The way of all flesh

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. The Way of All Flesh

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"It drivei one alnioit to dcfptir of Engliih litenture
when one teet lo extnordit]ir7 ■ icudy of Engliih life m
Bntler*! potthumoni Wty of All Fleih" miking w
little imprestion that when, tome yeira Uter, I prodoce
playt in which Butier'i excraordinuily &eih &ee and
^ture-piercing luggeidoni have an obnotu share, I am
met with nothing but vague cacklingi about IbKn and
Niecache. . . . Really, the English do not deterre to
have great men."

G. Bernard Shaw in Preftce to "Major Barbara."

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Xhe Way of All Flesh

By
Samuel Butler

Autiior of "ErewboD," "Eiewhon Revisited"

Wkh la Introduction b;

William Lyon Phelps

'•^K^e know tint all thing) work together for good to them
that lore God." — Ron. m. 18

NIW YORK

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

681 nrTH AVENUE

I9I6

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Copyti^ 1910.
Bz £. F. DuTKM ft C&

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INTRODUCTION

I All reminded of old Vigneron's remark about Meyer-
beer; for Samuel Butler died without my noticing it;
I didn't even know he was sick. Shortly after his cre-
mated ashes had been scattered to the winds of heaven.
a learned lady asked me if 1 knew anjrthing about
Samuel Butler. Although I have ceased to be shocked
at anything the azure-footed say or do, I did feet a
penumbra of ch^rin, for I earn my bread by teachii^
English Literature. I proceeded to emit a few platitudes
about Hudibras, when I was sharply interrupted, and
informed that the subject for discussion was the grea^
Samuel Butler, the Samuel Butler, "the greatest novelist'
of the nineteenth century." This is a title that few
writers of modem fiction have escaped, and I breathed
easier. "Ignorance, Madam, pure ignorance," — how
often Johnson has helped us I

Now I am grateful to my fair tutor, for while the
name of the Erewhon philosopher must eventually have
penetrated even into academic circles, I might have re-
mained a few months longer in the outer darkness, and
thus have postponed my acquaintance with The Way of
All Flfih. Butler spent a good many years writing this
extraordinary book, and finished it a good many years
ago, but in 1903, on his deathbed, gave for the first time
permission to have it printed, characteristically reversing
the conventional deathbed repentance and CMifession.
He, who had abandoned all faith except in his own
infallibility, ardently believed in his posthumous fame,
which has become a reality. Its slow growth seems to
indicate permanence.

I U.g,l:«lbvC00glC

vi Introduction

It is a curious fact that the two Samuel Butlers — the
seventeenth century poet and the nineteenth century
novelist — should have held precisely the same attitude
toward religious priggery. Neither could endure the
organised and dominant church-going-Christianity of his
epoch. What the Burlesquer said of the Puritans neatly
expresses the contempt felt by his namesake.

A sect whose chief devotion lies
In odd, perverse antipathies.
In falling out with that or this
And finding somewhat still amiss;
More peevish, cross, and splenetic
Than dog distract or monkey sick:
That with more care keep holyday
The wrong, than others the right way;
Contpound for sins they are inclined to
By damning those they have no mind to.

And the late W. K Henley's summary pf the first
Samuel Butler fits the second abnost without the change
of a word. I give it verbatim. "He had an abundance
of wit of the best and truest sort ; he was an indefatigable
observer ; he knew opinions well, and books even better ;
he had considered life acutely and severely; as a rhythm-
ist he proceeded from none and has had no successor;
his vocabulary is of its kind incomparable ; his work is a
very hoard of sentences and saws, of vigorous locutions
and picturesque colloquialisms, of strong, sound sense
and robust English,"

Bernard Shaw, taking his eye off Brieux for a mo-
ment, informed us that he learned more from Butler than
from any other writer ; a statement easier to believe than
some of his affirmations. Unfortunately the disciple is
so much above his lord in popular estimation that we
have all been withholding honour where honour is due.
After one has read Butler, one sees where many of

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Introduction vii

Shaw's perversities and ironies came from. The founda-\
tion of Butler's style is th e p aradox; tnoml rl yn amir rare)
revers ed: the flBpardonahle TTri^is con vnitfinF'^'T^ His/
ulailCTpieLi: ausvirers no quesTtonsT-stilverTlcrproblems A
chases away no perplexities. Every reader becomes an/
icterrogation point. Butler rubs our thoughts the wrong
way. As axiom after axiom is ruthlessly attacked, we
pidc over our minds for some missile to throw at him. -
It is a good thing for every man and woman whose
brain happens to be in activity to read this amazingly
cleypr^ o riginal, hrilli^t ^abolical novel. And for those
whose brains are in captivity it may sma3h some fetters.
Every one who understands what he reads will take an
mventory of his own religious and moral stock.

Butler delighted in the role of Advocatus Diaboli. In
his Note-Books he has the following apology for the
Devil: "It must be remembered that we have heard
only one side of the case. God has written all the books."
Well, He certainly did not write this one ; He permitted
the Devil to have his hour. The worst misfortune that
can happen to any person, says Butler, is to lose his
money; the second is to lose his health; and the loss of)
reputation is a bad third. He seems to have regarded thef
death of his father as the most fortunate event in his'
own life; for it made him financially independent. He
never quite forgave the old man for hanging on till he
was eighty years old. He ridiculed the Bishop of Car-
lisle for saying that we long to meet our parents in the
next world. "Speaking for myself, I have no wish to see
my father again, and I think it likely that the Bishop of
Carlisle would not be more eager to see his than I mine,"
Melchisedec "was a really happy man. He was without
father, without mother, and without descent. He was
an incarnate bachelor. He was a horn orphan."

One reason why The Way of All Flesh is becoming
every year more widely known is because it happens to
be exactly in the literary form most fashionable in fiction

viii Introduction

at this moment. It is a "life" novel— it is a biography,
\ whichj_of co urse, means tbat-it ia very larjgely an auto-
J bitJgraphy, ihree generations of the hero's family are
portrayed with much detail ; the plot of_the storyis simply
I chronological ; the only agreeable woman m the book
'was a personal friend of the author. Not only are hun-
dreds of facts in the novelist's own life minutely recorded,
it is a sj^ritual autobiagz:^>hy'^ well. It was his habit
to carry aTlorelSOCItin his pocket; whenever a thought or
fancy occurred to him, immediately to write it down. An
immense number of these fatherless ideas are now in-
woven in this novel. The result is that the reader literally
£nds something interesting and often something valuable
on every page. The style is so closely packed with
thmifrht that It prpdv'"i_f;""gtq"T intellectuar~deTight.
This is well; for I can recall no delight of any other kind.
Just as Samuel Butler poured out in Hudibras the
accumulated bottled venom and hatred of many years,
so our novelist has released all the repugnance, the rebel-
lion.Jhe."impiQlgi t rag e of childhood. "He had an excellent
memory, and seems to have forgiven nothing and for-
gotten nothing that happened to him in the dependent
years of his life. It is an awkward thing to play with
souls, and Butler represents the souls of boys treated by
their parents and by their school-teachers with astonish*
ing stupidity and blundering brutality. It is a wonderful
treatise on the art of how notiQ bring up children; and
I should think thaf every mother, father, and teacher
would feel some sense of shame and some sense of fear.
For a good many years children are in the power of their
elders, who so greatly excel them in physical strength and
in cunning; but every child, no matter how. dutifully he
may kiss the rod, becomes in after years the Judge of
his parents and of his teachers. Butler's sjmipathy with
children, whose little bodies and little minds are often in
absolute bondage to parents both dull and cruel, is a
salient quality in his work. One is 8[^lled when one

Introduction ix

remembers how often the sensitive soul of a little boy is
tortured at home, simply by coarse handling. This cham-
pionship of children places Butler with Dickens, though
I suppose such a remark woulcf have been regarded by
Butler as an insult.

I think that the terriJic attack on "professing Chris-
tians" made in this novel will be of real service to Chris- 1
tianity. Just as men of strong political opinions have'
lai^ely abandoned the old habit of reading the party
paper, and now give their fiercest opponents a hearing,
so I think good Christian people will derive much benefit
from an attentive perusal of this work. The rel^on
that Butler attacks is the religion of the Scribes and
Pharisees, and unless our religion exceeds that, none of
us is going to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. The Church
needs clever, active antagonists to keep her up to the
mark; the principle of Good is toughened by constant
contact with the principle of Evil; every minister ought
to have in his audience a number of brilliant, determined
opponents, who have made up their minds they will be-
lieve nothing he says ; I have no doubt that God needs
the Devil.

Thus, although I firmly believe this is a ijiabfilical
novel, I think it will prove to be of service to Christianity.
I Icnow it has done me good. I cannot forget Butler's
remark about all those church-goers who would be etjudlly
shocked if anyone d o ubted Christianity or if anyone prac-
tiscd it. ~~ ;"

' Samuel Butler was the grandson of a Bishop and the
son of Thomas Butler. He was bom in Nottinghamshire,
England, on the fourth of December, 1835. Like his
father and grandfather, he went through St. John's Col-
]ege, Cambri^e. After graduation, in preparation for
the ministry, he did parish work among the poor in
London, which convinced him that he needed fresh
woods and pastures new. In 1859 he sailed for New

X Introduction

Zealand and became a successful sheep-farmer, appar-
ently finding the animals more interesting than his quon-
dam metropolitan flock. He returned to England in 1864,
took lodgings in Clifford's Inn, and studied art. Some
of his pictures were exhibited at the Royal Academy.
He made many journeys on the Continent, especially in
Italy, and wrote many books, of which The Way of Alt
Flesh, published in 1903, is the best. He died on the
i8th of June, 1902.

Butler's attitude toward everjrthing except Handel and
himself was ironical ; he delighted in ridiculing any gen-
erally-accepted tenet in politics, science, art, and religion.
This was often done behind a. mask of grave, candid
enquiry, in the manner of Swift. Even his personal
appearance was ironical, for although he could truth-
fully have said, "I have fought the good faith," he looked
like a devout and rather ignorant evangelical parson.

WnxiAU Lyon Phelps.
Yale llNivnismf,
26 February, 1916.

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Note

Samuel Butler b^an to write "The Way of AH Flesh"
about the year 1872, and was engaged upon it intennit- ~
tently until 1884. It is therefore, to a great extent, crai-,
temporaneous with "Life and Habit," and may be taken
as a practical illustration of thpthpnTy nf hi-n^ity fpi-
bodied in thatjjook . He did not work at it after 1884,
twt tor various reasons he postponed its publication. He
was occupied in other ways, and he professed himself dis<
satis6ed with it as a whole, and always intended to re-
write or at any rate to revise it. His death in 1902 pre-
vented him from doing this, and on his death-bed he gave
me clearly to understand that he wished it to be published
in its present form. I found that the MS, of the fourth
and fifth chapters had disappeared, but by consulting and
comparing various notes and sketches, which remained
anwi^ his papers, I have been able to supply the missing
chapters in a form which I believe does not differ materi-
ally from that which he finally adopted. With regard to
the chronology of the events recorded, the reader will do
well to bear in mind that the main body of .the novel is
supposed to have been written in the year iSjEy. and the
last chapter added as a postscript in 188? .

R. A. SxRaATFEILIfc

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The Way of All Flesh

CHAPTER I

When I was a small boy at the beginning of the century
I remember an old man who wore knee-breeches and
worsted stockings, and who used to hobble about the
street of our village with the help of a stick. He must
have been getting on for eighty in the year 1807, earlier
than which date I suppose I can hardly remember him,
for t was bom in i8q2. A few white locks hung about
his ears, his shoulders were bent and his knees feeble,
but he was still hale, and was much respected in our little
world of Paleham. His name was Pontifex.

His wife was said to be his master ; I have been told
^e brought him a little money, but it cannot have been
much. She was a tall, square-shouldered person (I have
heard my father call her a Gothic woman) who had in-
sisted on being married to Mr. Pontifex when he was
young and too good-natured to say nay to any woman
who wooed him. The pair had lived not unhappily to-
gether, for Mr. Pontifex's temper was easy and he soon
learned to bow before his wife's more stormy moods.

Mr. Pontifex was a carpenter by trade ; he was also at
one time parish clerk ; when I remember him, however,
he had so far risen in life as to be no longer compelled to
work with his own hands. In his earlier days he had
taught himself to draw. I do not say he drew well, but
it was surprising he should draw as well as he did. My
father, who took the living of Paleham about the year

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2 The Way of All FlesK

1797, became possessed of a good many of old Mr. Ponti*
fex's drawings, which were always of local subjects, and
so unaffectedly painstaking that they might have passed
for the work of some good early master. I remember
them as hanging up framed and glazed in the study at the
Rectory, and tinted, as all else in the room was tinted,
I with the green reflected from the fringe of ivy leaves that
Igrew around the windows. I wonder how they will ac-
Itually cease and come to an end as drawings, and into
Iwhat new phases of being they will then enter.
\ Not content with being an artist, Mr. Pontifex must
needs also be a musician. He built the organ in the
church with his own hands, and made a smaller one
which he kept in his own house. He could play as much
as he could draw, not very well according to professional
standards, but much better than ijould have been expected.
I myself showed a taste for music at an early age, and
old Mr. Pontifex on finding it out, as he soon did, be-
came partial to me in consequence.

It may be thought that with so many irons in the fire
he could hardly be a very thriving man, but this was not
the case. His father had been a day labourer, and he
had himself b^un life with no other capital than his
good sense and good constitution; now, however, there
was a goodly show of timber about his yard, and a look
of solid comfort over his whole establishment Towards _
the close of the eighteenth century and not long before
my father came to Paleham, he had taken a farm of
about ninety acres, thus making a considerable rise in
life. Along with the farm there went an old-fashioned
but comfortable house with a charming garden and an
orchard. The carpenter's business was now carried on
in one of the outhouses that had once been part of some
conventual buildings, the remains of which could be seen
in what was called the Abbey Close. The house itself,
emblossomed in honeysuckles and creeping roses, was an
ornament to the whole village, nor were its internal ar-

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The Way of All FlesK 3

rangements less exemplary than its outside was orna-
mental. Report said that Mrs. Pontifex starched the
sheets for her best bed, and I can well believe it.

How well do I remember her parlour half filled with
the organ which her husband had built, and scented with
a withered apple or two from the pyrtis japonica that -
grew outside the house ; the picture of the prize ox over
the chimney-piece, which Mr, Pontifex himself had
painted; the transparency of the man coming to show
light to a coach upon a snowy night, also by Mr. Ponti-
fex ; the little old man and little old woman who told the
weather; the china shepherd and shepherdess; the jaH of
feathery flowering grasses with a peacock's feather or
two among them to set them off, and the cb^Ha bowls full
of dead rose leaves dried with bay salt. All has long
since vanished and becnne a memory, faded but still fra-
grant to myself.

Nay, but her kitchen — and the glimpses into a cavern-,
ous cellar beyond it, wherefrom came gleams from the
pale surfaces of milk cans, or it may be of the arms and
face of a milkmaid skimming the cream; or again her
storeroom, where among other treasures she kept the
famous lipsalve which was one of her especial glories,
and of which ^he would present a shape yearly to those
whom she delighted to honour. She wrote out the recipe
for this and gave it to my mother a year or two before
she died, but we could never make it as she did. When
we were children she used sometimes to send her respects
to my mother, and ask leave for us to come and take tea
with her. Right well she used to ply us. Ax for her
temper, wc never met such a delightful old lady in our
lives; whatever Mr. Pontifex may have had to put up
with, we had no cause for complaint, and then Mr. Pon-
tifex would play to us upon the organ, and we would
stand round him open-mouthed and think him the most
wonderfully clever man that ever was bom, except of
course our papa.

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4 The Way of All Flesh

Mrs. Pontifex had no sense of humour, at least I can
call to mind no signs of this, but her husband had plenty
of fun in him, though few would have guessed it from
his appearance. I remember my father once sent me
down to his workshop to get some glue, and I happened
to come when old Pontifex was in the act of scolding his
boy. He had got the lad — a pudding-headed fellow — by
the ear and was saying, "What ? Lost again — smothered
o' wit.*' (I believe it was the boy who was himself sup-
posed to be a wandering soul, and who was thus ad-
dressed as lost.) "Now, look here, my lad," he contin-
ued, "some boys are bom stupid, and thou art one of
them; some achieve stupidity — that's thee again, Jim —
thou wast both bom stupid and hast greatly increased thy
birthright — and some" (and here came a climax during
which the boy's head and ear were swayed from side to

side) "haweHjwIif^ l-hi-i.et iipnn thi^m -nihir-h^ if -U-

please the L.ordj_sh^|n^ beJjljjase_iliy.Jad, forXjvill
thrusfsttipHi'ty from thcc^.thmtgh-liiavetabojc thine ears
in doing„sc^but I did not see that the old man really did
box Jim's ears, or do more than pretend to frighten him,
for ^e two understood one another perfectly well. An-
other time I remember hearii|tf.him call the village rat-
catcher by saying, "Come bmer, thou three-days-and-
three-n^hts, thou," alluding, as I afterwards learned, to
the rat-catcher's periods of intoxication; but I will tell
no more of such trifles. My father's face would always
brighten when old Pontifex's name was mentioned. "I
tell you, Edward," he would say to me, "old Pontifex
was not only an able man, but he was one of the very
ablest men that ever I knew."

This was more than I as a young man was prepared
to stand. "My dear father," I^nswered, "what did he
doF He could draw a little, but could he to save his life
have got a picture into the Royal Academy exhibition?
He built two organs and could play the Minuet in Sam-
son on one and the March in Scipio on the other ; he was

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The Way of All Flesh ^ s

a ^ood carpenter and a bit of a wag; he was a good old
fellow enough, but why make him out so much abler
than he was ?"

"My boy," returned my father, "you must not judge
by the work, but by the work in connection with the sur-
rotmdings. Could Giotto or Fllippo Lippi, think you, .
have got a picture into the Exhibition ? Would a single
one of those frescoes we went to see when we were at
Padua have the remotest chance of being hung, if it were
sent in for exhibition now ? Why, the Academy people
would be so outraged that they would not even write to
poor Giotto to tell him to come and take his fresco away.
Phewt" continued he, waxing warm, "if old PontUex
had had Cromwell's chances he would have done all that
Cromwell dtd, and have done it better; if he 1^^ had
Giotto's chances he would have done all that Giotto di<^
and done it no worse ; as it was, he was a village carpen-
ter, and I will undertake to say he never scamped a job
in the whole course of his life." ^ •■

"But," said I, "we cannot Judge people with bo many
'ifs.' If old Pontifex had lived in Giotto's time he
m^ht have been another Giotto, but he did not live in
Giotto's time."

**I teU you, Edward," said my father with some se-
yerity.ov e must judK jnen not_so_mjich_.bi;, whaf thry
do, as^ wtli^UlKX-W^ US- fed that they have JUn tJiem
to doN If a man has done enongh, either in painting,
music'r the affairs of life, to make me feel that I might
trust him in an emergency he has done enough. It is not
by what a man has actually put upon his canvas, nor yet
by the acts which he has set down, so to speak, upon
die canvas of his life that I will judge him, but by what
he makes me feel that he felt and aimed, at. If he has
made me feel that he felt those things to ' be lovable *
which X hold lovable myself I ask no more; his gram^
mar may have been imperfect, but still I have understood
him ; he and I are en xfipport; and I say again, Edward,

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6 The Way of All Flesh

that^ old Pontifex was not only an able man, but one of
ths_yery ablesLtnfiLX esef-Jmew.'*

Against this there was no more to be said, and my sis-
ters eyed me to silence. Somehow or other my sisters
always did eye mc to silence when I differed from nqr
father.

"Talk of his successful son," snorted my father, wh<mi
I had fairly roused. "He is not tit to black his father's
boots. He has his thousands of pounds a year, while his
father had perhaps three thousand shillings a year
towards the end of his life. He is a successful man ; but
his father, hobbling about Paleham Street in his gr^
worsted stockings, broad brimmed hat and brown swal-
low-tailed coat, was worth a hundred of George Ponti-
fexes, for all his carriages and horses end the airs he
gives hinuelf."

"But yet," he added, "George Pontifex is no fool
either." And this brings us to the second generation of
the Pontiftx family with whom we need concern our-
selves.

CHAPTER II

Old Mr. Pontifex had married in the year 1750, but for
fifteen years his wife bore no children. At the end of
that time Mrs. Pontifex astonished the whole village by
showing unmistakable signs of a disposition to present
her husband with an heir or heiress. Hers had long ago
been considered a hopeless case, and when on consulting
the doctor concerning the meaning of certain symptoms
she was informed of their signiiicance, she became very
angiy and abused the doctor roundly for talking non-
sense. She refused to put so much as a piece of thread
into a needle in anticipation of her confinement and
would have been absolutely unprepared, if her neigh-
bours had not been better judges of her co^-** ' • than

The Way of All Flesh 7

she was, and got things ready -without telling her any-
thing about it. Perhaps she feared Nemesis, though as-
suredly she knew not who or what Nemesis was ; perhaps
she feared the doctor had made a mistake and she should
be laughed at; from whatever cause, however, her re-
fusal to recognise the obvious arose, she certainly re-
fused to recognise it, until one snowy night in January
the doctor was sent for with all urgent speed across the
rough country roads. When he arrived he found two
patients, not one, in need of his assistance, for a boy had
been bom who was in due time christen^ George, in
honour of his then reigning majesty. ;^

To the best of my belief George Pontitex e qt the „/J^^^
greater part of hisn atiira fmrri this nhft'"^" "M ^idy, h'g rr^.t'^^'
mother—a mother who though she loved no one else in ■*
the world except her husband (and him only after a
fashion) was most tenderly attached to the unexpected
chiM of her old age ; nevertheless she showed it little.

The boy grew up into a sturdy bright-eyed little fellow,
mth plenty of intelligence, and perhaps a trifle too great
readiness at book learning. Being kindly treated at
home, he was as fond of his father and mother as it was
in bis nature to be of anyone, but he was fond of no one
else. He had a good healthy sense of meum, and as
little of twim as he could help. Brought up- much in
the open air in one of the best situated and healthiest vil-
lages, in England, his little limbs had fair play, and in
those days children's brains were not overtasked as they
now are; perhaps it was for this very reason Itiat the
boy showed an avidity to leam. At seven or eight years
old he could read, write and sum better than any other
boy of his age in the village. My father was not yet
rector of Paleham, and did not remember Geoige Ponti-
fex'~8 childhood, but I have heard neighbours tell him
that the boy was looked upon as unusually jquick and for-
ward. His father and mother were naturally proud of
their offspring, and his mother was determined that he

8 The Way of All Flesh

should one day become one of the kings and councillors
of the earth.

It is one thing-, however, to resolve that one's son shall
win some of life's larger prizes, and another to square
matters with fortune in this respect. George Pontifex
might have been brought up as a carpenter and succeeded
in no other way than as succeeding his father as one of
the minor magnates of Paleham, and yet have been a
more truly successful man than he actually was — for I
take it there is not much more solid success in this world
than what fell to the lot of old Mr. and Mrs. Pontifex ;
it haf^wned, however, that about the year 1780, when
George was a boy of fifteen, a sister of Mrs. Pontifex's,
who had married a Mr. Fairlie, came to pay a few days'
visit at Paleham. Mr. Fairlie was a publisher, chiefly of
religious works, and had an establishment in Paternoster
Row ; he had risen in life, and his wife had risen with
him. No very close relations had been maintained be-
tween the sisters for some years, and I forget exactly
how it came about that Mr. and Mrs. Fairlie were guests
in the quiet but exceedir^ly comfortable house of their
sister and brother-in-law ; but for some reason or other
the visit was paid, and little George soon succeeded in
making his way into his uncle and aunt's good graces. A
quick, intelligent boy with a good address, a sound con-
stitution, and coming of respectable parents, has a poten-
tial value which a practised business man who has need
of many subordinates is little likely to overlook. Before
his visit was over Mr. Fairlie proposed to the lad's father
and mother that he should put him into his own business,
at the same time promising that if the boy did well he
should not want some one to bring him forward. Mra.
Pontifex had her son's interest too much at heart to
tefuse such an offer, so the matter was soon arranged,
and about a fortnight after the Fairlies had left, Geot^e
was sent up by coach to London, where he was met by

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The Way of All Flesh 9

his uncle and aunt, with whom it was arranged that he
should live.

This was George's great start in life. He now wore
more fashionable elothes than he had yet been accus-
tomed to, and any little rusticity of gait or pronunciation
which he had brought from Paleham, was so quickly and
completely lost that it was ere long impossible to detect
that he had not been bom and bred among people of what
is commonly called education. The boy paid great atten-
tion to his work, and more than justified the favourable
opinion which Mr. Fairlie had formed concerning him.
Sometimes Mr. Fairlie would send him down to Paleham
for a few days' holiday, and ere long his parents per-
ceived that he had acquired an air and manner of talking
difierent from any that he had taken with him from
Paleham. They were proud of him, and soon fell into
their prcq>er places, resigning all appearance of a parental
control, for which indeed there was no kind of necessity.
In return, George was always kindly to them, and to the
end of his life retained a more affectionate feeling
towards his father and mother than I imagiue him ever
to have felt again for man, woman, or child.

George's visits to Paleham were never long, for the
distance from London was under fifty miles and there
was a direct coach, so that the journey was easy; there
was not time, therefore, for the novelty to wear off either
on the part of the young man or of his parents. George
liked the fresh country air and green fields after the
darkness to which he had been so long accustomed in
Paternoster Row, which then, as now, was a narrow
gloomy lane rather than a street. Independently of the
pleasure of seeing the familiar faces of the farmers and
villagers, he liked also being seen and being congratulated
on growing up such a fine-looking and fortunate young
fellow, for he was not the youth to hide his light under a
bushel. His uncle had had him taught Latin and Greek

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i 10 , The Way of All Flesh

6{ an evening; he had taken kindly to these languages and
had rapidly and easily mastered what many boys take
years in acquiring. I suppose his knowledge gave him a
self-confidence which made itself felt whether he in-
tended it or not; at any rate, he soon began to pose as a
judge of literature, and from this to being a judge of art,
architecture, music and everything else, the path was
easy. Like his father, he knew the value of money, but
he was at once more ostentatious and less liberal than his
father; while yet a boy he was a thorough little man of
the world, and did well rather upon principles which he
had tested by personal experiment, and recognised as
principles, than from those pro founder convictions
which in his father were so instinctive that he could give
no account concerning them.

His father, as I have said, wondered at him and let
him alone. His son had fairly distanced him, and in an
inarticulate way the father knew it perfectly well. After
a few years he took to wearing his best clothes whenever
his son came to stay with him, nor would he discard
them for his ordinary ones till the young man had re-
turned to London. I believe old Mr. Pontifex, along
with his pride and affection, felt also a certain fear of
his son, as thod^h of something which he could not thor-
oi^hly understand, and whose ways, notwithstanding
outward agreement, were nevertheless not as his ways.
Mrs. Pontifex felt nothing of this ; to her George was '
pure and absolute perfection, and she saw, or thought
she saw, with pleasure, that he resembled her and her
family in feature as well as in disposition rather than
her husband and his.

When George was about twenty-five years old his
uncle took him into partnership on very liberal terms.
He had little cause to regret this step. The young man
infused fresh vigour into a concern that was already vig-
orous, and by the time he was thirty found himself in the
receipt of not less than £1500 a year as his share of the

The Way of All Flesh ii

profits. Two years later he married a lady about seven
years younger than himself, who brought him a hand-
some dowry. She died in 1805, when her youngest child
Alethea was born, and her husband did not marry again.

CHAPTER III

In the early years of the century five little children and a
couple of nurses began to make periodical visits to Pale-
ham. It is needless to say they were a rising generation
of Pontifexes, towards whom the old couple, their grand-
parents, were as tenderly deferential as they would have
been to the children of the Lord Lieutenant of the
County. Their names were Eliza, Maria, John, Tti^nhaM
(who like myself was bom in 1802), and Alethea. Mr,
Pontifex always put the prefix "master" or "miss" be-
fore the names of his grandchildren, except in the case
of Alethea, who was his favourite. To have resisted
his grandchildren would have been as impossible for
him as to have resisted his wife ; even old Mrs. Pontifex
yielded before her son's children, and gave them all man-
ner of licence which she would never have allowed even
to my sisters and myself, who stood next, in her regard.
Two regulations only they must attend to; they must
wipe their shoes well on coming into the house, and
they must not overfeed Mr. Pontifex's organ with wind,
nor take the pipes out.

-By us at the Rectory there was no time so much lodced
forward to as the annual visit of the tittle Pontifexes to
Paleham. We came in for some of the prevailing li-
cence; we went to tea with Mrs. Pontifex to meet her
grandchildren, and then our young friends were asked
to the Rectory to have tea with us, and we had what we
considered great times, I fell desperately in love with
Alethea, indeed we all fell in love with each other, plu-
raKty and exchange whether of wives or husbands being

12 The Way of All Flesh

Openly and unblushingly advocated in the very presence
of our nurses. We were very merry, but it is so long
ago that I have forgotten, nearly everything save that we
were very merry. Almost the only thing that remains
with me as a permanent impression was the fact that
Theobald one day beat his nurse and teased her, and
when she said she should go away cried out, "You shan't
go away — I'll keep you on purpose to torment you."

One winter's morning, however, in the year 1811, we
heard the church bell tolling while we were dressing in
the back nursery and were told it was for old Mrs. Fon-
tifex. Our manservant John told us and added with
grim levity that they were ringing the bell to come and
take her away. She had had a fit of paralysis which had
carried her off quite suddenly. It was very shocking,
the more so because our nurse assured ue that if God
chose we might all have fits of paralysis ourselves ihat
very day and be taken straight off to the Day of Judge-
ment. The Day of Judgement indeed, according to the

V opinion of those who were most likely to know, would

not under any circumstances be delayed more than a

few years longer, and then the whole world would be

^ burned, and we ourselves be consigned to an eternity of

^jjT torture, unless we mended our ways more than we at

-^,^^i ''present seemed at all likely to do. All this was so alann-

i.>''yO''^^''& ^^^^ ^^ ^^" ^^ screaming and made such a hullabaloo

*'* .- that the nurse was obliged for her own peace to reassure

(IS. Then we wept, but more composedly, as we reraem-

(, bered that there would be no more tea and cakes for us

now at old Mrs. Pontifcx's.

On the day of the funeral, however, we had a great
excitetnent ; old Mr. Pontifex sent round a penny loaf to
every inhabitant of the village according to a custom still
ttot uncommon at the beginning of the century; the loaf
was called a dole. We had never heard of this custom
before, besides, though we had often heard of penny
loaves, we had never before seen one; moreover, they

The Way of All Flesh 13

were presents to us as inhabitants of the village, and we
were treated as grown up people, for our father and
mother and the servants had each one loaf sent them, but
only one. We had never yet suspected that we were in-
habitants at aU ; finally, the little loaves were new, and
we were passionately fond of new bread, which we were
seldom or never allowed to have, as it was sujqwsed not
to be good for us. Our affection, therefore, for our old
friend had to stand against the combined attacks of
archxological interest, the rights of citizenship and prop-
erty, the pleasantness to the eye and goodness for food
of the little loaves themselves, and the sense of impor-
tance which was given us by our having been intimate
with someone who had actually died. It seemed upon
further inquiry that there was little reason to anticipate
an early death for anyone of ourselves, and this being so,
we rather Hked the idea of someone else's being put away
into the churchyard ; we passed, therefore, in a short time
from extreme depression to a no less extreme exultation ;
a new heaven and a new earth had been revealed to us
in our perception of the possibility of benefiting by the ■-;
death *of our friends, and I fear that for some time we
took an interest in the health of everyone in the village
whose position rendered a repetition of the dole in the
least likely.

Those were the days in which all great things seemed
far off, and we were astonished -to find that Napoleon
Buonaparte was an actually living person. We had
thought such 8 great man could only have lived a very
long time ago, and here he was after all almost as it were
at our own doors. This lent colour to the view that the
Day of Judgement might indeed be nearer than we had
thought, but nurse said that was all right now, and she
knew. In those days the snow lay longer and drifted
deeper in the lanes than it does now, and the milk was
sometimes brought in frozen in winter, and we were
taken down into the back kitchen to see it I suppose

14 The Way of All Flesh

there are rectories up and down the country now where
the milk comes in frozen sometimes in winter, and the
children go down to wonder at it, but I never see any
frozen milk in London, so I suppose the winters are
wanner than they used to be.

About one year after his wife's death Mr. Pontifex
also was gathered to his fathers. My father saw him
the day before he died. The old man had a theory about
sunsets, and had had two steps buih up against a wall
in the kitchen garden on which he used to stand and
watch the sun go down whenever it was clear. My father
came on him in the afternoon, just as the sun was set-
ting, and saw him with his arms resting on the top of
the wall looking towards the sun over a field through
which there was a path on which my father was. My
father heard him say "Good-bye, sun; good-bye, sun,"
as the sun sank, and saw by his tone and manner that he
was feeling very feeble. Before the next sunset he was
gone.

There was no dole. Some of his grandchildren were
brought to the funeral and we remonstrated with them,
but did not take much by doing so. John Pontifex, who
was a year older than I was, sneered at penny loaves,
and intimated that if I wanted one it must be because my
papa and mamma could not afford to buy me one,
whereon I believe we did something like fighting, and 1
rather think John Pontifex got the worst of it, but it
may have been the other way. I remember my sister's
nurse, for I was just outgrowing nurses myself, reported
the matter to higher quarters, and we were all of us put
to some ignominy, but we had been thoroughly awakened
from our dream, and it was long enough before we
could hear the words "penny loaf" mentioned without
our ears tingling with shame. If there had been a dozen
doles afterwards we should not have deigned to touch
one of them.

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The Way of All Flesh CiSy

Geoi^ Pontifex put up a monument to his parent, a
plain slab in Paleham church, inscribed with the follow-
ing epitaph: —

Sacked to the M.EUOKt

JOHN PONTIFEX

WHO VAS BOSH AUGU3T i6tH, 1727, AND DIED FEBSUAsr S, XSia,

IN HIS 85TH YEAR,

AND OF

RUTH PONTIFEX, HI3 Wiis,

WHO WAS BOUT OCTOSEX I3, I727, AND DIED JANUARY lOv I8II,

IN HER S4TH YEAR.

THEY WSRE UNOSTENTATIOUS BUT EXEUFLARY

IN THE InSCBARCE OP THCtR

■ELICI0U3, UORAL, AND SOCIAL DUTIES.

THIS HONUHENT WAS PLACED

BY THEIE ONLY SON.

CHAPTER rV

In a year or two more came Watwloo and the European
peace. Then Mr. George Pontifex went abroad more
than once. I remember seeing at Battersby in after
years the diary which he kept on the first of these occa-
sions. It is a characteristic document I felt as I readi
it that the author before starting had made up his mind \
to admire only what he thought it would be creditable in 'i
him to admire, to look at nature and art only through the J
spectacle s that had been han ded down to him by gen era- )
tion aft er generation oi "pn^ and impostors. The ^rst .'
glimpse of Mont Blanc tiirew Mr. Pontifex into a con- /
ventional ecstasy. "My feelings I cannot express, I
gasped, yet hardly dared to breathe, as I viewed for the
first time the monarch of the mountains. I seemed to
fanqr the genius seated on his stupendous throne fan

i6 The Way of All Flesh

above his aspiring brethren and in his solitary might de-
fying the universe, I was so overcome by my feelings
that I was almost bereft of my faculties, and would not
for worlds have spoken after my first exclamation till I
found some relief in a gush of tears. With pain I tore
myself from contemplating for the first time 'at distance
dimly seen' (though I felt as if I had sent my soul and
eyes after it), this sublime spectacle." After a nearer
view of the Alps from above Geneva he walked nine out
of the twelve miles of the descent : "My mind and heart
were too full to sit still, and I found some relief by ex-
hausting my feelings through exercise." In the course
of time he reached Chamonix and went on a Sunday to
the Montanvert to see the Mer de Glace. There he wrote
the following verses for the visitors' book, which he con-
sidered, so he says, "suitable to the day and scene"; —

Lord, while these wonders of thy hand I see.
My sotil in holy reverence bendi to thee.
These awful solitudes, this dread repose.
Yon pyramid sublime of spotless snows.
These spiry pinnacles, those smiling plains;
This sea where one eternal winter reigns,
These are thy works, and while on them I gaie
I hear a silent tongue that spealcs thj praise.

Some poets always begin to get grc^^gy about the knees
after running for seven Or eight lines. Mr. Pontifex's
last couplet gave him a lot of trouble, and nearly every
word has been erased and rewritten once at least. In
the visitors' book at the Montanvert, however, he must
have been obliged to commit himself definitely to one
reading or another. Taking the verses all round, I should
say that Mr. Pontifex was right in considering them
suitable to the day; I don't like being too hard even on
the Mer de Glace, so will give no opinion as to whether
they are suitable to the scene also.

Mr. Pontifex went on to the Great St Bernard and

The Way of All Flesh 17

diere he wrote some more verses, this time I am afraid in
I^tin. He also took good care to be properly impressed
by the HosjMce and its situation. "The whole of this
most extraordinary journey seemed like a dream, its con-
clusion especially, in gentlemanly society, with every
comfort and accommodation amidst the rudest rocks and
In the region of perpetual snow. The thought that I
was sleeping in a convent and occupied the bed of no
less a person than Napoleon, that I was in the highest in-
habited spot in the old world and in a place celebrated
in every part of it, kept me awake some time." As a
contrast to this, I may quote here an extract from a let-
ter written to me last year by his grandson Ernest, of
whom the reader will hear more presently. The passage
runs : "I went up to the Great St. Bernard and saw the
dogs." In due course Mr. Pontifex found his way into
Italy, where the pictures and other works of art — those,
at least, which were fashionable at that time — threw him
into genteel paroxysms of admiration. Of the Uffizi
Gallery at Florence he writes : "I have spent three hours
this morning in the gallery and I have made up my mind
that if of all the treasures I have seen in Italy I were
to choose one room it would be the Tribune of this gal-
lery. It contains the Venus de' Medici, the Explorator,
the Pancratist, the Dancing Faim and a fine Apollo. '
These more than outweigh the Laocoon and the Belve-
dere Apollo at Rome. It contains, besides, the St. John
of Raphael and many other chefs-d'auvre of the greatest
masters in the world." It is interesting to compare Mr.
Pontifex's effusions with the rhapsodies of critics in our
own times. Not long ago a much esteemed writer in-
formed the world that he felt "disposed to cry out with
delight" before a figure by Michael Angeki. I wonder
whether he would feel disposed to cry out before a real
Michael Angelo, if the critics had decided that it was not
genuine, or before a reputed Michael Angelo which was
really by someone else. But I suppose that a prig with

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i8 The Way of All Flesh

more money than brains was much the same sixty or
seventy years ago as he is now. ,

Look at Mendelssohn again about this same Tribune
on which Mr. Pontifex felt so safe in staking his reputa-
tion as a man of taste and culture. He feels no less safe
and writes, "I then went to the Tribune. This room is
so delightfully small you can traverse it in fifteen paces,
yet it contains a world of art. I again sought out my
favourite arm chair which stands under the statue of the
'Slave whetting his knife' (L'Arrotino), and taking pos-
session of it I enjoyed myself for a couple of hours ; for
here at one glance I had the 'Madonna del Cardellino,'
Pope Julius II., a female portrait by Raphael, and above
it a lovely Holy Family by Perugino ; and so close to me
that I could have touched it with my hand the Venus
de' Medici; beyond, that of Titian. . . . The space be-
tween is occupied by other pictures of Raphael's, a por-
trait by Titian, a Domenichino, etc., etc., all these within
the circumference of a small semi-circle no larger than
one of your own rooms. This is a spot where a man
feels his own insignificance and may well learn to be
humble." The Tribune is a slippery place for people like
I Mendelssohn to study humility in. They generally take
two steps away from it for one they take towards it. I
wonder how many chalks Mendelssohn gave himself for
having sat two hours on that chair. I wonder how often
he looked at his watch to see if his two hours were up.
I wonder how often he told himself thai he was quite as
big a gun, if the truth were known, as any of the men
whose works he saw before him, how often he wondered
whether any of the visitors were recognizing him and
admiring him for sitting such a long time in the same
chair, and how often he was vexed at seeing them pass
him by and take no notice of him. But perhaps if the
truth were known his two hours was not quite two hours.

Returning to Mr. Pontifex, whether he liked what he
believed to be the masterpieces of Greek and ' Italian art

The Way of All Flesh /la

or no, he brought back some copies by Italian artists,
which I have no doubt he satisfied himself would bear
the strictest examination with the originals. Two of
these copies fell to Theobald's share on the division of
his father's furniture, and I have often seen them at
Battersby on my visits to Theobald and his wife. The
one was a Madonna by Sassoferrato with a b^e hood
over her head which threw it half into shadow. The
other was a Magxlalen by Carlo Dolci with a very fine
head of hair and a marble vase in her hands. When I
was a young man I used to think these pictures were
beautiful, but with each successive visit to Battersby. I
got to dislike them more and more and to see "George
Pontifex" written all over both of them. In the end I
ventured after a tentative fashion to blow on them a
little, but Theobald and his wife were up in anns at
once. They did not like their father and father-in-law,
but there could be no question about his power and gen-
eral ability, nor about his having been a man of consum-
mate taste both in literature and art — indeed the diary
he kept during his foreign tour was enough to prove
this. With one more short extract I will leave this diary
and proceed with my story. During his stay in Florence
Mr, Pontifex wrote: "I have just seen the Grand Duke
and his family pass by in two carriages and six, but little
more notice is taken of them than if I, who am utterly
unknown here, were to pass by." I don't think that he
half believed in his being utterly unknown in Florence or
anywhere else t

CHAPTER V

FtwTUNE, we are told, is a blind and lickle foster-mother, 1 ^
who showers her gifts at random upon her nurslings. /
But we do her a grave injustice if we believe such an
accusation. Trace a man's career from his cradle to his
grave and mark how Fortune has treated him. You will

20 The Way of All Flesh

find that when he is once dead she can for the ino$t pai-t
be vindicatatfrom the charge of any but very superficial
fickleness. rHer blindness is the merest fable; she can
espy her favourites long before they are bom. We are
as days and have had our parents for our yesterdays,
but through all the fair weather of a clear parental sky
the eye of Fortune can discern the coming storm, and
she laughs as she places her favourites it may be in a
London all ey or those whom sh e is resolved to ruin in
kjhps' paTace s. Seldom does slie felenrtowards those
whom she has suckled unkindly aad seldom does she
completely fail a favoured nursling.!

Was George Pontifex one of Fortune's favoured nurs-
lings or not ? On the whole I should say that he was not,
for he did not consider himself so; he was too religious
to consider Fortune a deity at all ; he took whatever she
1 gave and never thanked her, being firmly convinced that
1 whatever he got to his own advantage was of his own
j getting. And so it was, after Fortune had made him
\ able to get it.

"Nos te, nos facimus, Fortuna, deam," exclaimed the
poet. "It is we who make thee. Fortune, a goddess";
and so it is, after Fortune has made us able to make her.
The poet says nothing as to the making of the "nos."
Periiaps some men are independent of antecedents and
suffOLiiiiIiLigv aiidHuTi aii'hlTtiaT Torce w Jth m" Ch em sel v es
wjiich is in no way due .to causation; but tTiis is supposed
to be a difficult question and it may be as well to avbU'it.
Let it suffice that George Pontifex 'did not consider him-
self fortunate, and he who does not consider himself
fortunate is unfortunate.
True, he was rich, universally respected and of an ex-
\ cellent natural constitution. If he had eaten and drunk
■ less he would never have known a day's indisposition.
Perhaps his main strength lay in the fact that though his
capacity was a little above the average, it was not too
mudi so. It is on this rock that so many clever people

The Way of All Flesh 21

Split. The successful man will see just so much more
than his neighbours as they will be able to see too when
it is shown them, but not enough to puzzle them. It is far
safer to know too little than too much. People will con-
demn the one, thot^h they will resent being called upon to
exert themselves to follow the other. The best example
of Mr. Pontifex's good sense in matters connected with
his business which I can think of at this moment is the
revolution which he effected in the style of advertising
works published by the firm. When he first became a
partner one of the firm's advertisements ran thus: —

"Books proper to be given away at this Season. —

"The Pious Country Parishioner, being directions how
a Christian may manage every day in the course of his
whole life with safety and success ; how to spend the
Sabbath Day; what books of the Holy Scriptures ought
to be read first ; tbe whole method of education ; collects
for the most important virtues that adorn the soul ; a dis-
course on the Lord's Supper ; rules to set the soul right
in sickness ; so that in this treatise are contained all the
rules requisite for salvation. The 8th edition with addi-
tions. Price lod.

" *, • An allowance will be made to those who give
them away."

Before he had been many years a partner the adver-
tisement stood as follows : —

"The Pious Country Parishioner, A complete manual
of Christian Devotion. Price lod.

"A reduction will be made to purchasers for gratuitous
distribution."

What a stride is made in the foregoing towards the
modem standard, and what intelligence is involved in the
perception of the unseemliness of the old s^te, when
others did not perceive it t

Where then was the weak place in George Pontifex's

22 The Way of All Flesh

anBourF I suppose in the fact that he had risen too rap-
idly. It would almost seem as if a transmitted education
of some generations is necessary for the due enjoyment of
great wealth. Adversity, if a man is set down to it by
degrees, is more supportable with equanimity by most
people than any great prosperity arrived at in a single
lifetime. Nevertheless a certain kind of good fortune
y^generally attends self-made men to the last. It is their
phildren of the first, or first and second, generation who
are in greater danger, for the race can no more repeat its"
most successful performances suddenly and without its
ebbings and Rowings of success than the individual can
ido so, and the more brilliant the success in any one gen-
eration, the_grea.ter_as_a^eneral rule the subsequent ex-
haustion until time has been allowed for recovery.
Hence it often happens that the grandson of a success-
ful man win be more successful than tlie son — the spirit
^at actuated the grandfather having lain fallow in the

^son and being refreshed by repose so as to be ready for

\_ fresh exertion in the grandson. A very successful man,

jnoreover, has something of the hybrid in him; he is a

new animal, arising from the coming together of many

unfamiliar elements and it is well known that the repro-

\i duction of abnormal growths, whether animal or vege-

I table, is irr^ular and not to be depended upon, even

■>when they are not absolutely sterile.

And certainly Mr. Pontifex's success was exceedingly
rapid. Only a few years after he had become a partner
his uncle and aunt both died within a few months of one
another. It was then found that they had made him their
heir. He was thus not only sole partner in the business,
but found himself with a fortune of some i^opoo into
the bargain, and this was a large sum in those days.
Money came pouring in upon him, and the faster it came
the fonder he became of it, though, as he frequently said,
he valued it not for its own sake, but only as a means of
providing for his dear children.

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The Way of All Flesh 23

Yet when a man is very fond of his money it is not
easy for him at all times to be very fond of his children
also. The two are like God and Mammon. Lord Ma-
caulay has a passage in which he contrasts the pleasures
which a man may derive from books with the incon-
veniences to which he may be put by his acquaintances.
^Piato," he says, "is never sullen. Cervantes is never

^petulant. Demosthenes never comes unseasonably.
pante never stays too long. No difference of political
opinion can alienate Cicero. No heresy can excite the
horror of Bossuet." I dare say I might differ from
\Lord Macaulay in my estimate of some of the writers
vie has named, but there can be no disputing his main
proposition, namely, that we need have no more trouble

'nrom any of them than we have a mind to, whereas
pur friends are not always so easily disposed of. George
Pontifex felt this as regards his children and his money.
His money was never naughty ; his money never made
noise or litter, and did not spill things on the tablecloth
at meal times, or leave the door open when it went out.
His dividends did not quarrel among themselves, nor was ■
he under any uneasiness lest his mortgages should become
extravagant on reaching manhood and run him up debts
which sooner or later he should have to pay. There
were tendencies in John which made him very uneasy,
and Theobald, his second son, was idle and at times far '
from truthful. His children might, perhaps, have an-
swered, had they known what was in their father's mind,
that he did not knock his money about as he not infre-
quently knocked his children. He never dealt hastily or
pettishly with his money, and that was perhaps why he
and it got on so well together.

It must be remembered that at the banning of the
nineteenth century the relations between parents and
children were still far from satisfactory. The violent
[jpe of father, as described by Fielding, Richardson,
Smollett and Sheridan, is now hardly more likely to find
Cloo-jlc

A

24 The Way of All Flesh

a place in literature than the original advertisement of
Messrs. Fairlie & Pontifex's "Pious Country Parish-
ioner," but the type was much too persistent not to have
been drawn from nature closely. The parents in Miss
Austen's novels are less like savage wild beasts than
those of her predecessors, but she evidently looks upon
them with suspicion, and an uneasy feeling that Ig pkre
de famiile est capable de tout makes itself sufficiently
apparent throughout the greater part of her writings. In
the Elizabethan time the relations between parents and
children seem on the whole to have been more kindly.
The fathers and the sons are for the most part friends
in Shakespeare, nor does the evil appear to have reached
its full abomination till a long course of Puritanism had
familiarised men's minds with Jewish ideals as those
which we should endeavour to reproduce in our every-
■' day life. What precedents did not Abraham, Jephthah
.and Jonadab the son of Rechab offer ? How easy was it
ItQ quote and follow them in an age when few reasonable
^men or women doubted that every syllable of the Old
■ JTestament was taken down verbatim from the mouth of
JGod. Moreover, Puritanism restricted natural pleasures ;
it substituted the Jeremiad for the Pjean, and it forgot
that the poor abuses of all times want countenance.

Mr. Pontifex may have been a little sterner with his
children than some of his neighbours, hut not much. He
thrashed his boys two or three times a week and some
^eeks a good deal oftener, but in those days fatliers were
/always thrashing their boys. It is easy to have juster
.If'views when everyone else has them, but fortunately or
unfortunately results have nothing whatever to do with
the moral guiil orijlamelessness of him who brings them
about; they depend solely upon the thing done, whatever
it may happen to be. The moral guilt or blamelessness
in like manner has nothing to do with the result ; it turns
upon the question whether a sufficient number of reason-
able people placed as the actor was placed would have

The Way of All Flesh 2S

done as the actor has done. At that time it was uni-
versally admitted that to spare the rod was to spoil the
child, and St. Paul had placed disobedience to parents
in very ugly company. If his children did anything
which Mr, Pontifex disliked they were clearly disobedi-
ent to their father. In this case there was obviously only
one course for a sensible man to take. It consisted in
chocking the first signs of self-will while his children
were too young to offer serious resistance. If their wills
were'^well broken" in childhood, to use an expression
then much in vogue, they would acquire habits of obedi-
ence which they would not venture to break through till
they were over twenty-one years old. Then they might
please themselves; he should know how to protect him-
self ; til] then he and his money were more at their mert^
than he liked.

How little do we know our thoughts — <iur reSex ac-
tions indeed, yes; but our reflections! Man, forsooth,
prides himself on his consciousness I We boast that we
differ from the winds and waves and falling stones and
plants, which grow they know not why, and from the
wandering creatures which go up and down after their
prey, as we are pleased to say, without the help of reason.
We know so" well what we arc doing ourselves and why y
we do it, do we not ? I fancy that there is some trurtr^
in the view which is being put forward nowadays, that^t
i s oo r less t-yr^ pritjii'. thnitphtr inH niir lann fnnnn iw m y^
actjons w hich m ainly, mould our lives_and the li.Yes.^
those who sprmg from us. "\

CHAPTER VI

Mr. Pohtipex was not the man to trouble himself much
abont his motives. , People were not so introspective then
as we are now ; they lived more according to a rule of
thundj. Dr. Arnold had not yet sown that crop of earnest

26 The Way of All Flesh

thinkers which we are now harvesting, arid men did not
see why they should not have their own way if no evil
consequences to themselves seenied likely to follow upon
their doing so. Then as now, however, they sometimes
let themselves in for more evil consequences than they
had bargained for.

Like other rich men at the banning of this century
he ate and drank a good deal more than was enough to
keep him in health. Even his excellent constitution was
not proof against a prolonged course of overfeeding and
what we should now consider overdrinking. His liver
would not infrequently get out of order, and he would
come down to breakfast looking yellow about the eyes.
Then the young people knew that they had better look
.1 out. It is not as a general rule the eating of sour grapes
y I that causes^the children's teeth to be set on edge. Well-
I to-do parents seldom eat many sour grapes ; the danger
to the children lies in the parents eating too many sv/eet

I grant that.at first sight it seems very unjust, that the
ipai^TTT sliouid'liave" the fun and the children be pun-
I ished for it, but young people should remember that for
{/I many years they were part and parcel of their parents
J and therefore had a good deal of the fun in the person
/ of their parents. If they have forgotten the fun now,
that is no more than people do who have a headache af-
ter having been tipsy overnight. The man with a head-
ache does not pretend to be a different person from the
man who got drunk, and claim that it is his self of the
preceding night and not his self of this morning who
should be punished; no more should offspring complain
of the headache which it has earned when in the person
of its parents, for the continuation of identity, though
not so immediately apparent, is just as real in one case
,«fls in the other. What is really hard is when the parents
have the fun after the children have been bom, and the
{children are punished for this.

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The Way of All Flesh 27

On these, his black days, he would take very gloomy
views of things and say to himself that in spite of all his
goodness to them his children did not love him. But who "
can love any man whose liver is out of order? How
base, he would, exclaim to himself, was such ingratitude I
How especially harS upon himself, who had been such a
model son, and always honoured and obeyed his parents
though they had not spent one hundredth part of the !
money upon him which he had lavished upon his own \
children. "It is always the same story," he would say '
to himself, "the more young people have the-more they
wattL^^d the less thanks one gets ; I have made a great '
mista ke ; I have been far too lenient with my children;
never mind, I have done my duty by them, and more ; if
they faiTin theirs to me it is a matter between God gind
them. I, at any rate, am guiltless. Why, I might have
married again and become the father of a second and
per?iaps more affectionate family, etc., etc," He pitied
hinhself for the. expensive education which he was giving
his children; he did not see that the education cost the
children far more th^ it cost him, inasmuch as it cost
them the power of effning their living easily rather than
helped them towards it, and ensured their being at the *^
mercy of their father for years after they had come to
an age whe n the y should be independent. _A_pubJic.S£hool
education^l^kff, a boy's retreat; he can no longer be-
iJDraenr ^^^9 °' ^ mechanic, and these are the only
people whraTroiure of independence is not precarious —
with the exception of course of those who are bom in-
heritors of money or who are placed young in some safe
and deep groove. Mr. Pontifex saw nothing of this;
all he saw was that he was spending much more money
upon his children than the law would have compelled him
to do, and what more could you haveP M^^ht he not
have apprenticed both his sons to greengrocers? Might
he not even yet do so to-morrow morning if he were so
minded? llie possibility of this course beii^ adopted

28 The Way of All Flesh

was a favourite topic with him when he was out of
temper ; trae, he never did apprentice either of his sons
to greengrocers, but his boys comparing notes together
had sometimes come to the conclusion tliat they wished
he would.

At other times when not quite well he would have them
in for the fun of shaking his will at them. He would in
his inii^fination cut them all out one after another and
leave his money to found almshouses, till at last he was
obliged to put them back, so that he might have the
pleasure of cutting them out ^ain the next time be was
in a passion.

Of course if young people allow their conduct to be
in any way influenced by regard to the wills of living
persons, they are doing very wrong and must expect
to be sufferers in the end ; nevertheless, the powers
of will-dangling and will-shaking are so liable to abuse
and are continually made so great an engine of tor-
ture that I would pass a law, if I could, to incapaci-
tate any man from making a will for three months
from the date of each offence in either of the above
respects and let the bench of 4hagistrates or judge,
before whom he has been convicted, dispose of his
property as they shall think right and reasonable if he
dies during the time that his will-making power is sus-
pended. ^^^

Mr. Pontifex would have the boysfl^^Bie dinit^
room. "My dear John, my dear Theobal^He would say,
"look at me. I began life with nothing but the clothes
with which my father and mother sent me up to London.
My father gave me ten shillings and my mother five for
pock^ money and I thought them munificent. I never
asked my father for a shilling in the whole course of
my life, nor took aught from him beyond the small sum
he used to alk>w me monthly till I was in receipt of a
salary. I made my own way and I shall expect my sons
to do the same. P/av don't take it into your hea<^ that

The Way of All Flesh 29

I am going to wear my life out making money that my
sons may spend it for me. If you want money you must
make it for yourselves as I did, for I give you my word
I will not leave a penny to either of you unless you
show that you deserve it. Young people seem nowadays
to expect all lands of luxuries and indulgences' which
were never heard of when I was a boy. Why, my father
was a common carpenter, and here you arc both of you
at public schools, costing me ever so many hundreds a
year, while I at your age was plodding away behind a
desk in my Uncle Fairlie's C(5tt9ting house. What should
I not have done if I had had one-half of your advan-
tages ? You should become dukes or found new empires
in undiscovered countries, and even then I doubt whether
you would have done proportionately so much as I have
done. No, no, I shall see you through school and college
and then, if you please, you will make your own way in
the world."

In this manner he would work himself up into such
a state of virtuous indignation that he would sometimes
thrash the boys then and there upon some pretext in-
vented at the moment.

And yet, as children went, the young Pontifexes were
fortunate ; there would be ten families of young people
worse off for one better; they ate and drank good whole-
some food, slept in comfortable beds, had the best doc-
tors to attend them when they were ill and the best edu-
cation that could be had for money. The want of fresh
air does not seem much to affect the happiness of chil-
dren in a London alley : the greater part of them sing
and play as though they were on a moor in Scotland.
So the absence of a genial mental atmosphere is not com-
monly recognised by children who have never known it.
Youi^ people have a marvellous faculty of either dying
or adapting themselves*to circumstances. Even if they
are unhai^y — very unhappy — it is astonishing how easily
tfacy can be prevented from finding it out, or at any rate

30 The Way of All Flesh

Afrom attributing it to any other cause than their own
Vinfulness.

To parents who wish to lead a quiet Hfe I would say;
/ Tell your children that they are very naughty — much
( naughtier than most children. Point to the young people
', of some acquaintances as models of perfection and im-
'. press your own children with a deep sense of their own

i inferiority. You carry so many more guns than they
do that they cannot fight you. This is called moral in-
I tluence, and it will enable you to bounce them as much
] as you please. They think you know and they will not
have yet caught you lying often enough to suspect that
you are not the unworldly and scrupulously truthful per-
son which you represent yourself to be ; nor yet will they
know how great a coward you are, nor how soon you
will run away, if .they fight you with persistency and
judgement. You keep the dice and throw them both for
your children and yourself. Load them then, for you
can easily manage to stop your children from examining
>hem. Tell them how singularly indulgent you are; in-
/sist on the incalculable benefit you conferred upon them,
^ifirstly in bringing them into the world at all, but more
jarticularly in bringing them into it as your own chil-
Iren rather than anyone else's. Say that you have their
lighest interests at stake whenever you are out of tem-
per and wish to make yourself unpleasant by way of
halm to your soul. Harp much upon these highest in-
terests. Feed them spiritually upon such brimstone and
treacle as the late Bishop of Winchester's Sunday stories.
You hold all the trump cards, or if you do not you can
filch them ; if you play them with anything like judgement
you will find yourselves heads of happy, united. God-
fearing families, even as did my old friend Mr. Fontifex.
True, your children will probably find out all about it
some day, hut not until too late to be of much service
to them or inconvenience to yourself.

Some satirists have complained of life, inasmuch as all

Wo

The Way of All Flesh 31

the pleasures belong to the fore part of it and we must
see them dwindle till we are left, it may be, with the
miseries of a decrepit old age.

s eason — delightful if it happen to be a favoured one, but I
in practice very rarely favoured and more remarkable, as '
a general rule, for biting east winds than genial breezes.

tAHt^fpn U thp m.>11nw..r »oag/tn and what wp 1n<a- in
flowers v ~ fTinrr *^"" ff™ •" fniifi Fontenelle at the
age 01 ninety, being asked what was the happiest time of
his life, said he did not know that he had ever been much
happier than he then was, but that perhaps his best years
had been those when he was between fifty-five and seven-
ty-five, and Dr. Johnson placed the pleasures of old agel*^
far higher than those of youth. True, in old age we live
under the shadow of Death, which, like a sword of
Damocles, may descend at any moment, but we have so
long found life to be an affair of being rather frightened
than hurt that we have become like the people who live
under Vesuvius, and chance it without much misgiving.

CHAPTER VII

A FEW words may suffice for the greater number of the
young people to whom I have been alludif^ in the fore-
goii^ chapter. Eliza and Maria, the two elder girls, were
neither exactly pretty nor exactly plain, and were in all
respects model young ladies, but Alethea was exceedingly
))retty and of a lively, affectionate disposition, which was
in sharp contrast with those of her brothers and sisters.
There was a trace of her grandfather, not only in her
face, but in her love of fun, of which her father had
none, though not without a certain boisterous and rather
coarse quasi-humour which passed for wit with many.

John grew up to be a good-looking, gentlemanly fel-
low, with features a trifle too regular and finely chiselled.

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32 The Way of All Flesh

He dressed himself so nicely, had such good address, and
stuck 8o steadily to his books that he became a favourite
with his masters ; he had, however, an instinct for diplo- ■
macy, and was less popular with the boys. His father,
in spite of the lectures he would at times read him, was
in a way proud of him as he grew older; he saw in him,
moreover, one who would probably develop into a good
man of business, and in whose hands the prospects of
his house would not be likely to decline. John knew how
to humour his father, and was at a comparatively early
age admitted to as much of his confidence as it was in
his nature to bestow on anyone.

His brother Theobald was no match for him, knew it,
and accepted his fate. He was not so good-looking as
his brother, nor was his address so good ; as a child he
had been violently passionate ; now, however, he was re-
served and shy, and, I should say, indolent in mind and
body. He was less tidy than John, less well able to
assert himself, and less skilful in humouring the caprices
of his father. I do not think he could have loved any-
one heartily, but there was no one in his family circle
' .' who did not repress, rather than invite his affection, with
'( the exception of his sister Aletliea, and she was too quick
and lively for his somewhat morose temper. He was
I always the scapegoat, and I have sometimes thought he
' had two fathers to contend against — his father and his
' brother John ; a third and fourth also might almost be
added in his sisters Eliza and Maria. Perhaps if he had

■ felt his bondage very acutely he would not have put up
' with it, but he was constitutionally timid, and the strong

■ hand of his father knitted him into the closest outward
^ harmony with his brother and sisters.

The boys were of use to their father in one respect. I
mean that he played them off gainst each other. He
kept them but poorly supplied with pocket money, and to
Theobald would urge that the claims of his elder brother
were naturally paramount, while he insisted to John upon

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The Way of All Flesh 33

the fact that he had a numerous family, and would affirm
solemnly that his expenses were so heavy that at his
•death there would be very little to divide. ' He did not
care whether they cMnpared notes or no, provided they
did not do so in his presence. Theobald did not com-
plain even behind his father's back. I knew him as inti-
mately as anyone was likely to know him as a child, at
school, and again at Cambridge, but he very rarely men-
tioned his father's name even while his father was alive,
and never once in my hearing afterwards. At school he
was not actively disliked, as his brother was, but he was
too dull and deficient in animal spirits to be popular.

he w as^i o^~a 3ergvman . It was seemly that Mr. Ponti-
lex, me weii-lmown publisher of religious books, should
devote at least one of his sons to the Church ; this m^ht
tend to bring business, or at any rate to keep it in the
firm ; besides, Mr. Pontifex had more or less interest with
bishops and Church dignitaries and might hope that some
preferment would be offered to his son through his in-
fluence. The boy's fu ture destiny, was. JifiPt-wtU bef Bte
h is eyes froin -Egs-^rliest diitc^odand-wa^^eated. as
f matter which he had already virtually settle d by his
acq tric!it. - enfe : — Nevenheless-a cflftani show ot IreeHom
was allowed him. Mr. Pontifex would say it was only
right to give a boy his option, and was much too equi-
table to grudge his son whatever benefit he could derive
from this. He had the greatest horror, he would ex-
claim, of driving any young man into a profession which
he did not like. Far be it from him to put pressure upon
a son of his as regards any profession and much less
when so sacred a calling as the ministry was concerned.
He would talk in this way when there were visitors in
the house and when his son- was in the room. He spoke
so wisely and so well that his listening guests considered
htm a paragon of right-mindedness. He spoke, too, with
such emphasis and his rosy gills and bald head looked so

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34 The Way of All Flesh

benevolent that it was difficult not to be carried away by
his discourse. I believe two or three heads of families
in the neighbourhood gave their sons absolute liberty
of choice in the matter of their professions — and am not
sure that they had not afterwards considerable cause to
regret having done so. The visitors, seeing Theobald
look shy and wholly unmoved by the exhibition of so
much consideration for his wishes, would remark to
themselves that the boy seemed hardly likely to be equal
to his father and would set him down as an unenthusias-
tic youth, who ought to have more life in him and be
more sensible of his advantages than he appeared to be.
No one believed in the righteousness of the whole,
transaction more firmly than the boy himself; a sense of
being ill at ease kept him silent, but it was too profound
and too much without break for him to become fully alive
to it, and come to an understanding with himself. He '
feared the dark scowl which would come over his father's
face upon the slightest opposition. His fadier's violent
threats, or coarse sneers, would not have been taken
(W serie%tx by a stronger boy, but Theobald was not a
stroi^ boy, and rightly or wrongly, gave his father
credit for being quite ready to carry his threats into
execution. Opposition had never got him anything he
wanted yet, nor indeed had yielding, for the matter of
that, unless he happened to want exactly what his father
wanted for him. If he had ever entertained thoughts of
resistance, he had none now, and the power to oppose
was so completely lost for want of exercise that hardly
did the wish remain ; there was nothing left save dull
acquiescence as of an ass crouched between two bur-
dens. He may have had an ill-defined sense of ideab
that were not his actuals; he might occasionally dream
of himself as a soldier or a sailor far away in foreign
lands, or even as a farmer's boy upon the wolds, but
there was not enough in him for there to be any chance
of his turning his dreams into realities, and he drifted

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The Way of All Flesh

on with his stream, which was a slow, and, I am
a muddy one.

I think the Church Catechism has a good deal to do
with the unhappy relations which commonly even now
exist between parents and children. That work was
written too exclusively from the parental point of view;
the person who composed it did not get a few children to
come in and help him ; he was clearly not young himself,
should I say it was the work of one who liked chil-
dren — in spite of the words "my good child" which, if I
remember rightly, are once put into the mouth of the
catechist and, after all, carry a harsh sound with them.
The general impression it leaves upon the mind of the
yo ung is t hat their wickedness at birth was but very
Jfrtly iviptd out at baptism^ and t^t the mere fact
ing voung at all has something with it that savours
tasa£..ac.lsss. distinctly of the nature of sin.

If a new edition of the work is ever required, T should
l ike to int rnHiifp ^ few wnrri-; jngiefinp pp j ^he. dii ^ rtf
seeking all re asonable oleasurp anH avoidin p f all pain tha t
call be lltiimTIrably avoided. I should like j;p sf r^'Hr?P

tal ^t'that they sh o uld not say
tney do not like, merely because

ould like \ ^ sf r"''*ir?p r

It?i«y I'f^*^ t*''"F' which I
ie certain other people j
>olish it is to say thevi

/

hpnpvp this nr ^tj^t W*^*^ *^''y 'IP'l ystand not t^inp ahi^iir
it If it be urgej ^hat these adHitinns wQ uld make tfife
Cat ech'isnrtqo long. 1 would c urtail the r emarks upon our
do ty towards our neighbour" and upon~Tli6 BacfaTnen KT
Ig ^ihe pla c e of the pa ragraph beginning "I d esire u or\
Lord IjQQ our tjraveniy FMhfir" "! Wodl<P— but^perhaps I »
I had better retu rn to Theo^THTSrid Igdve lli eTCcastmg 1
of the Catechism to abler hands. '

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/ %(i The Way of All Flesh

CHAPTER VIII

Mr. Pontifex had set his heart on his son's becoming
a fellow of a college before he became a clergyman.
This would provide for him at once and would ensure
his getting a living if none of his father's ecclesiastical
friends gave him one. The boy had done just well
enough at school to render this possible, so he was sent
to one of the smaller colleges at Cambridge and was at
once set to read with the best private tutors that could
be found. • A system of examination had been adopted
a year or so before Theobald took his degree which
had improved his chances of a fellowship, for whatever
ability he had was classical rather than niathen]&tical,
and this system gave more encouragement to classical
' studies than had been given hitherto.

Theobald had the sense to see that he had a chance of
independence if he worked hard, and he liked the notion
of becoming a fellow. He therefore applied himself,
and in the end took a degree which made his getting a
fellowship in all probability a mere question of time.
For a while Mr. Pontifex, senior, was reaNy pleased,
land told his son he would present him with the woiics
of any standard writer whom he might select. The
young man chose the works of Bacon, and Bacon ac-
cordingly made his appearance in ten nicely bound vol-
umes. A little inspection, however, showed that the
copy was a second hand one.

Now that he had taken his degree, the next thing to
look forward to was ordination — about which Theobald
had thought little hitherto beyond acquiescing in it as
something that would come as a matter of course some
day. Now, however, it had actually come and was as-
serting itself as a thing which should be only a few
months off, and this rather frightened him, inasmuch as
there would be no way out of it when be was once in it.

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The Way of All Flesh 37

He did not like the near view of ordination as well as
the distant one, and even made some feeble efforts to
escape, as may be perceived by the following corre-
^Kindence which his son Ernest found among his
father's papers written on gilt-edged paper, in faded ink,
and tied neatly round with a piece of tape, but without
any note or comment I have altered nothing. The
letters are as follows: —

"My Dear Father, — I do not like opening up a ques-
tion which has been considered settled, but as the time
approaches I begin to be very doubtful how far I am
fitted to be a clergyman. Not, I am thankful to say,
that I have the faintest doubts about the Church of Eng-
land, and I could subscribe cordially to every one of the
thirty-nine articles which do indeed appear to me to be
the He plus ultra of human wisdom, and - Paley, too,
leaves no loop-hole for an opponent ; but I am sure I
should be running counter to your wishes if I were to
conceal from you that I d o not feel the inwa rd call-to
be a ministerof _thp._^yjcL.Uiat l^_^slial],haye to S4X_I
ha v6~T gtFVhen the Bishop ordains me, I try to get this
feelingTl prayforiteamestly, and sometimes half think
that I have got it, but in a little time it wears off, and
though I have no absolute repugnance to being a clergy-
man and trust that if I am one I shall endeavour to live
to the Glory of God and to advance His interests upon
earth, yet I feel that something more than this is wanted
before I am fully justified in going into the Church. I
am aware that I have been a great expense to you in
spite of my scholarships, but you have ever taught me
that I should obey my conscience, and my conscience
tells me I should do wrong if I became a clergyman.
God may yet give me the spirit for which I assure you
I have been and am continually praying, but He may not,
and in that case would it not be better for me to try and
look out for something else ? I know that neither you

38 The Way of All Flesh

nor John wish me to go into your business, nor do I
understand anything about money matters, but is there
nothing else that I can do ? I do not like to ask you to
maintain me while I go in for medicine or the bar ; but
when I get my fellowship, which should not be long,
first, I will endeavour to cost you nothing furdier, and
I might make a little money by writing or taking pupils.
I trust you will not think this letter improper; nothit^;
is further from my wish than to cause you any uneasi-
ness. I hope you will make allowance for my present
feelings which, indeed, spring from nothing but from
that respect for my conscience which no one has so often
instilled into me as yourself. Pray let me have a few
lines shortly. I hope your cold is better. With love to
Eliza and Maria, I am, your affectionate son,

"Theobald Pontifex."

"Dear Theobald, — I can enter into your feelings and
have no wish to quarrel with your expression of them.
It is quite right and natural that you should feel as you
do except as regards one passage, the imprt^riety of
which you will yourself doubtless feel upon reflection,
and to which I will not further allude than to say that
it has wounded me. You should not have said 'in spite
of my scholarships.' It was only proper that if you
could do anything to assist me in bearing the heavy bur-
den of your education, the money should- be, as it was,
made over to myself. Every line in your letter con-
vinces me that you are under the influence of a morbid
sensitiveness which is one of the devil's favourite devices
for luring people to their destruction. I have, as you
say, been at great expense with your education. Noth-
ing has been spared by me to give you the advantages,
which, as an English gentleman, I was anxious to afford
my son, but I am not prepared to see that expense
thrown away and to have to begin again from the be-
ginijing, merely because you have taken some foolish

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The Way of All Flesh 39

scruples into your head, which you should resist as no
less unjust to yourself than to me.

"Don't give way to that restless desire for change
which is the bane of so many persons of both sexes at
the present day.

"Of course you needn't be ordained : nobody will com-
pel you ; you are perfectly free ; you are twenty-three
years of age, and should know your own mind ; but why-
not have known it sooner, instead of never so much aa
breathing a hint of opposition until I have had all the'
expense of sending you to the University, which I should,
never have done unless I had believed you to have made
up your mind about taking orders? I have letters from
you in which you express the most perfect willingness
to be ordained, and your brother and sisters will bear
me out in saying that no pressure of any sort ha^ been
put upon you. You mistake your own mind, and are
sufferii^ from a nervous timidity which may be very
natural but may not the less be pregnant with serious
consequences to yourself. I am not at all well, and the
apxiety otxasioned by your letter is naturally preying
upon me. May God guide you to a better judgement. —
Your affectitHiate father, G. Pontifex."

Od the receipt of this letter Theobald plucked up his
spirits. "My father," he said to himself, "tells me I
need not be ordained if I do not like. I do not like, and
therefore I will not be ordained. But what was the
meaning of the words 'pregnant with serious conse-
quences to yourself? Did there lurk a threat under
these words — though it was impossible to lay hold of it
or of them? Were they not intended to produce all the
effect of a threat without being actually threatening?"

Theobald knew his father well enough tb be little
likely to misapprehend his meaning, but having ventured
so far on the path of opposition, and being really anxious
to get out of being ordained if he could, he determinol

40 The Way of All Flesh

to venture farther. He accordingly wrote the following:

"Mv Dear Father, — You tell me — and I heartily
thank you — ^that no one will compel me to be ordained.
I knew you would not press ordination upon me if my
conscience was seriously opposed to it; I have therefore
resolved on giving up the idea, and believe that if you
will continue to allow me what you do at present, until
I get my fellowship, which should not be long, I will
then cease putting you to further expense. I will make
up my mind as soon as possible what profession I will
adopt, and will let you know at once. — ^Your affectionate
son, Theobald Pontifex."

The remaining letter, written by return of post, must
now be given. It has the merit of brevity.

"Dear Theobald, — I have received yours. I am at a
loss to conceive its motive, but am very clear as to its
effect. You shall not receive a single sixpence from me
till you come to your senses. Should you persist in
your folly and wickedness, I am happy to remember that
I have yet other children whose conduct I can depend
upon to be a source of credit and happiness to me. —
Your affectionate but troubled father,

"G. Pontifex."

I do not know the immediate sequel to the foregoing
correspondence, but it all came perfectly right in the
end. Either Theobald's heart failed him, or he inter-
; preted the outward shove which his father gave him,
: as the inward call for which I have no doubt he prayed
with great earnestness — for he was a firm believer in
the efficacy of prayer. And so am I under certain dr-
cumstances. Tennyson has said that more things are
wrought by prayer than this world dreams of, but he
has wisely refrained from saying whether they are good

The Way of All Flesh 41

things or bad things. It might perhaps be as well if the
world were to dream of, or even become wide awake
to, some of the things that are being wrought by prayer.
But the question is avowedly difficult. In the end Theo-
bald got his fellowship by a stroke of luck very soon
after taking his degree, and was ordained in the autumn-
of the same year, 1835.

CHAPTER IX

Ms. Allaby was rector of Crampsford, a village a few
miles from Cambridge. He, too, had taken a good de-
gree, had got a fellowship, and in the course of time
had accepted a college living of about £400 a year and a
house. His private income did not exceed £200 a year.
On resigning his fellowship he married a woman a good
deal younger than himself who bore him eleven children,
nine of whom — two sons and seven daughters — were
living. The two eldest daughters had married- fairly
well, but at ^he time of which I am now writing there
were still five unmarried, of ages varying between thirty
and twenty-two — and the sons were neither of them yet
off their father's hands. It was plain that if anything
were to happen to Mr. Allaby the family would be left
poorly off, and this made both Mr, and Mrs. Allaby as
tmhappy as it ought to have made them.

Reader, did you ever have an income at best none too
large, which died with you all except £200 a year? Did
you ever at the same time have two sons who must be
started in life somehow^ and five daughters still unmar-
ried for wh6m you would only be too thankful to find
husbands — if you knew how to find them ? If morality
is that which, on the whole, brings a man peace in his
declining years — if, that is to say, it is not an utter swin-
dle, can you under these circumstances flatter yourself
that you have led a moral life?

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42 The Way of All Flesh

And this, even though your wife has been so good a
woman that you have not grown tired of her, and has
not fallen into such ill-health as lowers your own health
in sympathy; and though your family has grown up
vigorous, amiable, and blessed with common sense. I
know many old men and women who are reputed moral,
but who are living with partners whom they have long
ceased to love, or who have ugly, disagreeable maiden
daughters for whom they have never been able to find
husbands — daughters whom they loathe and by whom
they are loathed in secret, or sons whose folly or ex-
travagance ie a perpetual wear and worry to them. Is it
moral for a man to have brought such things upon him-
self? Someone should do for morals what that old
Pecksniff Bacon has obtained the credit of having done
for science.

But to return to Mr. and'Mrs. Allaby. Mrs. Allaby
talked about having married two of her dat^hters as
though it had been the easiest thing in the world. She
talked in this way because she heard other mothers do'
so, but in her heart of hearts she did not know how she
had done it, nor indeed, if it had been her doing at all.
First there had been a young man in connection with
whom she had tried to practise certain manoeuvres which
she had rehearsed in imagination over and over again,
but which she found impossible to apply in practice.
Then there had been weeks of a wurra vmrra of hopes
and fears and little stratagems which as often as not
proved injudicious, and then somehow or other in the
end, there lay the yotmg man bound and with an arrow
through his heart at her daughter's feet. It seemed to
her to be all a fluke which she could have little or no
hope of repeating. She had indeed repeated it once,
and might perhaps with good luck repeat it yet once
again — but five times over I It was awful: why she
would rather have three confinements than go through
the wear and tear of marrying a single daughter.

The Way of All Flesh 43

Nevertheless it had got to be done, and poor Mrs.
Allaby never looked at a young man without an eye to
his bang a future son-in-law. Papas and mammas
sometimes ask young men whether their intentions are .
honourable towards their daughters. I think young men f
might occasionally ask papas and mammas whether/l^
their intentions are honourable before they accept invi-'
tations to houses where there are still unmarried daugh-
ters. ^

"I can't afford a curaJj^Tmy dear," said Mr. Allaby
to his wife when the pair were discussing what was next
to be done. "It will be better to get some young man to
come and help me for a time upon a Sunday. A guinea
a Sunday will do this, and we can chop and change till
we get someone who suits." So it was settled that Mr.
Allaby's health was not so strong as it had been, and
that he stood in need of help in the performance of his
Sunday duty.

Mrs. Allaby had a great friend — a certain Mrs. Cowey,
wife of the celebrated Professor Cowey. She was what
was called a truly spiritually minded woman, a trifle
portly, with an incipient beard, and an extensive connec-
tion among undergraduates, more especially among those
who were inclined to take part in the great evangelical
movement which was then at its height. She gave even- '
ing parties once a fortnight at which prayer was part of
the entertainment. She was not only spiritually winded,
but, as enthusiastic Mrs. Allaby used to exclaim, she was
a thorough woman of the world at the same time and had
such a fund of strong nnsculine good sense. She too
had daughters, but, as she used to say to Mrs. Allaby,
she had been less fortunate than Mrs. Allaby herself,
for one by one they had married and left her, so that her
old age would have been desolate indeed if her Profes-
sor had not been spared to her.

Mrs. Cowey, of course, knew the run of all the bache-
lor clergy in the University, and was the very person

44 The Way of All Flesh

to assist Mrs, Allaby in finding an eligible assistant tor
her husband, so this last named lady drove over one
morning in the November of 1825, by arrangement, to
take an early dinner with Mrs. Cowey and spend the
afternoon. After dinner the two ladies retired to-
gether, and the business of the day began. How they
fenced, how they saw through one another, with what
loyalty they pretended not to see through one another,
with what gentle dalliance they prolonged the conversa-
tion discussing the spiritual fitness of this or that dea-
con, and the other pros and cons connected with him
after his spiritual fitness had been disposed of, all this
must be left to the imagination of the reader, Mrs.
Cowey had been so accustomed to scheming on her own
account that she would scheme for anyone rather than
not scheme at all. Many mothers turned to her in their
hour of need and, provided they were spiritually minded,
Mrs. Cowey never failed to do her best for them ; if the
marrii^ of a young Bachelor of Arts was not made in
Heaven, it was probably made, or at any rate attempted,
in Mrs. Cowey's 'drawing-room. On the present occa-
sion all the deacons of the University in whtun there
lurked any spark of promise were exhaustively dis-
cussed, and the upshot was that our friend Theobald was
declared by Mrs. Cowey to be about the best thing she
could do that afternoon.

"I don't know that he's a particularly fascinating
young man, my dear," said Mrs. Cowey, "and he's only
a second son, but then he's got his fellowship, and even
the second son of such a man as Mr, Pontifex, the pub-
lisher, should have something very comfortable."

"Why, yea, my dear," rejoined Mrs. Allaby compla-
cently, "that's what one rather feels,"

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The Way of All Flesh 45

CHAPTER X

The interview, like all other good thin^, had to come to
an end; the days were short, and Mrs. Allaby had a
six miles' drive to Crampsford. When she was muf-
fled up and had taken her seat, Mr. Allaby's factotum,
James, could perceive no change in her appearance, and
little knew what a series of delighted- visions he was
driving home along with his mistress.

Professor Cowey had published works through Theo-
bald's father, and Theobald had on this account been
taken in tow by Mrs. Cowey from the b^inning of his
University career. She had had an eye upon him for
some time past, and almost as much felt it her duty to
get him off her list of young men for whom wives had
to be provided, as poor Mrs. Allaby did to try and get
a husband for one of her daughters. She now wrote
and asked him to come and see her, in terms that
awakened his curiosity. When he came she broached
the subject of Mr. Allaby's failing health, and after the
snfoothfaig away of such difliculties as were only Mrs.
Cbwey's due, considering the interest she had taken, it
was allowed to come to pass that Theobald should go to
Crampsford for six successive Sundays and take the
half of Mr. Allaby's duty at half a guinea a Sunday, for
Mrs. Cowey cut down the usual stipend mercilessly, and
Theobald was not strong enough to resist.

Ignorant of the plots which were being prepared tor
his peace of mind and with no idea beyond that of earn-
ing his three guineas, and perhaps of astonishing the in-
habibnts of Crampsford by his academic leamii^, Theo-
bald walked over to the Rectory one Sunday morning
early in December — a few weeks only after he had been
ordained. He had taken a great deal of pains with his
sermon, which was on the subject of geology — then
coming to the fore as a theological bugbear. He showed

46 The Way of All Flesh

that so far as geology was worth anything at all — and
he was too liberal entirely to pooh-pooh it — it confirmed
' tfie absolutely historical character of the Mosaic account
of the Creation as given in Genesis. Any phenomena
: which at first sight appeared to make against this view
were only partial phenomena and broke down upon in-
vestigation. Nothing could be in more excellent taste,
and when Theobald adjourned to the Rectory, where he
was to dine between the services, Mr. Allaby compli-
mented him warmly upon his debut, while the ladies of
the family could hardly find words with which to express
their admiration.

Theobald knew nothing about women. The only
women he had been thrown in contact with were his
sisters, two of whom were always correcting him, and a
few school friends whom these had got their father to
ask to Elmhurst. These yoting ladies had either been
so shy that they and Theobald had never amalgamated,
or they had been supposed to be clever and had said
smart things to him. He did not say smart things him-
self and did not want other people to say them. Besides,
they talked about music — and he hated music— or pic-
tures-Tand he hated pictures — or books — and except the
classics he hated books. And then sometimes he was
wanted to dance with thetn, and he did not know how to
dance, and did not want to know.

At Mrs. Cowey's parties again he had seen some
young ladies and had been introduced to them. He had
tried to make himself agreeable, but was alWays left
with the impression that he had not been successfal.
The young ladies of Mrs. Cowey's set were by no means
the most attractive that might have been found in the
University, and Theobald may be excused for not losing
his heart to the greater number of them, while if for a
minute or two he was thrown in with one of the prettier
and more agreeable girls he was almost immediately cut
out by someone less bashful than himself, and sneaked

The Way of All Flesh 47

off, feeling, as far as the fair sex was concerned, like the
impotent man at the pool of Bethesda.

What a really nice girl might have done with him I
camiot tell, but fate had thrown none such in his way
except his youngest sister Alethea, 'whom he might per-
haps have liked if she had not been his sister. The re-
sult of his experience was that women had never done
him any good and he was not accustomed to associate
them with any pleasure; if there was a part of Hamlet
in connection with them it had been so completely cut
out in the edition of the play in which he was required to
act that he had come to disbelieve in its existence. As
for kissing, he had never kissed a woman in his life
except his sister — and my own sisters when we were all
small children together. Over and above these kisses,
he had until quite lately been required to imprint a sol-
enm, flabby kiss night and morning upon his father's
cheek, and this, to the best of my belief, was the extent
of Theobald's knowledge in the matter of kissing, at
the time of which I am now writing. The result of the
foregoing was that he had come to dislike women, as
mysterious beings whose ways were not as his ways, nor
their thoi^hts as his thoughts.

With these antecedents, Theobald naturally felt rather
bashful on finding himself the admired of five strange
young ladies. I remember when I ^as a boy myself I
was once asked to take tea at a girls' school where one
of my sisters was boarding. I was then about twelve
years old. Everything went off well during tea-time,
for the Lady Principal of the establishment was present.
But there came a time when she went away and I was
left alone with the girls. The moment the mistress's
back was turned the head girl, who was about my own
age, came up, pointed her finger at me, made a face and
said solemnly, "A na-a-sty bo-o-yt" All the girls fol-
lowed her in rotation making the same gesture and the
same reproach upon my being a boy. It gave me a great

48 The Way of All Flesh

scare. I believe I cried, and I know it was a long time
before I could again face a girl without a strong desire
to run away.

Theobald felt at first much as I had myself done at
the girls' school, but the Miss Allabys did not tell him
he was a nasty bo-o-oy. Their papa and mamma were
so cordial and they themselves lifted him so deftly over
conversational stiles that before dinner was over Theo-
bald thought the family to be a really very charming one,
and felt as though he were being appreciated in a way
to which he had not hitherto been accustomed.

With dinner his shyness wore off. He was by no
means plain, his academic prestige was very fair. There
was nothing about him to lay hold of as unconventional
or ridiculous; the impression he created upon the young
ladies was quite as favourable as that which they had
created upon himself; for they knew not much more
about men than he about women.

As soon as he was gone, the harmony of the establish-
ment was broken by a storm which arose upon the ques-
tion which of them it should be who should become Mrs.
Pontifex. "My dears," said their father, when he saw
that they did not seem likely to settle the matter among
themselves, "wait till to-morrow, and then play at cards
for him." Having said which he retired to his study,
where he took a nightly glass of whisky and a pipe of
tobacco.

CHAPTER XI

The next morning saw Theobald in his rooms coaching
a pupil, and the Miss Allabys in the eldest Miss AUaby's
bedroom playtng Bt tards, with Theobald forlhe stakes.
The winner was Christina, the second, unmarried
daughter, then just twenty-seven years old and therefore
fouV years older than Theobald. The younger sisters
complained that it was throwing a husbuid away to let

The Way of All Flesh 49

Christina try and catch him, for she was so much older
that she had no chance ; but Christina showed fight in a
way not usual with her, for she was by nature yielding
and good tempered. Her mother thought it better to
back her up, so the two dangerous ones were packed off
then and there on visits to friends some way off, and
those alone allowed to remain at home whose loyalty
could be depended upon. The brothers did not even
suspect what was going on and believed their father's
getting assistance was because he really wanted it.

The sisters who remained at home kept their words
and gave Christina all the help they could, for over and
above their sense of fair play they reflected that the
sooner Theobald was landed, the sooner another deacon
might be sent for who might be won by themselves. So
qukkly was all managed that the two unreliable sisters
were actually out of the house before Theobald's next
visit — which was on the Sunday following his first.

This time Theobald felt quite at home in the house
of his new friends — for so Mrs. Allaby insisted that he
should call them. She took, she said, such a motherly
interest in young men, especially in clergymen, Theo- "
bald believed every word she said, as he had believed his
father and all his elders from his youth up. Christina
sat next him at dinner and played her cards no less judi-
ciously than she had played them in her sister's bed-
room. She smiled (and her smile was one of her strong ,
points) whenever he spoke to her ; she went through all ;
her little artlessnesses and set forth all her little wares
in what she believed to be their most taking aspect. Who '
can blame her? Theobald was not the ideal she had
dreamed of when reading Byron upstairs with her sis-
ters, but he was an actual within the bounds of possibil-
ity, and after all not a bad actual as actuals went. What
else could she do? Run away? She dared not. Marry
beneath her and be considered a dbgrace to her family ?
She dared not Remain at home and b&xme an old

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50 The Way of All Flesh

maid and be laughed at > Not if she could help it. She
did the only thing that could reasonably be expected.
She was drowning; Theobald might be only a straw,
tAtt she could catch at him, and catch at him she accord-
ingly did.

If the course of true love never runs smooth, the
course of true match-making sometimes does so. The
only ground for complaint in the present case was that
it was rather slow. Theobald fell into the part assigned
to him more easily than Mrs. Cowey and Mrs. Allaby
had dared to hope. He was softened by Christina's
winning manners : he admired the high moral tone of
everything she said ; her sweetness towards her sisters
and her father and mother, her readiness to undertake
any small burden which no one else seemed willing to
undertake, her sprightly manners, all were fascinating
to one who, though unused to woman's society, was
still a human being. He was flattered by her unobtru-
sive but obviously sincere admiration for himself; she
seemed to see him in a more favourable light, and to
understand him better than anyone outside of this charm-
ing family had ever done. Instead of snubbing him as his
father, brother and sisters did, she drew him out, lis-
tened attentively to all he chose to say, and evidently
wanted him to say still more. He told a coUq^ friend
that he knew he was in love now ; he really was, for he
liked Miss Allaby's society much better than that of his
sisters.

Over and above the recommendations already enu-
merated, she had another in the possession of what was
supposed to be a very beautiful contralto voice. Her
voice was certainly contralto, for she could not reach
higher than D in the treble; its only defect was that
it did not go correspondingly low in the bass : in those
days, however, a contralto voice was understood to in-
clude even a soprano if the soprano could not reach
soprano notes, and it was not necessary that it should

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The Way of AH Flesh 51

have the quality which we now assign to contralto.
What her voice wanted in range and power was made.
up in the feeling with which she sang. She had trans-
posed "Angels ever bright and fair" into a lower key;
so as to niake it suit her voice, thus proving, as her
mamma said, that she had a thorough knowledge of the
laws of harmony ; not only did she do this, but at every
pause she added an embellishment of arpeggios from
one end to the other of the keyboard, on a principle
which her governess had taught her; she thus added IHiy
and interest to an air which everyone — so she said-^
must feel to be rather heavy in the form in which Han-
del left it. As for her governess, she indeed had been a
rarely accomplished musician: she was a pupil of the
famous Dr. Clarke of Cambridge, and used to play the
overture to Atalanta, arranged by Mazzinghi. Neverthe-
less, it was some time before Theobald could bring his
courage to the sticking point of actually proposing. He
made it quite clear that he believed himself to be much
smitten, but month after month went by, during which
there was still so much hope in Theobald that Mr. Al-
laby dared not discover that he was able to do his duty
for himself, and was getting impatient at the number of
half-guineas he was disbursing — and yet there was no
proposal. Christina's mother assured him that she was
the best daughter in the whole world, and would ' be a
priceless treasure to the man who married her. Theo-
bald echoed Mrs. Allaby's sentiments with warmth, but
still, though he visited the Rectory two or three times a
week, besides coming over on Sundays — he did not pro-
pose. "She is heart-whole yet, dear Mr. Pontifex," said
Mrs. Allaby, one day, "at least I believe she is. It is
not for want of admirers — oh I no — she has had her full
share of these, but she is too, too difficult to please. I
think, however, she would fall before a great and good
man." And she looked hard at Theobald, who blushed ;
but the days went by and still he did not propose.

