Bible  which  the  Welsh  Methodist  had  given  me ;  well,  why 
not  read  the  Bible?  I  was  once  fond  of  raiding  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  htgui  to  read  at  the  place  where  I  chanced  to  open  it 


454  LA  VBNORO.  [1895. 

I  opened  it  at  that  part  where  the  history  of  Saul  ccmimenoes.  At 
first  I  read  with  indifierence ;  but  after  some  time  my  atteotioD 
was  riveted;  %nd  no  wonder ;  I  had  come  to  the  visitations  of  Saul — 
thos^dark  moments  of  his  when  he  did  and  said  such  unaccoont- 
abie  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  1  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  widi 
Saul,  for  my  own  dark  hour  was  but  recently  passed,  and,  perhaps, 
would  soon  return  again ;  the  dark  hour  came  frequently  on  Saol. 

Time  wore  away ;  I  finished  the  book  of  Saul,  and,  dosing 
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  sensa- 
tions, a  cramping  of  the  breast,  and  a  tingling  of  the  soles  of  the 
feet ;  they  were  what  I  had  felt  on  the  preceding  day---they  were 
the  forerunners  of  the  fear.  I  sat  motionless  on  my  stone :  the 
sensations  passed  away,  and  the  fear  came  not  Darkness  was 
now  coming  again  over  the  earth ;  the  dingle  was  again  in  deep 
shade;  I  rousal  the  fire  with  the  breath  of  the  bellows,  and  sat 
looking  at  the  cheerful  glow ;  it  was  cheering  and  comforting. 
My  little  horse  came  now  and  lay  down  on  the  ground  beside  the 
forge ;  I  was  not  quite  deserted.  I  again  ate  some  of  the  coarse 
food,  and  drank  plentifully  of  the  water  which  I  had  fetched  in 
the  morning.  I  then  put  fresh  fuel  on  the  fire,  and  sat  for  a  long 
time  looking  on  the  blaze ;  I  then  went  into  my  tent 

I  awoke,  on  my  own  calculation,  about  midnight — ^it  was  pitch 
dark,  and  there  was  much  fear  upon  me. 


CHAPTER  LXXXV. 


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  breakfiasted,  and  had  finished  the  last  morsel 
of  food  which  I  had  brought  with  me  to  that  solitude. 

"What  shall  I  now  do? "  said  I  to  myself;  " shall  I  continue 
here,  or  decamp  ?  This  is  a  sad,  lonely  spot ;  perhaps  I  had  better 
quit  it;  but  whither  should  I  go?  the  wide  world  is  before  me, 
but  what  can  I  do  therein?  I  have  been  in  the  world  already 
wiUiout  much  success.  No,  I  had  better  remain  here ;  the  place 
is  londy,  it  is  trucj  but  here  I  am  free  and  independent,  and  can 
do  what  I  please ;  but  I  can't  remaiiThere  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  diould  not 
write  a  little  sometimes ;  I  have  pens  and  an  ink-horn,  and  for 
a  writing-desk  I  can  place  the  Bible  on  my  knee.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  I  could  write  a  capital  satire  on  the  world  on  the  back 
of  that  Bible ;  but  first  of  aU  I  must  think  of  supplying  myself 
with  food." 

I  rose  up  firom  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  beit 
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,"  sdd  I  to  myself;  ''nobody  will  come  here  to  meddle 
with  them ;  the  great  recommendation  of  this  place  is  its  perfect 
solitude ;  I  daresay  that  I  could  live  here  six  months  without 
seeing  a  single  human  visage.  I  will  now  harness  my  little  gry 
and  be  off  to  the  town.** 

At  a  whistle  which  I  gave,  the  little  gry,  which  was  feeding  on 
the  bank  near  the  uppermost  part  of  the  dingle,  came  running  to 

(4S3) 


454  ^^  VENGRO.  [ites- 

me :  for  by  this  time  he  had  become  so  accustomed  to  me,  that 
he  would  obey  my  call  for  all  the  world  as  if  be  had  been  one  of 
the  canine  species.  " Now/'  said  I  to  him,  "we  are  going  to  the 
town  to  buy  bread  for  myself,  and  oats  for  you.  I  am  in  a  hurry 
to  be  back ;  therefore,  I  pray  you  to  do  your  best,  and  to  draw 
me  and  the  cart  to  the  town  with  all  possible  speed,  and  to  bring 
us  back ;  if  you  do  your  best,  I  promise  you  oats  on  your  return. 
You  know  the  meaning  of  oats,  Ambrol  ?  " 

Ambrol  whinnied  as  if  to  let  me  know  that  he  understood  me 
perfectly  well,  as  indeed  he  well  might,  as  I  had  never  once  fed 
him  during  the  time  he  had  been  in  my  possession  without  saying 
the  word  in  question  to  him.  Now,  ambrol,  in  the  Gypsy  tongue, 
signifieth  a  pear. 

So  I  o^Murisoned  Ambrol,  and  then,  going  to  the  cart,  I  re- 
moved two  or  three  things  from  out  it  into  the  tent ;  I  then 
lifted  up  the  shafts,  and  was  just  going  to  call  to  the  pony  to  come 
and  be  fastened  to  them,  when  I  thought  I  heard  a  noise. 

I  stood  stock  still  supporting  the  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  rusding  of  a 
bough ;  it  was — there  I  heard  it  again,  a  sound  very  mudi  re- 
sembling the  grating  of  a  wheel  amongst  gravel.  Could  it  proceed 
from  the  road  ?  Oh  no,  the  road  was  too  hx  distant  for  me  to 
hear  the  noise  of  anything  moving  along  it  Again  I  listened, 
and  now  I  distinctly  heard  the  sound  of  wheeb,  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  pro- 
ceed from  the  entrance  of  the  dingle.  "  Here  are  folks  at  hand," 
said  I,  letting  the  shaft  of  the  cart  fall  to  the  ground,  "  is  it  possible 
that  they  can  be  coming  here?" 

My  doubts  on  that  point,  if  I  entertained  any,  were  soon  dis- 
pelled; the  wheels,  which  had  ceased  moving  for  a  moment  or 
two,  were  once  again  in  motion,  and  were  now  evidently  moving 
down  the  winding  path  which  led  to  my  retreat.  Leaving  my 
cart,  I  came  forward  and  placed  myself  near  the  entmnce  of  the 
open  space,  with  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  path  down  which  my 
unexpected,  and  I  may  say  unwelcome,  visitors  were  coming. 
Presently  I  heard  a  stamping  or  sliding,  as  if  of  a  horse  in  some 
difficulty ;  and  then  a  loud  curse,  and  the  next  moment  appeared 
a  man  and  a  horse  and  cart ;  the  former  holding  the  head  of  the 


iteS-l  UNWELCOME  GUESTS.  455 

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  waist- 
coat, about  two  yards  from  him,  he  gave  a  sudden  start,  so  violent, 
that  the  backward  motion  of  his  hand  had  nearly  flung  the  horse 
upon  his  haunches. 

"Why  don't  you  move  forward?"  said  a  voice  from  behind, 
apparently  that  of  a  female,  "  you  are  stopping  up  the  way,  and 
we  shall  be  all  down  upon  one  another ;  *'  and  I  saw  the  head  of 
another  horse  overtopping  the  back  of  the  cart 

'*  Why  don't  you  move  forward,  Jack?"  said  another  voice, 
also  of  a  female,  yet  higher  up  the  path. 

The  man  stirred  not,  but  remained  staring  at  me  in  the  posture 
which  he  had  assumed  on  first  perceiving  me,  his  body  very  much 
drawn  back,  his  left  foot  far  in  advance  of  his  right,  and  with  his 
right  hand  still  grasping  the  halter  of  the  horse,  which  gave  way 
more  and  more,  till  it  was  clean  down  on  his  haunches. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  the  voice  which  I  had  last 
heard. 

**  Get  back  with  you.  Belle,  Moll/'  said  the  man,  still  staring 
at  me,  "here's  something  not  over-canny  or  comfortable." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  the  same  voice ;  "  let  me  pass,  Moll,  and 
111  soon  clear  the  way,"  and  I  heard  a  kind  of  rushing  down  the 
path. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid,"  said  I,  addressing  myself  to  the 
man,  "  I  mean  you  no  harm ;  I  am  a  wanderer  like  yourself — 
come  here  to  seek  for  shelter — ^you  need  not  be  afraid ;  I  am  a 
Roman  chabo  by  matriculation — one  of  the  right  sort,  and  no  mis* 
take.    Good-day  to  ye,  brother ;  I  bid  ye  welcome." 

The  man  eyed  me  suspiciously  for  a  moment,  then  turning 
to  his  horse  with  a  loud  curse,  he  pulled  him  up  from  his  haunches, 
and  led  him  and  the  cart  farther  down  to  one  side  of  the  dingle, 
muttering  as  he  passed  me,  "  afraid.    Hm  I " 

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. 


456  LA  VBNORO.  [i8ts 

''Afraid/'  growled  the  fellow,  proceeding  to  anhainett  his 
horse;  "that  was  the  word,  I  think." 

But  other  figures  were  now  already  upon  the  scene.  DashiDg 
past  the  other  horse  and  cart,  which  by  this  time  had  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  pass,  appeared  an  exceedingly  tall  woman,  or  rather 
girl,  for  she  could  scarcely  have  been  above  eighteen ;  die  was 
dressed  in  a  tight  bodice,  and  a  blue  stuff  gown ;  hat,  bcmnet  or 
cap  she  had  none,  and  her  hair,  which  was  flaxen,  hung  down  on 
her  shoulders  unoonfined;  her  complexion  was  Cair,  and  her 
features  handsome,  with  a  determined  but  open  expression.  She 
was  followed  by  another  female,  about  forty,  stout  and  vulgar- 
,  looking,  at  whom  I  scarcely  glanced,  my  whole  attention  being 
absorbed  by  the  tall  girl. 

''  What's  the  matter,  Jack  ?  "  said  the  latter,  looking  at  the 
man. 

''  Only  afraid,  that's  ally"  said  the  man,  still  proceeding  with 
his  work. 

''  Afraid  at  what — ^at  that  lad  ?  why,  he  looks  like  a  ghost. 
I  would  engage  to  thrash  him  with  one  hand." 

**  You  might  beat  me  with  no  hands  at  all,"  said  I,  **  £dr 
damsel,  only  by  looking  at  me ;  I  never  saw  such  a  foce  and 
figure,  both  regal.  Why,  you  look  like  Ingeborg,  Queen  of  Nor- 
way ;  she  had  twelve  brothers,  you  know,  and  could  lick  them 
all,  though  they  were  heroes: — 

*  On  Dovrefeld  in  Norway, 
Were  once  together  seen. 
The  twelve  heroic  brothers 
Of  Ingeborg  the  queen.'  *' 

"  None  of  your  chaffing,  young  fellow,"  said  the  tall  girl,  "  or 
I  will  give  you  what  shall  make  you  wipe  your  face ;  be  civil,  or 
you  will  rue  it." 

"Well,  perhaps  I  was  a  peg  too  high,"  said  I ;  "  I  ask  your 
pardon — ^here's  something  a  bit  lower: — 

*  As  I  was  jawing  to  the  gav  yeck  diwus 
I  met  on  the  drom  miro  Rommany  chi — '  '* 

**  None  of  your  Rommany  chies,  young  fellow,"  said  the  tall 
girl,  looking  more  menacingly  than  before  and  clenching  her 
fist,  ''you  had  better  be  civil,  I  am  none  of  your  chies;  and 
though  I  keep  company  with  gypsies,  or,  to  speak  more  proper, 
half  and  halfs,  I  would  have  you  to  know  that  I  come  of  Christian 
blood  and  parents,  and  was  bom  in  the  great  house  of  Long 
Melford." 

"  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  I,  "  that  it  was  a  great  house 


sSas-l  THE  FL AMINO  TINMAN.  457 

judging  from  your  size,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  were  bom  in 
a  church." 

"  Stay,  Bdle,"  said  the  man,  putting  himsdf  before  the  young 
virago,  who  was  about  to  rush  upon  me, "  my  turn  is  first ; "  then, 
advancing  to  me  in  a  menacing  attitude,  he  said,  with  a  look  of 
deep  malignity, "  Afraid  was  the  word,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  It  was,"  said  I,  '*  but  I  think  I  wronged  you ;  I  should  have 
saidy  aghast,  you  exhibited  every  symptom  of  one  labouring  under 
uncontrollable  fear." 

The  fellow  stared  at  me  with  a  look  of  stupid  ferocity,  and 
appeared  to  be  hesitating  whether  to  strike  or  not ;  ere  he  could 
make  up  his  mind,  the  tall  girl  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. 

"  Enough,"  said  I,  putting  my  hand  to  my  cheek ;  '*  you  have 
now  performed  your  promise,  and  made  me  wipe  my  face ;  now 
be  pacified,  and  tell  me  fairly  the  grounds  of  this  quarrel." 

"  Grounds  I  "  said  the  fellow ;  "  didn't  you  say  I  was  afraid  ? 
and  if  you  hadn't,  who  gave  you  leave  to  camp  on  my  ground?" 

''  Is  it  your  ground  ?  "  said  I. 

"A  pretty  question/'  said  the  fellow;  '^as  if  all  the  world 
didn't  know  that.    Do  you  know  who  I  am?" 

"I  guess  I  do,"  said  I;  "unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  you 
are  he  whom  folks  call  the  '  Flaming  Tinman '.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  I'm  glad  we  have  met,  for  I  wished  to  see  you.  These  are 
your  two  wives,  I  suppose ;  I  greet  them.  There's  no  harm  done 
—there's  room  enough  here  for  all  of  us — ^we  shall  soon  be  good 
friends,  I  dare  say ;  and  when  we  are  a  little  better  acquainted* 
I'll  tell  you  my  history." 

"  Well,  if  that  doesn't  beat  all,"  said  the  fellow. 

"  I  don't  think  he's  chafiing  now,"  said  the  girl,  whose  anger 
seemed  to  have  subsided  on  a  sudden;  "the  young  man  speaks 
civil  enough." 

"Civil,"  said  the  fellow  with  an  oath;  "but  that's  just  like 
you ;  with  you  it  is  a  blow,  and  all  over.  Civil  I  I  suppose  you 
would  have  him  stay  here,  and  get  into  all  my  secrets,  and  hear 
all  I  may  have  to  say  to  my  two  morts." 

"  Two  morts  I  "  said  the  girl,  kindling  up,  "  where  are  they? 
Speak  for  one,  and  no  more.  I  am  no  mort  of  yours,  whatever 
some  one  else  may  be.  I  tell  you  one  thing.  Black  John,  or 
Anselo,  for  t'other  an't  your  name,  the  same  thing  I  told  the 
young  man  here:  be  civil,  or  you  will  rue  It" 


458  LA  VBNORO.  [182S 

The  fellow  looked  at  the  girl  forioosly^  but  his  g^ce  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  Sltngsby." 

''  It's  his  no  longer ;  I  bought  it  and  paid  for  it" 

**  It's  mine  now,"  said  the  fellow ;  "  I  swore  I  would  sdze  it 
the  next  time  I  found  it  on  my  beat ;  ay,  and  beat  the  master 
too." 

"  I  am  not  Siingsby." 

"AU's  one  for  that.'' 

"  You  don't  say  you  will  beat  me  ?  " 

"Afraid  was  the  word." 

''  I'm  sick  and  feeble." 

"  Hold  up  your  iSsts/' 

"  Won't  the  horse  satisfy  you  ?  " 

"  Horse  nor  bellows  either." 

"  No  mercy,  then.* 

"  Here's  at  you," 

"Mind  your  eyes,  Jack.  There,  you've  got  it.  I  thought 
so,"  shouted  the  girl,  as  the  fellow  staggered  back  from  a  sharp 
blow  in  the  eye.    "  I  thought  he  was  chaffing  at  you  ail  along.** 

"  Never  mind,  Ansela  You  know  what  to  do — go  in,"  said 
the  vulgar  woman,  who  had  hitherto  not  spoken  a  wonl,  but  who 
now  came  forward  with  all  the  look  of  a  fury;  "go  in  apopli; 
you'll  smash  ten  like  he." 

The  Flaming  Tinman  took  her  advice,  and  came  in,  bent  00 
-smashing,  but  stopped  short  on  receiving  a  left-handed  blow  on 
the  nose. 

"You'll  never  beat  the  Flaming  Tinman  in  that  way,"  said  the 
girl,  looking  at  me  doubtfully. 

And  so  I  b^an  to  think  myself,  when,  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  the  Flaming  Tinman  disengaging  himself  of  his  frock-coat, 
and,  dashing  off  his  red  night-cap,  came  rushing  in  more  desper- 
ately 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  ap- 
peared to  be  tremendous. 

"  Pay  him  off  now,"  said  the  vulgar  woman.  The  Flaming 
Tinman  made  no  reply,  but  planting  his  knee  on  my  breast^ 
seized  my  throat  with  two  huge  homy  hands.  I  gave  myself  up 
for  dead,  and  probably  should  have  been  so  in  another  minute 


1825]  LONG  MBLPORD.  459 

but  for  the  tall  girl,  who  caught  hold  of  the  handkerchief  which 
the  fellow  wore  round  his  neck  with  a  grasp  nearly  as  powerful  as 
that  with  which  he  pressed  my  throat 

**  Do  you  call  that  foir  play  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Hands  off,  Belle,"  said  the  other  woman ;  ''  do  you  call  it 
&ir  play  to  interfere  ?  hands  off,  or  I'll  be  down  upon  you  myself." 

But  Belle  paid  no  heed  to  the  injunction,  and  tugged  so  hard 
at  the  handkerchief  that  the  Flaming  Tinman  was  nearly 
throttled ;  suddenly  relinquishing  his  hold  of  me,  he  started  on 
his  feet,  and  aimed  a  blow  at  my  fair  preserver,  who  avoided  it, 
but  said  coollv  :— 

"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  you  up  when  he 
happens  to  knock  you  down." 

The  battle  during  the  next  ten  minutes  raged  with  consider- 
able fiiry ;  but  it  so  happened  that  during  this  time  I  was  never 
able  to  knock  the  Flaming  Tinman  down,  but  on  the  contrary 
received  six  knock-down  blows  myself.  "I  can  never  stand 
this,"  said  I,  as  I  sat  on  the  knee  of  Belle,  "  I  am  afraid  I  must 
give  in ;  the  Flaming  Tinman  hits  very  hard,"  and  I  spat  out  a 
mouthful  of  blood. 

"  Sure  enough  you'll  never  beat  the  Flaming  Tinman  in  the 
way  you  fight— it's  of  no  use  flipping  at  the  Flaming  Tinman 
with  your  left  hand;  why  don't  you  use  your  right?" 

"  Because  I'm  not  handy  with  it,"  said  I ;  and  then  getting 
up*  I  once  more  confronted  the  Flaming  Tinman,  and  struck  him 
six  blows  for  his  one,  but  they  were  all  left-handed  blows,  and  the 
blow  which  the  Flaming  Tinman  gave  me  knocked  me  off  my 

lcg«. 

"Now,  will  you  use  Long  Melford?"  said  Belle,  picking  me 

up. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  Long  Melford,"  said  I, 
gasping  for  breath. 

"  Why,  this  long  right  of  yours,"  said  Belle,  feeling  my  right 
arm — "  if  you  do,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  yet  stand  a  chance." 

And  now  the  Flaming  Tinman  was  once  more  ready,  much 
more  ready  than  myself!  I,  however,  rose  from  my  second's 
knee  as  well  as  my  weakness  would  permit  me;  on  he  came, 
striking  left  and  right,  appearing  almost  as  fresh  as  to  wind 
and  spirit  as  when  he  first  commenced  the  combat,  though  his 
eyes  were  considerably  swelled,  and  his  nether  lip  was  cut  in  two ; 
on  he  came,  striking  left  and  right,  and  I  did  not  like  his  blows 


4te  LA  VBNORO.  [1825. 

at  aU«  or  even  the  wind  of  them,  which  was  anything  but  agree- 
able, 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,  dc^  to 
which  I  had  been  driven ;  before  the  Tinman  could  recover  him- 
self, I  collected  all  my  strength,  and  struck  him  beneath  the  ear, 
and  then  fell  to  the  ground  completdy  exhausted,  and  it  so 
happened  that  the  blow  which  I  struck  the  tinker  beneath  the 
ear  was  a  right-handed  blow. 

''  Hurrah  for  Long  Melford  1 "  I  heard  Belle  exclaim ;  "  there 
is  nothing  like  Long  Melford  for  shortness  all  the  world  over." 

At  these  words  I  turned  round  my  head  as  I  lay,  and  per- 
ceived the  Flaming  Tinman  stretched  upon  the  ground  apparently 
senseless.  *'  He  is  dead,"  said  the  vu^ar  woman,  as  she  vainly 
endeavoured  to  raise  him  up ;  ''he  is  dead ;  the  best  man  in  all 
the  north  country,  killed  in  this  fashion,  by  a  boy/'  Alarmed  at 
these  words,  I  made  shift  to  get  on  my  feet ;  and,  with  the 
assistance  of  the  woman«  placed  my  fallen  adversary  in  a  sitting 
posture.  I  put  my  hand  to  his  heart,  and  felt  a  slight  pulsation. 
*'  He's  not  dead,"  said  I,  "  only  stunned ;  if  he  were  let  blood,  he 
would  recover  presently."  I  produced  a  penknife  which  I  had 
in  my  pocket,  and,  baring  the  arm  of  the  Tinman,  was  about  to 
make  the  necessary  incision,  when  the  woman  gave  me  a  violent 
blow,  and,  pushing  me  aside,  exclaimed :  "  I'll  tear  the  eyes  out 
of  your  head,  if  you  offer  to  touch  him.  Do  you  want  to  complete 
your  work,  and  murder  him  outright,  now  he's  asleep?  you  have 
had  enough  of  his  blood  already."  ''  You  are  mad,"  said  I,  "  I 
only  seek  to  do  him  service.  Well,  if  you  won*t  let  him  be 
blooded,  fetch  some  water  and  fling  it  in  his  face^  you  know 
where  the  pit  is." 

"  A  pretty  manoeuvre,"  said  the  woman ;  **  leave  my  husband 
in  the  hands  of  you  and  that  limmer,  who  has  never  been  true  to 
us ;  I  should  find  him  strangled  or  his  throat  cut  when  I  came 
back."  "  Do  you  go,"  said  I,  to  the  tall  girl,  "  take  the  can  and 
fetch  some  water  from  the  pit."  ''  You  had  better  go  yourself," 
said  the  girl,  wiping  a  tear  as  she  looked  on  the  yet  senseless  form 
of  the  tinker ;  "  you  had  better  go  yourself,  if  you  think  water  will 
do  him  good."  I  had  by  this  time  somewhat  recovered  my 
exhausted  powers,  and,  taking  the  can,  I  bent  my  steps  as  fast  as 
I  could  to  the  pit ;  arriving  there,  I  lay  down  on  the  brink,  took 
a  long  draught,  and  then  plunged  my  head  into  the  water ;  after 
which  I  filled  the  can,  and  bent  my  way  back  to  the  din^ 


xSas]  PAIR  PLAY.  461 

Before  I  could  reach  the  path  which  led  down  into  its  depths,  I 
had  to  pass  some  way  along  its  side;  I  had  arrived  at  a  part 
immediately  over  the  scene  of  the  last  encounter,  where  the  bank, 
overgrown  with  trees,  sloped  precipitously  down.  Here  I  heard 
a  loud  sound  of  voices  in  the  dingle ;  I  stopped,  and  laying  hold 
of  a  tree,  leaned  over  the  bank  and  listened.  The  two  women 
appeared  to  be  in  hot  dispute  in  the  dingle.  "  It  was  all  owing 
to  you,  you  limmer,"  said  the  vulgar  woman  to  the  other ;  "  had 
you  not  interfered,  the  old  man  would  soon  have  settled  the  boy." 
"  I'm  for  fair  play  and  Long  Melford,"  said  the  other.  "  If 
your  old  man,  as  you  call  him,  could  have  settled  the  boy  fairly, 
he  might,  for  all  I  should  have  cared,  but  no  foul  work  for  me ; 
and  as  for  sticking  the  boy  with  our  gulleys  when  he  comes  back, 
as  you  proposed,  I  am  not  so  fond  of  your  old  man  or  you  that  I 
should  oblige  you  in  it,  to  my  soul's  destruction."    "  Hold  your 

tongue,  or  I'll ";  I  listened  no  farther,  but  hastened  as  fa$t  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  evidendy  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,  where- 
upon 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  uiging  him  on  to  attempt  some- 
thing. I  observed  that  she  had  a  clasped  knife  in  her  hand. 
The  fellow  remained  standing  for  some  time  as  if  hesitating  what 
to  do ;  at  last  he  looked  at  his  hand,  and,  shaking  his  head,  said 
something  to  the  woman  which  I  did  not  understand.  The  tall 
girl,  however,  appeared  to  overhear  him,  and)  probably  repeating 
his  words,  said :  "  No,  it  won't  do ;  you  are  right  there,  and  now 
hear  what  I  have  to  say, — let  bygones  be  bygones,  and  let  us  all 
shake  hands,  and  camp  here,  as  the  young  man  was  saying  just 
now ".  The  man  looked  at  her,  and  then,  without  any  reply, 
went  to  his  horse,  which  was  lying  down  among  the  trees,  and 


46s  LA  VBNQRO.  [itos. 

kicking  it  up,  led  it  to  ^e  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  recouotingy 
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  Uttle  way  up  the  assent ;  she  then  stood 
still  and  appeared  to  be  expecting  the  man.  During  this  proceed- 
ing 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  de- 
parture, she  said :  "  You  are  not  going,  are  you  ?  "  Receiving  oo 
answer,  she  continued :  **  I  tell  you  what,  both  of  you.  Black 
John,  and  you  Moll,  his  mort,  this  is  not  treating  me  over  civilly, 
— however,  I  am  ready  to  put  up  with  it,  and  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  widi 
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,  wiUi  a  screeching  tone: 
"  Stay  where  you  are,  you  jade,  and  may  the  curse  of  Ju(kis  cling 
to  you, — stay  with  the  bit  of  a  mullo  whom  you  helped,  and  my 

only  hope  is  that  he  may  gulley  you  before  he  comes  to  be 

Have  you  with  us,  indeed  1  after  what's  past,  no,  nor  nothing 
belonging  to  you.  Fetch  down  your  mailla  go-cart  and  live  here 
with  your  chabo."  She  then  whipped  on  the  horse,  and  ascended 
the  pass,  followed  by  the  man.  The  carts  were  light,  and  they 
were  not  long  in  ascending  the  winding  path.  I  followed  to  see 
that  they  took  their  departure.  Arriving  at  the  top,  I  found  near 
the  entrance  a  small  donkey  cart,  which  I  concluded  bdonged  to 
the  girl.  The  tinker  and  lus  mort  were  already  at  some  disttmce ; 
I  stood  looking  after  them  for  a  little  time,  then  taking  the  dcmkey 
by  the  reins  I  led  it  with  the  cart  to  the  bottom  of  the  dingle. 
Amved  there,  I  found  Belle  seated  on  the  stone  by  the  fireplace. 
Her  hair  was  all  dishevelled,  and  she  was  in  tears. 

'*  They  were  bad  people,"  said  she,  "  and  I  did  not  like  them, 
but  they  were  my  only  acquaintance  in  the  wide  world." 


CHAPTER  LXXXVI. 


Ih  the  evening  of  that  same  day  the  tall  girl  and  I  sat  at  tea  by 
the  fire,  at  the  bottom  of  the  dingle ;  the  girl  on  a  small  stool, 
and  myself,  as  usual,  upon  my  stone. 

The  water  which  served  for  the  tea  had  been  taken  from  a 
spring  of  pellucid  water  in  the  neighbourhood,  which  I  had  not 
had  the  good  fortune  to  discover,  though  it  was  well  known  to  my 
companion,  and  to  the  wandering  people  who  frequented  the 
dingle. 

•*  This  tea  is  very  good,"  said  I,  "  but  I  cannot  enjoy  it  as 
much  as  if  I  were  well :   I  feel  very  sadly." 

"How  else  should  you  feel,"  said  the  girl,  "after  fighting 
with  the  Flaming  Tinman  ?  All  I  wonder  at  is  that  you  can  feel 
at  all  I  As  for  the  tea,  it  ought  to  be  good,  seeing  that  it  cost 
me  ten  shillings  a  pound." 

''That's  a  great  deal  for  a  person  in  your  station  to  pay." 

"In  my  station!  I*d  have  you  to  know,  young  man — how- 
ever, I  haven't  the  heart  to  quarrel  with  you,  you  look  so  ill ;  and 
after  all,  it  is  a  good  sum  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." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  I,  "  I  should  never  have  thought  that  one  of 
your  size  and  fierceness  would  weep  and  cry  I " 

"  My  size  and  fierceness  I  I  tell  you  what,  young  man,  you 
are  not  over  civil  this  evening ;  but  you  are  ill,  as  I  said  before, 
and  I  shaVt  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  wiUi  me." 

"  It  is  true  that  you  struck  me  in  the  face  first ;  but  we'll  let 
that  pass.    So  that  man's  name  is  Bosville ;  what's  your  own  ?  '* 

(463) 


464  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

"Isopel  Bcrners," 

"  How  did  you  get  that  name  ?  " 

"  I  say,  young  man,  you  seem  fond  of  asking  questions  I  will 
you  have  another  cup  of  tea?  " 

**  I  was  just  going  to  ask  for  another." 

"  Well,  then,  here  it  is,  and  much  good  may  it  do  you ;  as  for 
my  name,  I  got  it  from  my  mother." 

''  Your  mother's  name,  then,  was  Isopel  ?  " 

"  Isopel  Bemers." 

"  But  had  you  never  a  father  ?  "  • 

"Yes,  I  had  a  father,"  said  the  girl,  sighing,  "but  I  dou't 
bear  his  name." 

"  Is  it  the  fashion,  then,  in  your  country  for  children  to  bear 
their  mother's  name  ?  " 

"  If  you  ask  such  questions,  young  man,  I  shall  be  angry  with 
you.  I  have  told  you  my  name,  and  whether  my  father's  or 
mother's,  I  am  not  ashamed  of  it." 

"  It  is  a  noble  name." 

'*  There  you  are  right,  young  man.  The  chaplain  in  the  great 
house  where  I  was  horn,  told  me  it  was  a  noble  name ;  it  was 
odd  enough,  he  said,  that  the  only  three  noble  names  in  the 
county  were  to  be  found  in  the  great  house ;  mine  was  one ;  the 
other  two  were  Devereux  and  Bohun." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  great  house  ?  " 

"  The  workhouse." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  were  bom  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  young  man ;  and  as  you  now  speak  softly  and  kindly, 
I  will  tell  you  my  whole  tale.  My  father  was  an  officer  of  the 
sea,  and  was  killed  at  sea  as  he  was  coming  home  to  marry  my 
mother,  Isopel  Bemers.  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  ^on 
they  met  the  enemy,  and  there  was  a  fight,  and  my  father  was 
killed,  after  he  had  struck  down  six  of  the  enemy's  crew  on  their 
own  deck ;  for  my  father  was  a  big  man,  as  I  have  heard,  and 
knew  tolerably  well  how  to  use  his  hands.  And  when  my 
mother  heard  the  news,  she  became  half  distracted,  and  ran  away 
into  the  fields  and  forests,  totally  neglecting  her  business,  for  she 
was  a  small  milliner ;  and  so  she  ran  demented  about  the  meads 
and  forests  for  a  long  time,  now  sitting  under  a  tree,  and  now  by 
the  side  of  a  river — at  last  she  flung  herself  into  some  water,  and 


iSas-]  ISOPEL  BBRNBRS.  465 

would  have  been  drowned,  had  not  some  one  been  at  hand  and 
rescued  her,  whereupon  she  was  conveyed  to  the  great  house, 
lest  she  sbould  attempt  to  do  herself  further  mischief,  for  she 
had  neither  friends  nor  parents— And  there  she  died  three  months 
after,  having  first  brought  me  into  the  world.  She  was  a  sweet, 
pretty  creature,  I'm  told,  but  hardly  fit  (ox  this  world,  being 
neither  large,  nor  fierce,  nor  able  to  take  her  own  part.  So  I 
was  bom  and  bred  in  the  great  house,  where  I  learnt  to  read 
and  sew,  to  fear  God,  and  to  take  my  own  part.  When  I 
was  fourteen  I  was  put  out  to  service  to  a  small  farmer  and  his 
wife,  with  whom,  however,  I  did  not  stay  long,  for  I  was  half 
starved,  and  otherwise  ill-treated,  especially  by  my  mistress,  who 
one  day  attempting  to  knock  me  down  with  a  besom,  I  knocked 
her  down  with  my  fist,  and  went  back  to  the  great  house." 

''  And  how  did  they  receive  you  in  the  great  house  ?  " 

'*  Not  very  kindly,  young  man— on  the  contrary,  I  was  put 
into  a  dark  room,  where  I  was  kept  a  fortnight  on  bread  and 
water;  I  did  not  much  care,  however,  being  glad  to  have  got 
back  to  the  great  house  at  any  rate,  the  place  where  I  was  bom, 
and  where  my  poor  mother  died,  and  in  the  great  house  I  con* 
tinned  two  years  longer,  reading  and  sewing,  fearing  God,  and 
taking  my  own  part  when  necessary.  At  the  end  of  the  two 
years  I  was  again  put  out  to  service,  but  this  time  to  a  rich 
farmer  and  his  wife,  with  whom,  however,  I  did  not  live  long, 
less  time,  I  believe,  than  with  the  poor  ones,  being  obliged  to 
leave  for " 

''  Knocking  your  mistress  down  ?  " 

"  No,  young  man,  knocking  my  master  down,  who  conducted 
himself  improperly  towards  me.  This  time  I  did  not  go  back  to 
the  great  house,  having  a  misgiving  that  they  would  not  receive 
me,  so  I  tumed  my  back  to  the  great  house  where  I  was  bom, 
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,  tuiving  spent  my  last  £uthing,  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 

30 


466  LA  VBNGRO.  [1835- 

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  roUbed  and  stripped  us.  '  Let  me  get  down,'  said  I ; 
so  I  got  down,  and  fought  with  them  both,  till  they  turned  loimd 
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  foneral  fit  for  a  gentle- 
woman.  After  which  I  travelled  the  country  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  oi 
Blazing  Bosville  and  his  wife,  with  whom  I  occasionally  took 
journeys  for  company's  sake,  for  it  is  melancholy  to  travd  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,  ^en  we  were  alone, 
he  wanted  me  to  marry  him,  promising  if  I  would,  to  turn  off 
Grey  Moll,  or  if  I  liked  it  better,  to  make  her  wait  upon  me  as 
a  maid-servant ;  I  never  liked  him  much,  but  from  that  hour  less 
than  ever.  Of  the  two,  I  believe  Grey  Moll  to  be  the  best,  for 
she  is  at  any  rate  true  and  faithful  to  him,  and  I  like  truth  and 
constancy,  don't  you,  young  man?  " 

*'Yes»"  said  I,  "they  are  very  nice  things.  I  feel  very 
strangely." 

"  How  do  you  feel,  young  man  ?  " 

"  Very  much  aftaid,^' 

"Afraid,  at  what?  At  the  Flaming  Tinman?  Don't  be 
afraid  of  him.  He  won't  come  back,  and  if  he  did,  he  shouldn't 
touch  you  in  this  state.  I'd  fight  him  for  you*  but  he  won't 
come  back,  so  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  him." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  the  Flaming  Tinman." 

"What,  then,  aie  you  afraid  of?" 

"  The  evil  one." 

"  The  evU  one,"  said  the  girl,  "  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Coming  upon  me." 

"  Never  heed,"  said  the  girl,  "  I'U  stand  by  you.** 


CHAPTER  LXXXVII. 


The  kitchen  of  the  public-house  was  a  large  one,  and  many 
people  were  drinking  in  it;  there  was  a  confused  hubbub  of 
voices. 

I  sat  down  on  a  bench  behind  a  deal  table,  of  which  there  were 
three  or  four  in  the  kitchen ;  presently  a  bulky  man,  in  a  green 
coat,  of  the  Newmarket  cut,  and  without  a  hat,  entered,  and 
observing  roe,  came  up,  and  in  rather  a  gruff  tone  cried :  "  Want 
anything,  young  fellow  ?  " 

**  Bring  me  a  jug  of  ale,"  said  I,  **  if  you  are  the  master,  as  I 
suppose  you  are,  by  that  same  coat  of  yours,  and  your  having  no  haft 
on  your  head." 

"  Don't  be  saucy,  young  fellow,"  said  the  landlord,  for  such 

he  was,  *•  don't  be  saucy,  or "    Whatever  he  intended  to  say, 

he  left  unsaid,  for  fixing  his  eyes  upon  one  of  my  hands,  which  I 
had  placed  by  chance  upon  the  table,  he  became  suddenly  still. 

This  was  my  left  hand,  which  was  raw  and  swollen,  from  the 
blows  dealt  on  a  certain  hard  skull  in  a  recent  combat.  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  staring  at  my  hand  so?  "  said  I,  withdrawing  it  from 
the  table. 

"  No  offence,  young  man»  no  offence,"  said  the  landlord,  in  a 

quite  altered  tone;  "but  the  sight  of  your  hand  ,"  then 

observing  that  our  conversation  began  to  attract  the  notice  of  the 
guests  in  the  kitchen,  he  interrupted  himself,  saying  in  an  under 
tone:  "But  mum's  the  word  for  the  present,  I  will  go  and 
fetch  the  ale." 

In  about  a  minute  he  returned,  with  a  jug  of  ale  foaming  high. 
"  Here's  your  health,"  said  he,  blowing  off  the  foam,  and  drinking ; 
but  perceiving  that  I  looked  rather  dissatisfied,  he  murmured: 
"All's  right,  I  glory  in  you;  but  mum's  the  word."  Then 
placing  the  jug  on  the  table,  he  gave  me  a  confidential  nod,  and 
swaggered  out  of  the  room. 

What  can  the  silly,  impertinent  fellow  mean,  thought  I ;  but 
the  ale  was  now  before  me,  and  I  hastened  to  drink,  for  my  weak- 
ness was  great,  and  my  mind  was  full  of  dark  thoughts,  the 

(46t) 


468  LA  VBNORO.  [1895. 


temains  of  the  indescribable  honor  of  tbe  preceding  night.  It 
may  kill  me,  thought  I,  as  I  drank  deep,  bat  who  cares,  anything 
is  better  than  what  I  have  stiffeied.  I  drank  deep,  and  then  leaned 
back  against  the  wall ;  it  appeared  as  if  a  vapour  was  straling  up 
into  my  brain,  gentle  and  benign,  soothing  and  stilling  the 
horror  and  the  fear ;  higher  and  higher  it  mounted*  and  I  fdt 
nearly  overcome ;  but  the  sensation  was  delidoas,  compared  widi 
that  I  had  lately  experienced,  and  now  I  felt  myself  nodding ;  and 
bending  down  I  laid  my  head  on  the  table  on  my  folded  hajods. 

And  in  that  attitude  I  remained  8<xne  tim^  pofectly  un- 
conscious. 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  dmnk  of  the  jug;  this  second  draught  did  not  produce  an 
overpowering  effect  upon  me — ^it  revived  and  strengthened  me. 
I  felt  a  new  man. 

