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diff --git a/2075-0.txt b/2075-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd5f928 --- /dev/null +++ b/2075-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4810 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Crotchet Castle, by Thomas Love Peacock, +Edited by Henry Morley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Crotchet Castle + + +Author: Thomas Love Peacock + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: September 26, 2014 [eBook #2075] +[This file was first posted on 20 June 1999] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROTCHET CASTLE*** + + +Transcribed from the 1887 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY. + + * * * * * + + + + + + CROTCHET CASTLE + + + * * * * * + + BY + THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK. + + [Picture: Decorative graphic] + + CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited: + _LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_. + 1887. + + * * * * * + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK was born at Weymouth in 1785. His first poem, “The +Genius of the Thames,” was in its second edition when he became one of +the friends of Shelley. That was in 1812, when Shelley’s age was twenty, +Peacock’s twenty-seven. The acquaintance strengthened, until Peacock +became the friend in whose judgment Shelley put especial trust. There +were many points of agreement. Peacock, at that time, shared, in a more +practical way, Shelley’s desire for root and branch reform; both wore +poets, although not equally gifted, and both loved Plato and the Greek +tragedians. In “Crotchet Castle” Peacock has expressed his own delight +in Greek literature through the talk of the Reverend Dr. Folliott. + +But Shelley’s friendship for Peacock included a trust in him that was +maintained by points of unlikeness. Peacock was shrewd and witty. He +delighted in extravagance of a satire which usually said more than it +meant, but always rested upon a foundation of good sense. Then also +there was a touch of the poet to give grace to the utterances of a +clear-headed man of the world. It was Peacock who gave its name to +Shelley’s poem of “Alastor, or the Spirit of Solitude,” published in +1816. The “Spirit of Solitude” being treated as a spirit of evil, +Peacock suggested calling it “Alastor,” since the Greek ἀλάστωρ means an +evil genius. + +Peacock’s novels are unlike those of other men: they are the genuine +expressions of an original and independent mind. His reading and his +thinking ran together; there is free quotation, free play of wit and +satire, grace of invention too, but always unconventional. The story is +always pleasant, although always secondary to the play of thought for +which it gives occasion. He quarrelled with verse, whimsically but in +all seriousness, in an article on “The Four Ages of Poetry,” contributed +in 1820 to a short-lived journal, “Ollier’s Literary Miscellany.” The +four ages were, he said, the iron age, the Bardic; the golden, the +Homeric; the silver, the Virgilian; and the brass, in which he himself +lived. “A poet in our time,” he said, “is a semi-barbarian in a +civilised community . . . The highest inspirations of poetry are +resolvable into three ingredients: the rant of unregulated passion, the +whining of exaggerated feeling, and the cant of factitious sentiment; and +can, therefore, serve only to ripen a splendid lunatic like Alexander, a +puling driveller like Werter, or a morbid dreamer like Wordsworth.” In +another part of this essay he says: “While the historian and the +philosopher are advancing in and accelerating the progress of knowledge, +the poet is wallowing in the rubbish of departed ignorance, and raking up +the ashes of dead savages to find gewgaws and rattles for the grown +babies of the age. Mr. Scott digs up the poacher and cattle-stealers of +the ancient Border. Lord Byron cruises for thieves and pirates on the +shores of the Morea and among the Greek islands. Mr. Southey wades +through ponderous volumes of travels and old chronicles, from which he +carefully selects all that is false, useless, and absurd, as being +essentially poetical; and when he has a commonplace book full of +monstrosities, strings them into an epic.” And so forth; Peacock going +on to characterise, in further illustration of his argument, Wordsworth, +Coleridge, Moore, and Campbell. He did not refer to Shelley; and Shelley +read his friend’s whimsical attack on poetry with all good humour, +proceeding to reply to it with a “Defence of Poetry,” which would have +appeared in the same journal, if the journal had survived. In this novel +of “Crotchet Castle” there is the same good-humoured exaggeration in the +treatment of “our learned friend”—Lord Brougham—to whom and to whose +labours for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge there are repeated +allusions. In one case Peacock associates the labours of “our learned +friend” for the general instruction of the masses with encouragement of +robbery (page 172), and in another with body-snatching, or, worse,—murder +for dissection (page 99). “The Lord deliver me from the learned friend!” +says Dr. Folliott. Brougham’s elevation to a peerage in November, 1830, +as Lord Brougham and Vaux, is referred to on page 177, where he is called +Sir Guy do Vaux. It is not to be forgotten, in the reading, that this +story was written in 1831, the year before the passing of the Reform +Bill. It ends with a scene suggested by the agricultural riots of that +time. In the ninth chapter, again, there is a passage dealing with Sir +Walter Scott after the fashion of the criticisms in the “Four Ages of +Poetry.” But this critical satire gave nobody pain. Always there was a +ground-work of good sense, and the broad sweep of the satire was utterly +unlike the nibbling censure of the men whose wit is tainted with +ill-humour. We may see also that the poet’s nature cannot be expelled. +In this volume we should find the touch of a poet’s hand in the tale +itself when dealing with the adventures of Mr. Chainmail, while he stays +at the Welsh mountain inn, if the story did not again and again break out +into actual song, for it includes half-a-dozen little poems. + +When Peacock wrote his attack on Poetry, he had, only two years before, +produced a poem of his own—“Rhododaphne”—with a Greek fancy of the true +and the false love daintily worked out. It was his chief work in verse, +and gave much pleasure to a few, among them his friend Shelley. But he +felt that, as the world went, he was not strong enough to help it by his +singing, so he confined his writing to the novels, in which he could +speak his mind in his own way, while doing his duty by his country in the +East India House, where he obtained a post in 1818. From 1836 to 1856, +when he retired on a pension, he was Examiner of India Correspondence. +Peacock died in 1866, aged eighty-one. + + H. M. + +NOTE that in this tale Mac Quedy is Mac Q. E. D., son of a demonstration; +Mr. Skionar, the transcendentalist, is named from Ski(as) onar, the dream +of a shadow; and Mr. Philpot,—who loves rivers, is Phil(o)pot(amos). + + + + +CHAPTER I. +THE VILLA. + + + _Captain Jamy_. I wad full fain hear some question ’tween you tway. + + HENRY V. + +IN one of those beautiful valleys, through which the Thames (not yet +polluted by the tide, the scouring of cities, or even the minor +defilement of the sandy streams of Surrey) rolls a clear flood through +flowery meadows, under the shade of old beech woods, and the smooth mossy +greensward of the chalk hills (which pour into it their tributary +rivulets, as pure and pellucid as the fountain of Bandusium, or the wells +of Scamander, by which the wives and daughters of the Trojans washed +their splendid garments in the days of peace, before the coming of the +Greeks); in one of those beautiful valleys, on a bold round-surfaced +lawn, spotted with juniper, that opened itself in the bosom of an old +wood, which rose with a steep, but not precipitous ascent, from the river +to the summit of the hill, stood the castellated villa of a retired +citizen. Ebenezer Mac Crotchet, Esquire, was the London-born offspring +of a worthy native of the “north countrie,” who had walked up to London +on a commercial adventure, with all his surplus capital, not very neatly +tied up in a not very clean handkerchief, suspended over his shoulder +from the end of a hooked stick, extracted from the first hedge on his +pilgrimage; and who, after having worked himself a step or two up the +ladder of life, had won the virgin heart of the only daughter of a highly +respectable merchant of Duke’s Place, with whom he inherited the honest +fruits of a long series of ingenuous dealings. + +Mr. Mac Crotchet had derived from his mother the instinct, and from his +father the rational principle, of enriching himself at the expense of the +rest of mankind, by all the recognised modes of accumulation on the windy +side of the law. After passing many years in the Alley, watching the +turn of the market, and playing many games almost as desperate as that of +the soldier of Lucullus, the fear of losing what he had so righteously +gained predominated over the sacred thirst of paper-money; his caution +got the better of his instinct, or rather transferred it from the +department of acquisition to that of conservation. His friend, Mr. +Ramsbottom, the zodiacal mythologist, told him that he had done well to +withdraw from the region of Uranus or Brahma, the Maker, to that of +Saturn or Veeshnu, the Preserver, before he fell under the eye of Jupiter +or Seva, the Destroyer, who might have struck him down at a blow. + +It is said that a Scotchman, returning home after some years’ residence +in England, being asked what he thought of the English, answered: “They +hanna ower muckle sense, but they are an unco braw people to live amang;” +which would be a very good story, if it were not rendered apocryphal by +the incredible circumstance of the Scotchman going back. + +Mr. Mac Crotchet’s experience had given him a just title to make, in his +own person, the last-quoted observation, but he would have known better +than to go back, even if himself, and not his father, had been the first +comer of his line from the north. He had married an English Christian, +and, having none of the Scotch accent, was ungracious enough to be +ashamed of his blood. He was desirous to obliterate alike the Hebrew and +Caledonian vestiges in his name, and signed himself E. M. Crotchet, which +by degrees induced the majority of his neighbours to think that his name +was Edward Matthew. The more effectually to sink the Mac, he christened +his villa “Crotchet Castle,” and determined to hand down to posterity the +honours of Crotchet of Crotchet. He found it essential to his dignity to +furnish himself with a coat of arms, which, after the proper ceremonies +(payment being the principal), he obtained, videlicet: Crest, a crotchet +rampant, in A sharp; Arms, three empty bladders, turgescent, to show how +opinions are formed; three bags of gold, pendent, to show why they are +maintained; three naked swords, tranchant, to show how they are +administered; and three barbers’ blocks, gaspant, to show how they are +swallowed. + +Mr. Crotchet was left a widower, with two children; and, after the death +of his wife, so strong was his sense of the blessed comfort she had been +to him, that he determined never to give any other woman an opportunity +of obliterating the happy recollection. + +He was not without a plausible pretence for styling his villa a castle, +for, in its immediate vicinity, and within his own enclosed domain, were +the manifest traces, on the brow of the hill, of a Roman station, or +_castellum_, which was still called the “Castle” by the country people. +The primitive mounds and trenches, merely overgrown with greensward, with +a few patches of juniper and box on the vallum, and a solitary ancient +beech surmounting the place of the prætorium, presented nearly the same +depths, heights, slopes, and forms, which the Roman soldiers had +originally given them. From this castellum Mr. Crotchet christened his +villa. With his rustic neighbours he was, of course, immediately and +necessarily a squire: Squire Crotchet of the Castle; and he seemed to +himself to settle down as naturally into an English country gentleman, as +if his parentage had been as innocent of both Scotland and Jerusalem, as +his education was of Rome and Athens. + +But as, though you expel nature with a pitch-fork, she will yet always +come back; he could not become, like a true-born English squire, part and +parcel of the barley-giving earth; he could not find in game-bagging, +poacher-shooting, trespasser-pounding, footpath-stopping, +common-enclosing, rack-renting, and all the other liberal pursuits and +pastimes which make a country gentleman an ornament to the world and a +blessing to the poor: he could not find in these valuable and amiable +occupations, and in a corresponding range of ideas, nearly commensurate +with that of the great King Nebuchadnezzar when he was turned out to +grass; he could not find in this great variety of useful action, and vast +field of comprehensive thought, modes of filling up his time that +accorded with his Caledonian instinct. The inborn love of disputation, +which the excitements and engagements of a life of business had +smothered, burst forth through the calmer surface of a rural life. He +grew as fain as Captain Jamy, “to hear some argument betwixt ony tway,” +and being very hospitable in his establishment, and liberal in his +invitations, a numerous detachment from the advanced guard of the “march +of intellect,” often marched down to Crotchet Castle. + +When the fashionable season filled London with exhibitors of all +descriptions, lecturers and else, Mr. Crotchet was in his glory; for, in +addition to the perennial literati of the metropolis, he had the +advantage of the visits of a number of hardy annuals, chiefly from the +north, who, as the interval of their metropolitan flowering allowed, +occasionally accompanied their London brethren in excursions to Crotchet +Castle. + +Amongst other things, he took very naturally to political economy, read +all the books on the subject which were put forth by his own countrymen, +attended all lectures thereon, and boxed the technology of the sublime +science as expertly as an able seaman boxes the compass. + +With this agreeable mania he had the satisfaction of biting his son, the +hope of his name and race, who had borne off from Oxford the highest +academical honours; and who, treading in his father’s footsteps to honour +and fortune, had, by means of a portion of the old gentleman’s surplus +capital, made himself a junior partner in the eminent loan-jobbing firm +of Catchflat and Company. Here, in the days of paper prosperity, he +applied his science-illumined genius to the blowing of bubbles, the +bursting of which sent many a poor devil to the gaol, the workhouse, or +the bottom of the river, but left young Crotchet rolling in riches. + +These riches he had been on the point of doubling, by a marriage with the +daughter of Mr. Touchandgo, the great banker, when, one foggy morning, +Mr. Touchandgo and the contents of his till were suddenly reported +absent; and as the fortune which the young gentleman had intended to +marry was not forthcoming, this tender affair of the heart was nipped in +the bud. + +Miss Touchandgo did not meet the shock of separation quite so +complacently as the young gentleman: for he lost only the lady, whereas +she lost a fortune as well as a lover. Some jewels, which had glittered +on her beautiful person as brilliantly as the bubble of her father’s +wealth had done in the eyes of his gudgeons, furnished her with a small +portion of paper-currency; and this, added to the contents of a fairy +purse of gold, which she found in her shoe on the eventful morning when +Mr. Touchandgo melted into thin air, enabled her to retreat into North +Wales, where she took up her lodging in a farm-house in Merionethshire, +and boarded very comfortably for a trifling payment, and the additional +consideration of teaching English, French, and music, to the little +Ap-Llymrys. In the course of this occupation she acquired sufficient +knowledge of Welsh to converse with the country people. + +She climbed the mountains, and descended the dingles, with a foot which +daily habit made by degrees almost as steady as a native’s. She became +the nymph of the scene; and if she sometimes pined in thought for her +faithless Strephon, her melancholy was anything but green and yellow: it +was as genuine white and red as occupation, mountain air, thyme-fed +mutton, thick cream, and fat bacon could make it: to say nothing of an +occasional glass of double X, which Ap-Llymry, who yielded to no man west +of the Wrekin in brewage, never failed to press upon her at dinner and +supper. He was also earnest, and sometimes successful, in the +recommendation of his mead, and most pertinacious on winter nights in +enforcing a trial of the virtues of his elder wine. The young lady’s +personal appearance, consequently, formed a very advantageous contrast to +that of her quondam lover, whose physiognomy the intense anxieties of his +bubble-blowing days, notwithstanding their triumphant result, had left +blighted, sallowed, and crow’s-footed, to a degree not far below that of +the fallen spirit who, in the expressive language of German romance, is +described as “scathed by the ineradicable traces of the thunderbolts of +Heaven;” so that, contemplating their relative geological positions, the +poor deserted damsel was flourishing on slate, while her rich and false +young knight was pining on chalk. + +Squire Crotchet had also one daughter, whom he had christened Lemma, and +who, as likely to be endowed with a very ample fortune was, of course, an +object very tempting to many young soldiers of fortune, who were marching +with the march of mind, in a good condition for taking castles, as far as +not having a groat is a qualification for such exploits. She was also a +glittering bait to divers young squires expectant (whose fathers were too +well acquainted with the occult signification of mortgage), and even to +one or two sprigs of nobility, who thought that the lining of a civic +purse would superinduce a very passable factitious nap upon a thread-bare +title. The young lady had received an expensive and complicated +education, complete in all the elements of superficial display. She was +thus eminently qualified to be the companion of any masculine luminary +who had kept due pace with the “astounding progress” of intelligence. It +must be confessed, that a man who has not kept due pace with it, is not +very easily found: this march being one of that “astounding” character in +which it seems impossible that the rear can be behind the van. The young +lady was also tolerably good looking: north of Tweed, or in Palestine, +she would probable have been a beauty; but for the valleys of the Thames +she was perhaps a little too much to the taste of Solomon, and had a nose +which rather too prominently suggested the idea of the tower of Lebanon, +which looked towards Damascus. + +In a village in the vicinity of the Castle was the vicarage of the +Reverend Doctor Folliott, a gentleman endowed with a tolerable stock of +learning, an interminable swallow, and an indefatigable pair of lungs. +His pre-eminence in the latter faculty gave occasion to some etymologists +to ring changes on his name, and to decide that it was derived from +Follis Optimus, softened through an Italian medium into Folle Ottimo, +contracted poetically into Folleotto, and elided Anglicé into Folliott, +signifying a first-rate pair of bellows. He claimed to be descended +lineally from the illustrious Gilbert Folliott, the eminent theologian, +who was a Bishop of London in the twelfth century, whose studies were +interrupted in the dead of night by the Devil, when a couple of epigrams +passed between them, and the Devil, of course, proved the smaller wit of +the two. + +This reverend gentleman, being both learned and jolly, became by degrees +an indispensable ornament to the new squire’s table. Mr. Crotchet +himself was eminently jolly, though by no means eminently learned. In +the latter respect he took after the great majority of the sons of his +father’s land; had a smattering of many things, and a knowledge of none; +but possessed the true northern art of making the most of his +intellectual harlequin’s jacket, by keeping the best patches always +bright and prominent. + + + + +CHAPTER II. +THE MARCH OF MIND. + + + Quoth Ralpho: nothing but the abuse + Of human learning you produce.—BUTLER. + +“GOD bless my soul, sir!” exclaimed the Reverend Doctor Folliott, +bursting, one fine May morning, into the breakfast-room at Crotchet +Castle, “I am out of all patience with this march of mind. Here has my +house been nearly burned down by my cook taking it into her head to study +hydrostatics in a sixpenny tract, published by the Steam Intellect +Society, and written by a learned friend who is for doing all the world’s +business as well as his own, and is equally well qualified to handle +every branch of human knowledge. I have a great abomination of this +learned friend; as author, lawyer, and politician, he is _triformis_, +like Hecate; and in every one of his three forms he is _bifrons_, like +Janus; the true Mr. Facing-both-ways of Vanity Fair. My cook must read +his rubbish in bed; and, as might naturally be expected, she dropped +suddenly fast asleep, overturned the candle, and set the curtains in a +blaze. Luckily, the footman went into the room at the moment, in time to +tear down the curtains and throw them into the chimney, and a pitcher of +water on her nightcap extinguished her wick; she is a greasy subject, and +would have burned like a short mould.” + +The reverend gentleman exhaled his grievance without looking to the right +or to the left; at length, turning on his pivot, he perceived that the +room was full of company, consisting of young Crotchet, and some visitors +whom he had brought from London. The Reverend Doctor Folliott was +introduced to Mr. Mac Quedy, the economist; Mr. Skionar, the +transcendental poet; Mr. Firedamp, the meteorologist; and Lord Bossnowl, +son of the Earl of Foolincourt, and member for the borough of +Rogueingrain. + +The divine took his seat at the breakfast-table, and began to compose his +spirits by the gentle sedative of a large cup of tea, the demulcent of a +well-buttered muffin, and the tonic of a small lobster. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—You are a man of taste, Mr. Crotchet. A man of +taste is seen at once in the array of his breakfast-table. It is the +foot of Hercules, the far-shining face of the great work, according to +Pindar’s doctrine: ἀρχομένου ἔργου πρόςωπον χρὴ θέμεν πηλαυγές. The +breakfast is the πρόςωπον of the great work of the day. Chocolate, +coffee, tea, cream, eggs, ham, tongue, cold fowl, all these are good, and +bespeak good knowledge in him who sets them forth: but the touchstone is +fish: anchovy is the first step, prawns and shrimps the second; and I +laud him who reaches even to these: potted char and lampreys are the +third, and a fine stretch of progression; but lobster is, indeed, matter +for a May morning, and demands a rare combination of knowledge and virtue +in him who sets it forth. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Well, sir, and what say you to a fine fresh trout, hot +and dry, in a napkin? or a herring out of the water into the frying-pan, +on the shore of Loch Fyne? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, I say every nation has some eximious +virtue; and your country is pre-eminent in the glory of fish for +breakfast. We have much to learn from you in that line at any rate. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—And in many others, sir, I believe. Morals and +metaphysics, politics and political economy, the way to make the most of +all the modifications of smoke; steam, gas, and paper currency; you have +all these to learn from us; in short, all the arts and sciences. We are +the modern Athenians. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—I, for one, sir, am content to learn nothing +from you but the art and science of fish for breakfast. Be content, sir, +to rival the Boeotians, whose redeeming virtue was in fish, touching +which point you may consult Aristophanes and his scholiast in the passage +of Lysistrata, ἀλλ’ ἄφελε τὰς ἐγχέλεις, and leave the name of Athenians +to those who have a sense of the beautiful, and a perception of metrical +quantity. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Then, sir, I presume you set no value on the right +principles of rent, profit, wages, and currency? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—My principles, sir, in these things are, to take +as much as I can get, and pay no more than I can help. These are every +man’s principles, whether they be the right principles or no. There, +sir, is political economy in a nutshell. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—The principles, sir, which regulate production and +consumption are independent of the will of any individual as to giving or +taking, and do not lie in a nutshell by any means. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, I will thank you for a leg of that capon. + +_Lord Bossnowl_.—But, sir, by-the-bye, how came your footman to be going +into your cook’s room? It was very providential to be sure, but— + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, as good came of it, I shut my eyes, and ask +no questions. I suppose he was going to study hydrostatics, and he found +himself under the necessity of practising hydraulics. + +_Mr. Firedamp_.—Sir, you seem to make very light of science. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Yes, sir, such science as the learned friend +deals in: everything for everybody, science for all, schools for all, +rhetoric for all, law for all, physic for all, words for all, and sense +for none. I say, sir, law for lawyers, and cookery for cooks: and I wish +the learned friend, for all his life, a cook that will pass her time in +studying his works; then every dinner he sits down to at home, he will +sit on the stool of repentance. + +_Lord Bossnowl_.—Now really that would be too severe: my cook should read +nothing but Ude. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—No, sir! let Ude and the learned friend singe +fowls together; let both avaunt from my kitchen. Θύρας δ’ ἐπίθεσθε +βεβήλοις. Ude says an elegant supper may be given with sandwiches. +_Horresco referens_. An elegant supper. _Dî meliora piis_. No Ude for +me. Conviviality went out with punch and suppers. I cherish their +memory. I sup when I can, but not upon sandwiches. To offer me a +sandwich, when I am looking for a supper, is to add insult to injury. +Let the learned friend, and the modern Athenians, sup upon sandwiches. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Nay, sir; the modern Athenians know better than that. A +literary supper in sweet Edinbro’ would cure you of the prejudice you +seem to cherish against us. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Well, sir, well; there is cogency in a good +supper; a good supper in these degenerate days bespeaks a good man; but +much more is wanted to make up an Athenian. Athenians, indeed! where is +your theatre? who among you has written a comedy? where is your Attic +salt? which of you can tell who was Jupiter’s great-grandfather? or what +metres will successively remain, if you take off the three first +syllables, one by one, from a pure antispastic acatalectic tetrameter? +Now, sir, there are three questions for you: theatrical, mythological, +and metrical; to every one of which an Athenian would give an answer that +would lay me prostrate in my own nothingness. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Well, sir, as to your metre and your mythology, they may +e’en wait a wee. For your comedy there is the “Gentle Shepherd” of the +divine Allan Ramsay. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—The “Gentle Shepherd”! It is just as much a +comedy as the Book of Job. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Well, sir, if none of us have written a comedy, I cannot +see that it is any such great matter, any more than I can conjecture what +business a man can have at this time of day with Jupiter’s +great-grandfather. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—The great business is, sir, that you call +yourselves Athenians, while you know nothing that the Athenians thought +worth knowing, and dare not show your noses before the civilised world in +the practice of any one art in which they were excellent. Modern Athens, +sir! the assumption is a personal affront to every man who has a +Sophocles in his library. I will thank you for an anchovy. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Metaphysics, sir; metaphysics. Logic and moral +philosophy. There we are at home. The Athenians only sought the way, +and we have found it; and to all this we have added political economy, +the science of sciences. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—A hyperbarbarous technology, that no Athenian +ear could have borne. Premises assumed without evidence, or in spite of +it; and conclusions drawn from them so logically, that they must +necessarily be erroneous. + +_Mr. Skionar_.—I cannot agree with you, Mr. Mac Quedy, that you have +found the true road of metaphysics, which the Athenians only sought. The +Germans have found it, sir: the sublime Kant and his disciples. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—I have read the sublime Kant, sir, with an anxious +desire to understand him, and I confess I have not succeeded. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—He wants the two great requisites of head and +tail. + +_Mr. Skionar_.—Transcendentalism is the philosophy of intuition, the +development of universal convictions; truths which are inherent in the +organisation of mind, which cannot be obliterated, though they may be +obscured, by superstitious prejudice on the one hand, and by the +Aristotelian logic on the other. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Well, sir, I have no notion of logic obscuring a +question. + +_Mr. Skionar_.—There is only one true logic, which is the transcendental; +and this can prove only the one true philosophy, which is also the +transcendental. The logic of your Modern Athens can prove everything +equally; and that is, in my opinion, tantamount to proving nothing at +all. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—The sentimental against the rational, the intuitive +against the inductive, the ornamental against the useful, the intense +against the tranquil, the romantic against the classical; these are great +and interesting controversies, which I should like, before I die, to see +satisfactorily settled. + +_Mr. Firedamp_.—There is another great question, greater than all these, +seeing that it is necessary to be alive in order to settle any question; +and this is the question of water against human life. Wherever there is +water, there is malaria, and wherever there is malaria, there are the +elements of death. The great object of a wise man should be to live on a +gravelly hill, without so much as a duck-pond within ten miles of him, +eschewing cisterns and waterbutts, and taking care that there be no +gravel-pits for lodging the rain. The sun sucks up infection from water, +wherever it exists on the face of the earth. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Well, sir, you have for you the authority of the +ancient mystagogue, who said: ’Εστιν ὔδωρ ψυχῇ θάνατος. For my part I +care not a rush (or any other aquatic and inesculent vegetable) who or +what sucks up either the water or the infection. I think the proximity +of wine a matter of much more importance than the longinquity of water. +You are here within a quarter of a mile of the Thames, but in the cellar +of my friend, Mr. Crotchet, there is the talismanic antidote of a +thousand dozen of old wine; a beautiful spectacle, I assure you, and a +model of arrangement. + +_Mr. Firedamp_.—Sir, I feel the malignant influence of the river in every +part of my system. Nothing but my great friendship for Mr. Crotchet +would have brought me so nearly within the jaws of the lion. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—After dinner, sir, after dinner, I will meet you +on this question. I shall then be armed for the strife. You may fight +like Hercules against Achelous, but I shall flourish the Bacchic thyrsus, +which changed rivers into wine: as Nonnus sweetly sings, Οίνω κυματόεντι +μέλας κελάρυζεν Υδάςπης. + +_Mr. Crotchet_, _jun._—I hope, Mr. Firedamp, you will let your friendship +carry you a little closer into the jaws of the lion. I am fitting up a +flotilla of pleasure-boats, with spacious cabins, and a good cellar, to +carry a choice philosophical party up the Thames and Severn, into the +Ellesmere canal, where we shall be among the mountains of North Wales; +which we may climb or not, as we think proper; but we will, at any rate, +keep our floating hotel well provisioned, and we will try to settle all +the questions over which a shadow of doubt yet hangs in the world of +philosophy. + +_Mr. Firedamp_.—Out of my great friendship for you, I will certainly go; +but I do not expect to survive the experiment. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—_Alter erit tum Tiphys_, _et altera quæ vehat +Argo Delectos Heroas_. I will be of the party, though I must hire an +officiating curate, and deprive poor dear Mrs. Folliott, for several +weeks, of the pleasure of combing my wig. + +_Lord Bossnowl_.—I hope, if I am to be of the party, our ship is not to +be the ship of fools: He! he! + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—If you are one of the party, sir, it most +assuredly will not: Ha! ha! + +_Lord Bossnowl_.—Pray sir, what do you mean by Ha! ha!? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Precisely, sir, what you mean by He! he! + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—You need not dispute about terms; they are two modes of +expressing merriment, with or without reason; reason being in no way +essential to mirth. No man should ask another why he laughs, or at what, +seeing that he does not always know, and that, if he does, he is not a +responsible agent. Laughter is an involuntary action of certain muscles, +developed in the human species by the progress of civilisation. The +savage never laughs. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—No, sir, he has nothing to laugh at. Give him +Modern Athens, the “learned friend,” and the Steam Intellect Society. +They will develop his muscles. + + + + +CHAPTER III. +THE ROMAN CAMP. + + + He loved her more then seven yere, + Yet was he of her love never the nere; + He was not ryche of golde and fe, + A gentyll man forsoth was he. + + _The Squyr of Lowe Degre_. + +THE Reverend Doctor Folliott having promised to return to dinner, walked +back to his vicarage, meditating whether he should pass the morning in +writing his next sermon, or in angling for trout, and had nearly decided +in favour of the latter proposition, repeating to himself, with great +unction, the lines of Chaucer: + + And as for me, though that I can but lite, + On bokis for to read I me delite, + And to ’hem yeve I faithe and full credence, + And in mine herte have ’hem in reverence, + So hertily, that there is gamé none, + That fro my bokis makith me to gone, + But it be seldome, on the holie daie; + Save certainly whan that the month of Maie + Is cousin, and I here the foulis sing, + And that the flouris ginnin for to spring, + Farwell my boke and my devocion: + +when his attention was attracted by a young gentleman who was sitting on +a camp stool with a portfolio on his knee, taking a sketch of the Roman +Camp, which, as has been already said, was within the enclosed domain of +Mr. Crotchet. The young stranger, who had climbed over the fence, +espying the portly divine, rose up, and hoped that he was not +trespassing. “By no means, sir,” said the divine, “all the arts and +sciences are welcome here; music, painting, and poetry; hydrostatics and +political economy; meteorology, transcendentalism, and fish for +breakfast.” + +_The Stranger_.—A pleasant association, sir, and a liberal and +discriminating hospitality. This is an old British camp, I believe, sir? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Roman, sir; Roman; undeniably Roman. The vallum +is past controversy. It was not a camp, sir, a _castrum_, but a +_castellum_, a little camp, or watch-station, to which was attached, on +the peak of the adjacent hill, a beacon for transmitting alarms. You +will find such here and there, all along the range of chalk hills, which +traverses the country from north-east to south-west, and along the base +of which runs the ancient Iknield road, whereof you may descry a portion +in that long straight white line. + +_The Stranger_.—I beg your pardon, sir; do I understand this place to be +your property? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—It is not mine, sir: the more is the pity; yet +is it so far well, that the owner is my good friend, and a highly +respectable gentleman. + +_The Stranger_.—Good and respectable, sir, I take it, means rich? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—That is their meaning, sir. + +_The Stranger_.—I understand the owner to be a Mr. Crotchet. He has a +handsome daughter, I am told. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—He has, sir. Her eyes are like the fish-pools +of Heshbon, by the gate of Bethrabbim; and she is to have a handsome +fortune, to which divers disinterested gentlemen are paying their +addresses. Perhaps you design to be one of them? + +_The Stranger_.—No, sir; I beg pardon if my questions seem impertinent; I +have no such design. There is a son too, I believe, sir, a great and +successful blower of bubbles? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—A hero, sir, in his line. Never did angler in +September hook more gudgeons. + +_The Stranger_.—To say the truth, two very amiable young people, with +whom I have some little acquaintance, Lord Bossnowl, and his sister, Lady +Clarinda, are reported to be on the point of concluding a double marriage +with Miss Crotchet and her brother; by way of putting a new varnish on +old nobility. Lord Foolincourt, their father, is terribly poor for a +lord who owns a borough. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Well, sir, the Crotchets have plenty of money, +and the old gentleman’s weak point is a hankering after high blood. I +saw your acquaintance, Lord Bossnowl, this morning, but I did not see his +sister. She may be there, nevertheless, and doing fashionable justice to +this fine May morning, by lying in bed till noon. + +_The Stranger_.—Young Mr. Crotchet, sir, has been, like his father, the +architect of his own fortune, has he not? An illustrious example of the +reward of honesty and industry? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—As to honesty, sir, he made his fortune in the +city of London, and if that commodity be of any value there, you will +find it in the price current. I believe it is below par, like the shares +of young Crotchet’s fifty companies. But his progress has not been +exactly like his father’s. It has been more rapid, and he started with +more advantages. He began with a fine capital from his father. The old +gentleman divided his fortune into three not exactly equal portions; one +for himself, one for his daughter, and one for his son, which he handed +over to him, saying, “Take it once for all, and make the most of it; if +you lose it where I won it, not another stiver do you get from me during +my life.” But, sir, young Crotchet doubled, and trebled, and quadrupled +it, and is, as you say, a striking example of the reward of industry; not +that I think his labour has been so great as his luck. + +_The Stranger_.—But, sir, is all this solid? is there no danger of +reaction? no day of reckoning to cut down in an hour prosperity that has +grown up like a mushroom? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Nay, sir, I know not. I do not pry into these +matters. I am, for my own part, very well satisfied with the young +gentleman. Let those who are not so look to themselves. It is quite +enough for me that he came down last night from London, and that he had +the good sense to bring with him a basket of lobsters. Sir, I wish you a +good morning. + +The stranger having returned the reverend gentleman’s good morning, +resumed his sketch, and was intently employed on it when Mr. Crotchet +made his appearance with Mr. Mac Quedy and Mr. Skionar, whom he was +escorting round his grounds, according to his custom with new visitors; +the principal pleasure of possessing an extensive domain being that of +showing it to other people. Mr. Mac Quedy, according also to the +laudable custom of his countrymen, had been appraising everything that +fell under his observation; but, on arriving at the Roman camp, of which +the value was purely imaginary, he contented himself with exclaiming: +“Eh! this is just a curiosity, and very pleasant to sit in on a summer +day.” + +_Mr. Skionar_.—And call up the days of old, when the Roman eagle spread +its wings in the place of that beechen foliage. It gives a fine idea of +duration, to think that that fine old tree must have sprung from the +earth ages after this camp was formed. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—How old, think you, may the tree be? + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—I have records which show it to be three hundred years +old. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—That is a great age for a beech in good condition. But +you see the camp is some fifteen hundred years, or so, older; and three +times six being eighteen, I think you get a clearer idea of duration out +of the simple arithmetic, than out of your eagle and foliage. + +_Mr. Skionar_.—That is a very unpoetical, if not unphilosophical, mode of +viewing antiquities. Your philosophy is too literal for our imperfect +vision. We cannot look directly into the nature of things; we can only +catch glimpses of the mighty shadow in the camera obscura of +transcendental intelligence. These six and eighteen are only words to +which we give conventional meanings. We can reason, but we cannot feel, +by help of them. The tree and the eagle, contemplated in the ideality of +space and time, become subjective realities, that rise up as landmarks in +the mystery of the past. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Well, sir, if you understand that, I wish you joy. But +I must be excused for holding that my proposition, three times six are +eighteen, is more intelligible than yours. A worthy friend of mine, who +is a sort of amateur in philosophy, criticism, politics, and a wee bit of +many things more, says: “Men never begin to study antiquities till they +are saturated with civilisation.” + +_Mr. Skionar_.—What is civilisation? + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—It is just respect for property. A state in which no +man takes wrongfully what belongs to another, is a perfectly civilised +state. + +_Mr. Skionar_.—Your friend’s antiquaries must have lived in El Dorado, to +have had an opportunity of being saturated with such a state. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—It is a question of degree. There is more respect for +property here than in Angola. + +_Mr. Skionar_.—That depends on the light in which things are viewed. + +Mr. Crotchet was rubbing his hands, in hopes of a fine discussion, when +they came round to the side of the camp where the picturesque gentleman +was sketching. The stranger was rising up, when Mr. Crotchet begged him +not to disturb himself, and presently walked away with his two guests. + +Shortly after, Miss Crotchet and Lady Clarinda, who had breakfasted by +themselves, made their appearance at the same spot, hanging each on an +arm of Lord Bossnowl, who very much preferred their company to that of +the philosophers, though he would have preferred the company of the +latter, or any company to his own. He thought it very singular that so +agreeable a person as he held himself to be to others, should be so +exceedingly tiresome to himself: he did not attempt to investigate the +cause of this phenomenon, but was contented with acting on his knowledge +of the fact, and giving himself as little of his own private society as +possible. + +The stranger rose as they approached, and was immediately recognised by +the Bossnowls as an old acquaintance, and saluted with the exclamation of +“Captain Fitzchrome!” The interchange of salutations between Lady +Clarinda and the Captain was accompanied with an amiable confusion on +both sides, in which the observant eyes of Miss Crotchet seemed to read +the recollection of an affair of the heart. + +Lord Bossnowl was either unconscious of any such affair, or indifferent +to its existence. He introduced the Captain very cordially to Miss +Crotchet; and the young lady invited him, as the friend of their guests, +to partake of her father’s hospitality, an offer which was readily +accepted. + +The Captain took his portfolio under his right arm, his camp stool in his +right hand, offered his left arm to Lady Clarinda, and followed at a +reasonable distance behind Miss Crotchet and Lord Bossnowl, contriving, +in the most natural manner possible, to drop more and more into the rear. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—I am glad to see you can make yourself so happy with +drawing old trees and mounds of grass. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Happy, Lady Clarinda! oh, no! How can I be happy +when I see the idol of my heart about to be sacrificed on the shrine of +Mammon? + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Do you know, though Mammon has a sort of ill name, I +really think he is a very popular character; there must be at the bottom +something amiable about him. He is certainly one of those pleasant +creatures whom everybody abuses, but without whom no evening party is +endurable. I dare say, love in a cottage is very pleasant; but then it +positively must be a cottage ornée: but would not the same love be a +great deal safer in a castle, even if Mammon furnished the fortification? + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Oh, Lady Clarinda! there is a heartlessness in that +language that chills me to the soul. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Heartlessness! No: my heart is on my lips. I speak +just what I think. You used to like it, and say it was as delightful as +it was rare. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—True, but you did not then talk as you do now, of +love in a castle. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Well, but only consider: a dun is a horridly vulgar +creature; it is a creature I cannot endure the thought of: and a cottage +lets him in so easily. Now a castle keeps him at bay. You are a +half-pay officer, and are at leisure to command the garrison: but where +is the castle? and who is to furnish the commissariat? + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Is it come to this, that you make a jest of my +poverty? Yet is my poverty only comparative. Many decent families are +maintained on smaller means. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Decent families: ay, decent is the distinction from +respectable. Respectable means rich, and decent means poor. I should +die if I heard my family called decent. And then your decent family +always lives in a snug little place: I hate a little place; I like large +rooms and large looking-glasses, and large parties, and a fine large +butler, with a tinge of smooth red in his face; an outward and visible +sign that the family he serves is respectable; if not noble, highly +respectable. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I cannot believe that you say all this in earnest. +No man is less disposed than I am to deny the importance of the +substantial comforts of life. I once flattered myself that in our +estimate of these things we were nearly of a mind. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Do you know, I think an opera-box a very substantial +comfort, and a carriage. You will tell me that many decent people walk +arm-in-arm through the snow, and sit in clogs and bonnets in the pit at +the English theatre. No doubt it is very pleasant to those who are used +to it; but it is not to my taste. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—You always delighted in trying to provoke me; but I +cannot believe that you have not a heart. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—You do not like to believe that I have a heart, you +mean. You wish to think I have lost it, and you know to whom; and when I +tell you that it is still safe in my own keeping, and that I do not mean +to give it away, the unreasonable creature grows angry. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Angry! far from it; I am perfectly cool. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Why, you are pursing your brows, biting your lips, and +lifting up your foot as if you would stamp it into the earth. I must say +anger becomes you; you would make a charming Hotspur. Your +every-day-dining-out face is rather insipid: but I assure you my heart is +in danger when you are in the heroics. It is so rare, too, in these days +of smooth manners, to see anything like natural expression in a man’s +face. There is one set form for every man’s face in female society: a +sort of serious comedy walking gentleman’s face: but the moment the +creature falls in love he begins to give himself airs, and plays off all +the varieties of his physiognomy from the Master Slender to the +Petruchio; and then he is actually very amusing. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Well, Lady Clarinda, I will not be angry, amusing +as it may be to you: I listen more in sorrow than in anger. I half +believe you in earnest: and mourn as over a fallen angel. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—What, because I have made up my mind not to give away my +heart when I can sell it? I will introduce you to my new acquaintance, +Mr. Mac Quedy: he will talk to you by the hour about exchangeable value, +and show you that no rational being will part with anything, except to +the highest bidder. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Now, I am sure you are not in earnest. You cannot +adopt such sentiments in their naked deformity. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Naked deformity! Why, Mr. Mac Quedy will prove to you +that they are the cream of the most refined philosophy. You live a very +pleasant life as a bachelor, roving about the country with your portfolio +under your arm. I am not fit to be a poor man’s wife. I cannot take any +kind of trouble, or do any one thing that is of any use. Many decent +families roast a bit of mutton on a string; but if I displease my father +I shall not have as much as will buy the string, to say nothing of the +meat; and the bare idea of such cookery gives me the horrors. + + * * * * * + +By this time they were near the Castle, and met Miss Crotchet and her +companion, who had turned back to meet them. Captain Fitzchrome was +shortly after heartily welcomed by Mr. Crotchet, and the party separated +to dress for dinner, the Captain being by no means in an enviable state +of mind, and full of misgivings as to the extent of belief that he was +bound to accord to the words of the lady of his heart. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +THE PARTY. + + + En quoi cognoissez-vous la folie anticque? En quoi cognoissez-vous + la sagesse présente?—RABELAIS. + +“IF I were sketching a bandit who had just shot his last pursuer, having +outrun all the rest, that is the very face I would give him,” +soliloquised the Captain, as he studied the features of his rival in the +drawing-room, during the miserable half-hour before dinner, when dulness +reigns predominant over expectant company, especially when they are +waiting for some one last comer, whom they all heartily curse in their +hearts, and whom, nevertheless, or indeed therefore-the-more, they +welcome as a sinner, more heartily than all the just persons who had been +punctual to their engagement. Some new visitors had arrived in the +morning, and, as the company dropped in one by one, the Captain anxiously +watched the unclosing door for the form of his beloved: but she was the +last to make her appearance, and on her entry gave him a malicious +glance, which he construed into a telegraphic communication that she had +stayed away to torment him. Young Crotchet escorted her with marked +attention to the upper end of the drawing-room, where a great portion of +the company was congregated around Miss Crotchet. These being the only +ladies in the company, it was evident that old Mr. Crotchet would give +his arm to Lady Clarinda, an arrangement with which the Captain could not +interfere. He therefore took his station near the door, studying his +rival from a distance, and determined to take advantage of his present +position, to secure the seat next to his charmer. He was meditating on +the best mode of operation for securing this important post with due +regard to _bien-séance_, when he was twitched by the button by Mr. Mac +Quedy, who said to him: “Lady Clarinda tells me, sir, that you are +anxious to talk with me on the subject of exchangeable value, from which +I infer that you have studied political economy, and as a great deal +depends on the definition of value, I shall be glad to set you right on +that point.” “I am much obliged to you, sir,” said the Captain, and was +about to express his utter disqualification for the proposed instruction, +when Mr. Skionar walked up and said: “Lady Clarinda informs me that you +wish to talk over with me the question of subjective reality. I am +delighted to fall in with a gentleman who daily appreciates the +transcendental philosophy.” “Lady Clarinda is too good,” said the +Captain; and was about to protest that he had never heard the word +“transcendental” before, when the butler announced dinner. Mr. Crotchet +led the way with Lady Clarinda: Lord Bossnowl followed with Miss +Crotchet: the economist and transcendentalist pinned in the Captain, and +held him, one by each arm, as he impatiently descended the stairs in the +rear of several others of the company, whom they had forced him to let +pass; but the moment he entered the dining-room he broke loose from them, +and at the expense of a little _brusquerie_, secured his position. + +“Well, Captain,” said Lady Clarinda, “I perceive you can still manœuvre.” + +“What could possess you,” said the Captain, “to send two unendurable and +inconceivable bores to intercept me with rubbish about which I neither +know nor care any more than the man in the moon?” + +“Perhaps,” said Lady Clarinda, “I saw your design, and wished to put your +generalship to the test. But do not contradict anything I have said +about you, and see if the learned will find you out.” + +“There is fine music, as Rabelais observes, in the _cliquetis +d’asssiettes_, a refreshing shade in the _ombre de salle à manger_, and +an elegant fragrance in the _fumée de rôti_,” said a voice at the +Captain’s elbow. The Captain turning round, recognised his clerical +friend of the morning, who knew him again immediately, and said he was +extremely glad to meet him there; more especially as Lady Clarinda had +assured him that he was an enthusiastic lover of Greek poetry. + +“Lady Clarinda,” said the Captain, “is a very pleasant young lady.” + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—So she is, sir: and I understand she has all the +wit of the family to herself, whatever that _totum_ may be. But a glass +of wine after soup is, as the French say, the _verre de santé_. The +current of opinion sets in favour of Hock: but I am for Madeira; I do not +fancy Hock till I have laid a substratum of Madeira. Will you join me? + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—With pleasure. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Here is a very fine salmon before me: and May is +the very _point nommé_ to have salmon in perfection. There is a fine +turbot close by, and there is much to be said in his behalf: but salmon +in May is the king of fish. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—That salmon before you, doctor, was caught in the Thames, +this morning. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Παπαπαῖ! Rarity of rarities! A Thames salmon +caught this morning. Now, Mr. Mac Quedy, even in fish your Modern Athens +must yield. _Cedite Graii_. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Eh! sir, on its own around, your Thames salmon has two +virtues over all others; first, that it is fresh; and, second, that it is +rare; for I understand you do not take half a dozen in a year. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—In some years, sir, not one. Mud, filth, +gas-dregs, lock-weirs, and the march of mind, developed in the form of +poaching, have ruined the fishery. But, when we do catch a salmon, happy +the man to whom he falls. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—I confess, sir, this is excellent: but I cannot see why +it should be better than a Tweed salmon at Kelso. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, I will take a glass of Hock with you. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—With all my heart, sir. There are several varieties of +the salmon genus: but the common salmon, the _salmo salar_, is only one +species, one and the same everywhere, just like the human mind. Locality +and education make all the difference. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Education! Well, sir, I have no doubt schools +for all are just as fit for the species _salmo salar_ as for the genus +_homo_. But you must allow that the specimen before us has finished his +education in a manner that does honour to his college. However, I doubt +that the _salmo salar_ is only one species, that is to say, precisely +alike in all localities. I hold that every river has its own breed, with +essential differences; in flavour especially. And as for the human mind, +I deny that it is the same in all men. I hold that there is every +variety of natural capacity from the idiot to Newton and Shakespeare; the +mass of mankind, midway between these extremes, being blockheads of +different degrees; education leaving them pretty nearly as it found them, +with this single difference, that it gives a fixed direction to their +stupidity, a sort of incurable wry neck to the thing they call their +understanding. So one nose points always east, and another always west, +and each is ready to swear that it points due north. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—If that be the point of truth, very few intellectual +noses point due north. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Only those that point to the Modern Athens. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Where all native noses point southward. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Eh, sir, northward for wisdom, and southward for profit. + +_Mr. Crotchet_, _jun._ Champagne, doctor? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Most willingly. But you will permit my drinking +it while it sparkles. I hold it a heresy to let it deaden in my hand, +while the glass of my _compotator_ is being filled on the opposite side +of the table. By-the-bye, Captain, you remember a passage in Athenæus, +where he cites Menander on the subject of fish-sauce: ὀψάριον ἐπὶ ἰχθύος. +(The Captain was aghast for an answer that would satisfy both his +neighbours, when he was relieved by the divine continuing.) The science +of fish-sauce, Mr. Mac Quedy, is by no means brought to perfection; a +fine field of discovery still lies open in that line. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Nay, sir, beyond lobster-sauce, I take it, ye cannot go. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—In their line, I grant you, oyster and +lobster-sauce are the pillars of Hercules. But I speak of the cruet +sauces, where the quintessence of the sapid is condensed in a phial. I +can taste in my mind’s palate a combination, which, if I could give it +reality, I would christen with the name of my college, and hand it down +to posterity as a seat of learning indeed. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Well, sir, I wish you success, but I cannot let slip the +question we started just now. I say, cutting off idiots, who have no +minds at all, all minds are by nature alike. Education (which begins +from their birth) makes them what they are. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—No, sir, it makes their tendencies, not their +power. Cæsar would have been the first wrestler on the village common. +Education might have made him a Nadir Shah; it might also have made him a +Washington; it could not have made him a merry-andrew, for our newspapers +to extol as a model of eloquence. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Now, sir, I think education would have made him just +anything, and fit for any station, from the throne to the stocks; saint +or sinner, aristocrat or democrat, judge, counsel, or prisoner at the +bar. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—I will thank you for a slice of lamb, with lemon +and pepper. Before I proceed with this discussion,—Vin de Grave, Mr. +Skionar,—I must interpose one remark. There is a set of persons in your +city, Mr. Mac Quedy, who concoct, every three or four months, a thing, +which they call a review: a sort of sugar-plum manufacturers to the Whig +aristocracy. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—I cannot tell, sir, exactly, what you mean by that; but +I hope you will speak of those gentlemen with respect, seeing that I am +one of them. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, I must drown my inadvertence in a glass of +Sauterne with you. There is a set of gentlemen in your city— + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Not in our city, exactly; neither are they a set. There +is an editor, who forages for articles in all quarters, from John o’ +Groat’s house to the Land’s End. It is not a board, or a society: it is +a mere intellectual bazaar, where A, B, and C, bring their wares to +market. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Well, sir, these gentlemen among them, the +present company excepted, have practised as much dishonesty as, in any +other department than literature, would have brought the practitioner +under the cognisance of the police. In politics, they have ran with the +hare and hunted with the hound. In criticism, they have, knowingly and +unblushingly, given false characters, both for good and for evil; +sticking at no art of misrepresentation, to clear out of the field of +literature all who stood in the way of the interests of their own clique. +They have never allowed their own profound ignorance of anything (Greek +for instance) to throw even an air of hesitation into their oracular +decision on the matter. They set an example of profligate contempt for +truth, of which the success was in proportion to the effrontery; and when +their prosperity had filled the market with competitors, they cried out +against their own reflected sin, as if they had never committed it, or +were entitled to a monopoly of it. The latter, I rather think, was what +they wanted. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Hermitage, doctor? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Nothing better, sir. The father who first chose +the solitude of that vineyard, knew well how to cultivate his spirit in +retirement. Now, Mr. Mac Quedy, Achilles was distinguished above all the +Greeks for his inflexible love of truth; could education have made +Achilles one of your reviewers? + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—No doubt of it, even if your character of them were true +to the letter. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—And I say, sir—chicken and asparagus—Titan had +made him of better clay. I hold with Pindar, “All that is most excellent +is so by nature.” Τὸ δὲ φυᾷ κράτιστον ἅπαν. Education can give +purposes, but not powers; and whatever purposes had been given him, he +would have gone straight forward to them; straight forward, Mr. Mac +Quedy. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—No, sir, education makes the man, powers, purposes, and +all. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—There is the point, sir, on which we join issue. + +Several others of the company now chimed in with their opinions, which +gave the divine an opportunity to degustate one or two side dishes, and +to take a glass of wine with each of the young ladies. + + + + +CHAPTER V. +CHARACTERS. + + + Ay imputé a honte plus que médiocre être vu spectateur ocieux de tant + vaillans, disertz, et chevalereux personnaiges. + + RABELAIS. + +_Lady Clarinda_ (_to the Captain_).—I declare the creature has been +listening to all this rigmarole, instead of attending to me. Do you ever +expect forgiveness? But now that they are all talking together, and you +cannot make out a word they say, nor they hear a word that we say, I will +describe the company to you. First, there is the old gentleman on my +left hand, at the head of the table, who is now leaning the other way to +talk to my brother. He is a good-tempered, half-informed person, very +unreasonably fond of reasoning, and of reasoning people; people that talk +nonsense logically: he is fond of disputation himself, when there are +only one or two, but seldom does more than listen in a large company of +_illuminés_. He made a great fortune in the city, and has the comfort of +a good conscience. He is very hospitable, and is generous in dinners; +though nothing would induce him to give sixpence to the poor, because he +holds that all misfortune is from imprudence, that none but the rich +ought to marry, and that all ought to thrive by honest industry, as he +did. He is ambitious of founding a family, and of allying himself with +nobility; and is thus as willing as other grown children to throw away +thousands for a gew-gaw, though he would not part with a penny for +charity. Next to him is my brother, whom you know as well as I do. He +has finished his education with credit, and as he never ventures to +oppose me in anything, I have no doubt he is very sensible. He has good +manners, is a model of dress, and is reckoned ornamental in all +societies. Next to him is Miss Crotchet, my sister-in-law that is to be. +You see she is rather pretty, and very genteel. She is tolerably +accomplished, has her table always covered with new novels, thinks Mr. +Mac Quedy an oracle, and is extremely desirous to be called “my lady.” +Next to her is Mr. Firedamp, a very absurd person, who thinks that water +is the evil principle. Next to him is Mr. Eavesdrop, a man who, by dint +of a certain something like smartness, has got into good society. He is +a sort of bookseller’s tool, and coins all his acquaintance in +reminiscences and sketches of character. I am very shy of him, for fear +he should print me. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—If he print you in your own likeness, which is that +of an angel, you need not fear him. If he print you in any other, I will +cut his throat. But proceed— + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Next to him is Mr. Henbane, the toxicologist, I think he +calls himself. He has passed half his life in studying poisons and +antidotes. The first thing he did on his arrival here was to kill the +cat; and while Miss Crotchet was crying over her, he brought her to life +again. I am more shy of him than the other. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—They are two very dangerous fellows, and I shall +take care to keep them both at a respectful distance. Let us hope that +Eavesdrop will sketch off Henbane, and that Henbane will poison him for +his trouble. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Well, next to him sits Mr. Mac Quedy, the Modern +Athenian, who lays down the law about everything, and therefore may be +taken to understand everything. He turns all the affairs of this world +into questions of buying and selling. He is the Spirit of the Frozen +Ocean to everything like romance and sentiment. He condenses their +volume of steam into a drop of cold water in a moment. He has satisfied +me that I am a commodity in the market, and that I ought to set myself at +a high price. So you see, he who would have me must bid for me. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I shall discuss that point with Mr. Mac Quedy. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Not a word for your life. Our flirtation is our own +secret. Let it remain so. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Flirtation, Clarinda! Is that all that the most +ardent— + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Now, don’t be rhapsodical here. Next to Mr. Mac Quedy +is Mr. Skionar, a sort of poetical philosopher, a curious compound of the +intense and the mystical. He abominates all the ideas of Mr. Mac Quedy, +and settles everything by sentiment and intuition. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Then, I say, he is the wiser man. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—They are two oddities, but a little of them is amusing, +and I like to hear them dispute. So you see I am in training for a +philosopher myself. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Any philosophy, for Heaven’s sake, but the +pound-shilling-and-pence philosophy of Mr. Mac Quedy. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Why, they say that even Mr. Skionar, though he is a +great dreamer, always dreams with his eyes open, or with one eye at any +rate, which is an eye to his gain: but I believe that in this respect the +poor man has got an ill name by keeping bad company. He has two dear +friends, Mr. Wilful Wontsee, and Mr. Rumblesack Shantsee, poets of some +note, who used to see visions of Utopia, and pure republics beyond the +Western deep: but, finding that these El Dorados brought them no revenue, +they turned their vision-seeing faculty into the more profitable channel +of espying all sorts of virtues in the high and the mighty, who were able +and willing to pay for the discovery. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I do not fancy these virtue-spyers. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Next to Mr. Skionar sits Mr. Chainmail, a good-looking +young gentleman, as you see, with very antiquated tastes. He is fond of +old poetry, and is something of a poet himself. He is deep in monkish +literature, and holds that the best state of society was that of the +twelfth century, when nothing was going forward but fighting, feasting, +and praying, which he says are the three great purposes for which man was +made. He laments bitterly over the inventions of gunpowder, steam, and +gas, which he says have ruined the world. He lives within two or three +miles, and has a large hall, adorned with rusty pikes, shields, helmets, +swords, and tattered banners, and furnished with yew-tree chairs, and two +long old worm-eaten oak tables, where he dines with all his household, +after the fashion of his favourite age. He wants us all to dine with +him, and I believe we shall go. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—That will be something new, at any rate. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Next to him is Mr. Toogood, the co-operationist, who +will have neither fighting nor praying; but wants to parcel out the world +into squares like a chess-board, with a community on each, raising +everything for one another, with a great steam-engine to serve them in +common for tailor and hosier, kitchen and cook. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—He is the strangest of the set, so far. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—This brings us to the bottom of the table, where sits my +humble servant, Mr. Crotchet the younger. I ought not to describe him. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I entreat you do. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Well, I really have very little to say in his favour. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I do not wish to hear anything in his favour; and I +rejoice to hear you say so, because— + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Do not flatter yourself. If I take him, it will be to +please my father, and to have a town and country house, and plenty of +servants and a carriage and an opera-box, and make some of my +acquaintance who have married for love, or for rank, or for anything but +money, die for envy of my jewels. You do not think I would take him for +himself. Why, he is very smooth and spruce as far as his dress goes; but +as to his face, he looks as if he had tumbled headlong into a volcano, +and been thrown up again among the cinders. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I cannot believe, that, speaking thus of him, you +mean to take him at all. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Oh! I am out of my teens. I have been very much in +love; but now I am come to years of discretion, and must think, like +other people, of settling myself advantageously. He was in love with a +banker’s daughter, and cast her off at her father’s bankruptcy, and the +poor girl has gone to hide herself in some wild place. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—She must have a strange taste, if she pines for the +loss of him. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—They say he was good-looking, till his bubble schemes, +as they call them, stamped him with the physiognomy of a desperate +gambler. I suspect he has still a penchant towards his first flame. If +he takes me, it will be for my rank and connection, and the second seat +of the borough of Rogueingrain. So we shall meet on equal terms, and +shall enjoy all the blessedness of expecting nothing from each other. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—You can expect no security with such an adventurer. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—I shall have the security of a good settlement, and then +if _andare al diavolo_ be his destiny, he may go, you know, by himself. +He is almost always dreaming and _distrait_. It is very likely that some +great reverse is in store for him: but that will not concern me, you +perceive. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—You torture me, Clarinda, with the bare +possibility. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Hush! Here is music to soothe your troubled spirit. +Next to him, on this side, sits the dilettante composer, Mr. Trillo; they +say his name was O’Trill, and he has taken the O from the beginning, and +put it at the end. I do not know how this may be. He plays well on the +violoncello, and better on the piano; sings agreeably; has a talent at +versemaking, and improvises a song with some felicity. He is very +agreeable company in the evening, with his instruments and music-books. +He maintains that the sole end of all enlightened society is to get up a +good opera, and laments that wealth, genius, and energy are squandered +upon other pursuits, to the neglect of this one great matter. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—That is a very pleasant fancy at any rate. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—I assure you he has a great deal to say for it. Well, +next to him, again, is Dr. Morbific, who has been all over the world to +prove that there is no such thing as contagion; and has inoculated +himself with plague, yellow fever, and every variety of pestilence, and +is still alive to tell the story. I am very shy of him, too; for I look +on him as a walking phial of wrath, corked full of all infections, and +not to be touched without extreme hazard. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—This is the strangest fellow of all. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Next to him sits Mr. Philpot, the geographer, who thinks +of nothing but the heads and tails of rivers, and lays down the streams +of Terra Incognita as accurately as if he had been there. He is a person +of pleasant fancy, and makes a sort of fairy land of every country he +touches, from the Frozen Ocean to the Deserts of Sahara. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—How does he settle matters with Mr. Firedamp? + +_Lady Clarinda_.—You see Mr. Firedamp has got as far as possible out of +his way. Next to him is Sir Simon Steeltrap, of Steeltrap Lodge, Member +for Crouching-Curtown, Justice of Peace for the county, and Lord of the +United Manors of Spring-gun-and-Treadmill; a great preserver of game and +public morals. By administering the laws which he assists in making, he +disposes, at his pleasure, of the land and its live stock, including all +the two-legged varieties, with and without feathers, in a circumference +of several miles round Steeltrap Lodge. He has enclosed commons and +woodlands; abolished cottage gardens; taken the village cricket-ground +into his own park, out of pure regard to the sanctity of Sunday; shut up +footpaths and alehouses (all but those which belong to his electioneering +friend, Mr. Quassia, the brewer); put down fairs and fiddlers; committed +many poachers; shot a few; convicted one-third of the peasantry; +suspected the rest; and passed nearly the whole of them through a +wholesome course of prison discipline, which has finished their education +at the expense of the county. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—He is somewhat out of his element here: among such +a diversity of opinions he will hear some he will not like. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—It was rather ill-judged in Mr. Crotchet to invite him +to-day. But the art of assorting company is above these _parvenus_. +They invite a certain number of persons without considering how they +harmonise with each other. Between Sir Simon and you is the Reverend +Doctor Folliott. He is said to be an excellent scholar, and is fonder of +books than the majority of his cloth; he is very fond, also, of the good +things of this world. He is of an admirable temper, and says rude things +in a pleasant half-earnest manner, that nobody can take offence with. +And next to him again is one Captain Fitzchrome, who is very much in love +with a certain person that does not mean to have anything to say to him, +because she can better her fortune by taking somebody else. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—And next to him again is the beautiful, the +accomplished, the witty, the fascinating, the tormenting, Lady Clarinda, +who traduces herself to the said Captain by assertions which it would +drive him crazy to believe. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Time will show, sir. And now we have gone the round of +the table. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—But I must say, though I know you had always a turn +for sketching characters, you surprise me by your observation, and +especially by your attention to opinions. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Well, I will tell you a secret: I am writing a novel. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—A novel! + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Yes, a novel. And I shall get a little finery by it: +trinkets and fal-lals, which I cannot get from papa. You must know I +have been reading several fashionable novels, the fashionable this, and +the fashionable that; and I thought to myself, why I can do better than +any of these myself. So I wrote a chapter or two, and sent them as a +specimen to Mr. Puffall, the book-seller, telling him they were to be a +part of the fashionable something or other, and he offered me, I will not +say how much, to finish it in three volumes, and let him pay all the +newspapers for recommending it as the work of a lady of quality, who had +made very free with the characters of her acquaintance. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Surely you have not done so? + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Oh, no! I leave that to Mr. Eavesdrop. But Mr. Puffall +made it a condition that I should let him say so. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—A strange recommendation. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Oh, nothing else will do. And it seems you may give +yourself any character you like, and the newspapers will print it as if +it came from themselves. I have commended you to three of our friends +here as an economist, a transcendentalist, and a classical scholar; and +if you wish to be renowned through the world for these, or any other +accomplishments, the newspapers will confirm you in their possession for +half-a-guinea a piece. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Truly, the praise of such gentry must be a feather +in any one’s cap. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—So you will see, some morning, that my novel is “the +most popular production of the day.” This is Mr. Puffall’s favourite +phrase. He makes the newspapers say it of everything he publishes. But +“the day,” you know, is a very convenient phrase; it allows of three +hundred and sixty-five “most popular productions” in a year. And in +leap-year one more. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. +THEORIES. + + + But when they came to shape the model, + Not one could fit the other’s noddle.—BUTLER. + +MEANWHILE, the last course, and the dessert, passed by. When the ladies +had withdrawn, young Crotchet addressed the company. + +_Mr. Crotchet_, _jun._ There is one point in which philosophers of all +classes seem to be agreed: that they only want money to regenerate the +world. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—No doubt of it. Nothing is so easy as to lay down the +outlines of perfect society. There wants nothing but money to set it +going. I will explain myself clearly and fully by reading a paper. +(Producing a large scroll.) “In the infancy of society—” + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Pray, Mr. Mac Quedy, how is it that all +gentlemen of your nation begin everything they write with the “infancy of +society?” + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Eh, sir, it is the simplest way to begin at the +beginning. “In the infancy of society, when government was invented to +save a percentage; say two and a half per cent.—” + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—I will not say any such thing. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Well, say any percentage you please. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—I will not say any percentage at all. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—“On the principle of the division of labour—” + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Government was invented to spend a percentage. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—To save a percentage. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—No, sir, to spend a percentage; and a good deal +more than two and a half percent. Two hundred and fifty per cent.: that +is intelligible. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—“In the infancy of society—” + +_Mr. Toogood_.—Never mind the infancy of society. The question is of +society in its maturity. Here is what it should be. (Producing a +paper.) I have laid it down in a diagram. + +_Mr. Skionar_.—Before we proceed to the question of government, we must +nicely discriminate the boundaries of sense, understanding, and reason. +Sense is a receptivity— + +_Mr. Crotchet_, _jun._—We are proceeding too fast. Money being all that +is wanted to regenerate society, I will put into the hands of this +company a large sum for the purpose. Now let us see how to dispose of +it. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—We will begin by taking a committee-room in London, +where we will dine together once a week, to deliberate. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—If the money is to go in deliberative dinners, +you may set me down for a committee man and honorary caterer. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Next, you must all learn political economy, which I will +teach you, very compendiously, in lectures over the bottle. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—I hate lectures over the bottle. But pray, sir, +what is political economy? + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Political economy is to the state what domestic economy +is to the family. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—No such thing, sir. In the family there is a +_paterfamilias_, who regulates the distribution, and takes care that +there shall be no such thing in the household as one dying of hunger, +while another dies of surfeit. In the state it is all hunger at one end, +and all surfeit at the other. Matchless claret, Mr. Crotchet. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Vintage of fifteen, Doctor. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—The family consumes, and so does the state. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Consumes, air! Yes: but the mode, the +proportions: there is the essential difference between the state and the +family. Sir, I hate false analogies. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Well, sir, the analogy is not essential. Distribution +will come under its proper head. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Come where it will, the distribution of the +state is in no respect analogous to the distribution of the family. The +_paterfamilias_, sir: the _paterfamilias_. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Well, sir, let that pass. The family consumes, and in +order to consume, it must have supply. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Well, sir, Adam and Eve knew that, when they +delved and span. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Very true, sir (reproducing his scroll). “In the +infancy of society—” + +_Mr. Toogood_.—The reverend gentleman has hit the nail on the head. It +is the distribution that must be looked to; it is the _paterfamilias_ +that is wanting in the State. Now here I have provided him. +(Reproducing his diagram.) + +_Mr. Trillo_.—Apply the money, sir, to building and endowing an opera +house, where the ancient altar of Bacchus may flourish, and justice may +be done to sublime compositions. (Producing a part of a manuscript +opera.) + +_Mr. Skionar_.—No, sir, build _sacella_ for transcendental oracles to +teach the world how to see through a glass darkly. (Producing a scroll.) + +_Mr. Trillo_.