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52 The Way of All FlesK

Another time Theobald actually took Mrs. Cowey into
his confidence, and the reader may guess what account
of Christina he got from her. Mrs. Cowey tried the
jealousy manceuvre and hinted at a possible rival. Theo-
bald was, or pretended to be, very much alarmed; a
little rudimentary pang of jealousy shot across his bosom
and he began to believe with pride that he was not only
in love, but desperately in love, or he would never feel
so jealous. Nevertheless, day after day still went Iqr
and he did not propose.

The Allabys behaved with great judgement. They
humoured him till his retreat was practically cut off,
tboti^h he still flattered himself that it was open. One
day about six months after Theobald had become an
almost daily visitor at the Rectory the conversation hap-
pened to turn upon long engagements. "I don't like long
engagements, Mr. Allaby, do you?" said Theobald im^
prudently. "No," said Mr. Allaby in a pointed tone,
"nor long courtships," and he gave Theobald a look
which he could not pretend to misunderstand. He went
back to Cambridge as fast as he could go, and in dread
of the conversation with Mr. Allaby which he felt to be
impending, composed the following letter which he des-
patched that same afternoon by a private messenger to
Crampsford. The letter was as follows: —

"Dearest Miss Christina, — I do not know whether
you have guessed the feelings that I have long enter-
tained for you — feelings which I have concealed as much
as I could through fear of drawing you into an engage-
ment which, if you enter into it, must be prolonged for
a considerable time, but, however this may be, it is out
of my power to conceal them longer; I love you, ar-
dently, devotedly, and send these few lines asking you
to be my wife, because I dare not trust my tongue to
give adequate expression to the magnitude of my affec-
tion for you.

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Jhe Way of All FlesH 53

"I cannot pretend to offer you a heart which has never
known either love or disappointment. I have loved al-
ready, and my heart was years in recovering from the
grief I felt at seeing her become another's. That, how-
ever, is over, and having seen yourself I rejoice over a
disappointment which I thought at one time would have
been fatal to me. It has left me a less ardent lover than
I should perhaps otherwise have been, but it has in-
creased tenfold my power of appreciating your many
charms and my desire that you should become my wife.
Please Jet me have a few lines of answer by the bearer
to let me know whether or not my suit is accepted. If
you accept me I will at once come and talk the matter
over with Mr. and Mrs. AUaby, whom I shall hope one
day to be allowed to call father and mother.

"I ought to warn you that in the event of your con-
senting to be my wife it may be years before our union
can be consummated) for I cannot marry till a college
living is offered me. If, therefore, you see fit to reject
me, I shall be grieved rather than surprised. — Ever most
devotedly yours, Theobald Pontifex."

And this was all that his public school and University
education had been able to do for Theobald I Neverthe-
less for his own part he thought his letter rather a good
one, and congratulated himself in particular upon his
cleverness in inventing the story of a previous attach-
ment, behind which he intended to shelter himself if "
Christina should complain of any lack of fervour in his
behaviour to her.

I need not give Christina's answer, which of course
was to accept. Much as Theobald feared old Mr. Allaby
I do not think he would have wrought up his courage to
the point of actually proposing but for the fact of the
oigagement being necessarily a long one, during which '
a dozen things might turn up to break it off. However
much he may have disapproved of long engagements for
Cloo-jlc

54 The Way of All Flesh

Other people, I doubt whether he had any particular ob-
jection to them in his own case. A pair of lovers are
J like sunset and sunrise : there are such things every day
I but we very seldom see them. Theobald posed as the
most ardent lover imaginable, but, to use the vulgarism
for the moment in fashion, it was all "side." Christina
was in love, as indeed she had been twenty times already.
But then Christina was impressionable and could not
even hear the name "Missolonghi" mentioned without
bursting into tears. When Theobald accidentally left
his sermon, case behind him one Sunday, she slept with
it in her bosom and was forlorn when she had as it were
to disgorge it on the following Sunday; but I do not
think Theobald ever took so much as an old toothbrush
of Christina's to bed with him. Why, I knew a youi^
man once who got hold of his mistress's skates and slept
with them for a fortnight and cried when he had to
give them up. '

CHAPTER XII

Theobald's engagement was all very well as far as it
went, but there was an old gentleman with a bald head
and rosy cheeks in a counting-house in Paternoster Row
who must sooner or later be told of what his son had in
view, and Theobald's heart fluttered when he asked him-
self what view this old gentleman was likely to take of
the situation. The murder, however, had to come out,
and Theobald and his intended, perhaps imprudently,
resolved on making a clean breast of it at once. He
wrote what he and Christina, who helped him to draft
the letter, thought to be everything that was filial, and
expressed himself as anxious to be married with the
least possible delay. He could not help saying this, as
Christina was at his shoulder, and he laiew it was safe,
for his father might be trusted not to help him. He
wound up by asking his father to use any influence that

The Way of All Flesh 55

might be at his command to help him to get a Hvii^, in-
asmuch as it might be years before a college living fell
vacant, and he saw no other chance of being able to
marry, for neither he nor his intended had any money
except Theobald's fellowship, which would, of course,
lapse on his taking a wife.

Any step of Theobald's was sure to be objectionable
in his father's eyes, but that at three-and-twenty he
should want to many a penniless girl who was four
jrears older than himself, afforded a golden opportunity
which the old gentleman — for so I may now call him, as
be was at least sixty — embraced with characteristic
eagerness. _ ••'

"The ineffable folly," he wrote, on receiving his son's
letter, "of your fancied passion for Miss Allaby fills me
with the gravest apprehensions. Making every allow-
ance for a lover's blindness, I still have no doubt that
the lady herself is a well-conducted and amiable young
person, who would not disgrace our family, but were she
ten times more desirable as a daughter-in-law than I
can allow myself to hop>e, your joint poverty is an in-
superable objection to your marriage. I have four other
children besides yourself, and my expenses do not per-
mit me to save money. This year they have been espe-
cially heavy, indeed I have had to purchase two<not in-
considerable pieces of land which happened to come into
the market and were necessary to complete a property
which I have long wanted to round off in this way. I
gave you an education r^;ardless of expense, which has
put you in possession of a comfortable income, at an
age when many young men are dependent. I have thus
started you fairly in life, and may claim that you should
cease to be a drag upon me further. Long engagements
are proverbially unsatisfactory, and in the present case
the prospect seems interminable. What interest, pr&y,
do you suppose I have that 1 could get a living for you ?
Can I go up and down the country b^ging pec^e to pro-

56 The Way of All Flesh

vide for my son because he has taken it into his head
to want to get married without sufficient means?

"I do not wish to write unkindly, nothing can he far-
ther from my real feelings towards you, but there is
often more kindness in plain speaking than in any
amount of soft words which can end in no substantial
performance. Of course, I bear in mind that you are of
age, and can therefore please yourself, but if you choose
to claim the strict letter of the law, and act without con-
sideration for your father's feelings, you must not be sur-
prised if you one day find that I have claimed a like
liberty for myself. — Believe me, your affectionate father,

"G. PoNTIFEX,"

I found this letter along with those already given and
a few more which I need not give, but throughout which
the same tone prevails, and in all of which there is the
more or less obvious shake of the will near the end of
the letter. Remembering Theobald's general dumbness
concerning his father for the many years I knew him
after his father's death, there was an eloquence in the
preservation df the letters and in their endorsement,
"Letters from my father," which seemed to have with it
some faint odour of health and nature.

"nieobald did not show his father's letter to Chris-
tina, nor, indeed, I believe to anyone. He was hy nature
secretive, and had been repressed too much and too early
to be capable of railing or blowii^ off steam where his
father was concerned. His sense of wrong was still in-
articulate, felt as a dull, dead weight ever present day
by day, and if he woke at night-time still continually
present, but he hardly knew what it was. I was about
the closest friend he had, and I saw but little of him,
for I could not get on with him for long together. He
said I had no reverence ; whereas, I thouglit that X bad
plenty of reverence for what deserved to be revered, but
that the gods which he deemed golden were in reality

The Way of All Flesh 57

made of baser metal. He never, as I have said, com-
plained of his father to me, and his only other friends
were, like himself, staid and prim, of evangelical ten-
dencies, and deeply imbued with a sense of the sinful-
ness of any act of insubordinaHon to parents — good
young men, in fact — and one cannot blow off steam to a
good young man.

When Christina was informed by her lover of his
father's opposition, and of the time which must proba-
bly elapse before they could be married, she offered —
with how much sincerity I know not — to set him free
from his engagement; but Theobald declined to be re-
leased — ^"not at least," as he said, "at present^" Chris-
tina and Mrs. Allaby knew they could manage him, and
on this not very satisfactory footing the engagement was
continued.

His engagement and his refusal to be released at once
raised Thec^ld in his own good opinion. Dull as he
was, he had no small share of quiet self-approbation.
He admired himself for his University distinction, for
tfie purity of his life (I said of him once that if he had
only a better temper he would be as innocent as a new-
laid egg) and for his unimpeachable integrity in money
matters. He did not despair of advancement in the
Church when he had once got a living, and of course it
was within the bounds of possibility that he might one
day become a Bishop, and Christina said she felt con-
vinced that this would ultimately be the case.

As was natural for the daughter and intended wife of
a clergyman, Christina's thoughts ran much upon reli-
gion, and she was resolved that even though an exalted
position in this world were denied to her and Theobald,
their virtues should be fully appreciated in the next.
Her religious opinions coincided absolutely with Theo-
bald's own, and many a conversation did she have with
him about the glory of God, and the completeness with
which they would devote themselves to. it, as soon as

58 The Way of All Flesh

Theobald had got his living and they were married. So
certain was she of the great results whicl^ would then
ensue that she wondered at times at the blindness shown
by Providence towards its own truest interests in not
killing off the rectors who stood between Theobald and
his living a little faster.

In those days people believed with a simple down-
rightness which I do not observe among educated men
and women now. It had never so much as crossed
Theobald's mind to doubt the literal accuracy of any syl-
.lable in the Bible. He had never seen any book in which
this was disputed, nor met with anyone who doubted it.
True, there was just a little scare about geology, but
there was nothing in it. If it was said that God made
the world in six days, why He did make it in six days,
neither in more nor less; if it was said that He put
Adam to sleep, took out one of his ribs and made a
woman of it, why it was so as a matter of course. He,
Adam, went to sleep as it might be himself, Theobald
Pondfex, in a garden, as < it might be the garden at
Crampsford Rectory during .the summer months when
it was so pretty, only that it was larger, and had some
tame wild animals in it. Then God came up to him, as
it might be Mr. Allaby or his father, dexterously took
out one of his ribs without waking him, and miraculously
healed the wound so that no trace of the operation re-
mained. Finally, God had taken the rib perhaps into
the greenhouse, and had turned it into just such another
young woman as Christina. That was how it was done;
there was neither difficulty nor shadow of difficulty
about the matter. Could not God do anything He liked,
and had He not in His own inspired Book told us that
He had done this?

This was the average attitude of fairly educated young
men and women towards the Mosaic cosmogony fifty,
forty, or even twenty years ago. The combating of tn-
fidehty, therefore, offered little scope for enterprising

The Way of All Flesh 59

young clei^iytnen, nor had the Church awakened to the
activity which she has since displayed among the poor
in our large towns. These were then left almost without
an effort at resistance or co-operation to the labours of
those who had succeeded Wesley. Missionary work in-
deed in heathen countries was being carried on with
some energy, but Theobald did not feel any call to be a
missionary. Christina su^ested this to him more than
once, and assured him of the unspeakable happiness it
would be to her to be the wife of a missionary, and to
share his dangers ; she and Theobald might even be mar-
tyred ; of course they would be martyred simultaneously,
and martyrdom many years hence as regarded from the
arbour in the Rectory garden was not painful ; it would
ensure them a glorious future in the next world, and at
any rate posthumous renown in this — even if they were
not miracufausly restored to life again — and such things
had happened ere now in the case of martyrs, Theo-
bald, however, had not been kindled by Christina's en-
thusiasm, so she fell back upon the Church of Rome —
an enemy more dangerous, if possible, than paganism it-
self. A combat with Romanism might even yet win for
her and Theobald the crown of martyrdom. True, the
Church of Rome was tolerably quiet just then, but it was
the calm before the storm, of this she was assured, with
a conviction deeper than she could have attained by any
ai^tmient founded upon mere reason.

"We, dearest Theobald," she exclaimed, "will be ever
faithful. We will stand firm and support one another
even in the hour of death itself. God in His mercy may
spare us from being burnt alive. He may or may not do
so. O Lord" (and she turned her eyes prayerfully to
Heaven), "spare my Theobald, or grant that he may be
beheaded."

"My dearest," said Theobald gravely, "do not let us
agitate ourselves unduly. If the hour of trial onnes we
shall be best prepared to meet it by havii^ led a quiet.

6o The Way of All Flesh

unobtrusive life of self-^lenial and devotion to God's
glory. Such a life let us pray God that it may please
Him to enable us to pray that we may lead."

"Dearest Theobald," exclaimed Christina, drying the
tears that had gathered in her eyes, "you are always,
always ri|^t. Let us be self-denying, pure, upr^ht,
truthful in word and deed." She clasped her hands and
looked up to Heaven as she spoke.

"Dearest," rejoined her lover, "we have ever hitherto
endeavoured to be all of these things ; we have not been
worldly people ; let us watch and pray that we may so
continue to the end."

The moon had risen and the arbour was getting damp,
so they adjourned further aspirations for a more con-
venient season. At other times Christina pictured hei^
self and Theobald as braving the scorn of almost every
human being in the achievement of some mighty task
which should redound to the honour of her Redeemer.
She could face anything for this. But always towards
the end of her vision there came a little coronation scene
high up in the golden r^ons of the Heavens, and a dia-
dem was set upon her head by the Son of Man Himself,
amid a host of angels and archangels who looked on with
envy and admiration — and here even Theobald himself
was out of it. If there could be such a thing as the
Mammon of Righteousness, Christina would have as-
suredly made friends with it. Her papa and mamma
were very estimable people and would in the course of
time receive Heavenly Mansions in which they would
be exceedingly comfortable; so doubtless would her sis-
ters; so perhaps, even might her brothers; but for her-
self she felt that a higher destiny was preparing, which
it was her duty never to lose sight of. The first step
towards it would be her marriage with Theobald- Id
spite, however, of these flights of religious romanticism,
Christina was a good-tempered kindly-natured girl
enough, who, if she had married a sensible layman — we

The Way of All Flesh 6i

will aay a hotel-keeper — would have developed into a
good landlady, and been deservedly popular with her
guests.

Such was Theobald's engaged life. Many a little pres-
ent passed between the pair, and many a small surprise
did they prepare pleasantly for one another. They never
quarrelled, and neither of them ever flirted with anyone
else. Mrs. Allaby and his future sisters-in-law idolised
Theobald in spite of its being impossible to get another
deacon to come and be played for as long as Theobald
was able to help Mr. Allaby, which now of course he
did free gratis and for nothing ; two of the sisters, how-
ever, did manage to find husbands before Christina was
actually married, and on each occasion Theobald played
the part of decoy elephant In the end only two out of
the seven daughters remained single.

After three or four years, old Mr, Pontifex became
accustomed to his son's engagement and looked upon it
as among the things which had now a prescriptive right
to toleration. In the spring of 1831, more than five years
after Theobald had first walked over to Crampsford, one
of the best livings in the gift of the College unexpectedly
fell vacant, and was for various reasons declined by the
two fellows senior to Theobald, who might each have
been expected to take it. The living was then offered to
and of course accepted by Theobald, being in value not
less than £yx> a year with a suitable house and garden.
Old Mr. Pontifex then came down more handsomely
than was expected and settled iio;ooo on his son and
daughter-in-law for life with remainder to such of their
issue as they might appoint. In the month of July, 1831,^
Theobald and Christina became man and wife.

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62 The Way of All Flesh

CHAPTER XIII

A DUB number of old shoes had been thrawn at the
carriage in which the happy pair departed from the
Rectory, and it had turned the comer at the bottom of
the village. It could then be seen for two or three hun-
dred yards creeping past a fir coppice, and after this
was lost to view.

"John," said Mr. Allaby to his man-servant, "shut the
gate ;" and he went indoors with a sigh of relief which
seemed to say: "I have done it, and I am alive." This
was the reaction after a burst of enthusiastic merriment
during which the old gentleman had run twenty yards
after the carriage to fling a slipper at it — which he had
duly flung.

But what were the feelings of Theobald and Christina
when the village was passed and they were rolling quietly
by the fir plantation? It is at this point that even the
stoutest heart must fail, unless it beat in the breast of
one who is over head and ears in love. If a young man
is in a small boat on a choppy sea, along with his af-
fianced bride and both are seasick, and if the sick swain
can forget his own anguish in the happiness of holding
the fair one's head when she is at her worst — then he is
in love, and his heart will be in no danger of failing him
as he passes his fir plantation. .Other people, and unfor-
ttmately by far the greater number of those who get
married must be classed among the "other people," will
inevitably go through a quarter or half an hour of
greater or less badness as the case may be. Taking num-
bers into account, I should think more mental suffering
bad been undergone in the streets leading from St.
George's Hanover Square, than in the condemned cells
of Newgate. There is no time at which what the Italians
call la Uglia delta Morte lays her cold hand upon a man
more awfully than during the first half hour that he b

The Way of All Flesh 63

alone with a woman whom he has married but never
genuinely loved.

Death's daughter did not spare Theobald. He had be-
haved very well hitherto. When Christina had offered
to let him go, he had stuck to hU post with a magnanim'
ity on which he had plumed himself ever since. From
that time forward he had said to himself : "I, at any
rate, am the very soul of honour; I am not," etc., etc.
True, at the mcHnent of magnanimity the actual cash
payment, so to speak, was still distant; when his father
gave formal consent to his marriage things began, to look
more serious ; when the college living had fallen vacant
and been accepted they looked more serious still ; but
when Christina actually named the day, then Theobald's
heart fainted within him.

The engagement had gone on so king that he had got
into a groove, and the prospect of change was discon-
certing. Christina and he had got on, he thought to him-
self, very nicely for a great number of years; why —
why — why should they not continue to go on as they
were doing now for the rest of their lives? But there
was no more chance of escape for him than for the sheep
which is being driven to the butcher's back premises,
and like the sheep he felt that there was nothing to be
gained by resistance, so he made none. He behaved, in
fact, with decency, and was declared on ail hands to be
one of the happiest men imaginable.

Now, however, to change the metaphor, the drop had
actually fallen, and the poor wretch was hanging in mid
air along with the creature of his affections. This crea-
ture was now thirty-three years old, and looked it 1 she
had been weeping, and her eyes and nose were reddish ;
if "I have done it and I am alive," was written on Mr.
Allaby's face after he had thrown the shoe, "I have done
it, and I do not see how I can possibly live much longer"
was upon the face of Theobald as he was being driven
along by the lir plantation. This, however, was not ap-

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64 The Way of All Flesh

parent at the Rectory. All that could be seen there was
the bobbing up and down of the postilion's head, which
just over-topped the hedge by the roadside as he rose
in his stHrups, and the black and yellow body of the
carriage.

For some time the pair said nothti^ : what they must
have felt during the first half hour, the reader must
guess, for it is beyond my power to tell him; at the end
of that time, however, Theobald had rummaged up a
conclusion from some odd comer of his soul to the effect
that now he and Christina were married, the sooner they
fell into their future mutual relations the better. If
people who are in a difficulty will only do the first little
reasonable thing which they can clearly recognise as rea-
sonable, they will always find the next step more easy
both to see and take. What, then, thought Theobald,
was here at this moment the first and most obvious mat-
ter to be considered, and what would be an equitable
view of his and Christina's relative positions in respect
to it? Qearly their first dinner \vas their first joint entry
into the duties and pleasures of married life. No less
clearly it was Christina's duty to order it, and his own
to eat it and pay for it.

The arguments leading to this conclusion, and the
conclusion itself, flashed upon Theobald about three and
a half miles after he had left Crampsford on the road
to Newmarket. He had breakfasted early, but his usual
appetite had failed him. They had left the vicarage at
noon without staying for the wedding breakfast. Theo-
bald liked an early dinner ; it dawned upon him that he
was beginning to be hungry ; from this to the conclusion
stated in the preceding paragraph the steps had been
easy. After a few minutes' further reflection he
broached the matter to his bride, and thus the ice was
broken.

Mrs. Theobald was not prepared for so sudden an
assumption of importance. Her nerves, never of the

Upl:«lbvGOOglc .

The Way of All Flesh 65

strongest, had been stnuig to their h^hest tension by
the event of the morning. She wanted to escape obser-
vation ; she was conscious of looking a little older than
she quite liked to look as a bride who had been married
that morning; she feared the landlady, the chamber-
maid, the waiter — everybody and everything; her heart
beat so fast that she could hardly speak, much less go
through the ordeal of ordering dinner in a strange hotel
with a strange landlady. She begged and prayed to be
let off. If Theobald would only order dinner this once,
she would order it any day and every day in future.

But the inexorable Theobald was not to be put off
with such absurd excuses. He was master now. Had
not Christina less than two hours ago promised sol-
emnly to honour and obey him, and was she turning res-
tive over such a trifle as this? The loving smile de-
parted from his face, and was succeeded by a scowl
which that old Turk, his father, might have envied.
"Stuff and nonsense, my dearest Christina," he ex-
claimed mildly, and stamped hb foot upon the floor of
the carriage. "It is a wife's duty to order her hus-
band's dinner; you are my wife, and I shall expect you
to order mine." For Theobald was nothing if he was not
kigical.

The bride began to cry, and said he was unkind;
whereon he said nothing, but revolved unutterable things
in his heart Was this, then, the end of his six years of
unflagging devotion? Was it for this that, when Chris-
tina had offered to let him off, he had stuck to his en-
gagement? Was this the outamie of her talks about
duty and spiritual mindedness — that now upon the very
day of her marriage she should fail to see that the first
step in obedience to God lay in obedience to himself?
He would drive back to Crampsford ; he would com-
plain to Mr. and Mrs. Allaby; he didn't mean to have
married Christina ; he hadn't married her ; it was all
a hideous dream ; he would But a voice kept ring-

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66 . The Way of All Flesh

ing in his ears which said : "You can't, can't, can't."
"Can't I?" screamed the uahappy creature to him-
self, y
"No," said the retnorsetess voice, "voo can't. You

ARE A HARRIED UAN."

He rolled back in his comer of the carriafe and for
the first time felt how iniquitous were the marriage laws
of England. But he would buy Milton's prose works
and read his pamphlet on divorce. He might pefhaps be
able to get them at Newmarket.

So the bride sat crying in one comer of the carriage;
and the bridegroom sulked in the other, and he feared
her as only a bridegroom can fear.

Presently, however, a feeble voice was heard from
the bride's comer sayii^:

"Dearest TheobaW — dearest Theobald, foi^ve me; I
have been very, very wrong. Please do not be angry
with me. I will order the — the " but the word "din-
ner" was checked by rising sobs.

When Theobald heard these words a load began to be
lifted from his heart, but he only looked towards her,
and that not too pleasantly.

"Please tell me," continued the voice, "what you think
you would like, and I will tell the landlady when we get

to Newmar " but another burst of sobs checked tiie

completion of the word.

The load on Theobald's heart grew lighter and lighter.
Was it possible that she might not be going to henpeck
him after all ? Besides, had she not diverted his atten-
tion from herself to his approaching dinner?

He swallowed down more of his apprehensions and
said, but still gloomily, "I think we might have a roast
fowl with bread sauce, new potatoes and green peas,
and then we will see if they could let us have a cherry
tart and some cream."

After a few minutes more he dre^ her towards him»

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The Way of All Flesh 67

kissed away her tears, and assured her that he knew
she would be a good wife to him.

"Dearest Theobald," she exclaimed in answer, "you
are an angel."

Theobald believed her, and in ten minutes more the
happy couple alighted at the inn at Newmarket.

Bravely did Christina go through her arduous task.
Eagerly did she beseech the landlady, in secret, not to
keep her Theobald waiting longer than was absolutely
necessary.

"If you have any soup ready, you know, Mrs, Barber, *
it might save ten minutes, for we m^ht have it while the
fowl was browning."

See how necessity had nerved herl But in truth she
had a splitting headache, and would have given anything
to have been alone.

The dinner was a success. A pint of sherry had
wanned Theobald's heart, and he began to hope that,
after all, matters might still go well with him. He had
ccmquered in the first battle, and this gives great pres-
tige. How easy it had been too! Why had he never
treated his sisters in this way? He would do so next
time he saw them ; he might in time be able to stand up
to his brother John, or even his father. Thus do we
build castles in air when flushed with wine and con-
' quest

The end of the honeymoon saw Mrs. Theobald the
most devotedly obsequious wife in all England. Accord-
ing to the old saying, Theobald had killed the cat at the
bt^nning. It had been a very little cat, a mere kitten
in fact, or he might have been afraid to face it, but such
as it had been he had challenged it to mortal combat,
and had held up its dripping head defiantly before his
wife's face. The rest had been easy.

Strange that one whom I have described hitherto as
so timid and easily put upon should prove such a Tartar

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68 The Way of AH Flesh

all of a sudden on the day of his marriage. Perhaps I
have passed over his years of courtship too rapidly.
During these he had become a tutor of his college, and
had at last been Junior Dean. I never yet knew a man
whose sense of his own importance did not become ade-
quately developed after he had held a resident fellowship
for five or six years. True — immediately on arriving
within a ten mile radius of his father's house, an en-
chantment fell upon him, so that his knees waxed weak,
his greatness departed, and he again felt himself like an
overgrown baby under a perpetual cloud; but then he
was not often at Elmhurst, and as soon as he left it the
spell was taken off again ; once more he became the fel-
low and tutor of his college, the Junior Dean, the be-
trothed of Christina, the idol of the Allaby womankind.
From all which may be gathered that if Christina had
been a Barbary hen, and had ruffled her feathers in any
show of resistance, Theobald would not have ventured
to swagger with her, but she was not a Barbary hen, she
was only a common hen, and that too with rather a
smaller share of personal bravery than hens generally
have.

CHAPTER XIV

' Battebsby-on-the-Hill was the name of the village of
which Theobald was now Rector. It contained 400 or
500 inhabitants, scattered over a rather large area, and
consisting entirely of farmers and agricultural labourers.
The Rectory was commodious, and placed on the brow
of a hill which gave it a delightful prospect. There was
a fair sprinkling of neighbours within visiting range, but
with one or two exceptions they were the clergymen and
clergymen's families of the surrounding villages.

By these the Pontifexes were welcomed as great ac-
quisitions to the neighbourhood. Mr. Pontifex, they
said, was so clever; he had been senior classic and senior

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The Way of All Flesh 69

wrangler; a perfect genius in fact, and yet with so mlich i
sound practical common sense as well. As son of such '
a distinguished man as the great Mr. Pontifex, the pub-
lisher, he would come into a large property by-and-by.
Was there not an elder brother? Yes, but there would
be so much that Theobald would probably get something
very considerable. Of course they would give dinner
parties. And Mrs. Pontifex, what a charming woman
she wa6; she was certainly not exactly pretty perhaps,
but then she had such a sweet smile and her manner was
so bright and winning. She was so devoted too to her
husband and her husband to her; they really did come
up to one's ideas of what lovers used to be in days of
old ; it was rare to meet with such a pair in these degen-
erate times ; it was quite beautiful, etc., etc. Such were
the comments of the neighbours on the new arrivals.

As for Theobald's own parishioners, the farmers were
dvil and the labourers and their wives obsequious.
There was a little dissent, the legacy of a careless pred-
ecessor, but as Mrs- Theobald said proudly, "I think
Theobald may be trusted to deal with that." The
church was then an interesting specimen of late Norman,
with some early English additions. It was what in these
days would be called in a very bad state of repair, but
forty or fifty years ago few churches were in good re-
pair. If there is one feature more characteristic of the
present generation than another it is that it has been a
great restorer of churches.

Horace preached church restoration in his ode: —

DelicU, majonim immeritus luei,
Romane, donee templa refeceris
Aedesque labentes deomm et
Foeda aigro simulacra fiima

Nothing went right with Rome for long together after
the Augustan age, but whether it was because she did
restore the temples or because she did not restore them.

70 The Way of All Flesh

I know not. They certainly went all wrong after Con-
stantine's time and yet Rome is still a city of some im-
portance.

I may say here that before Theobald had been many
years at Battersby he found scope for useful work in the
rebuilding of Battersby church, which he carried out at
considerable cost, towards which he subscribed liberally
himself. He was his own architect, and this saved ex-
pense; but architecture was not very well understood
about the year 1834, when Theobald commenced opera-
tions, and the result is not as satisfactory as it would
have been if h« had waited a few years longer.

Every man's work, whether it be literature or music
or pictures or architecture or anything else, is always a
portrait of himself, and the more he tries to conceal him-
self the more clearly will his character appear in spite
of him. 'I may very likely be condemning myself, aA
the time that I am writing this book, for I know that
whether I like it or no I am portraying myself more
surely than I am portraying any of the characters whom
I set before the reader. I am sorry that it is so, but I
cannot help it — after which sop to Nemesis I will say
that Battersby church in its amended form has always
struck me as a better portrait of Theobald than any
sculptor or painter short of a great master would be
able to produce.

I remember staying with Theobald some six or seven
months after he was married, and while the old church
was still standing. I went to church, and felt as Naaman
must have felt on certain occasions when he had to ac-
company his master on his return after having been
cured of his leprosy. I have carried away a more vivid
recollection of this and of the people, than of Theobald's
sermon. Even now I can see the men in blue smock
frocks reaching to their heels, and more than one old
woman in a scarlet cloak; the row of stolid, dull, vacant

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The Way of All Flesh 71

plough-bo3rs, ungainly in build, uncomely in face, lifeless, .
apathetic, a race a good deal more like the pre-revolution
French peasant as described by Carlyle than is pleasant
to reflect upon — a race now supplanted by a smarter,
comelier and more hopeful generation, which has dis-
covered that it too has a right to as much happiness as
it can get, and with dearer ideas about the best means
of getting it.

They shamble in one after another, with steaming
breath, for it is winter, and loud clattering of hob-nailed
boots ; they beat the snow from off them as they enter,
and through the opened door I catch a momentary
glimpse of a dreary, leaden sky and snow-clad tomb-
stones. Somehow or other I find the strain which Han-
del has wedded to the words "There the ploughman near
at hand," has got into my head and there is no getting
it out again. How marvellously old Handel understood
these people!

They bob to Theobald as they pass the reading desk
("The people hereabouts are truly respectful," whis-
pered Christina to me; "they know their betters"), and
take their seats in a long row against the wall. The
choir clamber up into the gallery with their instruments
— a violoncello, a clarinet and a trombone. I see them
and soon I hear them, for there is a hymn before the
service, a wild strain, a remnant, if I mistake not, of
some pre-Reformation litany, I have heard what I be-
lieve was its remote musical progenitor in the church of
SS. Giovanni e Paolo at Venice not five years since ; and
again I have heard it far away in mid-Atlantic upon a
grey sea-Sabbath in June, when neither winds nor waves
are stirring, so that the emigrants gather on deck, and
t^eir plaintive psalm goes forth upon the silver haze of
the sl^, and on the wilderness of a sea that has sighed
tili it can sigh no longer. Or it may be heard at some
Methodist C^p Meetii^ upon a Welsh hillside, but in

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72 The Way of All FlesK

the churches it is gone forever. If I were 3 musidan I
would take it as the subject for the adagio in a Wesleyan
symphony.

Gone now are the clarinet, the violoncello and the
trombone, wild minstrelsy as of the doleful creatures in
Ezekiel, discordant, but infinitely pathetic Gone is that
scarebabe stentor, that bellowing bull of Bashan, the
village blacksmith, gone is the melodious carpenter, gone
the brawny shepherd with the red hair, who roared more
lustily than all, until they came to the words, "Shepherds,
with your flocks abiding," when modesty covered him
with confusion, and compelled him to be silent, as
though his own health were being drunk. They were
doomed and had a presentiment of evil, even when first
I saw them, but they had still a little lease of choir life
remaining, and they roared out ;

J ^1 J.rj.r J .1 J J /J'J'J'J.

■ick'adbraibhnaplMciidudwiMbiimpivndudnttlUhfa •» « OM

but no description can give a proper idea of the effect.
When I was last in Battersby church there was a har-
monium played by a sweet-looking girl with a choir of
school children around her, and they chanted the canti-
cles to the most osrrect of chants, and they sang Hytnns
Ancient and Modem ; the high pews were gone, nay, the
very gallery in which the old choir had sung was re-
moved as an accursed thing which might remind the
people of the high places, and Theobald was old, and
Christina was lying under the yew tree" in the church-
yard.

But in the evening later on I saw three very old men
come chucklit^ out of a dissenting chapel, and surely
enough they were my old friends the blacksmith, the
carpenter and the shepherd. There was a look of con-
tent upon their faces which made me feel certain they

The Way of All Flesh 73

had been singing; not doubtless with the old glory of
the violoncello, the clarinet and the trombone, but still
songs of Sion and no new fangled papistry.

CHAPTER XV

The hyom had engird my attention ; when it was over
I had time to take stock of the congregation. They
were chiefly farmers — fat, very well-to-do folk, who had
come some of them with their wives and children from
outlying farms two and three miles away ; haters of
popery and of anything which any one might choose to
say was popish; good, sensible fellows who detested
theory of any kind, whose ideal was the maintenance of
the status quo with perhaps a loving reminiscence of old
war times, and a sense of wrong that the weather was o
not more completely - under their control, who desired
higher prices and cheaper wages, but otherwise were
most contented when things were changing least ; tolera-
tors, if not lovers, of all that was familiar, haters of aH.
that was unfamiliar; they would have been equally hoi^ ,£•
rified at hearing the Christian religion doubted, and a^ (f
seein g it practised ."*' '^y

"What can there be in common between Theobald ana
his parishioners ?" said Christina to me, in the course of
the evening, when her husband was for a few moments
absent. "Of course one must not complain, but I assure
you it grieves me to see a man of Theobald's ability
thrown away upon such a place as this. If we had only
been at Gaysbury, where there are the A's, the B's, the
C's, and Lord D's place, as you know, quite close, I should
not then have felt th^ we were hving in such a desert ;
but I su{^X)se it is for the best," she added more cheer-
fully; "and then of course the Bishop will come to us
whenever he is in the neighbourhood, and if we were at
Gay^nry he might have gone to Lord D's."

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74 The Way of All Flesh

Perhaps I have now said enough to indicate the kind
of place in which Theobald's lines were cast, and the sort
of woman he had married. As for his own habits, I
see hfm trudging through muddy lanes and over long
sweeps of plover-haunted pastures to visit a dying cot-
tager's wife. He takes her meat and wine from his own
table, and that not a little only but liberally. According
to his lights also, he administers what he is pleased to
call spiritual consolation.

"I am afraid I'm going to Hell, Sir," says the sick
woman with a whine. "Oh, Sir, save me, save me, don't
let me go there. I couldn't stand it. Sir, I should die
with fear, the very thotight of it drives me into a cold
sweat all over."

"Mrs. Thompson," says Theobald gravely, "you must
have faith in the precious blood of your Redeemer; it is
He alone who can save you."

"But are you sure. Sir," says she, looking wistfully at
him, "that He will forgive me — for I've not been a very
good woman, indeed I haven't — and if God would only
say 'Yes' outright with His mouth when I ask whether
my sins are forgiven me "

"But they are forgiven you, Mrs. Thompson," says
Theobald with some sternness, for the same ground has
been gone over a good many times already, and he has
borne the unhappy woman's misgivings now for a full
quarter of an hour. Then he puts a stop to the conver-
sation by repeating prayers taken from the "Visitation
of the Sick," and overawes the poor wretch from ex-
pressing further anxiety as to her condition.

"Can't you tell me. Sir," she exclaims piteously, as she
sees that he is preparing to go away, "can't you tell me
that there is no Day of Judgement, and that there is no
such place as Hell? I can do without the Heaven, Sir,
but I cannot do with the Hell." Theobald is much
shocked.

"Mrs. Thompson," he rejoins impressively, "let me

The Way of All Flesh 75

implore you to suffer no doubt concerning these two cof-
neratones of our religion to cross your mind at a moment
like the present. If there is one thing more certain than ^
another it is that we shall all appear before the Judge-
ment Seat of Christ, and that the wicked will be con-
sumed in a lake of everlasting fire. Doubt this, Mrs.
Thompson, and you are lost."

The poor woman buries her fevered head in the cover-
let in a paroxysm of fear which at last finds relief in
tears.

"Mrs. Thompson," says Theobald, with his hand oa
the door, "compose yourself, be calm; you must please\
to take my word for it that at the Day of Judgement '
your sins will be all washed white in the blood of 1
the Lamb, Mrs. Thompson. Yea," he exclaims fran- /
tically, "though they be as scarlet, yet shall they be /
as white as wool," and he makes off as fast as be can j
from the fetid atmosphere of the cottage to the pure !
air outside. Oh, how thankful he is when the interview .
IS over I

He returns home, conscious that he has done his duty,
and administered the comforts of religion to a dying
sinner. His admiring wife awaits him at the Rectory,
and assures him that never yet was clergyman so devoted
to the welfare of his flock. He believes her ; he has a
natural tendency to believe anything that is told him,
and who should know the facts of the case better than his
wife? Poor feik)wl He has done his best, but-what
does a fish's bestcome to wh5n,lhe foh- is out of water?
"Tie has-leff meat and" wiiie— that he can do; he will call
again and will leave more meat and wine ; day after day
he trudges over the same plover-haunted fields, and lis- .
tens at the end of his walk to the same agony of fore-
bodings, which day after day he silences, but does not
remove, till at last a merciful weakness renders the suf-
ferer careless of her future, and Theobald is satisfied
that ber mind is now peacefully at rest in Jesus.

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76 The Way of All Flesh

CHAPTER XVI

He does not like this branch of his profession — indeed
he hates it — but will not admit it to himself. The habit
of not admitting things to himself has become a con-
firmed one with him. Nevertheless there haunts him an
ill defined sense that life would be pleasanter if there
were no sick sinners, or if they would at any rate face an
eternity of torture with more indifEerence. He does not
feel that he is in his element. The farmers look as if
they were in their element. They are full-bodied, healthy
and contented; but between him and them there is a
great gulf fixed. A hard and drawn look begins to set-
tle about the corners of his mouth, so that even if he
were not in a black coat and white tie a child might
know him for a parson.

He knows that he is doing his duty. Every day con-
vinces him of this more finnly; but then there is not
much duty for him to do. He is sadly in want of occu-
pation. He has no taste for any of those field sports
which were not considered unbecoming for a clergyman
forty years ago. He does not ride, nor shoot, nor fish,
nor course, nor play cricket. Study, to do him justice,
he had never really liked, and what inducement was
there for him to study at Battersby? He reads neither
old books nor new ones. He does not interest himself
in art or science or politics, but he sets his back iip with
some promptness if any of them show any development
imfamiliar to himself. True, he writes his own sermons,
but even his wife considers that his forte lies rather in
the example of his life (which is one long act of self-
devotion) than in his utterances from the pulpit After
breakfast he retires to his study ; he cuts little bits out of
the Bible and gums them with exquisite neatness by the
side of other little bits ; this he calls making a Harmony
of the Old and New Testaments^ Alongside the extracts

The Way of All Flesh 77

he copies in the very perfection of hand-writing extracts
from Mede (the only man, according to Theobald, who
really understood the Book of Revelation), Patrick, and
other old divines. He works steadily at this tor half
an hour every morning during many years, and the re-
sult is doubtless valuable. After some years have gone
by he hears his children their lessons, and the daily oft-
repeated screams that issue from the study during the
lesson hours tell their own horrible story over the house.
He has also taken to collecting a hortus siccus, and
throu^ the interest of his father was once mentioned
in the Saturday Magazine as having been the first to find
a plant, whose name I have forgotten, in the neighbour-
hood of Battersby. This number of the Saturday Maga-
zine has been bound in red morocco, and is kept upon
the drawing-room table. He potters about his garden;
if he hears a hen cackling he runs and tells Christina,
and straightway goes hunting for the egg.

When the two Miss Allabys came, as they sometimes
did, to stay with Christina, they said the life led by their
sister and brother-in-law was an idyll. Happy indeed
was Christina in her choice — for that she had had a choice
was a fiction which soon took root among them — and
happy Theobald in his Christina. Somehow or other
Christina was always a little shy of cards when her sis-
ters were staying with her, though at other times she
enjoyed a game of cribbage or a rubber of whist, heart-
ily enough, but her sisters knew they would never be
asked to Battersby again if they were to refer to that
little matter, and on the whole it was worth their while
to be asked to Battersby. If Theobald's temper was
rather irritable he did not vent it upon them.

By nature reserved, if he could have found someone
to cook his dinner for him, he would rather have lived
in a desert island than not. In his heart of hearts he
held with Pope that "the greatest nuisance to mankind is
man" or words to that effect — only that women, with

78 The Way of All Flesh

the exception perhaps of Christina, were worse. Yet
for all this, when visitors called he put a better face on it
than anyone who was behind the scenes would have
expected.

He was quick too at introducing the names of any
literary celebrities whom he had met at his father's house,
and soon established an all-around reputation which sat-
isfied even Christina herself.

Who 30 integer vit<B scelerisque punts, it was asked,
as Mr. Pontifex of Battersby? Who so fit to be con-
sulted if any difficulty about parish management should
arise? Who such a happy mixture of the sincere imin-
quiring Christian and of the man of the world? For
so people actually called him. They said he was such an
admirable man of business. Certainly if he had said he
would pay a sum of money at a certain time, the money
would be forthcoming on the appointed day, and this is
saying a good deal for any man. His constitutional
timidity rendered him incapable of an attempt to over-
reach when there was the remotest chance of opposition
or publicity, and his correct bearing and somewhat stem
expression were a great protection to him against being
,' overreached. He never talked of money, and invari-
ably changed the subject whenever money was intro-
duced. His expression of unutterable horror at all kinds
of meanness was a sufficient guarantee that he was not
mean himself. Besides, he had no business transactions
save of the most ordinary butcher's book and baker's
book description. His tastes — if he had any — were, as
we have seen, simple; he had ipoo a year and a house;
the neighbourhood was cheap, and for some time he had
no children to be a drag upon him. Who was not to
be envied, and if envied why then respected, if Theobald
was not enviable?

Yet I imagine that Christina was on the whole happier
than her husband. She had not to go and visit sick
parishioners, and the management of her house and the

The Way of All Flesh 79

keeping of her accounts afforded as much occupation as
she desired. Her principal duty was, as she well said,
to her husband — to love him, honour him, and keep him
in a good temper. To do her justice, she fulfilled this
duty to the uttermost of her power. It would have been
better perhaps if she had not so frequently assured her '
husband that he was the best and wisest of mankind,
for no one in his little world ever dreamed of telling him
anything else, and it was not long before he ceased to
have any doubt upon the matter. As for his temper,
which had become very violent at times, she took care
to humour it on the slightest sign of an approaching out-
break. She had early found that this was much the
easiest plan. The thunder was seldom for herself. Long
before her marriage even she had studied his little ways,
and knew how to add -fuel to the fire as long as the fire
seemed to want it, and then to damp it judiciously down, :
making as little smoke as possible.

In money matters she was scrupulousness itself.
Theobald made her a quarterly allowance for her dress,
pocket money and little charities and 4)re$ents. In these
last items she was liberal in proportion to her income;
indeed she dressed with great economy and gave away
whatever was over in presents or charity. Oh, what a
comfort it was to Theobald to reflect that he had a wife
on whom he could rely never to cost him a sixpence of
unauthorised expenditure! Letting alone her absolute
submission, the perfect coincidence of her opinion with
his own upon every subject and her constant assurances
to him that he was right in everything which he took it
into his head to say or do, what a tower of strength to
him was her exactness in money matters I As years
went by he became as fond of his wife as it was in his
nature to be of any living thing, and applauded himself
for having stock to his engagement — a piece of virtue of
which he was now reaping the reward. Even when Chris-
tina did outrun her quarterly stipend by some thirty

8o The Way of All Flesh

shillings or a couple of pounds, it was always made per-
fectly clear to Theobald how the deficiency had arisen —
there had been an unusually costly evening dress bought
which was to last a long time, or somebody's unexpected
wedding had necessitated a more handsome present than
the quarter's balance would quite allow: the excess of
expenditure was always repaid in the following quarter
or quarters even though it were only ten shillings at a
time. .

I believe, however, that after they had been married
some twenty years, Christina had somewhat fallen from
her original perfection as regards money. She had got
gradually in arrears during many successive quarters,
till she had contracted a chronic loan, a sort of domestic
natiotial debt, amounting to between seven and eight
pounds. Theobald at length felt that a remonstrance had
become imperative, and took advantage of his silver wed-
ding day to inform Christina that her indebtedness was
cancelled, and at the same time to beg that she would en-
deavour henceforth to equalise her expenditure and her
income. She burst into tears of love and gratitude, as-
sured him that he was the best and most generous of
men, and never during the remainder of her married life
was she a single shilling behindhand.

Christina hated change of all sorts no less cordially
than her husband. She and Theobald had nearly every-
thing in this world that they could wish for ; why, then,
should people desire to introduce all sorts of changes of
which no one could foresee the end ? Religion, she was
deeply convinced, had long since attained its final devel>
opment, nor could it enter into the heart of reasonable
man to conceive any faith more perfect than was incul-
cated by the Church of England. She could imagine no
position more honourable than that of a clergyman's wife
unless indeed it were a bishop's. Considering his father's
influence it was not at all impossible that Theobald might
be a bishop some day — and then — then would occur to

The Way of All Flesh 8i

her that one little flaw in the practice of the Giurch of
England — a flaw not indeed in its doctrine, but in its pol-
icy, which she believed on the whole to be a mistaken one
in this respect. I mean the fact that a bishop's wife does
not take the rank of her husband.

This had been the doing of Elizabeth, who had been a
bad woman, of exceedingly doubtful moral character, and
at heart a Papist to the last. Perhaps people ought to
have been above mere considerations of worldly dignity,
but the world was as it was, and such things carried
weight with them, whether they ought to do so or no.
Her influence as plain Mrs. Pontifex, wife, we will say,
of the Bishop of Winchester, would no doubt be consid-
erable. Such a character as hers could not fail to carry
weight if she were ever in a sufficiently conspicuous
sphere for its influence to be widely felt ; but as Lady
Winchester — or the Bishopess — which would sound quite
nicely — who could doubt that her power for good would
be enhanced ? And it would be all the nicek- because if
she had a daughter, the daughter would not be a Bishop-
ess unless indeed she were to marry a Bishop too, which
would not be likely.

These were herthoughts upon her good days ; at other
times she would, to do her justice, have doubts whether
she was in all respects as spiritually minded as she ought
to be. She must press on, press on, till every enemy to
her salvation was surmounted and Satan himself lay
bruised under her feet. It occurred to her on one of
these occasions that she might steal a march over some
of her contemporaries if she were to leave off eating
black puddings, of which whenever they had killed a pig
she had hitherto partaken freely; and, if sfee were also
careful that no fowls were served at her table which had
had their necks wrung, but only such as had had their
throats cut and been allowed to bleed. St. Paul and the
Church of Jerusalem had insisted upon it as necessary
that even Gentile converts should abstain from things

82 The Way of All Flesh

strai^led and from blood, and they had joined this pro-
hibition with that of a vice about the abominable nature
of which there could be no question ; it would be. well
therefore to abstain in future and see whether any note-
worthy spiritual result ensued. She did abstain, and was
certain that from the day of her resolve she had felt
stronger, purer in heart, and in all respects more spii^
itually minded than she had ever felt hitherto, Theobald
did not lay so much stress on this as she did, but as she
settled what he should have at dinner she could take care
that he got no strangled fowls ; as for black puddii^,
happily, he had seen them made when he was a boy, and
had never got over his aversion for them. She wished
the matter were one of more general observance than it
was ; this was just a case in which as Lady Winchester
she m^ht have been able to do what as plain Mrs. Ponti-
fex it was hopeless even to attempt.

And thus this worthy couple jogged on from month to
month and from year to year. The reader, if he has
passed middle life and has a clerical connection, will
probably remember scores and scores of rectors and rec-
tors' wives who differed in no material respect from
Theobald and Christina. Speaking from' a recollection
and experience extending over nearly eighty years from
the time when I was myself a child in the nursery of a
vicarage, I should say I had drawn the better rather than
the worse side of the life of an English country parson
of some fifty years ago. I admit, however, that there
are no such people to be found nowadays. A more
united or, on the whole, happier, couple could not have
been found in England. One grief only overshadowed
the early years of their married life; I mean the fact that
no living children were bom to them.

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/

The Way of All Flesh 83

CHAPTER XVn

In the course of time this sorrow was removed. At the
begitining of the fifth year of her married life Christina
was safely delivered of a boy. This was on the sixth of
September, 1835.

Word was immediately sent to old Mr. Pontifex, who
received the news with real pleasure. His son John's
wife had borne daughters only, and he was seriously
uneasy lest there should be a failure in the male line of
his descendants. The good news, therefore, was doubly
welcome, and caused as much delight at Elmhurst as dis-
may in Wobum Square, where the John Pontifexes were
then living.

Here, indeed, this freak of fortune was felt to be all
the more cruel on account of the impossibility of resent-
ing it (q)enly ; but the delighted grandfather cared nothing
for what the John Pontifexes might feel or not feel; he
had wanted a grandson and he had got a grandson, and
this should be enough for everybody ; and, now that Mrs.
Theobald had taken to good ways, she might bring him
more grandsons, which would be desirable, for he should
not feel safe with fewer than three.

He rang the bell for the butler.

"Gelstrap," he said solemnly, "I want to go down into
the cellar."

Then Gelstrap preceded him with a candle, and he
went into the inner vault where he kept his choicest wines.

He passed many bins: there was 1803 Port, 1792 Im-
perial Tokay, 1800 Claret, 1812 Sherry, these and many
others were passed, but it was not for them that the
head of the Pontifex family had gone down into his in-
ner cellar. A bin, which had appeared empty until the
full light of the candle had been brought to bear upon it,
was now found to contain a single pint bottle. This
was the object of Mr. Pontifex's search.

I v.Goo'^lc

84 The Way of All Flesh

Gelstrap had often pondered over this bottle. It had
been placed there by Mr. Pontifex himself about a dozen
years previously, on his return from a visit to his friend
the celebrated traveller. Dr. Jones — but there was no tal>-
let above the bin which might give a clue to the nature
of its contents. On more than one occasion when his
master had gone out and left his keys accidentally behind
him, as he sometimes did, Gelstrap had submitted the
bottle to all the tests he could venture upon, but it was so
carefully sealed that wisdom remained quite shut out
from that entrance at which he would have welcomed
her most gladly — and indeed from all other entrances,
for he could make out nothing at all.

And now the mystery was to be solved. But alas I it
seemed as though the last chance of securing even a sip
of the contents was to be removed for ever, for Mr.
Pontifex took the bottle into his own hands and held it
up to the light after carefully examining the seal. He
smiled and left the bin with the bottle in his hands.

Then came a catastrophe. He stumbled over an empty
hamper; there was the sound of a fall — a smash of
broken glass, and in an instant the cellar floor was cov-
ered with the liquid that had been preserved so carefully
for so many years.

With his usual presence of mind Mr. Pontifex gasped
out a month's warning to Gelstrap. Then he got up, and
stamped as Theobald had done when Christina had
wanted not to order his dinner.

"It's water from the Jordan," he exclaimed furiously,
"which I have been saving for the baptism of my eldest
grandson. Damn you, Gelstrap, how dare you be so in-
fernally careless as to leave that hamper litterir^ about,
the cellar?"

I wonder the water of the sacred stream did not stand
upright as an heap upon the cellar floor and rebuke him.
Gelstrap told the other servants afterwards that his mas-
ter's language had made his backbone curdle.

v.Goo'^lc

The Way of All Flesh 85

The moment, however, that he heard the word "water,"
he saw his way again, and flew to the pantry. Before bia
master had well noted his absence he returned with a
little sponge and a basin, and had begun sopping up the
waters of the Jordan as though they had been a common
slop.

"I'll filter it, Sir," said Gelstrap meekly. "It'll come
quite clean."

Mr. Pontifex saw hope in this suggestion, which was
shortly carried out by the help of a piece of blotting
paper and a funnel, under his own eyes. Eventually it
was found that half a pint was saved, and this was held
to be sufficient.

Then he made preparations for a visit to Battersby.
He ordered goodly hampers of the choicest eatables, he
selected a goodly hamper of choice drinkables. I say
choice and not choicest, for although in his first exalta-
tion he had selected some of his very best wine, yet on
reflection he had felt that there was moderation in all
things, and as he was parting with his best water from
the Jordan, he would only send some of his second best
wine.

Before he went to Battersby he stayed a day or two
in London, which he now seldom did, being over seventy
years old, and having practically retired from business.
The John Pontifexes, who kept a sharp eye on him, dis-
covered to their dismay that he had had an interview
with his solicitors.

CHAPTER XVIII

For the first time in his life Theobald felt that he had
done something right, and could look forward to meeting
his father without alarm. The old gentleman, indeed,
had written him a most cordial letter, announcing his in-
.tention of standing godfather to the boy — nay, I may as

86 The Way of All Flesh

well give it in full, as it shows the writer at his best. It

"Dear Theobald, — Your letter gave me very sincere
pleasure, the more so because I had made up my mind
for the worst; pray accept my most hearty congratula-
tions for my daughter-in-law and for yourself.

"I have long preserved a phial of water from the Jor-
dan for the christening of my iirst grandson, should it
please God to grant me one. It was given me by my old
friend. Dr. Jones. You will agree with me that though
the efficacy of the sacrament does not depend upon the
source of the baptismal waters, yet, ceteris paribus, there
is a sentiment attaching to the waters of the Jordan
\ which should not be despised. Small matters like this
Sometimes influence a child's whole future career.

"I shall bring my own cook, and have told him to get
everything ready for the christening dinner. Ask as
many of your best neighbours as your table will hold.
By the way, I have told Lesueur not to get a lobster —
you had better drive over yourself and get one from
Saltness (for Battersby was only fourteen or fifteen
mites from the sea coast) ; they are better there, at least
I think so, than anywhere else in England.

"I have put your boy down for something in the event
of his attaining the age of twenty-one years. If your
brother John continues to have nothii^ but girls I may
do more later on, but I have many claims upon me, and
am not as well off as you may imagine. — Your affection-
ate father, G. Pontifex."

A few days afterwards the writer of the above letter
made his appearance in a fiy which had brought him
from Gildenham to Battersby, a distance of fourteen
miles. There was Lesueur, the cook, on the box with the
driver, and as many hampers as the fly could carry were
disposed upon the roof and elsewhere. Next day the

The Way of All Flesh 87

John Pontifexes had to come, and Eliza and Maria, as
well as Alethea, who, by her own special request, was
godmother to the boy, for Mr. Pontifex had decided that
they were to form a happy family party ; so come they
all must, and be happy Uiey all must, or it would be the
worse for them. Next day the author of all this hubbub
was actually christened. Theobald had proposed to call
him George after old Mr. Pontifex, but strange to say,
Mr. Pontifex overruled him in favour of the name Er-i

'■"1
~ nest. The word "earnest" was just begimimg to comel

"I'f''

name might, like his having been baptised in water f romV '

into fashion, and he thought the possession of such a/ ^ '

the Jordan, have a permanent effect upon the boy's char-
acter, and influence him for good during the more critical }
periods of his life.

I was asked to be his second godfather, and was re-
joiced to have an opportunity of meeting Alethea, whom
I had not seen for some few years, but with whom I
had been in constant correspondence. She and I had
always been friends from the time we had played to-
gether as children onwards. When the death of her
grandfather and grandmother severed her connection
with Paleham my intimacy with the Pontifexes was kept
up by my having been at school and college with Theo-
bald, and each time I saw her I admired her more and
more as the best, kindest, wittiest, most lovable, and, to
my mind, handsomest woman whom I had ever seen.
None of the Pontifexes were deficient in good looks;
they were a well-grown, shapely family enough, but Ale-
thea was the flower of the flock even as regards good
looks, while in respect of all other qualities that make a
woman lovable, it seemed as though the stock that had
been intended for the three daughters, and would have
been about sufficient for them, had all been albtted to
herself, her sisters getting none, and she all.

It is impossible for me to explain how it was that she
and I never married. We two knew exceedingly well,

88 The Way of All Flesh

and that must suffice for the reader. There was the most
perfect sympathy and understanding between us; we
knew that neither of us would marry anyone else. I
had asked her to marry me a dozen times over; having
said this much I will say no more upon a point which is
in no way necessary for the development of my story.
For the last few years there had been difficulties in the
way of our meeting, and I had not seen her, though, as
I have said, keeping up a close correspondence with her.
Naturally I was overjoyed to meet her again; she was
now just thirty years old, but I thought she looked hand-
somer than ever.

Her father, of course, was the Uon of the party, but
seeing that we were all meek and quite willing to be
eaten, he roared to us rather than at us- It was a fine
sight to see him tucking his napkin under his rosy old
gills, and letting it fall over his capacious waistcoat while
the high light from the chandelier danced about the bump
of benevolence on his bald old head like a star of Beth-
lehem.

The soup was real turtle ; the old gentleman was evi-
dently well pleased and he was beginning to come out.
Gclstrap stood behind his master's chair. I sat next Mrs.
Theobald on her left hand, and was thus just oiq>osite
her father-in-law, whom I had every opportunity of ob-
servit^.

During the first ten minutes or so, which were taken
up with the soup and the bringing in of the fish, I should
probably have thought, if I had not long since made up
my mind about him, what a fine old man he was and how
proud his children should be of him ; but suddenly as he
was helping himself to lobster sauce, he flushed crimson,
a look of extreme vexation suffused his face, and he
darted two furtive but fiery glances to the two ends of
the table, one for Theobald and one for Christina. They,
poor simple souls, of course saw that something was ex-
ceedingly wrong, and so did I, but I couldn't guess what

The Way of All Flesh 89

it was till I heard the old man hiss in Christina's ear : "It
was not made with a hen lobster. What's the use," he
continued, "of my calling the boy Ernest, and getting him
christened in water from the Jordan, if his own father
does not know a cock from a hen lobster?"

This cut me too, for I felt that till that moment I had
not so much as known that there were cocks and hens
among lobsters, but had vaguely thought that in the mat-
ter of matrimony they were even as the angels in heaven,
and grew up almost spontaneously from rocks and sea-
weed.

Before the next course was over Mr. Pontifex had re-
covered his temper, and from that time to the end of the
evening he was at his best. He told us all about the
water from the Jordan ; how it had been brought by Dr. .
Jones along with some stone jars of water from the
Rhine, the Rhone, the Elbe and the Danube, and what
trouble he had had with them at the Custom Houses, and
how the intention had been to make punch with waters
from all the greatest rivers in Europe; and how he, Mr.
Pontifex, had saved the Jordan water from going into
the bowl, etc., etc. "No, no, no," he continued, "it
wouldn't have done at ail, you know ; very profane idea ;
so we each took a pint bottle of it home with us, and the
punch was much better without it. I had a narrow es-
cape with mine, though, the other day ; I fell over a ham-
per in the cellar, when I was getting it up to bring to
Battersby, and if I had not taken the greatest care the
bottle would certainly have been broken, but I saved it."
And Gelstrap was standing behind his chair all the timel

Nothing more happened to ruffle Mr. Pontifex, so we
had a delightful evening, which has often recurred to me
while watchii^ the after career of my godson.

I called a day^ or two afterwards and found Mr. Ponti-
fex still at Battersby, laid up with one of those attacks
of liver and depression to which he was becoming more
and more subject. I stayed to luacheon. The old gen>

i

90 The Way of All Flesh

■ tletnan was cross and very diflkult ; he could eat nothing
— had no ajq>etite at all. Christina tried to coax him
with a little bit of the fleshy part of a mutton chop.
"How in the name of reason can I be asked to eat a mut-
ton chop?" he exclaimed angrily; "you forget, my dear
Christina, that you have to deal with a stomach that is
totally disorganised," and he pushed the plate from him,
pouting and frowning like a naughty old child. Writing
as I do by the light of a later knowledge, I suppose I
should have seen nothing in this but the world's growing
pains, the disturbance inseparable from transition in hu-
man things. I suppose in reality not a leaf goes yellow
in autumn without ceasing to care about its sap and
making the parent tree very uncomfortable by loi%
growling and grumbling — ^but surely nature might lind
some less irritating way of carrying on business if she
would give her mind to it. Why should the generations
overlap one another at all? Why cannot we be buried as
■ ^gs in neat little cells wiflT'ten or twenty thousand
, pounds each wrapped round "us far BanV of EngTand notes,
j and-wakeiqjras^hespheic wasp does, to find that its papa
:' and mamma have not only left ample provision at its
\ elbow, but have been eaten by sparrows some weeks be-
'. fore it began to live consciously on its own account?
\ About a year and a half afterwards the tables were
■turned on Battersby — for Mrs. John Pontifex was safely
delivered of a boy, A year or so later still, George Pon-
tifex was himself struck down suddenly by a fit of pa-
ralysis, much as his mother had been, but he did not see
the years of his mother. When his will was opened, it
was found that an original bequest of i2a,ooo to Theo-
bald himself (over and above the siun that had been set-
tled upon him and Christina at the time of his marriage)
had been cut down to £17,500 when Mr. Pontifex left
"somethii^' to Ernest. The "something" proved to be
£2500, which was to accumulate in the hands of trustees.
The rest of the property went to John Pontifex, txsept

The Way of All Flesh 91

that each of the daughters was left with about ii^fioo
over and above ^5000 a piece which they inherited from
their mother.

Theobald's father then had told him the truth but not
the whole truth. Nevertheless, what right had Theobald
to complain? Certainly it was rather hard to make him
think that he and his were to be gainers, and get the hon-
our and glory of the bequest, when all the time the money
was virtually being taken out of Theobald's own pocket
On the other hand the father doubtless argued that he ■
had never told Theobald he was to have anything at all;
he had a full right to do what he liked with his own
money; if Theobald chose to indulge in unwarrantable
expectations that was no affair of his ; as it was he was
providing for him liberally ; and if he did take £2500 of
Theobald's share he was still leaving it to Theobald's
son, which, of course, was much the same thing in the
end.

No one can deny that the testator had strict right upon
his side; nevertheless the reader will agree with me that
Theobald and Christina might not have considered the
christoiing dinner so great a success if all the facts had
been before them. Mr. Pontifex had during his own
life-time set up a monument in Elmhurst Church to the
memory of his wife (a slab with urns and cherubs like
iU^timate children of King George the Fourth, and all
the rest of it), and had left space for his own epitaph
underneath that of his wife. I do not know whether it
was written by one of his children, or whether they got
some friend to write it for them. I do not believe that
any satire was intended. I believe that it was the inten-
tion to convey that nothing short of the Day of Judge-
ment could give anyone an idea how good a man Mr.
Pontifex had been, but at first I found it hard to think
that it was free from guile.

The epitaph begins by giving dates of birth and death ;
then sets out that the deceased was for many years head

92 The Way of All Flesh

of the firm of Fairlie and Pontifex, and also resident in
the parish of Elmhurst. There is not a syllable of either
praise or dispraise. The last lines run as follows : —

HB NOW LIES AWAITING A JOYFUL
AT THE LAST DAY.
WHAT UANNEB OF HAN HE WAS
THAT DAY WILL. nsCOTEK.

CHAPTER XIX

This much, however, we may say in the meantime, that
having lived to be nearly seventy-three years old and died
rich he must have been in very fair harmony with his
surroundings. I have heard it said sometimes that such
and such a person's life was a lie : but no man's life can
be a very bad lie ; as long as it continues at all it is at
worst nine-tenths of it true.
' Mr. Pontifex's life not only continued a long time, but
was prosperous right up to the end. Is not this enough ?
I Being in this world is it not our most obvious business to
tpiake the most of it — to observe what things do bona fide
^end to long life and comfort, and to act accordingly?
* 'All animals, except man, know that the principal business
jof life is to enjoy it — and they do enjoy it as much as
Iman and other circumstances will allow. He has spent
his life best who has enjoyed it most ; God Witt tiake care
tKSTwe ilu -not enjoy it any more than is good for us.
If Mr. Pontifex is to be blamed it is for not having eaten
and drunk less and thus suffered less from his liver, and
lived perhaps a year or two longer.

Goodness is naught unless it tends towards old age and
sufficiency of means. I speak broadly and exceptis ex-
cipiendis. So the psalmist says, "The righteous shall not
lack anything that is good." Either this is mere poetical
license, or it follows that he who lacks anything that is
good is not righteous ; there is a presumption also that he

The Way of All Flesh 93

who has passed a long life without lacking anything that
is good tuis himself also been good enough for practical
purposes.

Mr. Pontifex never lacked anything he much cared
about. True, he might have been happier than he was if
he had cared about things which he did not care for, but
the gist of this lies in the "if he had cared." We have
all sinned and come short of the glory of making our-
selves as comfortable as we easily might have done, but
in this particular case Mr. Pontifex did not care, and
would not have gained much by getting what he did not
want
I There is no casting of swine's meat before men worse
thairthst which would flatter virtue as though her true
origin were not good enough for her, but she must have
a lineage, deduced as it were by spiritual heralds^nan... .
some stock with which she has nothing to do. Virtue's/
true lineage is older and more respectable than any than
can be invented for her. She springs from man's experi-J ^
ence concerning his own' well-being — and this, though not
infallible, is still the least fallible thing we have. A sys-'
tern which cannot stand without a better foundation than
this must have something so unstable within itself that it
will topple over on whatever pedestal we place it.

The world has long ago settled that morality and virtue
are what bring men peace at the last. "Be virtuous," says
the copy-book, "and you will be happy,'^ Surely if a
reputed virtue fails often in this respect it is only an
insidious form of vice, and if a reputed vice brings no
very serious mischief on a man's later years it is not so
bad a vice as it is said to be. Unfortunately, though we
are all of a mind about the main opinion that virtue is
what tends to happiness, and vice what ends in sorrow,
we are not so unanimous about details — that is to say as
to whether any given course, such, we will say, as smok-
ing, has a tendency to happiness or the reverse,

I submit it as the result of my own poor observation,

94 The Way of Ail Flesh

that a good deal of unkindness and selfishness on the part
of parents towards childrdn is not generally followed by
in consequences to the parents themselves. They may
cast a gloom over their children's lives for many years
without having to suSer anything that will hurt them. I
should say, then, that it shows no great moral obliquity
on the part of parents if within certain limits they make
their children's lives a burden to them.

Granted that Mr. Pontifex's was not a very exalted
character, ordinary men arc not required to have very
exalted characters. It is enough if we are of the same
moral and mental stature as the "main" or "mean" part
of men — that is to say as the aver^^.

It is involved in the very essence of things that rich
men who die old shall have been mean. The greatest
and wisest of mankind will be almost always found to
be the meanest — the ones who have kept the "mean" best
between excess either of virtue or vice. They hardly ever
have been prosperous if they have not done this, and,
considering how many miscarry altogether, it is no small
feather in a man's cap if he has been no worse than his
neighbours. Homer tells us about some one who
made it his business 0U9 iptareitiv «a( iwpoyw luinmiu
XKKm — always to excel and to stand higher than
other people. What an uncompanionable, disagreeable
person he must have been I Homer's heroes generally
came to a bad end, and I doubt not that this gentleman,
whoever he was, did so sooner or later.

A very high standard, again, involves the possession
of rare virtues, and rare virtues are like rare plants or
animals, things that have not been able to hold their own
in the world. A virtue to be serviceable must, like gold,
be alloyed with some commoner but more durable metal.

People divide off vice and virtue as though they were
two things, neither of which had with it anything of the
other. This is not 50. There is no useful virtue which
has not some alloy of vice, and hardly any vice, if any.

The Way of All Flesh 95

which carries not with it a little dash of virtue; virtue
and vice are like life and death, or mind and matter —
things which cannot exist without being qualified by their
opposite. The most absolute life contains death, and the
corpse is still in many respects living ; so also it has been
said, "If thou. Lord, wilt be extreme to mark what is
done amiss," which shows that even the highest ideal we
can conceive will yet admit so much compromise with
vice as shall countenance the poor abuses of the time, if
they are not too outrageous. That vice pays homage to
virtue is notorious ; we call this hypocrisy ; there should
be a word found for the homage which virtue not un-
f requently pays, or at any rate would be wise in paying,
to vice.

I grant that some men will find happiness in having
what we all fee! to be a higher moral standard than oth-
ers. If they go in for this, however, they must be content
with virtue as her own reward, and not grumble if they
find lofty Quixotism an expensive luxury, whose re-
wards belong to a kingdom that is not of this world.
They must not wonder if they cut a poor figure in trying
to make the most of both worlds. Disbelieve as we may
the details of the accounts which record the growth of
the Christian religion, yet a great part of Christian teach-
ing will remain as true as though we accepted the details.
We cannot serve God and Mammon; strait is the way
aud narrow is the gate which leads to what those who
live by faith hold to be best worth having, and there is no
way of saying this better than the Bible has done. It is
well there should be some who think thus, as it is well
there should be speculators in commerce, who will often
burn their fingers — but it is not well that the majority
should leave the "mean" and beaten path.

For most men, and most circumstances, pleasure —
tangible material prosperity in this world — is the safest
test of virtue. Progress has ever been through the pleas-
ures rather than through the extreme sharp virtues, and

[96 The Way of All Flesh

the most virtuous have leaned to excess rather than to
asceticism. To use a commercial metaphor, competition
is so keen, and the margin of profits has been cut down
so closely that virtue cannot afford to throw any bona
fide chance away, and must base her action rather on the
actual moneying out of conduct than on a flattering pros-
pectus. She will not therefore neglect — as some do who
arc prudent and economical enough in other matters —
the important factor of our chance of escaping detection,
or at any rate of our dying first. A reasonable virtue
will give this chance its due value, neither more nor less.

Pleasure, after all, is a safer guide than either right or
duty. For hard as it is to know what gives us pleasure,
right and duty are often still harder to distinguish and,
if we go wrong with them, will lead us into just as sorry
a plight as a mistaken opinion concerning pleasure.
When men bum their fingers through following after
pleasure they find out their mistake and get to see where
they have gone wrong more easily than when they have
burnt them through following after a fancied duty, or a
fancied idea concerning right virtue. The devil, in fact,
when he dresses himself in angel's clothes, can only be
>ietected by experts of exceptional skill, and so often does
iic adopt this disguise that it is hardly safe to be seen
Ulking to an angel at all, and prudent people will follow
after pleasure as a more homely but more respectable
;ind on the whole much more trustworthy guide.

Returning to Mr. Pontifex, over and above his having
Uved long and prosperously, he left numerous offsprii^,
l^ all of wbem^^e communicated" not only his p.hyf ical
^nd.mental characteristics, with no more than the usual
^mount of modification, but.also no small share oT'char-
acteristics which are less easily transmitted-^^ mranTiis-
pecuniary characteristics. It may be said that he ac-
1 quired these by sitting still and letting money run, as
it were, right up against him, but against how many does
not money run who do not take it when it does, or who.

The Way of All Flesh 97

even if they hold it for a little while, cannot so incorpo-
rate it with themselves that it shall descend through them
to their offspring? Mr. Pontifex did this. He kept
what he may be said to have made, and money is like a
reputation for ability — more easily made than' kept.

Take him, then, for all in all, I am not inclined to be
so severe upon him as my father was. Judge him accord- ^
ing to any very lofty standard, and he is nowhere . Judge epX*^" "
him according to a fair average standard, and there is o'Sakw*
not much fault to be found with him. I have said what CgUjiJu
I have said in the foregoing chapter once for all, and ^^^
shall not break my thread to repeat it. It should go ^
without saying in modification of the verdict which the
reader may be inclined to pass too hastily, not only upon
Mr. George Pontifex, but also upon Theobald and Chris-
tina. And now I will continue my story.

CHAPTER XX

The birth of his son opened Theobald's eyes to a good
deal which he had but faintly realised hitherto. He had _
had no idea how great a nuisance a baby was. Babies
come into the world so suddenly at the end, and upset
everything so terribly when they do come: why cannot
they steal in upon us with less of a shock to the domestic
system? His wife, too, did not recover rapidly from her
confinement ; she remained an invalid for months ; here
was another nuisance and an expulsive one, which inter-
fered with the amount which Theobald liked to put by out
of his income against, as he said, a rainy day, or to make
provision for his family if he should have one. Now he
was getting a family, so that it became all the more neces-
sary to put money by, and here was the baby hindering
him. Theorists may say what they like about a man's
children being a continuation of his own identity, but it
will generally be found that those who talk in this way

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98 The Way of All Flesh

have no children of their own. Practical family men
know better.

About twelve months after the birth of Ernest there
came a second, also a boy, who was christened Joseph,
and in less than twelve months afterwards, a girl, to
whom was given the name of Charlotte. A few months
before this girl was bom Christina paid a visit to the
John Pontifexes in London, and, loiowing her condi-
,tion, passed a good deal of time at the Royal Academy
'exhibition looking at the types of female beauty por-
trayed by the Academicians, for she had made np her
mind that the child this time was to be a girl. Alethea
warned her not to do this, but she persisted, and cer-
tainly the child turned out plain, but whether the pictures
\ ^used this or no, I cannot say.
pP^ Theobald had never liked children. He had always
W got away from them as soon as he could, and so had
" they from him ; oh, why, he was inclined to ask himself,
could not children be bom into the world grown up?
If Christina could have given birth to a few futl-grown
clergymen in priest's orders — of moderate views, but in-
clining rather to Kvangelicism, with comfortable livings
and in all respects facsimiles of Theobald himself—
why, there might have been more sense in it; or i£
people could buy ready-made children at a shop of what-
ever age and sex they liked, instead of always havii^
to make them at home and to begin at the beginning
with them — that might do better, but as it was he did
not like hX He felt as he had felt when he had been
required KPcome and be married to Christina — that he
had been going on for a long time quite nicely, and would
much rather continue things on their present footing.
In the matter of getting married he had been obliged to
pretend he liked it ; but times were changed, and if he
did not like a thing now, he could find a hundred unex-
ceptionable ways of making his dislike apparent.
It might have been better if TheobaW in his yomqcer

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The Way of All Flesh 99

days had kicked more against his father: the fact that
he had not done so encouraged him to expect the most
implicit obedience from his own children. He cotdd
trust himself, he said (and so did Christina), to be more
lenient than perhaps his father had been to himself;
his danger, he said (and so again did Christina), would
be rather in the direction of being too indulgent; he
must be on his guard against this, i q^ no duty could b e
more important than that of teachin^a chitjf to oB^lts

"He had read noTJong since of an Eastern traveller,
who, while exploring somewhere in the more remote
parts of Arabia and Asia Minor, had come upon a
remarkably hardy, sober, industrious little Christian com-
munity — all of them in the best of health — who had
turned out to be the actual living descendants of Jona-
dab, the son of Rechab; and two men in European cos^
tume, indeed, but speakit^ English with a broken accent,
and by their colour evidently Oriental, had come bc^ng
to Battersby soon afterwards, and represented themselves
as belonging to this people ; they had said they were col-
lecting funds to promote the conversion of their fellow
tribesmen to the English branch of the Christian reli-
gion. True, they turned out to be impostors, for when
he gave them a pound and Christina five shillings from
her private purse, they went and got drunk with it in
the next village but one to Battersby; still, this did not
invalidate the story of the Eastern traveller. Then there
were the Romans — ^whose greatness was probably due
to the wholesome authority exercised by the head of a
family over all its members. Some Romans had even
killed their children; this was going too far, but then
the Romans were not Christians, and knew no better.

The practical outcome of the foregoing was a convic-
tion in Theobald's mind, and if in his, then in Chris-
tina's, that it was their duty to begin training up their
children in the i^^^S^ey should go, even from their

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■Sliest infancy. The first signs of self-wJlI ma st be
/carefiillvjonkei j for^ anrf plucked up by the, tOPJts at (mce
/before they had time to grow. Theobald picked iip thB
jnumb' eerpeftt of a metaphor and ^cherished i t in ht»-
[bosom.

BrfOre Ernest could well crawl he was taught to kneel ;
before he could well speak he was taught to lisp the
Lord's prayer, and the general confession. How was it '
possible that these things could be taught too -early? If
his attention flagged or his memory failed him, here was
aa ill weed which would grow apace, unless it were
plucked out immediately, and the only way to pluck it
out was to whip him, or shut him up in a cupboard; or
dock htm of some of the small pleasures of childhood.
Before he was three years old he could read and, after a
fashion, write. Before he was four he was learning
Latin, and could do rule of three sums.

As for the child himself, he was naturally of an even
temper ; he doted upon his nurse, on kittens and puppies,
and on all things that would do him the kindness of
allowing him to be fond of them. He was fond of his
mother, too, but as r^;ards his father, he has told me in

\ 'later life he could remember no feeling but fear and
shrinking. Christina did not remonstrate with Theo^
bald concerning the severity of the tasks imposed upon
their boy, nor yet as to the continual whippings that
were found necessary at lesson times. Indeed, when
during any absence of Theobald's the lessons were en-
trusted to her, she found to her sorrow that it was the
only thing to do, and she did it no less effectually than
Theobald himself; nevertheless she was fond of her boy,
which Theobald never was, and it was long before she
could destroy all affection for herself in the mind of
her first-born. But she persevered.

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CHAPTER XXI

Strange I for she believed she doted upon him, and cer-
tainly she loved him better than either of her other
children. Her version of the matter was that there had
never yet been two parents so self-denying and devoted
to the highest welfare of their children as Theobald
and herself. For Ernest, a very great future — she was
certain of it — was in store. This made severity all the i
more necessary, so that from the first he might have
been kept pure from every taint of evil. She could not ■
allow herself the scope for castle building which, we ■
read, was indulged in by every Jewish matron before
the appearance of the Messiah, for the Messiah had
now come, but there was to be a millennium shortly,
certainly not later than 1866, when Ernest would be just
about the right age for it, and a modem Elias would
be wanted to herald its approach. Heaven would bear
her witness that she had never shrunk from the idea oi
martyrdom for herself and Theobald, nor would she
avoid it for her boy, if his life was required of her in
her Redeemer's service. Oh, no! If Gkjd told her to
offer up her first-bom, as He had told Abraham, she
would take him up to Pigbury Beacon and plunge the —
no, that she could not do, but it would be unnecessary-
some one else might do that. It was not for nothing^
thjat Ernest had been baptised in water from the Jordan./
It had not been her doing, nor yet Theobald's. They
had not sought it. When water from the sacred stream
was wanted for a sacred infant, the channel had been
found through which it was to flow from far Palestine
over land and sea to the door of the house where the
child was lying. Why, it was % miracle t It was I It
was ! She saw it all now. The Jordan had left its bed
ajid flowed into her own house. It was idle to say that
this was not a miracle. No miracle was effected without

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means of some kind; the difference between the faith-
ful and the unbeliever consisted in the very fact that the
former could see a miracle where the latter could not.
The Jews could see no miracle even in the raising of
Lazarus and the feeding of the five thousand. The John
Pontifexes would see no miracle in this matter of the
water from the Jordan. The essence of a miracle lay
not in the fact that means had been dispensed with, but
in the adoption of means to a great end that had not
been available without interference; and no one would
suppose that Dr. Jones would have brought the water
unless he had been directed. She would tell this to
Theobald, and get him to sec it in the . . . and yet
perhaps it would be better not. The insight of women
upon matters of this sort was deeper and more unerring
than that of men. It was a woman and not a man who
had been filled most completely with the whole fulness
of the Deity, But why had they not treasured up the
water after it was used ? It oi^ht never, never to have
been thrown away, but it had been. Perhaps, however,
this was for the best too — they might have been tempted
to set too much store by it, and it might have become
a source of spiritual danger to them — perhaps even of
spiritual pride, the very sin of all others which she most
abhorred. As for the channel through which the Jordan
had flowed to Battersby, that mattered not more than
the earth through which the river ran in Palestine itself.
Dr. Jones was certainly worldly — very worldly; so, she
regretted to feel, had been her father-in-law, though in
a less degree ; spiritual, at heart, doubtless, and becoming
more and more spiritual continually as he grew older,
still he was tainted with the world, till a very few hours,
probably, before his death, whereas she and Theobald
had given up all for Christ's sake. They were not
worldly. At least Theobald was not She had been, but
she was sure she had grown in grace since she had left
off eating things strangled and blood — this was as the

The Way of All Flesh 103

washing in Jordan as against Abana and Pharpar, rivers / 1
of Damascus. Her boy should never touch a strangled/ /
fowl nor a black pudding — that, at any rate, sh« could] /
see to. He should have a coral from the neighbourhood^
of Joppa — there were coral insects on those coasts, sol
that the thing could easily be done with a little energy ;C
she would write to Dr. Jones about it, etc. And so on forf
hours together day after day for years. Truly, Mr;
Theobald loved her child according to her lights witl
an exceeding great fondness, but the dreams she hac
dreamed in sleep were sober reaUties in comparison with
those she indulged in while awake.

When Ernest was in his second year, Theobald, as
I have already said, began to teach him to read. He
began to whip him two days after he had b^un to teach
him. ,

"It was painful," as he said to Christina, but it was the
only thing to do and it was done. The child was puny,
white and sickly, so they sent continually for the doctor
who dosed him with calomel and James's powder. All
was done in love, anxiety, timidity, stupidity, and im-
patience. They were stupid in little things; and
that is stupid in little will be stupid also in much.

Presently old Mr. Pontifex died, and then came the
revelation of the little alteration he had made in his
will simultaneously with his bequest to Ernest It was
rather hard to bear, especially as there was no way of
conveying a bit of their minds to the testator now that
he could no longer hurt them. As regards the boy
himself anyone must see that the bequest would be an
unmitigated misfortune to him. To leave him a small
independence was perhaps the greatest injury which
one could inflict upon a young man. It would cripple
his energies, and deaden his desire for active employ-
ment Many a youth was led into evil courses by the
knowledge that on arriving at majority he would come
into a few thousands. They might surely have been

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104 The Way of All Flesh

trusted to have their boy's interests at heart, and must
be better judges of those interests than he, at twenty-one,
could be expected to be : besides if Jonadab, the son of
Rechab's father — or perhaps it might be simpler under
-the circumstances to say Rechab at once — if Rechab,
then, had left handsome legacies to his grandchildren —
why Jonadab might not have found those children so
easy to deal with, etc. "My dear," said Theobald, after
having discussed the matter with Christina for the twen-
tieth time, "my dear, the only thing to guide and console
us under misfortunes of this kind is to take refuge in
practical work. I will go and pay a visit to Mrs. Thomp-
son."

On those days Mrs. Thompson would be told that her
sins were all washed white, etc., a little sooner and a little
more peremptorily than on others.

CHAPTER XXII

I usE3> to stay at Battersby for a day or two sometimes,
while my godson and his brother and sister were chil-
dren. I hardly know why I went, for Theobald and I
grew more and more apart, but one gets into grooves
sometimes, and the supposed friendship between myself
and the Pontifexes continued to exist, though it was
now little more than rudimentary. My godson pleased
me more than either of the other children, but he had
not much of the buoyancy of childhood, and was more
like a puny, sallow little old man than I liked. The young
people, however, were very ready to be friendly.

I remember Ernest and his brother hovered round
me on the first day of one of these visits with their
hands full of fading flowers, which they at length prof-
fered me. On this I did what I suppose was expected : I
inquired if there was a shop near where they could buy
sweeties. They said there was, so I felt in my pockets.

The Way of All Flesh 105

but only succeeded in finding two pence halfpenny in
small mon^. This I gave them, and the youngsters,
aged four and three, toddled off alone. Ere long they
returned, and Ernest said, "We can't get sweeties for
all this money" (I felt rebuked, but no rebuke was
intended) ; "we can get sweeties for this" (showing a
penny), "and for this" (showing another penny), "but
we cannot get them for all this," and he added the
halfpenny to the two pence. I suppose they had wanted
a twopenny cake, or something like that. I was amused,
and left them to solve the difficulty their own way, being
anxious to see what they would do.

Presently Ernest said, "May we give you back this"
(showing the halfpenny) "and not give you back this
ai|d this?" (showing the pence). I assented, and they
gave a sigh of relief and went on their way rejoicing.
A few more presents of pence and small toys completed
the conquest, and they began to take me into their con-
fidence.

They told me a good deal which I am afraid I ought
not to have listened to. They said that if grandpapa had
lived longer he would most likely have been made a Lord,
and that then papa would have been the Honourable and
Reverend, but that grandpapa was now in heaven singii^;
beautiful hymns with Grandmamma AUaby to Jesus
Christ, who was very fond of them; and that when
Ernest was ill, his mamma had told him he need not be
afraid of dying, for he would go straight to heaven,
if he would only be sorry for having done his lessons
so badly and vexed his dear papa, and if he would
promise never, never to vex him any more; and that
when he got to heaven Grandpapa and Grandmamma
AUaby would meet him, and he would be always with
them, and they would be very good to him and teach
him to sing ever such beautiful hymns, more beautiful
by far than those which he was now so fond of, etc.,
etc. ; but he did not wish to die, and was glad when he

I06 The Way of All Flesh

got better, for there were no kittens in heaven, and he
did not think there were cowslips to make cowslip tea
with.

Their mother was plainly disappointed in them. "My
children are none of them geniuses, Mr. Overton," she
said to me at breakfast one morning. ~ " 1 hSy Hive fair
abilities, and, thanks to Theobald's tuition, they are
forward for their years, but they have nothing like
genius: genius is a thing apart from this, is it not?"

Of course I said it was "a thing quite apart from

this," but if my thoughts had been laid bare, they would

have appeared as "Give me my coffee immediately,

ma'am, and don't talk nonsense." I have no idea what

genius is, but so far as I can form any conception about

it, I should say it was a stupid word which cannot be

too soon abandoned to scientilic and literary claqueurs.

I do not know exactly what Christina expected, but I

should imagine it was something like this : "My children

^ot^ht to be all geniuses, because they are mine and

f Theobald's, and it is naughty of them not to be; bat,

I of course, they cannot be so good and clever as Theo-

\ bald and I were, and if they show signs of being so it

will be naughty of them. Happily, however, they are

:iot this, and yet it is very dreadful that they are not

\s for genius — hoity-toity, indeed — why, a genius should

um intellectual somersaults as soon as it is bom, and

lone of my children have yet been able to get into the

lewspapers. I will not have children of mine give them-

lelves airs — it is enough for them that Theobald and I

should do so."

She did not know, poor woman, that the true great-
ness wears an invisible cloak, under cover of which it
gqes in and out among men without being suspected ; if
its cloak does not conceal it from itself always, and
from all others for many years, its greatness will efre
long shrink to very ordinary dimensions. What, thenJ it
may be asked, is the good of being great? The answer

The Way of All Flesh 107

is that you may understand greatness better in others,
whether alive or dead, and choose-better company from
these and enjoy and understand that company better
when you have chosen it — also that you may be able to
give pleasure to the best people and live in the lives of
those who are yet unborn. This, one would think, was
sabstautiaLgain-tfiou^. for gt-^afn>^p"^flinririt« wgTi^jpg
to rid e r oug^-shod o ver ua^ even_jirh6a_ili5filiis?d. as
humility .

I was there on a Sunday, and observed the rigour with
which the young people were taught to observe the
Sabbath; they m^ht not cut out things, nor use their
paintbox on a Sunday, and this they thought rather hard,
because their cousins the John Pontifexes might do these
things. Their cousins might play with their toy train
on Sunday, but though they had promised that they
would run none but Sunday trains, all traffic had been
prohibited. One treat only was allowed them — on Sim-
day evenings they might choose their own hymns.

In the course of the evening they came into the draw-
ing-room, and, as an especial treat, were to sing some of
their hymns to me, instead of saying them, so that I
might hear how nicely they sang. Ernest was to choose
the first hymn, and he chose one about some people who
were to come to the sunset tree. I am no botanist, and
do not know what kind of tree a sunset tree is, but the
words b^an, "Come, come, come; come to the sunset
tree, for the day is past and gone." The tune was rather
pretty and had taken Ernest's fancy, for he was un-
usually ftmd of music and had a sweet little child's
voice whidi he liked using.

He was, however, very late in being able to sound a
bard "c" or "k," and, instead of saying "Come," he said
"Turn, turn, turn."

"Ernest," said Theobald, from the armchair in front
of the fire, where he was sitting with his hands folded
before him, "don't yoa think it would be very nice if

io8 The Way of All Flesh

you were to say 'come' like other people, instead of
'turn'?"

"I do say turn," replied Ernest, meaning that he had
said "come."

Theobald ' was always in a bad temper on Sunday
evening. Whether it is that they are as much bored
with the day as their neighbours, or whether they are
tired, or whatever the cause may be, clergymen are
seldom at their best on Sunday evening; I had already
seen signs that evening that my host was cross, and was
a little nervous at hearing Ernest say so promptly, "I do
say tum," when his papa had said he did not say it as
he should,

Theobald noticed the fact that he was being contra-
dicted in a moment. He got up from his armchair and
went to the piano.

"No, Ernest, you don't," he said, "you say nothing of
the kind, you say 'tum/ not 'come.' Now say 'come'
after me, as I do."

"Tum," said Ernest, at once; "is that better?" I have
no doubt he thought it was, but it was not.

"Now, Ernest, you are not taking pains : you are not
trying as you ought to do. It is high time you learned
to say 'come'; why, Joey can say 'come,' can't you,
Joey?"

"Yeth, I can," replied Joey, and he said scHuething
which was not far off "come."

"There, Ernest, do you hear that? There's no diffi-
culty about it, nor shadow of difficulty. Now, take your
own time, think about it, and say 'come' after me."

The boy remained silent a few seconds and then said
"turn" again.

I laughed, but Theobald turned to me impatiently and
said, "Please do not laugh, Overton; it will make the
boy think it does not matter, and it matters a great deal ;"
then turning to Ernest he said, "Now, Ernest, I will give

The Way of All Flesh 109

you one more chance, and if you don't say 'come,' I
shall know that you are self-willed and naughty."

He looked very angry, and a shade came over Ernest's
face, like that which comes upon the face of a puj^y
when it is being scolded without understanding why.
The child saw well what was coming now, was fright-
ened, and, of course, said _ "tum" o nce more.

"Very well, Ernest," said his father, catching him
angrily by the shoulder. "I have done my best to save
you, but if you will have it so, you will," and he lugged
the little wretch, crying by anticipation, out of the room.
A few minutes more and we could hear screams coming
from the dining-room, across the hall which separated
the drawing-room from the dining-room, and knew that
poor Ernest was being beaten.

"I have sent him up to bed," said Theobald, as he
returned to the drawing-room, "and now, Christina, I
think we will have the servants in to prayers," and he
rang the bell for them, red-handed as he was.

CHAPTER XXIII

Tee man-servant William came and set the chairs for
the maids, and presently they filed in. First Christina's
maid, then the cook, then the housemaid, then William,
and then the coachman. I sat opposite them, and
watched their faces as Theobald read a chapter from
the Bible. They were nice people, but more absolute
vacancy I never saw upon the countenances of human
beings.

Theobald began by reading a few verses from the Old
Testament, according to some system of his own. On
this occasion the passage came from the fifteenth chap-
ter of Numbers : it had no particular bearing that I
could see upon anything which was going on just then.

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110 The Way of All Flesh

but the spirit which breathed throughout the whole
seemed to me to be so like that of Theobald himself, that
I could understand better after hearing it, how he came
to thinic as he thought, and act as he acted.
The verses are as follows —

"But the soul that doeth anght presumptuously, whether he
be bom in the land or a stranger, the same reproacheth the Lord;
and that soul shall be cut o£E from among his people.

"Because he hath despised the word of the Lord, and hath
broken His commandments, that soul shall be utterly cut off; hia
iniquity shall be upon him.

"And while the children of Israel were in the wilderness they
found a man that gathered sticks upon the Sabbath day.

"And they that found him gathering sticks brought him tmto
Uoses and Aaron, and unto all the congregation.

"And they put him in ward because it was not declared what
should be done to him.

"And the Lord said unto Hoses, the man shall be surely pot to
death; all the congregation shall stone him with stones without
the camp.