I  looked  around  me :  the  kitdien  had  been  deserted  by  the 
greater  part  of  the  guests ;  besides  myself  only  four  remained ; 
these  were  seated  at  the  fiairther  end.  One  was  haranguing  fiercely 
and  eagerly ;  he  was  abusing  £ngland,  and  praising  America.  At 
last  he  exclaimed :  **  So  when  I  gets  to  New  York,  I  will  toss  up 
my  hat,  and  damn  the  King  ". 

That  man  must  be  a  Radical,  tfiought  L 


CHAPTER  LXXXVIIL 


Thb  individual  whom  I  supposed  to  be  a  radical,  after  a  short 
pause,  again  uplifted  his  voice :  he  was  rather  a  strong-built  fellow 
of  about  thirty,  with  an  ill-favoured  countenance,  a  white  hat  on  his 
head,  a  snuff-coloured  coat  on  his  back,  and,  when  he  was  not 
speaking,  a  pipe  in  his  mouth.  ''Who  would  live  in  such  a 
country  as  England?"  he  shouted. 

"There  is  no  country  like  America,"  said  his  nearest 
neighbour,  a  man  also  in  a  white  hat,  and  of  a  vay  ill-favoured 
countenance, ''  there  is  no  country  like  America,"  said  he,  with- 
drawing a  pipe  from  his  mouth ;  **  I  think  I  shall " — and  here  he 
took  a  draught  from  a  jug,  the  contents  of  which  he  appeared  to 
have  in  common  with  the  other, — "go  to  America  one  of  these 
days  myself." 

"  Poor  old  England  is  not  such  a  bad  country,  after  all,"  said 
a  third,  a  simple-looking  man  in  a  labouring  dress,  who  sat 
smoking  a  pipe  without  anything  before  him.  "  If  there  was  but 
a  little  more  work  to  be  got,  I  should  have  nothing  to  say  against 
her.    I  hop«,  however 


If 


*'  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  dc^'s  wages,  a  bit  of  bread  and  a  kick.  Work, 
indeed  I  who,  with  the  spirit  of  a  man,  would  work  for  a  coimtry 
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  Rig^Ur** 

"  Ah,  the  Church  of  England  has  been  a  source  of  incalcul- 
able mischief  to  these  realms,"  said  another. 

The  person  who  uttered  these  words  sat  rather  aloof  firom 
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. 

(469) 


470  LA  VBSGRO.  [iSss- 

"  Yoa  aie  quite  right,*'  said  the  fint,  aOtidiiig  to  what  this  bst 
had  said, ''  the  Church  of  England  has  done  inoilnibMe  misrhirf 
here.  I  Taloe  no  religion  thiree  halfpence,  for  I  betiere  in  none  ; 
bat  the  one  that  I  hate  most  is  the  Oiurch  of  England ;  so  when 
I  get  to  New  York,  after  I  have  shown  the  fine  fellows  on  tiie  qpaj 

a  spice  of  me,  bf the  £in^  111  toss  up  my  hat  again,  and 

the  Church  of  England  too. 

''And  suppose  the  people  of  New  Yoik  should  d^  joa  in 
the  stocks  ?**  said  I. 

These  words  drew  upon  me  the  attention  of  die  whole  four. 
The  radical  and  his  companion  stared  at  me  ferjcioasly ;  the 
man  in  black  gave  me  a  peculiar  glance  from  under  his  slouched 
hat ;  the  simple-looking  man  in  the  labouring  dress  laughed. 

''What  are  you  laughing  at,  you  fool?"  said  the  radical, 
turning  and  looking  at  the  other,  who  appeared  to  be  afnud  of 
him,   "hold  your  noise;  and  a  pretty  fellow,  you,*  said  he, 
looking  at  me,  "to  come  here,  and  speak  against  the  great 
American  nation." 

"  I  speak  against  the  great  American  nation  ? "  said  I»  "  I 
rather  paid  them  a  compliment" 

"  By  supposing  they  would  put  me  in  the  stocks.  Well,  I  call 
it  abusing  them,  to  suppose  they  would  do  any  such  thing — 
stocks,  indeed  f — 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  the  Church." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  I,  "if  you  go  to  America,  yon 
will  say  of  the  President  and  country  what  now  you  say  of  the 
King  and  Church,  and  cry  out  for  somebody  to  send  you  back 
to  England.- 

The  radical  dashed  his  pipe  to  pieces  against  the  table.  "  I 
tell  you  what,  young  fellow,  you  are  a  spy  of  the  aristocracy,  sent 
here  to  kick  up  a  disturbance." 

"  Kicking  up  a  disturbance,"  said  I,  "  is  rather  inconsistent 
with  the  office  of  spy.  If  I  were  a  s|^,  I  should  hold  my  head 
down,  and  say  nothing." 

The  man  in  black  partially  raised  his  head  and  gave  me 
another  peculiar  glance. 

"  Well,  if  you  ar'n't  sent  to  spy,  you  are  sent  to  Bully,  to 
prevent  people  speaking,  and  to  run  down  the  great  Ammcan 
nation;  but  you  sha'n't  bully  me.  I  say  down  with  the  aristocracy, 
the  beggarly  aristocracy.    Come,  what  have  you  to  say  to  that  ?  " 

"Nothing,"  said  I. 


r 


III 


1815.]  THB  PUBLIC'HOUSB.  471 


^  **  Nothing  ! "  repeated  the  radical. 

L^  '*  No,"  said  I,  "down  with  them  as  soon  as  you  can." 

**  As  soon  as  I  can !  I  wish  I  could.  But  I  can  down  with 
a  buUy  of  theirs.    Come,  will  jou  fight  for  them  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"You  won't?" 

"No^"  said  I;  ''though  from  what  I  have  seen  of  them  I 
should  say  they  are  tolerably  able  to  fight  for  themselves." 

"You  won't  fight  for  them/'  said  the  radical,  triumphantly; 
"  I  thought  so ;  all  bullies,  especially  those  of  the  aristocracy,  are 
cowards.  Here,  landlord,"  said  he,  raising  his  voice,  and  striking 
against  the  table  with  the  jug,  "some  more  ale — he  won't  fight 
for  his  friends." 

"A  white  feather,"  said  his  companion. 

"  He !  he  I "  tittered  the  man  in  black. 

''  Landlord,  landlord,"  shouted  the  radical,  striking  the  table 
with  die  jug  louder  than  before.  ''Who  called?  "  said  the  land- 
lord, coming  in  at  last.  "Fill  this  jug  again,"  said  the  other, 
"and  be  quick  about  it."  "Does  any  one  else  want  anything? " 
said  the  landlord.  "Yes,"  said  the  man  in  black;  "you  may 
bring  me  another  glass  of  gin  and  water."  "Cold?"  said  the 
landlord.  "Yes,"  said  the  man  in  black,  "with  a  lump  of  sugar 
in  It. 

"Gin  and  water  cold,  with  a  lump  of  sugar  in  it,"  said  I,  and 
struck  the  table  with  mv  fist 

"Take  some?"  said  the  landlord,  inquiringly. 

"No,"  said  I,  "only  something  came  into  my  head." 

"  He's  mad,"  said  the  man  in  black. 

"  Not  he,"  said  the  radical  "  He^s  only  shamming ;  he  knows 
his  master  is  here,  and  therefore  has  recourse  to  these  manoeuvres, 
but  it  won't  da  Come,  landlord,  what  are  you  staring  at  ?  Why 
don't  you  obey  your  ocders  ?  Keeping  your  customers  waiting  in 
this  manner  is  not  the  way  to  increase  your  business." 

The  landlord  looked  at  the  radical  and  then  at  me.  At  last, 
taking  the  jug  and  i^ass,  he  left  the  apartment,  and  presently 
returned  with  each  filled  with  its  respective  liquor.  He  placed 
the  jug  with  the  beer  before  the  radical,  and  the  glass  with  the 
gin  and  water  before  the  man  in  black,  and  then,  with  a  wink  to 
me,  he  sauntered  out 

"  Here  is  your  health,  sir/'  said  the  man  of  the  snuff-coloured 
coat,  addressing  himself  to  the  man  in  black,  "  I  honour  you  for 
iriiat  yon  said  about  the  Church  of  England.  Every  one  who 
spesks  against  tfie  Church  of  England  has  my  warm  heart.  Down 


47S  LA  VBNGRO.  [x8«s* 

with  it,  I  say,  and  may  the  stones  of  it  be  used  for  mending  the 
roads,  as  mj  friend  William  says  in  his  Register.'* 

The  man  in  black,  with  a  courteous  nod  of  his  head,  dxank 
to  the  man  in  the  snuff-ooloured  coat  ''With  respect  to  the 
steeples,"  said  he,  "  I  am  not  altogether  of  your  opmion ;  they 
might  be  turned  to  better  account  than  to  serve  to  mend  the 
lofluls ;  they  might  still  be  used  as  places  of  worship,  but  not  for 
the  worship  of  the  Qiurch  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  pert  of  ita 
ministers  are  already  leaving  it.  It  is  a  bad  church,  a  persecuting 
church." 

"  Whom  does  it  persecute  ?  "  said  I. 

The  man  in  black  glanced  at  me  slightly,  and  then  replied 
slowly,  "  the  Catholics  ". 

"And  do  those  whom  you  call  Catholics  never  persecute?" 
said  I. 

"  Never,"  said  the  man  in  black. 

"  Did  you  ever  read  Fox's  Book  €f  Martyrs  f  "  said  I. 

"  He !  he !  tittered  the  man  in  black,  "  there  is  not  a  word 
of  truth  in  Fox's  £ook  of  Martyrs," 

**  Ten  times  more  than  in  Uie  Mos  Sanctorum !*  said  I. 

The  man  in  black  looked  at  me,  but  made  no  answer. 

"  And  what  say  you  to  the  Massacre  of  the  Albigenses  and 
the  Vaudois,  '  whose  bones  lie  scattered  on  the  cold  Alp,'  or  the 
Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes?" 

The  man  in  black  made  no  answer. 

''  Go  to,"  said  I,  "  it  is  because  the  Chuiich  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  Uie  poor 
Dissenters  what  Simon  de  Montfort  did  with  the  Albigenses,  and 
the  cruel  Piedmontese  with  the  Vaudoisy  that  they  turn  to  Moody 
Rome ;  the  Pope  will  no  doubt  welcome  them,  for  the  Pope^  do 
you  see,  beine  very  much  in  want,  will  welcome—-*—" 

"  Hollo  1 '  said  the  radical,  interfering, ''  What  are  you  saying 
about  the  Pope  ?  I  say  hurrah  fix  the  Pope !  I  value  no  religicm 
three  haHpencet  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.  Yoa 
won't  fight,  you  know,  I  have  proved  it ;  but  I  will  give  you  another 
chance — I  will  fight  for  the  Pope,  will  yon  fight  against  him  ?  " 


ifaS-l  THE  PUBUC'HOUSB.  473 

'*  Oh  dear  me,  jes,"  said  T,  getting  up  and  stepping  forward 
''  I  am  a  quiet,  peaceable  young  man,  and,  being  so,  am  always 
r  eady  to  fight  against  the  Pope — ^the  enemy  of  aU  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  Pro- 
testant succession.  Confiision  to  the  Groyne,  hurrah  for  thet 
Boyne,  for  the  army  at  Clonmel,  and  the  Protestant  young 
gentlemen  who  live  there  as  well.*' 

*'  An  Orangeman,''  said  the  man  in  black. 

"  Not  a  Platitude,*'  said  I. 

Theman  in  bbu:k  gave  a  slight  start. 

"Amongst  that  fiimily,*  said  I,  " no  doubt  something  may  be 
done,  but  amongst  the  Methodist  preachers  I  should  conceive 
that  the   success  would  not  be  great" 

The  man  in  black  sat  quite  stilL 

*'  Especially  amongst  those  who  have  wives,**  I  added. 

The  man  in  black  stretched  his  hand  towards  his  gin  and 
water. 

"  However,"  said  I,  "we  shall  see  what  the  grand  movement 
will  bring  about,  and  the  results  of  the  lessons  in  elocution." 

The  man  in  black  lifted  the  glass  up  to  his  month,  and  in 
doing  so,  let  the  spoon  fall. 

**  But  what  has  this  to  do  with  the  main  question  ?  "  said  I :  "  I 
am  waiting  here  to  fight  against  the  Pope."* 

"Come,  Hunter,"  said  the  companion  of  the  man  in  the 
snuff-coloured  coat,  "  get  up,  and  fight  for  the  Pope." 

"I  don't  care  for  the  young  fellow,"  said  the  man  in  the 
snuff-coloured  coat. 

"  I  know  you  don't,*'  said  the  other,  "  so  get  up,  and  serve 
him  out" 

"  I  could  serve  out  three  like  him,"  said  the  man  in  the 
snuff-coloured  coat 

"  So  much  the  better  for  you,"  said  the  other,  "  the  present 
work  will  be  all  the  easier  for  you,  get  up,  and  serve  him  out  at 


once." 


The  man  in  the  snuff-coloured  coat  did  not  stir. 

"Who  shows  the  white  feather  now?"  said  the  simple- 
looking  man. 

"  He  I  he  I  he  I "  tittered  the  man  in  black. 

"Who  told  you  to  interfere?"  said  the  radical,  turning 
ferociously  towarib  the  simple-looking  roan ;  "  say  another  word. 


474  ^^  VBNORa  [i8a§. 


and  111 And  you  I "  said  he,  addressing  himsdf  lo  the  man 

in  black,  **  a  pretty  fellow  you  to  turn  against  me,  after  I  had 
taken  your  part  I  tell  you  what,  you  may  fight  for  yourself.  Ill 
see  you  and  your  Pope  in  the  pit  of  Eldon,  before  I  fight  far 
eiUier  of  you,  so  make  the  most  <^  it'* 

"  Then  you  won't  fight  ?  "  said  I. 

*'  Not  for  the  Pope,"  said  the  radical ;  "  111  aee  the 
Pope " 

*'  Dear  me  I ''  said  I,  "  not  fight  for  the  Pope,  whose  rdigioD 
you  would  turn  to»  if  you  were  inclined  for  any.  I  see  how  it  is^ 
you  are  not  fond  of  ^hting ;  but  I'll  give  you  another  chance— 
you  were  abusing  the  Church  of  England  just  now.  I'll  fight  for 
it — will  you  fight  against  it?" 

"  Come,  Hunter,"  said  the  other,  *'  get  up,  and  fight  against 
the  Church  of  England." 

"  I  have  no  particular  quarrel  against  the  Church  of  England/* 
said  the  man  in  the  snuff-coloured  coat,  "  my  quarrel  is  with  the 
aristocracy.  If  I  said  anything  against  the  diurch,  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  kt 
him  carry  it  on.  However,"  he  continued  suddenly,  '*I  won't 
slink  firom  the  matter  either ;  it  shall  never  be  said  by  the  &ie 
fellows  on  the  quay  of  New  Yc^k,  that  I  wouldn't  fight  against 
the  Church  of  England.  So  down  with  the  bq;garly  aristocracy, 
the  church,  and  the  Pope,  to  the  bottom  of  the  pit  of  Eldoo,  and 
may  the  Pope  fall  first,  and  the  others  upon  him." 

Thereupon,  dashing  his  hat  on  the  table,  he  placed  himself  in 
an  attitude  of  offence,  and  rushed  forward.  He  was,  as  I  have 
said  befote,  a  powerfiil  fellow,  and  might  have  proved  a  dangerous 
antagonist,  more  especially  to  myself,  who,  after  my  recent 
encounter  with  the  flaming  Tinman,  and  my  wrestlings  with  die 
evil  one,  was  in  anything  but  fighting  order.  Anv  coUisioUi  bow- 
ever,  was  prevented  by  the  landloid,  who,  suditenly  aM>earing, 
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'  Din|^ 
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  dosdy,  diat  I  knew  him 


iftis.]  IBIDEM.  475 

at  once,  that  i8»  as  toon  as  I  taw  how  hia  left  hand  was  braised, 
for  she  tdd  me  he  was  a  left-hand  hitter.  Ar'n't  it  all  tnie»  yoang 
man?  Ar'n't  yon  he  that  beat  Flaming  BosviDe  in  Mumpers' 
Ding^?"  ''I  never  beat  FUming  Bosville,"  said  I,  "he  beat 
himself.  Had  he  not  struck  his  hand  against  a  tree,  I  shoaldn^t 
be  here  at  the  present  moment."  '^  Here  I  here  I "  said  the 
landlord,  *'  now  tiiat's  just  as  it  should  be ;  I  like  a  modest  man, 
for,  as  die  parson  sayst  nothing  sits  better  upon  a  young  man  than 
modesty.  I  remembert  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  die  mark,  as  he  was  coming  in,  so  that  he  lost  his 
wind,  and  falling  squeldi  on  the  ground,  do  ye  see,  he  lost  the 
battle,  though  I  am  free  to  confess  that  he  was  a  better  man  than 
myself;  indeed,  the  best  man  that  ever  fought  in  England;  yet 
still  I  won  the  battle,  as  every  customer  of  mine,  and  everybody 
within  twelve  miles  round,  has  heard  over  and  over  again.  Now, 
Mr.  Hunter,  I  have  one  thing  to  say,  if  you  choose  to  go  into  the 
field  behind  the  house,  and  fight  the  young  man,  you  can.  I'll 
back  him  for  ten  pounds ;  but  no  fighting  in  my  kitchen — because 
why  ?  I  keqM  a  decent  kind  of  an  estab^hment/* 

"  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  bladcguard  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  anydiing  he  pleases,  and  perhaps  the  young 
man  will  ht  my  second ;  whil^  you «-— " 

"  Come,  doctor,"  said  the  landlord,  "  or  whatsoever  you  be, 
will  you  go  into  the  field  with  Hunter?  I'll  second  you,  only 
you  must  back  yourselt  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 
fiur  thing." 

*'  Oh  I  I  have  no  wish  to  fight,**  said  the  man  in  black  hastily ; 
*'  fiffhting  is  not  my  trade.  If  I  have  given  any  offence,  I  beg 
anybody's  pardon." 

"  Landlord,'*  said  I,  "  what  have  I  to  pay  ?  " 

•*  Nothing  at  all,"  said  the  landlord ;  "  glad  to  see  you.    This 


476  LA  VBNORO.  [i8ss 

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  i  shall  always  be 
glad  to  see  you.  I  won't  take  it,"  said  he,  as  I  put  sixpence  od 
the  Uble ;  ''  I  won't  take  it" 

**  Yes,  you  shall/'  said  I ;  ''  but  not  in  payment  for  anything 
I  have  had  myself:  it  shall  serve  to  pay  for  a  jug  of  ale  for  that 
gentleman,"  said  I,  pointing  to  the  simple-looking  individual; 
*'  he  is  smoking  a  poor  pipe*  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  a  pipe  is 
a  bad  thing ;  but  a  pipe  without  ale,  do  you  see  *-— " 

"  Bravo  1 "  said  the  landlord,  *'  that's  just  the  conduct  I  hke." 

**  Bravo  1 "  said  Hunter.  "  I  shall  be  happy  to  drink  with  the 
young  man  whenever  I  meet  him  at  New  York,  where,  do  you 
see,  things  are  better  managed  than  here." 

"  If  I  have  given  ofience  to  anybody,  '*  said  the  man  in  black, 
'*  I  repeat  |hat  I  ask  pardon, — more  especially  to  the  young 
gentleman,  who  was  perfecdy  right  to  stand  up  for  his  rdigion, 
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  excdlent  friends 
of  mine  are  Catholics—and  of  a  surety  the  Catholic  religion  is  an 
ancient  reUg^n,  and  a  widely  extended  religion,  though  it  certainly 
is  not  a  universal  religion,  but  it  has  of  late  made  considerable 
progress,  even  amongst  those  nations  who  have  been  particulariy 
opposed  to  it— amongst  the  Prussians  and  the  Dutch,  for  example, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  English ;  and  then,  in  the  East,  amongst  the 
PersianSt  amongst  the  Armenians " 

"  The  Armenians,"  said  I ;  "  oh  dear  me,  the  Armenians ^ 

''Have  you  anything  to  say  about  those  people,  sir?"  said 
the  man  in  black,  lifting  up  his  glass  to  his  mouth. 

<*  I  have  nothing  fiirther  to  say,"  said  I, ''  than  that  the  roots 
of  Ararat  are  occasionally  found  to  be  deeper  than  those  of  Rome." 

"  There's  half  a  crown  broke,"  said  the  landlord,  as  the  man 
in  black  let  &11  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  c^  an 
establishment" 


CHAPTER  LXXXIX. 


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  b^an  to  be  anxious  about 
you.    Did  you  take  my  advice?" 

**  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  I  went  to  the  public-house  and  drank  ale 
as  you  advised  me;  it  cheered,  strengthened,  and  drove  away 
the  horror  from  my  mind — I  am  much  beholden  to  you." 

"  I  knew  it  would  do  you  good,"  said  Belle ;  "  I  remembered 
that  when  the  poor  woman  in  the  great  house  were  afflicted  with 
hysterics  and  fearful  imaginings,  the  surgeon,  who  was  a  good, 
kind  man,  used  to  say :  '  Ale,  give  them  ale,  and  let  it  be  strong  '•" 

*'  He  was  no  advocate  for  tea,  then  ?  "  said  I. 

"  He  had  no  objection  to  tea ;  but  he  used  to  say,  '  Every- 
thing in  its  season '.  Shall  we  take  ours  now — I  have  waited  for 
you. 

"  I  have  no  objection,"  said  I ;  "I  feel  rather  heated,  and  at 
present  should  prefer  tea  to  ale — '  Everything  in  its  season,'  as 
the  surgeon  said." 

Thereupon  Belle  prepared  tea,  and,  as  we  were  taking  it,  she 
said :  "  What  did  you  see  and  hear  at  the  public-house?  " 

"  Really,"  said  I,  "  you  appear  to  have  your  full  portion  of 
curiosity ;  what  matters  it  to  you  what  I  saw  and  heard  at  the 
public-house?" 

"  It  matters  very  little  to  me,"  said  Belle ;  "  I  merely  inquired 
of  you,  for  the  sake  of  a  little  conversation — you  were  silent,  and 
it  is  uncomfortable  for  two  people  to  sit  together  without  opening 
their  lips — ^at  least  I  think  so." 

**  One  only  feds  uncomfortable,"  said  I,  "  in  being  silcn^ 

(477) 


47S  LA  VBNGRO.  [i8a5. 

wheD  one  happens  to  be  thinking  of  the  indiyidual  with  whom 
one  is  in  oompanj.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  not  thinking  of 
my  companion,  but  of  certain  company  with  whom  1  had  t^en 
at  the  public-house." 

*'  Really,  young  man,^  said  Belle,  *'  you  are  not  over  compli- 
mentary ;  but  who  may  this  wonderful  company  have  been — some 
young ?  "  and  here  Belle  stopped. 

**  Nob"  said  I,  **  there  was  no  young  person — ^if  person  you 
were  going  to  say.  There  was  a  big  portly  landlord,  whom  I 
dare  say  you  have  seen ;  a  noisy  savage  radical,  who  wanted  at 
first  to  fasten  upon  me  a  quarrel  about  America,  but  who  subse- 
quently drew  in  his  horns;  then  there  was  a  strange  fellow,  a 
prowling  priest,  I  believe,  whom  I  have  frequently  heard  of^  who 
at  first  seemed  disposed  to  side  with  the  radical  against  me,  and 
afterwards  with  me  against  the  radical.  There,  you  know  my 
company,  and  what  took  place." 

**  Was  there  no  one  else?  "  said  Belle. 

**  You  are  mighty  curious,"  said  I.  ''  No,  none  else,  except  a 
poor,  simple  mechanic,  and  some  common  company,  who  soon 
went  away." 

Belle  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  and  then  appeared  to  be 
lost  in  thought — '^ America?"  said  she,  musingly — "America?" 

"  What  of  America  ?  "  said  I. 

"  I  have  heard  that  it  is  a  mighty  country." 

**  I  dare  say  it  is,"  said  I ;  ''  I  have  heard  my  father  say  that 
the  Americans  are  first-rate  marksmen." 

**l  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  sJways  find 
bread ;  I  have  frequently  thought  of  going  thither." 

''  Well,"  said  I,  "  the  radical  in  the  public-house  will  perhaps 
be  glad  of  your  company  thither ;  he  is  as  great  an  admirer  of 
America  as  yourself,  though  I  believe  on  different  grounds." 

"  I  shall  go  by  myself,  said  Belle,  "  unless — unless  that  should 
happen  which  is  not  likely — I  am  not  fond  of  radicals  no  more 
than  I  am  of  scoffers  and  mockers." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  am  a  scofier  and  mocker? " 

"I  don't  wish  to  say  you  are,"  said  Belle;  "but  some  of 
your  words  sound  strangely  like  scoffing  and  mocking.  I  have 
now  one  thing  to  beg,  which  is,  that  if  you  have  anything  to  say 
against  America,  you  would  speak  it  out  boldly." 

"What  should  I  have  to  say  against  America?  I  never  was 
there." 


sftis-]  BBLLB  IN  THE  DINGLB.  47$ 

**  Many  people  speak  against  America  who  never  were  there.** 

**  Many  people  speak  in  praise  of  America  who  nerer  were 
there;  but  with  respect  to  myself^  I  have  not  spoken  for  or 
against  America." 

"  If  yott  liked  Ammca  yon  would  speak  in  its  praise/* 

''By  the  same  rulei  if  I  disliked  America  I  should  speak 
against  it" 

''  I  can't  speak  with  you/'  said  Belle ;  ''  but  I  see  you  dislike 
the  country." 

"  The  country ! " 

"  Well,  the  people— don't  you  ?  '* 

"  I  do." 

'<  Why  do  you  dislike  them  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  have  heard  my  father  say  that  the  American  marks- 
men, led  on  by  a  chap  of  the  name  of  Washington,  sent  the 
English  to  the  right-about  in  double-quick  time." 

*'  And  that  is  your  reason  for  disliking  the  Americans  ?  " 

''  Yes,"  said  I, ''  that  is  my  reason  for  disliking  them.'* 

**  Will  you  take  another  ctip  of  tea  ?  "  said  Belle. 

I  took  another  cup;  we  were  agam  silent  "It  is  rather 
uncomfortable,"  said  I,  at  last,  "  for  people  to  sit  together  without 
having  anything  to  say."* 

"  Were  you  thinking  of  your  company  ?  "  said  Belle. 

**  What  company  ?  "  said  I. 

"  The  present  company." 

'^The  present  company !  oh,  ah ! — I  remember  that  I  said  one 
only  feels  uncomfortable  in  being  silent  with  a  companion,  when 
one  happens  to  be  thinking  of  the  companion.  Well,  I  had  been 
thinking  of  you  the  last  two  or  diree  minutes,  and  had  just  come 
to  the  conclusion,  that  to  prevent  us  both  feeling  occasionally  un- 
comfortably towards  each  other,  having  nothing  to  say,  it  would 
be  as  well  to  have  a  standing  subject,  on  which  to  employ  our 
tongues.  Bdle,  I  have  determined  to  give  you  lessons  in 
Armenian." 

'<  What  is  Aimenian  ?  " 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Ararat?" 

"Yes,  that  was  the  place  fiiiere  the  ark  rested;  I  have  heard 
the  chaplain  in  the  great  house  talk  of  it ;  besides,  I  have  read  of 
it  in  the  Bible." 

"  Well,  Armenian  is  the  speech  of  people  of  that  place,  and  I 
should  like  to  teach  it  vou." 

"To  prevent '^ 

"Ay,  ay,  to  prevent  our  occasionally  feding  uncomfortable 


48o  LA  VBNGRO.  [i&is- 

together*  Your  acqairiog  it  besides  might  prove  of  alterior  ad- 
vantage to  us  both;  for  example,  suppose  you  aod  I  were  in 
promiscuous  company^  at  Court,  for  example,  and  you  had  some- 
thing to  communicate  to  me  which  you  did  not  wish  any  one  dse 
to  be  acquainted  with,  how  safely  you  might  communicate  it  to 
me  in  Armenian." 

^Would  not  the  language  of  the  roads  do  as  well?"  said 
Belle. 

''  In  some  places  it  would,*  said  I,  '*  but  not  at  Court,  owing 
to  its  resemblance  to  thieves'  slang.  There  is  Hebrew,  again, 
which  I  was  thinking  of  teaching  yoo,  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  confi- 
dence of  safety,  but  upon  the  whole  I  should  prefer  teaching  you 
Armenian,  not  because  it  would  be  a  safer  language  to  hold  com- 
munication with  at  Court,  but  because,  not  being  very  well 
grounded  in  it  myself,  I  am  apprehensive  that  its  words  and  forms 
may  escape  from  my  recollection,  unless  I  have  sometimes 
occasion  to  call  them  forth." 

*'  I  am  afraid  we  shall  have  to  part  company  before  I  have 
learnt  it,''  said  BeUe ;  *'  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?" 

''  If  no  roadster  in  nigh,  you  may,"  said  I,  *'and  I  will  do  my 
best  to  understand  you.  Belle,  I  will  now  give  you  a  lesson  in 
Armenian."  * 

*'  I  suppose  you  mean  no  harm,"  said  Belle. 

"  Not  in  the  least ;  I  merely  propose  the  thing  to  prevent  our 
occasionally  feelix^  uncomfortable  together*    Let  us  begin." 

"Stop  till  I  have  removed  the  tea-things,"  said  Belle;  and, 
getting  up,  she  removed  them  to  her  own  encampment 

''  I  am  ready,"  said  Belle,  returning,  and  taking  her  former 
seat,  "  to  join  with  you  in  anything  which  will  serve  to  pass  away 
the  time  agreeably,  provided  there  is  no  harm  in  it." 

"Belle,"  said  I,  "  I  have  determined  to  commence  the  course 
of  Armenian  lessons  by  teaching  you  the  numerals ;  but,  before  I 
do  that,  it  will  be  as  well  to  tell  you  that  the  Armenian  language  is 
called  Haik." 

"I  am  sure  that  word  will  hang  upon  my  memory,"  said 
Belle. 

*'Why  hang  upon  it?" 


ites-]  LBSSOlf  IN  ARMENIAN.  481 

**  Because  the  old  woman  in  the  great  house  used  to  call  so 
the  chininey-hook»  on  which  they  hung  the  kettle ;  in  like  manner, 
on  the  hake  of  my  memory  I  will  hang  your  hake.'* 

*'  Good ! "  said  I,  "  you  will  make  an  apt  scholar ;  but,  mind, 
that  I  did  not  say  hake,  but  haik ;  the  words  are,  however,  very 
much  alike ;  and,  as  you  observe,  upon  your  hake  you  may  hang 
my  haik.    We  will  now  proceed  to  the  numerals." 

''What  are  numerals ?  "  said  Belle 

"  Numbers.  I  will  say  the  Haikan  numbers  up  to  ten.  There, 
have  you  heard  them  ?  " — "  Yes."    "  Well,  try  and  repeat  them.* 

''I  only  remember  number  one,"  said  Belle,  "and  that 
because  it  is  me,*' 

"  I  will  repeat  them  again,"  said  I,  ''and  pay  greater  attention. 
Now,  try  again." 

^^ Me^jergo^  earache** 

"  I  neither  said  jtrgo  nor  earache.  I  said  yergou  and  yerek. 
Belle,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  some  difficulty  with  you  as  a 
scholar." 

Belle  made  no  answer.  Her  eyes  were  turned  in  the  direction 
of  the  winding  path,  which  led  from  the  bottom  of  the  hollow 
where  we  were  seated,  to  the  plain  above.  "  Gorgio  shunella," 
she  said,  at  length,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Pure  Rommany,"  said  1 ;  "where?"  I  added  in  a  whisper. 

"  Dovey  odoi/'  said  Belle,  nodding  with  her  head  towards  the 
path. 

"  I  will  soon  see  who  it  is,"  said  I ;  and  starting  up,  I  rushed 
towards  the  pathway,  intending  to  lay  violent  hands  on  any  one 
I  might  find  lurking  in  its  windings.  Before,  however,  I  had 
reached  its  commencement,  a  roan,  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. 


St 


CHAPTER  Xa 


Thb  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  fe^ 
At  length,  looking  around  the  dingle,  he  exclaimed:  "JBuona  Sera^ 
I  hope  I  don't  intrude  ". 

"You  have  as  much  right  here,"  said  I,  *'as  I  or  my  com- 
panion ;  but  you  had  no  right  to  stand  listening  to  our  convena- 
tion." 

"  I  was  not  hstening,"  said  the  man, ''  I  was  hesitating  whether 
to  advance  or  retire ;  and  if  I  heard  some  of  your  conversation, 
the  fault  was  not  mine.*' 

"  I  do  not  see  why  you  should  have  hesitated  if  your  inten- 
tions were  good,"  said  I. 

**  I  think  the  kind  of  place  in  which  I  found  myself  might 
excuse  some  hesitation,"  said  the  man  in  black,  looking  around  ; 
'^moreover,  from  what  I  had  seen  of  your  demeanour  at  the 
public-house,  I  vras  rather  apprehensive  that  the  reception  I  might 
experience  at  your  hands  might  be  more  rough  than  agreeable." 

"  And  what  may  have  been  your  motive  for  coming  to  this 
place?"  said  I. 

"  Per  far  visita  d  sua  signoria,  tcco  il  motivo,' 

"  Why  do  you  speak  to  me  in  that  gibberish?"  said  I ;  "  do  you 
think  I  understand  it?  " 

'*  It  is  not  Armenian,"  said  the  man  in  black ;  "  but  it  might 
serve  in  a  place  like  this,  for  the  breathing  of  a  little  secret  com- 
munication, 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  per- 
haps summon  up  a  little  indifferent  Latin,  if  I  have  anything 
private  to  communicate  to  the  learned  Professor." 

And  at  the  conclusion  of  this  speech  the  man  in  black  lifted 
up  his  head,  and,  for  some  moments,  looked  me  in  the  &ce. 

(43a) 


If 


xfl^S*]  THE  MAN  IN  BLACK.  483 

The  muscles  of  his  own  seemed  to  be  slightly  convulsed,  and  his 
mouth  opened  in  a  singular  manner. 

"I  see,"  said  I,  "that  for  some  time  you  were  standmg  near 
me  and  my  companion,  in  the  mean  act  of  listening." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  the  man  in  black ;  "  I  heard  from  the  steep 
bank  above  that  to  which  I  have  now  alluded,  whilst  I  was 
puzzling  myself  to  find  the  path  which  leads  to  your  retreat.  I 
made,  indeed,  nearly  the  compass  of  the  whole  thicket  before  I 
found  it." 

**  And  how  did  you  know  that  I  was  here?  **  I  demanded. 

^The  landlord  of  the  public-house,  with  whom  I  had  some 
conversation  concerning  you,  informed  me  that  he  had  no  doubt 
I  should  find  you  in  this  place,  to  which  he  gave  me  instructions 
not  very  clear.  But  now  I  am  here,  I  crave  permission  to  remain 
a  little  time,  in  order  that  I  may  hold  some  communion  with  you." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  since  you  are  come,  you  are  welcome,  please 
to  step  Ms  way." 

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,  "Lovdy  virgin,"  said  he,  stretching  out  his  hand, 
**  allow  me  to  salute  your  fingers  ". 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  shaking  hands  with  strangers,"  said 
BeUe. 

'*  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." 

"  I  never  permit  anything  of  the  kind,"  said  BeUe ;  "  I  do  not 
approve  of  such  unmanly  ways,  they  are  only  befitting  those  who 
lurk  in  comers  or  behind  trees,  listening  to  the  conversation  of 
people  who  would  fain  be  private." 

*'Do  you  take  me  for  a  listener,  then?"  said  the  man  in 
black. 

"Ay,  indeed  I  do,"  said  Belle ;  "  the  young  man  may  receive 
your  excuses,  and  put  confidence  in  them  if  he  please,  but  for 
my  part  I  neither  admit  them,  nor  believe  them ; "  and  thereupon 
flinging  her  long  hair  back,  which  was  hanging  over  her  cheeks, 
she  seated  herself  on  her  stool. 

"  Come,  Belle,"  said  I,  "  I  have  bidden  the  gentleman  wel- 
come ;  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." 


404  ^^  VBNGRO.  [1895. 


''  That's  not  English  doctrine,"  said  the  man  in  blade. 

"  I  thought  the  English  prided  themselves  on 
said  I. 

"They  do  so,"  said  the  man  in  black;  "they  are  proud  of 
showing  hosfHtality  to  people  above  them,  that  is,  to  those  who 
do  not  want  it,  but  of  the  hospitality  which  you  were  now  de- 
scribing, and  which  is  Arabian,  they  luiow  nottung.  No  Eogliah- 
man  will  tderate  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  b  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  Enghshman  would  knock 
him  down  in  the  passage." 

"  You  are  too  general,"  said  I,  "  in  your  strictures ;  Lord »* 

the  unpopular  Tory  minister,  was  once  chased  through  the  streets 
of  London  by  a  mob,  and,  being  in  danger  of  his  lifp,  took  shelter 
in  the  shop  of  a  Whig  linen-draper,  declaring  his  own  unpopular 
name,  and  appealing  to  the  linen-draper's  feelings  of  hospitality ; 
whereupon,  the  linen-draper,  utterly  foigetful  of  all  party  ranooor, 
nobly  responded  to  the  appeal,  and  tdling  his  wife  to  conduct 
his  lordship  upstairs,  jumped  over  the  counter  with  his  ell  in  his 
hand,  and  placing  himself  with  half  a  dozen  of  his  assistants  at 
the  door  of  his  boutique^  manfully  confronted  the  mob,  telling 
them  that  he  would  allow  himself  to  be  torn  to  a  thousand  pieces, 
ere  he  would  permit  them  to  injure  a  hair  of  his  lordship's  head ; 
what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  He !  he !  he ! "  tittered  the  man  in  black. 

*^  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  am  afraid  your  own  practice  is  not  very 
different  from  that  which  you  have  been  just  now  describing ;  you 
sided  with  the  radical  in  the  public-house  against  me,  as  long  as 
you  thought  him  the  most  powerful,  and  then  turned  against  him, 
when  you  saw  he  was  cowed.    What  have  you  to  say  to  that  ?  " 

'*  Oh !  when  one  is  in  Rome,  I  mean  England,  one  must  do 
as  they  do  in  England,  I  was  merdy  conforming  to  the  custom  of 
the  country,  he !  he  I  but  I  b^  your  pardon  here,  as  I  did  in  the 
public-house.    I  made  a  mistake." 

<<Well,"  said  I,  ''we  will  drop  the  matter,  but  {Hay  seat 
yourself  on  that  stone,  and  I  will  sit  down  on  the  giass  near  you." 

1  MS.,  '*  Lord  AtbefdMal". 


itoy]  "  WHEN  IN  ROME  '  4B5 

i<— «i^«^^— ^"^i^i— ^— »^— ^— ^— — — p^^»^— —       — p— I— — ^— i^— ^— ■^■^»^».— — .^i— »^^— ^— ^ 

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  tibis  a  mere 
visit  of  ceremony?  Should  it  prove  so,  it  will  be,  I  believe,  the 
first  visit  of  the  kind  ever  paid  me." 

"Will  you  permit  me  to  ask,"  said  the  man  in  black — "the 
weather  is  very  warm,"  said  he,  interrupting  himself,  and  taking 
off  his  hat. 

