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diff --git a/422-h/422-h.htm b/422-h/422-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2d73577 --- /dev/null +++ b/422-h/422-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16649 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Romany Rye</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + TD { vertical-align: top; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Romany Rye, by George Borrow</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Romany Rye, by George Borrow + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Romany Rye + + +Author: George Borrow + + + +Release Date: April 5, 2007 [eBook #422] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANY RYE*** +</pre> + + +<h4>There are several editions of this ebook in the Project Gutenberg collection. Various characteristics of each ebook are listed to aid in selecting the preferred file.<br />Click on any of the filenumbers below to quickly view each ebook. +</h4> + + +<table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + +<tr><td> + <b><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/21206/21206-h/21206-h.htm"> +21206</a> </b> </td><td>(Plain HTML file) +</td></tr> + +<tr><td> + <b><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/25071/25071-h/25071-h.htm"> +25071</a></b></td><td>(Plain HTML file) +</td></tr> + +<tr><td> + <b><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/422/422-h/422-h.htm"> +422</a></b> </td><td>(Plain HTML file) +</td></tr> + +<tr><td> + <b><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54048/54048-h/54048-h.htm"> +54048</a></b> </td><td>(Illustrated HTML file) +</td></tr> + +</table> + + +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1907 J. M. Dent Edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>THE ROMANY RYE</h1> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<p>The Making of the Linch-pin—The Sound +Sleeper—Breakfast—The Postillion’s +Departure.</p> +<p>I awoke at the first break of day, and, leaving the postillion +fast asleep, stepped out of the tent. The dingle was dank +and dripping. I lighted a fire of coals, and got my forge +in readiness. I then ascended to the field, where the +chaise was standing as we had left it on the previous +evening. After looking at the cloud-stone near it, now +cold, and split into three pieces, I set about prying narrowly +into the condition of the wheel and axletree—the latter had +sustained no damage of any consequence, and the wheel, as far as +I was able to judge, was sound, being only slightly injured in +the box. The only thing requisite to set the chaise in a +travelling condition appeared to be a linch-pin, which I +determined to make. Going to the companion wheel, I took +out the linch-pin, which I carried down with me to the dingle, to +serve as a model.</p> +<p>I found Belle by this time dressed, and seated near the forge: +with a slight nod to her like that which a person gives who +happens to see an acquaintance when his mind is occupied with +important business, I forthwith set about my work. +Selecting a piece of iron which I thought would serve my purpose, +I placed it in the fire, and plying the bellows in a furious +manner, soon made it hot; then seizing it with the tongs, I laid +it on my anvil, and began to beat it with my hammer, according to +the rules of my art. The dingle resounded with my +strokes. Belle sat still, and occasionally smiled, but +suddenly started up, and retreated towards her encampment, on a +spark which I purposely sent in her direction alighting on her +knee. I found the making of a linch-pin no easy matter; it +was, however, less difficult than the fabrication of a pony-shoe; +my work, indeed, was much facilitated by my having another pin to +look at. In about three-quarters of an hour I had succeeded +tolerably well, and had produced a linch-pin which I thought +would serve. During all this time, notwithstanding the +noise which I was making, the postillion never showed his +face. His non-appearance at first alarmed me: I was afraid +he might be dead, but, on looking into the tent, I found him +still buried in the soundest sleep. “He must surely +be descended from one of the seven sleepers,” said I, as I +turned away, and resumed my work. My work finished, I took +a little oil, leather, and sand, and polished the pin as well as +I could; then, summoning Belle, we both went to the chaise, +where, with her assistance, I put on the wheel. The +linch-pin which I had made fitted its place very well, and having +replaced the other, I gazed at the chaise for some time with my +heart full of that satisfaction which results from the +consciousness of having achieved a great action; then, after +looking at Belle in the hope of obtaining a compliment from her +lips, which did not come, I returned to the dingle, without +saying a word, followed by her. Belle set about making +preparations for breakfast; and I taking the kettle, went and +filled it at the spring. Having hung it over the fire, I +went to the tent in which the postillion was still sleeping, and +called upon him to arise. He awoke with a start, and stared +around him at first with the utmost surprise, not unmixed, I +could observe, with a certain degree of fear. At last, +looking in my face, he appeared to recollect himself. +“I had quite forgot,” said he, as he got up, +“where I was, and all that happened yesterday. +However, I remember now the whole affair, thunder-storm, +thunder-bolt, frightened horses, and all your kindness. +Come, I must see after my coach and horses; I hope we shall be +able to repair the damage.” “The damage is +already quite repaired,” said I, “as you will see, if +you come to the field above.” “You don’t +say so,” said the postillion, coming out of the tent; +“well, I am mightily beholden to you. Good morning, +young gentle-woman,” said he, addressing Belle, who, having +finished her preparations, was seated near the fire. +“Good morning, young man,” said Belle, “I +suppose you would be glad of some breakfast; however, you must +wait a little, the kettle does not boil.” “Come +and look at your chaise,” said I; “but tell me how it +happened that the noise which I have been making did not awake +you; for three-quarters of an hour at least I was hammering close +at your ear.” “I heard you all the time,” +said the postillion, “but your hammering made me sleep all +the sounder; I am used to hear hammering in my morning +sleep. There’s a forge close by the room where I +sleep when I’m at home, at my inn; for we have all kinds of +conveniences at my inn—forge, carpenter’s shop, and +wheel-wright’s,—so that when I heard you hammering I +thought, no doubt, that it was the old noise, and that I was +comfortable in my bed at my own inn.” We now ascended +to the field, where I showed the postillion his chaise. He +looked at the pin attentively, rubbed his hands, and gave a loud +laugh. “Is it not well done?” said I. +“It will do till I get home,” he replied. +“And that is all you have to say?” I demanded. +“And that’s a good deal,” said he, +“considering who made it. But don’t be +offended,” he added, “I shall prize it all the more +for its being made by a gentleman, and no blacksmith; and so will +my governor, when I show it to him. I shan’t let it +remain where it is, but will keep it, as a remembrance of you, as +long as I live.” He then again rubbed his hands with +great glee, and said, “I will now go and see after my +horses, and then to breakfast, partner, if you +please.” Suddenly, however, looking at his hands, he +said, “Before sitting down to breakfast I am in the habit +of washing my hands and face: I suppose you could not furnish me +with a little soap and water.” “As much water +as you please,” said I, “but if you want soap, I must +go and trouble the young gentle-woman for some.” +“By no means,” said the postillion, “water will +do at a pinch.” “Follow me,” said I, and +leading him to the pond of the frogs and newts, I said, +“this is my ewer; you are welcome to part of it—the +water is so soft that it is scarcely necessary to add soap to +it;” then lying down on the bank, I plunged my head into +the water, then scrubbed my hands and face, and afterwards wiped +them with some long grass which grew on the margin of the +pond. “Bravo,” said the postillion, “I +see you know how to make a shift:” he then followed my +example, declared he never felt more refreshed in his life, and, +giving a bound, said, “he would go and look after his +horses.”</p> +<p>We then went to look after the horses, which we found not much +the worse for having spent the night in the open air. My +companion again inserted their heads in the corn-bags, and, +leaving the animals to discuss their corn, returned with me to +the dingle, where we found the kettle boiling. We sat down, +and Belle made tea and did the honours of the meal. The +postillion was in high spirits, ate heartily, and, to +Belle’s evident satisfaction, declared that he had never +drank better tea in his life, or indeed any half so good. +Breakfast over, he said that he must now go and harness his +horses, as it was high time for him to return to his inn. +Belle gave him her hand and wished him farewell: the postillion +shook her hand warmly, and was advancing close up to +her—for what purpose I cannot say—whereupon Belle, +withdrawing her hand, drew herself up with an air which caused +the postillion to retreat a step or two with an exceedingly +sheepish look. Recovering himself, however, he made a low +bow, and proceeded up the path. I attended him, and helped +to harness his horses and put them to the vehicle; he then shook +me by the hand, and taking the reins and whip, mounted to his +seat; ere he drove away he thus addressed me: “If ever I +forget your kindness and that of the young woman below, dash my +buttons. If ever either of you should enter my inn you may +depend upon a warm welcome, the best that can be set before you, +and no expense to either, for I will give both of you the best of +characters to the governor, who is the very best fellow upon all +the road. As for your linch-pin, I trust it will serve till +I get home, when I will take it out and keep it in remembrance of +you all the days of my life:” then giving the horses a jerk +with his reins, he cracked his whip and drove off.</p> +<p>I returned to the dingle, Belle had removed the breakfast +things, and was busy in her own encampment: nothing occurred, +worthy of being related, for two hours, at the end of which time +Belle departed on a short expedition, and I again found myself +alone in the dingle.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<p>The Man in Black—The Emperor of +Germany—Nepotism—Donna +Olympia—Omnipotence—Camillo Astalli—The Five +Propositions.</p> +<p>In the evening I received another visit from the man in +black. I had been taking a stroll in the neighbourhood, and +was sitting in the dingle in rather a listless manner, scarcely +knowing how to employ myself; his coming, therefore, was by no +means disagreeable to me. I produced the hollands and glass +from my tent, where Isopel Berners had requested me to deposit +them, and also some lump sugar, then taking the gotch I fetched +water from the spring, and, sitting down, begged the man in black +to help himself; he was not slow in complying with my desire, and +prepared for himself a glass of hollands and water with a lump of +sugar in it. After he had taken two or three sips with +evident satisfaction, I, remembering his chuckling exclamation of +“Go to Rome for money,” when he last left the dingle, +took the liberty, after a little conversation, of reminding him +of it, whereupon, with a he! he! he! he replied, “Your idea +was not quite so original as I supposed. After leaving you +the other night, I remembered having read of an Emperor of +Germany who conceived the idea of applying to Rome for money, and +actually put it into practice.</p> +<p>“Urban the Eighth then occupied the papal chair, of the +family of the Barbarini, nicknamed the Mosche, or Flies, from the +circumstance of bees being their armorial bearing. The +Emperor having exhausted all his money in endeavouring to defend +the church against Gustavus Adolphus, the great King of Sweden, +who was bent on its destruction, applied in his necessity to the +Pope for a loan of money. The Pope, however, and his +relations, whose cellars were at that time full of the money of +the church, which they had been plundering for years, refused to +lend him a scudo; whereupon a pasquinade picture was stuck up at +Rome, representing the church lying on a bed, gashed with +dreadful wounds, and beset all over with flies, which were +sucking her, whilst the Emperor of Germany was kneeling before +her with a miserable face, requesting a little money towards +carrying on the war against the heretics, to which the poor +church was made to say: ‘How can I assist you, O my +champion, do you not see that the flies have sucked me to the +very bones?’ Which story,” said he, +“shows that the idea of going to Rome for money was not +quite so original as I imagined the other night, though utterly +preposterous.</p> +<p>“This affair,” said he, “occurred in what +were called the days of nepotism. Certain popes, who wished +to make themselves in some degree independent of the cardinals, +surrounded themselves with their nephews and the rest of their +family, who sucked the church and Christendom as much as they +could, none doing so more effectually than the relations of Urban +the Eighth, at whose death, according to the book called the +‘Nipotismo di Roma,’ there were in the Barbarini +family two hundred and twenty-seven governments, abbeys and high +dignities; and so much hard cash in their possession, that +threescore and ten mules were scarcely sufficient to convey the +plunder of one of them to Palestrina.” He added, +however, that it was probable that Christendom fared better +whilst the popes were thus independent, as it was less sucked, +whereas before and after that period it was sucked by hundreds +instead of tens, by the cardinals and all their relations, +instead of by the pope and his nephews only.</p> +<p>Then, after drinking rather copiously of his hollands, he said +that it was certainly no bad idea of the popes to surround +themselves with nephews, on whom they bestowed great church +dignities, as by so doing they were tolerably safe from poison, +whereas a pope, if abandoned to the cardinals, might at any time +be made away with by them, provided they thought that he lived +too long, or that he seemed disposed to do anything which they +disliked; adding, that Ganganelli would never have been poisoned +provided he had had nephews about him to take care of his life, +and to see that nothing unholy was put into his food, or a +bustling stirring brother’s wife like Donna Olympia. +He then with a he! he! he! asked me if I had ever read the book +called the “Nipotismo di Roma”; and on my replying in +the negative, he told me that it was a very curious and +entertaining book, which he occasionally looked at in an idle +hour, and proceeded to relate to me anecdotes out of the +“Nipotismo di Roma,” about the successor of Urban, +Innocent the Tenth, and Donna Olympia, showing how fond he was of +her, and how she cooked his food, and kept the cardinals away +from it, and how she and her creatures plundered Christendom, +with the sanction of the Pope, until Christendom, becoming +enraged, insisted that he should put her away, which he did for a +time, putting a nephew—one Camillo Astalli—in her +place, in which, however, he did not continue long; for the Pope, +conceiving a pique against him, banished him from his sight, and +recalled Donna Olympia, who took care of his food, and plundered +Christendom until Pope Innocent died.</p> +<p>I said that I only wondered that between pope and cardinals +the whole system of Rome had not long fallen to the ground, and +was told, in reply, that its not having fallen was the strongest +proof of its vital power, and the absolute necessity for the +existence of the system. That the system, notwithstanding +its occasional disorders, went on. Popes and cardinals +might prey upon its bowels, and sell its interests, but the +system survived. The cutting off of this or that member was +not able to cause Rome any vital loss; for, as soon as she lost a +member, the loss was supplied by her own inherent vitality; +though her popes had been poisoned by cardinals, and her +cardinals by popes; and though priests occasionally poisoned +popes, cardinals, and each other, after all that had been, and +might be, she had still, and would ever have, her priests, +cardinals, and pope.</p> +<p>Finding the man in black so communicative and reasonable, I +determined to make the best of my opportunity, and learn from him +all I could with respect to the papal system, and told him that +he would particularly oblige me by telling me who the Pope of +Rome was; and received for answer, that he was an old man elected +by a majority of cardinals to the papal chair; who, immediately +after his election, became omnipotent and equal to God on +earth. On my begging him not to talk such nonsense, and +asking him how a person could be omnipotent who could not always +preserve himself from poison, even when fenced round by nephews, +or protected by a bustling woman, he, after taking a long sip of +hollands and water, told me that I must not expect too much from +omnipotence; for example, that as it would be unreasonable to +expect that One above could annihilate the past—for +instance, the Seven Years’ War, or the French +Revolution—though any one who believed in Him would +acknowledge Him to be omnipotent, so would it be unreasonable for +the faithful to expect that the Pope could always guard himself +from poison. Then, after looking at me for a moment +stedfastly, and taking another sip, he told me that popes had +frequently done impossibilities; for example, Innocent the Tenth +had created a nephew; for, not liking particularly any of his +real nephews, he had created the said Camillo Astalli his nephew; +asking me, with a he! he! “What but omnipotence could +make a young man nephew to a person to whom he was not in the +slightest degree related?” On my observing that of +course no one believed that the young fellow was really the +Pope’s nephew, though the Pope might have adopted him as +such, the man in black replied, “that the reality of the +nephewship of Camillo Astalli had hitherto never become a point +of faith; let, however, the present pope, or any other pope, +proclaim that it is necessary to believe in the reality of the +nephewship of Camillo Astalli, and see whether the faithful would +not believe in it. Who can doubt that,” he added, +“seeing that they believe in the reality of the five +propositions of Jansenius? The Jesuits, wishing to ruin the +Jansenists, induced a pope to declare that such and such damnable +opinions, which they called five propositions, were to be found +in a book written by Jansen, though, in reality, no such +propositions were to be found there; whereupon the existence of +these propositions became forthwith a point of faith to the +faithful. Do you then think,” he demanded, +“that there is one of the faithful who would not swallow, +if called upon, the nephewship of Camillo Astalli as easily as +the five propositions of Jansenius?” “Surely, +then,” said I, “the faithful must be a pretty pack of +simpletons!” Whereupon the man in black exclaimed, +“What! a Protestant, and an infringer of the rights of +faith! Here’s a fellow, who would feel himself +insulted if any one were to ask him how he could believe in the +miraculous conception, calling people simpletons who swallow the +five propositions of Jansenius, and are disposed, if called upon, +to swallow the reality of the nephewship of Camillo +Astalli.”</p> +<p>I was about to speak, when I was interrupted by the arrival of +Belle. After unharnessing her donkey, and adjusting her +person a little, she came and sat down by us. In the +meantime I had helped my companion to some more hollands and +water, and had plunged with him into yet deeper discourse.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<p>Necessity of Religion—The Great Indian +One—Image-worship—Shakespeare—The Pat +Answer—Krishna—Amen.</p> +<p>Having told the man in black that I should like to know all +the truth with regard to the Pope and his system, he assured me +he should be delighted to give me all the information in his +power; that he had come to the dingle, not so much for the sake +of the good cheer which I was in the habit of giving him, as in +the hope of inducing me to enlist under the banners of Rome, and +to fight in her cause; and that he had no doubt that, by speaking +out frankly to me, he ran the best chance of winning me over.</p> +<p>He then proceeded to tell me that the experience of countless +ages had proved the necessity of religion; the necessity, he +would admit, was only for simpletons; but as nine-tenths of the +dwellers upon this earth were simpletons, it would never do for +sensible people to run counter to their folly, but, on the +contrary, it was their wisest course to encourage them in it, +always provided that, by so doing, sensible people would derive +advantage; that the truly sensible people of this world were the +priests, who, without caring a straw for religion for its own +sake, made use of it as a cord by which to draw the simpletons +after them; that there were many religions in this world, all of +which had been turned to excellent account by the priesthood; but +that the one the best adapted for the purposes of priestcraft was +the popish, which, he said, was the oldest in the world and the +best calculated to endure. On my inquiring what he meant by +saying the popish religion was the oldest in the world, whereas +there could be no doubt that the Greek and Roman religion had +existed long before it, to say nothing of the old Indian religion +still in existence and vigour; he said, with a nod, after taking +a sip at his glass, that, between me and him, the popish +religion, that of Greece and Rome, and the old Indian system +were, in reality, one and the same.</p> +<p>“You told me that you intended to be frank,” said +I; “but, however frank you may be, I think you are rather +wild.”</p> +<p>“We priests of Rome,” said the man in black, +“even those amongst us who do not go much abroad, know a +great deal about church matters, of which you heretics have very +little idea. Those of our brethren of the Propaganda, on +their return home from distant missions, not unfrequently tell us +very strange things relating to our dear mother; for example, our +first missionaries to the East were not slow in discovering and +telling to their brethren that our religion and the great Indian +one were identical, no more difference between them than between +Ram and Rome. Priests, convents, beads, prayers, +processions, fastings, penances, all the same, not forgetting +anchorites and vermin, he! he! The pope they found under +the title of the grand lama, a sucking child surrounded by an +immense number of priests. Our good brethren, some two +hundred years ago, had a hearty laugh, which their successors +have often re-echoed; they said that helpless suckling and its +priests put them so much in mind of their own old man, surrounded +by his cardinals, he! he! Old age is second +childhood.”</p> +<p>“Did they find Christ?” said I.</p> +<p>“They found him too,” said the man in black, +“that is, they saw his image; he is considered in India as +a pure kind of being, and on that account, perhaps, is kept there +rather in the background, even as he is here.”</p> +<p>“All this is very mysterious to me,” said I.</p> +<p>“Very likely,” said the man in black; “but +of this I am tolerably sure, and so are most of those of Rome, +that modern Rome had its religion from ancient Rome, which had +its religion from the East.”</p> +<p>“But how?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“It was brought about, I believe, by the wanderings of +nations,” said the man in black. “A brother of +the Propaganda, a very learned man, once told me—I do not +mean Mezzofanti, who has not five ideas—this brother once +told me that all we of the Old World, from Calcutta to Dublin, +are of the same stock, and were originally of the same language, +and—”</p> +<p>“All of one religion,” I put in.</p> +<p>“All of one religion,” said the man in black; +“and now follow different modifications of the same +religion.”</p> +<p>“We Christians are not image-worshippers,” said +I.</p> +<p>“You heretics are not, you mean,” said the man in +black; “but you will be put down, just as you have always +been, though others may rise up after you; the true religion is +image-worship; people may strive against it, but they will only +work themselves to an oil; how did it fare with that Greek +Emperor, the Iconoclast, what was his name, Leon the +Isaurian? Did not his image-breaking cost him Italy, the +fairest province of his empire, and did not ten fresh images +start up at home for every one which he demolished? Oh! you +little know the craving which the soul sometimes feels after a +good bodily image.”</p> +<p>“I have indeed no conception of it,” said I; +“I have an abhorrence of idolatry—the idea of bowing +before a graven figure!”</p> +<p>“The idea, indeed!” said Belle, who had now joined +us.</p> +<p>“Did you never bow before that of Shakespeare?” +said the man in black, addressing himself to me, after a low bow +to Belle.</p> +<p>“I don’t remember that I ever did,” said I, +“but even suppose I did?”</p> +<p>“Suppose you did,” said the man in black; +“shame on you, Mr. Hater of Idolatry; why, the very +supposition brings you to the ground; you must make figures of +Shakespeare, must you? then why not of St. Antonio, or Ignacio, +or of a greater personage still! I know what you are going +to say,” he cried, interrupting me, as I was about to +speak. “You don’t make his image in order to +pay it divine honours, but only to look at it, and think of +Shakespeare; but this looking at a thing in order to think of a +person is the very basis of idolatry. Shakespeare’s +works are not sufficient for you; no more are the Bible or the +legend of Saint Anthony or Saint Ignacio for us, that is for +those of us who believe in them; I tell you, Zingara, that no +religion can exist long which rejects a good bodily +image.”</p> +<p>“Do you think,” said I, “that +Shakespeare’s works would not exist without his +image?”</p> +<p>“I believe,” said the man in black, “that +Shakespeare’s image is looked at more than his works, and +will be looked at, and perhaps adored, when they are +forgotten. I am surprised that they have not been forgotten +long ago; I am no admirer of them.”</p> +<p>“But I can’t imagine,” said I, “how +you will put aside the authority of Moses. If Moses strove +against image-worship, should not his doing so be conclusive as +to the impropriety of the practice; what higher authority can you +have than that of Moses?”</p> +<p>“The practice of the great majority of the human +race,” said the man in black, “and the recurrence to +image-worship where image-worship has been abolished. Do +you know that Moses is considered by the church as no better than +a heretic, and though, for particular reasons, it has been +obliged to adopt his writings, the adoption was merely a sham +one, as it never paid the slightest attention to them? No, +no, the church was never led by Moses, nor by one mightier than +he, whose doctrine it has equally nullified—I allude to +Krishna in his second avatar; the church, it is true, governs in +his name, but not unfrequently gives him the lie, if he happens +to have said anything which it dislikes. Did you never hear +the reply which Padre Paolo Segani made to the French Protestant +Jean Anthoine Guerin, who had asked him whether it was easier for +Christ to have been mistaken in his Gospel, than for the Pope to +be mistaken in his decrees?”</p> +<p>“I never heard their names before,” said I.</p> +<p>“The answer was pat,” said the man in black, +“though he who made it was confessedly the most ignorant +fellow of the very ignorant order to which he belonged, the +Augustine. ‘Christ might err as a man,’ said +he, ‘but the Pope can never err, being God.’ +The whole story is related in the Nipotismo.”</p> +<p>“I wonder you should ever have troubled yourself with +Christ at all,” said I.</p> +<p>“What was to be done?” said the man in black; +“the power of that name suddenly came over Europe, like the +power of a mighty wind; it was said to have come from Judea, and +from Judea it probably came when it first began to agitate minds +in these parts; but it seems to have been known in the remote +East, more or less, for thousands of years previously. It +filled people’s minds with madness; it was followed by +books which were never much regarded, as they contained little of +insanity; but the name! what fury that breathed into people! the +books were about peace and gentleness, but the name was the most +horrible of war-cries—those who wished to uphold old names +at first strove to oppose it, but their efforts were feeble, and +they had no good war-cry; what was Mars as a war-cry compared +with the name of . . . ? It was said that they persecuted +terribly, but who said so? The Christians. The +Christians could have given them a lesson in the art of +persecution, and eventually did so. None but Christians +have ever been good persecutors; well, the old religion +succumbed, Christianity prevailed, for the ferocious is sure to +prevail over the gentle.”</p> +<p>“I thought,” said I, “you stated a little +time ago that the Popish religion and the ancient Roman are the +same?”</p> +<p>“In every point but that name, that Krishna and the fury +and love of persecution which it inspired,” said the man in +black. “A hot blast came from the East, sounding +Krishna; it absolutely maddened people’s minds, and the +people would call themselves his children; we will not belong to +Jupiter any longer, we will belong to Krishna, and they did +belong to Krishna; that is in name, but in nothing else; for who +ever cared for Krishna in the Christian world, or who ever +regarded the words attributed to him, or put them in +practice?”</p> +<p>“Why, we Protestants regard his words, and endeavour to +practise what they enjoin as much as possible.”</p> +<p>“But you reject his image,” said the man in black; +“better reject his words than his image: no religion can +exist long which rejects a good bodily image. Why, the very +negro barbarians of High Barbary could give you a lesson on that +point; they have their fetish images, to which they look for help +in their afflictions; they have likewise a high priest, whom they +call—”</p> +<p>“Mumbo Jumbo,” said I; “I know all about him +already.”</p> +<p>“How came you to know anything about him?” said +the man in black, with a look of some surprise.</p> +<p>“Some of us poor Protestants tinkers,” said I, +“though we live in dingles, are also acquainted with a +thing or two.”</p> +<p>“I really believe you are,” said the man in black, +staring at me; “but, in connection with this Mumbo Jumbo, I +could relate to you a comical story about a fellow, an English +servant, I once met at Rome.”</p> +<p>“It would be quite unnecessary,” said I; “I +would much sooner hear you talk about Krishna, his words and +image.”</p> +<p>“Spoken like a true heretic,” said the man in +black; “one of the faithful would have placed his image +before his words; for what are all the words in the world +compared with a good bodily image!”</p> +<p>“I believe you occasionally quote his words?” said +I.</p> +<p>“He! he!” said the man in black; +“occasionally.”</p> +<p>“For example,” said I, “upon this rock I +will found my church.”</p> +<p>“He! he!” said the man in black; “you must +really become one of us.”</p> +<p>“Yet you must have had some difficulty in getting the +rock to Rome?”</p> +<p>“None whatever,” said the man in black; +“faith can remove mountains, to say nothing of +rocks—ho! ho!”</p> +<p>“But I cannot imagine,” said I, “what +advantage you could derive from perverting those words of +Scripture in which the Saviour talks about eating his +body.”</p> +<p>“I do not know, indeed, why we troubled our heads about +the matter at all,” said the man in black; “but when +you talk about perverting the meaning of the text, you speak +ignorantly, Mr. Tinker; when he whom you call the Saviour gave +his followers the sop, and bade them eat it, telling them it was +his body, he delicately alluded to what it was incumbent upon +them to do after his death, namely, to eat his body.”</p> +<p>“You do not mean to say that he intended they should +actually eat his body?”</p> +<p>“Then you suppose ignorantly,” said the man in +black; “eating the bodies of the dead was a heathenish +custom, practised by the heirs and legatees of people who left +property; and this custom is alluded to in the text.”</p> +<p>“But what has the New Testament to do with heathen +customs,” said I, “except to destroy them?”</p> +<p>“More than you suppose,” said the man in +black. “We priests of Rome, who have long lived at +Rome, know much better what the New Testament is made of than the +heretics and their theologians, not forgetting their Tinkers; +though I confess some of the latter have occasionally surprised +us—for example, Bunyan. The New Testament is crowded +with allusions to heathen customs, and with words connected with +pagan sorcery. Now, with respect to words, I would fain +have you, who pretend to be a philologist, tell me the meaning of +Amen.”</p> +<p>I made no answer.</p> +<p>“We of Rome,” said the man in black, “know +two or three things of which the heretics are quite ignorant; for +example, there are those amongst us—those, too, who do not +pretend to be philologists—who know what Amen is, and, +moreover, how we got it. We got it from our ancestors, the +priests of ancient Rome; and they got the word from their +ancestors of the East, the priests of Buddh and +Brahma.”</p> +<p>“And what is the meaning of the word?” I +demanded.</p> +<p>“Amen,” said the man in black, “is a +modification of the old Hindoo formula, Omani batsikhom, by the +almost ceaseless repetition of which the Indians hope to be +received finally to the rest or state of forgetfulness of Buddh +or Brahma; a foolish practice you will say, but are you heretics +much wiser, who are continually sticking Amen to the end of your +prayers, little knowing when you do so, that you are consigning +yourselves to the repose of Buddh! Oh, what hearty laughs +our missionaries have had when comparing the eternally-sounding +Eastern gibberish of Omani batsikhom, Omani batsikhom, and the +Ave Maria and Amen Jesus of our own idiotical +devotees.”</p> +<p>“I have nothing to say about the Ave Marias and Amens of +your superstitious devotees,” said I; “I dare say +that they use them nonsensically enough, but in putting Amen to +the end of a prayer, we merely intend to express, ‘So let +it be.’”</p> +<p>“It means nothing of the kind,” said the man in +black; “and the Hindoos might just as well put your +national oath at the end of their prayers, as perhaps they will +after a great many thousand years, when English is forgotten, and +only a few words of it remembered by dim tradition without being +understood. How strange if, after the lapse of four +thousand years, the Hindoos should damn themselves to the +blindness so dear to their present masters, even as their masters +at present consign themselves to the forgetfulness so dear to the +Hindoos; but my glass has been empty for a considerable time; +perhaps, Bellissima Biondina,” said he, addressing Belle, +“you will deign to replenish it?”</p> +<p>“I shall do no such thing,” said Belle, “you +have drunk quite enough, and talked more than enough, and to tell +you the truth I wish you would leave us alone.”</p> +<p>“Shame on you, Belle,” said I; “consider the +obligations of hospitality.”</p> +<p>“I am sick of that word,” said Belle, “you +are so frequently misusing it; were this place not Mumpers’ +Dingle, and consequently as free to the fellow as ourselves, I +would lead him out of it.”</p> +<p>“Pray be quiet, Belle,” said I. “You +had better help yourself,” said I, addressing myself to the +man in black, “the lady is angry with you.”</p> +<p>“I am sorry for it,” said the man in black; +“if she is angry with me, I am not so with her, and shall +be always proud to wait upon her; in the meantime, I will wait +upon myself.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p>The Proposal—The Scotch +Novel—Latitude—Miracles—Pestilent +Heretics—Old Fraser—Wonderful Texts—No +Armenian.</p> +<p>The man in black having helped himself to some more of his +favourite beverage, and tasted it, I thus addressed him: +“The evening is getting rather advanced, and I can see that +this lady,” pointing to Belle, “is anxious for her +tea, which she prefers to take cosily and comfortably with me in +the dingle: the place, it is true, is as free to you as to +ourselves, nevertheless, as we are located here by necessity, +whilst you merely come as a visitor, I must take the liberty of +telling you that we shall be glad to be alone, as soon as you +have said what you have to say, and have finished the glass of +refreshment at present in your hand. I think you said some +time ago that one of your motives for coming hither was to induce +me to enlist under the banner of Rome. I wish to know +whether that was really the case?”</p> +<p>“Decidedly so,” said the man in black; “I +come here principally in the hope of enlisting you in our +regiment, in which I have no doubt you could do us excellent +service.”</p> +<p>“Would you enlist my companion as well?” I +demanded.</p> +<p>“We should be only too proud to have her among us, +whether she comes with you or alone,” said the man in +black, with a polite bow to Belle.</p> +<p>“Before we give you an answer,” I replied, +“I would fain know more about you; perhaps you will declare +your name?”</p> +<p>“That I will never do,” said the man in black; +“no one in England knows it but myself, and I will not +declare it, even in a dingle; as for the rest, <i>Sono un Prete +Cattolico Appostolico</i>—that is all that many a one of us +can say for himself, and it assuredly means a great +deal.”</p> +<p>“We will now proceed to business,” said I. +“You must be aware that we English are generally considered +a self-interested people.”</p> +<p>“And with considerable justice,” said the man in +black, drinking. “Well, you are a person of acute +perception, and I will presently make it evident to you that it +would be to your interest to join with us. You are at +present, evidently, in very needy circumstances, and are lost, +not only to yourself, but to the world; but should you enlist +with us, I could find you an occupation not only agreeable, but +one in which your talents would have free scope. I would +introduce you in the various grand houses here in England, to +which I have myself admission, as a surprising young gentleman of +infinite learning, who by dint of study has discovered that the +Roman is the only true faith. I tell you confidently that +our popish females would make a saint, nay, a God of you; they +are fools enough for anything. There is one person in +particular with whom I would wish to make you acquainted, in the +hope that you would be able to help me to perform good service to +the holy see. He is a gouty old fellow, of some learning, +residing in an old hall, near the great western seaport, and is +one of the very few amongst the English Catholics possessing a +grain of sense. I think you could help us to govern him, +for he is not unfrequently disposed to be restive, asks us +strange questions—occasionally threatens us with his +crutch; and behaves so that we are often afraid that we shall +lose him, or, rather, his property, which he has bequeathed to +us, and which is enormous. I am sure that you could help us +to deal with him; sometimes with your humour, sometimes with your +learning, and perhaps occasionally with your fists.”</p> +<p>“And in what manner would you provide for my +companion?” said I.</p> +<p>“We would place her at once,” said the man in +black, “in the house of two highly respectable Catholic +ladies in this neighbourhood, where she would be treated with +every care and consideration till her conversion should be +accomplished in a regular manner; we would then remove her to a +female monastic establishment, where, after undergoing a +year’s probation, during which time she would be instructed +in every elegant accomplishment, she should take the veil. +Her advancement would speedily follow, for, with such a face and +figure, she would make a capital lady abbess, especially in +Italy, to which country she would probably be sent; ladies of her +hair and complexion—to say nothing of her +height—being a curiosity in the south. With a little +care and management she could soon obtain a vast reputation for +sanctity; and who knows but after her death she might become a +glorified saint—he! he! Sister Maria Theresa, for +that is the name I propose you should bear. Holy Mother +Maria Theresa—glorified and celestial saint, I have the +honour of drinking to your health,” and the man in black +drank.</p> +<p>“Well, Belle,” said I, “what have you to say +to the gentleman’s proposal?”</p> +<p>“That if he goes on in this way I will break his glass +against his mouth.”</p> +<p>“You have heard the lady’s answer,” said +I.</p> +<p>“I have,” said the man in black, “and shall +not press the matter. I can’t help, however, +repeating that she would make a capital lady abbess; she would +keep the nuns in order, I warrant her; no easy matter! +Break the glass against my mouth—he! he! How she +would send the holy utensils flying at the nuns’ heads +occasionally, and just the person to wring the nose of Satan, +should he venture to appear one night in her cell in the shape of +a handsome black man. No offence, madam, no offence, pray +retain your seat,” said he, observing that Belle had +started up; “I mean no offence. Well, if you will not +consent to be an abbess, perhaps you will consent to follow this +young Zingaro, and to co-operate with him and us. I am a +priest, madam, and can join you both in an instant, <i>connubio +stabili</i>, as I suppose the knot has not been tied +already.”</p> +<p>“Hold your mumping gibberish,” said Belle, +“and leave the dingle this moment, for though ’tis +free to every one, you have no right to insult me in +it.”</p> +<p>“Pray be pacified,” said I to Belle, getting up, +and placing myself between her and the man in black, “he +will presently leave, take my word for it—there, sit down +again,” said I, as I led her to her seat; then, resuming my +own, I said to the man in black: “I advise you to leave the +dingle as soon as possible.”</p> +<p>“I should wish to have your answer to my proposal +first,” said he.</p> +<p>“Well, then, here you shall have it: I will not +entertain your proposal; I detest your schemes: they are both +wicked and foolish.”</p> +<p>“Wicked,” said the man in black, “have they +not—he! he!—the furtherance of religion in +view?”</p> +<p>“A religion,” said I, “in which you yourself +do not believe, and which you contemn.”</p> +<p>“Whether I believe in it or not,” said the man in +black, “it is adapted for the generality of the human race; +so I will forward it, and advise you to do the same. It was +nearly extirpated in these regions, but it is springing up again, +owing to circumstances. Radicalism is a good friend to us; +all the liberals laud up our system out of hatred to the +Established Church, though our system is ten times less liberal +than the Church of England. Some of them have really come +over to us. I myself confess a baronet who presided over +the first radical meeting ever held in England—he was an +atheist when he came over to us, in the hope of mortifying his +own church—but he is now—ho! ho!