"And all the congregation brought him without the camp, and
stoned him with stones, and he died; as the Lord commanded
Moses.

"And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying,

"Speak unto the children of Israel, and bid them that they
make them fringes in the borders of their garments throughout
their generations, and that they put upon the fringe of the bor-
ders a ribband of blue.

"And it shall be unto you for a fringe, that ye may look upon
it and remember all the commandments of the Lord, and do them,
and that ye seek not after your own heart and your own eyes.

"That ye may remember and do all my commandments and be
holy tmto your God.

"I am the Lord your God which brought yon out of the land
of Egypt, to be your God : I am the Lord yonr God."

■ My thoughts wandered while Theobald was reading
the above, and reverted to a little matter which I had
observed in the course of the afternoon.

It happened that some years previously, a swarm of
bees had taken up their abode in the roof of the house

The Way of All Flesh iii

under the slates, and had multiplied so that the drawit^-
room was a good deal frequented by these bees during
the summer, when the windows were open. The draw-
ing-room paper was of a pattern which consisted of
bimches of red and white roses, and I saw several bees
at different times fly up to these bunches and try them,
under the impression that they were real flowers ; having .
tried one bunch, they tried the next, and the next, and
the next, till they reached the one that was nearest the
ceiling, then they went down bunch by bunch as they
had ascended, till they were stopped by the back of the
sofa; on this they ascended bunch by bunch to the Q
ceiling again; and so on, and so on till i was tired of
watching them. As I thought of the family prayers
being repeated night and morning, week by week, month
by month, and year by year, I could not help thinking
1k)w like it was to the way in which the bees went up the
wall and down the wall, bunch by bunch, without ever L
suspecting that so many of the associated ideas could be |
present, and yet the main idea be wanting hopelessly, and ^ .
for ever. y"^

When Theobald had finished reading we all knelt
down and the Carlo Dolci and the Sassoferrato looked
down upon a sea of upturned backs, as we buried our
faces in our chairs. I noted that Theobald prayed that
we might be made "truly honest and conscientious" in
all our dealings, and snuled at the introduction of the
"truly." Then my thoughts ran back to the bees and I
reflected that after all it was perhaps as well, at any rate
for Theobald, that our prayers were seldom marked by
any very encouragii^ d^:ree of response, for if I had
thought there was the slightest chance of my being heard
I riiould have prayed that some one might ere loi^ treat
him as he had treated Ernest.

Then my thoughts wandered on to those calculations
which people make about waste of time and how much
one can get done if one gives ten minutes a day to it, and

112 The Way of All Flesh

I was thinking what improper suggestion I could make
in connection with this and the time spent on family
prayers which should at the same time be just tolerable,
when I heard Theobald beginning, "The grace of our
Lord Jesus Christ," and in a few seconds the ceremony
was over, and the servants filed out again as they had
filed in.

As soon as tbey had left the drawing-room, Christina,
who was a little ashamed of the transaction to which I
had been a witness, imprudently returned to it, and
began to justify it, saying that it cut her to the heart,
and that it cut Theobald to the heart and a good deal
more, but that "it was the only thing to be done,"

I received this as coldly as I decently could, and by
my silence during the rest of the evening showed that
I disapproved of what I had seen.

Next day I was to go back to London, but before I
went I said I should like to take some new-laid tgga
back with me, so Theobald took me to the house of a
labourer in the village who lived a stone's throw from
the Rectory as being likely to supply me with them.
Ernest, for some reason or other, was allowed to come
too. I think the hens had begun to sit, but at any rate
eggs were scarce, and the cottager's wife could not find
me more than seven or eight, which we proceeded to
wrap up in separate pieces of paper so that I might take
them to town safely. •

Thb operation was carried on upon the ground in
front of the cottage door, and while we were in the
midst of it the cottager's little boy, a lad much about
Ernest's age, trod upon one of the eggs that was wrapped
up in paper and broke it.

"There now, Jack," said his mother, "see what you've
done, you've broken a nice egg and cost me a penny—
here, Emma," she added, calling her daughter, "take the
child away, there's a dear."

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The Way of All Flesh 113

Emma came at once, and walked off with the young-
ster, taking him out of harm's way.

"Papa," said Ernest, after we had left the house,
"why didn't Mrs, Heaton whip Jack when he trod on
the egg?"

I was spiteful enough to give Theobald a grim smile
which said as plainly as words could have done that I
thought Ernest had hit him rather hard.

Theobald coloured and looked angry. "I dare say,"
he said quickly, "that his mother will whip him now that
we are gone."

I was not going to have this and said I did not believe
it, and so the matter dropped, but Theobald did not
forget it, and my visits to Battersby were henceforth less
frequent

On our return to the house we found the postman
had arrived and had brought a letter appointing Theo-
bald to a rural deanery which had lately fallen vacant
by the death of one of the neighbouring clergy who had
held the office for many years. The bishop wrote to
Theobald most warmly, and assured him that he valued
him as among the most hard-working and devoted of his
parochial clergy. Christina, of course, was delighted, and
gave me to understand that it was only an instalment of
the much higher dignities which were in store for Theo-
bald when his merits were more widely known.

I did not then foresee how closely my godson's life
and mine were in after years to be bound up together;
if I had, I should doubtless have looked upon him with
different eyes and noted much to which I paid no atten-
tion at the time. As it was, I was glad to get away from
him, for I could do nothit^ for him, or chose to say
that I could not, and the sight of so much suffering was
painful to me. A man should not only have his own
way as far as possible, but he should only consort with
things that are getting their own way so far that they

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114 The Way of All Flesh

are at any rate comfortable. Unless for short times
under exceptional circumstances, he should not even see
thit^ that have been stunted or starved, much less
should he eat meat that has been vexed by having been
over-driven or underfed, or afiHcted with any disease;
nor should he touch vegetables that have not been well
grown. For all these things cross a man ; whatever a
man comes in contact with in any way forms a cross
with him which will leave him better or worse, and the
better things he is crossed with the more likely he is to
live long and happily. All things must be crossed a
little or they would cease to live — ^but holy things, such
for example <as Giovanni Bellini's saints, have been
crossed with nothing but what is good of tta kind.

CHAPTER XXIV

The storm which I have described in the previous chap-
ter was a sample of those that occurred (biily for many
years. No matter how clear the sky, it was always liable
to cloud over now in one quarter now in another, and
the thunder and lightning were upon the young people ■
before they knew where they were.

"And then, you know," said Ernest to me, when I
asked him not long since to give me more of his childish
reminiscences for the benefit of my story, "we used to
learn Mrs. Barbauld's hymns; they were in prose, and
there was one about the lion which began, 'Come, and I
will show you what is strong. The lion is strong ; when
he ratseth himself from his lair, when he shaketh his
mane, when the voice of his roaring is heard the cattle
of the field fly, and the beasts of the desert hide them-
selves, for he is very terrible. I used to say this to Joey
and Charlotte about my father himself when I got a
little older, but they were always didactic, and said it
was naughty of me.

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The Way of All Flesh 115

"One great reason why clei|[ymen's households are
generally unhappy is because the clergyman is so much
at home or close about the house. The doctor is out
visiting patients half his time : the lawyer and the mer-
diant have offices away from home, but the clergyman
has no official place of business which shall ensure his
being away from home for many hours ti^ether at stated
times. Our great days were when my father went for
a day's shopping to Gildenham. We were some miles
from this place, and commissions used to accumulate on
my father's list till he would make a day of it and go
and do the lot As soon as his back was turned the
air felt lighter; as soon as the hall door opened to let
'him in again, the law with its all-reaching 'touch not,
taste not, handle not' was upon us again. The worst of
it was that I could never trust Joey and Charlotte ; they
would go a good way with me and then turn back, or
even the whole way and then their consciences would^
compel them to tell papa and mamma. They liked run^
ning with the hare up to a certain point, but their instinct., J
was towards the hounds.

"It seems to me," he continued, "that the family is a
survival of the principle which is more logically em-
bodied in the compound animal — and the compound
animal is a form of life which has been found incom-
patible with high development. I would do with the
family among mankind what nature has done with the
compound animal, and confine it to the lower and less
progressive races. Certainly there is no inherent love
for the family system on the part of nature herself.
Poll the forms of life and you will find it in a ridicu-
lously small minority. The fishes know it not, and they
get along quite nicely. The ants and the bees, who far
outnumber man, sting their fathers to death as a matter
of course, and are given to the atrocious mutilation of
nine-tenths of the offspring committed to their charge,
yet where shall we find communities more universally

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/.

Il6 The Way of All Flesh

respected? Take the cuckoo again — is there any bird
which we like better?"

I saw he was running oS from his own reimniscences
and tried to bring him back to them, but it wa^o use.

"What a fool," he said, "a man is to remember any-
thing that happened more than a week ago unless it was
pleasant, or unless he wants to make some use of it.

("Sensible people get the greater part of their own
dying done during their own lifetime. A man at five and
thirty should no more regret not having had a happier
childhood than he should regret not having been bom a
prince of the blood. He might be happier if he had been
more fortunate in childhood, but, for aught he knows, if
he had, something else might have happened which might
have killed him long ago. If I had to be born again
I would be bom at Battersby of the same father and
mother as before, and I would not alter anything that
'las ever happened to me."

The most amusing incident that I can remember about
his childhood was that when he was about seven years
old he told me he was going to have a natural child.
I asked him his reasons for thinking this, and he ex-
plained that papa and mamma had always told him that
nobody had children till they were married, and as long
as he had believed this of course he had had no idea of
having a child till he was grown up ; but not long since
he had been reading Mrs. Markham's history of England
and had come upon the words, "John of Gaunt had
several natural children"; he had therefore asked his
governess what a natural child was — were not all chil-
dren natural?

"Oh, my dear," said she, "a natural child is a child a
person has before he is married." On this it seemed to
follow logically that if John of Gaunt had had children
before he was married, he, Ernest Pontifex, might have
them also, and he would be obliged to me if I would tell
him what he had better do under the circumstances.

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The Way of All Flesh ny

I enquired how long ago he had made this discovery.
He said about a fortnight, and he did not know where
to look ■Wr the child, for it might come at any moment
"You know," he said, "babies come so suddenly; one
goes to bed one night and next morning there is a baby.
Why, it might die of cold if we are not on the lookout
for it. I hope it will be a boy,"

"And you have told your governess about this ?"

"Yes, but she puts me off and does not help me: she
says it will not come for many years, and she hopes not
then."

"Are you quite sure that you have not made any mis-
take in all this?"

"Oh, no; because Mrs. Bume, you know, called here
a few days ago, and I was sent for to be looked at. And
mamma held me out at arm's length and said, 'Is he Mr.
Pontifex's child, Mrs. Bume, or is he mine?" Of course,
she couldn't have said this if papa had not had some of
the children himself. I did think the gentleman had
all the boys and the lady all the girls ; but it can't be
like this, or else mamma would not have asked Mrs.
Bume to guess ; but then Mrs. Bume said, 'Oh, he's
Mr. Pontifex's child of course,' and I didn't quite know
what she meant by saying 'of course' : it seemed as
though I was right in thinking that the husband has
all the boys and the wife all the girls; I wish you would
explain to me all about it."

This I could hardly do, so I changed the conversa-
tion, after reassuring him as best I could.

CHAPTER XXV

Three or four years after the birth of her daughter,
Christina had had one more child. She had never been
strong since she married, and had a presentiment that
she should not survive this last conBnement. She accord-

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Il8 The Way of All Flesh

ingly wrote the following letter, which was to be given,
as she endorsed upon it, to her sons when Ernest was
sixteen years old. It reached him on his mother's death
many years later, for it was the baby who died now,
and not Christina. It was found among papers which
she had repeatedly and carefully arranged, with the seal
already broken. This, I am afrai(], shows that Christina
had read it and thought it too creditable to be destroyed
when the occasion that had called it forth had gone by.
It is as follows —

"Battersby, March isth, 1841.

"Mv TWO DEAR BOYS, — When this is put into your
hands will you try to bring to mind the mother whom
you lost in your childhood, and whom, I fear, you will
almost have forgotten ? You, Ernest, will remember her
best, for you are past five years old, and the many, many
times that she has taught you your prayers and hymns
and sums and told you stories, and our happy Sunday
evenings will not quite have passed from your mind,
and you, Joey, though only four, will perhaps recollect
some of these things. My dear, dear boys, for the sake
of that mother who loved you very dearly — and for the
sake of your own happiness for ever and ever — attend
to and try to remember, and from time to time read
over again the last words she can ever speak to you.
When I think abouC leaving you all, two things press
heavily upon me: one, your father's sorrow (for you,
my darlings, after missing me a little while, will soon
forget your loss), the other, the everlasting welfare of
my children. I know how long and deep the former will
be, and I know that he will look to his children to be
almost his only earthly comfort. JlYou know (for I am
certain that it will have been so), how he has devoted his
life to you and taught you and laboured to lead you to ail
that is right and good. Oh, then, be sure that you art

The Way of All Flesh 119

his comforts. Let him find you obedient, affectionate and
attentive to his wishes, upright, self-denying and dili-
gent ; let him never blush for or grieve over the sins and
follies of those who owe him such a debt of gratitude,
and whose first duty it is to study his happinessy/ You
have both of you a name which must not be disgraced, a
father and a grandfather of whom to show yourselves
worthy; your respectability and well-doing in life rest .
mainly with yourselves, but far, far beyond earthly
respectability and well-doing, ajid compared with which
they are as nothing, your eternal ha^^iness rests with
yourselves. You know your duty, but snares and
temptations from without beset you, and the nearer you
approach to manhood the more strongly will you feel
this. With God's help, with God's word, and with
humble hearts you will stand tn spite of everything, but
should you leave off seeking in earnest for the first,
and applying to the second, should you learn to trust in
yourselves, or to the advice and example of too many
around you, you will, you must fall. Oh, 'let God be
true and every man a liar.' He says you cannot serve
Him and Mammon. He says that strait is the gate that
leads to eternal life. Many there are who seek to
widen it; they will tell you that such and such self-
indulgences are but venial offences — that this and that
worldly compliance is excusable and even necessary.
The thing cannot be; for in a hundred and a hundred
places He tells you so — look to your Bibles and seek
there whether such counsel is true — and if not, oh, 'halt
not between two opinions,' if God is the Lord follow
Him; only be strong and of a good courage, and He will
never leave you nor forsake you. Remember, there is
not in the Bible one law for the rich, and one for the
poor — one for the educated and one for the ignorant.
To all there is but one thing needful. All are to be
living to God and their fellow-creatures, and not to them-
selves. All must seek first tbe Kingdom of God and

120 The Way of All Flesh

His righteousness — must deny themselves, be pure and
chaste and charitable in the fullest and widest sense —
all, 'forgetting those things that are behind,' must 'press
forward towards the mark, for the prize of the high
calling of God.'

"And now I will add but two things more. Be true
through life to each other, love as only brothers should
do, strengthen, warn, encourage one another, and let
who will be against you, let each feel that in his brother
he has a firm and faithful friend who will be so to the
end; and, ohl be kind and watchful over your dear
sister; without mother or sisters she will doubly need
her brothers' love and tenderness and confidence, I am
certain she will seek them, and will love you and try to
make you happy ; be sure then that you do not fail her,
and remember, that were she to lose her father and
remain unmarried, she would doubly need protectors.
To you, then, I especially commend her. Oh ! my three
darling children, be true to each other, your Father,
and your God. May He guide and bless you, and grant
that in a better and happier world I and mine may meet
again. — Your most affectionate mother,

"Christina Pontifex."

From enquiries I have made, I have satisfied myself
that most mothers write letters like this shortly before
their confinements, and that fifty per cent, keep them
afterwards, as Christina did.

CHAPTER XXVI

The foregoing letter shows how much greater was Chris-
tina's anxiety for the eternal than for the temporal wel-
fare of her sons. One would have thought she had
sowed enough of such religious wild oats by this time.

■, The Way of All Flesh / 121

but she^had plenty still to sow. To me it see ms that
those who are happy in this world are better and more
loraOTe_;;£;eoptr-than those"*TTo~'are iiot7 aind that' thus in
the"event p_f a"Resurrectfott and Day of Judgement, they
win be the most likely to be deemed worthy of a heavenly
mansion. Perhaps a dim unconscious perception of this
was the reason why Christina was so anxious for Theo-
bald's earthly happiness, or was it merely due to a
conviction that his eternal welfare was so much a matter
of course, that it only remained to secure his earthly
happiness ? He was to "find his sons obedient, affection-
ate, attentive to his wishes, self-denying and diligent,"
a. goodly string forsooth of all the virtues most con-
venient to parents ; "he was never to have to blush for
the follies of those "who owed him such a debt of
gratitude," and "whose first duty it was to study his
happiness." How Jike maternal solicitude is this t Solici-
tude for the most part lest the offspring should come to
have wishes and feelings of its own, which may occasion
many difficulties, fancied or real. It is this that is at
tbe bottom of the whole mischief; but whether this last
proposition is granted or no, at any rate we observe
that Christina had a sufficiently keen appreciation of the
duties of children towards their parents, and felt the task
of fulfilling them adequately to be so difficult that she
was vfery doubtful how far Ernest and Joey would
succeed in mastering it. It is plain in fact that her
supposed parting glance upon them was one of sus-
picion. But there was no suspicion of Theobald; that
he should have devoted his life to his children — why, this
was such a mere platitude, as almost to go without
saying.

How, let me ask, was it possible that a child only a
little past five years old, trained in such an atmosphere
of prayers and hymns and sums and happy Sunday
evenings — to say nothing of daily repeated beatings over
the said prayers and hymns, etc., about which our au-

/

^jj The Way of All Flesh j

thol%s3 is silent— how was it possible that a lad so
trained should grow up in any healthy or vigorous de-
velofHuent, .even though in her own way his mother was
undoubtedly very fond of him, and sometimes told him
stories? Can the eye of any reader fail to detect the
coming'wrath of God as about to descend upon the head
of him who should be nurtured tmder the shadow of
such a letter as the foregoing?

I have often thought that the Church of Rome does
wisely in not allowing her priests to marry. Certainly
it is a matter of common observation in England that
the sons of clergymen are frequently unsatisfactory. The
explanation is very simple, but is so often lost sight of
that I may perhaps be pardoned for giving it here.

The clergyman is expected to be a kind of human
Sunday. Icings must not be done in him which are
venial in the week-day classes. He is p&id for this busi-
ness of leading a stricter life than other people. It is
his raison d'etre. It his parishioners feel that he does
this, they approve of him, for they look upon him as
their own contribution towards what they deem a holy
life. This is why the clergyman is so often called a
vicar — he being the person whose vicarious goodn^ is
to stand for that of those entrusted to his charge. But
his home is his castle as much as that of any other Eng-
lishman, and with him, as with others, unnatural tension
in public is followed by exhaustion when tension is no
longer necessary. His children are the most defenceless
things he can reach, and it is on them in nine cases out
of ten that he will relieve his mind.

A clergyman, again, can hardly ever allow himself
to look facts fairly in the face. It is his profession to
support one side; it is impossible, therefore, for him to
make an unbiassed examination of the other.

We forget that every clergyman with a living or
curacy, is as much a paid advocate as the barrister who
is trying to persuade a jury to acquit a prisoner. We

The Way of All Flesh 123 ,

should listen to him with the same suspense of judgment,
the same full consideration of the arguments of the
opposing counsel, as a judge does when he is trying a
case. Unless we know these, and can state them in a
way that our opponents would admit to be a fair repre-
sentation of their views, we have no right to claim that
we have fonned an opinion at all. The misfortune is
that by the law of the land one side tmly can be heard.

Theobald and Christina were no exceptions to the
general rule. When they came to Battersby they had
every desire to fulfil the duties of their position, and
to devote themselves to the honour and glory of God.
But it was Theobald's duty to see the honour and glory
of God through the eyes of a Church which had lived
three hundred years without finding reason to change a
sii^le one of its opinions.

I should doubt whether he ever got as far as doubting
the wisdom of his Church upon any single matter. His
scent for possible mischief was tolerably keen; so was
Christina's, and it is likely that if either of them detected
in him or herself the first faint symptoms of a want of
faith they were nipped no less peremptorily in the bud,
than signs of self-will in Ernest were — and I should
imagine more successfully. Yet Theobald considered
himself, and was generally considered to be, and indeed
perhaps was, an exceptionally truthful person ; indeed he
was generally looked upon as an embodiment of all those
virtues which make the poor respectable and the rich
respected. In the course of time he and his wife became
persuaded even to unconsciousness, that no one could
even dwell under their roof without deep cause for
thankfulness. Their children, their servants, their
parishioners must be fortunate ipso facto that they were
theirs. There was no road to happiness here or here-
after, but the road that they had themselves travelled,
no good people who did not think as they did upon every
subject, and no reasonable person who had wants the

124 The Way of All Flesh

gratification of which would be inconvenient to them —

Theobald and Christina,

This was how it came to pass that their children were

white and puny ; they were suffering from kome-sickness.

They were starving, through being over-crammed with

the wrong things. Nature came down upon them, but
: not come down on Theobald and Christina, Why
she? They were not leadmg a starved existence,
are two classes of people in this world, those who
d those who are sinned against ; if a man must
to either, he had better belong to the first than
second.

CHAPTER XXVII

I WILL give no more of the details of my hero's earlier
years. Enough that he struggled through them, and at
twelve years old knew every page of his Latin and Greek
Grammars by heart. He had read the greater part of
Virgil, Horace and Livy, and I do not know how many
Greek plays : he was proficient in arithmetic, knew the
first four books of Euclid thoroughly, and had a fair
knowledge of French. It was now time he went to
school, and to school he was accordingly to go, under
the famous Dr. Skinner of Roughborough,

Theobald had known Dr. Skinner slightly at Cam-
bridge, He had been a burning and a shining light in
every position he had filled from his boyhood upwards.
He was a very great genius. Everyone knew this ; they
said, indeed, that he was one of the few people to whom
the word genius could be applied without exaggeration.
Had he not taken I don't know how many University
Scholarships in his freshman's year? Had he not been
afterwards Senior Wrangler, First Chancellor's Medal-
list and I do not know how many more things besides ?
And then, he was such a wonderful speaker; at the
Union Debating Club he had been without a rival, and

The Way of All Flesh 125

had, of course, been president; his moral character — a
point on which so many geniuses were weak — was abso-
lutely irreproachable; foremost of all, however, among
his many great qualities, and perhaps more remarkable
even than his genius was what biographers have called
"the simple-minded and childlike earnestness of his
character," an earnestness which might be perceived by
the solemnity with which he spoke even about trifles. It
is hardly necessar y to sav Ije was on the Liberal side in

His personal appearance was not particularly pre-
possessing. He was about the middle height, portly, and
had a couple of fierce grey eyes, that flashed fire from
beneath a pair of great, bushy, beetling eyebrows and
overawed all who came near him. It was in respect of
his personal appearance, however, that, if he was vulner-
able at all, his weak place was to be found. His hair
when he was a young man was red, but after he had
taken his d^ree he had a brain fever which caused him
to have his head shaved ; when he reappeared he did so
wearing a wig, and one which was a good deal further
off red than his own hair had been. He not only had
never discarded his wig, but year by year it had edged
itself a little more and a little more off red, till by the
time he was forty, there was not a trace of red remain-
ing, and his wig was brown.

When Dr. Skinner was a very young man, hardly more
than five-and-twenty, the head-mastership of Rough-
borough Grammar School had fallen vacant, and he
had been unhesitatingly appointed. The result justified
the selection. Dr. Skinner's pupils distinguished them-
selves at whichever University they went to. H^
moulded their minds after the model of his own, aqd \
stamped an impression upon them which was indelible
in after-life; whatever else a Roughborough man mignt
be, he was sur e to ipake everyone feel
God-fearing ' eariiest-Oiristiarrs "

//^

126 The Way of All Flesh

Radical, in politics. Some boys, of course, were in-
capable of appreciating the beauty, and loftiness of Dr.
Skinner's nature. Some such boys, alas I there will be in
every school; upon them Dr. Skinner's hand was very
properly a heavy one. His hand was against them, and
theirs against him during the whole time of the connec-
tion between them. They not only disliked him, but they
hated all that he more especially embodied, and through-
out their lives disliked all that reminded them of him.
Such boys, however, were in a minority, the spirit of
the place being decidedly Skinnerian.

I oace had the honour of playing a game of chess
with this great man. It was during the Christmas holi-
tlays, and I had come down to Roughborongh for a few
days to see Alethea Pontifex (who was then livti^
there) on business. It was very gracious of him to
take notice of me, for if I was a light of literature at all
it was of the very lightest kind.

It is true that in the intervals of business I had written
a good deal, but my works had been almost exclusively
for the stage, and for those theatres that devoted them-
selves to extravanganza and burlesque. I had written
many pieces of this description, full of puns and comic
songs, and they had had a fair success, but my best piece
had been a treatment of English history during the
Reformation period, in the course of which I had intro-
duced Cranmer, Sir Thomas More, Henry the Eighth,
Catherine of Arragon, and Thomas Cromwell (in his
youth better known as the Malleus Monackorum) , and
had made them dance a break-down. I had also drama-
tised "The Pilgrim's Prepress" for a Christmas Paato-
mtme, and made an important scene of Vanity Fair, with
Mr. Greatheart, Apollyon, Christiana, Mercy, and H<^>e-
ful as the principal characters. The orchestra played
music taken from Handel's best known worics, but the
time was a good deal altered, and altt^ther the tunes
were not exactly as Handel left them. Mr. Greathpirt

The Way of All Flesh 127

was very stout and he had a red nose ; he wore a capa-
cious waistcoat, and a shirt with a huge frill down the
middle of the front. Hopeful was up to as much mis-
chief as I could give him; he wore the costume of a
young swell of the period, and had a cigar in his mouth
which was continually going out.

Christiana did not wear much of anything: indeed It
was said that the dress which the Stage Manager had
originally proposed for her had been considered inade-
quate even by the Lord Chamberlain, but this is not the
case. With all these delinquencies upon my mind it was
natural that I should feel convinced of sin while playing
chess (which I hate) with the great Dr. Skinner of
Roughborough — the historian of Athens and editor of
Demosthenes. Dr. Skinner, moreover, was one of those
who pride themselves on being able to set people at
their ease at once, and I had been sitting on the edge of
my chair all the evening. But I have always been very
easily overawed by a schoolmaster.

The game had been a long one, and at half-past nine,
when supper came in, we had each of us a few pieces
remaining. "What will you take for suf^r. Dr. Skin-
ner?" said Mrs. Skinner in a silvery voice.

He made nd answer for some time, but at last in a
tone of ahnost superhuman solemnity, he said, first,
"Nothing," and then, "Nothing whatever."

By and by, however, I had a sense come over me as
though I were nearer the consummation of all things
than I had ever yet been. The room seemed to grow
dark, as an expression came over Dr. Skinner's face,
which showed that he was about to speak. The expres-
sion gathered force, the room grew darker and darker.
"Stay," he at length added, and I felt that here at any
rate was an end to a suspense which was rapidly becom-
ing unbearable. "Stay — I may presently take a glass of
cold water — and a small piece of bread and butter."

As be said the word "butter" his voice sank to a

128 The Way of All Flesh

hardly audible whisper j then there was a sigh as though
of relief when the sentence was concluded, and the
universe this time was safe.

Another ten minutes of solemn silence finished the
game. The Doctor rose briskly from his seat and placed
himself at the supper table. "Mrs. Skinner," he ex-
claimed jauntily, "what are those mysterious-looking
objects surrounded by potatoes?"

"Those are oysters. Dr. Skinner."

"Give me some, and give Overton some."

And so on till he had eaten a g:ood plate of oysters, a
scallop shell of minced veal nicely browned, some apple
tart, and a hunk of bread and cheese. This was the
small piece of bread and butter.

The cloth was now removed and tumblers with tea-
spoons in them, a lemon or two and a jug of boilit^
water were placed upon the table. Then the great man
unbent. His face beamed.

"And what shall it be to drink?" he exclaimed per-
suasively. "Shall it be brandy and water? No. It
shall be gin and water. Gin is the more wholesome
liquor."

So ^n it was, hot and stiff, too.

Who can wonder at him or do anything but pity him?
Was he not head-master of Robghboroi^h School? To
whom had he owed money at any time? Whose ox had
he taken, whose ass had he taken, or whom had he
defrauded? What whisper had ever been breathed
against his moral character? If he had become rich it
was by the most honourable of all means — his literary
attainments ; over and above his great works of scholar-
ship, his "Meditations upon the Epistle and Character
of St. Jude" had placed him among the most popular of
English Hicologians ; it was so exhaustive that no <Mie
who bought it need ever meditate upon the subject again
— indeed it exhausted all who had anything to do with
it. He had made ^5000 by this work alone, and woukl

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The Way of All Flesh 139

very likely make another ;£5ooo before he died. A man
who had done all this and wanted a piece of'bread and
butter had a right to announce the fact with some pomp
and circumstance. Nor should his words be taken with-
out searching for what he used to call a "deeper and
more hidden meaning." Those who searched for this
even in his lightest utterances would not be without
their reward. They would find that "bread and butter"
was Skinnerese for oyster-patties and apple tart, and
"gin hot" the true translation of water.

But independently of their money value, his works had
made him a lasting name in literature. So probably
Gallio was under the impression that his fame would
rest upon the treatises on natural history which we
gather from Seneca that he compiled, and which for
aught we know may have contained a complete theory
of evolution ; but the treatises are all gone and Gallio has
become immortal for the very last reason in the world
that he expected, and for the very last reason that would
have flattered his vanity. He has become immortal be-
cause he cared nothing about the most important move-
ment with which he was ever brought into connection
(I wish people who are in search of immortality would
lay the lesson to heart and not make so much noise
about important movements), and so, if Dr. Skinner
becomes immortal, it will probably be for some reason
very different from the one which he so fondly imagined.

Could it be expected to enter into the head of such a
man as this that in reality he was making his money by
corrupting youth ; that it was his paid profession to make
the worse appear the better reason in the eyes of those
who were too young and inexperienced to be able to
find him out; that he kept out of the sight of those
whom he professed to teach material points of the
argument, for the production of which they had a right
to rely upon the honour of anyone who made profes-
sions of sinceri^; that he was a passionate, haif-turkey-

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130 The Way of All Flesh

cock, half-^ander of a man whos&sallow, bilious face and
hobble-gobble voice could scare the timid, but who would
take to his heels readily enough if he were met firmly;
that his "Meditations on St. Jude," such as they were,
were cribbed without acknowledgment, and would have
been beneath contempt if so many people did not believe
them to have been written honestly? Mrs. Skinner might
have perhaps kept him a little more in his proper place
if she had thought it worth while to try, but she had
enough to attend to in lootdt^ after her household and
seeing that the boys were well fed and, if they were iU,
properly looked after — which she took good care they
were.

CHAPTER XXVni

Ernest had heard awful accounts of Dr. Skmoer's tem-
per, and of the bullying which the younger boys at
Roughborough had to put up with at the hands of the
bigger ones. He had now got about as much as he cou^
stand, and felt as though it must go hard with him if his
burdens of whatever kind were to be increased. He did
not cry on leaving home, but I am afraid he did on being
told that he was getting near Roughborough. His father
and mother were with him, having posted from hc^ne in
their own carriage; Roughborough had as yet no rail-
way, and as it was only some forty mites from Battersby,
this was the easiest way of getting there.

On seeing him cry, his mother felt flattered and
caressed him. She said she knew he must feel very sad
at leaving such a happy home, and going among people
who, though they would be very good to him, could
never, never be as good as his dear papa and she had
been ; still, she was herself, if he only knew it, much
more deserving of pity than he was, for the parting was
more painful to her than it could possibly be to him, etc.,
and Eraest, on beitig told tliat his tears were for grief

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The Way of All Flesh 131

at leaving home, took it all on trust, and did not trouble
to investigate the real cause of his tears. As they
approached Roughbarough he pulled himself together,
and was fairly calm by the time he reached Dr. Skinner's.

On their arrival they had luncheon with the Doctor
and his wife, and then Mrs. Skinner took Christina over
the bedrooms, and showed her where her dear little boy
was to sleep.

Whatever men may think about the study of man,
women do really believe the noblest study for woman-
kind to be woman, and Christina was too much engrossed
with Mrs. Skinner to pay much attention to anything
else; I daresay Mrs. Skinner, too, was taking pretty
accurate stock of Christina. Christina was charmed, as
indeed she generally was with any new acquaintance, for
she foimd in them (and so must we all) something of
the nature of a cross; as for Mrs. Skinner, I imagine
she" had seen too many Christinas to find much regenera-
tion in the sample now before her; I believe her private
opinion echoed the dictum of a well-known head-master
who declared that all parents were fools, but more es-
pecially mothers ; she was, however, all smiles and sweet-
ness, and Christina devoured these graciously as tributes
paid more particularly to herself, and such as no otiier
mother would have been at all likely to have won.

In the meantime Theobald and Ernest were with Dr.
Skinner in his library — the room where new boys were
examined and old ones had up for rebuke or chastise-
ment. If the walls of that room could speak, what an
amount of blundering and capricious cruelty would they
not bear witness to!

Like all houses, Dr. Skinner's had its peculiar smell.
In this case the prevailing odour was one of Russia
leather, but along with it there was a subordinate savour
as of a chemist's shop. This came from a small labora-
tory in one comer of the room — the possession of which,
t<^ether with the free chattery and smattery use ^t such

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132 The Way of All Flesh

words as "carbonate," "hyposulphite," "phosphate," and
"affinity," were enough to convince even the most scep-
tical that Dr. Skinner had a profound knowledge of
chemistry.

I may say in passing that Dr. Skinner had dabbled in
a great many other things as well as chemistry. He
was a man of many small knowledges, and each of them
dangerous. I remember Alethea Pontifex once said in
her wicked way to me, that Dr. Skinner put her in mind
of the Bourbon princes on their return from exile after
the battle of Waterloo, only that he was their exact
converse; for whereas thejTiiad learned nothing and
forgotten nothing, Dr. Skinner had learned everythii^
and forgotten everything. And this puts me in mind
of another of her wicked sayings about Dr. Skinner.
She told me one day that he had the harmlessness of the
serpent and the wisdom of the dove. ^

But to return to Dr. Skinner's library ; over the chim-
ney-piece there was a Bishop's half length portrait of
Dr. Skinner himself, painted by the elder Picl^ersgill,
whose merit Dr. Skinner had been among the. first to
discern and foster. There were no other pictures in the
library, but in the dining-room there was a fine collec-
tion, which the Doctor had got together with his usual
consummate taste. He added to it largely in later life,
and when it came to the hammer at Christie's, as it did
not long since, it was found to comprise many of the
latest and most matured works of Solomon Hart, O'Neil,
Charles Landseer, and more of our recent Academicians
than I can at the moment remember. There were thus
brought together and exhibited at one view many works
which had attracted attention at the Academy Exhibi-
tions, and as to whose ultimate destiny there had been
some curiosity. The prices realised were disappointing
to the executors, but, then, these things are so much a
matter of chance. An unscrupulous writer in a well-
known weekly paper had written the collection down.

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The Way of All Flesh 133

Moreover there had been one or two large sales a short
time before Dr. Skinner's, so that at this.last there was
rather a panic, and a reaction against the high prices
that had ruled lately.

The table of the library was loaded with books many
deep; MSS. of all kinds were confusedly mixed up with
them, — 'boys' exercises, probably, and examination papers
— ^but all littering untidily about. The room in fact was
as depressing from its slatternliness as from its atmos-
phere of erudition. Theobald and Ernest as they entered
it, stumbled oyer a large hole in the Turkey carpet, and
the dust that rose showed how long it was since it had
been taken up and beaten. This, I should say, was no
fault of Mrs. Skinner's but was due to the Doctor him- "
self, who declared that if his papers were once disturbed
it would be the death of him. Near the window was a
green cage containing a pair of turtle doves, whose plain-
tive cooing added to the melancholy of the place. The
walls were covered with book shelves from floor to
■Ung, and on every shelf the books stood in double
It was horrible. Prominent among the most
']fct upon the most prominent shelf were a series
tidly bound volumes entitled "Skinner's Works."
■are sadly apt to rush to conclusions, and Ernest
that Dr. Skinner knew all the books in this
I library, and that he, if he were to be any good,
■have to learn them too. His h^art fainted within

was told to sit on a chair against the wall and did

Bile Dr. Skinner talked to Theobald upon the topics

\ day. He talked about the Hampden Controversy

■raging, and discoursed learnedly about "Praemu-

; then he talked about the revolution which had

Vbroken out in Sicily, and rejoiced that the Pope

■refused to allow foreign troops to pass through his

'nions in order to crush it. Dr. Skinner and the

- masters took in the Times among them, and Dr.

134 The Way of All Flesh

Skinner echoed the Times' leaders. In those days there
were no penny papers and Theobald only took in the
Spectator — for he was at that lime on the Whig side in
politics; besides this he used to receive the Ecclesiasticai
Gazette once a month, but he saw no other papers, and
was amazed at the ease and fluency with which Dr.
Skinner ran from subject to subject.

The Pope's action in the matter of the Sicilian revo-
lution naturally led the Doctor to the reforms which his
Holiness had introduced into his dominions, and be
laughed consumedly over the joke which had not long
since appeared in Punch, to the effect that Pio "No, No,"
should rather have been named Pio "Yes, Yes," because,
as the Doctor explained, he granted everything his sub-
jects asked for. Anything like a pun went straight to
Dr. Skinner's heart.

Then he went on to the matter of these reforms them-
selves. They opened up a new era in the history of
Christendom, and would have such momentous and far-
reaching consequences, that they might even lead to a
reconciliation between the Churches of England and
Rome. Dr. Skinner had lately published a pamphlet'Upon
this subject, which had shown great learning, and'had
attacked the Church of Rome in a way which did not
promise much hope of reconciliation. He iiad grounded
his attack upon the letters A.M.D.G., which he had siien
outside a Roman Catholic chapel, and which of course
stood for Ad Mariam Dei Genetricem. Could anything
be more idolatrous?

I am told, by the way, that I must have let my memory
play me one of the tricks it often does play me, when I
said the Doctor proposed Ad Mariam Dei Genetricem as
the full harmonies, so to speak, which should be coor
structed upon the bass A.M.D.G., for that this is bad
Latin, and that the doctor really harmonised the letters
thus: Ave Maria Dei Genetrix. No doubt the doctor
did what was right in the matter of Latinity — I have

The Way of All Flesh 135

forgotten the little Latin I ever knew, and am not going
to look the matter up, but I believe the doctor said Ad
Mariam Dei Genelricem, and if so we may be sure that '
Ad Mariatn Dei Genelricem is good enough Latin at any
rate for ecclesiastical purposes.

The reply of the local priest had not yet appeared, and
Dr. Skinner was jubilant, but when the answer appeared,
and it was solemnly declared that A.M.D.G. stood for
nothing more dan^rous than Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam,
it was felt that though this subterfuge would not succeed
with any intelligent Englishman, still it was a pity Dr.
Skinner had selected this particular point for his attack,
for he had to leave his enemy in possession of the field.
When people are left in possession of the field, spectators
have an awkward habit of thinking that their adversary
does not dare to come to the scratch.

Dr. Skinner was telling Theobald all about his pam-
phlet, and I doubt whether this gentleman was much
more comfortable than Ernest himself. He was bored,
for in his heart he hated Liberalism, though he was
ashamed to say so, and, as I have said, professed to be
on the Whig side. He did not want to be reconciled to
the Church of Rome; he wanted to make all Roman
Catholics turn Protestants, and could never understand
why they would not do so; but the Doctor talked in
such a truly liberal spirit, and shut him up so sharply
when he tried to edge in a word or two, that he had to
let him have it all his own way, and this was not what
he was accustomed to. He was wondering how he could
bring it to an end, when a diversion was created by the
discovery that Ernest had begun to cry — doubtless
throt^h an intense but inarticulate sense of a boredom
greater than he could bear. He was evidently in a
highly nervous state, and a good deal upset by the excite-
ment of the morning ; Mrs. Skinner therefore, who came
in with Christina at this juncture, proposed that he
should spend the afternoon with Mrs. Jay, the matron.

136 The Way of All Flesh

and not be introduced to his young companions until the
following moming. His father and mother now bade
him an affectionate farewell, and the lad was handed
over to Mrs. Jay,

O schoolmasters — if any of you read this book — bear
in mind when any particularly timid, drivelling urchin is
brought by his papa into your study, and you treat him
with ■ the contempt which he deserves, and afterwards
make his life a burden to him for years — bear in mind
that it is exactly in the disguise of such a boy as this
that your future chronicler will appear. Never see a
wretched little heavy-eyed mite sitting on the edge of a
chair against your study wall without saying to your-
selves, "Perhaps this boy is he who, if I am not careful,
will one day tell the world what manner of man I was."
If even two or three schoolmasters learn this lesson and
remember it, the preceding chapters will not have been
written in vain.

CHAPTER XXIX

Soon after his father and mother had left him Ernest
dropped asleep over a book which Mrs. Jay had given
him, and he did not awake till dusk. Then he sat
down on a stool in front of the fire, which showed
pleasantly in the late January twilight, and began to
muse. He felt weak, feeble, ill at ease and unable to
see his way out of the innumerable troubles that were
before him. Perhaps, he said to himself, he might even
die, but this, far from being an end of his troubles, would
prove the beginning of new ones; for at the best he
would only go to Grandpapa Pontifex and Grandmamma
Allaby, and though they would perhaps be more easy to
get on with than papa and mamma, yet they were un-
doubtedly not so really good, and were more worldly;
moreover they were grown-up people — especially Grand-

The Way of All Flesh 137

papa Pontifex, who so far as he could understand had
been very much grown-up, and he did not know why, but
there was always something that kept him from loving
any grown-up people very much — except one or two of
the servants, who had indeed been as nice as anything
that he could imagine. Besides even if he were to die
and go to Heaven he supposed he should have to com-
plete his education somewhere.

In the meantime his father and mother were rolling
along the muddy roads, each in his or her own comer of
the carriage, and each revolving many things which were
and were not to come to pass. Times have changed since
I last showed them to the reader as sitting together
silently in a carriage, but except as regards their mutual
relations, they have altered singularly little. When I
was youi^er I used to think the Prayer Book was wrong
in requiring us to say the General Confession twice a
week from childhood to old age, without making pro-
vision for our not being quite such great sinners at
seventy as we had been at seven ; granted that we should
go to the wash like table-cloths at least once a week,
still I used to think a day ought to come when we should
want rather less rubbing and scrubbing at. Now that I
have grown older myself I have seen that the Church has
estimated probabilities better than I had done.

The pair said not a word to one another, but watched
the fading light and naked trees, the brown fields with
here and there a melancholy cottage by the roadsid^
and the rain that fell fast upon the carriage windows.
It was a kind of afternoon on which nice people for
the most part like to he snug at home, and Theobald
was a little snappish at reflecting how many miles he
had to post before he could be at his own fireside again.
However, there was nothing for it, so the pair sat quietly
and watched the roadside objects flit by them, and get
greyer and grimmer as the light faded.

Though they spoke not to one another, there was one

138 file Way of All Flesh

nearer to each of them with whom they could converse
freely. "I hope," said Theobald to himself, "I hope he'll
work — or else that Skinner will make him. I don't like
Skinner, I never did like him, but he is unquestionably a
man of genius, and no one turns out so many pupils who
succeed at Oxford and Cambridge, and that is the best
test, I have done my share towards starting him well.
Skinner said he had been well grounded and was very
forward. I suppose he will presume upon it now and
do nothing, for his nature is an idle one. He is not fond
of me, I'm sure he is not. He ought to be after all the
trouble I have taken with him, but he is ungrateful and
selfish. It is an unnatural thing for a boy not to be fond
of his own father. If he was fond of me I should be
fond of him, but I cannot like a son who, I am sure,
dislikes me. He shrinks out of my way whenever he sees
me coming near him. He will not stay five minutes in
the same room with me if he can help it. He is deceitful.
He would not want to hide himself away so much if he
were not deceitful. That is a bad sign and one which
makes me fear he will grow up extravagant. I am sure
he will grow up extravagant. I should have given him
more pocket-money if I had not known this — but what is
the good of giving him pocket-money? It is all gone
directly. If he doesn't buy something with it he gives it
away to the first little boy or girl he sees who takes his
fancy. He forgets that it's my money he is giving away.
I give him money that he may have money and leam to
know its uses, not that he may go and squander it imme-
diately. I wish he was not so fond of music; it will
interfere with his Latin and Greek. I will stop it as
much as I can. Why, when he was translating Livy the
other day he slipped out Handel's name in mistake for
Hannibal's, and his mother tells me he knows half the
tunes in the 'Messiah' by heart. What should a boy of
his age know about the 'Messiah'? If I had shown half
as many dangerous tendencies when I was a boy, my

The Way of All Flesh 139

father would have apprenticed me to a greengrocer, of
that I'm very sure," etc., etc.

Then his thoughts turned to Egypt and the tenth
plague. It seemed to him that if the little Egyptians had
been anything like Ernest, the plague must have been
something very like a blessing in disguise. If the Israel-
ites were to come to England now he should be greatly
tempted not to let them go.

Mrs. Theobald's thoughts ran in a diflferent current
"Lord Lons ford's grandson — it's a pity his name is
Fi^ins ; however, blood is blood as much through the
female line as the male ; indeed, perhaps even more so if
the truth were known. I wonder who Mr. nggins was.
I think Mrs. Skinner said he was dead ; however, I must
find out all about him. It would be delightful if young
Figgins were to ask Ernest home for the holidays. Who
knows but he might meet Lord Lonsford himself, or at
any rate some of Lord Lonsford's other descendants?"

Meanwhile the boy himself was still sitting moodily
before the fire in Mrs. Jay's room. "Papa and mamma,"
he was saying to himself, "are much better and cleverer
than anyone else, but, I, alas 1 shall never be either good
or clever."

Mrs. Pont if ex continued —

"Perhaps it would be best to get yotmg Figgins on a
visit to ourselves first. That would be charming. Theo-
bald would not like it, for he does not like children ; I
mast see how I can man^e it, for it would be so nice
to have young Figgins — or stay I Ernest shall go and
stay with Figgins and meet the future Lord Lonsford,
who I should think must be about Ernest's age, and then
if he and Ernest were to become friends Ernest might
ask him to Battersby, and he might fall in love with
Charlotte. I think we have done most wisely in sending
Ernest to Dr. Skinner's, Dr. Skinner's piety is no less
remarkable than his genius. One can tell these things
,at a glance, and he must have felt it about me no less

140 The Way of All Flesh

strongly than I about him. I think he seemed much
struck with Theobald and myself — indeed, Theobald's
intellectual power must impress any one, and I was
showing, I do believe, to my best advantage. When I
smiled at him and said I left my boy in his hands with
the most entire confidence that he would be as well cared
for as if he were at my own house, I am sure he was
greatly pleased. I should not think many of the mothers
who bring him boys can impress him so favourably, or
say such nice things to him as I did. My smile is sweet
when I desire to make it so. I never was perh<q>s
exactly pretty, but I was always admitted to be fascinat-
ii^. Dr. Skinner is a very handsome man — too good on
the whole I should say for Mrs. Skinner. Theobald says
he is not handsome, but men are no judges, and he has
such a pleasant, bright face I think my bonnet became
me. As soon as I get home I will tell Chambers to

trim my blue and yellow merino with " etc., etc.

All this time the letter which has been given above was
lying in Christina's private little Japanese cabinet, read
and re-read and approved of many times over, not to
say, if the truth were known, rewritten more than once,
though dated as in the first instance — and this, too,
though Christina was fond enough of a joke in a small
way.

Ernest, still in Mrs, Jay's room, mused onward.
! "Grown-up people," he said to himself, "when they were
I ladies and gentlemen, never did naughty things, but he
/ was always doing them. He had heard that some grown-
f up people were worldly, which of course was wrong, still
this was quite distinct from being naughty, and did not
get them punished or scolded. His own papa and
mamma were not even worldly; they had often ex-
plained to him that they were exceptionally unworldly;
he well knew that they had never done anything nai^hty
since they had been children, and that even as children
(hey had been nearly faultless. Oh I how different from

The Way of All FlesK 141

\himselfl When should he learn to love his papa and
inanuna as they had loved theirs ? How could he hope
fever to grow up to be as good and wise as they, or even

glerably good and wise? Alas I never. It could not be.
e did not love his papa and mattuna, in spite of all their
goodness both in themselves and to him. He hated
bapa, and did not like mamma, and this was what
Tione but a bad and ungrateful boy would do after
/'all that had been done for him. Besides, he did not like
Sunday ; he did not like anything that was really good ;
his tastes were low and such as he was ashamed of.
I He liked people best if they sometimes swore a little,
[so long as it was not at him. As for his Catechism and
! Bible readings he had no heart in them. He had never
j attended to a sermon in his life. Even when he had been
I tdken to hear Mr. Vaughan at Brighton, who, as everyone
/ knew, preached such beautiful sermons for children, he
j had been very glad when it was all over, nor did he
I believe he could get through church at all if it was not
( for the voluntary upon the oi^n and the hymns and
\ chantii^. The Catechism was awfuL He had never
': been able to understand what it was that he desired of
■ his Lord God and Heavenly Father, nor had he yet got
' hold of a single idea in connection with the word Sacra-
.ment. His duty towards his neighbour was another bi^-
ibear. It seemed to him that he had duties towards
1 everybody, lying in wait for him upon every side, but
• that nobody had any duties towards him. Then there
I was that awful and mysterious word 'business.' What
; did it all mean? What was 'business'? His papa was
] a wonderfully good man of business, his mamma had
< often told him so— but he should never be one. It was
, hopeless, and very awful, for people were continually
telling him that he would have to earn his own living.
No doubt, but how — considering how stupid, idle, ig-
norant, self-indulgent, and physically puny he was? All
grown-up people were clever, except servants — and even

142 The Way of All Flesh

' these were cleverer than ever he should be. Oh, why,
why, why, could not people be bora lato the world as
grown-up persons ? Then he thought of Casabianca. He
had been examined in that poem by his father not long be-
fore. 'When only would he leave his position ? To whom
did he call ? Did he get an answer ? Why ? Hqw many
times did he call upon his father? What happened to
him? What was the noblest life that perished there?
Do you think so? Why do you think so?* And all the
rest of it. Of course he thought Calsabianca's was the
noblest life that perished there ; there could be no two
opinions about that; it never occurred to htm that the
moral of the poem was that young people cannot begin
too sooa to exercise discretion in the obedience they
pay to their papa and mamma. Oh, nol the only
thought in his mind was that he should never, never
have been like Casabianca, and that Casabianca would
have despised him so much, if he could have known
him, that he would not have condescended to speak to
him. There was nobody else in the ship worth reckoning
at all : it did not matter how much they were blown up.
Mrs. Hemans knew them all and they were a very in-
different lot. Besides, Casabianca was so good-looking
and came of such a good family."

And thus his small mind kept wandering on till be
could follow it no longer, and again went oS into a doze.

CHAPTER XXX

Next morning Theobald and Christina arose feeling a
little tired from their journey, but happy in that best of
all happiness, the approbation of their consciences. It
would be their boy's fault henceforth if he were not
good, and as prosperous as it was at all desirable that he
should be. What more could parents do than they had
done? The answer "Nothing" will rise as readily to the

The Way of All Flesh 143

lips of the reader as to those of Theobald and Christina
themselves.

A few days later the parents were gratified at receiv-
ing th« following letter from their son —

"Mv Dear Mamma, — I am very well. Dr. Skinner
made me do about the horse free and exulting roamit^
in the wide fields in Latin verse, but as I had done it
with Papa I knew how to do it, and it was nearly all
right, and he put me in the fourth form under Mr.
Templer, and I have to begin a new Latin grammar not
like the old, but much harder. I know you wish me to
work, and I will try very hard. With best love to Joey
and Charlotte, and to Papa, I remain, your affectionate
son, Ernest."

Nothing could be nicer or more proper. It really did
seem as though he were inclined to turn over a new leaf.
The boys had all come back, the examinations were over,
and the routine of the half year began; Ernest found
that his fears about being kicked about and bullied were
exaggerated. Nobody did anything very dreadful to
him. He had to run errands between certain hours for
the elder boys, and to take his turn at greasing the
footballs, and so forth, but there was an excellent spirit
in the school as regards bullying.

Nevertheless, he was far from happy. Dr. Skinner
was much too like his father. True, Ernest was not
thrown in with him much yet, but he was always there ;
there was no knowing at what moment he might not put
in an appearance, and whenever he did show, it was to
storm about something. He was like the lion in the
Bishop of Oxford's Sunday story — always liable to rush
out from behind some bush and devour some one when
he was least expected. He called Ernest "an audacious
reptile" and said he wandered the earth did not open
and swallow him up because he pronounced Thalia with

144 The Way of All Flesh

a short i. "And this to me," he thundered, "who never
made a false quantity in my life." Surely he would have
been a much nicer person if he had made false quantities
in his youth like other people. Ernest could not imagine
how the boys in Dr. Skinner's form continued to live;
but yet they did, and even throve, and, strange as it may
seem, idolised him, or professed to do so in after life.
To Ernest it seemed like living on the crater of
Vesuvius.

He was himself, as has been said, in Mr. Templer's
form, who was snappish, but not downright wicked,
and was very easy to crib under. Ernest used to wonder
how Mr, Templer could be so blind, for he supposed
Mr. Templer must have cribbed when be was at school,
and would ask himself whether he should forget his
youth when he got old, as Mr. Templer had forgotten
his. He used to think he never could possibly forget
any part of it.

Then there was Mrs. Jay, who was sometimes very
alarming. A few days after the half year had com-
menced, there being some little extra noise in the hall,
she rushed in with her spectacles on her forehead and
her cap strings flying, and called the boy whom Ernest
had selected as his hero the "rampingest-scampingest-
rackety-tackety-tow-row-roaringest boy in the whole
school." But she used to say things that Ernest liked.
If the Doctor went out to tlinner, and there were no
prayers, she would come in and say, "Young gentlemen,
prayers are excused this evening" ; and, take her for all
in all, she was a kindly old soul enotigh.

Most boys soon discover the difference between noise
and actual danger, but to others it is so unnatural to
menace, unless they mean mischief, that they are long
before they leave off taking turkey-cocks and ganders
au sMeux. Ernest was one of the latter sort, and found
the atmosphere of Roughborough so gusty that he was

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The Way of All Flesh 145

glad to shrink out of sight and out of mind whenever "^
he could. He disliked the games worse even than the
squalls of the class-room and hall, for he was still
feeble, not filling out and attaining his full strength till
a much later age than most boys. This was perhaps due
to the closeness with which his father had kept him to
his books in childhood, but I think in part also to a
tendency towards lateness in attaining maturity, heredi-
tary in the Pontifex family, which was one also of
unusual longevity. At thirteen or fourteen he was a
mere bag of bones, with upper arms about as thick as
the wrists of other hoys of his age; his little chest was
pigeon-breasted; he appeared to have no strength or
stamina whatever, and finding he always went to the wall
in physical encounters, whether undertaken in jest or
earnest, even with boys shorter than himself, the timidity
natural to childhood increased upon him to an extent that
I am afraid amoimted to cowardice. This rendered him
even less capable than he might otherwise have been,
for as confidence increases power, so want of confidence
increases impotence. After he had had the breath
knocked out of him and been well shinned half a dozen
times in scrimmages at football — scrimmages in which
he had become involved sorely against his will — he
ceased to see any further fun in football, and shirked
that noble game in a way that got him into trouble with
the elder boys, who would stand no shirkit^ on the part
of the younger ones.

He was as useless and ill at ease with cricket as with
football, nor in spite of all his efforts could he ever
throw a ball or a stone. It soon became plain, therefore,
to everyone that Pontifex was a young muff, a molly-
coddle, not to be tortured, but still not to be rated highly.
He was not, however, actively unpopular, for it was
seen that he was quite square inter pares, not at all vin-
dictive, easily pleased, perfectly free with whatever little

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146 The Way of All Flesh

Dtoney he had, no greater lover of his school work than
of the games, and generally more inclinable to moderate
vice than to immoderate virtue.

These qualities will prevent any boy from sinking very
low in the opinion of his school-fellows; but Ernest
thought he had fallen lower than he probably had, and
hated and despised himself for what he, as much as
anyone else, believed to be his cowardice. He did not
like the boys whom he thought like himself. His heroes
were strong and vigorous, and the less they inclined
towards htm the more he worshij^}ed them. AH this
made him very unhappy, for it never occurred to him
that the instinct which made him keep out of games for
which he was ill adapted, was more reasonable than the
reason which would have driven him into them. Never-
theless he followed his instinct for the most part, rather
than his reason. Sapiens suam si si^ientiam ndrit.

CHAPTER XXXI

With the masters Ernest was ere long in absolute dis-
grace. He had more liberty now than he had known
heretofore. The heavy hand and watchful eye of Theo-
bald were no longer about his path and ab<3ut his bed
and spying out all his ways ; and punishment by way of
copying out lines of Virgil was a very different thing
from the savage beatings of his father. The copying
out in fact was often less trouble than the lesson. Latin
and Greek had nothing in them which commended them
to his instinct as likely to bring him peace even at the
last; still less did they hold out any hope of doing so
within some more reasonable time. The deadness in-
herent in these defunct languages themselves had never
been artificially counteracted by a system of bona Ude
rewards for application. There had been any amount of
ptmishments for want of application, but no good com-

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The Way of All Flesh 147

fortabte bribes had baited the hook which was to allure
him to his good.

Indeed, the more pleasant side of learning to do this
or that had always been treated as something with which'
Ernest had no concern. We had no business with pleas-
ant things at all, at any rate very little business, at any
rate not he, Ernest. We were put into this world not
for pleasure but duty, and pleasure had in it something
more or less sinful in its very essence. If we were doing
anything we liked, we, or at any rate he, Ernest, should
apologise and think he wss being very mercifully dealt
with, if not at once tol<^ to go and do something else.
With what he did not like, however, it was different;
the more he disliked a thing the greater the presumption
that it was right. It never occurred to him that the pre-
sumptitxi was in favour of the rightness of what was
most pleasant, and that the onus of proving that it was
not right lay with those who disputed its being so. I
have said more than once that he believed in his own
depravity; never was there a little mortal more ready
to accept without cavil whatever he was told by those who
were in authority over him : he thought, at least, that he
believed it, for as yet he knew nothing of that other
Ernest that dwelt within him, and was so much stronger
and more real than the Ernest of which he was con-
scious. The dumb Ernest persuaded with inarticulate
feelings too swift and sure to be translated into such
debatable things as words, but practically insisted as
follows — ■

"Growing is not the easy, plain sailing business that it
is commonly supposed to be: it is hard work — harder
than any but a growing^ boy can understand ; it requires
attention, and you are not strong enough to attend to
your bodily growth, and to your lessons too. Besides,
Latin and Greek are great humbug; the more people
know of them the more odious they generally are; the
nice people whom you delight in ei^er never knew any

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, 148 J The Way of All Flesh ,

~at all or foi^t what they had learned as soon as they
could ; they never turned to the classics after they were
no longer forced to read them ; therefore they are non-
sense, all very well in their own time and country, but
out of place here. Never leam anything until you find
you have been made uncomfortable for a good long while
by not knowing it ; when you iind that you have occasion
for this or that knowledge, or foresee that you will have
occasion for it shortly, the sooner you leam it the better,
but till then spend your time in growing bone and muscle ;
these will be much more useful to you than Latin and
Greek, nor will you ever be able to make them if you do
not do so now, whereas Latin and Greek can be acquired
at any time by those who want them.
"You are surrounded on every side by lies which
; would deceive even the elect, if the elect were not gen-
; erally so uncommonly wide awake ; the self of which yon
\ are conscious, your reasoning and reflecting self, will
. believe these lies and bid you act in accordance with
^them. This conscious self of yours, Ernest, is a prig
'b^otten of prigs and trained in priggishness ; I will not
y \.\\qv it to shape your actions, though it will doubtless
" ^hape your words for many a year to come. Your papa
h not here to beat you now; this is a change in the
Conditions of your existence, and should be followed by
ihanged actions. Obey me, your true self, and things
will go tolerably well with you, but only listen to that
iutward and visible old husk of yours which is called
your father, and I will rend you in pieces even imto the
third and fourth generation as one who has hated God;
for I, Ernest, am the God who made you."

How shocked Ernest would have been if he could have
heard the advice he was receiving; what constematiwi
too there would have been at Battersby ; but the matter
did not end here, for this same wicked inner self gave
him bad advice about his pocket money, the choice of
his companions, and on the whole Ernest was attentive

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The Way of All Flesh - 149

and obedient to its behests, more so than Theobald had
been. The consequence was that he learned little, his
mind growing more slowly and his body rather faster
than heretofore: and when by and by his inner self
urged him in directions where he met obstacles beyond
his strength to combat, he' took — though with passionate
compunctions of conscience — the nearest course to the
one from which he was debarred which circumstances
would allow.

It may be guessed that Ernest was not the chosen
friend of the more sedate and well-conducted youths then
studying at Roughborough. Some of the less desirable
boys used to go to public-houses and drink more beer
than was good for them ; Ernest's inner self can hardly
have told him to ally himself to these young gentlemen,
but he did so at an earty age, and was sometimes made
pitiably sick by an amount of beer which would have
produced no effect upon a stronger boy. Ernest's inner
self must have interposed at this point and told him that
there was not much fun in this, for he dropped the habit
ere it had taken firm hold of him, and never resumed it;
but he contracted another at the disgracefully early age
of between thirteen and fourteen which he did not relin-
quish, though to the present day his conscious self keeps
dingii^ it into him that the less he smokes the better.

And so matters went on till my hero was nearly four-
teen years old. If by that time he was not actually a ,
young blackguard, he belonged to a debatable class '
between the sub-reputable and the upper disreputable, ;
with perhaps rather more leaning to the latter except so .
far as vices of meanness were concerned, from which he
was fairly free. I gather this partly from what Ernest
has told me, and partly from his school bilb which I
remember Theobald showed me with much complaining.
There was an institution at Roughborough called the
monthly merit money; the maximum sum which a boy of
Ernest's age could get was four shillings and sixpence;

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ISO The Way of All Flesh

several boys got four shillings and few less than six-
pence, but Ernest never got more than half-a-crown and
seldom more than eighteen pence; his average would, I
should think, be about one and nine pence, which was
just too much for him to rank among the downright bad
boys, but too little to put him among the good ones.

CHAPTER XXXII

I. MUST now return to Miss Alethea Pontifex, of whcmi
I have said perhaps too little hitherto, considerii^ how
great her influence upon my hero's destiny proved to be.

On the death of her father, which happened when she
was about thirty-two years old, she parted company with
her sisters, Wween whom and herself there had been
little sympathy, and came up to London. She was deter-
mined, so she said, to make the rest of her life as happy
as she could, and she had clearer ideas about the best
way of setting to work to do this than women, or indeed
men, generally have.

Her fortune consisted, as I have said, of £5000, which
had come to her by her mother's marriage settlements,
and £15,000 left her by her father, over both which sums
she had now absolute control. These brought her in
about £900 a year, and the money being invested in none
but the soundest securities, she had no anxiety about
her income. She meant to be rich, so she formed a
scheme of expenditure which involved an annual outlay
of about £500, and determined to put the rest by. "If I
do this," she said laughingly, "I shall probably just suc-
ceed in living comfortably within my income." In accord-
ance with this scheme she took unfurnished apartments in
a house in Gower "Street, of which the lower floors were
let out as offices. John Ponttfex tried to get her to take
a house to herself, but Alethea told him to mind his own
business so plainly that he had to beat a retreat. She had

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The Way of All Flesh 151

never liked him, and from that time dropped him almost
entirely.

Without going much into society she yet became ac-
quainted with most of the men and women who had
attained a position in the literary, artistic and scientific
worlds, and it was singular how highly her opinion was
valued in spite of her never having attempted in any way
to distinguish herself. She could have written if she had
chosen, but she enjoyed seeing others write and en-
couraging them better than taking a more active part
herself. Perhaps literary people liked her all the better
because she did not write.

I, as she very well knew, had always been devoted to
her, and she might have had a score of other admirers if
she. had liked, but she had discouraged them all, and
railed at matrimony as women seldom do unless they
have a comfortable income of their own. She by no
means, however, railed at man as she railed at matri-
mony, and thot^h living after a fashion in which even
the most censorious could find nothing to complain of,
as far as she properly could she defended those of her
own sex whom the world condemned most severely.

In religion she was, I should think, as nearly a free-
thinker as anyone could be whose mind seldom turned
upon the subject. She went to church, but disliked
equally those who aired either religion or irreligion. I
remember once hearing her press a late well-known
philosopher to write a novel instead of pursuing his
attacks upon religion. The philosopher did not much
like this, and dilated upon the importance of showing
people the folly of much that they pretended to believe.
She smiled and said demurely, "Have they not Moses
and the prophets? Let them hear them." But she
would say a wicked thing quietly on her own account
sometimes, and called my attention once to a note in her
prayer-book which gave an account of the walk to Em-
maus with the two disciples, and how Christ had said to

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152 The Way of All Flesh

them, "O fools and slow of heart to believe all that the
prophets have spoken" — the "all" being printed in small
capitals.

Though scarcely on terms with her brother John, she
had kept up closer relations with Theobald and his fam-
ily, and had paid a few days' visit to Battersby once in
every two years or so. Alethea had always tried to like
Theobald and join forces with him as much as she could
(for they two were the hares of the family, the rest being
all hounds), but it was no use. I believe her chief rea-
son for maintaining relations with her brother was that
she might keep an eye on his children and give them a
lift if they proved nice.

When Miss Pontifex had come down to Battersby in
old times the children had not been beaten, and their
lessons had been made lighter. She easily saw that they
were overworked and unhappy, but she could hardly
guess how all-reaching was the r^me under which they
lived. She knew she could not interfere effectually then,
and wisely forebore to make too many enquiries. Her
time, if ever it was to come, would be when the children
were no longer living under the same roof as their par-
ents. It ended in her making up her mind to have noth-
ing to do with either Joey or Charlotte, but to see so
much of Ernest as should enable her to form an opinion
about his disposition and abilities.

He had now been a year and a half at Roughborough
and was nearly fourteen years old, so that his character
had begun to shape. Hts aunt had not seen him for some
little time and, thinking that if she was to exploit him
she could do so now perhaps better than at any other
time, she resolved to go down to Roughborough on some
pretext which should be good enough for Theobald, and
to take stock of her nephew under circumstances in which
she could get him for some few hours to herself. Ac-
cordingly in August, 1849, when Ernest was just enter-
ing on his fourth half year a cab drove up to Dr. Skin-

The Way of All Flesh

ner's door with Miss Pontifex, who asked a
leave for Ernest to come and dine with her
Hotel. She had written to Ernest to say she
and he was of course on the lookout for hi
not seen her for so long that he was rather
but her good nature soon set him at his eas<
so strongly biassed in favour of anything yoi
heart warmed towards him at once, though
ance was less prepossessing than she had I
took him to a cake shop and gave him whate
as soon as she had got him off the school pi
Ernest felt at once that she contrasted fava
with his aunts the Misses Allaby, who were si
and good. The Misses Ailaby were very pc
was to them what five shillings was to Aid
chance had they against one who, if she \
could put by out of her income twice as mi
poor women, could spend ?

The boy had plenty of prattle in him when
snubbed, and Alethea encouraged him to cl
whatever came uppermost. He was alwa;
trust anyone who was kind to him ; it took
to make him reasonably wary in this respect
as I sometimes doubt, he ever will be as wary
to be — and in a short time he had quite di:
aunt from his papa and mamma and the rest,
his instinct told him he should be on his gt
did he know how great, as far as he was cont
the issues that depended upon his behaviour,
known, he would perhaps have played his p:
cess fully.

His aunt drew from him more details of h
school life than his papa and mamma wou
proved of, but he had no idea that he was be
She got out of him all about the happy Sund
and how he and Joey and Charlotte quart
times, but she took no side and treated ei

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154 The Way of All Flesh

thou^ it were a matter of course. Like all the boys, he
could mimic Dr. Skimier, and when warmed with dinner,
and two glasses of sherry which made him nearly tipsy,
he favoured his aunt with samples of the Doctor's man-
ner and spoke of him familiarly as "Sam."

"Sam," he said, "is an awful old humbug," It was
the sherry that brought out this piece of swagger, for
whatever else he was Dr. Skinner was a reality to Master
Ernest, before which, indeed, he sank into his boots in no
time. Alethea smiled and said, "I must not say anything
to that, must I ?" Ernest said, "I suppose not," and was
checked. By-and-by he vented a number of small seamd-
hand priggishnesses which he had caught up believing
them to be the correct thing, and made it plain that even
at that early age Ernest believed in Ernest with a belief
which was amusing from its absurdity. His aunt judged
him charitably, as she was sure to do ; she knew very well
where the pr^^shness came from, and seeing that the
string of his tongue had been loosened sufficiently gave
him no more sherry.

It was after dinner, however, that he completed the
conquest of his aunt. She then discovered that, like her-
self, he was passionately fond of music, and that, too,
of the highest class. He knew, and hummed or whistled
to her all sorts of pieces out of the works of the great
masters, which a boy of his age could hardly be expected
to know, and it was evident that this was purely instinc-
tive, inasmuch as music received no kind of encourage-
ment at Roughborough. There was no boy in the school
as fond of music as he was. He picked up his knowledge,
he said, from the organist of St. Michael's Church, who
used to practise sometimes on a week-day afternoon. Er-
nest bad heard the organ booming away as he was pass-
ing outside the church and had sneaked inside and up
into the organ loft. In the course of time the organist
became accustomed to him as a familiar visitant, and
the pair became friends.

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The Way of All Flesh 155

It was this which decided Alethea that the boy was
worth taking pains with. "He likes the best music,"
she thought, "and he hates Dr. Skinner. This is a very
fair beginning." When she sent him away at night with
a sovereign in his pocket (and he had only hoped to get
five shillings) she felt as though she had had a good deal
more than her money's worth for her money.

CHAPTER XXXIII

Next day Miss Pontifex returned to town, with her
thoughts full of her nephew and how she could best be
of use to him.

It appeared to her that to do him any real service she
must devote herself almost entirely to him ; she must in
fact give up living in London, at any rate for a long
time, and live at Roughborough where she could see him
continually. This was a serious undertaking; she had
lived in London for the last twelve years, and naturally
disliked the prospect of a small country town such as
Roughborough. Was it a prudent thing to attempt so
much ? Must not people take their chances in this world ?
Can anyone do much for anyone else unless by making|)A^
a will in his favour and dying then and there? Should "
not each look after his own happiness, and will not the I
world be best carried on if everyone minds his own busi- ;
ness and leaves other people to mind theirs? Life is not ;
a donkey race in which everyone is to ride his neighbour's
donkey and the last is to win, and the psalmist long since ,
formulated a common experience when he declared that
no man may deliver his brother nor make agreement imto '
God for him, for it cost more to redeem their souls, so
that he must let that alone for ever.

All these excellent reasons for letting her nephew

alone occurred to her, and many more, but against them

there pleaded a woman's love for children, and her de-

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156 The Way of All Flesh

sire to find someone among the younger branches of her
own family to whom she could become warmly attached,
and whom she could attach warmly to herself.

Over and above this she wanted someone to leave her
money to ; she was not going to leave it to pe(q)le about
whom she knew very little, merely because they hap-
pened to be sons and daughters of brothers and sisters
whom she had never liked. She knew the power and
value of money exceedingly well, and how many lovable
people suffer and die yearly for the want of it; she was
little likely to leave it without being satisfied that her
I^atees were square, lovable, and more or less hard up.
She wanted those to have it who would be most likely to
use it genially and sensibly, and whom it would thus be
likely to make most happy; if she could find one such
among her nephews and nieces, so much the better; it
was worth taking a great deal of pains to see whether
she could or could not; but if she failed, she must find
an heir who was not related to her by blood.

"Of course," she had said to me, more than once, "I
shall make a mess of it. I shall choose some nice-look-
ing, well-dressed screw, with gentlemanly manners which
will take me in, and he will go and paint Academy pic-
tures, or write for the Times, or do something just as
horrid the moment the breath is out of my body."

As 3ret, however, she had made no will at all, and this
was one of the few things that troubled her. I believe
she would have left most of her money to me if I had
not stopped her. My father left me abundantly well off,
and my mode of life has been always simple, so that I
have never known uneasiness about money; moreover I
was especially anxious that there should be no occasion
given for ill-natured talk; she knew well, therefore, that
her leaving her money to me would be of all things the
most likely to weaken the ties that existed between us,
provided that I was aware of it, but I did not mind her

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The Way of All Flesh 157

talking about whom she should make her heir, so long
asit was well understood that I was not to be the person.

Ernest had satisfied her as havii^ enough in him to
tempt her strongly to take him up, but it was not till
after many days' reflection that she gravitated towards
actually doing so, with all the break in her daily ways
that this would entail. At least, she said it took her
some days, and certainly it appeared to do so, but from
the moment she had begun to broach the subject, I had
guessed how things were going to end.

It was now arranged she should take a house at
Roughborough, and go and live there for a couple of
years. As a compromise, however, to meet some of my
objections, it was also arranged that she should keep
her rooms in Gower Street, and come to town for a week
once in each month; of course, also, she would leave
Roughborough for the greater part of the holidays. Af-
ter two years, the thing was to come to an end, unless
it proved a great success. She should by that time, at
any rate, have made up her mind what the boy's char-
acter was, and would then act as circumstances might
determine.

The pretext she put forward ostensibly was that her
doctor said she ought to be a year or two in the coimtry
after so many years of London life, and had recom-
mended Roughborough on account of the purity of its
air, and its easy access to and from London — for by this
time the railway had reached it. She was anxious not
to give her brother and sister any right to complain, if
on seeing more of her nephew she found she could not
get on with him, and she was also anxious not to raise
false hopes of any kind in the boy's own mind.

Having settled how everything was to be, she wrote to
Theobald and said she meant to take a house in Roi^h-
borough from the Michaelmas then approaching, and
mentioned, as though casually, that one of the attractions

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158 ' The Way of All Flesh

of the place would be that her nefdiew was at school
there and she should hope to see more of him than she
had done hitherto.

Theobald and Christina knew how dearly Alethea
loved London, and thought it very odd that she should
want to go and live at Roughborough, but they did not
suspect that she was going there solely on her nephew's
account, much less that she had thought of making Ernest
her heir. If they had guessed this, they would have been
so jealous that 1 half believe they would have asked her
to go and live somewhere else. Alethea, however, was
two or three years younger than Theobald ; she was still
some years short of fifty, and might very well live to
eighty-five or ninety; her money, therefore, was not
worth taking much trouble about, and her brother and
sister-in-law had dismissed it, so to speak, from their
minds with costs, assuming, however, that if anything
did happen to her while they were still alive, the money
would, as a matter of course, come to them.

The prospect of Alethea seeing much of Ernest was a
serious matter. Christina smelt mischief from afar, as
indeed she often did. Alethea was worldly — as worldly,
that is to say, as a sister of Theobald's could be. In her
letter to Theobald she had said she knew, how much of
his and Christina's thoughts were taken up with anxie^
for the boy's welfare. Alethea had thought this hand-
some enough, but Christina had wanted something better
and stronger. "How can she know how much we think
of our darling?" she had exclaimed, when Theobald
showed her his sister's letter. "I think, my dear, Alethea
would understand these things better if she had children
of her own." The least that would have satisfied Chris-
tina was to have been told that there never yet had been
any parents comparable to Theobald and herself. She
did not feel easy that an alliance of some kind would
not grow up between aunt and nephew, and neither she
nor Theobald wanted Ernest to have any allies. Joey

The Way of All Flesh (159

and Charlotte were quite as many allies as were good
for him. After all, however, if Alethea chose to go and
live at Roughborough, they could not well stop her, and
mttst make the best of it.

In a few weeks' time Alethea did choose to go and
live at Roughborough. A house was found with a field
and a nice little garden which suited her very well. "At
any rate," she said to herself, "I will have fresh e^s
and flowers." She even considered the question of keep-
ing a cow, but in the end decided not to do so. She fur-
nished her house throughout anew, taking nothing what*
ever from her establishment in Gower Street, and by
Michaelmas — for the house was empty when she took it
— she was settled comfortably, and had begun to make
herself at home.

One of Miss Pontifex's first moves was to ask a dozen
of the smartest and most gentlemanly boys to breakfast
with her. From her seat in church she could see the faces
of the upper-form boys, and soon made up her mind
which of them it would be best to cultivate. Miss Ponti-
fex, sitting opposite the boys in church, and reckoning
them up with her keen eyes from under her veil by all
a woman's criteria, came to a truer conclusion about the
greater number of those she scrutinized than even Dr.
Skinner had done. She fell in love with one boy from
seeii^ him put on his gloves.

Miss Pontifex, as I have said, gQt hold of some of
these youngsters through Ernest, and fed them well. No
boy can resist being fed well by a good-natured and still ,
handsome woman. Boys are very like nice dogs in this
respect — give them a bone and they will like you at once.
Alethea employed every other little artifice which she
thought likely to win their allegiance to herself, and
through this their countenance for her nephew. She
found the football club in a slight money difficulty and
at once gave half a sovereign towards its removal. The
boys had no chance against her, she shot them down one

/i6o/ The Way of All Flesh

after another as easily as though they had been roosting
pheasants. Nor did she escape scathless herself, for, as
she wrote to me, she quite lost her heart to half a dozen
of them. "How much nicer they are," she said, "atid
how much more they know than those who profess to
teach them!"
) I believe it has been lately maintained that it is the
I young and fair who are the truly old and truly experi-
. / j enced, inasmuch as it is they wbo alone have a living
V 1 memory to guide them ; "the whole charm," it has been
'said, "of youth lies in its advantage over age in respect
of experience, and when this has for some reason failed
or been misapplied, the charm is broken. When we say
that we are getting old, we should say rather that we
are getting new or young, and are suffering from inex-
perience; trying to do things which we have never done
before, and failing worse and worse, till in the end
we are landed in the utter impotence of death."

Miss Pontifex died many a long year before the above
passage was written, but she had arrived independently
at much the same conclusion.

She first, therefore, squared the boys. Dr. Skinner
was even more easily dealt with. He and Mrs. Skinner
called, as a matter of course, as soon as Miss Pontifex
was settled. She fooled him to the top of his bent, and
obtained the promise of a MS. copy of one of his minor
poems (for Dr. Skinner had the reputation of being
quite one of our most facile and elegant minor poets) on
the occasion of his first visit. The other masters and
masters' wives were not forgotten. Alethea laid herself
out to please, as indeed she did wherever she went, and if
any woman lays herself out to do this, she generally
succeeds.

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The Way of All Flesh i6i

CHAPTER XXXIV

Miss Pontifex soon found out that Ernest did not like
games, but she saw also that he could hardly be expected
to like them. He was perfectly well shaped but unusually
devoid of physical strength. He got a fair share of this
in after life, but it calht much later with him than with
other boys, and at the time of which I am writing he was
a mere little skeleton. He wanted something to develop
his arms and chest without knocking him about as much
as the school games did. To supply this want by some
means which should add also to his pleasure was Ale-
thea's first anxiety. Rowing would have answered every
purpose, but unfortunately there was no river at Rough- ■
borough.

Whatever it was to be, it must be something which
he should like as much as other boys liked cricket or foot-
ball, and he must think the wish for it to have come orig-
inally from himself ; it was not very easy to find anjrthing
that would do, but ere long it occurred to her that she
might enlist his love of music on her side, and asked
him one day when he was spending a half-holiday at her
house whether he would like her to buy an organ for him
to play on. Of course, the boy said yes ; then she told
him about her grandfather and the organs he had built.
It had never entered into his head that he could make
one, but when he gathered from what his aunt had said
that this was not out of the question, he rose as eagerly
to the bait as she could have desired, and wanted to be-
gin learning to saw and plane so that he might make the
wooden pipes at once.

Miss Pontifex did not see how she could have hit
upon anything more suitable, and she liked the idea that
he would incidentally get a knowledge of carpentering,
for she was impressed, perhaps foolishly, with the wis-

(j^ The Way of All Flesh

dcHn of the German custom which gives every boy a
handicraft of some sort

Writing to me on this matter, she said, "Professions are
all very well for those who have connection and interest
I as well as capital, but otherwise they are white elephants.
I How many men do not you and I laiow who have talent,
Vj assiduity, excellent good sense, straightforwardness,
I every quality in fact which should command success, and
\ who yet go on from year to year waiting and hofHng
lagainst hope for the work which never comes? How,
indeed, is it likety to come unless to those who either are
born with interest, or who marry in order to get it?
Ernest's father and mother have no interest, and if they
had they would not use it. I suppose they will make him
a clergyman, or try to do so — perhaps it is the best thing
to do with him, for he could buy a living with the money
his grandfather left him, but there is no knowing what
the boy will think of it when the time comes, and for
aught we know he may insist on going to the l^ckwoods
of America, as so many other young men are doing
now." . . . But, anyway, he would like making an organ,
and this could do him no harm, so the sooner he b^o
the better.

Alethea thought it would save trouble in the end if she
told her brother and sister-in-law of this scheme. "I do
not suppose," she wrote, "that Dr. Skinner will approve
very cordially of my attempt to introduce organ-building
into the curriculum of Roughborough, but I will see what
I can do with him, for I have set my heart on owning an
organ built- by Ernest's own hands, which he may play
on as much as he likes while it remains in my house and
which I will lend him permanently as soon as he gets
one of his own, but which is to be my property for the
present, inasmuch as I mean to pay for it" This was
put in to make it plain to Theobald and Christina that
they should not be out of pocket in the matter.

If Alethea had been as poor as the Misses Allaby, the

Jhe Way of All Flesh 163

reader may guess what Ernest's papa and mamma would
have said to this proposal; but then, if she had been as
poor as they, she would never have made it. They did
not like Ernest's getting more and more into his aunt's
good books ; still it was perhaps better that he should do
so than that she should be driven back upon the John
Pontifexes. The only thing, said Theobald, which made
him hesitate, was that the boy might be thrown with low
associates later on if he were to be encouraged in his
taste for music — a taste which Theobald had always dis-
liked. He had observed with regret that Ernest had ere
now shown rather a hankering after low company, and
he might make acquaintance with those who would cor-
rapt his innocence. Christina shuddered at this, but when
they had aired their scruples sufficiently they felt (and
when people begin to "feel," they are invariably goit^
to take what they believe to be the more worldly course)
that to oppose Alethea's proposal would be injuring their
son's prospects more than was right, so they consented,
but not too graciously.

After a time, however, Christina got used to the idea,

and then considerations occurred to her which made her

throw herself into it with characteristic ardour. If Miss

Pontifex had been a railway stock she might have been

said to have been buoyant in the Battersby market for

nt for long together she could never

re really was an upward movement.

ndered to the organ itself; she

it with her own hands ; there would

id to compare with it for combined

She already heard the famous

mbridge mistaking it for a Father

le, no doubt, in reality to Battersby

d an organ, for it must be all non-

s wishing to keep it, and Ernest

luse of his own for ever so many

never have it at the Rectory. Oh,

i64 The Way of All Flesh

no I Battersby Church was the only proper place for it.

Of course, they would have a grand opening, and the
Bishop would come down, and perhaps young Figgins
might be on a visit to them — she must ask Ernest if
young Figgins had yet left Roughborough— he m^t
even persuade his grandfather. Lord Lonsford, to be pres-
ent. Lord Lonsford and the Bishop and everyone else
would then compliment her, and Dr. Wesley or Dr.
Walmisley, who should preside (it did not much matter
which), would say to her, "My dear Mrs. Pontifex, I
never yet played upon so remarkable an instrument,"
Then she would give him one of her very sweetest smiles
and say she feared he was flattering her, on which he
would rejoin with some pleasant little trifle about re-
markable men (the remarkable man being for the mo-
ment Ernest) having invariably had remarkable women
for their Inothers — and so on and so on. The advantage
of doing one's praising for oneself is that one can lay it
on so thick and exactly in the right places.

Theobald wrote Ernest a short and surly letter
d propos of his aunt's intentions in this matter.

"I will not commit myself," he said, "to an opinion
whether anything will come of it ; this will depend en-
tirely upon your own exertions; you have had singular
advantages hitherto, and your kind aunt is showing every
desire to befriend you, but you must give graf ter proof
of stability and steadiness of characterjid^wou have
'given yet if this organ matter is not to^^f^^the end
to be only one disappointment the mor^^^^^

"I must insist on two things : firstly, thaB^
in the fire does not distract your attentit^^
Latin and Greek" — ("They aren't mine," thoH
"and never have been") — "and secondly, tha^^
no smell of glue or shavings into the house hell
make any part of the organ during your holida^

Ernest was still too young to know how unplej
letter he was receiving. He believed the innuendo*

The Way of All Flesh 165

tained in it to be perfectly just. He knew he was sadlj
deficient in perseverance. He liked some things for a
little while, and then found he did not like them any
more — and this was as bad as anything well could be.
His father's letter gave him one of his many fits of mel-
ancholy over his own worthlessness, but the thought of
the organ consoled him, and he felt sure that here at any
rate was something to which he could apply himself
steadily without growing tired of it.

It was settled that the organ was not to be begun
before the Christmas holidays were over, and that till
then Ernest should do a little plain carpentering, so as
to get to know how to use his tools. Miss Pontifex had
a carpenter's bench set up in an outhouse upon her own
premises, and made terms with the most respectable car- >
penter in Roughborough, by which one of his men was to '
come for a couple of hours twice a week and set Ernest 1
on the right way ; then she discovered she wanted this or
that simple piece of work done, and gave the boy a com-
mission to do it, paying him handsomely as well as find-
ing him in tools and materials. She never gave him a
syllable of good advice, or talked to him about every-
thing's depending upon his own exertions, but she kissed
him often, and would come into the workshop and act
the part of one who took an interest in what was being
done so cleverly as ere long to become really interested.

What boy wQpld not take kindly to almost anything
with such assistance ? All boys like making things ; the
exercise of sawing, planing and hammering, proved ex-
actly what his aunt had wanted to find — something that
should exercise, but not too much, and at the same time
amuse him; when Ernest's sallow face was flushed with
his work, and his eyes were sparkling with pleasure, he
looked quite a different boy from the one his aunt had
taken in hand only a few months earlier. His inner
self never told him that this was humbug, as it did about
Latin and Greek. Making tools and drawers was worth

i66 The Way of All Flesh

living for, and after Christmas there loomed the organ,
which was scarcely ever absent from his mind.

His aunt let him invite his friends, encouraging him
to bring those whom her quick sense told her were the
most desirable. She smartened him up also in his per-
sonal appearance, always without preaching to him. In-
deed she worked wonders during the short time that
was allowed her, and if her life had been spared I cannot
'\ think that my hero would have come under the shadow
of that cloud which cast so heavy a gloom over his
younger manhood; but imfortunately for him his gleam
of sunshine was too hot and too brilliant to last, and he
had many a storm yet to weather, before he became fairly
happy. For the present, however, he was supremely so,
^d his aunt was happy and grateful for his happiness,
the improvement she saw in him, and his unrepressed
affection for herself. She became fonder of him from
day to day in spite of his many faults and almost incredi-
fcle foolishnesses. It was perhaps on account of these
very things that she saw how much he had need of her;
but at any rate, from whatever cause, she became
strengthened in her determination to be to him in the
place of parents, and to find in him a son rather than a
nephew. But still she made no will.

CHAPTER XXXV

All went well for the first part of the following half
year. Miss Pontifex spent the greater part of her holi-
days in London, and I also saw her at Roughborough,
where I spent a few days, staying at the "Swan." I
heard all about my godson in whom, however, I took
less interest than I said I did. I took more interest in
the stage at that time than in anything else, and as for
Ernest, I found him a nuisance for engrossing so much
of his aunt's attention, and taking her so much iraca
My Google

The Way of All Flesh 167

London. The or^n was begun, and made fair progress
during the first two months of the half year. Ernest
was happier than he had ever been before, and was strug-
gling upwards. The best boys took more notice of him
for his aunt's sake, and he consorted less with those
who led him into mischief.

But much as Miss Pontifex had done, she could not
all at once undo the effect of such surroundings as the
boy had had at Battersby. Much as he feared and dis-
liked his father (thoi^h he still knew not how much this
was), he had caught much from him; if Theobald had
been kinder Ernest would have modelled himself upon
him entirely, and ere long would probably have become
as thorough a little prig as could have easily been fqund.

Fortunately his temper had come to him. from his
mother, who, when not frightened, and when there was
nothing on the horizon which might cross the slightest
whi^ of her husband, was an amiable, good-natured
woman. " If It was not such an awful thing to say of any-
one, I should say that she meant well.

Ernest had also inherited his mother's love of building '
castles in the air, and — so I suppose it must be called —
her vanity. He was very fond of showing off, and, pro-
vided he could attract attention, cared little from whom
it came, nor what it was for. He caught up, parrot-Uke,
whatever jargon he heard from his elders, which he
thought was the correct thing, and aired it in season
and out of season, as though it were his own.

Miss Pontifex was old enough and wise enough to
know that this is the way in which even the greatest men
as a general rule begin to develop, and was more pleased
with his receptiveness and reproductiveness than alarmed
at the things he caught and reproduced.

She saw that he was much attached to herself, and
trusted to this rather than to anything else. She saw
also that his conceit was not very profound, and that his
fits of self-abasement were as extreme as his exaltation

i68 The Way of All Flesh

jhad been. His impulsiveness and sanguine trustfulness
lin anyone who smiled pleasantly at him, or indeed was
/not absolutely unkind to him, made her more anxious
/ about him than any other point in his character ; she saw
/ clearly that he would have to find himself rudely unde-
/ ceived many a time and oft, before he would learn tt>
I distinguish friend from foe within reasonable time. It
\ was her perception of this which led her to take the action
which she was so soon called upon to take.

Her health was for the most part excellent, and she
had never had a serious illness in her life. One momii^
however, soon after Easter, 1850, she awoke feeling seri-
ously unwell. For some little time there had been a talk
of fever in the neighbourhood, but in those days the pre-
cautions that ought to be taken against the spread of in-
fection were not so well understood as now, and nobody
did anything. In a day or two it became plain that Miss
Pontifex had got an attack of typhoid fever and was dan-
gerously ill. On this she sent off a messenger to town,
and desired him not to return without her lawyer and
myself.

We arrived on the afternoon of the day on which we
had been summoned, and found her still free from de-
lirium: indeed, the cheery way in which she received us
made it difficult to think she could be in danger. She at
once explained her wishes, which had reference, as I
expected, to her nephew, and repeated the substance of
what I have already referred to as her main source of
uneasiness concerning him. Then she begged me by our
long and close intimacy, by the suddenness of the dai^r
that had fallen on her and her powerlessness to avert it,
to undertake what she said she well knew, if she died,
would be an unpleasant and invidious trust.

She wanted to leave the bulk of her money ostensibly
to me, but in reality to her nephew, so that I should hold
it in trust for him till he was twenty-eight years old, but
neither he nor anyone else, except her lawyer and myself.

The Way of All 'Flesh 169

was to know anythii^ about it. She would leave isooo
in other legacies, and £15,000 to Ernest — which by the
time he was twenty-eight would have accumulated to,
say, £30,000. "Sell out the debentures," she said, "where
the money now is — and put it into Midland Ordinary,

"Let him make his mistakes," she said, "upon the
money his grandfather left htm. I am no prophet, but
even I can see that it will take that boy many years to
see things as his neighbours see them. He will get no
help from his father and mother, who would never for-
give him for his good luck if I left him the money out-
right; I daresay I am wrong, but I think he will have to
lose the greater part or all of what he has, before he will
know how to keep what he will get from me." .

Supposing he went bankrupt before he was twenty-
eight years old, the money was to be mine absolutely,
but she could trust me, she said, to hand it over to Ernest
in due time.

"If," she continued, "I am mistaken, the worst that can
happen is that he will come into a lai^er sum at twenty-
eight instead of a smaller sum at, say, twenty-three, for I
would never trust him with it earlier, and if he knows
nothing about it he will not be unhappy for the want
of it"

She begged me to take £2000 in return for the trouble
I should have in taking charge of the boy's estate, and
as a sign of the testatrix's hope that I would now and
again look after him while he was still young. The re-
maining £3000 I was to pay in l^acies and annuities to
friends and servants.