I  now  observed  that  he  was  partly  bald,  his  red  hair  having 
died  away  from  the  fore  part  of  his  crown ;  his  forehead  was 
high,  his  eyebrows  scanty,  his  eyes  grey  and  sly,  with  a  downward 
tendency,  his  nose  was  slightly  aquiline,  his  mouth  rather  large — 
a  kind  of  sneering  smile  played  continually  on  his  lips,  his 
complexion  was  somewhat  rubicund. 

"  A  bad  countenance,"  said  Belle,  in  the  language  of  the  roads, 
observing  that  my  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  face. 

"  Does  not  my  countenance  please  you,  fair  damsel  ?  "  said  the 
man  in  black,  resuming  his  hat  and  speaking  in  a  peculiarly 
gentle  voice.  "  How,"  said  I,  "  do  you  understand  the  language 
of  the  roads?" 

**  As  little  as  I  do  Armenian,"  said  the  roan  in  black ;  "  but 
I  understand  look  and  tone." 

"So  do  I,  perhaps,"  retorted  Belle;  "and,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  like  your  tone  as  little  as  your  face." 

"  For  shame,"  said  I ;  "  have  you  forgot  what  I  was  saying 
just  now  about  the  duties  of  hospitality?  You  have  not  yet 
answered  my  question,"  said  I,  addressing  myself  to  the  man, 
"with  respect  to  your  visit." 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  ask  who  you  are  ? ' 

" Do  you  see  the  place  where  I  live?"  said  I. 

"  I  do,"  said  the  man  in  black,  looking  around. 

**  Do  you  know  the  name  of  this  place  ?  " 

"  I  was  told  it  was  Mumpers',  or  Gypsies'  Dingle,'  said  the 
man  in  black. 

"  Good,"  said  I ;  "  and  this  forge  and  tent,  what  do  they  look 
like?" 

"  Like  the  forge  and  tent  of  a  wandering  Zigan ;  I  have  seen 
the  like  in  luly." 

"  Good,"  said  I ;  they  belong  to  me." 

"Are  you,  then,  a  Gypsy?"  said  the  man  in  black. 

"What  else  should  I  be?" 


406  LA  VBSGRO.  [i8t^ 

*'Biit  you  seem  to  have  been  acquainted  with  ▼arious  in 
dividuals  with  whom  I  have  likewise  had  acquaintance ;  and  you 
have  even  alluded  to  matters,  and  even  words,  which  have  passed 
between  me  and  them." 

''  Do  you  know  how  Gypsies  live?"  said  I. 

*'  By  hammering  old  iron,  I  believe,  and  telling  fortunes." 

''  Well,"  said  I,  *'  there's  my  forge,  and  yonder  is  some  iron, 
though  not  old,  and  by  your  own  confession  I  am  a  soothsayer.** 

"  But  how  did  you  come  by  your  knowledge  ?  " 

''  Oh/'  said  I, "  if  you  want  me  to  reveal  the  secrets  of  my  trade, 
I  have,  of  course,  nothing  further  to  say.  Go  to  the  scarlet  dyer, 
and  ask  him  how  he  dyes  cloth." 

''Why  scarlet?"  said  the  n;tan  in  black.  ''Is  it  because 
Gypsies  blush  like  scarlet" 

"Gypsies  never  blush,"  said  I;  "but  Gypsies'  cloaks  are 
scarlet" 

"I  should  almost  take  you  for  a  Gypsy,"  said  the  man  in 
black,  "but  for " 

"For  what?"  said  I. 

"But  for  that  same  lesson  in  Armenian,  and  your  general 
knowledge  of  languages ;  as  for  your  manners  and  appearance  I 
will  say  nothing,"  said  the  man  in  black,  with  a  titter. 

"And  why  should  not  a  Gypsy  possess  a  knowledge  of  lan- 
guages?" said  L 

"  Because  the  Gypsy  race  is  perfectly  illiterate,"  said  the  man 
in  black ;  "  they  are  possessed,  it  is  true,  of  a  knavish  acuteness ; 
and  are  particularly  noted  for  giving  subUe  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  Ar- 
menian, and  have  a  general  knowledge  of  literature  is  a  thing  Me 
w  non  credo  afatto" 

"  What  do  you  take  me  for?  "  said  I. 

"Why,"  said  the  man  in  black,  "I  should  consider  you  to  be 
a  philologist,  who,  for  some  purpose,  has  taken  up  a  Gypsy  life ; 
but  I  confess  to  you  that  vour  way  of  answering  questicms  is  &r 
too  acute  fcv  a  philologist' 

"And  why  should  not  a  philologist  be  able  to  answer  ques- 
tions acutely  ?  "  said  I. 

"Because  the  philological  race  is  the  most  stupid  under 
Heaven,"  said  the  man  in  black  ;  "  they  are  possessed,  it  is  tni^ 
of  a  certain  faculty  for  picking  up  words,  and  a  memory  for  re- 
taining 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 


1835.]  THB  CLOTH  PUZZLED.  487 


though  the  subject  were  philol<^ — is  a  thing  of  which  I 
have  no  idea." 

"  But  you  found  me  giving  a  lesson  in  Annenian  to  this  hand- 
maid ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  did,"  said  the  man  in  black. 

"And  you  heard  me  give  what  you  are. disposed  to  caU  acute 
answers  to  the  questions  you  asked  me?" 

"  I  believe  I  did/'  said  the  man  in  black." 

''And  would  any  one  but  a  philologist  think  of  giving  a  lesson 
in  Armenian  to  a  handmaid  in  a  dingle  ?  " 

''  I  should  think  not,"  said  the  man  in  black. 

"Well,  then,  don't  you  see  that  it  is  possible  for  a  philologist 
to  give  not  only  a  rational^  but  an  acute  answer  ?  " 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  said  the  man  in  black. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Merely  puzzled,"  said  the  man  in  black. 

"  Puzzled  ?  " 

"Yes-" 

"  Really  puzzled  ?  '* 

"  Yes." 

"Remain  so." 

"Well,"  said  the  man  in  black,  rising,  "puzzled  or  not,  I  will 
no  longer  tresspass  upon  your  and  this  young  lady's  retirement ; 
only  allow  me,  before  I  go,  to  apologise  for  my  intrusion." 

"No  apology  is  necessary,"  said  I ;  "will  you  please  to  take 
anything  before  you  go?  I  think  this  young  lady,  at  my  request, 
would  contrive  to  make  you  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  Tea ! "  said  the  man  in  black—"  he  I  he  I  I  don't  drink 
tea ;  I  don't  like  it — if,  indeed,  you  had,"  and  here  he  stopped. 

"There's  nothing  like  gin  and  water,  is  there? "  said  I,  "but 
I  am  sorry  to  say  I  have  none." 

"  Gin  and  water,"  said  the  man  in  black,  "how  do  you  know 
that  I  am  fond  of  gin  and  water  ?  " 

"  Did  I  not  see  you  drinking  some  at  the  public-house  ?  " 

"You  did/'  said  the  num  in  black,  "and  I  remember,  that 
when  I  called  for  some,  you  repeated  my  words — permit  me  to 
ask,  is  gin  and  water  an  unusual  drink  in  England  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  usuaUy  drunk  cold,  and  with  a  lump  of  sugar/' 
said  I. 

"And  did  you  know  who  I  was  by  my  calling  for  it  so?" 
Gypsies  have  various  ways  of  obtaining  information,"  said  I. 
With  all  your  knowledge,"  said  the  man  in  black,  "you  do 
not  appear  to  have  known  that  I  was  coming  to  visit  you  " 


4B8  LA  VBNGRO.  [1895. 

''Gypsies  do  not  pretend  to  know  anything  which  relates  to 
themselves,"  said  I ;  ''  but  I  advise  you,  if  you  ever  come  again, 
to  come  openly." 

*'  Have  I  your  permission  to  come  again  ? "  said  the  man  in 
black." 

''  Come  when  you  please ;  this  dingle  is  as  free  for  you  as  me." 

''I  will  visit  you  again,"  said  the  man  in  black — ''till  then, 
addio" 

"  Bdle,"  said  I,  after  the  man  in  black  had  departed,  "  we 
did  not  treat  that  man  very  hospitably ;  he  left  us  without  having 
eaten  or  drunk  at  our  expense." 

"You  offered  him  some  tea,"  said  Belle,  "which,  as  it  is 
mine,  I  should  have  grudged  him,  for  I  like  him  not." 

"Our  liking  or  disliking  him  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
matter,  he  was  our  visitor  and  ought  not  to  have  been  permitted 
to  depart  dry ;  living  as  we  do  in  this  desert,  we  ought  always  to 
be  prepared  to  administer  to  the  wants  of  our  visitors.  Belle,  do 
you  know  where  to  procure  any  good  Hollands  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  do,"  said  Belle,  "  but " 

'*I  will  have  no  'buts'.  Belle,  I  expect  that  with  as  little 
delay  as  possible,  you  procure,  at  my  expense^  the  best  Hollands 
yoa  can  find" 


CHAPTER  XCL 


Time  passed  on,  and  Belle  and  I  lived  in  the  dingle ;  when  I  say 
lived,  the  reader  must  not  imagine  tlrnt  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  occa- 
sionally 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  con- 
sidered ;  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  loo  Haikan  numerals  upon  the 
hake  of  her  memory.  I  found  her  conversation  highly  entertain- 
ing ;  she  had  seen  much  of  England  and  Wales,  and  had  been 
acquainted  with  some  of  the  most  remarkable  characters  who 
travelled  the  roads  at  that  period ;  and  let  me  be  permitted  to 
say  that  many  remarkable  characters  have  travelled  the  roads  of 
England,  of  whom  fame  has  never  said  a  word.  I  loved  to  hear 
her  anecdotes  of  these  people ;  some  of  whom  I  found  had  oc- 
casionally 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»  bow- 
ever,  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  home- 
steads, 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 

(489) 


490  LA  VBNGRO.  [1835. 

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  fiivour, 
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  (or 
mine,  I  would  endeavour  to  entertain  her  vrith  strange  dreams  of 
adventure,  in  which  I  figured  in  opaque  forests,  strangling  wfld 
beasts,  or  discovering  and  plunderbg  the  hordes  of  dragons ;  and 
sometimes  I  would  narrate  to  her  other  things  &r  more  genuine 
— how  I  had  tamed  savage  mares,  wrestled  with  Satan,  and 
had  jdealings  with  ferocious  publishers.  Belle  had  a  kind  heart, 
and  would  weep  at  the  accounts  I  gave  her  of  my  early  wrest- 
lings 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 
forthvrith  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  re- 
proaches whenever  she  committed  the  slightest  error,  either  in 
accent  or  pronunciation,  which  reproaches  she  i^peared  to  bear 
with  the  greatest  patience.  And  now  I  have  given  a  very  fair 
account  of  the  manner  in  which  Isopel  Bemers  and  myself  passed 
our  time  in  the  dingle. 


CHAPTER  XCII. 


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  bran. 
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  house- 
keeper, 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 
m3rself.  Ah,  there  is  nothing  like  the  ring;  I  wish  I  was  not 
rather  too  old  to  (go  again  into  it.  I  often  think  I  should  like  to 
have  another  rally—- one  more  rally,  and  then — ^but  there's  a  time 
for  all  things — youth  will  be  served,  every  dog  has  his  day,  and 
mine  has  been  a  fine  one — ^let  me  t>e  content.  After  banting 
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  £uter ;  however,  the 
next  main  of  cocks  will  bring  me  in  something  handsome— <pmes 

off  next  Wednesday  at have  ventured  ten  five-pound  notes — 

shouldn't  say  ventured  either — run  no  risk  at  all,  because  why  ?  I 
know  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 

(491) 


49>  LA  VBNORO.  [iSsy 

you  are  come,  I  was  just  thinking  about  you  ".  **  Thank  you,'* 
said  I ;  **  it  was  veiy  kind  of  you,  especially  at  a  time  like  this, 
when  your  mind  must  be  lull  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  siter  you 
had  won  the  money,  you  ought  to  have  been  satisfied,  and  not 
risked  it  again-^how  did  you  lose  it?  I  hope  not  by  the  pea 
and  thimble."  «'Pea  and  thimble,"  said  the  landlord,  '<not 
I ;  those  confounded  codes  left  me  nothing  to  lose  by  the  pea 
and  thimble."  "  Dear  me,"  said  I ;  "  I  thought  that  you  knew 
vour  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  reputa- 
tion; make  the  most  of  that,  give  up  cock-fighting,  and  be 
content  with  the  custom  of  your  house,  of  which  you  vrill  always 
have  plenty,  as  long  as  you  are  the  wonder  and  glory  of  the 
neighbourhood." 

The  landlord  struck  the  taUe  before  him  violently  with  his 
fist  *'  Confound  my  reputation ! "  said  he.  ^  No  reputation 
that  I  have  vrill  be  satis£u:tion  to  my  brewer  for  the  seventy 
pounds  I  owe  him.  Reputation  won't  pass  for  the  current  coin 
of  this  here  realm ;  and  let  me  tell  you,  that  if  it  a'n't  backed  by 
some  of  it,  it  a'n*t  a  bit  better  than  rotten  cabbage,  as  I  have 
found.  Only  three  weeks  since  I  was,  as  I  told  you,  the  wonder 
and  glory  of  the  neighbourhood ;  and  people  used  to  come  and 
look  at  me,  and  worship  me,  but  as  soon  as  it  b^an  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  everbody  has  left  off  coming  to  the  house,  and  the  few 
who  does,  merely  comes  to  insult  and  flout  me.  It  was  only 
last  night  that  fellow.  Hunter,  called  me  an  old  fool  in  my  own 
kitchen  here.  He  wouldn't  have  called  me  a  fool  a  fortnight 
ago ;  'twas  I  called  him  fool  then,  and  last  night  he  called  me 
old  fool ;  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  the  man  that  beat  Tom  of 
Hopton,  to  be  called,  not  only  a  fool,  but  an  old  fool ;  and  I  hadn't 
heart,  with  one  blow  of  this  here  fist  into  his  fiice,  to  send  his 


iteS-]  PUBLICAirS  PROPOSITION.  493 

head  ringing  against  the  wall ;  for  when  a  man's  pocket  is  low,  do 
you  see,  his  heart  aVt  much  higher ;  but  it  is  of  no  use  talking, 
something  must  be  done.  I  was  thinking  of  you  just  as  you 
came  in,  for  you  are  just  the  person  that  can  help  me." 

**  If  you  mean/'  said  I,  ''  to  ask  me  to  lend  you  the  money 
which  you  want,  it  will  be  to  no  purpose,  as  I  have  very  little  ol 
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  any- 

thing  I  could  say "    "  You  are  right  there,"  said  the  hmdlord ; 

**  much  the  brewer  would  care  (or  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  affiiirs  if  I  were 
to  send  him  such  a  'cesser  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  fighting  a  cove  is,  and  though 
I  was  fool  enough  to  back  Uiose  birds,  I  was  never  quite  (wA 
enough  to  lend  anybody  money.  What  I  am  about  to  propose  is 
somdthing  very  different  from  going  to  my  hmdlord,  or  lending 
any  capital ;  something  which,  thot^  it  will  put  money  into  my 
pocket,  will  likewise  put  something  handsome  into  your  own. 
I  want  to  get  up  a  fight  in  this  here  nei^bourhood,  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  drink- 
ing, 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  tiiink  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 
oe  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  brou^t  together  if  you  were  to  fight  with 


494  J^  VBNORO.  [i8ai 

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  se^  the 
person  I  wants  you  to  fight  with  is  not  a  man,  but  the  young 
woman  you  keeps  company  with." 

"The  young  woman  I  keep  company  with,"  said  I;  "pray 
what  do  you  mean?" 

"  We  will  go  into  the  bar,  and  have  something,"  said  the  land- 
lord, getting  up.  *^  My  niece  is  out,  and  there  is  no  one  in  the 
house,  so  we  can  talk  the  matter  over  quiedy."  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  dose  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  yon 
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  respect- 
ability  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  li^ve 
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  am  manage  to  raise  ten  pounds,  and  if  by  flashing  that 
about,  I  don't  manage  to  make  a  hundred,  call  me  horse."  "But, 
suppose,"  said  I,  "  the  party  should  lose,  on  whom  you  sport  your 
money,  even  as  the  birds  did  ?  "  **  We  must  first  make  all  right," 
said  the  landlord,  "  as  I  told  you  before ;  the  birds  were  irrational 
beings,  and  therefore  couldn't  come  to  an  understanding  with  the 
others,  as  you  and  the  young  woman  can.  The  birds  fought  fair ; 
but  I  intend  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  &ie  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 


tSas-]  '*rLL  CHANOB  MY  MLIGtON  f"  495 

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  wid^ 
so  that  all  the  flats  who  think  it  will  be  all  right,  mil  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  &ir  thing  one  may 
lose  all  he  has."  "  But,"  said  I,  ''you  said  the  other  day,  that 
you  liked  the  fair  thing."  **  That  was  by  way  of  gammon,"  said 
the  landlord ;  "  just,  do  you  see,  as  a  Parliament  cove  might  say 
speechifying  from  a  barrel  to  a  set  of  flats,  whom  he  means  to  sell. 
Come,  what  do  you  think  of  the  plan  ?  " 

'*  It  is  a  very  ingenious  one,"  said  I. 

*' A'n't  it,"  said  the  landlord.  "The  folks  in  this  neighbour- 
hood are  b^inning  to  call  me  old  fool,  but  if  they  don't  call  me 
something  else,  when  they  sees  me  friends  with  the  brewer,  and 
money  in  my  pocket,  my  name  is  not  Catchpole.  Come,  drink 
your  ale,  and  go  home  to  the  young  gentlewoman." 

'*  I  am  going,"  said  I,  rising  from  my  seat,  after  finishing  the 
remainder  of  the  ale. 

*'  Do  you  think  shell  have  any  objection  ?  "  said  the  landlord 

"To  do  what?"  said  I. 

••  Why,  to  fight  cross." 

"  Yes,  I  do,*^  said  I. 

"  But  you  will  do  your  best  to  persuade  her  ?  " 

"  No,  I  will  not,"  said  I. 

"  Are  vou  fool  enough  to  wish  to  fight  fair  ?  " 

"  No,    said  I,  "  I  am  wise  enough  to  wish  not  to  fight  at  alL" 

**  And  how's  my  brewer  to  be  paid  ?  "  said  the  landlord. 

'<  I  really  don't  know,"  said  I. 

**  111  change  my  religion,"  said  the  landlord 


CHAPTER  XCIIL 


Onb  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,  as- 
suring him  that  I  was  now  in  possession  of  some  very  ezoellent 
Hollands  which,  ?rith  a  glass,  a  jug  of  water,  and  a  lump  of  sugar, 
were  heartily  at  his  service ;  he  accepted  my  offer,  and  Belle  going 
vdth  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  Ukewise  to  some  Hollands,  the  proportion  of  water 
being  about  two-thirds ;  then  adding  a  lump  of  sugar,  he  stirred 
the  rhole  up,  tasted  it,  and  said  that  it  was  good. 

**  is  is  one  of  the  good  things  of  life,"  he  added,  after  a 
short  paase. 

''What  are  the  others ?  "    I  demanded. 

''There  is  Malvoisia  sack,"  said  the  man  in  black,  "and 
partridge,  and  beccafico." 

"  And  what  do  you  say  to  high  mass  ?  "  said  I. 

"  High  massl "  said  the  man  in  black;  "however,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  a  pause,  "  I  will  be  frank  with  you ;  I  came  to  be 
so ;  I  may  have  heard  high  mass  on  a  time,  and  said  it  too,  but 
as  for  any  predilection  for  it,  I  assure  you  I  have  no  more  than 
for  a  long  High  Church  sermon." 

"  You  speak  k  la  Margutte?  "  said  I. 

"Margutte ! "  said  the  man  in  black,  musingly,  "Maigutte?" 

"  You  have  read  Pulci,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  I. 

**  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  man  in  black,  laughing ;  "  I  remember." 

"  He  might  be  rendered  into  Englisl^"  said  1,  "  something 
in  this  style: — 

(496) 


J 


i8ss]  TINKBR  QUOTES  PULCI.  497 


**  To  which  Margotte  answered  with  a  aneery 
I  like  the  blue  no  better  than  the  black. 
My  faith  consists  alone  in  savoury  cheer, 
In  roasted  capons,  and  in  potent  sack ; 
But  above  all,  in  &moas  gin  and  clear, 
Which  often  lays  the  Briton  on  hia  back. 
With  lump  of  sugar,  and  with  lympth  from  well, 
I  drink  it,  and  defy  the  fiends  of  hell." 

''  He  1  he !  he  1 "  said  the  man  in  black ;  "  that  is  more  than 
Mezzofante  could  have  done  for  a  stanza  of  Byron." 

"  A  clever  man,"  said  I. 

"  Who  ?  "  said  the  man  in  black. 

"  Mezzofante  di  Bologna." 

''  He  1  he  I  he  I "  said  the  man  in  black ;  "  now  I  know  that 
you  are  not  a  Gypsy»  at  least  a  soothsayer ;  no  soothsayer  would 
have  said  that — 


*» 


"Why,"  said  I*  ''does  he  not  understand  five-and-twenty 
tongues  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  man  in  black ;  "  and  five-and-twenty  added 
to  them ;  but — he  1  he  I  he !  it  was  principally  from  him  who  is 
certainly  the  greatest  of  philologists  that  I  formed  my  opinion  of 
the  sect" 

"  You  ought  to  speak  of  him  with  more  respect,"  said  I ;  ''  I 
have  heard  say  that  he  has  done  good  service  to  your  see." 

"  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  propa- 
ganda 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  1  he  1  he ! 
Of  course  you  know  Napoleon's  estimate  of  Mezzo&nte ;  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 :  *J\r<ms  avons  eu  id  un  exemple  qt^un 
homme  peut  avoir  btawoup  dt paroles  avec  bien  ptu  d* esprit  \** 

"You  are  ungrateful  to  him,"  said  I ;  "well,  perhaps,  when 
he  is  dead  and  gone  you  will  do  him  justice." 

"  True,"  said  the  man  in  black ;  "  when  he  is  dead  and  gone 
we  intend  to  erect  him  a  statue  of  wood,  on  the  left-hand  side  of 
the  door  of  the  Vatican  library." 

"  Of  wood  ?  "  said  I. 

"  He  was  the  son  of  a  carpenter,  you  know,"  said  the  man  in 
black ;  "  the  figure  will  be  of  wood,  for  no  other  reason,  I  assure 
you ;  he  I  he ! 

"  You  should  place  another  statue  on  the  right." 

3« 


498  LA  VBNGRO.  [1815. 

"  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  diereof 
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  mwe  joy/  etc" 

"Wood?"  said  I. 

**  I  hope  not,"  said  the  man  in  black ;  ''no,  if  I  be  consulted 
as  to  the  material  for  the  statue,  I  should  strongly  recommend 
bronze." 

And  when  the  man  in  black  had  said  this,  he  emptied  his 
second  tumbler  of  its  contents,  and  prepared  himsdf  another. 


i 


CHAPTER  XCIV. 


''So  you  hope  to  bring  these  regions  again  beneath  the  bannei 
of  the  Roman  See?"  said  I,  after  the  man  in  black  had  prepared 
the  beverage,  and  tasted  it 

"  Hope,"  said  the  man  in  black ;  "  how  can  we  fail?  Is  not 
the  Church  of  these  regions  going  to  lose  its  prerogative  ?" 

*'  Its  prerogative  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  those  who  should  be  the  guardians  of  the  religion  of 
England  are  about  to  grant  Papists  emancipation  and  to  remove 
the  disabilities  from  Dissenters,  which  will  allow  the  Holy  Father 
to  play  his  own  game  in  England." 

On  my  inquiring  how  the  Holy  Father  intended  to  play  his 
game,  the  man  in  black  gave  me  to  understand  that  he  intended 
for  the  present  to  cover  the  land  with  temples,  in  which  the  religion 
of  Protestants  would  be  continually  scoffed  at  and  reviled. 

On  my  observing  that  such  behaviour  would  savour  strongly 
of  ingratitude,  the  man  in  black  gave  me  to  understand  that  if  I 
entertained  the  idea  that  the  See  of  Rome  was  ever  influenced 
in  its  actions  by  any  feeling  of  gratitude  I  was  much  mistaken, 
assuring  me  that  if  the  See  of  Rome  in  any  encounter  should 
chance  to  be  disarmed  and  its  adversary,  from  a  feeling  of  mag- 
nanimity, should  restore  the  sword  which  had  been  knocked  out 
of  its  hand,  the  See  of  Rome  always  endeavoured  on  the  first 
opportunity  to  plunge  the  said  sword  into  its  adversary's  bosom, — 
conduct  which  the  man  in  black  seemed  to  think  was  very  wise, 
and  which  he  assured  me  had  already  enabled  it  to  get  rid  of  a 
great  many  troublesome  adversaries,  and  would,  he  had  no  doubt, 
enable  it  to  get  rid  of  a  great  many  more. 

On  my  attempting  to  argue  against  the  propriety  of  such 
behaviour,  the  man  in  black  cut  the  matter  short,  by  saying,  that 
if  one  paity  was  a  fool  he  saw  no  reason  why  the  other  should 
imitate  it  in  its  folly. 

After  musing  a  little  while  I  told  him  that  emancipation  had 
not  yet  passed  through  the  legislature,  and  that  perhaps  it  never 
would,  reminding  him  that  there  was  often  many  a  slip  between 
the  cup  and  the  lip;  to  which  observation  the  man  in  black 
agreed,  assuring  mej   however,  that  there  was  no  doubt  that 

(499) 


SOO  LA  VBNGRO.  [itss- 

emancipation  would  be  carried,  inasmuch  as  there  was  a  rery  loud 
cry  at  present  in  the  land ;  a  cry  of  "  tolerance,"  which  had  almost 
ir4;htened  the  Government  out  of  its  ¥rits ;  who,  to  get  rid  of  the 
cry,  was  going  to  grant  all  that  was  asked  in  the  way  of  toleration, 
instead  of  telling  the  people  to  **  Hold  their  nonsense/'  and 
cutting  them  down,  provided  they  continued  bawlii^  longer. 

I  questioned  the  man  in  black  with  re^>ect  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,  tiie 
chief  raisers  of  it  being  certain  of  the  nobUity,  called  Whigs,  who 
hoped  by  means  of  it  to  get  into  power,  and  to  turn  out  certain 
ancient  adversaries  of  theirs  called  Tories,  who  were  for  letting 
things  remain  in  statu  quo  ;  that  these  Whigs  were  backed  by  a 
party  amongst  the  people  called  Radicals,  a  specimen  of  whom 
I  had  seen  in  the  public-house ;  a  set  of  fellows  who  were  always 
in  the  habit  of  tuiwling  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  emanci- 
pation will  be  carried,  and  the  Church  of  England  humbled, 
which  is  the  principal  thing  which  the  See  of  Rome  cares  for.'* 

On  my  telling  the  man  in  black  that  I  believed  that  even 
among  the  high  dignitaries  of  the  English  Church  there  were 
many  who  wished  to  grant  perfect  freedom  to  religions  of  all 
descriptions,  he  said :  "  He  was  aware  that  such  was  the  fancx^ 
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  tiie  only 
true  one,  and  denouncing  all  others,  in  an  alliterative  style,  as 
dangerous  and  damnable;  whereas  by  their  present  conduct, 
they  were  bringing  their  religion  into  contempt  with  the  people  at 
large,  who  would  never  continue  long  attached  to  a  church,  the 
ministers  of  which  did  not  stand  up  for  it,  and  likewise  cause 
their  own  brethren,  who  had  a  clearer  notion  of  things,  to  be 
ashamed  of  belonging  to  it.  I  speak  advisedly,"  said  he,  in  con- 
tinuation, "  there  is  one  Platitude.*' 

**  And  I  hope  there  is  only  one,"  said  I ;  "  you  surely  would 
not  adduce  the  likes  and  dislikes  of  that  poor  silly  fellow  as  the 
criterions  of  the  opinions  of  any  party  ?  " 

*'  You  know  him  ?**  said  the  man  in  blac]c ;  "  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 


5 
t 

t 

if 
I 


1815.)  MR.  PLATITUDE.  501 

r  fdlow  is  not  such  a  very  bad  stick,  and  that  upon  the  whole  he 

(1  is,  or  rather  was,  an  advantageous  specimen  of  the  High  Church 

^:  English  clergy,  who,  for  the  most  part,  so  far  from  troubling  their 

f  heads  about  persecuting  people,  only  think  of  securing  their  tithes, 

eating  their  heavy  dinners,  puffing  out  their  cheeks  with  im- 
\  portance  on  country  justice  benches,  and  occasionally  exhibiting 

^  their  conceited  wives,  hoyden  daughters,  and  gawky  sons  at 

^  country  balls,  whereas  Platitude " 

jj,  *'  Stop,"  said  I ;  "  you  said  in  the  public-house  that  the 

(  Church  of  England  was  a  persecuting  church,  and  here  in  the 

^  dingle  you  have  confessed  that  one  section  of  it  is  willing  to  grant 

perfect  freedom  to  the  exercise  of  all  religions,  and  the  other 
only  thinks  of  leading  an  easy  life." 

"  Saying  a  thing  in  the  public-house  is  a  widely  different  thing 
from  saying  it  in  the  dingle,"  said  the  man  in  black ;  '*  had  the 
Church  of  England  been  a  persecuting  church,  it  would  not 
stand  in  the  position  in  which  it  stands  at  present ;  it  might,  vrith 
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 
&ggot,  or  rather  of  the  halter  and  the  whipping-post,  encouraging 
mobs  to  attack  the  houses  of  Dissenters,  employing  spies  to  collect 
the  scandal  of  neighbourhoods,  in  order  that  he  might  use  it  for 
sacerdotal  purposes,  and,  in  fact,  endeavouring  to  turn  an  English 
parish  into  something  like  a  Jesuit  benefice  in  the  south  of  France." 
"  He  tried  that  game,"  said  I,  "  and  the  parish  said,  *  Pooh, 
[  pooh,'  and,  for  the  most  part,  went  over  to  the  Dissenters." 

"  Very  true,"  said  the  man  in  black,  taking  a  sip  at  his  glass, 

''  but  why  were  the  Dissenters  allowed  to  preach  ?  why  were  they 

not  beaten  on  the  lips  till  they  spat  out  blood,  with  a  dislodged 

'  tooth  or  two  ?    Why,  but  because  the  authority  of  the  Church  of 

'  England  has,  by  its  own  fault,  become  so  circumscribed  that  Mr. 

'  Platitude  was  not  able  to  send  a  host  of  beadles  and  sbirri  to  their 

^  chapel  to  bring  them  to  reason,  on  which  account  Mr.  Platitude 

ifl  very  properly  ashamed  of  his  church,  and  is  thinking  of  uniting 

'  himsdf  wiUi  one  which  possesses  more  vigour  and  authority." 

'  **  It  may  have  vigour  and  authority,"  said  I,  "  in  foreign 

lands,  but  in  these  kingdoms  the  day  for  practising  its  atrocities 

is  gone  by.    It  is  lit  present  almost  below  contempt,  and  is  obliged 

to  sue  for  grace  in formA pauperis** 

"  Very  true,"  said  the  man  in  black,  "  but  let  it  once  obtain 
emandpatioD,  and  it  will  cast  its  slough,  put  on  its  fine  dotbes. 


ti 


Sm  LA  VBNQRO.  [1835. 

and  make  oonveits  by  thousands.  '  What  a  fine  church/  th^H 
say ;  '  with  what  authority  it  speaks — no  doubts,  no  hesitation, 
no  sticking  at  trifles.'  What  a  contrast  to  the  sleepy  Eng^iish 
Church  1  they'll  go  over  to  it  by  millions,  till  it  preponderates 
here  over  every  other,  when  it  will  of  course  be  voted  the  domi- 
nant one ;  and  then — ^and  then "  and  here  the  man  in  black 

drank  a  considerable  quantity  of  gin  and  water. 

"  What  then  ?  "  said  I. 

"  What  then  ?  "  said  the  man  in  black,  **  why,  she  will  be  true 
to  herself.  Let  Dissenters,  whether  they  be  Church  of  England, 
as  perhaps  they  may  still  call  themselves,  Methodist  or  Presby- 
terian, presume  to  grumble,  and  there  shall  be  bruising  of  lips  in 
pulpits,  tying  up  to  whipping-posts,  cutting  off  ears  and  noses — 
be  1  he  !  the  farce  of  King  Log  has  been  acted  long  enough;  the 
time  for  Queen  Stork's  tragedy  is  drawing  nigh  ; "  and  the  man 
in  black  sipped  his  gin  and  water  in  a  very  exulting  manner. 

'*  And  this  is  the  church  which,  according  to  your  assertion 
in  the  public-house,  never  persecutes  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  given  you  an  answer,"  said  the  man  in  black, 
**  with  respect  to  the  matter  of  the  public-house ;  it  is  one  of  the 
happy  privileges  of  those  who  belong  to  my  church  to  deny  in 
the  public-house  what  they  admit  in  the  dingle ;  we  have  high 
warranty  for  such  double  speaking.  Did  not  the  foundation 
stone  of  our  church,  Saint  Peter,  deny  in  the  public-house  what 
he  had  previously  professed  in  the  valley  ?  " 

*^  And  do  you  think,"  said  I,  ''that  the  people  of  England, 
who  have  shown  aversion  to  anything  in  the  shape  of  intolerance, 
will  permit  such  barbarities  as  you  have  described  ?  " 

*'  Let  them  become  Papists,"  said  the  man  in  black ;  '*  only 
let  the  majority  become  Papists,  and  you  will  see." 

"  Thev  will  never  become  so,"  said  I ;  "  the  good  sense  of  the 
people  ot  England  will  never  permit  them  to  commit  such  an 
absurdity." 

**  The  good  sense  of  the  people  of  England  ?  "  said  the  man  in 
black,  filling  himself  another  glass. 

''Yes,"  said  I ;  "the  good  sense  of  not  only  the  upper,  but 
the  middle  and  lower  classes." 

'^And  of  what  description  of  people  are  the  upper  class  ?^ 
said  the  man  in  black,  putting  a  lump  of  sugar  into  his  gin  and  water. 

"Very  fine  people,"  said  I,  "monstrously  fine  people;  so^  at 
least,  they  are  generally  believed  to  be." 

"He!  hel"  said  the  man  in  black;  "only  those  think  them 
•0  who  don't  know  them.    The  male  part  of  the  upper  class  arc 


iSas.]  MACSYCOPHANT.  503 

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  r^ions,  as  soon  as  her  move* 
ments  are  unfettered  ?  " 

''  I  cannot  give  an  opinion ;  I  know  nothing  of  them,  except 
from  a  distance.     But  what  think  you  of  the  middle  classes  ?  " 

**  Their  chief  characteristic,"  said  the  man  in  black,  '*  is  a  rage 
for  grandeur  and  gentility ;  and  that  same  rage  makes  us  quite 
sure  of  them  in  the  long  run.  Everything  that's  lof^y  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  oi 
whom  they  have  read  in  their  novels  and  romances,  their  Ivanhoes, 
their  Marmions,  and  their  Ladies  of  the  Lake." 

«  Do  you  think  that  the  writings  of  Scott  have  had  any  influ- 
ence in  modifying  their  religious  opinions  ?  " 

'*  Most  certainly  I  do,"  said  the  nkan  in  black.  "  The  writings 
of  that  man  have  nkade  them  greater  fools  than  they  were  before. 
All  their  conversation  now  is  about  gallant  knights,  princesses  and 
cavaliers,  with  which  his  pages  are  stuffed— all  of  whom  were 
Papists,  or  very  High  Church,  which  is  nearly  the  same  thing ;  and 
they  are  beginning  to  think  that  the  religion  of  such  nice  sweet- 
scented  gentry  must  be  something  very  superfine.  Why,  I  know 
at  Birmingham  the  daughter  of  an  ironmonger,  who  screeches  to 
the  piano  the  Lady  of  the  Lake's  hymn  to  the  Virgin  Mary, 
always  weeps  when  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  is  mentioned,  and  fasts 
on  the  anniversary  of  the  death  of  that  very  wise  martyr,  Charles 
the  First.  Why,  I  would  engage  to  convert  such  an  idiot  to 
popery  in  a  week,  were  it  worth  my  trouble.  O  Caoaliert 
GualtUro^  avtU  fiUto  molto  in  favare  ddla  Santa  Sedi  I " 

" If  he  has,"  said  I,  "be  has  done  it  unwittingly ;  I  never 
heard  before  that  he  was  a  favourer  of  the  popish  delusion." 

"  Only  in  theory,"  said  the  man  in  black.  "  Trust  any  of  the 
dan  MacSycophant  for  interfering  openly  and  boldly  in  favour  of 
any  cause  on  which  the  sun  does  not  shine  benignantly.  Popery 
IS  at  present,  as  you  say,  suing  for  grace  in  these  regions  in/armd 


S04  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 


paupiris ;  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 
aymposium  he  did  not  say :  '  By  my  faith,  yere  Majesty,  I  have 
always  thought,  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  that  popery,  as  ill- 
scrapit  tongues  ca'  it,  was  a  very  grand  religion ;  I  shall  be  proud 
to  follow  your  Majesty's  example  in  adopting  it '." 

"  I  doubt  not,"  said  I,  **  that  both  gouty  George  and  his 
devoted  servant  will  be  mouldering  in  their  tombs  long  before 
royalty  in  England  thinks  about  adopting  popery." 

'*  We  can  wait,"  said  the  man  in  black ; ''  in  these  days  of  rampant 
gentility,  there  will  be  no  want  of  kings  nor  of  Scots  about  them." 

"  But  not  Walters,"  said  I. 

<<Our  work  has  been  already  tolerably  well  done  by  one," 
said  the  man  in  black ;  "  but  if  we  wanted  literature  we  should 
never  lack  in  these  r^ons  hosts  of  literary  men  of  some  kind  or 
other  to  eulogise  us,  provided  our  religion  were  in  the  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  particu- 
lar, it  has  discovered  that  literary  men  are  not  always  disposed  to 
be  lick-spittles." 

"  For  example,  Dante,"  said  I. 