—a real +Catholic devotee—quite afraid of my threats; I make him +frequently scourge himself before me. Well, Radicalism does +us good service, especially amongst the lower classes, for +Radicalism chiefly flourishes amongst them; for though a baronet +or two may be found amongst the radicals, and perhaps as many +lords—fellows who have been discarded by their own order +for clownishness, or something they have done—it +incontestably flourishes best among the lower orders. Then +the love of what is foreign is a great friend to us; this love is +chiefly confined to the middle and upper classes. Some +admire the French, and imitate them; others must needs be +Spaniards, dress themselves up in a zamarra, stick a cigar in +their mouth, and say, ‘Carajo.’ Others would +pass for Germans; he! he! the idea of any one wishing to pass for +a German! but what has done us more service than anything else in +these regions—I mean amidst the middle classes—has +been the novel, the Scotch novel. The good folks, since +they have read the novels, have become Jacobites; and, because +all the Jacobs were Papists, the good folks must become Papists +also, or, at least, papistically inclined. The very Scotch +Presbyterians, since they have read the novels, are become all +but Papists; I speak advisedly, having lately been amongst +them. There’s a trumpery bit of a half papist sect, +called the Scotch Episcopalian Church, which lay dormant and +nearly forgotten for upwards of a hundred years, which has of +late got wonderfully into fashion in Scotland, because, forsooth, +some of the long-haired gentry of the novels were said to belong +to it, such as Montrose and Dundee; and to this the Presbyterians +are going over in throngs, traducing and vilifying their own +forefathers, or denying them altogether, and calling themselves +descendants of—ho! ho! ho!—Scottish +Cavaliers!!! I have heard them myself repeating snatches of +Jacobite ditties about ‘Bonnie Dundee,’ +and—</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘Come, fill up my cup, and fill up my +can,<br /> +And saddle my horse, and call up my man.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There’s stuff for you! Not that I object to the +first part of the ditty. It is natural enough that a +Scotchman should cry, ‘Come, fill up my cup!’ more +especially if he’s drinking at another person’s +expense—all Scotchmen being fond of liquor at free cost: +but ‘Saddle his horse!!!’—for what purpose, I +would ask? Where is the use of saddling a horse, unless you +can ride him? and where was there ever a Scotchman who could +ride?”</p> +<p>“Of course you have not a drop of Scotch blood in your +veins,” said I, “otherwise you would never have +uttered that last sentence.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be too sure of that,” said the man in +black; “you know little of Popery if you imagine that it +cannot extinguish love of country, even in a Scotchman. A +thorough-going Papist—and who more thorough-going than +myself?—cares nothing for his country; and why should he? +he belongs to a system, and not to a country.”</p> +<p>“One thing,” said I, “connected with you, I +cannot understand; you call yourself a thorough-going Papist, yet +are continually saying the most pungent things against Popery, +and turning to unbounded ridicule those who show any inclination +to embrace it.”</p> +<p>“Rome is a very sensible old body,” said the man +in black, “and little cares what her children say, provided +they do her bidding. She knows several things, and amongst +others, that no servants work so hard and faithfully as those who +curse their masters at every stroke they do. She was not +fool enough to be angry with the Miquelets of Alba, who renounced +her, and called her ‘puta’ all the time they were +cutting the throats of the Netherlanders. Now, if she +allowed her faithful soldiers the latitude of renouncing her, and +calling her ‘puta’ in the market-place, think not she +is so unreasonable as to object to her faithful priests +occasionally calling her ‘puta’ in the +dingle.”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “suppose some one were to +tell the world some of the disorderly things which her priests +say in the dingle?”</p> +<p>“He would have the fate of Cassandra,” said the +man in black; “no one would believe him—yes, the +priests would: but they would make no sign of belief. They +believe in the Alcoran des Cordeliers—that is, those who +have read it; but they make no sign.”</p> +<p>“A pretty system,” said I, “which +extinguishes love of country and of everything noble, and brings +the minds of its ministers to a parity with those of devils, who +delight in nothing but mischief.”</p> +<p>“The system,” said the man in black, “is a +grand one, with unbounded vitality. Compare it with your +Protestantism, and you will see the difference. Popery is +ever at work, whilst Protestantism is supine. A pretty +church, indeed, the Protestant! Why, it can’t even +work a miracle.”</p> +<p>“Can your church work miracles?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“That was the very question,” said the man in +black, “which the ancient British clergy asked of Austin +Monk, after they had been fools enough to acknowledge their own +inability. ‘We don’t pretend to work miracles; +do you?’ ‘Oh! dear me, yes,’ said Austin; +‘we find no difficulty in the matter. We can raise +the dead, we can make the blind see; and to convince you, I will +give sight to the blind. Here is this blind Saxon, whom you +cannot cure, but on whose eyes I will manifest my power, in order +to show the difference between the true and the false +church;’ and forthwith, with the assistance of a +handkerchief and a little hot water, he opened the eyes of the +barbarian. So we manage matters! A pretty church, +that old British church, which could not work +miracles—quite as helpless as the modern one. The +fools! was birdlime so scarce a thing amongst them?—and +were the properties of warm water so unknown to them, that they +could not close a pair of eyes and open them?”</p> +<p>“It’s a pity,” said I, “that the +British clergy at that interview with Austin, did not bring +forward a blind Welshman, and ask the monk to operate upon +him.”</p> +<p>“Clearly,” said the man in black; +“that’s what they ought to have done; but they were +fools without a single resource.” Here he took a sip +at his glass.</p> +<p>“But they did not believe in the miracle?” said +I.</p> +<p>“And what did their not believing avail them?” +said the man in black. “Austin remained master of the +field, and they went away holding their heads down, and muttering +to themselves. What a fine subject for a painting would be +Austin’s opening the eyes of the Saxon barbarian, and the +discomfiture of the British clergy! I wonder it has not +been painted!—he! he!”</p> +<p>“I suppose your church still performs miracles +occasionally!” said I.</p> +<p>“It does,” said the man in black. “The +Rev. --- has lately been performing miracles in Ireland, +destroying devils that had got possession of people; he has been +eminently successful. In two instances he not only +destroyed the devils, but the lives of the people +possessed—he! he! Oh! there is so much energy in our +system; we are always at work, whilst Protestantism is +supine.”</p> +<p>“You must not imagine,” said I, “that all +Protestants are supine; some of them appear to be filled with +unbounded zeal. They deal, it is true, not in lying +miracles, but they propagate God’s Word. I remember +only a few months ago, having occasion for a Bible, going to an +establishment, the object of which was to send Bibles all over +the world. The supporters of that establishment could have +no self-interested views; for I was supplied by them with a +noble-sized Bible at a price so small as to preclude the idea +that it could bring any profit to the vendors.”</p> +<p>The countenance of the man in black slightly fell. +“I know the people to whom you allude,” said he; +“indeed, unknown to them, I have frequently been to see +them, and observed their ways. I tell you frankly that +there is not a set of people in this kingdom who have caused our +church so much trouble and uneasiness. I should rather say +that they alone cause us any; for as for the rest, what with +their drowsiness, their plethora, their folly and their vanity, +they are doing us anything but mischief. These fellows are +a pestilent set of heretics, whom we would gladly see burnt; they +are, with the most untiring perseverance, and in spite of divers +minatory declarations of the holy father, scattering their books +abroad through all Europe, and have caused many people in +Catholic countries to think that hitherto their priesthood have +endeavoured, as much as possible, to keep them blinded. +There is one fellow amongst them for whom we entertain a +particular aversion; a big, burly parson, with the face of a +lion, the voice of a buffalo, and a fist like a +sledge-hammer. The last time I was there, I observed that +his eye was upon me, and I did not like the glance he gave me at +all; I observed him clench his fist, and I took my departure as +fast as I conveniently could. Whether he suspected who I +was, I know not; but I did not like his look at all, and do not +intend to go again.”</p> +<p>“Well, then,” said I, “you confess that you +have redoubtable enemies to your plans in these regions, and that +even amongst the ecclesiastics there are some widely different +from those of the plethoric and Platitude schools?”</p> +<p>“It is but too true,” said the man in black; +“and if the rest of your church were like them we should +quickly bid adieu to all hope of converting these regions, but we +are thankful to be able to say that such folks are not numerous; +there are, moreover, causes at work quite sufficient to undermine +even their zeal. Their sons return at the vacations, from +Oxford and Cambridge, puppies, full of the nonsense which they +have imbibed from Platitude professors; and this nonsense they +retail at home, where it fails not to make some impression, +whilst the daughters scream—I beg their +pardons—warble about Scotland’s Montrose, and Bonny +Dundee, and all the Jacobs; so we have no doubt that their +papas’ zeal about the propagation of such a vulgar book as +the Bible will in a very little time be terribly +diminished. Old Rome will win, so you had better join +her.”</p> +<p>And the man in black drained the last drop in his glass.</p> +<p>“Never,” said I, “will I become the slave of +Rome.”</p> +<p>“She will allow you latitude,” said the man in +black; “do but serve her, and she will allow you to call +her ‘puta’ at a decent time and place, her popes +occasionally call her ‘puta.’ A pope has been +known to start from his bed at midnight and rush out into the +corridor, and call out ‘puta’ three times in a voice +which pierced the Vatican; that pope was—”</p> +<p>“Alexander the Sixth, I dare say,” said I; +“the greatest monster that ever existed, though the +worthiest head which the pope system ever had—so his +conscience was not always still. I thought it had been +seared with a brand of iron.”</p> +<p>“I did not allude to him, but to a much more modern +pope,” said the man in black; “it is true he brought +the word, which is Spanish, from Spain, his native country, to +Rome. He was very fond of calling the church by that name, +and other popes have taken it up. She will allow you to +call her by it, if you belong to her.”</p> +<p>“I shall call her so,” said I, “without +belonging to her, or asking her permission.”</p> +<p>“She will allow you to treat her as such, if you belong +to her,” said the man in black; “there is a chapel in +Rome, where there is a wondrously fair statue—the son of a +cardinal—I mean his nephew—once—Well, she did +not cut off his head, but slightly boxed his cheek and bade him +go.”</p> +<p>“I have read all about that in ‘Keysler’s +Travels,’” said I; “do you tell her that I +would not touch her with a pair of tongs, unless to seize her +nose.”</p> +<p>“She is fond of lucre,” said the man in black; +“but does not grudge a faithful priest a little private +perquisite,” and he took out a very handsome gold +repeater.</p> +<p>“Are you not afraid,” said I, “to flash that +watch before the eyes of a poor tinker in a dingle?”</p> +<p>“Not before the eyes of one like you,” said the +man in black.</p> +<p>“It is getting late,” said I; “I care not +for perquisites.”</p> +<p>“So you will not join us?” said the man in +black.</p> +<p>“You have had my answer,” said I.</p> +<p>“If I belong to Rome,” said the man in black, +“why should not you?”</p> +<p>“I may be a poor tinker,” said I; “but I may +never have undergone what you have. You remember, perhaps, +the fable of the fox who had lost his tail?”</p> +<p>The man in black winced, but almost immediately recovering +himself, he said, “Well, we can do without you, we are sure +of winning.”</p> +<p>“It is not the part of wise people,” said I, +“to make sure of the battle before it is fought: +there’s the landlord of the public-house, who made sure +that his cocks would win, yet the cocks lost the main, and the +landlord is little better than a bankrupt.”</p> +<p>“People very different from the landlord,” said +the man in black, “both in intellect and station, think we +shall surely win; there are clever machinators among us who have +no doubt of our success.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “I will set the landlord +aside, and will adduce one who was in every point a very +different person from the landlord, both in understanding and +station; he was very fond of laying schemes, and, indeed, many of +them turned out successful. His last and darling one, +however, miscarried, notwithstanding that by his calculations he +had persuaded himself that there was no possibility of its +failing—the person that I allude to was old +Fraser—”</p> +<p>“Who?” said the man in black, giving a start, and +letting his glass fall.</p> +<p>“Old Fraser, of Lovat,” said I, “the prince +of all conspirators and machinators; he made sure of placing the +Pretender on the throne of these realms. ‘I can bring +into the field so many men,’ said he; ‘my son-in-law +Cluny, so many, and likewise my cousin, and my good +friend;’ then speaking of those on whom the government +reckoned for support, he would say, ‘So and so are +lukewarm, this person is ruled by his wife, who is with us, the +clergy are anything but hostile to us, and as for the soldiers +and sailors, half are disaffected to King George, and the rest +cowards.’ Yet when things came to a trial, this +person whom he had calculated upon to join the Pretender did not +stir from his home, another joined the hostile ranks, the +presumed cowards turned out heroes, and those whom he thought +heroes ran away like lusty fellows at Culloden; in a word, he +found himself utterly mistaken, and in nothing more than in +himself; he thought he was a hero, and proved himself nothing +more than an old fox; he got up a hollow tree, didn’t he, +just like a fox?</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘L’opere sue non furon leonine, +ma di volpe.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The man in black sat silent for a considerable time, and at +length answered in rather a faltering voice, “I was not +prepared for this; you have frequently surprised me by your +knowledge of things which I should never have expected any person +of your appearance to be acquainted with, but that you should be +aware of my name is a circumstance utterly incomprehensible to +me. I had imagined that no person in England was acquainted +with it; indeed, I don’t see how any person should be, I +have revealed it to no one, not being particularly proud of +it. Yes, I acknowledge that my name is Fraser, and that I +am of the blood of that family or clan, of which the rector of +our college once said, that he was firmly of opinion that every +individual member was either rogue or fool. I was born at +Madrid, of pure, <i>oimè</i>, Fraser blood. My +parents, at an early age, took me to ---, where they shortly +died, not, however, before they had placed me in the service of a +cardinal, with whom I continued for some years, and who, when he +had no further occasion for me, sent me to the college, in the +left-hand cloister of which, as you enter, rest the bones of Sir +John ---; there, in studying logic and humane letters, I lost +whatever of humanity I had retained when discarded by the +cardinal. Let me not, however, forget two points,—I +am a Fraser, it is true, but not a Flannagan; I may bear the +vilest name of Britain, but not of Ireland; I was bred up at the +English house, and there is at—a house for the education of +bogtrotters; I was not bred up at that; beneath the lowest gulf, +there is one yet lower; whatever my blood may be, it is at least +not Irish; whatever my education may have been, I was not bred at +the Irish seminary—on those accounts I am +thankful—yes, <i>per dio</i>! I am thankful. +After some years at college—but why should I tell you my +history? you know it already perfectly well, probably much better +than myself. I am now a missionary priest, labouring in +heretic England, like Parsons and Garnet of old, save and except +that, unlike them, I run no danger, for the times are +changed. As I told you before, I shall cleave to +Rome—I must; <i>no hay remedio</i>, as they say at Madrid, +and I will do my best to further her holy plans—he! +he!—but I confess I begin to doubt of their being +successful here—you put me out; old Fraser, of Lovat! +I have heard my father talk of him; he had a gold-headed cane, +with which he once knocked my grandfather down—he was an +astute one, but, as you say, mistaken, particularly in +himself. I have read his life by Arbuthnot, it is in the +library of our college. Farewell! I shall come no +more to this dingle—to come would be of no utility; I shall +go and labour elsewhere, though—how you came to know my +name, is a fact quite inexplicable—farewell! to you +both.”</p> +<p>He then arose; and without further salutation departed from +the dingle, in which I never saw him again. “How, in +the name of wonder, came you to know that man’s +name?” said Belle, after he had been gone some time.</p> +<p>“I, Belle? I knew nothing of the fellow’s +name, I assure you.”</p> +<p>“But you mentioned his name.”</p> +<p>“If I did, it was merely casually, by way of +illustration. I was saying how frequently cunning people +were mistaken in their calculations, and I adduced the case of +old Fraser, of Lovat, as one in point; I brought forward his +name, because I was well acquainted with his history, from having +compiled and inserted it in a wonderful work, which I edited some +months ago, entitled ‘Newgate Lives and Trials,’ but +without the slightest idea that it was the name of him who was +sitting with us; he, however, thought that I was aware of his +name. Belle! Belle! for a long time I doubted the truth of +Scripture, owing to certain conceited individuals, but now I +begin to believe firmly; what wonderful texts are in Scripture, +Belle; ‘The wicked trembleth +where—where—’”</p> +<p>“‘They were afraid where no fear was; thou hast +put them to confusion, because God hath despised +them,’” said Belle; “I have frequently read it +before the clergyman in the great house of Long Melford. +But if you did not know the man’s name, why let him go away +supposing that you did?”</p> +<p>“Oh, if he was fool enough to make such a mistake, I was +not going to undeceive him—no, no! Let the enemies of +old England make the most of all their blunders and mistakes, +they will have no help from me; but enough of the fellow, Belle; +let us now have tea, and after that—”</p> +<p>“No Armenian,” said Belle; “but I want to +ask a question: pray are all people of that man’s name +either rogues or fools?”</p> +<p>“It is impossible for me to say, Belle, this person +being the only one of the name I have ever personally +known. I suppose there are good and bad, clever and +foolish, amongst them, as amongst all large bodies of people; +however, after the tribe had been governed for upwards of thirty +years, by such a person as old Fraser, it were no wonder if the +greater part had become either rogues or fools: he was a ruthless +tyrant, Belle, over his own people, and by his cruelty and +rapaciousness must either have stunned them into an apathy +approaching to idiotcy, or made them artful knaves in their own +defence. The qualities of parents are generally transmitted +to their descendants—the progeny of trained pointers are +almost sure to point, even without being taught: if, therefore, +all Frasers are either rogues or fools, as this person seems to +insinuate, it is little to be wondered at, their parents or +grandparents having been in the training-school of old +Fraser! But enough of the old tyrant and his slaves. +Belle, prepare tea this moment, or dread my anger. I have +not a gold-headed cane like old Fraser of Lovat, but I have, what +some people would dread much more, an Armenian +rune-stick.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<p>Fresh Arrivals—Pitching the Tent—Certificated +Wife—High-flying Notions.</p> +<p>On the following morning, as I was about to leave my tent, I +heard the voice of Belle at the door, exclaiming, “Sleepest +thou, or wakest thou?” “I was never more awake +in my life,” said I, going out. “What is the +matter?” “He of the horse-shoe,” said +she, “Jasper, of whom I have heard you talk, is above there +on the field with all his people; I went out about a quarter of +an hour ago to fill the kettle at the spring, and saw them +arriving.” “It is well,” said I; +“have you any objection to asking him and his wife to +breakfast?” “You can do as you please,” +said she; “I have cups enough, and have no objection to +their company.” “We are the first occupiers of +the ground,” said I, “and, being so, should consider +ourselves in the light of hosts, and do our best to practise the +duties of hospitality.” “How fond you are of +using that word,” said Belle; “if you wish to invite +the man and his wife, do so, without more ado; remember, however, +that I have not cups enough, nor indeed tea enough, for the whole +company.” Thereupon hurrying up the ascent, I +presently found myself outside the dingle. It was as usual +a brilliant morning, the dewy blades of the rye-grass which +covered the plain sparkled brightly in the beams of the sun, +which had probably been about two hours above the horizon. +A rather numerous body of my ancient friends and allies occupied +the ground in the vicinity of the mouth of the dingle. +About five yards on the right I perceived Mr. Petulengro busily +employed in erecting his tent; he held in his hand an iron bar, +sharp at the bottom, with a kind of arm projecting from the top +for the purpose of supporting a kettle or cauldron over the fire, +and which is called in the Romanian language “Kekauviskoe +saster.” With the sharp end of this Mr. Petulengro +was making holes in the earth, at about twenty inches distant +from each other, into which he inserted certain long rods with a +considerable bend towards the top, which constituted no less than +the timber of the tent, and the supporters of the canvas. +Mrs. Petulengro, and a female with a crutch in her hand, whom I +recognised as Mrs. Chikno, sat near him on the ground, whilst two +or three children, from six to ten years old, who composed the +young family of Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro, were playing about.</p> +<p>“Here we are, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, as he +drove the sharp end of the bar into the ground; “here we +are, and plenty of us—Bute dosta Romany chals.”</p> +<p>“I am glad to see you all,” said I; “and +particularly you, madam,” said I, making a bow to Mrs. +Petulengro; “and you also, madam,” taking off my hat +to Mrs. Chikno.</p> +<p>“Good-day to you, sir,” said Mrs. Petulengro; +“you look, as usual, charmingly, and speak so, too; you +have not forgot your manners.”</p> +<p>“It is not all gold that glitters,” said Mrs. +Chikno. “However, good-morrow to you, young +rye.”</p> +<p>“I do not see Tawno,” said I, looking around; +“where is he?”</p> +<p>“Where, indeed!” said Mrs. Chikno; “I +don’t know; he who countenances him in the roving line can +best answer.”</p> +<p>“He will be here anon,” said Mr. Petulengro; +“he has merely ridden down a by-road to show a farmer a +two-year-old colt; she heard me give him directions, but she +can’t be satisfied.”</p> +<p>“I can’t indeed,” said Mrs. Chikno.</p> +<p>“And why not, sister?”</p> +<p>“Because I place no confidence in your words, brother; +as I said before, you countenances him.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “I know nothing of your +private concerns; I am come on an errand. Isopel Berners, +down in the dell there, requests the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. +Petulengro’s company at breakfast. She will be happy +also to see you, madam,” said I, addressing Mrs. +Chikno.</p> +<p>“Is that young female your wife, young man?” said +Mrs. Chikno.</p> +<p>“My wife?” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes, young man; your wife, your lawful certificated +wife?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I; “she is not my +wife.”</p> +<p>“Then I will not visit with her,” said Mrs. +Chikno; “I countenance nothing in the roving +line.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by the roving line?” I +demanded.</p> +<p>“What do I mean by the roving line? Why, by it I +mean such conduct as is not tatcheno. When ryes and rawnies +live together in dingles, without being certificated, I call such +behaviour being tolerably deep in the roving line, everything +savouring of which I am determined not to sanctify. I have +suffered too much by my own certificated husband’s +outbreaks in that line to afford anything of the kind the +slightest shadow of countenance.”</p> +<p>“It is hard that people may not live in dingles together +without being suspected of doing wrong,” said I.</p> +<p>“So it is,” said Mrs. Petulengro, interposing; +“and, to tell you the truth, I am altogether surprised at +the illiberality of my sister’s remarks. I have often +heard say, that it is in good company—and I have kept good +company in my time—that suspicion is king’s evidence +of a narrow and uncultivated mind; on which account I am +suspicious of nobody, not even of my own husband, whom some +people would think I have a right to be suspicious of, seeing +that on his account I once refused a lord; but ask him whether I +am suspicious of him, and whether I seek to keep him close tied +to my apron-string; he will tell you nothing of the kind; but +that, on the contrary, I always allows him an agreeable latitude, +permitting him to go where he pleases, and to converse with any +one to whose manner of speaking he may take a fancy. But I +have had the advantage of keeping good company, and +therefore—”</p> +<p>“Meklis,” said Mrs. Chikno, “pray drop all +that, sister; I believe I have kept as good company as yourself; +and with respect to that offer with which you frequently fatigue +those who keeps company with you, I believe, after all, it was +something in the roving and uncertificated line.”</p> +<p>“In whatever line it was,” said Mrs. Petulengro, +“the offer was a good one. The young duke—for +he was not only a lord, but a duke too—offered to keep me a +fine carriage, and to make me his second wife; for it is true +that he had another who was old and stout, though mighty rich, +and highly good-natured; so much so, indeed, that the young lord +assured me that she would have no manner of objection to the +arrangement; more especially if I would consent to live in the +same house with her, being fond of young and cheerful +society. So you see—”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Chikno, “I see, what I +before thought, that it was altogether in the uncertificated +line.”</p> +<p>“Meklis,” said Mrs. Petulengro; “I use your +own word, madam, which is Romany: for my own part, I am not fond +of using Romany words, unless I can hope to pass them off for +French, which I cannot in the present company. I heartily +wish that there was no such language, and do my best to keep it +away from my children, lest the frequent use of it should +altogether confirm them in low and vulgar habits. I have +four children, madam, but—”</p> +<p>“I suppose by talking of your four children you wish to +check me for having none,” said Mrs. Chikno, bursting into +tears; “if I have no children, sister, it is no fault of +mine, it is—but why do I call you sister?” said she, +angrily; “you are no sister of mine, you are a grasni, a +regular mare—a pretty sister, indeed, ashamed of your own +language. I remember well that by your high-flying notions +you drove your own mother—”</p> +<p>“We will drop it,” said Mrs. Petulengro; “I +do not wish to raise my voice, and to make myself +ridiculous. Young gentleman,” said she, “pray +present my compliments to Miss Isopel Berners, and inform her +that I am very sorry that I cannot accept her polite +invitation. I am just arrived, and have some slight +domestic matters to see to—amongst others, to wash my +children’s faces; but that in the course of the forenoon, +when I have attended to what I have to do, and have dressed +myself, I hope to do myself the honour of paying her a regular +visit; you will tell her that, with my compliments. With +respect to my husband he can answer for himself, as I, not being +of a jealous disposition, never interferes with his +matters.”</p> +<p>“And tell Miss Berners,” said Mr. Petulengro, +“that I shall be happy to wait upon her in company with my +wife as soon as we are regularly settled: at present I have much +on my hands, having not only to pitch my own tent, but this here +jealous woman’s, whose husband is absent on my +business.”</p> +<p>Thereupon I returned to the dingle, and, without saying +anything about Mrs. Chikno’s observations, communicated to +Isopel the messages of Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro; Isopel made no +other reply than by replacing in her coffer two additional cups +and saucers, which, in expectation of company, she had placed +upon the board. The kettle was by this time boiling. +We sat down, and, as we breakfasted, I gave Isopel Berners +another lesson in the Armenian language.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p>The Promised Visit—Roman Fashion—Wizard and +Witch—Catching at Words—The Two +Females—Dressing of Hair—The New +Roads—Belle’s Altered Appearance—Herself +Again.</p> +<p>About mid-day Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro came to the dingle to +pay the promised visit. Belle, at the time of their +arrival, was in her tent, but I was at the fire-place, engaged in +hammering part of the outer-tire, or defence, which had come off +from one of the wheels of my vehicle. On perceiving them I +forthwith went to receive them. Mr. Petulengro was dressed +in Roman fashion, with a somewhat smartly-cut sporting-coat, the +buttons of which were half-crowns—and a waistcoat, scarlet +and black, the buttons of which were spaded half-guineas; his +breeches were of a stuff half velveteen, half corduroy, the cords +exceedingly broad. He had leggings of buff cloth, furred at +the bottom; and upon his feet were highlows. Under his left +arm was a long black whalebone riding-whip, with a red lash, and +an immense silver knob. Upon his head was a hat with a high +peak, somewhat of the kind which the Spaniards call +<i>calané</i>, so much in favour with the bravos of +Seville and Madrid. Now, when I have added that Mr. +Petulengro had on a very fine white holland shirt, I think I have +described his array. Mrs. Petulengro—I beg pardon for +not having spoken of her first—was also arrayed very much +in the Roman fashion. Her hair, which was exceedingly black +and lustrous, fell in braids on either side of her head. In +her ears were rings, with long drops of gold. Round her +neck was a string of what seemed very much like very large +pearls, somewhat tarnished, however, and apparently of +considerable antiquity. “Here we are, brother,” +said Mr. Petulengro; “here we are, come to see +you—wizard and witch, witch and wizard:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘There’s a chovahanee, and a +chovahano,<br /> +The nav se len is Petulengro.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Mrs. Petulengro; +“you make me ashamed of you with your vulgar ditties. +We are come a visiting now, and everything low should be left +behind.”</p> +<p>“True,” said Mr. Petulengro; “why bring +what’s low to the dingle, which is low enough +already?”</p> +<p>“What, are you a catcher at words?” said I. +“I thought that catching at words had been confined to the +pothouse farmers and village witty bodies.”</p> +<p>“All fools,” said Mrs. Petulengro, “catch at +words, and very naturally, as by so doing they hope to prevent +the possibility of rational conversation. Catching at words +confined to pothouse farmers, and village witty bodies! No, +not to Jasper Petulengro. Listen for an hour or two to the +discourse of a set they call newspaper editors, and if you +don’t go out and eat grass, as a dog does when he is sick, +I am no female woman. The young lord whose hand I refused +when I took up with wise Jasper, once brought two of them to my +mother’s tan, when hankering after my company; they did +nothing but carp at each other’s words, and a pretty hand +they made of it. Ill-favoured dogs they were; and their +attempts at what they called wit almost as unfortunate as their +countenances.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “madam, we will drop all +catchings and carpings for the present. Pray take your seat +on this stool, whilst I go and announce to Miss Isopel Berners +your arrival.”</p> +<p>Thereupon I went to Belle’s habitation, and informed her +that Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro had paid us a visit of ceremony, and +were awaiting her at the fire-place. “Pray go and +tell them that I am busy,” said Belle, who was engaged with +her needle. “I do not feel disposed to take part in +any such nonsense.” “I shall do no such +thing,” said I; “and I insist upon your coming +forthwith, and showing proper courtesy to your visitors. If +you do not, their feelings will be hurt, and you are aware that I +cannot bear that people’s feelings should be +outraged. Come this moment, or—” +“Or what?” said Belle, half smiling. “I +was about to say something in Armenian,” said I. +“Well,” said Belle, laying down her work, “I +will come.” “Stay,” said I; “your +hair is hanging about your ears, and your dress is in disorder; +you had better stay a minute or two to prepare yourself to appear +before your visitors, who have come in their very best +attire.” “No,” said Belle, “I will +make no alteration in my appearance; you told me to come this +moment, and you shall be obeyed.” So Belle and I +advanced towards our guests. As we drew nigh Mr. Petulengro +took off his hat, and made a profound obeisance to Belle, whilst +Mrs. Petulengro rose from the stool, and made a profound +curtsey. Belle, who had flung her hair back over her +shoulders, returned their salutations by bending her head, and +after slightly glancing at Mr. Petulengro, fixed her large blue +eyes full upon his wife. Both these females were very +handsome—but how unlike! Belle fair, with blue eyes +and flaxen hair; Mrs. Petulengro with olive complexion, eyes +black, and hair dark—as dark as could be. Belle, in +demeanour calm and proud; the gypsy graceful, but full of +movement and agitation. And then how different were those +two in stature! The head of the Romany rawnie scarcely +ascended to the breast of Isopel Berners. I could see that +Mrs. Petulengro gazed on Belle with unmixed admiration; so did +her husband. “Well,” said the latter, +“one thing I will say, which is, that there is only one on +earth worthy to stand up in front of this she, and that is the +beauty of the world, as far as man flesh is concerned, Tawno +Chikno; what a pity he did not come down!”</p> +<p>“Tawno Chikno,” said Mrs. Petulengro, flaring up; +“a pretty fellow he to stand up in front of this +gentlewoman, a pity he didn’t come, quotha? not at all, the +fellow is a sneak, afraid of his wife. He stand up against +this rawnie! why, the look she has given me would knock the +fellow down.”</p> +<p>“It is easier to knock him down with a look than with a +fist,” said Mr. Petulengro; “that is, if the look +comes from a woman: not that I am disposed to doubt that this +female gentlewoman is able to knock him down either one way or +the other. I have heard of her often enough, and have seen +her once or twice, though not so near as now. Well, +ma’am, my wife and I are come to pay our respects to you; +we are both glad to find that you have left off keeping company +with Flaming Bosville, and have taken up with my pal; he is not +very handsome, but a better—”</p> +<p>“I take up with your pal, as you call him! you had +better mind what you say,” said Isopel Berners, “I +take up with nobody.”</p> +<p>“I merely mean taking up your quarters with him,” +said Mr. Petulengro; “and I was only about to say a better +fellow-lodger you cannot have, or a more instructive, especially +if you have a desire to be inoculated with tongues, as he calls +them. I wonder whether you and he have had any tongue-work +already.”</p> +<p>“Have you and your wife anything particular to say? if +you have nothing but this kind of conversation I must leave you, +as I am going to make a journey this afternoon, and should be +getting ready.”</p> +<p>“You must excuse my husband, madam,” said Mrs. +Petulengro, “he is not overburdened with understanding, and +has said but one word of sense since he has been here, which was +that we came to pay our respects to you. We have dressed +ourselves in our best Roman way, in order to do honour to you; +perhaps you do not like it; if so, I am sorry. I have no +French clothes, madam; if I had any, madam, I would have come in +them, in order to do you more honour.”</p> +<p>“I like to see you much better as you are,” said +Belle; “people should keep to their own fashions, and yours +is very pretty.”</p> +<p>“I am glad you are pleased to think it so, madam; it has +been admired in the great city; it created what they call a +sensation; and some of the great ladies, the court ladies, +imitated it, else I should not appear in it so often as I am +accustomed; for I am not very fond of what is Roman, having an +imagination that what is Roman is ungenteel; in fact, I once +heard the wife of a rich citizen say that gypsies were vulgar +creatures. I should have taken her saying very much to +heart, but for her improper pronunciation; she could not +pronounce her words, madam, which we gypsies, as they call us, +usually can, so I thought she was no very high purchase. +You are very beautiful, madam, though you are not dressed as I +could wish to see you, and your hair is hanging down in sad +confusion; allow me to assist you in arranging your hair, madam; +I will dress it for you in our fashion; I would fain see how your +hair would look in our poor gypsy fashion; pray allow me, +madam?” and she took Belle by the hand.</p> +<p>“I really can do no such thing,” said Belle, +withdrawing her hand; “I thank you for coming to see me, +but—”</p> +<p>“Do allow me to officiate upon your hair, madam,” +said Mrs. Petulengro. “I should esteem your allowing +me a great mark of condescension. You are very beautiful, +madam, and I think you doubly so, because you are so fair; I have +a great esteem for persons with fair complexions and hair; I have +a less regard for people with dark hair and complexions, +madam.”</p> +<p>“Then why did you turn off the lord, and take up with +me?” said Mr. Petulengro; “that same lord was fair +enough all about him.”</p> +<p>“People do when they are young and silly what they +sometimes repent of when they are of riper years and +understandings. I sometimes think that had I not been +something of a simpleton, I might at this time be a great court +lady. Now, madam,” said she, again taking Belle by +the hand, “do oblige me by allowing me to plait your hair a +little?”</p> +<p>“I have really a good mind to be angry with you,” +said Belle, giving Mrs. Petulengro a peculiar glance.</p> +<p>“Do allow her to arrange your hair,” said I; +“she means no harm, and wishes to do you honour; do oblige +her and me too, for I should like to see how your hair would look +dressed in her fashion.”</p> +<p>“You hear what the young rye says?” said Mrs. +Petulengro. “I am sure you will oblige the young rye, +if not myself. Many people would be willing to oblige the +young rye, if he would but ask them; but he is not in the habit +of asking favours. He has a nose of his own, which he keeps +tolerably exalted; he does not think small-beer of himself, +madam; and all the time I have been with him, I never heard him +ask a favour before; therefore, madam, I am sure you will oblige +him. My sister Ursula would be very willing to oblige him +in many things, but he will not ask for anything, except for such +a favour as a word, which is a poor favour after all. I +don’t mean for her word; perhaps he will some day ask you +for your word. If so—”</p> +<p>“Why, here you are, after railing at me for catching at +words, catching at a word yourself,” said Mr. +Petulengro.</p> +<p>“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Mrs. +Petulengro. “Don’t interrupt me in my +discourse; if I caught at a word now, I am not in the habit of +doing so. I am no conceited body; no newspaper Neddy; no +pothouse witty person. I was about to say, madam, that if +the young rye asks you at any time for your word, you will do as +you deem convenient; but I am sure you will oblige him by +allowing me to braid your hair.”</p> +<p>“I shall not do it to oblige him,” said Belle; +“the young rye, as you call him, is nothing to +me.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, to oblige me,” said Mrs. Petulengro; +“do allow me to become your poor tire-woman.”</p> +<p>“It is great nonsense,” said Belle, reddening; +“however, as you came to see me, and ask the matter as a +particular favour to yourself—”</p> +<p>“Thank you, madam,” said Mrs. Petulengro, leading +Belle to the stool; “please to sit down here. Thank +you; your hair is very beautiful, madam,” she continued, as +she proceeded to braid Belle’s hair; “so is your +countenance. Should you ever go to the great city, among +the grand folks, you would make a sensation, madam. I have +made one myself, who am dark; the chi she is kauley, which last +word signifies black, which I am not, though rather dark. +There is no colour like white, madam; it’s so lasting, so +genteel. Gentility will carry the day, madam, even with the +young rye. He will ask words of the black lass, but beg the +word of the fair.”</p> +<p>In the meantime Mr. Petulengro and myself entered into +conversation. “Any news stirring, Mr. +Petulengro?” said I. “Have you heard anything +of the great religious movements?”