In vain both her lav^er and myself remonstrated with
her on the unusual and hazardous nature of this arrange-
ment We told her that sensible people will not take a
more sanguine view concerning human nature than the
Courts of Chancery do. We said, in fact, everything that
anyone else would say. She admitted everything, but
urged that her time was short, that nothii^ would in*

lyo The Way of All Flesh

duce her to leave her money to her nephew in the usual
way. "It is an unusually foolish will," she said, "but he
is an unusually foolish boy ;" and she smiled quite mer-
rily at her little sally. Like all the rest of her family,
she was very stubborn when her mind was made vp.
So the thing was done as she wished it.

No provision was made for either my death or Er-
nest's — Miss Pontifex had settled it that we were neither
of us going to die, and was too ill to go into details ; she
was so anxious, moreover, to sign her will while still able
to do so that we had practically no alternative but to do
as she told us. If she recovered we could see things
put on a more satisfactory footing, and further discus-
sion would evidently impair her chances of repovery; it
seemed then only too likely that it was a case of this
will or no will at all.

When the will was signed I wrote a letter in dupli-
cate, saying that I held all Miss Pontifex had left me io
trust for Ernest except as regards ^5000, but that he was
not to come into the bequest, and was to know nothing
whatever about it directly or indirectly, till he was twen-
ty-eight years old, and if he was bankrupt before he
came into it the money was to be mine absolutely. At
the foot of each letter Miss Pontifex wrote, "The above
was my understanding when I made my will," and then
signed her name. The solicitor and his clerk witnessed;
I kept one copy myself and handed the other to Miss
Pontifex's solicitor.

When all this had been done she became more easy
in her mind. She talked principally about her nephew.
"Don't scold him," she said, "if he is volatile, and con-
tinually takes things up only to throw them down again.
How can he find out his strength or weakness otherwise?
A man's profession," she said, and here she gave one of
her wicked little laughs, "is not like his wife, which he
must take once for all, for better for worse, without
proof befordiand. Let him go here and there, and leant

U.g,l:«l by Google

The Way of All Flesh 171

his truest liking by finding out what, after all, he catches ■
himself turning to most habitually — then let him stick to
this ; but I daresay Ernest will be forty or five and forty
before he settles down. Then al! his previous infidelities
will work together to him for good if he is the tx^ I
hope he is.

"Above all," she continued, "do not let him work up
to his full strength, except once or twice in his lifetime;
nothing is well done nor worth doing unless, take it all
round, it has come pretty easily. Theobald and Christina
would give him a pinch of salt and tell him to put it on
the tails of the seven deadly virtues ;" — here she laughed
again in her old manner at once so mocking and so sweet
— "I think if he likes pancakes he had perhaps better
eat them on Shrove Tuesday, but this is enough." These
were the last coherent words she spoke. From that time
she grew continually worse, and was never free from
delirium till her death — whidi took place less than a fort-
night afterwards, to the inexpressible grief of those who
knew and loved her.

CHAPTER XXXVI

I^TTERS had been written to Miss Pontifex's brothers
and sisters, and one and all came post-haste to Rot^h-
borou^. Before they arrived the poor lady was already
delirious, and for the sake of her own peace at the last
I am half glad she never recovered consciousness.

I had known these people all their lives, as none can
know each other but those who have played tc^ther as
children ; I knew how they had all of them — perhaps
Theobald least, but all of them more or less — made her
life a burden to her until the death of her father had j
made her her own mistress, and I was displeased at theiT'l
coming one after the other to Roughborough, and inquir- '
iag whether their sister had recovered consciousness suf-

173 The Way of All Flesh

ficientty to be able to see them. It was known that she
had sent for me on being taken ill, and that I remained
at Roughborough, and I own I was angered by the min-
gled air of suspicion, defiance and inquisitiveness, with
which they regarded me. They would all, except Theo-
bald, I believe, have cut me downright if they had not
believed me to know something they wanted to know
themselves, and might have some chance of learning"
from me — for it was plain I had been in some way con-
cerned with the making of their sister's will. None of
them suspected what the ostensible nature of this would
be, but I think they feared Miss Pontifex was about to
leave money for public uses. John said to me in his
blandest manner that he fancied he remembered to have
heard his sister say that she thought of leaving money to
found a college for the relief of dramatic authors in dis-
tress ; to this I made no rejoinder, and I have no doubt
his -suspicions were deepened.

When the end came, I got Miss Pontifex's solicitor to
write and tell her brothers and sisters how she had left
her money : they were not unnaturally furious, and went
each to his or her separate home without attending the
funeral, and without paying any attention to myself.
This was perhaps the kindest thing they could have done
by me, for their behaviour made me so angry that I be-
came almost reconciled to Alethea's will out of pleasure
at the anger it had aroused. But for this I should have
felt the will keenly, as having been placed by it in the
position which of all others I had been most anxious to
avoid, and as having saddled me with a very heavy re-
sponsibility. Still it was impossible for me to escape, and
I could only let things take their course.

Miss Pontifex had expressed a wish to be buried at
Paleham ; in the course of the next few days I therefore
took the body thither. I had not been to Paleham since
the death of my father some six years earlier. I had
often wished to go there, but had shrunk from doing so,

The Way of All Flesh 173

though my sbter had been two or three times. I could
not bear to sec the house which had been my home for so
many years of my life in the hands of strangers ; to ring
ceremoniously at a bell which I had never yet pulled
except as a boy in jest ; to feel that I had nothing to do
with a garden in which I had in childhood gathered "so
many a nosegay, and which had seemed my own for many
years after I had reached man's estate ; to see the rooms
bereft of every familiar feature, and made so unfamiliar
in spite of their familiarity. Had there been any suffi-
cient reason, I should have taken these things as a matter
■of course, and should no doubt have found them much
worse in anticipation than in reality, but as there had been
no special reason why I should go to Paleham I had
hitherto avoided doing so. Now, however, my going
was a necessity, and I confess I never felt more subdued
than I did on arriving there with the dead playmate of
my childhood.

I found the village more changed than I had expected.
The railway had come there, and a brand new yellow
brick station was on the site of old Mr. and Mrs. Ponti-
fex's cottage. Nothing but the carpenter's shop was now
standing. I saw many faces I knew, but even in six
years they seemed to have grown wonderfully older.
Some of the very old were dead, and the .old were get-
ting very old in their stead. I felt like the changeling in
the fairy story who came back after a seven years' sleep.
Everyone seemed glad to see me, though I had never
given them particular cause to be so, and everyone who
remembered old Mr. and Mrs. Pontifex spoke warmly
of them and were pleased at their granddaughter's wish-
ing to be laid near them. Entering the churchyard and
standing in the twilight of a gusty, cloudy evening on the
spot close beside old Mrs. Pontifex's grave which I had
chosen for Alethea's, I thought of the many times that
she, who would lie there henceforth, and I, who must
surely lie one day in some such another place, though

174 The Way of All Flesh

when and where I knew not, had romped over this very
spot as childish lovers together.

Next morning I followed her to the grave, and in due
course set up a plain upright slab to her memory as like
as might be to those over the graves of her grandmother
and grandfather. I gave the dates and places of her
birth and death, but added nothing except that this
stone was set up by one who had known and loved her.
Knowing how fond she had been of music I had been
half inclined at one time to inscribe a few bars of music,
if I could find any which seemed suitable to her character,
but I knew how much she would have disliked anything
singular in connection with her tombstone, and did not
do it.

Before, however, I had come to this conclusion, I had
thought that Ernest might be able to help me to the right
thit^, and had written to him upon the subject The
following is the answer I received —

"Dear Gm)papa, — I send you the best bit I can thnik
of ; it is the subject of the last of Handel's six grand
fugues and goes thus : —

It would do better for a man, especially for an old man
who was very sorry for things, than for a woman, but I
cannot think of "Anything better; if you do not like it for
Aunt Alethea I shall keep it for myself, — ^Your affec-
tionate Godson, Ernest Pontifex."

Was this the little lad who could get sweeties for two-
pence but not for two-pcnce-half penny ? Dear, dear me,
I thought to myself, how these babes and sucklings do
give us the go-by surely. Choosing his own epitaph at

The Way of All Flesh 17S

fifteen as for a man who "had been very sorry for
things," and such a strain as that — why it might have
done for Leonardo da Vinci himself. Then I set the
boy down as a conceited young jackanapes, which no
doubt he was, — but so are a great many other young
people of Ernest's age.

CHAPTER XXXVII

If Theobald and Christina had not been too well pleased
when Miss Pontifex first took Emest in hand, they were
still less so when the connection between the two was in-
terrupted so prematurely. They said they had made sure
from what their sister had said that she was going to
make Emest her heir. I do not think she had given
them so much as a hint to this effect. Theobald indeed
gave Emest to understand that she had done so in a
letter which will be given shortly, but if Theobald wanted
to make himself disagreeable, a trifle light as air would
forthwith assume in his imagination whatever form was
most convenient to him. I do not think they had even
made up their minds what Alethea was to do with her
money before they knew of her being at the point of
death, and as I have said already, if they had thought it
likely that Emest would be made heir over their own
heads without their having at any rate a life interest in
the bequest, they would have soon thrown obstacles in the
way of further intimacy between aunt and nephew.

This, however, did not bar their right to feeling ag-
grieved now that neither they nor Emest had taken any-
thing at all, and they could profess disappointment on
their boy's behalf which they would have been too proud
to admit upon their own. In fact, it was only amiable
of them to be disappointed under these circumstances.

Christina said that the will was simply fraudulent, and
was ctmvinced that it could be upset if she and Theobald

[ 176/ The Way of All flesh

went the right way to work. Theobald, she said, should
go before the Lord Chancellor, not in full court but in
chambers, where he could explain the whole matter; or,
perhaps it would be even better if she were to go herself
— and I dare not trust myself to describe the reverie
to which this last idea gave rise, I believe in the end
Theobald died, and the Lord Chancellor (who had be-
come a widower a few weeks earlier) made her an offer,
which, however, she firmly but not ungratefully de-
clined ; she should ever, she said, continue to think of him
as a friend — at this point the cook came in, saying the
butcher had called, and what would she please to order.
I think Theobald must have had an idea that there was
something behind the bequest to me, but he said nothing
about it to Christina. He was angry and felt wronged,
because he could not get at Alethea to give her a piece of
his mind any more than he had been able to get at his
I father. "It is so mean of people," he exclaimed to him-
, self, "to inflict an injury of this sort, and then shirk fac-
l ing those whom they have injured; let us hope that, at
1 any rate, they and I may meet in Heaven." But of this
I he was doubtful, for when people had done so great a
\ wrong as this, it was hardly to be supposed that they
i would go to Heaven at all — and as for his meeting them
Un another place, the idea never so much as entered his
mind.

fOne so angry and, of late, so little used to contradic-
tion might be trusted, however, to avenge himself upon
someone, and Theobald had long since developed the or-
gan, by means of which he might vent spleen with least
risk and greatest satisfaction to himself. This organ, it
may be guessed, was nothing else than Ernest ; to Ernest
therefore he proceeded to unburden himself, not per-
sonally, but by letter.

"You ought to know," he wrote, "that your Aunt
Alethea had given your mother and me to understand
that it was her wish to make you her heir — in the event.

The Way of All Flesh 177

of course, of your conducting yourself in such a manner
as to give her confidence in you ; as a matter of fact, how-
ever, she has left you nothing, and the whole of her
prt^rty has gone to your godfather, Mr. Overton.
Your mother and I are willing to hope that if she had
lived longer you would yet have succeeded in winnii^
her good opinion, but it is too late to think of this now.

"The carpentering and organ-building must at once be
discontinued. I never believed in the project, and have
seen no reason to alter my original opinion. I am not
sorry for your own sake, that it is to be at an end, flor,
I am sure, will you regret it yourself in after years.

"A few words more as regards your own prospects.
You have, as I believe you know, a small inheritance,
which is yours legally under your grandfather's will.
This bequest was made inadvertently, and, I believe, en-
tirely through a misunderstanding on the lawyer's part.
The bequest was probably intended not to take effect till
after the death of your mother and myself; nevertheless,
as the will is actually worded, it will now be at your
command if you live to be twenty-one years old. From
this, however, large deductions must be made. There I
will be legacy duty, and I do not know whether I am not I
entitled to deduct the expenses of your education and
maintenance from birth to your coming of age; I shall
not in all likelihood insist on this right to the full, if you
conduct yourself properly, but a considerable sum should
certainly be deducted ; there will therefore remain very
little — say f looo or f200o at the outside, as what will be
actually yours — but the strictest account shall be ren-
dered you in due time.

"This, let me warn you most seriously, is all that you
must expect from me" (even Ernest saw that it was not
from Theobald at all), "at any rate till after my death,
which for aught any of us know may be yet many years
distant. It is not a lai^ sum, but it is sufficient if supple-
mented by steadiness and earnestness of purpose. Your

lyS The Way of All Flesh

mother and I gave you the name Ernest, hopiag that it

would remind you continually of " but I really cannot

copy more of this effusion. It was all the same old will-
shaking game and came practically to this, that Ernest
was no 'good, and that if he went on as he was going on
now, he would probably have to go about the streets beg-
ging without any shoes or stockings soon after he had left
school, or at any rate, college ; and that he, Theobald, and
Christina were almost too good for this world altogether.

After he had written this Theobald felt quite good-
natured, and sent to the Mrs, Thompson of the moment
even more soup and wine than her usual not iU3>er3l
^ allowance.

Ernest was deeply, passionately upset by his father's
letter; to think that even his dear. aunt, the one person
of his relations whom he really loved, should have turned
against him and thougiit badly of him after all. This was
the unkindest cut of all. In the hurry of her illness Miss
Pondfex, while thinking only of his welfare, had omitted
to make such small present mention of him as would
have made his father's innuendoes stingless ; and her ill-
ness being infectious, she had not seen him after its na-
ture was known. I myself did not know of Theobald's
letter, nor think enough about my godson to guess what
might easily be his state. It was not till many years after-
wards that I found Theobald's letter in the pocket of an
old portfolio which Ernest had used at school, and in
which other old letters and school documents were col-
lected which I have used in this book. He had forgotten
that he had it, but told me when he saw it that he re-
membered it as the first thing that made him begin to rise
against his father in a rebellion which he recognised as
righteous, though he dared not openly avow it. Not the
least serious thing was that it would, he feared, be his
duty to give up the legacy his grandfather had left him ;
for if it was his only through a mistake, how could he
keep it?

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The Way of All Flesh 179

Dnrn^ the rest of the half year Emest was listless and
Tinhappy. He was very fond of some of his schoolfel-
lows, but afraid of those whom he believed to be better
than himself, and prone to idealise everyone into being
his superior except those who were obviously a good
deal beneath him. He held himself much too cheap, and
because he was without that physical strength and v^ur
which he so much coveted, and also because he knew he
shirked his lessons, he believed that he was without any-
thing which could deserve the name of a good quality;
he was naturally bad, and one of those for whom there
was no place for repentance, though he sought it even
with tears. So he shrank out of sight of those whom in
his boyish way he idolised, never for a moment sus-
pecting that he might have capacities to the full as hi^
as theirs though of a different kind, and fell in more
with those who were reputed of the baser sort, with
whom he could at any rate be upon equal terms. Before
the end of the half year he had dropped from the estate
to which he had been raised during his aunt's stay at
Roughborough, and his old dejection, varied, however,
with bursts of conceit rivalling those of his mother,
resumed its sway over him. "Pontifex," said Dr. Skin-
ner, who had fallen upon him in hall one day like a
moral landslip, before he had time to escape, "do you
never laugh? Do you always look so pretematurally
grave?" The doctor had not meant to be unkind, but
the boy turned crimson, and escaped.

There was one place only where he was happy, and that
was in the old church of St. Michael, when his friend the
organist was practising. About this time cheap editions
of the great oratorios began to appear, and Emest got
them all as soon as they were published ; he would some-
times sell a school-book to a second-hand dealer, and
buy a number or two of the "Messiah," or the "Creation,"
or "Elijah," with the proceeds. This was simply cheating
his papa and mamma, but Emest was falling low again —

Coo'jic

i8o The Way of All Flesh

or thot^ht he was — and he wanted the music much, and
the Sallust, or whatever it was, little. Sometimes the
organist would go home, leaving his keys with Ernest, so
that he could play by himself and lock up the organ and
the church in time to get back for calling over. At other
times, while his friend was playing, he would wander
round the church, looking at the monuments and the old
stained glass windows, enchanted as regards both ears
and eyes, at once. Once the old rector got hold of him as
he was watching a new window being put in, which
the rector had bought in Germany — the work, it was
supposed, of Albert Durer. He questioned Ernest, and
finding that he was fond of music, he said in his old
trembling voice (for he was over eighty), "Then you
should have known Dr. Bumey who wrote the history of
music. I knew him exceedingly well when I was a young
man." That made Ernest's heart beat, for he knew that
Dr. Bumey, when a boy at school at Chester, used to
break bounds that he might watch Handel smoking his
pipe in the Exchange coffee house — and now he was in
the presence of one who, if he had not seen Handel
himself, had at least seen those who had seen him.

These were oases in his desert, but, as a general rule,
the boy looked thin and pale, and as thou^ he had a
secret which depressed him, which no doubt he had, but
for which I cannot blame him> He rose, in spite of him-
self, higher in the school, but fell ever into deeper and
deeper disgrace with the masters, and did not gain in the
opinion of those boys about whom he was persuaded
that they could assuredly n«ver know what it was to

-have a secret weighing upon their minds. This was what
Ernest felt so keenly; he did not much care about the

■ boys who liked him, and idolised some who kept him as
far as possible at a distance, but this is pretty much the
case with all boys everywhere.

At last things reached a crisis, below which they could
not very well go, for at the end of the half year but one

The Way of All Flesh i8l

after his aunt's death, Emest brought back a document
in his portmanteau, which Theobald stigmatised as "in-
famous and outrageous." I need hardly say I am allud-
ing to his school bill.

This document was always a source of anxiety to
Ernest, for it was gone into with scrupulous care, and
he was a good deal cross-examined about it. He would
sometimes "write in" for articles necessary for his edu-
cation, such as a portfolio, or a dictionary, and sell the
same, as I have explained, in order to eke out his pocket
money, probably to buy either music or tobacco. These
frauds were sometimes, as Emest thdught, in imminent
danger of being discovered, and it was a load off his
breast when the cross-examination was safely over. This
time Theobald had made a great fuss about the extras,
but had grudgingly passed them ; it was another matter,
however, with the character and the moral statistics, with
which the bill concluded.

The page on which these details were to be found was
«6 follows;

Repokt of the Conduct and Proguss of Esmsi Poininx

UiTER Fifth Foru, hau.yzar ekding MiosuMum 1851
Gassics — Idle, listless and unimproving.
Mathematics " "

Divinity " "

Conduct in house — Orderly.
General Conduct — Not satisfactory, on account of his sreat un-

punctuality and inattention to duties.
Monthly merit money is. 6d. 6d. od. 6d. Total 33. 6d.

Number of merit marks 3 o i i o Total 4

Number of penal marks a6 20 25 30 25 Total, 136
Number of extra peoals 9 6 10 12 11 Total' 48

I recommend that his pocket money he made to depend upon
his merit roon^.

S. SxiNHBS, Headmatter.

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i82 The Way of All Flesh

CHAPTER XXXVIII

Ernest was thus in disgrace from the be^nnit^ of the
holidays, but an incident soon occurred which led him
into delinquencies compared witi) which all his previous
sins were venial.

Among the servants at the Rectory was a remarkably
pretty girl named Ellen. She came from Devonshire, and
was the daughter of a fisherman who had been drowned
when she wa&a (^Id- Her inottier set up a small shop in
the village where *ber htisband had lived, and just man-
aged to make ju living. Ellen remained with her till
she was fourteen, when she first went out to service.
Four years later, when she was about eighteen, but so
well grown that she might have passed for twenty, she
had been strongly recommended to Christina, who was
then in want of a housemaid, and had now been at Bat-
tersby about twelve months.

As I have said, the girl was remarkably pretty; she
looked the perfection of health and gopd temper, indeed
there was a serene expression upon her face which capti-
vated almost all who saw her; she looked as if matters
had always gone well with her and were always going to
do so, and as if no conceivable combination of circum-
stances could put her for long together out of temper
either with herself or with any<;yis else. Her complexion
was clear, but high; her_eyes were grey and beautifully
shaped ; her lips were full and restful, with something of
an Egyptian Sphinx-like character about them. When I
learned that she came from Devonshire I fancied I saw
a strain of far-away Egyptian blood in her, for I had
heard, though I know not what foimdation there was for
the story, that the Egyptians made settlements on the
coast of Devonshire and Cornwall long before the
Romans conquered Britain. Her hair was a rich brown,
and her figure — of about the middle height — ^perfect, but

The Way of All Flesh 183

errii^ if at all on the side of robustness. Altogether
she was one of those girls about whom one is inclined
to wonder how they can remain unmarried a week or a
day longer.

Her face (as indeed faces generally are, though I
grant they lie sometimes) was a fair index to her dispo-
sition. She was good nature itself, and everyone in the
bouse, not excluding I believe even Theobald himself
after a fashion, was fond of her. As for Christina she
took the very wannest interest in her, and used to have
her into the dining-room twice a week, and prepare her
for confirmation (for by some accident she had never
been confirmed) by explaining to her the geography of
Palestine and the routes taken by St. Paul on his va-
rious journeys in Asia Minor.

When Bishop Treadwell did actually come down to
Battersby and hold a confirmation there (Christina had
her wish, he slept at Battersby, and she had a grand
dinner party for him, and called him "My lord" several
times), he was so much struck with her pretty face and >
modest demeanour when he laid his hands upon her that
he asked Christina about her. When she replied that
Ellen was one of her own servants, the bishop seemed,
so she thought or chose to think, quite pleased that so
pretty a girl should have found so exceptionally good a
situation.

Ernest used to get up early during the holidays so that
he might play the piano before breakfast without dis-
turbing his papa and mamma — or rather, perhaps, with-
out being disturbed by them. Ellen would generally be
there sweeping the drawing-room floor and dusting while
he was playing, and the boy, who was ready to make
friends with most people, soon became very fond of her.
He was not as a general rule sensitive to the charms of
the fair sex, indeed he had hardly been thrown in with
any women except his Aunts Allaby, and his Aunt Ale-
thea, his mother, his sister Charlotte and Mrs. Jay; some-

i84 The Way of All Flesh

times also he had had to take off his hat to the Miss
Skinners, and had felt as if he should sink into the
earth on doing so, but his shyness had worn off with
Ellen, and the pair had become fast friends.

Perhaps it was well that Ernest was not at home for
very long together, but as yet his affection though hearty
was quite Platonic. He was not only innocent, but de-
plorably — I might even say guiltily — innocent. His pref-
erence was based upon the fact that Ellen never scolded
him, but was always smiling and good tempered; besides
she used to like to hear him play, and this gave him addi-
tional zest in playing. The morning access to the piano
was indeed the one distinct advantage which the holi-
days had in Ernest's eyes, for at school he could not get
at a piano except quasi-surreptitiously at the shop of Mr.
Pearsall, the music-seller.

On returning this midsummer he was shocked to find
his favourite looking pale and ill. All her good spirits
had left her, the roses had fled from her cheek, and she
seemed on the point of going into a decline. She said
she was unhappy about her mother, whose health was
failing, and was afraid she was herself not long for this
world. Christina, of course, noticed the change. "I
have often remarked," she said, "that those very fresh-
coloured, healthy- looking girls are the first to break up,
I have given her calomel and James's powders repeatedly,
and though she does not like it, I think I must show her
to Dr. Martin when he next comes here."

"Very well, my dear," said Theobald, and so next time
Dr. Martin came Ellen was sent for. Dr. Martin soon
discovered what would probably have been apparent to
Christina herself if she had been able to conceive of such
an ailment in connection with a servant who lived under
the same roof as Theobald and herself — the purity of
whose married life should have preserved all unmarried
people who came near them from any taint of mischief.

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The Way of All Flesh 185

When it was discovered that in three or four months
more Ellen would become a mother, Christina's natural
good nature would have prompted her to deal as leniently
with the case as she could, if she had not been panic-
stricken lest any mercy on her and Theobald's part should
be construed into toleration, however partial, of so great
a sin ; hereon she dashed oflf into the conviction that the
only thing to do was to pay Ellen her wages, and pack her
off on the instant bag and baggage out of the house which
purity had more especially and particularly singled out
for its abiding city. When she thought of the fearful
contamination which Ellen's continued presence even for
a week would occasion, she could not hesitate.

Then came the question — horrid thought! — as to who
was the partner of Ellen's guilt F Was it, could it be, her
own son, her darling Ernest ? Ernest was getting a big
boy now. She could excuse any young woman for taking
a fancy to him; as for himself, why she was sure he
was behind no young man of his age in appreciation
of the charms of a nice-looking young woman. 'So
long as he was innocent she did not mind this, but oh, if
he were guilty 1

She could not bear to think of it, and yet it would be
mere cowardice not to look such a matter in the face —
her hope was in the Lord, and she was ready to bear
cheerfully and make the best of any suffering He might
think fit to lay upon her. That the baby must be either
a boy or girl — this much, at any rate, was clear. No
less clear was it that the child, if a boy, would resemble
Theobald, and if a girl, herself. Resemblance, whether
of body or mind, generally leaped over a generation. The
guilt of the parents must not be shared by the innocent
offspring of shame — oh! no — and such a child as this

would be She was off in one of her reveries at

once.

The child was in the act of being consecrated Arch-

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i86 The Way of All Flesh

bishop of Canterbury when Theobald came in from a
visit in the parish, and was told of the shocking dis-
covery,

Christina said nothing about Ernest, and I believe was
more than half angry when the blame was laid upon other
shoulders. She was easily consoled, however, and fell
back on the double reflection, firstly, that her son was
pure, and secondly, that she was quite sure he would not
have been so had it not been for his religious convictic»is
which had held him back — as, of course, it was cmly to
be expected they would.

Theobald Agreed that no time must be lost in paying
Ellen her wages and packing her off. So this was done,
and less than two hours after Dr. Mai'tin had entered
the house Ellen was sitting beside John the coachman,
with her face muffled up so that it could not be seen,
weeping bitterly as she was being driven to the statioti.

CHAPTER XXXIX

Ernest had been out all the morning, but came in to the
yard of the Rectory from the spinney behind the house
just as Ellen's things were being put into the carrij^e.
He thought it was Ellen whom he then saw get into the
carriage, but as her face had been hidden by her hand-
kerchief he had not been able to see plainly who it was,
and dismissed the idea as improbable.

He went to the back-kitchen window, at which the
cook was standing peeling the potatoes for dinner, and
found her crying bitterly. Ernest was much distressed,
for he liked the cook, and, of course, wanted to know
what all the 'matter was, who it was that had just g«ie
off in the pony carriage, and whyp The cook told him
it was Ellen, but said that no earthly power should make
it cross her lips why it was she was going away ; when,
however, Ernest took her ttu pied de la lettre and asked

The Way of All Flesh irty)

no further questions, she told him all about it aftfr ex-
torting the most solemn promises of secrety.

It took Ernest some minutes to arrive at the facts of
the case, but when he understood them he leaned against
the pump, which stood near the back-kitchen window,
and mingled his tears with the cook's.

Then, his blood began to boil within him. He did not
see that after all his father and mother could have done
much otherwise than they actually did. They might per-
haps have been less precipitate, and tried to keep the
matter a little more quiet, but this would not have been
easy, nor would it have mended things very materially. ,
The bitter fact remains that if a girl does certain things |
she must do them at her peril, no matter how young ^
and pretty she is nor to what temptation she has sue- ;,
ctunbed. This is the way of the world, and as yet there i^
has been no help found for it.

Ernest could only see what he gathered from the cook,
namely, that his favourite, Ellen, was being turned adrift
with a matter of three pounds in her pocket, to go she
knew not where, and to do she knew not what, and that
she had said she should hang or drown herself, which the
boy implicitly believed she would.

With greater promptitude than he had shown yet, he
reckoned up his money and found he had two shillings
and threepence at his command; there was his knife
which might sell for a shilling, and there was the silver
watch his Aunt Alethea had given him shortly before
she died. The carriage had been gone now a full quarter
of an hour, and it must have got some distance ahead,
but he would do his best to catch it up, and there were
short cuts which would perhaps give him a chance. He
was off at once, and from the top of the hill just past
the Rectory paddock he could see the carriage, looking
very small, on a bit of road which showed perhaps a
mile and a half in front of him.

One of the most popular amusements at Rot^boitMigh

i88' The Way of All Flesh

was an institution called "the hounds" — more commonljr
known elsewhere as "hare and hounds," but in this case
the hare was a couple of boys who were called foxes,
and boys are so particular about correctness of nomen-
clature where their sports are concerned that I dare not
say they played "hare and hounds"; these were "the
hounds," and that was all. Ernest's want of muscular
stren^h did not tell against him here; there was no
jostling up against boys who, though neither older nor
taller than he, were yet more robustly built ; if it came to
mere endurance he was as good as any one else, so when
his carpentering was stopped he had naturally taken to
"the hounds" as his favourite amusement. His lungs thus
exercised had become developed, and as a rtm of six or
seven miles across country was not more than he was
used to, he did not despair by the help of the short cuts
of overtaking the carriage, or at the worst of catching
Ellen at the station before the train left. So he ran and
ran and ran till his first wind was gone and his second
came, and he could breathe more easily. Never with
"the hounds" had he run so fast and with so few breaks
as now, but with all his efforts and the help of the short
cuts he did not catch up the carriage, and would prob-
ably not have done so had not John happened to turn his
head and seen him running and making signs for the
carriage to stc^ a quarter of a mile off. He was now
about five miles from home, and was nearly done up.

He was crimson with his exertion ; covered with dust,
and with his trousers and coat sleeves a trifle short for
him he cut a poor figure enough as he thrust on Ellen
his watch, his knife, and the little money he had. The
one thing he implored of her was not to do those dread-
ful things which she threatened — for his sake if for no
other reason.

Ellen at first would not hear of taking anything from
him, but the coachman, who was from the north country,
sided with Ernest. "Take it, my lass," he said kindly;

The Way of All Flesh 189

"take what thou canst get whiles thou canst get it; as
for Master Ernest here — he has run well after thee;
therefore let him give thee what he is minded."

Ellen did what she was told, and the two parted with
many tears, the girl's last words being that she should
never forget him, and that they should meet again here-
after, she was sure they should, and then she would
repay him.

Then Ernest got into a field by the roadside, flung
himself on the grass, and waited under the shadow of a
hedge tilt the carriage should pass on its return frcHu the
station and pick him up, for he was dead beat. Thoughts
which had already occurred to him with some force now
came more strongly before him, and he saw that he had
got himself into one mess — or rather into a half-a-dozen
messes — the more.

In the first place he should be late for dinner, and this
was one of the offences on which Theobald had no mercy.
Also he should have to say where he had been, and there
was a danger of being found out if he did not speak the
truth. Not only this, but sooner or later it must come out
that he was no longer possessed of the beautiful watch
which his dear aunt had given him — and what, pray, had
he done with it, or how had he lost it ? The reader will
know very well what he ought to have done. He should
have gone straight home, and if questioned should have
said, "I have been running after the carriage to catch our
housemaid Ellen, whom I am very fond of ; I have given
her my watch, my knife and all my pocket money, so that
I have now no pocket money at all and shall probably ask
you for some more sooner than I otherwise. might have
done, and you will also have to buy me a new watch and
a knife." But then fancy the consternation which such
an announcement would have occasioned! Fancy the
scowl and flashing eyes of the infuriated Theobald 1
"You unprincipled young scoundrel," he would exclaim,
"do you mean to vilify your own parents by implying

190 The Way of All Flesh

that tJi^ have dealt harshly by one whose profligacy has
disgraced their house?"

Or he might take it with CMie of those sallies of sa>
castic calm, of which he believed himself to be a master.

"Very well, Ernest, very well: I shall say nothing;
you can please yourself ; you are not yet twenty-one, but
pray act as if you were your own master; your poor
aunt doubtless gave you the watch that you might fling
it away upon the first improper character you came
across ; I think I can now understand, however, why she
did not leave you her money; and, after all, your god-
father may just as well have it as the kind of people on
whom you would lavish it if it were yours."

Then his mother would burst into tears and implore
him to repent and seek the things belonging to his peace
■ while there was yet time, by falling on his knees to Theo-
bald and assuring him of his. unfailing love for him as
the kindest and tenderest father in the imiverse. Ernest
could do all this just as well as they could, and now, as
he lay on the grass, speeches, some one or other of which
was as certain to come as the sun to set, kept running in
his head till they confuted the idea of telling the truth
by reducing it to an absurdity. Truth might be heroic,
but it was not within the range of practical dinnesttc
politics.

Having settled then that he was to tell a lie, what lie
should he tell? Should he say he had been robbed? He
had enough imagination to know that he had not enough
imagination to carry him out here. Young as he was, his
instinct told him that the best liar is he who makes the
smallest amount of lying go the longest way — who hus-
bands it too carefully to waste it where it can be dis-
pensed with. The simplest course would be to say that
he had lost the watch, and was late for dinner because he
had been looking for it. He had been out for a long
walk — he chose the line across the fields that he had
actually taken — and the weather being very hot; he had

The Way of All Flesh 191

taken off his coat and waistcoat ; in carrying them over
his arm his watch, his money, and his knife had dropped
out of them. He had got nearly home when he found
out his loss, and had run back as fast as he could, look-
ing along the line he had followed, till at last he had
given it up; seeing the carriage coming back from the
station, he had let it pick him up and bring him home.

This covered everything, the runnii^ and all ; for his
face still showed that he must have been running hard;
the only question was whether he had been seen about
the Rectory by any but the servants for a couple of hours
or so before Ellen had gone, and this he was happy to
believe was not the case; for he had been out except
during his few minutes' interview with the cook. His
father had been out in the parish; his mother had cer-
tainly not come across him, and his brother and sister had
also been out with the governess. He knew he could d&
pcnd upon the cook and the other servants — the coach-
man would see to this ; on the whole, therefore, both he
and the coachman thought the story as proposed by
Ernest would about meet the requirements of the case.

CHAPTER XL

When Ernest got home and sneaked in through Aie back
door, he heard his father's voice in its angriest tones, in-
quiring whether Master Ernest had already returned.
He felt as Jack must have felt in the story of Jack and
the Bean Stalk, when from the oven in which he was
hidden he heard the ogre ask his wife what young chil-
dren she had got for his supper. With much courage,
and, as the event proved, with not less courage than dis-
cretion, he took the bull fay the horns, and announced
himself at once as having just come in after having met
with a terrible misfortune. Little by little he told his
story, and thou^ Theobald stormed somewhat at his

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193 The Way of All Flesh

"incredible folly and carelessness," he got off better than
he expected. Theobald and Christina had indeed at first
been inclined to connect his absence from dinner with
Ellen's dismissal, but on finding it clear, as Theobald
said — everything was always clear with Theobald — that
Ernest had not been in the house all the morning, and
could therefore have known nothing of what had hap-
pened, he was acquitted on this account for once in a
way, without a stain upon his character. Perhaps Theo-
bald was in a good temper; he may have seen from the
paper that morning that his stocks had been rising; it
may have been this or twenty other things, but what-
ever it was, he did not scold so much as Ernest had ex-
pected, and, seeing the boy look exhausted and believing
him to be much grieved at the loss of his watch, Theo-
bald actually prescribed a glass of wine after his
dinner, whicii, strange to say, did not choke him, but
made him see things more cheerfully than was usual
with him.

That night when he said his prayers, he inserted a few
paragraphs to the effect that he might not be discovered,
and that things might go well with Ellen, but he was
anxious and ill at ease. His guilty conscience pointed out
to him a score of weak places in his story, through any
one of which detection might even yet easily enter. Next
day and for many days afterwards he fled when no man
was pursuing, and trembled each time he heard his
father's voice calling for him. He had already so many
causes of anxiety that he could stand little more, and in
spite of all his endeavours to look cheerful, even his
mother could see that something was preying tipoa his
mind. Then the idea returned to her that, after all, her
son might not be innocent in the Ellen tnatter — and this
was so interesting that she felt bound to get as near the
truth as she could.

"Come here, my poor, pale-faced, heavy-eyed boy," she
said to him one day in her kindest manner; "come and

The Way of All Flesh 193

sit down t^ me, and we will have a little quiet confidential
talk together, will we not?"

The boy went mechanically to the sofa. Whenever his
mother wanted what she called a confidential talk with
him she always selected the sofa as the most suitable
ground on which to open her campaign. All mothers do
this; the sofa is to them what the dining-room is to
fathers. In the present case the sofa was particularly
well adapted for a strategic purpose, being an old-fash-
ioned one with a high back, mattress, bolsters and cush-
ions. Once safely penned into one of its deep comers,
it was like a dentist's chair, not too easy to get out of
again. Here she could get at him better to pull him
about, if this should seem desirable, or if she thought fit
to' cry she could bury her head in the sofa cushion and
abandon herself to an agony of grief which seldom
failed of its effect. None of her favourite manoeuvres
were so easily adopted in her usual seat, the armchair
on the right hand side of the fireplace, and so well did
her son know from his mother's tone that this was goir^
to be a sofa conversation that he took his place like a
lamb as soon as she began to speak and before she could
reach the sofa herself. ,

"My dearest boy," began his mother, taking hold of his \
hand and placing it within her own, "promise me never 1
to be afraid either of your dear papa or of me; promise
me this, my dear, as you love me, promise it to me," and
she kissed him again and again and stroked his hair. But
with her other hand she still kept hold of his ; she had
got him and she meant to keep him.

The lad hung down his head and promised. What else
could he do?

"You know there is no one, dear, dear Ernest, who
loves you so much as your papa and I do; no one who
watches so carefully over your interests or who is so
anxious to enter into all your little joys and troubles as
we are; but, my dearest boy, it grieves me to think some-

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194 The Way of All Flesh

times ihat you have not that perfect love for and con-
fidence in us which you ought to have. You know, my
darling, that it would be as much our pleasure as our
duty to watch over the development of your moral and
spiritual nature, but alas! you will not let us see your
moral and spiritual nature. At times we are almost in-
clined to doubt whether you have a moral and spiritual
naturi at all. Of your inner life, my dear, we know
nothing beyond such scraps as we can glean in spite of
you, from little things which escape you almost before
j you know that you have said them."
I The boy winced at this. It made him feel hot and un-
L c(»nfortable all over. He knew well how careful he ought
1 to be, and yet, do what he could, from time to time his
\ forgetfulness of the part betrayed him into unreserve.
' His mother saw that he winced, and enjoyed the scratch
\she had given him. Had she felt less confident of vic-
tory she had better have foregone the pleasure of touch-
ing as it were the eyes at the end of the snail's horns in
drder to enjoy seeing the snail draw them in again —
but she knew that when she had got him well down into
the sofa, and held his hand, she had the enemy almost
Absolutely at her mercy, and could do pretty much what
she hked.

"Papa docs not feel," she continued, "that you love
him with that fulness and unreserve which would prompt
you to have no concealment from him, and to tell him
everything freely and fearlessly as your most loving
earthly friend next only to your Heavenly Father, Per-
fect love, as we know, casteth out fear ; your father loves
you perfectly, my darling, but he does not feel as though
you loved him perfectly in return. If you fear him it is
because you do not love him as he deserves, and I know
it sometimes cuts him to the very heart to think that he
has earned from you a deeper and more willing sympathy
than you display towards him. Oh, Ernest, Ernest, do
not grieve one who is so good and noble-hearted by

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The Way of All Flesh 195

conduct which I can call by no other name thaa ingrati-
tode."

Ernest could never stand being spoken to in this way
by his mother : for he still believed that she loved him,
and that he was fond of her and had a friend in her —
up to a certain point. But his mother was beginning to
■ come to the end of her tether ; she had played the, domes-
tic coniidence trick upon him times without number al-
ready. Over and over again had she wheedled from him
all she wanted to know, and afterwards got him into
the most horrible scrape by telling the whole to Theobald.
Ernest had remonstrated more than once upon these occa-
sions, and had pointed out to his mother how disastrous
to him his confidences had been, but Christina had always
joined issue with him and showed him in the clearest
possible tnanner that in each case she had been right,
and that he could not reasonably complain. Generally it
was her conscience that forbade her to be silent, and
against this there was no appeal, for we are all bound
to follow the dictates of our conscience. Ernest used to
have to recite a hymn about conscience. It was to the
effect that if you did not pay attention to its voice it
would soon leave off speaking. "My mamma's conscience
has not left off speaking," said Ernest to one of his chums
at Roughborough; "it's always jabbering."

When a boy has once spoken so disrespectfully as this
about his mother's conscience it is practically all over be-
tween him and her. Ernest through sheer force of habit,
of the sofa, and of the return of the associated ideas, was
still so moved by the siren's voice as to yearn to sail
towards her, and fling himself into her arms, but it would
not do; there were other associated ideas that returned
also, and the mangled bones of too many murdered con-
fessions were lying whitening round the skirts of his
mother's dress, to allow him by any possibility to trust
her further. So he hung his head and loc4ced sheepish,
but kept his own counseL

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196 The Way of All Flesh

"I see, my dearest," continued his mother, "either that
I am mistaken, and that there is nothing on your niind,
or that you wil! not unburden yourself to me: but oh,
Ernest, tell me at least this much ; is there nothing that
you repent of, nothing which makes you unhappy in con-
nection with that miserable girl Ellen ?"

Ernest's heart failed him. "I am a dead boy now,"
he said to himself. He had not the faintest conceptitm
what his mother was driving at, and thought she sus^
pccted about the watch ; but he held his ground,

I do not believe he was much more of a coward than
his neighbours, only he did not know that all sensible
people are cowards when they are off their beat, or when
they think they are going to be roughly handled. I be-
lieve that if the truth were known, it would be found
that even the valiant St. Michael himself tried hard to
shirk his famous combat with the dragon; he pretended
not to see all sorts of misconduct on the dragon's part ;
shut his eyes to the eating up of I do not know how many
hundreds of men, women and children whom he had
promised to protect; allowed himself to be publicly in-
sulted a dozen times over without resenting it; and in the
end, when even an angel could stand it no longer, he
shilly-shallied and temporised an unconscionable time
before he would fix the day and hour for the encounter.
As for the actual combat it was much such another
wurra-vmtra as Mrs. Allaby had had with the young man
who had in the end married her eldest daughter, till
after a time, behold, there was the dragon lying dead,
while he was himself alive and not very seriously hurt
after all.

"I do not know what you mean, mamma," exclaimed
Ernest anxiously and more or less hurriedly. His mother
construed his manner into indignation at being suspected,
and being rather frightened herself she turned tail and
scuttled off as fast as her tongue could carty her.

"Oh I" she said,. "I see by your tone that you are

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The Way of All Flesh 197

innocent I Oh 1 oh 1 how I thank my heavenly Father for
this ; may He for His dear Son's sake keep you always
pure. Your father, my dear" — (here she spoke hurriedly
but gave him a searching look) "was as pure as a Spot-
less angel when he came to me. Like him, always be
self-denying, truly truthful both in word and deed, never
forgetful whose son and grandson you are, nor of the
name we gave you, of the sacred stream in whose waters
your sins were washed out of you through the blood and
blessing of Christ," etc.

But Ernest cut this — I will not say short — but a. great
deal shorter than it would have been if Christina had had
her say out, by extricating himself from his mamma's
embrace and showing a clean pair of heels. As he got
near the purlieus of the kitchen (where he was more at
ease) he heard his father calling for his mother, and
again his guilty conscience rose against him. "He has
found all out now," it cried, "and he is going to tell
mamma — this time I am done for." But there was noth-
ing in it ; his father only wanted the key of the cellaret.
Then Ernest slunk oS into a coppice or spinney behind
the Rectory paddock, and consoled himself with a pipe of
tobacco. Here in the wood with the summer sun stream-
ing through the trees and a book and his pipe the boy
forgot his cares and had an interval of that rest without
which I verily believe his life would have been insupport-
able.

Of course, Ernest was made to look for his lost prop-
erty, and a reward was oi^ered for it, but it seemed he
had wandered a good deal off the path, thinking to find
a lark's nest, more than once, and looking for a watch
and purse on Battersby piewipes was very like looking
for a needle in a bundle of hay : besides it might have
been found and taken by some tramp, or by a magpie
of which there were many in the neighbourhood, so that
after a week or ten days the search was discontinued,
and the unpleasant fact had to be faced that Ernest must

198 The Way of All Flesh

have another watch, another knife, and a small sum of
pocket money.

It was only right, however, that Emest should pay
half the cost of the watch ; this should be made easy for
him, for it should be deducted .from his pocket money
in half-yearly instalments extending over two, or even it
might be three years. In Ernest's own interests, then,
as well as those of his father and mother, it would be
well that the watch should cost as tittle as possible, so
it was resolved to buy a second-hand one. Nothing was
to be said to Emest, but it was to be bought, and laid
upon his plate as a surprise just before the holidays were
over. Theobald would have to go to the coun^ town
in a few days, and could then find some second-hand
watch which would answer sufficiently well. In the
course of time, therefore, Theobald went, furnished with
a loi^ list of household commissions, among which was
the purchase of a watch for Emest

Those, as I have said, were always happy times, when
Theobald was away for a whole day certain; the boy
was beginning to feel easy in his mind as though God
had heard his prayers, and he was not going to be found
out. Altogether the day had proved an unusually tran-
quil one, but, alas I it was not to close as it had b^tm ;
^e fickle atmosphere in which he lived was never more
likely to breed a storm than after such an interval of
brilliant calm, and when Theobald retumed Ernest had
only to look in his face to see that a hurricane was
approaching.

Christina saw that something had gone very wrong,
and was quite fr^htened lest Theobald should have heard
of some serious money loss ; he did not, however, at once
unbosom himself, but rang the bell and said to the serv-
ant, "Tell Master Ernest I wish to speak to him in the
dining-room."

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Jhe Way of All Flesh 199

CHAPTER XLI

Long before Ernest reached the dining-room his ill-
divining soul had told him that his sin had found him
out. What head of a family ever sends for any of its
members into the dining-room if his intentions are
honourable ?

When he 'reached it he found it empty — his father
having been called away for a few minutes unexpectedly
upon some parish business — and he was left in the same
kind of suspense as people are in after th^ have been
ushered into their dentist's ante-room.

Of all the rooms in the house he hated the dining-room
worst It was here that he had had to do his Latin and
Greek lessons with his father. It had a smell of some
particular kind of polish or varnish which was used in
polishing the furniture, and neither I nor Ernest can even
now come within range of the smell of this kind of
varnish without our hearts failii^ us.

Over the chimney-piece there was a veritable old mas-
ter, one of the few original pictures which Mr. George
Pontifex had brought from Italy. It was supposed to be
a Salvator Rosa, and had been bought as a great bargain.
The subject was Elijah or Elisha (whichever it was)
being fed by the ravens in the desert There were the
ravens in the upper right-hand comer with bread and
meat in their heaks and claws, and there was the prophet
in question in the lower left-hand comer looking long-
ingly up towards them. When Ernest was a very small
boy it had been a constant matter of regret to him that
the food which the ravens carried never actually reached
the prophet ; he did not understand the limitation of the
painter's art, and wanted the meat and the prophet to
be brou^t into direct contact. One day, with the help
of some steps which had been left in the room, he had
clambered up to the {ncture and with a piece of bread and

200 ' The Way of All Flesh

butter traced a greasy line right across it from the ravens
to Elisha's mouth, after which he had felt more com-
fortable.

Ernest's mind was drifting back to this youthful es-
capade when he heard his father's hand on the door, and
in another second Theobald entered.

"Oh, Ernest," said he, in an off-hand, rather cheery
manner, "there's a little matter which I should like you
to explain to me, as I have no doubt you very easily
can." Thump, thump, thump, went Ernest's heart against
his ribs ; but his father's manner was so much nicer than
usual that he began to think it mi^t be after all only
another false alarm.

"It had occurred to your mother and myself that we
should tike to set you up with a watch again before you
went back to school" ("Oh, that's all," said Ernest to
himself, quite relieved), "and I have been to-day to look
out for a second-hand one which should answer every
purpose so long as you are at school,"

Theobald spoke as if watches had half-a-dozen pur-
poses besides time-keeping, but he could hardly open his
mouth without using one or other of his tags, and "an-
swering every purpose" was one of them.

Ernest was breaking out into the usual expressions of
gratitude, when Theobald continued, "You are interrupt-
ing me," and Ernest's heart thumped again.

"You are interrupting me, Ernest. I have not yet
done." Ernest was instantly dumb.

"1 passed several shops with second-hand watches for
sale, but I saw none of a description and price which
pleased me, till at last I was shown one which had, so the
shopman said, been left with him recently for sale, and
which I at once recognised as the one which had been
given you by your Aunt Alethea. Even if I had failed to
reci^ise it, as perhaps I might have done, I should have
identified it directly it reached my hands, inasmuch as it
had 'E. P., a present from A. P.' engraved upon the

The Way of All Flesh 201

inside. I need say no more to show that this was the
very watch which you tolfl your mother and me that you
had dropped out of your pocket."

Up to this time Theobald's manner had been studiously
calm, and his words had been uttered slowly, but here he
suddenly quickened and flung off the mask as he added
the words, "or some such cock and bull story, which your
mother and I were too truthful to disbelieve. You can
guess what must be our feelings now."

Ernest felt that this last home-thrust was just. In his
less anxious moments he had thought his papa and
mamma "green" for the readiness with which they be-
lieved him, but he could not deny that their credulity was
a proof of their habitual truthfulness of mind. In com-
mon justice he must own that it was very dreadful for
two such truthful people to have a son as untruthful as
he knew himself to be.

"Believing that a son of your mother and myself wonkl
be incapable of falsehood I at once assumed that some
tramp had picked the watch up and was now trying to
dispose of it."

This, to the best of my belief, was not accurate. Theo-
bald's first assumpttoR had been that it was Ernest who
was trying to sell the watch, and it was an inspiration of
the moment to say that his magnanimous mind had at
once conceived the idea of a tramp.

"You may imagine how shocked I was when I dis-
covered that the watch had been brought for sale by that
miserable woman Ellen" — here Ernest's heart hardened a
little, and he felt as near an approach to an instinct to
turn as one so defenceless could be expected to feel;
his father quickly perceived this and continued, "who
was turned out of this house in circumstances which
I will not pollute your ears by more particularly de-
scribit^.

"I put aside the horrid conviction which was ban-
ning to dawn upon me, and assumed that in the interval

202 The Way of All Flesh

between her dismissal and her leaving this house, she had
added theft to her other sin, and having found your
watch in your bedroom had purloined it. It even occurred
to me that you might have missed your watch after the
woman was gone, and, suspecting who had taken it, had
run after the carriage in order to recover it ; but when I
told the shopman of my suspicions he assured me that
the person who left it with him had declared most
solemnly that it had been given her by her master's son,
whose property it was, and who had a perfect right to
dispose of tt.

"He told me fiulher that, thinking the circumstances in
which the watch was offered for sale somewhat sus-
picious, he had insisted upon the woman's telling him the
whole story of how she came by it, before be would
consent to buy it of her.

"He said that at first — as women of that stamp in-
variably do — she tried prevarication, but on being threat-
ened that she should at once be given into custody if she
did not tell the whole truth, she described the way in
which you had run after the carriage, till as she said you
were black in the face, and insisted on giving her all your
pocket money, your knife and your watch. She added
that my coachman John — whom I shall instantly dis-
charge — was witness to the whole transaction. Now,
Ernest, be pleased to tell me whether this appalling story
is true or false?"

It never occurred to Ernest to ask his father why he
did not hit a man his own size, or to stop him midway
in the story with a remonstrance against beii^ kicked
when he was down. The boy was too much shodced and
shaken to be inventive ; he could only drift and stammer
out that the tale was true.

"So I feared," said Theobald, "and now, Ernest, be
good enoug'b to ring the bell."

When the bell had been answered, Theobald desired
that John should be sent for, and when John came

The Way of All Flesh 203

"nieobald calculated the wages due to him and desired
him at once to leave the house.

John's manner was quiet and respectful. He took his
dismissal as a matter of course, for Theobald had hinted
enough to make him understand why he was being dis-
charged, but when he saw Ernest sitting pale and awe-
stnidc on the edge of his chair against the dining-room
wall, a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and turning
to Theobald he said in a broad northern accent which
I will not attempt to reproduce :

"Look here, master, I can guess what all this is about—
now before I goes I want to have a word with you."

"Ernest," said Theobald, "leave the room."

"No, Master Ernest, you shan't," said John, planting
himself against the door. "Now, master," he continued,
"you may do as you please about me. I've been a good
servant to you, and I don't mean to say as you've been a
bad master to me, but I do say that if you bear hardly on
Master Ernest here I have those in the village as '11 hear
on't and let me know ; and if I do hear on't I'll come back
and break every bone in your skin, so there I"

John's breath came and went quickly, as though he
would have been well enough pleased to b^n the bone-
breakii^ business at once. Theobald turned of an ashen
colour — not, as he explained afterwards, at the idle
threats of a detected and angry ruffian, but at such
atrocious insolence from one of his own servants.

"I shall leave Master Ernest, John," he rejoined
proudly, "to the reproaches of his own conscience."
("Thank God and thank John," thought Ernest.) "As
for yourself, I admit that you have been an excellent
servant until this unfortunate business came on, and I
shall have niuch pleasure in giving you a character if
you want one. Have you anything more to say ?"

"No more nor what I have said," said Jolm sullenly,
"but what I've said I means and I'll stick to — character
or no character."

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204 The Way of All Flesh

"Oh, yon need not be afraid about your character,
John," said Theobald kindly, "and as it is getting late,
there can be no occasion for you to leave the house
before to-morrow morning."

To this there was no reply from John, who retired,
packed up his things, and left the house at once.

When Christina heard what had happened she said she
could condone all except that Theobald should have been
subjected to such insolence from one of his own servants
through the misconduct of his son. Theobald was the
bravest man in the whole world, and could easily have
collared the wretch and turned htm out of the room, but
how far more dignified, how far nobler had been his
reply I How it would tell in a novel or upon the stage,
for though the stage as a whole was immoral, yet there
were doubtless some plays which were improving spec-
tacles. She could fancy the whole house hushed with
excitement at hearing John's menace, and hardly breath-
ing by reason of their interest and expectation of the
coming answer. Then the actor — ^probably the great and
good Mr, Macready — would say, "I shall leave Master
Ernest, John, to the reproaches of his own conscience."
Oh, it was sublime I What a roar of applause must
follow I Then she should enter herself, and fling her
arms about her husband's neck, and call him her lion-
hearted husband. When the curtain dropped, it would
be buzzed about the house that the scene just witnessed
had been drawn from real life, and had actually occurred
in the household of the Rev. Theobald Pontifex, who had
married a Miss Allaby, etc., etc.

As regards Ernest the suspicions which had already
crossed her mind were deepened, but she thought it better
to leave the matter where it was. At present she was in
a very strong position. Ernest's oflicial purity was firmly
established, but at the same time he had shown himself so
susceptible that she was able to fuse two contradictory
impressions concerning him into a single idea, and con-

The Way of All Flesh 205

sider him as a kind of Joseph and Don Juan in one.
This was what she had wanted all along, but her vanity
being gratified by the possession of such a son, there was
an end of it ; the son himself was naught.

No doubt if John had not interfered, Ernest would
have had to expiate his offence with ache, penury and
imprisonment. As it was the boy was "to consider him-
self" as undergoing these punishments, and as suffering
pangs of unavailing remorse inflicted on him by his con-
science into the bargain ; but beyond the fact that Theo-
bald kept him more closely to his holiday task, and the
continued coldness of his parents, no ostensible punish-
ment was meted out to him. Ernest, however, tells me
that he looks back upon this as the time when he began
to know that he had a cordial and active dislike for both 'i
his parents, which I suppose means that he was now '
beginning to be aware that he was reaching man's estate.

CHAPTER XLII

About a week before he went back to school his father
again sent for him into the dining-room, and told him
that he should restore him his watch, but that he should
deduct the sum he had paid for it — for he had thought it
better to pay a few shillings rather than dispute the
ownership of the watch, seeing that Ernest had undoubt-
edly given it to Ellen — from his pocket money, in pay-
ments which should extend over two half years. He
would therefore have to go back to Roughborough this
half year with only five shillings' pocket money. If he
wanted more he must earn more merit money.

Ernest was not so careful about money as a pattern
boy should be. He did not say to himself, "Now I have
got a sovereign which must last me fifteen weeks, there-
fore I may spend exactly one shilling and fourpence lo
each week" — and spend exactly one and fourpence in

2o6 The Way of All Flesh

each week accordingly. He ran throt^h his money at
about the same rate as other boys did, being pretty well
cleaned out a few days after he had got back to school.
When he had no more money, he got a little into debt,
and when as far in debt as he could see his way to repay-
ing, he went without luxuries. Immediately he got any
money he would pay his debts ; if there was any over he
would spend it; if there was not — ^and there seldom was —
he would begin to go on tick again.

His finance was always based upon the supposition
that he should go back to school with £i in his pocket —
of which he owed say a matter of fifteen shillings. There
would be five shillings for sundry school subscriptions —
but when these were paid the weekly allowance of six-
pence given to each boy in hall, his merit money (which
this half he was resolved should come to a good sum)
and renewed credit, would carry him through the half.

The sudden failure of 15/ — was disastrous to my
hero's scheme of finance. His face betrayed his emotions
so clearly that Theobald said he was determined "to learn
the truth at once, and this time without days and days of
falsehood" before he reached it. The melancholy fact
was not long in coming out, namely, that the wretched
Ernest added debt to the vices of idleness, falsehood and
possibly — for it was not impossible — immorality.

How had he come to get into debt? Did the other
boys do so ? Ernest reluctantly admitted that they did.

With what shops did they get into debt?

This was asking too much, Ernest said he didn't know I

"Oh, Ernest, Ernest," exclaimed his mother, who was
in the room, "do not 50 soon a second time presume upon
the forbearance of the tenderest-hearted father in the
world. Give time for one stab to heal before you wound
him with another."
t This was all very fine, but what was Ernest to do?
How could he get the school shopkeepers into trouble by
owning that they let some of the boys go on tick with

The Way of All Flesh ^

them? There was Mrs. Cross, a good old soul, who
used to sell hot rolls and butter for breakfast, or e^s and
toast, or it might be the quarter of a fowl with bread
sauce and mashed potatoes for which she would charge
6d. If she made a farthing out of the sixpence it was
as much as she did. When the boys would come troop-
ing into her shop after "the hounds" how often had not
Ernest heard her say to her servant girls, "Now then,
you wanches, git some cheers." All the boys were fond
of her, and was he, Ernest, to tell tales about her? It
was horrible.

"Now look here, Ernest," said his father with his
blackest scowl, "I am going to put a stop to this nonsense
once for all. Either take me fully into your confidence,
as a son-should take a father, and trust me to deal with
this matter as a clergyman and a man of the world —
or understand distinctly that I shall take the whole story
to Dr. Skinner, who, I imagine, will take much sterner
measures than I should."

"Oh, Ernest, Ernest," sobbed Christina, "be wise in
time, and trust those who have already shown you that
they know but too well how to be forbearing."

No genuine hero of romance should have hesitated for
a moment. Nothing should have cajoled or frightened
him into telling tales out of school. Ernest thought of •■
his ideal boys : they, he well knew, would have let their 1
tongues be cut out of them before information could i
have been wrung from any word of theirs. But Ernest [
was not an ideal boy, and he was not strong enough for .'
his surroundings ; I doubt how far any boy could with-'
s^nd-theffiocalficessure which was brought to bear upoiV
fimjjil.any rate he could not do so, and after a littts
■ffiore writhing he yielded himself a passive prey to the
enany.^'He consoled himself with the reflection that his
TS^liad not played the ccmfidence trick on him quite al
often as his mamma had, and that probably it was
better he should tell his father, than that his father

2o8 The Way of All Flesh

should insist on Dr. Skinner's making an inquiry. His
papa's conscience "jabbered" a. good deal, tkit not as much
as his mamma's. The little fool forgot that he had not
given his father as many chances of betraying him as
he had given to Christina.

Then it all came out. He owed this at Mrs. Cross's,
and this to Mrs. Jones, and this at the "Swan and Bottle"
public house, to say nothing of another shilling or six-
pence or two in other quarters. Nevertheless, Theobald
and Christina were not satiated, but rather the more they
discovered the greater grew their appetite for discovery;
it was their obvious duty to find out everything, for
though they might rescue their own darling from this
hotbed of iniquity without getting to know more than
they knew at present, were there not other papas and
mammas with darlings whom also they were bound to
rescue if it were yet possible? What boys, then, owed
money to these harpies as well as Ernest?

Here, again, there was a feeble show of resistance
but the thumbscrews were instantly applied, and Ernest,
demoralised as he already was, recanted and submitted
himself to the powers that were. He told only a little less
than he knew or thought he knew. He was examined,
re-examined, cross-examined, sent to the retirement of
his own bedroom and cross-examined again ; the smoking
in Mrs. Jones' kitchen all came out; which boys smoked
and which did not ; which boys owed money and, roughly,
how much and where; which boys swore and used bad
language. Theobald was resolved that this time Ernest
should, as he called it, take him into his confidence with-
out reserve, so the school list which went with Dr. Skin-
ner's half-yearly bills was brought out, and the most
secret character of each boy was gone through seriatim
by Mr. and Mrs. Pontifex, so far as it was in Ernest's
power to give information concerning it, and yet Theo-
bald had on the preceding Sunday preached a less feeble
sermon than he commonly preached, upon tfiejiorrgn^
" CoooAc

The Way of All Flesh 209

the Jnauisilion^ No matter how awful was the depravity
revealed to them, the pair never flinched, but probed and
probed, till they were on the point of reaching subjects
more deHcate than they had yet touched upon. Here
Ernest's unconscious self took the matter up and
made a resistance to which his conscious self was
unequal, by tumbling him. off his chair in a fit of faint-
ing.

Dr. Martin was sent for and pronounced the boy to be
seriously unwell ; at the same time he prescribed absolute
rest and absence from nervous excitement. So the
anxious parents were unwillingly compelled to be content
with what they had got already — being frightened into
leading him a quiet life for the short remainder of the
holidays. They were not idle, but Satan can find as much
mischief for busy hands as for idle ones, so he sent a
little job in the direction of Battersby which Theobald
and Christina undertook immediately. It would be a
pity, they reasoned, that Ernest should leave Rough-
borough, now that he had been there three years; it
would be ditHcuIt to find another school for him, and to
explain why he had left Roughborough, Besides, Dr.
Skinner and Theobald were supposed to be old friends,
and it would be unpleasant to offend him ; these were all
valid reasons for not removing the boy. The proper
thing to do then, would be to warn Dr. Skinner confi-
dentially of the state of his school, and to furnish him
with a school list annotated with tHe remarks extracted
from Emest, which should be appended to the name of
each boy.

Theobald was the perfection of neatness ; while his
son was ill upstairs, he copied out the school list so that
he could throw his comments into a tabular form, which
assumed the following shape — only that of course I have
changed the names. One cross in each square was to
indicate occasional offence; two stood for frequent, and
three for habitual delinquency.

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210 The Way of All Flesh

^

Drinking

beer at the
"Swan and
Bottle."

Swearing

and
Obscene
Language.

Notes.

Sautb

•

•

■>

WiU smoke
next half.

Brown

...

•

■

Jones .

'

"

...

Robinson

-

'■

•

And thus through the whole school.

Of course, in justice to Ernest, Dr. Skinner would be
bound over to secrecy before a word was said to him,
but, Ernest being thus protected, he could not be fui^
nished with the facts too completely.

CHAPTER xLrn

So important did Theobald consider this matter that he
made a special journey to Roughborough before the half
year began. It was a relief to have him out of the house,
but though his destination was not mentioned, Ernest
guessed where he had gone.

To this day he considers his conduct at this crisis to
have been one of the most serious laches of his life — one
which he can never think of without shame and indigna-
tion. He says he ought to have run away from home.
But what good could he have done if he had ? He would
have been caught, brought back and examined two days
later instead of two days earlier. A boy of barely six-
teen cannot stand against the moral pressure of a father

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The Way of All Flesh 211

and m o thw who hav * a lw ays, caressed him any more
than he c an <^"P<^ physjrally wjf;ti a powerfiil ftiTT-^nyn"
mao,. True, he may allow himself to be killed rather than
yield, but this is beit^ so morbidly heroic as to come
close round again to cowardice ; for it is little else than
suicide, which is universally condemned as cowardly.

On the re-assembling of the school it became apparent
that something had gone wrong. Dr. Skinner called the
boys together, and with much pomp excommunicated
Mrs. Cross and Mrs. Jones, by declaring their shops to fee
out of bounds. The street in which the "Swan and Bot-
tle" stood was also forbidden. The vices of drinking and
smokii^, tfierefore, were clearly aimed at, and before
prayers Dr. Skinner spoke a few impressive words about
the abominable sin of using bad language. Ernest's
feelings can' be imagined.

Next day at the hour when the daily punishments were
read out, though there had not yet been time for him to
have offended, Ernest Pontifex was declared to have
incurred every punishment which the school provided for
evil-doers. He was placed on the idle list for the whole
half year, and on perpetual detentions ; his bounds were '
curtailed; he was to attend Junior callings-over; in fact'
he was so hemmed in with punishments upon every side
that it was hardly possible for him to go outside the;
school gates. This unparalleled list of punishments in*
flicted on the first day of the half year, and intended tQ
last till the ensuing Christmas holidays, was not con-
nected with any specified offence. It required no great
penetration therefore, on the part of the boys to connect
Ernest with the putting Mrs. Cross's and Mrs. Jones's
shops out of bounds.

Great indeed was the indignation about Mrs. Cross
who, it was known, remembered Dr. Skinner himself as a
small boy only just got into jackets, and had doubtless let
him have many a sausage and mashed potatoes upon
deferred payment The head boys assembled in condave

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212 The Way of All FlesK

(lis

to consider what steps should be taken, tmt hardly had
they done so before Ernest knocked timidly at the head-
room door and took the bull by the horns by explaining
the facts as far as he could bring himself to do so. He
lade a clean breast of everything except about the school
list and the remarks he had made about each boy's charac-
ter. This infamy was mqre than he could own to, and
he kept his counsel concerning it. Fortunately he was
safe in doing so, for Dr. Skinner, pedant and more than
pedant though he was, had still just sense enough to turn
on Theobald in the matter of the school list. Whether
he resented being told that he did not know the charac-
ters of his own boys, or whether he dreaded a scandal
about the school I know not, but when Theobald had
handed him the list, over which he had expended so much
pains. Dr. Skinner had cut him uncommonly short, and
had then and there, with more suavity than was usual
with him, committed it to the flames before Theobald's
own eyes.

(Ernest got off with the head boys easier than he- ex-
pected. It was admitted that the offence, heinous though
it was, had been committed under extenuating circum-
stances; the frankness with which the culprit had con-
fessed all, his evidently unfeigned remorse, and the fury
with which Dr. Skinner was pursuing him tended to '
bring about a reaction in his favour, as though he had
been more sinned against than sinning.

As the half year wore on his spirits gradually revived,
and when attacked by one of his fits of self-abasement
he was in some degree consoled by having found out that
even his father and mother, whom he had supposed so
i,.jmmacul3te, were no better than they Should be. About
the fifth of November it was a school custom to meet
on a certain common not far from Roughborou^ and
bum somebody in eiHgy, this being the compromise ar-
rived at in the matter of fireworks and Guy Fawkes
festivities. This year it was decided that Pontitex's

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The Way of All FlesK 213

goremor should be the victim, and Emest though a good
deal exercised in mind as to what he ought to do, in the
end saw no sufficient reason for holding aloof from pro-
ceedings which, as he justly remarked, could not do his
father any harm.

It so happened that the bishop had held a confirmation
at the school on the fifth of November, Dr. Skinner had
not quite liked the selection of this day, but the bishop
was pressed by many engagements, and had been com-
pelled to make the arrangement as it then stood. Emest
was among those who had to be confirmed, and was
deeply impressed with the solemn importance of the cere-
mony. When he felt the huge old bishop drawing down
upon him as he knelt in chapel he could hardly breathe,
and when the apparition paused before him and laid tts
hands upon his head he was frightened almost out of his
wits. He felt that he had arrived at one of the great
turning points of his life, and that the Emest of the
future could resemble only very faintly the Emest of the
past

This happened at about noon, but by the one o'clock
dinner-hour the effect of the confirmation had wom off,
and he saw no reason why he should forego his annual
amusement with the bonfire ; so he went with the others
and was very valiant till the image was actually pro-
duced and was about to be burnt;. then he felt a little
frightened. It was a poor thing enoi^h, made of paper,
calico ^nd straw, but they had christened it The Rev.
Theobald Pontifex, and he had a revulsion of feeling as
he saw it being carried towards the bonfire. Still he held
his ground, and in a few minutes when all was over felt
none the worse for having assisted at a ceremony which,
after all, was prompted by a boyish love of mischief
rather than by rancour.

I should say that Emest had written to his father, and
told him of the imprecedented way in which he was being
treated ; he even ventured to suggest that Theobald should

214 The Way of All Flesh

interfere for his protection and reminded him how the
story had been got out of him, but Theobald had had
enough of Dr. Skinner for the present ; the burning of
the school list had- been a rebuff which did not encourage
him to meddle a second time in the internal economics of
Roughborough. He therefore replied that he must either'
remove Ernest from Roughborough altogether, which
would for many reasons be undesirable, or trust to the
discretion of the head master as regards the treatment he
might think best for any of his pupils. Ernest said
no more; he still felt that it was so discreditable
to him to have allowed any confession to be wrung from
him, that he could not press the promised amnesty for
himself.

It was during the "Mother Cross row," as it was long
styled among the boys, that a remarkable phenomenon
was witnessed at Roughborough. I mean that of the head
boys under certain conditions doing errands for their
jtmiors. The head boys had no bounds and could go to
Mrs. Cross's whenever they liked ; they actually^ there-
fore, made themselves go-betweens, and would get any-
thing from either Mrs. Cross's or Mrs. Jones's for any
boy, no matter how low in the school, between the hours
of a quarter to nine and nine in the morning, and a quar-
ter to six and six in the afternoon. By degrees, how-
ever, the boys grew bolder, and the shops, though not
openly declared in bounds again, were tacitly allowed to
be 50.

CHAPTER XLIV

I ifAY Spare the reader more details about my hero's
school days. He rose, always in spite of himself, into the
Doctor's form, and for the last two years or so of his
time*was among the praepostors, though he never rose
into the upper half of them. He did little, and I think the

The Way of All Flesh (^15'

Eioctor rather gave him up as a boy whom he had better
leave to himself, for he rarely made him construe, and
he used to send in his exercises or not, pretty much as
he liked. His tadt, unconscious obstinacy had in time
effected more even than a few bold sallies in the first
instance would have done. To the end of his career his
position inter pares was wh^t it had been at the ban-
ning, namely, among the upper part ofthe less reputable
da^^whethcLof genittrsL oiLjuiiiotarTriather ihaD-amoiig.^
the lower ^arLjsillhc mff" "■gpg^t^V'i*

Only once in the whole course of his school life did
he get praise from Dr. Skinner for any exercise, and this
he has treasured as the best example of guarded approval
which he has ever seen. He had had to write a copy of
Alcaics on "The dogs of the monks of St. Bernard," and
when the exercbe was returned to him he found the
Doctor had written on it: "In this copy of Alcaics —
which is still excessively bad — I fancy that I can discern
some faint symptoms of improvement." Ernest says that
if the exercise was any better than usual it must have
been by a fluke, for he is sure that he always liked dc^fs,
especially St Bernard dogs, far too much to take any
pleasure in writing Alcaics about them.

"As I look back upon it," he said to me but the other
day, with ajiearty laugh, "I respect myself more for hav-
ing never once got the best mark for an exercise than I
should do if I had got it every time it could be got. I am
glad. nothing could make me do Latin and Greek verses;
I am gljd .Skinner- coukl n e ver get any njciraLlnfluence
oyer me^ X am. glad I was idle at school, and I am glad
my__father. »ve^asked me as .a boy — otherwise, likely
enough I should have acquiesced in the swindle, and
inigEt ha.ye.-WiiUeo as^gbod a copy of Alcaics about the
d(%s of the monks of St. Bernard as my neighbours, and
yet-i-Am't know, for I remember there was another boy,
who 'sent in a Latin copy of some sort, but for his own
pleasure he wrote the following —

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2l6 The Way of All Flesh

The dogs of the monks of St Bernard go
To pick little children out of the snow.
And around their necks is the cordial gin
Tied with a little bit of bob-bin.

I should like to have written that, and I did try, but I
couldn't I didn't quite like the last line, and tried to
mend it, but I couldn't"
. *i . I fancied I f ould see traces of bitterness against the

] instractors of his youth in Ernest's manner, and said
n something to this effect.

I "Oh, no," he replied, still laughing, "no more than
St. Anthony felt towards the devils who had tempted him,
when he met some of them casually a hundred or a couple
of hundred years afterwards. Of course he knew they
were devils, but that was all right enough ; there must be
devils. St Anthony probably liked these devils better
than most others, and for old acquaintance sake showed
them as much indulgence as was compatible with
decoram.

"Besides, you know," he added, "St. Anthony tempted
the devils quite as much as they tempted him; for his
peculiar sanctity was a greater temptation to tempt him
than they could stand. Strictly speaking, it was the
devils who were the more to be pitied, for they were
led up by St Anthony to be tempted and fell, whereas
St. Anthony did not fall. I believe I was a disagreeable
and unintelligible boy, and if ever I meet Skinner there
is no one whom I would shake hands with, or do a good
turn to more readily."

' At home things went on rather better ; the Ellen and
Mother Cross rows sank slowly down upon the horizon,
and even at home he had quieter times now that he
had become a praepostor. Nevertheless the watchful eye

' and protecting hand were still ever over him to guard his
comings in and his goings out, and to spy out all his ways.
Is it wonderful that the boy, though always trying to

^ keep up appearances as though he were dieerful and

The Way of All Flesh 217

contented — and at times actually being so — ^wore often
an anxious, jaded look when he thought none were look-
ing, which told of an almost incessant conflict within?

Doubtless Theobald saw these looks and knew how to
interpret them, but it was his profession to know how to
shut his eyes to things that were inconvenient — no clei^-
man could keep hts benefice for 3 month if he could not
do this ; besides he had allowed himself for so many years
to say things he ought not to have said, and not to say the
things he ought to have said, that he was little likely to
see anything that he thought it more convenient not to see
unless he was made to do so.

It was not much that was wanted. To make no inys-
teries where Nature has made none, to bring his con-
science under something like reasonable control, to give
Ernest his head a little more, to ask fewer questions,
and to ^ve him pocket money with a desire that it should
be spent upon menus plaisirs. . . .

"Call that not much indeed," laughed Ernest, as I read
him what I have just written. "Why it is the whole duty
of a father, but it is the mystery-makii^ which is the
worst evil. If people would dare to speak to one another .
unreservedly, there would be a good deal less sorrow in '
the world a hundred years hence,"

To return, however, to Roughborough. On the day of
his leaving, when he was sent for into the library to be
shaken hands with, he was surprised to feel that, though
assuredly glad to leave, he did not do so with any especial
grudge against the Doctor rankling in his breast He had
come to the end of it all, and was still alive, nor, take it
all round, more seriously amiss than other people. Dr.
Skinner received him graciously, and was even frolicsome
after his own heavy fashion. Young people are almost
always placable, and Ernest felt as he went away that
another such interview would not only have wiped off
all old scores, but have brought him round into the ranks
of the Doctor's admirers and supporters — among whom it

2i8 The Way of All Fie*

is only fair to say that the greater number of the more
promisitig boys were found.

Just before saying good-bye the Doctor actually took
down a volume from those shelves which had seemed so
awful six years previously, and gave it to him after
having written his name in it, and the words ^Aias koI
c4k>A)C x^' which I believe means "with all kind wishes
from the donor." The book was one written in Latin
by a German — Schomann : "De comitiis Atheniensibus"
—not exactly light and cheerful reading, but Ernest felt
it was high time he got to understand Uie Athenian con-
stitution and manner of voting ; he had got them up a
great many times already, but had f oigotten them as fast
as he had learned them; now, however, that the Doctor
had given him this book, he would master the subject
once for all. How strange it was 1 He wanted to remem-
ber these things very badly ; he knew he did, but he could
■ never retain them ; in spite of himself they no sooner fell
upon his mind than they fell off it again, he had such a
' dreadful memory ; whereas, if anyone played him a piece
, of music and told him where it came from, he never
.' foigot that, though he made no effort to retain it, and
'. was not even conscious of trying to remember it at alL
His mind must be badly formed and he was no good.

Havii^ still a short time to spare, he got the keys of
St Michael's church and went to have a farewell prac-
tice upon the organ, which he could now play fairly well.
He walked up and down the aisle for a while in a medi-
tative mood, and then, settling down to the organ, played
"They loathed to drink of the river" about six times over,
after which he felt more composed and happier; then,
tearing himself away from the instrument he loved so
well, he hurried to the station.

As the train drew out he looked down from a h^
embankment on to the little house his aunt had taken,
and where it mig^t be said she had died through her
desire to do him a kindness. There were the two weO-

The Way of All Flesh 219

Imown bow windows, out of which he had often stepped
to run across the lawn into the workshop. He reproached
himself with the little gratitude he had shown towards
this kind lady^ — the only one of his relations whom he had
ever felt as though he could have taken into his confi-
dence. Dearly as he loved her memory, he was glad she
had not known the scrapes he had got into since she
died ; perhaps she might not have forgiven them — and
how awful that would have been I But then, if she had
lived, perhaps many of his ills would have been spared
him. As he mused thus he grew sad again. Where,
where, he asked himself, was it all to end ? Was it to be
always sin, shame and sorrow in the future, as it had
been in the past, and the ever-watchful eye and protecting
hand of his father laying;' burdens on him greater than he
could bear— or was he, too, some day or another to come
to feel that he was fairly well and happy?

There was a gray mist across the sun, so that the eye
could bear its light, and Ernest, while musing as above,
was looking right into the middle of the sun himself,
as into the face of one whom he knew and was fond of.
At first his face was grave, but kindly, as of a tired man
who feels that a long task is over ; but in a few seconds
the more humorous side of his misfortunes presented
itself to him, and he smiled half reproachfully, half
merrily, as thinking how little all that had happened to
him really mattered, and how small were his hardships as
compared with those of most people. Still looking into
the eye of the sun and smiling dreamily, he thought how
he had helped to bum his father in effigy, and his look
grew merrier, till at last he broke out into a laugh.
Exactly at this moment the light veil of cloud parted from
the sun, and he was brought to terra Hrrna by the break-
ing forth of the sunshine. On this he became aware
that he was being watched attentively by a fellow-
traveller opposite to him, an elderly gentleman with a
hi^ head and tron-gr^ hair.

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220 The Way of All Flesh

"My young frjend," said he, good-naturedly, "you
really must not carry on conversations with people in the
sun, while you are in a puhlic railway carriage.''

The old gentleman said not another word, but unfolded
his Times and began to read it. As for Ernest, he blushed
crimson. The pair did not speak during the rest of the
time they were in the carriage, but they eyed each other
from time to time, so that the face of each was impressed
on the recollection of the other.

CHAPTER XLV

SouE people say that their school days were the happiest
of their lives. They may be right, but I always look with
suspicion upon those whom I hear saying this. It is hard
enough to know whether one is happy or unhappy now,
and still harder to compare the relative happiness or
unhappiness of different times of one's life; the utmost
that can be said is that we are fairly happy so long as
we are not distinctly aware of being miserable. As I
was talking with Ernest one day not so long since about
this, he said he was so happy now that he was sure he
had never been happier, and did not wish to be so, but
that Cambridge was the first place where he had ever
been consciously and continuously happy.

How can ar^^ boy fail to feel an ecstasy of pleasure on
first finding himself in rooms which he knows for the
neirt few years are to be his castle? Here he will not be
compelled to turn out of the most comfortable place as
aeon as he has ensconced himself in it because papa or
mamma happens to come into the room, and he should
give it up to them. The most cosy chair here is for him-
self, there is no one even to share the room with him, or
to interfere with his doing as he likes in it — smoking
included. Why, if such a room looked out both back and
front on to a blank dead wall it would still be a paradise ;

The Way of All Flesh 221

how much more then when the view is of some quiet
grassy court or cloister or garden, as from the windows
of the greater number of rooms at Oxford and Cam-
bridge.

Theobald, as an old fellow and tutor of Emmanuel — at
which college he had entered Ernest — was able to obtain
from the present tutor a certain preference in the choice
of rooms; Ernest's, therefore, were very pleasant ones,
looking out upon the grassy court that is bounded by
the Fellows' gardens.

Theobald accompanied him to Cambridge, and was at
his best while doing so. He liked the jaunt, and even
he was not without a certain feeling of pride in havii^
a full-blown son at the University. Some of the reflected
rays of this splendour were allowed to fall upon Ernest
himself, Theobald said he was "willing to hope" — this
was one of his tags — that his son would turn over a new
leaf now that he had left school, and for his own part he
was "only too ready" — this was another tag — to let by-
gones be bygones.

Ernest, not yet having his name on the books, was able
to dine with his father at the Fellows' table of one of the
other colleges on the invitation of an old friend of Theo-
bald's; he there made acquaintance with sundry of the
good things of this life, the very names of which were
new to him, and felt as he ate them that he was now
indeed receiving a liberal education. When at length the
time came for him to go to Emmanuel, where he was to
sleep in his new rooms, his father came with him to the
gates and saw him safe into college ; a few minutes more
and he found himself alone in a room for which he had a
latch-key.

From this time he dated many days which, if not quite
. unclouded, were upon the whole very happy ones. I need
not, however, describe them,, as the life of a quiet, steady-
going undergraduate has been told in a score of novels
better than I can tell it. Some of Ernest's schoolfellows

222"^ . The Way of All Flesh

')■

i Up to Cambridge at the same time as himself, and

with these he continued on friendly terms during the

whole of his college career. Other schoolfellows were

only a year or two his seniors ; these called on him, and

he thus made a sufficiently favourable entrke into college

. life. A straightforwardness of character that was

1 stamped upon his face, a love of humour, and a temper

I whicii was more easily appeased than ruffled made up for

I some awkwardness and want of sovoir faire. He soon

I became a not unpopular member of the best set of his

\ year, and though neither capable of becoming, nor aspir-

\ ing to become, a leader, was admitted by the leaders as

'' among their nearer hangers-on.

Of ambition he had at that time not one particle ; great-
ness, or indeed superiority of any kind, seemed so far off
and incomprehensible to him that the idea of connecting
it with himself never crossed his mind. If he could
escape the notice of all those with whom he did not feel
himself en rapport, he conceived that he had triumphed
sufficiently. He did not care about taking a good degree,
; except that it must be good enough to keep his father and
mother quiet. He did not dream of being able to get a
fellowship ; if he had, he would have tried hard to do so,
' for he became so fond of Cambridge that he could not
bear the thought of having to leave it ; the briefness in-
deed of the season during which his present happiness
was to last was almost the only thing that now seriously
troubled him.

Having less to attend to in the matter of growing, and
having got his head more free, he took to reading fairly
well — not because he liked it, but because he was toM he
ought to do so, and his natural instinct, like that of all
very young men who are good for anything, was to do
as those in authority told him. The intention Ut Bat-
tersby was (for Dr. Skinner had said that Ernest could
never get a fellowship) that he should take a sufficiently
good degree to be able to get a tutorship or mastership

The Way of All Flesh 223

in some school preparatory to taking orders. When he
was twenty-one years old his money was to come into his
own hands, and the best thing he could do with it would
be to buy the next presentation to a living, the rector of
which was now old, and live on his mastership or tutor-
ship till the living fell in. He could buy a very good
living for the sum which his grandfather's legacy now
amounted to, for Theobald had never had any serious
intention of making deductions for his son's maintenance
and education, and the money had accumulated till it was
now about five thousand pounds; he had only talked
about making deductions in order to stimulate the boy to
exertion as far as possible, by making him think that this
was his only chance of escaping starvation— or perhaps
from pure love of teasing.

When Ernest had a living of £6co or £700 3 year with
a house, and not too many parishioners — why, he might ^
add to his income by taking pupils, or even keeping a
school, and then, say at thirty, he might marry. It was
not easy for Theobald to hit on any much more sensiUe
plan. He could not get Ernest into business, for he had
no business connections — besides he did not know what
business meant; he had no interest, again, at the Bar;
medicine was a profession which subjected its students to
ordeals and temptations which these fond parents shrank
from on behalf of their boy ; he would be thrown among
companions emd familiarised with details which might
sully him, and though he might stand, it was "only too
possible" that he would fait. Besides, ordination was the
road which Theobald knew and understood, and indeed
the only road about which he knew anything at all, so not
unnaturally it was the one he chose for Ernest.

The foregoing had been instilled into my hero from
earliest boyhood, much as it had been instilled into Theo-
bald himself, and with the same result — the conviction,
namely, that he was certainly to he a clergyman, but
that it was a long way oS yet, and he suiqwsed it was all

224 The Way of All Flesh

right. As for the duty of reading hard, and taking as
good a degree as he could, this was plain enough, so he
set himself to work, as I have said, steadily, and to the
surprise of everyone as well as himself got a college
scholarship, of no great value, but still a scholarship, in
his freshman's term. It is hardly necessary to say that
Theobald stuck to the whole of this money, believing the
pocket-money he allowed Ernest to be sufficient for him,
and knowing how dangerous it was for young men to
fiave money at command. I do not suppose it even
(occurred to him to try and remember what he had felt
when his father took a like course in regard to him-
self.

Ernest's position in this respect was much what it had
been at school except that things were on a larger scale.
His tutor's and cook's bills were paid for him; his father
sent him his wine ; over and above this he had £50 a year
with which to keep himself in clothes and all other
expenses ; this was about the usual thing at Emmanuel in
Ernest's day, though many had much less than this.
Ernest did as he had done at school — he spent what he
could, soon after he received his money ; he then incurred
a few modest liabilities, and then lived penuriously till
next term, when he would immediately pay his debts, and
start new ones to much the same extent as those which
he had just got rid of. When he came into his £5000 and
became independent of his father, £15 or £20 served to
cover the whole of his unauthorised expenditure.

He joined the boat club, and was constant in his attend-
ance at the boats. He still smoked, but<iever look more
wine or beer than was good for him, except perhaps on
the occasion of a boating supper, but even then he found
the consequences unpleasant, and soon learned how to
keep within safe limits. He attended chapel as often as
he was compelled to do so ; he communicated two or three
times a year, because his tutor told him he ought to ; in
fact he set himself to live soberly and cleanly, as I imag-

The Way of All Flesh 225

ine all his instincts prompted him to do, and when he
fell — as who that is bom of woman can help sometimes '
doing? — it was not till after a sharp tussle with a tempta-
tion that was more than his flesh and blood could stand ; 1
then he was very penitent and would go a fairly long
while without sinning again; and this was how it had
always been with him since he had arrived at years of j
indiscretion. ;

Even to the end of his career at Cambridge he was not
aware that he had it in him to do anything, but others:
had begun to see that he was not wanting in ability and '
sometimes told him so. He did not believe it ; indeed
he knew very well that if they thought him clever they
were being taken in, but it pleased htm to have been able
to take them in, and he tried to do so still further ; he was
therefore a good deal on the lookout for cants that he
could catch and apply in season, and might have done
himself some mischief thus if he had not been ready to '
throw over any cant as soon as he had come across an- 1
other more nearly to his fancy ; his friends used to say f
that when he rose he flew like a snipe, darting several \
times in various directions before he settled down to a
steady, straight flight, but when he had once got into this
he would keep to it

CHAPTER XLVl

When he was in his third year a magazine was founded
at Cambridge, the contributions to which were exclusively
by undergraduates. Ernest sent in an essay upon the
Greek Drama, which he has declined to let me reproduce
here without his being allowed to re-edit it. I have
therefore been unable to give it in its original form, but
when pruned of its redundancies (and this is all that has
been done to it) it runs as follows —

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226 The Way of All Flesh

"I shall not attempt within the limits at my disposal
to make a risumi of the rise and progress of the Greek
drama, but will confine myself to considering whether the
reputation enjoyed by the three chief Greek tragedians,
^schylus, Sophocles and Euripides, is one that will be
permanent, or whether they will one day be held to have
been overrated.

"Why, I ask myself, do I see much that I can easily
admire in Homer, Thucydides, Herodotus, Demosthenes,
Aristophanes, Theocritus, parts of Lucretius, Horace's
satires and epistles, to say nothing of other ancient writ-
ers, and yet find myself at once repelled by even those
works of .^chylus, Sophocles and Euripides which are
most generally admired. .

"With the first-named writers I am in the hands of
men who feel, if not as 1 do, still as I can understand
their feeling, and as I am interested to see that they
should have felt; with the second I have so little sym-
pathy that I cannot understand how anyone can ever
have taken any interest in them whatever. Their hi^est
flights to me are dull, pompous and artificial productions,
which, if they were to appear now for the first time,
would, I should think, either fall dead or be severely
handled by the critics. I wish to know whether it is I
who am in fault in this matter, or whether part of the
blame may not rest with the tragedians themselves.

"How far, I wonder, did the Athenians genuinely like
these poets, and how far was the applause which was
lavished upon them due to fashion or affectation? How
far, in fact, did admiration for the orthodox tragedians
take that place among the Athenians which going to
church does among ourselves ?

"This is a venturesome question considering the ver-
dict now generally given for over two thousand years,
nor should I have permitted myself to ask it if it had not
been suggested to me by one whose reputation stands
as high, and has been sanctioned for as long time as

The Way of All Flesh 227

those of the tragedians themselves, I mean by Ads'
tophanes.

"Numbers, weight of authority, and time, have con-
spired to place Aristophanes on as high a literary pinnacle
as any ancient writer, with the exception perhaps of
Homer, but he makes no secret of heartily hating Eurip-
ides and Sophocles, and I strongly suspect only praises
./Eschylus that he may run down the other two with
greater impunity. For after all there is no such differ-
ence between ^schylus and his successors as will render
the former very good and the latter very bad ; and the
thrusts at .^schylus which Aristophanes puts into the
mouth of Euripides go home too well to have been written
by an admirer.

"It may be observed that while Euripides accuses
.£schylus of being 'pomp-bundle-worded,' which I sup-
pose means bombastic and given to rodomontade, v^schy-
lus retorts on Euripides that he is a 'gossip gleaner, a
describer of be^;ars, and a rag-stitcher,' from which it
may be inferred that he was truer to the life of his own
times than ^schylus was. It happens, however, that a
faithful rendering of contemporary life is the very quali^
which gives its most permanent interest to any work of
fiction, whether in literature or painting, and it is a not
unnatural consequence that while only seven plays by
.^Eschylus, and the same number by Sophocles, have come
down to us, we have no fewer than nineteen by Euripides.

"This, however, is a digression ; the question before us
is whether Aristt^hanes really liked ./Sschylus or only
pretended to do so. It must be remembered that the
claims of ..Eschylus, Sophocles and Euripides, to the fore-
most place amongst tragedians were held to be as in-
controvertible as those of Dante, Petrarch, Tasso and
Ariosto to be the greatest of Italian poets, are held among
the Italians of to-day. If we can fanty some witty,
genial writer, we will say in Florence, finding himself
bored by all the poets I have named, we can yet believe

328 The, Way of All Flesh

he would be tmwilting to admit that he disliked them
without exception. He would prefer to think he could
see something at any rate in Dante, whom he could
idealise more easily, inasmuch as he was more remote;
lin order to carry his countrymen the farther with him,
ne would endeavour to meet them more than was con-
sistent with his own instincts. Without some such pallia-
tion as admiration for one, at any rate, of the tragedians,
it would be almost as dangerous for Aristophanes to
attack them as it would be for an Englishman now to
say that he did not think very much of the Elizabethan
dramatists. Yet which of us in his heart likes any of
the Elizabethan dramatists except Shakespeare? Are
they in reality anything else than literary Struldbnigs?