"Yes,"  said  the  man  in  black.  ''A  dangerous  personage; 
that  poem  of  his  cuts  both  ways;  and  then  there  was  Pulci,  that 
Morgante  of  his  cuts  both  ways,  or  rather  one  way,  and  that  sheer 
against  us;  and  then  "there  was  Aretino,  who  dealt  so  hard  with 
the  povtri  frati;  all  writers,  at  least  Italian  ones,  are  not  Hdc- 
spittles.  And  then  in  Spain,  'tis  true,  Lope  de  Vega  and  Calderon 
were  most  inordinate  lick-spittles ;  the  Principe  Canstanie  of  the 
last  is  a  curiosity  in  its  way ;  and  then  the  Mary  Shtart  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  was 
some  of  the  writers  of  the  picaresque  novels.  No ;  all  literary 
men  are  not  lick-spittles,  whether  in  Italy  or  Spain,  ot,  indeed, 

upon  the  Continent ;  it  is  only  in  England  that  all " 

*'  Come,"  said  I,  "  mind  what  you  are  about  to  say  of  English 
literary  men," 


1 


i8a5-l  TENDENCIES  AT  WORK.  505 

"Why  should  I  mind?"  said  the  man  in  black,  ^Uhere  are 
no  literary  men  here.  I  have  heard  of  literary  men  living  in 
garrets,  but  not  in  dingles,  whatever  philologists  may  do ;  I  may, 
Uierefore,  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  1  he  !  and  above  all  at 
your  newspaper  editors,  ho !  ho ! " 

"  You  will,  of  course,  except  the  editors  of  the from  your 

censure  of  the  last  class  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Them  1 "  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  pla3ring  our  game ;  but  a  time  will  come  when,  not  want- 
ing 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  Uberalism.  Don't  think  they  will  always 
bespatter  the  Tories  and  Austria." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  am  sorry  to  find  that  you  entertain  so  low 
an  opinion  of  the  spirit  of  English  literary  men ;  we  will  now 
return,  if  you  please,  to  the  subject  of  the  middle  classes ;  I  think 
your  strictures  upon  them  in  general  are  rather  too  sweeping — ^they 
are  not  altogether  the  foolish  people  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.*' 

"  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  be- 
come  as  great,  and  more  ridiculous,  than  amongst  the  middle  classes 
belonging  to  the  Church  of  England.  All  the  plain  and  simple 
tehions  of  their  fore&thers  they  are  either  about  to  abandon,  or 


5o6  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

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 
modem  Gothic  taste,  of  Portland  stone,  with  a  cross  upon  the  top, 
and  the  site  generally  the  most  conspicuous  that  can  be  found ; 
and  look  at  the  manner  in  which  they  educate  their  children,  I 
mean  those  that  are  wealthy.  They  do  not  even  wish  them  to  be 
Dissenters, '  the  sweet  dears  shall  enjoy  the  advantages  of  good 
society,  of  which  their  parents  were  debarred '.  So  the  girls  are 
sent  to  tip-top  boarding-schools,  where  amongst  other  trash  they 
read  Rokeby,  and  are  taught  to  sing  snatches  from  that  high-flying 
ditty  the  '  Cavalier ' 

*  Would  you  match  the  base  Skippon,  and  Massey,  and  Brown, 
With  the  barons  of  England,  who  fight  for  the  crown  ? ' 

he!  he!  their  own  names.  Whilst  the  lads  are  sent  to  those 
hot-beds  of  pride  and  folly — colleges,  whence  they  return  with 
a  greater  contempt  for  everything  '  low,'  and  especially  for  their 
own  pedigree,  than  they  went  with.  I  tell  you,  friend,  the 
children  of  Dissenters,  if  not  their  parents,  are  going  over  to  the 
church,  as  you  call  it,  and  the  church  is  going  over  to  Rome." 

''  I  do  not  see  the  justice  of  that  latter  assertion  at  all,"  said 
I ;  "  some  of  the  Dissenters'  children  may  be  coming  over  to  the 
Church  of  England,  and  yet  the  Church  of  England  be  very  fan 
from  going  over  to  Rome." 

"In  the  high  road  for  it,  I  assure  you,"  said  the  man  in 
black,  "  part  of  it  is  going  to  abandon,  the  rest  to  lose,  then:  pre- 
rogative, and  when  a  church  no  longer  retains  its  prerogative,  it 
speedily  loses  its  own  respect,  and  that  of  others." 

*'  Well,"  said  I,  "  if  the  higher  classes  have  all  the  vices  and 
follies  which  you  represent,  on  which  point  I  can  say  nothing,  as 
I  have  never  mixed  with  them ;  and  even  supposing  the  middle 
classes  are  the  foolish  beings  you  would  fain  make  them,  and 
which  I  do  not  believe  them  as  a  body  to  be,  you  would  still  find 
some  resistance  amongst  the  lower  chases ;  I  have  a  considerable 
respect  for  their  good  sense  and  independence  of  character,  but 
pray  let  me  hear  your  opinion  of  them." 

*^  As  for  the  lower  classes,"  said  the  man  in  black,  **  I  believe 
them  to  be  the  most  brutal  wretches  in  the  world,  the  most  addicted 
to  foul  feeding,  foul  language,  and  foul  vices  of  every  kind ;  wretches 
who  have  neither  love  for  country^  religion,  nor  anything  save  their 
own  vile  selves.  You  surely  do  not  thmk  that  they  would  oppose  a 
change  of  rel^on  ?  why,  there  is  not  one  of  them  but  would  buirab  for 


xaaS-]  PRIBSTLBY.  507 


the  Pope,  or  Mahomet,  for  the  sake  of  a  hearty  gorge  and  a  drunken 
bout,  like  those  which  they  are  treated  with  at  election  contests." 

''Has  your  church  any  followers  amongst  them?"  said  I. 

**  Wherever  there  happens  to  be  a  Romish  family  of  consider- 
able 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,  how- 
ever, the  Romish  is  not  yet  the  dominant  religion,  and  the  clergy 
of  the  English  establishment  have  some  patronage  to  bestow,  the 
churches  are  not  quite  deserted  by  the  lower  classes;  yet  were 
the  Romish  to  become  the  established  religion,  they  would,  to  a 
certainty,  all  go  over  to  it;  you  can  scarcely  imagine  what  a 
self-interested  set  they  are — for  example,  the  landlord  of  that 
public-house  in  which  I  first  met  you,  having  lost  a  sum  of  money 
upon  a  cock-fight,  and  his  affairs  in  consequence  being  in  a  bad 
condition,  is  on  the  eve  of  coming  over  to  us,  in  the  hope  that 
two  old  Popish  females  of  property,  whom  I  confess,  will  advance 
a  sum  of  money  to  set  him  up  again  in  the  world." 

"  And  what  could  have  put  such  an  idea  into  the  poor  fellow's 
head?"  said  I. 

*'  Oh !  he  and  I  have  had  some  conversation  upon  the  state  of 
his  affairs,"  said  the  man  in  black ;  "  I  think  he  might  make  a  rather 
useful  convert  in  these  parts,  provided  things  take  a  certain  turn, 
as  they  doubtless  will  It  is  no  bad  thing  to  have  a  fighting  fellow, 
who  keeps  a  public-house,  belonging  to  one's  religion.  He  has 
been  occasionally  employed  as  a  bully  at  elections  by  the  Tory 
party,  and  he  may  serve  us  in  the  same  capacity.  The  fellow 
comes  of  a  good  stock ;  I  heard  him  say  that  his  father  headed 
the  High  Church  mob,  who  sacked  and  burnt  Priestley's  house  at 
Birmingham  towards  the  end  of  the  last  century." 
A  disgraceful  affair,"  said  I. 

What  do  you  mean  by  a  disgraceful  affair?"  said  the  man  in 
black.  "  I  assure  you  that  nothing  has  occurred  for  the  last  fifty 
years  which  has  given  the  High  Church  party  so  much  credit  in  the 
eyes  of  Rome  as  that ;  we  did  not  imagine  that  the  fellows  had  so 
much  energy.  Had  they  followed  up  that  affair  by  twenty  others 
of  a  similar  kind,  they  would  by  this  time  have  had  everything  ia 
their  own  power ;  but  they  did  not,  and,  as  a  necessary  conse- 
quence, they  are  reduced  to  almost  nothing." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  "  that  your  church  would  have  acted  very 
differently  in  its  place." 

"  It  has  always  done  so,"  said  the  man  in  black,  coolly  sipping. 
''  Our  church  has  always  armed  the  brute  population  against  the 
genius  and  intellect  of  a  country,  provided  that  same  inteUea  and 


5o8  LA  VBNORO.  [i8ss- 

#■!■■■■■■  ■■  ■ 

genius  were  not  willing  to  become  its  instraments  and  eulogists ; 
and  provided  we  once  obtain  a  firm  hold  here  again,  we  would 
not  fail  to  do  so.  We  would  occasionally  stuff  the  beastly  rabble 
with  horseflesh  and  bitter  ale,  and  then  halloo  them  on  against  all 
those  who  were  obnoxious  to  us." 

'<  Horseflesh  and  bitter  ale ! "  I  replied. 

''Yes,"  said  the  man  in  black;  ''horseflesh  and  bitter  ale,  the 
&yourite  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  1  he  1 "  continued 
the  man  in  black,  "  what  a  fine  spectacle  to  see  such  a  mob, 
headed  by  a  fellow  like  our  friend,  the  landlord,  sack  the  house 
of  another  Priestley  ! " 

"Then  you  don't  deny  that  we  have  had  a  Priestley,'*  said  I, 
"and  admit  the  possibility  of  our  having  another?  You  were 
lately  observing  that  all  English  literary  men  were  sycophants?" 

"  Lick-spitdes/'  said  the  man  in  black ;  "  yes,  I  admit  that  you 
have  had  a  Priestley,  but  he  was  a  Dissenter  of  the  old  sort ;  you 
have  had  him,  and  perhaps  may  have  another." 

"  Perhaps  we  may,"  said  I.  "  But  with  respect  to  the  lower 
classes,  have  you  mixed  much  with  them?" 

"I  have  mixed  with  all  classes,"  said  the  man  in  black, 
"  and  vrith  the  lower  not  less  than  the  upper  and  middle,  they 
are  much  as  I  have  described  them ;  and  of  the  three,  the  lower 
are  the  worst.    I  never  knew  one  of  them  that  possessed  the 

slightest  principle,  no,  not It  is  true,  there  was  one  fellow 

whom  I  once  met,  who ,  but  it  is  a  long  story,  and  the  affair 

happened  abroad." 

"I  ought  to  know  something  of  the  English  people,"  he 
continued,  after  a  moment's  pause ;  "  I  have  been  many  years 
amongst  them  labouring  in  the  cause  of  the  church." 

"  Your  see  must  have  had  great  confidence  in  your  powers, 
when  it  selected  you  to  labour  for  it  in  these  parts  ?  "  said  I. 

"They  chose  me,"  said  the  man  in  black,  "prindpally 
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  hx  from  understanding 
any  language  besides  his  own,  scarcely  one  individual  in  ten 
speaks  his  own  intelligibly ;  or  an  ascetic  person,  where  as  they  say, 


ites-]  "00  TO  ROME  FOR  MONEY  f  so9 


high  and  low,  male  and  female,  are,  at  some  period  of  their  lives, 
fond  of  a  renovating  glass,  as  it  is  styled,  in  other  words,  of  tippling." 

"  Your  see  appears  to  entertain  a  very  strange  opinion  of  the 
English,'*  said  I. 

"  Not  altogether  an  unjust  one,"  said  the  man  in  black,  lifting 
the  glass  to  his  mouth. 

**  Well,"  said  I,  "  it  is  certainly  very  kind  on  its  part  to  wish  to 
bring  back  such  a  set  of  beings  beneath  its  wing." 

*'  Why,  as  to  the  kindness  of  my  see,"  said  the  man  in  black, 
**  I  have  not  much  to  say ;  my  see  has  generally  in  what  it  does  a 
tolerably  good  motive ;  these  heretics  possess  in  plenty  what  my  see 
has  a  great  hankering  for,  and  can  turn  to  a  good  account — ^money  1 " 

''The  founder  of  the  Christian  religion  cared  nothing  for 
money,"  said  I. 

**  What  have  we  to  do  with  what  the  founder  of  the  Christian 
religion  cared  for?"  said  the  man  in  black;  '*how  could  our 
temples  be  built,  and  our  priests  supported  without  money  ?  but 
you  are  unwise  to  reproach  us  with  a  desire  of  obtaining  money ; 
you  forget  that  your  own  church,  if  the  Church  of  England  be 
your  own  church,  as  I  suppose  it  is,  from  the  willingness  which 
you  displayed  in  the  public-house  to  fight  for  it,  is  equally 
avaricious;  look  at  your  greedy  Bishops,  and  your  corpulent 
Rectors ;  do  they  imitate  Christ  in  His  disregard  for  money  ?  Go 
to  I  you  might  as  well  tell  me  that  they  imitate  Christ  in  His 
meekness  and  humility." 

**  Well,"  said  I,  "  whatever  their  faults  may  be,  you  can't 
say  that  they  go  to  Rome  for  money." 

The  man  in  black  made  no  direct  answer,  but  appeared  by 
the  motion  of  his  lips  to  be  repeating  something  to  himself. 

"  I  see  your  glass  is  again  empty,"  said  I ;  *'  perhaps  you  will 
replenish  it." 

The  man  in  black  arose  from  his  seat,  adjusted  his  habiliments, 
which  were  rather  in  disorder,  and  placed  upon  his  hoid  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  1 "  He  then  made  Belle  a 
low  bow,  slightly  motioned  to  me  with  his  hand  as  if  bidding 
farewell,  and  then  left  the  dingle  with  rather  uneven  steps. 

**  Go  to  Rome  for  money,"  I  heard  him  say  as  he  ascended  the 
winding  path, "  he  1  he !  he  1    Go  to  Rome  for  money,  ho  1  ho !  ho  I  * 


CHAPTER  XCV. 


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  afore- 
said periods  occupied  myself  in  preparing  them.  As  I  was  employed 
three  mornings  and  afternoons  about  them,  I  am  sure  diat 
the  reader  will  agree  that  I  worked  leisurely,  or  rather  lazily. 
On  the  third  day  Belle  arrived  somewhat  later  than  usual ;  I  was 
lying  on  my  back  at  the  bottom  of  the  dingle,  employed  in  tossing 
up  the  shoes,  which  I  had  produced,  and  catching  them  as  they 
fell,  some  being  always  in  the  air  mounting  or  descending, 
somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  the  waters  of  a  fountain. 

**  Why  have  you  been  absent  so  long?"  said  I  to  Belle,  "  it 
must  be  long  past  four  by  the  day." 

^*  I  have  been  almost  killed  by  the  heat,"  said  Belle ;  "  I  was 
never  out  in  a  more  sultry  day — the  poor  donkey,  too,  could 
scarcely  move  along." 

**  He  shall  have  fresh  shoes,"  said  I,  continuing  my  exercise; 
"  here  they  are,  quite  ready ;  to-morrow  I  will  tack  them  on.*' 

"  And  why  are  you  playing  with  them  in  that  manner  ?  "  said 
Belle. 

"  Partly  in  triumph  at  having  made  them,  and  partly  to  show 
that  I  can  do  something  besides  making  them ;  it  is  not  every  one 
who,  after  having  made  a  set  of  horse-shoes,  can  keep  them  going 
up  and  down  in  the  air,  without  letting  one  fall/' 

"  One  has  now  fallen  on  your  chin,"  said  Belle. 

"  And  another  on  my  cheek,"  said  I,  getting  up ;  "  it  is  time 
to  discontinue  the  game,  for  the  last  shoe  drew  blood." 

Belle  went  to  her  own  litde  encampment ;  and  as  for  mysell, 
after  having  flung  the  donkey's  shoes  into  my  tent,  I  put  some 

(510) 


laasO  «i45H,  WHEN  GREEN."  511 

fresh  wood  on  the  fire,  which  was  nearly  out,  and  hung  the  kettle 
over  it.  I  then  issued  forth  from  the  dingle,  and  strolled  round 
the  wood  that  surrounded  it;  for  a  long  time  I  was  busied  in 
meditation,  looking  at  the  ground,  striking  with  my  foot,  half 
unconsciously,  the  tufts  of  grass  and  thistles  that  I  met  in  my  way. 
After  some  time,  I  lifted  up  my  eyes  to  the  sky,  at  first  vacantly, 
and  then  with  more  attention,  turning  my  head  in  all  directions  for 
a  minute  or  two ;  after  which  I  returned  to  the  dingle.  Isopel  was 
seated  near  the  fire,  over  which  the  kettle  was  now  hung ;  she  had 
changed  her  dress — no  signs  of  the  dust  and  fatigue  of  her  late 
excursion  remained ;  she  had  just  added  to  the  fire  a  small  billet 
of  wood,  two  or  three  of  which  I  had  left  beside  it ;  the  fire 
cracked,  and  a  sweet  odour  filled  the  dingle. 

"  I  am  fond  of  sitting  by  a  wood  fire,"  said  Belle,  '*  when  abroad, 
whether  it  be  hot  or  cold ;  I  love  to  see  the  flames  dart  out  of  the 
wood ;  but  what  kind  is  this,  and  where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

**  It  is  ash,"  said  I,  "  green  ash.  Somewhat  less  than  a  week 
ago,  whilst  I  was  wandering  along  the  road  by  the  side  of  a  wood, 
I  came  to  a  place  where  some  peasants  were  engaged  in  cutting  up 
and  clearing  away  a  confused  mass  of  fallen  timber :  a  mighty-aged 
oak  had  given  way  the  night  before,  and  in  its  fall  had  shivered 
some  smsdler  trees ;  the  upper  part  of  the  oak,  and  the  fragments 
of  the  rest,  lay  across  the  road.  I  purchased,  for  a  trifle,  a 
bundle  or  two,  and  the  wood  on  the  fire  is  part  of  it — ^ash,  green 
ash." 

"  That  makes  good  the  old  rhyme,"  said  Belle,  "  which  I  have 
heard  sung  by  the  old  woman  in  the  great  house  : — 


*  Ash,  when  green. 
Is  fire  for  a  queen.*  *' 


"  And  on  fairer  form  of  queen,  ash  fire  never  shone,**  said  I, 
''  than  on  thine,  O  beauteous  queen  of  the  dingle." 

*'  I  am  half  disposed  to  be  angry  with  you,  young  man,'*  said 
Belle. 

**  And  why  not  entirely  ?  "  said  I. 

Belle  made  no  reply. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  "  I  demanded.  **  You  had  no  objection 
to  the  first  part  of  the  speech,  but  you  did  not  like  being  called 
queen  of  the  dingle.    Well,  if  I  had  the  power,  I  would  make  you 

?ueen  of  something  better  than  the  dingle — Queen  of  China. 
)ome,  let  us  have  tea." 

**  Something  less  would  content  me,"  said  Belle,  sighing,  as 
•he  rose  to  prepare  our  evening  meal. 


5ia  LA  VBNGRO.  [x8s5- 

■■  ■  ■  '  '  ^  ■ 

So  we  took  tea  together,  Belle  and  I.  "  How  ddicious  tea 
b  after  a  hot  summer's  day,  and  a  long  walk/'  said  she. 

''  I  dare  say  it  is  most  refreshing  then,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  have 
heard  people  say  that  they  most  enjoy  it  on  a  cold  winter's  night, 
when  the  kettle  is  hissing  on  the  iire»  and  their  children  playing 
on  the  hearth." 

Belle  sighed.  "  Where  does  tea  come  from  ?  *'  she  presently 
demanded. 

'*  From  China,**  said  I ;  *'  I  just  now  mentioned  it,  and  the 
mention  of  it  put  me  in  mind  of  tea." 

'•  What  kind  of  country  is  China  ?  " 

"  I  know  very  Httle  about  it ;  all  I  know  is,  that  it  is  a  very 
large  country  far  to  the  East,  but  scarcely  laige  enough  to  contain 
its  inhabitants,  who  are  so  numerous,  that  though  China  does  not 
cover  one-ninth  part  of  the  world,  its  inhabitants  amount  to  one- 
third  of  the  population  of  the  world." 

"  And  do  they  talk  as  we  do  ?  " 

''  Oh  no  1  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  any- 
thing about  it." 

"  Are  the  French  so  very  clever,  then  ?  "  said  BeUe. 

''  They  say  there  are  no  people  like  them,  at  least  in  Europe. 
But  talking  of  Chinese  reminds  me  that  I  have  not  for  some  time 
past  given  you  a  lesson  in  Armenian.  The  word  for  tea  in  Ar- 
menian is — by-the-bye,  what  is  the  Armenian  word  for  tea  ?  *' 

"  That's  your  affair,  not  mine,"  said  Belle ;  "  it  seems  hard 
that  the  master  should  ask  the  scholar." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  whatever  the  word  may  be  in  Armenian,  it 
is  a  noun  ;  and  as  we  have  never  yet  declined  an  Armenian  noun 
together,  we  may  as  well  take  this  opportunity  of  declining  one. 
Belle,  there  are  ten  declensions  in  Armenian  t 

"  What's  a  declension  ? 

**  The  way  of  declining  a  noun.' 

**  Then,  in  the  civilest  way  imaginable,  I  decline  the  noun. 
Is  that  a  declension?" 

"  You  should  never  play  on  words ;  to  do  so  is  low  vulgar, 
smelling  of  the  pothouse,  the  workhouse.  Belle,  I  insist  on  your 
declining  an  Armenian  noun." 

*'  I  have  done  so  already,"  said  Belle. 

**  If  you  go  on  in  this  way,"  said  I,  **  I  shall  decline  taking 
any  more  tea  with  you.    Will  you  decline  an  Armenian  noun  ?  " 


ions  in  Armenian  i  " 


X&I5.]  tti^  DMCLbNStOtf.  5ii 

"  I  don't  like  the  language^"  said  Belle.  '*  If  you  must  teach 
me  languages,  why  not  teach  me  French  or  Chinese  ?" 

**  I  know  nothing  of  Chinese ;  and  as  for  French,  none  but  a 
Frenchman  is  clever  enough  to  speak  it — to  say  nothing  of  teach- 
ing ;  no,  we  will  stick  to  Armenian,  unless,  indeed,  you  would 
prefer  Wefsh  I » 

*'  Welsh,  I  have  heard,  is  vulgar,"  said  Belle ;  "  so,  if  I  must 
learn  one  of  the  two,  I  will  prefer  Armenian,  which  I  never  heard 
of  till  you  mentioned  it  to  me ;  though  of  the  two,  I  really  think 
Welsh  sounds  best." 

''  The  Armenian  noun,"  said  I, ''  which  I  propose  for  your 
declension  this  night,  is  .  •  •  which  signifieth  Master." 

''  I  neither  like  the  word  nor  the  sound,"  said  Belle. 

"  I  can't  help  that,"  said  I ;  ''  it  is  the  word  I  choose ;  Master, 
with  all  its  variations,  being  the  first  noun,  the  sound  of  which  I 
would  have  you  learn  from  my  lips.    Come,  let  us  begin — 

^*  A  master  ...  Of  a  master,  etc.    Repeat — " 

"  I  am  not  much  used  to  say  the  word,"  said  Belle.  *'  But, 
to  oblige  you,  I  will  decline  it  as  you  wish ; "  and  thereupon 
Belle  declined  master  in  Armenian. 

'*  You  have  declined  the  noun  very  well,"  said  I ;  ''  that  is  in 
the  singular  number ;  we  will  now  go  to  the  plural." 

*'  What  is  the  plural  ?  "  said  Belle. 

'*  That  which  implies  more  than  one,  for  example,  masters ; 
you  shall  now  go  through  masters  in  Armenian." 

"  Never,"  said  Belle, ''  never ;  it  is  bad  to  have  one  master, 
but  more  I  would  never  bear,  whether  in  Armenian  or  English." 

*'  You  do  not  understand,"  said  I ;  ''I  merely  want  you  to 
decline  masters  in  Armenian." 

'*  I  do  decline  them ;  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  them, 

nor  with  master  either;  I  was  wrong  to What  sound  is 

that?" 

"I  did  not  hear  it,  but  I  daresay  it  is  thunder;  in  Ar- 


menian  " 


"  Never  mind  what  it  is  in  Armenian ;  but  why  do  you  think 
it  is  thunder  ?  " 

**  Ere  I  returned  from  my  stroll,  I  looked  up  into  the  heavens, 
and  by  their  appearance  I  judged  that  a  storm  was  nigh  at  hand." 

"And  why  did  you  not  tell  me  so  ?  ** 

**  You  never  asked  me  about  the  state  of  the  atmosphere,  and 
I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  giving  my  opinion  to  people  on  any 
subject,  unless  questimied.  But,  setting  that  aside,  can  you  blame 
me  for  not  troubling  you  with  forebodingi  about  storm  and 

33 


514  tA  VENGRO.  [i^y 


tempest,  which  might  have  prevented  the  pleasure  you 
yourself  in  drinking  tea,  or  pertiaps  a  lesson  in  Armenian,  though 
you  pretend  to  dislike  the  latter/' 

"  My  dislike  is  not  pretended/'  said  Belle ;  "  I  hate  the  sound 
of  it,  but  I  love  my  tea,  and  it  was  kind  of  you  not  to  wish  to  cast 
a  cloud  over  my  little  pleasures;  the  thunder  came  quite  time 
enough  to  interrupt  it  without  being  anticipated — there  is  another 
peal — I  will  dear  aHay,  and  see  that  my  tent  is  in  a  condition  to 
resist  the  storm,  and  I  think  you  had  better  bestir  yourself." 

Isopel  departed,  and  I  remained  seated  on  my  stone,  as 
nothing  belonging  to  myself  required  any  particular  attention ;  in 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  she  returned,  and  seated  herself  upon 
her  stool. 

**  How  dark  the  place  is  become  since  I  left  you,"  said  she ; 
''just  as  if  night  were  just  at  hand." 

**  Look  up  at  the  sky,"  said  I»  **  and  you  will  not  wonder ;  it 
is  all  of  a  deep  olive.  The  wind  is  banning  to  rise ;  hark  how 
it  moans  among  the  branches  ;  and  see  how  their  tops  are  bend- 
ing— ^it  brings  dust  on  its  wings — I  felt  some  fall  on  my  fieice ;  and 
wlmt  is  this,  a  drop  of  rain  ?  " 

''  We  shall  have  plenty  anon,"  said  Belle;  "  do  you  hear?  it 
already  begins  to  hiss  upon  the  embers ;  that  fire  of  ours  will  soon 
be  extinguished." 

*<It  is  not  probable  that  we  shall  want  it,"  said  I,  ''but  we 
had  better  seek  shelter ;  let  us  go  into  my  tent." 

"  Go  in/'  said  Belle,  ''  biU  you  go  in  alone ;  as  for  me,  I  wtU 
seek  my  own." 

"  You  are  right*"  said  I,  "to  be  afraid  of  me;  I  have  taught 
you  to  decline  master  in  Armenian." 

"You  almost  tempt  me,"  said  Belle,  "to  make  you  decline 
mistress  in  English." 

"  To  make  matters  short,"  said  I,  "  I  decline  a  mistress." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  BeUe  angrily. 

"  I  have  merely  done  what  you  wished  me/'  said  I,  "  and  in 
your  own  style ;  there  is  no  other  way  of  declining  anything  in 
English,  for  in  English  there  are  no  declensions." 

"The  rain  is  increasing,"  said  Belle. 

" It  is  so,"  said  I ;  "I  shall  go  to  my  tent ;  you  may  come, 
if  you  please ;  I  do  assure  you  I  am  not  afraid  of  you." 

"  Nor  I  of  you/'  said  BeUe ;  "  so  I  will  come.  Why  should 
I  be  afraid?    I  can  take  my  own  part ;  that  is ^ 

We  went  into  the  tent  and  sat  down,  and  now  the  rain  b^an 
to  pour  with  vdiemeoce.    "  I  hope  we  shall  not  be  flooded  in 


x8a5-]  "  VOICE  OF  THE  LORD."  515 

this  hollow,"  said  I  to  Belle.  '*  There  is  no  fear  of  that/'  said 
Belle ;  '*  the  wandering  people,  amongst  other  names,  call  it  the 
dry  hollow.  I  believe  there  is  a  passage  somewhere  or  other  by 
which  the  wet  is  carried  off.  There  must  be  a  cloud  right  above 
us,  it  is  so  dark.    Oh  1  what  a  flash ! " 

*'  And  what  a  peal,"  said  I ;  "  that  is  what  the  Hebrews  call 
Kitmi  Adonai— the  voice  of  the  Lord.    Are  you  afraid  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Belle,  "  I  rather  like  to  hear  it." 

**  You  are  right,"  said  I:  *'  I  am  fond  of  the  sound  of  thunder 
myself.  There  is  nothing  like  it;  Koul  Adonai  behadar ;  the  voice 
of  the  Lord  is  a  glorious  voice,  as  the  prayer-book  version  hath  it." 

"  There  is  something  awful  in  it,"  said  Belle  ;  "  and  then  the 
lightning,  the  whole  dingle  is  now  in  a  blaze." 

<<<The  voice  of  the  Lord  maketh  the  hinds  to  calve,  and 
discovereth  the  thick  bushes.'  As  you  say,  there  is  something 
awful  in  thunder." 

''  There  are  all  kinds  of  noises  above  us,"  said  Belle ;  "surely 
I  heard  the  crashing  of  a  tree  ?  " 

**  *  The  voice  of  the  Lord  breaketh  the  cedar  trees,'  "  said  I, 
"  but  what  you  hear  is  caused  by  a  convulsion  of  the  air ;  during 
a  thunderstorm  there  are  occasionally  all  kinds  of  aerial  noises. 
Ab  Gwilym,  who,  next  to  King  David,  has  best  described  a 
thunderstorm,  speaks  of  these  aerial  noises  in  the  following 
manner : — 

*  Astonicd  now  I  stand  at  strains, 
As  of  ten  thousand  clanking  chains ; 
And  once^  methought,  that  overthrown, 
The  welkin's  oaks  came  whelming  down  ; 
Upon  my  head  up  starts  my  hair : 
Why  hunt  abroad  the  hounds  ^  air  ? 
What  cursed  hag  is  screechins;  high. 
Whilst  crash  goes  all  her  crockery  ? ' 

You  would  hardly  believe,  Belle,  that  though  I  offered  at  least 
ten  thousand  lines  nearly  as  good  as  those  to  the  booksellers  in 
London,  the  simpletons  were  so  blind  to  their  interest  as  to 
refuse  purchasing  them.* 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  it,"  said  Belle,  "  especially  if  such  dread- 
ful expressions  frequently  occur  as  that  towards  the  end ;  surely 
that  was  the  crash  of  a  tree?" 

"  Ah  1 "  said  I,  "  there  Ms  the  cedar  tree — I  mean  the 
sallow ;  one  of  the  tall  trees  on  the  outside  of  the  dingle  has 
been  snapped  short." 

"  What  a  pity,"  said  BcUe,  ''  that  the  fine  old  oak,  which  you 


5x6  LA  VBNGRO.  [zSss- 

saw  the  peasants  cutting  up,  gave  way  the  other  night,  when 
scarcely  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring ;  how  much  better  to  have 
fallen  in  a  storm  like  this,  the  fiercest  I  remember." 

"  I  don't  think  so/'  said  I ;  '*  after  braving  a  thousand  tem* 
pests,  it  was  meeter  for  it  to  fall  of  itself  than  to  be  vanquished 
at  last  But  to  return  to  Ab  Gwilym's  poetry,  he  was  above 
culling  dainty  words,  and  spoke  boldly  his  mind  on  all  subjects. 
Enraged  with  the  thunder  for  parting  him  and  Morfydd,  he  says, 
at  the  conclusion  of  his  ode : — 

*  My  curte,  O  Thunder,  cling  to  thee, 
For  parting  my  dear  pearl  and  me'*** 

"  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 
sayage.    A  poor  wood-pigeon  has  fallen  dead." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  ''there  he  lies  just  outside  the  tent;  often 
have  I  listened  to  his  note  when  alone  in  this  wilderness.  So 
you  do  not  like  Ab  Gwilym ;  what  say  you  to  old  G5the : — 

*  Mist  shrouds  the  night,  and  rack ; 
Hear,  in  the  woods,  what  an  awfiil  crack  1 
Wildly  the  owls  are  flitting. 
Hark  to  the  pillars  splitting 
Of  palaces  verdant  ever. 
The  branches  quiver  and  sever, 
The  mighty  stems  are  creaking, 
The  poor  roots  breaking  and  shrieking. 
In  wild  mtxt  ruin  down  dashing, 
O'er  one  another  they're  crashing ; 
Whilst  'midst  the  rocks  so  hoary, 
Whirlwinds  hurry  and  worry. 
Hear'st  not,  sister '  "^ 

"  Hark  1 "  said  Belle,  "  hark ! " 

**  *  Hear'st  not,  sister,  a  chorus 
Of  voices ? ' " 

<*  No/'  said  Belle,  '<  but  I  hear  a  voioe.'^ 


CHAPTER  XCVI. 


I  USTENED  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  haiQS 
been  mistaken,  when  I  heard  a  shout,  indistinct  it  is  true,  owing 
to  the  noises  aforesaid,  from  some  part  of  the  field  above  the 
dingle.  "I  will  soon  see  what's  the  matter,"  said  I  to  Belle, 
starting  up.  "  I  will  go,  too,"  said  the  girl.  "  Stay  where  you 
are,"  said  I ;  "  if  I  need  you,  I  will  call ; "  and,  without  waiting 
for  any  answer,  I  hurried  to  the  mouth  of  the  dingle.  I  was 
about  a  few  yards  only  from  the  top  of  the  ascent,  when  I  beheld 
a  blaze  of  light,  from  whence  I  knew  not ;  the  next  moment 
there  was  a  loud  crash,  and  I  appeared  involved  in  a  cloud  of 
sulphurous  smoke.  "Lord  have  mercy  upon  us,"  I  heard  a 
voice  say,  and  methought  I  heard  the  plunging  and  struggling  of 
horses.  I  had  stopped  short  on  hearing  the  crash,  for  I  was  half 
stunned ;  but  I  now  hurried  forward,  and  in  a  moment  stood 
upon  the  plain.  Here  I  was  instantly  aware  of  the  cause  of  the 
crash  and  the  smoke.  One  of  those  balls,  generally  called  fire- 
ballSy  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  Ae  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  aaiistaDce  of  the  postillion,  or  endeavour  to  disengage 

(si  7) 


5t8  la  VBNGRO.  [1895. 

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-boltj  and  had  htirried  ap 
to  learn  the  cause.  I  forthwith  seized  the  horses  by  the  heads,  and 
used  all  the  means  I  possessed  to  soothe  and  pacify  them,  em- 
ploying every  gentle  modulation  of  which  my  voice  was  capable. 
BeUe,  in  the  meantime,  had  raised  up  the  man,  who  was  much 
stunned  by  his  fall ;  but  presently  recovering  his  recollection  to  a 
certain  degree,  he  came  limping  to  me,  holding  his  hand  to  his 
right  thigh.  "  The  first  thing  that  must  now  be  done,"  said  I. 
"  is  to  free  these  horses  from  the  traces ;  can  you  undertake  to  do 
so ? "  "I  think  I  can/'  said  the  man,  looking  at  me  somewhat 
stupidly.  "  I  will  help/'  said  Belle,  and  without  loss  of  time  laid 
hold  of  one  of  the  traces.  The  man,  after  a  short  pause,  also  set 
to  work,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  horses  were  extricated.  "  Now," 
said  I  to  the  man,  "  what  is  next  to  be  done  ?  "  "I  don't  know," 
said  he;  "indeed,  I  scarcely  know  anything;  I  have  been  so 
frightened  by  this  horrible  storm,  and  so  shaken  by  my  fall/' 
"  I  think,"  said  I,  "that  the  storm  is  passing  away,  so  cast  your 
fears  away  too ;  and  as  for  your  fall,  you  must  bear  it  as  lightly  as 
you  can.  I  will  tie  the  horses  amongst  those  trees,  and  tiien  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  Ijring 
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  ^at  is  to 
become  of  the  horses  ?  "  said  I.  "  I  love  my  horses  well  enough," 
said  the  man;  "but  they  will  take  less  harm  than  the  chaise. 
We  two  can  never  lift  up  fiiat  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  dinglei  to  a  place  where  a  gap  in  the  hedge  afforded  ad- 


1825*]  ^  QUEST.  5x9 

mission  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  Men  chaise  from  the  ground. 

We  experienced  considerable  difficulty  in  this  undertaking; 
at  length,  with  the  assistance  of  the  postillion,  we  saw  our  efforts 
crowned  with  success — ^the  chaise  was  lifted  up,  and  stood  upright 
on  three  wheels. 

"  We  may  leave  it  here  in  safety,"  said  I,  "for  it  will  hardly 
move  away  on  three  wheels,  even  supposing  it  could  run  by  itself; 
I  am  afraid  there  is  work  here  for  a  wheelwright,  in  which  case  I 
cannot  assist  you  ;  if  you  were  in  need  of  a  blacksmith  it  would 
be  otherwise."  **  I  don't  think  either  the  wheel  or  the  axle  is 
hurt,"  said  the  postillion,  who  had  been  handling  both;  "it  it 
only  the  linch-pin  having  dropped  out  that  caused  the  wheel  to 
fly  off ;  if  I  could  but  find  the  Unch-pin  !  though,  perhaps,  it  fell 
out  a  mile  away."  "Very  likely,"  said  I ;  "but  never  mind  the 
linchpin,  I  can  make  you  one,  or  something  that  will  serve :  but 
I  can't  stay  here  any  longer,  I  am  going  to  my  place  below  with 
this  young  gentlewoman,  and  you  had  better  follow  us."  "  I  am 
ready/'  said  the  man ;  and  after  lifting  up  the  wheel  and  propping 
it  against  the  chaise,  he  went  with  us,  slightly  limping,  and  with 
his  hand  pressed  to  his  thigh. 

As  we  were  descending  the  narrow  path,  Belle  leading  the 
way,  and  myself  the  last  of  the  party,  the  postillion  suddenlv 
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  monev/*  said  the  man,  "and 
I  have  some,  but  only  thirty  shillings,  and  for  a  sum  like  that  it 
would  be  hardly  worth  while  to "    "Would  it  not?"  said 


590  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825- 

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  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.  111  try 
to  pay  you  in  your  own  coin.  I'm  rather  lamed  in  the  1^,  but  I 
can  still  use  my  fists ;  so  come  on  both  of  you,  man  and  woman, 
if  woman  this  be,  though  she  looks  more  like  a  grenadier." 

"  Let  me  hear  no  more  of  this  nonsense,"  said  Belle ;  "  if  you 
are  afraid,  you  can  go  back  to  your  chaise — ^we  only  seek  to  do 
you  a  kindness." 

"Why,  he  was  just  now  talking  of  cutting  throats,"  said 
the  man.  "You  brought  it  on  yourself,"  said  Belle;  "yoa 
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 ;  "  111  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  8Ui:h  when  I  was  a  servant  in  Italy, 
without  coming  to  any  harm — come,  let  us  move  on,  for  'tis  a 
shame  to  keep  you  two  in  the  rain." 

So  we  descended  the  path  which  led  into  the  depths  of  the 
dingle;  at  the  bottom  I  conducted  the  postillion  to  my  tent, 
which,  though  the  rain  dripped  and  trickled  through  it,  afforded 
some  shelter;  there  I  bade  him  sit  down  on  the  log  of  wood, 
while  I  placed  myself  as  usual  on  my  stone.  Belle  in  the  mean- 
time had  repaired  to  her  own  place  of  abode.  After  a  little  time, 
I  produced  a  bottle  of  the  condial  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  ^e  man ;  "  I  suppose  I  must  endeavour  to 
put  on  the  wheel  with  your  help."  "  How  far  are  you  fix)m  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 


iSas-l  THB  POSTILLION.  sax 

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  whee^  for,  to  tdl  you  the  truth#  I  am  shaken  by  my  fall,  and 
the  smoulder  and  smoke  of  that  fire-ball  have  rather  bewildered 
my  head ;  I  am,  moreover,  not  much  acquainted  with  the  way." 
"  The  best  thing  you  can  do,"  said  I,  "  is  to  pass  the  night 
here;  I  will  presently  light  a  fire,  and  endeavour  to  make  you 
comfortable — in  the  morning  we  will  see  to  your  wheel"  ''Well,'' 
said  the  man,  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  pass  the  night  here,  provided  I 
do  not  intrude,  but  I  must  see  to  the  horses."  Thereupon  I 
conducted  the  man  to  the  place  where  the  horses  were  tied. 
''  The  trees  drip  very  much  upon  them,"  said  the  man, "  and  it  will 
not  do  for  them  to  remain  here  all  night ;  they  will  be  better  out 
on  the  field  pickine  the  grass,  but  first  of  all  they  must  have  a 
good  feed  of  com ;  '  thereupon  he  went  to  his  chaise,  from  which 
he  presently  brought  two  small  bags,  partly  filled  with  corn ;  into 
them  he  inserted  the  mouths  of  the  horses,  tying  them  over  their 
heads.  *'  Here  we  will  leave  them  for  a  time,"  said  the  man ; 
*'  when  I  think  they  have  had  enough,  I  will  come  back,  tie  their 
fore-legs,  and  let  them  pick  about." 