</p> +<p>“Plenty,” said Mr. Petulengro; “all the +religious people, more especially the Evangelicals—those +that go about distributing tracts—are very angry about the +fight between Gentleman Cooper and White-headed Bob, which they +say ought not to have been permitted to take place; and then they +are trying all they can to prevent the fight between the lion and +the dogs, which they say is a disgrace to a Christian +country. Now I can’t say that I have any quarrel with +the religious party and the Evangelicals; they are always civil +to me and mine, and frequently give us tracts, as they call them, +which neither I nor mine can read; but I cannot say that I +approve of any movements, religious or not, which have in aim to +put down all life and manly sport in this here +country.”</p> +<p>“Anything else?” said I.</p> +<p>“People are becoming vastly sharp,” said Mr. +Petulengro; “and I am told that all the old-fashioned +good-tempered constables are going to be set aside, and a paid +body of men to be established, who are not to permit a tramper or +vagabond on the roads of England;—and talking of roads, +puts me in mind of a strange story I heard two nights ago, whilst +drinking some beer at a public-house in company with my cousin +Sylvester. I had asked Tawno to go, but his wife would not +let him. Just opposite me, smoking their pipes, were a +couple of men, something like engineers, and they were talking of +a wonderful invention which was to make a wonderful alteration in +England; inasmuch as it would set aside all the old roads, which +in a little time would be ploughed up, and sowed with corn, and +cause all England to be laid down with iron roads, on which +people would go thundering along in vehicles, pushed forward by +fire and smoke. Now, brother, when I heard this, I did not +feel very comfortable; for I thought to myself, what a queer +place such a road would be to pitch one’s tent upon, and +how impossible it would be for one’s cattle to find a bite +of grass upon it; and I thought likewise of the danger to which +one’s family would be exposed in being run over and +severely scorched by these same flying fiery vehicles; so I made +bold to say, that I hoped such an invention would never be +countenanced, because it was likely to do a great deal of +harm. Whereupon, one of the men, giving me a glance, said, +without taking the pipe out of his mouth, that for his part, he +sincerely hoped that it would take effect; and if it did no other +good than stopping the rambles of gypsies, and other like scamps, +it ought to be encouraged. Well, brother, feeling myself +insulted, I put my hand into my pocket, in order to pull out +money, intending to challenge him to fight for a five-shilling +stake, but merely found sixpence, having left all my other money +at the tent; which sixpence was just sufficient to pay for the +beer which Sylvester and myself were drinking, of whom I +couldn’t hope to borrow anything—‘poor as +Sylvester’ being a by-word amongst us. So, not being +able to back myself, I held my peace, and let the Gorgio have it +all his own way, who, after turning up his nose at me, went on +discoursing about the said invention, saying what a fund of +profit it would be to those who knew how to make use of it, and +should have the laying down of the new roads, and the shoeing of +England with iron. And after he had said this, and much +more of the same kind, which I cannot remember, he and his +companion got up and walked away; and presently I and Sylvester +got up and walked to our camp; and there I lay down in my tent by +the side of my wife, where I had an ugly dream of having camped +upon an iron road; my tent being overturned by a flying vehicle; +my wife’s leg injured; and all my affairs put into great +confusion.”</p> +<p>“Now, madam,” said Mrs. Petulengro, “I have +braided your hair in our fashion: you look very beautiful, madam; +more beautiful, if possible, than before.” Belle now +rose, and came forward with her tire-woman. Mr. Petulengro +was loud in his applause, but I said nothing, for I did not think +Belle was improved in appearance by having submitted to the +ministry of Mrs. Petulengro’s hand. Nature never +intended Belle to appear as a gypsy; she had made her too proud +and serious. A more proper part for her was that of a +heroine, a queenly heroine,—that of Theresa of Hungary, for +example; or, better still, that of Brynhilda the Valkyrie, the +beloved of Sigurd, the serpent-killer, who incurred the curse of +Odin, because, in the tumult of spears, she sided with the young +king, and doomed the old warrior to die, to whom Odin had +promised victory.</p> +<p>Belle looked at me for a moment in silence; then turning to +Mrs. Petulengro, she said, “You have had your will with me; +are you satisfied?” “Quite so, madam,” +said Mrs. Petulengro, “and I hope you will be so too, as +soon as you have looked in the glass.” “I have +looked in one already,” said Belle; “and the glass +does not flatter.” “You mean the face of the +young rye,” said Mrs. Petulengro; “never mind him, +madam; the young rye, though he knows a thing or two, is not a +university, nor a person of universal wisdom. I assure you, +that you never looked so well before; and I hope that, from this +moment, you will wear your hair in this way.” +“And who is to braid it in this way?” said Belle, +smiling. “I, madam,” said Mrs. Petulengro; +“I will braid it for you every morning, if you will but be +persuaded to join us. Do so, madam, and I think, if you +did, the young rye would do so too.” “The young +rye is nothing to me, nor I to him,” said Belle; “we +have stayed some time together; but our paths will soon be +apart. Now, farewell, for I am about to take a +journey.” “And you will go out with your hair +as I have braided it,” said Mrs. Petulengro; “if you +do, everybody will be in love with you.” +“No,” said Belle; “hitherto I have allowed you +to do what you please, but henceforth I shall have my own +way. Come, come,” said she, observing that the gypsy +was about to speak, “we have had enough of nonsense; +whenever I leave this hollow, it will be wearing my hair in my +own fashion.” “Come, wife,” said Mr. +Petulengro; “we will no longer intrude upon the rye and +rawnie; there is such a thing as being troublesome.” +Thereupon Mr. Petulengro and his wife took their leave, with many +salutations. “Then you are going?” said I, when +Belle and I were left alone. “Yes,” said Belle; +“I am going on a journey; my affairs compel +me.” “But you will return again?” said +I. “Yes,” said Belle, “I shall return +once more.” “Once more,” said I; +“what do you mean by once more? The Petulengros will +soon be gone, and will you abandon me in this place?” +“You were alone here,” said Belle, “before I +came, and I suppose, found it agreeable, or you would not have +stayed in it.” “Yes,” said I, “that +was before I knew you; but having lived with you here, I should +be very loth to live here without you.” +“Indeed,” said Belle; “I did not know that I +was of so much consequence to you. Well, the day is wearing +away—I must go and harness Traveller to the +cart.” “I will do that,” said I, +“or anything else you may wish me. Go and prepare +yourself; I will see after Traveller and the cart.” +Belle departed to her tent, and I set about performing the task I +had undertaken. In about half-an-hour Belle again made her +appearance—she was dressed neatly and plainly. Her +hair was no longer in the Roman fashion, in which Pakomovna had +plaited it, but was secured by a comb; she held a bonnet in her +hand. “Is there anything else I can do for +you?” I demanded. “There are two or three +bundles by my tent, which you can put into the cart,” said +Belle. I put the bundles into the cart, and then led +Traveller and the cart up the winding path to the mouth of the +dingle, near which was Mr. Petulengro’s encampment. +Belle followed. At the top, I delivered the reins into her +hands; we looked at each other stedfastly for some time. +Belle then departed, and I returned to the dingle, where, seating +myself on my stone, I remained for upwards of an hour in +thought.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<p>The Festival—The Gypsy Song—Piramus of +Rome—The Scotchman—Gypsy Names.</p> +<p>On the following day there was much feasting amongst the +Romany chals of Mr. Petulengro’s party. Throughout +the forenoon the Romany chies did scarcely anything but cook +flesh, and the flesh which they cooked was swine’s +flesh. About two o’clock, the chals dividing +themselves into various parties, sat down and partook of the +fare, which was partly roasted, partly sodden. I dined that +day with Mr. Petulengro and his wife and family, Ursula, Mr. and +Mrs. Chikno, and Sylvester and his two children. Sylvester, +it will be as well to say, was a widower, and had consequently no +one to cook his victuals for him, supposing he had any, which was +not always the case, Sylvester’s affairs being seldom in a +prosperous state. He was noted for his bad success in +trafficking, notwithstanding the many hints which he received +from Jasper, under whose protection he had placed himself, even +as Tawno Chikno had done, who himself, as the reader has heard on +a former occasion, was anything but a wealthy subject, though he +was at all times better off than Sylvester, the Lazarus of the +Romany tribe.</p> +<p>All our party ate with a good appetite, except myself, who, +feeling rather melancholy that day, had little desire to +eat. I did not, like the others, partake of the pork, but +got my dinner entirely off the body of a squirrel which had been +shot the day before by a chal of the name of Piramus, who, +besides being a good shot, was celebrated for his skill in +playing on the fiddle. During the dinner a horn filled with +ale passed frequently around; I drank of it more than once, and +felt inspirited by the draughts. The repast concluded, +Sylvester and his children departed to their tent, and Mr. +Petulengro, Tawno, and myself, getting up, went and lay down +under a shady hedge, where Mr. Petulengro, lighting his pipe, +began to smoke, and where Tawno presently fell asleep. I +was about to fall asleep also, when I heard the sound of music +and song. Piramus was playing on the fiddle, whilst Mrs. +Chikno, who had a voice of her own, was singing in tones sharp +enough, but of great power, a gypsy song:—</p> +<h3>POISONING THE PORKER<br /> +BY MRS. CHIKNO</h3> +<blockquote><p>To mande shoon ye Romany chals<br /> +Who besh in the pus about the yag,<br /> +I’ll pen how we drab the baulo,<br /> +I’ll pen how we drab the baulo.</p> +<p>We jaws to the drab-engro ker,<br /> +Trin horsworth there of drab we lels,<br /> +And when to the swety back we wels<br /> +We pens we’ll drab the baulo,<br /> +We’ll have a drab at a baulo.</p> +<p>And then we kairs the drab opré,<br /> +And then we jaws to the farming ker,<br /> +To mang a beti habben,<br /> +A beti poggado habben.</p> +<p>A rinkeno baulo there we dick,<br /> +And then we pens in Romano jib;<br /> +Wust lis odoi opré ye chick,<br /> +And the baulo he will lel lis,<br /> +The baulo he will lel lis.</p> +<p>Coliko, coliko saulo we<br /> +Apopli to the farming ker<br /> +Will wel and mang him mullo,<br /> +Will wel and mang his truppo.</p> +<p>And so we kairs, and so we kairs;<br /> +The baulo in the rarde mers;<br /> +We mang him on the saulo,<br /> +And rig to the tan the baulo.</p> +<p>And then we toves the wendror well<br /> +Till sore the wendror iuziou se,<br /> +Till kekkeno drab’s adrey lis,<br /> +Till drab there’s kek adrey lis.</p> +<p>And then his truppo well we hatch,<br /> +Kin levinor at the kitchema,<br /> +And have a kosko habben,<br /> +A kosko Romano habben.</p> +<p>The boshom engro kils, he kils,<br /> +The tawnie juva gils, she gils<br /> +A puro Romano gillie,<br /> +Now shoon the Romano gillie.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Which song I had translated in the following manner, in my +younger days, for a lady’s album:</p> +<blockquote><p>Listen to me ye Roman lads, who are seated in the +straw about the fire, and I will tell how we poison the porker, I +will tell how we poison the porker.</p> +<p>We go to the house of the poison-monger, where we buy three +pennies’ worth of bane, and when we return to our people we +say, we will poison the porker; we will try and poison the +porker.</p> +<p>We then make up the poison, and then we take our way to the +house of the farmer, as if to beg a bit of victuals, a little +broken victuals.</p> +<p>We see a jolly porker, and then we say in Roman language, +“Fling the bane yonder amongst the dirt, and the porker +soon will find it, the porker soon will find it.”</p> +<p>Early on the morrow, we will return to the farm-house, and beg +the dead porker, the body of the dead porker.</p> +<p>And so we do, even so we do; the porker dieth during the +night; on the morrow we beg the porker, and carry to the tent the +porker.</p> +<p>And then we wash the inside well, till all the inside is +perfectly clean, till there’s no bane within it, not a +poison grain within it.</p> +<p>And then we roast the body well, send for ale to the alehouse, +and have a merry banquet, a merry Roman banquet.</p> +<p>The fellow with the fiddle plays, he plays; the little lassie +sings, she sings an ancient Roman ditty; now hear the Roman +ditty.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>SONG OF THE BROKEN CHASTITY<br /> +BY URSULA</h3> +<blockquote><p>Penn’d the Romany chi ké laki dye<br +/> +“Miry dearie dye mi shom cambri!”<br /> +“And coin kerdo tute cambri,<br /> +Miry dearie chi, miry Romany chi?”<br /> +“O miry dye a boro rye,<br /> +A bovalo rye, a gorgiko rye,<br /> +Sos kistur pré a pellengo grye,<br /> +’Twas yov sos kerdo man cambri.”<br /> +“Tu tawnie vassavie lubbeny,<br /> +Tu chal from miry tan abri;<br /> +Had a Romany chal kair’d tute cambri,<br /> +Then I had penn’d ke tute chie,<br /> +But tu shan a vassavie lubbeny<br /> +With gorgikie rat to be cambri.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“There’s some kernel in those songs, +brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, when the songs and music +were over.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I; “they are certainly very +remarkable songs. I say, Jasper, I hope you have not been +drabbing baulor lately.”</p> +<p>“And suppose we have, brother, what then?”</p> +<p>“Why, it is a very dangerous practice, to say nothing of +the wickedness of it.”</p> +<p>“Necessity has no law, brother.”</p> +<p>“That is true,” said I; “I have always said +so, but you are not necessitous, and should not drab +baulor.”</p> +<p>“And who told you we had been drabbing +baulor?”</p> +<p>“Why, you have had a banquet of pork, and after the +banquet, Mrs. Chikno sang a song about drabbing baulor, so I +naturally thought you might have lately been engaged in such a +thing.”</p> +<p>“Brother, you occasionally utter a word or two of common +sense. It was natural for you to suppose, after seeing that +dinner of pork, and hearing that song, that we had been drabbing +baulor; I will now tell you that we have not been doing so. +What have you to say to that?”</p> +<p>“That I am very glad of it.”</p> +<p>“Had you tasted that pork, brother, you would have found +that it was sweet and tasty, which balluva that is drabbed can +hardly be expected to be. We have no reason to drab baulor +at present, we have money and credit; but necessity has no +law. Our forefathers occasionally drabbed baulor; some of +our people may still do such a thing, but only from +compulsion.”</p> +<p>“I see,” said I; “and at your merry meetings +you sing songs upon the compulsatory deeds of your people, alias, +their villainous actions; and, after all, what would the stirring +poetry of any nation be, but for its compulsatory deeds? +Look at the poetry of Scotland, the heroic part, founded almost +entirely on the villainous deeds of the Scotch nation; +cow-stealing, for example, which is very little better than +drabbing baulor; whilst the softer part is mostly about the slips +of its females among the broom, so that no upholder of Scotch +poetry could censure Ursula’s song as indelicate, even if +he understood it. What do you think, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“I think, brother, as I before said, that occasionally +you utter a word of common sense; you were talking of the Scotch, +brother; what do you think of a Scotchman finding fault with +Romany!”</p> +<p>“A Scotchman finding fault with Romany, Jasper! Oh +dear, but you joke, the thing could never be.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and at Piramus’s fiddle; what do you think +of a Scotchman turning up his nose at Piramus’s +fiddle?”</p> +<p>“A Scotchman turning up his nose at Piramus’s +fiddle! nonsense, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Do you know what I most dislike, brother?”</p> +<p>“I do not, unless it be the constable, +Jasper.”</p> +<p>“It is not the constable; it’s a beggar on +horseback, brother.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by a beggar on horseback?”</p> +<p>“Why, a scamp, brother, raised above his proper place, +who takes every opportunity of giving himself fine airs. +About a week ago, my people and myself camped on a green by a +plantation in the neighbourhood of a great house. In the +evening we were making merry, the girls were dancing, while +Piramus was playing on the fiddle a tune of his own composing, to +which he has given his own name, Piramus of Rome, and which is +much celebrated amongst our people, and from which I have been +told that one of the grand gorgio composers, who once heard it, +has taken several hints. So, as we were making merry, a +great many grand people, lords and ladies, I believe, came from +the great house, and looked on, as the girls danced to the tune +of Piramus of Rome, and seemed much pleased; and when the girls +had left off dancing, and Piramus playing, the ladies wanted to +have their fortunes told; so I bade Mikailia Chikno, who can tell +a fortune when she pleases better than any one else, tell them a +fortune, and she, being in a good mind, told them a fortune which +pleased them very much. So, after they had heard their +fortunes, one of them asked if any of our women could sing; and I +told them several could, more particularly Leviathan—you +know Leviathan, she is not here now, but some miles distant, she +is our best singer, Ursula coming next. So the lady said +she should like to hear Leviathan sing, whereupon Leviathan sang +the Gudlo pesham, and Piramus played the tune of the same name, +which as you know, means the honeycomb, the song and the tune +being well entitled to the name, being wonderfully sweet. +Well, everybody present seemed mighty well pleased with the song +and music, with the exception of one person, a carroty-haired +Scotch body; how he came there I don’t know, but there he +was; and, coming forward, he began in Scotch as broad as a +barn-door to find fault with the music and the song, saying, that +he had never heard viler stuff than either. Well, brother, +out of consideration for the civil gentry with whom the fellow +had come, I held my peace for a long time, and in order to get +the subject changed, I said to Mikailia in Romany, You have told +the ladies their fortunes, now tell the gentlemen theirs, quick, +quick,—pen lende dukkerin. Well, brother, the +Scotchman, I suppose, thinking I was speaking ill of him, fell +into a greater passion than before, and catching hold of the word +dukkerin—‘Dukkerin,’ said he, +‘what’s dukkerin?’ +‘Dukkerin,’ said I, ‘is fortune, a man or +woman’s destiny; don’t you like the +word?’ ‘Word! d’ye ca’ that a word? +a bonnie word,’ said he. ‘Perhaps, you’ll +tell us what it is in Scotch,’ said I, ‘in order that +we may improve our language by a Scotch word; a pal of mine has +told me that we have taken a great many words from foreign +lingos.’ ‘Why, then, if that be the case, +fellow, I will tell you; it is e’en +“spaeing,”’ said he, very seriously. +‘Well, then,’ said I, ‘I’ll keep my own +word, which is much the prettiest—spaeing! spaeing! why, I +should be ashamed to make use of the word, it sounds so much like +a certain other word;’ and then I made a face as if I were +unwell. ‘Perhaps it’s Scotch also for +that?’ ‘What do ye mean by speaking in that +guise to a gentleman?’ said he; ‘you insolent +vagabond, without a name or a country.’ ‘There +you are mistaken,’ said I; ‘my country is Egypt, but +we ’Gyptians, like you Scotch, are rather fond of +travelling; and as for name—my name is Jasper Petulengro, +perhaps you have a better; what is it?’ ‘Sandy +Macraw.’ At that, brother, the gentlemen burst into a +roar of laughter, and all the ladies tittered.”</p> +<p>“You were rather severe on the Scotchman, +Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Not at all, brother, and suppose I were, he began +first; I am the civilest man in the world, and never interfere +with anybody, who lets me and mine alone. He finds fault +with Romany, forsooth! why, L-d A’mighty, what’s +Scotch? He doesn’t like our songs; what are his +own? I understand them as little as he mine; I have heard +one or two of them, and pretty rubbish they seemed. But the +best of the joke is, the fellow’s finding fault with +Piramus’s fiddle—a chap from the land of bagpipes +finding fault with Piramus’s fiddle! Why, I’ll +back that fiddle against all the bagpipes in Scotland, and +Piramus against all the bagpipers; for though Piramus weighs but +ten stone, he shall flog a Scotchman of twenty.”</p> +<p>“Scotchmen are never so fat as that,” said I, +“unless indeed, they have been a long time pensioners of +England. I say, Jasper, what remarkable names your people +have!”</p> +<p>“And what pretty names, brother; there’s my own, +for example, Jasper; then there’s Ambrose and Sylvester; +then there’s Culvato, which signifies Claude; then +there’s Piramus—that’s a nice name, +brother.”</p> +<p>“Then there’s your wife’s name, Pakomovna; +then there’s Ursula and Morella.”</p> +<p>“Then, brother, there’s Ercilla.”</p> +<p>“Ercilla! the name of the great poet of Spain, how +wonderful; then Leviathan.”</p> +<p>“The name of a ship, brother; Leviathan was named after +a ship, so don’t make a wonder out of her. But +there’s Sanpriel and Synfye.”</p> +<p>“Ay, and Clementina and Lavinia, Camillia and Lydia, +Curlanda and Orlanda; wherever did they get those +names?”</p> +<p>“Where did my wife get her necklace, brother?”</p> +<p>“She knows best, Jasper. I hope—”</p> +<p>“Come, no hoping! She got it from her grandmother, +who died at the age of a hundred and three, and sleeps in +Coggeshall churchyard. She got it from her mother, who also +died very old, and who could give no other account of it than +that it had been in the family time out of mind.”</p> +<p>“Whence could they have got it?”</p> +<p>“Why, perhaps where they got their names, brother. +A gentleman, who had travelled much, once told me that he had +seen the sister of it about the neck of an Indian +queen.”</p> +<p>“Some of your names, Jasper, appear to be church names; +your own, for example, and Ambrose, and Sylvester; perhaps you +got them from the Papists, in the times of Popery; but where did +you get such a name as Piramus, a name of Grecian romance? +Then some of them appear to be Slavonian; for example, Mikailia +and Pakomovna. I don’t know much of Slavonian; +but—”</p> +<p>“What is Slavonian, brother?”</p> +<p>“The family name of certain nations, the principal of +which is the Russian, and from which the word slave is originally +derived. You have heard of the Russians, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“Yes, brother; and seen some. I saw their crallis +at the time of the peace; he was not a bad-looking man for a +Russian.”</p> +<p>“By the bye, Jasper, I’m half inclined to think +that crallis is a Slavish word. I saw something like it in +a lil called ‘Voltaire’s Life of +Charles.’ How you should have come by such names and +words is to me incomprehensible.”</p> +<p>“You seem posed, brother.”</p> +<p>“I really know very little about you, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Very little indeed, brother. We know very little +about ourselves; and you know nothing, save what we have told +you; and we have now and then told you things about us which are +not exactly true, simply to make a fool of you, brother. +You will say that was wrong; perhaps it was. Well, Sunday +will be here in a day or two, when we will go to church, where +possibly we shall hear a sermon on the disastrous consequences of +lying.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<p>The Church—The Aristocratical Pew—Days of +Yore—The Clergyman—“In What Would a Man be +Profited?”</p> +<p>When two days had passed, Sunday came; I breakfasted by myself +in the solitary dingle; and then, having set things a little to +rights, I ascended to Mr. Petulengro’s encampment. I +could hear church-bells ringing around in the distance, appearing +to say, “Come to church, come to church,” as clearly +as it was possible for church-bells to say. I found Mr. +Petulengro seated by the door of his tent, smoking his pipe, in +rather an ungenteel undress. “Well, Jasper,” +said I, “are you ready to go to church? for if you are, I +am ready to accompany you.” “I am not ready, +brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, “nor is my wife; the +church, too, to which we shall go is three miles off; so it is of +no use to think of going there this morning, as the service would +be three-quarters over before we got there; if, however, you are +disposed to go in the afternoon, we are your people.” +Thereupon I returned to my dingle, where I passed several hours +in conning the Welsh Bible, which the preacher, Peter Williams, +had given me.</p> +<p>At last I gave over reading, took a slight refreshment, and +was about to emerge from the dingle, when I heard the voice of +Mr. Petulengro calling me. I went up again to the +encampment, where I found Mr. Petulengro, his wife, and Tawno +Chikno, ready to proceed to church. Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro +were dressed in Roman fashion, though not in the full-blown +manner in which they had paid their visit to Isopel and +myself. Tawno had on a clean white slop, with a nearly new +black beaver, with very broad rims, and the nap exceedingly +long. As for myself, I was dressed in much the same manner +as that in which I departed from London, having on, in honour of +the day, a shirt perfectly clean, having washed one on purpose +for the occasion, with my own hands, the day before, in the pond +of tepid water in which the newts and defts were in the habit of +taking their pleasure. We proceeded for upwards of a mile, +by footpaths through meadows and corn-fields; we crossed various +stiles; at last, passing over one, we found ourselves in a road, +wending along which for a considerable distance, we at last came +in sight of a church, the bells of which had been tolling +distinctly in our ears for some time; before, however, we reached +the church-yard, the bells had ceased their melody. It was +surrounded by lofty beech-trees of brilliant green foliage. +We entered the gate, Mrs. Petulengro leading the way, and +proceeded to a small door near the east end of the church. +As we advanced, the sound of singing within the church rose upon +our ears. Arrived at the small door, Mrs. Petulengro opened +it and entered, followed by Tawno Chikno. I myself went +last of all, following Mr. Petulengro, who, before I entered, +turned round, and, with a significant nod, advised me to take +care how I behaved. The part of the church which we had +entered was the chancel; on one side stood a number of venerable +old men—probably the neighbouring poor—and on the +other a number of poor girls belonging to the village school, +dressed in white gowns and straw bonnets, whom two elegant but +simply dressed young women were superintending. Every voice +seemed to be united in singing a certain anthem, which, +notwithstanding it was written neither by Tate nor Brady, +contains some of the sublimest words which were ever put +together, not the worst of which are those which burst on our +ears as we entered:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Every eye shall now behold Him,<br /> + Robed in dreadful majesty;<br /> +Those who set at nought and sold Him,<br /> + Pierced and nailed Him to the tree,<br /> + Deeply wailing,<br /> + Shall the true Messiah see.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Still following Mrs. Petulengro, we proceeded down the chancel +and along the aisle; notwithstanding the singing, I could +distinctly hear as we passed many a voice whispering, “Here +come the gypsies! here come the gypsies!” I felt +rather embarrassed, with a somewhat awkward doubt as to where we +were to sit; none of the occupiers of the pews, who appeared to +consist almost entirely of farmers, with their wives, sons, and +daughters, opened a door to admit us. Mrs. Petulengro, +however, appeared to feel not the least embarrassment, but +tripped along the aisle with the greatest nonchalance. We +passed under the pulpit, in which stood the clergyman in his +white surplice, and reached the middle of the church, where we +were confronted by the sexton dressed in long blue coat, and +holding in his hand a wand. This functionary motioned +towards the lower end of the church, where were certain benches, +partly occupied by poor people and boys. Mrs. Petulengro, +however, with a toss of her head, directed her course to a +magnificent pew, which was unoccupied, which she opened and +entered, followed closely by Tawno Chikno, Mr. Petulengro, and +myself. The sexton did not appear by any means to approve +of the arrangement, and as I stood next the door, laid his finger +on my arm, as if to intimate that myself and companions must quit +our aristocratical location. I said nothing, but directed +my eyes to the clergyman, who uttered a short and expressive +cough; the sexton looked at him for a moment, and then, bowing +his head, closed the door—in a moment more the music +ceased. I took up a prayer-book, on which was engraved an +earl’s coronet. The clergyman uttered, “I will +arise, and go to my father.” England’s sublime +liturgy had commenced.</p> +<p>Oh, what feelings came over me on finding myself again in an +edifice devoted to the religion of my country! I had not +been in such a place I cannot tell for how long—certainly +not for years; and now I had found my way there again, it +appeared as if I had fallen asleep in the pew of the old church +of pretty D---. I had occasionally done so when a child, +and had suddenly woke up. Yes, surely I had been asleep and +had woke up; but no! alas, no! I had not been +asleep—at least not in the old church—if I had been +asleep I had been walking in my sleep, struggling, striving, +learning, and unlearning in my sleep. Years had rolled away +whilst I had been asleep—ripe fruit had fallen, green fruit +had come on whilst I had been asleep—how circumstances had +altered, and above all myself, whilst I had been asleep. +No, I had not been asleep in the old church! I was in a +pew, it is true, but not the pew of black leather, in which I +sometimes fell asleep in days of yore, but in a strange pew; and +then my companions, they were no longer those of days of +yore. I was no longer with my respectable father and +mother, and my dear brother, but with the gypsy cral and his +wife, and the gigantic Tawno, the Antinous of the dusky +people. And what was I myself? No longer an innocent +child, but a moody man, bearing in my face, as I knew well, the +marks of my strivings and strugglings, of what I had learnt and +unlearnt; nevertheless, the general aspect of things brought to +my mind what I had felt and seen of yore. There was +difference enough, it is true, but still there was a +similarity—at least I thought so—the church, the +clergyman, and the clerk, differing in many respects from those +of pretty D---, put me strangely in mind of them; and then the +words!—by the bye, was it not the magic of the words which +brought the dear enchanting past so powerfully before the mind of +Lavengro? for the words were the same sonorous words of high +import which had first made an impression on his childish ear in +the old church of pretty D---.</p> +<p>The liturgy was now over, during the reading of which my +companions behaved in a most unexceptionable manner, sitting down +and rising up when other people sat down and rose, and holding in +their hands prayer-books which they found in the pew, into which +they stared intently, though I observed that, with the exception +of Mrs. Petulengro, who knew how to read a little, they held the +books by the top, and not the bottom, as is the usual way. +The clergyman now ascended the pulpit, arrayed in his black +gown. The congregation composed themselves to attention, as +did also my companions, who fixed their eyes upon the clergyman +with a certain strange immovable stare, which I believe to be +peculiar to their race. The clergyman gave out his text, +and began to preach. He was a tall, gentlemanly man, +seemingly between fifty and sixty, with greyish hair; his +features were very handsome, but with a somewhat melancholy cast: +the tones of his voice were rich and noble, but also with +somewhat of melancholy in them. The text which he gave out +was the following one, “In what would a man be profited, +provided he gained the whole world, and lost his own +soul?”</p> +<p>And on this text the clergyman preached long and well: he did +not read his sermon, but spoke it extempore; his doing so rather +surprised and offended me at first; I was not used to such a +style of preaching in a church devoted to the religion of my +country. I compared it within my mind with the style of +preaching used by the high-church rector in the old church of +pretty D---, and I thought to myself it was very different, and +being very different I did not like it, and I thought to myself +how scandalized the people of D--- would have been had they heard +it, and I figured to myself how indignant the high-church clerk +would have been had any clergyman got up in the church of D--- +and preached in such a manner. Did it not savour strongly +of dissent, methodism, and similar low stuff? Surely it +did; why, the Methodist I had heard preach on the heath above the +old city, preached in the same manner—at least he preached +extempore; ay, and something like the present clergyman; for the +Methodist spoke very zealously and with great feeling, and so did +the present clergyman; so I, of course, felt rather offended with +the clergyman for speaking with zeal and feeling. However, +long before the sermon was over I forgot the offence which I had +taken, and listened to the sermon with much admiration, for the +eloquence and powerful reasoning with which it abounded.</p> +<p>Oh, how eloquent he was, when he talked of the inestimable +value of a man’s soul, which he said endured for ever, +whilst his body, as every one knew, lasted at most for a very +contemptible period of time; and how forcibly he reasoned on the +folly of a man, who, for the sake of gaining the whole +world—a thing, he said, which provided he gained he could +only possess for a part of the time, during which his perishable +body existed—should lose his soul, that is, cause that +precious deathless portion of him to suffer indescribable misery +time without end.</p> +<p>There was one part of his sermon which struck me in a very +particular manner: he said, “That there were some people +who gained something in return for their souls; if they did not +get the whole world, they got a part of it—lands, wealth, +honour, or renown; mere trifles, he allowed, in comparison with +the value of a man’s soul, which is destined either to +enjoy delight, or suffer tribulation time without end; but which, +in the eyes of the worldly, had a certain value, and which +afforded a certain pleasure and satisfaction. But there +were also others who lost their souls, and got nothing for +them—neither lands, wealth, renown, nor consideration, who +were poor outcasts, and despised by everybody. My +friends,” he added, “if the man is a fool who barters +his soul for the whole world, what a fool he must be who barters +his soul for nothing.”</p> +<p>The eyes of the clergyman, as he uttered these words, wandered +around the whole congregation; and when he had concluded them, +the eyes of the whole congregation were turned upon my companions +and myself.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<p>Return from Church—The Cuckoo and Gypsy—Spiritual +Discourse.</p> +<p>The service over, my companions and myself returned towards +the encampment, by the way we came. Some of the humble part +of the congregation laughed and joked at us as we passed. +Mr. Petulengro and his wife, however, returned their laughs and +jokes with interest. As for Tawno and myself, we said +nothing: Tawno, like most handsome fellows, having very little to +say for himself at any time; and myself, though not handsome, not +being particularly skilful at repartee. Some boys followed +us for a considerable time, making all kinds of observations +about gypsies; but as we walked at a great pace, we gradually +left them behind, and at last lost sight of them. Mrs. +Petulengro and Tawno Chikno walked together, even as they had +come; whilst Mr. Petulengro and myself followed at a little +distance.</p> +<p>“That was a very fine preacher we heard,” said I +to Mr. Petulengro, after we had crossed the stile into the +fields.</p> +<p>“Very fine indeed, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro; +“he is talked of, far and wide, for his sermons; folks say +that there is scarcely another like him in the whole of +England.”</p> +<p>“He looks rather melancholy, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“He lost his wife several years ago, who, they say, was +one of the most beautiful women ever seen. They say that it +was grief for her loss that made him come out mighty strong as a +preacher; for, though he was a clergyman, he was never heard of +in the pulpit before he lost his wife; since then, the whole +country has rung with the preaching of the clergyman of M--- as +they call him. Those two nice young gentlewomen, whom you +saw with the female childer, are his daughters.”</p> +<p>“You seem to know all about him, Jasper. Did you +ever hear him preach before?”</p> +<p>“Never, brother; but he has frequently been to our tent, +and his daughters too, and given us tracts; for he is one of the +people they call Evangelicals, who give folks tracts which they +cannot read.”</p> +<p>“You should learn to read, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“We have no time, brother.”</p> +<p>“Are you not frequently idle?”</p> +<p>“Never, brother; when we are not engaged in our traffic, +we are engaged in taking our relaxation: so we have no time to +learn.”</p> +<p>“You really should make an effort. If you were +disposed to learn to read, I would endeavour to assist you. +You would be all the better for knowing how to read.”</p> +<p>“In what way, brother?”</p> +<p>“Why, you could read the Scriptures, and, by so doing, +learn your duty towards your fellow-creatures.”</p> +<p>“We know that already, brother; the constables and +justices have contrived to knock that tolerably into our +heads.”</p> +<p>“Yet you frequently break the laws.”</p> +<p>“So, I believe, do now and then those who know how to +read, brother.”</p> +<p>“Very true, Jasper; but you really ought to learn to +read, as, by so doing, you might learn your duty towards +yourselves: and your chief duty is to take care of your own +souls; did not the preacher say, ‘In what is a man +profited, provided he gain the whole world?’”</p> +<p>“We have not much of the world, brother.”</p> +<p>“Very little indeed, Jasper. Did you not observe +how the eyes of the whole congregation were turned towards our +pew, when the preacher said, ‘There are some people who +lose their souls, and get nothing in exchange; who are outcast, +despised, and miserable?’ Now was not what he said +quite applicable to the gypsies?”</p> +<p>“We are not miserable, brother.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, you ought to be, Jasper. Have you an +inch of ground of your own? Are you of the least use? +Are you not spoken ill of by everybody? What’s a +gypsy?”</p> +<p>“What’s the bird noising yonder, +brother?”</p> +<p>“The bird! oh, that’s the cuckoo tolling; but what +has the cuckoo to do with the matter?”</p> +<p>“We’ll see, brother; what’s the +cuckoo?”</p> +<p>“What is it? you know as much about it as myself, +Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it a kind of roguish, chaffing bird, +brother?”</p> +<p>“I believe it is, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Nobody knows whence it comes, brother?”</p> +<p>“I believe not, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Very poor, brother, not a nest of its own?”</p> +<p>“So they say, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“With every person’s bad word, brother?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Jasper, every person is mocking it.”</p> +<p>“Tolerably merry, brother?”</p> +<p>“Yes, tolerably merry, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Of no use at all, brother?”</p> +<p>“None whatever, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“You would be glad to get rid of the cuckoos, +brother?”</p> +<p>“Why, not exactly, Jasper; the cuckoo is a pleasant, +funny bird, and its presence and voice give a great charm to the +green trees and fields; no, I can’t say I wish exactly to +get rid of the cuckoo.”</p> +<p>“Well, brother, what’s a Romany chal?”</p> +<p>“You must answer that question yourself, +Jasper.”</p> +<p>“A roguish, chaffing fellow, a’n’t he, +brother?”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Of no use at all, brother?”</p> +<p>“Just so, Jasper; I see—”</p> +<p>“Something very much like a cuckoo, brother?”</p> +<p>“I see what you are after, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“You would like to get rid of us, wouldn’t +you?”</p> +<p>“Why no, not exactly.”</p> +<p>“We are no ornament to the green lanes in spring and +summer time, are we, brother? and the voices of our chies, with +their cukkerin and dukkerin, don’t help to make them +pleasant?”</p> +<p>“I see what you are at, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“You would wish to turn the cuckoos into barn-door +fowls, wouldn’t you?”</p> +<p>“Can’t say I should, Jasper, whatever some people +might wish.”</p> +<p>“And the chals and chies into radical weavers and +factory wenches, hey, brother?”</p> +<p>“Can’t say that I should, Jasper. You are +certainly a picturesque people, and in many respects an ornament +both to town and country; painting and lil writing too are under +great obligations to you. What pretty pictures are made out +of your campings and groupings, and what pretty books have been +written in which gypsies, or at least creatures intended to +represent gypsies, have been the principal figures. I think +if we were without you, we should begin to miss you.”</p> +<p>“Just as you would the cuckoos, if they were all +converted into barn-door fowls. I tell you what, brother; +frequently, as I have sat under a hedge in spring or summer time, +and heard the cuckoo, I have thought that we chals and cuckoos +are alike in many respects, but especially in character. +Everybody speaks ill of us both, and everybody is glad to see +both of us again.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Jasper, but there is some difference between men +and cuckoos; men have souls, Jasper!”</p> +<p>“And why not cuckoos, brother?”</p> +<p>“You should not talk so, Jasper; what you say is little +short of blasphemy. How should a bird have a +soul?”</p> +<p>“And how should a man?”