"I conclude upon the whole that Aristophanes did not
like any of the tragedians ; yet no one will deny that this
keen, witty, outspoken writer was as good a judge of
literary value, and as able to see any beauties that the
tragic dramas contained as nine-tenths, at any rate, of
ourselves. He had, moreover, the advantage of thor-
oi^hly understanding the standpoint from which the
tragedians expected their work to be judged, and what
was his conclusion? Briefly it was little else than this,
that they were a fraud or something very like it. For
my own part I cordially agree with him, I am free to
confess that with the exception perhaps of some of the
Psalms of David I know no writings which seem so little
to deserve their reputation. I do not know that I should
particularly mind my sisters reading them, but I will
take good care never to read them myself,"

This last bit about the Psalms was awful, and there
was a great fight with the editor as to whether or no it
should be allowed to stand. Ernest himself waaj^ht-
ened at it, but he had once heard someon^ sa^&ft the
Psalms were many of them very poor, aniTtjn looking at
them more closely, after he had been toltf l^ls, he found

The Way of All Flesh (229

that there could hardly be two opinions on the subject.
So he caught up the remark and reproduced it as his
own, concluding that these psalms had probably never
been written by David at all, but had got in among the
others by mis^e.

The essay, perhaps on account of the passage about the
Psalms, created quite a sensation, and on the whole was
well received. Ernest's friends praised it more highly
than it deserved, and he was himself very proud of it, but
he dared not show it at Battersby. He knew also that
he was now at the end of his tether ; this was his one >
idea (I feel sure he had caught more than half of it from I
other people), and now he had not another thing left/
to write about He found himself cursed with a small \
reputation which seemed to him much bigger than it was, \
and a consciousness that he could never keep it up. Be- I
fore many days were over he felt his unfortunate essay i
to be a white elephant to him, which he must feed by \
hurrying into all sorts of frantic attempts to cap his \
triumph, and, as may be imagined, these attempts were \
failures.

He did not understand that if he waited and listened
and observed, another idea of some kind would probably
occur to him some day, and that the development of this
would in its turn suggest still further ones. He did not
yet know that the very worst way of getting hold of ideas
is to go hunting expressly after them. The way to get '
them is to study something of which one is fond, and
to note_jiowa whatever ^crosses one's mind in reference j •
to it, ^btf- during study or relaxation, in a little note-
bdolT kept always in the waistcoat pocket Ernest has
come to know all about this now, but it took him a long
time to find it out, for this is not the kind of thing that^^
is taught at schools and universities.

Nor yet did he know that ideas, no less than the living
beings in whose minds they arise, must be b^otten by
parents not very unlike themselves, the most original still

230 The Way of AH Flesh

differing but slightly from the parents that have g^ven

rise to them. Life is like a fugue, everything ipust grow

out of the subject and there must be nothing new. Nor,

again, did he see how hard it is to say where one idea

I ends and another begins, nor yet liow closely this is

I paralleled in the difficulty of saying where a life begins

; or ends, or an action or indeed anything, there being an

; unity in spite of infinite multitude, and an infinite multi-

j hide in spite of unity. He thought that ideas came into

\ clever people's heads by a kind of spontaneous germina-

^. tion, without parentage in the thoughts of others or the

\ course of observation ; for as yet he believed in genius,

I of which he well knew that he had none, if it was the

liine frenzied thing he thought it was.

Not very long before this he had come of age, and
Theobald had handed hira over his money, which
amounted now to ^5000 ; it was invested to bring in £5
per cent, and gave him therefore an income of £250 a
year. He did not, however, realise the fact (he could
realise nothing so foreign to his experience) that he was
independent of his father till a long time afterwards ; nor
did Theobald make any difference in his manner towards
him. So strong was the hold which habit and association
held over both father and son, that the one considered
he had as good a right as ever to dictate, and the other
^ that he had as little r^ht as ever to gainsay.
• During his last year at Cambridge he overworked him-
self through this very blind deference to his father's
wishes, for there was no reason why he should take more
than a poll degree except that his father laid such stress
upon his taking honours. He became so ill, indeed, that
it was doubtful how far he would be able to go in for his
degree at all ; but he managed to do so, and when the
list came out was found to be placed hi^er than either
he or anyone else expected, being among the first three
or four senior optimes, and a few weeks later, in the
lower half of the second class of the Classical Tripos.

The Way of All Flesh 231

111 as he was when he got home, Theobald made him go
over all the examination papers with him, and in fact
reproduce as nearly as possible the replies that he had
sent in. So little kick had he in him, and so deep was
the groove into which he had got, that while at home he
spent several hours a day in continuing his classical and
mathematical studies as though he had not yet taken
his degree.

CHAPTER XLVII

Ernest returned to Cambridge for the May term of 1858,
on the plea of reading for ordination, with which he was
now face to face, and much nearer than he liked. Up to
this time, though not religiously inclined, he had never
doubted the truth of anything that had been told him
about Christianity. He had never seen anyone who | -
doubted, nor read anytiiing that raised a suspicion in his ^
mind as to the historical character of tiie miracles
recorded in the Old and New Testaments.

It must be remembered that the year 1858 was the last
of a term during which the peace of the Church of
England was singularly unbroken. Between 1844, when
"Vestiges of Creation" appeared, and 1859, when "Essays
and Reviews" marked the commencement of that storni
which raged until many years afterwards, there was not
a single book published in England that caused serious
commotion within the bosom of the Church. Perhaps
Buckle's "History of Civilisation" and Mill's "Liberty" '
were the most alarming, but they neither of them reached
the substratum of the reading public, and Ernest and his
friends were ignorant of their very existence. The
Evangelical movement, with the exception to which I
shall revert presently, had become almost a matter of
ancient history, Tractarianism had subsided into a tenth
day's wonder ; it was at work, but it was not noisy.

232 The Way of All FlesK

\ The "Vestiges" were forgotten before Ernest went up to
I Cambridge ; the Catholic agression scare had lost its
I terrors ; Ritualism was still unknown by the general pro-
vincial public, and the Gorham and Hampden controver-
sies were defunct some years since; Dissent was not
spreading; the Crimean war was the one engrossing
subject, to be followed by the Indian Mutiny and the
Franco-Austrian war. These great events turned men's
minds from speculative subjects, and there was no enemy
to the faith which could arouse even a languid interest.
At no time probably since the beginning of the century
could an ordinary observer have detected less sign of
coming disturbance than at that of which I am writ-
ing.

I need hardly say that the calm was only on the surface.
Older men, who knew more than undergraduates were
' likely to do, must have seen that the wave of scepticism
which had already broken over Germany was setting
towards our own shores, nor was it long, indeed, before
it reached them. Ernest had hardly been ordained before
three works in quick succession arrested the attention
even of those who paid least heed to theological con-
troversy. I mean "Essays and Reviews," Charles Dar-
win's "Origin of Species," and Bishop Colenso's "Criti-
cisms on the Pentateuch."

This, however, is a digression ; I must revert to the one
phase of spiritual activity which had any life in it during
the time Ernest was at Cambridge, that is to say, to the
remains of the Evangelical awakening of more than a
generation earlier, which was connected with the name of
Simeon.

There were still a good many Simeonites, or as they
were more briefly called "Sims," in Ernest's time. Every
college contained some of them, but their headquarters
were at Caius, whither they were attracted by Mf. Clay-
ton who was at that time senior tutor, and among the
sizars of St. John's.

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Jhe Way of All Flesh 233

Behind the then chapel of this last-named college, there
was a "labyrinth" (this was the name it bore) of dingy,
tumble-down rooms, tenanted exclusively by the poorest
midergraduates, who were dependent upon sizarships and
scholarships for the means of taking their degrees. To
many, even at St, John's, the existence and whereabouts
of the labyrinth in which the sizars chiefly lived was
unknown ; some men in Ernest's time, who had rooms in
the first court, had never found their way through the
sinuous passage which led to it

In the labyrinth there dwelt men of all ages, from mere
lads to grey-haired old men who had entered late in life.
They were rarely seen except in hall or chapel or at
lecture, where their manners of feeding, praying and
studying, were considered alike objectionable; no one
knew whence they came, whither they went, nor what
they did, for they never showed at cricket or the boats;
they were a gloomy, seedy-looking confririe, who had
as little to gloiy in in cbthes and manners as in the fiesh
itself.

Ernest and his friends used to consider themselves
marvels of economy for getting on with so little money,
but the greater number of dwellers in the labyrinth would
have considered one-half of their expenditure to be an
exceedii^ measure of affluence, and so doubtless any
domestic tyranny which had been experienced by Ernest
was a small thing to what the average Johnian sizar had
had to put up with.

A few would at once emerge on its bemg found after
their first examination that they were likely to be orna-
ments to the college; these would win valuable scholar-
ships that enabled them to live in some degree of com-
fort, and would amalgamate with the more studious of
those who were in a better social position, but even these,
with few exceptions, were long in shaking off the un-
couttuiess they brought with them to the University, nor
would their origin cease to be easily recognisable till they

234 The Way of All Flesfi

had become dons and tutors. I have seen some of these
men attain high position in the world of politics or
science, and yet still retain a look of labyrinth and
Johnian sizarship.

Unprepossessing then, in feature, gait and manners,
unkempt and ill-dressed beyond what can be easily
described, these poor fellows formed a class apart, whose
thoi^hts and ways were not as the thoughts and ways of
Ernest and his friends, and it was among them that
Simeonism chietly flourished.

Destined most of them for the Church (for in those
days "holy orders" were seldom heard of), the Simeon-
ites held themselves to have received a very loud call to
the ministry, and were ready to pinch themselves for
years so as to prepare for it by the necessary theological
courses. To most of them the fact of becoming clergy-
men would be the entrSe into a social position from which
they were at present kept out by barriers they well knew
to be impassable ; ordination, therefore, opened fields for
ambition which made it the central point in their thoughts,
rather than as with Ernest, something which he supposed
would have to be done some day, but about which, as
about dying, he hoped there was no need to trouble him-
self as yet.

By way of preparing themselves more completely they
would have meetings in one another's rooms for tea and
prayer and other spiritual exercises. Placit^ themselves
under the guidance of a few well-known tutors they
would teach in Sunday Schools, and be instant, in season
and out of season, in imparting spiritual instruction to
all whom they could persuade to listen to them.

But the soil of the more prosperous undergraduates
was not suitable for the seed they tried to sow. The
small pieties with which they larded their discourse, if
chance threw them into the company of one whom they
considered worldly, caused nothing but aversion in the
minds of those for whom they were intended. When

The Way of All Flesh 235

they distributed tracts, dropping them by night into good
men's letter boxes while they were asleep, their tracts got
burnt, or met with even worse contumely; they were
themselves also treated with the ridicule which they re-
flected proudly had been the lot of true followers of
Christ in all ages. Often at their prayer meetings was
the passage of St. Paul referred to in which he bids his
Corinthian converts note concerning themselves that they
were for the most part neither well-bred nor intellectual
people. They reflected with pride that they too had noth-
ing to be proud of in thtse respects, and like St. Paul,
gloried in the fact that in the flesh they had not much to
glory.

Ernest had several Johnian friends, and came thus to
hear about the Simeonites and to see some of them, who
were pointed out to him as they passed through the
courts. They had a repellent attraction for him; he dis-
liked them, but he could not bring himself to leave them
alone. On one occasion he had gone so far as to parody
one of the tracts they had sent rotmd in the night, and
to get a copy dropped ^nto each of the leading Simeonites'
boxes. The subject he had taken was "Personal Cleanli-
ness." Cleanliness, he said, was next to godliness; he
wished to know on which side it was to stand, and con-
cluded by exhorting Simeonites to a freer use of the tub.
I cannot commend my hero's humour in this matter; his
tract was not brilliant; but I mention the fact as showing
that at this time he was something of a SauJ and toolc
pleasure in persecuting the elect, not, as I have said, that
he had any hankering after scepticism, but because, like
the farmers in his father's vill^, though he would not.,
stand seeing the Christian religion made light of, he was \
not going to see it taken seriously. Ernest's friends ;
thought his dislike for Simeonites was due to his being /
the son of a dei^yman who, it was known, bullied him ;/'
it is more likely, however, that it rose from an uncon>^
sdous sympathy with them, which, as in St Paul's case, in

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236 The Way of All Flesh

the end drew him into the ranks of those whom he had
most despised and hated.

CHAPTER XLVni

Once, recently, when he was down at home after taking
his degree, his mother had had a short conversation with
him about his becoming a clergyman, set on thereto
by TheobaM, who shrank from the subject himself.
This time it was during a turn taken in the garden, and
not on the sofa — which was reserved for supreme oc-

"You know, my dearest boy," she said to him, "that
papa" (she always called Theobald "papa" when talking
to Ernest) "is so anxious you should not go into the
Church blindly, and without fully realising the difHculties
of a clergyman's position. He has considered all of them
himself, and has been shown how small they are, when
they are faced boldly, but he wishes 3^u, too, to feel them
as strongly and completely as possible before committing
yourself to irrevocable vows, so that you may never,
never have to regret the step you will have taken."

This was the first time Ernest had heard that there
were any difficulties, and he not unnaturally enquired in a
vague way after their nature.

"That, my dear boy," rejoined Christina, "is a ques-
tion which I am not fitted to enter upon either by nature
or education. I might easily unsettle your mind without
being able to settle it again. Oh, no! Such questions
are far better avoided by women, and, I should have
thought, by men, but papa wished me to speak to you
upon the subject, so that there might be no mistake here-
after, and I have done so. Now, therefore, you know
all."

The conversation ended here, so far as this subject
was concerned, and Ernest thought he did know all.

,Coo<;lc

The Way of All Flesh 237

Hts mother would not have told him he knew i
about a matter of that sort — unless he actually did know
it ; well, it did rot come to very much ; he supposed there
were some difficulties, but his father, who at any rate
was an excellent scholar and a learned man, was probably
quite right here, and he need not trouble himself more
about them. So little impression did the conversation
make on him, that it was not till long afterwards that,
happening to remember it, he saw what a piece of slei ght
of hand had been practised upon him. Theobald anS '
Christina, however, were satisfied that they had done
their duty by opening their son's eyes to the difficulties of
assenting to all a clergyman must assent to. This was
enough ; it was a matter for rejoicing that, though they
had been put so fully and candidly before him, he did
not find them serious. It was not in vain, that they had
prayed for so many years to be made "truly honest and
conscientious." ■■— ■ "^

"And now, my dear," resumed Christina, after having
disposed of all the difficulties that might stand in the way
of Ernest's becoming a clergyman, "there is another mat-
ter on which I should like to have a talk with you. It is
about your sister Charlotte. You know how clever she is,
and what a dear, kind sister she has been and always will
be to yourself and Joey. I wish, my dearest Ernest,
that I saw more chance of her Ending a suitable husband
than I do at Battersby, and I sometimes think you might
do more than you do to help her."

Ernest began to chafe at this, for he had heard it so
often, but he said nothing.

"You know, my dear, a brother can do so much for his
sister if he lays himself out to do it. A mother can do
very little — indeed, it is hardly a mother's place to seek
out young men ; it is a brother's place to find a suitable
partner for his sister; all that I can do is to try to make
Battersby as attractive as possible to any of your friends
whom you may invite. And in that," she added, with

238 The Way of _ All Flesh

' a little toss of her head, "I do not think I have been
deficient hitherto,"

Ernest said he had already at different times asked
several of his friends.

"Yes, my dear, but you must admit that they were none
of them exactly the kind of young man whom Charlotte
could be expected to take a fancy to. Indeed, I must
own to having been a little disappointed that you should
have yourself chosen any of these as your btimate
friends."

Ernest winced again.

"You never brought down Figgins when you were at
Roughborough ; now I should have thought Figgins would
have been just the kind of boy whom you might have
asked to come and see us."

Fig^ns had been gone through times out of number
already. Ernest had hardly known him, and Figgins,
being nearly three years older than Ernest, had left long
before he did. Besides, he had not been a nice boy, and
had made himself unpleasant to Ernest in many ways.

"Now," continued his mother, "there's Towneley. I
have heard you speak of Towneley as having rowed with
you in a boat at Cambridge. I wish, my dear, you would
cultivate your acquaintance with Towneley, and ask him
to pay us a visit. The name has an arbtocratic sound,
and I think I have heard you say he is an eldest son."

Ernest flushed at the sound of Towneley's name.

What had really happened in respect of Ernest's
friends was briefly this : His mother liked to get hold of
the names of the boys and especially of any who were
at all intimate with her son ; the more she heard, the
more she wanted to know ; there was no gorging her to
satiety ; she was like a ravenous young cuckoo being fed
upon a grass plot by a water wag-tail, she would swallow
all that Ernest could bring her, and yet be as hungry as
before. And she always went to Ernest for her meals
rather than to Joey, for Joey was either more stupid or
Coofjlc

The Way of All Flesh 239

more impenetrable — at any rate she could pump Ernest
much the better of the two, '

From time to time an actual live boy had been thrown
to her, either by being caught and brought to Battersby,
or by being asked to meet her if at any time she came to
Roughborough. She had generally made herself agree-
able, or fairly agreeable, as long as the boy was present,
but as soon as she got Ernest to herself again she changed
her note. Into whatever form she might throw her criti-
cisms it came always in the end to this, that his friend
was no good, that Ernest was not much better, and that
he should have brought her someone else, for this one
would not do at all.

The more intimate the boy had been or was supposed
to be with Ernest the more he was declaimed to be nat^ht,
till in the end he had hit upon the plan of saying, con-
cerning any boy whom he particularly liked, that he was
not one of his especial chums, and that indeed he hardly
knew why he had asked him; but he found he only fell
on Scylla in trying to avoid Charybdis, for though the
boy was declared to be more successful, it was Ernest
who was naught for not thinking more highly of him.

When she had once got hold of a name she never for-
got it. "And how is So-and-so?" she would exclaim,
mentioning some former friend of Ernest's with whom
he had either now quarrelled, or who had long since
proved to be a mere comet and no fixed star at all. How
Ernest wished he had never mentioned So-and-so's name,
and vowed to himself that he would never talk about his
friends in future, but in a few hours he would forget
and would prattle away as imprudently as ever ; then his
mother would pounce noiselessly on his remarks as a
barn-owl pounces upon a mouse, and would bring them
up in a pellet six months afterwards when they were no
longer in harmony with their surroundings.

Then there was Theobald. If a boy or college friend
had been invited to Battersby, Theobald would lay him-

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240 The Way of All Flesh

self out at first to be agreeable. He conkl do this well
enough when he liked, and as regards the outside world
he generally did like. His clerical neighbours, and in-
deed a'i his neighbours, respected him yearly more and
more, and would have given Ernest sufficient cause to
regret his imprudence if he had dared to hint that he had
anything, however little, to complain of. Theobald's
mind worked in this way: "Now, I know Ernest has
told this boy what a disagreeable person I am, and I will
just show him that I am not disagreeable at all, but a
good old fellow, a jolly old boy, in fact a regular old
brick, and that it is Ernest who is in fault all through."

So he would behave very nicely to the boy at first, and
the boy would be delighted with him, and side with him
against Ernest. Of course if Ernest had got the boy
to come to Battersby he \yanted him to enjoy his visit,
and was therefore pleased that Theobald should behave
so well, but at the same time he stood so much in need
of moral support that it was painful to him to see one
of his own familiar friends go over to the enemy's camp.
For no matter how well we may know a thing — how
clearly we may see a certain patch of colour, for exam-
ple, as red, it shakes us and knocks us about to find an-
other see it, or be more than half inclined to see it, as
green.

Theobald had generally b^^un to get a little impatient
before the end of the visit, but the impression formed
during the earlier part was the one which the visitor had
carried away with him. Theobald never discussed any
of the boys with Ernest It was Christina who did this.
Theobald let them come, because Christina in a quiet,
persistent way, insisted on it; when they did come he
behaved, as I have said, civilly, hut he did not like it,
whereas Christina did like it very much ; she would have
had half Roughborough and half Cambridge to come and
stay at Battersby if she could have managed it, and if it
would not have cost so much money : she liked their com-

I , ...iiv.Coo*^lc

The Way of All Flesh 241

ing, so that she might make a new acquaintance, and she
liked tearing them to pieces and flinging the bits over
Ernest as soon as she had had enough of them.

The worst of it was that she had so often proved to be
right. Boys and young men are violent in their affec-
tions, but they are seldom very constant ; it is not till they
get older that they really know the kind of friend they
want; in their earlier essays young men are simply learn-
ing to judge character. Ernest had been no exception to
the general rule. His swans had one after the other
proved to be more or less geese even in his own estima-
tion, and he was beginning almost to think that his
mother was a better judge of character than he was ; but
I think it may be assumed with some certainty that if
Ernest had brought her a real young swan she would
have declared it to be the ugliest and worst goose of all
that she had yet seen.

At first he had not suspected that his friends were
wanted with 3 view to Charlotte ; it was understood that
Charlotte and they might perhaps take a fancy for one
another; and that would be so very nice, would it not?
But he did not see that there was any deliberate malice
in the arrangement. Now, however, that he had awoke
to what it all meant, he was less inclined to bring any
friend of his to Battersby. It seemed to his silly youi^
mind almost dishonest to ask your friend to come and
see you when all you really meant was, "Please, marry
my sister." It was like trying to obtain money under
false pretences. If he had been fond of Charlotte it
might have been another matter, but he thought her one
of the most disagreeable young women in the whole cir-
cle of his acquaintance.

She was supposed to be very clever. All young ladies
are either very pretty or very clever or very sweet ; they
may take their choice as to which category they will go in
for, but go in for one of the three they must It was
hopeless to try and pass Charlotte off as either pretty or

242 The Way of All Flesh

sweet. So she became clever as the only remaining alter-
native. Ernest never knew what particular branch of
study it was in which she showed her talent, for she
could neither play nor sing nor draw, but so astute are
women that his mother and Charlotte really did persuade
him into thinking that she, Charlotte, had something
more akin to true genius than any other member of the
family. Not one, however, of all the friends whom Er-
nest had been inveigled into trying to inveigle had shown
the least sign of being so far struck i^ith Charlotte's
commanding powers, as to wish to make them his own,
and this may have had something to do with the rapidity
and completeness with which Christina had dismissed
them one'after another and had wanted a new one.

And now she wanted Towneley. Ernest had seen this
coming and had tried to avoid it, for he knew how im-
possible it was for him to ask Towneley even if he had
wished to do so.

Towneley belonged to one of the most exclusive sets
in Cambridge, and was perhaps the most popular man
among the whole number of undergraduates. He was
big and very handsome — as it seemed to Ernest the hand-
somest man whom he ever had seen or ever could see,
for it was impossible to imagine a more lively and agree-
able countenance. He was good at cricket and boating,
very good-natured, singularly free from conceit, not
clever but very sensible, and, lastly, his father and mother
had been drowned by the overturning of a boat when
he was only two years old and had left him as their only
child and heir to one of the finest estates in the South
of England. Fortune every now and then does things
handsomely by a man all round ; Towneley was one of
those to whom she had taken a fancy, and the universal
verdict in this case was that she had chosen wisely.

Ernest had seen Towneley as every one else in the
University (except, of course, dons) had seen him, for
he was a man of mark, and being very susceptible he had

The Way of All Flesh 243

liked Tovmciley even more than most people did, but at
the same time it never so much as entered his head that
he should come to know him. He liked looking at him
if he got a chance, and was very much ashamed of him-
self for doing so, but there the matter ended.

By a strange accident, however, during Emesfs last
year, when the names of the crews for the scratch four?
were drawn he had found himself coxswain of a crew,
among whom was none other than his especial hero
Towneley; the.three others were ordinary mortals, but
they could row fairly well, and the crew on the whole
was rather a good one.

Ernest was frightened out of his wits. When, how-
ever, the two met, he found Towneley no less remarkable
for his entire want of anything like "side," and for his
power of setting those whom he came across at their
ease, than he was for outward accomplishments ; the only
difference he found between Towneley and other people
was that he was so very much easier to get on with.
Of course Ernest worshipped him more and more.

The scratch fours being ended the connection between
the two came to an end, but Towneley, never passed Er-
nest thenceforward without a nod and a few good-
natured words. In an evil moment he had mentioned
Towneley's name at Battersby, and now what was the
result? Here was his mother plaguing him to ask
Towneley to come down to Battersby and marry Char-
lotte. Why, if he had thought there was the remotest
chance of Towneley's marrying Charlotte he would have
gone down on his knees to him and told him what an
odious young woman she was, and implored him to save
himself while there was yet time.

But Ernest had not prayed to be made "truly honest
and conscientious" for as many years as Christina had.
He tried to conceal what he felt and thought as well as
he could, and led the conversation back to the difhcuUies
which a clergyman might feel to stand in the way of his

244 The Way of All Flesh

being ordained — not because he had any misgivings, but
as a diversion. His mother, however, thought she had
settled all that, and he got no more out of her. Spon
afterwards he found the means of escaping, and was not
. slow to avail himself of them.

CHAPTER XLIX

On his return to Cambridge in the May term of 1858,
Ernest and a few other friends who were also intended
for orders came to the conclusion that they must now
take a more serious view of their position. They there-
fore attended chapel more regularly than hitherto, and
held evening meetings of a somewhat furtive character,
at which they would study the New Testament They
even began to commit the Epistles of St. Paul to memory
in the original Greek. They got up Beveridge on the
Thirty-nine Articles, and Pearson on the Creed ; in thar
hours of recreation they read More's "Mystery of Godli-
ness," which Ernest thought was charming, and Taylor's
"Holy Living and Dying," which also impressed him
deeply, through what he thought was the splendour of
its language. They handed themselves over to the guid-
ance of Dean Alford's notes on the Greek Testament,
which made Ernest better understand what was meant
by "difficulties," but also made him feel how shallow and
impotent were the conclusions arrived at by Germaa
neologians, with whose works, being innocent of German,
he was not otherwise acquainted. Some of the friends
who joined him in these pursuits were Johnians, and the
meetings were often held within the walls of St. John's.
I do not know how tidings of these furtive gatherings
liad reached the Simeonites, but they must have come
round to them in some way, for they had not been con-
tinued many weeks before a circular was sent to each of
the young men who attended them, informing them that

The Way of All Flesh 245

the Rev, Gideon Hawke, a well-known London Evangeli-
cal preacher, whose sermons were then much talked of,
was about to visit his young friend Badcock of St. John's,
and would be glad to say a few words to any who might
wish to hear them, in Badcock's rooms on a certain even-
ing in May.

Badcock was one of the most notorious of all the
Simeonites. Not only 'was he ugly, dirty, ill-dressed,
bumptious, and in every way objectionable, but he was
deformed and waddled when he walked so that he had
won a nickname which I can only reproduce by calling
it "Here's my back, and there's my back," because the
lower parts of his back emphasised themselves demon-
stratively as though about to fly off in different direc-
tions like the two extreme notes in the chord of the aug-
mented sixth, with every step he took. It may be
guessed, therefore, that the receipt of the circular had
for a moment an almost paralysing effect on those to
whom it was addressed, owing to the astonishment which
it occasioned them. It certainly was a daring surprise,
but like so many deformed people, Badcock was forward
and hard to check; he was a pushing fellow to whom
the present was just the opportunity he wanted for car-
rying war into the enemy's quarters.

Ernest and his friends consulted. Moved by the feel-
ing that as they were now preparing to be clergymen
they ought not to stand so stiffly on social dignity as
heretofore, and also perhaps by the desire to have a good
private view of a preacher who was then much upon the
lips of men, they decided to accept the invitation. When
the appointed time came they went with some confusion
and self-atiasement to the rooms of this man, on whom
they had looked down hitherto as from an immeasurable '
height, and with \yhom nothing would have made them
believe a few weeks earlier that they could ever come to
be on speaking terms.

Mr. Hawke was a very different-looking person from

246 The Way of All Flesh

Badcock. He was remarkably handsome, or rather
would have been but for the thinness of his lips, and a
look of too great firmness and inflexibility. His features
were a good deal like those of Leonardo da Vinci ; more-
over, he was kempt, looked in vigorous health, and was of
a ruddy countenance. He was extremely courteous in his
manner, and paid a good deal of attention to Badcock,
of whom he seemed to think highly. Altogether our
young friends were taken aback, and inclined to think
smaller beer of themselves and larger of Badcock than
was agreeable to the old Adam who was still alive within
them. A few well-known "Sims" from St. John's and
other colleges were present, but not enough to swamp the
Ernest set, as, for the sake of brevity, I will call them.

After a preliminary conversation in which there was
nothing to offend, the business of the evening began by
Mr. Hawke's standing up at one end of the table, and
saying, "Let us pray." The Ernest set did not like this,
but they could not help themselves, so they knelt down
and repeated the Lord's Prayer and a few others after
Mr. Hawke, who delivered them remarkably well. Then,
when all had sat down, Mr. Hawke addressed them,
speaking without notes and taking for his text the
words, "Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?" Whether
owing to Mr. Hawke's manner, which was impressive, or
to his well-known reputation for ability, or whether from
the fact that each one of the Ernest set knew that he
had been more or less a persecutor of the "Sims" and
yet felt instinctively that the "Sims" were after all
much more like the early Christians than he was him-
self — at any rate the text, familiar though it was, went
home to the consciences of Ernest and his friends as
it had never yet done. If Mr. Hawke had stopped here
he would have almost said enough; as he scanned the
faces turned towards him, and saw the impression
he had made, he was perhaps minded to bring his ser-
mon to an end before beginning it, but if so, he recon-

The Way of All Flesh 247

sidered himself and proceeded as foHows. I give the
sermon in full, for it is a typical one, and will explain
a state of mind which in another generation or two
will seem to stand sadly in need of explanation.

"My young friends," said Mr. Hawke, "I am per-
suaded there is not one of you here who doubts the
existence of a Personal God. If there were, it is to him
assuredly that I should first address myself. Should
I be mistaken in my belief that all here assembled accept
the existence of a God who is present amongst us
though we see him not, and whose eye is upon our most
secret thoughts, let me implore the doubter to confer
with me in private before we part; I will then put before
him considerations through which God has been merci-
fully pleased to reveal himself to me, so far as man can
understand him, and which I have found brii^ peace to
the minds of others who have doubted.

"I assume also that there is none who doubts but that
this God, after whose likeness we have been made, did
in the course of tim» have pity upon man's blindness,
and assume our nature, taking flesh and coming down
and dwelling among us as a man indistinguishable physi-
cally from ourselves. He who made the sun, moon and
stars, the world and all that therein is, came down
from Heaven in the person of his Son, with the express
purpose of leading a scorned life, and dying the most
cruel, shameful death which fiendish ingenuity has in-
vented.

"While on earth he worked many miracles. He gave
sight to the blind, raised the dead to life, fed thousands
with a few loaves and fishes, and was seen to walk upon
the waves, but at the end of his appointed time he died,
as was foredetermined, upon the cross, and was buried
by a few faithful friends. Those, however, who had
put him to death set a jealous watch over his tomb.

"There is no one, I feel sure, in this room who doubts
any part of the foregoing, but if there is, 1^ .me again

248 The Way of All Flesh

pray him to confer with me in private, and I doubt not
that by the blessing of God his doubts will cease.

"The nekt day but one after our Lord was buried,
the tomb being still jealously guarded by enemies, an
angel was seen descending from Heaven with glittering
raiment and a countenance that shone like fire. This
glorious being rolled away the stone from the grave,
and our Lord himself came forth, risen from the dead.

"My young friends, this is no fanciful story like
those of the ancient deities, but a matter of plain history
as certain as that you and I are now here together. If
tkere is one fact better vouched for than another in
the whole range of certainties it is the Resurrection
of Jesus Christ; nor is it less well assured that a few
weeks after he had risen from the dead, onr Lord was
seen by many hundreds of men and women to rise amid
a host of angels into the air upon a heavenward journey
till the clouds covered him and concealed him from the
sight of men.

"It may be said that the truth of these statements has
been denied, but what, let me ask you, has become of
the questioners? Where are they now? Do we see
them or hear of them? Have they b6en able to hold what
little ground they made during the supineness of the
last century? Is there one of your fathers or mothers
or friends who does not see through them ? Is there a
single teacher or preacher in this great University who
has not examined what these men had to say, and found
it naught? Did you ever meet one of them, or do you
find any of their books securing the respectful attention
of those competent to judge concerning them? I think
not ; and I think also you know as well as I do why it is
that they have sunk back into the abyss from which they
for a time emerged : it is because after the most careful
and patient examination by the ablest and most judicial
minds of many countries, their arguments were found
so untenable that they themselves renounced them.

The Way of All Flesh 249

They fled from the field routed, dismayed, and suing for
peace; nor have they again come to the front in any
civilised country.

"You know these things. Why, then, do I insist upon
them? My dear young friends, your own consciousness
will have made the answer to each one of you already ;
it is because, though you know so well that these things j
did venly and indeed happen, you know also that you |
have not realised them to yourselves as it was your duty '
to do, nor heeded their momentous, awful import,

"And now let me go further. You all know that you
will one day come to die, or if not to die — for there are
not wanting signs which make me hope that the Lori
may come again, while some of us now present are
alive — ^yet to be changed; for the trumpet shall sound,
* and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, for this cor-
ruption must put on incorruption, and thb mortal
put on immortality, and the saying shall be brought
to pass that is written, 'Death is shallowed up in vic-
tory.'

"Do you, or do you not believe that you will one day
stand before the Judgment Seat of Christ? Do you, or
do you not believe that you will have to give an account
for every idle word that you have ever spoken? Do
you, or do you not believe that you are called to live, not
according to the will of man, but according to the will of
that Christ who came down from Heaven out of love for
you, who suffered and died for you, who calls you to
him, and yearns towards you that you may take heed
even in this your day — but who, if you heed not, will
also one day judge you, and with whom there is no
variableness nor shadow of turning?

"My dear young friends, strait is the gate, and narrow
is the way which leadetb to Eternal Life, and few there
be that find it. Few, few, few, for he who will not give
up ALL for Christ's sake, has given up nothing.

"If you would live in the friendship of this world, if

250 The Way of All Flesh

indeed you are not .prepared to give up everything you
most fondly cherish, should the Lord require it of you,
then, I say, put the idea of Christ deliberately on
one side at once. Spit upon him, buffet him, crucify him
anew, do anythit^ you like so long as you secure the
friendship of' this world while it is still in your power
to do so; the pleasures of this brief life may not be
worth paying for by the torments of eternity, but they
are something while they last. If, on the other hand,
you would live in the friendship of God, and be amoi^
the number of those for whom Christ has not died in'

«.in ; if, in a word, you value your eternal welfare,
en give up the friendship of this world ; of a surety
you must make your choice between God and Mammon,
for you cannot serve both.

"I put these considerations before you, if so homely
a term may be pardoned, as a plain matter of business.
There is nothing low or unworthy in this, as some lately
have pretended, for alt nature shows us that there is
nothing more acceptable to God than an enlightened
view of our own self-interest; never let anyone .delude
you here; it is a simple question of fact; did certain
things happen or did they not? If they did happen, is
it reasonable to suppose that you will make yourselves
and others more hapi^ by one course of conduct or by
another ?

"And now let me ask you what answer you have made
to this question hitherto? Whose friendship have you
chosen? If, knowing what you know, you have not yet
begun to act according to the immensity of the knowl-
edge that is in you, then he who builds his house and
lays up his treasure on the edge of a crater of molten
lava is a sane, sensible person in comparison with your-
selves. I say this as no figure of speech or bugbear with
which to frighten you, but as an unvarnished unexa^er-
ated statement which will be no more disputed by your-
selves than by me."

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The Way of All Flesh 251

And now Mr. Hawke, who up to this time had spoken
with singular quietness, changed his manner to one of
greater warmth and continued —

"Oht my young friends, turn, turn, turn, now while
it is called to-day — now from this hour, from this in-
stant ; stay not even to gird up your loins ; look not be-
hind you for a second, but fly into -the bosom of that
Christ who is to be found of all who seek him, and from
that fearful wrath of God which lieth in wait for those
who know not the things belonging to their peace. For
the Son of Man cometh as a thief in the night, and there
is not one of us can tell but what this day his soul may
be required of him. If there is even one here who 1^^
heeded me," — and he let his eye fall for an instant upon,
almost all his hearers, but especially on the Ernest set —
"I shall know that it was not for nothing that I felt the
call of the Lord, and heard as I thought a voice by night
that bade me come hither quickly, for there was a chosen
vessel who had need of me."

Here Mr. Hawke ended rather abruptly; his earnest
manner, striking countenance and excellent delivery had
produced an effect greater than the actual words I have
given can convey to the reader ; the virtue lay in the man
more than in what he said ; as for the last few mysterious
words about his having heard a voice by night, their
effect was magical ; there was not one who did not look
down to the ground, nor who in his heart did not half
believe that he was the chosen vessel on whose especial
behalf God had sent Mr. Hawke to Cambridge. Even
if this were not so, each one of them felt that he was
now for the first time in the actual presence of one who
had had a direct communication from the Almighty, and
they were thus suddenly brought a hundredfold nearer
to the New Testament miracles. They were amazed,
not to say scared, and as though by tacit consent they
gathered together, thanked Mr. Hawke for his sermon,
said good-night in a humble, deferential manner to Bad-

252 The Way of All Flesh

cock and the other Simeonites, and left the ro(»n to-
gether. They had heard nothing but what they had been
hearing all their lives ; how was it, then, that they were
' so dumbfounded by it? I suppose partly because they
; had lately b^un to think more seriously, and were in a
fit state to be impressed, partly from the greater direct-
I ness with which each felt himself addressed, through
' the sermon being delivered in a room, and partly to the
. logical consistency, freedom from exaggeration, ^d
profound air of conviction with which Mr, Hawke had
^ spoken. His simplicity and obvious earnestness had
impressed them even before he had alluded to his special
fission, but this clenched everything, and the words
"Lord, is it I?" were upon the hearts of each as they
walked pensively home through moonlit courts and
cloisters.

I do not know what passed among the Stmeonttes after
the Ernest set had left them, but they would have been
more than mortal if they had not been a good deal elated
with the results of the evening. Why, one of Ernest's
friends was in the University eleven, and he had actually
been in Badcock's rooms and had slunk off (Hi saying
good-night as meekly as any of them. It was no small
thing to have scored a success like this.

CHAPTER L

ERiiEST felt now that the turning point of his life had
come. He would give up all for Christ— even his to-
bacco.

So he gathered t<^ther his pipes and pouches,
and locked them up in his portmanteau under his bed
where they should be out of sight, and as much out of
mind as possible. He did not bum them, because some-
one might come in who wanted to smoke, and though

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The Way of All Flesh 253

he might abridge his own liberty, yet, as smoking was
not a sin, there was no reason why he should be hard
on other people.

After breakfast he left his nwms to call on a man
named Dawson, who had been one of Mr. Hawke'g hear-
ers on the preceding evening, and who was reading for
ordination at the forthcoming Ember Weeks, now only
fonr months distant. This man had been always of a
rather serious turn of mind — a little too much so for
Ernest's taste; but times had changed, and Dawson's
undoubted sincerity seemed to render him a fitting coun-
sellor for Ernest at the present time. As he was going
through the first court of John's on his way to Daw-
son's rooms, he met Badcock, and greeted him with
some deference. His advance was received with one
of those ecstatic gleams which shone occasionally upon
the face of Badcock, and which, if Ernest had known
more, would have reminded him of Robespierre, As it
was, he saw it and unconsciously recognised the unrest
and self-seekingness of the man, but could hot yet fonnu-
late them ; he disliked Badcock more than ever, but as he
was going to profit by the spiritual benefits which he had
put in his way, he was bound to be civil to him, and civit
he therefore was.

Badcock told him that Mr. Hawke had returned to
town immediately his discourse was over, but that be-
fore doing so he had enquired particularly who Ernest
and two or three others were. I believe each one of
Ernest's friends was given to understand that he had
been more or less particularly enquired after. Ernest's
vanity — for he was his mother's son — was tickled at this ;
the idea again presented itself to him that he m^ht be
the one for whose benefit Mr. Hawke had been sent.
There was something, too, in Badcock's manner which
conveyed the idea that he could say more if he chose, but
had been enjoined to silence.

On reaching Dawson's rooms, he found his friend in

254 The Way of All Flesh

raptures over the discourse of the preceding evenii^.
Hardly less delighted was he with the effect it had pro-
duced on Ernest. He had always known, he said, that
Ernest would come round; he had been sure of it, but he
had hardly expected the conversion to be so sudden.
Ernest said no more had he, but now that he saw his
duty so clearly he would get ordained as soon as possible,
and take a curacy, even though the doing so would make
him have to go down from Cambridge earlier, which
would be a great grief to him. Dawson applauded this
determination, and it was arranged that as Ernest was
still more or less of a weak brother, Dawson should
take him, so to speak, in spiritual tow for a while, and
strengthen and confirm his faith.

An offensive and defensive alliance therefore was
struck up between this pair (who were in reality singu-
larly ill assorted), and Ernest set to work to master the
books on which the Bishop would examine him. Others
gradually joined them till they formed a small set or
church (for these are the' same things), and the effect
of Mr. Hawke's sermon instead of wearing off in a few
days, as might have been expected, became more and
more marked, so much so that it was necessary for
' Ernest's friends to hold him back rather than urge him
on, for he seemed likely to develop — as indeed he did
\ for a time — into a religious enthusiast,
1 In one matter only did he openly backslide. He had,
' as I said above, locked up his pipes and tobacco, so
that he might not be tempted to use them. All day long
on the day after Mr. Hawke's sermon he let them lie in
his portmanteau bravely ; but this was not very difficult,
as he had for some time given up smoking till after hall.
After hall this day he did not smoke till chapel time, and
then went to chapel in self-defence. When he returned
he determined to look at the matter from a common sense
point of view. On this he saw that, provided tobacco
did not injure his health — and he really could not see

The Way of All Flesh 255

that it did — it stood much on the same footing as tea or
coffee.

Tobacco had nowhere been forbidden in the Biblp, but
then it had not yet been discovered, and had probably
only escaped proscription for this reason. We can con-
ceive of St. Paul or even our Lord Himself as drinking
a cup of tea, but we cannot imagine either of them as
smoking a cigarette or a churchwarden. Ernest could
not deny this, and admitted that Paul would almost cer-
tainly have condemned tobacco in good round terms if
he had known of its existence. Was it not then taking
rather a mean advantage of the Apostle to stand on his
not having actually forbidden it? On the other hand,
it was possible that God knew Paul would have forbid-
den smoking, and had purposely arranged the discovery
of tobacco for a period at which Paul should be no longer
living. This might seem rather hard on Paul, consider-
ing all he had done for Christianity, but it would be made
up to him in other ways.

These reflections satisfied Ernest that on the whole
he had better smoke, so he sneaked to his portmanteau
and brought out his pipes and tobacco again. There
should be moderation, he felt, in all things, even in vir-
tue ; so for that night he smoked immoderately. It was
a pity, however, that he had bragged to Dawson about
giving up smoking. The pipes had better be kept in a
cupboard for a week or two, till in other and easier
respects Ernest should have proved his steadfastness.
Then they might steal out again little by little — and so
they did.

Ernest now wrote home a letter couched in a vein
different from his ordinary ones. His letters were
usually all common form and padding, for as I have al-
ready explained, if he wrote about anything that really
interested him, his mother always wanted to know more
and more about it — every fresh answer being as the lop-
ping off of a hydra's head and giving birth to half-a-

256 The Way of All Flesh

dozen or more new quesrions — but in the end It came
invariably to the same result, namely, that he ought to
have done something else, or ought not to go on doing
as he proposed. Now, however, there was a new de-
parture, and for the thousandth time he concluded that
he was about to take a course of Which his father and
mother would approve, and in. which they would be
interested, so that at last he and they might get on more
sympathetically than heretofore. He therefore wrote a
gushing, impulsive letter, which afforded much amuse>
tnent to myself as I read it, but which is too long for
reproduction. One passage ran : "I am now going
towards Christ ; the greater number of my college friends
are, I fear, going away from Him; we must pray for
them that they may find the peace that is in Christ even
as I have myself fotmd it." Ernest covered his face
with his hands for shame as he read this extract from
the bundle of letters he had put into my hands — they
had been returned to turn by his father on his mother's
death, his mother having carefully preserved them.
"Shall I cut it out?" said I. "I will, if you like."
"Certainly not," he answered, "and if good-natured
friends have kept more- records of my follies, pick out
any plums that may amuse the reader, and let him have
his laugh over them." But fancy what effect a letter like
this — so unled up to — must have produced at Battersby !
Even Christina refrained from ecstasy over her son's
having discovered the power of Christ's word, while
Theobald was frightened out of his wits. It was well his
son was not going to have any doubts or difficulties, and
that he would be ordained without making a fuss over
it, but he smelt mischief in this sudden conversion of CMie
who had never yet shown any inclination towards re-
ligion. He hated people who did not know where to
stop. Ernest was always so outri and strai^; there
, was never any knowing what he would do next, except
that it would be something unusual and silly. If be was

The Way of All Flesh 257

to get the bit between his teeth after he had got or-
dained and bought his living, he would play more pranks
than ever he, Theobald, had done. The fact, doubtless,
of his being ordained and having bought a living would
go a long way to steady him, and if he married, his wife
must see to the restijhis was his only chance and, to
do justice to his sagacity, Theobald in his heart did not
think very highly of it.

When Ernest came down to Battersby in June, he
imprudently tried to open up a more unreserved com-
munication with his father than was his wont. The first
of Ernest's snipe-like flights on being flushed by Mr,
Hawke's sermon was in the direction of ultra-Evangeli-
calism. Theobald himself had been much more Low
than High Church. This was the normal development
of the country clergyman during the iirst years of his
clerical lite, between, we will say, the years 1825 to
1850; but he was not prepared for the almost contempt
with which Ernest now regarded the doctrines of baptis-
mal regeneration and priestly absolution (Hoity-toity, in-
deed, what business had he with such questions?), nor
for his desire to find some means of reconcilii^ Meth-
odism and the Church. Theobald hated the Church of
Rome, but he hated dissenters too, for he found them
as a general rule troublesome people to deal with; he
always foimd people who did not agree with him trouble-
some to deal with ; besides, they set up for knowing as
much as he did ; nevertheless if he had been let alone
he would have leaned towards them rather than towards
the High- Church party. The neighbouring clergy, how-
ever, would not let him alone. One by one they had come
imder the influence, directly or indirectly, of the Oxford
movement which had begun twenty years earlier. It
was surprising how many practices he now tolerated
which in his youth he would have considered Popish;
he knew very well therefore which way things were
going in Church matters, and saw that as usual Ernest

258 The Way of All Flesh

was setting himself the other way. The opportunity for
telling his son that he was a fool was too favourable not
to be embraced, and Theobald was not slow to embrace
it. Ernest was annoyed and surprised, for had not his
father and mother been wanting him to be more religious
all his life? Now that he had become so they were still
not satisfied. He said to himself that a prophet was not
without honour save in his own country, but he had
been lately — or rather until lately — getting into an odious
habit of turning proverbs upside down, and it occurred
to him that a country is sometimes not without honour
save for its own prophet Then he laughed, and for the
rest of the day felt more as he used to feel before he had
heard Mr. Hawke's sermon.

He returned to Cambridge for the Long Vacation of
1858 — none too soon, for he had to go in for the Volun-
tary Theological Examination, which bishops were now
beginning to insist upon. He imagined all the time he
was reading that he was storing himself with the knowl-
edge that would best fit him for the work he had taken
in hand. In truth, he was cramming for a pass. In due
time he did pass — creditably, and was ordained Deacon
with half-a-dozen others of his friends in the autumn of
1858. He was then Just twenty-three years old.

CHAPTER LI

Ernest had been ordained to a curacy in one of the
central parts of London. He hardly knew anything of
London yet, but his instincts drew him thither. The
day after he was ordained he entered upon his duties —
feeling much as his father had done when he found
himself boxed up in the carriage with Christina on the
morning of his marriage. Before the first three days
were over, he became aware that the light of the hap{H-

The Way of All Flesh 259

n«ss which he had known during his four years at
Cambridge had been extinguished, and he was appalled
by the irrevocable nature of the step which he now felt
that he had taken much too hurriedly.

The most charitable excuse that I can make for the
vagaries which it will now be my duty to chronicle is
that the shock of change consequent upon his bea)niing
suddenly religious, being ordained and leaving Cam-
bridge, had been too much for my hero, and had for the
time thrown him off an equilibrium which was yet little
supported by experience, and therefore as a matter of
course unstable.

Everyone has a mass of bad work in him which he
will have to work off and get rid of before he can do
better — and indeed, the more lasting a man's ultimate
good work is, the more sure he is to pass through a
time, and perhaps a very long one, in which there seems
very little hope for him at ail. We must all sow our
spiritual wild oats.' The fault I feel personally disposed
to find with my godson is not that he had wild oats to \
sow, but that they were such an exceedingly tame andi
uninteresting crop. The sense of humour and tendency U
to think for himself, of which till a few months pre- I
viously he had been showing fair promise, were nipped
as though by a late frost, while his earlier habit of takii^
on trust everything that was told him by those in au-
thority, and following everything out to the bitter end,
no matter how preposterous, returned with redoubled
strength. I suppose this was what might have been ex-
pected from anyone placed as Ernest now was, especially
when his antecedents are remembered, but it surprised
and disappointed some of his cooler-headed Cambridge
friends who had begun to think well of his ability. To
himself it seemed that religion was incompatible with
half measures, or even with compromise. Circumstances
had led to bis being ordained ; for the moment he was
sorry they had, but he had done it and must go throi^

26o The Way of All Flesh

with it He therefore set himself to find out what was
expected of him, and to act accordingly.

His rector was a moderate High Churchman of no
very pronounced views — an elderly man who had had too
many curates not to have long since found out that the
connection between rector and curate, like that between
employer and employed in every other walk of life, was
a mere matter of business. He had now two curates, of
whom Ernest was the junior; the senior curate was
named Pryer, and when this gentleman made advances,
as he presently did, Ernest in his forlorn state was de-
lighted to meet them.

Pryer was about twenty-eight years old. He had
been at Eton and at Oxford. He was tall, and passed
generally for good-looking; I only saw him once for
about five minutes, and then thought him odious both in
manners and appearance. Perhaps it was because he
cau^t me up in a way I did not like. I had quoted
Shakespeare for lack of something better to fill up a
sentence — and had said that one touch of nature made
the whole world kin. "Ah," said Pryer, in a bold, brazen
way which displeased me, "but one touch of the .un-
natural makes it more kindred still," and he gave me
a look as though he thoi^ht me an old bore and did not
care two straws whether I was shocked or not. Nat-
urally enough, after this I did not like him.

This, however, is anticipating, for it was not till Ernest
had been three or four months in London that I hap-
pened to meet his fellow-curate, and I must deal here
rather with the effect he produced upon my godson than
upon myself. Besides being what was generally con-
sidered good-looking, he was faultless in his get-up, and
altogether the kind of man whom Ernest was sure to be
afraid of and yet be taken in by. The style of his dress
was very High Church, and his acquaintances were ex-
clusively of the extreme High Church party, but he kept
his views a good deal in the backgrotmd in his rector's

The Way of All Flesh 261

presence, and that gentleman, though he looked askance
on some of Fryer's friends, had no such ground of com-
plaint against him as to make him sever the connection.
Pryer, too, was popular in the pulpit, and, take him all
round, it was probable that many worse curates would
be found for one better. When Fryer called on my hero,
as soon as the two were alone together, he eyed him all
over with a quick, penetrating glance and seemed not dis-
satisfied with the result — for I must say here that Ernest
had improved in personal appearance under the more
genial treatment he had received at Cambridge. Pryer,
in fact, approved of him sufficiently to treat him civilly,
and Ernest was immediately won by anyone who did
this. It was not long before he discovered that the High
Church party, and even Rome itself, had more to say
for themselves than he had thought. This was his first
snipe-like change of flight.

Pryer introduced him to several of his friends. They
were all of them young clergymen, belonging as I have
said to the highest of the High Church school, but Ernest
was surprised to find how much they resembled other
people when among themselves. This was a shock to
him; it was ere. long a still greater one to find that cer-
tain thoughts which he had warred against as fatal to his
soul, and which he had imagined he should lose once for
all on ordination, were still as troublesome to him as
they had been ; he also saw plainly enough that the young
gentlemen who formed the circle of Fryer's friends were
in much the same unhappy predicament as himself.

This was deplorable. The only way out of it that
Ernest could see was that he should get married at
once. But then he did not know any one whom he '
wanted to marry. He did not know any woman, in fact,
whom he would not rather die than marry. It had been
one of Theobald's and Christina's main objects to keep
him out of the way of women, and they had so far suc-
ceeded that women had become to him mysterious, in-

262 The Way of All Flesh

scrutable objects to be tolerated when it was impossible
to avoid them, but never to be sought out or encouraged.
As for any man loving, or even being at all fond of
any woman, he supposed it was so, but he believed the
. greater number of those who professed such sentiments
were liars. Now, however, it was clear that he had
hoped against hope too long, and that the only thing to
do was to go and ask the £rst woman who would listen
to him to come and be married to him as soon as pos-
sible. *

He broached this to Pryer, and was surprised to find
that this gentleman, though attentive to such members of
his flock as were yoimg and good-looking, was strongly
in favour of the celibacy of the clei^, as indeed were
the other demure young clerics to whom Pryer had in-
troduced Ernest.

CHAPTER LII

"You know, my dear Pontifex," said Pryer to him, some
few weeks after Ernest had become acquainted with him,
when the two were taking a constitutional one day in
Kensington Gardens, "You know, my dear Pontifex,
it is all very well to quarrel with Rome, but Rome has
reduced the treatment of the human soul to a science,
while our own Church, though so much purer in many
respects, has no organised system either of diagnosis or
pathology — I mean, of course, spiritual diagnosis and
spiritual patholc^. Oi^r Church does not prescribe
remedies upon any settled system, and, what is still
worse, even when her physicians have according to their
lights ascertained the disease and pointed out the remedy,
she has no discipline which will ensure its being actually
applied. If our patients do not choose to do as we tell
them, we cannot make them. Perhaps really under all
the circumstances this is as well, for we are spiritually

The Way of All Flesh 263

mere horse doctors as compared with the Roman priest-
hood, nor can we hope to make much headway against
the sin and misery that surround us, till we return in .
some respects to the practice of our forefathers and of I
the greater part of Christendom." |

Ernest asked in what respects it was that his friend
desired a return to the practice of our forefathers.

"Why, my dear fellow, can you really be ignorant? It
is just this, either the priest is indeed a spiritual guide,
as being able to show people how they ought to live better
than they can find out for themselves, or he is nothing
at all — he has no raison d'etre. If the priest is not as
much a healer and director of men's souls as a physi-
cian is of their bodies, what is he? The history of all
ages has shown — and surely you must know this as well/
as I do — that as men cannot cure the bodies of their!
patients if they have not been properly trained in hos-j
pitals under skilled teachers, so neither can souls hJ
cured of their more hidden ailments without the heljr-"
of men who are skilled in soul-craft — or in other words]
of priests. What do one half of our formularies and
rubrics mean if not this ? Hnw in the name of all that
Js rpasonable can we find nilt thr t^ra-it nntnrr nf "IT '
spiritual malady, unless w e havF Iiad i^rprit-nff pf ntht-r ,

"Bimil^r raspgi' l-Tnat ran wC gCt this withoUt CXpreSS

training? At present we have to begin all experiments
for ourselves, without profiting by the organised experi-
ence of our predecessors, inasmuch as that experience
is never organised and co-ordinated at all. At the outset,
therefore, each one of us must ruin many souls which
could be saved by knowledge of a few elementary prin-
ciples."

Ernest was very much impressed.

"As for men curing themselves," continued Pryer,
"they can no more cure their own souls than they can
cure their own bodies, or manage their own law affairs.
In these two last cases they see the folly of meddlii^

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264 The Way of All Flesh

with their own cases dearly enough, and go to a profes-
sional adviser as a matter of course ; surely a man's soul
is at once a more diifficult and intricate matter to treat,
and at the same time it is more important to him that
it should be treated rightly than that either his body or
his money should be so. What are we to think of the
practice of a Church which encourages people to rely on
unprofessional advice in matters affecting their eternal
welfare, when they would not think of jeopardising their
worldly affairs by such insane conduct?"

Ernest could see no weak place in this. These ideas
had crossed his own mind vaguely before now, but he
had never laid hold of them or set them in an orderly
manner before himself. Nor was he quick at detecting
false analogies and the misuse of metaphors ; in fact he
was a mere child in the hands of his fellow curate.

"And what," resumed Pryer, "docs all this point to?
Firstly, to the duty of confession — the outcry against
which is absurd as an outcry would be against dissection
as part of the training of medical students. Granted
these young men must see and do a great deal we do not
ourselves like even to think of, but they should adopt
some other profession unless they are prepared for this ;
they may even get inoculated with poison from a dead
body and lose their lives, but they must stand their
chance. So if we aspire to be priests in deed as well
as name, we must familiarise ourselves with the minutest
and most repulsive details of all kinds of sin, so that
we may recognise it in all its stages. Some of us must
doubtless perish spiritually in such investigations. We
cannot help it; all science must have its martyrs, and
none of these will deserve better of humanity than those
who have fallen in the pursuit of spiritual pathology."

Ernest grew more and more interested, but in the
meekness of his soul said nothing.

"I do not desire this martyrdom for myself," con-
tinued the other ; "on the contrary I will avmd it to the

The Way of All Flesh '2^5

very utmost of my power, but if it be God's wilt that I
should fall while studying what I believe most calculated
to advance his glory — then, I say, not my will, O Lord,
but thine be done."

This was too much even for Ernest. "I heard of an
Irishwoman once," he said, with a smile, "who said she
was a martyr to the drink."

"And so she was," rejoined Pryer with warmth; and
he went on to show that this good woman was an experi-
mentalist whose experiment, though disastrous in its ef-
fects upon herself, was pregnant with instruction to other
people. She was thus a true martyr or witness to the
frightful consequences of intemperance, to the saving,
doubtless, of many who but for her martyrdom would
have taken to drinking. She was one of a forlorn hope
whose failure to take a certain position went to the prov-
ing it to be impregnable and therefore to the abandon-
ment of all attempt to take it This was almost as great
a gain to mankind as the actual taking of the position
would have been.

"Besides," he added more hurriedly, "the limits of
vice and virtue are wretchedly ill-defined. Half the vices
which the world condemns most loudly have seeds of''
good in them and require moderate use rather than
total abstinence."

Ernest asked timidly for an instance.

"No, no," said Pryer, "I will give you no instance, but
I will give you a formula that shall embrace all instances.
It is this, that no practice is entirely vicious which has'
not been extinguished among the comeliest, most vigor-
ous, and most cultivated races of mankind in spite of
centuries of endeavour to extirpate it. If a vice in spite\
of such efforts can still hold its own among the most ;
polished nations, it must be foimded on some immutable
truth or fact in human nature, and must have some com-
pensatory advantage which we cannot afford altogether
to dispense with,"

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266 The Way of All Flesh

"But," said Ernest timidly, "is not this virtually doing
away with all distinction between right and wrong, and
leaving people without any moral guide whatever?"

"Not the petq)Ie," was the answer: "it must be our
care to be guides to these, for they are and always will
be incapable of guiding themselves sufficiently. We
should tell them what they must do, and in an ideal state
of things should be able to enforce their doing it: per-
haps when we are better instructed the ideal state may
come about; nothing will so advance it as greater knowl-
edge of spiritual pathology on our own part. For this,
three things are necessary; firstly, absolute freedom in
experiment for us the clergy; secondly, absolute knowl-
edge of what the laity think and do, and of what thoughts
and actions result in what spiritual conditions; and
thirdly, a compacter organisation among ourselves,

"If we are to do any good we must be a closely united
body, and must be sharply divided from the laity. Also
we must be free from those ties which a wife and chil'
dren involve, I can hardly express the horror with
which I am filled by seeing English priests living in what
I can only designate as 'open matrimony.' It is deplor-
able. The priest must be absolutely sexless — if not in
practice, yet at any rate in theory, absolutely— and that,
too, by a theory so universally accepted that none shall
venture to dispute it."

"But," said Ernest, "has not the Bible already told
people what they ought and ought not to do, and is it
not enough for us to insist on what can be found here,
and let the rest alone ?"

"If you begin with the Bible," was the rejoinder,
"you are three parts gone on the road to infideli^, and
will go the other part before you know where you are.
The Bible is not without its value to us the clei^, but
for the tai^ it is a stumbling-block which cannot be
taken out of their way too soon or too completely. Of
course, I mean on the supposition that they read it,

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The Way of All Flesh 267

which, happily, they seldom do. If people read the Bible
as the ordinary British churchman or churchwotnan reads
it, it is harmless enough ; but if they read it with any
care — ^which we should assume they will if we give it
them at all — it is fatal to them,"

"What do you mean?" said Ernest, more and more
astonished, but more and more feeling that he was at
least in the hands of a man who had definite ideas.

"Your question shows me that you have never read
your Bible. A more unreliable book was never put upon
paper. Take my advice and don't read it, not till you
are a few years older, and may do so safely."

"But surely you believe the Bible when it tells you of
such things as that Christ died and rose from the dead?
Surely you believe this ?" said Ernest, quite prepared to
be told that Pryer believed nothing of the kind.

"I do not believe it, I know it."

"But how — if the testimony of the Bible faib?"

"On that of the living voice of the Church, which I
know to be infallible and to be informed of Christ him-
self."

CHAPTER Lin

The foregoing conversation and others like it made a
deep impression upon my hero. If next day he had
taken a walk with Mr. Hawke, and heard what he had to
say on the other side, he would have been just as much /
struck, and as ready to fling .off what Pryer had told htm, -
as he now was to throw aside all he had ever heard from ■
anyone except Pryer ; but there was no Mr. Hawke at '^
tiand, so Pryer had everything his own way. J

Embtyo minds, like embryo bodies^ pass through a
number of strange metamorphoses before they Adopt
their fingl^shape. It is no more to be wondered at that
one wfio is going to turn out a Roman Catholic, should
have passed through the stages of being first a Metho-

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368 The Way of All Flesh

^ist, and then a free thinker, than that a man should at
/ some former time have been a mere cell, and later on an
\ invertebrate animal. Ernest, however, could not be ex-
pected to know this ; embryos never do. Embryos think
with each stage of their development that they have now
reached the only condition which really suits them.
This, they say, must certainly be their last, inasmuch as
its close will be so great a shock that nothing can survive
it Every change is a shock ; every shock is a pro lattto
death. What we call death is only a shock great enoi^h
to destroy our power to recognise a past and a present
as resembling one another. It is the making us con-
sider the points of difference between our present and
our past greater than the points of resemblance, so that
we can no longer call the former of these two in any
proper sense a continuation of the second, but find it
less trouble to think of it as something that we choose
to call new.

But, to let this pass, it was clear that spiritual path-
ology (I confess that I do not know myself what spiritual
patholt^ means — but Pryer and Ernest doubtless did)
was the great desideratum of the age. It seemed to Er-
nest that l]e had made this discovery himself and been
familiar with it all his life, that he had never known,
in fact, of anything else. He wrote long letters to his
college friends expounding his views as though he had
been one of the Apostolic fathers. As for the Old Testa-
ment writers, he had no patience with them. "Do oblige
me," I find him writing to one friend, "by reading the
prophet Zechariah, and giving me your candid opinion
upon him. He is poor stuff, full of Yankee bounce; it
is sickening to live in an age when such balderdash can
be gravely admired whether as poetry or prophecy."
This was because Fryer had set him against Zechariah.
I do not know what Zechariah had done ; I should think
mysell that Zechariah was a very good prophet ; perhaps
h was because he was a Bible writer, and not a very

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The Way of All Flesh 269

prominent one, that Pryer selected him as one through
whom to disparage the Bible in comparison with the
Church.

To his friend Dawson I find him saying a littlfe later
on : "Pryer and I continue our walks, working out each
other's thoughts. At first he used to do all the thinking,
but I think I am pretty well abreast of him now, and
rather chuckle at seeing that he is already beginning to
modify some of the views he held most strongly when
I first knew him.

"Then I think he was on the high road to Rome; now,
however, he seems to be a good deal struck with a sug-
gestion of mine in which you, too, perhaps may be in-
terested. You see we must infuse new life into the
Church somehow; we are not holding our own against
either Rome or infidelity." (I may say in passing that
I do not believe Ernest had as yet ever seen an infidel
— not to speak to.) "I proposed, therefore, a few days
back to Pryer — and he fell in eagerly with the proposal
as soon as he saw that I had the means of carrying it
out — that we should set on foot a spiritual movement
somewhat analogous to the Young England movement of
twenty years ago, the aim of which shall be at once to
outbid Rome on the one hand, and scepticism on the
other. For this purpose I see nothing better than the
fouRdation of an institution or college for placing the
nature and treatment of sin on a more scientific basis than
it rests at present. We want — to borrow a useful term
of Pryer's — a College of Spiritual Pathology where
young men" (I suppose Ernest thought he was no longer
young by this time) "may study the nature and treat-
ment of the sins of the soul as medical students study
those of the bodies of their patients. Such a college, as
you will probably admit, will approach both Rome on the
one hand, and science on the other — Rome, as giving the
priesthood more skill, and therefore as pavii^ the way
for their obtaining greater power, and science, by rec<^-

270 The Way of All -Flesh

nising that even free thought has a certain kind of value
in spiritual enquiries. To this purpose Pryer and I have
resolved to devote ourselves henceforth heart and soul.

"Of course, my ideas are still unshaped, and all will
depend upon the men by whom the college is first worked,
I am not yet a priest, but Pryer is, and if I were to start
the College, Pryer might take charge of it for a time and
I work under him nominally as his subordinate. Pryer
himself suggested this. Is it not generous of him?

"The worst of it is that we have not enough money; I
have, it is true, i5ooo, but we want at least ;fio,ocx>, so
Pryer says, before we can start; when we are fairly
under weigh I might live at the college and draw a salary
from the foundation, so that it is all one, or nearly so,
whether I invest my money in this way or in buying a
living; besides I want very little; it is certain that I shall
never marry; no clergyman should think of this, and an
unmarried man can live on next to nothing. Still I do
not see my way to as much money as I want, and Pryer
suggests that as we can hardly earn more now we must
get it by a judicious series of investments. Pryer knows
several people who make quite a handsome income out of
very little or, indeed, I may say, nothing at all, by buying
things at a place they call the Stock Exchange ; I don't
know much about it yet, but Pryer says I should soon
learn; he thinks, indeed, that I have shown rather a
talent in this direction, and under proper auspices should
make a very good man of business. Others, of course,
and not I, must decide this ; but a man can do anything
if he gives his mind to it, and though I should not care
about having more money for my own sake, I care about
it very much when I think of the good I could do with
it by saving souls from such horrible torture hereafter.
Why, if the thing succeeds, and I really cannot see what
is to hinder it, it is hardly possible to exa^erate its im-
portance, nor the proportions which it may ultimately
assume," etc., etc.

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The Way of All Flesh 271

Afain I asked Ernest whetheT he minded my printing
this. He winced, but said, "No, not if it helps you to tell
your story: but don't you think it is too long?"

I said it would let the reader see for himself how
things were going in half the time that it would take me
to explain them to him.

"Very well then, keep it by all means."

I continue turning over my file of Ernest's letters and
find as follows —

"Thanks for your last, in answer to which I send you
a rough copy of a letter I sent to the Times a day or two
back. They did not insert it, but it embodies pretty fully
my ideas on the parochial visitation question, and Pryer
fully a[^roves of the letter. Think it carefully over and
send it back to me when read, for it is so exactly my
present creed that I cannot afford to lose it.

"I should very much like to have a viva voce discussion
on these matters : I can only see for certain that we have
suffered a dreadful loss in being no longer able to excom-
municate. We should excommunicate rich and poor
alike, and pretty freely too. If this power were restored
to us we could, I think, soon pot a stop to by far the
greater part of the sin and misery with which we are
surrounded."

These letters were written only a few weeks after
Ernest had been ordained, but they are rwthing to others
that he wrote a little later on.

In his eagerness to regenerate the Church of England
(and through this the imiverse) by the means which
Pryer had su^ested to him, it occurred to him to try
to familiarise himself with the habits and thoughts of
the poor by going and living among them. I think he got
this notion from Kingsley's "Alton Locke," which. High
Churchman though he for the nonce was, he had de-
voured as he had devoured Stanley's "Life of Arnold,"

273 The Way of All Flesh

Dickens's novels, and whatever other literary garbage of
the day was most likely to do him harm ; at any rate he
actually put his scheme into practice, and took lodgings
in Ashpit Place, a small street in the neighbourhood of
Drury Lane Theatre, in a house of which the landlady
was the widow of a cabman.

This lady occupied the whole ground floor. In the
front kitchen there was a tinker. The back kitchen was
let to a bellows-mender. On the first floor came Ernest,
/Ivith his two rooms which he furnished comfortably, for
pne must draw the line somewhere. The two upper floors
[nrere parcelled out among four different sets of lodgers :
there was a tailor named Holt, a drunken fellow who
used to beat his wife at night till her screams woke the
house; above him there was another tailor with a wife
but no children ; these people were Wesleyans, given to
drink but not noisy. The two back rooms were held by
single ladies, who it seemed to Ernest must be respectably
connected, for well-dressed, gentlemanly-looking young
men used to go up and down stairs past Ernest's rooms
to call at any rate on Miss Snow — Ernest had heard her
door slam after they had passed. He thought, too, that
some of them went up to Miss Maitland's. Mrs. Jupp,
the landlady, told Ernest that these were brothers and
cousins of Miss Snow's, and that she was herself look-
ing out for a situation as a governess, but at present had
an engagement as an actress at the Drury Lane Theatre.
Ernest asked whether Miss Maitland in the top back
was also kxiking out for a situation, and was told she
was wanting an engagement as a milliner. He believed
whatever Mrs. Jupp told him.

CHAPTER LIV

This move on Ernest's part was variously commented
upon by his friends, the general opinion being that it was

The Way of All Flesh 273

just like Pontifex, who was sure to do somethmg ua-|
usual wherever he went, but that on the whole the ideal
was conunendable. Christina could not restrain herself
when on sounding her clerical neighbours she found them
inclined to applaud her son for conduct which they ideal-
ised into something much more self-denying than it really
was. She did not quite like his living in such an unansto-
cratic neighbourhood; but what he was doing would
probably get into the newspapers, and then great people
would take notice of him. Besides, it would be very
cheap; down among these poor people he could live for
next to nothing, and might put by a great deal of his in-
come. As for temptations, there could be few or none
in such a place as that. This argument about cheapness
was the one with which she most successfully met Theo-
bald, who grumbled more sua that he had no sympathy
with his son's extravagance and conceit. When Chris-
tina pointed out to him that it would be cheap he replied
that there was something in that.

On Ernest himself the effect was to confirm the good
opinion of himself which had been growing upon him
ever since he had begun to read for orders, and to make
him flatter himself that he was among the few who were
ready to give up alt for Christ. Ere long he began to;
conceive of himself as a man with a mission and a great
future. His lightest and most hastily formed opinions
began to be of momentous importance to him, and he in-
flicted them, as I have already shown, on his old friends,
week by week becoming more and more enteti with him-
self and his own crotchets. I should like well enough
to draw a veil over this part of my hero's career, but
cannot do so without marring my story.

In the spring of 1&59 I find him writing—

"I cannot call the visible Church Christian till its
fruits are Christian, that is until the fruits of the mem-
bers of the Church of England are in conformity, or

274 The Way of All Flesh

something like conformity, with her teaching. I cor-
dially agree with the teaching of the Church of England
in most respects, but she says one thing and does an-
other, and until excommunication — ^yes, and wholesale
excommunication — be resorted to, I cannot call her a
Christian institution, I should begin with our Rector,
and if I found it necessary to follow him up by excom-
municating the Bishop, I should not flinch even from this.

"The present London Rectors are hopeless people to
deal with. My own is one of the best of them, but the
moment Pryer and I show signs of wanting to attack
an evil in a way not recognised by routine, or of remedy-
ing anything about which no outcry has been made, we
are met with, 'I cannot think what you mean by all this
disturbance; nobody else among the clergy sees these
things, and I have no wish to be the first to b^n turn-
ing everything topsy-turvy.' And then people call him
a sensible man. I have no patience with them. How-
ever, we know what we want, and, as I wrote to Daw-
son the other day, have a scheme on foot which will, I
think, fairly meet the requirements of the case. But
we want more money, and my first move towards getting
this has not turned out quite so satisfactorily as Pryer
and I had hoped ; we shall, however, I doubt not, retrieve
it shortly."

When Ernest came to London he intended doing a
good deal of house-to-house visiting, but Pryer had
talked him out of this even before he settled down in
his new and strangely-chosen apartments. The line he
now took was that if people wanted Christ, they must
prove their want by taking some little trouble, and the
trouble required of them was that they should come and
seek him, Ernest, out ; there he was in the midst of them
ready to teach; if people did not choose to come to him
it was no fault of his.

"My great business here," he writes again to Dawson,

The Way of All Flesh 275

"is to observe. I am not doing much in parish work
beyond my share of the daily services. I have a man's
Bible Class, and a boy's Bible Class, and a good many
jTOung men and boys to whom I give instruction one way
or aaother ; then there are the Sunday School children,
with whom I fill my room on a Sunday evening as full
as it will hold, and let them sing hymns and chants. They
like this- I do a great deal of reading — chiefly of boolra
which Pryer and I think most Hkely to help; we find
nothing comparable to the Jesuits. Pryer is a thorough
gentleman, and an admirable man of business — no less
observant of the thin^ of this world, in fact, than of the
things above; by a brilliant coup he has retrieved, or
nearly so, a rather serious loss which threatened to delay
indefinitely the execution of our great scheme. He and
I daily gather fresh principles. I believe great things
are before me, and am strong in the hope of being able
by and by to effect much.

"As for you I bid you Godspeed. Be bold but lo^cal,
speculative but cautious, daringly courageous, but prop-
erly circumspect withal," etc., etc

I think this may do for the present

CHAPTER LV

I HAD called on Ernest as a matter of course when he
first came to London, but had not seen him. I had been
out when he returned my call, so that he had been in
town for some weeks before I actually saw him, which
I did not veiy long after he had taken possession of his
new rooms. I liked his face, but except for the common
bond of music, in respect of which our tastes were sin-
gularly alike, I should hardly have known how to get
on with him. To do him justice he did not air any of
his schemes to me until I had drawn him out concemii^

276 the Way of All Flesh

them. I, to borrow the words of Ernest's landlady, Mrs.
Jupp, "am not a very regular church-goer" — I discovered
upon cross-examination that Mrs. Jupp had been to
church once when she was churched for her son Tom
some five and twenty years since, but never either before
or afterwards; not ever, I fear, to be married, for
thot^h she called herself "Mrs." she wore no wedding
ring, and spoke of the person who should have been Mr.
Jupp as "my poor dear boy's father," not as "my hus-
band." But to return. I was vexed at Ernest's having
been ordained. I was not ordained myself and I did
not like my friends to be ordained, nor did I like having
to be on my best behaviour and to look as if butter
would not melt in my mouth, and all for a boy whom I
remembered when he knew yesterday and to-morrow and
Tuesday, but not a day of the week more — not even Sun-
day itself — and when he said he did not like the Idtten
because it had pins in its toes.

I looked at him and thought of his Aunt Alethea, and
how fast the money she had left him was accumulating;
and it was all to go to this young man, who would use it
probably in the very last ways with which Miss Pontifex
would have sympatliised. I was annoyed. "She always
said," I thought to myself, "that she should make a mess
of it, but I did not think she would have made as great
a mess of it as this." Then I thought that perhaps if
his aunt had lived he would not have been like this.

Ernest behaved quite nicely to me and I own that the
fault was mine if the conversation drew towards danger-
ous subjects. I was the aggressor, presuming I suppose
upon my age and long acquaintance with him, as giving
me a right to make myself unpleasant in a quiet way.

Then he came out, and the exasperating part of it was
that up to a certain point he was so very right. Grant
him his premises and his conclusions were sound enough,
nor could I, seeing that he was already ordained, join
issue with him about his premises as I should certainly

The Way of All Flesh 277

have done if I had had a chance of doing so before he
had taken orders. The result was that I had to beat a
retreat and went away not in the best of humours. I
believe the truth was that I liked Ernest, and was vexed
at his being a clergyman, and at a clergyman having so
much money coming to him,

I talked a little with Mrs. Jupp on my way out. She
and I had reckoned one another up at first sight as being
neither of us 'Sfcry regular church-goers," and the strings
of her tongue had been loosened. She said Ernest would
die. He was much too good for the world and he looked
so sad "just like young Watkins of the 'Crown' over the
way who died a month ago, and his poor dear skin was
white as alablaster; least-ways they say he shot hisself.
They took him from the Mortimer, I met them just as I
was going with my Rose to get a pint o' four ale, and she
had her arm in splints. She told her sister she wanted to
go to Perry's to get some wool, instead o' which it was
only a stall to get me a pint o' ale, bless her heart ; there's
nobody else would do that much for poor old Jupp, and
it's a horrid He to say she is gay ; not but what I like a
gay woman, I do : I'd rather give a gay woman half-a-
crown than stand a modest woman a pot o' beer, but I
don't want to go associating with bad girls for all that.
So they took him from the Mortimer; they wouldn't let
him go home no more ; and he done it that artful, you
know. His wife was in the country living with her
mother, and she always spoke respectful o' my Rose.
Poor dear, I hope his soul is in Heaven, Well, sir, would
you believe it, there's that in Mr. Pontifex's face which
is just like young Watkins; he looks that worrited and
scrunched up at times, but it's never for the same reason,
for he don't know nothing at all, no more than a unborn
babe, no he don't ; why there's not a monkey going about
London with an Italian organ grinder hut knows more
than Mr. Pontifex do. He don't know — well I sup-

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278 The Way of All Flesh

Here a child came in on an errand from some neigh-
bour and interrupted her, or I can form no idea where or
when she would have ended her discourse. I seized the
opportunity to run away, but not before I had given her
five shillings and made her write down my address, for I
was a little frightened by what she said. I told her if she
thought her lodger grew worse, she was to come and
let me know.

Weeks went by and I did not see her again. Having
done as much as I had, I felt absolved from doing more,
and let Ernest alone as thinking that he and I should
only bore one another.

■ He had now been ordained a little over four months,
but these months had not brou^t happiness or satis-
faction with them. He had lived in a clergyman's house
all his life, and might have been expected perhaps to
have known pretty much what being a clergyman was
like, and so he did — a country clergyman ; he had formed
an ideal, however, as regards what a town clergyman
could do, and was trying in a feeble, tentative way to
realise it, but somehow or other it always managed to
escape htm.

He lived among the poor, but he did not find that he
got to know them. The idea that they would come to
him proved to be a mistaken one. He did indeed visit a
few tame pets whom his rector desired him to look after.
There was an old man and his wife who lived next door
but one to Ernest himself ; then there was a plumber of
the name of Chesterfield ; an aged lady of the name of
Gover, blind and bed-ridden, who munched and munched
her feeble old toothless jaws as Ernest spoke or read to
her, but who could do little more ; a Mr. Brookes, a rag
and bottle merchant in Birdsey's Rents, in the last st^^
of dropsy, and perhaps half a dozen or so others. What
did it all come to, when he did go to sec them? The
plumber wanted to be flattered, and liked fooling a gentle-
man into wasting his time by scratching his ears for htm.

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The Way of All Flesh 279

Mrs. Cover, poor old woman, wanted money; she was
very good and meek, and when Ernest got her a shilling
from Lady Anne Jones's bequest, she said it was "small
but seasonable," and munched and munched in gratitude.
Ernest sometimes gave her a little money himself, but
not, as he says now, half what he ought to have given.

What could he do else that would have been of th«
smallest use to her? Nothing indeed; but giving occa-
sional half-crowns to Mrs. Cover was not regenerating
the universe, and Ernest wanted nothing short of this. '
The world was all out of joint, and instead of feeling ii
toJie.a-cius«3--«^)«lhat he waebom to set Hright, lie

*t^nl1gl^^ hg wae jnel thg UnH nf pef^n that WaS.Wantcd

for the job , and was eager to set to work, only he did
not exactly know how to begin, for the beginning he had
made with Mr. Chesterfield and Mrs. Cover did not
promise great developments.

Then poor Mr. Brookes — he suffered very much, ter-
ribly indeed ; he was not in want of money ; he wanted
to die and couldn't, just as we sometimes want to go
to sleep and cannot. He had been a serious-minded man,
and death frightened him as it must frighten anyone who
believes that all his most secret thoughts will be shortly
exposed in public. When I read Ernest the description of
how his father used to visit Mrs. Thompson at Battersby,
he coloured and said — "That's just what I used to say to
Mr. Brookes." Ernest felt that his visits, so far from
comforting Mr. Brookes, made him fear death more and
more, but how could he help it?

Even Pryer, who had been curate a couple of years,
did not know personally more than a couple of hundred
people in the parish at the outside, and it was only at
the houses of very few of these that he ever visited, but
then Pryer had such a strong objection on principle to
house visitations. What a drop in the sea were those
with whom he and Pryer were brought into direct com-
munication in comparison with those whom he must

28o The Way of All Flesh

reach and move if he were to produce much effect of
any kind, one way or the other. Why there were be-
tween fifteen and twenty thousand poor in the parish, of
whom but the merest fraction ever attended a place of
worship. Some few went to dissenting chapels, a few
were Roman Catholics ; by far the greater number, how-
ever, were practically infidels, if not actively hostile, at
any rate indifferent to religion, while many were avowed
Atheists — admirers of Tom Paine, of whom he now
heard for the first time ; but he never met and conversed
with any of these.

Was he really doing everything that could be expected
of him ? It was all very well to say that he was doing
as much as other young clergymen did ; that was not the
kind of answer which Jesus Christ was likety to accept ;
why, the Pharisees themselves in all probability did as
much as the other Pharisees did. What he should do
was to go into the highways and byways, and compel
pec^le to come in. Was he doing this? Or were not
they rather compelling him to keep out — outside their
doors at any rate? He began to have an uneasy feeling
as though ere long, unless he kept a sharp lookout, he
should drift into being a sham.

True, all would be changed as soon as he could en-
dow the College for Spiritual Pathology; matters, how-
ever, had not gone too well with "the things that people
bought in the place that was called the Stock Exchar^e."
In order to get on faster, it had been arranged that
Ernest should buy more of these things than he could
pay for, with the idea that in a few weeks, or even days,
they would be much higher in value, and he could sell
them at a tremendous profit; but, unfortunately, instead
of getting higher, they had fallen immediately after
Ernest had bought, and obstinately refused to get up
again ; so, after a few settlements, he had got frightened,
for he read an article in some newspaper, which said
they would go ever so much lower, and, contrary tQ

The Way of All Flesh 281

Fryer's advice, hd insisted on selling — at a loss of some-
thing like £500, He had hardly sold when up went the
shares again, and he saw how foolish he had been, and
how wise Pryer was, for if Fryer's advice had been
followed, he would have made £500, instead of losing it.
However, he told himself, he must live and learn.

Then Pryer made a mistake. They had bought some
shares, and the shares went up delightfully for about a
fortnight. This was a happy time indeed, for by the
end of a fortnight the lost £500 had been recovered, and
three or four hundred pounds had been cleared into the
bargain. All the feverish anxiety of that miserable six
weeks, when the iSoo was being lost, was now being
repaid with interest. Ernest wanted to sell and make
sure of the profit, but Pryer would not hear of it ; they
would go ever so much higher yet, and he showed Ernest
an article in some newspaper which proved that what
he said was reasonable, and they did go up a little — but
only a very little, for then they went down, down, and
Ernest saw first his clear profit of three or four hundred
pounds go, and then the £500 loss, which he thought he
had recovered, slipped away by falls of a half and one
at a time, and then he lost £200 more. Then a newspaper
said that these Shares were the greatest rubbish that had
ever been imposed upon the English public, and Ernest
could stand it no longer, so he sold out, again this time
against Fryer's advice, so that when they went up, as
they shortly did, Pryer scored off Ernest a second time.

Ernest was not used to vicissitudes of this kind, and
they made him so anxious that his health was affected.
It was arranged therefore that he had better know noth-
ing of what was being done. Fryer was a much better
man of business than he was, and would see to it all.
This relieved Ernest of a good deal of trouble, and was
better after all for the investments themselves; for, as
Pryer justly said, a man must not have a faint heart if he
hopes to succeed in buying and selling upon the Stock

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a82 The Way of All Flesh

Exchange, and seeing Ernest nervous nade Pryer nerv-
ous too — at least, he said it did. So fhe mon^y drifted
more and more into Fryer's hands. As for Pryer him-
self, he had nothing but his curacy and a small allow-
ance from his father.

Some of Ernest's old friends got an inkling from his
letters of what he was doing, and did their utmost to dis-
suade him, bi^t he was as infatuated as a young lover of
two and twenty. Finding that these friends disapproved,
he dropped away from them, and they, being bored with
bis egotism and high-Eown ideas, were not sorry to let
him do so. Of course, he said nothing about his specu-
lations — indeed, he hardly knew that anything done in
so good a cause could be called speculation. At Batters-
by, when his father urged him to look out for a next pre-
sentation, and even brought one or two promising ones
under his notice, he made objections and excuses, though
always promising to do as his father desired very shortly.

CHAPTER LVI

By and by a subtle, indefinable molaise began to take
possession of him. I once saw a very young foal trying
to eat some most objectionable refuse, and unable to
make up its mind whether it was good or no. Oearly
it wanted to be told. If its mother had seen what it was
doing she would have set it right in a moment, and as
soon as ever it had been told that what it was eating was
filth, the foal would have recognised it and never have
wanted to be told again ; but the foal could not settle the
matter for itself, or make up its mind whether it liked
what it was trying to eat or no, without assistance from
without. I suppose it would have come to do so by and
by, but it wa^ wasting time and trouble, which a single
look from its mother would have saved, just as wort will
in time ferment of itself, but will ferment much more

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The Way of All Flesh 283

quickly if a little yeast be added to it. In the matter of
knowing what gives us pleasure we are all like wort, and
if unaided from without can only ferment slowly and
toilsomely.

My unhappy hero about this time was very mucti like
the foal, or rather he felt much what the foal would
have felt if its mother and all the other grown-up horses
in the field had vowed that what it was eating was the
most excellent and nutritious food to be found any-
where. He ■^\«isjg. anxious^ to do what was right, and
so ready to befievethat every nfir Irnrw haltrrthnn Km-
seH, that he never" ventured to admit to himself that he
might be all the while on a hopelessly wrong track. It
did not occur to him that there might be a blunder any-
where, much less did it occur to him to try and find out
where the blunder was. Nevertheless he became daily
more full of malaise, and daily, only he knew it not, more
ripe for an explosion should a spark fall upon him.

One thing, however, did begin to loom out of the gen-
eral vagueness, and to this he instinctively turned as try-
ing to seize it — I mean, the fact that he was saving very
few souls, whereas there were thousands and thousands
being lost hourly all around him which a little enei^
such as Mr. Hawke's might save. Day after day went
by, and what was he doing? Standing on professional
etiquette, and praying that his shares might go up and
down as he wanted them, so that they might give him
money enough to enable him to regenerate the universe.
But in the meantime the people were dying. How many
souls would not be. doomed to endless ages of the most
irightful torments that the mind could think of, before
he could bring his spiritual pathology engine to bear upon
them? Why might he not stand and preach as he saw
the Dissenters doing sometimes in Lincoln's Inn Fields
and other thoroughfares? He could say all that Mr.
Hawke had said. Mr. Hawke was a very poor creature
in Ernest's eyes now, for he was a Low Churchman,

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284 The Way of All Flesh

but we should not be above learning from any one, and
surely he could affect his hearers as powerfully as Mr,
Hawke had affetted him if he only had the courage to
set to work. The people whom he saw preaching in the
squares sometimes drew large audiences. He could at
any rate preach better than they.

Ernest broached this to Pryer, who treated it as some-
thing too outrageous to be even thought of. Nothii^,
he said, could more tend to lower the dignity of the
clergy and bring the Church into contempt. His manner
was brusque, and even rude.

Emest ventured a little mild dissent; he admitted it
was not usual, but something at any rate must be done,
and that quickly. This was how Wesley and Whitfield
had begun that great movement which had kindled relig-
ious life in the minds of hundreds of thousands. This
was no time to be standing on dignity. It was just be-
. cause Wesley and Whitfield had done what the Church
would not that they had won men to follow them whtmi
the Church had now lost.

Pryer eyed Emest searchingly, and after a pause said,
"I don't know what to make of you, Pontifex; you are
at once so very right and so very wrong. I agree with
you heartily that something should be done, but it must
not be done in a way which experience has shown leads
to nothing but fanaticism and dissent Do you approve
of these Wesleyans ? Do you hold your ordination vows
so cheaply as to think that it does not matter whether
the services of the Church are performed in her churches
and with all due ceremony or not? If you do — then,
frankly, you had no business to be ordained ; if you do
not, then remember that one of the first duties of a
young deacon Is obedience to authority. Neither the
Catholic Church, nor yet the Church of England allows
her clergy to preach in the streets of cities where there is
no lack of churches."

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The Way of All Flesh 285

Ernest felt the force of this, and Fryer saw that he
Wavered.

"We are living," he continued more genially, "in an
:^ nf transitinn and in a country which, though it
has gained much by the Reformation, does not perceive
how much it has also lost. You cannot and must not '
hawk Christ about in the streets as though you were
in a heathen country whose inhabitants had never heard
of him. The people here in London , have had ample
warning. Every church they pass is a protest to them
against their lives, and a, call to them to repent. Every
church-bell they hear is a witness against them, everyone
of those whom they meet on Sundays going to or coming
from church is a warning voice from God. If these
countless influences produce no effect upon them, neither
will the few transient words which they would hear from
you. You are like Dives, and think that if one rose from
the dead they would hear him. Perhaps they might; but
then you cannot pretend that you have risen from the
dead."

Though the last few words were spoken laughingly,
there was a sub-sneer about them which made Ernest
wince; but he was quite subdued, and so the conversa-
tion ended. It left Ernest, however, not for the first
time, consciously dissatisfied with Fryer, and inclined fo
set his friend's opinion on one side — not openly, but
quietly, and without telling Fryer anything about it.

CHAPTER LVII

He had hardly parted from Fryer before there occurred
another incident which strengthened his discontent. He
had fallen, as I have shown, among a gang of spiritual
thieves or coiners, who passed the basest metal upon
him without his finding it out, so childish and inexperi-
enced was he in the ways of anything but those back

286 The Way of All Flesh

eddies of the world, schools and universities. Among the
bad threepenny pieces which had been passed off upon
him, and which he kept for small hourly disbursement,
was a remark that poor people were much nicer than
the richer and better educated. Ernest now said that
he always travelled third class not because it was cheaper,
but because the people whom he met in third class car-
riages were so much pleasanter and better behaved.
As for the young men who attended Ernest's evening
classes, they were pronounced to be more intelligent and
better ordered generally than the average run of Oxford
and Cambridge men. Our foolish young friend having
heard Pryer talk to this effect, caught up all he said
and reproduced it more suo.

One evening, however, about this time, whom should
he see coming along a small street not far from his^Dwn
but, of all persons in the world, Towneley, looking as
full of life and good spirits as ever, and if possible even
handsomer than he had been at Cambridge. Much as
Ernest liked him he found himself shrinking from speak-
ing to him, and was endeavouring to pass him without
doing so when Towneley saw him and stopped him at
once, being pleased to see an old Cambridge face. He
seemed for the moment a little confused at being seen in
such a neighbourhood, but recovered himself so soon that
Ernest hardly noticed it, and then plunged into a few
Ikindly remarks about old times. Ernest felt that he
quailed as he saw To\yneley's eye wander to his white
necktie and saw that he was being reckoned up, and
rather disapprovingly reckoned up, as a parson. It was
the merest passing shade upon Towneley's face, but
Ernest had felt it.

Towneley said a few words of common form to Ernest
about his profession as being what he thought would be
most likely to interest him, and Ernest, still confused and
shy, gave him for lack of something better to say his
little threepenny-bit about poor people being so very nice.

The Way of All Flesh 287

Towneley took this for what it was worth and nodded
assent, whereon Ernest imprudently went further and
said, "Don't you like poor people very much yourself?"

Towneley gave his face a comical but good-natured
screw, and said quietly, but sk)w]y and decidedly, "No,
no, no," and escaped.

It was all over with Ernest from that moment. As
usual he did not know it, but he had entered none the less
upon another reaction. Towneley had just taken Ernest's
threepenny-bit into his hands, looked at it and returped
it to him as a bad one. Why did he see in a moment
that it was a bad one now, though he had been unable to
see it when he had taken it from Pryer? Of course
some poor people were very nice, and always would be
so, hut as though scales had fallen suddenly from his
eyes he saw that no one was nicer for being poor, and
that between the upper and lower classes there was a
gulf which amounted practically to an impassable bar- •
tier.