CHAPTER  XCVIL 


It  might  be  about  ten  o'clock  at  night.  Belle,  the  postillion, 
and  myself,  sat  just  within  the  tent,  by  a  fire  of  chaixx>al  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,  Calling 
now  and  then  upon  the  tent  from  the  neighbouring  trees,  would 
have  served,  could  we  have  forgotten  it,  to  remind  us  of  the 
recent  storm,  and  also  a  certain  chilliness  in  the  atmosphere^ 
unusual  to  the  season,  proceeding  from  the  moisture  with  which 
the  ground  was  saturated ;  yet  these  circumstances  only  served  to 
make  our  party  enjoy  the  charcoal  fire  the  more.  There  we  sat 
bending  over  it:  Belle,  with  her  long  beautiful  hair  streaming 
over  her  magnificent  shoulders ;  the  postillion  smoking  his  pipe^ 
in  his  shirt-sleeves  and  waistcoat,  having  flung  aside  his  great- 
coat, which  had  sustained  a  thorough  wetting;  and  I  without  my 
wagoner's  slop,  of  which,  it  being  in  the  same  plight,  I  had  also 
divested  myself. 

The  new  comer  was  a  well-made  fellow  of  about  thirty,  with  an 
open  and  agreeable  countenance.  I  found  him  very  well  informed 
for  a  man  in  his  station,  and  with  some  pretensions  to  humour. 
After  we  had  discoursed  for  some  time  on  indifferent  subjects,  the 
postillion,  who  had  exhausted  his  pipe,  took  it  from  his  mouth, 
and,  knocking  out  the  ashes  upon  the  ground,  exclaimed:  '*I 
little  thought,  when  I  got  up  in  the  morning,  that  I  should  spend 
the  night  in  such  agreeable  company,  and  after  such  a  fright ". 

'*  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  am  glad  that  your  opinion  of  us  has 
improved ;  it  is  not  long  since  you  seemed  to  hold  us  in  rather 
a  suspicious  light." 

"And  no  wonder,"  said  the  man,  ''seeing  the  place  you 
were  taking  me  to.  I  was  not  a  little,  but  very  much  afraid  of 
ye  both ;  and  so  I  continued  for  some  time,  though,  not  to  show 


i8t5-)  SPBCULATTONS.  js) 

a  craven  heart,  I  pretended  to  be  quite  satisfied ;  but  I  see  I  was 
altogether  mistaken  about  ye.  I  thought  you  vagrant  Gypsy 
folks  and  trampers ;  but  now " 

*'  Vagrant  Gypsy  folks  and  trampers,"  said  I ;  "  and  what  are 
we  but  people  of  that  stamp  ?  " 

"  Oh/'  said  the  postillion,  ''  if  you  wish  to  be  thought  such, 
I  am  far  too  civil  a  person  to  contradict  you,  especially  after  your 
kindness  to  me,  but " 

"  But ! "  said  I ;  **  what  do  you  mean  by  but  ?  I  would  have 
you  to  know  that  I  am  proud  of  being  a  travelling  blacksmith : 
look  at  these  donkey-shoes,  I  finished  them  this  day." 

The  postillion  took  the  shoes  and  examined  them.  '^  So  you 
made  these  shoes  ?"  he  cried  at  last. 

"  To  be  sure  I  did ;  do  you  doubt  it  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  the  man. 

**  Ah  !  ah ! "  said  I,  '*  I  thought  I  should  bring  you  back  to 
your  original  opinion.     I  am,  then,  a  vagrant  Gypsy  body,  a  * 
tramper,  a  wandering  blacksmith." 

''Not  a  blacksmith,  whatever  else  you  may  be,"  said  the 
postillion  laughing. 

•' Then  how  do  you  account  for  my  making  those  shoes?" 

"  By  your  not  being  a  blacksmith,"  said  the  postillion ;  "  no 
blacksmith  would  have  made  shoes  in  that  manner.  Besides, 
what  did  you  mean  just  now  by  saying  you  had  finished  these 
shoes  to-day  ?  a  real  blacksmith  would  have  flung  ofif  three  or  four 
sets  of  donkey  shoes  in  one  morning,  but  you,  I  will  be  sworn, 
have  been  hammering  at  these  for  days,  and  they  do  you  credit, 
but  why  ?  because  you  are  no  blacksmith ;  no,  friend,  your  shoes 
may  do  for  this  young  gentlewoman's  animal,  but  I  shouldn't  like 
to  have  my  horses  shod  by  you,  unless  at  a  great  pinch  indeed." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  for  what  do  you  take  me?  " 

"  Why,  for  some  runaway  young  gentleman,"  said  the  postillion. 
"  No  offence,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  None  at  all ;  nq  one  is  offended  at  being  taken  or  mistaken 
for  a  young  gentleman,  whether  runaway  or  not ;  but  from  whence 
do  you  suppose  I  have  run  away  ?  " 

"  Why,  from  college,"  said  the  man :  "  no  offence  ?  " 

**  None  whatever ;  and  what  induced  me  to  run  away  from 
college?" 

"  A  love  affair,  I'll  be  sworn,"  said  the  postillion.  "You  had 
become  acquainted  with  this  young  gentlewoman,  so  she  and 
you " 

"Mind  how  you  get  on,  friend,"  said  Belle,  in  a  deep  serious  tone. 


5M  ^^  VBNGRO.  [iSas- 

"  Pray  proceed/'  said  I ;  "  I  dare  say  you  mean  no  offence/' 

*'  None  in  the  world,"  said  the  postilUon ;  *'  all  I  was  going  to 
say  was  that  you  agreed  to  run  away  together,  you  from  coll^e^ 
and  she  from  boarding-schooL  Well,  there's  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of  in  a  matter  like  that,  such  things  are  done  every  day 
by  young  folks  in  high  life." 

**  Are  you  offended?"  said  I  to  Belle. 

Belle  made  no  answer;  but,  placing  her  elbows  on  her  knees 
buned  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  So  we  ran  away  together?  "  said  I. 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  the  postillion,  "to  Gretna  Green,  though  I 
can't  say  that  I  drove  ye,  though  I  have  driven  many  a  pair." 

"And  from  Gretna  Green  we  came  here?" 

"I'll  be  bound  you  did,"  said  the  man^  "till  you  could 
arrange  matters  at  home." 

"  And  the  horse-shoes?"  said  I. 

"The  donkey-shoes,  you  mean,"  answered  the  postilUon; 
"  why,  I  suppose  you  persuaded  the  blacksmith  who  married  you 
to  give  you,  before  you  left,  a  few  lessons  in  his  trade." 

"And  we  intend  [to  stay  here  till  we  have  arranged  matters 
at  home?" 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  the  postillion,  "till  the  old  people  are  pacified 
and  they  send  vou  letters  directed  to  the  next  post  town,  to  be  left 
till  called  for,  beginning  with, '  Dear  children,'  and  endosing  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  gover- 
nors ;  I  should  like  nothing  better  than  to  have  the  driving  of  you : 
and  then  there  will  be  a  grand  meeting  of  the  two  fiunilies,  and  alter 
a  few  reproaches,  the  old  people  will  agree  to  do  something  hand- 
some 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  peqple  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  1  kept  rather  idoof  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  swim 
mingly  matters  are  going  on,  will  come  in  shoals  to  visit  you." 

"  Really,"  said  I,  "you  are  getting  on  swimmingly." 


ft 
If 


iSas.]  STRANDED  GBNTRY.  5«5 

''  Oh/'  said  the  postillion,  "  I  was  not  a  gentleman's  servant 
nine  yean  without  learning  the  ways  of  gentry,  and  being  able  to 
know  gentry  when  I  see  them." 

*'  And  what  do  you  say  to  all  this  ?  "  I  demanded  of  Belle. 

"  Stop  a  moment/'  interposed  the  postillion,  "  I  have  one 
more  word  to  say :  and  when  you  are  surrounded  by  your 
comforts^  keeping  your  nice  little  barouche  and  pair,  your  coach- 
man 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  char^ml  fire/ 

**  Pray,"  said  I, ''  did  you  ever  take  lessons  in  elocution  ? 

**  Not  directly,"  said  the  postillion ;  "but  my  old  master  who 
was  in  Parliament,  did,  and  so  did  his  son,  who  was  intended  to 
be  an  orator.  A  great  professor  used  to  come  and  give  them 
lessons,  and  I  used  to  stand  and  listen,  by  which  means  I  picked 
op  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 — ^per^[iination.'' 

"  Peroration,  perhaps  ?  " 

"Just  so,**  said  the  postillion ;  " and  now  I  am  sure  I  am  not 
mistaken  about  you;  you  have  taken  lessons  yourself,  at  first 
hand,  in  the  college  vacations,  and  a  promising  pupil  you  were,  I 
make  no  doubt.  Well,  your  friends  will  be  all  the  happier  to  get 
you  back.    Has  your  governor  much  borough  interest?" 

**  I  ask  you  once  more,"  said  I,  addressing  myself  to  Belle, 
"  what  do  you  think  of  the  history  which  this  good  man  has  made 
for  us?'' 

"  What  should  I  think  of  it,"  said  BeUe,  stiU  keeping  her  &ce 
buried  in  her  hands,  "  but  that  it  is  mere  nonsense  ?  " 

**  Nonsense  1 "  said  the  postillion. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girlt  '*  and  you  know  it." 

"  May  my  leg  always  ache,  it  I  do,"  said  the  postillion,  patting 
his  leg  with  his  hand;  "will  you  persuade  me  that  this  young 
man  has  never  been  at  college?" 

"  I  have  never  been  at  college,  but  — " 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  the  postillion ;  "  but " 

"  I  have  been  to  the  best  schooli  in  Britain*  to  say  nothing  of 
A  cdebnttai  «ne  in  Irdand." 


536  LA  VBNGRO.  [iSts 

'    ■ .  ■ .  -  -^ — .^ 

^^  Well,  then,  it  comes  to  the  same  thing,"  said  the  postillion ; 
''  or  perhaps  you  know  more  than  if  jou  had  been  at  college— and 
your  governor  ?  " 

"  My  governor,  as  you  call  him,"  said  I,  ''is  dead." 

**  And  his  borough  interest  ?  " 

*'  My  father  had  no  borough  interest,"  said  I ;  "  had  he 
possessed  any,  he  would  perhaps  not  have  died  as  he  <Ud,  honour- 
ably poor." 

"No»  no/'  said  the  postillion;  'Mf  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 
nofile  young  gentlewoman  to  run  away  from  boarding-school  with 
you." 

*'I  was  never  at  boarding-school,"  said  Belle,  "unless  you 
caU " 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  the  postillion,  "  boarding-school  is  vulgar,  I 
know :  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  ought  to  have  odled  it  academy,  or 
by  some  other  much  finer  name — you  were  in  something, much 
greater  than  a  boarding-school" 

*'  There  you  are  right,"  said  Belle,  lifting  up  her  head  and 
looking  the  postillion  &11  in  the  face  by  the  light  of  the  charcoal 
fire ;  "  for  I  was  bred  in  the  workhouse." 

"Wooh  I"  said  the  postillion. 

"  It  is  true  that  I  am  of  good  — 

"Ay,  ay/'  said  the  postillion,  "let  us  hear 

"  Of  good  blood,"  continued  Belle ;  "  my  name  is  Bemers, 
Isopd  Berners,  though  my  parents  were  unfortunate.  Indeed, 
with  respect  to  blood,  I  believe  I  am  of  better  blood  than  the 
young  man." 

" There  you  are  mistaken,"  said  I ;  "by  my  father's  side  I 
am  of  Cornish  blood,  and  by  my  mother's  of  brave  French 
Protestant  extraction.  Now,  with  respect  to  the  blood  of  my 
father — and  to  be  descended  well  on  the  father's  side  is  the 
principal  thing — it  is  the  best  blood  in  the  world,  for  the  Cornish 
blood,  as  the  proverb  says " 

"  I  don't  care  what  the  proverb  says,"  said  Belle ;  "  I  say  my 
blood  is  the  best — ^my  name  is  Berners,  Isopel  Berners — it  was 
my  mother's  name,  and  is  better,  I  am  sure,  than  any  you  bear, 
whatever  that  may  be ;  and  though  you  say  that  the  descent  on  the 
father's  side  is  the  principal  thing — and  I  know  why  you  say  so," 
she  added  with  some  excitement — "I  say  that  descent  on  the 
mother's  side  is  of  most  account,  because  the  mother *' 


iSav]  GRBTNA  GRBBN.  597 

'^Just  come  from  Gretna  Green^  and  already  quarrelling/'  said 
the  postillion. 

"  We  do  not  come  from  Gretna  Green/'  said  Belle. 

''Ah,  I  had  forgot/'  said  the  postillion,  "none  but  great 
people  go  to  Gretna  Green.  Well,  then,  from  church,  and  already 
quarrelling  about  family,  just  like  two  great  people/' 

"We  have  never  been  to  church,"  said  Belle,  "and,  to 
prevent  any  more  guessing  on  your  part,  it  will  be  as  well  for  me 
to  tell  you,  friend,  that  I  am  nothing  to  the  young  man,  and  he, 
of  course,  nothing  to  me.  I  am  a  poor  travelling  girl,  bom  in  a 
workhouse :  journeying  on  my  occasions  with  certain  companions, 
I  came  to  this  hollow,  where  my  company  quarrelled  with  the 
young  man,  who  had  settled  down  here,  as  he  had  a  right  to  do, 
if  he  pleased ;  and  not  being  able  to  drive  him  out,  they  went 
away  after  quarrelling  with  me,  too,  for  not  choosing  to  side  with 
them ;  so  I  stayed  here  along  with  the  young  man,  there  being 
room  for  us  both,  and  the  place  being  as  free  to  me  as  to  him/' 

**  And,  in  order  that  you  may  be  no  longer  puzzled  with 
respect  to  myself,"  said  I,  "  I  will  give  you  a  brief  outline  of  my 
history.  I  am  the  son  of  honourable  parents,  who  gave  me  a 
first-rate  education,  as  far  as  literature  and  languages  went,  with 
which  education  I  endeavoured,  on  the  death  of  my  father,  to 
advance  myself  to  wealth  and  reputation  in  the  big  city;  but 
fiuling  in  the  attempt,  I  conceived  a  disgust  for  the  busy  world, 
and  determined  to  retire  from  it.  After  wandering  about  for 
some  time,  and  meeting  with  various  adventures,  in  one  of  which 
I  contrived  to  obtain  a  pony,  cart  and  certain  tools,  used  by 
smiths  and  tinkers,  I  came  to  this  place,  where  I  amused  myself 
with  making  horse-shoes,  or  rather  pony-shoes,  having  acquired 
the  art  of  wielding  the  hammer  and  tongs  from  a  strange  kind  of 
smith — not  him  of  Gretna  Green — whom  I  knew  in  my  child- 
hood. And  here  I  lived,  doing  harm  to  no  one,  quite  lonely  and 
solitary,  till  one  fine  morning  the  premises  were  vbited  by  this 
young  gentlewoman  and  her  companions.  She  did  herself  any- 
thing 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  yo«i,  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  sa]rs  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 


5s8  LA  VBNGRO.  [ifos. 

highest  regard  and  admiration  for  her,  being  convinced  that  1 
might  search  the  whole  world  in  vain  for  a  nature  more  heroic 
and  devoted" 

*' And  for  my  part/'  said  Belle,  with  a  sob,  "a  more  quiet» 
agreeable  partner  in  a  place  like  this  I  would  not  wish  to  have ; 
it  is  true  he  has  strange  ways,  and  frequently  puts  words  into  my 

mouth  very  difficult  to  utter ;  but — ^but "  and  here  she  buried 

her  face  once  more  in  her  hands. 

"Well/'  said  the  postillion,  *'I  have  been  mistaken  about 
you ;  that  is»  not  altogether,  but  in  part  You  are  not  rich  folks, 
it  seems,  but  you  are  not  common  people,  and  that  I  could  have 
sworn.  What  I  call  a  shame  is,  that  some  people  I  have  known 
are  not  in  your  place  and  you  in  theirs — ^you  with  their  estates 
and  borough  interest,  they  in  this  dingle  with  these  carts  and 
animals ;  but  there  is  no  help  for  these  things.  Were  I  the  great 
Mumbo  Jumbo  above,  I  would  endeavour  to  manage  matters 
better ;  but  being  a  simple  postillion,  glad  to  earn  three  shilhiigv 
a  day,  I  can't  be  expected  to  do  much. ' 

''  Who  is  Mumbo  Jumbo?"  said  I. 

"  Ah  I "  said  the  postillion,  "  I  see  there  may  be  a  thing  or 
two  I  know  better  than  yourself.  Mumbo  Jumbo  is  a  god  oi  the 
black  coast,  to  which  people  go  for  ivory  and  gold." 

'*  Were  you  ever  there  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"No/'  said  the  postillion,  ''but  I  heard  plenty  of  Mumbo 
Jumbo  when  I  was  a  boy." 

''I  wish  you  would  tell  us  something  about  yourself.  I 
believe  that  your  own  real  history  would  prove  quite  as  enter- 
taining, if  not  more,  than  that  which  you  imagined  about  us." 

"  I  am  rather  tired,"  said  the  postillion,  "  and  my  leg  is 
rather  troublesome.  I  should  be  glad  to  try  to  sleep  upon  one 
of  your  blankets.  However,  as  you  wish  to  hear  something 
about  me,  I  shall  be  happy  to  obl4;e  you ;  but  your  fire  is  rather 
low,  and  this  place  is  chilly.'' 

Thereupon  I  arose,  and  put  fresh  charcoal  on  the  pan ;  then 
taking  it  outside  the  tent,  with  a  kind  of  to  which  I  had 
fashioned,  I  fanned  the  coals  into  a  red  glow,  and  continued 
doing  so  until  the  greater  part  of  the  noxious  gas,  whidi  the  coals 
are  in  the  habit  of  exhaling,  was  exhausted.  I  then  brought  it 
into  the  tent  and  reseated  myself,  scattering  over  the  coals  a 
small  portion  of  sugar.  **  No  bad  smell,"  said  the  postillion ; 
"  but  upon  the  whole  I  think  I  like  the  smdl  of  tobacco  better; 
and  with  your  permission  I  will  once  more  light  my  pipe.^' 

Thereupon  he  relighted  his  pipe;  and  after  taking  two  or 
three  whiAi  began  in  the  following  manner. 


CHAPTER  XCVIII. 


**l  AM  a  poor  postillion,  as  you  see ;  yet,  as  I  have  seen  a  thing 
or  two,  and  heard  a  thing  or  two  of  what  is  going  on  in  the 
world»  perhaps  what  I  have  to  tell  you  connected  with  myself 
may  not  prove  altogether  uninteresting*  Now,  my  friends,  this 
manner  of  opening  a  story  is  what  the  man  who  taught  rhetoric 
would  call  a  hex — hex  — " 

*<  Exordium,'*  said  L 

**  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? — fre- 
quently goes  before  the  exordium. 

"I  was  born  in  the  neighbouring  county;  my  father  was 
land-steward  to  a  squire  of  about  a  thousand  a  year.  My  father 
had  two  sons,  of  whom  I  am  the  youngest  by  some  years.  My 
elder  brother  was  of  a  spirited,  roving  disposition,  and  for  fear 
that  he  should  turn  out  what  is  generally  termed  ungain,  my 
father  determined  to  send  him  to  sea:  so  once  upon  a  time, 
when  my  brother  was  about  fifteen,  he  took  him  to  the  great 
sea-port  of  the  county,  where  he  apprenticed  him  to  a  captain 
of  one  of  the  ships  which  trade  to  the  high  Barbary  coast.  Fine 
ships  they  were,  I  have  heard  say,  more  than  thirty  in  number, 
and  all  belonging  to  a  wonderful  great  gentleman,  who  had  once 
been  a  parish  boy,  but  had  contrived  to  make  an  immense  fortune 
by  tracHng  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  be  sailed  was  nothing  better  than  a  painted  hell ; 

(529)  34 


530  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 

that  the  captain  was  a  veritable  fiend,  whose  grand  delight  was 
m  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  differ- 
ence, though  for  the  worse,  he  being  when  sick  always  more 
inveterate  and  malignant  than  at  other  times.  He  said  that 
once,  when  he  himself  was  sick,  his  captain  had  pitched  his  face 
all  over,  which  exploit  was  much  applauded  by  the  other  high 
Barbary  captains;  all  of  whom,  from  what  my  brother  said, 
appeared  to  be  of  much  the  same  disposition  as  my  brother's 
captain,  taking  wonderful  delight  in  tormenting  the  crews,  and 
doing  all  manner  of  terrible  things.  My  brother  frequently  said 
that  nothing  whatever  prevented  him  from  running  away  from  his 
ship,  and  never  returning,  but  the  hope  he  entertained  of  one  day 
being  captain  himself,  and  able  to  torment  people  in  his  turn, 
which  he  solemnly  vowed  be  would  do,  as  a  kind  of  compensa- 
tion for  what  he  himself  had  undeiigone.  And  if  things  were 
going  on  in  a  strange  way  off  the  high  Barbary  shore  amongst 
those  who  came  there  to  trade,  they  were  going  on  in  a  way  yet 
stranger  with  the  people  who  lived  upon  it. 

**  Oh,  the  strange  ways  of  the  black  men  who  lived  on  that 
shore,  of  which  my  brother  used  to  tell  us  at  home ;  selling  their 
sons,  daughters  and  servants  for  slaves,  and  the  prisoners  taken 
in  battle,  to  the  Spanish  captains,  to  be  carried  to  Havannah,  and 
when  there,  sold  at  a  profit,  the  idea  of  which,  my  brother  said, 
went  to  the  hearts  of  our  own  captains,  who  used  to  say  what  a 
hard  thing  it  was  that  free-born  Englishmen  could  not  have  a 
hand  in  the  traffic,  seeing  that  it  was  forbidden  by  the  laws  of 
their  country ;  talking  fondly  of  the  good  old  times  when  their 
fore&thers  used  to  carry  slaves  to  Jamaica  and  Barba(^oes, 
realising  immense  profit,  besides  the  pleasure  of  hearing  dielr 
shrieks  on  the  voyage ;  and  then  the  superstitions  of  the  blacks, 
which  my  brother  used  to  talk  of ;  their  sharks'  teeth,  their  wisps 
of  fowls'  feathers,  their  half-baked  pots,  full  of  burnt  bones,  of 
which  they  used  to  make  what  they  called  fetish ;  and  bow  down 
to,  and  ask  favours  of,  and  then,  perhaps,  abuse  and  strike, 
provided  the  senseless  rubbish  did  not  give  them  what  they 
asked  for;  and  then,  above  all,  Mumbo  Jumbo,  the  grand  fetish 
master,  who  lived  somewhere  in  the  woods,  and  who  used  to 
come  out  every  now  and  then  with  his  fetish  companions;  a 
monstrous  figure,  all  wound  round  with  leaves  and  branches,  so 
as  to  be  quite  indistinguishable,  and,  seating  himself  on  the  high 


1835.]  THE  POSTILLION'S  TALB.  531 

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  1  Poor  fellow  1  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 
rep<nts  about  him  on  the  shore ;  one.  that  he  had  taken  on  with 
Mumbo  Jumbo,  and  was  serving  him  in  his  house  in  the  woods, 
in  the  capacity  of  swash-buckler,  or  life-guardsman;  another, 
that  he  was  gone  in  quest  of  a  mighty  city  in  the  heart  of  the 
negro  country ;  another,  that  in  swimming  a  stream  he  had  been 
devoured  by  an  alligator.  Now,  these  two  last  reports  were  bad 
enough ;  the  idea  of  their  flesh  and  blood  being  bit  asimder  by  a 
ravenous  fish,  was  sad  enough  to  my  poor  parents ;  and  not  very 
comfortable  was  the  thought  of  his  sweltering  over  the  hot  sands 
in  quest  of  the  negro  city ;  but  the  idea  of  their  son,  their  eldest 
child,  serving  Mumbo  Jumbo  as  swash-buckler,  was  worst  of  all, 
and  caused  my  poor  parents  to  shed  many  a  scalding  tear. 

''  I  stayed  at  home  with  my  parents  until  I  was  about  eighteen, 
assisting  my  father  in  various  ways.  I  then  went  to  live  at  the 
squire*s,  partly  as  groom,  partly  as  footman.  After  living  in  the 
country  some  time,  I  attended  the  family  in  a  trip  of  six  weeks* 
which  they  made  to  London.  Whilst  there,  happening  to  have  some 
words  with  an  old  ill-tempered  coachman,  who  had  been  for  a  great 
many  years  in  the  family,  my  master  advised  me  to  leave,  offering 
to  recommend  me  to  a  4mily  of  bis  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  im- 


53a  LA  VBNGRO.  [1825. 


proving  myself.  Oh,  how  I  liked  to  see  the  grand  coaches  drive 
up  to  the  door»  with  the  grand  company;  and  though,  amidst 
that  company,  there  were  some  who  did  not  look  very  grand, 
there  were  others,  and  not  a  few,  who  did.    Some  of  the  ladies 

quite  captivated  me;  there  was    the    Marchioness  of in 

particular.  This  young  lady  puts  me  much  in  mind  of  her ;  it  is 
true,  the  Marchioness,  as  I  saw  her  then,  was  about  fifteen  years 
older  than  this  young  gentlewoman  is  now,  and  not  so  tall  by 
some  inches,  but  she  had  the  very  same  hair,  and  much  the  same 
neck  and  shoulders — ^no  offence,  I  hope?  And  then  some  of  the 
young  gentlemen,  with  their  cool,  haughty,  care-for-nothing  looks, 
strudc  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— 4ie  had  a  slight  cast  in  his  eye,  and 

but  I  won't  enter  into  every  particular.     And  then  the 

footmen !  Oh,  how  those  footmen  helped  to  improve  me  with 
their  conversation.  Many  of  them  could  converse  much  more 
glibly  than  their  masters,  and  appeared  to  have  much  better  taste. 
At  any  rate,  they  seldom  approved  of  what  their  masters  did.  I 
remember  being  once  with  one  in  the  gallery  of  the  play-house, 
when  something  of  Shakspeare's  was  being  performed ;  some  one 
in  the  first  tier  of  boxes  was  aj^lauding  very  loudly.  '  That's 
my  fool  of  a  governor,'  said  he ;  'he  is  weak  enough  to  like 
Shakspeare — I  don't — he's  so  confoundedly  low,  but  he  won't  last 
long — going  down.  Shakspeare  culminated' — I  think  that  was 
the  word — *  culminated  some  time  ago.' 

*'  And  then  the  professor  of  elocution,  of  whom  my  governors 
used  to  take  lessons,  and  of  which  lessons  I  had  my  share,  by 
hstening  behind  the  door ;  but  for  that  professor  of  elocution  I 
should  not  be  able  to  round  my  periods — ^an  expression  of  his — 
in  the  manner  I  do. 

"After  I  had  been  three  years  at  this  place  my  mistress  died. 
Her  death,  however,  made  no  great  alteration  in  my  way  of 
Uving,  the  £unily  spending  their  winters  in  London,  and  their 

summers  at  their  dd  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  vras  much  against  it,  sayii^, 
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  bis  parliamentary  duties  w6uld  permit, 
for  he  was  just  got  into  Parliament ;  and,  like  most  other  young 


i8a5.1  THE  TALE.  533 

members,  thought  that  nothing  could  be  done  m  the  House  with- 
out him.  So  the  old  gentleman  and  the  two  young  ladies  set  off, 
taking  me  with  them,  and  a  couple  of  ladies'  mai£  to  wait  upon 
them.  First  of  all,  we  went  to  Paris,  where  we  continued  three 
months,  the  old  baronet  and  the  ladies  going  to  see  the  various 
sights  of  the  city  and  the  neighbourhood,  and  I  attending  them. 
They  soon  got  tired  of  sight-seeing,  and  of  Paris  too ;  and  so  did 
I.  However,  they  still  continued  there,  in  order,  I  believe,  that 
the  young  ladies  might  lay  in  a  store  of  French  finery.  I  should 
have  passed  my  idle  time  at  Paris,  of  which  I  had  plenty  after 
the  sight-seeing  was  over,  very  unpleasantly,  but  for  Black  Jack. 
£h  I  did  you  never  hear  of  Black  Jack  ?  Ah  I  if  you  had  ever 
been  an  English  servant  in  Paris,  you  would  have  known  Black 
Jack ;  not  an  English  gentleman's  servant  who  has  been  at  Paris 
for  this  last  ten  years  but  knows  Black  Jack  and  his  ordinary. 
A  strange  fellow  he  was — of  what  country  no  one  could  exactly 
lay — for  as  for  judging  from  speech,  that  was  impossible.  Jack 
speakii^  all  languages  equally  ill.  Some  said  he  came  direct 
from  Satan's  kitchen,  and  that  when  he  gives  up  keeping  ordi- 
nary, 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  canon,  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  blaick-foced  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  talking  about  him,  so 
that  it  is  not  improbable  that  he  may  have  sailed  with  him ;  and 
with  respect  to  his  having  been  King  Pharaoh's  butler,  all  I  have 
to  say  is,  I  am  not  disposed  to  give  the  downright  lie  to  the 
report     Jack  was  always  ready  to  do  a  kind  turn  to  a  poor 


S34  ^"^  VBNORO.  [1835- 


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  Portu- 
guese arose  from  some  ill  treatment  which  he  had  once  experi- 
enced when  on  shore,  at  Lisbon,  from  certain  gentlewomen  of 
the  place,  but  rather  conclude  that  it  arose  from  an  opinion  he 
entertained  that  the  Portuguese  never  paid  their  debts,  one  of  the 
ambassadors  of  that  nation,  whose  house  he  had  served,  having 
left  Paris  several  thousand  francs  in  his  debt  This  is  all  that  I 
have  to  say  about  Black  Jack,  without  whose  funny  jokes,  and 
good  ordinary,  I  should  have  passed  my  time  in  Paris  in  a  very 
disconsolate  manner. 

*•  After  we  had  been  at  Paris  between  two  and  three  months, 
we  left  it  in  the  direction  of  Italy,  which  country  the  family  had 
a  great  desire  to  see.  After  travelling  a  great  many  days  in  a 
thing  which,  though  called  a  diligence,  did  not  exhibit  much  dili- 
gence, we  came  to  a  great  big  tovm,  seated  around  a  nasty  salt- 
water basin,  connected  by  a  narrow  passage  with  the  sea.  Here 
we  were  to  embark;  and  so  we  did  as  soon  as  possible,  glad 
enough  to  get  away ;  at  least  I  was,  and  so  I  make  no  doubt  were 
the  rest;  for  such  a  place  for  bad  smells  I  never  was  in.  It 
seems  all  the  drains  and  sewers  of  the  place  run  into  that  same 
salt  basin,  voiding  into  it  all  their  impurities,  which,  not  being  able 
to  escape  into  the  sea  in  any  considerable  quantity,  owing  to  the 
narrowness  of  the  entrance,  there  accumulate,  filling  the  whole 
atmosphere  with  these  same  outrageous  scents,  on  which  account 
the  town  is  a  famous  lodging-house  of  the  plague.  The  ship  in 
which  we  embarked  was  bound  for  a  place  in  Italy  called  Naples, 
where  we  were  to  stay  some  time.  The  voyage  was  rather  a  lazy 
one,  the  ship  not  being  moved  by  steam;  for  at  the  time  of 
which  I  am  speaking,  some  five  years  ago,  steamships  were  not 
so  plentiful  as  now.  There  were  only  two  passengers  in  the 
grand  cabin,  where  my  governor  and  his  daughters  were,  an 
Italian  lady  and  a  priest.  Of  the  lady  I  have  not  much  to  say ; 
she  appeared  to  be  a  quiet  respectable  person  enough,  and  after 


ites-I  ^^^  TALE.  S35 

our  arrivid  at  Naples^  I  neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  ■K>re  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  l^unt  from  the  professor 
of  rhetoric),  and  it  would  have  been  well  for  our  fiunily  had  they 
never  met  him. 

''  On  the  third  day  of  the  voyage  the  priest  came  to  me,  who 
was  rather  unwell  with  sea-sickness,  which  he,  of  course,  felt 
nothing  of,  that  kind  of  people  being  never  affected  like  others. 
He  was  a  finish-looking  man  of  about  forty-five,  but  had  something 
strange  in  his  eyes,  which  I  have  since  tiiought  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  communi- 
cativeness 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  dis- 
concerted, 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  khid  of  liking  for  the  man,  and  when 
they  took  their  leave  invited  him  to  visit  them,  which  he  promised 
to  do.  We  hired  a  grand  house  or  palace  at  Naples ;  it  belonged 
to  a  poor  kind  of  prince,  who  was  glad  enough  to  let  it  to  our 
governor,  and  also  his  servants  and  carriages ;  and  glad  enough 
were  the  poor  servants,  for  they  got  from  us  what  they  never  got 
from  the  prince— plenty  of  meat  and  money — and  glad  enough, 
I  make  no  doubt,  were  the  horses  for  the  provender  we  gave 
them ;  and  I  daresay  the  coaches  were  not  sorry  to  be  cleaned 
and  furbished  up.  Well,  we  went  out  and  came  in ;  going  to  see 
Uie  sights,  and  returning.  Amongst  other  things  we  saw  was 
the  burning  mountain,  and  the  tomb  of  a  certain  sorcerer  called 
Virgilio,  who  made  witch  rhymes,  by  which  he  could  raise  the 
dead.  Plenty  of  people  came  to  see  us,  both  English  and 
Italians,  and  amongst  the  rest  the  priest.  He  did  not  come 
amoi^st  the  first,  but  allowed  us  to^settle  and  become  a  little 
quiet  before  he  showed  himself ;  and  after  a  day  or  two  he  paid 
us  another  visit,  then  another,  till  at  last  his  visits  were  daily. 

''  I  did  not  like  that  Jack  Priest;  so  I  kept  my  eye  upon  all 
bis  motions.    Lord  1  how  that  Jack  Priest  did  curry  favour  with 


536  LA  VBNGRO.  [itas- 


our  governor  and  the  two  young  ladies;  and  he  curried,  and 
curried,  till  he  had  got  himself  into  fitvour  with  the  governor, 
and  more  especially  with  the  two  young  ladies,  of  whom  dteir 
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  conse- 
quently over  the  old  governor,  increased,  till  the  tables  were 
turned,  and  he  no  longer  curried  fovour  with  them,  but  tfaey 
with  him ;  yes,  as  true  as  my  leg  aches,  the  young  ladies  canied, 
and  the  old  governor  curried  fovour  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  con- 
tradicted him,  and  when  the  fellow  was  absent,  which,  by-the4iye 
was  not  often,  it  was  '  Father  so-and-so  said  this,  and  Father  so- 
and-so  said  that ;  Father  soand-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  <yd, 
informed  me  that  he  was  continually  instilling  strange  notions 
into  their  heads,  striving,  by  every  possible  method,  to  make  them 
despise  the  religion  of  their  own  land,  and  take  up  that  of  the 
foreign  country  in  which  they  were.     And  sure  enough,  in  a 
little  time,  the  girls  had  altogether  left  off  going  to  an  E^ig^sh 
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  yr^s  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  rdigion  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  supj^ed  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  summ^ •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  thr^  foolish,  for  his  own 
ends.    And  if  he  was  busy  above  stairs  with  die  governor,  tiieie 


iSaS-l  THE  TALS.  537 

WAS  another  busy  belo  w  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  m3rself  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 
tibe  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  &shion,  must  have  been  very  fond  of 
short  petticoats  and  tinsel,  and  who,  if  those  said  figures  at  all 
resembled  her  in  face,  could  scarcely  have  been  half  as  handsome 
as  either  of  my  two  fellow-servants,  not  to  speak  of  the  young 
ladies. 

**  Now  it  happened  that  one  of  the  female  servants  was  much 
taken  with  what  she  saw  and  heard,  and  gave  herself  up  entirely 
to  the  will  of  the  subordinate,  who  had  quite  as  much  dominion 
over  her  as  his  superior  had  over  the  ladies;  the  other  maid, 
however,  the  one  who  had  a  kind  of  respect  for  me,  was  not  so 
easily  besotted ;  she  used  to  laugh  at  what  she  saw,  and  at  what 
the  fellow  told  her,  and  from  her  I  learnt  that  amongst  other 
things  intended  by  Uiese  priestly  confederates  was  rob1>ery ;  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 
diortly  after  made  an  attempt  towards  obtaining  a  hundred 
crowns,  of  which,  by  some  means,  he  knew  me  to  be  in  posses- 
sion, telling  me  what  a  meritorious  thing  it  was  to  give  one^s 
superfluities  for  the  purposes  of  religion.  '  That  is  true,'  said  I, 
'and  if,  after  my  return  to  my  native  country,  I  find  I  have 
anything  which  I  don't  want  myself,  I  will  employ  it  in  helping 
to  build  a  Methodist  chapel.* 

'*  By  the  time  that  the  three  months  were  expired  for  which 
we  had  hired  the  palace  of  the  needy  Prince,  the  old  governor 
began  to  talk  of  returning  to  England,  at  least  of  leaving  Italy. 


5s8  LA  VENGRO.  [1895* 


I  believe  he  had  become  frightened  at  the  calk  which 
continually  being  made  upon  him  for  money ;  for  after  all,  yoo 
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  leav- 
ing dear  Italia  they  must  see  more  of  the  country  and  the  cides ; 
above  all,  they  must  see  a  place  whidi  they  called  the  Eternal 
City,  or  by  some  similar  nonsensical  name ;  and  th^  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  m 
place  where  there  was  a  wonderful  figure  of  Holy  Mary,  whidi 
the  priest  said  it  was  highly  necessary  for  them  to  see  before 
visiting  the  Eternal  City;  so  we  left  Naples  in  hired  carra^es, 
driven  by  fellows  they  call  vefurim^  cheating,  drunken  dogs,  I 
remember  they  were.  Besides  our  own  fimiily  there  was  die 
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  comers  in  which  we  bivouacked,  as  the  ladies  called  it, 
were  something  like  this  place  where  we  are  now,  so  that  when  I 
came  down  here  it  put  me  in  mind  of  them.  At  last  we  arrived 
at  the  place  where  was  the  holy  image. 