</p> +<p>“Oh, we know very well that a man has a soul.”</p> +<p>“How do you know it?”</p> +<p>“We know very well.”</p> +<p>“Would you take your oath of it, brother—your +bodily oath?”</p> +<p>“Why, I think I might, Jasper!”</p> +<p>“Did you ever see the soul, brother?”</p> +<p>“No, I never saw it.”</p> +<p>“Then how could you swear to it? A pretty figure +you would make in a court of justice, to swear to a thing which +you never saw. Hold up your head, fellow. When and +where did you see it? Now upon your oath, fellow, do you +mean to say that this Roman stole the donkey’s foal? +Oh, there’s no one for cross-questioning like Counsellor +P---. Our people when they are in a hobble always like to +employ him, though he is somewhat dear. Now, brother, how +can you get over the ‘upon your oath, fellow, will you say +that you have a soul?’”</p> +<p>“Well, we will take no oaths on the subject; but you +yourself believe in the soul. I have heard you say that you +believe in dukkerin; now what is dukkerin but the soul +science?”</p> +<p>“When did I say that I believed in it?”</p> +<p>“Why, after that fight, when you pointed to the bloody +mark in the cloud, whilst he you wot of was galloping in the +barouche to the old town, amidst the rain-cataracts, the thunder, +and flame of heaven.”</p> +<p>“I have some kind of remembrance of it, +brother.”</p> +<p>“Then, again, I heard you say that the dook of Abershaw +rode every night on horseback down the wooded hill.”</p> +<p>“I say, brother, what a wonderful memory you +have!”</p> +<p>“I wish I had not, Jasper; but I can’t help it, it +is my misfortune.”</p> +<p>“Misfortune! well, perhaps it is; at any rate it is very +ungenteel to have such a memory. I have heard my wife say +that to show you have a long memory looks very vulgar; and that +you can’t give a greater proof of gentility than by +forgetting a thing as soon as possible—more especially a +promise, or an acquaintance when he happens to be shabby. +Well, brother, I don’t deny that I may have said that I +believe in dukkerin, and in Abershaw’s dook, which you say +is his soul; but what I believe one moment, or say I believe, +don’t be certain that I shall believe the next, or say I +do.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, Jasper, I heard you say on a previous occasion, +on quoting a piece of a song, that when a man dies he is cast +into the earth, and there’s an end of him.”</p> +<p>“I did, did I? Lor’ what a memory you have, +brother. But you are not sure that I hold that opinion +now.”</p> +<p>“Certainly not, Jasper. Indeed, after such a +sermon as we have been hearing, I should be very shocked if you +held such an opinion.”</p> +<p>“However, brother, don’t be sure I do not, however +shocking such an opinion may be to you.”</p> +<p>“What an incomprehensible people you are, +Jasper.”</p> +<p>“We are rather so, brother; indeed, we have posed wiser +heads than yours before now.”</p> +<p>“You seem to care for so little, and yet you rove about +a distinct race.”</p> +<p>“I say, brother!”</p> +<p>“Yes, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“What do you think of our women?”</p> +<p>“They have certainly very singular names, +Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Names! Lavengro! However, brother, if you +had been as fond of things as of names, you would never have been +a pal of ours.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“A’n’t they rum animals?”</p> +<p>“They have tongues of their own, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Did you ever feel their teeth and nails, +brother?”</p> +<p>“Never, Jasper, save Mrs. Herne’s. I have +always been very civil to them, so—”</p> +<p>“They let you alone. I say, brother, some part of +the secret is in them.”</p> +<p>“They seem rather flighty, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay, brother!”</p> +<p>“Rather fond of loose discourse!”</p> +<p>“Rather so, brother.”</p> +<p>“Can you always trust them, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“We never watch them, brother.”</p> +<p>“Can they always trust you?”</p> +<p>“Not quite so well as we can them. However, we get +on very well together, except Mikailia and her husband; but +Mikailia is a cripple, and is married to the beauty of the world, +so she may be expected to be jealous—though he would not +part with her for a duchess, no more than I would part with my +rawnie, nor any other chal with his.”</p> +<p>“Ay, but would not the chi part with the chal for a +duke, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“My Pakomovna gave up the duke for me, +brother.”</p> +<p>“But she occasionally talks of him, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Yes, brother, but Pakomovna was born on a common not +far from the sign of the gammon.”</p> +<p>“Gammon of bacon, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“Yes, brother; but gammon likewise +means—”</p> +<p>“I know it does, Jasper; it means fun, ridicule, jest; +it is an ancient Norse word, and is found in the Edda.”</p> +<p>“Lor’, brother! how learned in lils you +are!”</p> +<p>“Many words of Norse are to be found in our vulgar +sayings, Jasper; for example—in that particularly vulgar +saying of ours, ‘Your mother is up,’ there’s a +noble Norse word; mother, there, meaning not the female who bore +us, but rage and choler, as I discovered by reading the Sagas, +Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Lor’, brother! how book-learned you +be.”</p> +<p>“Indifferently so, Jasper. Then you think you +might trust your wife with the duke?”</p> +<p>“I think I could, brother, or even with +yourself.”</p> +<p>“Myself, Jasper! Oh, I never troubled my head +about your wife; but I suppose there have been love affairs +between gorgios and Romany chies. Why, novels are stuffed +with such matters; and then even one of your own songs says +so—the song which Ursula was singing the other +afternoon.”</p> +<p>“That is somewhat of an old song, brother, and is sung +by the chies as a warning at our solemn festivals.”</p> +<p>“Well! but there’s your sister-in-law, Ursula, +herself, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Ursula, herself, brother?”</p> +<p>“You were talking of my having her, Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Well, brother, why didn’t you have +her?”</p> +<p>“Would she have had me?”</p> +<p>“Of course, brother. You are so much of a Roman, +and speak Romany so remarkably well.”</p> +<p>“Poor thing! she looks very innocent!”</p> +<p>“Remarkably so, brother! however, though not born on the +same common with my wife, she knows a thing or two of Roman +matters.”</p> +<p>“I should like to ask her a question or two, Jasper, in +connection with that song.”</p> +<p>“You can do no better, brother. Here we are at the +camp. After tea, take Ursula under a hedge, and ask her a +question or two in connection with that song.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<p>Sunday Evening—Ursula—Action at +Law—Meridiana—Married Already.</p> +<p>I took tea that evening with Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro and +Ursula, outside of their tent. Tawno was not present, being +engaged with his wife in his own tabernacle; Sylvester was there, +however, lolling listlessly upon the ground. As I looked +upon this man, I thought him one of the most disagreeable fellows +I had ever seen. His features were ugly, and, moreover, as +dark as pepper; and, besides being dark, his skin was +dirty. As for his dress, it was torn and sordid. His +chest was broad, and his arms seemed powerful; but, upon the +whole, he looked a very caitiff. “I am sorry that man +has lost his wife,” thought I; “for I am sure he will +never get another.” What surprises me is, that he +ever found a woman disposed to unite her lot with his!</p> +<p>After tea I got up and strolled about the field. My +thoughts were upon Isopel Berners. I wondered where she +was, and how long she would stay away. At length becoming +tired and listless, I determined to return to the dingle, and +resume the reading of the Bible at the place where I had left +off. “What better could I do,” methought, +“on a Sunday evening?” I was then near the wood +which surrounded the dingle, but at that side which was farthest +from the encampment, which stood near the entrance. +Suddenly, on turning round the southern corner of the copse, +which surrounded the dingle, I perceived Ursula seated under a +thornbush. I thought I never saw her look prettier than +then, dressed as she was, in her Sunday’s best.</p> +<p>“Good evening, Ursula,” said I; “I little +thought to have the pleasure of seeing you here.”</p> +<p>“Nor would you, brother,” said Ursula, “had +not Jasper told me that you had been talking about me, and wanted +to speak to me under a hedge; so, hearing that, I watched your +motions, and came here and sat down.”</p> +<p>“I was thinking of going to my quarters in the dingle, +to read the Bible, Ursula, but—”</p> +<p>“Oh, pray then, go to your quarters, brother, and read +the Miduveleskoe lil; you can speak to me under a hedge some +other time.”</p> +<p>“I think I will sit down with you, Ursula; for, after +all, reading godly books in dingles at eve, is rather sombre +work. Yes, I think I will sit down with you;” and I +sat down by her side.</p> +<p>“Well, brother, now you have sat down with me under the +hedge, what have you to say to me?”</p> +<p>“Why, I hardly know, Ursula.”</p> +<p>“Not know, brother; a pretty fellow you to ask young +women to come and sit with you under hedges, and, when they come, +not know what to say to them.”</p> +<p>“Oh! ah! I remember; do you know, Ursula, that I take a +great interest in you?”</p> +<p>“Thank ye, brother; kind of you, at any rate.”</p> +<p>“You must be exposed to a great many temptations, +Ursula.”</p> +<p>“A great many indeed, brother. It is hard to see +fine things, such as shawls, gold watches, and chains in the +shops, behind the big glasses, and to know that they are not +intended for one. Many’s the time I have been tempted +to make a dash at them; but I bethought myself that by so doing I +should cut my hands, besides being almost certain of being +grabbed and sent across the gull’s bath to the foreign +country.”</p> +<p>“Then you think gold and fine things temptations, +Ursula?”</p> +<p>“Of course, brother, very great temptations; don’t +you think them so?”</p> +<p>“Can’t say I do, Ursula.”</p> +<p>“Then more fool you, brother; but have the kindness to +tell me what you would call a temptation?”</p> +<p>“Why, for example, the hope of honour and renown, +Ursula.”</p> +<p>“The hope of honour and renown! very good, brother; but +I tell you one thing, that unless you have money in your pocket, +and good broad-cloth on your back, you are not likely to obtain +much honour and—what do you call it? amongst the gorgios, +to say nothing of the Romany chals.”</p> +<p>“I should have thought, Ursula, that the Romany chals, +roaming about the world as they do, free and independent, were +above being led by such trifles.”</p> +<p>“Then you know nothing of the gypsies, brother; no +people on earth are fonder of those trifles, as you call them, +than the Romany chals, and more disposed to respect those who +have them.”</p> +<p>“Then money and fine clothes would induce you to do +anything, Ursula?”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay, brother, anything.”</p> +<p>“To chore, Ursula?”</p> +<p>“Like enough, brother; gypsies have been transported +before now for choring.”</p> +<p>“To hokkawar?”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay; I was telling dukkerin only yesterday, +brother.”</p> +<p>“In fact, to break the law in everything?”</p> +<p>“Who knows, brother, who knows? as I said before, gold +and fine clothes are great temptations.”</p> +<p>“Well, Ursula, I am sorry for it, I should never have +thought you so depraved.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, brother.”</p> +<p>“To think that I am seated by one who is willing +to—to—”</p> +<p>“Go on, brother.”</p> +<p>“To play the thief.”</p> +<p>“Go on, brother.”</p> +<p>“The liar.”</p> +<p>“Go on, brother.”</p> +<p>“The—the—”</p> +<p>“Go on, brother.”</p> +<p>“The—the lubbeny.”</p> +<p>“The what, brother?” said Ursula, starting from +her seat.</p> +<p>“Why, the lubbeny; don’t you—”</p> +<p>“I tell you what, brother,” said Ursula, looking +somewhat pale, and speaking very low, “if I had only +something in my hand, I would do you a mischief.”</p> +<p>“Why, what is the matter, Ursula?” said I; +“how have I offended you?”</p> +<p>“How have you offended me? Why, didn’t you +insinivate just now that I was ready to play +the—the—”</p> +<p>“Go on, Ursula.”</p> +<p>“The—the—I’ll not say it; but I only +wish I had something in my hand.”</p> +<p>“If I have offended, Ursula, I am very sorry for it; any +offence I may have given you was from want of understanding +you. Come, pray be seated, I have much to question you +about—to talk to you about.”</p> +<p>“Seated, not I! It was only just now that you gave +me to understand that you was ashamed to be seated by me, a +thief, a liar.”</p> +<p>“Well, did you not almost give me to understand that you +were both, Ursula?”</p> +<p>“I don’t much care being called a thief and a +liar,” said Ursula; “a person may be a liar and +thief, and yet a very honest woman, but—”</p> +<p>“Well, Ursula.”</p> +<p>“I tell you what, brother, if you ever sinivate again +that I could be the third thing, so help me duvel! +I’ll do you a mischief. By my God I will!”</p> +<p>“Well, Ursula, I assure you that I shall sinivate, as +you call it, nothing of the kind about you. I have no +doubt, from what you have said, that you are a very paragon of +virtue—a perfect Lucretia; but—”</p> +<p>“My name is Ursula, brother, and not Lucretia: Lucretia +is not of our family, but one of the Bucklands; she travels about +Oxfordshire; yet I am as good as she any day.”</p> +<p>“Lucretia; how odd! Where could she have got that +name? Well, I make no doubt, Ursula, that you are quite as +good as she, and she as her namesake of ancient Rome; but there +is a mystery in this same virtue, Ursula, which I cannot fathom; +how a thief and a liar should be able, or indeed willing, to +preserve her virtue is what I don’t understand. You +confess that you are very fond of gold. Now, how is it that +you don’t barter your virtue for gold sometimes? I am +a philosopher, Ursula, and like to know everything. You +must be every now and then exposed to great temptation, Ursula; +for you are of a beauty calculated to captivate all hearts. +Come, sit down and tell me how you are enabled to resist such a +temptation as gold and fine clothes?”</p> +<p>“Well, brother,” said Ursula, “as you say +you mean no harm, I will sit down beside you, and enter into +discourse with you; but I will uphold that you are the coolest +hand that I ever came nigh, and say the coolest +things.”</p> +<p>And thereupon Ursula sat down by my side.</p> +<p>“Well, Ursula, we will, if you please, discourse on the +subject of your temptations. I suppose that you travel very +much about, and show yourself in all kinds of places?”</p> +<p>“In all kinds, brother; I travels, as you say, very much +about, attends fairs and races, and enters booths and +public-houses, where I tells fortunes, and sometimes dances and +sings.”</p> +<p>“And do not people often address you in a very free +manner?”</p> +<p>“Frequently, brother; and I give them tolerably free +answers.”</p> +<p>“Do people ever offer to make you presents? I mean +presents of value, such as—”</p> +<p>“Silk handkerchiefs, shawls, and trinkets; very +frequently, brother.”</p> +<p>“And what do you do, Ursula?”</p> +<p>“I takes what people offers me, brother, and stows it +away as soon as I can.”</p> +<p>“Well, but don’t people expect something for their +presents? I don’t mean dukkerin, dancing, and the +like; but such a moderate and innocent thing as a choomer, +Ursula?”</p> +<p>“Innocent thing, do you call it, brother?”</p> +<p>“The world calls it so, Ursula. Well, do the +people who give you the fine things never expect a choomer in +return?”</p> +<p>“Very frequently, brother.”</p> +<p>“And do you ever grant it?”</p> +<p>“Never, brother.”</p> +<p>“How do you avoid it?”</p> +<p>“I gets away as soon as possible, brother. If they +follows me, I tries to baffle them, by means of jests and +laughter; and if they persist, I uses bad and terrible language, +of which I have plenty in store.”</p> +<p>“But if your terrible language has no effect?”</p> +<p>“Then I screams for the constable, and if he comes not, +I uses my teeth and nails.”</p> +<p>“And are they always sufficient?”</p> +<p>“I have only had to use them twice, brother; but then I +found them sufficient.”</p> +<p>“But suppose the person who followed you was highly +agreeable, Ursula? A handsome young officer of local +militia, for example, all dressed in Lincoln green, would you +still refuse him the choomer?”</p> +<p>“We makes no difference, brother; the daughters of the +gypsy-father makes no difference; and what’s more, sees +none.”</p> +<p>“Well, Ursula, the world will hardly give you credit for +such indifference.”</p> +<p>“What cares we for the world, brother! we are not of the +world.”</p> +<p>“But your fathers, brothers, and uncles, give you +credit, I suppose, Ursula.”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay, brother, our fathers, brothers, and cokos gives +us all manner of credit; for example, I am telling lies and +dukkerin in a public-house where my batu or coko—perhaps +both—are playing on the fiddle; well, my batu and my coko +beholds me amongst the public-house crew, talking nonsense and +hearing nonsense; but they are under no apprehension; and +presently they sees the good-looking officer of militia, in his +greens and Lincolns, get up and give me a wink, and I go out with +him abroad, into the dark night perhaps; well, my batu and my +coko goes on fiddling just as if I were six miles off asleep in +the tent, and not out in the dark street with the local officer, +with his Lincolns and his greens.”</p> +<p>“They know they can trust you, Ursula?”</p> +<p>“Ay, ay, brother; and, what’s more, I knows I can +trust myself.”</p> +<p>“So you would merely go out to make a fool of him, +Ursula?”</p> +<p>“Merely go out to make a fool of him, brother, I assure +you.”</p> +<p>“But such proceedings really have an odd look, +Ursula.”</p> +<p>“Amongst gorgios, very so, brother.”</p> +<p>“Well, it must be rather unpleasant to lose one’s +character even amongst gorgios, Ursula; and suppose the officer, +out of revenge for being tricked and duped by you, were to say of +you the thing that is not, were to meet you on the race-course +the next day, and boast of receiving favours which he never had, +amidst a knot of jeering militia-men, how would you proceed, +Ursula? would you not be abashed?”</p> +<p>“By no means, brother; I should bring my action of law +against him.”</p> +<p>“Your action at law, Ursula?”</p> +<p>“Yes, brother, I should give a whistle, whereupon all +one’s cokos and batus, and all my near and distant +relations, would leave their fiddling, dukkerin, and +horse-dealing, and come flocking about me. +‘What’s the matter, Ursula?’ says my +coko. ‘Nothing at all,’ I replies, ‘save +and except that gorgio, in his greens and his Lincolns, says that +I have played the—with him.’ ‘Oho, he +does, Ursula,’ says my coko, ‘try your action of law +against him, my lamb,’ and he puts something privily into +my hands; whereupon I goes close up to the grinning gorgio, and +staring him in the face, with my head pushed forward, I cries +out: ‘You say I did what was wrong with you last night when +I was out with you abroad?’ ‘Yes,’ says +the local officer, ‘I says you did,’ looking down all +the time. ‘You are a liar,’ says I, and +forthwith I breaks his head with the stick which I holds behind +me, and which my coko has conveyed privily into my +hand.”</p> +<p>“And this is your action at law, Ursula?”</p> +<p>“Yes, brother, this is my action at club-law.”</p> +<p>“And would your breaking the fellow’s head quite +clear you of all suspicion in the eyes of your batus, cokos, and +what not?”</p> +<p>“They would never suspect me at all, brother, because +they would know that I would never condescend to be over-intimate +with a gorgio; the breaking the head would be merely intended to +justify Ursula in the eyes of the gorgios.”</p> +<p>“And would it clear you in their eyes?”</p> +<p>“Would it not, brother? when they saw the blood running +down from the fellow’s cracked poll on his greens and +Lincolns, they would be quite satisfied; why, the fellow would +not be able to show his face at fair or merry-making for a year +and three-quarters.”</p> +<p>“Did you ever try it, Ursula?”</p> +<p>“Can’t say I ever did, brother, but it would +do.”</p> +<p>“And how did you ever learn such a method of +proceeding?”</p> +<p>“Why, ’t is advised by gypsy liri, brother. +It’s part of our way of settling difficulties amongst +ourselves; for example, if a young Roman were to say the thing +which is not respecting Ursula and himself, Ursula would call a +great meeting of the people, who would all sit down in a ring, +the young fellow amongst them; a coko would then put a stick in +Ursula’s hand, who would then get up and go to the young +fellow, and say, ‘Did I play the—with you?’ and +were he to say ‘Yes,’ she would crack his head before +the eyes of all.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “Ursula, I was bred an +apprentice to gorgio law, and of course ought to stand up for it, +whenever I conscientiously can, but I must say the gypsy manner +of bringing an action for defamation is much less tedious, and +far more satisfactory, than the gorgiko one. I wish you now +to clear up a certain point which is rather mysterious to +me. You say that for a Romany chi to do what is unseemly +with a gorgio is quite out of the question, yet only the other +day I heard you singing a song in which a Romany chi confesses +herself to be cambri by a grand gorgious gentleman.”</p> +<p>“A sad let down,” said Ursula.</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “sad or not, there’s +the song that speaks of the thing, which you give me to +understand is not.”</p> +<p>“Well, if the thing ever was,” said Ursula, +“it was a long time ago, and perhaps, after all, not +true.”</p> +<p>“Then why do you sing the song?”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you, brother, we sings the song now and +then to be a warning to ourselves to have as little to do as +possible in the way of acquaintance with the gorgios; and a +warning it is; you see how the young woman in the song was driven +out of her tent by her mother, with all kind of disgrace and bad +language; but you don’t know that she was afterwards buried +alive by her cokos and pals, in an uninhabited place; the song +doesn’t say it, but the story says it, for there is a story +about it, though, as I said before, it was a long time ago, and +perhaps, after all, wasn’t true.”</p> +<p>“But if such a thing were to happen at present, would +the cokos and pals bury the girl alive?”</p> +<p>“I can’t say what they would do,” said +Ursula; “I suppose they are not so strict as they were long +ago; at any rate, she would be driven from the tan, and avoided +by all her family and relations as a gorgio’s acquaintance; +so that, perhaps, at last, she would be glad if they would bury +her alive.”</p> +<p>“Well, I can conceive that there would be an objection +on the part of the cokos and batus that a Romany chi should form +an improper acquaintance with a gorgio, but I should think that +the batus and cokos could hardly object to the chi’s +entering into the honourable estate of wedlock with a +gorgio.”</p> +<p>Ursula was silent.</p> +<p>“Marriage is an honourable estate, Ursula.”</p> +<p>“Well, brother, suppose it be?”</p> +<p>“I don’t see why a Romany chi should object to +enter into the honourable estate of wedlock with a +gorgio.”</p> +<p>“You don’t, brother; don’t you?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I; “and, moreover, I am aware, +notwithstanding your evasion, Ursula, that marriages and +connections now and then occur between gorgios and Romany chies; +the result of which is the mixed breed, called half and half, +which is at present travelling about England, and to which the +Flaming Tinman belongs, otherwise called Anselo Herne.”</p> +<p>“As for the half and halfs,” said Ursula, +“they are a bad set; and there is not a worse blackguard in +England than Anselo Herne.”</p> +<p>“All that you say may be very true, Ursula, but you +admit that there are half and halfs.”</p> +<p>“The more’s the pity, brother.”</p> +<p>“Pity, or not, you admit the fact; but how do you +account for it?”</p> +<p>“How do I account for it? why, I will tell you, by the +break up of a Roman family, brother—the father of a small +family dies, and, perhaps, the mother; and the poor children are +left behind; sometimes, they are gathered up by their relations, +and sometimes, if they have none, by charitable Romans, who bring +them up in the observance of gypsy law; but sometimes they are +not so lucky, and falls into the company of gorgios, trampers, +and basket-makers, who live in caravans, with whom they take up, +and so—I hate to talk of the matter, brother; but so comes +this race of the half and halfs.”</p> +<p>“Then you mean to say, Ursula, that no Romany chi, +unless compelled by hard necessity, would have anything to do +with a gorgio?”</p> +<p>“We are not over-fond of gorgios, brother, and we hates +basket-makers, and folks that live in caravans.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “suppose a gorgio who is not +a basket-maker, a fine, handsome gorgious gentleman, who lives in +a fine house—”</p> +<p>“We are not fond of houses, brother; I never slept in a +house in my life.”</p> +<p>“But would not plenty of money induce you?”</p> +<p>“I hate houses, brother, and those who live in +them.”</p> +<p>“Well, suppose such a person were willing to resign his +fine house; and, for love of you, to adopt gypsy law, speak +Romany, and live in a tan, would you have nothing to say to +him?”</p> +<p>“Bringing plenty of money with him, brother?”</p> +<p>“Well, bringing plenty of money with him, +Ursula.”</p> +<p>“Well, brother, suppose you produce your man; where is +he?”</p> +<p>“I was merely supposing such a person, +Ursula.”</p> +<p>“Then you don’t know of such a person, +brother?”</p> +<p>“Why, no, Ursula; why do you ask?”</p> +<p>“Because, brother, I was almost beginning to think that +you meant yourself.”</p> +<p>“Myself! Ursula; I have no fine house to resign; +nor have I money. Moreover, Ursula, though I have a great +regard for you, and though I consider you very handsome, quite as +handsome, indeed, as Meridiana in—”</p> +<p>“Meridiana! where did you meet with her?” said +Ursula, with a toss of her head.</p> +<p>“Why, in old Pulci’s—”</p> +<p>“At old Fulcher’s! that’s not true, +brother. Meridiana is a Borzlam, and travels with her own +people, and not with old Fulcher, who is a gorgio, and a +basket-maker.”</p> +<p>“I was not speaking of old Fulcher, but Pulci, a great +Italian writer, who lived many hundred years ago, and who, in his +poem called ‘Morgante Maggiore,’ speaks of Meridiana, +the daughter of—”</p> +<p>“Old Carus Borzlam,” said Ursula; “but if +the fellow you mention lived so many hundred years ago, how, in +the name of wonder, could he know anything of +Meridiana?”</p> +<p>“The wonder, Ursula, is, how your people could ever have +got hold of that name, and similar ones. The Meridiana of +Pulci was not the daughter of old Carus Borzlam, but of Caradoro, +a great pagan king of the East, who, being besieged in his +capital by Manfredonio, another mighty pagan king, who wished to +obtain possession of his daughter, who had refused him, was +relieved in his distress by certain paladins of Charlemagne, with +one of whom, Oliver, his daughter Meridiana fell in +love.”</p> +<p>“I see,” said, Ursula, “that it must have +been altogether a different person, for I am sure that Meridiana +Borzlam would never have fallen in love with Oliver. +Oliver! why, that is the name of the curo-mengro, who lost the +fight near the chong gav, the day of the great tempest, when I +got wet through. No, no! Meridiana Borzlam would +never have so far forgot her blood as to take up with Tom +Oliver.”</p> +<p>“I was not talking of that Oliver, Ursula, but of +Oliver, peer of France, and paladin of Charlemagne, with whom +Meridiana, daughter of Caradoro, fell in love, and for whose sake +she renounced her religion and became a Christian, and finally +ingravidata, or cambri, by him:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘E nacquene un figliuol, dice la storia,<br +/> +Che dette a Carlo-man poi gran vittoria;’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>which means—”</p> +<p>“I don’t want to know what it means,” said +Ursula; “no good, I’m sure. Well, if the +Meridiana of Charles’s wain’s pal was no handsomer +than Meridiana Borzlam, she was no great catch, brother; for +though I am by no means given to vanity, I think myself better to +look at than she, though I will say she is no lubbeny, and would +scorn—”</p> +<p>“I make no doubt she would, Ursula, and I make no doubt +that you are much handsomer than she, or even the Meridiana of +Oliver. What I was about to say, before you interrupted me, +is this, that though I have a great regard for you, and highly +admire you, it is only in a brotherly way, and—”</p> +<p>“And you had nothing better to say to me,” said +Ursula, “when you wanted to talk to me beneath a hedge, +than that you liked me in a brotherly way I well, I +declare—”</p> +<p>“You seem disappointed, Ursula.”</p> +<p>“Disappointed, brother! not I.”</p> +<p>“You were just now saying that you disliked gorgios, so, +of course, could only wish that I, who am a gorgio, should like +you in a brotherly way: I wished to have a conversation with you +beneath a hedge, but only with the view of procuring from you +some information respecting the song which you sung the other +day, and the conduct of Roman females, which has always struck me +as being highly unaccountable; so, if you thought anything +else—”</p> +<p>“What else should I expect from a picker-up of old +words, brother? Bah! I dislike a picker-up of old words +worse than a picker-up of old rags.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be angry, Ursula, I feel a great interest +in you; you are very handsome, and very clever; indeed, with your +beauty and cleverness, I only wonder that you have not long since +been married.”</p> +<p>“You do, do you, brother?”</p> +<p>“Yes. However, keep up your spirits, Ursula, you +are not much past the prime of youth, so—”</p> +<p>“Not much past the prime of youth! Don’t be +uncivil, brother, I was only twenty-two last month.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be offended, Ursula, but twenty-two is +twenty-two, or, I should rather say, that twenty-two in a woman +is more than twenty-six in a man. You are still very +beautiful, but I advise you to accept the first offer +that’s made to you.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, brother, but your advice comes rather late; +I accepted the first offer that was made me five years +ago.”</p> +<p>“You married five years ago, Ursula! is it +possible?”</p> +<p>“Quite possible, brother, I assure you.”</p> +<p>“And how came I to know nothing about it?”</p> +<p>“How comes it that you don’t know many thousand +things about the Romans, brother? Do you think they tell +you all their affairs?”</p> +<p>“Married, Ursula, married! well, I declare!”</p> +<p>“You seem disappointed, brother.”</p> +<p>“Disappointed! Oh! no, not at all; but Jasper, +only a few weeks ago, told me that you were not married; and, +indeed, almost gave me to understand that you would be very glad +to get a husband.”</p> +<p>“And you believed him? I’ll tell you, +brother, for your instruction, that there is not in the whole +world a greater liar than Jasper Petulengro.”</p> +<p>“I am sorry to hear it, Ursula; but with respect to him +you married—who might he be? A gorgio, or a Romany +chal?”</p> +<p>“Gorgio, or Romany chal! Do you think I would ever +condescend to a gorgio! It was a Camomescro, brother, a +Lovell, a distant relation of my own.”</p> +<p>“And where is he? and what became of him! Have you +any family?”</p> +<p>“Don’t think I am going to tell you all my +history, brother; and, to tell you the truth, I am tired of +sitting under hedges with you, talking nonsense. I shall go +to my house.”</p> +<p>“Do sit a little longer, sister Ursula. I most +heartily congratulate you on your marriage. But where is +this same Lovell? I have never seen him: I wish to +congratulate him too. You are quite as handsome as the +Meridiana of Pulci, Ursula, ay, or the Despina of +Riciardetto. Riciardetto, Ursula, is a poem written by one +Fortiguerra, about ninety years ago, in imitation of the Morgante +of Pulci. It treats of the wars of Charlemagne and his +Paladins with various barbarous nations, who came to besiege +Paris. Despina was the daughter and heiress of Scricca, +King of Cafria; she was the beloved of Riciardetto, and was +beautiful as an angel; but I make no doubt you are quite as +handsome as she.”</p> +<p>“Brother,” said Ursula—but the reply of +Ursula I reserve for another chapter, the present having attained +to rather an uncommon length, for which, however, the importance +of the matter discussed is a sufficient apology.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<p>Ursula’s Tale—The Patteran—The Deep +Water—Second Husband.</p> +<p>“Brother,” said Ursula, plucking a dandelion which +grew at her feet, “I have always said that a more civil and +pleasant-spoken person than yourself can’t be found. +I have a great regard for you and your learning, and am willing +to do you any pleasure in the way of words or conversation. +Mine is not a very happy story, but as you wish to hear it, it is +quite at your service. Launcelot Lovell made me an offer, +as you call it, and we were married in Roman fashion; that is, we +gave each other our right hands, and promised to be true to each +other. We lived together two years, travelling sometimes by +ourselves, sometimes with our relations; I bore him two children, +both of which were still-born, partly, I believe, from the +fatigue I underwent in running about the country telling dukkerin +when I was not exactly in a state to do so, and partly from the +kicks and blows which my husband Launcelot was in the habit of +giving me every night, provided I came home with less than five +shillings, which it is sometimes impossible to make in the +country, provided no fair or merry-making is going on. At +the end of two years my husband, Launcelot, whistled a horse from +a farmer’s field, and sold it for forty-pounds; and for +that horse he was taken, put in prison, tried, and condemned to +be sent to the other country for life. Two days before he +was to be sent away, I got leave to see him in the prison, and in +the presence of the turnkey I gave him a thin cake of +gingerbread, in which there was a dainty saw which could cut +through iron. I then took on wonderfully, turned my eyes +inside out, fell down in a seeming fit, and was carried out of +the prison. That same night my husband sawed his irons off, +cut through the bars of his window, and dropping down a height of +fifty feet, lighted on his legs, and came and joined me on a +heath where I was camped alone. We were just getting things +ready to be off, when we heard people coming, and sure enough +they were runners after my husband, Launcelot Lovell; for his +escape had been discovered within a quarter of an hour after he +had got away. My husband, without bidding me farewell, set +off at full speed, and they after him, but they could not take +him, and so they came back and took me, and shook me, and +threatened me, and had me before the poknees, who shook his head +at me, and threatened me in order to make me discover where my +husband was, but I said I did not know, which was true enough; +not that I would have told him if I had. So at last the +poknees and the runners, not being able to make anything out of +me, were obliged to let me go, and I went in search of my +husband. I wandered about with my cart for several days in +the direction in which I saw him run off, with my eyes bent on +the ground, but could see no marks of him; at last, coming to +four cross roads, I saw my husband’s patteran.”</p> +<p>“You saw your husband’s patteran?”</p> +<p>“Yes, brother. Do you know what patteran +means?”</p> +<p>“Of course, Ursula; the gypsy trail, the handful of +grass which the gypsies strew in the roads as they travel, to +give information to any of their companions who may be behind, as +to the route they have taken. The gypsy patteran has always +had a strange interest for me, Ursula.”</p> +<p>“Like enough, brother; but what does patteran +mean?”</p> +<p>“Why, the gypsy trail, formed as I told you +before.”</p> +<p>“And you know nothing more about patteran, +brother?”</p> +<p>“Nothing at all, Ursula; do you?”</p> +<p>“What’s the name for the leaf of a tree, +brother?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said I; “it’s +odd enough that I have asked that question of a dozen Romany +chals and chies, and they always told me that they did not +know.”</p> +<p>“No more they did, brother; there’s only one +person in England that knows, and that’s myself—the +name for a leaf is patteran. Now there are two that knows +it—the other is yourself.”</p> +<p>“Dear me, Ursula, how very strange! I am much +obliged to you. I think I never saw you look so pretty as +you do now; but who told you?”</p> +<p>“My mother, Mrs. Herne, told it me one day, brother, +when she was in a good humour, which she very seldom was, as no +one has a better right to know than yourself, as she hated you +mortally: it was one day when you had been asking our company +what was the word for a leaf, and nobody could tell you, that she +took me aside and told me, for she was in a good humour, and +triumphed in seeing you balked. She told me the word for +leaf was patteran, which our people use now for trail, having +forgotten the true meaning. She said that the trail was +called patteran, because the gypsies of old were in the habit of +making the marks with the leaves and branches of trees, placed in +a certain manner. She said that nobody knew it but herself, +who was one of the old sort, and begged me never to tell the word +to any one but him I should marry; and to be particularly +cautious never to let you know it, whom she hated. Well, +brother, perhaps I have done wrong to tell you; but, as I said +before, I likes you, and am always ready to do your pleasure in +words and conversation; my mother, moreover, is dead and gone, +and, poor thing, will never know anything about the matter. +So, when I married, I told my husband about the patteran, and we +were in the habit of making our private trails with leaves and +branches of trees, which none of the other gypsy people did; so, +when I saw my husband’s patteran, I knew it at once, and I +followed it upwards of two hundred miles towards the north; and +then I came to a deep, awful-looking water, with an overhanging +bank, and on the bank I found the patteran, which directed me to +proceed along the bank towards the east, and I followed my +husband’s patteran towards the east; and before I had gone +half a mile, I came to a place where I saw the bank had given +way, and fallen into the deep water. Without paying much +heed, I passed on, and presently came to a public-house, not far +from the water, and I entered the public-house to get a little +beer, and perhaps to tell a dukkerin, for I saw a great many +people about the door; and, when I entered, I found there was +what they calls an inquest being held upon a body in that house, +and the jury had just risen to go and look at the body; and being +a woman, and having a curiosity, I thought I would go with them, +and so I did; and no sooner did I see the body, than I knew it to +be my husband’s; it was much swelled and altered, but I +knew it partly by the clothes, and partly by a mark on the +forehead, and I cried out, ‘It is my husband’s +body,’ and I fell down in a fit, and the fit that time, +brother, was not a seeming one.”</p> +<p>“Dear me,” said I, “how terrible! but tell +me, Ursula, how did your husband come by his death?”</p> +<p>“The bank, overhanging the deep water, gave way under +him, brother, and he was drowned; for, like most of our people, +he could not swim, or only a little. The body, after it had +been in the water a long time, came up of itself, and was found +floating. Well, brother, when the people of the +neighbourhood found that I was the wife of the drowned man, they +were very kind to me, and made a subscription for me, with which, +after having seen my husband buried, I returned the way I had +come, till I met Jasper and his people, and with them I have +travelled ever since: I was very melancholy for a long time, I +assure you, brother; for the death of my husband preyed very much +upon my mind.”</p> +<p>“His death was certainly a very shocking one, Ursula; +but, really, if he had died a natural one, you could scarcely +have regretted it, for he appears to have treated you +barbarously.”</p> +<p>“Women must bear, brother; and, barring that he kicked +and beat me, and drove me out to tell dukkerin when I could +scarcely stand, he was not a bad husband. A man, by gypsy +law, brother, is allowed to kick and beat his wife, and to bury +her alive, if he thinks proper. I am a gypsy, and have +nothing to say against the law.”</p> +<p>“But what has Mikailia Chikno to say about +it?”</p> +<p>“She is a cripple, brother, the only cripple amongst the +Roman people: so she is allowed to do and say as she +pleases. Moreover, her husband does not think fit to kick +or beat her, though it is my opinion she would like him all the +better if he were occasionally to do so, and threaten to bury her +alive; at any rate, she would treat him better, and respect him +more.”</p> +<p>“Your sister does not seem to stand much in awe of +Jasper Petulengro, Ursula.”</p> +<p>“Let the matters of my sister and Jasper Petulengro +alone, brother; you must travel in their company some time before +you can understand them; they are a strange two, up to all kind +of chaffing: but two more regular Romans don’t breathe, and +I’ll tell you, for your instruction, that there isn’t +a better mare-breaker in England than Jasper Petulengro, if you +can manage Miss Isopel Berners as well as—”</p> +<p>“Isopel Berners,” said I, “how came you to +think of her?”</p> +<p>“How should I but think of her, brother, living as she +does with you in Mumper’s dingle, and travelling about with +you; you will have, brother, more difficulty to manage her, than +Jasper has to manage my sister Pakomovna. I should have +mentioned her before, only I wanted to know what you had to say +to me; and when we got into discourse, I forgot her. I say, +brother, let me tell you your dukkerin, with respect to her, you +will never—”</p> +<p>“I want to hear no dukkerin, Ursula.”</p> +<p>“Do let me tell you your dukkerin, brother, you will +never manage—”</p> +<p>“I want to hear no dukkerin, Ursula, in connection with +Isopel Berners. Moreover, it is Sunday, we will change the +subject; it is surprising to me that, after all you have +undergone, you should look so beautiful. I suppose you do +not think of marrying again, Ursula?”</p> +<p>“No, brother, one husband at a time is quite enough for +any reasonable mort; especially such a good husband as I have +got.”