That evening he reflected a good deal. If Towneley
was right, and Ernest felt that the "No" had applied not
to the remark about poor people only, but to the whole
scheme and scope of his own recently adopted ideas,
he and Pryer must surely be on a wrong track. Towne-
ley had not argued with him ; he had said one word only,
and that one of the shortest in the language, hut Ernest
was in a fit state for inoculation, and the minute particle
of virus set about working immediately.

Which did he now think was most likely to have taken
the juster view of life and things, and whom would it
be best to imitate, Towneley or Pryer? His heart re-
turned answer to itself without a moment's hesitation.
The faces of men like Towneley were open and kindly;
they looked as if at ease themselves, and as though they
would set all who had to do with them at ease as far as
might be. The faces of Pryer and his friends were
not like this. Why had he felt tacitly rebuked as soon

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288 The Way of All Flesh

as he had met Towneley? Was he not a Christian?
Certajaty; he believed tn the Church of England as a
matter of course. Then how could he be himself wrong
in trying to act up to the faith that he and Towneley held
in common? He was trying to lead a quiet, unobtrusive
life of self-devotion, whereas Towneley was not, so far
as he could sec, trying to do anything of the kind; he
was only trying to get on comfortably in the world, and
to look and be as nice as possible. And he was nice, and
. Ernest knew that such men as himself and Pryer were
not nice, and his old dejection came over him.
' Then came an even worse reflection; how if he had
fallen among material thieves as well as spiritual ones?
He knew very little of how his money was going on ; he
had put it all now into Fryer's hands, and though Pryer
gave him cash to spend whenever he wanted it, he seemed
impatient of being questioned as to what was being done
with the principal. It was part of the understanding, he
said, that that was to be left to him, and Ernest had better
stick to this, or he, Pryer, would throw up the Collie
of Spiritual Pathology altogether; and so Ernest was
cowed into acquiescence, or cajoled, according to the hu-
mour in which Fryer saw him to be. Ernest thought that
further questions would look as if he doubted Fryer's
word, and also that he had gone too far to be able to re-
cede in decency or honour. This, however, he felt was
riding out to meet trouble unnecessarily, Pryer had been
a little impatient, but he was a gentleman and an admira-
ble man of business, so his money would doubtless come
back to him all right some day.

Ernest comforted himself as regards this last source of
anxiety, but as regards the other, he began to feel as
though, if he was to be saved, a good Samaritan must
hurry up from somewhere — he knew not whenc&

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The Way of AH Flesh 289

CHAPTER LVm

Next day he felt stronger again. He had been listening
to the voice of the evil one pn the night before, and
would parley no more with such thoughts. He had
chosen his profession, and his duty was to persevere
with it. If he was unhappy it was probably because he
was not giving up all for Christ. Let him see whether
he could not do more than he was doing now, and then
perhaps a light would be shed upon his path.

It was all very well to have made the discovery that
he didn't very much like poor people, but he had got to
put up with them, for it was among them that his work
must lie. Such men as Towneley were very kind and
considerate, but he knew well enough it was cmly oa
condition that he did not preach to them. He could
manage the poor better, and, let Fryer sneer as he liked,
he was resolved to go more amoi^ them, and try the.
effect of bringing Christ to them if they would not come
and seek Christ of themselves. He would begin with his
own house.

Who then should he take first? Surely he could not do
better than begin with the tailor who lived immediately
over his head. This would be desirable, not only because
he was the one who seemed to stand most in need of
conversion, but also because, if he were once converted,
he would no longer beat his wife at two o'clock in the
morning, and the house would be much pleasanter in
consequence. He would therefore go upstairs at once,
and have a quiet talk with this man.

Before doing so, he thought it would be well if he
were to draw up something like a plan of a campaign ; he
therefore reflected over some pretty conversations which
would do very nicely if Mr. Holt would be kind enough
to make the answers proposed for him in their proper
places. But the ipan was a great hulking fellow, of a

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290 The Way of All Flesh^

savage temper, and Ernest was forced to admit that un-
foreseen developments might arise to disconcert him.
They say it takes nine tailors to make a man, but Ernest
felt that it would take at least nine Ernests to make a
Mr. Holt. How if, as soon as Emest came in, the (ailor
were to become violent and abusive? What could he do?
Mr. Holt was in his own lodgings, and had a right to be
undisturbed. A legal right, yes, but had he a moral
right? Emest thought not, considering his mode of life.
But put this on one side ; if the man were to be violent,
what should he do ? Paul had fought with wild beasts at
Ephesus — that must indeed have been awful — but per-
haps they were not very wild wild beasts ; a rabbit and a
canary are wild beasts; but, formidable or not as wild
beasts go, they would, nevertheless, stand no chance
against St. Paul, for he was inspired ; the miracle would
have been if the wild beasts escaped, not that St. Paul
should have done so; but, however all this mig^t. be,
Emest felt that he dared not begin to convert Mr. Holt
by fighting him. Why, when he had heard Mrs. Holt
screaming "murder," he had cowered under the bed
clothes and waited, expecting to hear the blood dripping
through the ceiling on to his own floor. His imagination
translated every sound into a pat, pat, pat, and once or
twice he thought he had felt it dropping on to his coun-
terpane, but he had never gone upstairs to try and rescue
poor Mrs. Holt. Happily it had proved next morning
that Mrs. Holt was in her usual health.

Emest was in despair about hitting on any good way
of opening up spiritual communication with his neigh-
bour, when it occurred to him that he had better perhaps
begin by going upstairs, and knocking very gently at Mr.
Holt's door. He would then resign himself to the guid-
ance of the Holy Spirit, and act as the occasion, which,
I suppose, was another name for the Holy Spirit, sug-
gested. Triply armed with this reflection, he mounted
the stairs quite jauntily, and was about to knock when

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'The Way of All Flesh 291

he heard Holt's voice inside swearing savagfely at his
wife. This made him pause to think whether after all
the moment was an auspicious one, and while he was thus
pausing, Mr. Holt, who had heard that someone was on
the stairs, opened the door and put his head out. When
he saw Ernest, he made an unpleasant, not to say offen-
sive movement, which might or might not have been
directed at Ernest, and looked altogether so ugly that my
hero had an instantaneous and unequivocal revelation
from the Holy Spirit to the effect that he should ^pa-
tinue his journey upstairs at once, as though he had never
intended arresting it at Mr. Holt's room, and begin by
converting Mr. and Mrs. Baxter, the Methodists in the
top floor front. So this was what he did.

These good people received him with open arms, and
were quite ready to talk. He was beginning to convert
them from Methodism to the Church of England, when
all at once he found himself embarrassed by discovering
that he did not know what he was to convert them from.
He knew the Church of England, or thought he did, but
he knew nothing of Methodism beyond its name. When
he found that, according to Mr. Baxter, the Wesleyans
had a vigorous system of Church discipline (which
worked admirably in practice) it appeared to him that
John Wesley had anticipated the spiritual engine which
he and Pryer were preparing, and when he left the room
he was aware that he had caught more of a spiritual Tar-
tar than he had expected. But he must certainly explain
to Pryer that the Wesleyans had a system of Church dis-
cipline. This was very important.

Mr. Baxter advised Ernest on no account to meddle
with Mr. Holt, and Ernest was much relieved at the ad-
vice. If an opportunity arose of touching the man's
heart, he would take it ; he would pat the children on the
head when he saw them on the stairs, and ingratiate
himself with them as far, as he dared ; they were sturdy
younKter>, and Ernest was afraid even of them, for

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292 The Way of All Flesh

they were ready with their tongues, and knew much for
their ages. Ernest felt that it would indeed be almost
better for him that a millstone should be hanged about
his neck, and he cast into the sea, than that he should
offend one of the little Holts. However, he would try
not to offend them ; perhaps an occasional penny or two
might square them. This was as much as he could do,
for .he saw that the attempt to be instant out of season,
as well as in season, would, St. Paul's injunction not-
withstanding, end in failure.

Mrs. Baxter gave a very bad account of Miss Emily
Snow, who lodged in the second floor bade next to Mr.
Holt. Her story was quite different from that of Mrs.
Jupp the landlady. She would doubtless be only too
glad to receive Ernest's ministrations or those of any
other gentleman, but she was no governess, she
was in the ballet at Drury Lane, and besides this, she
was a very bad young woman, and if Mrs. Baxter was
landlady would not be allowed to stay in the house a
single hour, not she indeed.

Miss Maitland in the next room to Mrs. Baxter's own
was a quiet and respectable young woman to all appear-
ance; Mrs. Baxter had never known of any goings on in
that quarter, but, bless you, still waters run deep, and
these girls were all alike, one as bad as the other. She
was out at all kinds of hours, and when you knew that
you knew all.

Ernest did not pay much heed to these aspersions of
Mrs. Baxter's. Mrs. Jupp had got round the greater
number of his many blind sides, and had warned him
not to believe Mrs. Baxter, whose lip she said was some-
thing awful.

Ernest had heard that women were always jealous of
one another, and certainly these young women were more
attractive than Mrs. Baxter was, so jealousy was probably
at the bottom of it. If they were maligned there could be
no objection to his making their acquaintance; if not

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The Way of All Flesh 293

maligned they had all the more need of his ministrations.
He would reclaim them at once.

He told Mrs. Jupp of his intention. Mrs. Jupp at
first tried to dissuade him, but seeing him resolute, sug-
gested that she should herself see Miss Snow first, so
as to prepare her and prevent her from being alarmed by
his visit She was not at home now, but in the course
of the next day, it should be arranged. In the meantime
he had better try Mr, Shaw, the tinker, in the front
kitchen. Mrs. Baxter had told Ernest that Mr. Shaw
was from the North Country, and an avowed free-
thinker ; he would probably, she said, rather like a visit,
but she did not think Ernest would stand much chance
of making a convert of him.

CHAPTER LIX

Before going down into the kitchen to convert the tinker
Ernest ran hurriedly over his analysis of Paley's evi-
' dences, and put into his pocket a copy of Archbishop
Whateley's "Historic Doubts." Then he descended the
dark rotten old stairs and knocked at the tinker's door.
Mr, Shaw was very civil; he said he was rather throt^
just now, but if Ernest did not mind the sound of ham-
mering he should be very glad of a talk with him. Our
hero, assenting to this, ere long led the conversation to
Whateley's "Historic Doubts" — a work which, as the
reader may know, pretends to show that there never was
any such person as Napoleon Buonaparte, and thus
satirises the argtmients of those who have attacked the
Christian miracles.

Mr. Shaw said he knew "Historic Doubts" very well.

"And what you think of it?" said Ernest, who re-
garded the pamphlet as a masterpiece of wit and cogency.

"H you really want to know," said Mr, Shaw, with a
sly twinkle, "I think that he who was so willing and

294 The Way of All Flesh

able to prove that what was was not, would be equally
able and willing to make a case for thinking that what
was not was, if it suited his purpose." Ernest was very
much taken aback. How was it that all the clever people
of Cambridge had never put him up to this simple re-
joinder ? The answer is easy : they did not develop it for
the same reason that a hen had never developed webbed
feet — ^that is to say, because they did not want to do so ;
but this was before the days of Evolution, and Ernest
I could not as yet know anything of the great principle
' that underlies it.

"You see," continued Mr. Shaw, "these writers all get
their living by writing in a certain way, and the more
they write in that way, the more they are likely to get on.
You should not call them dishonest for this any more
than a judge should call a barrister dishonest for earning
his living by defending one in whose innocence he does
not seriously believe ; but you should hear the barrister
on the other side before you decide upon the case."

This was another facer. Ernest could only stammer
that he had endeavoured to examine these questions as
carefully as he could.

"You think you have," said Mr. Shaw ; "you Oxford
and Cambridge gentlemen think you have examined
everything. I have examined very little myself except
the bottoms of old kettles and saucepans, but if you will
answer me a few questions, I will tell you whether or no
you have examined much more than I have."

Ernest expressed his readiness to be questioned.

"Then," said the tinker, "give me the story of the
Resurrection of Jesus Christ as told in St. John's gos-
pel."

I am sorry to say that Ernest mixed up the four ac-
counts in a deplorable manner ; he even made the angel
come down and roll away the stone and sit upon it. He
was covered with confusion when the tinker first told
him without the book of some of his many inaccuracies,

The Way of All Flesh 295

and then verified his criticisms by referring to the New
Testament itself.

. "Now," said Mr. Shaw good-naturedly, "I am an old
man and you are a young one, so perhaps you'U not mind
my giving you a piece of advice, I like you, for I believe
you mean well, but you've been real bad brought up, and
I don't think you have ever had so much as a chance yet.
You know nothing of our side of the question, and I have
just shown you that you do not know much more of your
own, but I think you will make a kind of Carlyle sort of a .
man some day. Now go upstairs and read the accounts^
of. the Resurrection correctly without mixing them up,
and have a clear idea of what it is that each writer tells
us, then if you feel inclined to pay me another visit I '
shall be glad to see you, for I shall know you have made
a good beginning and mean business. Till then, sir, I
must wish you a very good morning."

Ernest retreated abashed. An hour sufficed him to
perform the task enjoined upon him by Mr. Shaw ; and
at the end of that hour the "No, no, no," which still
sounded in his ears as he heard it from Towneley, came
ringing up more loudly still from the very pages of the
Bible itse1fj..and-ii»-i«^jectflf.the_most important pf all
the evejits which are recorded in it. Surely Ernest's first
day's^attempt at more promiscuous visiting, and at carry-
ing out his principles more thoroughly, had not been un-
fruitful. But he must go and have a talk with Pryer.
He therefore got his lunch and went to Pryer's lodg-
ings. Pryer not being at home, he lounged to the British
Museum Reading Room, then recently opened, sent for
the "Vestiges of Creation," which he had never yet seen,
and spent the rest of the afternoon in reading it.

Ernest did not see Pryer on the day of his conversa-
tion with Mr. Shaw, but he did so next morning and
found him in a good temper, which of late he had rarely
been. Sometimes, indeed, he had behaved to Ernest in
a way which did not bode well for the harmony with

296 The Way of All Flesh

which the College <>f Spiritual Pathology would work
when it had once been founded. It almost seemed as
though he were trying to get a complete moral ascend-
ency over him, so as to make him a creature of his
own.

He did not think it possible that he could go too far,
and, indeed, when I reflect upon my hero's folly and
inexperience, there is much to be said in excuse for the
conclusion which Pryer came to.

As a matter of fact, however, it was not so. Ernest's
faith ip Pryer had been too great to be shaken down all
in a moment, but it had been weakened lately more than
once. Ernest had fought hard against allowing himself
to see this, nevertheless any third person who knew the
pair would have been able to see that the connection be-
tween the two might end at any moment, for when the
time for one of Ernest's snipe-like changes of flight came,
he was quick in making it; the time, however, was not
yet come, and the intimacy between the two was appar-
ently all that it had ever been. It was only that horrid
money business (so said Ernest to himself) that caused
any unpleasantness between them, and no doubt Pryer
was right, and he, Ernest, much too nervous. However,
that might stand over for the present.

In like manner, though he had received a shock by
reason of his conversation with Mr. Shaw, and by look-
ing at the "Vestiges," he was as yet too much stunned to
realise the change which was coming over him. In each
case the momentum of old habits carried him forward
in the old direction. He therefore called on Pryer, and
spent an hour and more with him.

He did not say that he had been visiting among his
neighbours; this to Pryer would have been like a red
rag to a bull. He only talked in much his ttsual vdn
about the proposed College, the lamentable want of in-
terest in spiritual things which was characteristic of mod-
em society, and other kindred matters; he concluded by

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The Way of All Flesh 297

sayn% that for the present he feared Pryer was indeed
right, and that nothing could be done.

"As regards the laity," said Pryer, "nothii^ ; not imdl
we have a discipline which we can enforce with pains and
penalties. How can a sheep dog work a flock of
sheep unless he can bite occasionally as well as bark?
But as regards ourselves we can do much."

Pryer's manner was strange throughout the conversa'
lion, as though he were thinking all the time of some>
thing else. His eyes wandered curiously over Ernest,
as Ernest had often noticed them wander before: the
words were about Church disciphne, but swnehow or
other the discipline part of the story h^ a knack of drop-
ping out after having been again and again emphatically
declared to apply to the laity and not to the clergy : once
indeed Pryer had pettishly exclaimed : "Oh, bother the
College of Spiritual Pathology." As regards the clergy,
glimpses of a pretty large cloven hoof kept peeping out
from under the saintly robe of Pryer's conversation, to
the effect, that so long as they were theoretically per-
fect, practical peccadilloes — or even peccadaccios, it there
is such a word, were of less importance. He was restless,
as though wanting to approach a subject which he did
not quite venture to touch upon, and kept harpit^ (he did
this about every third day) on the wretdied lack of
definition concerning the limits of vice and virtue, and
the way in which half the vices wanted regulating rather
than prohibiting. He dwelt also on the advantages of
complete unreserve, and hinted that there were mysteries
into which Ernest had not yet been initiated, but which
would enl^hten him when he got to know them, as he
would be allowed to do when his friends saw that he was
strong enough.

Pryer had often been like this before, but never so
nearly, as it seemed to Ernest, coming to a point — though
what the- point was he could not fully understand. His
inquietude was cooimunicating itself to Ernest, who

b9^' , The Way of All Flesh

would probably ere long have come to know as much as
Pryer could tell him, but the conversation was abruptly
interrupted by the appearance of a visitor. We shall
never know how it would have ended, for this was the
very last time that Ernest ever saw Pryer. Perhaps
Pryer was going to break to him some bad news about
his speculations.

CHAPTER LX

Ernest now went home and occupied himself till lunch-
eon with studying Dean Alford's notes upon the various
Evangelistic records of the Resurrection, doing as Mr.
Shaw had told him, and trying to find out, not that they
were all accurate, but whether they were all accurate or
no. He did not care which result he should arrive at, but
he was resolved that he would reach one or the other.
When he had finished Dean Alford's notes he found
them come to this, namely, that no one yet had succeeded
in bringing the four accounts into tolerable harmony with
'each other, and that the Dean, seeing no chance of suc-
ceeding better thjin his predecessors had done, recom-
mended that the whole story should be taken oa. trust —

\ and 'l^^^'^St "'^'' ""*" p'-'-pa'-'-'^ *" '^^

He got his luncheon, went out for a long walk, and

returned to dinner at half past six. While Mrs. Jupp was
getting him his dinner — a steak and a pint of stout — she
told him that Miss Snow would be very happy to see
him in about an hour's time. This disconcerted him, for
his mind was too unsettled for him to wish to convert
anyone just then. He reflected a little, and found that,
in spite of the sudden shock to his opinions, he was be-
ing irresistibly drawn to pay the visit as though nothing
had happened. It would not look well for him not to go,
for he was known to be in the house. He oi^ht not to
be in too great a hurry to chaise his opinions on such

c!

The Way of All Flesh 399

a matter as the evidence for Christ's Resurrection all of
a sudden — besides he need not talk to Miss Snow about
this subject to-day — there were other things he might
talk about. What other things? Ernest felt his heart
beat fast and fiercely, and an inward monitor warned him
that he was thinking of anything rather than of Miss
Snow's soul.

What should he do? Fly, fly, fly — it was the only
safety. But would Christ have fled? Even though
Christ had not died and risen from the dead there could
be no question that He was the model whose example
we were bound to follow. Christ would not have fled
from Miss Snow ; he was sure of that, for He went about
more especially with prostitutes and disreputable people.
Now, as then, it was the business of the true Christian
to call not the righteous but sinners to repentance. It
would be inconvenient to him to change his lodgings,
and he could not ask Mrs. Jupp to turn Miss Snow and
Miss Maitland out of the house. Where was he to draw
the line ? Who would be just good enough to live in the
same house with hira, and who just not good enough?

Besides, where were these poor girls to go ? Was he to
drive them from house to house tiy they had no place to
lie in? It was absurd; his duty was clear: he would go
and see Miss Snow at once, and try if he could not induce
her to change her present mode of life; if "he found
temptation becoming too strong for him he would fly
then — so he went upstairs with his Bible under his arm,
and a consuming fire in his heart.

He found Miss Snow looking very pretty in a neatly,
not to say demurely, furnished room. I think she had
bought an illuminated text or two, and pinned it up over
her fireplace that morning. Ernest was very much
pleased with her, and mechanically placed his Bible upon
the table. He had just opened a timid conversation and
was deep in blushes, when a hurried step came bounding
up the stairs as though of one over whom the force of

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300 The Way of All Flesh

gravity had little power, and a man burst into the room
sayii^, "I'm come before my time." It was Towneley.

His face dropped as be caught sight of Emest. "What,
you here, Pontifexl Well, upon my word!"

I cannot describe the hurried explanations that passed
quickly between the three — enough that in less than a
minute "Emest, blushing more scarlet than ever, slunk off,
Bible and all, deeply humiliated as he contrasted himself
and Towneley. Before he had reached the bottom of the
staircase leading to his own room he heard Townelc/a
hearty laugh through Miss Snow's door, and cursed ^e
hour that he was bom.

Then it flashed upon him that if he could not see Miss
Snow he could at any rate see Miss Maitland. He kn ew
well enough whgt ,h£_BraBtedJloar, and as for the Bible,
he pusbed it from him to the other end of his table. It
fell over on to the floor, and he kicked it into a comer.
It was the Bible given him at his christening by his affec-
tionate aunt, Elizabeth Allaby. True, he knew very little
of Miss Maitland, but ignorant young fools in Ernest's
state do not reflect or reason closely. Mrs. Baxter had
said that Miss Maitland and Miss Snow were birds of a
feather, and Mrs, Baxter probably knew better than that
old liar, Mrs. Jupp. Shakespeare says ;

O Opportunity, thy Ruilt is great,
Tis thou that execurst the traitor's treason:
Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;
Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season;
Tis thou that spum'st at right, at law, at reason;
Aud in thy shady cell, where none may spy him.
Sits Sin, to seize the souls that waoder t^ him.

' If the guilt of opportunity is great, how much greater
/ is the guilt of that which is believed to be opportimity, but
in reality is no opportunity at all. If the better part
', of valour is discretion, how much more is not discretion
V the better part of vice?

About ten minutes after we last saw Emest, a scared,

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The Way of All Flesh 301

insulted girl, flushed and trembling, was seen hurrying
from Mrs. Jupp's house as fast as her agitated state
would let her, and in another ten minutes two policemen
were seen also coming out of Mrs. Jupp's, between whom
there shambled rather than walked our unhappy friend
Ernest, with staring eyes, ghastly pale, and with despair
branded upon every line of his face.

CHAPTER LXI

Pryer had done well to warn Ernest against promiscuous
house to house visitation. He had not gone outside Mrs.
Jupp's street door, and yet what had been the result?
Mr. Holt had put him in bodily fear; Mr. and Mrs.
Baxter had nearly made a Methodist of him; Mr. Shaw
had undermined his faith in the Resurrection ; Miss
Snow's chafms had ruined — or would have done so but
for an accident — his moral character. As for Miss Mait-
land, he had done his best to ruin hers, and had damaged
himself gravely and irretrievably in consequence. The
only lodger who had done him no harm was the bellows'
mender, whom he had not visited.

Other youi^ clei^men, much greater fools in many
respects than he, would not have got into these scrapes.
He seemed to have developed an aptitude for mischief
almost from the day of his having been ordained. H^
could hardly preach without making some horrid /attr
pas. He preached one Sunday morning when the Bishop
was at his Rector's church, and made his sermon turn
upon the question what kind of little cake it was that the
widow of Zarephath had intended making when Elijah
found her gathering a few sticks. He demonstrated that
it was a seed cake. The sermon was really very amusing,
and more than once he saw a smile pass over the sea of
faces underneath him. TTie Bishop wag very angry, and ,
gave my hero a severe reprimand in tjie vestry after

J02 The Way of All Flesh

service was over; the only excuse he could make was
that he was preaching ex tempore, had not thought of this
particular point till he was actually in the pulpit, and
had then been carried away by it.

Another time he preached upon the barren fig-tree, and
described the hopes of the owner as he watched the deli-
cate blossom unfold, and give promise of such beautiful
fruit in autumn. Next day he received a letter from a
botanical member of his congregation who explained to
him that this could hardly have been, inasmuch as the
fig produces its fruit first and blossoms inside the fruit,
or so nearly so that no flower is perceptible to an ordi-
nary observer. This last, however, was an accident
which might have happened to any one but a scientist or
an inspired writer.

The only excuse I can make for him is that he was
very young — not yet four and twenty — and that in mind
as in body, like most of those who in the end come to
think for themselves, he was a slow grower. By far the
greater part, moreover, of his education had been an at-
tempt, not so much to keep him in blinkers as to gouge
his eyes out altogether.

But to return to my story. It transpired afterwards
that Miss MaJtland had had no intention of giving Ernest
in chaise when she ran out of Mrs. Jupp's house. She
was running away because she was frightened, but almost
the first person whom she ran against had happened to be
a policeman of a serious turn of mind, who wished to
gain a reputation for activity. He stopped her, ques-
tioned her, frightened her still more, and it was he rather
than Miss Maitland who insisted on giving my hero in
charge to himself and another constable.

Towneley was still in Mrs. Jupp's house when the
policeman came. He had heard a disturbance, and going
down to Ernest's room while Miss Maitland was out of
doors, had found him lying, as it were, stunned at ths
foot of the moral precipice over which he had that mo-

The Way of All Flesh 303

ment fallen. He saw the whole thing at a glance, but
before he could take action, the policemen came in and
action became impossible.

He asked Ernest who were his friends in London.
Ernest at first wanted not to say, but Towneley soon gave
him to understand that he must do as he was bid, and
selected myself from the few whom he had named.
"Writes for the stage, does he?" said Towneley. "Does
he write comedy?" Ernest thought Towneley meant that
I ought to write tragedy, and said he was afraid I wrote
burlesque. "Oh, come, come," said Towneley, "that will
do famously. I will go and see him at once." But on
second thoughts he determined to stay with Ernest and
go with him to the police court. So he sent Mrs. Jupp
for me. Mrs. Jupp hurried so fast to fetch me, that in
spite of the weather's being still cold she was "giving
out," as she expressed it, in streams. The poor old
wretch would have taken a cab, but she had no money
and did not like to ask Towneley to give her some. I
saw that something very serious had happened, but was
not prepared for anything so deplorable as what Mrs.
Jupp actually told me. As for Mrs. Jupp, she said her
heart had been jumping out of its socket and back again
ever since.

I got her into a cab with me, and we went off to the
police station. She talked without ceasing.

"And if the neighbours do say cruel things about me,
I'm sure it ain't no thanks to him if they're true. Mr.
Pontifex never took a bit o' notice of me no more than
if I had been his sister. Oh, it's enough to make anyone's
back bone curdle. Then I thought perhaps my Rose
might get on better with him, so I set her to dust him
and clean him as though I were busy, and gave her such
a beautiful clean new pinny, but he never took no notice
of her no more than he did of me, and she didn't want
no compliment neither; she wouldn't have taken not a
shilling from him, though he had offered it, but he didn't

304 The Way of All Flesh

seem to know anything at all. I can't make out what the
young men are a-coming to ; I wish the horn may blow
for me and the worms take me this very night, if it's not
enough to make a woman stand before God and strike
the one half on 'em silly to see the way they goes on, and
many an honest girl has to go home night after night
without so much as a fourpenny-bit and paying three and
sixpence a week rent, and not a shelf nor cupboard in
the place and a dead wall in front of the window.

"It's not Mr. Pontifex," she continued, "that's so bad ;
4ie's good at heart. He never says nothing unkind. And
then there's his dear eyes — but when I speak about that
to my Rose she calls me an old fool and says I ought to
be poleaxed. It's that Pryer as I can't abide. Oh, he !
He likes to wound a woman's feelings, he do, and to diuck
anything in her face, he do — he likes to wind a woman
up and to wound her down." (Mrs. Jupp pronounced
"wound" as though it rhymed to "sound.") "It's a gen-
tleman's place to soothe a woman, but he, he'd like to tear
her hair out by handfuls. Why, he told me to my face
that I was a-getting old ; old, indeed ! there's not a woman
in London knows my age except Mrs. Davis down in the
Old Kent Road, and beyond a haricot vein in one of my
legs I'm as young as ever I was. Old, indeed 1 There's
many a good tune played on an old fiddle. I hate his
nasty insinuendos."

Even if I had wanted to stop her, I could not have done
so: She said a great deal more than I have given above,
I have left out much because I could not remember it, but
still more because it was really impossible for me to print
it.

When we got to the police station I found Towneley •
and Ernest already there. The charge was cuie of as-
sault, but not ^^ravated by serious violence. Even so,
however, it was lamentable enough, and we both saw
that our young friend would have to pay dearly for his
inexperience. We tried to bail him out for tiie night.

The Way of AH Flesh 305

but the Inspector would not accept bail, so we were forced
to leave him.

Towneley then went back to Mrs. JuM>'s to see if he
could find Miss Maitland and arrange matters with her.
She was not there, but he traced her to the house of her
father, who lived at CamberwtlL The father was furi-
ous and would not hear of any intercession on Towneley's
part. He was a Dissenter, and glad to make the most of
any scandal against a clergyman; Towneley, therefore,
was obliged to return unsuccessful.

Next morning, Towneley — who regarded Ernest as a
drowning man, who must be picked out of the water
somehow or other if possible, irrespective of the way
in which he got into it — called on me, and we put the
matter into the hands of one of the best known attor-
neys of the day. I was greatly pleased with Towneley,
and thought it due to him to tdl him what I had told no
one dse. I mean that Ernest would come into his aunt's
money, in a few years' time, and would therefore then
be rich.

Towneley was doing all he could before this, but I
knew that the knowledge I had imparted to him would
*' make him feel as though Ernest was more one of his own
class, and had therefore a greater claim upon his good
offices. As for Ernest himself, his gratitude was greater
than could be expressed in words. I have heard him
say that he can call to mind j^^tenoments, each one
of which might well pas^Bj^^^^Kppiest of his life,
but that this night stands clearly out as the most painful
that he ever passed, yet so kind and considerate was
Towneley that it was quite bearable.

But with all the best wishes in the world neither
Towneley nor I could do much to help beyond giving our
moral support. Our attorney told us that the magistrate
before whom Ernest would appear was very severe on
cases of this description, and that the fact of his being
a clergyman wouW tell against him. "Ask for no re-

3o6 The Way of All Flesh

mand," he said, "and make no defence. We will call Mr.
Pontifex's rector and you two gentlemen as witnesses for
previous good character. These will be enough. Let us
then make a profound apology and beg the magistrate
to deal with the case summarily instead of sending it for
trial. If you can get this, lielieve me, your young friend
will be better out of it than he has aTiy right to expect"

CHAPTER LXII

This advice, besides being obviously sensible, would end
in saving Ernest both time and suspense of mind, so
we had no hesitation in adopting it. The case was called
on about eleven o'clock, but we got it adjourned till three,
so as to give time for Ernest to set his affairs as straight
as he could, and to execute a power of attorney enabling
me to act for him as I should think fit while he was ia
prison.

Then all came out about Pryer and the College of
Spiritual Pathology. Ernest had even greater difficulty
in making a clean breast of this than he had had in
telling us about Miss Maitland, but he told us all, and
the upshot was that he had actually handed over to Pryer
every halfpenny that he then possessed with no other
security than Fryer's I.O.U.'s for the amount. Ernest,
though still declii^|^ta|Q believe that Pryer could be
guilty of dishonou^^^Pn^ft, was becoming alive to
the folly of what he hadbeCT doing; he still made sure,
however, of recovering, at any rate, the greater part of
his property as soon as Pryer should have had time to
sell. Towneley and I were of a different opinion, but
we did not say what we thought.

It was dreary work waiting all the momii^ amid such
-unfamiliar and depressing surroundings. I thought how
the Psalmist had exclaimed with quiet irony, "One day
in thy courts is better than a thousand," and I thought

The Way of All Flesh 307

that I could utter a very similar sentiment in respect of
the courts in which Towneley and I were compelled to
loiter. At last, about three o'clock the case was called
on, and we went round to the part of the court which
is reserved for the general public, while Ernest was
taken into the prisoner's dock. As soon as he had col-
lected himself sufficiently he recognised the magistrate
as the old gentleman who had spoken to him in the train
on the day he was leaving school, and saw, or thought he
saw, to his great grief, that he too was recognised.

Mr. Ottcry, for this was our attorney's name, took the
line he had proposed. He called no other witnesses than
the rector, Towneley and myself, and threw himself on
the mercy of the magistrate. When he had concluded, the
magistrate spoke as follows : "Ernest Pontifex, yours is
one of the most painful cases that I have ever had to
deal with. You have been singularly favoured in your*
parentage and education. You have had before you the
example of blameless parents, who doubtless instilled
into you from childhood the enormity of the offence
which by your own confession you have committed. You
were sent to one of the best public schools in England.
It is not likely that in the healthy atmosphere of such a
school as Roughborough you can have come across con-
taminating influences ; you were probably, I may say cer-
tainly, impressed at school with the heinousness of any
attempt to depart from the' strict^Mh|stity until suchi
time as you had entered intq^j^^l^Fmatrimony. An
. Cambridge you were shielderirom impurity by every\
obstacle which virtuous and vigilant authorities could de- J
vise, and even had the obstacles been fewer, your parents /
probably took care that your means should not admit of |
your throwing money away upon abandoned characters. •
At night proctors patrolled the street and dogged your
steps if you tried to go into any haunt where the presence
of vice was suspected. By day the females who were ad-
mitted within the college walls were selected mainly on

It-'- '■

308 The Way of All Flesh

tthe score of age and ugliness. It is hard to sec what

^more can be done for any young man than this. For the

> I last four or five months you have been a clergyman, and

f if a single impure thought had still remained within your

I mind, ordination should have removed it : nevertheless,

'i not only does it appear that your mind is as impure as

though none of the influences to which I have referred

'. had been brought to bear upon it, but it seems as though

their only result had been this — that you have not even

\ the common sense to be able to distinguish between a

.respectable girl and a prostitute.

^ "If I were to take a strict view of my duty I should
commit you for trial, but in consideration of this being
your first offence, I shall deal leniently with you and sen-
tence you to imprisonment with hard labour for six calen-
dar months."

Towneley and I both thought there was a touch of
irony in the magistrate's speech, and that he could have
given a lighter sentence if he would, but that was neither
here nor there. We obtained leave to see Ernest for a
few minutes before he was removed to Coldbath Fields,
wheie he was to serve his term, and found him so thank-
ful to have been summarily dealt with that he hardly
seemed to care about the miserable plight in which he
was to pass the next six months. When he came out, he
said, he would take what remained of his money, go oS
to America or ^^^Mj^ and never be heard of more.

We left him ftVVl|^resolve, I, to write to Theo-
bald, and also to instrucT ray solicitor to get Ernest's
C_ money out of Fryer's hands, and Towneley to see the
reporters and keep the case out of the newspapers. He
was successful as regards all the higher-class papers.
There was only one journal, and that of the lowest class,
■ which vras incorruptible.

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The Way of All Flesh 309

CHAPTER LXIII

I SAW my solicitor at once, but when I tried to write to
Theobald, I found it better to say I would run down and
see hira. I therefore proposed this, asking him to meet
me at the station, and hinting that I must bring bad news
about his son. I knew he would not get my letter more
than a couple of hours before I should see him, and
thought the short interval of suspense might break the
shock of what I had to say.

Never do I remember to have halted more between two
opinions than on my journey to Battersby upon this un-
happy errand. When I thought of the little sallow-faced
lad whom I had remembered years before, of the htig
and s^vaj^cruelty^with which he had been treated in
chirdhood — cruelty none "the'less real Tor "having 1)een
dije'to Ignorance andstupidT^ jath^r! fijarOo deliberate
malice; of the atmosphere of lying and self-!audatory
hallucination in which he had been brought up; ofthe
readiness the boy had shown to love anythmg that would
be good enough to let him, and of how affection for his 1
parents, unless I am much mistaken, had only died tn {
him because it had been killed anew, again and again and
again, each time that it had tried to spring. When 1 1
thought of all this I felt as though, if the matter had,
rested with ote, I would have sentenced Theobald and.
Christina to mental suffering even more severe than that;
which was about to fall upon them. But on the other'
hand, when I thought of Theobald's own childhood, of',
that dreadful old Geoi^ Pontifex his father, of John
and Mrs. John, and of his two sisters, when again I
thought of Christina's long years of hope deferred that
maketh the heart sick, before she was married, of the life
she must have led at Crampsford, and of the surround-
ings in the midst of which she and her husband both
lived at Battersby, I felt as though the wonder was that

t^^
i^

31(1. The Way of All Flesh

misfortunes so persistent had not been followed by even

graver retribution.

I ^ Poor people t They had tried to keep their ignorance

'"^of the world from themselves by calling it the pursuit of

heavenly things, and then shutting their eyes to anything

i that might give them trouble. A son having been bom

i to them they had shut his eyes also as far as was prac-

j ticable. Who could blame them ? They had chapter and

\ verse for everything they had cither done or left undone ;

^ there is no better thumbed precedent than that for being

\ a clergyman and a clergyman's wife. In what respect

' had they differed from their neighbours ? How did their

\ household differ from that of any other clergyman of

i the better sort from one end of England to the other?

j Why then should it have been upon them, of all pec^Ie

' in the world, that this tower of Siloam had fallen?

Surely it was the tower of Siloam that was naught
rather than those who sto6d under it; it was the system
rather than the people that was at fault. If Theobald
and his wife had but known more of the world and of
the things that are therein, they would have done little
harm to anyone. Selfish they would have always-hscn,
but not more so than may very well be pardoned, and not
more than other people would be. As it was, tHej^M^
was hopeless ; it would be no use their even enteriofijnto
their mothers' wombs and being bom again. They must
( not only be born again but they must be bom again'eacR'
■■ one of them of a new father and of a new mother a ii3"of~
- a different line of ancestry for many generations before
theinminds could become supple enough to leam Siew,
I'The only thing to do with them was to humour them
and make the best of them till they died — and be thank-
■ful when they did so.

Theobald got my letter as I had expected, and met me
at the station nearest to Battersby. As I walked back
with him towards his own house I broke the news to him
as gently as I could. I pretended that the whole thing

The Way of All Flesh 311

was in great measure a mistake, and that though Emest
no doubt had had intentions which he ought to have re-
sisted, he had not meant going anything like the length
which Miss Maitland supposed. I said we had felt how
much appearances were against him, and had not dared
to set up this defence before the magistrate, though we
had no doubt about its being the true one.

Theobald acted with a readier and acuter moral sense
than I had given him credit for.

"I will have nothing more to do with him," he ex-
claimed promptly, "I will never see his face again ; do not
let him write either to me or to his mother ; we kno^
of no such person. Tell him you have seen me, and tharf
from this day forward I shall put him out of my mind a^
though he had never been bom. I have been a gooa
father to him, and his mother idolised him ; selfishness and\
ingratitude have been the only return we have ever had [
from him ; my hope henceforth must be in my remaining \
children."

I told him how Ernest's fellow curate had got hold of
his money, and hinted that he might very likely be penni-
less, or nearly so, on leaving prison. Theobald did not
seem displeased at this, but added soon afterwards ; "If
this proves to be the case, tell him from me that I will
give him a hundred pounds if he will tell me through you
when he will have it paid, but tell him not to write and
thank me, and say that if he attempts to open up direct
communication either with his mother or myself, he shall
not have a penny of the money."

Knowing what I knew, and having determined on vio-
lating Miss Pont^fex's instructions should the occasion
arise, I did not think Emest would he any the worse for
a complete estrangement from his family, so I acquiesced
more readily in what Theobald had proposed than that
gentleman may have expected.

Thinking it better that I should not see Christina, I left
Theobald near Battersby and walked back to the station.

<;''^

('Siz The Way of AH Flesh

't>n my way I was pleased to reflect that Ernest's father
was less of a fool than I had taken him to be, and had
^Atht greater hopes. ther«leF«i that -bis 5tu^s_blundsi3jiiight
OM]^ due Jo^postoatal, rather than congenital misfortunes.
' (Occidents which happen to a man before he Is horn, m
the persons of his ancestors, will, if he remembers them
at all, leave an indelible impression on him; they will
have moulded his character so that, do what he will, ^ it
is hardly possible for him to escape their consequenc^j^
If a man is to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven, he must
do so, not only as a little child, but as a little embryo, or
rather as a little zoosperm — and not only this, but as'ont
that has come of zoosperms which have entered into the
Kingdom of Heaven before him for jnany generations.
Accidents which occur for the first time, and belong to
the period since a man's last birth, are not, as a general
rule, so permanent intheir effects, though of course they
may sometimes be scT^At any rate, I was not dbpleased
at the view which Ernest's father took of the situation.

CHAPTER LXIV

After Ernest had been sentenced, he was taken back to
the cells to wait for the van which should take him to
Coldbath Fields, where he was to serve his term.

He was still too stunned and dazed by the snddenness
with which events had happened during the last twenty-
four hours to be able to realise his position. A great
chasm bad opened between his past and future; never-
theless he breathed, bis pulse beat, he could think snd
speak. It seemed to him that he ot^ht to be prostrated
by the blow that had fallen on him, but he was not pros-
trated; he had suffered from many smaller laches far
more acutely. It was not until he thou^t of the pain
his disgrace would inflict on his father and mother that
he felt how readily he would have given up all he had.

The Way of All Flesh 313

rather than have fallen into his present plight. It would
break his mother's heart. It must, he knew it would —
and it was he who had done this.

He had had a headache coming on all the forenoon,
but as he thought of his father and mother, his pulse
quickened, and the pain in his head suddenly became
intense. He coutd hardly walk to the van, and he found
its motion insupportable. On reaching the prison he
was too ill to walk without assistance across the hall to
the corridor or gallery where prisoners are marshalled
on their arrival. The prison warder, seeing at once that
he was a clergyman, did not suppose he was shamming,
as he might have done in the case of an old gaol-bird;
he therefore sent for the doctor. When this gentleman
arrived, Ernest was declared to be suffering from an
incipient attack of brain fever, and was taken away to
the infirmary. Here he hovered for the next two months
between life and death, never in full possession of his
reason and often delirious, but at last, contrary to the
expectation of both doctor and nurse, he began slowly
to recover.

It is said that those who have been nearly drowned
find the return to consciousness much more painful than
the loss of it had been, and so it was with my hero.
As he lay helpless and feeble, it seemed to him a refine-
ment of cruelty that he had not died once for all during
his delirium. He thought he should still most likely re-
cover only to sink a little later on from shame and sor-
row; nevertheless from day to day he mended, though
so slowly that he could hardly realise it to himself.
One afternoon, however, about three weeks after he had
regained consciousness, the nurse who tended him, and
who had been very kind to him, made some little rallying
sally which amused him; he laughed, and as he did so
she clapped her hands and told him he would be a man
again. The spark of hope was kindled, and again he
wished to live. Almost from that moment his thoughts

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314 The Way of All Flesh

\began to turn less to the horrors of the past, and more ,
^ito the best way of meeting the future,

Hi^ worst pain was on behalf of his father and
mother, and how he should again face them. It still
seemed to him that the best thing both for him and them
would be that he should sever himself from them com-
pletely, take whatever ijioney he could recover from
Pryer, and go to some place in the uttermost parts of the
earth, where he should never meet anyone who had
known him at school or college, and start afresh. Or
perhaps he might go to the gold fields in California
or Australia, of which such wonderful accounts were
then heard ; there he might even make his fortune, and
return as an old man many years hence, unknown to
everyone, and if so, he would live at Cambridge. As he
built these castles in the air, the spark of life became a
flame, and he longed for health, and for the freedom
which, now that so much of his sentence had expired, was
not after all very far distant.

Then things began to shape themselves more definitely.
[ Whatever happened he would be a clergyman no longer.
lit would have been practically impossible for him to have
/ found another curacy, even if he had been so minded, but
'he was not so minded. He^hated the life he had been
■ leading ever since he had begun^Io" read lor orders i__he
could not argue about it, but simply he loathed it and
would have no more of it. As he dwalt on the prospect
oTTiecoming a layman again, however disgraced, he re-
joiced at what had befallen him, and found a blessing in
this very imprisonment which had at first seemed such
an unspeakable misfortune.

Perhaps the shock of so great a change in his sur-
roundings had accelerated changes in his opinions, just
as the cocoons of silkworms, when sent in baskets by
rail, hatch before their time through the novelty of heat
and jolting. But however this may be, his belief in
the stories concerning the Death, Resurrection and Ascen-

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The Way of All Flesh 315

sion of Jesus Christ, and hence his faith in all the other
Christian miracles, had dropped off him once and for
ever. The investigation he had made in consequence of
Mr. Shaw's rebuke, hurried though it was, had left a
deep impression upon him, and now he was well enou^
to read he made the New Testament his chief study,
going through it in the spirit which Mr, Shaw had de-
sired of him, that is to say as one who wished neither
to belTeve nor disbelieve, but cared only about finding
o^f whether he ought to believe or no. The more he
read in this spirit the more the balance seemed to lie
in favour of unbelief, till, in the end, all further doubt
became impossible, and he saw plainly enough that, what-
ever else might be true, the story that Christ had died, t
come to life again, and been carried from earth through [
clouds into the heavens could not now be accepted by.
unbiassed people. It was well he had found it out so
soon. In one way or another it was sure to meet him
sooner or later. He would probably have seen it years
ago if he had not been hoodwinked by people who were
paid for hoodwinking him. What should he have done,
he asked himself, if he had not made his present dis-
covery till years later, when he was more deeply com-
mitted to the life of a clergyman ? Should he have had
the courage to face it, or would he not more probably
have evolved some excellent reason for continuing to
think as he had thought hitherto ? Should he have had
the courage to break away even from his present curacy?
He thought not, and knew not whether to be more
thankful for having been shown his error or for having
been caught up and twisted round so that he could hardly
err farther, almost at the very moment of his having dis-
covered it. The price he had had to pay for this boon ,
was light as compared with the boon itself. What is too
heavy a price to pay for having duty made at once clear
and easy of fulfilment instead of very difficult ? He was
sorry for his father and mother, and he was sorry for

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3i6 The Way of All Flesh

Miss Maitland, but he was no longer sorry for him-
self.

It puzzled him, however, that he should not have
known how much he had hated being a clergyman till
now. He knew that he did not particularly like it, but if
anyone had asked him whether he actually hated it, he
would have answered no. I suppose people almost al-
ways want something external to themselves, to reveal
to them their own likes and dislikes. Our most assured
likings have for the most part been arrived at neither
by introspection nor by any process of conscious reason-
ing, but by the bounding forth of the heart to welcome
the gospel proclaimed to it by another. We hear some
say that _such and such a thing is thus or thus, and in a
moment the train that has been laid within us, but whose
presence we knew not, flashes into consciousness and per-
ception.

Only a year ago he had bounded forth to welcome Mr.
.Hawke's sermon; since then he had bounded after a
College of Spiritual Pathology ; now he was in full cry
rationalism pure and simple ; how could he be sure

j* ^ his p

_ . t his present state of mind would be more lasting than
/ his previous ones ? He could not be certain, but he felt
as though he were now on firmer ground than he had
ever been before, and no matter how fleeting his present
opinions might prove to be, he could not but act accord-
ing to them till he saw reason to change them. How
impossible, he reflected, it would have been for him to do
this, if he had remained surrounded by people like his
father and mother, or Fryer and Fryer's friends, and
his rector. He had been observing, reflecting, and as-
similating all these months with no more consciousness
of mental growth than a school-boy has of growth of
body, but should he have been able to admit his growth
to himself, and to act up to his increased strength if he
had remained in constant close connection with people
who assured him solemnly that he was under a hallucina-

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The Way of All Flesh 317

tion? The combination i^inst him was greater than
his unaided strength could have broken through, and he
felt doubtful how far any shock less severe than the
one from which he was suffering would have sufficed to
free him.

CHAPTER LXV ^

As he lay on his bed day after day slowly recovering, he ^ ■.
woke up to the fact which most men arrive ,at sooner or , I
later, I mean that very few care two straws about truth, / I
or have any confidence that it is righter'and better to '
believe what is true than what is untrue, even thougll ' '
belief in the untruth inay seem at first' sight most ex-
pedient. Yet it is only these few who can be said to i
believe anything at all ; the rest are simply unbelievers in \
disguist. Perhaps, after all, these last are right. They
have numbers and prosperity on their side. They have
all which th ejatio nalist appeals to as his tests of right
and_wrong. ( Right acc ording^to tiiiii,-is"wliat'seems riglit
(to the ma jority of sensiLle, well-l"o-dd"peo^ej we know
01 no saler crTterToh than this, but wTiat does the decision
thus arrived at involve? Simply this, that a conspiracy
of silence about things whose truth would be immediately
apparent to disinterested enquirers is not only tolerable
but righteous on the part of those who profess to be
and take money for being par excellence guardians and
teachers of truth.

Ernest saw no logical escape from this conclusion.
He saw that belief on the part of the early Christians
in the miraculous nature of Christ's Resurrection was
explicable, without any supposition of miracle. The ex-
planation lay under the eyes of anyone who chose to
take a moderate degree of trouble ; it had been put before
the world again and again, and there had been no serious
attempt to refute it. How was it that Dean Alford, for
example, who had made the New Testament his specialty.

3i8 The Way of All Flesh

could not or woald not see what was so obvious to
Ernest himself ? Could it be for any other reason than
that he did not want to see it, and if so was he not a
traitor to the cause of truth? Yes, but was he not
also a respectable and successful man, and were not the
vast majority of respectable and successful men, such
for example, as all the bishops and archbishops, doii^
exactly as Dean Alford did, and did not this make their
action right, no matter though it had been cannibalism
or infanticide, or even habitual untruthfulness of mind?

Monstrous, odious falsehood ! Ernest's feeble pulse
quickened and his pale face flushed as this hateful view
of life presented itself to him in all its logical consistency.
It was not the fact of most men being liars that shocked
him — that was all right enough ; but even the momentary
doubt whether the few who were not liars ought not to
become liars too. There was no hope left if this were so :
if this were so, let him die, the sooner the better. "Lord,"
he exclaimed inwardly, "I don't believe one word of it.
Strengthen Thou and confirm my disbelief." It seemed
to him that he could never henceforth see a bishop going
to consecration without saying to himself : "There, but
for the grace of God, went Ernest Pontifex." It was no
doing of his. He could not boast; jf he had lived in the
time of Christ he might himself haytfijeen an early Chris-
tian, or even an Apostle for aught he knew. On the
whole, he felt that he had much to be thankful for.

The conclusion, then, that it might be better to believe
error than truth, should be ordered out of court at once,
no matter by how clear a logic it had been arrived at ; but
what was the alternative? It was this, that our criterion
of truth — ie. that truth is what commends itself to the
great majority of sensible and successful people — is not
infallible. The rule is sound, and covers by far the
greater number of cases, but it has its exceptions.

He asked himself, what were they? Ah I that was a
difficult matter ; there were so many, and the rules which

The Way of All Flesh 319

governed them were sometimes so subtle that mistakes
always had and always would be made; it was just this
that made it impossible to reduce life to an exact science.
There was a rough-and-ready, rule-of-thumb test of truth,
and a number of rules as regards exceptions which could
be mastered without much trouble, yet there was a resi-
due of cases in which decision was difficult — so difficult
that a man had better follow his instinct than attempt to
decide them by any process of reasoning.

Inst inct t hen is the ultimate court of appeal. And
what IS msunct'r TTIs'a mode ol 'f aiimri the evidence
of things not actually seen. And so my hero returned
almost to the point from which he had started originally,
namely, that the iust .shall live by fait h.

And this is what the just — that is to say reasonable
people — do as regards those daily affairs of life which
most concern them. They settle smaller matters by the
exercise of their own deliberation. More important ones,
such as the cure of their own bodies and the bodies of
those whom they love, the investment of their money,
the extrication of their affairs from any serious mess —
these things they generally entrust to others of whose
capacity they know little save from general report; they
act therefore on the strength of faith, not of laiowledge.
So the English nation entrusts the welfare of its fleet and
naval defences to a First Lord of the Admiralty, who, not
being a sailor, can know nothing about these matters ex-
cept by acts of faith. There can be no doubt about faith"
and not reason being the ultima ratio.

Even Euclid, who has laid himself as little open to the
charge of credulity as any writer who ever lived, can-
not get beyond this. He has no demonstrable first prem-
ise. He requires postulates and axioms which tran-
cend demonstration, and without which he can do noth-
ing. His superstructure indeed is demonstration, but his
ground is faith. Nor again can he get further than tell-
ing a man he is a fool if he persists in differing from

320 The Way of All Flesh

him. He says "which is absurd," and declines to discuss
the matter further. Faith and authority, therefore, prove
to be as necessary for him as for anyone else. "By faith
in what, then," asked Ernest of himself, "shall a just man
endeavour to live at this present time?" He answered
to himself, "At any rate not by faith in the supernatural
element of the Christian religion."

And how should he best persuade his fellow-country-
men to leave off believing in this supernatural element?
Looking at the matter from a practical point of view, he
thought the Archbishop of Canterbury afforded the most
promising key to the situation. It lay between him and
the Pope. The Pope was perhaps best in theory, but in
practice the Archbishop of Canterbury would do suffi-
ciently well. If he could only manage to sprinkle a pinch
of salt, as it were, on the Archbishop's tail, he might con-
vert the whole Church of England to free thought by a
coup de main. There must be an amount of cogency
which even an Archbishop — an Archbishop whose per-
ceptions had never been quickened by imprisonment for
assault — would not be able to withstand. When brought
face to face with the facts, as he, Ernest, could arrange
them, his Grace would have no resource but to admit
them ; being an honourable man he would at once resign
his Archbishopric, and Christianity would become extinct
in England within a few months' time. This, at any rate,
was how things ought to be. But all the time Ernest had
no confidence in the Archbishop's not hopping off just
as the pinch was about to fall on him, and this seemed
so unfair that his blood boiled at the thought of it. If
this was to be so, he must try if he could not 6x him by
the judicious use of bird-lime or a snare, or throw the
salt on his tail from an ambuscade.

To do him justice, it was not himself that he greatly
cared about. He knew he had been humbugged, and he
knew also that the greater part of the ills which had
afflicted him were due, indirectly, in chief measure to

The Way of All Flesh 321

the influence of Christian teaching; still, if the mischief
had ended with himself, he should have thought little
about it, but there was his sister, and his brother Joey, '
and the hundreds and thousands of young people through-
out England whose lives were being blighted through
thtjies told them by people whose business it was to -
know better, but who scamped their work and shirked '.
difficulties_ij}&tead.ai facing them. It was this which
made him think it worth while to be angry, and to con-
sider whether he could not at least do something towards , .
saving others from such years of waste and misery as he
had had to pass himself. If there was no truth in the
miraculous accounts of Christ's Death and Resurrection,
the whole of the religion founded upon the historic truth
of those events tumbled to the ground. "Why," he ex-
claimed, with all the arrc^nce of youth, "they put a
gipsy or fortune-teller into prison for getting money out
of silly people who think they have supernatural power ;
why should they not put a clergyman in prison for pre- ■ '
tending that he can absolve sins, or turn bread and wine
into the flesh and blood of One v/ho died two thousand >
years ago? What," he asked himself, "could be more
pure 'hanky-panky' than that a bishop should lay his
hands upon a young man and pretend to convey to him
the spiritual power to work this miracle? It was all veryi
well to talk about toleration; toleration, like everything*
else, had its limits; besides, if it was to include the bishop,/
let it include the fortune-teller too." He would explain
all this to the Archbishop of Canterbury by and by, but as
he csuld not get hold of him just now, it occurred to him
that he might experimentalise advantageously upon the
viler soul of the prison chaplain. It was only, those who
took the first and most obvious step in their power who
ever did great things in the end, so one day, when Mr. ■
Hughes — for this was the chaplain's name — was talking
with him, Ernest introduced the question of Christian
evidences, and tried to raise a discussion upon them.

323 The Way of All Flesh

Mr. Hughes had been very kind to him, but he was more
than twice my hero's age, and had long taken the measure
of such objections as Ernest tried to put before him. I
do not suppose he believed in the actual objective truth
of the stories about Christ's Resurrection and Ascension
, any more than Ernest did, but he knew that this was a
' small matter, and that the real issue lay much deeper than
- this.

Mr. Hughes was a man who had been in authority for
many years, and he brushed Ernest on one side as if he
had been a fly. He did it so well that my hero never
ventured to tackle him again, and confined his conversa-
tion with him for the future to such matters as what he
had better do when he got out of prison ; and here Mr.
Hughes was ever ready to listen to him with sjrmpathy
and kindness.

CHAPTER LXVI

Ernest was now so far convalescent as to be able to sit
up for the greater part of the day. He had been three
months in prison, and, though not stroi^ enough to
leave the infirmary, was beyond ati fear of a relapse.
He was talking one day with Mr. Hughes about his
future, and again expressed his intention of emigrating
to Australia or New Zealand with the money he should
, recover from Fryer. Whenever he spoke of this he no-
ticed that Mr. Hughes looked grave and was silent: he
had thought that periiaps the chaplain wanted him to
return to his profession, and disapproved of his evident
anxiety tc turn to something else; now, however, he
asked Mr. llughts point blank why it was that he disap-
proved of his idea of emigrating.

Mr. Hughes endeavoured to evade him, but Ernest was
not to be put ofif. There was something in the ch^lain's
manner which su^ested that he knew more than Ernest

The Way of All Flesh 323

did, but did not like to say it. This alarmed him so much
that he b^ged him not to keep him In suspense; after a
little hesitation Mr. Hughes, thinking him now strong
enough to stand it, broke the news as gently as he could
that the whole of Ernest's money had disappeared.

The day after my return from Battersby I called on
my solicitor, and was told that he had written to Pryer,
requiring him to refund the monies for which he had
given his I.O.U.'s. Pryer replied that he had given
orders to his briber to close his operations, which un-
fortunately had resulted so far in heavy loss, and that
the balance should be paid to my solicitor on the following
settling day, then about a week distant When the time
came, we heard nothing from Pryer, and going to his
lodgings, found that he had left with his few effects on
the very day after he had heard from us, and had not
been seen since.

I had heard from Ernest the name of the broker who
had been qnployed, and went at once to see him. He
told me Pryer had closed all his accounts for cash on
the day that Ernest had been sentenced, and had received
£2315, which was all that remained of Ernest's original
;£5ooo. With this he had decamped, nor had we enough
clue as to his whereabouts to be able to take any steps
to recover the money. There was in fact nothing to be
done but to consider the whole as lost. I may say here '
that neither I nor Ernest ever heard of Pryer again, nor
have any idea what became of him.

This placed me in a difficult position. I knew, of
course, that in a few years Ernest would have many
times over as much money as he had lost, but I knew also
that he did not know this, and feared that the supposed
loss of all he had in the world might be more than he
could stand when coupled with his other misfortunes.

The prison authorities had found Theobald's address
from a letter in Ernest's pocket, and had communicated
with him more than once concerning his son's illness, but

324 The Way of All Flesh

Theobald had not written to me, and I supposed my god-
son to be in good health. He would be just twenty-four
years old when he left prison, and if I followed out his
aunt's instructions, would have to battle with fortune
for another four years as well as he could. The question
before me was whether it was right to let him run so
much risk, or whether I should not to some extent trans-
gress tny instructions — which there was nothing to pre-
vent my doing if I thought Miss Pontifex" would have
wished it — and let him have the same sum that he would
have recovered from Pryer,

If my godson had been an older man, and more fixed
in any definite groove, this is what I should have done,
but he was still very young, and more than commonly
unformed for his age. If, again, I had known of his
illness I should not have dared to lay any heavier burden
on his back than he had to bear already; but not being
uneasy about his health, I thought a few years of rough-
ing it and of experience concerning the importance of
not playing tricks with money would do him no harm.
So I decided to keep a sharp eye upon him as soon as
he came out of prison, and to let him splash about in
deep water as best he could till I saw whether he was
able to swim, or was about to sink. In the first case I
would let him go on swimming till he was nearly eight-
• and-twenty, when I would prepare him gradually for the
good fortune that awaited him ; in the second I would
hurry up to the rescue. So I wrote to say that Pryer had
absconded, and that he could have £ioo from his father
when he came out of prison. I then waited to see what
effect these tidings would have, not expecting to receive
an answer for three months, for I had been told on en-
quiry that no letter could be received by a prisoner till
after he had been three months in gaol. I also wrote to
Theobald and told him of Fryer's disappearance.

As a matter of fact, when my letter arrived the gover-
nor of the gaol read it, and in a case of such importance

The Way of All Flesh 325

would have relaxed the rules if Emesl's state had allowed
it ; his illness prevented this, and the governor left it to
the chaplain and the doctor to" break the news to him
when they thought him strong enough to bear it, which
was now the case. In the meantime I received a formal
t^cial doctmient saying that my letter had been received
and would be communicated to the prisoner in due
course; I believe it was simply throt^h a mistake on
the part of a clerk that I was not informed of Ernest's
illness, but I heard nothing of it till I saw him by his own
desire a, few days after the chaplain had broken to him
the substance of what I had written.

Ernest was terribly shocked when he heard of the
loss of his money, but his ignorance of the world pre-
vented him from seeing the full extent of the mischief.
He had never been in serious want of money yet, and
did not- know what it meant. In reality, money losses
are the hardest to bear of any by those who are old
enough to comprehend them.

A man can stand being told that he must submit to a
severe surgical operation, or that he has some disease
which will shortly kill him, or that he will be a cripple or
blind for the rest of his life; dreadful as such tidings
must be, we do not find that they unnerve the greater
number of mankind ; most men, indeed, go coolly enough
even to be hanged, bat the strongest quail before iinan- •
■^^^ niirii ^"'^ *^'' '■"ttT men they are, the more co mp le te ,
as a general rule, is their prostration. Suicide is a com-
mon consequence of money losses ; it is rarely sought as
a means of escape from bodily suffering. If we feel
that we have a competence at our backs, so that we can
die warm and quietly in our beds, with no need to worry
about expense, we live our lives out to the dregs, no
matter how excruciating our torments. Job probably felt
the loss of his flocks and herds more than that of his
wife and family, for he could enjoy his flocks and herds
without his family, but not his family — not for long — if

326 The Way of All Flesh

he had lost all his money. Loss of money indeed is not
only the worst pain in itself, but it is the parent of alt
others. Let a man have been brought up to a moderate
competence, and have no specialty ; then let his money be
suddenly taken from him; and how long is his health
likely to survive the change in all his little ways which
loss of money will entail ? How long again is the esteem
and sympathy of friends likely to survive ruin ? People
may be very sorry for us, but their attitude towards us
hitherto has been based upon the supposition that we
were situated thus or thus in money matters ; when this
breaks down there must be a restatement of the social
problem so far as we are concerned; we have been ob-
taining esteem under false pretences. Granted, then,
that the three most serious losses which a man can suffer
are those affecting money, health and reputation. Loss
of money is far the worst, then comes ill-health, and
then loss of reputation ; loss of reputation is a bad third,
for, if a man keeps health and money unimpaired, it will
be generally found that his loss of reputation is due to
breaches of parvenu conventions only, and not to viola-
tions of those older, better established canons whose
authority is unquestionable. In this case a man may
grow a new reputation as easily as a lobster grows a
new claw, or, if he have health and money, may thrive in
' great peace of mind without any reputation at all. The
only chance for a man who has lost his money is that
he shall still be young enough to stand uprooting and
transplanting without more than temporary derangement,
and this I believed my godson still to be.

By the prison rules he might receive and send a letter
after* he had been in gaol three months, and might also
receive one visit from a friend. When he received my
letter, he at once asked me to come and see him, whicji
of course I did. I found him very much changed, and
still so feeble that the exertion of coming from the in-
firmary to the cell in which I was allowed to see him.

The Way of All Flesh 327

and the agitation of seeing me were too much for him.
At first he quite broke down, and I was so pained at the
state in which I found him, that I was on the point of
breaking my instructions then and there. I contented
myself, however, for the time, with assuring him that I
would help him as soon as he came out of prison, and
that, when he had made up his mind what he would do,
he was to come to me for what money might be necessary,
if he could not get it from his father. To make it easier
for him I told him that his aunt, on her deathbed, had
desired me to do something of this sort should an emer-
gency arise, so that be would only be taking what his
aunt had left him.

"Then," said he, "I will not take the iioo from
my father, and I will never see him or my mother
Bgain."

I said: "Take the fioo, Ernest, and as much more as
you can get, and then do not see them again if you do
not like."

This Ernest would not do. If he took money from
them, he could not cut them, and he wanted to cut them.
I thought my godson would get on a great deal better
if he would only have the firmness to do as he proposed,
as regards breaking completely with his father and
mother, and said so. "Then don't you like them?" said
he, with a look of surprise.

"Like them 1" said I, "I think they're horrid."

"Oh, that's the kindest thing of all you have done for
me," he exclaimed. "I thought all — all middle-aged peo-
ple liked my father and mother."

He had been about to call me old, but I was only
fifty-seven, and was not going to have this, so I made a
face when I saw him hesitating, which drove him into
"middle-aged,"

"If you like it/' said I, "I will say all your family are
horrid except yourself and your Aunt Alethea. The
greater part of every family is always odious; if there

328 The Way of All Flesh

Iare one or two good ones in a very large family, it is as
much as can be expected."
I "Thank you," he replied, gratefully, "I think I can
now stand almost anything. I will come and see you as
soon as I come out of gaol. Goodbye." For the warder
had told us that the time allowed for our interview was
at an end.

CHAPTER LXVII

As soon as Ernest found that he had no money to look
to upon leaving prison he saw that his dreams about
emigrating and farming must come to an end, for he
knew that he was incapable of working at the plough or
with the axe for long together himself. And now it
seemed he should have no money to pay any one else
for doing so. It was this that resolved him to part once
and for all with his parents. If he had been going
abroad he could have kept up relations with them, for
they would have been too far off to interfere with him.

He knew his father and mother would object to being
cut ; they would wish to appear kind and forgiving ; they
would also dislike having no further power to plague
him ; but he knew also very well that so long as he and
they ran in harness together they would be always pulling
one way and he another. He wanted to drop the gentle-
man and go down into the ranks, beginning on the lowest
rung of the ladder, where no one would know of his
disgrace or mind it if he did know; his father and
mother on the other hand would wish him to clutch on
to the fag-end of gentility at a starvation salary and with
no prospect of advancement. Ernest had seen enough
in Ashpit Place to know that a tailor, if he did not drink
and attended to his business, could earn more money than
a clerk or a curate, while much less expense by way of
show was required of him. .The tailor also had more

The Way of All Flesh 329

liberty, and a better chance of rising. - Ernest resolved
at once, as be had fallen so far, to fall still lower —
promptly, gracefully and with the idea of rising again,
rather than cling to the skirts of a respectability which
would permit him to exist on sufferance only, and make
him pay an utterly extortionate price for an article which
he could do better without.

He arrived at this result more quickly than he might
otherwise have done through remembering something he
had once heard his aunt say about "kissing the soil."
This had impressed him and stuck by him perhaps by
reason of its brevity ; when later on he came to know the
story of Hercules and Antaeus, he found it one of the
very few ancient fables which had a hold over him — his
chiefest debt to classical literature. His aunt had wanted
him to learn carpentering, as a means of kissing the soil
should his Hercules ever throw him. It was too latfe for
this now — or he thought it was — but the mode of carrying
out his aunt's idea was a detail; there were a hundred
ways of kissing the soil besides becoming a carpenter.

He had told me this during our interview, and I had
encouraged him to the utmost of my power. He showed
so much more good sense than I had given him credit for
that I became comparatively easy about him, and deter-
mined to let him play his own game, being always, how-
ever, ready to hand in case things went too far wrong.
It was not simply because he disliked his father and
mother that he wanted to have no more to do with them;
if it had been only this he would have put up with them;
but a warning voice within told him distinctly enough
that if he was clean cut away from them he might still
have a chance of success, whereas if they had anything
whatever to do with him, or even knew where he was,
they would hamper him and in the end ruin him. Abso-
lute independence he believed to be his only chance of
very life itself.

Over and above this — if this were not enough — Ernest

330 The Way of All Flesh

had a faith in his own destiny such as most young men,
I suppose, feel, but the grounds of which were not ap-
parent to any one but himself. Rightly or wrongly, in a
quiet way he believed he possessed a strength which, if
he were only free to use it in his own way, might do
great things some day. He did not know when, nor
where, nor how his opportunity was to come, but he never
doubted that it would come in spite of all that had
happened, and above all else he cherished the hope that
he might know how to seize it if it came, for whatever
it was it would be something that no one else could do
so well as he could. People said there were no dragons
and giants for adventurous men to fight with nowadays ;
it was beginning to dawn upon him that there were just
as many now as at any past time.

Monstrous as such a faith may seem in one who was
qualifying himself for a high mission by a term of im-
prisonment, he could no more help it than he could help
breathing; it was innate in him, and it was even more
with a view to this than for other reasiHis that he wished
to sever the connection between himself and his parents ;
for he knew that if ever the day came in which it should
appear that before him too there was a race set in which
it might be an honour to have run among the foremost,
his father and mother would be the first to let him and
hinder him in running it. They had been the first to say
that he ought to run such a race ; they would also be the
first to trip him up if he took them at their word, and
then afterwards upbraid him for not having won.
Achievement of any kind would be impossible for him
unless he was free from those who would be for ever
dragging him back into the conventional. The conven-
tional had been tried already and had been found want-
ing.

He had an opportunity now, if he chose to take it, of
escaping once- for all from those who at once tormented
him and would hold him earthward should a chance of

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The Way of All Flesh 331

soaring open before him. He should never have had it
but for his imprisonment; but for this the force of habit
and routine would have been too strong for him; he
should hardly have had it if he had not lost all his
money; the gap would not have been so wide but that
he might have been inclined to throw a plank across it.
He rejoiced now, therefore, over his loss of money
as well as over his ftnprisonment, which had made it
more easy for him to follow his truest and most lasting
interests.

At times he wavered, when he thought of how his
mother, who in her way, as he thought, had loved him,
would weep and think sadly over him, or how perhaps
she might even fall ill and*die, and how the blame would
rest with him. At these times his resolution was near
breaking, but when he found I applauded his design, the
voice within, which bade him see his father's and mother's
faces no more, grew louder and more persistent. If he
could not cut himself adrift from those who he knew
would hamper him, when so small an effort was wanted,
his dream of a destiny was idle ; what was the prospect of
a hundred pounds from his father in comparison with
jeopardy to this? He still felt deeply the pain his db-
grace had inflicted upon his father and mother, but he
was getting stronger, and reflected that as he had run his
chance with them for parents, so they must run theirs
with him for a son.

He had nearly settled down to this conclusion when
he received a letter from his father which made his de-
cision final. If the prison rules had been interpreted
strictly, he would not have been allowed to have this
letter for another three months, as he had already heard
from me, but the governor took a lenient view, and con-
sidered the letter from me to be a business communica-
tion hardly coming under the category of a letter from
friends. Theobald's letter therefore was given to his
son. It ran as follows : —

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332 The Way of All Flesh

"My dear Ernest, My object in writing is not to up-
braid you with the disgrace and shame you have inflicted
upon your mother and myself, to say nothing of your
brother Joey, and your sister. Suffer of course we
must, but we know to whom to look in our affliction, and
are filled with anxiety rather on your behalf than our
own. Your mother is wonderful. She is pretty well
in heahb, and desires me to send you her love.

"Have you considered your prospects on leaving pris-
on? I understand from Mr. Overton that you have lost
the legacy which your grandfather left you, together with
all the interest that accrued during your minority, in the
course of speculation upon the Stock Exchange t If you
have indeed been guilty of such appalling folly it is diffi-
cult to see what you can turn your hand to, and I sup-
pose you will try to find a clerkship in an office. Your
salary will doubtless be low at first, but you have made
your bed and must not complain if you have to lie upon
it. If you take pains to please your employers they will
not be backward in promoting you.

"When I first heard from Mr. Overton of the unspeak-
able calamity which had befallen your mother and my-
self, I had resolved not to see you ^ain. I am unwilling,
however, to have recourse to a measure which would
deprive you of your last connecting link with respectable
people. Your mother and I will see you as scon as you
come out of prison; not at Battersby — we do not wish
you to come down here at present — but somewhere else,
probably in London. You need not shrink from seeing
us; we shall not reproach you. We will then decide
about your future.

"At present our impression is that yoa will find a fairer
start probably in Australia or New Zealand than here,
and I am prepared to find you £75 or even if necessary
so far as itoo to pay your passage money. Once in
the colony you must be dependent upon your own ex-
ertions.

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The Way of All Flesh 333

"May Heaven prosper them and you, and restore you
to us years hence a respected member of society. — ^Your
affectionate father, T, Pontifex."

Then there was a postscrii^ in Christina's writing.

"My darling, darling boy, pray with me daily and

hourly that we may yet again become a happy, united,

God-fearing family as we were before this horrible pain

fell upon us. — ^Your sorrowing but ever loving nwther,

"C. P."

This letter did not produce the effect on Ernest that it
would have done before his imprisonment began. His
father and mother thought they could take him up as
they had left him off. They forgot the rapidity with
which development follows misfortune, if the sufferer is
young and of a sound temperament. Emeist made no
reply to his father's letter, but his desire for a total breaW
developed into something like a passion. "There are
orphanages," he exclaimed to himself, "for children who
have test their parents — oh t why, why, why, are there no
harbours of refuge for grown men who have not yet lost;
them?" And he brooded over the bliss of Melchisedek'
who had been bom an orphan, without father, without
mother, and without descent.

CHAPTER LXVIII

Whek I think over all that Ernest told me about his
prison meditations, and the conclusions he was drawn to,
it occurs to me that in reality he was wanting to do the
very last thing which it would have entered into his head
to think of wanting. I mean that he was trying to give
up father and mother (or Christ's sake. He would have
said he was giving them up because he thought they hin-
dered him in the pursuit of his truest and most lasttog
', C.ootjic

1

334 The Way of All Flesh

happiness. Granted, but what is this if it is not Christ?
What is Christ if He is not this? He who takes the
highest and most self-respecting view of his own welfare
wtiic^ it is in his power to conceive, and adheres to it
in spite of conventionality, is a Christian whether he
knows it and calls himself one, or whether he does not
A ros e is not thp Ipsb a rn^p hcr ^'Oir jl; •^ •xs not know its
own name.

~ What if circumstances had made his duty more easy
for him than it would be to most men ? That was his
luck, as much as it is other people's luck to have other
duties made easy for them by accident of birth. Surely
if people are born rich or handsome they have a right to
their good fortune. Some, I know, will say that one man
has no right to be born with a better constitution than
another ; others again will say that luck is the only r^ht-
eous object of human veneration. Both, I daresay, can
make out- a very good case, but whichever may be right
surely Ernest had as much right to the good luck of
finding a duty made easier as he had had to the bad for-
tune of falling into the scrape which had got him into
prison. A man is not to be sneered at for having a
tnmip card in his hand ; he is only to be sneered at if he
plays his trump card badly.

Indeed, I question whether it is ever much harder for
anyone to give up father and mother for Christ's sake
than it was for Ernest. The relations between the par-
ties will have almost always been severely strained be-
fore it comes to this. I doubt whether anyone was ever
yet required to give up those to whom he was tenderly
attached for a mere matter of conscience: he will have
ceased to be tenderly attached to them lot^ before he is
called upon to break with them; for differences of
opinion concerning any matter of vital importance spring
from differences of constitution, and these will already
have led to so much other disagreement that the "givirtg
up," when it comes, is like giving up an aching but very

The Way of All Flesh 335

loose and hollow tooth. It is the loss of those whom we
are not required to give up for Christ's sake which is
really painful to us. Then there is a wrench in earnest.
Happily, no matter how light the task that is demanded
from us, it is enough if we do it ; we reap our reward,
much as though it were a Herculean labour.

But to return, the conclusion Ernest came to was that
he would be a tailor. He talked the matter over with the
chaplain, who told him there was no reason why he should
not be able to earn his six or seven shillings a day by the
time he came out of prison, if he chose to learn the trade
during the remainder of his term — not quite three
months ; the doctor said he was strong enough for this,
and that it was about the only thing he was as yet fit for ;
so he left the infirmary sooner than he would otherwise
have done and entered the tailor's shop, overjoyed at
the thoughts of seeing his way again, and confident of
rising some day if he could only get a firm foothold to
start from.

Everyone whom he had to do with saw that he did not
belong to what are called the criminal classes, and finding
him eager to learn and to save trouble always treated him
kindly and ahnost respectfulSy. He did not find the work
irksome : it was far more pleasant than making Latin
and Greek verses at Roughborough ; he felt that he would
rather be here in prison than at Roughborough again —
yes, or even at Cambridge itself. The only trouble he
was ever in danger of getting into was through exchang-
ing words or looks with the more decent-looking of his
fellow-prisoners. This was forbidden, but he never
missed a chance of breaking the rules in this respect.

Any man of his ability who was at the same time
anxious to learn would of course make rapid prc^ess,
and before he left prison the warder said he was as good
a tailor with his three months' apprenticeship as many a
man was with twelve. Ernest had never before been so
much praised by any of his teachers. Each day as he

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33$ The Way of All Flesh

grew stronger in health and more accustomed to his
surroundii^s be saw some fresh advantage in his posi-
tion, an advantage which he had not aimed at, but which
had come almost in spite of himself, and he marvelled at
his own good fortune, which had ordered things so
greatly better for him thaa he could have ordered them
for himself.
His having lived six months in Ashpit Place was a case
. in point. Things were possible to him which to others
like him would be impossible. If such a man as Towne-
ley were told he must live henceforth in a house like
those in A^pit Place it would be more than he could
stand. Ernest could not have stood it himself if he had
gone to live there of compulsion through want of money.
It was only because he had felt himself able to run away
at any minute that he had not wanted to do so; now,
however, that he had become familiar with life in Ashpit
, Place he no longer minded it, and could live gladly in
/ lower parts of London than that so long as he could pay
/ his way. It was from no prudence or forethought that
, he had served this apprenticeship to life among the
' poor. He had been trying in a feeble way tq be thorough
in his work : he had not been thorough, the whole thing
had been a fiasco; but he had made a little puny effort in
, the direction of- being genuine, and hehoM, in his hour
of~need it had been returned to him with a reward far
richer thaa he had deserved. He could not have faced
' becoming one of the very poor unless he had had such
a bridge to conduct him over to them as he had found
; unwittingly in Ashpit Place. True, there had been draw-
I backs in the particular house he had chosen, but he need
' not live in a house where there was a Mr. Holt, and he
' should no longer be tied to the profession which he so
' much hated; if there were neither screams nor scripture
readings he could be happy in a garret at three shillings
a week, such as Miss Maitland lived in.
As he thought further he reme m bered that all things

The Way of All Flesh 337

work iQgether for good to them that love God ; w^ it
possible, he asked hiiHsetf, that~1ie too, however imper-
fectly, had been trying to love him? He dared not an-
swer Yes, but he would try hard that it should be so.
Then there came into his mind that noble air of Handel's :
"Great God, who yet but darkly known," and he felt it
as he had never felt it before. He had lost his faith
in Christianity, but his faith in something — he knew not
what, but that there was a something as yet but darkly
known, which made right right and wrong wrong — his
faith in this grew stronger and stronger daily.

Again there crossed his mind thoughts of the power
which he felt to be in him, and of how and where it was
to find its vent. The same instinct which had led him to
live amoi^ the poor because it was the nearest thing to
him which he could lay hold of with any clearness came
to his assistance here too. He thought of the Australian
gold and how those who lived among it had never seen it
though it abounded all around them: "Here is gold
everywhere," he exclaimed inwardly, "to those who look
for it." Might not his opportunity be dose upon him
if he looked carefully enough at his immediate sur-
roundings? What was his position? He had lost all.
Could he not turn his having lost all into an opportunity ?
M^ht he not, if he too sought the strength of the Lord,
find, like St. Paul, that it was perfected in weakness?

He had nothing more to lose ; money, friends, charac-
ter, all were gone for a very long time if not for ever;
but there was something else also that had taken its flight
along with these. I mean the fear of that which man
could do unto him. Cantabit vacuus. Who could hurt
him more than he had been hurt already? Let him but
be able to earn his bread, and he knew of nothing which
he dared not venture if it would make the world a hap-
pier place for those who were young and lovable.
Herein he found so much comfort that he almost wished
he had lost his reputation even more completely — for

338 The Way of All Flesh

he saw that it was like a man's life which may be found
of them that lose it and lost of them that would find it.
He should not have had the courage to give up all for
Christ's sake, but now Christ had mercifully taken "all,
and lo 1 it seemed as though all were found.

As the days went slowly by he came to see that Chris-
tianity and the denial of Christianity after all met as
much as any other extremes do ; it was a fight about
names — not about things ; practically the Church of
Rome, the Church of England, and the freethinker have
the same ideal standard and meet in the gentleman; for
he is the most perfect saint who is the most perfect gen-
I tieman.' Then he saw also that it matters little what
\j profession, whether of religion or irrcligion, a man may
/ make, provided only he follows it out with charitable in-
/ consistency, and without insisting on it to the bitter end,
/ j^ It is in the uiu:oii^>Fomigingness with which dogm a is held
--'t.' .tfndnfif in the dogma or. wantTjf^ogma that the. danger
■ / lies. This was the crowning point of the edifice; when
'' he had got here he no longer wished to molest even the
Pope. The Archbishop of Canterbury might have hopped
about all round him and even picked crumbs out of his
hand without running risk of getting a sly sprinkle of
salt. That wary prelate himself might perhaps have been
of a different opinion, but the robins and thrushes that
hop about our lawns are not more needlessly distrustful
of the hand that throws them out crumbs of bread in
winter, than the Archbishop would have been of my
hero.

Perhaps he was helped to arrive at the foregoing con-
clusion by an event which almost thmst inconsistency
upon him. A few days after he had left the infirmary the
chaplain came to his cell and told him that the prisoner
who played the organ in chapel had just finished his sen-
tence and was leaving the prison ; he therefore offered the
post to Ernest, who he already knew played the organ.
Ernest was at first in doubt whether it would be right for

The Way of All Flesh 339

him to assist at religious services more than he was
actually compelled to do, but the pleasure of playing the
oi^an, and the privileges which the post involved, made
him see excellent reasons for not riding consistency to
death. Having, then, once introduced an element of in-
consistency mio his sysfehi, he~ was far" too' consistnit
"noLto"^ iticpnsistent con&istently, and he lapsed ere long
into an amiable indifferentism which to outward appear-
ance differed but little from the indifferentism from
which Mr, Hawke had aroused him.

By becoming organist he was saved from the tread-
mill, for which the doctor had said he was unfit as yet,
but which he would probably have been put to in due
course as soon as he was stronger. He m^ht have es-
caped the tailor's shop altogether and done'only the com-
paratively light work of attending to the chaplain's rooms
if he had liked, but he wanted to learn as much tailoring
as he could, and did not therefore take advantage of this
offer; he was allowed, however, two hours a day in the
afternoon for practice. From that moment his prison
life ceased to be monotonous, and, the remaining two
months of his sentence slipped by almost as rapidly as
they would have done if he had been free. What with
music, books, learning his trade, and conversation with
the chaplain, who was just the kindly, sensible person
that Ernest wanted in order to steady him a little, the
days went by so pleasantly that when the time came for
him to leave prison, he did so, or thought he did so, not
without regret.

CHAPTER LXIX

In coming to the conclusion that he would sever the con-
nection between himself and his family once for all
Ernest had reckoned without his family. Theobald
wanted to be rid of his son, it is true, in so far as he

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340 The Way of All Flesh

wished him to be no nearer at any rate than th« Antipo-
des; but he had no idea of entirely breaking with him.
He knew his son well enough to have a pretty shrewd
idea that this was what Ernest would wish himself, and
perhaps as much for this reason as for any other he was
determined to keep up the connection, provided it did not
involve Ernest's coming to Battersby nor any recurring
outlay.

When the time approached for him to leave prison, his
father and mother consulted as to what course they
should adopt.

"We must never leave him to himself," said Theobald
impressively; "we can neither of us wish that."

"Oh, no I no ! dearest Theobald," exclaimed Christina.
"Whoever else deserts him, and however distant he may
be from us, he must still feel that he has parents whose
hearts beat with affection for- him no matter how cruelly
he has pained them."

"He has been his own worst enemy," said Theobald.
"He has never loved us as we deserved, and now he will
be withheld by false shame from wishing to see us. He
will avoid us if he can."

"Then we must go to him ourselves," said Christina ;
"whether he likes it or not we must be at his side to sup-
port him as he enters again upon the world."

"If we do not want him to give us the slip we must
catch him as he leaves prison."

"We will, we will ; our faces shall be the first to gladden
his eyes as he comes out, and our voices the first to ex-
hort him to return to the paths of virtue."

"I think," said Theobald, "if he sees us in the street
he will turn round and run away from us. He is in-
tensely selfish."

"Then we must get leave to go inside the prison, and
see him before he gets outside."

After a good deal of discussion this was the plan they

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* The Way of All Flesh 341

decided on adopting, and having so decided, Theobald
wrote to the governor of the gaol askii^ whether he could
be admitted inside the gaol to receive Ernest when his
sentence had expired. He received answer in the affirma-
tive, and the pair left Battersby the day before Ernest
was to come out of prison.

Ernest had not reckoned on this, and was rather sur-
prised on being told a few mmutes before nine that he
was to go into the receiving room before he left the
prison, as there were visitors waiting to see him. His
heart fell, for be guessed who they were, but he screwed
up his courage and hastened to the receiving room.
There, sure enough, standing at the end of the table
nearest the door were the two people whom he r^arded
as the most dangerous enemies he had in all the world —
his father and mother.

He could not fly, but he knew that if he wavered he
was lost.

His mother was crying, but she sprang forward to meet
him and clasped him in her arms. "Oh, my boy, my boy,"
she sobbed, and she could say no more.

Ernest was as white as a sheet His heart beat so that
he could hardly breathe. He let his mother embrace him,
and then withdrawing himself stood silently before her
with the tears falling from his eyes.

At first he could not speak. For a minute or so the
silence on all sides was complete. Then, gathering
strength, he said in a low voice :

"Mother" (it was the first time he had called her any-
thing but "mamma"), "we must part." On this, turning
to the warder, he said : "I believe I am free to leave the
prison if I wish to do so. You cannot compel me to re-
main here longer. Please take me to the gates."

Theobald stepped forward. "Ernest, you must not,
shall not, leave us in this way."

"Do not speak to me," s^ Ernest, his eyes ftashiog

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342 The Way of All Flesh *

with a fire that was unwonted in them. Another warder
then came up and took Theobald aside, while the first
conducted Ernest to the gates.

"Tell them," said Ernest, "from me that they must
think of me as one dead, for I am dead to them. Say
that my greatest pain is the thought of the disgrace I have
inflicted upon them, and that above all things else I will
study to avoid paining them hereafter ; but say also that
if they write to me I will return their letters unopened,
and that if they come and see me I will protect myself in
whatever way I can."

By this time he was at the prison gate, and in another
moment was at liberty. After he had got a few steps out
he turned his face to the prison wall, leant against it for
support, and wept as though his heart would break.

Giving up father and mother for Christ's sake was not
such an easy matter after all. If a man has been pos-
sessed by devils foi* long enough they will rend him as
they leave him, however imperatively they may have
been cast out. Ernest did not stay long where he was,
for he feared each moment that his father and tnother
would come out. He pulled himself t<%ether and turned
into the labyrinth of small streets which opened out in
front of him.

He had crossed his Rubicon — not perhaps very heroi-
cally or dramatically, but then it is only in dramas that
people act dramatically. At any rate, by hook or by crook,
he had scrambled over, and was out upon the other side.
Already he thought of much which he would gladly have
said, and blamed his want of presence of mind; but,
after all, it mattered very little. Inclined though he was
to make very great allowances for his father and mother,
he was indignant at their having thrust themselves upon
him without warning at a moment when the excitement
of leaving prison was already as much as he was fit for.
It was a mean advantage to have taken over him, but he
: was glad they had taken it, for it made him realise more

The Way of All Flesh 343

fully than ever that his one chance lay in separating hin^
self completely from them.

The morning was grey, and the first signs of winter
fog were beginning to show themselves, for it was now
the 30th of September. Ernest wore the clothes in which
he had entered prison, and was therefore dressed as a
clergyman. No one who looked at him would have seen
any difference between his presenf appearance and his
appearance six months previously ; indeed, as he walked
slowly through the dingy crowded lane called Eyre
Street Hill (which he well knew, for he had clerical
friends in that neighbourhood), the months he had passed
in prison seemed to drop out of his life, and so power-
fully did association carry him away that, finding himself
in his old dress and in his old surroundings, he felt
draped back into his old self — as though his six months
of prison life had been a dream from which he was now
waking to take things up as he had left them. This was
the effect of unchanged surroundings upon the unchanged
part of hifn. But there was a changed part, and the
effect of unchanged surroundings upon this was to make
everything seem almost as strange as though he had never
had any life but his prison one, and was now bom into
a new world,

All our lives long, every day and every hour, we are
engaged in the process of accOTimodating our changed

rf"BeIve"s~Io changed ,^tul.-uiichaiigeil sax-r .

ina, hi tmi, ITi'Tiothing f 1°.'*. f**^" *''" p""-- 1

nimoaation^ wlien we fad in it a little we are I

stupid, when we fail flagrantly we are mad, when we sus- \
pend it temporarily we sleep, when we give up the at-
tempt altogether we die. In quiet, uneventful lives the ]
changes internal and external are so small that there is
little or no strain in the process of fusion and accommo-
dation ; in other lives there is great strain, but there is
also great fusing and accommodating power; in others
great strain with little accommodating power. A life will

344 The Way of All Flesh

'' be successful or not accordit^ as the power of accomnid-
t dation is equal to or unequal to the strain of fusing and
, adjusting internal and external changes.
1 The trouble is that in the end we shall be driven to

\ "admit the unity of the universe so completely as to be
', compelled to deny that there is either an external or an
I internal, but must see everything both as external and
internal at one and the same time, subject and object —
external and internal — being unified as much as every-
thing else. This will knock our whole system ove r, but
then every system has got to be knocked over by some-
Much the best way out of this difficulty is to go in for'.
separation between internal and external — subject and '
object — when we find this convenient, and unity between
the same when we find unity convenient. This is ill<^-
cal, but extremes are atone logical, and they are always
absurd, tlK^mean is alone practicable and it is always
illogical. Qt is faith and not logic which is the supreme
1, . arbtter^They say all roads lead to Rome, and all philoso-
^phies that I have ever seen lead ultimately either to some
{ gross absurdity, or else to the conclusion already more
Vhan once insisted on m these pages, **'^thf' j'"^ shg]^
liv e bv faith^ that is to say that sensible people will get
V Jthrough life "By rule of thumb as they may interpret it
— -"Jfciost conveniently without asking too many questicHis
/ for conscience sake. Take any fact, and reason upon it to
the bitter end, and it will ere long lead to this as the
only refuge from some palpable folly.

But to return to my story. When Ernest got to the
top of the street and looked back, he saw the grimy, sullen
walls of his prison filling up the end of it. He paused for
a minute or two. "There," he said to himself, "I was
hemmed in by bolts which I could see and touch ; here I
am barred by others which are none the less real — poverty
and ignorance of the world. It was no part of my busi-
ness to try to break the material bolts of inm and escape

The Way of All Flesh '345

from prison, but now that I am free I must surely seek
to break these others,"

He had read somewhere of a prisoner who had made
his escape by cutting up his bedstead with an iron spoon.
He admired and marvelled at the man's mind, but could
not even try to imitate him ; in the presence of imma-
terial barriers, however, he was not so easily daunted,
and felt as though, even if the bed were iron and the
spoon a wooden one, he could find some means of mak-
ing the wood cut the iron sooner or later.

He turned his back upon Eyre Street Hill and walked
down Leather Lane into Holbom. Each step he took,
each face or object that he knew, helped at once to link
him on to the Kfe he had led before his imprisonment,
and at the same time to make him feel how completely
that imprisonment had cut his life into two parts, the
one of which could bear no resemblance to the other.