"  We  went  to  the  house  or  chapel  in  which  the  holy  image 
was  kept,  a  frightful,  ugly  black  figure  of  Holy  Mary,  dressed  in 
her  usual  way ;  and  after  we  had  stared  at  the  figure,  and  some 
of  our  party  had  bowed  down  to  it,  we  were  shown  a  great  many 
things  which  were  called  holy  relics,  which  consisted  of  thumb- 
nails and  fore-nails  and  toe-nails,  and  hair  and  teeth,  and  a 
feather  or  two^  a  mighty  thigh-bone,  but  whether  of  a  man  or  a 
camel,  I  can't  say ;  all  of  which  things  I  was  told,  if  piop^ ly 
touched  and  handled,  had  mighty  power  to  cure  all  kinds  €l 
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  besoagbt  it  to 


iSas-]  THB  TALE.  539 

\  assist  him  in  a  game  of  chance  which  he  was  about  to  play^  ft  had 

left  him  in  the  lurch,  allowing  him  to  lose  all  his  money ;  and 

when  I  thought  of  all  the  ruU)ish  I  had  seen,  and  the  purposes 

[  which  it  was  applied  to,  in  conjunction  with  the  rage  of  the  losing 

I  gamester  at  the  deaf  and  dumb  image,  I  could  not  help  compar- 

(  ing  the  whole  with  what  my  poor  brother  used  to  tell  me  of  the 

I  superstitious  practices  of  tiie  blacks  on  the  high  Barbary  shore, 

and  their  occasional  rage  and  fury  at  the  things  they  worshipped ; 

I  and  I  said  to  myself,  if  all  this  here  doesn't  smell  of  fetish  may  I 

,  smell  fetid. 

*'  At  this  place  the  priest  left  us,  returning  to  Naples  with  his 
[  subordinate,  on  some  particular  business,  I  suppose.    It  was, 

however,  agreed  that  he  should  visit  us  at  the  Holy  City.    We 
\  did  not  go  direct  to  the  Holy  City,  but  bent  our  course  to  two  or 

three  other  cities  which  the  family  were  desirous  of  seeing,  but  as 
nothing  occurred  to  us  in  these  places  of  any  particular  interest, 
I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  passing  them  by  in  silence.  At  length 
we  arrived  at  the  Eternal  City;  an  immense  city  it  was,  looking 
as  if  it  had  stood  for  a  long  time,  and  would  stand  for  a  long 
time  still;  compared  with  it,  London  would  look  like  a  mere 
assemblage  of  bee-skeps ;  however,  give  me  the  bee-skeps  with 
their  merry  hum  and  bustle,  and  life  and  honey,  rather  than  that 
huge  town,  which  looked  like  a  sepulchre,  where  there  was  no 
life,  no  busy  hum,  no  bees,  but  a  scanty,  sallow  population,  inter- 
mixed with  black  priests,  white  priests,  grey  priests ;  and  though 
I  don't  say  there  was  no  honey  in  the  place,  for  I  believe  there 
was,  I  am  ready  to  take  my  Bible  oath  that  it  was  not  made 
there,  and  that  the  priests  kept  it  all  for  themselves." 


CHAPTER  XCIX. 


''Thb  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  Ci^.  We  went  to  a  laige  house,  and  on  ringing, 
were  admitted  by  a  porter  into  a  cloister*  where  I  saw  some  iU- 
looking,  shabby  young  fellows  walking  about,  who  spoke  English 
to  one  another.  To  one  of  these  the  porter  delivered  the  leitei; 
and  the  young  fellow  going  away,  presently  returned  and  tcrid  me 
to  follow  him;  he  led  me  into  a  large  room,  where,  behind  a 
table,  on  which  were  various  papers,  and  a  thing,  which  they  call 
in  that  country  a  crucifix,  sat  a  man  in  a  kind  of  priestly  dress. 
The  lad  having  opened  the  door  for  me,  shut  it  behind  me,  and 
went  away.  The  man  behind  the  table  was  so  engaged  in  reading 
the  letter  which  I  had  brought,  that  at  first  he  took  no  notice  of 
me;  he  had  red  hair,  a  kind  of  half-English  countenance,  and  was 
seemingly  about  five^md-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  laughi  for  I  heard 
nothing  but  a  kind  of  hissing  deep  down  the  &ioat;  all  of  m 
sudden,  however,  perceiving  me,  he  gave  a  slight  start,  bat 
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,  fo»  I  wished  to  return  to  my  native  lanc^  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  fiir  as  the  fiunily  wexe 
concerned,  would  be  put  on  a  better  footing.  In  a  few  days 
our  new  acquaintance,  who,  it  seems,  was  a  mongrel  Englishman, 

(S4o) 


iSas-l  ^^^JS  CONTINUED.  541 

had  procured  a  house  for  our  aocommodation ;  it  was  large 
enough,  but  not  near  so  pleasant  as  that  we  had  at  Naples,  whidi 
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  fiur  from  the  place  where  our  new  friend  lived,  and  its 
being  so  was  probably  the  reason  why  he  selected  it.  It  was 
furnished  partly  with  articles  which  we  bought,  and  partly  with 
those  which  we  hired.  We  lived  something  in  the  same  way  as 
at  Naples ;  but  though  I  did  not  much  like  Naples,  I  yet  liked  it 
better  than  this  place,  which  was  so  gloomy.  Our  new  acquaint- 
ance made  himself  as  agreeable  as  he  could,  conducting  the 
ladies  to  churches  and  convents,  and  frequently  passing  the 
afternoon  drinking  with  the  governor,  who  was  fond  of  a  glass  of 
brandy  and  water  and  a  cigar,  as  the  new  acquaintance  also  was 
— no,  I  remember,  he  was  fond  of  gin  and  water,  and  did  not 
smoke.  I  don't  think  he  had  so  much  influence  over  the  young 
ladies  as  the  other  priest,  which  was,  perhaps,  owing  to  his  not 
being  so  good-looking ;  but  I  am  sure  he  had  more  influence 
with  the  governor,  owing,  doubtless,  to  his  bearing  him  company 
in  drinking  mixed  liquors,  which  the  other  priest  did  not  do. 

*'  He  was  a  strange  fellow,  that  same  new  acquaintance  of 
ours,  and  unlike  all  ^e  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  every- 
body, as  far  as  words  went,  I  observed  that  he  entertained  a 
thorough  contempt  for  most  people,  especially  for  those  whom  he 
was  making  dupes.  I  have  observed  him  whilst  drinking  with 
our  governor,  when  the  old  man's  head  was  turned,  look  at  him 
with  an  air  which  seemed  to  say,  '  What  a  thundering  old  fool 
you  are!'  and  at  our  young  ladies,  when  their  backs  were  turned, 
with  a  glance  which  said  distinctiy  enough,  *  You  precious  pair 
of  ninnyhammers ' ;  and  then  his  laugh---4)e  had  two  kinds  of 
laughs^^ne  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 


54a  LA  VBNGRO.  [1835. 

passed  near  me,  after  haying  taken  leave  of  a  silly  Eoglisb  fUIow 
— 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  I 

'*  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  fiamily  wearing  almost  as 
favourable  an  aspect  as  he  could  desire:  with  what  he  had 
previously  taught  them  and  shown  them  at  Naples  and  elsewhere, 
and  with  what  the  red-haired  confederate  had  taught  them  and 
shown  them  at  Rome,  the  poor  young  ladies  had  become  quite 
handmaids  of  superstition,  so  that  they,  especially  the  youngest, 
were  prepared  to  bow  down  to  anything,  and  kiss  anjrthing  how- 
ever vile  and  ugly,  provided  a  priest  commanded  them ;  and  as 
for  the  old  governor,  what  with  the  influence  which  his  daughters 
exerted,  and  what  with  the  ascendancy  which  the  red-haired  man 
had  obtained  over  him,  he  dared  not  say  his  purse,  far  less  his 
soul,  was  his  own.  Only  think  of  an  Englishman  not  being 
master  of  his  own  purse.  My  acquaintance,  the  lady's  maid, 
assured  me,  that  to  her  certain  knowledge,  he  had  disbursed  to 
the  red-haired  man,  for  purposes  of  charity,  as  it  was  said,  at 
least  one  thousand  pounds  during  the  five  weeks  we  had  been  at 
Rome.  She  also  told  me  that  things  would  shortly  be  brought 
to  a  conclusion,  and  so  indeed  they  were,  though  in  a  different 
manner  from  what  she  and  I  and  some  other  people  imagined ; 
that  there  was  to  be  a  grand  festival,  and  a  mass,  at  which  we 
were  to  be  present,  after  which  the  family  were  to  be  presented 
to  the  Holy  Father,  for  so  those  two  priestly  sharks  had  managed 

it ;  and  then she  said  she  was  certain  that  the  two  ladies, 

and  perhaps  the  old  governor,  would  forsake  the  religion  of  their 
native  land,  taking  up  with  that  of  these  foreign  regions,  for  so 
my  fellow-servant  expressed  it,  and  that  perhaps  attempts  might 
be  made  to  induce  us  poor  English  servants  to  take  up  with  the 
foreign  -religion,  that  is,  herself  and  me,  for  as  for  our  fellow- 
servant,  the  other  maid*  she  wanted  no  inducing,  being  disposed 
body  and  soul  to  go  over  to  it  Whereupon,  I  swore  with  an 
oath  that  nothing  should  induce  me  to  take  up  with  the  foreign 
religion;  and  the  poor  maid,  my  fellowservant,  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 


ifias-l  "  ^^^  church:'  543 

to  stand  by  and  countenance  one  another :  and  moreover,  pro- 
vided our  governors  were  foob  enough  to  go  over  to  the  religion 
of  these  here  foreigners,  we  would  not  wait  to  be  asked  to  do  the 
Uke,  but  leave  them  at  once,  and  make  the  best  of  our  way  home, 
even  if  we  were  forced  to  beg  on  the  road. 

"  At  last  the  day  of  the  grand  festival  came,  and  we  were  all 
to  go  to  the  big  church  to  hear  the  mass.  Now  it  happened 
that  for  some  time  past  I  had  been  much  afflicted  with  melan- 
choly, especially  when  I  got  up  of  a  morning,  produced  by  the 
strange  manner  in  which  I  saw  things  going  on  in  our  family ; 
and  to  dispel  it  in  some  degree,  I  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
taking  a  dram  before  breakfast  On  the  morning  in  question, 
feeling  particularly  low-spirited  when  I  thought  of  the  foolish 
step  our  governor  would  probably  take  before  evening,  I  took  two 
drams  before  breakfast ;  and  after  breakfast,  feeling  my  melancholy 
still  continuing,  I  took  another,  which  produced  a  slight  effect 
upon  my  head,  though  I  am  convinced  nobody  observed  it. 

'*  Away  we  drove  to  the  big  church ;  it  was  a  dark,  misty  day, 
I  remember,  and  very  cold,  so  that  if  anybody  had  noticed  my 
being  slightly  in  liquor,  I  could  have  excused  myself  by  saying 
that  I  had  merely  Uken  a  glass  to  fortify  my  constitution  against 
the  weather ;  and  of  one  thing  I  am  certain,  which  is,  that  such 
an  excuse  would  have  stood  me  in  stead  with  our  governor,  who 
looked,  I  thought,  as  if  he  had  taken  one  too ;  but  I  may  be 
mistaken,  and  why  should  I  notice  him,  seeing  that  he  took  no 
notice  of  me :  so  away  we  drove  to  the  big  church,  to  which  all 
the  population  of  the  place  appeared  to  be  moving. 

"On  arriving  there  we  dismounted,  and  the  two  priests  who 
were  with  us  led  the  family  in,  whilst  I  followed  at  a  little  distance, 
but  quickly  lost  them  amidst  the  throng  of  people.  I  made  my 
way,  however,  though  in  what  direction  I  knew  not,  except  it 
was  one  in  which  everybody  seemed  striving,  and  by  dint  of 
elbowing  and  pushing,  I  at  last  got  to  a  place  which  looked  like 
Uie  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,  whcte 
was  a  figtue  whom  I  could  scarcely  see. 


544  LA  VBNGRO.  [1835. 

"  I  can't  pretend  to  describe  what  I  saw  ezactlj»  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  occasicMiallj  so 
loud  that  I  thought  the  roof,  which  was  painted  with  wondrous 
colours,  would  come  toppling  down  on  those  below.  So  there 
stood  I,  a  poor  English  servant,  in  that  outlandish  place,  in  the 
midst  of  that  foreign  crowd,  looking  at  that  outlandish  sight, 
hearing  those  outlandish  sounds,  and  occasionally  glancing  at 
our  party,  which,  by  this  time,  I  distinguished  at  the  opposite  side 
to  where  I  stood,  but  much  nearer  the  place  where  the  red  figures 
sat.  Yes,  there  stood  our  poor  governor,  and  the  sweet  young 
ladies,  and  I  thought  they  never  looked  so  handsome  before,  and 
close  by  them  were  the  sharking  priests,  and  not  far  from  them 
was  that  idiotical  parson  Platitude,  winking  and  grinning,  and 
occasionally  lifting  up  his  hands  as  if  in  ecstasy  at  what  he  saw 
and  heard,  so  that  he  drew  upon  himself  the  notice  of  the 
congregation. 

''  And  now  an  individual  mounted  the  pulpit,  and  began  to 
preach  in  a  language  which  I  did  not  understand,  but  which  I 
believe  to  be  Latin,  addressing  himself  seemingly  to  the  figure  in 
the  stall ;  and  when  he  had  ceased,  there  was  more  singing,  more 
organ  playing,  and  then  two  men  in  robes  brought  forth  two 
things  which  they  held  up;  and  then  the  people  bowed  their 
heads,  and  our  poor  governor  bowed  his  head,  and  the  sweet 
young  ladies  bowed  their  heads,  and  the  sharking  priests,  whilst 
the  idiotical  parson  Platitude  tried  to  fling  himsetf  down ;  and 
then  there  were  various  evolutions  withinside  the  pale,  and  the 
scarlet  figures  got  up  and  sat  down,  and  this  kind  of  thing  con- 
tinued 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  00 
their  knees,  our  poor  old  governor  amongst  them ;  the  sweet  young 
ladies,  the  sharking  priests,  the  idiotical  parson  Platitude  all  fell 
on  their  knees,  and  somebody  or  other  tried  to  pull  me  on  my 
knees,  but  by  this  time  I  had  become  outrageous ;  all  that  my 
poor  brother  used  to  tell  me  of  the  superstitions  of  the  high 
Barbary  shore  rushed  into  my  mind,  and  I  thought  they  were 
acting  them  over  here ;  above  all,  the  idea  that  tl^  sweet  young 
ladies,  to  say  nothing  of  my  poor  old  governor,  were,  after  the 


tSas.]  ''MUMBO  JUMBO.''  $45 


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  con- 
fronted the  horrible-looking  old  figure  with  the  sugar-loaf  hat,  the 
sulphur-coloured  garments,  and  shepherd's  crook,  and  shaking 
my  fist  at  his  nose,  I  bellowed  out  in  English : — 

*'  ^  I  don't  care  for  you,  old  Mumbo  Jumbo,  though  you  have 
fetish ! 

**  I  can  scarcely  tell  you  what  occurred  for  some  time.  I  have 
a  dim  recollection  that  hands  were  laid  upon  me,  and  that  I 
struck  out  violently  left  and  right  On  coming  to  myself,  I  was 
seated  on  a  stone  bench  in  a  large  room,  something  like  a  guarde 
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  rasod,  lifted  up  his  right  hand,  placing 
it  in  such  a  manner  that  the  lips  were  between  the  forefinger  and 
thumb,  then  lifting  up  his  right  foot  and  drawing  back  his  head, 
he  sucked  in  his  breath  with  a  hissing  sound,  as  if  to  imitate  one 
drinking  a  hearty  draught,  and  then  slapped  me  on  the  shoulder, 
saying  something  which  sounded  like  goot  wine,  goot  companion, 
whereupon  they  all  laughed,  exclaiming,  ya,  ya,  goot  companion. 
And  now  hurried  into  the  room  our  poor  old  governor,  with  the 
red-haired  priest ;  the  first  asked  what  could  have  induced  me  to 
behave  in  such  a  manner  in  such  a  place,  to  which  I  replied  that 
I  was  not  gomg  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  distin- 
guish how  the  wind  lay.  Whereupon  they  left  me,  and  in  a  little 
time  I  was  told  by  the  bluff-looking  Merry  Andrews  I  was  at 
liberty  to  depart.  I  believe  the  priest,  in  order  to  please  my 
governor,  interceded  for  me  in  high  quarters. 

**  But  one  good  resulted  from  this  affair ;  there  was  no  presen- 
tation of  our  family  to  the  Holy  Father,  for  old  Mumbo  was  so 
frightened  by  my  outrageous  looks  that  he  was  laid  up  for  a  week, 
as  I  was  afterwards  informed. 

"  I  went  home,  and  bad  scarcely  been  there  half  an  houi 

%& 


54fi  LA  VBNGRO.  [ites 


when  I  was  sent  for  by  the  govemcMTi  who  again  referred  to  the 
in  church,  said  that  he  could  not  tolerate  such  scandalous  behavioui 
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  £amily,  which  was  gOYemed  by  two 
rascally  priests,  who,  not  content  with  plundering  him,  appeared 
bent  on  hurrying  the  souls  of  us  all  to  destruction ;  and  that  with 
respect  to  discharging  me^  he  could  do  so  that  moment,  as  I 
wished  to  go.  I  believe  his  own  reason  told  him  that  I  was 
right,  for  he  made  no  direct  answer ;  but,  after  looking  on  the 
ground  for  some  time,  he  told  me  to  leave  him.  As  he  did  not 
tell  me  to  leave  the  house,  I  went  to  my  room  intending  to  lie 
down  for  an  hour  or  two ;  but  scarcely  was  I  there  when  the  door 
opened,  and  in  came  the  red-haired  priest  He  showed  himself, 
as  he  always  did,  perfectly  civil,  asked  me  how  I  was,  took,  a 
chair  and  sat  down.  After  a  hem  or  two  he  entered  into  a  long  con- 
versation on  the  excellence  of  what  he  called  the  Catholic  rehgion ; 
told  me  that  he  hoped  I  would  not  set  myself  against  the  light,  and 
likewise  against  my  interest ;  for  that  the  fiunily  were  about  to  em- 
brace the  Catholic  religion,  and  would  make  it  worth  my  while  to 
follow  their  example.  I  told  him  that  the  femily  might  do  what  they 
pleased,  but  that  I  would  never  forsake  the  religion  of  my  country 
for  any  consideration  whatever ;  that  I  was  nothing  but  a  poor 
servant,  but  I  was  not  to  be  bought  by  base  gold.  '  I  admire  your 
honourable  feelings,'  said  he ; '  you  shall  have  no  gold ;  and  as  I  see 
you  are  a  fellow  of  spirit,  and  do  not  like  being  a  servant,  for  which 
I  commend  you,  I  can  promise  you  something  better.  I  have  a 
good  deal  of  influence  in  this  place,  and  if  you  will  not  set  your 
face  against  the  light,  but  embrace  the  Catholic  religion,  I  will 
undertake  to  make  your  fortune.  You  remember  those  fine 
fellows  to-day  who  took  you  into  custody,  they  are  the  guards  of  his 
Holiness.  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  have  interest  enough  to  procure 
your  enrolment  amongst  them.'  '  What,*  said  I,  '  become  swash- 
buckler to  Mumbo  Jumbo  up  here !     May  I '—and  here  I 

swore — *  if  I  do.  The  mere  possibility  of  one  of  their  children 
being  swash-buckler  to  Mumbo  Jumbo  on  the  high  Barbary  shore 
has  always  been  a  source  of  heart-breaking  to  my  poor  parents. 
What,  then,  would  they  not  undergo  if  they  knew  for  certain  that 
their  other  child  was  swash-buckler  to  Mumbo  Jumbo  up  here  ? ' 
Thereupon  he  asked  me,  even  as  you  did  some  time  ago,  what  I 
meant  by  Mumbo  Jumbo  ?  And  I  told  him  all  I  had  heard  about 
the  Mumbo  Jumbo  of  the  high  Barbary  shore;  telling  him  that  I  had 


ites-]  DISILLUSION.  547 

no  doubt  that  the  old  fellow  up  h^e  was  his  brother,  or  nearly 
related  to  him.  The  man  with  the  ^d  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  dior ;  ere  he  reached  the 
door  I  saw  his  shoulders  shaking,  and  as  he  closed  it  behind  him 
[  heard  him  distinctly  laughing,  to  the  tiine  of — he  I  he !  he ! 

**  But  now  matters  b^an  to  mend.  What  same  evening  my 
young  master  unexpectedly  arrived.  I  brieve  he  soon  perceived 
that  something  extraordinary  had  been  goin{  on  in  the  family.  He 
was  for  some  time  closeted  with  the  governor,  with  whom,  I 
believe,  he  had  a  dispute ;  for  my  fellow-servant,  the  ladies'  maid, 
informed  me  that  she  heard  high  words. 

''  Rather  late  at  night  the  young  gentleman  sent  for  me  into 
his  room,  and  asked  me  various  questions  with  respect  to  what 
had  been  going  on,  and  my  behaviour  in  the  church,  of  which  he 
had  heard  something.  I  told  him  all  I  knew  with  respect  to  the 
intrigues  of  the  two  priests  in  the  family,  and  gave  him  a  circum- 
stantial 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 
da  Before  I  left  him,  he  entreated  me  to  inform  hun  the  very 
next  time  I  saw  the  priests  entering  the  house. 

"  The  next  morning,  as  I  was  in  the  court-yard,  where  I  had 
placed  myself  to  watch,  I  saw  the  two  enter  and  make  their  way 
up  a  private  stair  to  the  young  ladies'  apartment;  they  were 
attended  by  a  man  dressed  somethmg  like  a  priest,  who  bore  a 
large  box ;  I  instantly  ran  to  relate  what  I  had  seen  to  my  young 
master.  I  found  him  shaving.  'I  will  just  finish  what  I  am 
about,'  said  he,  'and  then  wait  upon  these  gentlemen.'  He 
finished  what  he  was  about  with  great  deliberation,  then  taking 
a  horsewhip,  and  bidding  me  follow  him,  he  proceeded  at  once 
to  the  door  of  his  sisters'  apartment :  finding  it  fastened,  he  burst 
it  open  at  once  with  his  foot  and  entered,  followed  by  myself. 
There  we  beheld  the  two  unfortunate  young  ladies  down  on 
their  knees  before  a  large  female  doll,  dressed  up,  as  usual,  in 
rags  and  tinsel ;  the  two  priests  were  standing  near,  one  on 
either  side,  with  their  hands  uplifted,  whilst  the  fellow  who 
brought  the  trumpery  stood  a  little  way  down  the  private  stair, 
the  door  of  which  stood  open ;  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  my 
young  master  rushed  forward,  gave  the  image  a  cut  or  two  with 
his  horsewhip,  then  flying  at  the  priests,  he  gave  them  a  sound 
flogging,  kicked  them  down  the  private  stair,  and  spurned  the 


S4B  LA  VBNQRO.  (iRs5. 

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  more  about  unless  it  were  carried.  Oh,  it  was  a  fine  sermon 
that  my  young  master  preached,  and  sorry  I  am  that  the  Fath» 
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 
fiimily'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  conniv- 
ance 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,  ex- 
hibiting upon  it  certain  sanguine  marks  which  they  had  daubed 
upon  it  with  red  paint,  but  which  they  said  were  the  result 
of  the  lashes  which  it  had  received  from  the  horsewhip.  The 
youngest  girl  believed  all  they  said,  and  kissed  and  embraced 
the  dear  image ;  but  the  eldest,  whose  eyes  had  been  opened  by 
her  brother,  to  whom  she  was  much  attached,  behaved  with 
proper  dignity;  for,  going  to  the  door,  she  called  the  female 
servant  who  had  a  respect  for  me,  and  in  her  presence  reproached 
the  two  deceivers  for  their  various  impudent  cheats,  and  especially 
for  this  their  last  attempt  at  imposition ;  adding,  that  if  they  did 
not  forthwith  withdraw  and  rid  her  sister  and  herself  of  their 
presence,  she  would  send  word  by  her  maid  to  her  brother,  who 
would  presently  take  effectual  means  to  expel  them.  They  took 
the  hint  and  departed,  and  we  saw  no  more  of  them. 

''  At  the  end  of  three  days  we  departed  from  Rome,  but  the 
maid  whom  the  priests  had  cajoled  remained  behind,  and  it  it 
probable  that  the  youngest  of  our  ladies  would  have  done  the 
same  thing  if  she  could  have  had  her  own  will,  for  she  was 
continually  raving  about  her  image,  and  saying,  she  should  wish 
to  live  with  it  in  a  convent  ]  but  we  watched  the  poor  thing,  and 
got  her  on  board  ship.  Oh,  glad  was  I  to  leave  that  fetish 
country,  and  old  Mumbo  behind  me!" 


CHAPTER  C 


**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  acquaint- 
ance of  the  family,  wanted  a  servant,  I  applied  for  the  place,  with 
the  consent  of  my  masters,  both  of  whom  gave  me  a  strong  re- 
commendation, and  being  approved  of,  I  went  to  live  with  him. 
"  My  new  master  was  what  is  called  a  sporting  character,  very 
fond  of  the  turf,  upon  which  he  was  not  very  fortunate.  He  was 
frequently  very  much  in  want  of  money,  and  my  wages  were  any- 
thing but  regularly  paid ;  nevertheless,  I  liked  him  very  much, 
for  he  treated  me  more  like  a  friend  than  a  domestic,  continually 
consulting  me  as  to  his  affairs.  At  length  he  was  brought  nearly 
to  his  last  shifts,  by  backing  the  favourite  at  the  Derby,  which 
favourite  turned  out  a  regular  brute,  being  found  nowhere  at  the 
rush.  Whereupon,  he  and  I  had  a  solemn  consultation  over 
fourteen  glasses  of  brandy  and  water,  and  as  many  cigars — 
I  mean,  between  us — as  to  what  was  to  be  done.  He  wished 
to  start  a  coach,  in  which  event  he  was  to  be  driver  and  I  guard. 
He  was  quite  competent  to  drive  a  coach,  being  a  first-rate  whip, 
and  I  dare  say  I  should  have  made  a  first-rate  guard;  but  to 
start  a  coach  requires  money,  and  we  neither  of  us  believed 
that  anybody  would  trust  us  with  vehicles  and  horses,  so  that 
idea  was  laid  aside.  We  then  debated  as  to  whetlier  or  not  he 
should  go  jnto  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  be  had  been  at  the  best  school  in  England, 
that  is,  the  most  expensive,  and  also  at  College,  was  almost  totally 

(549) 


Sso  LA  VENGRO.  [itas 

illiterate,  so  we  let  the  Church  scheme  follow  that  of  the  coach. 
At  last,  bethinking  me  that  he  was  tolerably  glib  at  the  tongue, 
as  most  people  are  who  are  addicted  to  the  turf,  also  a  great 
master  of  slang,  remembering  also  that  he  had  a  crabbed  old 
uncle,  who  had  some  borough  interest,  I  proposed  that  he  should 
get  into  the  House,  promising  in  one  fortnight  to  qualify  him 
to  make  a  figure  in  it,  by  certain  lessons  which  I  would  give  him. 
He  consented ;  and  during  the  next  fortnight  I  did  little  else  than 
give  him  lessons  in  elocution,  following  to  a  tittle  the  method 
of  the  great  professor,  which  I  had  picked  up  listening  behind 
the  door.  At  the  end  of  that  period,  we  paid  a  visit  to  his 
relation,  an  old  gouty  Tory,  who,  at  first,  received  us  very  coolly. 
My  master,  however,  by  flattering  a  predilection  of  his  for  Billy 
Pitt,  soon  won  his  affections  so  much  that  he  promised  to  bring 
him  into  Parliament,  and  in  less  than  a  month  was  as  good  as 
his  word.  My  master,  partly  by  his  own  qualifications,  and  partly 
by  the  assistance  whicFi  he  had  derived,  and  still  occasionally 
derived,  from  me,  cut  a  wonderful  figure  in  the  House,  and  was 
speedily  considered  one  of  the  most  promising  speakers ;  he  was 
always  a  good  hand  at  promising.  He  is  at  present,  I  believe,  a 
Cabinet  minister. 

"  But  as  he  got  up  in  the  world,  he  began  to  look  down  on 
me.  I  believe  he  was  ashamed  of  the  obligation  under  which  he 
lay  to  me ;  and  at  last,  requiring  no  further  hints  as  to  oratory 
from  a  poor  servant  like  me,  he  took  an  opportunity  of  quarrelling 
with  me  and  discharging  me.  However,  as  he  had  still  some 
grace,  he  recommended  me  to  a  gentleman  with  whom,  since  he 
had  attached  himself  to  politics,  he  had  formed  an  acquaintance, 
the  editor  of  a  grand  Tory  Review.  I  lost  caste  terribly  amongst 
the  servants  for  entering  the  service  of  a  person  connected  with 
a  profession  so  mean  as  literature ;  and  it  was  proposed  at  the 
Servants'  Club,  in  Park  Ijine,  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 
n  the  world,  but  also  one  of  the  most  sensitive.  On  his  veracity 
being  impugned  by  the  editor  of  a  newspaper,  he  called  him  out, 
and  shot  him  through  the  arm.  Though  servants  are  seldom  ad- 
mirers of  their  masters,  I  was  a  great  admirer  of  mine,  and  eager  to 
follow  his  example.    The  day  after  the  encounter,  on  my  veracity 

l}eing  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 


1835.]  PBRORA  TION.  551 

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  roasters,  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  dis- 
charged 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  roe  a  donation  of  twenty  pounds. 

"  And  it  was  well  that  he  made  me  this  present,  for  without 
it  I  should  have  been  penniless,  having  contracted  rather  expensive 
habits  during  the  time  that  I  lived  with  the  young  baronet.  I 
now  determined  to  visit  my  parents,  whom  I  had  not  seen  for 
years.  I  found  them  in  good  health,  and,  after  staying  with  them 
for  two  months,  I  returned  again  in  the  direction  of  town,  walking 
in  order  to  see  the  country.  On  the  second  day  of  my  journey, 
not  being  used  to  such  fatigue,  I  fell  ill  at  a  great  inn  on  the 
north  road,  and  there  I  continued  for  some  weeks  till  I  recovered, 
but  by  that  time  my  money  was  entirely  spent.  By  living  at  the 
inn  I  had  contracted  an  acquaintance  with  the  master  and  the 
people,  and  become  accustomed  to  inn  life.  As  I  thought  that 
I  might  find  some  difficulty  in  procuring  any  desiralQe  situation 
in  London,  owing  to  my  late  connection  with  literature,  I  deter- 
mined to  remain  where  I  was,  provided  my  services  would  be 
accepted.  I  offered  them  to  the  master,  who,  finding  I  knew 
something  of  horses,  engaged  me  as  a  postillion.  I  have  remained 
there  since.    You  have  now  heard  my  story. 

"Stay,  you  sha'n't  say  that  I  told  my  tale  without  a  per — 
peroration.  What  shall  it  be?  Oh,  I  remember  something 
which  will  serve  for  one.  As  I  was  driving  my  chaise  some  weeks 
%s^o,  on  my  return  from  L ^  I  saw  standing  at  the  gate  of 


SS3  LA  VBNGRO.  [rSss 

an  avenue,  which  led  up  to  an  old  mansion,  a  figure  which  I 
thought  I  recognised.  I  looked  at  it  attentively,  and  the  figure, 
as  I  passed,  looked  at  me ;  whether  it  remembered  me  I  do  not 
know,  but  I  recognised  the  face  it  showed  me  full  well 

''  If  it  was  not  the  identical  face  of  the  red-haired  priest  whom 
I  had  seen  at  Rome,  may  I  catch  cold ! 

"  Young  gentleman,  I  will  now  take  a  spell  on  your  blanket — 
young  lady,  good-night" 


[Ena  e/  Vol.  III^  J^jiJ 


THE  EDITOR'S  POSTSCRIPT. 

Lavengro  and  The  Romany  Rye  (properly  Romanb  Rdi)  were 
terms  applied  to  George  Borrow  in  his  youth  by  the  Norfolk 
Gypsy,  Ambrose  Smith,  better  known  in  these  volumes  as  Jasper 
Petulengro.  The  names  signify  respectively  "Philologist"  and 
"  the  Gypsy  Gentleman  ".  The  two  works  thus  entitled  constitute 
a  more  or  less  exact  autobiography  of  the  writer  of  them,  from  the 
date  of  his  birth  to  the  end  of  August,  1825.  The  author  himself 
confesses  in  his  Preface  that  "  the  time  embraces  nearly  the  first 
quarter  of  the  present  century  ". 

Zavengro  was  written  at  Oulton,  in  Suffolk,  slowly  and  at 
intervals,  between  the  years  1842  and  1851.  The  MSS.  exist 
in  three  varieties:  i.  The  primitive  draft  of  a  portion,  found 
scattered  through  sundry  notebooks  and  on  isolated  scraps  of 
paper,  as  described  in  the  letter  to  Dawson  Turner  (Zi/e,  i.,  p.  394). 
2.  The  definitive  autograph  text  in  one  thick  quarto  volume.  3. 
The  transcript  for  the  printers,  made  by  Mrs.  Borrow,  in  one 
large  folio  volume,  interlarded  with  the  author's  additions  and 
corrections. 

The  text  of  the  present  edition  reproduces  with  fidelity  the 
first  issue  of  1851.  Occasionally  a  verbal  alteration,  introduced 
by  the  author  himself  into  his  second  edition  of  1872,  has  been 
adopted  in  this,  whenever  it  seemed  to  improve  the  reading.  In 
general,  however,  that  reprint  was  in  many  respects  a  defective 
one.  Not  only  words,  but  eveiv  whole  sentences,  which  had 
escaped  the  printers,  remained  undetected  by  the  editor,  and,  as 
a  consequence,  were  lost  to  later  impressions,  based,  as  they  all 
have  been,  on  that  issue.  We  should  have  preferred  to  alter, 
quietly  and  without  remark,  certain  errors  in  the  text,  as  we 
did  in  the  documents  published  in  the  Zt/e;  but  save  in  a  single 
instance,  we  have  left  such  inaccuracies  intact,  reserving  all  cor- 
rections for  the  place  where  we  might  be  supposed  to  exercise  a 
free  hand.^ 

1  The  one  sole  emendation  consists  in  substituting  the  masc.  cJUvai  for  the 
fem.  fumemt,  on  p.  314.  Lt  Jument  est  ieau  was  a  soledsm  that  could  not  longer 
be  tolerated. 

55S) 


554  EDITOR'S  POSTSCRIPT. 


The  insertion,  with  brackets  of  course,  of  the  promised  inedtted 
episodes,  caused  in  two  cases  some  embarrassment  In  removii^ 
them  from  the  final  form  of  his  MS.,  Mr.  Borrow  closed  up  the 

Sp  with  a  few  fitting  lines  which  concealed  the  withdrawal, 
lese  words  had  to  be  suppressed  on  the  restoration  of  the 
passages. 

The  insertions  will  be  met  with  as  follows : — 

The  Poet  Parkinson,  pp.  119-25. 

The  Wake  of  Frcya,  pp.  128-33. 

Cromwell's  Statue  and  the  DairymafCs  Daughter,  pp.  196-98. 

Portobello  or  the  Irish  Patriot,  pp.  231-39. 

Thomas  d'^terville,  in  the  Notes^  pp.  558-59. 

Thus  we  have  made  a  full  statement  as  regards  the  text  of  the 
present  reprint.     Any  one  who  takes  up  this  edition  will  discover 
no  visible  name,  or  preface,  or  introduction,  save  only  those  of 
George  Borrow,  from  the  title  to  the  close.    The  book  is,  there- 
fore, "all  Borrow,"  and  we  have  sought  to  render  the  helping 
hand  as  inconspicuous  as  possible.    Should,  however,  the  pre- 
judiced stumble  at  the  Notes,  we  can  say  in  the  language  of  the 
fairy  smith  of  Loughmore :  is  agad  an  t-leigheas,  you  have  the 
remedy  in  your  own  power. 

Speaking  of  the  Notes,  they  have  been  drawn  up  on  the  un- 
impeachable testimony  of  contemporaneous  record.  Especially 
have  we  sought  the  works  which  Mr.  Borrow  was  accustomed  to 
read  in  his  younger  days,  and  at  times  with  curious  results.  A 
list  of  these  is  given  at  the  close  of  The  Romany  Rye,  and  is 
referred  to  in  these  notes  as  "  Bibliography  *'  for  the  sake  of 
concision.  What  is  not  here  explained  can  be  easily  looked  up 
in  our  Life,  Writings,  and  Correspondence  of  George  Borrow, 
London,  1899,  which  of  itself  furnishes  a  sufficient  and  unalterable 
exhibition  of  the  facts  concerning  the  man  and  his  work. 

W.  I.  KwApp. 

High  St.,  Oxford, 
Novtmher,   1899. 


NOTES  TO  LA  VENGRO. 

WITH 

CORRECTIONS,  IDENTIFICATIONS  AND  TRANSLATIONS. 

Pftge  X.    East  D :    East    Dereham,  a   small   town   in    Norfolk, 

i6  miles  W.  of  Norwich,  and  102  N.E.  of  London.  Here  Capt<  Thomas 
Borrow,  the  father  of  George,  was  often  stationed  from  1792  to  181 2. — x. 
East  Ajifflia:  This  Anglo-Saxon  kingdom  comprised  the  present  counties 
of  NorfoTk,  Suffolk  and  Cambridge. — i.  Tredizmock,  read  Treikinnick  s 
Parish  of  St.  Cleer,  Cornwall. — 2»  Big  Ben:  Benjamin  Brain  or  Bryan 
was  born  in  1753.  Some  of  his  most  severe  "  battles  *'  were  fought  between 
1780  and  Z79o--one  on  the  30th  of  August  in  the  latter  year,  with  Hooper 
at  Newbury,  Berks.  A  few  days  after  this  exploit,  he  picked  a  quarrel  with 
Sergeant  Borrow  of  the  Coldstream  Guards,  which  resulted  in  the  Hyde  Park 
encounter.  Some  four  months  later,  f.«.,  Z7th  January,  1791,  the  decisive 
fight  for  the  championship  came  off  between  Brain  and  Johnson.  It  was 
an  appalling  spectacle,  and  struck  dumb  with  horror,  even  in  that  day,  the 
witnesses  to  the  dreadful  conflict.  Big  Ben  was  the  victor,  and  remained 
champion  of  England  from  that  date  until  his  death  thret years  (not  "four 
months  ")  later— ^th  April,  1794.  "  Lavengro,"  carried  away  by  the  enthu- 
siasm of  early  reminiscence,  allowed  himself  to  declare  that  his  father  read 
the  Bible  to  Brain  in  his  latter  moments.  But  in  1794  Thomas  Borrow  was 
busy  recruiting  soldiers  in  Norfolk,  one  hundred  miles  from  tlie  scene  of  the 
dying  pugilist.  However,  the  error  was  probably  one  of  date  merely,  and 
during  the  year  1791  Thomas  doubtless  read  the  Bible  to  him  in  London, 
since  we  learn  from  Pierce  Egan  that  **  Ben  derived  great  consolation  from 
bearing  tlie  Bible  read,  and  generally  solicited  those  of  his  acquaintance 
who  called  upon  him  to  read  a  chapter  to  him".^ — ^  Captain:  The 
West  Norfolk  Militia  was  raised  in  1759  by  the  third  Earl  of  Orford.  He 
died  in  December,  1791,  when  the  regiment  was  r$organiitd  (not  "raised") 
under  the  new  Colonel,  the  Hon.  Horatio  Walpole,  subsequently  the  sixth 
Earl  of  Orford.  Thus  in  February,  1792,  Thomas  was  transferred  from  the 
Guards  to  be  Sergeant-major  in  the  W.N.M.,  and  stationed  at  East  Dereham. 
He  manned  (he  following  year,  became  Quarter-master  (with  the  rank  of 
Ensign)  In  1795,  and  Adjutant  (Lieutenant)  in  February,  1798.  This  his 
final  promotion  doubtless  gave  him  the  honorary  rank  of  Captain,  since  in 
the  Monthly  A  rmy  List  for  1804  we  read :  **  Adjutant,  Thomas  Borrow,  Capt.**, 
But  a  letter  before  me  dated  i8th  April,  1799,  from  his  Major,  is  officially 
addressed  to  him  as  "Lieut.  Borrow,  Adjutant,"  etc.,  etc.-*-^.  Petrement: 
Our  author  knew  very  well  that  his  mother's  maiden  name  was  Ann  Per- 
frement^  pronounced  and  written  Parfrtnunt  at  the  present  day  by  those  of 
the  lainily  we  have  met.    The  correct  spelling  is  found  on  the  tombstone 

1  Bmiana^  U.,  497. 
(555) 


*  im'  \ 


55«  SOTBS. 


of  her  sister,  Sarah,  at  Dereham  (1817),  and  on  that  of  her  brother,  Sanmel, 
at  Salthouse  near  Holt  (1864).— 3.  Castle  of  De  Biirig:h:  A  £uiciliil 
Borrovian  epithet  applied  to  Norwidi  Castle.  Nor  did  the  odles  kuUd  tiie 
Church  of  St.  Mary-the-Less,  in  Oueen  Street,  Norwich ;  it  was  a  distmct 
parish  charch  long  before  Elizabeth's  reign,  and  in  her  time  the  parish  was 
consolidated  with  the  neighbouring  one  of  St.  George's,  Tombland,  whSe 
the  church  became  municipal  property.  But  the  French  exiles  of  the  Edict 
of  1685  did  worship  there,  even  as  did  the  Dutch  refugees  from  Alva's 
persecution  a  century  before  (1565-70).— 4.  Middle  Age:  Sorrow's  &ther 
was  thirty-four,  and  his  mother  twenty-one,  at  the  date  of  their  marriage. 
John  was  bom  seven  years  after  the  marriage,  and  George  ten.  The 
mother  was,  then,  thirty-one  at  George's  birth. — ^  Bishop  if qpldiis :  Ser- 
mons.— 4.  Ang^ola :  More  correctly  Angora, — ^5.  Foreign  gfraTe :  Lieut.  John 
Thomas  Borrow  died  at  Guanajuato,  Mexico,  22nd  November,  1833. 