</p> +<p>“Such a good husband! why, I thought you told me your +husband was drowned?”</p> +<p>“Yes, brother, my first husband was.”</p> +<p>“And have you a second?”</p> +<p>“To be sure, brother.”</p> +<p>“And who is he? in the name of wonder.”</p> +<p>“Who is he? why Sylvester, to be sure.”</p> +<p>“I do assure you, Ursula, that I feel disposed to be +angry with you; such a handsome young woman as yourself to take +up with such a nasty pepper-faced good for +nothing—”</p> +<p>“I won’t hear my husband abused, brother; so you +had better say no more.”</p> +<p>“Why, is he not the Lazarus of the gypsies? has he a +penny of his own, Ursula?”</p> +<p>“Then the more his want, brother, of a clever chi like +me to take care of him and his childer. I tell you what, +brother, I will chore, if necessary, and tell dukkerin for +Sylvester, if even so heavy as scarcely to be able to +stand. You call him lazy; you would not think him lazy if +you were in a ring with him: he is a proper man with his hands; +Jasper is going to back him for twenty pounds against Slammocks +of the Chong gav, the brother of Roarer and Bell-metal, he says +he has no doubt that he will win.”</p> +<p>“Well, if you like him, I, of course, can have no +objection. Have you been long married?”</p> +<p>“About a fortnight, brother; that dinner, the other day, +when I sang the song, was given in celebration of the +wedding.”</p> +<p>“Were you married in a church, Ursula?”</p> +<p>“We were not, brother; none but gorgios, cripples, and +lubbenys are ever married in a church: we took each other’s +words. Brother, I have been with you near three hours +beneath this hedge. I will go to my husband.”</p> +<p>“Does he know that you are here?”</p> +<p>“He does, brother.”</p> +<p>“And is he satisfied?”</p> +<p>“Satisfied! of course. Lor’, you +gorgies! Brother, I go to my husband and my +house.” And, thereupon, Ursula rose and departed.</p> +<p>After waiting a little time I also arose; it was now dark, and +I thought I could do no better than betake myself to the dingle; +at the entrance of it I found Mr. Petulengro. “Well, +brother,” said he, “what kind of conversation have +you and Ursula had beneath the hedge?”</p> +<p>“If you wished to hear what we were talking about, you +should have come and sat down beside us; you knew where we +were.”</p> +<p>“Well, brother, I did much the same, for I went and sat +down behind you.”</p> +<p>“Behind the hedge, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“Behind the hedge, brother.”</p> +<p>“And heard all our conversation.”</p> +<p>“Every word, brother; and a rum conversation it +was.”</p> +<p>“’Tis an old saying, Jasper, that listeners never +hear any good of themselves; perhaps you heard the epithet that +Ursula bestowed upon you.”</p> +<p>“If, by epitaph, you mean that she called me a liar, I +did, brother, and she was not much wrong, for I certainly do not +always stick exactly to truth; you, however, have not much to +complain of me.”</p> +<p>“You deceived me about Ursula, giving me to understand +she was not married.”</p> +<p>“She was not married when I told you so, brother; that +is, not to Sylvester; nor was I aware that she was going to marry +him. I once thought you had a kind of regard for her, and I +am sure she had as much for you as a Romany chi can have for a +gorgio. I half expected to have heard you make love to her +behind the hedge, but I begin to think you care for nothing in +this world but old words and strange stories. Lor’ to +take a young woman under a hedge, and talk to her as you did to +Ursula; and yet you got everything out of her that you wanted, +with your gammon about old Fulcher and Meridiana. You are a +cunning one, brother.”</p> +<p>“There you are mistaken, Jasper. I am not +cunning. If people think I am, it is because, being made up +of art themselves, simplicity of character is a puzzle to +them. Your women are certainly extraordinary creatures, +Jasper.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t I say they were rum animals? +Brother, we Romans shall always stick together as long as they +stick fast to us.”</p> +<p>“Do you think they always will, Jasper?”</p> +<p>“Can’t say, brother; nothing lasts for ever. +Romany chies are Romany chies still, though not exactly what they +were sixty years ago. My wife, though a rum one, is not +Mrs. Herne, brother. I think she is rather fond of +Frenchmen and French discourse. I tell you what, brother, +if ever gypsyism breaks up, it will be owing to our chies having +been bitten by that mad puppy they calls gentility.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<p>The Dingle at Night—The Two Sides of the +Question—Roman Females—Filling the Kettle—The +Dream—The Tall Figure.</p> +<p>I descended to the bottom of the dingle. It was nearly +involved in obscurity. To dissipate the feeling of +melancholy which came over my mind, I resolved to kindle a fire; +and having heaped dry sticks upon my hearth, and added a billet +or two, I struck a light, and soon produced a blaze. +Sitting down, I fixed my eyes upon the blaze, and soon fell into +a deep meditation. I thought of the events of the day, the +scene at church, and what I had heard at church, the danger of +losing one’s soul, the doubts of Jasper Petulengro as to +whether one had a soul. I thought over the various +arguments which I had either heard, or which had come +spontaneously to my mind, for or against the probability of a +state of future existence. They appeared to me to be +tolerably evenly balanced. I then thought that it was at +all events taking the safest part to conclude that there was a +soul. It would be a terrible thing, after having passed +one’s life in the disbelief of the existence of a soul, to +wake up after death a soul, and to find one’s self a lost +soul. Yes, methought I would come to the conclusion that +one has a soul. Choosing the safe side, however, appeared +to me to be playing a rather dastardly part. I had never +been an admirer of people who chose the safe side in everything; +indeed I had always entertained a thorough contempt for +them. Surely it would be showing more manhood to adopt the +dangerous side, that of disbelief; I almost resolved to do +so—but yet in a question of so much importance, I ought not +to be guided by vanity. The question was not which was the +safe, but the true side? yet how was I to know which was the true +side? Then I thought of the Bible—which I had been +reading in the morning—that spoke of the soul and a future +state; but was the Bible true? I had heard learned and +moral men say that it was true, but I had also heard learned and +moral men say that it was not: how was I to decide? Still +that balance of probabilities! If I could but see the way +of truth, I would follow it, if necessary, upon hands and knees; +on that I was determined; but I could not see it. Feeling +my brain begin to turn round, I resolved to think of something +else; and forthwith began to think of what had passed between +Ursula and myself in our discourse beneath the hedge.</p> +<p>I mused deeply on what she had told me as to the virtue of the +females of her race. How singular that virtue must be which +was kept pure and immaculate by the possessor, whilst indulging +in habits of falsehood and dishonesty! I had always thought +the gypsy females extraordinary beings. I had often +wondered at them, their dress, their manner of speaking, and, not +least, at their names; but, until the present day, I had been +unacquainted with the most extraordinary point connected with +them. How came they possessed of this extraordinary virtue? +was it because they were thievish? I remembered that an +ancient thief-taker, who had retired from his useful calling, and +who frequently visited the office of my master at law, the +respectable S---, who had the management of his property—I +remembered to have heard this worthy, with whom I occasionally +held discourse, philosophic and profound, when he and I chanced +to be alone together in the office, say that all first-rate +thieves were sober, and of well-regulated morals, their bodily +passions being kept in abeyance by their love of gain; but this +axiom could scarcely hold good with respect to these +women—however thievish they might be, they did care for +something besides gain: they cared for their husbands. If +they did thieve, they merely thieved for their husbands; and +though, perhaps, some of them were vain, they merely prized their +beauty because it gave them favour in the eyes of their +husbands. Whatever the husbands were—and Jasper had +almost insinuated that the males occasionally allowed themselves +some latitude—they appeared to be as faithful to their +husbands as the ancient Roman matrons were to theirs. Roman +matrons! and, after all, might not these be in reality Roman +matrons? They called themselves Romans; might not they be +the descendants of the old Roman matrons? Might not they be +of the same blood as Lucretia? And were not many of their +strange names—Lucretia amongst the rest—handed down +to them from old Rome? It is true their language was not +that of old Rome; it was not, however, altogether different from +it. After all, the ancient Romans might be a tribe of these +people, who settled down and founded a village with the tilts of +carts, which, by degrees, and the influx of other people, became +the grand city of the world. I liked the idea of the grand +city of the world owing its origin to a people who had been in +the habit of carrying their houses in their carts. Why, +after all, should not the Romans of history be a branch of these +Romans? There were several points of similarity between +them; if Roman matrons were chaste, both men and women were +thieves. Old Rome was the thief of the world; yet still +there were difficulties to be removed before I could persuade +myself that the old Romans and my Romans were identical; and in +trying to remove these difficulties, I felt my brain once more +beginning to turn, and in haste took up another subject of +meditation, and that was the patteran, and what Ursula had told +me about it.</p> +<p>I had always entertained a strange interest for that sign by +which in their wanderings the Romanese gave to those of their +people who came behind intimation as to the direction which they +took; but it now inspired me with greater interest than +ever,—now that I had learnt that the proper meaning of it +was the leaves of trees. I had, as I had said in my +dialogue with Ursula, been very eager to learn the word for leaf +in the Romanian language, but had never learnt it till this day; +so patteran signified leaf of a tree; and no one at present knew +that but myself and Ursula, who had learnt it from Mrs. Herne, +the last, it was said, of the old stock; and then I thought what +strange people the gypsies must have been in the old time. +They were sufficiently strange at present, but they must have +been far stranger of old; they must have been a more peculiar +people—their language must have been more perfect—and +they must have had a greater stock of strange secrets. I +almost wished that I had lived some two or three hundred years +ago, that I might have observed these people when they were yet +stranger than at present. I wondered whether I could have +introduced myself to their company at that period, whether I +should have been so fortunate as to meet such a strange, +half-malicious, half good-humoured being as Jasper, who would +have instructed me in the language, then more deserving of note +than at present. What might I not have done with that +language, had I known it in its purity? Why, I might have +written books in it; yet those who spoke it would hardly have +admitted me to their society at that period, when they kept more +to themselves. Yet I thought that I might possibly have +gained their confidence, and have wandered about with them, and +learnt their language, and all their strange ways, and +then—and then—and a sigh rose from the depth of my +breast; for I began to think, “Supposing I had accomplished +all this, what would have been the profit of it; and in what +would all this wild gypsy dream have terminated?”</p> +<p>Then rose another sigh, yet more profound, for I began to +think, “What was likely to be the profit of my present way +of life; the living in dingles, making pony and donkey shoes, +conversing with gypsy-women under hedges, and extracting from +them their odd secrets?” What was likely to be the +profit of such a kind of life, even should it continue for a +length of time?—a supposition not very probable, for I was +earning nothing to support me, and the funds with which I had +entered upon this life were gradually disappearing. I was +living, it is true, not unpleasantly, enjoying the healthy air of +heaven; but, upon the whole, was I not sadly misspending my +time? Surely I was; and, as I looked back, it appeared to +me that I had always been doing so. What had been the +profit of the tongues which I had learnt? had they ever assisted +me in the day of hunger? No, no! it appeared to me that I +had always misspent my time, save in one instance, when by a +desperate effort I had collected all the powers of my +imagination, and written the “Life of Joseph Sell;” +but even when I wrote the Life of Sell, was I not in a false +position? Provided I had not misspent my time, would it +have been necessary to make that effort, which, after all, had +only enabled me to leave London, and wander about the country for +a time? But could I, taking all circumstances into +consideration, have done better than I had? With my +peculiar temperament and ideas, could I have pursued with +advantage the profession to which my respectable parents had +endeavoured to bring me up? It appeared to me that I could +not, and that the hand of necessity had guided me from my +earliest years, until the present night, in which I found myself +seated in the dingle, staring on the brands of the fire. +But ceasing to think of the past which, as irrecoverably gone, it +was useless to regret, even were there cause to regret it, what +should I do in future? Should I write another book like the +Life of Joseph Sell; take it to London, and offer it to a +publisher? But when I reflected on the grisly sufferings +which I had undergone whilst engaged in writing the Life of Sell, +I shrank from the idea of a similar attempt; moreover, I doubted +whether I possessed the power to write a similar +work—whether the materials for the life of another Sell +lurked within the recesses of my brain? Had I not better +become in reality what I had hitherto been merely playing +at—a tinker or a gypsy? But I soon saw that I was not +fitted to become either in reality. It was much more +agreeable to play the gypsy or the tinker than to become either +in reality. I had seen enough of gypsying and tinkering to +be convinced of that. All of a sudden the idea of tilling +the soil came into my head; tilling the soil was a healthful and +noble pursuit! but my idea of tilling the soil had no connection +with Britain; for I could only expect to till the soil in Britain +as a serf. I thought of tilling it in America, in which it +was said there was plenty of wild, unclaimed land, of which any +one, who chose to clear it of its trees, might take +possession. I figured myself in America, in an immense +forest, clearing the land destined, by my exertions, to become a +fruitful and smiling plain. Methought I heard the crash of +the huge trees as they fell beneath my axe; and then I bethought +me that a man was intended to marry—I ought to marry; and +if I married, where was I likely to be more happy as a husband +and a father than in America, engaged in tilling the +ground? I fancied myself in America, engaged in tilling the +ground, assisted by an enormous progeny. Well, why not +marry, and go and till the ground in America? I was young, +and youth was the time to marry in, and to labour in. I had +the use of all my faculties; my eyes, it is true, were rather +dull from early study, and from writing the Life of Joseph Sell; +but I could see tolerably well with them, and they were not +bleared. I felt my arms, and thighs, and teeth—they +were strong and sound enough; so now was the time to labour, to +marry, eat strong flesh, and beget strong children—the +power of doing all this would pass away with youth, which was +terribly transitory. I bethought me that a time would come +when my eyes would be bleared, and, perhaps, sightless; my arms +and thighs strengthless and sapless; when my teeth would shake in +my jaws, even supposing they did not drop out. No going a +wooing then—no labouring—no eating strong flesh, and +begetting lusty children then; and I bethought me how, when all +this should be, I should bewail the days of my youth as misspent, +provided I had not in them founded for myself a home, and +begotten strong children to take care of me in the days when I +could not take care of myself; and thinking of these things, I +became sadder and sadder, and stared vacantly upon the fire till +my eyes closed in a doze.</p> +<p>I continued dozing over the fire, until rousing myself I +perceived that the brands were nearly consumed, and I thought of +retiring for the night. I arose, and was about to enter my +tent, when a thought struck me. “Suppose,” +thought I, “that Isopel Berners should return in the midst +of the night, how dark and dreary would the dingle appear without +a fire! truly, I will keep up the fire, and I will do more; I +have no board to spread for her, but I will fill the kettle, and +heat it, so that, if she comes, I may be able to welcome her with +a cup of tea, for I know she loves tea.” Thereupon, I +piled more wood upon the fire, and soon succeeded in procuring a +better blaze than before; then, taking the kettle, I set out for +the spring. On arriving at the mouth of the dingle, which +fronted the east, I perceived that Charles’s wain was +nearly opposite to it, high above in the heavens, by which I knew +that the night was tolerably well advanced. The gypsy +encampment lay before me; all was hushed and still within it, and +its inmates appeared to be locked in slumber; as I advanced, +however, the dogs, which were fastened outside the tents, growled +and barked; but presently recognising me, they were again silent, +some of them wagging their tails. As I drew near a +particular tent, I heard a female voice say—“Some one +is coming!” and, as I was about to pass it, the cloth which +formed the door was suddenly lifted up, and a black head and part +of a huge naked body protruded. It was the head and upper +part of the giant Tawno, who, according to the fashion of gypsy +men, lay next the door wrapped in his blanket; the blanket had, +however, fallen off, and the starlight shone clear on his +athletic tawny body, and was reflected from his large staring +eyes.</p> +<p>“It is only I, Tawno,” said I, “going to +fill the kettle, as it is possible that Miss Berners may arrive +this night.” “Kos-ko,” drawled out Tawno, +and replaced the curtain. “Good, do you call +it?” said the sharp voice of his wife; “there is no +good in the matter! if that young chap were not living with the +rawnee in the illegal and uncertificated line, he would not be +getting up in the middle of the night to fill her +kettles.” Passing on, I proceeded to the spring, +where I filled the kettle, and then returned to the dingle.</p> +<p>Placing the kettle upon the fire, I watched it till it began +to boil; then removing it from the top of the brands, I placed it +close beside the fire, and leaving it simmering, I retired to my +tent; where, having taken off my shoes, and a few of my garments, +I lay down on my palliasse, and was not long in falling +asleep. I believe I slept soundly for some time, thinking +and dreaming of nothing; suddenly, however, my sleep became +disturbed, and the subject of the patterans began to occupy my +brain. I imagined that I saw Ursula tracing her husband, +Launcelot Lovel, by means of his patterans; I imagined that she +had considerable difficulty in doing so; that she was +occasionally interrupted by parish beadles and constables, who +asked her whither she was travelling, to whom she gave various +answers. Presently methought that, as she was passing by a +farm-yard, two fierce and savage dogs flew at her; I was in great +trouble, I remember, and wished to assist her, but could not, for +though I seemed to see her, I was still at a distance: and now it +appeared that she had escaped from the dogs, and was proceeding +with her cart along a gravelly path which traversed a wild moor; +I could hear the wheels grating amidst sand and gravel. The +next moment I was awake, and found myself sitting up in my tent; +there was a glimmer of light through the canvas caused by the +fire; a feeling of dread came over me, which was perhaps natural, +on starting suddenly from one’s sleep in that wild lone +place; I half imagined that some one was nigh the tent; the idea +made me rather uncomfortable, and, to dissipate it, I lifted up +the canvas of the door and peeped out, and, lo! I had a distinct +view of a tall figure standing by the tent. “Who is +that?” said I, whilst I felt my blood rush to my +heart. “It is I,” said the voice of Isopel +Berners; “you little expected me, I dare say; well, sleep +on, I do not wish to disturb you.” “But I was +expecting you,” said I, recovering myself, “as you +may see by the fire and kettle. I will be with you in a +moment.”</p> +<p>Putting on in haste the articles of dress which I had flung +off, I came out of the tent, and addressing myself to Isopel, who +was standing beside her cart, I said—“just as I was +about to retire to rest I thought it possible that you might come +to-night, and got everything in readiness for you. Now, sit +down by the fire whilst I lead the donkey and cart to the place +where you stay; I will unharness the animal, and presently come +and join you.” “I need not trouble you,” +said Isopel; “I will go myself and see after my +things.” “We will go together,” said I, +“and then return and have some tea.” Isopel +made no objection, and in about half-an-hour we had arranged +everything at her quarters, I then hastened and prepared +tea. Presently Isopel rejoined me, bringing her stool; she +had divested herself of her bonnet, and her hair fell over her +shoulders; she sat down, and I poured out the beverage, handing +her a cup. “Have you made a long journey +to-night?” said I. “A very long one,” +replied Belle. “I have come nearly twenty miles since +six o’clock.” “I believe I heard you +coming in my sleep,” said I; “did the dogs above bark +at you?” “Yes,” said Isopel, “very +violently; did you think of me in your sleep?” +“No,” said I, “I was thinking of Ursula and +something she had told me.” “When and where was +that?” said Isopel. “Yesterday evening,” +said I, “beneath the dingle hedge.” “Then +you were talking with her beneath the hedge?” +“I was,” said I, “but only upon gypsy +matters. Do you know, Belle, that she has just been married +to Sylvester, so that you need not think that she and +I—” “She and you are quite at liberty to +sit where you please,” said Isopel. “However, +young man,” she continued, dropping her tone, which she had +slightly raised, “I believe what you said, that you were +merely talking about gypsy matters, and also what you were going +to say, if it was, as I suppose, that she and you had no +particular acquaintance.” Isopel was now silent for +some time. “What are you thinking of?” said +I. “I was thinking,” said Belle, “how +exceedingly kind it was of you to get everything in readiness for +me, though you did not know that I should come.” +“I had a presentiment that you would come,” said I; +“but you forget that I have prepared the kettle for you +before, though it was true that I was then certain that you would +come.” “I had not forgotten your doing so, +young man,” said Belle; “but I was beginning to think +that you were utterly selfish, caring for nothing but the +gratification of your own selfish whims.” “I am +very fond of having my own way,” said I, “but utterly +selfish I am not, as I dare say I shall frequently prove to +you. You will often find the kettle boiling when you come +home.” “Not heated by you,” said Isopel, +with a sigh. “By whom else?” said I; +“surely you are not thinking of driving me +away?” “You have as much right here as +myself,” said Isopel, “as I have told you before; but +I must be going myself.” “Well,” said I, +“we can go together; to tell you the truth, I am rather +tired of this place.” “Our paths must be +separate,” said Belle. “Separate,” said +I, “what do you mean? I shan’t let you go +alone, I shall go with you; and you know the road is as free to +me as to you; besides, you can’t think of parting company +with me, considering how much you would lose by doing so; +remember that you know scarcely anything of the Armenian +language; now, to learn Armenian from me would take you twenty +years.”</p> +<p>Belle faintly smiled. “Come,” said I, +“take another cup of tea.” Belle took another +cup of tea, and yet another; we had some indifferent +conversation, after which I arose and gave her donkey a +considerable feed of corn. Belle thanked me, shook me by +the hand, and then went to her own tabernacle, and I returned to +mine.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<p>Visit to the Landlord—His Mortifications—Hunter +and his Clan—Resolution.</p> +<p>On the following morning, after breakfasting with Belle, who +was silent and melancholy, I left her in the dingle, and took a +stroll amongst the neighbouring lanes. After some time I +thought I would pay a visit to the landlord of the public-house, +whom I had not seen since the day when he communicated to me his +intention of changing his religion. I therefore directed my +steps to the house, and on entering it found the landlord +standing in the kitchen. Just then two mean-looking +fellows, who had been drinking at one of the tables, and who +appeared to be the only customers in the house, got up, brushed +past the landlord, and saying in a surly tone, we shall pay you +some time or other, took their departure. +“That’s the way they serve me now,” said the +landlord, with a sigh. “Do you know those +fellows,” I demanded, “since you let them go away in +your debt?” “I know nothing about +them,” said the landlord, “save that they are a +couple of scamps.” “Then why did you let them +go away without paying you?” said I. “I had not +the heart to stop them,” said the landlord; “and, to +tell you the truth, everybody serves me so now, and I suppose +they are right, for a child could flog me.” +“Nonsense,” said I, “behave more like a man, +and with respect to those two fellows run after them, I will go +with you, and if they refuse to pay the reckoning I will help you +to shake some money out of their clothes.” +“Thank you,” said the landlord; “but as they +are gone, let them go on. What they have drank is not of +much consequence.” “What is the matter with +you?” said I, staring at the landlord, who appeared +strangely altered; his features were wild and haggard, his +formerly bluff cheeks were considerably sunken in, and his figure +had lost much of its plumpness. “Have you changed +your religion already, and has the fellow in black commanded you +to fast?” “I have not changed my religion +yet,” said the landlord, with a kind of shudder; “I +am to change it publicly this day fortnight, and the idea of +doing so—I do not mind telling you—preys much upon my +mind; moreover, the noise of the thing has got abroad, and +everybody is laughing at me, and what’s more, coming and +drinking my beer, and going away without paying for it, whilst I +feel myself like one bewitched, wishing but not daring to take my +own part. Confound the fellow in black, I wish I had never +seen him! yet what can I do without him? The brewer swears +that unless I pay him fifty pounds within a fortnight he’ll +send a distress warrant into the house, and take all I +have. My poor niece is crying in the room above; and I am +thinking of going into the stable and hanging myself; and perhaps +it’s the best thing I can do, for it’s better to hang +myself before selling my soul than afterwards, as I’m sure +I should, like Judas Iscariot, whom my poor niece, who is +somewhat religiously inclined, has been talking to me +about.” “I wish I could assist you,” said +I, “with money, but that is quite out of my power. +However, I can give you a piece of advice. Don’t +change your religion by any means; you can’t hope to +prosper if you do; and if the brewer chooses to deal hardly with +you, let him. Everybody would respect you ten times more +provided you allowed yourself to be turned into the roads rather +than change your religion, than if you got fifty pounds for +renouncing it.” “I am half inclined to take +your advice,” said the landlord, “only, to tell you +the truth, I feel quite low, without any heart in +me.” “Come into the bar,” said I, +“and let us have something together—you need not be +afraid of my not paying for what I order.”</p> +<p>We went into the bar-room, where the landlord and I discussed +between us two bottles of strong ale, which he said were part of +the last six which he had in his possession. At first he +wished to drink sherry, but I begged him to do no such thing, +telling him that sherry would do him no good under the present +circumstances; nor, indeed, to the best of my belief, under any, +it being of all wines the one for which I entertained the most +contempt. The landlord allowed himself to be dissuaded, +and, after a glass or two of ale, confessed that sherry was a +sickly, disagreeable drink, and that he had merely been in the +habit of taking it from an idea he had that it was genteel. +Whilst quaffing our beverage, he gave me an account of the +various mortifications to which he had of late been subject, +dwelling with particular bitterness on the conduct of Hunter, who +he said came every night and mouthed him, and afterwards went +away without paying for what he had drank or smoked, in which +conduct he was closely imitated by a clan of fellows who +constantly attended him. After spending several hours at +the public-house I departed, not forgetting to pay for the two +bottles of ale. The landlord, before I went, shaking me by +the hand, declared that he had now made up his mind to stick to +his religion at all hazards, the more especially as he was +convinced he should derive no good by giving it up.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<p>Preparations for the Fair—The Last Lesson—The Verb +Siriel.</p> +<p>It might be about five in the evening, when I reached the +gypsy encampment. Here I found Mr. Petulengro, Tawno +Chikno, Sylvester, and others in a great bustle, clipping and +trimming certain ponies and old horses which they had brought +with them. On inquiring of Jasper the reason of their being +so engaged, he informed me that they were getting the horses +ready for a fair, which was to be held on the morrow, at a place +some miles distant, at which they should endeavour to dispose of +them, adding—“Perhaps, brother, you will go with us, +provided you have nothing better to do?” Not having +any particular engagement, I assured him that I should have great +pleasure in being of the party. It was agreed that we +should start early on the following morning. Thereupon I +descended into the dingle. Belle was sitting before the +fire, at which the kettle was boiling. “Were you +waiting for me?” I inquired. “Yes,” said +Belle, “I thought that you would come, and I waited for +you.” “That was very kind,” said I. +“Not half so kind,” said she, “as it was of you +to get everything ready for me in the dead of last night, when +there was scarcely a chance of my coming.” The +tea-things were brought forward, and we sat down. +“Have you been far?” said Belle. “Merely +to that public-house,” said I, “to which you directed +me on the second day of our acquaintance.” +“Young men should not make a habit of visiting +public-houses,” said Belle, “they are bad +places.” “They may be so to some people,” +said I, “but I do not think the worst public-house in +England could do me any harm.” “Perhaps you are +so bad already,” said Belle, with a smile, “that it +would be impossible to spoil you.” “How dare +you catch at my words?” said I; “come, I will make +you pay for doing so—you shall have this evening the +longest lesson in Armenian which I have yet inflicted upon +you.” “You may well say inflicted,” said +Belle, “but pray spare me. I do not wish to hear +anything about Armenian, especially this evening.” +“Why this evening?” said I. Belle made no +answer. “I will not spare you,” said I; +“this evening I intend to make you conjugate an Armenian +verb.” “Well, be it so,” said Belle; +“for this evening you shall command.” “To +command is hramahyel,” said I. “Ram her ill, +indeed,” said Belle; “I do not wish to begin with +that.” “No,” said I, “as we have +come to the verbs, we will begin regularly; hramahyel is a verb +of the second conjugation. We will begin with the +first.” “First of all tell me,” said +Belle, “what a verb is?” “A part of +speech,” said I, “which, according to the dictionary, +signifies some action or passion; for example, I command you, or +I hate you.” “I have given you no cause to hate +me,” said Belle, looking me sorrowfully in the face.</p> +<p>“I was merely giving two examples,” said I, +“and neither was directed at you. In those examples, +to command and hate are verbs. Belle, in Armenian there are +four conjugations of verbs; the first ends in al, the second in +yel, the third in oul, and the fourth in il. Now, have you +understood me?”</p> +<p>“I am afraid, indeed, it will all end ill,” said +Belle.</p> +<p>“Hold your tongue,” said I, “or you will +make me lose my patience.” “You have already +made me nearly lose mine,” said Belle. “Let us +have no unprofitable interruptions,” said I; “the +conjugations of the Armenian verbs are neither so numerous nor so +difficult as the declensions of the nouns; hear that, and +rejoice. Come, we will begin with the verb hntal, a verb of +the first conjugation, which signifies to rejoice. Come +along; hntam, I rejoice; hntas, thou rejoicest; why don’t +you follow, Belle?”</p> +<p>“I am sure I don’t rejoice, whatever you may +do,” said Belle. “The chief difficulty, +Belle,” said I, “that I find in teaching you the +Armenian grammar, proceeds from your applying to yourself and me +every example I give. Rejoice, in this instance, is merely +an example of an Armenian verb of the first conjugation, and has +no more to do with your rejoicing than lal, which is, also a verb +of the first conjugation, and which signifies to weep, would have +to do with your weeping, provided I made you conjugate it. +Come along; hntam, I rejoice; hntas, thou rejoicest; hntà, +he rejoices; hntamk we rejoice: now, repeat those +words.”</p> +<p>“I can’t,” said Belle, “they sound +more like the language of horses than human beings. Do you +take me for—?” “For what?” said +I. Belle was silent. “Were you going to say +mare?” said I. “Mare! mare! by the bye, do you +know, Belle, that mare in old English stands for woman; and that +when we call a female an evil mare, the strict meaning of the +term is merely a bad woman. So if I were to call you a mare +without prefixing bad, you must not be offended.” +“But I should though,” said Belle. “I was +merely attempting to make you acquainted with a philological +fact,” said I. “If mare, which in old English, +and likewise in vulgar English, signifies a woman, sounds the +same as mare, which in modern and polite English signifies a +female horse, I can’t help it. There is no such +confusion of sounds in Armenian, not, at least, in the same +instance. Belle, in Armenian, woman is ghin, the same word, +by the by, as our queen, whereas mare is madagh tzi, which +signifies a female horse; and perhaps you will permit me to add, +that a hard-mouthed jade is, in Armenian, madagh tzi +hsdierah.”</p> +<p>“I can’t bear this much longer,” said +Belle. “Keep yourself quiet,” said I; “I +wish to be gentle with you; and to convince you, we will skip +hntal, and also for the present verbs of the first conjugation +and proceed to the second. Belle, I will now select for you +to conjugate the prettiest verb in Armenian; not only of the +second, but also of all the four conjugations; that verb is +siriel. Here is the present tense:—siriem, siries, +sirè, siriemk, sirèk, sirien. You observe +that it runs on just in the same manner as hntal, save and except +that the e is substituted for a; and it will be as well to tell +you that almost the only difference between the second, third, +and fourth conjugation, and the first, is the substituting in the +present, preterite and other tenses e or ou, or i for a; so you +see that the Armenian verbs are by no means difficult. Come +on, Belle, and say siriem.” Belle hesitated. +“Pray oblige me, Belle, by saying siriem!” +Belle still appeared to hesitate. “You must admit, +Belle, that it is much softer than hntam.” “It +is so,” said Belle; “and to oblige you I will say +siriem.” “Very well indeed, Belle,” said +I. “No vartabied, or doctor, could have pronounced it +better; and now, to show you how verbs act upon pronouns in +Armenian, I will say siriem zkiez. Please to repeat siriem +zkiez!” “Siriem zkiez!” said Belle; +“that last word is very hard to say.” +“Sorry that you think so, Belle,” said I. +“Now please to say sirià zis.” Belle did +so. “Exceedingly well,” said I. +“Now say, yerani thè sirèir zis.” +“Yerani thè sirèir zis,” said +Belle. “Capital!” said I; “you have now +said, I love you—love me—ah! would that you would +love me!”</p> +<p>“And I have said all these things?” said +Belle. “Yes,” said I; “you have said them +in Armenian.” “I would have said them in no +language that I understood,” said Belle; “and it was +very wrong of you to take advantage of my ignorance, and make me +say such things.” “Why so?” said I; +“if you said them, I said them too.” “You +did so,” said Belle; “but I believe you were merely +bantering and jeering.” “As I told you before, +Belle,” said I, “the chief difficulty which I find in +teaching you Armenian proceeds from your persisting in applying +to yourself and me every example I give.” “Then +you meant nothing after all,” said Belle, raising her +voice. “Let us proceed,” said I; +“sirietsi, I loved.” “You never loved any +one but yourself,” said Belle; “and what’s +more—” “Sirietsits, I will love,” +said I; “sirietsies, thou wilt love.” +“Never one so thoroughly heartless,” said +Belle. “I tell you what, Belle, you are becoming +intolerable, but we will change the verb; or rather I will now +proceed to tell you here, that some of the Armenian conjugations +have their anomalies; one species of these I wish to bring before +your notice. As old Villotte says—from whose work I +first contrived to pick up the rudiments of +Armenian—‘Est verborum transitivorum, quorum +infinitivus—’ but I forgot, you don’t +understand Latin. He says there are certain transitive +verbs, whose infinitive is in outsaniel; the preterite in outsi; +the imperative in one; for example—parghatsout-saniem, I +irritate—”</p> +<p>“You do, you do,” said Belle; “and it will +be better for both of us, if you leave off doing so.”</p> +<p>“You would hardly believe, Belle,” said I, +“that the Armenian is in some respects closely connected +with the Irish, but so it is; for example, that word +parghatsout-saniem is evidently derived from the same root as +feargaim, which, in Irish, is as much as to say I vex.”</p> +<p>“You do, indeed,” said Belle, sobbing.</p> +<p>“But how do you account for it?”</p> +<p>“O man, man!” said Belle, bursting into tears, +“for what purpose do you ask a poor ignorant girl such a +question, unless it be to vex and irritate her? If you wish +to display your learning, do so to the wise and instructed, and +not to me, who can scarcely read or write. Oh, leave off +your nonsense; yet I know you will not do so, for it is the +breath of your nostrils! I could have wished we should have +parted in kindness, but you will not permit it. I have +deserved better at your hands than such treatment. The +whole time we have kept company together in this place, I have +scarcely had one kind word from you, but the +strangest—” and here the voice of Belle was drowned +in her sobs.</p> +<p>“I am sorry to see you take on so, dear Belle,” +said I. “I really have given you no cause to be so +unhappy; surely teaching you a little Armenian was a very +innocent kind of diversion.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but you went on so long, and in such a strange +way, and made me repeat such strange examples, as you call them, +that I could not bear it.”</p> +<p>“Why, to tell you the truth, Belle, it’s just my +way; and I have dealt with you just as I would +with—”</p> +<p>“A hard-mouthed jade,” said Belle, “and you +practising your horse-witchery upon her. I have been of an +unsubdued spirit, I acknowledge, but I was always kind to you; +and if you have made me cry, it’s a poor thing to boast +of.”</p> +<p>“Boast of!” said I; “a pretty thing indeed +to boast of; I had no idea of making you cry. Come, I beg +your pardon; what more can I do? Come, cheer up, +Belle. You were talking of parting; don’t let us +part, but depart, and that together.”</p> +<p>“Our ways lie different,” said Belle.</p> +<p>“I don’t see why they should,” said I. +“Come, let us be off to America together.”</p> +<p>“To America together?” said Belle, looking full at +me.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I; “where we will settle down in +some forest, and conjugate the verb siriel conjugally.”</p> +<p>“Conjugally?” said Belle.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I; “as man and wife in America, +air yew ghin.”</p> +<p>“You are jesting, as usual,” said Belle.</p> +<p>“Not I, indeed. Come, Belle, make up your mind, +and let us be off to America; and leave priests, humbug, +learning, and languages behind us.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think you are jesting,” said Belle; +“but I can hardly entertain your offers; however, young +man, I thank you.”</p> +<p>“You had better make up your mind at once,” said +I, “and let us be off. I shan’t make a bad +husband, I assure you. Perhaps you think I am not worthy of +you? To convince you, Belle, that I am, I am ready to try a +fall with you this moment upon the grass. Brynhilda, the +valkyrie, swore that no one should ever marry her who could not +fling her down. Perhaps you have done the same. The +man who eventually married her, got a friend of his, who was +called Sygurd, the serpent-killer, to wrestle with her, +disguising him in his own armour. Sygurd flung her down, +and won her for his friend, though he loved her himself. I +shall not use a similar deceit, nor employ Jasper Petulengro to +personate me—so get up, Belle, and I will do my best to +fling you down.”</p> +<p>“I require no such thing of you, or anybody,” said +Belle; “you are beginning to look rather wild.”</p> +<p>“I every now and then do,” said I; “come, +Belle, what do you say?”</p> +<p>“I will say nothing at present on the subject,” +said Belle, “I must have time to consider.”</p> +<p>“Just as you please,” said I, “to-morrow I +go to a fair with Mr. Petulengro, perhaps you will consider +whilst I am away. Come, Belle, let us have some more +tea. I wonder whether we shall be able to procure tea as +good as this in the American forest.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<p>The Dawn of Day—The Last Farewell—Departure for +the Fair—The Fine Horse—Return to the Dingle—No +Isopel.