He passed down Fetter Lane into Fleet Street and so
to the Temple, to which I had just returned from my
summer holiday. It was about half past nine, and I
was having my breakfast, when I heard a timid knock at
tbe door and opened it to find Ernest

CHAPTER LXX

I HAD began to like him on the night Towneley had sent
for me, and on the following day I thought he had shaped
well. I had liked him also during our interview in prison,
and wanted to see more of him, so that I might make up
my mind about him. I had lived long enough to know
that some men who do great things in the end are not very
wise when they are yomig ; knowing that he would leave
prison on the 30th, I had expected him, and, as I had a
spare bedroom, pressed him to say with me till he could
inake up his mind what he would do.

Being so much older than he was, I anticipated no

346 The Way of All Flesh

trouble in getting my own way, but he would not hear
of it. The utnx>st he would assent to was that he should
be my guest till he could find a room for himself, which
he would set about doing at once.

He was still much agitated, but grew better as he ate a
breakfast, not of prison fare and in a comfortable room.
It pleased me to see the delight he took in all about him ;
the fireplace with a fire in it ; the easy chairs, the Times,
my cat, the red geraniums in the window, to say nothing
of coffee, bread and butter, sausages, marmalade, etc.
Everything was pregnant with the most exquisite pleasure
to him. The plane trees were full of leaf still ; he kept
rising from the breakfast table to admire them ; never till
now, he said, had he known what the enjoyment of these
things really was. He ate, looked, laughed and cried by
turns, with an emotion which I can neither forget nor
describe.

He told me how his father and mother had lain in
wait for him, as he was about to leave prison. I was
furious, and applauded him heartily for what he had
done. He was very grateful to me for this. Other peo-
jple, he said, would tell him he ought to think of his
/father and mother rather than of himself, and it was
I such a comfort to find someone who saw things as he
I saw them himself. Even if I had differed from him I
should not have said so, but I was of his opinion, and
was almost as much obliged to him for seeing things as
I saw them, as he to me for doing the same kind office by
himself. Qjrdially as I disliked Theobald and Christina,
1 was in such a hopeless minority in the opinion I had
formed concerning them that it was pleasant to find some-
one who agreed with me.

Then there came an awful moment for both of us.

A knock, as of a visitor and not a postman, was heard
at my door.

"Goodness gracious," I exclaimed, "why didn't we
sport the oak? Perhaps it is your father. But surely

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The Way of All Flesh 347

he would hardly come at this time of day I Go at once
into my bedroom."

I went to the door, and, sure enough, there were both
Theobald and Chrbtina. I could not refuse to let them
in and was obliged to listen to their version of the story,
which agreed substantially with Ernest's. Christina cried
bitterly — Theobald stormed. After about ten minutes,
during which I assured them that I had not the faintest
conception where their son was, I dismissed them both.
I saw they looked suspiciously upon the manifest signs
that someone was breakfasting with me, and parted from
me more or less defiantly, but I got rid of them, and poor
Ernest came out again, looking white, frightened and up-
set. He had heard voices, but no more, and did not feel
sure that the enemy might not be gaining over me. We
sported the oak now, and before lot^ he b^an to re-'
cover.

After breakfast, we discussed the situation. I had
taken away his wardrobe and books from Mrs. Jupp's,
but had left his furniture, pictures and piano, giving
Mrs. Jupp the use of these, so that she might let her room
furnished, in Heu of charge for taking care of the furni-
ture. As soon as Ernest heard that his wardrobe was at
hand, he got out a suit of clothes he had had before he
had been ordained, and put it on at once, much, as I
thought, to the improvement of his personal appear-
ance.

Then we went into the subject of his finances. He had
had ten pounds from Pryer only a day or two before
he was apprehended, of which between seven and eight
were in his purse when he entered the prison. This
money was restored to him on leaving. He had always
paid cash for whatever he bought, so that there was
nothii^ to be deducted for debts. Besides this, he had
his clothes, books and furniture. He could, as I have
said, have had iioo from his father if he had chosen to
emigrate, but this both Ernest and I (for he brot^ht me

v.Goo'^lc

348 The Way of All Flesh

round to his opinion) agreed it would be better to decline.
This was all he knew of as belonging to him.

He said he proposed at once taking an unfurnished top
back attic in as quiet a house as he could find, say at
three or four shillings a week, and lookit^ out for work
as a tailor. I did not think it much mattered what he
began with, for I felt pretty sure he would ere long find
his way to something that suited him, if he could get
a start with anything at all. The difficulty was how to
get him started. It was not enoi^h that he should be
able to cut out and make clothes — that he should have the
organs, so to speak, of a tailor ; he must be put into a
tailor's shop and guided for a little while by someone
who knew how and where to help him.

The rest of the day he spent in looking for a room,
which he soon found, and in familiarising himself with
liberty. In the evening I took him to the Olympic,
where Robson was then acting in a burlesque on Macbeth,
Mrs. Keeley, if I remember r^htly, taking the part of
Lady Macbeth. In the scene before the murder, Mac-
beth had said he could not kill Duncan when he saw his
boots upon the landing. Lady Macbeth put a stop to her
husband's hesitation by whipping him up under her arm,
and carrying him off the stage, kicking and screaming.
Ernest laughed till he cried. "What rot Shakespeare is
after this," he exclaimed, involuntarily. I remembered
his essay on the Greek tragedians, and was more epris
with him than ever.

Next day he set about looking for empkiyment, and
I did not see him till about five o'clock, when he came
and said that he had had no success. The same thing
happened the next day and the day after that. Wherever
he went he was invariably refused and often ordered
point blank out of the shop ; I could see by the expression
of his face, though he said nothing, that he was getting
fr^htened, and began to think I should have to come to
the rescue. He said he had made a great many enquiries

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The Way of All Flesh 349

and had always been told the same story. He found that
it was easy to keep on in an old line, but very hard to
strike out into a new one.

He talked to the fishmonger in Leather Lane, where
he went to buy a bloater for his tea, casually as though
from curiosity and without any interested motive. "Sell,"
said the master of the shop, "why, nobody wouldn't be-
Keve what can be sold by penn'orths and twopenn'orths
if you go the right way to work. Look at whelks, for in-
stance. Last Saturday night me and my little Emma
here, we sold tj worth of whelks between eight and half
past eleven o'clock — and almost all in penn'orths and two
penn'orths — a few hap'orths, but not many. It was the
steam that did it. We kept a-boiling of 'cm hot and hot,
and whenever the steam came strong up from the cellar
on to the pavement, the people bought, but whenever the
steam went down they left off buying ; so we boiled them
over and over again till they was all sold. That's just
where tt is; if you know your business you can sell; if
you don't you'll soon make a mess of it. Why, but for
the steam, I should not have sold los. worth of whelks
all the night through." '

This and many another yam of kindred substance
which he heard from other people determined Ernest
more than ever to stake on tailoring as the one trade
about which he knew anything at all, nevertheless, here
were three or four days gone by and employment seemed
as far off as ever,

I now did what I ot^ht to have done before, that is
to say, I called on my own tailor whom I had dealt with
for over a quarter of a century and asked his advice.
He declared Ernest's plan to be hopeless. "If," said Mr.
Larkins, for this was my tailor's name, "he had begun
at fourteen, it might have done, but no man of twenty-
four could stand being turned to work into a workshop
full of tailors; he would not get on with the men, nor
the men with him ; you could not expect him to be 'hail

350 The Way of All Flesh

fellow, well met' with them, and you could not expect his
fellow-workmen to like him if he was not. A man must
have sunk low through drink or natural taste for low
company, before he could get on with those who have had
such 3 different training from his own."

Mr. Larkins said a great deal more and wound up by
taking me to see the place where his own men worked.
"This is a paradise," ne said, "compared to most work-
shops. What gentleman could stand this air, think you,
for a fortnight?"

I was glad enough to get out of the hot, fetid atmos-
phere in five minutes, and saw that there was no brick of
Ernest's prison to be loosened by going and working
among tailors in a workshop.

Mr. Larkins wound up by saying that even if my pro-
Ugi were a much better workman than he probably was,
no master would give him employment, for fear of creat-
ing a bother among the men.

I left, feeling that I ot^ht to have thought of all this
myself, and was more than ever perplexed as to whether
I had not better let my young friend have a few thousand
pounds and send him out to the colonies, when, on my
return home at about five o'clock, I found him waiting for
me, radiant, and declaring that he had found all he
wanted.

CHAPTER LXXI

It seems he had been patrolling the streets for the last
three or four nights — I suppose in search of somethii^
to do — at any rate knowing better what he wanted to get
tljan how to get it. Nevertheless, what he wanted was
in reality so easily to be found that it took a highly
educated scholar like himself to be unable to find it. But,
however this may be, he had been scared, and now saw
lions where there were none, and was shocked and fright-

The Way of All Flesh 351

ened, and night after night his courage had failed him
and he had returned to his lodgings in Laystall Street
without accomplishing his errand. He had not taken me
into his confidence upon this matter, and I had not en-
quired what he did with himself in the evenings. At last
he had concluded that, however painful it might be to
him, he would call on Mrs. Jupp, who he thought would
be able to help him if anyone could. He had been walk-
ing moodily from seven till about nine, and now resolved
to go straight to Ashpit Place and make a mother con-
fessor of Mrs. Jupp without more delay.

Of all tasks that could be performed by mortal woman
there was none which Mrs. Jupp would have liked better
than the one Ernest was thinking of imposing upon her;
nor do I know that in his scared and broken-down state
he could have done much better than he now proposed.
Mrs. Jupp would have made it very easy for him to
open his grief to her ; indeed, she would have coaxed it a!l
out of him before he knew where he was ; but the fates
were against Mrs. Jupp, and the meeting between my
hero and his former landlady was postponed sine die, for
his determination had hardly been formed and he had not
gone more than a hundred yards in the direction of Mrs.
Jupp's house, when a woman accosted him.

He was turning from her, as he had turned from so
many others, when she started back with a movement
that aroused his curiosity. He had hardly seen her face,
but. being determined to catch sight of it, followed her
as she hurried away, and passed her ; then turning round
he saw that she was none other than Ellen, the housemaid
who had been dismissed by his mother eight years pre-
viously.

He ought to have assigned Ellen's unwillingness to see
him to its true cause, but a guilty conscience made him
think she had heard of his disgrace and was turning away
from him in contempt. Brave as had been his resolu-
tions about facing the world, this was more than he wa9

352 The Way of All Flesh

prepared for. "What! you too shun me, Ellen?" he
eacclaimed.

The girl was crying bitterly and did not understand
him. "Oh, Master Emest," she sobbed, "let me go;
you are too good for the likes of me to speak to now."

"Why, Ellen," said he, "what nonsense you talk; you
haven't been in prison, have you ?"

"Oh, no, no, no, not so bad as that," she exclaimed
passionately.

"Well, I have," said Emest, with a forced laugh; "I
~ came out three or four days ago after six months with
hard labour."

Ellen did not believe him, hut she looked at him with a
"Lor' I Master Emest," and dried her eyes at once. The
ice was broken between them, for as a matter of fact
Ellen had been in prison several times, and thoi^h she
did not believe Emest, his merely saying he had been in
prison made her feel more at ease with him. For her
there were two classes of people, those who had been in
prison and those who had not. The first she looked upon
as fellow-creatures and more or less Christians, the sec-
ond, with few exceptions, she regarded with suspicion,
not wholly unmtngled with contempt.

Then Emest told her what had happened to him dur-
ing the last six months, and by-and-by she believed him.

"Master Emest," said she, after they had talked for a
quarter of an hour or so, "there's a place over the way
where they sell tripe and onions. I know you was always
very fond of tripe and onions; let's go over and have
some, and we can talk better there."

So the pair crossed the street and entered the tripe
shop; Emest ordered supper.

"And how is your pore dear mamma, and your dear
papa. Master Eraest," said Ellen, who had now recov-
ered herself and was quite at home with my hero. "Oh,
dear, dear me," she said, "I did love your pa ; he was a

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The Way of All Flesh 353

good gentleman, he was, and youf ma too; it would do
anyone good to live with her, I'm sure."

Ernest was surprised and hardly knew what to say. He
had expected to find Ellen indignant at the way she had
been treated, and inclined to lay the blame of her having
fallen to her present state at his father's and mother's
door. It was not so. Her only recollection of Battersby
was as of a place where she had had plenty to eat and
drink, not too much hard work, and where she had not
been scolded. When she heard that Ernest had quarrelled
with his father and mother she assumed as a matter of
course that the fault must lie entirely with Ernest.

"Oh, your pore, pore ma I" said Ellen. "She was
always so very fond of you, Master Ernest: you was
always her favourite ; I can't abear to think of anything
between you and her. To think now of the way she
used to have me into the dining-room and teach me my
catechism, that she did! Oh, Master Ernest, you really
must go and make it all up with her ; indeed you must."

Ernest felt rueful, but he had resisted so valiantly
already that the devil might have saved himself the
trouble of trying to get at him through Ellen in the mat-
ter of his father and mother. He changed the subject,
and the pair warmed to one anotHer as they had their
tripe and pots of beer. Of all people in the world Ellen
was perhaps the one to whom Ernest could have spoken
most freely at this juncture. He told her what he thought
he could have told to no one else. '

"You know, Ellen," he concluded, "I had learnt as a
boy things that I ou^t not to have learnt, and had never ,
had a chance of that which would have set me straight."

"Gentlefolks is always like that," said Ellen musii^Iy.

"I believe you are right, but I am no longer a gentle-
man, Ellen, and I don't see why I should be 'like that'
any longer, my dear. I want you to help me to be like
something else as soon as possible."

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354 The Way of All Flesh

"Lor' I Master Ernest, whatever can you be meaning?"

The pair soon afterwards left the eating-houK and
walked up Fetter Lane together.

Ellen had had hard times since she had left Battersl^,
but they had left little trace upon her.

Ernest saw only the fresh-looking, smilir^ face, the
dimpled cheek, the clear blue eyes and lovely, sphinx-like
lips which he had remembered as a boy. At nineteen she
had looked older than she was, now she looked much
younger; indeed she looked hardly older than when
Ernest had last seen her, and it would have taken a man
of much greater experience than he possessed to suspect
how completely she had fallen from her first estate. It
never occurred to him that the poor condition of her
wardrobe was due to her passion for ardent spirits, and
that first and last she had served five or six times as much
time in gaol as he had. He ascribed the poverty of her
attire to the attempts to keep herself respectable, which
Ellen during supper had more than once alluded to.
He had been charmed with the way in which she had de-
clared that a pint of beer would make her tipsy, and had
only allowed herself to be forced into drinking the whole
after a good deal of remonstrance. To him she appeared
a very angel dropped from the sky, and all the more easy
to get on with for being a fallen one.

As he walked up Fetter Lane with her towards Laystall
Street, he thought of the wonderful goodness of God
towards him in throwing in his way the very person of
all others whom he was most glad to see, and whom, of
all others, in spite of her living so near him, he might
have never fallen in with but for a happy accident

When people get it into their heads that they are being
specially favoured by the Almighty, they had better as a
general rule mind their p's and q's, and when they think
they see the devil's drift with more special clearaess, let
them remember that he has had much more experience
than they have, and is probably meditating mischief.

The Way of All Flesh 355

Already during supper the thought that in Ellen at last
he had found a woman whom he could love well enot^h
to wish to live with and marry had flitted across his mind,
and the more they had chatted the more reasons kept
suggesting themselves for thinking that what might be
folly in ordinary cases would not be folly in his.

He must marry someone; that was already settled.
He could not marry a lady ; that was absurd. He must
marry a poor woman. Yes, but a fallen one? Was he
not fallen himself ? Ellen would fall no more. He had
only to look at her to be sure of this. He could not live
with her in sin, not for more than the shortest time that |
could elapse before their marriage ; he no longer believed [
in the supernatural element of Christianity, but the Chris- \
tian morality at any rate was indisputable. Besides, ,
they might have children, and a stigma would rest upon i
them. Whom had he to consult but himself now? His /
father and mother never need know, and even if they did, j
they should be thankful to see him married to any woman
who would make him happy as Ellen would. A^ for not
beii^ able to afford marriage,- how did poor people do?
Did not a good wife rather help matters than not? Where
one could live two could do so, and if Ellen was three or
four years older than he was — well, what was that ?

Have you, gentle reader, ever loved at first sight?
When you fell in love at first sight, how long, let me ask,
did it take you to become ready to fling every other con-
sideration to the winds except that of obtaining posses-
sion of the loved one ? Or rather, how long would it have
taken you if you had had no father or mother, nothing to
lose in the way of money, position, friends, professicHial
advancement, or what not, and if the object of your
affections was as free from all these impedimenta as you
were yourself ?

If you were a young John Stuart Mill, perhaps it
would have taken you some time, but suppose your na-
ture was Quixotic, impulsive, altruistic, guileless; sup-

356 The Way of All Flesh

pose you were a hungry man starving for somethii^ to
love and lean upon, for one whose burdens you mij^t
bear, and who might help you to bear yours. Suppose
yoii were down on your luck, still stunned by a horrible
shock, and this bright vista of a happy future floated
suddenly before you, how long tmder these circumstances
do you think you would reflect before you would decide
on embracing what chance had thrown in your way ?

It did not take my hero long, for before he got past the
ham and beef shop near the top of Fetter Lane, he had
told Ellen that she must come home with him and live
with him till they could get married, which they would do
upon the first day that the law allowed.

I think the devil must have chuckled and made toler-
ably sure of his game this time.

CHAPTER LXXII

Ernest told Ellen of his difficulty about finding employ-
ment.

"But what do you think of going into a shop for, my
dear," said Ellen. "Why not take a little shop your-
self?"

Ernest asked how much this would cost. Ellen told
him that he might take a house in some small street,
say near the "Elephant and Castle," for 17s. or l8s. a
week, and let off the two top floors for los., keeping the
back parlour and shop for themselves. If he could raise
five or six pounds to buy some second-hand clothes to
stock the shop with, they could mend them and clean
them, and she could look after the women's clothes while
he did the men's. Then he could mend and make, if he
could get the orders.

They could soon make a business of £2 a. week in this
way ; she had a friend who began like that and had now
moved to a better shop, where she made £$ oy £6 i week

The Way of All Flesh 357

at least — ^and she, Ellen, had done the greater part of the
buying and selling herself.

Here was a new light indeed. It was as though he had
got his £5000 back again all of a sudden, and perhaps
ever so much more later on into the bargain. Ellen
seemed more than ever to be his good genius.

She went out and got a few rashers of bacon for his
and her breakfast. She cooked them much more nicely
than he had been able to do, and laid breakfast for him
and made coffee, and some nice brown toast. Ernest
had been his own cook and housemaid for the last few
days and had not given himself satisfaction. Here he
suddenly found himself with someone to wait on him
again. Not only had Ellen pointed out to him how he
could earn a living when no one except himself had
known how to advise him, but here she was so pretty
and smiling, looking after even his comforts, and
restoring him practically in all respects that he much
cared about to the position which he had lost — or rather
putting him in one that he already liked much better.
No wonder he was radiant when he came to explain his
plans to me.

He had some difficulty in telling all that had happened.
He hesitated, blushed, hummed and hawed. Misgivings
began to cross his mind when he found himself obliged to
tell his story to someone else. He felt inclined to slur
things over, but I wanted to get at the facts, so I helped
him over the bad places, and questioned him till I had
got out pretty nearly the whole story as I have given it
above.

I hope I did not show it, but I was very angry. I had
begun to like Ernest. I don't know why, but I never have
heard that any young man to whom I had become at-
tached was going to get married without hating his in-
tended instinctively, though I had never seen her; I
have observed that most bachelors feel the same thing,
though we are generally at some pains to hide the fact

358 The Way of All Flesh

Perhaps it is because we know we ought to have got
married ourselves. Ordinarily we say we are delighted
— in the present case I did not feel obliged to do this,
though I made an effort to conceal my vexation. That
a young man of much promise who was heir also to what
was now a handsome fortune, should fling himself away
upon such a person as Ellen was quite too provoking, and
the more so because of the unexpectedness of the whole
affair.

I begged him not to marry Ellen yet — not at least until
he had known her for a longer time. He would not hear
of it ; he had given his word, and if he had not given it
he should go and give it at once. I had hitherto found
him upon most matters singularly docile and easy to man-
age, but on this point I could do nothing with htm. His
recent victory over his father and mother had increased
his strei^h, and I was nowhere. I would have told him
of his true position, but I knew very well that this would
only make him more bent on having his own way — for
with so much money why should he not please himself ?
I said nothing, therefore, on this head, and yet all that
I could urge went for very little with one who believed
himself to be an artisan or nothing.

Really from his own standpoint there was nothing very
outrageous in what he was doing. He had known and
been very fond of Ellen years before. He knew her to
come of respectable people, and to have home a good
diaracter, and to have been universally liked at Battersby.
She was then a quick, smart, hard-working girl — and a
very pretty one. When at last they met again she was on
her best behaviour — in fact, she was modesty and de-
mureness itself. What wonder, then, that his imagination
should fail to realise the changes that eight years must
have worked? He knew too much against himself, and
was too bankrupt in love to be squeamish ; if Ellen had
been only what he thought her, and if his prospects had
been in reality no better than he believed they were, I

The Way of All Flesh 359

do not know that there is anything much more imprudent
in what Ernest proposed than there is in half the mar-
riages that take place every day.

There was nothing for it, however, but to make the
best of the inevitable, so I wished my young friend good
fortune, and told him he could have whatever money he
wanted to start his shop with, if what he had in hand was
not sufficient. He thanked me, asked me to be kind
enough to let him do all my mending and repairing, and
to get him any other like orders that I could, and left me
to my own reflections.

I was even more angry when he was gone than I had
been while he was with me. His frank, boyish face had
beamed with a happiness that had rarely visited it. Ex-
cept at Cambridge he had hardly known what hap[»ness
meant, and even there his life had been clouded as of
a man for whom wisdom at the greatest of its entrances
was quite shut out. I had seen enough of the world
and of him to have observed this, but it was impossible,
or I thought it had been impossible, for me to have helped
him.

Whether I ought to have tried to help him or not I do
not know, but I am sure that the young of all anunals
often do want help upon matters about which anyone
would say a priori that there should be no difficulty.
One would think that a young seal would want no teach-
ing how to swim, nor yet a bird to fly, but in practice a
young seal drowns if put out of its depth before its par-
ents have taught it to swim ; and so again, even the young
hawk must be taught to fly before it can do so.

I grant that the tendency of the times is to exaggerate
the good which teaching can do, but in trying to teach
too much, in most matters, we have neglected others in
respect of which a little sensible teaching woukl do »o
harm.

I know it is the fashion to say that young people must
find out things for themselves, and so Uiey probably

36o The Way of All Flesh

would if they had fair play to the extent of not having
obstacles put in their way. But they seldom have fair
play ; as a general rule they meet with foul play, and foul
play from those who live by selling them stones made into
a great variety of shapes and sizes so as to form a toler-
able imitation of bread.

Some are lucky enough to meet with few obstacles,
some are plucky enough to override them, but in the
greater number of cases, if people are saved at all they
are saved so as by fire.

While Ernest was with me Ellen was looking out for a
shop on the south side of the Thames near the "Elephant
and Castle," which was then almost a new and a very
rising neighbourhood. By one o'clock she had found
several from which a selection was to be made, and be-
fore night the pair had made their choice.

Ernest brought Ellen to me. I did not want to see
her, but could not well refuse. He had laid out a few
of his shillings upon her wardrobe, so that she was neatly
dressed, and, indeed, she looked very pretty and so good
that I could hardly be surprised at Ernest's infatuation
when the other circumstances of the case were taken into
consideration. Of course we hated one another instinc-
tively from the first moment we set eyes on one another,
but we each told Ernest that we had been most favour-
ably impressed.
■ Then I was taken to see the shop. An empty house is
like a stray dog or a body from which life has departed.
Decay sets in at once in every part of it, and what mould
and wind and weather would spare, street boys commonly
destroy. Ernest's shop in its untenanted state was a
dirty, unsavoury place enough. The house was not old,
but it had been run up by a jerry-builder and its con-
stitution had no stamina whatever. It was only by being
kept warm and quiet that it would remain in health for
many months together. Now it had been empty for
some weeks and the cats had got in by night, while the

The Way of All Flesh 361

boys had broken the windows by day. The parlour floor
was covered with stones and dirt, and in the area was a
dead dog which had been killed in the streiet and been
thrown down into the first unprotected place that could
be found. There was a strong smell throughout the
house, but whether it was bugs, or rats, or cats, or drains,
or a compound of all four, I could not determine. The
sashes did not fit, the flimsy doors hung badly ; the skirt-
ing was gone in Several places, and there were not a few
holes in the floor; the locks were loose, and paper was
torn and dirty ; the stairs were weak and one felt the
treads give as one went up them.

Over and above these drawbacks the house had an ill
name, by reason of the fact that the wife of the last oc-
cupant had hanged herself in it not very many weeks
previously. She had set down a bloater before the fire
for her husband's tea, and had made him a round of
toast. She then left the room as though about to return
to it shortly, but instead of doing so she went into the
back kitchen and hanged herself without a word. It
was this which had kept the house empty so long in spite
of its excellent position as a comer shop. The last
tenant had left immediately after the inquest, and if the
owner had had it done up then people would have got
over the tragedy that had been enacted in it, but the com-
bination of bad condition and bad fame had hindered
many from taking it, who, like Ellen, could see that it had
great business capabilities. Almost anything would have
sold there, but it happened also that there was no second-
hand clothes shop in close proximity, so that everything
combined in its favour, except its filthy state and its
reputation.

When I saw it, I thought I would rather die than live
in such an awful place — but then I had been living in the
Temple for the last five and twenty years. Ernest was
lodging in Laystall Street and had just come out of
prison ; before this he had lived in Ashpit Place, so that

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362 The Way of All Flesh

this house had no terrors for him provided he could geC
it done up. The difficulty was that the landlord was hard
to move in this respect. It ended in my finding the money
to do everything that was wanted, and taking a lease of
the house for five years at the same rental as that paid
by the last occupant. I then sublet it to Ernest,
of course taking care that it was put more efficiently
into repair than his landlord was at all likely to have
put it.

A week later I called and found everything so com-
pletely transformed that I should hardly have recognised
the house. All the ceilings had been whitewashed, all
the rooms papered, the broken glass hacked out and rein-
stated, the defective wood-work renewed, all the sashes,
cupboards and doors had been painted. The drains had
been thoroughly overhauled, everythii^ in fact that could
be done had been done, and the rooms now looked as
cheerful as they had been forbidding when I had last
seen them. The people who had done the repairs were
supposed to have cleaned the house down before leaving,
but Ellen had given it another scrub from top to bottom
herself after they were gone, and it was as clean as a
new pin. I almost felt as though I could have lived in it
myself, and as for Ernest, he was in the seventh heaveo.
He said it was all my doing and Ellen's.

There was already a counter in the shop and a few
fittii^, so that nothing now remained but to get some
stock and set them out for sale. Ernest said he could not
begin better than by selling his clerical wardrobe and bis
books, for though the shop was intended especially for the
sale of second-hand clothes, yet Ellen said there was no
reason why they should not sell a few books too; so a
beginning was td be made by selling the books he had had
at school and college at about one shilling a volume, tak-
ing them all round, and I have heard him say that he
learned more that proved of practical use to him throi^h
stocking his books on a bench in front of his shop and

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The Way of All Flesh 363

selling them, than he had done from all the years of study
which he had bestowed upon their contents.

For the enquiries that were made of him, whether he
had such and such a book, taught him what he could sell
and what he could not ; how much he could get for this,
and how much for that. Having made ever such a little
banning with books, he took to attending book sales as
well as clothes sales, and ere long this branch of his
business became no less important than the tailoring, and
would, I have no doubt, have been the one which he
would have settled down to exclusively, if he had been
called upon to remain a tradesman ; but this is anticipat-
ing.

I made a contribution and a stipulation. Ernest wanted
to sink the gentleman completely, until such time as he
could work his way up again. If he had been left to
himself he would have lived with Ellen in the shop back
parlour and kitchen, and have let out both the upper floors
according to his original programme. I did not want him,
however, to cut himself adrift from music, letters and
polite life, and feared that unless he had some kind of
den into which he could retire he would ere long become
the tradesman and nothing else. I therefore insisted on
taking the first floor front and back myself, and furnish-
ing them with the things which had been left at Mrs.
Jupp's. I bought these things of him for a small sum
and had them moved into his present abode.

I went to Mrs. Jupp's to arrange all this, as Ernest did
not like going to Ashpit Place. I had half expected to
find the furniture sold and Mrs. Jupp gone, but it was
not so ; with all her faults the poor old woman was per-
fectly honest.

I told her that Pryer had taken all Ernest's money and
run away with it. She hated Pryer. "I never knew any-
one," she exclaimed, "as white-livered in the face as that
Pryer ; he hasn't got an upright vein in his whole body.
Why, all that time whto he used to come breakfasting

364 The Way of All Flesh

with Mr. Pontifex morning after morning, it took me to
a perfect shadow the way he carried on. There was no
doing anything to please him right. First I used to get
them eggs and bacon, and he didn't like that ; and then I
got him a bit of iish, and he didn't like that, or else it was
too dear, and you know fish is dearer than ever ; and then
I got him a bit of German, and he said it rose on him ;
then I tried sausages, and he said they hit him in the eye
worse even than German ; oh I how I used to wander my
room and fret about it inwardly and cry for hours, and
all about them paltry breakfasts — and ifwasn't Mr. Ponti-
fex ; he'd like anything that anyone chose to give him.

"And so the piano's to go," she continued. "What
beautiful tunes Mr, Pontifex did play upon it, to be sure ;
and there was one I liked better than any I ever heard. I
was in the room when he played it once and when I said,
'Oh, Mr, Pontifex, that's the kind of woman I am,' he
said, 'No, Mrs. jFupp, it isn't, for this tune is old, but no
one can say you are old.' But, bless you, he meant noth-
ing by it, it was only his mucky flattery."

Like myself, she was vexed at his getting married.
She didn't like his being married, and she didn't like his
not being married — but, anyhow, it was Ellen's fault, not
his, and she hoped he wopld be happy. "But after all,"
she concluded, Qt ain't you and it ain't me, and it ain't
him and it ain't nfer. It's what you must call the fortuity
of matterimony, for there ain't no other word for it.'^

In the course of the afternoon the furniture arrived
at Ernest's new abode. In the first floor we placed the
piano, table, pictures, bookshelves, a couple of arm-
chairs, and all the little household gods which he had
brought from Cambridge. The back room was furnished
exactly as his bedroom at Ashpit Place had been — new
things being got for the bridal apartment downstairs.
These two first-floor rooms I insisted on retaining as
my own, but Ernest was to use them whenever he
pleased ; he was never to sublet even the bedroom, but

The Way of All Flesh 365

was to keep it for himself in case his wife should be til
at any time, or in case he might be ill himself.

In less than a fortnight from the time of his leaving
prison all these arrangements had been completed, and
Ernest felt that he had again linked himself on to the
life which he had led before his imprisonment — with a
few important differences, however, which were greatly
to his advantage. He was no longer a clergyman ; he was
about to marry a woman to whom he was much attached,
and he had parted company for ever with his father
and mother.

True, he had lost all his money, his reputation, and
his position as a gentleman ; he had, in fact, had to bum
his house down in order to get his roast sucking pig;
but if asked whether he would rather be as he was now
or as he was on the day before his arrest, he would not
have had a moment's hesitation in preferring his present
to his past. If his present could only have been pur-
chased at the expense of all that he had gone through,
it was still worth purchasing at the price, and he would
go through it all again if necessary. The loss of the
money was the worst, but Ellen said she was sure they
would get on, and she knew all about it. As for the loss
of reputation — comidering that he had Ellen and me left,
it did not come to much.

I saw the house on the afternoon of the day on which
all was finished, and there remained nothing but to buy
some stock and begin selling. When I was gone, after
he had had his tea, he stole up to his castle — the first
floor front. He lit his pipe and sat down to the piano.
He played Handel for an hour or so, and then set him-
self to the table to read and write. He took all his
sermons and all the theal(^cal works he had begun to
compose during the time he had been a clergyman and
put them in the fire; as he saw them consume he felt
as though he had got rid of another incubus. Then he
took up some of the little pieces he had b«%un to write

366 The Way of All Flesh

during the latter part of his undei^jaduate life at Cam-
bridge, and began to cut them about and rewrite them.
As he worked quietly at these till he heard the clock
strike ten and it was time to go to bed, he felt that he
was now not only happy but supremely happy.

Next day Ellen took him to Debenham's auction
rooms, and they surveyed the lots of clothes which were
hung up all round the auction room to be viewed. Elleil
had had sufficient experience to know about how much
each lot ought to fetch; she overhauled lot after lot,
and valued it; in a very short time Ernest himself be-
gan to have a pretty fair idea what each lot should go
for, and before the morning- was over valued a dozen
lots running at prices about which Ellen said he would
not hurt if he could get them for that.

So far from disliking this work or finding it tedious,
he liked it very much, indeed he would have liked any-
thing which did not overtax his physical strength, and
which held out a prospect of bringing him in money.
Ellen would not let him buy anything on the occasion of
this sale; she said he had better see one sale first and
watch how prices actually went. So at twelve o'clock
when the sale began, he saw the lots sold which he and
Ellen had marked, and by the time the sale was over he
knew enot^ to be able to bid with safety whenever
he should actually want to buy. Knowledge of this sort
is very easily acquired by anyone who is in bona fide
want of it.

But Ellen did not want him to buy at auctions — not
much at least at present. Private dealing, she said, was
best If I, for example, had any cast-of^ clothes, he was
to buy them from my laundress, and get a connectior.
with other laundresses, to whom he might give a trifle
more than they got at present for whatever clothes their
masters might give them, and yet make a good profit. If
gentlemen sold their things, he was to try and get them
to sell to him. He flinched at nothing ; perhaps he would

The Way of All Flesh 367

have flinched if he had had any idea how ovtrS his pro-
ceedings were, but the very ignorance of the world
which had ruined him up till now, by a happy irony be-
gan to work its own cure. If some malignant fairy had
meant to curse him in this respect, she had overdone her
malice. He did not know he was doing anything strange.
He only knew that he had no money, and must provide
for himself, a wife, and a possible family. More than
this, he wanted to have some leisure in an evening, so
that he might read and write and keep up his music
If anyone would show him how he could do better than
he was doing, he should be much obliged to them, but to
himself it seemed that he was doing sufficiently well ; for
at the end of the first week the pair found they had made
a clear profit of £3. In a few weeks this had increased to
£4, and by the New Year they had made a profit of is
in one week.

Ernest had by this time been married some two months,
for he had stuck to his original plan of marrying Ellen
on the first day he could legally do so. This date was a
little delayed by the change of abode from Laystall
Street to Blackfriars, but on the first day that it could
be done it was done. He had never had more than ^250
a year, even in the times of his affluence, so that a profit
of fs 3 week, if it could be maintained steadily, would
place him where he had been as far as income went, and,
though he should have to feed two mouths instead of
one, yet his expenses in other ways were so much cur-
tailed by his changed social position, that, take it a)i
round, his income was practically what it had been a
twelvemonth before. The next thing to do was to in-
crease it, and put by money.

/Prosperity depends, as we all know, in great measure
upon energy and good sense, but it also depends not a
little upon pure luck — that is to say, upon connections
which are in such a tangle that it is more easy to say
that they do not exist than to try to trace them. A

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368 The Way of All Flesh

neighbaurhood may have an excellent reputation as being
likely to be a rising one, and yet may become suddenly
eclipsed by another, which no one would have thought
so promising, A fever hospital ipay divert the stream of
business, or a new station attract it ; so little, indeed, can
be certainly known, that it is better not to try to know
more than is in everybody's mouth, and to leave the rest
to chance.

Luck, which certainly had not been too kind to my
hero hitherto, now seemed to have taken him under her
protection. The neighbourhood prospered, and he with
it. It seemed as though he no sooner bought a thing and
put it into his shop, than it sold with a profit of from
thirty to fifty per cent He learned bookkeeping, and
watched his accounts carefully, following up any success
immediately ; he began to buy other things besides clothes
— such as books, music, odds and ends of furniture, etc.
Whether it was luck or business aptitude, or energy, or
the politeness with which he treated all his customers,
I cannot say — but to the surprise of no one more than
himself, he went ahead faster than he had anticipated,
even in his wildest dreams, and by Easter was established
in a strong position as the owner of a business which
was bringing him in between four and five hundred a
year, and which he understood how to extend.

CHAPTER LXXIII

Ellen and he got on capitally, all the better, perhaps,
because the disparity between them was so great, thai
neither did Ellen want to be elevated, nor did Ernest
want to elevate her. He was very fond of her, and very
kind to her; they had interests which they could serve in
common ; they had antecedents with a good part of
which each was familiar ; they had each of them excellent
tempers, and this was enougb. Ellen did not seem jeal-

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The Way of All Flesh 369

0U8 at Ernest's preferring to sit the greater part of his
time after the day's work was done in the first floor
front where I occasionally visited him. She might have
come and sat with him if she had liked, but, somehow
or other, she generally found enough to occupy her down
below. She had the tact also to encourage him to go out
of an evening whenever he had 3. mind, without in the
least caring that he should take her too — and this suited
Ernest very well. He was, I should say, much happier
in his married life than people generally are.

At first it had been very painful to him to meet any of
his old friends, as he sometimes accidentally did, but this
soon passed; either they cut him, or he cut them; it
was not nice being cut for the first time or two, but
after that, it became rather pleasant than not, and when
he began to see that he was going ahead, he cared very
little what people might say about his antecedents. The
ordeal is a painful one, but if a man's moral and intel-
lectual constitution is naturally sound, there is nothing
which will give him so much strength of character as
having been well cut.

It was easy for hira to keep his expenditure down, for
his tastes were not luxurious. He liked theatres, outings
into the country on a Sunday, and tobacco, but he did not
care for much else, except writing and music. As for
the usual nm of concerts, he hated them. He wor-
shipped Handel; he liked Offenbach, and the airs that
went about the streets, but he cared for nothing between
tl^ese two extremes. Music, therefore, cost him little,
^s for theatres, I got him and Ellen as many orders as
mey liked, so these cost them nothing. The Simday
nutings were a small item ; for a shilling or two he could
jget a return ticket to some place far enough out of town
(to give him a good walk and a thorough change for the
I day. Ellen went with him the first few times, but she
I said she found it too much for her, there were a few of
|her old friends whom she should sometimes like to see,

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370 The Way of All Flesh

and they and he, she said, would not hit it off perhaps
too well, so it would be better for him to go alone. This
seemed so sensible, and suited Ernest so exactly that he
readily fell into it, nor did he suspect dangers which
were apparent enough to me when I heard how she had
treated the matter. I kept silence, however, and (or a
time all continued to go well. As I have said, one of
his chief pleasures was in writing. If a tnan carries with
him a little sketch book and is continually jotting down
sketches, he has the artistic instinct; a hundred things
may hinder his due development, but the instinct is there.
The literary instinct may be known by a man's keeping
a small note-book in his waistcoat pocket, into which h«
jots down anything that strikes him, or any good thing
that he hears said, or a reference to any passage which
he thinks will come in useful to him. Ernest had such
a note-Tiook always with him. Even when he was at
Cambridge he had begun the practice without anyone's
having suggested it to him. These notes he copied out
from time to time into a book, which as they accumu-
lated, he was'driven into indexing approximately, as he
went aloi^. When I found out this, I knew that he had
the literary instinct, and when I saw his notes I began
to hope great things of him.

For a long time I was disappointed. He was kept back
by the nature of the subjects he chose — ^which wvere
generally metaphysical. In vain I tried to get htm away
from these to matters which had a greater interest for
the general public. When I begged him to try his haDd
at some pretty, graceful, little story which should he ixfll
of whatever people knew and liked best, he would imm6-
diately set to work upon a treatise to show the grouncis
on which all belief rested. y

"You are stirring mud," said I, "or poking at a sleep-j
ing dog. You are trying to make people resume con-
sciousness about things, which, with sensible men, havei
already passed into the unconscious stage. The

sible men, havel
age. The metii

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The Way of All Flesh 371

whom you would disturb are in front of you, and not, as
you fancy, behind you ; it is you who are the la^er, not
they,'*

He could not see it. He said he was engaged on an
essay upon the famous quod semper, quod vbique, quod
ab omnibus of St. Vincent de Lerins. This was the
more provoking because he showed himself able to do '
better things if he had liked.

I was then at work upon my burlesque, "The Impatient
Griselda," and was sometimes at my wits' end for a piece
of business or a situattoi^ he gave me many suggestions,
all of which were marked by excellent good sense. Never-
theless I could not prevail with him to put philosophy on
one side, and was obliged to leave him to himself.

For a long time, as I have said, his choice of ' sub-
jects continued to be such as I could not approve. He
was continually studying scientific and metaphysical writ-
ers, In the hope of either finding or making for himself
a philosopher's stone in the shape of a system which
should go on all fours under all circumstances, instead
of being liable to be upset at every touch and turn, as
every system yet promulgated has turned out to be.

He kept to the pursuit of this will-o'-the-wisp so long
that I gave up -hope, and set him down as another fly
that had been caught, as it were, by a piece of paper
daubed over with some sticky stuff that had not even the
merit of being sweet, but to my surprise he at last de-
clared that he was satisfied, and had found what he
wanted.

I supposed that he had only hit upon some new "Lo,
here!" when to my relief, he told me that he had con-
cluded that no system which should go perfectly upon ■
all fours was possible, inasmuch as no one could get be-
hind Bishop Berkeley, and therefore no absolutely in- ■
controvertible first premise could ever be laid. Having
found this he was just as well pleased as if he had
found the most perfect system imaginable. All he

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372 The Way of AH Flesh

wanted, he said, was to know which way it was to be —
that is to say whether a system was possible or not, and
if possible then what the system was to be. Having
found out that no system based on absolute certainty was
possible he was contented.

I had only a very vague idea who Bishop Berkeley
was, but was thankful to him for having defended us
from an incontrovertible first premise. I am afraid I
said a few words implying that after a great deal of
trouble he had arrived at the conclusion which sensible
people reach without bothering their brains so much.

He said : "Yes, but I was not born sensible. A child
of ordinary powers learns to walk at a year or two old
,' without knowing much about it; failing ordinary pow-
ers he had better learn laboriously than never leam at
\ all. I am sorry I was not stronger, but to do as I did
\was my only chance."

' He looked so meek that I was vexed with myself for
having said what I had, more especially when I remem-
bered his bringing-up, which had doubtless done much
to impair his power of taking a common-sense view of
things. He continued —

"I see it all now. The people like Towneley are the
only ones who know anything that is worth knowing, and
like that of course I can never be. But to make Towne-
leys possible there must be hewers of wood and drawers
of water — men in fact through whom conscious knowl-
edge must pass before it can reach those who can apply
it gracefully and instinctively as the Towneleys can. I
am a hewer of wood, but if I accept the position frankly
and do not set up to be a Towneley, it does not mat-
ter."

He still, therefore, stuck to science instead of turning
to literature proper as I hoped he would have done, but
he confined himself henceforth to enquiries on specific
subjects concerning which an increase of our knowledge
— as he said — was possible. Having in fact, after infinite

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The Way of All Flesh 373

vexation of spirit, arrived at a conclusion which cut at
the roots of all knowledge, he settled contentedly down
to the pursuit of knowledge, and has pursued it ever
since in spite of occasional excursions into the regions
of literature proper.

But this is anticipating, and may perhaps also convey
a wrong iippression, for horn the outset he did occa-
sionally turn his attention to work which must be more
properly called literary than either scientific or meta-
physical.

CHAPTER LXXrV

About six months after he had set up his shop his pros-
perity had reached its cUmax. It seemed even then as
though he were likely to go ahead no less fast than
heretofore, and I doubt not that he would have done
so, if success or non-success had depended upon himself
alone. Unfortunately he was not the only person to be
reckoned with.

One morning he had gone out to attend some sales,
leaving his wife perfectly well, as usual in good spirits,
and looking very pretty. When he came back he found
her sitting on a chair in the back parlour, with her hair
over her face, sobbing and crying as though her heart
would break. She said she had been frightened in the
morning by a man who had pretended to be a customer,
and had threatened her unless she gave him some things,
and she had had to give them to him in order to save her-
self from violence; she had been in hysterics ever since
the man had gone. This was her story, but her speech
was so incoherent that it was not easy to make out what
she said. Ernest knew she was with child, and thinking
this might have something to do with the matter, would
have sent for a doctor if Ellen had not begged him not
to do so.

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374 The Way of AH Flesh

Anyone who had had experience of drunken people
would have seen at a glance what the matter was, but
my hero knew nothing about them — nothing, that is to
say, about the drunkenness of the habitual drunkard,
which shows itself very differently from that of one who
gets drunk only once in a way. The idea that his wife
could drink had never even crossed his mind, indeed she
always made a fuss about taking more than a very little
beer, and never touched spirits. He did not know much
more about hysterics than he did about drunkenness,
but he had always heard that women who were about to
become mothers were liable to be easily upset and were
often rather flighty, so he was not greatly surprised,
and thought he had settled the matter by registering the
discovery that being about to become a father has its
troublesome as well as its pleasant side.

The great change in Ellen's life consequent upon her
meeting Ernest and getting married had for a time
actually sobered her by shaking her out of her old ways.
Drunkenness is so much a matter of habit, and habit so
much a matter of surroundings, that if you completely
change the surroundings you will sometimes get rid of
the drunkenness altogether, Ellen had intended remain-
ing always sober henceforward, and never having had so
long a steady fit before, believed she was now cured.
So she perhaps would have been if she had seen none
of her old acquaintances. When, however, her new life
was beginning to lose its newness, and when her old
acquaintances came to see her, her present surroundings
became more like her past, and on this she herself began
to get like her past too. At first she only got a little
tipsy and struggled against a relapse ; but it was no use,
she soon lost the heart to fight, and now her object was
not to try to keep sober, but to get gin without her hus-
band's finding it out.

So the hysterics continued, and she. managed to make
her husband still think that they were due to her being

The Way of All Flesh 375

about to become a mother. The worse her attacks were,
the more devoted he became in his attention to her. At
last he insisted that a doctor should see her. The doctor
of course took in the situation at a glance, but said noth-
ing to Ernest except in such a guarded way that he did
not understand the hints that were thrown out to him.
He was much too downright and matter-of-fact to be
quick at taking hints of this sort. He hoped that as soon
as his wife's confinement was over she would regain
her health and had no thought save how to spare her as
far as possible till that happy time should come.

In the mornings she was generally better, as long that
is to say as Ernest remained at home ; but he had to go
out buying, and on his return would generally find that
she had had another attack as soon as he had left the
house. At times she would laugh and cry for half an
hour tt^ther, at others she would lie in a semi-comatose
state upon the bed, and when he came back he would
find that the shop had been neglected and all the work
of the household left undone. Still he took it for granted
that this was all part of the usual course when women
were going to become mothers, and when Ellen's share
of the work settled down more and more upon his own
shoulders he did it all and drudged away without a mur-
mur. Nevertheless, he began to feel in a vague way
more as he had felt in Ashpit Place, at Roughborough,
or at Battersby, and to lose the buoyancy of spirits which
had made another man of him during the first six months
of his married life.

It was not only that he had to do so much household
work, for even the cooking, cleaning up slops, bed-
making and fire-lighting ere long devolved upon him, but
his business no longer prospered. He could buy as hith-
erto, but Ellen seemed unable to sell as she had sold
at first. The fact was that she sold as well as ever, but
kept back part of the proceeds in order to buy gin, and
she did this more and more till even the unsuspecting

376 The Way of All Flesh

Ernest ought to have seen that she was not telling the
truth. When she sold better — that is to say when she
did not think it safe to keep back more than a certain
amount, she got money out of him on the plea that she
had a longing for this or that, and that it would perhaps
irreparably damage the baby if her longing was denied
her. AH seemed right, reasonable, and unavoidable,
nevertheless Emest saw that until the confinement was
over he was likely to have a hard time of it. All, how-
ever, would then come right again.

CHAPTER LXXV

In the month of September, i860, a girl was bom, and
Emest was' proud and happy. The birth of the child*
and a rather alarming talk which the doctor had givqn to
Ellen sobered her for a few weeks, and it really seemed
as though his hopes were about to be fulfilled. The
expenses of his wife's confinement were heavy, and he
was obliged to trench upon his savings, but he had no
doubt about soon recouping this, now that Ellen was
herself again; for a time indeed his business did revive
a little, nevertheless it seemed as though the interraption
to his prosperity had in some way broken the spell of
good luck which had attended htm in the outset ; he was
still sanguine, however, and worked night and day with
a will, but there was no more music, or reading, or writ-
ing now. His Sunday outings were put a stop to, and
but for the first floor being let to myself, he would
have lost his citadel there too, but he seldom used it, for
Ellen had to wait more and more upon the baby, and,
as a consequence, Emest had to wait more and more
upon Ellen.

One afternoon, about a couple of months after the
baby had been bom, and just as my unhappy hero was
banning to feel more hopeful and therefore better able

The Way of All Flesh 377

to bear his burdens, he returned from a sale, and found
Ellen in the same hysterical condition that he had found
her in in the spring. She said she was again with child,
and Ernest still believed her.

All the troubles of the preceding six months began
again then and there, and grew worse and worse con-
tinually. Money did not come in quickly, for Ellen
cheated him by keeping it back, and dealing improperly
with the goods he bought. When it did come in she got
it out of him as before on pretexts which it seemed in-
human to inquire Into. It was always the same story.
By and by a new feature began to show itself. Ernest
had inherited his father's punctuality and exactness as
regards money; he liked to know the worst of what he
had to pay at once; he hated having expenses sprung
upon him which if not foreseen might and ought to have
been so, but now bills began to be brought to him for
things ordered by Ellen without his knowledge, or for
which he had already given her the money. This was
awful, and even Ernest turned. When he remonstrated
with her — not for having bought the things, but for hav-
ing said nothing to him about the moneys being owing —
Ellen met him with hysteria and there was a scene. She
had now pretty well forgotten the hard times she had
known when she had been on her own resources and
reproached him downright with having married her — on
that moment the scales fell irom Ernest's eyes as they
had fallen when Towneley had said, "No, no, no." He
said nothing, but he woke up once for all to the fact that
be had made a mistake in marrying. A touch had again
come which had revealed him to himself.

He went upstairs to the disused citadel, flung himself
into the armchair, and covered his face with his hands,

He still did not know that his wife drank, but he could
no longer trust her, and his dream of happiness was
over. He had been saved from the ' Church — so as by
fire, bttt still saved — ^but what could now save him frcim

378 The Way of All Flesh

his marriage? He had made the same mistake that he
had made in wedding himself to the Church, but with a
hundred times worse results. He had learnt nothing by
experience: he was an Esau — one of those wretches
whose hearts the Lord had hardened, who, having ears,
heard not, havii^ eyes saw not, and who should find no
place for repentance though they sought it even with
tears.

Yet had he not on the whole tried to find out what

the ways of God were, and to follow them in singleness

of heart ? To a certain extent, yes ; but he had not been

thoroi^h ; he had not given up all for God. He knew

that very well ; he had done little as compared with what

1 he might and ought to have done, but still if he was

/ being punished for this, God was a hard taskmaster, and

/ one, too, who was continually pouncing out upon his

' Imhappy creatures from ambuscades. In marrying Ellen

he had meant to avoid a life of sin, and to take the

course he believed to be moral and right. With his

antecedents and surroundings it was the most natural

thing in the world for him to have done, yet in what a

frightful position had not his morality landed him.

Could any amount of immorality have placed him inia

much worse one? What was morality worth if it was

not that which on the whole brought a man peace at the

i last, and could anyone have reasonable certainty that

\ marriage would do this? It seemed to him that in his

\ attempt to be moral he had been following a devil which

. had disguised itself as an angel of light. But if so, what

\ ground was there on which a man might rest the sole of

\his foot and tread in reasonable safety ?
He was still too young to reach the answer, "On com-
imon sense" — an answer which he would have felt to be
'unworthy of anyone who had an ideal standard.
,' However this might be, it was plain that he had now
done for himself. It had been thus with him all his life.
If there had come at any time a gleam of sunshine and

The Way of All Flesh 379

h(^, it was to be obscured immediately — why, prison
was happier than this I There, at any rate, he Had had
no money anxieties, and these were banning to weigh
upon him now with all their horrors. He was happier
even now than he had been at Battersby or at Rough-
borough, and he would not now go back, even if he
could, to his Cambridge life, but for all that the out-
look was so gloomy, in fact so hopeless, that he felt as
if he could have only too gladly gone to sleep and died
in his armchair once for alL

As he was musing thus and looking upon the wreck
of his hopes — for he saw well enough that as long as
he was linked to Ellen he should never rise as he had
dreamed of doing^-^he heard a noise below, and pres-
ently a neighbour ran upstairs and entered his room
hurriedly.

"Good gracious, Mr, Pontifex," she exclaimed, "for
goodness' sake come down quickly and help. Mrs. Pon-
tifex is took with the horrors — and she's orkard."

The unhappy man came down as he was bid and found
his wife mad with delirium tremens.

He knew all now. The neighbours thought he must
have known that his wife drank all along, but Ellen
had been so artful, and he so simple, that, as I have said,
he had had no suspicion. "Why," said the woman who
had summoned him, "she'll drink anything she can stand
up and pay her money for." Ernest could hardly believe
his ears, but when the doctor had seen his wife and
she had become more quiet, he went over to the public
house hard by and made enquiries, the result of which
rendered further doubt impossible. The publican took
the opportunity to present my hero with a bill of sev-
eral pounds for bottles of spirits supplied to his wife,
and what with his wife's confinement and the way busi-
ness had fallen off, he had not the money to pay with,
for the sum exceeded the remnant of his savings.
He came to me — not for money, but to tell me his

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38o The Way of All Flesh

miserable story, I had seen for some time that there
was something wrong, and had suspected pretty shrewdly
what the matter was, but of course I said nothing. Er-
nest and I had been growing apart for some time. I
was vexed at his having married, and he knew I was
vexed, though I did my best to hide it.

A man's friendships . are, like his will, invalidated by
marriage — but they are also no less invalidated by the
marriage of his friends. The rift in friendship which
invariably makes its appearance on the marriage of either
of the parties to it was fast widening, as it no less in-
variably does, into the great gulf which b fixed between
the married and the unmarried, and I was beginning to
leave my protege to a fate with which I had neither right
nor power to meddle. In fact I had begun to feel him
rather a burden; I did not so much mind this when I
could be of use, but I grudged it when I could be of
none. He had made his bed and he must lie upon it
Ernest had felt all this and had seldom come near me
till now, one evening late in i860, he called on me, and
with a very woe-begone face told me his troubles.

As soon as I found that he no longer liked his wife I
forgave him at once, and was as much interested in him
as ever. There is nothing an old bachelor likes better
than to find a young married man who wishes he had not
got married — especially when the case is such an ex-
treme one that he need not pretend to hope that matters
will come all right again, or encourage his young friend
to make the best of it.

I was myself in favour of a separation, and said I
would make Ellen an allowance myself — of course in-
tending that it should come out of Ernest's money ; but
he would not hear of this. He had married Ellen, he
said, and he must try to reform her. He hated it, but
he must try; and finding him as usual very obstinate I
was obliged to acquiesce, though with little confidence as
to the result. I was vexed at seeing him waste himself

vCoo*^lc

The Way of All Flesh 381

upon such a barren task, and again began to feel him
burdensome. I am afraid I showed this, for he again
avoided me for some time, and, indeed, for many months
I hardly saw him at all.

Ellen remained very ill for some days, and then grad-
ually recovered. Ernest hardly left her till she was out
of danger. When she had recovered he got the doctor
to tell her that if she had such another attack she would
certainly die; this so frightened her that she took the
pledge.

Then he became more hopeful again. When she was
sober she was just what she was during the first days of
her married life, and so quick was he to forget pain,
that after a few days he was as fond of her as ever.
But Ellen could not forgive him for knowing what he
did. She knew that he was on the watch to shield her
from temptation, and though he did his best to make her
think that he had no further uneasiness about her, she
foimd the burden of her union with respectability grow
more and mbre heavy upon her, and looked back more
and more longingly upon the lawless freedom of the life
she had led before she met her husband.

I will dwell no longer on this part of my story. Dur-
ing the spring months of 1861 she kept straight — she
had had her fling of dissipation, and this, together with
.the impression made upon her by her having taken the
pledge, tamed her for a while. The shop went fairly
well, and enabled Ernest to make the two ends meet. In
the spring and summer of 1861 he even put by a little
money again. In the autumn his wife was confined of
a boy — a very fine one, so everyone said. She soon re-
covered, and Ernest was beginning to breathe freely
and be almost sanguine when, without a word of warn-
ing, the storm broke again. He returned one afternoon
about two years after his marriage, and found his wife
lying upon the floor insensible.

From this time he became hopeless, and began to

382 The Way of All Flesh

go visibly down hill. He had been knocked about too
much, and the luck had gone too long against him. The
wear and tear of the last thriee years had told on him,
and though not actually ill he was overworked, bdow
par, and unfit for any further burden.

He struggled for a while to prevent himself from find-
ing this out, but facts were too strong for him. Again
he called on me and told me what had happened. I was
glad the crisis had come; I was sorry for Ellen, but a
complete separation from her was the only chance for
her husband. Even after this last outbreak he was un-
willing to consent to this, and talked nonsense about
dying at his post, till I got tired of him. Each time I
saw him the old gloom had settled more and more deeply
upon his face, and I had about made up my mind to put
an end to the situation by a coup de main, such as brib-
ing Ellen to run away with somebody else, or some-
thing of that kind, when matters settled themselves as
usual in a way which I had not anticipated.

CHAPTER LXXVI ■

The winter had been a trying one. Ernest had only paid
his way by selling his piano. With this he seemed to
cut away the last link that connected him with his
earlier life, and to sink once for all into the small shop-
keeper. It seemed to him that however low he might
sink his pain could not last much longer, for he should
simply die if it did.

He hated Ellen now, and the pair lived in open want
of harmony with each other. If it had not been for
his children, he would have left her and gone to Amer-
ica, but he could not leave the children with Ellen, and
as for taking them with him he did not know how to
do it, nor what to do with them when he had got them
to America. If he had not lost energy he would prob-

The Way of All Flesh 383

ably in the end have taken the children and gone off,
but his nerve was shaken, so day after day went by
and nothing was done.

He had only got a few shillings in the world now,
except the value of his stock, which was very little; he
could get perhaps £3 or £4 by selling his music and what
few pictures and pieces of furniture still belonged to
him. He thought of trying to live by his pen, but his
writing had dropped off long ago; he no longer had
an idea in his head. Look which way he would he saw
no hope ; the end, if it had not actually come, was within
easy distance, and he was almost face to face with actual
want. When he saw people going about poorly clad, or
even without shoes and stockings, he wondered whether
within a few months' time he too should not have to go
about in this way. The remorseless, resistless hand of
fate had caught him in its grip and was dragging him
down, down, down. Still he staggered on, going his
daily rounds, buying second-hand clothes, and spending
his evenings in cleaning and mending them.

One morning, as he was returning from a house at
the West End where he had bought some clothes from
one of the servants, he was struck by a small crowd
which had gathered round a space that had been railed
off on the grass near one of the paths in the Green
Park.

It was a lovely soft spring morning at the end of
March, and unusually balmy for the time of year ; even
Ernest's melancholy was relieved for a while by the look
of spring that pervaded earth and sky; but it soon re-
turned, and smiling sadly he said to himself: "It may
bring hope to others, but for me there can be no hope
henceforth." '

As these words were in his mind he joined the small
crowd who were gathered round the railings, and saw
that they were looking at three sheep with very small
lambs only a day or two old, which had been penned

384 The Way of All Flesh

off for shelter and protection from the others that ranged
the park.

They were very pretty, and Londoners so seldom
get a chance of seeing Iambs that it was no wonder
every one stopped to look at them. Ernest observed
that no one seemed fonder of them than a great lub-
berly butcher boy, who leaned up against the railings
with a tray of meat upon his shoulder. He was looking
at this boy and smiling at the grotesqueness of his ad-
miration, when he became aware that he was being
watched intently by a man in coachman's livery, who
had also stopped to admire the lambs, and was leaning
against the opposite side of the enclosure. Ernest knew
him in a moment as John, his father's old coachman at
Battersby, and went up to him at once.

"Why, Master Ernest," said he, with his strong north-
em accent, "I was thinking of you only this very tnom-
ing," and the pair shook hands heartily. John was in
an excellent place at the West End. He had done very
well, he said, ever since he had left Battersby, except
for the first year or two, and that, he said, with a screw
of the face, had well nigh broke him.

Ernest asked how this was.

"Why, you see," said John, "I was always main fond
of that lass Ellen, whom you remember running after.
Master Ernest, and giving your watch to. I expect you
haven't forgotten that day, have you?" And here he
laughed. "I don't know as I be the father of the child
she carried away with her from Battersby, but I very
easily may have been. Anyhow, after I had left your
papa's place a few days I wrote to Ellen to an address
we had agreed upon, and told her I would do what I
ought to do, and so I did, for I married her within a
month afterwards. Why, Lord love the man, what-
ever is the matter with him ?" — for as he had spoken the
last few words of his story Ernest had turned white
as a sheet, and was leaning against the railings.

The Way of Air Flesh 385

"John," said my hero, gasping for breath, "are you
sure of what you say — are you quite sure you really mar-
ried her?"

"Of course I am," said John ; "I married her before
the repstrar at Letchbury on the 15th of August, 1851."

"Give me your arm," said Ernest, "and take me into
Piccadilly, and put me into a cab, and come with me at
once, if you can spare time, to Mr. Overton's at the
Temple."

CHAPTER LXXVII

I DO not think Ernest himself was much more pleased
at finding that he had never been married than I was.
To him, however, the shock of pleasure was positively
numbing in its intensity. As he felt his burden removed,
he reeled for the unaccustomed lightness of his move-
ments; his position was so shattered that his identity
seemed to have been shattered also ; he was as one wak-
ing up from a horrible nightmare to find himself safe
and sound in bed, but who can hardly even yet believe
that the room is not full of armed men who are about
to spring upon him.

"And it is I," he said, "who not an hour ago com-
plained that I was without hope. It is I, who for weeks
have been railing at fortune, and saying that though
she smiled on others she never smiled at me. Why,
never was anyone half so fortunate as I am."

"Yes," said I, "you have been inoculated for mar-
riage, and have recovered."

"And yet," he said, "I was very fond of her till she
took to drinking."

"Perhaps; but is it not Tennyson who has said:
' 'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have
loved at all' ?"

"You are an inveterate bachelor," was the rejoindw.

386 The Way of All Flesh

Then we had a long talk with John, to whom I gave
a £5 note upon the spot. He said, "Ellen had used to
drink at Battersby; the cook had taught her; he had
known it, but was so fond of her, that he had chanced
it and married her to save her from the streets and in
the hope of being able to keep her straight. She had
done with him just as she had done with Ernest — made
him an excellent wife as long as she kept sober, but a
very bad one afterwards."

"There isn't," said John, "a sweeter-tempered, handier,
prettier girl than she was in all England, nor one as
knows better what a man likes, and how to make him
happy, if you can keep her from drink; but you can't
keep her; she's that artful she'll get it under your very
eyes, without you knowing it If she can't get any more
of your things to pawn or sell, she'll steal her neigh-
bours'. That's how she got into trouble first when I
was with her. During the six months she was in prison
I should have felt happy if I had not known she would
come out again. And then she did come out, and be-
fore she had been free a fortnight, she began shop-lifting
and going on the loose again — and all to get money to
drink with. So seeing I could do nothing with her
and that she was just a-killing of me, I left her, and
came up to London, and went into service again, and t
did not know what had become of her till you and Mr.
Ernest here told me. I hope you'll neither of you say
you've seen me."

We assured him we would keep his counsel, and then
he left us, with many protestations of affection towards
Ernest, to whom he had been always much attached.

We talked the situation over, and decided first to
get ihe children away, and then to come to terms with
Ellen concerning their future custody; as for herself,
I proposed that we should make her an allowance of,
say, a pound a week to be paid so long as she gave no
trouble. Ernest did not see where the pound a week

The Way of All Flesh 387

was to come from, so I eased his mind by saying I would
pay it myself. Before the day was two hours older we
had got the children, about whom Ellen had always ap-
peared to be indifferent, and had confided them to the
care of my laundress, a good motherly sort of woman,
who took to them and to whom they took at once.

Then came the odious task of getting rid of their un-
happy mother. Ernest's heart smote him at the notion
of the shock the break-up would be to her. He was al-
ways thinking that people had a claim upon him for some
inestimable service they had rendered him, or for some
irreparable mischief done to them by himself; the case
however was so clear, that Ernest's scruples did not
offer serious resistance.

I did not see why he should have the pain of an-
other interview with his wife, so -I got Mr. Ottery to
manage the whole business. It turned out that we need
not have harrowed ourselves so much about the agony
of mind which Ellen would suffer on becoming an out-
cast again. Ernest saw Mrs. Richards, the neighbour
who had called him down on the night when he had first
discovered his wife's drunkenness, and got from her
some details of Ellen's opinions upon the matter. She
did not seem in the least conscience-stricken; she said:
"Thank goodness, at last!" And although aware that
her marriage was not a valid one, evidently r^arded
this as a mere detail which it would not be worth any-
body's while to go into more particularly. As regards
his breaking with her, she said it was a good job both for
him and for her.

"This life," she continued, "don't suit me. Ernest is
too good for me; be wants a woman as shall be a bit
better than me, and I want a man that shall be a bit
worse than him. We should have got on all very well
if we had not lived together as married folks, but I've
been used to have a little place of my own, however
small, for a many years, and I don't want Ernest, or

388 The Way of All Flesh

any other man, always hanging about it. Besides, he is
too steady: his being in prison hasn't done him a bit
of good — he's just as grave as those as have never been
in prison at all, and he never swears nor curses, come
what may; it makes me af eared of him, and therefore
I drink the worse. What us poor girls wants is not to
be jumped up all of a sudden and made honest women
of; this is too much for us and throws us off our perch;
what we wants is a regular friend or two, who'll just
keep us from starving, and force us to be good for a
bit together now and again. That's about as much as
we can stand. He may have the children ; he can do
better for them than I can; and as for his money, he
may give it or keep it as he likes ; he's never done me
any harm, and I shall let him alone; but if he means me
to have it, I suppose I'd better have it" — And have it
she did.

"And I," thought Ernest to himself again when the
arrangement was concluded, "am the man who thought
himself unlucky!"

I may as well say here all that need be said further
about Ellen. For the next three years she used to call
regularly at Mr. Ottery's every Monday morning for her
pound. She was always neatly dressed, and looked so
quiet and pretty that no one would have suspected her
antecedents. At first she wanted sometimes to antici-
pate, but after three or four ineffectual attempts — on
each of which occasions she told a most pitiful story —
she gave it up and took her money regularly without
a word. Once she came with a bad black eye, "which a
boy had throwed a stone and hit her by mistake"; but
on the whole she looked pretty much the same at the
end of the three years as she had done at the beginning.
Then she explained that she was going to be married
again. Mr. Ottery saw her on this, and pointed out
to her that she would very likely be again committing
bigamy by doing so. "You may call it what you like,"

The Way of All Flesh 389

she replied, "but I am going oflF to America with Bill
* the butcher's man, and we hope Mr. Pontifex won't be
too hard on us and stop the allowance." Ernest was
little likely to do this, so the pair went in peace. I be-
lieve it was Bill who had blacked her eye, and she liked
him all the better for it.

From one or two little things I have been able to
gather that the couple got on very well tc^ether, and
that in Bill she has found a partner better suited to her
than either John or Ernest. On his birthday Ernest
generally receives an envelope with an American post-
mark containing a book-marker with a flaunting text
upon it, or a moral kettle-holder, or some other similar
small token of recognition, but no letter. Of the chil-
dren she has taken no notice.

CHAPTER LXXVIII

Ernest was now well turned twenty-six years old, and in
little more than another year and a half would come into
possession of his money. I saw no reason for letting
him have it earUer than the date fixed by Miss Pontifex
herself ; at the same time I did not like his continuing
the shop at Blackfriars after the present crisis. It was
not till now that I fully understood how much he had
suffered, nor how nearly his supposed wife's habits had
brought him to actual want.

I had indeed noted the old, wan, worn look settling
upon his face, but was either too indolent or too hope-
less of being able to sustain a protracted and successful
warfare with Ellen to extend the sympathy and make
the inquiries which I suppose I ought to have made.
And yet I hardly know what I could have done, for
nothing short of his finding out what he had foimd out
would have detached him from his wife, and nothing

390 The Way of All Flesh

could do him much good as long as he continued to live
with her.

After all I suppose I was right ; I suppose things did
turn out all the better in the end for having been left to
settle themselves — at any rate whether they did or did
not, the whole thing was in too great a muddle for me
to venture to tackle it so long as Ellen was upon the
scene; now, however, that she was removed, all my in-
terest in my godson revived, and I turned over many
times in my mind what I had better do with him.

It was now three and a half years since he had come
up to London and begun to live, so to speak, upon his
own accotmt. Of these years, six months had been spent
as a clergyman, six months in gaol, and for two and a
half years he had been acquiring twofold experience
in the ways of business and of marriage He had failed,
I may say, in everything that he had undertaken, even
as a prisoner; yet his defeats had been always, as it
seemed to me, something so like victories, that I was sat-
isfied of his being worth all the pains I could bestow
upon him ; my only fear was lest I should meddle with
him when it might be better for him to be let alone.
On the whole I concluded that a three and a half years'
apprenticeship to a rough life was enough; the shop
had done much for him; it had kept him going after
a fashion, when he was in great need; it had thrown
him upon his own resources, and taught him to see
profitable openings all around him, where a few months
before he would have seen nothing but insuperable diffi-
culties; it had enlarged his sympathies by making him
understand the lower classes, and not confining his view
of life to that taken by gentlemen only. When he went
.about the streets and saw the books outside the sec-
ond-hand book-stalls, the bric-a-brac in the curiosity
shtfps, and the infinite commercial activity which is omni-
present around us, he understood it and sympathised

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The Way of All Flesh 391

with it as he could never have done if he had not kept
a shop himself.

He has often told me that when he used to travel on
a railway that overlooked populous suburbs, and looked
down upon street after street of dingy houses, he used
to wonder what kind of people lived in them, what they
did and felt, and how far it was like what he did and
felt himself. Now, he said, he knew all about it. I am
not very familiar with the writer of the Odyssey (who,
by the way, I suspect strongly of having been a clergy- i
man), but he assuredly hit the right nail on the head ',
when he epitomised his typical wise man as knowing "the j
ways and farings of many men." What culture is com- '.
parable to this? What a lie, what a sickly, debilitating '
debauch did not Ernest's school and university career
now seem to him, in comparison with his life in prison
and as a tailor in Blackfriars. I have heard him say
he would have gone through all he had suffered if it
were only for the deeper insight it gave him into the
spirit of the Grecian and the Surrey pantomimes. What
confidence again in his own power to swim if thrown
into deep waters had not he won through his experi- .
ences during the last three years I

But, as I have said, I thought my godson had now
seen as much of the under currents of life as was likely
to be of use to him, and that it was time he began to
live in a style more suitable to his prospects. His aunt
had wished him to kiss the soil, and he had kissed it with
a vengeance; but I did not like the notion of his coming
suddenly from the position of a small shopkeeper to
that of a man with an income of between three and
four thousand a year. Too sudden a jump from bad
fortune to good is just as dangerous as one from good
to bad; besides, poverty is very wearing; it is a quasi-
embryonic condition, through which a man liad better
pass if he is to hokl bis later developments securely, but

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392 The Way of All Flesh

like measles or scarlet fever he had better have it mildly
and get it over early.

No man is safe from losing every penny he has in
the world, unless he has had his facer. How often
do I not hear middle-aged women and quiet family
men say that they have no speculative tendency; they
never had touched, and never would touch, any but the
very soundest, best reputed investments, and as for un-
limited liability, oh, dear I dear ! and they throw up their
hands and eyes.

Whenever a person is heard to talk thus he may be
recognised as the easy prey of the first adventurer who
comes across him; he will commonly, indeed, wind up
his discourse by saying that in spite of all his natural
caution, and his well knowing how foolish speculation is,
yet there are some investments which are called specu-
lative but in reality are not so, and he will pull out of
his pocket the prospectus of a Cornish gold mine. It
is only on having actually lost money that one realises
what an awful thing the loss of it is, and finds out how
easily it is lost by those who venture out of the middle
of the most beaten path. Emest had had his facer,
as he had had his attack oi poverty, young, and suf-
ficiently badly for a sensible man to be little likely to
forget it. I can fancy few pieces of good fortune greater
than this as happening to any man, provided, of course,
that he is not damaged irretrievably,

So strongly do I feel on this subject that if I had my
way I would have a speculation master attached to every
school. The boys would be encouraged to read the
Money Mafket Review, the Railway News, and all the
best financial papers, and should establish a stock ex-
change amongst themselves in which pence should stand
as pounds. Then let them see how this making haste
to get rich moneys out in actual practice. There might
be a prize awarded by the head-master to the most pru-
dent dealer, and the boys who lost their money time

The Way of All Flesh 393

after time should be dismissed. Of course if any boy
proved to have a genius for speculation and made money
— well and good, let him speculate by all means.

If Universities were not the worst teachers in the
world I should like to see professorships of speculation
established at Oxford and Cambridge. When I reflect,
however, that the only things worth doing which Ox-
ford and Cambridge can do well are cooking, cricket,
rowing and games, of which there is no professorship,
I fear that the establishment of a professorial chair
would end in teaching young men neither how to specu-
late, nor how not to speculate, but would simply turn
them out as bad speculators.

I heard of one case in which a father actually carried
my idea into practice. He wanted his son to leam how
little confidence was to be placed in glowing prospec-
tuses and flaming articles, and found htm Ave hundred
pounds which be was to invest according to his lights.
The father expected he would lose the money; but it
did not turn out so in practice, for the boy took so much
pains and played so cautiously that the money kept
growing and growing till the father took it away again,
increment and all — as he was pleased to say, in self
defence.

I had made my own mistakes with money about the
year 1846, when everyone else was making them. For
a few years I had been so scared and had suffered
so severely, that when (owing to the good advice of the
broker who had advised my father and grandfather be-
fore me) I came out in the end a winner and not a loser,
I played no more pranks, but kept henceforward as
nearly in the middle of the middle rut as I could. I
tried in fact to keep my money rather than to niake
more of it. I had done with Ernest's money as with my
own^ — that is to say I had let it alone after investing
it in Midland ordinary stock according to Miss Ponti-
fex's instructions. No amount of trouble would have

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394 The Way of All Flesh

been likely to have increased my godson's estate one
half so much as it had increased without my taking any
trouble at all.

Midland stock at the end of August 1850, when I sold
out Miss Pontifex's debentures, stood at £32 per iioa
I invested the whole of Ernest's £15,000 at this price,
and did not change the investment till a few mondis
before the time of which I have been writing lately —
that is to say until September, 1861. I then sold at £129
per share and invested in London ahd North-Westem
ordinary stock, which I was advised was more likely to
rise than Midlands now were. I bought the London
and North-Westem stock at £93 per iioo, and my god-
son now in 18S2 still holds it.

The original £15,000 had increased in eleven years to
over £60,000 ; the accumulated interest, which, of course,
I had re-invested, had come to about £10,000 more, so
that Ernest was then worth over £70,000. At present he
is worth nearly double that sum, and all as the result
of leaving well alone.

Large as his property now was, it ought to be increased
still further during the year and a half that remained
of his minority, so that on coming of age he oi^ht to
have an income of at least £3500 a year.

I wished him to understand bookkeeping by double
entry. I had myself as a young man been compelled to
master this not very difficult art; having acquired it, I
have become enamoured of it, and consider it the most
necessary branch of any young man's education after
reading and writing. I was determined, therefore, that
Ernest should master it, and proposed that he should
become my steward, bookkeeper, and the manager of
my hoardings, for so I called the sum which my ledger
showed to have accumulated from £15,000 to £70,000.
I told him I was going to begin to spend the income
as soon as it had amounted up to i8o,ooo.

A few days after Ernest's discovery that he was still

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The Way of All Flesh 395

a bachelor, while he was still at the very beginning of
the honeymoon, as it were, of his renewed unmarried
life, I broached my scheme, desired him to give up his
shop, and offered him £300 a year for managing (so far
indeed as it required any managing) his own property.
This ^300 3 year, I need hardly say, I made him chai^
to the estate.

If anything had been wanting to complete his happi-
ness it was this. Here, within three or four days he
found himself freed from one of the most hideous, hope-
less liaisons imaginable, and at the same time raised from
a life of almost squalor to the enjoyment of what would
to him be a handsome income.

"A pound a week," he thought, "for EUen, and the
rest for myself,"

"No," said I, "we will charge Ellen's pound a week
to the estate also. You must have a dear £300 for your-
self." ;

I fixed upon this sum, because it was the one which'^
Mr. Disraeli gave Coningsby when Coningsby was at the .
lowest, ebb of his fortunes. Mr. EHsraeli evidently
thought £300 a year the smallest sum on which Coningsby
could be expected to live, and make the two ends meet;
with this, however, he thought his hero could manage
to get along for a year or two. In 1862, of which I am
now writing, prices had risen, though not so much as
they have since done; on the other hand Ernest had
had less expensive antecedents than Coningsby, so on
the whole I thoi^ht £300 a year would be about the right
thing for him.

CHAPTER LXXIX

The question now arose what was to be done with the
children. I explained to Ernest that thar expenses
must be charged to the estate, and showed him how small

396 The Way of All Flesh

a hole all the various items I proposed to char^ would
make in the income at my disposal. He was banning
to make difficulties, when I quieted him by pointing out
that the money had all come to me from his aunt
over his own head, and reminded him there had
been an tmderstanding between her and me that I
should do much as I was doing, if occasion should
arise.

He wanted his children to be brought up in the fresh
pure air, and araot^ other children who were ha[^
and contented; but being still ignorant of the fortune
that awaited him, he insisted that they should pass their
earlier years among the poor rather than the rich. I
remonstrated, but he was very decided about it; and
when I reflected that they were illegitimate, I was not
sure but that what Ernest proposed might be as welt for
everyone in the end. They were still so young that
it did not much matter where they were, so long as
they were with kindly, decent people, and in a healthy
neighbou rhood .

''I shall be just as unkind to my children," he said,
"afi my grandfather was to my father, or my father to
me. If they did not succeed in making their children
love them, neither shall I. I say to myself that I should
like to do so, but so did they. I can make sure that
they shall not know how much they would have hated
me if they had had much to do with me, but this is all
T can do. If I must ruin their prospects, let me do so
at a reasonable time before they are old enough to
■ feel it"

He mused a little and added with a laugh: —

"A man first quarrels with his father about three-
quarters of a year before he is bom. It is then he insists
on setting up a separate establishment; when this has
been once agreed to, the more complete the separation
for ever after the better for both." Then he said more
seriously : "I want to put the children where they will

The Way of All Flesh 397

be well and happy, and where they will not be betrayed
into the misery of false expectations."

In the end he remembered that on his Sunday walks
he had more than once seen a couple who lived on the
waterside a few miles below Gravesend, just where the
sea was beginning, and who he thought would do. They
had a family of their own fast coming on and the chil-
dren seemed to thrive ; both father and mother indeed
were comfortable, well grown folks, in whose hands
young people would be likely to have as fair a chance
of coming to a good development as in those of any
whom he knew.

We went down to see this couple, and as I tbou^t
no less well of them than Ernest did, we offered them
a pound a week to take the children and bring them up
as thou^ they were their own. They jumped at the
offer, and in another day or two we brought the chil-
dren down and left them, feeling that we had done as
well as we could by them, at any rate for the present.
Then Ernest sent his small stock of goods to Deben-
haip's, gave up the house he had taken two and a half
years previously, and returned to civilisation.

I had expected that he would now rapidly recover,
and was disappointed to see him get as I thought de-
cidedly worse. Indeed, before long I thoi^ht him look-
ing so ill that I insisted on his going with me to consult
one of the most eminent doctors in London. This gen-
tleman said there was no acute disease but that my
young friend was suffering from nervous prostration,
the result of long and severe mental suffering,, from
which there was no remedy except time, prosperi^ and
rest. '

He said that Ernest must have broken down later oo,
but that he might have gone on for some months yet
It was the suddenness of the relief from tension which
had knocked him over now.

"Cross him," said the doctor,, "at once. Crossing is

398 The Way of All Flesh

-t he great m ^dirnl iliTiiinYfr)' af 4b« -age.-- Sb;dc»4tinT tmt
of hjjBs clf - by ch aking.something^else into him."

I had not told him that money was no object to us,
and I think he had reckoned me up as not over rich.
He continued: —
I "Seeir^ is a mode of touching, touching is a mode
\ of feeding, feeding is a mode of assimilation, assimilation
\ is a mode of re-creation and reproduction, and this is
' crossing — shaking yourself into something else and some-
thing else into you,"

He spoke laughingly, but it was plain he was serious.
■He continued: —

"People are always coming to me who want crossing,
■or change, if you prefer it, and who I know liave not
money enough to let them get away from London. This
has set me thinking how I can best cross them even if
they cannot leave home, and I have made a list of cheap
London amusements which I recommend to my patients ;
none of them cost more than a few shillings or take
more than half a day or a day."

I explained that there was no occasion to consider
money in this case.

"I am glad of it," he said, still laughing. "The homoeo-
pathists use aurum as a medicine, but they do not give
it in large doses enough; if you can dose your young
friend with this pretty freely you will soon bring him
round. However, Mr. Pontifex is not well enough to -
stand so great a change as going abroad yet; from
what you tell me I should think he had had as much
change lately as is good for him. If he were to go
abroad now he would probably be taken seriously ill
within a week. We must wait till he has recovered tone
a little more. I will begin by ringing my London changes
on him."

He thought a little and then said : —

"I have found the Zoological Gardens of service to
many of my patients. I should prescribe for Mr. Pen-

The Way of All Flesh 399

tifex a course of the larger mammals. Don't let him
think Ife is taking thera medicinally, but let him go to
their house twice a week for a fortnight, and stay with
the hippopotamus, the rhinoceros, and the elephants, till
they begin to bore him. I Hnd these beasts do my pa-
tients more good than any others. The monkeys are
not a wide enough cross; they do not stimulate suffi-
ciently. The larger camivora are unsympathetic. The
reptiles are worse than useless, and the marsupials are
not much better. Birds again, except parrots, are not
very beneficial; he may look at them now and again,
but with the elephants and the pig tribe generally he
should mix just now as freely as possible.

"Then, you know, to prevent monotony I should send
him, say, to morning service at the Abbey before he goes.
He need not stay longer than the Te Deum. I don't
know why, but Jubilates are seldom satisfactory. Just
let him look in at the Abbey, and sit quietly in Poets'
Comer till the main part of the music is over. Let him
do this two or three times, not more, before he goes to
the Zoo.

"Then next day send him down to Gravesend by boat.
By all means let him go to the theatres in the evenings
— and then let him come to me again in a fortnight."

Had the doctor been less eminent in his profession I
should have doubted whether he was in earnest, but I
knew him to be a man of business who would neither
waste his own time nor that of his patients. As soon as
wc were out of the house we took a cab to Regent's
Park, and spent a couple of hours in sauntering round
the different houses. Perhaps it was on account of
what the doctor had told me, but I certainly became
aware of a feeling I had never experienced before, I
mean that I was receiving an influx of new life, or de-
riving new ways of looking at life — which is the same
thing— by the process. I found the doctor quite right
in his estimate of the larger mammals as the ones which

400 The Way of All Flesh

on the whole were most beneficial, and observed that
Ernest, who had heard nothing of what the doctor had
said to me, lingered instinctively in front of them. As
for the elephants, especially the baby elephant, he seemed
to be drinking in large draughts of their lives to the re-
creation and regeneration of his own.

We dined in the gardens, and I noticed with pleasure
that Ernest's appetite was already improved. Since this
time, whenever I have been a little, out of sorts myself
I have at once gone up to Regent's Park, and have in-
variably been benefited. I mention this here In the hope
that some one or other of my readers may find the hint
a useful one.

At the end of his fortnight my hero was much better,
more so even than our friend the doctor had expected.
"Now," he said, "Mr, Pontifex* may go abroad, and the
sooner the better. Let him stay a couple of months."

Tills was the first Ernest had heard about his going
abroad, and he talked about my not beii^ able to spare
him for so long. I soon made this all right.

"It is now the beginning of April," said I ; "go down to
Marseilles at once, and take steamer to Nice. Then
saunter down the Riviera to Genoa — frcwn Genoa go to
Florence, Rome and Naples, and come home by way of
Venice and the Italian lakes."

"And won't you come too?" said he, e^:erly.

I said I did not mind if I did, so we b^an to make
our arrangements next morning, and completed them
within a very few days.

CHAPTER LXXX

We left by the night mail, crossing frcmi Dover. The
night was soft, and there was a bright moon upon the
sea, 'T)on't you love the smell of grease about the
engine of a Channel steamer ? Isn't there a lot of hope

The Way of All Flesh 401

in it?" said Ernest to me, for he had been to Normandy
one summer as a boy with his father and mother, and
the smell carried him back to days before those in ,
which he had begun to bruise himself against the great
outside world. "I always think one of the best parts of
going abroad is the first thud of. the piston, and the first
gurgling of the water when the paddle begins to
strike it."

It was very dreamy getting out at Calais, and trudging
about with luggage in a foreign town at an hour when
we were generally both of us in bed and fast asleep,
but we settled down to sleep as soon as we got into the
railway carriage, and dozed till we had passed Amiens.
Then waking when the first signs of morning crispness
were beginning to show themselves, I saw that Ernest
was already devouring every object we passed with quick
sympathetic curiousness. There was not a peasant in
a blouee driving his cart betimes aloi^ the road to mar-
ket, not a signalman's wife in her husband's hat and
coat waving a green flag, not a shepherd taking out his
sheep to the dewy pastures, not a bank of opening cow-
slips as we passed through the railway cuttings, but he
was drinking it all in with an enjoyment too deep for
words. The name of the engine that drew us was Mo-
zart, and Ernest liked this too.

We reached Paris by six, and had just time to get
across the town and take a morning express train to
Marseilles, but before noon my young friend was tired
out and had resigned himself to a series of steeps which
were seldom intermitted for more than an hour or so
together. He fought against this for a time, but in the
end consoled himself by saying it was so nice to have
so much pleasure that he could afford to throw a lot
of it away. Having found a theory on which to justify
himself, he slept in peace.

At Marseilles we rested, and there the excitement
of the change proved, as I had half feared it would, too

402 The Way of All Flesh

much for my godson's still enfeebled state. For a few
days he was really ill, but after this he righted. For
my own part I reckon being ill as one of the great pleas-
ures of life, provided one is not too ill and is not obliged
to work till one is better. I remember being ill once
in a foreign hotel myself and how much I enjoyed it.
To lie there careless of everything, quiet and warm,
and with no weight upon the mind, to hear the clink-
ing 9f the plates in the far-off kitchen as the scullion
rins«i them and put them by ; to watch the soft shadows
come and go upon the ceiling as the sun came out or
went behind a cloud ; to listen to the pleasant murmur-
ing of the fountain in the court below, and the shaking
of the bells on the horses' collars and the clink of their
hoofs upon the ground as the flies plagued them; not
only to be a lotus-eater but to know that it was one's
duty to be a lotus-eater. "Oh," I thought to myself, "if
I could only now, having so forgotten care, drop oft to
sleep for ever, would not this be a better piece of for-
tune than any I can ever hope for?"

Of course it would, but we would not take it though
it were offered us. No matter what evil may befall vs,
we will mostly abide by it and see it out.

I could see that Ernest felt much as I had felt my-
self. He said little, but noted everything. Once only
did he frighten me. He called me to his bedside just
as it was getting dusk and said in a grave, quiet manner
that he should like to speak to me,

"I have been thinking," he said, "that I may perhaps
never recover from this illness, and in case I do not I
should like you to know that there is only one thing
which weighs upon me. I refer," he continued after a
slight pause, "to my conduct towards my father and
mother. I have been much too good to them. I treated
them much too considerately," on which he broke into
a smile which assured me that there was nothing seri-
ously amiss with him.

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The Way of All Flesh 403

On the walls of his bedroom were a series of French
Revolution prints representing events in the life of Ly-
curgus. There was "Grandeur d'ame de Lycurgue," and
"Lycurgue consulte I'oracle," and then there was "Cal-
ciope a la Cour." Under this was written in French
and Spanish : "Modele de grace et de beaute, la jeune
Cakiope non moins sage que belle avait merits I'estitne
et I'attachement du vertueux Lycui^e. Vivement epris
de tant de charmes, I'illustre philosophe la conduisait
dans le temple de Junon, oii ils s'unirent par un sennent
sacre. Apres cette auguste ceremonie, Lycurgue a"eai-
pressa de conduire sa jeune epouse au palais de son fr^re
Polydecte, Roi de Lacedemon. Seigneur, lui dit-il, la
vertueuse Calciope vient de recevoir mes vceux aux pieds
des autels, j'ose vous prier d'approuver cette union. Le
Roi temoigna d'abord quelque surprise, mais Testime
qu'il avait pour son frere lui inspira une reponse pleine
de .hienveillance. II s'approcha aussitot de Calciope
qu'il embrassa tendrement, combla ensuite Lycurgue de
prevenances et parut tr^ satisfait."

He called my attention to this and then said some-
what timidly that he would rather have married Ellen
than Calciope. I saw he was hardening and made no
hesitation about proposing that in another day or two
we should proceed upon our journey.

I will not weary the reader by taking him with us over
beaten ground. We stopped at Siena, Cortona, Orvieto,
Perugia and many other cities, and then after a fort-
night passed between Rome and Naples went to the Ve-
netian provinces and visited all those wondrous towns
that lie between the southern slopes of the Alps and
the northern ones of the Apennines, coming back at last
by the S. Gotbard. I doubt whether he had enjoyed
the trip more than I did myself, but it was not till we
were on the point of returning that Ernest had recovered
strength enough to be called fairly well, and it was not
for many months that he so completely lost all sense of

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404 The Way of All Flesh

the wounds which the last four years had inflicted on
htm as to feel as though there were a scar and a scar
only remaining.

They say that when people have lost an arm or a foot
they feel pains in it now and again for a lot^ while
after they have lost it. One pain which he had almost
forgotten came upon him on his return to England, I
mean the sting of his having been imprisoned. As long
as he was only a small shop-keeper his imprisonment
mattered nothing; nobody knew of it, and if they had
known they would not have cared ; now, however, though
he was returning to his old position he was returning
to it disgraced, and the pain, from which he had been
saved in the first instance by surroundings so new that
he had hardly recognised his own identity in the middle
of them, came on him as from a wound inflicted yes-
terday.

He thought of the high resolves which he had made
in prison about using his disgrace as a vantage ground
of strength rather than trying to make people forget it.
"That was all very well then," he thought to himself,
"when the grapes were beyond my reach, but now it is
different." Besides, who but a prig would set himself
high aims, or make high resolves at all ?

Some of his old friends, on learning that he had got
rid of his supposed wife and was now comfortably off
again, wanted to renew their acqiiaintance ; he was grate-
ful to them and sometimes tried to meet their advances
half way, but it did not do, and ere long he shrank back
into himself, pretending not to know them. An infernal
demon of honesty haunted him which made him say to
himself : "These men know a great deal, but do not
know all — if they did they would cut me — and therefore
I have no right to their acquaintance."

He thought that everyone except himself was sans
peur et stais reproche. Of course they must be, for
if they had not been, would they not have been bound

vCoo*^lc

The Way of All Flesh 405

to warn all who had anything to do with them of their
deficiencies? • Well, he could not do this, and he would
' not have jtebple's acquaintance under false pretences, so
he gfave ifp even hankering after rehabilitation and fell
back upon his old tastes for music and literature.

Of course he has lot^; since found out how silly all
this was, how silly I mean in theory, for in practice it
worked better than it ought to have done, by keeping
him free from liaisons which would have tied his tongue
and made him see success elsewhere than where he came
ill time to see it. He did what he did instinctively anS
for no other reason than because it was most natural
to him. So far as he thought at all, he thou^t wrong,
but what he did was right I said somethmg of this
kind to him once not so very long ago, and told him he
had always aimed high. "I never aimed at alt," he re-
plied a little indignantly, "and you may be sure I should
have aimed low enough if I had thought I had got the
chance."