Pages  13-13.  *'  Snorro  "  Sturleson :  Poet  and  historian  of  Iceland  (117ft- 
1241).  Harald  (not  ifaro(<f)  III.,  called  "Haardraade".  Battle  of  Stamford 
Bridge,  a.d.  1066,  same  year  as  Norman  Conquest.  See  Mallet's  Northern 
Antiquities,  pp.  168-71  and  194  ;  Snorro's  Hsimskringlat  ii.,  p.  164,  and  his 
Chronica,  1633,  p.  381,  for  the  Quotation;  also  BibUog.  at  end  of  Ramamy 
Ry€,-^l^  Wittcnester:  Rather  Wincheluot  according  to  the  Regimentid 
Records. — 14.  A  gallant  frigate:  A  reminiscence  of  Norman  Cross  gossip 
in  z8zo-ii.  **  Ninety-eight  French  prisoners,  the  crew  of  a  large  French 
privateer  of  eighteen  guns  called  the  Contre-Amiral  Mngon,  and  commanded 
oy  the  notorious  Blackman,  were  captured  i6th  October,  1804,  by  Capt. 
Hancock  of  the  Cruiser  sloop,  and  brought  into  Yarmouth.  They  marched 
into  Norwich,  26th  November,  and  the  next  morning  proceeded  under  guard 
on  their  way  to  Norman  Cross  barracks  " — Norwich  Papers,  1804. — 15.  Ladj 
Bountiful:  Dame  Eleanor  Fenn  (1743- 18 13). — 15.  Bard:  William  Cowper 
(i73i-i8oo).~>z6.  Some  Saint:  Withburga,  daughter  of  Anna,  king  of  the 
East  Angles,  was  the  "saint "  and  the  "daughter"  at  the  same  time. — 19. 
Hnnchbacked  rhymer:  Alexander  Pope.— ao.  Properties  of  God,  read 
attributes.-^M.  Rector :  The  Rev.  P.  J.  H.  Wollaaton.*-ao.  Philoh :  James 
Philo  (1745-1829). — ^2Z.  Tolerism,  reaid  toleration, — 04.  Mere :  Whittlesea 
Mere,  long  since  drained. — 31.  Bengui :  See  the  vocabulary  at  the  end  for  all 
Gypsy  words  in  this  volume. — 34.  Jasper :  The  change  from  Ambrose  to  Jasper 
was  made  in  pencil  in  Mrs.  Sorrow's  transcript  at  the  last  moment  in  1849, 
before  handing  it  to  the  printers. — ^38.  Three  years :  Included  in  the  subse- 
quent narrative,  not  excluded  from  it  as  his  Norwich  school  days  (1814-15, 
x8i6-z8)  were.  They  extend  from  July,  i8zi,  to  April,  18x3 — ^from  Nonnan 
Cross  to  Edinburgh.  The  chronology,  according  to  the  Regimental  Records, 
was  as  follows:  George  was  at  East  Dereham  from  22nd  July  to  i8th 
November,  x8iz,  at  J.  S.  Buck's  ('*  Dr,  B,*s  ")  school ;  30th  November,  1811, 
to  February,  1812,  at  Colchester;  28th  February  to  5th  March,  18x2,  at 
Harwich ;  Z5th  to  X9th  March,  at  Leicester ;  21st  to  30th  March,  at  Melton 
Mowbray ;  and  to  25th  April,  at  Leicester  again ;  28th  April  to  3rd  May,  at 
Tamworth  {Lavengro,  pp.  367-68) ;  6th  to  26th  May,  at  Macclesfield ;  28th 
May  to  2nd  August,  at  Stockport ;  3rd  to  23rd  August,  at  Ashton ;  24th 
August  to  15th  December,  at  Huddersfield  {W.  W,,  p.  64,  and  Lavemgro, 
pp.  39-41) ;  i6th  December,  18x2,  to  19th  March,  18x3,  at  Sheffield ;  20th  and 
2xst  March,  1813,  at  Leeds;  22nd  March,  at  Wetherby;  23rd  March, 
Borou^bridge ;  24th  March,  Allerton ;  25th  March,  Darlington ;  a6th  March, 
Durham  {W.W,,  pp.  258-59) ;  27th  and  28th  March,  Newcsotle ;  agth  March, 
Morpeth ;  30th  March,  Alnwick ;  3rd  and  4th  April,  at  Berwick-spoo-Tweed ; 
6th  A^  x8x3,  Edinburgh  CasUe.— 38.  UUj:  Sos  BibUog. 


HOTBS.  557 

Pag«  43.  Bank  of  a  ri^er :  The  Tweed.  The  scene  here  described 
occurred  on  a  Sunday,  4th  Anrjl,  1813,  near  Berwick,  where  they  **  arrived 
the  preceding  night'*  (p.  44).~42.  Elvir  Hill:  See  Borrow's  Romantic 
Ballads^  Norwich,  1826,  pp.  111-14.  This  piece  entitled  "  Elvir  Hill,"  one 
of  the  old  Danish  ballads  of  Vedel*s  collection,  1591,  represents  the  dangers 
attending  a  youth  who  '*  rested  "  his  "  head  upon  Elvir  Hill's  side  "  where 
he  was  so  charmed  in  his  sleep  by  a  brace  of  seductive  fairies,  that 

**  If  my  good  luck  had  not  managed  it  so 
That  the  cock  crew  out  then  in  the  distance, 

I  should  have  been  murder' d  by  them  on  the  Hill, 
Without  power  to  offer  resistance. 

**  *Tis  therefore  I  counsel  each  young  Danish  swain 

Who  may  ride  in  the  fore^  so  dreary, 
Ne'er  to  lay  down  upon  lone  Elvir  Hill 

Though  he  chance  to  be  ever  so  weary.*' 

43.  Skaldaglam :  The  bardiius  of  Tacitus,  or  the  «  din  '*  made  by  the  Norse 
'*  oards  **  (skalds)  on  shields  and  with  shouts  as  they  rushed  into  battle.  It 
is  not  in  Molbech,  but  Snorro  frequently  uses  it  in  his  Chronica^  1633. — ^43. 
Kalerala :  Title  of  the  great  Finnish  epic,  of  which  the  hero  is  WoinomOinen. 
—43.  Polak:  PolanderorPole. — ^43,  Magyar  (pron.  Af^V) :  Hungarian. — 
43.  Batoscha :  An  erratum  of  the  author  for  his  Batuschca  (z6i) — ^better 
Batyushca,  *'  fother  Tsar  "-^but  generally  applied  by  Borrow  to  his  friend  the 
Po^«.— 45  to  55 :  See  Lift,  i.,  pp.  39-43.— 4)6.  Bui  hin  Digri :  The  Jomsburg 
Viking,  A.O.  994.  See  Borrow's  Romantic  Ballads^  p.  136,  and  Once  A 
Wuh,  ix.,  p.  686.  The  account  is  given  in  Snorro's  Chronica^  1633,  P>  '3^ 
(see  Bibliog.),  but  a  more  accessible  version  of  it  is  found  in  Midlet's 
Northern  Aniiquitics  (Bohn's  ed.),  pp.  X44-45.*-46.  Honmga  Vog,  read 
Hjdrdnga  Vdgr  in  Icelandic,  or  Vaagin  Danish.  In  Romany  Rye  Jp,  359) 
it  is  Englished  as  <•  Horinger  Bay  ^--50.  Hickatfarift:  A  Norfolk  worthy 
of  the  eleventh  century,  whose  prodigious  exploits  with  the  axle  of  his  cart 
as  an  offensive  weapon,  and  the  whed  as  a  shield,  are  handed  down  in  the 
chap-books  of  the  last  three  centuries.  See  p.  63 ;  also  Bihliog,  at  the  end 
oi  Romany  Rye.Si,  Elzigood :  William  E.,  of  Heigham,  Norwich,  enlisted 
October,  1789,  became  Drum-major  in  the  regiment,  32nd  October,  1802 ; 
csdled  fiicetiously  or  maliciously  Else-than-guJe  on  p.  54. — 55.  CHanlon : 
Redmond  O'Hanlon  (d.  1681),  a  proprietor  of  Ubter,  dispossessed  under  the 
Cromwellian  settlement,  and  afterwards  leader  of  a  band  of  outlaws. — ^56. 
IMsbanded:  The  W.N.M.  regiment  left  Edinburgh  in  lulv,  18x4,  and  was 
disembodied  at  Norwich,  i9tn  July.  It  was  again  called  out,  zoth  July, 
X815,  and  sent  to  Ireland.  John  Borrow  was  appointed  Ensign,  29th  May, 
18x5,  and  Lieutenant,  X3th  December  of  the  same  year.  The  regiment 
sailed  from  Harwich  ('*port  in  Essex  ")  3xst  August,  reaching  Cork  harbour 
("  the  cove  ")  about  9th  September,  18x5.  63.  Wight  Wallace  (story  book 
of):  Stt Bihliog, 

Page  63.  Shorsha:  The  Irish  for  Oeorge,  properly  written  Seors,  but 
the  author  usually  wrote  his  Irish  by  sound. — 04.  Sarput,  read  sagart : 
(Lat.  sacerdos),  a  priest.— 64.  Finn-ma-Coul :  In  Irish  rionn-mac-Cumhail, 
the  £ather  of  Ossian.-^^  Brian  Boroo:  In  Irish,  Brian  Boroimhe,  a  king  of 
Ireland  fo26-xox4).— 65.  Saggartins^ :  Studying  with  reference  to  the  priest- 
hood.—0^.  Mavoomeen :  Properly  mo  mhuimin,  my  darling. — 65.  nanaiD 


5SS  NOTES. 

moo  Dioal ;  Wrongly  given  for  U*anQm  d'n  Diahkal  [God  preterrt]  my  tool 
from  the  devil  I  See  Romany  Ryt,  p.  386,  where  it  is  outte  correct — from  sotmd^ 
~4S6.  ChriatmAS  over:  1816.  Regiment  qaarterea  at  Templemore.  John, 
now  a  lieutenant  (not  "  entign  *'),  is  sent  with  a  detachment  to  Loughmofe, 
three  miles  away.  Sergeant  Ba^g,  promoted  to  that  rank,  zoth  July.  1815, 
accompanies  him.— 66.  Moontiuii :  Called  locally,  *' Devil's  Bit"  and  not 
DevU's  HiU  or  Mt.,  as  in  the  text.— 68.  Pine  old  language  (add:  mUck): 

**  A  labkair  Padric  ^nminsi  Fail  na  Riogk 
*Sanfaigki  eaomknn  Colum  naamktka  *n  I" 
(which)  **  Patrick  spoke  in  Innisfail  to  heathen  chiefr  of  old, 
And  Columb,  the  mild  prophet- saint,  spoke  in  his  island-hold." 

So  Borrow  gives  the  Irish  and  his  versidnin  Romantie  Ballads,  p.  viii.  The  Erse 
lines  were  taken  from  Lhuyd*s  Arckaologia  BritamUea^  Oxford,  1707,  sign,  d, 
—69.  The  Castle:  Loughmore  Castle.— 71.  Figure  of  a  man:  Jerry  Grant, 
the  Irish  outlaw.  See  the  Ntwgate  CaUndars  subsequent  to  1840— Pelham. 
Griffith,  etc. — 7a  and  83.  '*  Sas  and  '*  Sassanach,*'  of  course  mean  English- 
man or  Englisn  (Saxon). — 74.  Cler^man  of  the  parish :  The  Rev.  Patrick 
Kennedy,  vicar  of  Loughmore.  His  name  is  also  on  the  list  of  subscribers 
to  the  Romantic  Ballads^  Norwich,  1826,  as  J,  Kennedy,  by  mistake. — J^ 
Swanton  Morley :  A  village  near  East  Dereham.— 83.  Arri^od  yuit  (Irish), 
read  airgiod  dkuit :  Have  you  any  money  ? — 83.  Tabhair  cfaug^am  (pron. 
tower  khoogam) :  Give  (it)  to  me. — 83.  Is  ag^am  an't  leigeas  (read  an  t- 
-Uigkias) :  I  have  the  remedy. — 83.  Another  word :  deagkbklasda :  See 
Romany  Rye,  p.  266,  and  Notes  and  Qusries,  5th  May,  1855,  p.  339,  article 
by  George  M^tivier. 

Page  84.  Old  dty:  Norwich.  The  regiment  having  returned  to 
head-quarters,  nth  May,  x8i6,  was  mustered  out  17th  June.  The  author 
describes  the  city  from  the  "  ruined  waU  "  of  the  old  Priory  on  the  hill  to 
the  east. — 85.  The  Norman  Bridge:  is  Bishop's  Bridge. — 85.  Sword 
of  Cordova,  in  Guild  Hall,  is  a  mistake  for  the  sword  of  the  Spanish 
General  Dqp  Xavier  Winthuysen.— 9a  Vone  banished  priest:  Rev. 
Thomas  d'EterviUe.  The  MS.  gives  the  following  inedited  account  of 
D*Eterville.      I  omit  the  oft-recurring  expletive  sacri  (accursed): — 

[Myself,  Were  you  not  yourself  forced  to  flee  from  your  country  ? 

D'itervilU.  That's  very  true.  ...  I  became  one  vagabond — nothing 
better,  I  assure  you,  my  dear ;  had  you  seen  mo,  you  would  have  said  so. 
I  arrive  at  Douvres ;  no  welcome.  I  walk  to  Canterbury  and  knock  at  the 
door  of  one  auherge.  The  landlord  opens.  *'  What  do  you  here  ?  **  he  says ; 
"  who  are  you  ? "  "  Vone  exiled  priest,"  I  reply.  "  Get  you  gone,  sirrah ! " 
he  says ;  "  we  have  beggars  enough  of  our  own,"  and  he  slams  the  door  in 
my  face.    Mafoi,  il  faisoit  bien,  for  my  toe  was  sticking  through  my  shoe. 

Myself.  But  you  are  no  longer  a  vagabond,  and  your  toe  does  not  stick 
through  your  shoe  now. 

D'EtervilU.  No,  thank  God,  the  times  are  changed.  I  walked  and 
walked,  till  I  came  here,  where  I  became  one  pkilologue  and  taught  tongues 
— French  and  Italian.  I  found  good  friends  here,  those  of  my  religion. 
"  He  very  good  man,"  they  say ;  "  one  banished  priest ;  we  must  help  him." 
I  am  no  longer  a  vagabond — ride  a  good  horse  when  I  go  to  visit  pupils  in 
the  country — stop  at  auberge — landlord  comes  to  the  door :  "  What  do  you 
please  to  want,  sir  ?  "  "  Only  to  bait  my  horse,  that  is  all."  Ek  bien,  land- 
lord very  polite ;  he  not  call  me  vagabond ;  I  carry  pistols  in  my  pocket. 

Myself.  I  know  you  do ;  I  have  often  seen  them.  But  why  do  you  carry 
pistols? 


NOTES.  559 

D*iUrvilU,  I  ride  along  the  road  Crom  the  dieUnt  viUase.  I  have  been 
to  visit  my  pupil  whom  I  instruct  in  philology.  My  pupil  has  paid  me  my 
bill,  and  I  car^  in  my  purse  the  fruits  of  my  philology.  I  come  to  one  dark 
spot.  Suddenly  my  bridle  is  seized,  and  one  tall  robber  stands  at  my  horse's 
head  with  a  very  clumsy  club  in  his  hand.  **  Stand,  rascal,"  says  he ;  "  your 
life  or  your  purse  I  '*  "  \tty  good,  sir,"  I  respond ;  "  there  you  have  it.'* 
So  I  put  my  hand,  not  into  my  pocket,  but  into  my  holster ;  I  draw  out, 
not  my  purse,  but  my  weapon,  and — ^bangl  I  shoot  the  English  robbcar 
through  the  head. 

Myulf,  It  is  a  bad  thing  to  shed  blood ;  I  should  be  k>th  to  shoot  a 
robber  to  save  a  purse. 

D^EttrvilU,  Qut  tu  ts  bits  I  mon  ami.  Am  I  to  be  robbed  of  the  fruits 
of  my  philology,  made  in  foreign  land,  by  one  Enf^lish  robber  ?  Shall  I 
become  once  more  one  vagabond  as  of  old  ?  one  exiled  priest  turned  from 
people's  doors,  my  shoe  broken,  toe  sticking  through  it,  like  that  bad  poet 
who  put  the  Pope  in  hell  ?    Bah,  bah  I 

By  degrees  D*£terville  acquired  a  considerable  fortune  for  one  in  his 
station.  Some  people  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  was  principally  made  by 
an  extensive  contraband  trade  in  which  he  was  engaged.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
some  twenty  years  from  the  time  of  which  I  am  speaking,  he  departed  this 
life,  and  shortly  before  his  death  his  fellow-religionists,  who  knew  him  to 
be  wealthy,  persuaded  him  to  make  a  will,  by  which  he  bequeathed  all  his 
property  to  certain  popish  establishments  in  England.  In  his  last  hours, 
however,  he  repented,  destroyed  his  first  will,  and  made  another,  in  which 
he  left  all  he  had  to  certain  of  his  relations  in  his  native  country ; — "  for," 
said  he,  *'  they  think  me  one  fool,  but  I  will  show  them  that  they  are  mis- 
taken. I  came  to  this  land  one  banished  priest,  where  I  made  one  small 
fortune;  and  now  I  am  dying,  to  whom  should  I  leave  the  fruits  of  my 
philology  but  to  my  blood-relations  ?  In  God's  name,  let  me  sign.  Mon- 
sieur Boilean  left  the  fruits  of  hie  verses  to  hia  niece ;  eh  bUn,  I  will  bequeath 
the  fruiu  of  my  philology  to  my  niece  and  nephew.  There,  there !  thanks 
be  to  God,  it  is  done  I  They  take  me  for  a  fool ;  I  am  no  fool.  Leave  to 
the  Pope  the  fruits  of  my  philology  I  Bah,  bah !  I  do  no  such  thing.  I 
do  like  Monsieur  Boileau."] 

P>fi»^  93*  ISmxVu  Home:  Earlham  Hall,  the  residence  of  Joseph 
John  Gumey  (1788-1847),  the  Norwich  banker  and  frimous  Quaker.  The 
**  tall  figure  *'  mentioned  on  the  next  page  was  Mr.  Gumey,  then  twenty - 
eight  years  ol  age.— 95.  Qolff  read  Greek:  This  is  a  misuke.  Mr.  Gumey 
was  an  early  student  of  Italian.  See  Braithwaite's  Life,  i.,  pp.  25  and  49. 
— Zohar:  Very  correct.  Braithwaite,  i.,  p.  37. — Abarbe&al,  read  Abarbanei 
or  Abrabanel :  A  Spanish  Jew  driven  from  Spain  in  149a.  See  p.  283.->-97. 
Castle  Hill:  Norwich.— 97.  Pair  of  hones:  Tombland  Fair,  held  01 
Maundy  Thursday  every  year. — lOO.  Heath :  Mousehold  Heath,  near  Nor- 
wich. See  also  pp.  106,  z6i,  etc — ii3.  "  Gemtti,  sospri  ed  alti  guai  '* 
(compare  Dante,  in/.^  iii.,  8  :  '*  Quivi  io^iri^  pianii^  e  alii  guai  ") :  Groanj, 
sighs,  and  deep  lamentations. — Z14.  Ab  uwiljm :  See  Bihuog,  at  the  end  of 
Romany  Rvs, — 114.  Cowydd  :  A  species  of  Welsh  poetry. — Z14.  Eos  (W.) : 
Nightingale.— 114.  Narrow  Court:  Tuck's  Court,  St.  Giles,  Norwich.— 1x5. 
Ola  muter:  William  Simpson  of  the  law  firm  of  Simpson  &  Rackham, 
Norwich. — 115.  Bon  Joor :  read  Bonjowr  .  .  .  /  bien  dts  ekoses  de  ma  parid 
Monsieur  Peyrecouri  or  Pierreeourt ".  "  Expressions  "  in  this  sense  (kind 
regards)  is  the  Spanish  expresioneSt  disguised  as  French. — xiS.  Bwa  Btach : 
The  "little  hunchback".    See  p.  114.— 1x9  to  xas-    Paridnsoci  the  poet  1 


S6o  NOTBS. 


ThiB  chafacter,  who  appears  for  the  first  time  among  the  faiedited  episodes  of 
Lav^grOf  was  a  real  one,  although  his  true  name  (Parkerson)  is  given 
somewhat  veiled,  as  usual  with  Mr.  Borrow.  He  seems  to  have  been  the 
poet-laureate  of  farmers,  corn-merchants,  drovers  and  publicans,  selling  his 
muse  to  the  highest  bidder,  at  first  in  printed  sheets  of  eight  pages,  and 
subseouently  gathered  into  pamphlets  of  thirty  or  more  pages  which  he 
offered  for  one  or  two  shillings  each.  They  were  printed  by  R.  Walker, 
"  near  the  Dnke*s  Palace,  Norwich,"  and  sold  by  "  Lane  and  Walker,  St. 
Andrew's".  They  are  without  date,  but  cannot  range  far  from  x8i8.  Here 
are  some  specimens  of  his  style:  "The  Norwich  Corn  Mart.  By  J. 
Parkerson,  Junior.' 


i» 


At  om  o'clock  iki  busy  suns  hegin^ 
Q^*ck  to  tkd  hall  they  all  arc  posting  in  ; 
The  cautious  merchant  takes  his  standi 
The  farmer  shows  the  produce  of  his  land, 

etc.,  for  sixty-six  lines.    "  On  Mr.  L  .  .  .  taking  leave  of  his  wife  and 
childien,  who  was  sentenced  to  transportation  for  fourteen  years  "(I): — 

Hannah,  farewell,  Vm  hound  to  go. 
To  taste  the  bitter  draught  of  woe, 

Z34  lines.    "  A  Description  of  the  Pine-Apple  at  Trowse  " : — 

Both  Beauty  and  Art  have  exerted  their  skill. 
You  will  find  on  a  spot  near  the  brow  of  a  hiU; 
The  hill  is  near  Norwich  and  calVd  BracondaU, 
I  stept  into  Vince's  myself  to  regale, 

etc.,  four  pages  of  that — 124^  Mr.  C. :  Thomas  William  Coke,  Esq.,  of 
Holkham,  Earl  of  Leicester  in  1837,  and  died  in  1842. 

Pages  128-133.  The  Wake  of  Freya:  This  incident  must  have 
occurrM  to  Mrs.  Borrow  at  her  home.  Dumpling  Green,  East  Dereham,  on 
a  Friday  night,  5th  December,  1783,  when  she  was  twelve  (not  *'  ten  ")  years 
old.  Her  eldest  sister,  Elizabeth,  would  be  in  her  seventeenth  year. 
Friday  was  then,  as  now,  market  day  at  Dereham.  The  place  was  the 
Blyth  farm  about  one  and  a  half  miles  (not  **  three ")  from  "  pretty  D  '*. 
The  superstition  referred  to  in  this  episode  is,  or  was,  a  very  common  ooe 
in  Norfolk,  and  even  other  countries.  See  the  Norfolk  Chronicle  for  14th 
May,  179 1 ;  Qlyde's  Norfolk  Garland,  pp.  13-14,  and  George  Borrow  in  the 
Quarterly  Review  for  Januazy,  1861,  p.  62.^150.  Freya:  The  Venus 
of  the  North  vras  the  stster  of  Prey,  according  to  Mallet  (p.  94),  and  the 
original  sources. — 136*  To  London:  Crome  (John's  teacher)  died  at 
Norwich,  aand  April,  i8ax;  but  Tohn  could  not  leave  until  alter  the 
Regimental  Training,  which  closed  that  year  on  26th  June;  hence  his 
departure  may  be  set  down  for  the  last  of  June,  1821.— 136.  Rafael: 
Note  spelling  here  (also  pp.  223  and  225)  and  Raphael  on  p.  352.^ 
157.  Corregio,  read  Correggio, — 139.  Murray  and  Latroon,  the  Scotch 
outlaw  and  the  **  English  Rogue ".  See  Bibliog,  at  the  end  of  Romany 
J?y«.— 14a.  *'  Draoitfaeac,"  magic,  read  draoidheachd  (Ir.).— Z44.  Mng^gte- 
toffi^nm :  Evidently  a  Borroviaa  slip  here.  See  Notes  and  Queries  for  3nl 
April,  1852,  p.  320.— Z45.  Vedd:  Anders  Sdrensen  Vedel,  first  collector  of 
the  Kiampeviser,  or  Heroic  Ballads  of  the  Danes,  Copenh.,  1591. — 14^ 
Chapter  xxiii. :  Interview  between  William  Taylor  (21  King  Street,  NorwidO 


« 


NOTES.  561 


and    George   Borrow. — x<x.   Orm    Ungarswayne :    "Orm  the   youthful 
Swain/'  RomanHc  Ballads,  p.  86.    But  see  the  Danish  ballad  •'Birting' 
in  Sorrow's  Targumt  St.  Petersb.,  18351  pp.  59-61,  commencing:— 

*'  It  was  late  at  evening  tide. 
Sinks  the  day-star  in  the  wave, 
When  alone  Orm  Ungarswayne 
Rode  to  seek  his  fiither's  grave  "• 

— 151.  Swayne  VonTed:  See  this  piece  in  Romantic  Ballads,  pp.  6i-8x. — 

SZ.  Mousha,  read  Mufa,  in  Arabic  or  Moshi  in  Hebrew;  both  represent  our 
OSes,  But  the  Jew's  name  was  Levi,  according  to  the  MS, — 153.  The 
Fi^ht:  Between  Painter  and  Oliver,  near  North  Walsham,  17th  July,  1820. 
This  chapter  xxiv.  relates  the  author's  call  on  Mr.  Petre  of  Westwick  House, 
which  must  have  been  after  20th  May,  when  it  was  decided  that  the  "  battle  " 
should  take  place  within  twenty  miles  of  Norwich. — 155.  Parr:  There 
were  two  Parrs,  one,  Thomas,  called  •*  English  "  or  •*  Old  "Parr  (1483-1635) 
who  lived  152  years,  and  Samuel,  called  the  '*  Greek  "  Parr  (1747-1825,)  who 
had  been  Heaa  Master  of  the  Norwich  Grammar  School  from  1778  to  1785. 
This  Dr.  Samuel  Parr  was  the  one  referred  to  by  Mr.  Petre. — 155.  Whiter : 
Rev.  Walter  Whiter,  author  of  the  Commentary  on  Shakespeare,  Lond. 
1794,  and  Etymologicum  Magnum,  Camb.,  1800,  4to ;  enlarged  ed.,  Camb., 
1822-25,  3  vols.  4to.— 156.  Game  Chicken :  Henry  Pierce,  nicknamed  Game 
Chicken,  beat  Gulley,  8th  October,  1805  (Egan's  Boxiana,  i.,  p.  145). — 156. 
Sportine  Gentlemen :  John  Thurtell  and  Edward  Painter  ('*  Ned  Flatnose  *'). 
— Z58.  fiarmanbeck :  Slang  for  constable — word  taken  from  the  English 
Rogue, — x6i.  Batuschca  (read  BAtyooshca):  See  p.  43. — z6z.  Pnber- 
lenaky,  read  Priohrathenski :  Crack  regiment  of  the  Russian  Imperial 
Guara,  so  called  from  the  barracks  situated  near  the  Church  of  the  Trans- 
figuration (Priobraxhenfe). 

Page  z66.  The  Fight  of  Z820,  chapter  xxvi.  We  will  here  give  a 
condensed  portion  of  a  chapter  which  we  suppressed  from  the  Life. 

On  the  2oth  of  May,  1820,  an  eager  crowd  might  have  been  seen  pressing 
up  to  a  card  displayed  in  the  Castle  Tavern,  Norwich.  The  card  was  signed 
T.  C,  and  T.  Belcher ;  but  every  one  knew  that  the  initials  stood  for  the 
Champion  of  England,  Thomas  Cribb.  The  purport  of  the  notice  was  that 
Edward  Painter  of  Norwich  was  to  fight  Thomas  Oliver  of  London  for  a 
purse  of  100  ^ineas,  on  Monday,  the  17th  of  July,  in  a  field  within  twenty 
miles  of  the  city. 

A  few  days  after  this  announcement,  George  Bonrow  was  charged  by  his 
principals  to  convey  a  sum  of  money  to  a  country  gentleman  by  the  name 
of  John  Berney  Petre,  Esq.,  J. P.,  residing  at  Westwick  House,  some  thirteen 
and  a  half  miles  distant  on  the  North  Walsham  road.  The  |^entleman  was 
just  settling  the  transfer  of  his  inheritance,  his  father  havmg  died  eight 
months  before.  Borrow  walked  the  entire  distance,  and  while  he  tarried 
with  the  magistrate,  the  interview  took  place  between  him  and  Thurtell  who 
desired  to  secure  a  field  for  the  fight.  Mr.  Petre  could  not  accommodate 
them,  and  they  drove  on  to  North  Walsham.  There  they  found  the  "  pightle  " 
which  suited  them  in  the  vicinity  of  that  town,  on  the  road  leading  to  Hap- 
pii^urgh  (Hazebro), 

Norwich  began  to  fill  on  Saturday,  the  15th  of  July,  as  the  stage-coaches 
rolled  in  by  the  London  (now  Ipswich)  and  Newmarket  roads.    The  Inn 

36 


563  .  NOTES. 


attached  to  the  Bowling  Green  on  Chapel-Fidd,  then  kept  by  the  fiuoous 
one-legged  ex-coachman  Dan  Gurney  (p.  167),  was  the  otvourite  resect  of 
the  **  great  men  '*  of  the  day.  Belcher,  not  old  Belcher  of  1791,  but  the 
"  Teucer  "  Belcher,  and  Cribb,  the  champion  of  England,  slept  at  the  Castle 
Tavern,  which  like  Janus  had  two  £aces — ^backed  on  the  Meadows  and 
fronted  on  White-Lion.  The  Norfolk  in  Sl  Giles  and  the  Angel  on  the 
**  Walk,"  housed  other  varieties  of  the  sporting  world. 

At  an  early  hour  on  Monday,  the  Z7th,  the  roads  were  alive  with 
pedestrians,  equestrians,  Jews,  Gentiles  and  Gypsies,  in  coaches,  barouches 
and  vehicles  of  every  sort.  From  Norwich  they  streamed  down  Tombland 
into  Magdalen  street  and  road,  out  on  the  Coltishall  highway,  and  thence — 
sixteen  and  one  half  miles  in  all — to  North  Walsham  and  the  field.  One 
ancient  MacGowan  (the  Scotch  for  Petulengro)  stood  on  Coltishall  bridge 
and  counted  2050  carriages  as  they  swept  past.  More  than  25,000  men  and 
thieves  gathered  in  concentric  circles  about  the  stand. 

I  do  not  propose  to  attempt  the  description  of  this  celebrated  fngna  or 
"  battle  with  the  fists  ".  Those  who  crave  such  diversions  will  find  this  ooe 
portrayed  fittingly  in  the  newspapers  of  the  time.  The  closing  passage  of 
one  of  them  has  always  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  masterpiece  of  grim  brutality : 
"  Oliver's  nob  was  exchequered,  and  he  fell  by  heavy  right-handed  blows  on 
his  ears  and  temple.  When  on  his  second's  knee,  his  head  dangled  about 
like  a  poppy  alter  a  shower." 

A  second  fight,  this  time  between  Sampson,  called  the  "  Birmingham 
boy,"  and  Martin  the  "  baker,"  lost  much  of  its  interest  by  reason^of  the 
storm  described  in  Lav^ngro.  "  During  the  contest,"  says  the  Norfolk 
Chronicle^  "a  most  tremendous  black  cloud  informed  the  spectators  that 
a  rare  sousing  was  in  preparation  for  them."  And  the  Mercury  states  that 
*'  the  heavy  rain  drenched  the  field,  and  most  betook  themselves  to  a  retreat, 
but  the  rats  were  all  drinkled  ".  Thus  the  "  cloud  "  was  no  fiction,  1^ 
which  the  Gypsy  foretold  the  dreadful  fate  awaiting  John  Thurtell  before 
Hertford  gaol,  gth  January,  1824.  Ned  Painter  never  fought  again.  He 
was  landlord  of  the  White  Hart  Inn  from  1823  to  1835.  The  present 
proprietor  still  shows  his  portrait  there,  with  the  above  fact  duly  inscribed 
on  the  back  of  the  frame. 

Page  z68.  Public:  The  Castle  Tavern,  Holbom,  kept  by  Tom 
Belcher—the  "  Daffy  Club  ".—169.  ''  Here's  a  health  to  old  honest  Jofan 
Bull :  '*  The  verses  were  taken  from  a  rare  old  volume  entitled :  Thg  Norwich 
Minstrel,  p.  30.    (See  Bibliog.) : — 


M 


HONEST  JOHN  BULL." 


•«  Here's  a  health  to  *  Old  honest  John  Bull ' ; 

When  he's  gone  we  shan't  find  such  another ; 
With  hearts  and  with  glasses  brim  full. 

We'll  drink  to  *  Britannia,  his  mother ' ; 
For  she  gave  him  a  c^ood  education, 

Bade  him  keep  to  his  God  and  his  King, 
Be  loyal  and  true  to  the  nation. 

And  then  to  get  merry  and  sing. 

*'  For  John  is  a  good-natured  fellow, 

Industrious,  honest  and  brave  ; 
Not  afraid  of  his  betters  when  mellow, 

For  betters  he  knows  he  must  have. 


NOTES.  5«3 


There  must  be  fine  lords  and  fine  ladies. 

There  mast  be  some  little,  some  great ; 
Their  wealth  the  support  of  our  trade  is, 

Our  trade  the  support  of  the  State« 

"  Some  were  bom  for  the  court  and  the  city. 

And  some  for  the  village  and  cot ; 
For  it  would  be  a  dolorous  ditty, 

If  we  were  born  '  equal  in  lot '. 
If  our  ships  had  no  pilots  to  steer, 

What  would  come  of  poor  Jack  on  the  shrouds  ? 
Or  our  troops  no  commanders  to  fear, 

They  would  soon  be  arm'd  robbers  in  crowds. 

**  The  plough  and  the  loom  would  stand  still, 

If  we  were  made  gentlefolks  all ; 
If  clodhoppers — who  then  would  611 

The  parliament,  pulpit  or  hall  ? 
*  Rights  of  Man '  makes  a  very  fine  sound, 

*  Equal  riches  *  a  plausible  tale ; 
Whose  labourers  would  then  till  the  ground  ? 

All  would  drink,  but  who'd  brew  the  ale  ? 

*'  Half  naked  and  starv'd,  in  the  streets 

We  should  wander  about,  sans  culottes  ; 
Would  Liberty  find  us  in  mefts, 

Or  Equality  lengthen  our  coats  ? 
That  knaves  are  for  levelling,  don't  wonder, 

We  may  easily  guess  at  their  views ; 
Pray,  who'd  gain  the  most  by  the  plunder  ? 

Why,  they  that  have  nothing  to  lose. 

"*  Then  away  with  this  nonsense  and  stuffy 

Full  of  tresCson,  confusion  and  blood ; 
Every  Briton  has  freedom  enough 

To  be  happy  as  long  as  he's  good. 
To  be  rul'd  by  a  glorious  kine, 

To  be  govem'd  by  jury  and  laws ; 
Then  let  us  be  happy  and  sing, 

'  This,  this,  is  true  Liberty's  cause*." 