—See through an opera-glass brightly. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—See through a wine-glass full of claret; then +you see both darkly and brightly. But, gentlemen, if you are all in the +humour for reading papers, I will read you the first half of my next +Sunday’s sermon. (Producing a paper.) + +_Omnes_.—No sermon! No sermon! + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Then I move that our respective papers be +committed to our respective pockets. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Political economy is divided into two great branches, +production and consumption. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Yes, sir; there are two great classes of men: +those who produce much and consume little; and those who consume much and +produce nothing. The _fruges consumere nati_ have the best of it. Eh, +Captain! You remember the characteristics of a great man according to +Aristophanes: ὅστις γε πίνειν οἶδε καὶ βίνειν μόνον. Ha! ha! ha! Well, +Captain, even in these tight-laced days, the obscurity of a learned +language allows a little pleasantry. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Very true, sir; the pleasantry and the obscurity go +together; they are all one, as it were—to me at any rate (aside). + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Now, sir— + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Pray, sir, let your science alone, or you will +put me under the painful necessity of demolishing it bit by bit, as I +have done your exordium. I will undertake it any morning; but it is too +hard exercise after dinner. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Well, sir, in the meantime I hold my science +established. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—And I hold it demolished. + +_Mr. Crotchet_, _jun._ Pray, gentlemen, pocket your manuscripts, fill +your glasses, and consider what we shall do with our money. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Build lecture-rooms, and schools for all. + +_Mr. Trillo_.—Revive the Athenian theatre; regenerate the lyrical drama. + +_Mr. Toogood_.—Build a grand co-operative parallelogram, with a +steam-engine in the middle for a maid of all work. + +_Mr. Firedamp_.—Drain the country, and get rid of malaria, by abolishing +duck-ponds. + +_Dr. Morbific_.—Found a philanthropic college of anticontagionists, where +all the members shall be inoculated with the virus of all known diseases. +Try the experiment on a grand scale. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Build a great dining-hall; endow it with beef and ale, +and hang the hall round with arms to defend the provisions. + +_Mr. Henbane_.—Found a toxicological institution for trying all poisons +and antidotes. I myself have killed a frog twelve times, and brought him +to life eleven; but the twelfth time he died. I have a phial of the +drug, which killed him, in my pocket, and shall not rest till I have +discovered its antidote. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—I move that the last speaker be dispossessed of +his phial, and that it be forthwith thrown into the Thames. + +_Mr. Henbane_.—How, sir? my invaluable, and, in the present state of +human knowledge, infallible poison? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Let the frogs have all the advantage of it. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Consider, Doctor, the fish might participate. Think of +the salmon. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Then let the owner’s right-hand neighbour +swallow it. + +_Mr. Eavesdrop_.—Me, sir! What have I done, sir, that I am to be +poisoned, sir? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, you have published a character of your +facetious friend, the Reverend Doctor F., wherein you have sketched off +me; me, sir, even to my nose and wig. What business have the public with +my nose and wig? + +_Mr. Eavesdrop_.—Sir, it is all good-humoured; all in _bonhomie_: all +friendly and complimentary. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, the bottle, _la Dive Bouteille_, is a +recondite oracle, which makes an Eleusinian temple of the circle in which +it moves. He who reveals its mysteries must die. Therefore, let the +dose be administered. _Fiat experimentum in animâ vili_. + +_Mr. Eavesdrop_.—Sir, you are very facetious at my expense. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, you have been very unfacetious, very +inficete at mine. You have dished me up, like a savoury omelette, to +gratify the appetite of the reading rabble for gossip. The next time, +sir, I will respond with the _argumentum baculinum_. Print that, sir: +put it on record as a promise of the Reverend Doctor F., which shall be +most faithfully kept, with an exemplary bamboo. + +_Mr. Eavesdrop_.—Your cloth protects you, sir. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—My bamboo shall protect me, sir. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Doctor, Doctor, you are growing too polemical. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, my blood boils. What business have the +public with my nose and wig? + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Doctor! Doctor! + +_Mr. Crotchet_, _jun._ Pray, gentlemen, return to the point. How shall +we employ our fund? + +_Mr. Philpot_.—Surely in no way so beneficially as in exploring rivers. +Send a fleet of steamboats down the Niger, and another up the Nile. So +shall you civilise Africa, and establish stocking factories in Abyssinia +and Bambo. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—With all submission, breeches and petticoats +must precede stockings. Send out a crew of tailors. Try if the King of +Bambo will invest in inexpressibles. + +_Mr. Crotchet_, _jun._—Gentlemen, it is not for partial, but for general +benefit, that this fund is proposed: a grand and universally applicable +scheme for the amelioration of the condition of man. + +_Several Voices_.—That is my scheme. I have not heard a scheme but my +own that has a grain of common sense. + +_Mr. Trillo_.—Gentlemen, you inspire me. Your last exclamation runs +itself into a chorus, and sets itself to music. Allow me to lead, and to +hope for your voices in harmony. + + After careful meditation, + And profound deliberation, + On the various pretty projects which have just been shown, + Not a scheme in agitation, + For the world’s amelioration, + Has a grain of common sense in it, except my own. + +_Several Voices_.—We are not disposed to join in any such chorus. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Well, of all these schemes, I am for Mr. +Trillo’s. Regenerate the Athenian theatre. My classical friend here, +the Captain, will vote with, me. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I, sir? oh! of course, sir. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Surely, Captain, I rely on you to uphold political +economy. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Me, sir! oh, to be sure, sir. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Pray, sir, will political economy uphold the +Athenian theatre? + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Surely not. It would be a very unproductive investment. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Then the Captain votes against you. What, sir, +did not the Athenians, the wisest of nations, appropriate to their +theatre their most sacred and intangible fund? Did not they give to +melopoeia, choregraphy, and the sundry forms of didascalics, the +precedence of all other matters, civil and military? Was it not their +law, that even the proposal to divert this fund to any other purpose +should be punished with death? But, sir, I further propose that the +Athenian theatre being resuscitated, the admission shall be free to all +who can expound the Greek choruses, constructively, mythologically, and +metrically, and to none others. So shall all the world learn Greek: +Greek, the Alpha and Omega of all knowledge. At him who sits not in the +theatre shall be pointed the finger of scorn: he shall be called in the +highway of the city, “a fellow without Greek.” + +_Mr. Trillo_.—But the ladies, sir, the ladies. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Every man may take in a lady: and she who can +construe and metricise a chorus, shall, if she so please, pass in by +herself. + +_Mr. Trillo_.—But, sir, you will shut me out of my own theatre. Let +there at least be a double passport, Greek and Italian. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—No, sir; I am inexorable. No Greek, no theatre. + +_Mr. Trillo_.—Sir, I cannot consent to be shut out from my own theatre. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—You see how it is, Squire Crotchet the younger; +you can scarcely find two to agree on a scheme, and no two of those can +agree on the details. Keep your money in your pocket. And so ends the +fund for regenerating the world. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Nay, by no means. We are all agreed on deliberative +dinners. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Very true; we will dine and discuss. We will +sing with Robin Hood, “If I drink water while this doth last;” and while +it lasts we will have no adjournment, if not to the Athenian theatre. + +_Mr. Trillo_.—Well, gentlemen, I hope this chorus at least will please +you:— + + If I drink water while this doth last, + May I never again drink wine: + For how can a man, in his life of a span, + Do anything better than dine? + We'll dine and drink, and say if we think + That anything better can be, + And when we have dined, wish all mankind + May dine as well as we. + And though a good wish will fill no dish + And brim no cup with sack, + Yet thoughts will spring as the glasses ring, + To illume our studious track. + On the brilliant dreams of our hopeful schemes + The light of the flask shall shine; + And we’ll sit till day, but we’ll find the way + To drench the world with wine. + +The schemes for the world’s regeneration evaporated in a tumult of +voices. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. +THE SLEEPING VENUS. + + + Quoth he: In all my life till now, + I ne’er saw so profane a show.—BUTLER. + +THE library of Crotchet Castle was a large and well-furnished apartment, +opening on one side into an ante-room, on the other into a music-room. +It had several tables stationed at convenient distances; one consecrated +to the novelties of literature, another to the novelties of +embellishment; others unoccupied, and at the disposal of the company. +The walls were covered with a copious collection of ancient and modern +books; the ancient having been selected and arranged by the Reverend +Doctor Folliott. In the ante-room were card-tables; in the music-room +were various instruments, all popular operas, and all fashionable music. +In this suite of apartments, and not in the drawing-room, were the +evenings of Crotchet Castle usually passed. + +The young ladies were in the music-room; Miss Crotchet at the piano, Lady +Clarinda at the harp, playing and occasionally singing, at the suggestion +of Mr. Trillo, portions of _Matilde di Shabran_. Lord Bossnowl was +turning over the leaves for Miss Crotchet; the Captain was performing the +same office for Lady Clarinda, but with so much more attention to the +lady than the book, that he often made sad work with the harmony, by +turnover of two leaves together. On these occasions Miss Crotchet paused, +Lady Clarinda laughed, Mr. Trillo scolded, Lord Bossnowl yawned, the +Captain apologised, and the performance proceeded. + +In the library Mr. Mac Quedy was expounding political economy to the +Reverend Doctor Folliott, who was _pro more_ demolishing its doctrines +_seriatim_. + +Mr. Chainmail was in hot dispute with Mr. Skionar, touching the physical +and moral well-being of man. Mr. Skionar was enforcing his friend Mr. +Shantsee’s views of moral discipline; maintaining that the sole thing +needful for man in this world was loyal and pious education; the giving +men good books to read, and enough of the hornbook to read them; with a +judicious interspersion of the lessons of Old Restraint, which was his +poetic name for the parish stocks. Mr. Chainmail, on the other hand, +stood up for the exclusive necessity of beef and ale, lodging and +raiment, wife and children, courage to fight for them all, and armour +wherewith to do so. + +Mr. Henbane had got his face scratched, and his finger bitten, by the +cat, in trying to catch her for a second experiment in killing and +bringing to life; and Doctor Morbific was comforting him with a +disquisition to prove that there were only four animals having the power +to communicate hydrophobia, of which the cat was one; and that it was not +necessary that the animal should be in a rabid state, the nature of the +wound being everything, and the idea of contagion a delusion. Mr. +Henbane was listening very lugubriously to this dissertation. + +Mr. Philpot had seized on Mr. Firedamp, and pinned him down to a map of +Africa, on which he was tracing imaginary courses of mighty inland +rivers, terminating in lakes and marshes, where they were finally +evaporated by the heat of the sun; and Mr. Firedamp’s hair was standing +on end at the bare imagination of the mass of malaria that must be +engendered by the operation. Mr. Toogood had begun explaining his +diagrams to Sir Simon Steeltrap; but Sir Simon grew testy, and told Mr. +Toogood that the promulgators of such doctrines ought to be consigned to +the treadmill. The philanthropist walked off from the country gentleman, +and proceeded to hold forth to young Crotchet, who stood silent, as one +who listens, but in reality without hearing a syllable. Mr. Crotchet, +senior, as the master of the house, was left to entertain himself with +his own meditations, till the Reverend Doctor Folliott tore himself from +Mr. Mac Quedy, and proceeded to expostulate with Mr. Crotchet on a +delicate topic. + +There was an Italian painter, who obtained the name of _Il Bragatore_, by +the superinduction of inexpressibles on the naked Apollos and Bacchuses +of his betters. The fame of this worthy remained one and indivisible, +till a set of heads, which had been, by a too common mistake of Nature’s +journeymen, stuck upon magisterial shoulders, as the Corinthian capitals +of “fair round bellies with fat capon lined,” but which Nature herself +had intended for the noddles of porcelain mandarins, promulgated +simultaneously from the east and the west of London, an order that no +plaster-of-Paris Venus should appear in the streets without petticoats. +Mr. Crotchet, on reading this order in the evening paper, which, by the +postman’s early arrival, was always laid on his breakfast-table, +determined to fill his house with Venuses of all sizes and kinds. In +pursuance of this resolution, came packages by water-carriage, containing +an infinite variety of Venuses. There were the Medicean Venus, and the +Bathing Venus; the Uranian Venus, and the Pandemian Venus; the Crouching +Venus, and the Sleeping Venus; the Venus rising from the sea, the Venus +with the apple of Paris, and the Venus with the armour of Mars. + +The Reverend Doctor Folliott had been very much astonished at this +unexpected display. Disposed, as he was, to hold, that whatever had been +in Greece, was right; he was more than doubtful of the propriety of +throwing open the classical _adytum_ to the illiterate profane. Whether, +in his interior mind, he was at all influenced, either by the +consideration that it would be for the credit of his cloth, with some of +his vice-suppressing neighbours, to be able to say that he had +expostulated; or by curiosity, to try what sort of defence his city-bred +friend, who knew the classics only by translations, and whose reason was +always a little ahead of his knowledge, would make for his somewhat +ostentatious display of liberality in matters of taste; is a question on +which the learned may differ: but, after having duly deliberated on two +full-sized casts of the Uranian and Pandemian Venus, in niches on each +side of the chimney, and on three alabaster figures, in glass cases, on +the mantelpiece, he proceeded, peirastically, to open his fire. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—These little alabaster figures on the +mantelpiece, Mr. Crotchet, and those large figures in the niches—may I +take the liberty to ask you what they are intended to represent? + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Venus, sir; nothing more, sir; just Venus. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—May I ask you, sir, why they are there? + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—To be looked at, sir; just to be looked at: the reasons +for most things in a gentleman’s house being in it at all; from the paper +on the walls, and the drapery of the curtains, even to the books in the +library, of which the most essential part is the appearance of the back. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Very true, sir. As great philosophers hold that +the _esse_ of things is _percipi_, so a gentleman’s furniture exists to +be looked at. Nevertheless, sir, there are some things more fit to be +looked at than others; for instance, there is nothing more fit to be +looked at than the outside of a book. It is, as I may say, from repeated +experience, a pure and unmixed pleasure to have a goodly volume lying +before you, and to know that you may open it if you please, and need not +open it unless you please. It is a resource against _ennui_, if _ennui_ +should come upon you. To have the resource and not to feel the _ennui_, +to enjoy your bottle in the present, and your book in the indefinite +future, is a delightful condition of human existence. There is no place, +in which a man can move or sit, in which the outside of a book can be +otherwise than an innocent and becoming spectacle. Touching this matter, +there cannot, I think, be two opinions. But with respect to your Venuses +there can be, and indeed there are, two very distinct opinions. Now, +Sir, that little figure in the centre of the mantelpiece—as a grave +_paterfamilias_, Mr. Crotchet, with a fair nubile daughter, whose eyes +are like the fish-pools of Heshbon—I would ask you if you hold that +figure to be altogether delicate? + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—The sleeping Venus, sir? Nothing can be more delicate +than the entire contour of the figure, the flow of the hair on the +shoulders and neck, the form of the feet and fingers. It is altogether a +most delicate morsel. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Why, in that sense, perhaps, it is as delicate +as whitebait in July. But the attitude, sir, the attitude. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Nothing can be more natural, sir. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—That is the very thing, sir. It is too natural: +too natural, sir: it lies for all the world like— I make no doubt, the +pious cheesemonger, who recently broke its plaster facsimile over the +head of the itinerant vendor, was struck by a certain similitude to the +position of his own sleeping beauty, and felt his noble wrath thereby +justly aroused. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Very likely, sir. In my opinion, the cheesemonger was a +fool, and the justice who sided with him was a greater. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Fool, sir, is a harsh term: call not thy brother +a fool. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Sir, neither the cheesemonger nor the justice is a +brother of mine. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, we are all brethren. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Yes, sir, as the hangman is of the thief; the squire of +the poacher; the judge of the libeller; the lawyer of his client; the +statesman of his colleague; the bubble-blower of the bubble-buyer; the +slave-driver of the negro; as these are brethren, so am I and the +worthies in question. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—To be sure, sir, in these instances, and in many +others, the term brother must be taken in its utmost latitude of +interpretation: we are all brothers, nevertheless. But to return to the +point. Now these two large figures, one with drapery on the lower half +of the body, and the other with no drapery at all; upon my word, sir, it +matters not what godfathers and godmothers may have promised and vowed +for the children of this world, touching the devil and other things to be +renounced, if such figures as those are to be put before their eyes. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Sir, the naked figure is the Pandemian Venus, and the +half-draped figure is the Uranian Venus; and I say, sir, that figure +realises the finest imaginings of Plato, and is the personification of +the most refined and exalted feeling of which the human mind is +susceptible; the love of pure, ideal, intellectual beauty. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—I am aware, sir, that Plato, in his Symposium, +discourseth very eloquently touching the Uranian and Pandemian Venus: but +you must remember that, in our universities, Plato is held to be little +better than a misleader of youth; and they have shown their contempt for +him, not only by never reading him (a mode of contempt in which they deal +very largely), but even by never printing a complete edition of him; +although they have printed many ancient books, which nobody suspects to +have been ever read on the spot, except by a person attached to the +press, who is, therefore, emphatically called “the reader.” + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Well, sir? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Why, sir, to “the reader” aforesaid (supposing +either of our universities to have printed an edition of Plato), or to +any one else who can be supposed to have read Plato, or, indeed, to be +ever likely to do so, I would very willingly show these figures; because +to such they would, I grant you, be the outward and visible signs of +poetical and philosophical ideas: but, to the multitude, the gross, +carnal multitude, they are but two beautiful women, one half undressed, +and the other quite so. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Then, sir, let the multitude look upon them and learn +modesty. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—I must say that, if I wished my footman to learn +modesty, I should not dream of sending him to school to a naked Venus. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Sir, ancient sculpture is the true school of modesty. +But where the Greeks had modesty, we have cant; where they had poetry, we +have cant; where they had patriotism, we have cant; where they had +anything that exalts, delights, or adorns humanity, we have nothing but +cant, cant, cant. And, sir, to show my contempt for cant in all its +shapes, I have adorned my house with the Greek Venus, in all her shapes, +and am ready to fight her battle against all the societies that ever were +instituted for the suppression of truth and beauty. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—My dear sir, I am afraid you are growing warm. +Pray be cool. Nothing contributes so much to good digestion as to be +perfectly cool after dinner. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Sir, the Lacedæmonian virgins wrestled naked with young +men; and they grew up, as the wise Lycurgus had foreseen, into the most +modest of women, and the most exemplary of wives and mothers. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Very likely, sir; but the Athenian virgins did +no such thing, and they grew up into wives who stayed at home—stayed at +home, sir; and looked after their husbands’ dinner—his dinner, sir, you +will please to observe. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—And what was the consequence of that, sir? that they were +such very insipid persons that the husband would not go home to eat his +dinner, but preferred the company of some Aspasia, or Lais. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Two very different persons, sir, give me leave +to remark. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Very likely, sir; but both too good to be married in +Athens. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, Lais was a Corinthian. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Od’s vengeance, sir, some Aspasia and any other Athenian +name of the same sort of person you like— + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—I do not like the sort of person at all: the +sort of person I like, as I have already implied, is a modest woman, who +stays at home and looks after her husband’s dinner. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Well, sir, that was not the taste of the Athenians. They +preferred the society of women who would not have made any scruple about +sitting as models to Praxiteles; as you know, sir, very modest women in +Italy did to Canova; one of whom, an Italian countess, being asked by an +English lady, “how she could bear it?” answered, “Very well; there was a +good fire in the room.” + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, the English lady should have asked how the +Italian lady’s husband could bear it. The phials of my wrath would +overflow if poor dear Mrs. Folliott —: sir, in return for your story, I +will tell you a story of my ancestor, Gilbert Folliott. The devil +haunted him, as he did Saint Francis, in the likeness of a beautiful +damsel; but all he could get from the exemplary Gilbert was an admonition +to wear a stomacher and longer petticoats. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Sir, your story makes for my side of the question. It +proves that the devil, in the likeness of a fair damsel, with short +petticoats and no stomacher, was almost too much for Gilbert Folliott. +The force of the spell was in the drapery. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Bless my soul, sir! + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Give me leave, sir. Diderot— + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Who was he, sir? + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Who was he, sir? the sublime philosopher, the father of +the Encyclopædia, of all the encyclopædias that have ever been printed. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Bless me, sir, a terrible progeny: they belong +to the tribe of Incubi. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—The great philosopher, Diderot— + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, Diderot is not a man after my heart. Keep +to the Greeks, if you please; albeit this Sleeping Venus is not an +antique. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Well, sir, the Greeks: why do we call the Elgin marbles +inestimable? Simply because they are true to nature. And why are they +so superior in that point to all modern works, with all our greater +knowledge of anatomy? Why, sir, but because the Greeks, having no cant, +had better opportunities of studying models? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, I deny our greater knowledge of anatomy. +But I shall take the liberty to employ, on this occasion, the _argumentum +ad hominem_. Would you have allowed Miss Crotchet to sit for a model to +Canova? + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Yes, sir. + +“God bless my soul, sir!” exclaimed the Reverend Doctor Folliott, +throwing himself back into a chair, and flinging up his heels, with the +premeditated design of giving emphasis to his exclamation; but by +miscalculating his impetus, he overbalanced his chair, and laid himself +on the carpet in a right angle, of which his back was the base. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. +SCIENCE AND CHARITY. + + + Chi sta nel mondo un par d’ore contento, + Nè gli vien tolta, ovver contaminata, + Quella sua pace in veruno momento, + Puo dir che Giove drittamente il guata. + + FORTEGUERRI. + +THE Reverend Doctor Folliott took his departure about ten o’clock, to +walk home to his vicarage. There was no moon, but the night was bright +and clear, and afforded him as much light as he needed. He paused a +moment by the Roman camp to listen to the nightingale; repeated to +himself a passage of Sophocles; proceeded through the park gate, and +entered the narrow lane that led to the village. He walked on in a very +pleasant mood of the state called reverie; in which fish and wine, Greek +and political economy, the Sleeping Venus he had left behind, and poor +dear Mrs. Folliott, to whose fond arms he was returning, passed, as in a +camera obscura, over the tablets of his imagination. Presently the image +of Mr. Eavesdrop, with a printed sketch of the Reverend Doctor F., +presented itself before him, and he began mechanically to flourish his +bamboo. The movement was prompted by his good genius, for the uplifted +bamboo received the blow of a ponderous cudgel, which was intended for +his head. The reverend gentleman recoiled two or three paces, and saw +before him a couple of ruffians, who were preparing to renew the attack, +but whom, with two swings of his bamboo, he laid with cracked sconces on +the earth, where he proceeded to deal with them like corn beneath the +flail of the thresher. One of them drew a pistol, which went off in the +very act of being struck aside by the bamboo, and lodged a bullet in the +brain of the other. There was then only one enemy, who vainly struggled +to rise, every effort being attended with a new and more signal +prostration. The fellow roared for mercy. “Mercy, rascal!” cried the +divine; “what mercy were you going to show me, villain? What! I warrant +me, you thought it would be an easy matter, and no sin, to rob and murder +a parson on his way home from dinner. You said to yourself, doubtless, +“We’ll waylay the fat parson (you irreverent knave), as he waddles home +(you disparaging ruffian), half-seas-over, (you calumnious vagabond).” +And with every dyslogistic term, which he supposed had been applied to +himself, he inflicted a new bruise on his rolling and roaring antagonist. +“Ah, rogue!” he proceeded, “you can roar now, marauder; you were silent +enough when you devoted my brains to dispersion under your cudgel. But +seeing that I cannot bind you, and that I intend you not to escape, and +that it would be dangerous to let you rise, I will disable you in all +your members. I will contund you as Thestylis did strong smelling herbs, +in the quality whereof you do most gravely partake, as my nose beareth +testimony, ill weed that you are. I will beat you to a jelly, and I will +then roll you into the ditch, to lie till the constable comes for you, +thief.” + +“Hold! hold! reverend sir,” exclaimed the penitent culprit, “I am +disabled already in every finger, and in every joint. I will roll myself +into the ditch, reverend sir.” + +“Stir not, rascal,” returned the divine, “stir not so much as the +quietest leaf above you, or my bamboo rebounds on your body, like hail in +a thunder-storm. Confess, speedily, villain; are you a simple thief, or +would you have manufactured me into a subject for the benefit of science? +Ay, miscreant caitiff, you would have made me a subject for science, +would you? You are a school-master abroad, are you? You are marching +with a detachment of the march of mind, are you? You are a member of the +Steam Intellect Society, are you? You swear by the learned friend, do +you?” + +“Oh, no! reverend sir,” answered the criminal, “I am innocent of all +these offences, whatever they are, reverend sir. The only friend I had +in the world is lying dead beside me, reverend sir.” + +The reverend gentleman paused a moment, and leaned on his bamboo. The +culprit, bruised as he was, sprang on his legs, and went off in double +quick time. The Doctor gave him chase, and had nearly brought him within +arm’s length, when the fellow turned at right angles, and sprang clean +over a deep dry ditch. The divine, following with equal ardour, and less +dexterity, went down over head and ears into a thicket of nettles. +Emerging with much discomposure, he proceeded to the village, and roused +the constable; but the constable found, on reaching the scene of action, +that the dead man was gone, as well as his living accomplice. + +“Oh, the monster!” exclaimed the Reverend Doctor Folliott, “he has made a +subject for science of the only friend he had in the world.” “Ay, my +dear,” he resumed, the next morning at breakfast, “if my old reading, and +my early gymnastics (for, as the great Hermann says, before I was +demulced by the Muses, I was _ferocis ingenii puer_, _et ad arma quam ad +literas paratior_), had not imbued me indelibly with some of the holy +rage of _Frère Jean des Entommeures_, I should be, at this moment, lying +on the table of some flinty-hearted anatomist, who would have sliced and +disjointed me as unscrupulously as I do these remnants of the capon and +chine, wherewith you consoled yourself yesterday for my absence at +dinner. Phew! I have a noble thirst upon me, which I will quench with +floods of tea.” + +The reverend gentleman was interrupted by a messenger, who informed him +that the Charity Commissioners requested his presence at the inn, where +they were holding a sitting. + +“The Charity Commissioners!” exclaimed the reverend gentleman, “who on +earth are they?” + +The messenger could not inform him, and the reverend gentleman took his +hat and stick, and proceeded to the inn. + +On entering the best parlour, he saw three well-dressed and bulky +gentlemen sitting at a table, and a fourth officiating as clerk, with an +open book before him, and a pen in his hand. The church-wardens, who had +been also summoned, were already in attendance. + +The chief commissioner politely requested the Reverend Doctor Folliott to +be seated, and after the usual meteorological preliminaries had been +settled by a resolution, _nem. con._, that it was a fine day but very +hot, the chief commissioner stated, that in virtue of the commission of +Parliament, which they had the honour to hold, they were now to inquire +into the state of the public charities of this village. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—The state of the public charities, sir, is +exceedingly simple. There are none. The charities here are all private, +and so private, that I for one know nothing of them. + +_First Commissioner_.—We have been informed, sir, that there is an annual +rent charged on the land of Hautbois, for the endowment and repair of an +almshouse. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Hautbois! Hautbois! + +_First Commissioner_.—The manorial farm of Hautbois, now occupied by +Farmer Seedling, is charged with the endowment and maintenance of an +almshouse. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_ (_to the Churchwarden_). How is this, Mr. +Bluenose? + +_First Churchwarden_.—I really do not know, sir. What say you, Mr. +Appletwig? + +_Mr. Appletwig_ (_parish clerk and schoolmaster_; _an old man_). I do +remember, gentlemen, to have been informed, that there did stand, at the +end of the village, a ruined cottage, which had once been an almshouse, +which was endowed and maintained, by an annual revenue of a mark and a +half, or one pound sterling, charged some centuries ago on the farm of +Hautbois; but the means, by the progress of time, having become +inadequate to the end, the almshouse tumbled to pieces. + +_First Commissioner_.—But this is a right which cannot be abrogated by +desuetude, and the sum of one pound per annum is still chargeable for +charitable purposes on the manorial farm of Hautbois. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Very well, sir. + +_Mr. Appletwig_.—But, sir, the one pound per annum is still received by +the parish, but was long ago, by an unanimous vote in open vestry, given +to the minister. + +_The Three Commissioners_ (_unâ voce_). The minister! + +_First Commissioner_.—This is an unjustifiable proceeding. + +_Second Commissioner_.—A misappropriation of a public fund. + +_Third Commissioner_.—A flagrant perversion of a charitable donation. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—God bless my soul, gentlemen! I know nothing of +this matter. How is this, Mr. Bluenose? Do I receive this one pound per +annum? + +_First Churchwarden_.—Really, sir, I know no more about it than you do. + +_Mr. Appletwig_.—You certainly receive it, sir. It was voted to one of +your predecessors. Farmer Seedling lumps it in with his tithes. + +_First Commissioner_.—Lumps it in, sir! Lump in a charitable donation! + +_Second and Third Commissioner_.—Oh-oh-oh-h-h! + +_First Commissioner_.—Reverend sir, and gentlemen, officers of this +parish, we are under the necessity of admonishing you that this is a most +improper proceeding: and you are hereby duly admonished accordingly. +Make a record, Mr. Milky. + +_Mr. Milky_ (_writing_). The clergyman and church-wardens of the village +of Hm-ra-m-m- gravely admonished. Hm-m-m-m. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Is that all, gentlemen? + +_The Commissioners_.—That is all, sir; and we wish you a good morning. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—A very good morning to you, gentlemen. + +“What in the name of all that is wonderful, Mr. Bluenose,” said the +Reverend Doctor Folliott, as he walked out of the inn, “what in the name +of all that is wonderful, can those fellows mean? They have come here in +a chaise and four, to make a fuss about a pound per annum, which, after +all, they leave as it was: I wonder who pays them for their trouble, and +how much.” + +_Mr. Appletwig_.—The public pay for it, sir. It is a job of the learned +friend whom you admire so much. It makes away with public money in +salaries, and private money in lawsuits, and does no particle of good to +any living soul. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Ay, ay, Mr. Appletwig; that is just the sort of +public service to be looked for from the learned friend. Oh, the learned +friend! the learned friend! He is the evil genius of everything that +falls in his way. + +The Reverend Doctor walked off to Crotchet Castle, to narrate his +misadventures, and exhale his budget of grievances on Mr. Mac Quedy, whom +he considered a ringleader of the march of mind. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. +THE VOYAGE. + + + Οἰ μέν ἔπειτ’ ἀναβάτες ἐπέπλον ὑγρὰ κέλευθα. + + Mounting the bark, they cleft the watery ways.—HOMER. + +FOUR beautiful cabined pinnaces, one for the ladies, one for the +gentlemen, one for kitchen and servants, one for a dining-room and band +of music, weighed anchor, on a fine July morning, from below Crotchet +Castle, and were towed merrily, by strong trotting horses, against the +stream of the Thames. They passed from the district of chalk, +successively into the districts of clay, of sand-rock, of oolite, and so +forth. Sometimes they dined in their floating dining-room, sometimes in +tents, which they pitched on the dry, smooth-shaven green of a newly-mown +meadow: sometimes they left their vessels to see sights in the vicinity; +sometimes they passed a day or two in a comfortable inn. + +At Oxford, they walked about to see the curiosities of architecture, +painted windows, and undisturbed libraries. The Reverend Doctor Folliott +laid a wager with Mr. Crotchet “that in all their perlustrations they +would not find a man reading,” and won it. “Ay,” said the reverend +gentleman, “this is still a seat of learning, on the principle of—once a +captain, always a captain. We may well ask, in these great reservoirs of +books whereof no man ever draws a sluice, _Quorsum pertinuit stipere +Platona Menandro_? What is done here for the classics? Reprinting +German editions on better paper. A great boast, verily! What for +mathematics? What for metaphysics? What for history? What for anything +worth knowing? This was a seat of learning in the days of Friar Bacon. +But the Friar is gone, and his learning with him. Nothing of him is left +but the immortal nose, which, when his brazen head had tumbled to pieces, +crying “Time’s Past,” was the only palpable fragment among its minutely +pulverised atoms, and which is still resplendent over the portals of its +cognominal college. That nose, sir, is the only thing to which I shall +take off my hat, in all this Babylon of buried literature. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—But, doctor, it is something to have a great reservoir of +learning, at which some may draw if they please. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—But, here, good care is taken that nobody shall +please. If even a small drop from the sacred fountain, πίδακος ἐξ ἱερῆς +ὀλίγη λιβὰς, as Callimachus has it, were carried off by any one, it would +be evidence of something to hope for. But the system of dissuasion from +all good learning is brought here to a pitch of perfection that baffles +the keenest aspirant. I run over to myself the names of the scholars of +Germany, a glorious catalogue: but ask for those of Oxford,—Where are +they? The echoes of their courts, as vacant as their heads, will answer, +Where are they? The tree shall be known by its fruit: and seeing that +this great tree, with all its specious seeming, brings forth no fruit, I +do denounce it as a barren fig. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—I shall set you right on this point. We do nothing +without motives. If learning get nothing but honour, and very little of +that; and if the good things of this world, which ought to be the rewards +of learning, become the mere gifts of self-interested patronage; you must +not wonder if, in the finishing of education, the science which takes +precedence of all others, should be the science of currying favour. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Very true, sir. Education is well finished, for +all worldly purposes, when the head is brought into the state whereinto I +am accustomed to bring a marrow-bone, when it has been set before me on a +toast, with a white napkin wrapped round it. Nothing trundles along the +high road of preferment so trimly as a well-biassed sconce, picked clean +within and polished without; _totus teres atque rotundus_. The +perfection of the finishing lies in the bias, which keeps it trundling in +the given direction. There is good and sufficient reason for the fig +being barren, but it is not therefore the less a barren fig. + +At Godstow, they gathered hazel on the grave of Rosamond; and, proceeding +on their voyage, fell into a discussion on legendary histories. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—History is but a tiresome thing in itself: it becomes +more agreeable the more romance is mixed up with it. The great enchanter +has made me learn many things which I should never have dreamed of +studying, if they had not come to me in the form of amusement. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—What enchanter is that? There are two +enchanters: he of the north, and he of the south. + +_Mr. Trillo_.—Rossini! + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Ay, there is another enchanter. But I mean the +great enchanter of Covent Garden: he who, for more than a quarter of a +century, has produced two pantomimes a year, to the delight of children +of all ages; including myself at all ages. That is the enchanter for me. +I am for the pantomimes. All the northern enchanter’s romances put +together would not furnish materials for half the Southern enchanter’s +pantomimes. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Surely you do not class literature with pantomime? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—In these cases, I do. They are both one, with a +slight difference. The one is the literature of pantomime, the other is +the pantomime of literature. There is the same variety of character, the +same diversity of story, the same copiousness of incident, the same +research into costume, the same display of heraldry, falconry, +minstrelsy, scenery, monkery, witchery, devilry, robbery, poachery, +piracy, fishery, gipsy-astrology, demonology, architecture, +fortification, castrametation, navigation; the same running base of love +and battle. The main difference is, that the one set of amusing fictions +is told in music and action; the other in all the worst dialects of the +English language. As to any sentence worth remembering, any moral or +political truth, anything having a tendency, however remote, to make men +wiser or better, to make them think, to make them ever think of thinking; +they are both precisely alike _nuspiam_, _nequaquam_, _nullibi_, +_nullimodis_. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Very amusing, however. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Very amusing, very amusing. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—My quarrel with the northern enchanter is, that he has +grossly misrepresented the twelfth century. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—He has misrepresented everything, or he would +not have been very amusing. Sober truth is but dull matter to the +reading rabble. The angler, who puts not on his hook the bait that best +pleases the fish, may sit all day on the bank without catching a gudgeon. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—But how do you mean that he has misrepresented the +twelfth century? By exhibiting some of its knights and ladies in the +colours of refinement and virtue, seeing that they were all no better +than ruffians, and something else that shall be nameless? + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—By no means. By depicting them as much worse than they +were, not, as you suppose, much better. No one would infer from his +pictures that theirs was a much better state of society than this which +we live in. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—No, nor was it. It was a period of brutality, +ignorance, fanaticism, and tyranny; when the land was covered with +castles, and every castle contained a gang of banditti, headed by a +titled robber, who levied contributions with fire and sword; plundering, +torturing, ravishing, burying his captives in loathsome dungeons, and +broiling them on gridirons, to force from them the surrender of every +particle of treasure which he suspected them of possessing; and fighting +every now and then with the neighbouring lords, his conterminal bandits, +for the right of marauding on the boundaries. This was the twelfth +century, as depicted by all contemporary historians and poets. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—No, sir. Weigh the evidence of specific facts; you will +find more good than evil. Who was England’s greatest hero—the mirror of +chivalry, the pattern of honour, the fountain of generosity, the model to +all succeeding ages of military glory? Richard the First. There is a +king of the twelfth century. What was the first step of liberty? Magna +Charta. That was the best thing ever done by lords. There are lords of +the twelfth century. You must remember, too, that these lords were petty +princes, and made war on each other as legitimately as the heads of +larger communities did or do. For their system of revenue, it was, to be +sure, more rough and summary than that which has succeeded it, but it was +certainly less searching and less productive. And as to the people, I +content myself with these great points: that every man was armed, every +man was a good archer, every man could and would fight effectively, with +sword or pike, or even with oaken cudgel; no man would live quietly +without beef and ale if he had them not; he fought till he either got +them, or was put out of condition to want them. They were not, and could +not be, subjected to that powerful pressure of all the other classes of +society, combined by gunpowder, steam, and _fiscality_, which has brought +them to that dismal degradation in which we see them now. And there are +the people of the twelfth century. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—As to your king, the enchanter has done him ample +justice, even in your own view. As to your lords and their ladies, he +has drawn them too favourably, given them too many of the false colours +of chivalry, thrown too attractive a light on their abominable doings. +As to the people, he keeps them so much in the background, that he can +hardly be said to have represented them at all, much less misrepresented +them, which indeed he could scarcely do, seeing that, by your own +showing, they were all thieves, ready to knock down any man for what they +could not come by honestly. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—No, sir. They could come honestly by beef and ale, +while they were left to their simple industry. When oppression +interfered with them in that, then they stood on the defensive, and +fought for what they were not permitted to come by quietly. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—If A., being aggrieved by B., knocks down C., do you +call that standing on the defensive? + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—That depends on who or what C. is. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Gentlemen, you will never settle this +controversy till you have first settled what is good for man in this +world; the great question, _de finibus_, which has puzzled all +philosophers. If the enchanter has represented the twelfth century too +brightly for one, and too darkly for the other of you, I should say, as +an impartial man, he has represented it fairly. My quarrel with him is, +that his works contain nothing worth quoting; and a book that furnishes +no quotations, is _me judice_, no book—it is a plaything. There is no +question about the amusement,—amusement of multitudes; but if he who +amuses us most is to be our enchanter κατ’ ἐξοχὴν, then my enchanter is +the enchanter of Covent Garden. + + + + +CHAPTER X. +THE VOYAGE, CONTINUED. + + + Continuant nostre routte, navigasmes par trois jours _sans rien + descouvrir_.—RABELAIS. + +“THERE is a beautiful structure,” said Mr. Chainmail, as they glided by +Lechlade church; “a subject for the pencil, Captain. It is a question +worth asking, Mr. Mac Quedy, whether the religious spirit which reared +these edifices, and connected with them everywhere an asylum for +misfortune, and a provision for poverty, was not better than the +commercial spirit, which has turned all the business of modern life into +schemes of profit and processes of fraud and extortion. I do not see, in +all your boasted improvements, any compensation for the religious charity +of the twelfth century. I do not see any compensation for that kindly +feeling which, within their own little communities, bound the several +classes of society together, while full scope was left for the +development of natural character, wherein individuals differed as +conspicuously as in costume. Now, we all wear one conventional dress, +one conventional face; we have no bond of union but pecuniary interest; +we talk anything that comes uppermost for talking’s sake, and without +expecting to be believed; we have no nature, no simplicity, no +picturesqueness: everything about us is as artificial and as complicated +as our steam-machinery: our poetry is a kaleidoscope of false imagery, +expressing no real feeling, portraying no real existence. I do not see +any compensation for the poetry of the twelfth century.” + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—I wonder to hear you, Mr. Chainmail, talking of the +religious charity of a set of lazy monks and beggarly friars, who were +much more occupied with taking than giving; of whom those who were in +earnest did nothing but make themselves and everybody about them +miserable with fastings and penances, and other such trash; and those who +were not, did nothing but guzzle and royster, and, having no wives of +their own, took very unbecoming liberties with those of honester men. +And as to your poetry of the twelfth century, it is not good for much. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—It has, at any rate, what ours wants, truth to nature +and simplicity of diction. + +The poetry, which was addressed to the people of the dark ages, pleased +in proportion to the truth with which it depicted familiar images, and to +their natural connection with the time and place to which they were +assigned. In the poetry of our enlightened times, the characteristics of +all seasons, soils, and climates may be blended together with much +benefit to the author’s fame as an original genius. The cowslip of a +civic poet is always in blossom, his fern is always in full feather; he +gathers the celandine, the primrose, the heath-flower, the jasmine, and +the chrysanthemum all on the same day and from the same spot; his +nightingale sings all the year round, his moon is always full, his cygnet +is as white as his swan, his cedar is as tremulous as his aspen, and his +poplar as embowering as his beech. Thus all nature marches with the +march of mind; but among barbarians, instead of mead and wine, and the +best seat by the fire, the reward of such a genius would have been to be +summarily turned out of doors in the snow, to meditate on the difference +between day and night and between December and July. It is an age of +liberality, indeed, when not to know an oak from a burdock is no +disqualification for sylvan minstrelsy. I am for truth and simplicity. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Let him who loves them read Greek: Greek, Greek, +Greek. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—If he can, sir. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Very true, sir; if he can. Here is the Captain +who can. But I think he must have finished his education at some very +rigid college, where a quotation or any other overt act showing +acquaintance with classical literature was visited with a severe penalty. +For my part, I make it my boast that I was not to be so subdued. I could +not be abated of a single quotation by all the bumpers in which I was +fined. + +In this manner they glided over the face of the waters, discussing +everything and settling nothing. Mr. Mac Quedy and the Reverend Doctor +Folliott had many digladiations on political economy: wherein, each in +his own view, Doctor Folliott demolished Mr. Mac Quedy’s science, and Mr. +Mac Quedy demolished Dr. Folliott’s objections. + +We would print these dialogues if we thought anyone would read them; but +the world is not yet ripe for this _haute sagesse Pantagrueline_. We +must therefore content ourselves with an _échantillon_ of one of the +Reverend Doctor’s perorations. + +“You have given the name of a science to what is yet an imperfect +inquiry, and the upshot of your so-called science is this: that you +increase the wealth of a nation by increasing in it the quantity of +things which are produced by labour: no matter what they are, no matter +how produced, no matter how distributed. The greater the quantity of +labour that has gone to the production of the quantity of things in a +community, the richer is the community. That is your doctrine. Now, I +say, if this be so, riches are not the object for a community to aim at. +I say the nation is best off, in relation to other nations, which has the +greatest quantity of the common necessaries of life distributed among the +greatest number of persons; which has the greatest number of honest +hearts and stout arms united in a common interest, willing to offend no +one, but ready to fight in defence of their own community against all the +rest of the world, because they have something in it worth fighting for. +The moment you admit that one class of things, without any reference to +what they respectively cost, is better worth having than another; that a +smaller commercial value, with one mode of distribution, is better than a +greater commercial value, with another mode of distribution; the whole of +that curious fabric of postulates and dogmas, which you call the science +of political economy, and which I call _politicæ æconomiæ inscientia_, +tumbles to pieces.” + +Mr. Toogood agreed with Mr. Chainmail against Mr. Mac Quedy, that the +existing state of society was worse than that of the twelfth century; but +he agreed with Mr. Mac Quedy against Mr. Chainmail, that it was in +progress to something much better than either—to which “something much +better” Mr. Toogood and Mr. Mac Quedy attached two very different +meanings. + +Mr. Chainmail fought with Doctor Folliott, the battle of the romantic +against the classical in poetry; and Mr. Skionar contended with Mr. Mac +Quedy for intuition and synthesis, against analysis and induction in +philosophy. + +Mr. Philpot would lie along for hours, listening to the gurgling of the +water round the prow, and would occasionally edify the company with +speculations on the great changes that would be effected in the world by +the steam-navigation of rivers: sketching the course of a steamboat up +and down some mighty stream which civilisation had either never visited, +or long since deserted; the Missouri and the Columbia, the Oroonoko and +the Amazon, the Nile and the Niger, the Euphrates and the Tigris, the +Oxus and the Indus, the Ganges and the Hoangho; under the over canopying +forests of the new, or by the long-silent ruins of the ancient, world; +through the shapeless mounds of Babylon, or the gigantic temples of +Thebes. + +Mr. Trillo went on with the composition of his opera, and took the +opinions of the young ladies on every step in its progress; occasionally +regaling the company with specimens; and wondering at the blindness of +Mr. Mac Quedy, who could not, or would not, see that an opera in +perfection, being the union of all the beautiful arts—music, painting, +dancing, poetry—exhibiting female beauty in its most attractive aspects, +and in its most becoming costume—was, according to the well-known +precept, _Ingenuas didicisse_, etc., the most efficient instrument of +civilisation, and ought to take precedence of all other pursuits in the +minds of true philanthropists. The Reverend Doctor Folliott, on these +occasions, never failed to say a word or two on Mr. Trillo’s side, +derived from the practice of the Athenians, and from the combination, in +their theatre, of all the beautiful arts, in a degree of perfection +unknown to the modern world. + +Leaving Lechlade, they entered the canal that connects the Thames with +the Severn; ascended by many locks; passed by a tunnel, three miles long, +through the bowels of Sapperton Hill; agreed unanimously that the +greatest pleasure derivable from visiting a cavern of any sort was that +of getting out of it; descended by many locks again through the valley of +Stroud into the Severn; continued their navigation into the Ellesmere +canal; moored their pinnaces in the Vale of Llangollen by the aqueduct of +Pontycysyllty; and determined to pass some days in inspecting the +scenery, before commencing their homeward voyage. + +The Captain omitted no opportunity of pressing his suit on Lady Clarinda, +but could never draw from her any reply but the same doctrines of worldly +wisdom, delivered in a tone of _badinage_, mixed with a certain kindness +of manner that induced him to hope she was not in earnest. + +But the morning after they had anchored under the hills of the +Dee—whether the lady had reflected more seriously than usual, or was +somewhat less in good humour than usual, or the Captain was more pressing +than usual—she said to him: “It must not be, Captain Fitzchrome; ‘the +course of true love never did run smooth:’ my father must keep his +borough, and I must have a town house and a country house, and an opera +box, and a carriage. It is not well for either of us that we should +flirt any longer: ‘I must be cruel only to be kind.’ Be satisfied with +the assurance that you alone, of all men, have ever broken my rest. To +be sure, it was only for about three nights in all; but that is too +much.” + +The Captain had _le cœur navré_. He took his portfolio under his arm, +made up the little _valise_ of a pedestrian, and, without saying a word +to anyone, wandered off at random among the mountains. + +After the lapse of a day or two, the Captain was missed, and everyone +marvelled what was become of him. Mr. Philpot thought he must have been +exploring a river, and fallen in and got drowned in the process. Mr. +Firedamp had no doubt he had been crossing a mountain bog, and had been +suddenly deprived of life by the exhalations of marsh miasmata. Mr. +Henbane deemed it probable that he had been tempted in some wood by the +large black brilliant berries of the _Atropa Belladonna_, or Deadly +Nightshade; and lamented that he had not been by, to administer an +infallible antidote. Mr. Eavesdrop hoped the particulars of his fate +would be ascertained; and asked if anyone present could help him to any +authentic anecdotes of their departed friend. The Reverend Doctor +Folliott proposed that an inquiry should be instituted as to whether the +march of intellect had reached that neighbourhood, as, if so, the Captain +had probably been made a subject for science. Mr. Mac Quedy said it was +no such great matter to ascertain the precise mode in which the surplus +population was diminished by one. Mr. Toogood asseverated that there was +no such thing as surplus population, and that the land, properly managed, +would maintain twenty times its present inhabitants; and hereupon they +fell into a disputation. + +Lady Clarinda did not doubt that the Captain had gone away designedly; +she missed him more than she could have anticipated, and wished she had +at least postponed her last piece of cruelty till the completion of their +homeward voyage. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. +CORRESPONDENCE. + + + “Base is the slave that pays.”—ANCIENT PISTOL. + +THE Captain was neither drowned nor poisoned, neither miasmatised nor +anatomised. But, before we proceed to account for him, we must look back +to a young lady, of whom some little notice was taken in the first +chapter; and who, though she has since been out of sight, has never with +us been out of mind: Miss Susannah Touchandgo, the forsaken of the junior +Crotchet, whom we left an inmate of a solitary farm, in one of the deep +valleys under the cloud-capt summits of Meirion, comforting her wounded +spirit with air and exercise, rustic cheer, music, painting, and poetry, +and the prattle of the little Ap Llymrys. + +One evening, after an interval of anxious expectation, the farmer, +returning from market brought for her two letters, of which the contents +were these: + + “_Dotandcarryonetown_, _State of Apodidraskiana_. + “_April_ 1, 18.. + + “MY DEAR CHILD, + + “I am anxious to learn what are your present position, intention, and + prospects. The fairies who dropped gold in your shoe, on the morning + when I ceased to be a respectable man in London, will soon find a + talismanic channel for transmitting you a stocking full of dollars, + which will fit the shoe as well as the foot of Cinderella fitted her + slipper. I am happy to say I am again become a respectable man. It + was always my ambition to be a respectable man, and I am a very + respectable man here, in this new township of a new state, where I + have purchased five thousand acres of land, at two dollars an acre, + hard cash, and established a very flourishing bank. The notes of + Touchandgo and Company, soft cash, are now the exclusive currency of + all this vicinity. This is the land in which all men flourish; but + there are three classes of men who flourish especially,—methodist + preachers, slave-drivers, and paper-money manufacturers; and as one + of the latter, I have just painted the word BANK on a fine slab of + maple, which was green and growing when I arrived, and have + discounted for the settlers, in my own currency, sundry bills, which + are to be paid when the proceeds of the crop they have just sown + shall return from New Orleans; so that my notes are the + representatives of vegetation that is to be, and I am accordingly a + capitalist of the first magnitude. The people here know very well + that I ran away from London; but the most of them have run away from + some place or other; and they have a great respect for me, because + they think I ran away with something worth taking, which few of them + had the luck or the wit to do. This gives them confidence in my + resources, at the same time that, as there is nothing portable in the + settlement except my own notes, they have no fear that I shall run + away with them. They know I am thoroughly conversant with the + principles of banking, and as they have plenty of industry, no lack + of sharpness, and abundance of land, they wanted nothing but capital + to organise a flourishing settlement; and this capital I have + manufactured to the extent required, at the expense of a small + importation of pens, ink, and paper, and two or three inimitable + copper plates. I have abundance here of all good things, a good + conscience included; for I really cannot see that I have done any + wrong. This was my position: I owed half a million of money; and I + had a trifle in my pocket. It was clear that this trifle could never + find its way to the right owner. The question was, whether I should + keep it, and live like a gentleman; or hand it over to lawyers and + commissioners of bankruptcy, and die like a dog on a dunghill. If I + could have thought that the said lawyers, etc., had a better title to + it than myself, I might have hesitated; but, as such title was not + apparent to my satisfaction, I decided the question in my own favour, + the right owners, as I have already said, being out of the question + altogether. I have always taken scientific views of morals and + politics, a habit from which I derive much comfort under existing + circumstances. + + “I hope you adhere to your music, though I cannot hope again to + accompany your harp with my flute. My last _andante_ movement was + too _forte_ for those whom it took by surprise. Let not your + _allegro vivace_ be damped by young Crotchet’s desertion, which, + though I have not heard it, I take for granted. He is, like myself, + a scientific politician, and has an eye as keen as a needle to his + own interest. He has had good luck so far, and is gorgeous in the + spoils of many gulls; but I think the Polar Basin and Walrus Company + will be too much for him yet. There has been a splendid outlay on + credit, and he is the only man, of the original parties concerned, of + whom his Majesty’s sheriffs could give any account. + + “I will not ask you to come here. There is no husband for you. The + men smoke, drink, and fight, and break more of their own heads than + of girls’ hearts. Those among them who are musical, sing nothing but + psalms. They are excellent fellows in their way, but you would not + like them. + + “_Au reste_, here are no rents, no taxes, no poor-rates, no tithes, + no church establishment, no routs, no clubs, no rotten boroughs, no + operas, no concerts, no theatres, no beggars, no thieves, no king, no + lords, no ladies, and only one gentleman, videlicet, your loving + father, + + “TIMOTHY TOUCHANDGO. + + “P.S.—I send you one of my notes; I can afford to part with it. If + you are accused of receiving money from me, you may pay it over to my + assignees. Robthetill continues to be my factotum; I say no more of + him in this place: he will give you an account of himself.” + + “_Dotandcarryonetown_, _etc._ + + “DEAR MISS, + + “Mr. Touchandgo will have told you of our arrival here, of our + setting up a bank, and so forth. We came here in a tilted waggon, + which served us for parlour, kitchen, and all. We soon got up a + log-house; and, unluckily, we as soon got it down again, for the + first fire we made in it burned down house and all. However, our + second experiment was more fortunate; and we are pretty well lodged + in a house of three rooms on a floor; I should say the floor, for + there is but one. + + “This new state is free to hold slaves; all the new states have not + this privilege: Mr. Touchandgo has bought some, and they are building + him a villa. Mr. Touchandgo is in a thriving way, but he is not + happy here: he longs for parties and concerts, and a seat in + Congress. He thinks it very hard that he cannot buy one with his own + coinage, as he used to do in England. Besides, he is afraid of the + Regulators, who, if they do not like a man’s character, wait upon him + and flog him, doubling the dose at stated intervals, till he takes + himself off. He does not like this system of administering justice: + though I think he has nothing to fear from it. He has the character + of having money, which is the best of all characters here, as at + home. He lets his old English prejudices influence his opinions of + his new neighbours; but, I assure you, they have many virtues. + Though they do keep slaves, they are all ready to fight for their own + liberty; and I should not like to be an enemy within reach of one of + their rifles. When I say enemy, I include bailiff in the term. One + was shot not long ago. There was a trial; the jury gave two dollars + damages; the judge said they must find guilty or not guilty; but the + counsel for the defendant (they would not call him prisoner) offered + to fight the judge upon the point: and as this was said literally, + not metaphorically, and the counsel was a stout fellow, the judge + gave in. The two dollars damages were not paid after all; for the + defendant challenged the foreman to box for double or quits, and the + foreman was beaten. The folks in New York made a great outcry about + it, but here it was considered all as it should be. So you see, + Miss, justice, liberty, and everything else of that kind, are + different in different places, just as suits the convenience of those + who have the sword in their own hands. Hoping to hear of your health + and happiness, I remain, + + “Dear Miss, your dutiful servant, + “RODERICK ROBTHETILL.” + +Miss Touchandgo replied as follows to the first of these letters: + + “MY DEAR FATHER, + + “I am sure you have the best of hearts, and I have no doubt you have + acted with the best intentions. My lover, or, I should rather say, + my fortune’s lover, has indeed forsaken me. I cannot say I did not + feel it; indeed, I cried very much; and the altered looks of people + who used to be so delighted to see me, really annoyed me so, that I + determined to change the scene altogether. I have come into Wales, + and am boarding with a farmer and his wife. Their stock of English + is very small; but I managed to agree with them, and they have four + of the sweetest children I ever saw, to whom I teach all I know, and + I manage to pick up some Welsh. I have puzzled out a little song, + which I think very pretty; I have translated it into English, and I + send it you, with the original air. You shall play it on your flute + at eight o’clock every Saturday evening, and I will play and sing it + at the same time, and I will fancy that I hear my dear papa + accompanying me. + + “The people in London said very unkind things of you: they hurt me + very much at the time; but now I am out of their way, I do not seem + to think their opinion of much consequence. I am sure, when I + recollect, at leisure, everything I have seen and heard among them, I + cannot make out what they do that is so virtuous, as to set them up + for judges of morals. And I am sure they never speak the truth about + anything, and there is no sincerity in either their love or their + friendship. An old Welsh bard here, who wears a waistcoat + embroidered with leeks, and is called the Green Bard of Cadeir Idris, + says the Scotch would be the best people in the world, if there was + nobody but themselves to give them a character: and so I think would + the Londoners. I hate the very thought of them, for I do believe + they would have broken my heart, if I had not got out of their way. + Now I shall write you another letter very soon, and describe to you + the country, and the people, and the children, and how I amuse + myself, and everything that I think you will like to hear about: and + when I seal this letter, I shall drop a kiss on the cover. + + “Your loving daughter, + + “SUSANNAH TOUCHANDGO. + + “P.S.—Tell Mr. Robthetill I will write to him in a day or two. This + is the little song I spoke of: + + “Beyond the sea, beyond the sea, + My heart is gone, far, far from me; + And ever on its track will flee + My thoughts, my dreams, beyond the sea. + + “Beyond the sea, beyond the sea, + The swallow wanders fast and free; + Oh, happy bird! were I like thee, + I, too, would fly beyond the sea. + + “Beyond the sea, beyond the sea, + Are kindly hearts and social glee: + But here for me they may not be; + My heart is gone beyond the sea.” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. +THE MOUNTAIN INN. + + + ‘Ως ἡδὺ τῴ μισοῦτι τοὺς φαύλους πρόπους + ’Ερημία. + + How sweet to minds that love not sordid ways + Is solitude!—MENANDER. + +THE Captain wandered despondingly up and down hill for several days, +passing many hours of each in sitting on rocks; making, almost +mechanically, sketches of waterfalls, and mountain pools; taking care, +nevertheless, to be always before nightfall in a comfortable inn, where, +being a temperate man, he whiled away the evening with making a bottle of +sherry into negus. His rambles brought him at length into the interior +of Merionethshire, the land of all that is beautiful in nature, and all +that is lovely in woman. + +Here, in a secluded village, he found a little inn, of small pretension +and much comfort. He felt so satisfied with his quarters, and discovered +every day so much variety in the scenes of the surrounding mountains, +that his inclination to proceed farther diminished progressively. + +It is one thing to follow the high road through a country, with every +principally remarkable object carefully noted down in a book, taking, as +therein directed, a guide, at particular points, to the more recondite +sights: it is another to sit down on one chosen spot, especially when the +choice is unpremeditated, and from thence, by a series of explorations, +to come day by day on unanticipated scenes. The latter process has many +advantages over the former; it is free from the disappointment which +attends excited expectation, when imagination has outstripped reality, +and from the accidents that mar the scheme of the tourist’s single day, +when the valleys may be drenched with rain, or the mountains shrouded +with mist. + +The Captain was one morning preparing to sally forth on his usual +exploration, when he heard a voice without, inquiring for a guide to the +ruined castle. The voice seemed familiar to him, and going forth into +the gateway, he recognised Mr. Chainmail. After greetings and inquiries +for the absent: “You vanished very abruptly, Captain,” said Mr. +Chainmail, “from our party on the canal.” + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—To tell you the truth, I had a particular reason +for trying the effect of absence from a part of that party. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—I surmised as much: at the same time, the unusual +melancholy of an in general most vivacious young lady made me wonder at +your having acted so precipitately. The lady’s heart is yours, if there +be truth in signs. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Hearts are not now what they were in the days of +the old song: “Will love be controlled by advice?” + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Very true; hearts, heads, and arms have all degenerated, +most sadly. We can no more feel the high impassioned love of the ages, +which some people have the impudence to call dark, than we can wield King +Richard’s battleaxe, bend Robin Hood’s bow, or flourish the oaken graft +of the Pindar of Wakefield. Still we have our tastes and feelings, +though they deserve not the name of passions; and some of us may pluck up +spirit to try to carry a point, when we reflect that we have to contend +with men no better than ourselves. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—We do not now break lances for ladies. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—No; nor even bulrushes. We jingle purses for them, +flourish paper-money banners, and tilt with scrolls of parchment. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—In which sort of tilting I have been thrown from +the saddle. I presume it was not love that led you from the flotilla? + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—By no means. I was tempted by the sight of an old +tower, not to leave this land of ruined castles, without having collected +a few hints for the adornment of my baronial hall. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I understand you live _en famille_ with your +domestics. You will have more difficulty in finding a lady who would +adopt your fashion of living, than one who would prefer you to a richer +man. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Very true. I have tried the experiment on several as +guests; but once was enough for them: so, I suppose, I shall die a +bachelor. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—I see, like some others of my friends, you will +give up anything except your hobby. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—I will give up anything but my baronial hall. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—You will never find a wife for your purpose, unless +in the daughter of some old-fashioned farmer. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—No, I thank you. I must have a lady of gentle blood; I +shall not marry below my own condition: I am too much of a herald; I have +too much of the twelfth century in me for that. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Why, then your chance is not much better than mine. +A well-born beauty would scarcely be better pleased with your baronial +hall than with my more humble offer of love in a cottage. She must have +a town-house, and an opera-box, and roll about the streets in a carriage; +especially if her father has a rotten borough, for the sake of which he +sells his daughter, that he may continue to sell his country. But you +were inquiring for a guide to the ruined castle in this vicinity; I know +the way and will conduct you. + +The proposal pleased Mr. Chainmail, and they set forth on their +expedition. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. +THE LAKE—THE RUIN. + + + Or vieni, Amore, e quà meco t’assetta. + + ORLANDO INNAMORATO. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Would it not be a fine thing, Captain, you being +picturesque, and I poetical; you being for the lights and shadows of the +present, and I for those of the past; if we were to go together over the +ground which was travelled in the twelfth century by Giraldus de Barri, +when he accompanied Archbishop Baldwin to preach the crusade? + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Nothing, in my present frame of mind, could be more +agreeable to me. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—We would provide ourselves with his _Itinerarium_; +compare what has been, with what is; contemplate in their decay the +castles and abbeys, which he saw in their strength and splendour; and, +while you were sketching their remains, I would dispassionately inquire +what has been gained by the change. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Be it so. + +But the scheme was no sooner arranged, than the Captain was summoned to +London by a letter on business, which he did not expect to detain him +long. Mr. Chainmail, who, like the Captain, was fascinated with the inn +and the scenery, determined to await his companion’s return; and, having +furnished him with a list of books, which he was to bring with him from +London, took leave of him, and began to pass his days like the heroes of +Ariosto, who + + —tutto il giorno, al bel oprar intenti, + Saliron balze, e traversar torrenti. + +One day Mr. Chainmail traced upwards the course of a mountain stream to a +spot where a small waterfall threw itself over a slab of perpendicular +rock, which seemed to bar his farther progress. On a nearer view, he +discovered a flight of steps, roughly hewn in the rock, on one side of +the fall. Ascending these steps, he entered a narrow winding pass, +between high and naked rocks, that afforded only space for a rough +footpath, carved on one side, at some height above the torrent. + +The pass opened on a lake, from which the stream issued, and which lay +like a dark mirror, set in a gigantic frame of mountain precipices. +Fragments of rock lay scattered on the edge of the lake, some half-buried +in the water: Mr. Chainmail scrambled some way over these fragments, till +the base of a rock sinking abruptly in the water, effectually barred his +progress. He sat down on a large smooth stone; the faint murmur of the +stream he had quitted, the occasional flapping of the wings of the heron, +and at long intervals, the solitary springing of a trout, were the only +sounds that came to his ear. The sun shone brightly half-way down the +opposite rocks, presenting, on their irregular faces, strong masses of +light and shade. Suddenly he heard the dash of a paddle, and, turning +his eyes, saw a solitary and beautiful girl gliding over the lake in a +coracle: she was proceeding from the vicinity of the point he had +quitted, towards the upper end of the lake. Her apparel was rustic, but +there was in its style something more _recherchée_, in its arrangement +something more of elegance and precision, than was common to the mountain +peasant girl. It had more of the _contadina_ of the opera, than of the +genuine mountaineer; so at least thought Mr. Chainmail; but she passed so +rapidly, and took him so much by surprise, that he had little opportunity +for accurate observation. He saw her land, at the farther extremity, and +disappear among the rocks: he rose from his seat, returned to the mouth +of the pass, stepped from stone to stone across the stream, and attempted +to pass round by the other side of the lake; but there again the abruptly +sinking precipice closed his way. + +Day after day he haunted the spot, but never saw again either the damsel +or the coracle. At length, marvelling at himself for being so solicitous +about the apparition of a peasant girl in a coracle, who could not, by +any possibility, be anything to him, he resumed his explorations in +another direction. + +One day he wandered to the ruined castle, on the sea-shore, which was not +very distant from his inn; and sitting on the rock, near the base of the +ruin, was calling up the forms of past ages on the wall of an ivied +tower, when on its summit appeared a female figure, whom he recognised in +an instant for his nymph of the coracle. The folds of the blue gown +pressed by the sea-breeze against one of the most symmetrical of figures, +the black feather of the black hat, and the ringleted hair beneath it +fluttering in the wind; the apparent peril of her position, on the edge +of the mouldering wall, from whose immediate base the rock went down +perpendicularly to the sea, presented a singularly interesting +combination to the eye of the young antiquary. + +Mr. Chainmail had to pass half round the castle, on the land side, before +he could reach the entrance: he coasted the dry and bramble-grown moat, +crossed the unguarded bridge, passed the unportcullised arch of the +gateway, entered the castle court, ascertained the tower, ascended the +broken stairs, and stood on the ivied wall. But the nymph of the place +was gone. He searched the ruins within and without, but he found not +what he sought: he haunted the castle day after day, as he had done the +lake, but the damsel appeared no more. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. +THE DINGLE. + + + The stars of midnight shall be dear + To her, and she shall lean her ear + In many a secret place, + Where rivulets dance their wayward round, + And beauty, born of murmuring sound, + Shall pass into her face.