I suppose after all that no one whose mind was not,
to put it mildly, abnormal, ever yet aimed very high
out of pure malice aforethought. I once saw a fly alight
on a cup of hot coffee on which the milk had formed
a thin skin ; he perceived his extreme danger, and I noted
with what ample strides and almost supermuscan effort
he struck across the treacherous surface and made for
the edge of the cup — for the ground was not solid enot^h
to let him raise himself from it by his wings. As E
watched him I fancied that so supreme a moment of
difficulty and danger might leave him with an increase
of moral and physical power which might even descend
in some measure to his offspring. But surely he would
not have got the increased moral power if he could have
helped it, and he will not knowingly alight upon an-
other cup of hot coffee. The more I see, the more sure
I am that it does not matter why people do the right
thii^'so k)ng only as they do it, nor why they may

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406 The Way of All Flesh

have done the wrong if they have done it. The result
depgids upon the thing done and the motive, goes. Itor
not]jing. I iiave' read somewhere, but cannot remember
where,~"that in some country district there was once a
great scarcity of food, during which the poor suffered
acutely ; many indeed actually died of starvation, and all
were hard put to it. In one village, however, there was
a poor widow with a family of young children, who,
though she had small visible means of subsistence, still
looked well-fed and comfortable, as also did all her little
ones. "How," everyone asked, "did they manage to
live?" It was plain they had a secret, and it was equally
plain that it could be no good one ; for there came a hur-
ried, hunted look over the poor woman's face if any-
one alluded to ihe way in which she and hers throve
when others starved ; the family, moreover, were some-
times seen out at unusual hours of the night, and evi-
dently brought things home, which could hardly have
been honestly come by. They knew they were under
suspicion, and, being hitherto of excellent name, it made
them very unhappy, for it must be confessed that they
believed what they did to be uncanny if not absolutely
wicked; nevertheless, in spite of this they throve, and
kept their stret^th when all their neighbours were
" pinched.

At length matters came to a head and the dei^iTman
of the parish cross-questioned the poor woman so closely
that with many tears and a bitter sense of degradation
she confessed the truth ; she and her children went into
the hedges and gathered snails, which they made into
broth and ate — could she ever be forgiven ? Was there
any hope of salvation for her either in this world or
the next after such unnatural conduct?

So again I have heard of an old dowager countess
whose money was all in Consols ; she had had many sons,
and in her anxiety to give the younger ones a good start,
wanted a larger income than Omsols would give her.

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The Way of AH Flesh 407

She consulted her solicitor and was advised to sell her
Consols and invest in the London and North-Westem
Railway, then at about 85. This was to her what eating
snails was to the poor widow whose story I have told
above. With shame and grief, as of one doing an un-
clean thing — but her boys must have their start — she
did as she was advised. Then for a long while she could
not sleep at night and was haunted by a presage of
disaster. Yet what happened? She started her boys,
and in a few years found her capital doubted into the
bai^in, on which she sold out and went back again to
Consols and died in the full blessedness of fund-holding.

She thought, indeed, that she was doing a wrong and
dangerous thing, but this had absolutely nothing to do
with it. Suppose she had invested in the full confidence
of a recommendation by some eminent London banker
whose advice was bad, and so had lost all her money,
and suppose she had done this with a hght heart and
■with no conviction of sin — would her innocence of evil
purpose and the excellence of her motive have stood her
in any stead? Not they.

But to return to my story. Towneley gave my hero
most trouble. Towneley, as I have said, knew that Er-
nest would have money soon, but Ernest did not of
course know that he knew it. Towneley was rich him-
self, and was married now ; Ernest would be rich soon,
had bona fide intended to be married already, and would
doubtless marry a lawful wife later on. Such a man
was worth taking pains with, and when Towneley one
day met Ernest in the street, and Ernest tried to avoid
him, Towneley would not have it, but with his usual
quidc good nature read his thoughts, caught him, morally
speaking, by the scruff of hts neck, and turned him laugh-
ingly inside out, telling him he would have no such non-
sense.

Towneley was just as much Ernest's idol now as he
had ever been, and Ernest, who was very easily touched.

4o8 The Way of All Flesh

felt more gratefujly and warmly than «ver towards him,
but there was an unconscious somethii^ which was
stronger than Towneley, and made my hero determine
to br^ with him more determinedly perhaps than with
any other living person ; he thanked him in a low, hurried
voice and pressed his hand, while tears came into his
eyes in spite of all his efforts to repress them. "If we
meet again," he said, "do not look at me, but if here-
after you hear of me writing things you do not like,
think of me as charitably as you can," and so they parted.

"Towneley is a good fellow," said I, gravely, "and
you should not have cut him."

"Towneley," he answered, "is not only a good fellow,
but he is without exception the very best man I ever saw
in my life — except," he paid me the compliment of say-
ing, "yourself; Towneley is my notion of everything
which I should most like to be — ^but there is no real
solidarity between us. I should be in perpetual fear of
losing his good opinion if I said things he did not like,
and I mean to say a great many things," he continued
more merrily, "which Towneley will not like."

A man, as I have said already, can give up father and
' mother (or Christ's sake tolerably easily for the most
part, but it is not so easy to give up people like Towne-
ley.

CHAPTER LXXXI

So he fell away from all old friends except myself and
three or four old intimates of my own, who were as sure
to take to him as he to them, and who like myself en-
Joyed getting hold of a young fresh mind. Ernest at-
tended to the keeping of my account books whenever
there was anything which could possibly be attended to,
which there seldom was, and spent the greater part of
the rest of' his time in adding to the many notes and
tentative essays which had already accumulated .in his

The Way of All Flesh 409

portfolios. Anyone who was used to writing could see
at a fiance that literature was his natural development,
and I was pleased at seeing him settle down to it so
spontaneously. I was less pleased, however, to observe
that he would still occupy himself with none but the
most serious, I had abnost said solemn, subjects, just
as he never cared about any but the most serious kind
of music.

I said to him one day that the very slender reward
which God had attached to the pursuit of serious in-
quiry was a sufficient proof that He disapproved of it,
or at any rate that He did not set much store by it nor
wish to encourage it.

He said: "Oh, don't talk about rewards. Look at
Milton, who only got £5 for 'Paradise Lost' "

"And a great deal too much," I rejoined promptly.
"I would have given him twice as much myself not to
have written it at all."

Ernest was 3 little shocked. "At any Tfate," he said
laughingly, "I don't write poetry."

This was a cut at me, for my burlesques were, of
course, written in rhyme. So I dropped the matter.

After a time he took it into his head to reopen the
question of his getting ^300 a year for doing, as he said,
absolutely nothing, and said he would try to Bnd some
employment which should bring him in enough to live
upon.

I latched at this but let him alone. He tried and
tried very hard for a long while, but I need hardly say
was unsuccessful. The older I grow, the more con-
vinced I become of the folly and credulity of the public;
but at the same time the harder do I see it is to impose
oneself upon that folly and credulity.

He tried editor after editor with article after article.
Sometimes an editor listened to him and told him to
leave his articles; he almost invariably, however, had
them returned to him in the end with a polite note say-

410 The Way of All Flesh

ing that they were not Suited for the particular papef
to which he had sent them. And yet many of these
very articles a^^ieared in his later works, and no one
complained of them, not at least on the score of bad
literary workmanship. "I see," he said to me one day,
"that demand is very imperious, and supply must be very
suppliant"

Once, indeed, the editor of an important monthly
magazine accepted an article from him, and he thought
he had now got a footing in the literary world. The
article was to appear in the next issue but one, and he
was to receive proof from the printers in about ten
days or a fortnight; but week after week passed and
there was no proof; month after month went by and
there was still no room for Ernest's article; at length
after about six months the editor one morning told him
that he had tilled every number of his review for the
next ten months, but that his article should definitely
a^^>ear. On this he insisted on having his MS. returned
to him.

Sometimes his articles were actually published, and
he found the editor had edited them according to his
own fancy, putting in jokes which he thought were
funny, or cutting out the very passage which Ernest
had considered the point of the whole thing, and then,
though the articles appeared, when it came to paying for
them it was another matter, and he never saw his money.
"Editors," he said to me one day about this time, "are
like the people who bought and sold in the book of
Revelation; there is not one but has the mark of the
beast upon him."

At last after months of disajqwintment and many a
tedious hour wasted in dingy ante-rooms (and of all an-
te-rooms those of editors appear to me to be the dreari-
est), he got a bona Ude offer of employment from one
of the first class weekly papers through an introduction
I was able to get for him from one who had powerful

The Way of All Flesh 411

influence with the paper in question. The editor sent
him a dozen long books upon varied and difficult sub-
jects, and told him to review them in a single article
within a week. In one book there was an editorial note
to the e£Eect that the writer was to be condemned. Er-
nest particularly admired the book he was desired to
condemn, and feeling how hopeless it was for him to
do anything like justice to the books submitted to him,
returned them to the editor.

At last one paper did actually take a dozen or so of
articles from him, and gave him cash down a couple
of guineas apiece for them, but having done this it ex-
pired within a fortnight after the last of Ernest's arti-
cles had appeared. It certainly looked very much as if
the other editors knew their business in declining to have
anything to do with my unlucky godson.

I was not sorry that he failed with periodical litera-
ture, for writing for reviews or newspapers is bad train-
ing for one who may aspire to write works of more per-
manent interest. A young writer should have more time
for reflection than he can get as a contributor to the
daily or even weekly press. Ernest himself, however,
was chagrined at iinding how unmarketable he was.
"Why," he said to me, "if I was a well-bred horse, or
sheep, or a pure-bred pigeon or lop-eared rabbit I should
be more salable. If I was even a cathedral in a colonial
town people would give me something, but as it is they
do not want me" ; and now that he was well and rested
he wanted to set up a shop again, but this, of course, I
would not hear of.

"What care I," said he to me one day, "about being
what they call a gentleman?" And his manner was al-
most fierce.

"What has being a gentleman ever done for me ex-
cept make' me less able to prey and more easy to be
preyed upon? It has changed the manner of my being
swindled, that is all. But for your kindness to me I

The Way of All Flesh

sK&uld be penniless. Thank heaven I have placed my
children where I have."

I begged him to keep quiet a little longer and not talk
about taking a shop.

"Will being a gentleman," he said, "bring me money
at the last, and will anything bring me as much peace
at the last as money will? They say that those who
have riches enter hardly into the kingdom of Heaven.
By Jove, they do; they are like Struldbrugs; they live
and live and live and are happy for many a long year
after they would have entered into the kingdom of
Heaven if they had been poor. I want to live long and
to raise my children, if I see they would be happier for
the raising; tliat is what I want, and it is not what I
am doing now that wilt help me. Being a gentleman is
a luxury which I cannot afford, therefore I do not want
it. Let me go back to my shop again, and do things
for people which they want done and will pay me for
doing for them. They know what they want and what
is good for them better than I can tell them."

It was hard to deny the soundness of this, and if he
had been dependent only on the i3oo a year which he
was getting from me I should have advised him to open
his shop again next morning. As it was, I temporised
and raised obstacles, and quieted him from time to time
as best I could.

Of course he read Mr, Darwin's books as fast as
they came out and adopted evolution as an article of
faith. "It seems to me," he said once, "that I am like
one of those caterpillars which, if they have been in-
terrupted in making their hammock, must begin again
from the beginnii^. So long as 1 went back a long
way down in the social scale I got on all right, and
should have made money but for Ellen; when I try to
take up the work at a higher stage I fail completely."
I do not know whether the analogy holds good or not,
but I am sure Ernest's instinct was right in telling him

The Way of All Flesh 413

that after a heavy fall he had better b^n life again
at a very low stafe, and as I have just said, I would have
let him go back to his shop if I had not known what
I did.

As the time fixed upon by his aunt drew nearer I pre-
pared him more and more for what was coming, and
at last, on his twenty-eighth birthday, I was able to tell
him all and to show him the letter signed by his aunt
upon her death-bed to the effect that I was to hold the
money in trust for him. His birthday happened that
year (1863) to be on a Sunday, but on the following
day I transferred his shares into his own name, and
presented him with the account books which he had been
keeping for the last year and a half.

In t;pite of all that I had done to prepare him, it was a
long while before I could get him actually to believe
that the money was his own. He did not say much —
no more did I, for I am not sure that I did not feel as
much moved at having brought my long trusteeship to a
satisfactory conclusion as Ernest did at finding himself
owner of more than ^70,000. .When he did speak it was
to jerk out a sentence or two of reflection at a time.
"If I were rendering this moment in music," he said, "I
should allow myself free use of the augmented sixth."
A little later I remember his saying with a laugh that
had something of a family likeness to his aunt's : "It
is not the pleasure it causes me which I enjoy so, it is
the pain it will cause to all my friends except yourself
and Towneley."

I said ; "You cannot tell your father and mother — ^it
would drive them mad."

"No, no, no," said he, "it would be too cruel ; it would
be like Isaac offering up Abraham and no thicket with
a ram in it near at hand. Besides, why should I ? We
have cut each other these four years."

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414 The Way of AH Flesh

CHAPTER LXXXII

It almost seemed as though our casual mention of Theo-
bald and Christina had in some way excited them from
a dormant to an active state. During the years that
had elapsed since they last appeared upon the scene they
had remained at Battersby, and had concentrated their
affection upon their other children.

It had been a bitter pill to Theobald to lose his power
of plaguing his first-bom; if the truth were known I
believe he had felt this more acutely than any di^race
which might have been shed upon him by Ernest's im-
prisonment. He had made one or two attempts to re-
open negotiations through me, but I never said anything
about them to Ernest, for I knew it would upset him.
I wrote, however, to Theobald that I had found his son
inexorable, and recommended him for the present, at
any rate, to desist from returning to the subject. This
I thought would be at once what Ernest would like best
and Theobald least.

A few days, however, after Ernest had come into his
property, I received a letter from Theobald enclosing
one for Ernest which I could not withhold.

The letter ran thus:—

"To MY SON Ernest, — Although you have more than
once rejected my overtures I appeal yet again to your
better nature. Your mother, who has long been ailing,
is, I believe, near her end ; she is unable to keep anythii^
on her stomach, and Dr. Martin holds out but little hopes
of her recovery. She has expressed a wish to see you,
and says she knows you will not refuse to come to her,
which, considering her condition, I am unwillit^ to sup-
pose you will.

"I remit you a Post Office order for your fare, and
will pay your return journey.

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The Way of All Flesh 415

"If you want clothes to come in, order what you con-
sider suitable, and desire that the bill be sent to me; I
will pay it immediately, to an amount not exceeding
eight or nine pounds, and if you will let me know what
train you will come by, I will send the carriage to meet
you. Believe me. Your affectionate father,

"T. PONTIFEX."

Of course there could be no hesitation on Ernest's
part. He could afford to smile now at his father's offer-
ing to pay for his clothes, and his sending him a Post
Office order for the exact price of a second-class ticket,
and he was of course shocked at learning the state his
mother was said to be in, and touched at her desire to
see him. He tel^raphed that he would come down at
once. I saw him a httle before he started, and was
pleased to sec how well his tailor had done by him.
Towneley himself could not have been appointed more
becomingly. His portmanteau, his railway wrapper,
everything he had about him, was in keeping. I thought
he had grown much better-looking than he had been at
two or three and twenty. His year and a half of peace
had effaced all the ill effects of his previous suffering,
and now that he had become actually rich there was an
air of insouciance and good humour upon his face, as
of a man with whom everything was going perfectly
right, which would have made a much plainer man good-
kioking. I was proud of him and delighted with him.
"I am sure," I said to myself, "that whatever else he
may do, he will never marry again."

The journey was a painful one. As he drew near to
the station and caught sight of each familiar feature,
so strong was the force of association that he felt as
though his coming into his aunt's money had been a
dream, and he were again returning to his father's house
as he had returned to it from Cambridge for the va-
cations. Do what he would, the old dull we^ht of

4i6 The Way of All Flesh

homesickness began to oppress him, his heart beat fast
as he thought of his approaching meeting with his father
and mother. "And I shall have," he said to himself, "to
kiss Charlotte."

Would his father meet him alf the station? Would
he greet him as though nothing had happened, or would
he be cold and distant? How, again, would he take the
news of his son's good fortune? As the train drew up
to the platform, Ernest's eye ran hurriedly over the few
people who were in the station. His father's well-known
form was not among them, but on the other side of the
palings which divided the station yard from the platform,
he saw the pony carnage, looking, as he thought, rather
shabby, and recognised his father's coachman. In a few
minutes more he was in the carriage driving towards
Battersby. He could not help smiling as he saw the
coachman give a look of surprise at finding him so much
changed in personal appearance. The coachman was the
more surprised because when Ernest had last been at
home he had been dressed as a clergyman, and now he
was not only a layman, but a layman who was got up
regardless of expense. The change was so great that
it was not till Ernest actually spoke to him that the coach-
man knew him.

"How are my father and mother?" he asked hurriedly,
as he got into the carriage, "The Master's well, sir,"
was the answer, "but the Missis is very sadly." The
horse knew that he was going home and pulled hard at
the reins. The weather was cold and raw — the very ideal
of a November day; in one part of the road the floods
were out, and near here they had to pass through a
number of horsemen and dogs, for the hounds had met
that morning at a place near Battersby. Ernest saw sev-
eral people whom he knew, but they either, as is most
likely, did not recognise him, or did not know of his good
luck. When Battersby church tower drew near, and he
saw the Rectory on the top of the hill, its chimneys just
Cloo-jlc

The Way of All Flesh 417

showing above the leafless trees with which it was sur-
rounded, he threw himself back in the carriage and cov-
ered his face with his hands.

It came to an end, as even the worst quarters of an
hour do, and in a few minutes more he was on the steps
in front of his father's house. His father, hearing the
carriage arrive, came a little way down the steps to meet
him. Like the coachman he saw at a glance that Ernest
was appointed as though money were abundant with him,
and that he was looking robust and full of health and
vigour.

This was not what he had bargained for. He wanted
Ernest to return, but he was to return as any respectable,
well-regulated prodigal ought to return — abject, broken-
hearted, asking forgiveness from the tenderest and most
long-suffering father in the whole world. If he should
have shoes and stockings and whole clothes at all, it
should be only because absolute rags and tatters had been
graciously dispensed with, whereas here he was swagger-
ing in a grey ulster and a blue and white necktie, and
looking better than Theobald had ever seen him in his
■ life. It was unprincipled. Was it for this that he had
been generous enough to offer to provide Ernest with
decent clothes in which to come and visit his mother's
death-bed? Could any advantage be meaner than the
one which Ernest had taken? Well, he would not go a
penny beyond the eight or nine pounds which he had
promised. It was fortunate he had given a limit. Why,
he, Theobald, had never been able to afford such a port-
manteau in his life. He was still using an old one
which his father had turned over to him when he went
up to Cambridge. Besides, he had said clothes, not a
portmanteau.

Ernest saw what was passing through his father's
mind, and felt that he ought to have prepared him in
some way for what he now saw ; but he had sent his tele-
gram so immediately on receiving his father's letter, and

4i8 The Way of All Flesh

had followed it so promptly that it would not have been
easy to do so even if he had thought of it He put out
his hand and said laughingly, "Oh, it's all paid for — I am
afraid you do not know that Mr. Overton has handed
over to me Aunt Alethea's money."

Theobald flushed scarlet. "But why," he said, and
these were the first words that actually crossed his lips —
"if the money was not his to keep, did he not hand it
over to my brother John and me?" He stammered a
good deal and looked sheepish, but he got the words out

"Because, my dear father," said Ernest still laughing,
"my aunt left it to him in trust for me, not in trust
either for you or for my Uncle John — and it has accu-
mulated till it is now over iyofxo. But tell me how is
my mother ?"

"No, Ernest," said Theobald excitedly, "the matter
cannot rest here ; I must know that this is all open and
above board."

This had the true Theobald ring and instantly brought
the whole train of ideas which in Ernest's mind were
connected with his father. The surroundings were the
old familiar ones, but the surroimded were changed al-
most beyond power of recognition. He turned sharply
on Theobald in a moment. I will not repeat the words
he used, for they came out before he had time to con-
sider them, and they might strike some of my readers
as disrespectful ; there were not many of them, but th^
were effectual. Theobald said nothing, but turned ai-
most of an ashen colour; he never again spoke to his son
in such a way as to make it necessary for him to repeat
what he had said on this occasion. Ernest quickly re-
covered his temper and again asked after his mother,
Theobald was glad enough to take this opening now,
and replied at once in the tone he would have asstnned
towards one he most particularly desired to conciliate,
that she was getting rapidly worse in spite of all he had
been able to do for her, and concluded by sayings she had

The Way of All Flesh 419

been the comfort and mainstay of bis life for more
than thirty years, but that he could not wish it pro-
longed.

The pair then went upstairs to Christina's room, the
one in which Ernest had been bom. His father went
before him and prepared her for her son's approach. The
poor woman raised herself in bed as he came towards
her, and weeping as she flung her arms around him,
cried : "Oh, I knew he would come, I knew, I knew he
could come."

Ernest broke down and wept as he had not done for
years.

"Oh, my boy, my boy," she said as soon as she could
recover her voice, "Have yOu never really been near us
for all these years? Ah, you do not know how we have
loved you and mourned over you, papa just as much as I
have. You know he shows his feelings less, but I can
never tell you how very, very deeply he has felt for you.
Sometimes at night I have thought I have heard foot-
steps in the garden, and have got quietly out of bed lest
I should wake him, and gone to the window to look out,
but' there has been only dark or the greyness of the
morning, and I have gone crying back to bed again. Still
I think you have been near us though you were too proud
to let us know — and now at last I have you in my arras
once more, my dearest, dearest boy."

How cruel, how infamously unfeeling Ernest thoi^ht
he had been.

"Mother," he said, "forgive me— the f auh was mine ;
I ought not to have been so hard; I was wrong, very
wroi^" ; the poor blubbering fellow meant what he said,
and his heart yearned to his mother as he had never
thought that it could yearn again. "But have you never,"
she continued, "come although it was in the dark and
we did not know it — oh, let me think that you have not
been so cruel as we have thought you. Tell me that you
came if only to comfort me and make me happier."

420 The Way of All Flesh

Ernest was ready. "I had no money to come with,
mother, till just lately."

This was an excuse Christina could understand and
make allowance for: "Oh, then you would have come,
and I will take the will for the deed— and now that I
have you safe again, say that you will never, never leave
me — not till — not till — oh, my boy, have they told you I
am dying?" She wept bitterly, and buried her head in
her pillow. ,

CHAPTER LXXXIII

Joey and Charlotte were in the room. Joey was now
ordained, and was curate to Theobald. He and Ernest
had never been sympathetic, and Ernest saw at a glance
that there was no chance of a rapprochement between
them. He was a little startled at seeing Joey dressed as
a clergyman, and looking so like what he had looked
himself a few years earlier, for there was a good deal
of family likenes? between the pair ; but Joey's face was
cold and was illumined with no spark of Bohemianism;
he was a clergyman and was going to do as other clergy-
men did, neither better nor worse. He greeted Ernest
rather de haul en bos, that is to say he began by trying
to do so, but the affair tailed off unsatisfactorily.

His sister presented her cheek to him to be kissed.
How he hated it; he had lieen dreading it for the last
three hours. She, too, was distant and reproachful in
her manner, as such a superior person was sure to be.
She had a grievance against him inasmuch as she was
still unmarried. She laid the blame of this at Ernest's
door; it was his misconduct, she maintained in secret,
which had prevented young men -from making offers to
her, and she ran him up a heavy bill for consequential
damages. She and Joey had from the first developed
an instinct for hunting with the hounds, and now these
two had fairly identiBed themselves with the older gen-

The Way of All Flesh 421

cration — that is to say as against Ernest, On this head
there was an offensive and defensive alliance between
them, but between themselves there was subdued but
internecine warfare.

This at least was what Ernest gathered, partly from
his recollections of the parties concerned, and partly from
his observation of their little ways during the first half-
hour after his arrival, while they were all together in his
mother's bedroom — for as yet of course they did not
know that he had money. He could see that they eyed
him from time to time with a surprise not unmixed with
indignatioiii and knew very well what they were think-
ing.

Christina saw the change which had come over him —
how much firmer and more vigorous both in mind and
body he seemed than when she had last seen him.
She saw too how well he was dressed, and, like the
others, in spite of the return of all her affection for her
first-bom, was a little alarmed about Theobald's pocket,
which she supposed would have to be mulcted for all this
magnificence. Perceiving this, Ernest relieved her mind
and told her all about his aunt's bequest, and how I had
husbanded it, in the presence of his brother and sister
— who, however, pretended not to notice, or at any rate
to notice as a matter in which they could hardly be
expected to take an interest.

His mother kicked a little.at first against the money's
having gone to him as she said "over his papa's head,"
"Why, my dear," she said in a deprecating tone, "this
is more than ever your papa has had" ; but Ernest calmed
her by suggesting that if Miss Pontifex had known how
large the sum would become she would have left the
greater part of it to Theobald. This compromise was
accepted by Christina who forthwith, ill as she was, en-
tered with ardour into the new position, and taking it as
a fresh point of departure, began spending Ernest's
money for him.

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422 The Way of All Flesh

I may say in passing that Christina was right in say-
ing that Theobald had never had so much money as his
son was now possessed of. In the first place he had not
had a fourteen years' minority with no outgoings to pre-
vent the accumulation of the money, and in the second
he, like myself and almost everyone else, had suffered
somewhat in the 1&46 times — not enough to cripple him
or even seriously to hurt him, but enough to give him a
scare and make him stick to debentures for the rest of his
life. It was the tact of his son's being the richer man of
the two, and of his being rich so young, which rankled
with Theobald even more than the fact of his having
money at all. If he had had to wait till he was sixty or
sixty-five, and become broken down from long failure
in the meantime, why then perhaps he might have been
allowed to have whatever sum should suffice to keep him
out of the workhouse and pay his death-bed expenses;
but that he should come in to £70,000 at eight and twenty,
and have no wife and only two children — it was intol-
' erable. Christina was too ill and in too great a hurry to
spend the money to care much about such details as the
foregoing, and she was naturally much more good-
natured than Theobald.

"This piece of good fortune" — she saw it at a glance
—"quite wiped out the disgrace of his having been im-
prisoned. There should be no more nonsense about that.
The whole thing was a mistake, an unfortunate mistake,
true, but the less said about it now the better. Of course
Ernest would come back and live at Battersby until he
was married, and he would pay his father handsomely
for board and lodging. In fact it would be only right
that Theobald should make a profit, nor would Ernest
himself wish it to be other than a handsome one ; this
was far the best and simplest arrangement ; and he could
take his sister out more than Theobald or Joey cared to
do, and would also doubtless entertain very handsomely
at Battersby.

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The Way of All Flesh 423

"Of course he would buy Joey a living, and make large
presents yearly to his sister — was there anything else?
Oh ! yes — he would become a county magnate now ; a
man with nearly £4000 a year should certainly become a
county magnate. He might even go into Parliament.
He had very fair abilities, nothing indeed approaching
such genius as Dr. Skinner's, nor even as Theobald's, still
he -was not deficient and if he got into Parliament — so
youi^ too — there was nothing to hinder his being Prime
Minister before he died, and if so, of course, he would
become a peer. Oh I why did he not set about it all at
once, so that she might live to hear people call her son
'my lord' — Lord Battersby she thoi^ht would do very
nicely, and if she was well enough to sit he must certainly
have her portrait painted at full length for one end of
his large dining-hall. It should be exhibited at the Royal
Academy: 'Portrait of Lord Battersby's mother,' she
said to herself, and her heart fluttered with all its wonted
vivacity. If she could not sit, happily, she had been
photographed not so very long ago, and the portrait had *
been as successful as any photograph could be of a (ace
which depended so entirely upon its expression as her
own. Perhaps the painter could take the portrait suffi-
ciently from this. It was better after all that Ernest had
given up the Church — how far more wisely God arranges
matters for us than ever we can do for ourselves I She .
saw it all now — it was Joey who would become Arch-
bishop of Canterbury and Ernest would remain a layman
and become Prime Minister" . . . and so on till her
daughter told her it was time to take her medicine.

I suppose this reverie, which is a mere fragment of
what actually ran through Christina's brain, occupied
about a minute and a half, but it, or the presence of her
son, seemed to revive her spirits wonderfully. Ill, dying
indeed, and suffering as she was, she brightened up so
as to laugh once or twice quite merrily during the course
of the afternoon. Next day Dr. Martin said she was

424 The Way of All Flesh

SO much better that he almost began to have hopes of
her recovery again. Theobald, whenever this was
touched upon as possible, would shake his head and say :
"We can't wish it prolonged," and then Charlotte caught
Ernest unawares and said : "You know, dear Ernest, that
these ups and downs of talk are terribly a^tating to
papa ; he could stand whatever comes, but it is quite too
wearing to htm to think half-a-dozen different things
backwards and forwards, up and down in the same
twenty-four hours, and it would be kinder of you not to
do it — I mean not to say anything to him even thoi^h
Dr. Martin does hold out hopes."

Charlotte had meant to imply that it was Ernest who
was at the bottom of all the inconvenience felt by Theo-
bald, herself, Joey and everyone else, and she had actually
got words out which should convey this; true, she had
not dared to stick to them and had turned them o£f, but
she had made them hers at any rate for one brief mo-
ment, and this was better than nothing. Ernest noticed
throughout his mother's illness, that Charlotte found im-
mediate occasion to make herself disagreeable to him
whenever either doctor or nurse pronounced her mother
to be a little better. When she wrote to Crampsford to
desire the prayers of the congregation (she was sure her
mother would wish it, and that the Crampsford people
would be pleased at her remembrance of them), she was
sending another letter on some quite different subject at
the same time, and put the two letters into the wrong en-
velopes. Ernest was asked to take these letters to the
village postoffice, and imprudently did so; when the
error came to be discovered Christina happened to
have rallied a little. Charlotte flew at Ernest imme-
diately, and laid all the blame of the blunder upon his
shoulders.

Except that Joey and Charlotte were more fully de-
veloped, the house and its inmates, organic and inot;ganic,
were little changed since Ernest had last seen them.

The Way of All Flesh 425

The furniture and the ornaments on the chimney-piece
were just as they had been ever since he could remember
anything at all. In the drawing-room, on either side of
the fireplace there hung the Carlo Dolci and the Sassofer-
rato as in old times ; there was the water colour of a
scene on the Lago Maggiore, copied by Charlotte from
an original lent her by her drawing master, and finished
under his direction. This was the picture of which one
of the servants had said that it must be good, for Mr.
Pontifex had given ten shillings for the frame. The
paper on the walls was unchanged; the roses were still
waiting for the bees; and the whole family still prayed
night and morning to be made "truly honest and con-
scientious."

One picture only was removed — a photograph of him-
self which had hung under one of his father and between
those of his brother and sister. Ernest noticed this at
prayer time, while his father was reading about Noah's
ark and how they daubed it with slime, which, as it hap-
pened, had been Ernest's favourite text when he was a
boy. Next morning, however, the photograph had found
its way back again, a little dusty and with a bit of the
gliding chipped oS from one comer of the frame, but
there sure enough it was. I si^pose they put it back
when they found how rich he had become. -'

In the dining-room the ravens were still trying to feed
Elijah over the fireplace ; what a crowd of reminiscences
did not this picture bring back) Looking out of the
window, there were the flower beds in the front garden
exactly as they had been, and Ernest found himself look-
ing hard against the blue door at the bottom of the gar-
den to see if there was rain falling, as he had been used
to look when he was a child doing lessons <with his
father.

After their early dinner, when Joey and Ernest and
their father were left alone, Theobald rose and stood
in the middle of the hearthrug under the Elijah picture,

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426 The Way of All Flesh

and began to whistle in his old absent way. He had two
tunes only — one was "In my Cottage near a Wood," and
the other was the Easter Hymn ; he had been trying to
whistle them all his life, but had never succeeded ; he
whistled them as a clever bullfinch might whistle them
— he had got them, but he had not got them right ; he
would be a semitone out in every third note as though
reverting to some remote musical progenitor, who had
known none but the Lydian or the Phrygian mode, or
whatever would enable him to go most wrong while
still keeping the tune near enough to be recognised.
Theobald stood before the middle of the fire and whistled
his two tunes softly in his own old way till Ernest left
the room ; the unchangedness of the external and chang-
edness of the internal he feh were likely to throw him
completely off his balance.

He strolled out of doors into the sodden spinney be-
hind the house, and solaced himself with a pipe. Ere
long he found himself at the door of the cottage of hb
father's coachman, who had married an old lady's maid
of his mother's, to whom Ernest had been always much
attached as she also to him, for she had known him
ever since he had been five or six years old. Her name
was Susan. He sat down in the rocking-chair before her
fire, and Susan went on ironing at the table in front of
the window, and a smell of hot flannel pervaded the
kitchen.

Susan had been retained too securely by Christina to
be likely to side with Ernest all in a moment. He knew,
this very well, and did not call on her for the sake of
support, moral or otherwise. He had called because he
liked her, and also because he knew that he should
gather much in a chat with her that he should not be able
to arrive at in any other way.

"Oh, Master Ernest," said Susan, "why did you not
come back when your poor papa and mamma wanted
you ? I'm stire your ma has said to me a hundred times

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The Way of All Flesh 427

over if she has said it once that all should be exactly as
it had been before."

Emest smiled to hitnsejf. It was no use explaining to
Susan why he smiled, so he said nothing.

"For the first day or two I thought she never would
get over it; she said it was a judgment upon her, and
went on about things as she had said and done many
years ago, before your pa knew her, and I don't know
what she didn't say or wouldn't have said only I stopped
her ; she seemed out of her mind like, and said that none
of the neighbours would ever speak to her again, but the
next day Mrs. Bushhy (her that was Miss Cowey, yoii
know) called, and your ma always was so fond of her,
and it seemed to do her a power o' good, for the next
day she went through all her dresses, and we settled how
she should have them altered ; and then all the neighbours
called for miles and miles round, and your ma came in
here, and said she had been going through the waters
of misery, and the Lord had turned them to a well.

" 'Oh, yes, Susan,' said she, 'be sure it is so. Whom
the Lord loveth he chasteneth, Susan,' and here she began
to cry again. 'As for him,' she went on, 'he has made his
bed, and he must lie on it ; when he comes out of prison
his pa will know what is best to be done, and Master Er-
nest may be thankful that he has a pa so good and so
long-suffering.'

"Then when you would not see them, that was a cruel
blow to your ma. Your pa did not say anything; you
know your pa never does say very much unless he's
downright waxy for the time; but your ma took on
dreadful for a few days, and I never saw the master look
so black ; but, bless you, it all went off in a few days, and
I don't kni-w that there's been much difference in either
of them since then, not till your ma was took ill."

On the night of his arrival he had behaved well at
family prayers, as also on the following morning; his
father read about David's dyii^ injunction to Solomon i ,

428 The Way of All Flesh

in the matter of Shimei, but he di^ not mind it. In the
course of the day, however, his corns had been trodden
on so many times that he was in a misbehaving humour,
on this the second night after his arrival. He knelt next
Charlotte and said the responses perfunctorily, not so
perfunctorily that she should know for certain that he
was doing it maliciously, but so perfunctorily as to make
her uncertain whether he might be malicious or not, and
when he had to pray to be made truly honest and con-
scientious he emphasised the "truly." I do not know
whether Charlotte noticed anything, but she knelt at
some distance from him during the rest of his stay.
He assures me that this was the only spitetu) thing he
did during the whole time he was at Battersby,

When he went up to his bedroom, in which, to do them
justice, they had given him a fire, he noticed what indeed
he had noticed as soon as he was shown into it on his
arrival, that there was an illuminated card framed and
glazed over his bed with the words, "Be the day weary
or be the day long, at last it ringeth to evensong." He
wondered to himself how such people could leave such a
card in a room in which their visitors would have to
spend the last hours of their evening, but he let it alone.
"There's not enough difference between 'weary' and 'long'
to warrant an 'or,' " he said, "but I suppose it is all
right." I believe Christina had bought the card at a
bazaar in aid of the restoration of a neighbouring church,
and having been bought it had got to be used — ^besides,
the sentiment was so touching and the illumination was
really lovely. Anyhow, no irony could be more complete
than leaving it in my hero's bedroom, though assuredly
no irony had been intended.

On the third day after Ernest's arrival Christina re'
lapsed again. For the last two days she had been in
no pain and had slept a good deal; her son's presence
still seemed to cheer her, and she often said how thankful
she was to be surrounded on her death-bed by a family so

The Way of All Flesh 429

happy, so God-fearing, so united, but now she began to
wander, and, being more sensible of the approach of
death, seemed also more alarmed at the thoughts of the
Day of Judgment.

She ventured more than once or twice to return to the
subject of her sins, and implored Theobald to make
quite sure that they were forgiven her. She hinted that
she considered his professional reputation was at stake;
it would never do for his own wife to fail in securing at
any rate a pass. This was touching Theobald on a tender
spot ; he winced and rejoined with an impatient toss of
the head, "But, Christina, they are forgiven you"; and
then he entrenched himself in a firm but dignified manner
behind the Lord's prayer. When he rose he left the
room, but called Ernest out to say that he could not wish
it prolonged.

Joey was no more use in quieting his mother's anxiety
than Theobald had been — indeed he was only Theobald
and water ; at last Ernest, who had not liked interfering,
took the matter in hand, and, sitting beside her, let her
pour out her grief to him without let or hindrance.

She said she knew she had not given up oil for Christ's
sake ; it was this that weighed upon her. She had given
up much, and had always tried to give up more year by
year, still she knew very well that she had not been so
spiritually minded as she ought to have been. If she had,
she should probably have been favoured with some direct
vision or communication; whereas, though God had
vouchsafed such direct and visible angelic visits to one of
her dear children, yet she had had none such herself —
nor even had Theobald.

She was talking rather to herself than to Ernest as she
said these words, but they made him open his ears. He
wanted to know whether the angel had appeared to Joey
or to Charlotte. He asked his mother, but she seemed
surprised, as though she expected him to know all about
it ; then, as if she remembered, she checked herself and

430 The Way of All Flesh

said, "Ah ! yes — ^you know nothing of all this, and perhaps
it is as well." Ernest could not of course press the sub-
ject, so he never found out which of his near relations it
was who had had direct communication with an immor-
tal. The others never said anything to him about it,
though whether this was because they were ashamed, or
because they feared he would not believe the story and
thus increase his own damnation, he could not determine.
Ernest has often thought about this since. He tried to
get the facts out of Susan, who he was sure would know,
but Charlotte had been beforehand with him. "No, Mas-
ter Ernest," said Susan, when he began to question her,
"your ma has sent a message to me by Miss Charlotte
as I am not to say nothing at all about it, and I never
will." Of course no further questioning was possible.
It had more than once occurred to Ernest that Charlotte
didnot in reality believe more than he did himself, and
this incident went far to strengthen his surmises, but he
wavered when he remembered how she had misdirected
the letter asking for the prayers of the congregation.
"I suppose," he said to himself gloomily, "she does be-
lieve in it after all."

Then Christina returned to the subject of her own

I want of spiritual-mindedness, she even harped upon the

j old grievance of her having eaten black puddings — true,

: she had given them up years ago, but for how many

years had she not persevered in eating them after she had

had misgivings about their having been forbidden t Then

there was something that weighed on her mind that had

taken place before her marriage, and she should like

Ernest interrupted ; "My dear mother," he said, "you
are til and your mind is unstrung; others can now judge
better about you than you can ; I assure you that to me
you seem to have been the most devotedly unselfish wife
and mother that ever lived. Even if you have not liter-
ally given up all for Christ's sake, you have done so prac-
tically as far ^s it was in your power, and more than this

The Way of All Flesh 431

is not required of anyone. I believe you will not only be
a saint, but a very distinguished one."

At these words Christina brightened. "You pve me
hope, you give me hope," she cried, and dried her eyes.
She made him assure her over and over again that this
was his solemn conviction ; she did not care about being
a distinguished saint now ; she would be quite content to
be among the meanest who actually got into heaven, pro-
vided she could make sure of escaping that awful Hell.
The fear of this evidently was omnipresent with her, and
in spite of all Ernest could say he did not quite dispel it
She was rather ungrateful, I must confess, for after
more than an hour's consolation from Ernest she prayed
for him that he might have every blessing in this world,
inasmuch as she always feared that he was the only one
of her children -whom she should never meet in heaven ;
but she was then wandering, and was hardly aware of
his presence; her mind in fact was reverting to states
in which it had been before her illness.

On Sunday Ernest went to church as a matter of
course, and noted that the ever receding tide of Evan-
gelicalism had ebbed many a stage lower, even during
the few years of his absence. His father used to walk
to the church through the Rectory garden, and across a
small intervening field. He had been used to walk in
a tall hat, his Master's gown, and wearing a pair of
Geneva bands. Ernest noticed that the bands were worn
no longer, and lo I greater marvel still, Theobald did not '
preach in his Master's gown, but in a surplice. The
whole character of the service was changed ; you could
not say it was high even now, for high-church Theobald
could never under any circumstances become, but the old
easy-going slovenliness, if I may say so, was gone for
ever. The orchestral accompaniments to the hymns had
disappeared while my hero was yet a boy, but there
had been no chanting for some years after the har-
monium had been introduced. While Ernest was at Cam-,

432 The Way of All Flesh

bridge, Charlotte and Christina had prevailed on Theo-
bald to allow the canticles to be sung; and sung they
were to old-fashioned double chants by Lord Moming-
ton and Dr. Dupuis and others. Theobald did not like
it, but he did it, or allowed it to be done.

Then Christina said : "My dear, do you know, I really
think" (Christina always "realty" thought) "that the
people like the chanting very much, and that it will be a
* means of bringing many to church who have stayed
away hitherto. I was talking about it to Mrs. Goodhew
and to old Miss Wright only yesterday, and they quite
agreed with me, but they all said that we ought to chant
the 'Glory be to the Father' at the end of each of the
psalms instead of saying it."

Theobald looked black — he felt the waters of chanting
rising higher and higher upon him inch by inch ; but he
felt also, he knew not why, that he had better yield than
fight. So he ordered the "Glory be to the Father" to
be chanted in future, but he did not like it.

"Really, mamma dear," said Charlotte, when the battle
was won, "you should not call it the 'Glory be to the
Father' — you should say 'Gloria.' "

"Of course, my dear," said Christina, and she said
"Gloria" for ever after. Then she thought what a won-
derfully clever girl Charlotte was, and how she oi^ht to
marry no one lower than a bishop. By-and-by when
Theobald went away for an unusually long holiday one
' summer, he could find no one but a rather high-church
clergyman to take his duty. This gentleman was a man
of weight in the neighbourhood, having considerable
private means, but without preferment. In the summer
he would often help his brother clergymen, and it was
through his being willing to take the duty at Battersby
for a few Sundays that Theobald had been able to get
away for so long. On his return, however, he found
that the whole psalms were being chanted as well as the
Glorias. The influential clergyman, Christina, and Char-

The Way of All Flesh 433

lotte took the bull by the homs as soon as Theobald
returned, and laughed it all off; and the clergyman
laughed and bounced, and Christina laughed and coaxed,
and Charlotte uttered unexceptionable sentiments, and
the thing was done now, and could not be undone, and
it was no use grieving over spilt milk ; so henceforth the
psalms were to be chanted, but Theobald grisled over
it in his heart, and he did not like it.

During this same absence what had Mrs. Goodhew
and old Miss Wright taken to doing but turning towards
the east while repeating the Belief? Theobald disliked
this even worse than chanting. When he said something
about it in a timid way at dinner after service, Charlotte
said, "Really, papa dear, you must take to calling it the
'Creed' and not the 'Belief'"; and Theobald winced im-
patiently and snorted meek defiance, but the spirit of her
aunts Jane and Eliza was strong in Charlotte, and the
thing was too small to fight about, and he turned it off
with a laugh. "As for Charlotte," thought Christina,
"I believe she knows everything." So Mrs, Goodhew
and old Miss Wright continued to turn to the east during
the time the Creed was said, and by-and-by others fol-
lowed their example, and ere long the few who had
stood out yielded and turned eastward too; and then
Theobald made as though he had thought it all very
right and proper from Ait first, but like it he did not.
By-and-by Charlotte tried to make him say "Alleluia"
instead of "Hallelujah," but this was going too far, and
Theobald turned, and she got frightened and ran away.

And they changed the double chants for single ones,
and altered them psalm by psalm, and in the middle of
psaltns, just where a cursory reader would see no reason
why they should do so, they changed from major to
minor and from minor back to major; and then they
got "Hymns Ancient and Modern," and, as I have said,
they robbed him of his beloved bands, and they made
him preach in a surplice, and he must have celebration

The Way of All Flesh

of the Holy Communion once a month instead of only
five times jn the year as heretofore, and he struggled in
vain against the unseen influence which he felt to be
working in season and out of season against all that he
had been accustomed to consider most distinctive of his
party. Where it was, or what it was, he knew not, nor
exactly what it would do next, but he knew exceedingly
well tbat go where he would it was underminii^ him;
that it was too persistent for him; that Christina and
Charlotte liked it a great deal better than he did, and
that it could end in nothing but Rome. Easter decora-
tions indeed! Chnsfmas decorations — in reason — were
proper enough, but Easter decorations 1 well, it might last
his time.

/ This was the course things had taken in the Church of
' England during the last forty years. The set has been
i steadily in one direction. A few men who knew what
they wanted made catspaws of the Christinas and the
J Charlottes, and the Christinas and the Charlottes made
, catspaws of the Mrs. Goodhews and the old Miss
i Wrights, and the Mrs. Goodhews and old Miss Wrights
' told the Mr. Goodhews and young Miss Wrights what
. they should do, and when the Mr. Goodhews and the
/ young Miss Wrights did it the little Goodhews and the
- rest of the spiritual flock did as they did, and the Theo-
: balds went for nothing; step by step, day by day, year
I by year, parish by parish, diocese by diocese this was
' Jff)w it was done. And yet the Church of England looks
^^■.'with no friendly eyes upon the theory of Evolution or
^Descent with Modification,

My hero thought over these things, and remembered
many a ruse on the part of Christina and Charlotte, and
many a detail of the struggle which I cannot further
interrupt my story to refer to, and he remembered his
father's favourite retort that it could only end in Rome.
When he was a boy he had firmly believed this, but he
$miled now as he thought of another alternative clear

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The Way of All Flesh 435

enough to himself, but so horrible that it had not even
occurred to Theobald — I mean the toppling over of the
whole system. At that time he welcomed the hope that
the absurdities and unrealities of the Church would end
in her downfall. Since then he has come to think very
differently, not as believing in the cow jumping over the
moon ftiore than he used to, or more, probably, than
nine-tenths of the clergy themselves— who know as well
as he does that their outward and visible symbols are
out of date — ^but because he knows the baffling com-
plexity of the problem when it comes to deciding what is
actually to be done. Also, now that he has seen them
more closely, he knows better the nature of those wolves
in sheep's clothing, who are thirsting for the blood of
their victim, and exulting so clamorously over its an-
ticipated early fall into their clutches. The spirit behind
the Church is true, though her letter — true once — is
now true no longer. The spirit behind the High Priests
of Science is as lying as its letter. The Theobalds, who
do what they do because it seems to be the correct thing,
but who in their hearts neither like it nor believe in
it, are in reality the least dangerous of all classes to the
peace and liberties of mankind. The man to fear is he
who goes at things with the cocksureness of pushing vul-
garity and self-conceit These are not vices which can
be justly laid to the charge of the English clergy.

Many of the farmers came up to Ernest when serv-
ice was over, and shook hands with him. He found every
one knew of his having come into a fortune. The fact
was that Theobald had immediately told two or three of
the greatest gossips in the village, and the story was not
long 19 spreading. "It simplified matters," he had said
to himself, "a good deal," Ernest was civil to Mrs.
Goodhew for her husband's sake, but he gave Miss
Wright the cut direct, for he knew that she was only
Chark)tte in disguise.

A wedc passed slowly away. Two or three times the

upiiaibvGoOglc

436 The Way of All Flesh

family took the sacrament together round Christina's
death-bed. Theobald's impatience became more and more
transparent daily, but fortunately Christina (who even if
she had been well would have been ready to shut her
eyes to it) became weaker and less coherent in mind
also, so that she hardly, if at all, perceived it. After
Ernest had been in the house about a week his mother
fe!! into a comatose state which lasted a couple of days,
and in the end went away so peacefully that it was like
the blending of sea and sky in mid-ocean upon a soft
hazy day when none can say where the earth ends and
the heavens begin. Indeed she died to the realities of
life with less pain than she had waked from many of
its illusions.

"She has been the comfort and mainstay of my life
for more than thirty years," said Theobald as soon as all
was over, "but one could not wish it prolonged," and
he buried his face in his handkerchief to conceal his want
of emotion.

Ernest came back to town the day after his mother's
death, and returned to the funeral accompanied by my-
self. He wanted me to see his father in order to prevent
any possible misapprehension about Miss Pontifex's in-
tentions, and I was such an old friend of the family
that my presence at Christina's funeral would surprise
no one. With all her faults I had always rather liked
Christina. She would have chopped Ernest or any one
else into little pieces of mincemeat to gratify the slightest
wish of her husband, but she would not have chopped
him up for any one else, and so long as he did not cross
her she was very fond of him. By nature she was of an
even temper, more willing to be pleased than ruffled, very
ready to do a good-natured action, provided it did not
cost her much exertion, nor involve expense to Theobald.
Her own little purse did not matter; any one might have
as much of that as he or she could get after she had
reserved what was absolutely necessary for her dress.

Upl:«lbvGOOglc

The Way of All Flesh 437

I could not hear of her en,d as Ernest described it to me
without feeling very compassionate towards her, indeed
her own son could hardly have felt more so ; I at once,
therefore, consented to go down to the funeral ; perhaps
I was also influenced by a desire to see Charlotte and
Joey, in whom I felt interested on hearing what my god-
son had told me.

I found Theobald looking remarkably well. Every one
said he was bearing it so beautifully. He did indeed
once or twice shake his head and say that his wife had
been the comfort and mainstay of his life for over thirty
years, but there the matter ended. I stayed over the next
day which was Sunday, and took my departure on the
following morning after having told Theobald all that
his son wished me to tell him. Theobald asked me to
help him with Christina's epitaph.

"I would say," said he, "as little as possible; eulogies
of the departed are in most cases both unnecessary and
untrue. Christina's epitaph shall contain nothing which
shall be either the one or the other. I should give her
name, the dates of her birth and death, and of course
say she was my wife, and then I think I should wind up
with a simple text—her favourite one for example, none
indeed could be more appropriate, 'Blessed are the pure
in heart for they shall see God.' "

I said I thought this would be very nice, and it was
settled. So Ernest was sent to give the order to Mr.
Prosser, the stonemason in the nearest town, 'who said
it came from "the Beetitudes."

CHAPTER LXXXrV

0» our way to town Ernest broached his plans for spend-
ing the next year or two. I wanted him to try and get
more into society again, but he brushed this aside at

438 The Way of All Flesh

once as the very last thing he had a fancy for. For
society indeed of all sorts, except of course that of a
few intimate friends, he had an unconquerable aversion.
"I always did hate those people," he said, "and they
always have hated and always will hate me. I am an
Ishmael by instinct as much as by Accident of circum-
stances, but if I keep out of society I shall be less
vulnerable than Ishmaels generally are. The mfnnent
a man goes into society, he becomes vulnerable all
round."

I was very sorry to hear him talk in this way ; for
whatever strength a man may have he should surely be
able to make more of it if he act in concert than alone.
I said this.

"I don't care," he answered, "whether I make the
most of my strength or not; I don't know whether I
have any strength, but if I have I dare say it will find
some way of exerting itself. I will live as I like living,
not as other people would like me to live; thanks to my
aunt and you, I can afford the luxury of a quiet, unot>-
trusive life of self-indulgence," said he laughing, "and I
mean to have it You know I like writing," he added
after a pause of some minutes ; "I have been a scribbler
for years. If I am to come to the fore at all it must be
by writing."

I had already long since come to that conclusion my-
self.

"Well," he continued, "there are a tot of things that
want saying which no one dares to say, a lot of shams
which want attacking, and yet no one attacks them. It
seems to me that I can say things which not another
man in England except myself will venture to say, and
yet which are crying to be said."

I said: "But who will listen? If you say things which
nobody else would dare to say, is not this much the sarac
as saying what everyone except yourself knows to be
better left unsaid just now?"

Upl:«l by Google

The Way of All Flesh 439

"Perhaps," satd he, "but I don't know it; I am bursting
with these things, and it is my fate to say them."

I knew there would be no stopping him, so I gave in
and asked what question he felt a special desire to bum
his fingers with in the first instance.

"Marriage," he rejoined promptly, "and the power of
disposing of his property after a man is dead. The ques-
tion of Christianity is virtually settled, or if not settled
there is no lack of those engaged in settling it. The
question of the day now is marriage and the family
system."

"That," said I drily, "is a hornet's nest indeed."

"Yes," said he no less drily, "but hornet's nests are
exactly what I happen to like. Before, however, I begin
to stir up this particular one I propose to travel for a
few years, with the especial object of finding out what
nations now existing are the bes4., comeliest' and most
k)vable, and also what nations have been so in times
past. I want to find out how these people live, and have
lived, and what their customs are.

"I have very vague notions upon the subject as yet,
but the general impression I have formed is that, putting
ourselves on one side, the most vigorous and amiable of
known nations are the modem Italians, the old Greeks
and Romans, and the South Sea Islanders. I believe
that these nice peoples have not as a general rule been
purists, but I want to see those of them who can yet be
seen; they are the practical authorities on the question —
What is best for man? and I should like to see them and
find out what they do. Let us settle the fact first and
fight about the moral tendencies afterwards."

"In fact," said I laughingly, "you mean to have high
old times."

. "Neither higher nor lower," was the answer, "than
those people whom I can find to have been the best in
all ages. But let us change the subject." He put his
hand into his pocket and brought out a letter. "My

.Coofjic

440 The Way of All Flesh

father," he said, "gave me this letter this morning with
the seal already broken." He passed it over to me, and
I found it to be the one which Christina had written
before the birth of her last child, and which I have given
in an earlier chapter.

"And you do not find this letter," said I, "affects the
conclusion which you have just told me you have come
to concerning your present plans?"

He smiled, and answered : "No. But if you do what
you have sometimes talked about and turn the adventures
of my unworthy self into a novel, mind you print this
letter."

"Why so?" said I, feeling as though such a letter as
this should have been held sacred from the public gaze. ■

"Because my mother would have wished it published ;
if she had known you were writing about me and had
this letter in your possession, she would above all things
have desired that you should publish it. Therefore pub-
lish it if you write at all,"

This is why I have done so.

Within a month Ernest carried'his intention into effect,
and having made all the arrangements necessary for his
children's welfare, left England before Christmas.

I heard from him now and again and learnt that he
was visiting almost all parts of the world, but only stay-
ing in those places where he found the inhabitants un-
usually good-looking and agreeable. He said he had filled
an immense quantity of note-books, and I have no doubt
he had. At last in the spring of 1867 he returned, his
luggage stained with the variation of each hotel adver-
tisement 'twixt here and Japan. He looked very brown
and strong, and so well favoured that it ahnost seemed
as if he must have caught some good looks from the
people among whom he had been living. He came back
to his old rooms in the Temple, and settled down as
easily as if he had never been away a day.

One of the first things we did was to go and see the

The Way of All Flesh 441

children; we took the train to Gravesend, and walked
thence for a few miles along the riverside till we came to
the solitary house where the good people lived with whom
Emest had placed them. It was a lovely April morning,
but with a fresh air blowing from off the sea; the tide
was high, and the river was alive with shipping comings
up with wind and tide. Sea-gulls wheeled around us
overhead, sea-weed clung everywhere to the banks which
the advancing tide had not yet covered, everything was
of the sea sea-ey, and the fine bracing air which blew
over the water made me feel more hutigry than I had
done for many a day ; I did not see how children could
live in a better physical atmosphere than this, and ap-
plauded the selection which Eroest had made on behalf
of his youngsters.

, While we were still a quarter of a mile off we heard
shouts and children's laughter, and could see a lot of boys
and girls romping together and running after one anr
other. We could not distinguish our own two, but when
we got near they were soon made out, for the other chil-
dren were blue-eyed, flaxen-pated little folks, whereas
ours were dark and straight-haired.

We had written to say that we were coming, but had
desired that nothing should be said to the children, so
these paid no more attention to us than they would have
done to any other stranger, who happened to visit a spot
so unfrequented except by sea-faring folk, which we
plainly were not. The interest, however, in us was much
quickened when it was discovered that we had got our
pockets full of oranges and sweeties, to an extent greater
than it had entered into their small imaginations to
conceive as possible. At 6rst we had great difficulty in
making them come near us. They were like a lot of '
wild young colts, very inquisitive, but very coy and not
to be cajoled easily. The children were nine in all —
five boys and two girls belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Roll-
ings, and two to Ernest. I never saw a finer. lot oi

442 The Way of All Flesh

children than the young Rollings — the boys were hardy,
robust, fearless little fellows with eyes as clear as hawks ;
the' elder girl was exquisitely pretty, but the younger
one was a mere baby. I felt as I looked at them that
if I had had children of my own I could have wished
no better home for them, nor better companions.

Georgie and Alice, Ernest's two children, were evi-
dently quite as one family with the others, and called
Mr. and Mrs. Rollings uncle and aunt. They had .been
so young when they were first brought to the house that
they had been looked upon in the light of new babies
who had been bom into the family. They knew nothing
about Mr. and Mrs. Rollings being paid so much a week
to look after them. Ernest asked them all what they
wanted to be. They had only one idea ; one and all,
Geoi^e among the rest, wanted to be bargemen. Young
ducks could hardly have a more evident hankering after
the water.

"And what do you want, Alice?" said Ernest.

"Oh," she said, "I'm going to marry Jack here, and be
a bargeman's wife."

Jack was the eldest boy, now nearly twelve, a sturdy
little fellow, the image of what Mr. Rollings must have
been at his age. As we looked at him, so straight and
well grown and well done all round, I could see it was
in Ernest's mind as much as in mine that she could
hardly do much better.

"Come here. Jack, my boy," satd Ernest, "here's a
shilling for you." The boy blushed and could hardly be
got to come in spite of our previous blandishments ;■ he
had had pennies given him before, but shillings never.
His father caught him good-naturedly by the ear and
lu^ed him to us.

"He's a good boy, Jack is," said Ernest to Mr.
Rollings, "I'm sure of that."

"Yes," said Mr. Rollings, "he's a werry good boy,
only that I can't get him to leam his reading and writing.

The Way of All Flesh 443

He don't like going to school — that's the only complaint
i have against him. I don't know what's the matter with
' all my children, and yours, Mr, Pontifex, is just as bad,
but they none of 'era likes book learning, though they
l«9m anything else fast enough. Why, as for Jack here,
he's almost as good a bargeman as I am." And he
looked fondly and patronisingly towards his offspring,

"I think," said Ernest to Mr. Rollings, "if he wants to
. marry Alice when he gets older he had better do so, and
he .^hall have as many barges as he likes. In the mean-
time, Mr. Rollings, say in what way money can be of
use to you, and whatever you can make useful is at your
disposal."

I need hardly say that" Ernest made matters easy for
this good couple; one stipulation, however, he insisted
on, namely, there was to be no more smuggling, and that
the young people were to be kept out of this ; for a little .
bird had told Ernest that smuggling in a quiet way was
one of the resources of the Rollings family. Mr. Rollings
was not sorry to assent to this, and I believe It is now
many years since the coastguard people have suspected
any of the Rollings family as offenders against the
revenue law,

"Why should I take them from where they are," said
Ernest to me in the train as we went home, "to send
them to schools where they will not be one half so haf^y,
and where their illegitimacy will very likely be a worry
to them? Georgie wants to be a bargeman, let him begin
as one, the sooner the better ; he may as well begin with
this as with anything else ; then if he shows developments
I can be on the lookout to encourage them and make
things easy for him; while if he shows no desire to go
ahead, what on earth is the good of trying to shove him
forward ?"

Ernest, I believe, went on with a homily upon educa-
tion generally, and upon the way in which young people
should go through the embryonic stagos with their money

444 The Way of All Flesh

as much as with their limbs, beginning life in a much
lower social position than that in which their parents
were, and a lot more, which he has since published ; but
I was getting on in years, and the walk and the bracing
atr had made me sleepy, so ere we had got past Green-
hithe Station on our return journey I had sunk into a
refreshing sleep.

CHAPTER LXXXV

Ernest being about two and thirty years old and having
had his fling for the last three or four years, now settled
down in London, and began to write steadily. Up to this
time he had given abundant promise, but h%I produced
nothing, nor indeed did he come before the public for
another three or four years yet.

He lived as I have said very quietly, seeing hardly
anyone but myself, and the three or four old friends with
whom I had been intimate for years. Kmest and we
formed our little set, and outside of this my godson was
hardly known at all.

His main expense was travelling, which he indulged
in at frequent intervals, but for short times only. Do
what he would he could not get through more than about
fifteen hundred a year ; the rest of his income he gave
away if he happened to find a case where he thought
money would be well bestowed, or put by, until some
opportunity arose of getting rid of it with advantage.
' I knew he was writing, but we had had so many little
differences of opinion upon this head that by a tacit
understanding the subject was seldom referred to be-
tween us, and I did not know that he was actually
publishing till one day he brought me a book and told
me that it was his own. I opened it and found it to
be a series of semUtheolc^cal, semi-social essays, pur-
porting to have been written by six or seven different

»i by Google

The Way of All Flesh 445

people, and viewing the same class of subjects from
different standpoints.

People had not yet foi^tten the famous "Essays and
Reviews," and Ernest had wickedly given a few touches
to at least two oi the essays which su^^ted vaguely
that they had been written by a bishop. The essays were
all of them in support of the Church of England, and
appeared both by implied internal suggestion, and their
prima facie purport to be the work of some half-dozen
men of experience and high position who had determined
to face the difficult questions of the day no less boldly
from within the bosom of the Church than the Church's
enemies had faced them from without her pale.

There was an essay on the external evidences of the
Resurrection ; another on the marriage laws of the most
eminent nations of the world in times past and present;
another was devoted to a consideration of the many
questions which must be reopened and reconsidered on
their merits if the teaching of the Church of England
were to cease to carry moral authority with it; another
dealt with the more purely social subject of middle class
destitution ; another with the authenticity or rather the
unauthenticity of the fourth gospel ; another was headed
"Irrational Rationalism," and there were two or three
more.

They were all written vigorously and fearlessly as
though by people used to authority ; all granted that the
Church professed to enjoin belief in much which no one
could accept who had been accustomed to weigh evi-
dence ; but it was contended that so much valuable truth
had got so closely mixed up with these mistakes that the
mistakes had better not be meddled with. To lay great
stress on these was like cavilling at the Queen*s right to
reign, on the ground that William the Conqueror was
illegitimate.

One article maintained that though it would be incon-
venient to change the words of our prayer book and
Cooqk

446 The Way of All Flesh

articles, it would not be inconvenient to change in a quiet
way the meanings which we put upon those words. This,
it was argued, was what was actually done in the case of
law ; this had been the law's mode of growth and adapta-
tion, and had in all ages been found a righteous and con-
venient method of effecting change. It was suggested
that the Church should adopt it.

In another essay it was boldly denied that the Church

rested upon reason. It was proved incontestably that its

^ultimate f nun flat irtn ■^■ML 'Aiijl plight t.o l?e fajtJi, ihere

' Being indeed no other ultimate foundation than this for

any of man's beliefs. If so, the writer claimed that the

Church could not be upset by reason. It was founded,

>^ like everything else, on initial assumptions, that is to say
on faith, and if it was to be upset it was to be upset by
faith, by the faith of those who in their lives appeared
more ^accful, more lovable, better bred, in fact, and
better able to overcome difficulties. Any sect which
showed its superiority in these respects might carry all
■\ before it, but none other would make much headway
/ for long together. Christianity was true in so far as it

/ had fostered beauty, and it had fostered much beauty.

' It was false in so far as it fostered ugliness, and it had
fostered much ugliness. It was therefore not a little
true and not a little false; on the whole one might go
farther and fare worse; the wisest course would be to
live with it, and make the best and not the worst of it.
The writer urged that we become persecutors as a matter
of course as soon as we begin to feel very strongly upon
any subject ; we ought not therefore to do this ; we ought
not to feel very strongly even upon that institution which
was dearer to the writer than any other — the Church of
England. We should be churchmen, but somewhat luke-
warm churchmen, inasmuch as those who care very much
about either religion or irreligion are seldom observed
to be very well bred or agreeable people. The Churdi
herself should approach as nearly to that of Laodicea as

The Way of All Flesh 447

was compatible with her continuing to be a Church at all,
and each individual member should only be hot in striving
to be as lukewarm as possible.

The book rang with the courage alike of conviction
and of an entire absence of conviction ; it appeared to be
the work of men who had a rule-of-thumb way of steer-
ing between iconoclasm on the one hand and credulity on
the other ; who cut Gordian knots as a matter of course
when it suited their convenience; who shrank from no
conclusion in theory, nor from any want of l<^c in
practice so long as they were illogical of malice prepense,
and for what they held to be sufficient reason. The con-
clusions were conservative, quietistic, comforting. The
ai^uments by which they were reached were taken from
the most advanced writers of the day. All that these
people contended for was granted them, but the fruits
of victory were for the most part handed over to those
already in possession.

Perhaps the passage which attracted most attention in
the book was one from the essay on the various marriage
systems of the world. It ran : — ,

"If people require us to construct," exclaimed the
writer, "we set good breeding as the comer-stone of ouA
edifice. We would have it ever present consciously or\
unconsciously in the minds of all as the central faith in \
which they should live and move and have their being,
as the touchstone of all thin^ whereby they may be |
known as good or evil according as they make for good >
breeding or against it.

"That a man should have been bred well and breed
others well ; that his figure, head, hands, feet, voice, man-
ner and clothes should carry conviction upon this point,
so that no one can look at him without seeing that he has
come of good stock and is likely to throw good stock
himself, this is the desiderandum. And the same with
a woman. The greatest number of these well-bred men
and women, and the greatest happiness of these well-

448 The Way of All Flesh

bred men and women, this is the highest good; towards
I this all govenuoent, all social conventions, all art, litera-
ture and science should directly or indirectly tend. Holy
men and holy women are those who keep this imcon-
sciously in view at all times whether of work or pastime."

If Ernest had published this work in his own name I
should think it would have fallen still-born from the
press', but the form he had chosen was calculated at that
time to arouse curiosity, and as I have said he had
wickedly dropped a few hints which the reviewers did
not think anyone would have been impudent enough to
do if he were not a bishop, or at any rate some one in
authority, A well-known judge was spoken of as being
another of the writers, and the idea spread ere Umg that
six or seven of the leading bishops and judges had laid
their heads together to produce a volume, which should
at once outbid "Essays and Reviews" and counteract the
influence of that then still famous work.

Reviewers are men of tike passions with ourselves,
and with them as with everyone else omne ignottan pro
magnifico. The book was really an able one and
abounded with humour, just satire, and good sense. It
struck a new note, and the speculation which for some
time was rife concerning its authorship made many turn
to it who would never have looked at it otherwise. One
of the most gushing weeklies had a iit over it, and de~
dared it to be the finest thing that had been done since
the "Provincial Letters" of Pascal. Once a month or so
that weekly always found some picture which was the
finest that had been done since the old masters, or some
satire that was the finest that had appeared since Swift
or some something which was incomparably the finest
that had appeared since something else. If Ernest had
put his name to the hook, and the writer had known that
it was by a nobody, he would doubtless have written in
a very different strain. Reviewers like to think that
for aught they know they are pattii^ a duke or even a

The Way of All Flesh 449

prince of the blood upon the back, and lay it on thick
tilt they find they have been only praising Brown, Jones
or Robinson. Then they are disappointed, and as a
general rule will pay Brown, Jones or Robinson out.

Emest was not so much up to the ropes of the literary
world as I was, and I am afraid his head was a little
turned when he woke up one morning to find himself
famous. He was Christina's son, and perhaps would not
have been able to do what he had done if he was not
capable of occasional undue elation. Ere long, however,
he found out all about it, and settled quietly down to
write a series of books, in which he insisted on saying
things which no one else would say even if they could,
or could even if they would.

He has got himself a bad literary character. I said
to him laughingly one day that he was like the man in
the last century of whom it was said that nothing but
such a character could keep down such parts.

He laughed and said he would rather be tike that than
tike a modem writer or two whom he could name, whose
parts were so poor that they could Ik kept up by nothing
but by such a character.

I rememtier soon after one of these books was puti-
lished I happened to meet Mrs. Ju^p to whom, by the
way, Emest made a small weekly allowance. It was at
Ernest's chambers, and for some reason we were left
alone for a few minutes. I said to her: "Mr. Pontifcx
has written another book, Mrs. Jupp."

"Lor" now," said she, "has he really ? Dear gentleman I
Is it about love?" And the old sinner threw up a wicked
sheep's eye glance at me from under her aged eyelids.
I forget what there was in my reply which provoked it —
probably nothing — but she went rattling on at full speed
to the effect that Bell had given her a ticket for the opera.
"So, of course," she said, "I went. I didn't understand
one word of it, for it was all French, but I saw their legs.
Oh dear, oh dear I I'm afraid I shan't t>e here much

450 The Way of All Flesli

longer, and when dear Mr. Pontifex sees me in my cofBo
he'll say, 'Poor old Jupp, she'll never talk broad any
more' ; but bless you I'm not so old as all that, and I'm
taking lessons in dancing."

At this moment Ernest came in and the conversation
was changed. Mrs. Jupp asked if he was still going on
writing more books now that this one was done. "Of
course I am," he answered; "I'm always writing books;
here is the manuscript of my text" ; and he showed her
a heap of paper.

"Well now," she exclaimed, "dear, dear me, and is that
manuscript? I've often heard talk about manuscripts,
but I never thought I should live to see some myself.
Well ! well 1 So that is really manuscript ?"

There were a few geraniums in the window and they
did not look well. Ernest asked Mrs. Jupp if she under-
stood flowers. "I understand the language of flowers,"
she said, with one of her most bewitching leers, and on
this we sent her off till she should choose to honour us
with another visit, which she knows she is privil^ed
from time to time to do, for Ernest likes her.

CHAPTER LXXXVI

And now I must bring my story to a close.

The preceding chapter was written soon after tiie
events it records — that is to say in the spring of 1867.
By that time my story had been written up to this point;
but it has been altered here and there from time to time
occasionally. It is now the autumn of 1882, and if I am
to say more I should do so quickly, for T am eighty years
old and though well in health cannot conceal from myself
that I am no longer young. Ernest himself is forty-
seven, though he hardly Itoks it.

He is richer than ever, for he has never married and
his London and North-Westem shares have nearly

The Way of All Flesh 451

doubled themselves. Through sheer inability to spend
his income he has been obliged to hoard in self-defence.
He still lives in the Temple in the same rooms I took
for him when he gave up his shop, for no one has been
able to induce him to take a house. His house, he says,
is wherever there is a good hotel. When he is in town
he likes to work and to be quiet. When out of town
he feels that he has left little behind him that can go
wrong, and he would not like to be tied to a single
locality. "I know no exception," he says, "to the rule
that it is cheaper to buy milk than to keep a cow."

As I have mentioned Mrs. Jupp, I may as well say
here the little that remains to be said about her. She
is 3 very old woman now, but no one now living, as she
says triumphantly, can say how old, for the woman in the
Old Kent Road is dead, and presumably has carried her
secret to the grave. Old, however, though she is, she
lives in the same house, and finds it hard work to make
the two ends meet, but I do not know that she minds
this very much, and it has prevented her from getting
more to drink than would be good for her. It is no use
trying to do anything for her beyond paying her allow-
ance weekly, and absolutely refusing to let her anticipate
it. She pawns her flat iron every Saturday for 4d., and
takes it out every Monday morning for 4jd. when she
gets her allowance, and has done this for the last ten
years as regularly as the week comes round. As long as
she does not let the flat iron actually go we know that
she can still worry out her financial problems in her own
hu^rer-mugger way and had better be left to do so. If
the flat iron were to go beyond redemption, we should
know that it was time to interfere. I do not know why,
but there is something about her which always reminds
me of a woman who was as unlike her as one person
can be to another — I mean Ernest's mother.

The last time I had a king gossip with her was about
two years ago when she came to me instead of to Ernest

452 The Way of All Flesh .

She said she had seen a cab drive up just as she was
going to enter the staircase, and had seen Mr. Pontifex's
pa put his Beelzebub old head out of the window, so
she had come on to me, for she hadn't greased her sides
for no curtsey, not for the likes of him. She professed to
be very much down on her luck. Her lodgers did use
her so dreadful, going away without paying and leaving
not so much as a stick behind, but to^ay she was as
pleased as a penny carrot She had had such a lovely
dinner — a cushion of ham and green peas. She had had
a good cry over it, but then she was so sitly, she was.

"And there's that Bell," she continued, though I could
not detect any appearance of connection, "it's enough to
give anyone iht hump to see him now that he's taken to
chapel-going, and his mother's prepared to meet Jesus
and all that to me, and now she ain't a-going to die, and
drinks half a bottle of champagne a day, and then Grigg,
him as preaches, you know, asked Bell if I really was
too gay, not but what when I was young I'd snap my
fingers at any 'fly by night' in Holbom, and if I was
to^ed out and had my teeth I'd do it now. I lost my
poor dear Watktns, but of course that couldn't be helped,
and then I lost my dear Rose. Silly fag^t to go and
ride on a cart and catch the bronchitics. I never thought
when I kissed my dear Rose in PuUen's Passage and she
gave me the chop, that I should never see her again,
and her gentleman friend was fond of her too, though
he was a married man. I daresay she's gone to bits by
now. If she could rise and see me with my bad finger,
she would cry, and I should say, 'Never mind, ducky,
I'm all r^ht.' Oh I dear, it's coming on to rain. I do
hate a wet Saturday n^ht — poor women with their nice
white stockings and their liviiig to get," etc., etc.

And yet age does not wither this godless old sinner,
as people would say it ought to do. Whatever life she
has led, it has agreeid with her very sufficiently. At times
she gives us to understand that she is still much solicited ;

The Way of All Flesh 4S3

at others -she takes quite a different tone. She has not
allowed even Joe King so much as to put his lips to hers
this ten years. She would rather have a mutton chop
any day. "But ah I you should have seen me when I
was sweet seventeen. I was the very moral of my poor
dear mother, and she was a pretty woman, thoug'h I say
it that shotddn't. She had such a splendid mouth of
teeth. It was a sin to bury her in her teeth."

I only knew of one thing at which she professes to
be shocked. It is that her son Tom and his wife Topsy
are teaching the baby to swear. "Oh 1 it's too dreadful
awful," she exclaimed ; "I don't know the meaning of the
words, but I tell him he's a drunken sot." I believe the
old woman in reality rather likes it.

"But surely, Mrs. Jupp," said I, "Tom's wife used
not to be Topsy. You used to speak of her as Pheeb,"

"Ah I yes," she answered, "but Pheeb behaved bad,
and it's Topsy now."

Ernest's daughter Alice married the boy who had been
her playmate more than a year ago. Ernest gave them
all they said they wanted and a good deal more. They
have already presented him with a grandson, and I doubt
not will do so with many more. Georgie though only
twenty-one is owner of a fine steamer which his father
has bought for him. He began when about thirteen
going with old Rollings and Jack in the barge from
Rochester to the upper Thames with bricks; then his
father bot^ht htm and Jack barges of their own, and
then he bought them both ships, and then steamers. I
do not exactly know how people make money by having
a steamer, but he does whatever is usual, and from all
I can gather makes it pay extremely well. He is a good
deal iDte his father in the face, but without a spark —
so far as I have been able to observe — of any literary
ability; he has a fair sense of humour and abundance of
ccMnmon sense, but his instinct is clearly a practical one.
I am not sure that he does not put me in mind almost

,Coo<;lc

454 The Way of All Flesh

more of what Theobald would have been if he had been
a sailor, than of Ernest. Ernest used to go down to
Battersby and stay with his father for a few days twice
a year nntil Theobald's death, and the pair continued on
excellent terms, in spite of what the neighbouring clergy
call "the atrocious books which Mr. Emest Pontifcx"
has written. Perhaps the harmony, or rather absence
of discord, which subsisted between the pair was due to
the fact that Theobald had never looked into the inside
of one of his son's works, and Emest, of course, never
alluded to them in his father's presence. The pair, as
I have said, got on excellently, but it was doubtless as
well that Ernest's visits were short and not too frequent.
Once Theobald wanted Emest to bring his children, biil
Emest knew they would not like it, so this was not done.

Sometimes Theobald came up to town mi small busi-
ness matters and paid a visit to Ernest's chambers; he
generally brought with him a couple of lettuces, or a
cabbage, or half-a-dozen turnips done up in a piece of
brown paper, and told Emest that he knew fresh vege-
tables were rather hard to get in London, and he had
brought him some. Emest had often explained to him
that the vegetables were of no use to him, and that he
had rather he would not bring them ; but Theobald per-
sisted, I believe through sheer love of doing something
which his son did not like, but which was too small to
take notice of.

He lived until about twelve months ago, when he was
found dead in his bed on the morning after having writ-
ten the followir^ letter to his son : —

'T)ear Ernest, — I've nothing particular to write about,
but your letter has been lying for some days in the limbo
of unanswered letters, to wit my pocket, and it's time it
was answered.

"I keep wonderfully well and am able to walk my five
or six miles with comfort, but at my age there's no know-

The Way of All Flesh 455

ing how long it will last, and time flies quickly. I have
been busy potting plants all the morning, but this after-
noon is wet.

"What is this horrid Government going to do with
Ireland ? I don't exactly wish they'd blow up Mr, Glad-
stone, but if a mad bull would chivy him there, and he
would never Come back any more, I should not be sorry.
Lord Hartington is not exactly the man I should like to
set in his place, but he would be immeasurably better
than Gladstone.

"I miss your sister Charlotte more than I can express.
She kept my household accounts, and I could pour out
to her all my little worries, and now that Joey is married
too, I don't know what I should do if one or other of
them did not come sometimes and take care of me. My
only comfort is that Charlotte wilt make her husband
happy, and that he is as nearly worthy of her as a hus-
band can well be. — Believe me, Your affectionate father,
"Theobald Pontifex."

I may say in passing that though Theobald speaks of
Charlotte's marriage as though it were recent, it had
really taken place some six years previously, she being
then about thirty-eight years old, and her husband about
seven years younger.

There was no doubt that Theobald passed peacefully
away during his sleep. Can a man who died thus be
said to have died at all? He has presented the phe-
nomena of death to other people, but in respect of him-
self he has not only not died, but has not even thought
that he was going to die. This is not more than half
dying, but then neither was his life more than half living.
He presented so many of the phenomena of living that I
suppose on the whole it would be less trouble to think
of him as having been alive than as never having been
bom at all, but this is only possible because association
does not stick to the strict letter of its bcmd.

vCoo*^lc

456 The Way of All Flesh

This, however, was not the general verdict concerning
him, and the general verdict is often the truesL

Ernest was overwhelmed with expressions of con-
dolence and respect for his father's metnory. "He
/never," said Dr. Martin, the old doctor who broug^it
Ernest into the world, "spoke an ill word against anyone.
He was not only liked, he was beloved by all who had
Einything to do with him."

' "A more perfectly just and righteously dealing man,"
said the family solicitor, "I have never had anything to
do with — nor one more punctual in the discharge of every
business obt^dcm."

"We shall miss him sadly," the bishop wrote to Joey
in the very warmest terms. The poor were in consterna-
tion, "The well's never missed," said one old woman,
"till it's dry," and she only said what everyone else felt.
Ernest knew that the general regret was unaffected as
for a loss which could not be easily repaired. He felt
that there were only three people in the world who Joined
insincerely in the tribute of applause, and these were the
very three who could least show their want of sympathy.
I mean Joey, Charlotte, and himself. He felt bitter
against himself for being of a mind with either Joey or
Charkitte upon asy subject, and thankful that he must
conceal his being so as far as possible, not because of
anything his fattier had done to him — these grievances
were too old to be remembered now — but because he
would never allow him to feel towards him as he was
always trying to feel. As long as communication was
confined to the merest commonplace all went well, but
if these were departed from -ever such a little he invari-
ably felt that his father's instincts showed themselves in
immediate opposition to his own. When he was attacked
his father Uid whatever stress was passible on every-
thtt^ which his opponents said. If he met with any
check his father was clearly pleased. What the oltl
doctor had said about Theobald's speaking ill of no man

The Way of All Flesh 457

was perfectly true as r^ards others than himself, but
he knew very well that no one had injured his reputation
in a quiet way, so far as he dared to do, more than his
own father. This is a very common case and a very
natural one. It often happens that if the son is ri^t,
the father is wrong, and the father is not going to have
this if he can help it

It was very hard, however, to say what was the true
root of the mischief in the present case. It was not
Ernest's having been imprisoned. Theobald forgot all
about that much sooner than nine fathers out of ten
would have done. Partly, no doubt, it was due to incom-
patibility of temperament, but I believe the main ground
of complaint lay-in the fact that he had been so independ-
ent and so rich while still very young, and that thus the
old gentleman had been robbed of his power to tease and
scratch in the way which he felt he was entitled to do.
The love of teasing in a small way when he felt safe in
doing so had remained part of his nature from the days
when he told his nurse that he would keep her on purpose
to torment her. I suppose it is so with all of us. At any
rate I am sure that most fathers, especially if they are
clei^ynien, are like Theobald.

He did not in reahty, I am conviiced, like Joey or
Charlotte one whit better than he liked Ernest. He did
not like anyone or anything, or if he liked anyone at all
it was his butler, who looked after him when be was not
well, and took great care of him and believed him to be
the best and ablest man in the whole world. Whether
this faithful and attached servant continued to think this
after Theobald's will was opened and it was found what
kind of legacy had been left him I know not. Of his
children, the baby who had died at a day old was the
only one whom he held to have treated him quite filially.
As for Christina he hardly ever pretended to miss her
and never mentioned her name; but this was taken as
a proof that he felt her loss too keenly to be able ever

458 The Way of All Flesh

to Speak of her. It may have been so, but I do not
think it

Theobald's effects were sold by auction, and among
them the Harmony of the Old and New Testaments
which he had compiled during many years with such
exquisite neatness and a huge collection of MS. sermons
— being all in fact that he had ever written. These and
the Harmony fetched ninepcnce a barrow load. I was
surprised to hear that Joey had not given the three or
four shillings which would have bought the whole lot,
but Ernest tells me that Joey was far fiercer in his dis-
like of his father than ever he had been himself, and
wished to get rid of everything that reminded him of him.

It has already appeared that both Joey and Charlotte
are married. Joey has a family, but he and Ernest very
rarely have any intercourse. Of course, Ernest took
nothing under his father's will ; this had long been under-
stood, so that the other two are both well provided for.

Charlotte is as clever as ever, and sometimes asks
Ernest to come and stay with her and her husband near
Dover, I suppose because she knows that the invitation
will not be agreeable to him. There is a de haut en bos
tone in all her letters ; it is rather hard to lay one's finger
upon it, but Ernest never gets a letter from her without
feeling that he is being written to by one who has had
direct communication with an angel. "What an awful
creature," he once said to me, "that angel must have ben
if it had anything to do with making Charlotte what she

"Could you like," she wrote to him not long iigo, "the
thoughts of a little sea change here? The top of the
cliffs will soon be bright with heather: the gorse mast
be out already, and the heather I should think begun,
to judge by tlie state of the hill at Ewell, and heather or
no heather the cliffs are always beautiful, and if you
come your room shall be cosy so that you may have a
resting comer to yourself. Nineteen and sixpence is

The Way of All Flesh 459

the price of a return ticket which covers a month. Would
you decide just as you would yourself like, only if you
come we would hope 'to try and make it bright for you;
but you must not feel it a burden on your mind if you
feel disinclined to come in this direction."

"When I have a bad nightmare," said. Ernest to me,
laughing as he showed me this letter, "I dream that I
have got to stay with Charlotte."

Her letters are supposed to be unusually well written,
and I believe it is said among the family that Charlotte
has far more real literary power than Ernest has. Scnne-
times we think that she ia writing at him as much as to
say, "There now — don't you think you are the only one
of us who can write; read this I And if you want a
telling bit of descriptive writing for your next book, you
can make what use of it you like." I daresay she writes
very well, but she has fallen imder the dominion of the
words "hope," "think," "feel," "tiy," "bright," and "lit-
tle," and can hardly write a page without introduc-
ing all these words and some of them more than
once. All this has the effect of making her style
monotonous.

Ernest is as (oad of music as ever, perhaps more so,
and of late years has added musical composition to the
other irons in his fire. He finds it still a tittle difficult,
and is in constant trouble through getting into the key
of C sharp after banning in the key of C and beit^
unable to get back again.

"Getting into the key of C sharp," he said, "is like an
unprotected female travelling on the Metropolitan Rail-
way, and finding herself at Shepherd's Bush, without
quite kno>ving where she wants to go to. How is she
ever to get safe back to Clapham Junction? And Clap-
ham Junction won't quite do either, for Clapham Junc-
tion is like the diminished seventh— susceptible of such
enharmonic change, that you can resolve it into all the
possible termini of music"

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46o The Way of All Flesh

Talking of music reminds me of a little passage that
took place between Ernest and Miss Skinner, Dr. Skin-
ner's eklest daughter, not so very long ago. Dr. Skinner
had lot^ left Roughborough, and had become Dean of a
Cathedral in one of our Midland counties — a position
which exactly suited him. Finding himself once in the
neighbourhood Ernest called, for old acquaintance sake,
and was hospitably entertained at lunch.

Thirty years had whitened the Doctor's bushy eyebrows
— his hair they could not whiten. • I believe that but for
that w^; he would have been made a bishop.

His voice and manner were unchanged, and when
Ernest, remarking upon a plan of Rome which hung in
the hail, spoke inadvertently of the Quinnal, he replied
with all his wonted pomp : "Yes, the Quirinal — or as I
myself prefer to aill it, the Quirinal." After this
tritunph he inhaled a long breath through the comers of
his mouth, and flung it back again into the face of
Heaven, as in his finest form durii^ his head-mastership.
At lunch he did indeed once say, "next to impossible to
think of anything else," but he immediately corrected
himself and substituted the words, "next to impossible
to entertain irrelevant ideas," after which he seemed to
feel a good deal^ more comfortable. Ernest saw the
familiar volumes of Dr. Skimier's works upon the bocric-
shelvea in the Deanery diniiig-room, but he saw no copy
of "Rome or the Bible— Which ?"

"And are you still as fond of music as ever, Mr.
Poatifex ?" said Miss Skinner to Ernest durii^ the course
of lunch.

"Of some kinds of music, yes. Miss Skimier, bat you
know I never did like modem music."

"Isn't that rather dreadful? — Don't you .think you
rather" — she was going to have added, "ougbt to ?" but
she left it unsaid, feeling doubtless that she had suffi-
ciently conveyed her meaning.

"I would like modem music, if I coukl ; I havA been

The Way of All Flesh 461

tryii^; all my life to like it, but I succeed less and less
the older I grow."
"And pray, where do you consider modem music to

"With Sebastian Bach."

"And don't you like Beethoven?"

"No ; I used to think I did, when I was younger, but I
know now that I never really liked him."

"Ah I how can you say so ? You cannot understand
him — ^you never could say this if you understood him.
For me a simple chord of Beethoven is enough. This is
happiness."

Ernest was amused at her strong family likeness to
her father — a likeness which had grown upon her as she
had become older, and which extended even to voice and
manner of speaking. He remembered how he had heard
me describe the game of chess I had played with the
doctor in days gone by, and with his mind's ear seemed
to hear Miss Skinner saying, as though it were an epi-
taph:—

"Stay :

I may presently take

A simple chord of Beethoven,

Or a small semiquaver

From one of Mendelssohn's Songs without Words."

After luncheon when Ernest was left alone for half
an hour or so with the Dean he plied him so well with
compliments that the old gentleman was pleased and
flattered beyond his wont. He rose and bowed. "These
expressions," he said, voce su&, "arc very valuable to
me." "They are but a small part, sir," rejoined Ernest,
"of what any one of your old pupils must feel towards
you," and the pair danced as it were a minuet at the
end of the dining-room table in front of the oM bay
window that kxiked upon the smooth shaven lawn. On

Coofjic

462 The Way of All Flesh

this Ernest departed; but a few days afterwards, the
Doctor wrote him a letter and told him that his critics
were iricXijpoi «oi Aynrvni, and at the same time tt/oathperot.
Ernest remembered o-kXihioI, and knew that the other
words were something of like nature, so it was all right.
A month or two afterwards. Dr. Skinner was gathered
to his fathers. .

"He was an old fool, Ernest," said I, "and you should
not relent towards him."

"I could not help it," he replied ; "he was so oM that
it was almost like playing witii a child."

Sometimes, like all whose minds are active, Ernest
overworks himself, and then occasionally he has fierce
and reproachful encounters with Dr. Skinner or Theo-
. bald in his sleep — ^but beyond this neither of these two
worthies can now molest him further.

To myself he has been a son and more than a son;
at times I am half afraid — as for example when I talk
to him about his books — that I may have been to him
more like a father than I ought ; if I have, I trust he has
fot^ven me. His books are the only bone of contention
between us. I want him to write like other people, and
not to offend so many of his readers ; he says he can no
more change his manner of writing than the colour of
his hair and that he must write as he does or not at all.

With the public generally he is not a favourite. He
is admitted to have talent, but it is considered generally
to be of a queer, unpractical kind, and no matter how
serious he is, he is always accused of being in jest. His
first book was a success for reasons which I have already
explained, but none of his others have been more than
creditable failures. He is one of those unfortunate men,
each one of whose books is sneered at by literary critics
as soon as it comes out, but becomes "excellent reading"
as soon as it has been followed by a later work which
may in its turn be condemned.

He never asked a reviewer to dinner in his life. I

The Way of All Flesh 463

have toM him over and over again that this is madness,
and find that this is the only thing I can say to him which
makes him angry with me.

"^What can it matter to me" he says, "whether people
read my books or not? It may matter to them — but I
have too much money to want more, and if the books
have any stufiE in them it will work by-and-by. I do not
know nor greatly care whether they are good or not.
What opinion can any sane man form about his own
work? Some people must write stupid books just as
there must be junior ops and third class poll men. Why
should I complain of being among the mediocrities ? If
a man is not absolutely below mediocrity let him be
thankful — besides, the books will have to stand by them-
selves some day, so the sooner they begin the better."

I spoke to his publisher about him not long since.
"Mr. Pontifex," he said, "is a homo wmuj libri, but it
doesn't do to tell him so."

I could see the publisher, who ought to know, had
lost all faith in Ernest's literary position, and looked
upon him as a man whose ^failure was all the more hope-
less for the fact of his having once made a coup. "He is
in a very solitary position, Mr, Overton," continued the
publisher. "He has formed no alliances, and has made
enemies not only of the religious world but of the literary
and scientific brotherhood as well. This will not do now-
adays. If a man. wishes to get on he must belong to
a set, and Mr. Pontifex belongs to no set — not even to a
club."

I replied, "Mr. Pontifex is the exact likeness of
Othello, but with a difference — he hates not wisely but
too well. He would dislike the literary and scientific
swells if he were to come to know them and they him ;
there is no natural solidarity between him and them, and
if he were brought into contact with them his last state
would be worse than his first. His instinct tells him this,
so he keeps clear of them, and attacks them whenever he

4^4 The Way of All Flesh

thinks they deserve it — in the hope, perhaps, that a
younger generation will listen to him more willingly than
the present."

"Can anything," said the publisher, "be concnved more
impracticable and imprudent?"

To all this Ernest replies with one word only — "Wait"
Such is my friend's latest development. He wouM
not, it is true, run much chance at present of trying to
found a College of Spiritual Pathology, but I must leave
the reader to determine whether there is not a strong
family likeness between the Ernest of the Coll^;e of
Spiritual Patholt^fy and the Ernest who will insist on
addressing the next generation rather than his own. He
says he trusts that there is not, and takes the sacrament
duly once a year as a sop to Nemesis lest he should again
feel strongly upon any subject. It rather fatigues him,
but "no man's opinions," he sometimes says, "can be
worth holding unless he knows how to deny them easily
and gracefully upon occasion in the cause of charity."
In politics he is a Consarvative so far as his vote and
interest are concerned. In 4]] other respects he is an
advanced Radical. His father and grandfather could
probably no more understand his state of mind than they
could understand Chinese, but those who know him in-
timately do not know that they wish him greatly different
from what he actually is.

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