Page  174.  Haik,  read  HaJk:  Armenian.— 178.  Conqueror  of  Ti|ipoo 
Sahib :  General  Harris  (1791). — x8i.  March  :  The  exact  date  was  dis- 
covered by  me  in  private  letters  in  Norwich.  See  Life,  i.,  p.  91.  George 
left  Norwich  on  the  evening  of  zst  April,  1824,  and  consequently  reached 
London  early  on  the  morning  of  2nd  April. — 182.  Lodriiie  :  No.  16  Mill- 
man  Street,  Bedford  Row. — 185.  The  publisher :  Sir  Richard  Phillips. — 
185.  Mr.  8O-aiid'40  :  Taylor  of  Norwich.— 186.  The  Magfazine: 
The  Monthly  Magaxine;  or,  British  Register.— -i^f.  The  Ostford  Re- 
view :  The  Universal  Review;  or.  Chronicle  of  ths  Literature  of  all 
Nations,  No.  z,  March,  1824,  to  No.  6,  January,  1825.  See  also  pp.  190, 
203  and  ff. — X91.  Red  Juliui,  called  elsewhere  by  Borrow  lolo  Goch :  A 
Welsh  bard  of  the  fifteenth  century. — 191.  Cesar's  Castle  :  The  Tower 
of  London. — 194  and  423.  Blessed  Mary  Flanders  :  Defoe's  Moll 
Flanders.    See  oibliog.  at  the  end  of  Romany  Rye, — 197.  Bookseileri^ 


5*4  NOTES. 


shop:  The  shop  was  a  depository  of  the  Religious  Tract  Society,  the 
publishers  of  Legh  Richmond's  Annals  of  the  Poor,  of  which  the  first  section 
was  the  Dairyman* s  Daughter  (pp.  loi). — ^acn.  Vtwij  married :  Richard, 
Jr.,  m.  Feb.,  1823.— aod.  "  Newnte  Lives" :  The  true  title  was :  CtUhraUd 
Trials^  and  RemarkabU  Cases  of  Criminal  yurisprudenes,  from  the  earliest 
records  to  the  year  1825,  Lond.,  1825  (February),  6  vols.  8vo.— 2CK.  Trans- 
istor of  "  Faustns  "  :  Faust,  a  Drama  by  Ooethe,  and  Schiller's  Song  of  the 
Bell;  translated  by  Lord  Francis  Leveson  Oower,  Lond.,  J.  Murray,  1823, 
8vo;  and  ed.,  enlarged,  ibid,,  1825,  2  vols.  8vo.— ao8.  Translator  of 
Quintilian:  I  doubt  whether  this  was  John  Carey,  LL.D.  (1756-1826),  who 
published  an  edition  of  Quintilian,  1822,  but  no  translation.  My  information 
ts  positive  that  it  was  Wm.  Giflford,  translator  of  Juvenal,  1802,  3rd  ed.  1817. 
— ^2x5.  Oxford :  This  constant  satirising  of  the  great  English  university  in 
connection  with  the  publisher's  theory,  doubtless  grew  out  of  a  series  of 
articles  printed  in  the  Magazine  during  the  years  '23  and  '24,  and  which 
may  be  summarised  by  this  notice  in  vol.  fvi.,  p.  349 :  "  In  a  few  days 
will  appear  a  series  of  Dialogues  between  an  Oxford  Tutor  amd  a  Disciple 
of  the  new  Commonsense  Philosophy ;  in  which  the  mechanical  principles 
of  matter  and  motion  will  be  accurately  contrasted  with  the  theories  of 
occult  powers  which  are  at  present  cherished  by  the  Universities  and 
Royal  Associations  throughout  Europe*'. — 220,  Chnrchjard:  St.  Giles 
churchjrard  where  Capt.  Borrow  was  buried  on  the  4th  of  March 
previous. — 2X^  A  New  Mayor :  Inexact.  Robert  Hawkes  was  mayor  of 
Norwich  in  1822.  Therefore  he  was  now  «jr-mayor — ^230.  Man  with  a 
Hnmp:  Thomas  Osbom  SpringBeld,  was  not  a  watchmaker  so  far  as  is 
known  in  Norwich,  but "  carried  on  the  wholesale  silk  business,  having  almost 
a  monopoly  of  the  market "  (Bavne's  Norwich,  p.  588). — 221.  Painter  d  the 
heroic :  Benjamin  Robert  Haydon  (1785- 1846) .—-224.  Norman  Arch :  The 
grand  entrance  and  exit  to  the  Norwich  Cathedral,  west  side. — ^225.  Sni4> : 
The  Snap-Dragon  of  Norwich  is  the  Tarasque  of  the  south  of  France,  and 
the  Tarasca  of  Corpus  day  in  Spain.  It  represents  a  Dragon  or  monster 
with  hideous  iaws,  supported  by  men  concealed,  all  but  their  legs,  within  its 
capacious  belly,  and  carried  about  in  civic  processions  prior  to  the  year  1835 ; 
even  now  it  is  seen  on  Guy  Fawkes'  day,  the  5th  of  November. — Whiffler: 
An  official  character  of  the  old  Norwich  Corporation,  strangely  uniformed 
and  accoutred,  who  headed  the  annual  procession  on  GuildhaU  day,  flourish- 
ing a  sword  in  a  marvellous  manner.  AH  this  was  abolished  on  the  passage 
of  the  Municipal  Reform  Act  in  1835.  As  a  conse<^uence,  says  a  contem- 
poraneous writer,  "  the  Aldermen  left  off  wearing  their  scarlet  gowns,  Snap 
was  laid  up  on  ;a  shelf  in  the  '  Sword  Room '  in  the  Guildhall,  and  the 
Whifflers  no  longer  danced  at  the  head  of  the  procession  in  their  picturesque 
costume.  It  was  a  pretty  sight,  and  their  skill  in  flourishing  their  short 
swords  was  marvellous  to  behold.*'  See  Romany  Rye,  pp.  349-50. — Billj 
Blind  and  Owlenelass  (Till  Eulenspiegel) :  See  Bibliography. --22^.  Brandt 
and  Stniensee :  For  High-Treason  in  Denmark,  1772.  See  Celebrated  Trials, 
iv.,  p.  465 ;  and  for  Richard  Patch  ('*  yeoman  Paten  *'),  1805,  vol.  v.,  p.  584. 
— ^220.  Lord  Brron :  The  remains  of  the  poet  lay  in  state  from  Friday 
gth  July,  1824,  >i^  Sir  Edward  Knatchbull's  house,  Great  George  Street,  to 
Monday  the  xath  when  they  were  conveyed  to  Hucknall-Torkard  in  Not- 
tinghamshire. On  that  day  (12th  July)  Borrow  witnessed  the  procession 
as  described  in  the  text. — ^233.  Carolan's  Receipt :  Torlough  (t.r.,  Charles) 
O'Carolan,  the  celebrated  Irish  harper  and  bard,  was  born  at  Nobber,  Co. 
Meath,  in  1670,  and  died  in  1738.      See  Alfred  Webb's  Compendium  af 


NOTES.  565 

Irish  Biography,  Dublin,  1878,  p.  37a;  T.  C.  Walker's  Irish  Bards,  1786, 
App.,  pp.  86-87,  »n<*  ^»«'-  o/NaL  Biog,,  xli.,  p.  343.  The  "  Receipt "  in  Irish 
is  in  Walker,  and  at  the  end  of  Vallancey's  Irish  Orammar,  second  ed., 
Dublin,  1781.^    Here  is  the  translation  given  in  Walker  :— 

**  When  by  sickness  or  sorrow  assail'd. 

To  the  mansion  of  Stafford  I  hie'd 
His  advice  or  his  cordial  ne'er  fail'd 

To  relieve  me — nor  e'er  was  denied. 

**  At  midnight  our  glasses  went  round, 

In  the  morning  a  cup  he  would  send ; 
By  the  force  of  his  wit  he  has  found 

That  my  life  did  on  drinking  depend. 

•*  With  the  spirit  of  Whiskey  inspir'd, 
By  my  Harp  e'en  the  pow'r  is  confess'd ; 

Tis  then  that  my  genius  is  fir'd, 
'Tis  then  I  sing  sweetest  and  best 

**  Ye  friends  and  ye  neighbours  dimw  near, 

Attend  to  the  close  of  my  song; 
Remember,  if  life  you  hold  dear. 

That  drinking  your  life  will  prolong." 

Curiously  enoush  among  the  subscribers  to  the  Romantic  Ballads,  Norwich, 
1826,  we  find  these  names:  (p.  185)  '*F.  Arden,  Esq.,  London,  live  copies," 
*<T.  O.  O'Donnahoo,  Esq.,  London,  five  copies;"  (p.  187)  '*  Mr.  J.  Turner, 
Ix>ndon  ". 

Page  24^  The  Review:  The  Review  actually  ceased  January,  1825, 
with  its  sisctn  number. — 268.  Laham:  In  Heb.  bread  is  Wum;  but  our 
author  probably  wrote  it  by  sound.  Z*hats  is  the  ace.  of  hats,  the  Arm.  for 
bread ;  for  as  Borrow's  source,  old  Villotte  (1714)1  says :  "  Accusativus  pra- 
figit  nominativo  Ut4raM  jr*'. — ^370  and  a66.  Mesroub,  read  Miesroh, 
who,  about  a.d.  450  introduced  the  Armenian  alphabet.  271.  Sea  in  Arm. 
is  dxow.  See  Romany  Rye,  p.  356— 26z.  AdeULnte  (Span.) :  Come  in.— 281. 
Bneno  (Span.):  Good.  This  sound  of  the  word  bucno,  heard  in  182s  from 
the  Jew  Manasseh,  was  brought  to  Borrow's  memory  in  1836  when  he  met 
the  Jew  Abarbanel  on  the  roads  in  Spain.  See  B.  in  S,,  p.  65,  sm.  ed.  — 
gfia.  Una  vez,  etc.  (Span.) :  On  one  occasion  when  he  was  intoxicated. — aSa; 
Goyim  (Heb.) :  Nations,  Gentiles.— aSs.  Lasan  akhadca,  read  Ldshdn 
haqifdddsn :  Sacred  language,  t.#.,  Hebrew. — 362.  Tanin :  Wine  in  Heb.  is 
ydytn  (not  ydnin),  but  our  author  quoted  correctly  from  the  Dialoghi  di 
Amor4  composts  her  Leons  Medico,  Vinegia,  1541,  and  the  Span.  ed.  ^hich 
I  use) :  Los  Dialogos  de  Amor  de  mestre  Leon  Abarbanel  medico  y  Filosofo 
exceUnte,  Venetia,  1568,  sm.  4to  (Bodleian).  The  passage  is:  "And  he 
(Noah),  after  the  flood,  was  called  Janus  on  account  of  his  invention  of  wine, 
for  janin  in  Hebrew  signifies  wine,  and  he  is  represented  with  two  faces 

>  Beginning — 

*'  Afas  timn  no  sidn  atkarlaigkios  fUn, 
Degkludis  me  trd,  agus  hflUirde  wU, 
Air  eudirt  an  Sedin  u  sdcal  Mdgkail, 
*'An  Stafartack  taimk,  nock gndtk gan ehdUir 


S66  NOTES. 

turned  in  opposite  directions,  became  he  nw  befi>re  the  flood  and  after  it ". ' 
O.  B.  always  writes  Abarbenel  for  Abarbanel.  His  true  name  was  Leo 
AbrabaneL— aSs.  Janinoso  (Judseo-Span.)  meaning  vinosust  intoxicated.— 
363.  Epicourajyun :  Christians,  as  below,  the  "Epicureans,"  for  so  the 
rabbis  of  the  East  call  us  in  the  West — properly,  "  unbelievers  *'.  But 
Borrow's  form  is  not  found  in  Buxtorf  (i8G9>--fead  Y^n^^^^liTinM  ^pi^^^'f^sim 

and  (pop.)  J5/tMHfli.— 265.  Sephardim :  Spanish  aiM  PortiPguese  Jews,  as  the 
Ashkinagim  are  the  German  Jews. — 990  to  30X.  I  am  at  ...  :  Green- 
wich, Blackheath  and  Shooter's  Hill  (301).— 504.  Colonel  B.  .  .  .:  Col. 
Blood.  See  dUhrated  Trials^  vol.  ii.,  pp.  248-354 :  **  Thomas  Blood,  gener- 
ally called  Colonel  Blood,  who  stole  the  crown  from  the  Tower  of  London, 
167 1  ".—317,  Got  Care  to  ... ,  read  Amesbury,  Wilts.— 323-  City  of 


the  Spire:  Salisbury. — ^325.  From  .  .  .  t  re^^d  Bristol. — ^330.  Strang^: 
Could  not  be  William  Beckford  (1759-1844)  of  Fonthill  Park,  three  miles 
from  Hinton,  a  doxen  or  fifteen  miles  from  Salisbury.  Besides  the  place 
was  sold  in  182a  and  George  Mortimer  occupied  it  in  1825.  Borrow  had 
been  walking  fiv€  days  in  a  N.W.  direction  from  Salisbury,  and  all  his 
narrative  harmonises  with  the  places  and  dates  that  bring  him  to  Horn- 
castle  in  August,  1825.-^62.  Abedarimns,  read  afr^^r/ionttms.— 363. 
Flaming'  Tinman :  He  is  also  called  by  Borrow,  Biasing  Tinman,  Flying 
Tinker,  Blazing  Bosville  or  Boswell,  and  finally  Anselo  Herne,  his  true 
clan-name.^3p7.  Ten  years  ago,  f.«.,  thirteen,  when  he  was  at  Tam- 
worth  in  April  or  May,  1812.— 377.  The  Romany  chi,  etc. :  See  p.  387 
for  the  translation. —379.  Answer  to  the  g^e :  llie  Rommany  churl  and 
the  Rommany  girl  love  thieving  and  spacing  and  lying  and  everything  but 
honesty  and  trttth.^390.  Petfa  yw,  etc.  ( W.) :  What  is  that  lying  there  on  the 
ground  ?  Yn  wirianeddf  in  truth,  surelv. — ^390.  Gwenwyn:  Poison !  Poison  1 
the  lad  has  been  poisoned  I —394.  HangM  the  mayor:  The  suppressed 
name  of  the  Welshman  and  the  whole  account  of  the  affair  is  ^ven  in  Wild 
WaUs^  p.  7  (chapter  iii).— 404.  Bardd  Cwsg:  The  Sleepmg  Bard,  by 
Ellis  Wynn.  See  Bihliog.-^^l.  Merddin  V^llt  (Myrddin) :  U.,  Wild 
Merlin,  called  the  Wizard.— 433.  Found  written:  See  MoU  Flanders 
by  Defoe,  p.  188,  ed.  1722 :  "  OnT  what  a  felicity  is  it  to  mankind,"  said  /, 
**  that  they  cannot  see  into  the  hearts  of  one  another  t  '*  I  have  carefully 
re-read  the  whole  volume  of  Moll  Plandtrs^  and  find  no  such  passages  as 
those  referred  to  here,  save  the  one  above.  Hence,  we  may  justly  inlier 
that  Borrow  quoted  the  spirit^  rather  than  the  words,  of  his  author.  See 
Romany  Rye^  pp.  305-6.— 431.  Catraeth,  read  Cattraeth,  The  reference  is  to 
Aneunn's  book,  the  Gododin,  or  Battle  of  Cattraeth.  See  Bibliog. — 433. 
Fish  or  flesh :  See  Borrow's  Targum,  St.  Fetersb.,  1835,  p.  76,  under  the 
**  History  of  Taliesin,"  ending : — 

**  I  saw  the  end  with  horror 
Of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  I 
And  with  this  very  eye 
Have  seen  the  [Trinity] ; 
I  till  the  judgment  day 
Upon  the  earth  shall  stray : 
NoHi  knows  for  certainty 
Whether  fish  orfiesh  I  be." 

1  «•  El  qual  (N06)  despues del  diluuio,  por  su  inuendon  del  uino,  fve  Ihamado 
lano,  porque  lanin  en  ebraico  quiere  dezir  uino,  y  lo  pintao  con  dos  caras  boltadasi 
porque  tuuo  uisu  antes  del  diluuio  7  despues  "  {Fofa  71,  verso). 


NOTES.  567 


The  original  Welsh  of  the  '*  Hanet  Taliesin  **  is  in  the  Oorchestum  Beirdd 
Cymru,  1773 — Bihliog,  at  the  end  of  Romany  Rye. — ^432.  Take  this  :  This 
Bible,  with  Peter  Williams'  name  in  it,  was  sold  in  London  in  x886  out  of 
Geo.  Sorrow's  collection. — ^443.  Mumpers'  Dtng^le :  Near  Willenhall,  Staf- 
ordshire.  The  place  is  properly  Momber  or  Mourner  LaM4,  and  is  now  occupied 
by  the  "  Monmer  Lane  Ironworks,"  hence  totally  obliterated. — ^444.  Voliindr 
{Vdlundr) :  The  Wayland  Smith  of  Northern  legends.  See  in  the  Bihliog, 
under  '*  Wayland  Smith,"  and  Mallet,  p.  570. — ^456.  Ing^eborg :  The  lines 
are  from  the  Romantic  Ballads  of  1826,  p.  58,  entitled  the  "Heroes  of 
Dovrefeld.  From  the  old  Danish."— 456.  '*  As  I  was  jawiog : "  Text  and 
translation  of  the  whole  eight  lines  are  found  on  pp.  182-83  ^  ^^  Lavo-Lil^ 
1874:— 

As  I  to  the  town  was  going  om  day 
My  Roman  lass  I  m§t  by  iks  way. 

The  MS.  is  somewhat  different — <*Rommany"  instead  oiRomaHt  and  the 
last  line,  '*  If  you  will  share  my  lot  with  me  ". — 469.  The  man  in  black : 
This  priest  seems  to  have  been  a  Fraser  of  Lovat.  See  Romany  Ry4, 
p.  25,  and  "Arbuthnot"  in  the  BihHog, — ^481.  Armenian:  It  must  be 
remembered  that  Sorrow's  Armenian  was  limited  to  the  Introduction, 
Grammar  and  Lat.-Arm.  Diet,  of  the  Jesuit  Joseph  Villotte,  I7i4>  fol., 
which  he  picked  up  at  Norwich  in  1822-23  as  he  tells  us  on  p.  175, 
and  Romany  Rye,  p.  93.  Hence  all  his  examples  are  taken  from  that 
book — mi,  one ;  yergou,  two  ;  y^ek,  three,  and  those  in  Romany  Ryg. — 
483.  Bnona  sera  (It.) :  Good  evening. — ^482.  Per  far  Tisita,  etc. :  To  pay 
your  lordship  a  call,  that  is  my  motive.— 486.  Che  to  non,  etc.,  read  ch* 
to,  etc.:  That  I  do  not  believe  at  all.— 488.  Addio:  Farewell.— 4ai7.  Puld: 
See  the  Bibliog,  This  version  is  rather  free  and  local.  Here  is  the  original 
(canto  xviii.,  t  97,  ed.  1546)  :— 

Rispou  allkor  Margutie :  '<  A  dirtel  tosio. 
To  non  credo  piu  al  mro  ch*  a  ViUMurro, 
Ma  nsl  coupons,  0  lesso,  0,  vuofU,  arrosto, 
B  credo  alcuna  wolla  anco  ml  burro. 
Sella  cervogta,  e,  ptando  to  n*ho,  nel  mosio^ 
B  molto  pin  nelV  astro  eke  il  mangurro^ 
Ma  9obra  httto  nel  hum  vino  ho/ede, 
B  creao  eke  sia  salwo  cki  gli  creeU,* 


If 


9p^  O  CaTftliere,  etc. :  Oh,  Sir  Walter,  ye  have  wrought  much  in  behalf  of 
the  Holy  See  1—504.  Poreri  frati:  Poor  friars  I—X08.  One  fellow  I  met: 

".— SXi  Mast 


accormng  to  the  prayer-book  version. 


LIST  OF  GYPSY  WORDS  IN  LA  VENGRO. 


f 


Adrey.  in. 
Ambrol,  pear. 

And^,  in,  into. 
Andre,  in,  within. 
Angir,  charcoal,  coals. 
Apopli,  again. 
Aukko,  here  is. 
A^a,  yes. 

Ar$Ji,  yes. 

ArtXttkf  comes,  is  coming. 

Bard,  large,  big. 
rlor.  swine. 


Bebee  (aunt|,  grandmother. 

Benffoi,  devil. 

Bitcnadey,  pi.  sent. 

Bttchadey  pawdd  (p.  300),  an  error 

for  bitchado  pawdel,  sing. 
Bord,  great. 

Borodromengro,  highwayman. 
Bore  foros,  London. 

Cafiy  horse-shoe  nail. 

Cana,  when. 

Canlor,  shillings. 

Chabdy  pi.  of 

Chabd^  child,  lad,  Gypsy. 

Chachipen,  truth. 

Chal,  lad,  G^^psy. 

Chal  Derlem  gc  with  God,  farewell. 

Chavdp  «.f .  ckahd, 

Chi,  girl,  lass,  Gypsy. 

(3hinomescro,  chisel. 

Chipes,  pi.  tongues. 

Chive,  to  throw ;  pass  (bad  money). 

Chivios,  he  or  it  is  cast. 

Chong,  hill. 

Chcnijg  gav,  Norwich. 

Chun,  knife. 

Coor,  to  strike,  hammer. 

Cooromengro,  boxer. 

Covantza,  anvil. 


Dearginni  (Hung.  Q.),  it  thunders. 
Dinelo,  a  fool,  silly. 


Diwus,  day. 

DloovUt  money  (for  hvo). 


Dook,  to  bewitch,  to  spirit  away. 
Dock,  spirit,   soul,  divining   spirit, 

demon,  ghost. 
Dosta,  enough. 

Dovey  odoi,  that  there,  up  yonder. 
Drab,  herb,  poison. 
Drab,  to  poison. 
Drom,  road,  way. 
Drow  (often  pi.),  drugs ;  poison. 
Dui,  two. 
Dukker/n  (the  in  is  Eng.  '*ing"), 

any  one's  fortune,  or  fortunes,  laite, 

fortune-telling. 
Dukker/n  dool^  the  fortune-telling 

or  divining  spirit  or  demon. 
Dukkeripen,  fortune-telling. 
Duvel,  God. 
Duvelskoe,  divine. 

Engro  (mere  tnding),  Borrovian  for 

"  master,*'  "  fellow,"  *•  chap  ". 
Foros,  city,  town. 

Gav,  village,  town. 

GiOiej  song,  ditty. 

Gorgm,  non-gypsy,  stranger,  some- 
body, police.  G.  avella,  some  one 
is  coming.  G.  shunella,  some  one 
is  listening.  G.'s  welling,  the  police 
are  about 

Gorgfious,  adj.  formed  from  gorgio. 

Grandbefoee,  see  behei. 

Grondinni  {Roumanian  G.),  it  hails. 

Gry,  horse,  pony. 

Harkomescro,  tinker. 
Hinjiri,  executioner. 

Hir  mi  Devlss,  by  my  G , 

Hokkeripen,  falsehood. 


aw,  to  go.    Jaw-ing,  going, 
ib,  tongue,  language. 

urealf  dog. 
uwa,  woman. 


Kauley,  f.  of 
Kaulo,  black,  dark. 

(568) 


GYPSY  LIST. 


569 


Kaulomescro,  blacksmith. 

Kjjtured,  stole. 

Kekaubi,  kettle. 

Ker,  house. 

KoidcOy  good. 

Krai  or  Krallis,  king. 

Lachipen,  honesty. 
LaTeng^rOy  "word-master,"  '* philo- 
logist ". 
Leste,  him. 
Lil,  book. 

LoovUf  coin,  money. 
Lundra,  London. 
Lttripen,  theft,  robbery. 

MaiUa,  donkey. 

Manridi,  cake. 

Manro,  bread. 

ManiiSy  man. 

Marel  (read  msrel),  dies. 

Men,  we. 

Menaar  (read  msnsa),  with  us. 

Miro,  mv. 

Morro,  bread. 

Muchtar,  tool-box. 

Nashkado,  lost,  hanged. 
Nashky,  gallows. 

O,  the. 

Odoiy  there ;  dovey  o.,  yonder. 

Pa.  over,  for. 

Pal,  brother,  friend,  mate. 

Palor,  brothers. 

Parraco,  I  thank. 

Pawdel,  on  the  other  side,  across; 

bttchadey  p.,  transported. 
Pen.  to  say,  to  tell ;  penning,  telling. 
Peshota,  pi.  bellows. 
Petttl,  horse-shoe. 
Petuleturro,  smith. 
Piodro,  noof,  foot. 
Pios,  health  (in  toasting). 
Plaistra,  pincers. 
PlaatramengrOy  runner,  detective. 
Pokaees,  magistrate. 
Pnda  {voc).  brother. 
PudamengTO,  blower,  bellows. 
Pnrdi  old,  ancienL 
PuTy  earth,  ground. 

Ran,  stick,  c^lPf^ .     . 


Rati,  blood,  stock. 

Rikkenf .  t  of 

Rikkeno,  pretty,  fine. 

Rin,  file. 

Rom,  husband ;  Gypsy. 

Roman,  Borrovian  for  Gypsy. 

RomaneskoenaM,  in  Gypsy  fashion. 

Romanhr  (Bor.),  in  Gypsy,  G.-like. 

Romano,  Gypsy. 

Rome  and  dree  (Rom  andr6  7)  Gypsy 

at  heart. 
Romf,  wife. 
Rommanis,  in  Gypsy. 
Rommany,  Gypsy. 
Rommany  Chal,  Eng.  Gypsy. 
Rommany  Chi,  t  Eng.  Gypsy-girl. 
RoTel,  weeps. 
Rje,  gentleman ;  farming  r.,  farmer. 

Sap,  snake. 

Sapen£^,  snake-catcher. 

Sastra,  iron. 

Sastramescro,  worker  in  iron,  smith. 

Scoppdo,  ninny. 

Sherengro,  head  man. 

Sboon,  to  hear,  to  listen. 

Shttkaro,  hammer. 

Shunella,  is  listening. 

Si,  is,  are. 

Sora,  all  (who). 

Ta,  and. 

Tacho  rommanifl,  &ithfiil  wife. 

Tan,  tent. 

Tasanlor  (ta-sorlo),  to-morrow. 

Tatchipen,  truth. 

Tawno  Chickno,  *'  Shorty". 

Tu,  thy. 

Tute,  thee. 


Vafi^escoe  chipes,  tongues  of  fire. 
Viluuninni  (Hung.  G.),  it  lightens. 

Wafodo,  bad,  &lse. 

Welling^  (corruption  of  avW/a),  com- 
ing. G.'s  welling,  "  the  hawks  are 
abroad  ". 

Weah,  forest 

Yag,  fire. 
Yeck,  one. 

ZigaH  (SiftviV),  Gypsy. 
Zmg$lo  (/to/Ma),  Gyp^. 


r  L 


1  4. 1912 


FMimED  BT 

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BOHDOV  Ain>  ATLBSBUBT. 


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POPULAR  eh  NOVELS 


ANON. 

WHAT  MIGHT  HAVE 
BEEN.    The  Story  of  a 
Social  War. 

"We  recommend  every  one  very 
heartily  to  get  and  laugh  over  *  What 
Might  Have  Been.'  They  will  never 
regret  it.  ...  As  a  work  of  satire, 
too.  it  possesses  a  thousand  quaint 
and  unexpected  delights." 

— Si€mdard. 

ATHERTON  (Qertrado). 

rezAnov. 

**  *  Rezinov '  is,  without  doubt,  a 
great  work  of  art.  A  remarkable 
novel."— ifor»ffi^  Pos/. 


BAIUEY  (H.  a> 

BEAUJEU. 

«We  must  credit  to  Mr.  H.  C. 
Bailey,  the  author  of '  Beaujeu,'  that 
rare  taiog,  a  really  good  historical 

SPRINGTIME. 

"  It  is  th«  kind  of  novel  of  which 
men  will  never  tire  while  the  earth 
perpetually    renews    herself    and 


spring  comes  year  by  year  with  its 
the  young   man   and 


message   for 


maiden,  for  throun  it  there  '  riots 
tho  idea  of  spring,  and  in  it '  truth, 
inexpressibly  fair,  wakes  like  a 
wandering  rose.'  "^Morning  Post, 

BOTTOME  (Miss  Phyllis). 

RAW  MATERIAL. 

'*  The  stories  are  all  full  of  interest 
and  the  character-drawing  is  ad- 
mirable."—Jlf<iMcA#s/fr  Guardian, 

THE  IMPERFECT  GIFT. 

CHAMBERS  (R.W.). 

THE  TRACER  OF  LOST 
PERSONS. 


If 


Mr.  Chambers  has  hit  upon  a 
distinctly  clever  notion  in  his  de- 
lightful series  of  short  stories."— 
Standard, 


OROPPER  (Elsanor). 

IN  THE  STRAITS  OP 
HOPE. 

"We  shall  be  surprised  if  Miss 
Eleanor  Cropfier's  brilliant  novel 
does  not  schieve  an  exceptional 
success." — Court  JommmL 

DEANE  (Mary). 

THE  LITTLE  NEIGH- 
BOUR. 

**A  fresh,  oii^nal  piece  of  work 
...  a  story  which  we  (cXkom  with 
excited  curiosity  ...  a  book  that 
will  be  remembered  when  the  names 
of  most  of  the  productions  of  Miss 
Deane's  oontemporaxies  have  tone 
been  forgotten."— CoMr/yoH«waiL 

THE  ROSE  SPINNER. 

**  An  exceptionally  well-written 
story."— C>M/^cA. 

TREASUREAND  HEART. 

"  A  charming  story."— ruN«s. 

DE    LA    PASTURE    (Mrs. 
Henry). 

THE  LONELY  LADY  OF 
GROSVENOR  SQUARE 

*'  A    dainty   romance."—  Mormng 

"A  truly  worthy  successor  to 
'Peter's  Mother."*-5toiMAin<. 


DUFF  (Miss  L.  Grant). 
PERIWINKLE. 

"...  One  of  the  few  novels  of 
the  season  which  are  distinctly  in- 
teresting for  its  treataient  of  ooth 
incident  and  character.  .  .  .  Miss 
Grant  DuflTs  treatment  of  Tommy  is 
the  cleverest  of  the  many  clever 
characterisations  in  the  hock,  snd 
were  it  for  nothing  but  this  fresh 
snd  vivid  study  of  sn  unconventiooal 
but  perfectly  natural  and  consistent 
type,  the  novel  would  have  been 
worth  writing  and  is  worth  reading. 
Periwinkle  herself  is  sn  eonal^ 
dever  and  very  subtle  stuoy.*"— 
fVes/minsttr  GimU$, 


POPULAR 


EQQAR  (Arthur). 

THE  HATANEE 

**Mr.  £ggar*8  tale  of  Barman 
superstitioii  ia  excellent,  all  the 
more  so  because  its  merit  is  of  no 
ordinary  character.  .  .  .  Mr.  John 
Murray  rarely  godfathers  an  un« 
worthy  story.  In  this  case  he  offers 
the  public  a  story  rich  in  suggestion, 
admirably  written  and  a  pageant  of 
local  eo\oux,'*^Lnds  Mtreury, 

FITZROY  (Isobel). 

A  QUIXOTIC  WOMAN. 

"The  author  arrests  and  holds 
the  attention  of  the  reader  from  the 
first."- ffor/</. 

FLETOHER  (J.  8.). 
DANIEL  QUAYNE. 

This  work— written  by  one  who 
has  an  intimate  knowled^  of 
country  life  and  character — is  the 
story  of  the  love  of  an  honest 
countryman  for  a  girl  of  strong 
elemental  passions.  It  is  power- 
fully written,  and  claims  the  reader's 
keenest  Interest  from  the  first  page 
to  the  grim  and  tragic  ending. 

HAMILTON  (Lllllas). 
A  VIZIER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Well  conceived  and  well  told. 
A  highly  readable  story." 

— Atfunaum. 

HAWTREY  (MIM  V.). 

SUZANNE. 

"Miss  Hawtrey  has  achieved  an 
undoubted  success  .  .  .  really  re- 
markable book.'* 

—Mattchtsier  Guartiiatt. 

HOU8MAN  (Laurence). 
A  MODERN  ANT^US. 

**  One  of  the  finest  and  best  books 
that  have  appeared."— X>ai(K  ^*vb. 

SABRINA  WARHAM. 

**  This  book  has  much  that  is  true 
and  beautiful."— JforNi'v  Pont. 


r/-r  NOVELS 

HYNE  (a  J.  OutelHff^). 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
COMMANDER  McTURK. 

"  It  is  a  rattling,  roaring  book."-- 
Tribunt, 

"One  of  the  most  deliciously  en- 
tertaining sea-dofip  that  fiction  has 
given  ^%7*— Birmingham  Post. 


KENNY  (MiM  Louise). 

THE  RED-HAIRED 
WOMAN. 

"  A  cleverly  written    romance.*— 
Oultook, 

"A crisp, clever hodk  "—Livtrpooi 
Daily  Post. 


LUBBOOK  (Basil). 

JACK  DERRINGER. 

"  The  characters  are  portraits. 
The  stupendous  picture  of  men  fight- 
ing a  South  Pacific  gale,  the  life 
on  board  a  Yankee  *  bell-ship/  the 
Spartan  philosophy,  are  from  a 
sailor's  pen  and  mind  ...  a  true 
and  vigorous  picture,  and  the  good 
story  seems  intensely  natural.  It  is 
the  realism,  not  the  story  that  grips 

?ou  as  you  read.  .  .  .  Melodrama? 
^es,  but  powerfully  convincing. "^ 
Dauy  ChromcU, 


MAOAULAY  (Miss  R.). 

ABBOTS  VERNEY. 

"A  remarkable  novel.  ...  It  is 
finelv  written.  The  style  is  crisp, 
brilliant  and  pointed.  There  is  not 
a  superfluous  paragraph,  line,  or 
phrase.  The  book  will  make  its 
mark ."— Sco/smaff . 


MA880N  (Rosallne% 

LESLIE  FARQUHAR. 

"  The  most  attractive  Scotch  novel 
that  we  have  read  for  a  long  while 
...  a  novel  to  be  recommended.**— 
Standard, 


POPULAR 

NEUMAN  (B.  Paul). 

THE    GREATNESS    OF 
JOSIAH  PORLICK. 

«*  This  is  a  fine  hook.^-^TimM. 

THE  SPOILS  OF 
VICTORY. 

"Mr.  Neuman  has  given  his 
readers  a  aingfularly  penetrating  and 
sympathetic  studjr  of  the  literary 
temperament."— SiTo/smaM. 


OLUVANT  (Alfk'Ml). 

DANNY. 

"  The  work  is  notable  for  the  fine- 
ness of  its  sympathy  and  the  delicacy 
of  its  natural  art,  as  well  as  new  in 
its  kind.  ...  A  very  real  story,  of 
real  hamour,  real  pathos,  and  real 
character." —  7Ym#j . 


ONIONS  (Oliver). 

THE  ODD-JOB  MAN. 

•*  A  novel  of  merit.**— rimM. 

TALES  FROM  A  FAR 
RIDING. 

"Oearly  conceived  and  power- 
fully told  .  .  .  they  are  excellent  in 
their  peculiar  fashion,  without  a 
weak  spot  among  them.  —Guardi^, 


QUILLER-OOUOH  (A.  T.). 

FORT  AMITY. 

"A  high-pulsing  tale  of  bodily 
adventure.  ...  It  is  interesting 
throughout."—  Timgs. 

8UTOUFFE  (Halilwell). 

A  BENEDICK  IN  ARCADY 

"  Full  of  clever  characterisation, 
of  engajfing  and  humorous  talk,  of 
delightful  native  descriptions.  .  .  . 
A  dainty,  pleasing  piece  of  work.*'— 
DaHy  TiUgraph, 


7-.  NOVELS 

TARKINQTON  (Booth). 
IN  THE  ARENA. 

"  Capital  stories.  ...  *  Hector '  is 
a  truly  magnificent  character  stndy. 
...  It  is,  we  think,  one  of  the 
truest,  most  ironic,  and  most  tellinc 
studies  in  modern  Aateriaui  ficiioB. 
-'Daily  Graphic. 


VAOHELL  (Horaco  A.). 
BROTHERS 

*'A  novel  that  should  not  be 
missed."— /^ai/f  TeltgrapA, 

**  A  book  to  love  and  to  live  in 
awhile,  and  a  book  which  will  not 
lightly  be  forgotten."— H^<rs/iMms/«r 

THE  FACE  OF  CLAY. 

"  A  powerful  and  fascinating  book, 
with  elements  of  tragedy  as  well  an 
pathos  and  humour.  The  charactov 
are  real,  and  the  elucidation  of  the 
mystery  is  skilfully  protracted  to 
the  final  scene."  —Daily  ChronicU. 

'*  A  book  in  a  thousand.'* 

— Standard. 

THE  HILL. 

"  The  best  book  about  sdioolboys 
since  'Tom  Brown.'"— />arVy  Ntms. 

"The  work  of  a  conrageous  writer 
and  a  masterly." — Vanity  Fair, 

HER  SON. 


WHARTON  (Mrs.). 

THE  VALLEY  OF 
DECISION. 

"  A  really  brilliant  work." 

—Sptciaion 

WI1.KIN8  (Mary  E.). 

THE  HEARTS  HIGH- 
WAY. 

•*  It  is  cleverly  done."— 5j6*c/afor. 

THE  WIND  IN  THE 
ROSE  BUSH. 


**  Wonderf'ully  artistic  and  en- 
thralling tales  of  the  supematnraL" 
—  Vanity  Fair. 


POPULAR  2 IS 

OHOLMONDELEY  (Mary). 
MOTH  AND  RUST. 

"  A  fine  story,  adminbly  told."— 
fVcritL 

PAIR1.E88  (Michael). 

THE    GATHERING    OF 
BROTHER  HILARIUS. 

'* .  .  .  an  id]fll  in  pn»e  .  .  . 
n  fMcioating  piece  cm  medieval 
romance."— 7%#  Time». 

HOPE  (Anthony). 

TRISTRAM  OF  BLENT. 

*<Bold  with  the  boldness  of  a 
master,  occasionally  brilliant,  always 
interesting,  often  sparkling,  and 
sometimes  quite  dramatio—a  good 
story  compounded  by  a  master  hand 
.  .  .  the  novel  of  the  century— so 
^r.^—yoMify  Fair, 

HUT0HIN80N  (Horaee). 

BERT     EDWARD:    The 
Golf  Caddie. 

"This  is  a  really  charming  atory, 
a  change,  how  delightful  it  would 
not  be  easy  to  say,  finom  the  bitter 
fare  on  which  we  are  too  often 
treated."-  7A«  Spectator, 

ONIONS  (Oliver). 

THE  COMPLEAT 
BACHELOR* 

"  One  of  the  brightest,  cheeriest, 
and  JoUiest  books  written  for  a  long 
time  past.  .  .  .  This  is  a  book  you 
should,  beg{  borrow,  or— get  out  of 
the  circulating  library.  Don't  miss 
it."— ///iM/ni/M/  MaiL 


RYND  (Evelyna  EMa). 

MRS  GREEN. 

"  It  is  a  delightful  experience  for 
the  critic  wh«i  he  finds  a  book 
which  he  can  thoroughly  and  heartily 
praise.  ...  I  have  found  no  book 
on  fiction  nearly  so  good  and  pro- 
mising .  .  .  there  are  not  many 
wittier  or  kindlier  scribes  at  work 
among ua.'— f^n/isA  Wi^l^. 


NET  NOVELS 

TARKINQTON  (Booth). 

THE  BEAUTIFUL 
LADY. 

*'  As  fascinating  aa  aha  is  beauti 
ful.    The  story  is  fresh  and  brightly 
written.**- rA#  Evtning  Standard. 


MONSIEUR  BEAU- 
CAIRE. 

"Inside  and  outside,  from  cover 
to  cover,  'Monsieur  Beancaire'  is 
a  charming  surprise."— PfA>/. 

VAOHELL  (Horaee  A.). 
JOHN  CHARITY. 

**K  novel  of  incident,  paasion, 
and  character,  told  with  unusual 
dramatic  power."— GMan/uiN. 

"A  nineteenth  century  'West- 
ward HmV-^htjgUld  Daily  Tglt- 
graph. 


THE  SHADOWYTHIRD. 

'*  An  exceedingly  well-written  and 
well-conceived  novel.  Its  charactei^ 
drawing  is  sound,  its  st^e  restrained 
and  good  throughout."-i4/AMMrMiw. 


THE  PINCH  OF  PROS- 
PERITY. 

"  We  have  nothing  but  praise  for 
this  book.  We  have  read  every 
word  of  it,  and  can  consdentiously 
recommend  it."— £a«/fM'  Fi^ld, 


WHARTON  (Edith). 

A  GIFT  FROM  THE 
GRAVE. 

"...  A  writer  of  exceptional 
deUcacy  and  power."— 7Vb«  rtiwat.