</p> +<p>It was about the dawn of day when I was awakened by the voice +of Mr. Petulengro shouting from the top of the dingle, and +bidding me get up. I arose instantly, and dressed myself +for the expedition to the fair. On leaving my tent, I was +surprised to observe Belle, entirely dressed, standing close to +her own little encampment. “Dear me,” said I, +“I little expected to find you up so early. I suppose +Jasper’s call awakened you, as it did me.” +“I merely lay down in my things,” said Belle, +“and have not slept during the night.” +“And why did you not take off your things and go to +sleep?” said I. “I did not undress,” said +Belle, “because I wished to be in readiness to bid you +farewell when you departed; and as for sleeping, I could +not.” “Well, God bless you!” said I, +taking Belle by the hand. Belle made no answer, and I +observed that her hand was very cold. “What is the +matter with you?” said I, looking her in the face. +Belle looked at me for a moment in the eyes—and then cast +down her own—her features were very pale. “You +are really unwell,” said I, “I had better not go to +the fair, but stay here, and take care of you.” +“No,” said Belle, “pray go, I am not +unwell.” “Then go to your tent,” said I, +“and do not endanger your health by standing abroad in the +raw morning air. God bless you, Belle. I shall be +home to-night, by which time I expect you will have made up your +mind; if not, another lesson in Armenian, however late the hour +be.” I then wrung Belle’s hand, and ascended to +the plain above.</p> +<p>I found the Romany party waiting for me, and everything in +readiness for departing. Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno +were mounted on two old horses. The rest, who intended to +go to the fair, amongst whom were two or three women, were on +foot. On arriving at the extremity of the plain, I looked +towards the dingle. Isopel Berners stood at the mouth, the +beams of the early morning sun shone full on her noble face and +figure. I waved my hand towards her. She slowly +lifted up her right arm. I turned away, and never saw +Isopel Berners again.</p> +<p>My companions and myself proceeded on our way. In about +two hours we reached the place where the fair was to be +held. After breakfasting on bread and cheese and ale behind +a broken stone wall, we drove our animals to the fair. The +fair was a common cattle and horse fair: there was little +merriment going on, but there was no lack of business. By +about two o’clock in the afternoon, Mr. Petulengro and his +people had disposed of their animals at what they conceived very +fair prices—they were all in high spirits, and Jasper +proposed to adjourn to a public-house. As we were +proceeding to one, a very fine horse, led by a jockey, made its +appearance on the ground. Mr. Petulengro stopped short, and +looked at it stedfastly: “Fino covar dove odoy sas +miro—a fine thing were that if it were but mine!” he +exclaimed. “If you covet it,” said I, +“why do you not purchase it?” “We low +’Gyptians never buy animals of that description; if we did +we could never sell them, and most likely should be had up as +horse-stealers.” “Then why did you say just +now, ‘It were a fine thing if it were but +yours?’” said I. “We ’Gyptians +always say so when we see anything that we admire. An +animal like that is not intended for a little hare like me, but +for some grand gentleman like yourself. I say, brother, do +you buy that horse!” “How should I buy the +horse, you foolish person?” said I. “Buy the +horse, brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, “if you have +not the money I can lend it you, though I be of lower +Egypt.” “You talk nonsense,” said I; +“however, I wish you would ask the man the price of +it.” Mr. Petulengro, going up to the jockey, +inquired the price of the horse—the man, looking at him +scornfully, made no reply. “Young man,” said I, +going up to the jockey, “do me the favour to tell me the +price of that horse, as I suppose it is to sell.” The +jockey, who was a surly-looking man, of about fifty, looked at me +for a moment, then, after some hesitation, said, laconically, +“Seventy.” “Thank you,” said I, and +turned away. “Buy that horse,” said Mr. +Petulengro, coming after me; “the dook tells me that in +less than three months he will be sold for twice +seventy.” “I will have nothing to do with +him,” said I; “besides, Jasper, I don’t like +his tail. Did you observe what a mean scrubby tail he +has?” “What a fool you are, brother,” +said Mr. Petulengro; “that very tail of his shows his +breeding. No good bred horse ever yet carried a fine +tail—’tis your scrubby-tailed horses that are your +out-and-outers. Did you ever hear of Syntax, brother? +That tail of his puts me in mind of Syntax. Well, I say +nothing more, have your own way—all I wonder at is, that a +horse like him was ever brought to such a fair of dog cattle as +this.”</p> +<p>We then made the best of our way to a public-house, where we +had some refreshment. I then proposed returning to the +encampment, but Mr. Petulengro declined, and remained drinking +with his companions till about six o’clock in the evening, +when various jockeys from the fair came in. After some +conversation a jockey proposed a game of cards; and in a little +time, Mr. Petulengro and another gypsy sat down to play a game of +cards with two of the jockeys.</p> +<p>Though not much acquainted with cards, I soon conceived a +suspicion that the jockeys were cheating Mr. Petulengro and his +companion, I therefore called Mr. Petulengro aside, and gave him +a hint to that effect. Mr. Petulengro, however, instead of +thanking me, told me to mind my own bread and butter, and +forthwith returned to his game. I continued watching the +players for some hours. The gypsies lost considerably, and +I saw clearly that the jockeys were cheating them most +confoundedly. I therefore once more called Mr. Petulengro +aside, and told him that the jockeys were cheating him, conjuring +him to return to the encampment. Mr. Petulengro, who was by +this time somewhat the worse for liquor, now fell into a passion, +swore several oaths, and asking me who had made me a Moses over +him and his brethren, told me to return to the encampment by +myself. Incensed at the unworthy return which my well-meant +words had received, I forthwith left the house, and having +purchased a few articles of provision, I set out for the dingle +alone. It was a dark night when I reached it, and +descending I saw the glimmer of a fire from the depths of the +dingle; my heart beat with fond anticipation of a welcome. +“Isopel Berners is waiting for me,” said I, +“and the first words that I shall hear from her lips is +that she has made up her mind. We shall go to America, and +be so happy together.” On reaching the bottom of the +dingle, however, I saw seated near the fire, beside which stood +the kettle simmering, not Isopel Berners, but a gypsy girl, who +told me that Miss Berners when she went away had charged her to +keep up the fire, and have the kettle boiling against my +arrival. Startled at these words, I inquired at what hour +Isopel had left, and whither she was gone, and was told that she +had left the dingle, with her cart, about two hours after I +departed; but where she was gone she, the girl, did not +know. I then asked whether she had left no message, and the +girl replied that she had left none, but had merely given +directions about the kettle and fire, putting, at the same time, +six-pence into her hand. “Very strange,” +thought I; then dismissing the gypsy girl I sat down by the +fire. I had no wish for tea, but sat looking on the embers, +wondering what could be the motive of the sudden departure of +Isopel. “Does she mean to return?” thought I to +myself. “Surely she means to return,” Hope +replied, “or she would not have gone away without leaving +any message”—“and yet she could scarcely mean +to return,” muttered Foreboding, “or she assuredly +would have left some message with the girl.” I then +thought to myself what a hard thing it would be, if, after having +made up my mind to assume the yoke of matrimony, I should be +disappointed of the woman of my choice. “Well, after +all,” thought I, “I can scarcely be disappointed; if +such an ugly scoundrel as Sylvester had no difficulty in getting +such a nice wife as Ursula, surely I, who am not a tenth part so +ugly, cannot fail to obtain the hand of Isopel Berners, +uncommonly fine damsel though she be. Husbands do not grow +upon hedgerows; she is merely gone after a little business and +will return to-morrow.”</p> +<p>Comforted in some degree by these hopeful imaginings, I +retired to my tent, and went to sleep.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<p>Gloomy Forebodings—The Postman’s Mother—The +Letter—Bears and Barons—The Best of Advice.</p> +<p>Nothing occurred to me of any particular moment during the +following day. Isopel Berners did not return; but Mr. +Petulengro and his companions came home from the fair early in +the morning. When I saw him, which was about midday, I +found him with his face bruised and swelled. It appeared +that, some time after I had left him, he himself perceived that +the jockeys with whom he was playing cards were cheating him and +his companion; a quarrel ensued, which terminated in a fight +between Mr. Petulengro and one of the jockeys, which lasted some +time, and in which Mr. Petulengro, though he eventually came off +victor, was considerably beaten. His bruises, in +conjunction with his pecuniary loss, which amounted to about +seven pounds, were the cause of his being much out of humour; +before night, however, he had returned to his usual philosophic +frame of mind, and, coming up to me as I was walking about, +apologized for his behaviour on the preceding day, and assured me +that he was determined, from that time forward, never to quarrel +with a friend for giving him good advice.</p> +<p>Two more days passed, and still Isopel Berners did not +return. Gloomy thoughts and forebodings filled my +mind. During the day I wandered about the neighbouring +roads in the hopes of catching an early glimpse of her and her +returning vehicle; and at night lay awake, tossing about on my +hard couch, listening to the rustle of every leaf, and +occasionally thinking that I heard the sound of her wheels upon +the distant road. Once at midnight, just as I was about to +fall into unconsciousness, I suddenly started up, for I was +convinced that I heard the sound of wheels. I listened most +anxiously, and the sound of wheels striking against stones was +certainly plain enough. “She comes at last,” +thought I, and for a few moments I felt as if a mountain had been +removed from my breast;—“here she comes at last, now, +how shall I receive her? Oh,” thought I, “I +will receive her rather coolly, just as if I was not particularly +anxious about her—that’s the way to manage these +women.” The next moment the sound became very loud, +rather too loud, I thought, to proceed from her wheels, and then +by degrees became fainter. Rushing out of my tent, I +hurried up the path to the top of the dingle, where I heard the +sound distinctly enough, but it was going from me, and evidently +proceeded from something much larger than the cart of +Isopel. I could, moreover, hear the stamping of a +horse’s hoof at a lumbering trot. Those only whose +hopes have been wrought up to a high pitch, and then suddenly +cast down, can imagine what I felt at that moment; and yet when I +returned to my lonely tent, and lay down on my hard pallet, the +voice of conscience told me that the misery I was then undergoing +I had fully merited, for the unkind manner in which I had +intended to receive her, when for a brief moment I supposed that +she had returned.</p> +<p>It was on the morning after this affair, and the fourth, if I +forget not, from the time of Isopel’s departure, that, as I +was seated on my stone at the bottom of the dingle, getting my +breakfast, I heard an unknown voice from the path +above—apparently that of a person descending—exclaim, +“Here’s a strange place to bring a letter to;” +and presently an old woman, with a belt round her middle, to +which was attached a leathern bag, made her appearance, and stood +before me.</p> +<p>“Well, if I ever!” said she, as she looked about +her. “My good gentlewoman,” said I, “pray +what may you please to want?” +“Gentlewoman!” said the old dame, “please to +want—well, I call that speaking civilly, at any rate. +It is true, civil words cost nothing; nevertheless, we do not +always get them. What I please to want is to deliver a +letter to a young man in this place; perhaps you be +he?” “What’s the name on the +letter?” said I, getting up, and going to her. +“There’s no name upon it,” said she, taking a +letter out of her scrip, and looking at it. “It is +directed to the young man in Mumper’s Dingle.” +“Then it is for me, I make no doubt,” said I, +stretching out my hand to take it. “Please to pay me +ninepence first,” said the old woman. +“However,” said she, after a moment’s thought, +“civility is civility, and, being rather a scarce article, +should meet with some return. Here’s the letter, +young man, and I hope you will pay for it; for if you do not I +must pay the postage myself.” “You are the +postwoman, I suppose,” said I, as I took the letter. +“I am the postman’s mother,” said the old +woman; “but as he has a wide beat, I help him as much as I +can, and I generally carry letters to places like this, to which +he is afraid to come himself.” “You say the +postage is ninepence,” said I, “here’s a +shilling.” “Well, I call that +honourable,” said the old woman, taking the shilling, and +putting it into her pocket—“here’s your change, +young man,” said she, offering me threepence. +“Pray keep that for yourself,” said I; “you +deserve it for your trouble.” “Well, I call +that genteel,” said the old woman; “and as one good +turn deserves another, since you look as if you couldn’t +read, I will read your letter for you. Let’s see it; +it’s from some young woman or other, I dare +say.” “Thank you,” said I, “but I +can read.” “All the better for you,” said +the old woman; “your being able to read will frequently +save you a penny, for that’s the charge I generally make +for reading letters; though, as you behaved so genteelly to me, I +should have charged you nothing. Well, if you can read, why +don’t you open the letter, instead of keeping it hanging +between your finger and thumb?” “I am in no +hurry to open it,” said I, with a sigh. The old woman +looked at me for a moment—“Well, young man,” +said she, “there are some—especially those who can +read—who don’t like to open their letters when +anybody is by, more especially when they come from young +women. Well, I won’t intrude upon you, but leave you +alone with your letter. I wish it may contain something +pleasant. God bless you,” and with these words she +departed.</p> +<p>I sat down on my stone, with my letter in my hand. I +knew perfectly well that it could have come from no other person +than Isopel Berners; but what did the letter contain? I +guessed tolerably well what its purport was—an eternal +farewell! yet I was afraid to open the letter, lest my +expectation should be confirmed. There I sat with the +letter, putting off the evil moment as long as possible. At +length I glanced at the direction, which was written in a fine +bold hand, and was directed, as the old woman had said, to the +young man in “Mumpers’ Dingle,” with the +addition, near ---, in the county of— Suddenly the idea +occurred to me, that, after all, the letter might not contain an +eternal farewell; and that Isopel might have written, requesting +me to join her. Could it be so? “Alas! +no,” presently said Foreboding. At last I became +ashamed of my weakness. The letter must be opened sooner or +later. Why not at once? So as the bather who, for a +considerable time, has stood shivering on the bank, afraid to +take the decisive plunge, suddenly takes it, I tore open the +letter almost before I was aware. I had no sooner done so +than a paper fell out. I examined it; it contained a lock +of bright flaxen hair. “This is no good sign,” +said I, as I thrust the lock and paper into my bosom, and +proceeded to read the letter, which ran as follows:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“TO THE YOUNG MAN IN MUMPERS’ +DINGLE.</p> +<p>“SIR,—I send these lines, with the hope and trust +that they will find you well, even as I am myself at this moment, +and in much better spirits, for my own are not such as I could +wish they were, being sometimes rather hysterical and vapourish, +and at other times, and most often, very low. I am at a +sea-port, and am just going on shipboard; and when you get these +I shall be on the salt waters, on my way to a distant country, +and leaving my own behind me, which I do not expect ever to see +again.</p> +<p>“And now, young man, I will, in the first place, say +something about the manner in which I quitted you. It must +have seemed somewhat singular to you that I went away without +taking any leave, or giving you the slightest hint that I was +going; but I did not do so without considerable reflection. +I was afraid that I should not be able to support a leave-taking; +and as you had said that you were determined to go wherever I +did, I thought it best not to tell you at all; for I did not +think it advisable that you should go with me, and I wished to +have no dispute.</p> +<p>“In the second place, I wish to say something about an +offer of wedlock which you made me; perhaps, young man, had you +made it at the first period of our acquaintance, I should have +accepted it, but you did not, and kept putting off and putting +off, and behaving in a very strange manner, till I could stand +your conduct no longer, but determined upon leaving you and Old +England, which last step I had been long thinking about; so when +you made your offer at last, everything was arranged—my +cart and donkey engaged to be sold—and the greater part of +my things disposed of. However, young man, when you did +make it, I frankly tell you that I had half a mind to accept it; +at last, however, after very much consideration, I thought it +best to leave you for ever, because, for some time past, I had +become almost convinced, that though with a wonderful deal of +learning, and exceedingly shrewd in some things, you +were—pray don’t be offended—at the root mad! +and though mad people, I have been told, sometimes make very good +husbands, I was unwilling that your friends, if you had any, +should say that Belle Berners, the workhouse girl, took advantage +of your infirmity; for there is no concealing that I was born and +bred up in a workhouse; notwithstanding that, my blood is better +than your own, and as good as the best; you having yourself told +me that my name is a noble name, and once, if I mistake not, that +it was the same word as baron, which is the same thing as bear; +and that to be called in old times a bear was considered a great +compliment—the bear being a mighty strong animal, on which +account our forefathers called all their great fighting-men +barons, which is the same as bears.</p> +<p>“However, setting matters of blood and family entirely +aside, many thanks to you, young man, from poor Belle, for the +honour you did her in making that same offer; for, after all, it +is an honour to receive an honourable offer, which she could see +clearly yours was, with no floriness nor chaff in it; but, on the +contrary, entire sincerity. She assures you that she shall +always bear it and yourself in mind, whether on land or water; +and as a proof of the good-will she bears to you, she sends you a +lock of the hair which she wears on her head, which you were +often looking at, and were pleased to call flax, which word she +supposes you meant as a compliment, even as the old people meant +to pass a compliment to their great folks, when they called them +bears; though she cannot help thinking that they might have found +an animal as strong as a bear, and somewhat less uncouth, to call +their great folks after: even as she thinks yourself, amongst +your great store of words, might have found something a little +more genteel to call her hair after than flax, which, though +strong and useful, is rather a coarse and common kind of +article.</p> +<p>“And as another proof of the good-will she bears to you, +she sends you, along with the lock, a piece of advice, which is +worth all the hair in the world, to say nothing of the flax.</p> +<p>“<i>Fear God</i>, and take your own part. +There’s Bible in that, young man: see how Moses feared God, +and how he took his own part against everybody who meddled with +him. And see how David feared God, and took his own part +against all the bloody enemies which surrounded him—so fear +God, young man, and never give in! The world can bully, and +is fond, provided it sees a man in a kind of difficulty, of +getting about him, calling him coarse names, and even going so +far as to hustle him: but the world, like all bullies, carries a +white feather in its tail, and no sooner sees the man taking off +his coat, and offering to fight its best, than it scatters here +and there, and is always civil to him afterwards. So when +folks are disposed to ill-treat you, young man, say, ‘Lord +have mercy upon me!’ and then tip them to Long Melford, +which, as the saying goes, there is nothing comparable for +shortness all the world over; and these last words, young man, +are the last you will ever have from her who is nevertheless,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">“Your affectionate female +servant,<br /> +“<span class="smcap">Isopel Berners</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>After reading the letter I sat for some time motionless, +holding it in my hand. The daydream in which I had been a +little time before indulging, of marrying Isopel Berners, of +going with her to America, and having by her a large progeny, who +were to assist me in felling trees, cultivating the soil, and who +would take care of me when I was old, was now thoroughly +dispelled. Isopel had deserted me, and was gone to America +by herself, where, perhaps, she would marry some other person, +and would bear him a progeny, who would do for him what in my +dream I had hoped my progeny by her would do for me. Then +the thought came into my head that though she was gone, I might +follow her to America, but then I thought that if I did I might +not find her; America was a very large place, and I did not know +the port to which she was bound; but I could follow her to the +port from which she had sailed, and there possibly discover the +port to which she was bound; but I did not even know the port +from which she had set out, for Isopel had not dated her letter +from any place. Suddenly it occurred to me that the +post-mark on the letter would tell me from whence it came, so I +forthwith looked at the back of the letter, and in the post-mark +read the name of a well-known and not very distant +sea-port. I then knew with tolerable certainty the port +where she had embarked, and I almost determined to follow her, +but I almost instantly determined to do no such thing. +Isopel Berners had abandoned me, and I would not follow her; +“Perhaps,” whispered Pride, “if I overtook her, +she would only despise me for running after her;” and it +also told me pretty roundly, provided I ran after her, whether I +overtook her or not, I should heartily despise myself. So I +determined not to follow Isopel Berners; I took her lock of hair, +and looked at it, then put it in her letter, which I folded up +and carefully stowed away, resolved to keep both for ever, but I +determined not to follow her. Two or three times, however, +during the day, I wavered in my determination, and was again and +again almost tempted to follow her, but every succeeding time the +temptation was fainter. In the evening I left the dingle, +and sat down with Mr. Petulengro and his family by the door of +his tent; Mr. Petulengro soon began talking of the letter which I +had received in the morning. “Is it not from Miss +Berners, brother?” said he. I told him it was. +“Is she coming back, brother?” +“Never,” said I; “she is gone to America, and +has deserted me.” “I always knew that you two +were never destined for each other,” said he. +“How did you know that?” I inquired. “The +dook told me so, brother; you are born to be a great +traveller.” “Well,” said I, “if I +had gone with her to America, as I was thinking of doing, I +should have been a great traveller.” “You are +to travel in another direction, brother,” said he. +“I wish you would tell me all about my future +wanderings,” said I. “I can’t, +brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, “there’s a power +of clouds before my eye.” “You are a poor seer, +after all,” said I; and getting up, I retired to my dingle +and my tent, where I betook myself to my bed, and there, knowing +the worst, and being no longer agitated by apprehension, nor +agonized by expectation, I was soon buried in a deep slumber, the +first which I had fallen into for several nights.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<p>The Public-house—Landlord on His Legs Again—A Blow +in Season—The Way of the World—The Grateful +Mind—The Horse’s Neigh.</p> +<p>It was rather late on the following morning when I +awoke. At first I was almost unconscious of what had +occurred on the preceding day; recollection, however, by degrees +returned, and I felt a deep melancholy coming over me, but +perfectly aware that no advantage could be derived from the +indulgence of such a feeling, I sprang up, prepared my breakfast, +which I ate with a tolerable appetite, and then left the dingle, +and betook myself to the gypsy encampment, where I entered into +discourse with various Romanies, both male and female. +After some time, feeling myself in better spirits, I determined +to pay another visit to the landlord of the public-house. +From the position of his affairs when I had last visited him I +entertained rather gloomy ideas with respect to his present +circumstances. I imagined that I should either find him +alone in his kitchen smoking a wretched pipe, or in company with +some surly bailiff or his follower, whom his friend the brewer +had sent into the house in order to take possession of his +effects.</p> +<p>Nothing more entirely differing from either of these +anticipations could have presented itself to my view than what I +saw about one o’clock in the afternoon, when I entered the +house. I had come, though somewhat in want of consolation +myself, to offer any consolation which was at my command to my +acquaintance Catchpole, and perhaps like many other people who go +to a house with “drops of compassion trembling on their +eyelids,” I felt rather disappointed at finding that no +compassion was necessary. The house was thronged with +company, and cries for ale and porter, hot brandy and water, cold +gin and water, were numerous; moreover, no desire to receive and +not to pay for the landlord’s liquids was +manifested—on the contrary, everybody seemed disposed to +play the most honourable part: “Landlord, here’s the +money for this glass of brandy and water—do me the favour +to take it; all right, remember I have paid you.” +“Landlord, here’s the money for the pint of +half-and-half-fourpence halfpenny, ain’t +it?—here’s sixpence; keep the change—confound +the change!” The landlord, assisted by his niece, +bustled about; his brow erect, his cheeks plumped out, and all +his features exhibiting a kind of surly satisfaction. +Wherever he moved, marks of the most cordial amity were shown +him, hands were thrust out to grasp his, nor were looks of +respect, admiration, nay, almost of adoration, wanting. I +observed one fellow, as the landlord advanced, take the pipe out +of his mouth, and gaze upon him with a kind of grin of wonder, +probably much the same as his ancestor, the Saxon lout of old, +put on when he saw his idol Thur, dressed in a new kirtle. +To avoid the press, I got into a corner, where on a couple of +chairs sat two respectable-looking individuals, whether farmers +or sow-gelders, I know not, but highly respectable-looking, who +were discoursing about the landlord. “Such +another,” said one, “you will not find in a +summer’s day.” “No, nor in the whole of +England,” said the other. “Tom of +Hopton,” said the first: “ah! Tom of +Hopton,” echoed the other; “the man who could beat +Tom of Hopton could beat the world.” “I glory +in him,” said the first. “So do I,” said +the second, “I’ll back him against the world. +Let me hear any one say anything against him, and if I +don’t—” then, looking at me, he added, +“have you anything to say against him, young +man?” “Not a word,” said I, “save +that he regularly puts me out.” “He’ll +put any one out,” said the man, “any one out of +conceit with himself;” then, lifting a mug to his mouth, he +added, with a hiccough, “I drink his health.” +Presently the landlord, as he moved about, observing me, stopped +short: “Ah!” said he, “are you here? I am +glad to see you, come this way. Stand back,” said he +to his company, as I followed him to the bar, “stand back +for me and this gentleman.” Two or three young +fellows were in the bar, seemingly sporting yokels, drinking +sherry and smoking. “Come, gentlemen,” said the +landlord, “clear the bar, I must have a clear bar for me +and my friend here.” “Landlord, what will you +take,” said one, “a glass of sherry? I know you +like it.” “- sherry and you too,” said +the landlord, “I want neither sherry nor yourself; +didn’t you hear what I told you?” “All +right, old fellow,” said the other, shaking the landlord by +the hand, “all right, don’t wish to intrude—but +I suppose when you and your friend have done, I may come in +again;” then, with a “sarvant, sir,” to me, he +took himself into the kitchen, followed by the rest of the +sporting yokels.</p> +<p>Thereupon the landlord, taking a bottle of ale from a basket, +uncorked it, and pouring the contents into two large glasses, +handed me one, and motioning me to sit down, placed himself by +me; then, emptying his own glass at a draught, he gave a kind of +grunt of satisfaction, and fixing his eyes upon the opposite side +of the bar, remained motionless, without saying a word, buried +apparently in important cogitations. With respect to +myself, I swallowed my ale more leisurely, and was about to +address my friend, when his niece, coming into the bar, said that +more and more customers were arriving, and how she should supply +their wants she did not know, unless her uncle would get and help +her.</p> +<p>“The customers!” said the landlord, “let the +scoundrels wait till you have time to serve them, or till I have +leisure to see after them.” “The kitchen +won’t contain half of them,” said his niece. +“Then let them sit out abroad,” said the +landlord. “But there are not benches enough, +uncle,” said the niece. “Then let them stand or +sit on the ground,” said the uncle, “what care I; +I’ll let them know that the man who beat Tom of Hopton +stands as well again on his legs as ever.” Then +opening a side door which led from the bar into the back yard, he +beckoned me to follow him. “You treat your customers +in rather a cavalier manner,” said I, when we were alone +together in the yard.</p> +<p>“Don’t I?” said the landlord; “and +I’ll treat them more so yet; now I have got the whiphand of +the rascals I intend to keep it. I dare say you are a bit +surprised with regard to the change which has come over things +since you were last here. I’ll tell you how it +happened. You remember in what a desperate condition you +found me, thinking of changing my religion, selling my soul to +the man in black, and then going and hanging myself like Pontius +Pilate; and I dare say you can’t have forgotten how you +gave me good advice, made me drink ale, and give up sherry. +Well, after you were gone, I felt all the better for your talk, +and what you had made me drink, and it was a mercy that I did +feel better; for my niece was gone out, poor thing, and I was +left alone in the house, without a soul to look at, or to keep me +from doing myself a mischief in case I was so inclined. +Well, things wore on in this way till it grew dusk, when in came +that blackguard Hunter with his train to drink at my expense, and +to insult me as usual; there were more than a dozen of them, and +a pretty set they looked. Well, they ordered about in a +very free and easy manner for upwards of an hour and a half, +occasionally sneering and jeering at me, as they had been in the +habit of doing for some time past; so, as I said before, things +wore on, and other customers came in, who, though they did not +belong to Hunter’s gang, also passed off their jokes upon +me; for, as you perhaps know, we English are a set of low hounds, +who will always take part with the many by way of making +ourselves safe, and currying favour with the stronger side. +I said little or nothing, for my spirits had again become very +low, and I was verily scared and afraid. All of a sudden I +thought of the ale which I had drank in the morning, and of the +good it did me then, so I went into the bar, opened another +bottle, took a glass, and felt better; so I took another, and +feeling better still, I went back into the kitchen, just as +Hunter and his crew were about leaving. ‘Mr. +Hunter,’ said I, ‘you and your people will please to +pay me for what you have had?’ ‘What do you +mean by my people?’ said he, with an oath. ‘Ah, +what do you mean by calling us his people?’ said the +clan. ‘We are nobody’s people;’ and then +there was a pretty load of abuse, and threatening to serve me +out. ‘Well,’ said I, ‘I was perhaps wrong +to call them your people, and beg your pardon and theirs. +And now you will please to pay me for what you have had yourself, +and afterwards I can settle with them.’ ‘I +shall pay you when I think fit,’ said Hunter. +‘Yes,’ said the rest, ‘and so shall we. +We shall pay you when we think fit.’ ‘I tell +you what,’ said Hunter, ‘I conceives I do such an old +fool as you an honour when I comes into his house and drinks his +beer, and goes away without paying for it;’ and then there +was a roar of laughter from everybody, and almost all said the +same thing. ‘Now do you please to pay me, Mr. +Hunter?’ said I. ‘Pay you!’ said Hunter; +‘pay you! Yes, here’s the pay;’ and +thereupon he held out his thumb, twirling it round till it just +touched my nose. I can’t tell you what I felt that +moment; a kind of madhouse thrill came upon me, and all I know +is, that I bent back as far as I could, then lunging out, struck +him under the ear, sending him reeling two or three yards, when +he fell on the floor. I wish you had but seen how my +company looked at me and at each other. One or two of the +clan went to raise Hunter, and get him to fight, but it was no +go; though he was not killed, he had had enough for that +evening. Oh, I wish you had seen my customers; those who +did not belong to the clan, but who had taken part with them, and +helped to jeer and flout me, now came and shook me by the hand, +wishing me joy, and saying as, how ‘I was a brave fellow, +and had served the bully right!’ As for the clan, +they all said Hunter was bound to do me justice; so they made him +pay me what he owed for himself, and the reckoning of those among +them who said they had no money. Two or three of them then +led him away, while the rest stayed behind, and flattered me, and +worshipped me, and called Hunter all kinds of dogs’ +names. What do you think of that?”</p> +<p>“Why,” said I, “it makes good what I read in +a letter which I received yesterday. It is just the way of +the world.”</p> +<p>“A’n’t it,” said the landlord. +“Well, that a’n’t all; let me go on. Good +fortune never yet came alone. In about an hour comes home +my poor niece, almost in high sterricks with joy, smiling and +sobbing. She had been to the clergyman of M---, the great +preacher, to whose church she was in the habit of going, and to +whose daughters she was well known; and to him she told a +lamentable tale about my distresses, and about the snares which +had been laid for my soul; and so well did she plead my cause, +and so strong did the young ladies back all she said, that the +good clergyman promised to stand my friend, and to lend me +sufficient money to satisfy the brewer, and to get my soul out of +the snares of the man in black; and sure enough the next morning +the two young ladies brought me the fifty pounds, which I +forthwith carried to the brewer, who was monstrously civil, +saying that he hoped any little misunderstanding we had had would +not prevent our being good friends in future. That +a’n’t all; the people of the neighbouring county +hearing as if by art witchcraft that I had licked Hunter, and was +on good terms with the brewer, forthwith began to come in crowds +to look at me, pay me homage, and be my customers. +Moreover, fifty scoundrels who owed me money, and would have seen +me starve rather than help me as long as they considered me a +down pin, remembered their debts, and came and paid me more than +they owed. That a’n’t all; the brewer being +about to establish a stage-coach and three, to run across the +country, says it shall stop and change horses at my house, and +the passengers breakfast and sup as it goes and returns. He +wishes me—whom he calls the best man in England—to +give his son lessons in boxing, which he says he considers a fine +manly English art, and a great defence against +Popery—notwithstanding that only a month ago, when he +considered me a down pin, he was in the habit of railing against +it as a blackguard practice, and against me as a blackguard for +following it; so I am going to commence with young hopeful +to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“I really cannot help congratulating you on your good +fortune,” said I.</p> +<p>“That a’n’t all,” said the +landlord. “This very morning the folks of our parish +made me churchwarden, which they would no more have done a month +ago, when they considered me a down pin, than +they—”</p> +<p>“Mercy upon us!” said I, “if fortune pours +in upon you in this manner, who knows but that within a year they +may make you a justice of the peace?”</p> +<p>“Who knows, indeed!” said the landlord. +“Well, I will prove myself worthy of my good luck by +showing the grateful mind—not to those who would be kind to +me now, but to those who were, when the days were rather +gloomy. My customers shall have abundance of rough +language, but I’ll knock any one down who says anything +against the clergyman who lent me the fifty pounds, or against +the Church of England, of which he is parson and I am +churchwarden. I am also ready to do anything in reason for +him who paid me for the ale he drank, when I shouldn’t have +had the heart to collar him for the money had he refused to pay; +who never jeered or flouted me like the rest of my customers when +I was a down pin—and though he refused to fight cross +<i>for</i> me was never cross <i>with</i> me, but listened to all +I had to say, and gave me all kinds of good advice. Now who +do you think I mean by this last? why, who but yourself—who +on earth but yourself? The parson is a good man and a great +preacher, and I’ll knock anybody down who says to the +contrary; and I mention him first, because why; he’s a +gentleman, and you a tinker. But I am by no means sure you +are not the best friend of the two; for I doubt, do you see, +whether I should have had the fifty pounds but for you. You +persuaded me to give up that silly drink they call sherry, and +drink ale; and what was it but drinking ale which gave me courage +to knock down that fellow Hunter—and knocking him down was, +I verily believe, the turning point of my disorder. God +don’t love them who won’t strike out for themselves; +and as far as I can calculate with respect to time, it was just +the moment after I had knocked down Hunter, that the parson +consented to lend me the money, and everything began to grow +civil to me. So, dash my buttons if I show the ungrateful +mind to you! I don’t offer to knock anybody down for +you, because why—I dare say you can knock a body down +yourself; but I’ll offer something more to the purpose; as +my business is wonderfully on the increase, I shall want somebody +to help me in serving my customers, and keeping them in +order. If you choose to come and serve for your board, and +what they’ll give you, give me your fist; or if you like +ten shillings a week better than their sixpences and +ha’pence, only say so—though, to be open with you, I +believe you would make twice ten shillings out of them—the +sneaking, fawning, curry-favouring humbugs!”</p> +<p>“I am much obliged to you,” said I, “for +your handsome offer, which, however, I am obliged to +decline.”</p> +<p>“Why so?” said the landlord.</p> +<p>“I am not fit for service,” said I; +“moreover, I am about to leave this part of the +country.” As I spoke a horse neighed in the +stable. “What horse is that?” said I.</p> +<p>“It belongs to a cousin of mine, who put it into my +hands yesterday in the hopes that I might get rid of it for him, +though he would no more have done so a week ago, when he +considered me a down pin, than he would have given the horse +away. Are you fond of horses?”</p> +<p>“Very much,” said I.</p> +<p>“Then come and look at it.” He led me into +the stable, where, in a stall, stood a noble-looking animal.</p> +<p>“Dear me,” said I, “I saw this horse at --- +fair.”</p> +<p>“Like enough,” said the landlord; “he was +there and was offered for seventy pounds, but didn’t find a +bidder at any price. What do you think of him?”</p> +<p>“He’s a splendid creature.”</p> +<p>“I am no judge of horses,” said the landlord; +“but I am told he’s a first-rate trotter, good +leaper, and has some of the blood of Syntax. What does all +that signify?—the game is against his master, who is a down +pin, is thinking of emigrating, and wants money +confoundedly. He asked seventy pounds at the fair; but, +between ourselves, he would be glad to take fifty +here.”</p> +<p>“I almost wish,” said I, “that I were a rich +squire.”</p> +<p>“You would buy him then,” said the landlord. +Here he mused for some time, with a very profound look. +“It would be a rum thing,” said he, “if, some +time or other, that horse should come into your hands. +Didn’t you hear how he neighed when you talked about +leaving the country? My granny was a wise woman, and was up +to all kinds of signs and wonders, sounds and noises, the +interpretation of the language of birds and animals, crowing and +lowing, neighing and braying. If she had been here, she +would have said at once that that horse was fated to carry you +away. On that point, however, I can say nothing, for under +fifty pounds no one can have him. Are you taking that money +out of your pocket to pay me for the ale? That won’t +do; nothing to pay; I invited you this time. Now if you are +going, you had best get into the road through the +yard-gate. I won’t trouble you to make your way +through the kitchen and my fine-weather company—confound +them!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<p>Mr. Petulengro’s Device—The Leathern +Purse—Consent to Purchase a Horse.