—WORDSWORTH. + +MISS SUSANNAH TOUCHANDGO had read the four great poets of Italy, and many +of the best writers of France. About the time of her father’s downfall, +accident threw into her way _Les Réveries du Promeneur Solitaire_; and +from the impression which these made on her, she carried with her into +retirement all the works of Rousseau. In the midst of that startling +light, which the conduct of old friends on a sudden reverse of fortune +throws on a young and inexperienced mind, the doctrines of the +philosopher of Geneva struck with double force upon her sympathies: she +imbibed the sweet poison, as somebody calls it, of his writings, even to +a love of truth; which, every wise man knows, ought to be left to those +who can get anything by it. The society of children, the beauties of +nature, the solitude of the mountains, became her consolation, and, by +degrees, her delight. The gay society from which she had been excluded, +remained on her memory only as a disagreeable dream. She imbibed her new +monitor’s ideas of simplicity of dress, assimilating her own with that of +the peasant-girls in the neighbourhood: the black hat, the blue gown, the +black stockings, the shoes, tied on the instep. + +Pride was, perhaps, at the bottom of the change: she was willing to +impose in some measure on herself, by marking a contemptuous indifference +to the characteristics of the class of society from which she had fallen. + + And with the food of pride sustained her soul + In solitude. + +It is true that she somewhat modified the forms of her rustic dress: to +the black hat she added a black feather, to the blue gown she added a +tippet, and a waistband fastened in front with a silver buckle; she wore +her black stockings very smooth and tight on her ankles, and tied her +shoes in tasteful bows, with the nicest possible ribbon. In this +apparel, to which, in winter, she added a scarlet cloak, she made +dreadful havoc among the rustic mountaineers, many of whom proposed to +“keep company” with her in the Cambrian fashion, an honour which, to +their great surprise, she always declined. Among these, Harry +Ap-Heather, whose father rented an extensive sheepwalk, and had a +thousand she-lambs wandering in the mountains, was the most strenuous in +his suit, and the most pathetic in his lamentations for her cruelty. + +Miss Susannah often wandered among the mountains alone, even to some +distance from the farmhouse. Sometimes she descended into the bottom of +the dingles, to the black rocky beds of the torrents, and dreamed away +hours at the feet of the cataracts. One spot in particular, from which +she had at first shrunk with terror, became by degrees her favourite +haunt. A path turning and returning at acute angles, led down a steep +wood-covered slope to the edge of a chasm, where a pool, or resting-place +of a torrent, lay far below. A cataract fell in a single sheet into the +pool; the pool boiled and bubbled at the base of the fall, but through +the greater part of its extent, lay calm, deep, and black, as if the +cataract had plunged through it to an unimaginable depth, without +disturbing its eternal repose. At the opposite extremity of the pool, +the rocks almost met at their summits, the trees of the opposite banks +intermingled their leaves, and another cataract plunged from the pool +into a chasm, on which the sunbeams never gleamed. High above, on both +sides, the steep woody slopes of the dingle soared into the sky; and from +a fissure in the rock, on which the little path terminated, a single +gnarled and twisted oak stretched itself over the pool, forming a fork +with its boughs at a short distance from the rock. Miss Susannah often +sat on the rock, with her feet resting on this tree; in time, she made +her seat on the tree itself, with her feet hanging over the abyss; and at +length, she accustomed herself to lie along upon its trunk, with her side +on the mossy bole of the fork, and an arm round one of the branches. +From this position a portion of the sky and the woods was reflected in +the pool, which, from its bank, was but a mass of darkness. The first +time she reclined in this manner, her heart beat audibly; in time she lay +down as calmly as on the mountain heather; the perception of the sublime +was probably heightened by an intermingled sense of danger; and perhaps +that indifference to life, which early disappointment forces upon +sensitive minds, was necessary to the first experiment. There was, in +the novelty and strangeness of the position, an excitement which never +wholly passed away, but which became gradually subordinate to the +influence, at once tranquillising and elevating, of the mingled eternity +of motion, sound, and solitude. + +One sultry noon, she descended into this retreat with a mind more than +usually disturbed by reflections on the past. She lay in her favourite +position, sometimes gazing on the cataract; looking sometimes up the +steep sylvan acclivities, into the narrow space of the cloudless ether; +sometimes down into the abyss of the pool, and the deep bright-blue +reflections that opened another immensity below her. The distressing +recollections of the morning, the world and all its littlenesses, faded +from her thoughts like a dream; but her wounded and wearied spirit drank +in too deeply the tranquillising power of the place, and she dropped +asleep upon the tree like a ship-boy on the mast. + +At this moment Mr. Chainmail emerged into daylight, on a projection of +the opposite rock, having struck down through the woods in search of +unsophisticated scenery. The scene he discovered filled him with +delight: he seated himself on the rock, and fell into one of his romantic +reveries; when suddenly the semblance of a black hat and feather caught +his eye among the foliage of the projecting oak. He started up, shifted +his position, and got a glimpse of a blue gown. It was his lady of the +lake, his enchantress of the ruined castle, divided from him by a barrier +which, at a few yards below, he could almost overleap, yet unapproachable +but by a circuit perhaps of many hours. He watched with intense anxiety. +To listen if she breathed was out of the question: the noses of a dean +and chapter would have been soundless in the roar of the torrent. From +her extreme stillness, she appeared to sleep: yet what creature, not +desperate, would go wilfully to sleep in such a place? Was she asleep, +then? Nay, was she alive? She was as motionless as death. Had she been +murdered, thrown from above, and caught in the tree? She lay too +regularly and too composedly for such a supposition. She was asleep, +then, and, in all probability, her waking would be fatal. He shifted his +position. Below the pool two beetle-browed rocks nearly overarched the +chasm, leaving just such a space at the summit as was within the +possibility of a leap; the torrent roared below in a fearful gulf. He +paused some time on the brink, measuring the practicability and the +danger, and casting every now and then an anxious glance to his sleeping +beauty. In one of these glances he saw a slight movement of the blue +gown, and, in a moment after, the black hat and feather dropped into the +pool. Reflection was lost for a moment, and, by a sudden impulse, he +bounded over the chasm. + +He stood above the projecting oak; the unknown beauty lay like the nymph +of the scene; her long black hair, which the fall of her hat had +disengaged from its fastenings, drooping through the boughs: he saw that +the first thing to be done, was to prevent her throwing her feet off the +trunk, in the first movements of waking. He sat down on the rock, and +placed his feet on the stem, securing her ankles between his own: one of +her arms was round a branch of the fork, the other lay loosely on her +side. The hand of this arm he endeavoured to reach, by leaning forward +from his seat; he approximated, but could not touch it: after several +tantalising efforts, he gave up the point in despair. He did not attempt +to wake her, because he feared it might have bad consequences, and he +resigned himself to expect the moment of her natural waking, determined +not to stir from his post, if she should sleep till midnight. + +In this period of forced inaction, he could contemplate at leisure the +features and form of his charmer. She was not one of the slender +beauties of romance; she was as plump as a partridge; her cheeks were two +roses, not absolutely damask, yet verging thereupon; her lips +twin-cherries, of equal size; her nose regular, and almost Grecian; her +forehead high, and delicately fair; her eyebrows symmetrically arched; +her eyelashes, long, black, and silky, fitly corresponding with the +beautiful tresses that hung among the leaves of the oak, like clusters of +wandering grapes. Her eyes were yet to be seen; but how could he doubt +that their opening would be the rising of the sun, when all that +surrounded their fringy portals was radiant as “the forehead of the +morning sky?” + + + + +CHAPTER XV. +THE FARM. + + + Da ydyw’r gwaith, rhaid d’we’yd y gwir, + Ar fryniau Sir Meirionydd; + Golwg oer o’r gwaela gawn + Mae hi etto yn llawn llawenydd. + + Though Meirion’s rocks, and hills of heath, + Repel the distant sight, + Yet where, than those bleak hills beneath, + Is found more true delight? + +AT length the young lady awoke. She was startled at the sudden sight of +the stranger, and somewhat terrified at the first perception of her +position. But she soon recovered her self-possession, and, extending her +hand to the offered hand of Mr. Chainmail, she raised herself up on the +tree, and stepped on the rocky bank. + +Mr. Chainmail solicited permission to attend her to her home, which the +young lady graciously conceded. They emerged from the woody dingle, +traversed an open heath, wound along a mountain road by the shore of a +lake, descended to the deep bed of another stream, crossed it by a series +of stepping-stones, ascended to some height on the opposite side, and +followed upwards the line of the stream, till the banks opened into a +spacious amphitheatre, where stood, in its fields and meadows, the +farmhouse of Ap-Llymry. + +During this walk, they had kept up a pretty animated conversation. The +lady had lost her hat, and, as she turned towards Mr. Chainmail, in +speaking to him, there was no envious projection of brim to intercept the +beams of those radiant eyes he had been so anxious to see unclosed. +There was in them a mixture of softness and brilliancy, the perfection of +the beauty of female eyes, such as some men have passed through life +without seeing, and such as no man ever saw, in any pair of eyes, but +once; such as can never be seen and forgotten. Young Crotchet had seen +it; he had not forgotten it; but he had trampled on its memory, as the +renegade tramples on the emblems of a faith which his interest only, and +not his heart or his reason, has rejected. + +Her hair streamed over her shoulders; the loss of the black feather had +left nothing but the rustic costume, the blue gown, the black stockings, +and the ribbon-tied shoes. Her voice had that full soft volume of melody +which gives to common speech the fascination of music. Mr. Chainmail +could not reconcile the dress of the damsel with her conversation and +manners. He threw out a remote question or two, with the hope of solving +the riddle, but, receiving no reply, he became satisfied that she was not +disposed to be communicative respecting herself, and, fearing to offend +her, fell upon other topics. They talked of the scenes of the mountains, +of the dingle, the ruined castle, the solitary lake. She told him, that +lake lay under the mountains behind her home, and the coracle and the +pass at the extremity, saved a long circuit to the nearest village, +whither she sometimes went to inquire for letters. + +Mr. Chainmail felt curious to know from whom these letters might be; and +he again threw out two or three fishing questions, to which, as before, +he obtained no answer. + +The only living biped they met in their walk was the unfortunate Harry +Ap-Heather, with whom they fell in by the stepping-stones, who, seeing +the girl of his heart hanging on another man’s arm, and, concluding at +once that they were “keeping company,” fixed on her a mingled look of +surprise, reproach, and tribulation; and, unable to control his feelings +under the sudden shock, burst into a flood of tears, and blubbered till +the rocks re-echoed. + +They left him mingling his tears with the stream, and his lamentations +with its murmurs. Mr. Chainmail inquired who that strange creature might +be, and what was the matter with him. The young lady answered, that he +was a very worthy young man, to whom she had been the innocent cause of +much unhappiness. + +“I pity him sincerely,” said Mr. Chainmail and, nevertheless, he could +scarcely restrain his laughter at the exceedingly original figure which +the unfortunate rustic lover had presented by the stepping-stones. + +The children ran out to meet their dear Miss Susan, jumped all round her, +and asked what was become of her hat. Ap-Llymry came out in great haste, +and invited Mr. Chainmail to walk in and dine: Mr. Chainmail did not wait +to be asked twice. In a few minutes the whole party, Miss Susan and Mr. +Chainmail, Mr. and Mrs. Ap-Llymry, and progeny, were seated over a clean +homespun table cloth, ornamented with fowls and bacon, a pyramid of +potatoes, another of cabbage, which Ap-Llymry said “was poiled with the +pacon, and as coot as marrow,” a bowl of milk for the children, and an +immense brown jug of foaming ale, with which Ap-Llymry seemed to delight +in filling the horn of his new guest. + +Shall we describe the spacious apartment, which was at once kitchen, +hall, and dining-room,—the large dark rafters, the pendent bacon and +onions, the strong old oaken furniture, the bright and trimly-arranged +utensils? Shall we describe the cut of Ap-Llymry’s coat, the colour and +tie of his neckcloth, the number of buttons at his knees,—the structure +of Mrs. Ap-Llymry’s cap, having lappets over the ears, which were united +under the chin, setting forth especially whether the bond of union were a +pin or a ribbon? We shall leave this tempting field of interesting +expatiation to those whose brains are high-pressure steam-engines for +spinning prose by the furlong, to be trumpeted in paid-for paragraphs in +the quack’s corner of newspapers: modern literature having attained the +honourable distinction of sharing, with blacking and Macassar oil, the +space which used to be monopolised by razor-strops and the lottery; +whereby that very enlightened community, the reading public, is tricked +into the perusal of much exemplary nonsense; though the few who see +through the trickery have no reason to complain, since as “good wine +needs no bush,” so, _ex vi oppositi_, these bushes of venal panegyric +point out very clearly that the things they celebrate are not worth +reading. + +The party dined very comfortably in a corner most remote from the fire: +and Mr. Chainmail very soon found his head swimming with two or three +horns of ale, of a potency to which even he was unaccustomed. After +dinner Ap-Llymry made him finish a bottle of mead, which he willingly +accepted, both as an excuse to remain and as a drink of the dark ages, +which he had no doubt was a genuine brewage from uncorrupted tradition. + +In the meantime, as soon as the cloth was removed, the children had +brought out Miss Susannah’s harp. She began, without affectation, to +play and sing to the children, as was her custom of an afternoon, first +in their own language, and their national melodies, then in English; but +she was soon interrupted by a general call of little voices for “Ouf! di +giorno.” She complied with the request, and sang the ballad from Paër’s +_Camilla_: “Un dì carco il mulinaro.” The children were very familiar +with every syllable of this ballad, which had been often fully explained +to them. They danced in a circle with the burden of every verse, +shouting out the chorus with good articulation and joyous energy; and at +the end of the second stanza, where the traveller has his nose pinched by +his grandmother’s ghost, every nose in the party was nipped by a pair of +little fingers. Mr. Chainmail, who was not prepared for the process, +came in for a very energetic tweak from a chubby girl that sprang +suddenly on his knees for the purpose, and made the roof ring with her +laughter. + +So passed the time till evening, when Mr. Chainmail moved to depart. But +it turned out on inquiry that he was some miles from his inn, that the +way was intricate, and that he must not make any difficulty about +accepting the farmer’s hospitality till morning. The evening set in with +rain: the fire was found agreeable; they drew around it. The young lady +made tea; and afterwards, from time to time, at Mr. Chainmail’s special +request, delighted his ear with passages of ancient music. Then came a +supper of lake trout, fried on the spot, and thrown, smoking hot, from +the pan to the plate. Then came a brewage, which the farmer called his +nightcap, of which he insisted on Mr. Chainmail’s taking his full share. +After which the gentleman remembered nothing till he awoke, the next +morning, to the pleasant consciousness that he was under the same roof +with one of the most fascinating creatures under the canopy of heaven. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. +THE NEWSPAPER. + + + Ποίας δ’ ἀποσπασθεῖσα φύτλυς + ’Ορέων κευθμῶνας ἔχει σκιοέντων; + + Sprung from what line, adorns the maid + These, valleys deep in mountain-shade? + + PIND. _Pyth._ IX + +MR. CHAINMAIL forgot the Captain and the route of Giraldus de Barri. He +became suddenly satisfied that the ruined castle in his present +neighbourhood was the best possible specimen of its class, and that it +was needless to carry his researches further. + +He visited the farm daily: found himself always welcome; flattered +himself that the young lady saw him with pleasure, and dragged a heavier +chain at every new parting from Miss Susan, as the children called his +nymph of the mountains. What might be her second name, he had vainly +endeavoured to discover. + +Mr. Chainmail was in love: but the determination he had long before +formed and fixed in his mind, to marry only a lady of gentle blood, +without a blot in her escutcheon, repressed the declarations of passion +which were often rising to his lips. In the meantime he left no means +untried to pluck out the heart of her mystery. + +The young lady soon divined his passion, and penetrated his prejudices. +She began to look on him with favourable eyes; but she feared her name +and parentage would present an insuperable barrier to his feudal pride. + +Things were in this state when the Captain returned, and unpacked his +maps and books in the parlour of the inn. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Really, Captain, I find so many objects of attraction in +this neighbourhood, that I would gladly postpone our purpose. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Undoubtedly this neighbourhood has many +attractions; but there is something very inviting in the scheme you laid +down. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—No doubt there is something very tempting in the route +of Giraldus de Barri. But there are better things in this vicinity even +than that. To tell you the truth, Captain, I have fallen in love. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—What! while I have been away? + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Even so. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—The plunge must have been very sudden, if you are +already over head and ears. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—As deep as Llyn-y-dreiddiad-vrawd. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—And what may that be? + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—A pool not far off: a resting-place of a mountain stream +which is said to have no bottom. There is a tradition connected with it; +and here is a ballad on it, at your service. + + LLYN-Y-DREIDDIAD-VRAWD. + THE POOL OF THE DIVING FRIAR. + + Gwenwynwyn withdrew from the feasts of his hall: + He slept very little, he prayed not at all: + He pondered, and wandered, and studied alone; + And sought, night and day, the philosopher’s stone. + + He found it at length, and he made its first proof + By turning to gold all the lead of his roof: + Then he bought some magnanimous heroes, all fire, + Who lived but to smite and be smitten for hire. + + With these on the plains like a torrent he broke; + He filled the whole country with flame and with smoke; + He killed all the swine, and he broached all the wine; + He drove off the sheep, and the beeves, and the kine; + + He took castles and towns; he cut short limbs and lives; + He made orphans and widows of children and wives: + This course many years he triumphantly ran, + And did mischief enough to be called a great man. + + When, at last, he had gained all for which he held striven, + He bethought him of buying a passport to heaven; + Good and great as he was, yet he did not well know, + How soon, or which way, his great spirit might go. + + He sought the grey friars, who beside a wild stream, + Refected their frames on a primitive scheme; + The gravest and wisest Gwenwynwyn found out, + All lonely and ghostly, and angling for trout. + + Below the white dash of a mighty cascade, + Where a pool of the stream a deep resting-place made, + And rock-rooted oaks stretched their branches on high, + The friar stood musing, and throwing his fly. + + To him said Gwenwynwyn, “Hold, father, here’s store, + For the good of the church, and the good of the poor;” + Then he gave him the stone; but, ere more he could speak, + Wrath came on the friar, so holy and meek. + + He had stretched forth his hand to receive the red gold, + And he thought himself mocked by Gwenwynwyn the Bold; + And in scorn of the gift, and in rage at the giver, + He jerked it immediately into the river. + + Gwenwynwyn, aghast, not a syllable spake; + The philosopher’s stone made a duck and a drake; + Two systems of circles a moment were seen, + And the stream smoothed them off, as they never had been. + + Gwenwynwyn regained, and uplifted his voice, + “Oh friar, grey friar, full rash was thy choice; + The stone, the good stone, which away thou hast thrown, + Was the stone of all stones, the philosopher’s stone.” + + The friar looked pale, when his error he knew; + The friar looked red, and the friar looked blue; + And heels over head, from the point of a rock, + He plunged, without stopping to pull off his frock. + + He dived very deep, but he dived all in vain, + The prize he had slighted he found not again; + Many times did the friar his diving renew, + And deeper and deeper the river still grew. + + Gwenwynwyn gazed long, of his senses in doubt, + To see the grey friar a diver so stout; + Then sadly and slowly his castle he sought, + And left the friar diving, like dabchick distraught. + + Gwenwynwyn fell sick with alarm and despite, + Died, and went to the devil, the very same night; + The magnanimous heroes he held in his pay + Sacked his castle, and marched with the plunder away. + + No knell on the silence of midnight was rolled + For the flight of the soul of Gwenwynwyn the Bold. + The brethren, unfeed, let the mighty ghost pass, + Without praying a prayer, or intoning a mass. + + The friar haunted ever beside the dark stream; + The philosopher’s stone was his thought and his dream: + And day after day, ever head under heels + He dived all the time he could spare from his meals. + + He dived, and he dived, to the end of his days, + As the peasants oft witnessed with fear and amaze. + The mad friar’s diving-place long was their theme, + And no plummet can fathom that pool of the stream. + + And still, when light clouds on the midnight winds ride, + If by moonlight you stray on the lone river-side, + The ghost of the friar may be seen diving there, + With head in the water, and heels in the air. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Well, your ballad is very pleasant: you shall show +me the scene, and I will sketch it; but just now I am more interested +about your love. What heroine of the twelfth century has risen from the +ruins of the old castle, and looked down on you from the ivied +battlements? + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—You are nearer the mark than you suppose. Even from +those battlements a heroine of the twelfth century has looked down on me. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Oh! some vision of an ideal beauty. I suppose the +whole will end in another tradition and a ballad. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Genuine flesh and blood; as genuine as Lady Clarinda. I +will tell you the story. + +Mr. Chainmail narrated his adventures. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Then you seem to have found what you wished. +Chance has thrown in your way what none of the gods would have ventured +to promise you. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Yes, but I know nothing of her birth and parentage. She +tells me nothing of herself, and I have no right to question her +directly. + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—She appears to be expressly destined for the light +of your baronial hall. Introduce me in this case, two heads are better +than one. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—No, I thank you. Leave me to manage my chance of a +prize, and keep you to your own chance of a— + +_Captain Fitzchrome_.—Blank. As you please. Well, I will pitch my tent +here, till I have filled my portfolio, and shall be glad of as much of +your company as you can spare from more attractive society. + +Matters went on pretty smoothly for several days, when an unlucky +newspaper threw all into confusion. Mr. Chainmail received newspapers by +the post, which came in three times a week. One morning, over their +half-finished breakfast, the Captain had read half a newspaper very +complacently, when suddenly he started up in a frenzy, hurled over the +breakfast table, and, bouncing from the apartment, knocked down Harry Ap +Heather, who was coming in at the door to challenge his supposed rival to +a boxing-match. + +Harry sprang up, in a double rage, and intercepted Mr. Chainmail’s +pursuit of the Captain, placing himself in the doorway, in a pugilistic +attitude. Mr. Chainmail, not being disposed for this mode of combat, +stepped back into the parlour, took the poker in his right hand, and +displacing the loose bottom of a large elbow chair, threw it over his +left arm as a shield. Harry, not liking the aspect of the enemy in this +imposing attitude, retreated with backward steps into the kitchen, and +tumbled over a cur, which immediately fastened on his rear. + +Mr. Chainmail, half-laughing, half-vexed, anxious to overtake the +Captain, and curious to know what was the matter with him, pocketed the +newspaper, and sallied forth, leaving Harry roaring for a doctor and +tailor, to repair the lacerations of his outward man. + +Mr. Chainmail could find no trace of the Captain. Indeed, he sought him +but in one direction, which was that leading to the farm; where he +arrived in due time, and found Miss Susan alone. He laid the newspaper +on the table, as was his custom, and proceeded to converse with the young +lady: a conversation of many pauses, as much of signs as of words. The +young lady took up the paper, and turned it over and over, while she +listened to Mr. Chainmail, whom she found every day more and more +agreeable, when suddenly her eye glanced on something which made her +change colour, and dropping the paper on the ground, she rose from her +seat, exclaiming: “Miserable must she be who trusts any of your faithless +sex! never, never, never, will I endure such misery twice.” And she +vanished up the stairs. Mr. Chainmail was petrified. At length, he +cried aloud: “Cornelius Agrippa must have laid a spell on this accursed +newspaper;” and was turning it over, to look for the source of the +mischief, when Mrs. Ap Llymry made her appearance. + +_Mrs. Ap Llymry_.—What have you done to poor dear Miss Susan? she is +crying ready to break her heart. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—So help me the memory of Richard Coeur-de-Lion, I have +not the most distant notion of what is the matter. + +_Mrs. Ap Llymry_.—Oh, don’t tell me, sir; you must have ill-used her. I +know how it is. You have been keeping company with her, as if you wanted +to marry her; and now, all at once, you have been insulting her. I have +seen such tricks more than once, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—My dear madam, you wrong me utterly. I have none but +the kindest feelings and the most honourable purposes towards her. She +has been disturbed by something she has seen in this rascally paper. + +_Mrs. Ap Llymry_.—Why, then, the best thing you can do is to go away, and +come again tomorrow. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Not I, indeed, madam. Out of this house I stir not, +till I have seen the young lady, and obtained a full explanation. + +_Mrs. Ap Llymry_.—I will tell Miss Susan what you say. Perhaps she will +come down. + +Mr. Chainmail sat with as much patience as he could command, running over +the paper, from column to column. At length he lighted on an +announcement of the approaching marriage of Lady Clarinda Bossnowl with +Mr. Crotchet the younger. This explained the Captain’s discomposure, but +the cause of Miss Susan’s was still to be sought: he could not know that +it was one and the same. + +Presently, the sound of the longed-for step was heard on the stairs; the +young lady reappeared, and resumed her seat: her eyes showed that she had +been weeping. The gentleman was now exceedingly puzzled how to begin, +but the young lady relieved him by asking, with great simplicity: “What +do you wish to have explained, sir?” + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—I wish, if I may be permitted, to explain myself to you. +Yet could I first wish to know what it was that disturbed you in this +unlucky paper. Happy should I be if I could remove the cause of your +inquietude! + +_Miss Susannah_.—The cause is already removed. I saw something that +excited painful recollections; nothing that I could now wish otherwise +than as it is. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Yet, may I ask why it is that I find one so accomplished +living in this obscurity, and passing only by the name of Miss Susan? + +_Miss Susannah_.—The world and my name are not friends. I have left the +world, and wish to remain for ever a stranger to all whom I once knew in +it. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—You can have done nothing to dishonour your name. + +_Miss Susannah_.—No, sir. My father has done that of which the world +disapproves, in matters of which I pretend not to judge. I have suffered +for it as I will never suffer again. My name is my own secret: I have no +other, and that is one not worth knowing. You see what I am, and all I +am. I live according to the condition of my present fortune, and here, +so living, I have found tranquillity. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Yet, I entreat you, tell me your name. + +_Miss Susannah_.—Why, sir? + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Why, but to throw my hand, my heart, my fortune, at your +feet, if—. + +_Miss Susannah_.—If my name be worthy of them. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Nay, nay, not so; if your hand and heart are free. + +_Miss Susannah_.—My hand and heart are free; but they must be sought from +myself, and not from my name. + +She fixed her eyes on him, with a mingled expression of mistrust, of +kindness, and of fixed resolution, which the far-gone _inamorato_ found +irresistible. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Then from yourself alone I seek them. + +_Miss Susannah_.