</p> +<p>As I returned along the road I met Mr. Petulengro and one of +his companions, who told me that they were bound for the +public-house; whereupon I informed Jasper how I had seen in the +stable the horse which we had admired at the fair. “I +shouldn’t wonder if you buy that horse after all, +brother,” said Mr. Petulengro. With a smile at the +absurdity of such a supposition, I left him and his companion, +and betook myself to the dingle. In the evening I received +a visit from Mr. Petulengro, who forthwith commenced talking +about the horse, which he had again seen, the landlord having +shown it to him on learning that he was a friend of mine. +He told me that the horse pleased him more than ever, he having +examined his points with more accuracy than he had an opportunity +of doing on the first occasion, concluding by pressing me to buy +him. I begged him to desist from such foolish importunity, +assuring him that I had never so much money in all my life as +would enable me to purchase the horse. Whilst this +discourse was going on, Mr. Petulengro and myself were standing +together in the midst of the dingle. Suddenly he began to +move round me—in a very singular manner, making strange +motions with his hands, and frightful contortions with his +features, till I became alarmed, and asked him whether he had not +lost his senses? Whereupon, ceasing his movements and +contortions, he assured me that he had not, but had merely been +seized with a slight dizziness, and then once more returned to +the subject of the horse. Feeling myself very angry, I told +him that if he continued persecuting me in that manner, I should +be obliged to quarrel with him; adding, that I believed his only +motive for asking me to buy the animal was to insult my +poverty. “Pretty poverty,” said he, “with +fifty pounds in your pocket; however, I have heard say that it is +always the custom of your rich people to talk of their poverty, +more especially when they wish to avoid laying out +money.” Surprised at his saying that I had fifty +pounds in my pocket, I asked him what he meant; whereupon he told +me that he was very sure that I had fifty pounds in my pocket, +offering to lay me five shillings to that effect. +“Done!” said I; “I have scarcely more than the +fifth part of what you say.” “I know better, +brother,” said Mr. Petulengro; “if you only pull out +what you have in the pocket of your slop, I am sure you will have +lost your wager.” Putting my hand into the pocket, I +felt something which I had never felt there before, and pulling +it out, perceived that it was a clumsy leathern purse, which I +found on opening contained four ten-pound-notes, and several +pieces of gold. “Didn’t I tell you so, +brother?” said Mr. Petulengro. “Now, in the +first place, please to pay me the five shillings you have +lost.” “This is only a foolish piece of +pleasantry,” said I; “you put it into my pocket +whilst you were moving about me, making faces like a distracted +person. Here, take your purse back.” +“I?” said Mr. Petulengro, “not I, indeed I +don’t think I am such a fool. I have won my wager, so +pay me the five shillings, brother.” “Do drop +this folly,” said I, “and take your purse;” and +I flung it on the ground. “Brother,” said Mr. +Petulengro, “you were talking of quarrelling with me just +now. I tell you now one thing, which is, that if you do not +take back the purse I will quarrel with you; and it shall be for +good and all. I’ll drop your acquaintance, no longer +call you my pal, and not even say sarshan to you when I meet you +by the roadside. Hir mi diblis I never will.” I +saw by Jasper’s look and tone that he was in earnest, and, +as I had really a regard for the strange being, I scarcely knew +what to do. “Now, be persuaded, brother,” said +Mr. Petulengro, taking up the purse, and handing it to me; +“be persuaded; put the purse into your pocket, and buy the +horse.” “Well,” said I, “if I did +so, would you acknowledge the horse to be yours, and receive the +money again as soon as I should be able to repay you?”</p> +<p>“I would, brother, I would,” said he; +“return me the money as soon as you please, provided you +buy the horse.” “What motive have you for +wishing me to buy that horse?” said I. +“He’s to be sold for fifty pounds,” said +Jasper, “and is worth four times that sum; though, like +many a splendid bargain, he is now going a begging; buy him, and +I’m confident that, in a little time, a grand gentleman of +your appearance may have anything he asks for him, and found a +fortune by his means. Moreover, brother, I want to dispose +of this fifty pounds in a safe manner. If you don’t +take it, I shall fool it away in no time, perhaps at +card-playing, for you saw how I was cheated by those blackguard +jockeys the other day—we gyptians don’t know how to +take care of money: our best plan when we have got a handful of +guineas is to make buttons with them; but I have plenty of golden +buttons, and don’t wish to be troubled with more, so you +can do me no greater favour than vesting the money in this +speculation, by which my mind will be relieved of considerable +care and trouble for some time at least.”</p> +<p>Perceiving that I still hesitated, he said, “Perhaps, +brother, you think I did not come honestly by the money: by the +honestest manner in the world, for it is the money I earnt by +fighting in the ring: I did not steal it, brother, nor did I get +it by disposing of spavined donkeys, or glandered +ponies—nor is it, brother, the profits of my wife’s +witchcraft and dukkerin.”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “you had better employ it in +your traffic.” “I have plenty of money for my +traffic, independent of this capital,” said Mr. Petulengro; +“ay, brother, and enough besides to back the husband of my +wife’s sister, Sylvester, against Slammocks of the Chong +gav for twenty pounds, which I am thinking of doing.”</p> +<p>“But,” said I, “after all, the horse may +have found another purchaser by this time.” +“Not he,” said Mr. Petulengro, “there is nobody +in this neighbourhood to purchase a horse like that, unless it be +your lordship—so take the money, brother,” and he +thrust the purse into my hand. Allowing myself to be +persuaded, I kept possession of the purse. “Are you +satisfied now?” said I. “By no means, +brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, “you will please to +pay me the five shillings which you lost to me.” +“Why,” said I, “the fifty pounds which I found +in my pocket were not mine, but put in by yourself.” +“That’s nothing to do with the matter, +brother,” said Mr. Petulengro, “I betted you five +shillings that you had fifty pounds in your pocket, which sum you +had: I did not say that they were your own, but merely that you +had fifty pounds; you will therefore pay me, brother, or I shall +not consider you an honourable man.” Not wishing to +have any dispute about such a matter, I took five shillings out +of my under pocket, and gave them to him. Mr. Petulengro +took the money with great glee, observing—“These five +shillings I will take to the public-house forthwith, and spend in +drinking with four of my brethren, and doing so will give me an +opportunity of telling the landlord that I have found a customer +for his horse, and that you are the man. It will be as well +to secure the horse as soon as possible; for though the dook +tells me that the horse is intended for you, I have now and then +found that the dook is, like myself, somewhat given to +lying.”</p> +<p>He then departed, and I remained alone in the dingle. I +thought at first that I had committed a great piece of folly in +consenting to purchase this horse; I might find no desirable +purchaser for him, until the money in my possession should be +totally exhausted, and then I might be compelled to sell him for +half the price I had given for him, or be even glad to find a +person who would receive him at a gift; I should then remain sans +horse, and indebted to Mr. Petulengro. Nevertheless, it was +possible that I might sell the horse very advantageously, and by +so doing obtain a fund sufficient to enable me to execute some +grand enterprise or other. My present way of life afforded +no prospect of support, whereas the purchase of the horse did +afford a possibility of bettering my condition, so, after all, +had I not done right in consenting to purchase the horse? the +purchase was to be made with another person’s property, it +is true, and I did not exactly like the idea of speculating with +another person’s property, but Mr. Petulengro had thrust +his money upon me, and if I lost his money, he could have no one +but himself to blame; so I persuaded myself that I had, upon the +whole, done right, and having come to that persuasion, I soon +began to enjoy the idea of finding myself on horseback again, and +figured to myself all kinds of strange adventures which I should +meet with on the roads before the horse and I should part +company.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<p>Trying the Horse—The Feats of Tawno—Man with the +Red Waist-coat—Disposal of Property.</p> +<p>I saw nothing more of Mr. Petulengro that evening—on the +morrow, however, he came and informed me that he had secured the +horse for me, and that I was to go and pay for it at noon. +At the hour appointed, therefore, I went with Mr. Petulengro and +Tawno to the public, where, as before, there was a crowd of +company. The landlord received us in the bar with marks of +much satisfaction and esteem, made us sit down, and treated us +with some excellent mild draught ale. “Who do you +think has been here this morning?” he said to me, +“why, that fellow in black, who came to carry me off to a +house of Popish devotion, where I was to pass seven days and +nights in meditation, as I think he called it, before I publicly +renounced the religion of my country. I read him a pretty +lecture, calling him several unhandsome names, and asking him +what he meant by attempting to seduce a church-warden of the +Church of England. I tell you what, he ran some danger; for +some of my customers, learning his errand, laid hold on him, and +were about to toss him in a blanket, and then duck him in the +horse-pond. I, however, interfered, and said, ‘that +what he came about was between me and him, and that it was no +business of theirs.’ To tell you the truth, I felt +pity for the poor devil, more especially when I considered that +they merely sided against him because they thought him the +weakest, and that they would have wanted to serve me in the same +manner had they considered me a down pin; so I rescued him from +their hands, told him not to be afraid, for that nobody should +touch him, and offered to treat him to some cold gin and water +with a lump of sugar in it; and on his refusing, told him that he +had better make himself scarce, which he did, and I hope I shall +never see him again. So I suppose you are come for the +horse; mercy upon us! who would have thought you would have +become the purchaser? The horse, however, seemed to know it +by his neighing. How did you ever come by the money? +however, that’s no matter of mine. I suppose you are +strongly backed by certain friends you have.”</p> +<p>I informed the landlord that he was right in supposing that I +came for the horse, but that, before I paid for him, I should +wish to prove his capabilities. “With all my +heart,” said the landlord. “You shall mount him +this moment.” Then going into the stable, he saddled +and bridled the horse, and presently brought him out before the +door. I mounted him, Mr. Petulengro putting a heavy whip +into my hand, and saying a few words to me in his own mysterious +language. “The horse wants no whip,” said the +landlord. “Hold your tongue, daddy,” said Mr. +Petulengro. “My pal knows quite well what to do with +the whip, he’s not going to beat the horse with +it.” About four hundred yards from the house there +was a hill, to the foot of which the road ran almost on a perfect +level; towards the foot of this hill I trotted the horse, who set +off at a long, swift pace, seemingly at the rate of about sixteen +miles an hour. On reaching the foot of the hill, I wheeled +the animal round, and trotted him towards the house—the +horse sped faster than before. Ere he had advanced a +hundred yards, I took off my hat, in obedience to the advice +which Mr. Petulengro had given me, in his own language, and +holding it over the horse’s head commenced drumming on the +crown with the knob of the whip; the horse gave a slight start, +but instantly recovering himself, continued his trot till he +arrived at the door of the public-house, amidst the acclamations +of the company, who had all rushed out of the house to be +spectators of what was going on. “I see now what you wanted +the whip for,” said the landlord, “and sure enough, +that drumming on your hat was no bad way of learning whether the +horse was quiet or not. Well, did you ever see a more quiet +horse, or a better trotter?” “My cob shall trot +against him,” said a fellow, dressed in velveteen, mounted +on a low powerful-looking animal. “My cob shall trot +against him to the hill and back again—come +on!” We both started; the cob kept up gallantly +against the horse for about half way to the hill, when he began +to lose ground; at the foot of the hill he was about fifteen +yards behind. Whereupon I turned slowly and waited for +him. We then set off towards the house, but now the cob had +no chance, being at least twenty yards behind when I reached the +door. This running of the horse, the wild uncouth forms +around me, and the ale and beer which were being guzzled from +pots and flagons, put me wonderfully in mind of the ancient +horse-races of the heathen north. I almost imagined myself +Gunnar of Hlitharend at the race of—</p> +<p>“Are you satisfied?” said the landlord. +“Didn’t you tell me that he could leap?” I +demanded. “I am told he can,” said the +landlord; “but I can’t consent that he should be +tried in that way, as he might be damaged.” +“That’s right!” said Mr. Petulengro, +“don’t trust my pal to leap that horse, he’ll +merely fling him down, and break his neck and his own. +There’s a better man than he close by; let him get on his +back and leap him.” “You mean yourself, I +suppose,” said the landlord. “Well, I call that +talking modestly, and nothing becomes a young man more than +modesty.” “It a’n’t I, +daddy,” said Mr. Petulengro. “Here’s the +man,” said he, pointing to Tawno. “Here’s +the horse-leaper of the world!” “You mean the +horse-back breaker,” said the landlord. “That +big fellow would break down my cousin’s horse.” +“Why, he weighs only sixteen stone,” said Mr. +Petulengro. “And his sixteen stone, with his way of +handling a horse, does not press so much as any other one’s +thirteen. Only let him get on the horse’s back, and +you’ll see what he can do!” “No,” +said the landlord, “it won’t do.” Whereupon Mr. +Petulengro became very much excited; and pulling out a handful of +money, said, “I’ll tell you what, I’ll forfeit +these guineas, if my black pal there does the horse any kind of +damage; duck me in the horse-pond if I don’t.” +“Well,” said the landlord, “for the sport of +the thing I consent, so let your white pal get down, and our +black pal mount as soon as he pleases.” I felt rather +mortified at Mr. Petulengro’s interference; and showed no +disposition to quit my seat; whereupon he came up to me and said, +“Now, brother, do get out of the saddle—you are no +bad hand at trotting, I am willing to acknowledge that; but at +leaping a horse there is no one like Tawno. Let every dog +be praised for his own gift. You have been showing off in +your line for the last half-hour; now do give Tawno a chance of +exhibiting a little; poor fellow, he hasn’t often a chance +of exhibiting, as his wife keeps him so much out of +sight.” Not wishing to appear desirous of engrossing +the public attention, and feeling rather desirous to see how +Tawno, of whose exploits in leaping horses I had frequently +heard, would acquit himself in the affair, I at length +dismounted, and Tawno, at a bound, leaped into the saddle, where +he really looked like Gunnar of Hlitharend, save and except the +complexion of Gunnar was florid, whereas that of Tawno was of +nearly Mulatto darkness; and that all Tawno’s features were +cast in the Grecian model, whereas Gunnar had a snub nose. +“There’s a leaping-bar behind the house,” said +the landlord. “Leaping-bar!” said Mr. +Petulengro, scornfully. “Do you think my black pal +ever rides at a leaping-bar? No more than a +windle-straw. Leap over that meadow-wall, +Tawno.” Just past the house, in the direction in +which I had been trotting, was a wall about four feet high, +beyond which was a small meadow. Tawno rode the horse +gently up to the wall, permitted him to look over, then backed +him for about ten yards, and pressing his calves against the +horse’s sides, he loosed the rein, and the horse launching +forward, took the leap in gallant style. “Well done, +man and horse!” said Mr. Petulengro, “now come back, +Tawno.” The leap from the side of the meadow was, +however, somewhat higher; and the horse, when pushed at it, at +first turned away; whereupon Tawno backed him to a greater +distance, pushed the horse to a full gallop, giving a wild cry; +whereupon the horse again took the wall, slightly grazing one of +his legs against it. “A near thing,” said the +landlord; “but a good leap. Now, no more leaping, so +long as I have control over the animal.” The horse +was then led back to the stable; and the landlord, myself and +companions going into the bar, I paid down the money for the +horse.</p> +<p>Scarcely was the bargain concluded, when two or three of the +company began to envy me the possession of the horse, and forcing +their way into the bar, with much noise and clamour, said that +the horse had been sold too cheap. One fellow, in +particular, with a red waistcoat, the son of a wealthy farmer, +said that if he had but known that the horse had been so good a +one, he would have bought it at the first price asked for it, +which he was now willing to pay, that is to-morrow, +supposing—“supposing your father will let you have +the money,” said the landlord, “which, after all, +might not be the case; but, however that may be, it is too late +now. I think myself the horse has been sold for too little +money, but if so all the better for the young man, who came +forward when no other body did with his money in his hand. +There, take yourselves out of my bar,” he said to the +fellows; “and a pretty scoundrel you,” said he to the +man of the red waistcoat, “to say the horse has been sold +too cheap; why, it was only yesterday you said he was good for +nothing, and were passing all kinds of jokes at him. Take +yourself out of my bar, I say, you and all of you,” and he +turned the fellows out. I then asked the landlord whether +he would permit the horse to remain in the stable for a short +time, provided I paid for his entertainment; and on his willingly +consenting, I treated my friends with ale, and then returned with +them to the encampment.</p> +<p>That evening I informed Mr. Petulengro and his party that on +the morrow I intended to mount my horse, and leave that part of +the country in quest of adventures; inquiring of Jasper where, in +the event of my selling the horse advantageously, I might meet +with him, and repay the money I had borrowed of him; whereupon +Mr. Petulengro informed me that in about ten weeks I might find +him at a certain place at the Chong gav. I then stated that +as I could not well carry with me the property which I possessed +in the dingle, which after all was of no considerable value, I +had resolved to bestow the said property, namely, the pony, tent, +tinker-tools, etc., on Ursula and her husband, partly because +they were poor, and partly on account of the great kindness which +I bore to Ursula, from whom I had, on various occasions, +experienced all manner of civility, particularly in regard to +crabbed words. On hearing this intelligence, Ursula +returned many thanks to her gentle brother, as she called me, and +Sylvester was so overjoyed that, casting aside his usual phlegm, +he said I was the best friend he had ever had in the world, and +in testimony of his gratitude swore that he would permit his wife +to give me a choomer in the presence of the whole company, which +offer, however, met with a very mortifying reception, the company +frowning disapprobation, Ursula protesting against anything of +the kind, and I myself showing no forwardness to avail myself of +it, having inherited from nature a considerable fund of modesty, +to which was added no slight store acquired in the course of my +Irish education. I passed that night alone in the dingle in +a very melancholy manner, with little or no sleep, thinking of +Isopel Berners; and in the morning when I quitted it I shed +several tears, as I reflected that I should probably never again +see the spot where I had passed so many hours in her company.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<p>Farewell to the Romans—The Landlord and His +Niece—Set Out as a Traveller.</p> +<p>On reaching the plain above, I found my Romany friends +breakfasting, and on being asked by Mr. Petulengro to join them, +I accepted the invitation. No sooner was breakfast over +than I informed Ursula and her husband that they would find the +property, which I had promised them, in the dingle, commending +the little pony Ambrol to their best care. I took leave of +the whole company, which was itself about to break up camp and to +depart in the direction of London, and made the best of my way to +the public-house. I had a small bundle in my hand, and was +dressed in the same manner as when I departed from London, having +left my waggoner’s slop with the other effects in the +dingle. On arriving at the public-house, I informed the +landlord that I was come for my horse, inquiring, at the same +time, whether he could not accommodate me with a bridle and +saddle. He told me that the bridle and saddle, with which I +had ridden the horse on the preceding day, were at my service for +a trifle; that he had received them some time since in payment +for a debt, and that he had himself no use for them. The +leathers of the bridle were rather shabby, and the bit rusty, and +the saddle was old fashioned; but I was happy to purchase them +for seven shillings, more especially as the landlord added a +small valise, which he said could be strapped to the saddle, and +which I should find very convenient for carrying my things +in. I then proceeded to the stable, told the horse we were +bound on an expedition, and giving him a feed of corn, left him +to discuss it, and returned to the bar-room to have a little +farewell chat with the landlord, and at the same time to drink +with him a farewell glass of ale. Whilst we were talking +and drinking, the niece came and joined us: she was a decent, +sensible young woman, who appeared to take a great interest in +her uncle, whom she regarded with a singular mixture of pride +and, disapprobation—pride for the renown which he had +acquired by his feats of old, and disapprobation for his late +imprudences. She said that she hoped that his misfortunes +would be a warning to him to turn more to his God than he had +hitherto done, and to give up cock-fighting and other low-life +practices. To which the landlord replied, that with respect +to cock-fighting he intended to give it up entirely, being +determined no longer to risk his capital upon birds, and with +respect to his religious duties, he should attend the church of +which he was churchwarden at least once a quarter, adding, +however, that he did not intend to become either canter or +driveller, neither of which characters would befit a publican +surrounded by such customers as he was, and that to the last day +of his life he hoped to be able to make use of his fists. +After a stay of about two hours I settled accounts, and having +bridled and saddled my horse, and strapped on my valise, I +mounted, shook hands with the landlord and his niece, and +departed, notwithstanding that they both entreated me to tarry +until the evening, it being then the heat of the day.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<p>An Adventure on the Road—The Six Flint Stone—A +Rural Scene—Mead—The Old Man and His Bees.</p> +<p>I bent my course in the direction of the north, more induced +by chance than any particular motive; all quarters of the world +having about equal attractions for me. I was in high +spirits at finding myself once more on horse-back, and trotted +gaily on, until the heat of the weather induced me to slacken my +pace, more out of pity for my horse than because I felt any +particular inconvenience from it—heat and cold being then, +and still, matters of great indifference to me. What I +thought of I scarcely know, save and except that I have a +glimmering recollection that I felt some desire to meet with one +of those adventures which upon the roads of England are generally +as plentiful as blackberries in autumn; and Fortune, who has +generally been ready to gratify my inclinations, provided it cost +her very little by so doing, was not slow in furnishing me with +an adventure, perhaps as characteristic of the English roads as +anything which could have happened.</p> +<p>I might have travelled about six miles amongst cross roads and +lanes, when suddenly I found myself upon a broad and very dusty +road which seemed to lead due north. As I wended along this +I saw a man upon a donkey riding towards me. The man was +commonly dressed, with a broad felt hat on his head, and a kind +of satchel on his back; he seemed to be in a mighty hurry, and +was every now and then belabouring the donkey with a +cudgel. The donkey, however, which was a fine large +creature of the silver-grey species, did not appear to sympathize +at all with its rider in his desire to get on, but kept its head +turned back as much as possible, moving from one side of the road +to the other, and not making much forward way. As I passed, +being naturally of a very polite disposition, I gave the man the +sele of the day, asking him, at the same time, why he beat the +donkey; whereupon the fellow eyeing me askance, told me to mind +my own business, with the addition of something which I need not +repeat. I had not proceeded a furlong before I saw seated +on the dust by the wayside, close by a heap of stones, and with +several flints before him, a respectable-looking old man, with a +straw hat and a white smock, who was weeping bitterly.</p> +<p>“What are you crying for, father?” said I. +“Have you come to any hurt?” “Hurt +enough,” sobbed the old man, “I have just been +tricked out of the best ass in England by a villain, who gave me +nothing but these trash in return,” pointing to the stones +before him. “I really scarcely understand you,” +said I, “I wish you would explain yourself more +clearly.” “I was riding on my ass from +market,” said the old man, “when I met here a fellow +with a sack on his back, who, after staring at the ass and me a +moment or two, asked me if I would sell her. I told him +that I could not think of selling her, as she was very useful to +me, and though an animal, my true companion, whom I loved as much +as if she were my wife and daughter. I then attempted to +pass on, but the fellow stood before me, begging me to sell her, +saying that he would give me anything for her; well, seeing that +he persisted, I said at last that if I sold her, I must have six +pounds for her, and I said so to get rid of him, for I saw that +he was a shabby fellow, who had probably not six shillings in the +world; but I had better have held my tongue,” said the old +man, crying more bitterly than before, “for the words were +scarcely out of my mouth, when he said he would give me what I +asked, and taking the sack from his back, he pulled out a +steelyard, and going to the heap of stones there, he took up +several of them and weighed them, then flinging them down before +me, he said, ‘There are six pounds, neighbour; now, get off +the ass, and hand her over to me.’ Well, I sat like +one dumbfoundered for a time, till at last I asked him what he +meant? ‘What do I mean?’ said he, ‘you +old rascal, why, I mean to claim my purchase,’ and then he +swore so awfully, that scarcely knowing what I did I got down, +and he jumped on the animal and rode off as fast as he +could.” “I suppose he was the fellow,” +said I, “whom I just now met upon a fine gray ass, which he +was beating with a cudgel.” “I dare say he +was,” said the old man, “I saw him beating her as he +rode away, and I thought I should have died.” +“I never heard such a story,” said I; “well, do +you mean to submit to such a piece of roguery +quietly?” “Oh, dear,” said the old man, +“what can I do? I am seventy-nine years of age; I am +bad on my feet, and dar’n’t go after +him.”—“Shall I go?” said I; “the +fellow is a thief, and any one has a right to stop +him.” “Oh, if you could but bring her again to +me,” said the old man, “I would bless you till my +dying day; but have a care; I don’t know but after all the +law may say that she is his lawful purchase. I asked six +pounds for her, and he gave me six pounds.” +“Six flints, you mean,” said I, “no, no, the +law is not quite so bad as that either; I know something about +her, and am sure that she will never sanction such a +quibble. At all events, I’ll ride after the +fellow.” Thereupon turning my horse round, I put him +to his very best trot; I rode nearly a mile without obtaining a +glimpse of the fellow, and was becoming apprehensive that he had +escaped me by turning down some by-path, two or three of which I +had passed. Suddenly, however, on the road making a slight +turning, I perceived him right before me, moving at a tolerably +swift pace, having by this time probably overcome the resistance +of the animal. Putting my horse to a full gallop, I shouted +at the top of my voice, “Get off that donkey, you rascal, +and give her up to me, or I’ll ride you down.” +The fellow hearing the thunder of the horse’s hoofs behind +him, drew up on one side of the road. “What do you +want?” said he, as I stopped my charger, now almost covered +with sweat and foam close beside him. “Do you want to +rob me?” “To rob you?” said I. +“No! but to take from you that ass, of which you have just +robbed its owner.” “I have robbed no +man,” said the fellow; “I just now purchased it +fairly of its master, and the law will give it to me; he asked +six pounds for it, and I gave him six pounds.” +“Six stones, you mean, you rascal,” said I; +“get down, or my horse shall be upon you in a +moment;” then with a motion of my reins, I caused the horse +to rear, pressing his sides with my heels as if I intended to +make him leap. “Stop,” said the man, +“I’ll get down, and then try if I can’t serve +you out.” He then got down, and confronted me with +his cudgel; he was a horrible-looking fellow, and seemed prepared +for anything. Scarcely, however, had he dismounted, when +the donkey jerked the bridle out of his hand, and probably in +revenge for the usage she had received, gave him a pair of +tremendous kicks on the hip with her hinder legs, which +overturned him, and then scampered down the road the way she had +come. “Pretty treatment this,” said the fellow, +getting up without his cudgel, and holding his hand to his side, +“I wish I may not be lamed for life.” +“And if you be,” said I, “it will merely serve +you right, you rascal, for trying to cheat a poor old man out of +his property by quibbling at words.” +“Rascal!” said the fellow, “you lie, I am no +rascal; and as for quibbling with words—suppose I +did! What then? All the first people does it! +The newspapers does it! the gentlefolks that calls themselves the +guides of the popular mind does it! I’m no +ignoramus. I read the newspapers, and knows what’s +what.” “You read them to some purpose,” +said I. “Well, if you are lamed for life, and +unfitted for any active line—turn newspaper editor; I +should say you are perfectly qualified, and this day’s +adventure may be the foundation of your fortune,” thereupon +I turned round and rode off. The fellow followed me with a +torrent of abuse. “Confound you,” said +he—yet that was not the expression either—“I +know you; you are one of the horse-patrol come down into the +country on leave to see your relations. Confound you, you +and the like of you have knocked my business on the head near +Lunnon, and I suppose we shall have you shortly in the +country.” “To the newspaper office,” said +I, “and fabricate falsehoods out of flint stones;” +then touching the horse with my heels, I trotted off, and coming +to the place where I had seen the old man, I found him there, +risen from the ground, and embracing his ass.</p> +<p>I told him that I was travelling down the road, and said, that +if his way lay in the same direction as mine he could do no +better than accompany me for some distance, lest the fellow who, +for aught I knew, might be hovering nigh, might catch him alone, +and again get his ass from him. After thanking me for my +offer, which he said he would accept, he got upon his ass, and we +proceeded together down the road. My new acquaintance said +very little of his own accord; and when I asked him a question, +answered rather incoherently. I heard him every now and +then say, “Villain!” to himself, after which he would +pat the donkey’s neck, from which circumstance I concluded +that his mind was occupied with his late adventure. After +travelling about two miles, we reached a place where a drift-way +on the right led from the great road; here my companion stopped, +and on my asking him whether he was going any farther, he told me +that the path to the right was the way to his home.</p> +<p>I was bidding him farewell, when he hemmed once or twice, and +said, that as he did not live far off, he hoped that I would go +with him and taste some of his mead. As I had never tasted +mead, of which I had frequently read in the compositions of the +Welsh bards, and, moreover, felt rather thirsty from the heat of +the day, I told him that I should have great pleasure in +attending him. Whereupon, turning off together, we +proceeded about half a mile, sometimes between stone walls, and +at other times hedges, till we reached a small hamlet, through +which we passed, and presently came to a very pretty cottage, +delightfully situated within a garden, surrounded by a hedge of +woodbines. Opening a gate at one corner of the garden he +led the way to a large shed, which stood partly behind the +cottage, which he said was his stable; thereupon he dismounted +and led his donkey into the shed, which was without stalls, but +had a long rack and manger. On one side he tied his donkey, +after taking off her caparisons, and I followed his example, +tying my horse at the other side with a rope halter which he gave +me; he then asked me to come in and taste his mead, but I told +him that I must attend to the comfort of my horse first, and +forthwith, taking a wisp of straw, rubbed him carefully +down. Then taking a pailful of clear water which stood in +the shed, I allowed the horse to drink about half a pint; and +then turning to the old man, who all the time had stood by +looking at my proceedings, I asked him whether he had any +oats? “I have all kinds of grain,” he replied; +and, going out, he presently returned with two measures, one a +large and the other a small one, both filled with oats, mixed +with a few beans, and handing the large one to me for the horse, +he emptied the other before the donkey, who, before she began to +despatch it, turned her nose to her master’s face, and +fairly kissed him. Having given my horse his portion, I +told the old man that I was ready to taste his mead as soon as he +pleased, whereupon he ushered me into his cottage, where, making +me sit down by a deal table in a neatly sanded kitchen, he +produced from an old-fashioned closet a bottle, holding about a +quart, and a couple of cups, which might each contain about half +a pint, then opening the bottle and filling the cups with a +brown-coloured liquor, he handed one to me, and taking a seat +opposite to me, he lifted the other, nodded, and saying to +me—“Health and welcome,” placed it to his lips +and drank.</p> +<p>“Health and thanks,” I replied; and being very +thirsty, emptied my cup at a draught; I had scarcely done so, +however, when I half repented. The mead was deliciously +sweet and mellow, but appeared strong as brandy; my eyes reeled +in my head, and my brain became slightly dizzy. “Mead +is a strong drink,” said the old man, as he looked at me, +with a half smile on his countenance. “This is at any +rate,” said I, “so strong, indeed, that I would not +drink another cup for any consideration.” “And +I would not ask you,” said the old man; “for, if you +did, you would most probably be stupid all day, and wake the next +morning with a headache. Mead is a good drink, but woundily +strong, especially to those who be not used to it, as I suppose +you are not.” “Where do you get it?” said +I. “I make it myself,” said the old man, +“from the honey which my bees make.” +“Have you many bees?” I inquired. “A +great many,” said the old man. “And do you keep +them,” said I, “for the sake of making mead with +their honey?” “I keep them,” he replied, +“partly because I am fond of them, and partly for what they +bring me in; they make me a great deal of honey, some of which I +sell, and with a little I make some mead to warm my poor heart +with, or occasionally to treat a friend with like +yourself.” “And do you support yourself +entirely by means of your bees?” “No,” +said the old man; “I have a little bit of ground behind my +house, which is my principal means of support.” +“And do you live alone?” “Yes,” +said he; “with the exception of the bees and the donkey, I +live quite alone.” “And have you always lived +alone?” The old man emptied his cup, and his heart +being warmed with the mead, he told his history, which was +simplicity itself. His father was a small yeoman, who, at +his death, had left him, his only child, the cottage, with a +small piece of ground behind it, and on this little property he +had lived ever since. About the age of twenty-five he had +married an industrious young woman, by whom he had one daughter, +who died before reaching years of womanhood. His wife, +however, had survived her daughter many years, and had been a +great comfort to him, assisting him in his rural occupations; +but, about four years before the present period, he had lost her, +since which time he had lived alone, making himself as +comfortable as he could; cultivating his ground, with the help of +a lad from the neighbouring village, attending to his bees, and +occasionally riding his donkey to market, and hearing the word of +God, which he said he was sorry he could not read, twice a week +regularly at the parish church. Such was the old +man’s tale.</p> +<p>When he had finished speaking, he led me behind his house, and +showed me his little domain. It consisted of about two +acres in admirable cultivation; a small portion of it formed a +kitchen garden, while the rest was sown with four kinds of grain, +wheat, barley, peas, and beans. The air was full of +ambrosial sweets, resembling those proceeding from an orange +grove; a place which though I had never seen at that time, I +since have. In the garden was the habitation of the bees, a +long box, supported upon three oaken stumps. It was full of +small round glass windows, and appeared to be divided into a +great many compartments, much resembling drawers placed +sideways. He told me that, as one compartment was filled, +the bees left it for another; so that, whenever he wanted honey, +he could procure some without injury to the insects. +Through the little round windows I could see several of the bees +at work; hundreds were going in and out of the doors; hundreds +were buzzing about on the flowers, the woodbines, and +beans. As I looked around on the well-cultivated field, the +garden, and the bees, I thought I had never before seen so rural +and peaceful a scene.</p> +<p>When we returned to the cottage we again sat down, and I asked +the old man whether he was not afraid to live alone. He +told me that he was not, for that, upon the whole, his neighbours +were very kind to him. I mentioned the fellow who had +swindled him of his donkey upon the road. “That was +no neighbour of mine,” said the old man, “and, +perhaps, I shall never see him again, or his like.” +“It’s a dreadful thing,” said I, “to have +no other resource, when injured, than to shed tears on the +road.” “It is so,” said the old man; +“but God saw the tears of the old, and sent a +helper.” “Why did you not help yourself?” +said I. “Instead of getting off your ass, why did you +not punch at the fellow, or at any rate use dreadful language, +call him villain, and shout robbery?” +“Punch!” said the old man, “shout! what, with +these hands, and this voice—Lord, how you run on! I +am old, young chap, I am old!” “Well,” +said I, “it is a shameful thing to cry even when +old.” “You think so now,” said the old +man, “because you are young and strong; perhaps when you +are as old as I, you will not be ashamed to cry.”</p> +<p>Upon the whole I was rather pleased with the old man, and much +with all about him. As evening drew nigh, I told him that I +must proceed on my journey; whereupon he invited me to tarry with +him during the night, telling me that he had a nice room and bed +above at my service. I, however, declined; and bidding him +farewell, mounted my horse, and departed. Regaining the +road, I proceeded once more in the direction of the north; and, +after a few hours, coming to a comfortable public-house, I +stopped, and put up for the night.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<p>The Singular Noise—Sleeping in a Meadow—The +Book—Cure for Wakefulness—Literary Tea +Party—Poor Byron.