—Reflect. You have prejudices on the score of parentage. +I have not conversed with you so often without knowing what they are. +Choose between them and me. I too have my own prejudices on the score of +personal pride. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—I would choose you from all the world, were you even the +daughter of the _exécuteur des hautes œuvres_, as the heroine of a +romantic story I once read turned out to be. + +_Miss Susannah_.—I am satisfied. You have now a right to know my +history, and if you repent, I absolve you from all obligations. + +She told him her history; but he was out of the reach of repentance. “It +is true,” as at a subsequent period he said to the captain, “she is the +daughter of a money-changer: one who, in the days of Richard the First, +would have been plucked by the beard in the streets: but she is, +according to modern notions, a lady of gentle blood. As to her father’s +running away, that is a minor consideration: I have always understood, +from Mr. Mac Quedy, who is a great oracle in this way, that promises to +pay ought not to be kept; the essence of a safe and economical currency +being an interminable series of broken promises. There seems to be a +difference among the learned as to the way in which the promises ought to +be broken; but I am not deep enough in this casuistry to enter into such +nice distinctions.” + +In a few days there was a wedding, a pathetic leave-taking of the +farmer’s family, a hundred kisses from the bride to the children, and +promises twenty times reclaimed and renewed, to visit them in the ensuing +year. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. +THE INVITATION. + + + A cup of wine, that’s brisk and fine, + And drink unto the lemon mine. + + _Master Silence_. + +THIS veridicous history began in May, and the occurrences already +narrated have carried it on to the middle of autumn. Stepping over the +interval to Christmas, we find ourselves in our first locality, among the +chalk hills of the Thames; and we discover our old friend, Mr. Crotchet, +in the act of accepting an invitation, for himself, and any friends who +might be with him, to pass their Christmas Day at Chainmail Hall, after +the fashion of the twelfth century. Mr. Crochet had assembled about him, +for his own Christmas festivities, nearly the same party which was +introduced to the reader in the spring. Three of that party were +wanting. Dr. Morbific, by inoculating himself once too often with +non-contagious matter, had explained himself out of the world. Mr. +Henbane had also departed, on the wings of an infallible antidote. Mr. +Eavesdrop, having printed in a magazine some of the after-dinner +conversations of the castle, had had sentence of exclusion passed upon +him, on the motion of the Reverend Doctor Folliott, as a flagitious +violator of the confidences of private life. + +Miss Crotchet had become Lady Bossnowl, but Lady Clarinda had not yet +changed her name to Crotchet. She had, on one pretence and another, +procrastinated the happy event, and the gentleman had not been very +pressing; she had, however, accompanied her brother and sister-in-law, to +pass Christmas at Crotchet Castle. With these, Mr. Mac Quedy, Mr. +Philpot, Mr. Trillo, Mr. Skionar, Mr. Toogood, and Mr. Firedamp were +sitting at breakfast, when the Reverend Doctor Folliott entered and took +his seat at the table. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Well, Mr. Mac Quedy, it is now some weeks since +we have met: how goes on the march of mind? + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Nay, sir; I think you may see that with your own eyes. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, I have seen it, much to my discomfiture. +It has marched into my rickyard, and set my stacks on fire, with chemical +materials, most scientifically compounded. It has marched up to the door +of my vicarage, a hundred and fifty strong; ordered me to surrender half +my tithes; consumed all the provisions I had provided for my audit feast, +and drunk up my old October. It has marched in through my back-parlour +shutters, and out again with my silver spoons, in the dead of the night. +The policeman who has been down to examine says my house has been broken +open on the most scientific principles. All this comes of education. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—I rather think it comes of poverty. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—No, sir. Robbery, perhaps, comes of poverty, +but scientific principles of robbery come of education. I suppose the +learned friend has written a sixpenny treatise on mechanics, and the +rascals who robbed me have been reading it. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Your house would have been very safe, Doctor, if they had +had no better science than the learned friend’s to work with. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Well, sir, that may be. Excellent potted char. +The Lord deliver me from the learned friend. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—Well, Doctor, for your comfort, here is a declaration of +the learned friend’s that he will never take office. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Then, sir, he will be in office next week. +Peace be with him. Sugar and cream. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—But, Doctor, are you for Chainmail Hall on Christmas Day? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—That am I, for there will be an excellent +dinner, though, peradventure, grotesquely served. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—I have not seen my neighbour since he left us on the +canal. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—He has married a wife, and brought her home. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Indeed! If she suits him, she must be an oddity: it +will be amusing to see them together. + +_Lord Bossnowl_.—Very amusing. He! He! Mr. Firedamp. Is there any +water about Chainmail Hall? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—An old moat. + +_Mr. Firedamp_.—I shall die of malaria. + +_Mr. Trillo_.—Shall we have any music? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—An old harper. + +_Mr. Trillo_.—Those fellows are always horridly out of tune. What will +he play? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Old songs and marches. + +_Mr. Skionar_.—Among so many old things, I hope we shall find Old +Philosophy. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—An old woman. + +_Mr. Philpot_.—Perhaps an old map of the river in the twelfth century. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—No doubt. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—How many more old things? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Old hospitality; old wine; old ale; all the +images of old England; an old butler. + +_Mr. Toogood_.—Shall we all be welcome? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Heartily; you will be slapped on the shoulder, +and called Old Boy. + +_Lord Bossnowl_.—I think we should all go in our old clothes. He! He! + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—You will sit on old chairs, round an old table, +by the light of old lamps, suspended from pointed arches, which, Mr. +Chainmail says, first came into use in the twelfth century, with old +armour on the pillars and old banners in the roof. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—And what curious piece of antiquity is the lady of the +mansion? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—No antiquity there; none. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Who was she? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—That I know not. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Have you seen her? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—I have. + +_Lady Clarinda_.—Is she pretty? + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—More,—beautiful. A subject for the pen of +Nonnus or the pencil of Zeuxis. Features of all loveliness, radiant with +all virtue and intelligence. A face for Antigone. A form at once plump +and symmetrical, that, if it be decorous to divine it by externals, would +have been a model for the Venus of Cnidos. Never was anything so goodly +to look on, the present company excepted; and poor dear Mrs. Folliott. +She reads moral philosophy, Mr. Mac Quedy, which indeed she might as well +let alone; she reads Italian poetry, Mr. Skionar; she sings Italian +music, Mr. Trillo; but, with all this, she has the greatest of female +virtues, for she superintends the household and looks after her husband’s +dinner. I believe she was a mountaineer: Ηαρθένος ὀυρεσίφοιτος, ἐρήμαδι +σύντροφος ὕλῃ {175} as Nonnus sweetly sings. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. +CHAINMAIL HALL. + + + Vous autres dictes que ignorance est mère de tous maulx, et dictes + vray: mais toutesfoys vous ne la bannissez mye de vos entendemens, et + vivez en elle, avecques elle, et par elle. C’est pourquoy tant de + maulx vous meshaignent de jour en jour.—RABELIAS, 1. 5. c. 7. + +THE party which was assembled on Christmas Day in Chainmail Hall +comprised all the guests of Crotchet Castle, some of Mr. Chainmail’s +other neighbours, all his tenants and domestics, and Captain Fitzchrome. +The hall was spacious and lofty; and with its tall fluted pillars and +pointed arches, its windows of stained glass, its display of arms and +banners intermingled with holly and mistletoe, its blazing cressets and +torches, and a stupendous fire in the centre, on which blocks of pine +were flaming and crackling, had a striking effect on eyes unaccustomed to +such a dining-room. The fire was open on all sides, and the smoke was +caught and carried back under a funnel-formed canopy into a hollow +central pillar. This fire was the line of demarcation between gentle and +simple on days of high festival. Tables extended from it on two sides to +nearly the end of the hall. + +Mrs. Chainmail was introduced to the company. Young Crotchet felt some +revulsion of feeling at the unexpected sight of one whom he had forsaken, +but not forgotten, in a condition apparently so much happier than his +own. The lady held out her hand to him with a cordial look of more than +forgiveness; it seemed to say that she had much to thank him for. She +was the picture of a happy bride, _rayonnante de joie et d’amour_. + +Mr. Crotchet told the Reverend Doctor Folliott the news of the morning. +“As you predicted,” he said, “your friend, the learned friend, is in +office; he has also a title; he is now Sir Guy de Vaux.” + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Thank heaven for that! he is disarmed from +further mischief. It is something, at any rate, to have that hollow and +wind-shaken reed rooted up for ever from the field of public delusion. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—I suppose, Doctor, you do not like to see a great +reformer in office; you are afraid for your vested interests. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Not I, indeed, sir; my vested interests are very +safe from all such reformers as the learned friend. I vaticinate what +will be the upshot of all his schemes of reform. He will make a speech +of seven hours’ duration, and this will be its quintessence: that, seeing +the exceeding difficulty of putting salt on the bird’s tail, it will be +expedient to consider the best method of throwing dust in the bird’s +eyes. All the rest will be + + Τιτιτιτιτιμπρο. + Ποποποί, ποποποί + Τιοτιοτιοτιοτιοτίγξ. + Κικκαβαῦ, κικκαβαῦ. + Τοροτοροτοροτορολιλιλίγξ, + +as Aristophanes has it; and so I leave him, in Nephelococcygia. + +Mr. Mac Quedy came up to the divine as Mr. Crotchet left him, and said: +“There is one piece of news which the old gentleman has not told you. +The great firm of Catchflat and Company, in which young Crotchet is a +partner, has stopped payment.” + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Bless me! that accounts for the young +gentleman’s melancholy. I thought they would overreach themselves with +their own tricks. The day of reckoning, Mr. Mac Quedy, is the point +which your paper-money science always leaves out of view. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—I do not see, sir, that the failure of Catchflat and +Company has anything to do with my science. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—It has this to do with it, sir, that you would +turn the whole nation into a great paper-money shop, and take no thought +of the day of reckoning. But the dinner is coming. I think you, who are +so fond of paper promises, should dine on the bill of fare. + +The harper at the head of the hall struck up an ancient march, and the +dishes were brought in, in grand procession. + +The boar’s head, garnished with rosemary, with a citron in its mouth, led +the van. Then came tureens of plum-porridge; then a series of turkeys, +and in the midst of them an enormous sausage, which it required two men +to carry. Then came geese and capons, tongues and hams, the ancient +glory of the Christmas pie, a gigantic plum pudding, a pyramid of mince +pies, and a baron of beef bringing up the rear. + +“It is something new under the sun,” said the divine, as he sat down, “to +see a great dinner without fish.” + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Fish was for fasts in the twelfth century. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Well, sir, I prefer our reformed system of +putting fasts and feasts together. Not but here is ample indemnity. + +Ale and wine flowed in abundance. The dinner passed off merrily: the old +harper playing all the while the oldest music in his repertory. The +tables being cleared, he indemnified himself for lost time at the lower +end of the hall, in company with the old butler and the other domestics, +whose attendance on the banquet had been indispensable. + +The scheme of Christmas gambols, which Mr. Chainmail had laid for the +evening, was interrupted by a tremendous clamour without. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—What have we here? Mummers? + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Nay, I know not. I expect none. + +“Who is there?” he added, approaching the door of the hall. + +“Who is there?” vociferated the divine, with the voice of Stentor. + +“Captain Swing,” replied a chorus of discordant voices. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Ho, ho! here is a piece of the dark ages we did +not bargain for. Here is the Jacquerie. Here is the march of mind with +a witness. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Do you not see that you have brought disparates +together? the Jacquerie and the march of mind. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Not at all, sir. They are the same thing, under +different names. Πολλῶν ονομάτων μορφὴ μία. What was Jacquerie in the +dark ages is the march of mind in this very enlightened one—very +enlightened one. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—The cause is the same in both; poverty in despair. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Very likely; but the effect is extremely disagreeable. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—It is the natural result, Mr. Mac Quedy, of that +system of state seamanship which your science upholds. Putting the crew +on short allowance, and doubling the rations of the officers, is the sure +way to make a mutiny on board a ship in distress, Mr. Mac Quedy. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Eh! sir, I uphold no such system as that. I shall set +you right as to cause and effect. Discontent arises with the increase of +information. That is all. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—I said it was the march of mind. But we have +not time for discussing cause and effect now. Let us get rid of the +enemy. + +And he vociferated at the top of his voice, “What do you want here?” +“Arms, arms,” replied a hundred voices, “Give us the arms.” + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—You see, Mr. Chainmail, this is the +inconvenience of keeping an armoury not fortified with sand bags, green +bags, and old bags of all kinds. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Just give them the old spits and toasting irons, and +they will go away quietly. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—My spears and swords! not without my life. These +assailants are all aliens to my land and house. My men will fight for +me, one and all. This is the fortress of beef and ale. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Eh! sir, when the rabble is up, it is very +indiscriminating. You are e’en suffering for the sins of Sir Simon +Steeltrap and the like, who have pushed the principle of accumulation a +little too far. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—The way to keep the people down is kind and liberal +usage. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—That is very well (where it can be afforded) in the way +of prevention; but in the way of cure the operation must be more drastic. +(Taking down a battle-axe.) I would fain have a good blunderbuss charged +with slugs. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—When I suspended these arms for ornament, I never +dreamed of their being called into use. + +_Mr. Skionar_.—Let me address them. I never failed to convince an +audience that the best thing they could do was to go away. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Eh! sir, I can bring them to that conclusion in less +time than you. + +_Mr. Crotchet_.—I have no fancy for fighting. It is a very hard case +upon a guest, when the latter end of a feast is the beginning of a fray. + +_Mr. Mac Quedy_.—Give them the old iron. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Give them the weapons! _Pessimo_, _medius +fidius_, _exemplo_. Forbid it the spirit of _Frère Jean des +Entommeures_! No! let us see what the church militant, in the armour of +the twelfth century, will do against the march of mind. Follow me who +will, and stay who list. Here goes: _Pro aris et focis_! that is, for +tithe pigs and fires to roast them. + +He clapped a helmet on his head, seized a long lance, threw open the +gates, and tilted out on the rabble, side by side with Mr. Chainmail, +followed by the greater portion of the male inmates of the hall, who had +armed themselves at random. + +The rabble-rout, being unprepared for such a sortie, fled in all +directions, over hedge and ditch. + +Mr. Trillo stayed in the hall, playing a march on the harp, to inspirit +the rest to sally out. The water-loving Mr. Philpot had diluted himself +with so much wine as to be quite _hors de combat_. Mr. Toogood, +intending to equip himself in purely defensive armour, contrived to slip +a ponderous coat of mail over his shoulders, which pinioned his arms to +his sides; and in this condition, like a chicken trussed for roasting, he +was thrown down behind a pillar in the first rush of the sortie. Mr. +Crotchet seized the occurrence as a pretext for staying with him, and +passed the whole time of the action in picking him out of his shell. + +“Phew!” said the divine, returning; “an inglorious victory; but it +deserves a devil and a bowl of punch.” + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—A wassail-bowl. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—No, sir. No more of the twelfth century for me. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Nay, Doctor. The twelfth century has backed you well. +Its manners and habits, its community of kind feelings between master and +man, are the true remedy for these ebullitions. + +_Mr. Toogood_.—Something like it: improved by my diagram: arts for arms. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—No wassail-bowl for me. Give me an +unsophisticated bowl of punch, which belongs to that blissful middle +period, after the Jacquerie was down, and before the march of mind was +up. But, see, who is floundering in the water? + +Proceeding to the edge of the moat, they fished up Mr. Firedamp, who had +missed his way back, and tumbled in. He was drawn out, exclaiming, “that +he had taken his last dose of malaria in this world.” + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Tut, man; dry clothes, a turkey’s leg and rump, +well devilled, and a quart of strong punch, will set all to rights. + +“Wood embers,” said Mr. Firedamp, when he had been accommodated with a +change of clothes, “there is no antidote to malaria like the smoke of +wood embers; pine embers.” And he placed himself, with his mouth open, +close by the fire. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Punch, sir, punch: there is no antidote like +punch. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—Well, Doctor, you shall be indulged. But I shall have +my wassail-bowl, nevertheless. + +An immense bowl of spiced wine, with roasted apples hissing on its +surface, was borne into the hall by four men, followed by an empty bowl +of the same dimensions, with all the materials of arrack punch, for the +divine’s especial brewage. He accinged himself to the task with his +usual heroism, and having finished it to his entire satisfaction, +reminded his host to order in the devil. + +_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—I think, Mr. Chainmail, we can amuse ourselves +very well here all night. The enemy may be still excubant: and we had +better not disperse till daylight. I am perfectly satisfied with my +quarters. Let the young folk go on with their gambols; let them dance to +your old harper’s minstrelsy; and if they please to kiss under the +mistletoe, whereof I espy a goodly bunch suspended at the end of the +hall, let those who like it not leave it to those who do. Moreover, if +among the more sedate portion of the assembly, which, I foresee, will +keep me company, there were any to revive the good old custom of singing +after supper, so to fill up the intervals of the dances, the steps of +night would move more lightly. + +_Mr. Chainmail_.—My Susan will set the example, after she has set that of +joining in the rustic dance, according to good customs long departed. + +After the first dance, in which all classes of the company mingled, the +young lady of the mansion took her harp, and following the reverend +gentleman’s suggestion, sang a song of the twelfth century. + + FLORENCE AND BLANCHFLOR. + + Florence and Blanchflor, loveliest maids, + Within a summer grove, + Amid the flower-enamelled shades + Together talked of love. + + A clerk sweet Blanchflor’s heart had gain’d; + Fair Florence loved a knight: + And each with ardent voice maintained + She loved the worthiest wight. + + Sweet Blanchflor praised her scholar dear, + As courteous, kind, and true! + Fair Florence said her chevalier + Could every foe subdue. + + And Florence scorned the bookworm vain, + Who sword nor spear could raise; + And Blanchflor scorned the unlettered brain + Could sing no lady’s praise. + + From dearest love, the maidens bright + To deadly hatred fell, + Each turned to shun the other’s sight, + And neither said farewell. + + The king of birds, who held his court + Within that flowery grove, + Sang loudly: “’Twill be rare disport + To judge this suit of love.” + + Before him came the maidens bright, + With all his birds around, + To judge the cause, if clerk or knight + In love be worthiest found. + + The falcon and the sparrow-hawk + Stood forward for the fight: + Ready to do, and not to talk, + They voted for the knight. + + And Blanchflor’s heart began to fail, + Till rose the strong-voiced lark, + And, after him, the nightingale, + And pleaded for the clerk. + + The nightingale prevailed at length, + Her pleading had such charms; + So eloquence can conquer strength, + And arts can conquer arms. + + The lovely Florence tore her hair, + And died upon the place; + And all the birds assembled there + Bewailed the mournful case. + + They piled up leaves and flowerets rare + Above the maiden bright, + And sang: “Farewell to Florence fair, + Who too well loved her knight.” + +Several others of the party sang in the intervals of the dances. Mr. +Chainmail handed to Mr. Trillo another ballad of the twelfth century, of +a merrier character than the former. Mr. Trillo readily accommodated it +with an air, and sang: + + THE PRIEST AND THE MULBERRY TREE. + + Did you hear of the curate who mounted his mare, + And merrily trotted along to the fair? + Of creature more tractable none ever heard; + In the height of her speed she would stop at a word, + And again with a word, when the curate said Hey, + She put forth her mettle, and galloped away. + + As near to the gates of the city he rode, + While the sun of September all brilliantly glowed, + The good priest discovered, with eyes of desire, + A mulberry tree in a hedge of wild briar, + On boughs long and lofty, in many a green shoot, + Hung large, black, and glossy, the beautiful fruit. + + The curate was hungry, and thirsty to boot; + He shrunk from the thorns, though he longed for the fruit; + With a word he arrested his courser’s keen speed, + And he stood up erect on the back of his steed; + On the saddle he stood, while the creature stood still, + And he gathered the fruit, till he took his good fill. + + “Sure never,” he thought, “was a creature so rare, + So docile, so true, as my excellent mare. + Lo, here, how I stand” (and he gazed all around), + “As safe and as steady as if on the ground, + Yet how had it been, if some traveller this way, + Had, dreaming no mischief, but chanced to cry Hey?” + + He stood with his head in the mulberry tree, + And he spoke out aloud in his fond reverie. + At the sound of the word, the good mare made a push, + And down went the priest in the wild-briar bush. + He remembered too late, on his thorny green bed, + Much that well may be thought cannot wisely be said. + +Lady Clarinda, being prevailed on to take the harp in her turn, sang the +following stanzas. + + In the days of old, + Lovers felt true passion, + Deeming years of sorrow + By a smile repaid. + Now the charms of gold, + Spells of pride and fashion, + Bid them say good morrow + To the best-loved maid. + + Through the forests wild, + O’er the mountains lonely, + They were never weary + Honour to pursue. + If the damsel smiled + Once in seven years only, + All their wanderings dreary + Ample guerdon knew. + + Now one day’s caprice + Weighs down years of smiling, + Youthful hearts are rovers, + Love is bought and sold: + Fortune’s gifts may cease, + Love is less beguiling; + Wisest were the lovers + In the days of old. + +The glance which she threw at the captain, as she sang the last verse, +awakened his dormant hopes. Looking round for his rival, he saw that he +was not in the hall; and, approaching the lady of his heart, he received +one of the sweetest smiles of their earlier days. + +After a time, the ladies, and all the females of the party, retired. The +males remained on duty with punch and wassail, and dropped off one by one +into sweet forgetfulness; so that when the rising sun of December looked +through the painted windows on mouldering embers and flickering lamps, +the vaulted roof was echoing to a mellifluous concert of noses, from the +clarionet of the waiting-boy at one end of the hall, to the double bass +of the Reverend Doctor, ringing over the empty punch-bowl, at the other. + + + + +CONCLUSION. + + +FROM this eventful night, young Crotchet was seen no more on English +mould. Whither he had vanished was a question that could no more be +answered in his case than in that of King Arthur after the battle of +Camlan. The great firm of Catchflat and Company figured in the Gazette, +and paid sixpence in the pound; and it was clear that he had shrunk from +exhibiting himself on the scene of his former greatness, shorn of the +beams of his paper prosperity. Some supposed him to be sleeping among +the undiscoverable secrets of some barbel-pool in the Thames; but those +who knew him best were more inclined to the opinion that he had gone +across the Atlantic, with his pockets full of surplus capital, to join +his old acquaintance, Mr. Touchandgo, in the bank of Dotandcarryonetown. + +Lady Clarinda was more sorry for her father’s disappointment than her +own; but she had too much pride to allow herself to be put up a second +time in the money-market; and when the Captain renewed his assiduities, +her old partiality for him, combining with a sense of gratitude for a +degree of constancy which she knew she scarcely deserved, induced her, +with Lord Foolincourt’s hard-wrung consent, to share with him a more +humble, but less precarious fortune, than that to which she had been +destined as the price of a rotten borough. + + + + +FOOTNOTES. + + +{175} A mountain-wandering maid, +Twin-nourished with the solitary wood. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROTCHET CASTLE*** + + +******* This file should be named 2075-0.txt or 2075-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/7/2075 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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