</p> +<p>I did not awake till rather late the next morning; and when I +did, I felt considerable drowsiness, with a slight headache, +which I was uncharitable enough to attribute to the mead which I +had drunk on the preceding day. After feeding my horse, and +breakfasting, I proceeded on my wanderings. Nothing +occurred worthy of relating till mid-day was considerably past, +when I came to a pleasant valley, between two gentle hills. +I had dismounted, in order to ease my horse, and was leading him +along by the bridle, when, on my right, behind a bank in which +some umbrageous ashes were growing, heard a singular noise. +I stopped short and listened, and presently said to myself, +“Surely this is snoring, perhaps that of a +hedgehog.” On further consideration, however, I was +convinced that the noise which I heard, and which certainly +seemed to be snoring, could not possibly proceed from the +nostrils of so small an animal, but must rather come from those +of a giant, so loud and sonorous was it. About two or three +yards farther was a gate, partly open, to which I went, and +peeping into the field, saw a man lying on some rich grass, under +the shade of one of the ashes; he was snoring away at a great +rate. Impelled by curiosity, I fastened the bridle of my +horse to the gate, and went up to the man. He was a +genteelly-dressed individual; rather corpulent, with dark +features, and seemingly about forty-five. He lay on his +back, his hat slightly over his brow, and at his right hand lay +an open book. So strenuously did he snore that the wind +from his nostrils agitated, perceptibly, a fine cambric frill +which he wore at his bosom. I gazed upon him for some time, +expecting that he might awake; but he did not, but kept on +snoring, his breast heaving convulsively. At last, the +noise he made became so terrible, that I felt alarmed for his +safety, imagining that a fit might seize him, and he lose his +life while fast asleep. I therefore exclaimed, “Sir, +sir, awake! you sleep over-much.” But my voice failed +to rouse him, and he continued snoring as before; whereupon I +touched him slightly with my riding wand, but failing to wake +him, I touched him again more vigorously; whereupon he opened his +eyes, and, probably imagining himself in a dream, closed them +again. But I was determined to arouse him, and cried as +loud as I could, “Sir, sir, pray sleep no +more!” He heard what I said, opened his eyes again, +stared at me with a look of some consciousness, and, half raising +himself upon his elbows, asked me what was the matter. +“I beg your pardon,” said I, “but I took the +liberty of awaking you, because you appeared to be much disturbed +in your sleep—I was fearful, too, that you might catch a +fever from sleeping under a tree.” “I run no +risk,” said the man, “I often come and sleep here; +and as for being disturbed in my sleep, I felt very comfortable; +I wish you had not awoke me.” “Well,” +said I, “I beg your pardon once more. I assure you +that what I did was with the best intention.” +“Oh! pray make no further apology,” said the +individual, “I make no doubt that what you did was done +kindly; but there’s an old proverb, to the effect, +‘that you should let sleeping dogs lie,’” he +added with a smile. Then, getting up, and stretching +himself with a yawn, he took up his book and said, “I have +slept quite long enough, and it’s quite time for me to be +going home.” “Excuse my curiosity,” said +I, “if I inquire what may induce you to come and sleep in +this meadow?” “To tell you the truth,” +answered he, “I am a bad sleeper.” “Pray +pardon me,” said I, “if I tell you that I never saw +one sleep more heartily.” “If I did so,” +said the individual, “I am beholden to this meadow and this +book; but I am talking riddles, and will explain myself. I +am the owner of a very pretty property, of which this valley +forms part. Some years ago, however, up started a person +who said the property was his; a lawsuit ensued, and I was on the +brink of losing my all, when, most unexpectedly, the suit was +determined in my favour. Owing, however, to the anxiety to +which my mind had been subjected for several years, my nerves had +become terribly shaken; and no sooner was the trial terminated +than sleep forsook my pillow. I sometimes passed nights +without closing an eye; I took opiates, but they rather increased +than alleviated my malady. About three weeks ago a friend +of mine put this book into my hand, and advised me to take it +every day to some pleasant part of my estate, and try and read a +page or two, assuring me, if I did, that I should infallibly fall +asleep. I took his advice, and selecting this place, which +I considered the pleasantest part of my property, I came, and +lying down, commenced reading the book, and before finishing a +page was in a dead slumber. Every day since then I have +repeated the experiment, and every time with equal success. +I am a single man, without any children; and yesterday I made my +will, in which, in the event of my friend’s surviving me, I +have left him all my fortune, in gratitude for his having +procured for me the most invaluable of all +blessings—sleep.”</p> +<p>“Dear me,” said I, “how very +extraordinary! Do you think that your going to sleep is +caused by the meadow or the book?” “I suppose +by both,” said my new acquaintance, “acting in +co-operation.” “It may be so,” said I; +“the magic influence does certainly not proceed from the +meadow alone; for since I have been here, I have not felt the +slightest inclination to sleep. Does the book consist of +prose or poetry?” “It consists of +poetry,” said the individual. “Not +Byron’s?” said I. “Byron’s!” +repeated the individual, with a smile of contempt; “no, no; +there is nothing narcotic in Byron’s poetry. I +don’t like it. I used to read it, but it thrilled, +agitated, and kept me awake. No; this is not Byron’s +poetry, but the inimitable ---’s”—mentioning a +name which I had never heard till then. “Will you +permit me to look at it?” said I. “With +pleasure,” he answered, politely handing me the book. +I took the volume, and glanced over the contents. It was +written in blank verse, and appeared to abound in descriptions of +scenery; there was much mention of mountains, valleys, streams, +and waterfalls, harebells and daffodils. These descriptions +were interspersed with dialogues, which, though they proceeded +from the mouths of pedlars and rustics, were of the most edifying +description; mostly on subjects moral or metaphysical, and +couched in the most gentlemanly and unexceptionable language, +without the slightest mixture of vulgarity, coarseness, or +pie-bald grammar. Such appeared to me to be the contents of +the book; but before I could form a very clear idea of them, I +found myself nodding, and a surprising desire to sleep coming +over me. Rousing myself, however, by a strong effort, I +closed the book, and, returning it to the owner, inquired of him, +“Whether he had any motive in coming and lying down in the +meadow, besides the wish of enjoying sleep?” +“None whatever,” he replied; “indeed, I should +be very glad not to be compelled to do so, always provided I +could enjoy the blessing of sleep; for by lying down under trees, +I may possibly catch the rheumatism, or be stung by serpents; +and, moreover, in the rainy season and winter the thing will be +impossible, unless I erect a tent, which will possibly destroy +the charm.” “Well,” said I, “you +need give yourself no further trouble about coming here, as I am +fully convinced that with this book in your hand, you may go to +sleep anywhere, as your friend was doubtless aware, though he +wished to interest your imagination for a time by persuading you +to lie abroad; therefore, in future, whenever you feel disposed +to sleep, try to read the book, and you will be sound asleep in a +minute; the narcotic influence lies in the book, and not in the +field.” “I will follow your advice,” said +the individual; “and this very night take it with me to +bed; though I hope in time to be able to sleep without it, my +nerves being already much quieted from the slumbers I have +enjoyed in this field.” He then moved towards the +gate, where we parted; he going one way, and I and my horse the +other.</p> +<p>More than twenty years subsequent to this period, after much +wandering about the world, returning to my native country, I was +invited to a literary tea-party, where, the discourse turning +upon poetry, I, in order to show that I was not more ignorant +than my neighbours, began to talk about Byron, for whose writings +I really entertained considerable admiration, though I had no +particular esteem for the man himself. At first, I received +no answer to what I said—the company merely surveying me +with a kind of sleepy stare. At length a lady, about the +age of forty, with a large wart on her face, observed, in a +drawling tone, “That she had not read Byron—at least, +since her girlhood—and then only a few passages; but that +the impression on her mind was, that his writings were of a +highly objectionable character.” “I also read a +little of him in my boyhood,” said a gentleman about sixty, +but who evidently, from his dress and demeanour, wished to appear +about thirty, “but I highly disapproved of him; for, +notwithstanding he was a nobleman, he is frequently very coarse, +and very fond of raising emotion. Now emotion is what I +dislike;” drawling out the last syllable of the word +dislike. “There is only one poet for me—the +divine—” and then he mentioned a name which I had +only once heard, and afterwards quite forgotten; the same +mentioned by the snorer in the field. “Ah! there is +no one like him!” murmured some more of the company; +“the poet of nature—of nature without its +vulgarity.” I wished very much to ask these people +whether they were ever bad sleepers, and whether they had read +the poet, so called, from a desire of being set to sleep. +Within a few days, however, I learnt that it had of late become +very fashionable and genteel to appear half asleep, and that one +could exhibit no better mark of superfine breeding than by +occasionally in company setting one’s rhomal organ in +action. I then ceased to wonder at the popularity, which I +found nearly universal, of ---’s poetry; for, certainly in +order to make one’s self appear sleepy in company, or +occasionally to induce sleep, nothing could be more efficacious +than a slight prelection of his poems. So poor Byron, with +his fire and emotion—to say nothing of his mouthings and +coxcombry—was dethroned, as I prophesied he would be more +than twenty years before, on the day of his funeral, though I had +little idea that his humiliation would have been brought about by +one, whose sole strength consists in setting people to +sleep. Well, all things are doomed to terminate in +sleep. Before that termination, however, I will venture to +prophesy that people will become a little more +awake—snoring and yawning be a little less in +fashion—and poor Byron be once more reinstated on his +throne, though his rival will always stand a good chance of being +worshipped by those whose ruined nerves are insensible to the +narcotic powers of opium and morphine.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<p>Drivers and Front Outside Passengers—Fatigue of Body and +Mind—Unexpected Greeting—My Inn—The +Governor—Engagement.</p> +<p>I continued my journey, passing through one or two +villages. The day was exceedingly hot, and the roads +dusty. In order to cause my horse as little fatigue as +possible, and not to chafe his back, I led him by the bridle, my +doing which brought upon me a shower of remarks, jests, and +would-be witticisms from the drivers and front outside passengers +of sundry stage-coaches which passed me in one direction or the +other. In this way I proceeded till considerably past noon, +when I felt myself very fatigued, and my horse appeared no less +so; and it is probable that the lazy and listless manner in which +we were moving on, tired us both much more effectually than +hurrying along at a swift trot would have done, for I have +observed that when the energies of the body are not exerted a +languor frequently comes over it. At length arriving at a +very large building with an archway, near the entrance of a town, +I sat down on what appeared to be a stepping-block, and presently +experienced a great depression of spirits. I began to ask +myself whither I was going, and what I should do with myself and +the horse which I held by the bridle? It appeared to me +that I was alone in the world with the poor animal, who looked +for support to me, who knew not how to support myself. Then +the image of Isopel Berners came into my mind, and when I thought +how I had lost her for ever, and how happy I might have been with +her in the New World had she not deserted me, I became yet more +miserable.</p> +<p>As I sat in this state of mind, I suddenly felt some one clap +me on the shoulder, and heard a voice say, “Ha! comrade of +the dingle, what chance has brought you into these +parts?” I turned round, and beheld a man in the dress +of a postillion, whom I instantly recognized as he to whom I had +rendered assistance on the night of the storm.</p> +<p>“Ah!” said I, “is it you? I am glad to +see you, for I was feeling very lonely and melancholy.”</p> +<p>“Lonely and melancholy,” he replied, “how is +that? how can any one be lonely and melancholy with such a noble +horse as that you hold by the bridle?”</p> +<p>“The horse,” said I, “is one cause of my +melancholy, for I know not in the world what to do with +it.”</p> +<p>“It is your own?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “I may call it my own, though +I borrowed the money to purchase it.”</p> +<p>“Well, why don’t you sell it?”</p> +<p>“It is not always easy to find a purchaser for a horse +like this,” said I; “can you recommend me +one?”</p> +<p>“I? Why no, not exactly; but you’ll find a +purchaser shortly—pooh! if you have no other cause for +disquiet than that horse, cheer up, man, don’t be cast +down. Have you nothing else on your mind? By the bye, +what’s become of the young woman you were keeping company +with in that queer lodging place of yours?”</p> +<p>“She has left me,” said I.</p> +<p>“You quarrelled, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “we did not exactly quarrel, +but we are parted.”</p> +<p>“Well,” replied he, “but you will soon come +together again.”</p> +<p>“No,” said I, “we are parted for +ever.”</p> +<p>“For ever! Pooh! you little know how people +sometimes come together again who think they are parted for +ever. Here’s something on that point relating to +myself. You remember, when I told you my story in that +dingle of yours, that I mentioned a young woman, my +fellow-servant when I lived with the English family in Mumbo +Jumbo’s town, and how she and I, when our foolish governors +were thinking of changing their religion, agreed to stand by each +other, and be true to old Church of England, and to give our +governors warning, provided they tried to make us +renegades. Well, she and I parted soon after that, and +never to meet again, yet we met the other day in the fields, for +she lately came to live with a great family not far from here, +and we have since agreed to marry, to take a little farm, for we +have both a trifle of money, and live together till ‘death +us do part.’ So much for parting for ever! But +what do I mean by keeping you broiling in the sun with your +horse’s bridle in your hand, and you on my own +ground? Do you know where you are? Why, that great +house is my inn, that is, it’s my master’s, the best +fellow in ---. Come along, you and your horse both will +find a welcome at my inn.”</p> +<p>Thereupon he led the way into a large court in which there +were coaches, chaises, and a great many people; taking my horse +from me, he led it into a nice cool stall, and fastened it to the +rack—he then conducted me into a postillion’s +keeping-room, which at that time chanced to be empty, and he then +fetched a pot of beer and sat down by me.</p> +<p>After a little conversation he asked me what I intended to do, +and I told him frankly that I did not know; whereupon he observed +that, provided I had no objection, he had little doubt that I +could be accommodated for some time at his inn. “Our +upper ostler,” said he, “died about a week ago; he +was a clever fellow, and, besides his trade, understood reading +and accounts.”</p> +<p>“Dear me,” said I, interrupting him, “I am +not fitted for the place of ostler—moreover, I refused the +place of ostler at a public-house, which was offered to me only a +few days ago.” The postillion burst into a +laugh. “Ostler at a public-house, indeed! why, you +would not compare a berth at a place like that with the situation +of ostler at my inn, the first road-house in England! +However, I was not thinking of the place of ostler for you; you +are, as you say, not fitted for it, at any rate, not at a house +like this. We have, moreover, the best under-ostler in all +England—old Bill, with the drawback that he is rather fond +of drink. We could make shift with him very well, provided +we could fall in with a man of writing and figures, who could +give an account of the hay and corn which comes in and goes out, +and wouldn’t object to give a look occasionally at the +yard. Now it appears to me that you are just such a kind of +man, and, if you will allow me to speak to the governor, I +don’t doubt that he will gladly take you, as he feels +kindly disposed towards you from what he has heard me say +concerning you.”</p> +<p>“And what should I do with my horse?” said I.</p> +<p>“The horse need give you no uneasiness,” said the +postillion; “I know he will be welcome here both for bed +and manger, and, perhaps, in a little time you may find a +purchaser, as a vast number of sporting people frequent this +house.” I offered two or three more objections, which +the postillion overcame with great force of argument, and the pot +being nearly empty, he drained it to the bottom drop, and then +starting up, left me alone.</p> +<p>In about twenty minutes he returned, accompanied by a highly +intelligent-looking individual, dressed in blue and black, with a +particularly white cravat, and without a hat on his head: this +individual, whom I should have mistaken for a gentleman but for +the intelligence depicted in his face, he introduced to me as the +master of the inn. The master of the inn shook me warmly by +the hand, told me that he was happy to see me in his house, and +thanked me in the handsomest terms for the kindness I had shown +to his servant in the affair of the thunderstorm. Then +saying that he was informed I was out of employ, he assured me +that he should be most happy to engage me to keep his hay and +corn account, and as general superintendent of the yard, and that +with respect to the horse, which he was told I had, he begged to +inform me that I was perfectly at liberty to keep it at the inn +upon the very best, until I could find a purchaser,—that +with regard to wages—but he had no sooner mentioned wages +than I cut him short, saying, that provided I stayed I should be +most happy to serve him for bed and board, and requested that he +would allow me until the next morning to consider of his offer; +he willingly consented to my request, and, begging that I would +call for anything I pleased, left me alone with the +postillion.</p> +<p>I passed that night until about ten o’clock with the +postillion, when he left me, having to drive a family about ten +miles across the country; before his departure, however, I told +him that I had determined to accept the offer of his governor, as +he called him. At the bottom of my heart I was most happy +that an offer had been made, which secured to myself and the +animal a comfortable retreat at a moment when I knew not whither +in the world to take myself and him.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<p>An Inn of Times gone by—A First-rate Publican—Hay +and Corn—Old-fashioned +Ostler—Highwaymen—Mounted Police—Grooming.</p> +<p>The inn, of which I had become an inhabitant, was a place of +infinite life and bustle. Travellers of all descriptions, +from all the cardinal points, were continually stopping at it; +and to attend to their wants, and minister to their convenience, +an army of servants, of one description or other, was kept; +waiters, chambermaids, grooms, postillions, shoe-blacks, cooks, +scullions, and what not, for there was a barber and hair-dresser, +who had been at Paris, and talked French with a cockney accent; +the French sounding all the better, as no accent is so melodious +as the cockney. Jacks creaked in the kitchens turning round +spits, on which large joints of meat piped and smoked before +great big fires. There was running up and down stairs, and +along galleries, slamming of doors, cries of “Coming, +sir,” and “Please to step this way, +ma’am,” during eighteen hours of the +four-and-twenty. Truly a very great place for life and +bustle was this inn. And often in after life, when lonely +and melancholy, I have called up the time I spent there, and +never failed to become cheerful from the recollection.</p> +<p>I found the master of the house a very kind and civil +person. Before being an inn-keeper he had been in some +other line of business; but on the death of the former proprietor +of the inn had married his widow, who was still alive, but, being +somewhat infirm, lived in a retired part of the house. I +have said that he was kind and civil; he was, however, not one of +those people who suffer themselves to be made fools of by +anybody; he knew his customers, and had a calm, clear eye, which +would look through a man without seeming to do so. The +accommodation of his house was of the very best description; his +wines were good, his viands equally so, and his charges not +immoderate; though he very properly took care of himself. +He was no vulgar inn-keeper, had a host of friends, and deserved +them all. During the time I lived with him, he was +presented by a large assemblage of his friends and customers with +a dinner at his own house, which was very costly, and at which +the best of wines were sported, and after the dinner with a piece +of plate estimated at fifty guineas. He received the plate, +made a neat speech of thanks, and when the bill was called for, +made another neat speech, in which he refused to receive one +farthing for the entertainment, ordering in at the same time two +dozen more of the best champagne, and sitting down amidst +uproarious applause, and cries of “You shall be no loser by +it!” Nothing very wonderful in such conduct, some +people will say; I don’t say there is, nor have I any +intention to endeavour to persuade the reader that the landlord +was a Carlo Boromeo; he merely gave a quid pro quo; but it is not +every person who will give you a quid pro quo. Had he been +a vulgar publican, he would have sent in a swinging bill after +receiving the plate; “but then no vulgar publican would +have been presented with plate;” perhaps not, but many a +vulgar public character has been presented with plate, whose +admirers never received a quid pro quo, except in the shape of a +swinging bill.</p> +<p>I found my duties of distributing hay and corn, and keeping an +account thereof, anything but disagreeable, particularly after I +had acquired the good-will of the old ostler, who at first looked +upon me with rather an evil eye, considering me somewhat in the +light of one who had usurped an office which belonged to himself +by the right of succession; but there was little gall in the old +fellow, and, by speaking kindly to him, never giving myself any +airs of assumption; but, above all, by frequently reading the +newspapers to him—for though passionately fond of news and +politics, he was unable to read—I soon succeeded in placing +myself on excellent terms with him. A regular character was +that old ostler; he was a Yorkshireman by birth, but had seen a +great deal of life in the vicinity of London, to which, on the +death of his parents, who were very poor people, he went at a +very early age. Amongst other places where he had served as +ostler was a small inn at Hounslow, much frequented by +highwaymen, whose exploits he was fond of narrating, especially +those of Jerry Abershaw, who, he said, was a capital rider; and +on hearing his accounts of that worthy, I half regretted that the +old fellow had not been in London, and I had not formed his +acquaintance about the time I was thinking of writing the life of +the said Abershaw, not doubting that with his assistance, I could +have produced a book at least as remarkable as the life and +adventures of that entirely imaginary personage Joseph Sell; +perhaps, however, I was mistaken; and whenever Abershaw’s +life shall appear before the public—and my publisher +credibly informs me that it has not yet appeared—I beg and +entreat the public to state which it likes best, the life of +Abershaw, or that of Sell, for which latter work I am informed +that during the last few months there has been a prodigious +demand. My old friend, however, after talking of Abershaw, +would frequently add, that, good rider as Abershaw certainly was, +he was decidedly inferior to Richard Ferguson, generally called +Galloping Dick, who was a pal of Abershaw’s, and had +enjoyed a career as long, and nearly as remarkable as his +own. I learned from him that both were capital customers at +the Hounslow inn, and that he had frequently drank with them in +the corn-room. He said that no man could desire more jolly +or entertaining companions over a glass of “summut;” +but that upon the road it was anything but desirable to meet +them; there they were terrible, cursing and swearing, and +thrusting the muzzles of their pistols into people’s +mouths; and at this part of his locution the old man winked, and +said, in a somewhat lower voice, that upon the whole they were +right in doing so, and that when a person had once made up his +mind to become a highwayman, his best policy was to go the whole +hog, fearing nothing, but making everybody afraid of him; that +people never thought of resisting a savage-faced, foul-mouthed +highwayman, and if he were taken, were afraid to bear witness +against him, lest he should get off and cut their throats some +time or other upon the roads; whereas people would resist being +robbed by a sneaking, pale-visaged rascal, and would swear bodily +against him on the first opportunity,—adding, that Abershaw +and Ferguson, two most awful fellows, had enjoyed a long career, +whereas two disbanded officers of the army, who wished to rob a +coach like gentlemen, had begged the passengers’ pardon, +and talked of hard necessity, had been set upon by the passengers +themselves, amongst whom were three women, pulled from their +horses, conducted to Maidstone, and hanged with as little pity as +such contemptible fellows deserved. “There is nothing +like going the whole hog,” he repeated, “and if ever +I had been a highwayman, I would have done so; I should have +thought myself all the more safe; and, moreover, shouldn’t +have despised myself. To curry favour with those you are +robbing, sometimes at the expense of your own comrades, as I have +known fellows do, why, it is the greatest—”</p> +<p>“So it is,” interposed my friend the postillion, +who chanced to be present at a considerable part of the old +ostler’s discourse; “it is, as you say, the greatest +of humbug, and merely, after all, gets a fellow into trouble; but +no regular bred highwayman would do it. I say, George, +catch the Pope of Rome trying to curry favour with anybody he +robs; catch old Mumbo Jumbo currying favour with the Archbishop +of Canterbury and the Dean and Chapter, should he meet them in a +stage-coach; it would be with him, Bricconi Abbasso, as he +knocked their teeth out with the butt of his trombone; and the +old regular-built ruffian would be all the safer for it, as Bill +would say, as ten to one the Archbishop and Chapter, after such a +spice of his quality, would be afraid to swear against him, and +to hang him, even if he were in their power, though that would be +the proper way; for, if it is the greatest of all humbug for a +highwayman to curry favour with those he robs, the next greatest +is to try to curry favour with a highwayman when you have got +him, by letting him off.”</p> +<p>Finding the old man so well acquainted with the history of +highwaymen, and taking considerable interest in the subject, +having myself edited a book containing the lives of many +remarkable people who had figured on the highway, I forthwith +asked him how it was that the trade of highwaymen had become +extinct in England, as at present we never heard of any one +following it. Whereupon he told me that many causes had +contributed to bring about that result; the principal of which +were the following:—the refusal to license houses which +were known to afford shelter to highwaymen, which, amongst many +others, had caused the inn at Hounslow to be closed; the +inclosure of many a wild heath in the country, on which they were +in the habit of lurking, and particularly the establishing in the +neighbourhood of London of a well-armed mounted patrol, who rode +the highwaymen down, and delivered them up to justice, which +hanged them without ceremony.</p> +<p>“And that would be the way to deal with Mumbo Jumbo and +his gang,” said the postillion, “should they show +their visages in these realms; and I hear by the newspapers that +they are becoming every day more desperate. Take away the +license from their public-houses, cut down the rookeries and +shadowy old avenues in which they are fond of lying in wait, in +order to sally out upon people as they pass in the roads; but, +above all, establish a good mounted police to ride after the +ruffians and drag them by the scruff of the neck to the next +clink, where they might lie till they could be properly dealt +with by law; instead of which, the Government are repealing the +wise old laws enacted against such characters, giving fresh +licenses every day to their public-houses, and saying that it +would be a pity to cut down their rookeries and thickets because +they look so very picturesque; and, in fact, giving them all kind +of encouragement; why, if such behaviour is not enough to drive +an honest man mad, I know not what is. It is of no use +talking, I only wish the power were in my hands, and if I did not +make short work of them, might I be a mere jackass postillion all +the remainder of my life.”</p> +<p>Besides acquiring from the ancient ostler a great deal of +curious information respecting the ways and habits of the heroes +of the road, with whom he had come in contact in the early +portion of his life, I picked up from him many excellent hints +relating to the art of grooming horses. Whilst at the inn, +I frequently groomed the stage and post-horses, and those driven +up by travellers in their gigs: I was not compelled, nor indeed +expected, to do so; but I took pleasure in the occupation; and I +remember at that period one of the principal objects of my +ambition was to be a first-rate groom, and to make the skins of +the creatures I took in hand look sleek and glossy like those of +moles. I have said that I derived valuable hints from the +old man, and, indeed, became a very tolerable groom, but there +was a certain finishing touch which I could never learn from him, +though he possessed it himself, and which I could never attain to +by my own endeavours; though my want of success certainly did not +proceed from want of application, for I have rubbed the horses +down, purring and buzzing all the time, after the genuine ostler +fashion, until the perspiration fell in heavy drops upon my +shoes, and when I had done my best and asked the old fellow what +he thought of my work, I could never extract from him more than a +kind of grunt, which might be translated, “Not so very bad, +but I have seen a horse groomed much better,” which leads +me to suppose that a person, in order to be a first-rate groom, +must have something in him when he is born which I had not, and, +indeed, which many other people have not who pretend to be +grooms. What does the reader think?</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<p>Stable Hartshorn—How to Manage a Horse on a +Journey—Your Best Friend.</p> +<p>Of one thing I am certain, that the reader must be much +delighted with the wholesome smell of the stable, with which many +of these pages are redolent; what a contrast to the sickly odours +exhaled from those of some of my contemporaries, especially of +those who pretend to be of the highly fashionable class, and who +treat of reception-rooms, well may they be styled so, in which +dukes, duchesses, earls, countesses, archbishops, bishops, +mayors, mayoresses—not forgetting the writers themselves, +both male and female—congregate and press upon one another; +how cheering, how refreshing, after having been nearly knocked +down with such an atmosphere, to come in contact with genuine +stable hartshorn. Oh! the reader shall have yet more of the +stable, and of that old ostler, for which he or she will +doubtless exclaim, “Much obliged!”—and, lest I +should forget to perform my promise, the reader shall have it +now.</p> +<p>I shall never forget an harangue from the mouth of the old +man, which I listened to one warm evening as he and I sat on the +threshold of the stable, after having attended to some of the +wants of a batch of coach-horses. It related to the manner +in which a gentleman should take care of his horse and self, +whilst engaged in a journey on horseback, and was addressed to +myself, on the supposition of my one day coming to an estate, and +of course becoming a gentleman.</p> +<p>“When you are a gentleman,” said he, “should +you ever wish to take a journey on a horse of your own, and you +could not have a much better than the one you have here eating +its fill in the box yonder—I wonder, by the bye, how you +ever came by it—you can’t do better than follow the +advice I am about to give you, both with respect to your animal +and yourself. Before you start, merely give your horse a +couple of handfuls of corn and a little water, somewhat under a +quart, and if you drink a pint of water yourself out of the pail, +you will feel all the better during the whole day; then you may +walk and trot your animal for about ten miles, till you come to +some nice inn, where you may get down and see your horse led into +a nice stall, telling the ostler not to feed him till you +come. If the ostler happens to be a dog-fancier, and has an +English terrier-dog like that of mine there, say what a nice dog +it is, and praise its black and tawn; and if he does not happen +to be a dog-fancier, ask him how he’s getting on, and +whether he ever knew worse times; that kind of thing will please +the ostler, and he will let you do just what you please with your +own horse, and when your back is turned, he’ll say to his +comrades what a nice gentleman you are, and how he thinks he has +seen you before; then go and sit down to breakfast, and, before +you have finished breakfast, get up and go and give your horse a +feed of corn; chat with the ostler two or three minutes till your +horse has taken the shine out of his corn, which will prevent the +ostler taking any of it away when your back is turned, for such +things are sometimes done—not that I ever did such a thing +myself when I was at the inn at Hounslow. Oh, dear me, +no! Then go and finish your breakfast, and when you have +finished your breakfast and called for the newspaper, go and +water your horse, letting him have one pailful, then give him +another feed of corn, and enter into discourse with the ostler +about bull-baiting, the prime minister, and the like; and when +your horse has once more taken the shine out of his corn, go back +to your room and your newspaper—and I hope for your sake it +may be the <i>Globe</i>, for that’s the best paper +going—then pull the bell-rope and order in your bill, which +you will pay without counting it up—supposing you to be a +gentleman. Give the waiter sixpence, and order out your +horse, and when your horse is out, pay for the corn, and give the +ostler a shilling, then mount your horse and walk him gently for +five miles; and whilst you are walking him in this manner, it may +be as well to tell you to take care that you do not let him down +and smash his knees, more especially if the road be a +particularly good one, for it is not at a desperate hiverman +pace, and over very bad roads, that a horse tumbles and smashes +his knees, but on your particularly nice road, when the horse is +going gently and lazily, and is half asleep, like the gemman on +his back; well, at the end of the five miles, when the horse has +digested his food, and is all right, you may begin to push your +horse on, trotting him a mile at a heat, and then walking him a +quarter of a one, that his wind may be not distressed; and you +may go on in that way for thirty miles, never galloping, of +course, for none but fools or hivermen ever gallop horses on +roads; and at the end of that distance you may stop at some other +nice inn to dinner. I say, when your horse is led into the +stable, after that same thirty miles’ trotting and walking, +don’t let the saddle be whisked off at once, for if you do +your horse will have such a sore back as will frighten you, but +let your saddle remain on your horse’s back, with the +girths loosened, till after his next feed of corn, and be sure +that he has no corn, much less water, till after a long hour and +more; after he is fed he may be watered to the tune of half a +pail, and then the ostler can give him a regular rub down; you +may then sit down to dinner, and when you have dined get up and +see to your horse as you did after breakfast, in fact, you must +do much after the same fashion you did at t’other inn; see +to your horse, and by no means disoblige the ostler. So +when you have seen to your horse a second time, you will sit down +to your bottle of wine—supposing you to be a +gentleman—and after you have finished it, and your argument +about the corn-laws with any commercial gentleman who happens to +be in the room, you may mount your horse again—not +forgetting to do the proper thing to the waiter and ostler; you +may mount your horse again and ride him, as you did before, for +about five and twenty miles, at the end of which you may put up +for the night after a very fair day’s journey, for no +gentleman—supposing he weighs sixteen stone, as I suppose +you will by the time you become a gentleman—ought to ride a +horse more than sixty-five miles in one day, provided he has any +regard for his horse’s back, or his own either. See +to your horse at night, and have him well rubbed down. The +next day you may ride your horse forty miles, just as you please, +but never foolishly, and those forty miles will bring you to your +journey’s end, unless your journey be a plaguy long one, +and if so, never ride your horse more than five and thirty miles +a day, always, however, seeing him well fed, and taking more care +of him than yourself; which is but right and reasonable, seeing +as how the horse is the best animal of the two.”</p> +<p>“When you are a gentleman,” said he, after a +pause, “the first thing you must think about is to provide +yourself with a good horse for your own particular riding; you +will, perhaps, keep a coach and pair, but they will be less your +own than your lady’s, should you have one, and your young +gentry, should you have any; or, if you have neither, for madam, +your housekeeper, and the upper female servants; so you need +trouble your head less about them, though, of course, you would +not like to pay away your money for screws; but be sure you get a +good horse for your own riding; and that you may have a good +chance of having a good one, buy one that’s young and has +plenty of belly—a little more than the one has which you +now have, though you are not yet a gentleman; you will, of +course, look to his head, his withers, legs and other points, but +never buy a horse at any price that has not plenty of belly; no +horse that has not belly is ever a good feeder, and a horse that +a’n’t a good feeder can’t be a good horse; +never buy a horse that is drawn up in the belly behind; a horse +of that description can’t feed, and can never carry sixteen +stone.</p> +<p>“So when you have got such a horse be proud of +it—as I daresay you are of the one you have now—and +wherever you go swear there a’n’t another to match it +in the country, and if anybody gives you the lie, take him by the +nose and tweak it off, just as you would do if anybody were to +speak ill of your lady, or, for want of her, of your +housekeeper. Take care of your horse, as you would of the +apple of your eye—I am sure I would, if I were a gentleman, +which I don’t ever expect to be, and hardly wish, seeing as +how I am sixty-nine, and am rather too old to ride—yes, +cherish and take care of your horse as perhaps the best friend +you have in the world; for, after all, who will carry you through +thick and thin as your horse will? not your gentlemen friends, I +warrant, nor your upper servants, male or female; perhaps your +lady would, that is, if she is a whopper, and one of the right +sort; the others would be more likely to take up mud and pelt you +with it, provided they saw you in trouble, than to help +you. So take care of your horse, and feed him every day +with your own hands; give him three quarters of a peck of corn +each day, mixed up with a little hay-chaff, and allow him besides +one hundredweight of hay in the course of the week; some say that +the hay should be hardland hay, because it is the wholesomest, +but I say, let it be clover hay, because the horse likes it best; +give him through summer and winter, once a week, a pailful of +bran mash, cold in summer and in winter hot; ride him gently +about the neighbourhood every day, by which means you will give +exercise to yourself and horse, and, moreover, have the +satisfaction of exhibiting yourself and your horse to advantage, +and hearing, perhaps, the men say what a fine horse, and the +ladies saying what a fine man: never let your groom mount your +horse, as it is ten to one, if you do, your groom will be wishing +to show off before company, and will fling your horse down. +I was groom to a gemman before I went to the inn at Hounslow, and +flung him a horse down worth ninety guineas, by endeavouring to +show off before some ladies that I met on the road. Turn +your horse out to grass throughout May and the first part of +June, for then the grass is sweetest, and the flies don’t +sting so bad as they do later in summer; afterwards merely turn +him out occasionally in the swale of the morn and the evening; +after September the grass is good for little, lash and sour at +best; every horse should go out to grass, if not his blood +becomes full of greasy humours, and his wind is apt to become +affected, but he ought to be kept as much as possible from the +heat and flies, always got up at night, and never turned out late +in the year—Lord! if I had always such a nice attentive +person to listen to me as you are, I could go on talking about +’orses to the end of time.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<p>The Stage—Coachmen of England—A Bully Served +Out—Broughton’s Guard—The Brazen Head.</p> +<p>I lived on very good terms, not only with the master and the +old ostler, but with all the domestics and hangers on at the inn; +waiters, chambermaids, cooks, and scullions, not forgetting the +“boots,” of which there were three. As for the +postillions, I was sworn brother with them all, and some of them +went so far as to swear that I was the best fellow in the world; +for which high opinion entertained by them of me, I believe I was +principally indebted to the good account their comrade gave of +me, whom I had so hospitably received in the dingle. I +repeat that I lived on good terms with all the people connected +with the inn, and was noticed and spoken kindly to by some of the +guests—especially by that class termed commercial +travellers—all of whom were great friends and patronizers +of the landlord, and were the principal promoters of the dinner, +and subscribers to the gift of plate, which I have already spoken +of, the whole fraternity striking me as the jolliest set of +fellows imaginable, the best customers to an inn, and the most +liberal to servants; there was one description of persons, +however, frequenting the inn, which I did not like at all, and +which I did not get on well with, and these people were the +stage-coachmen.</p> +<p>The stage-coachmen of England, at the time of which I am +speaking, considered themselves mighty fine gentry, nay, I verily +believe the most important personages of the realm, and their +entertaining this high opinion of themselves can scarcely be +wondered at; they were low fellows, but masters at driving; +driving was in fashion, and sprigs of nobility used to dress as +coachmen and imitate the slang and behaviour of the coachmen, +from whom occasionally they would take lessons in driving as they +sat beside them on the box, which post of honour any sprig of +nobility who happened to take a place on a coach claimed as his +unquestionable right; and these sprigs would smoke cigars and +drink sherry with the coachmen in bar-rooms, and on the road; +and, when bidding them farewell, would give them a guinea or a +half-guinea, and shake them by the hand, so that these fellows, +being low fellows, very naturally thought no small liquor of +themselves, but would talk familiarly of their friends lords so +and so, the honourable misters so and so, and Sir Harry and Sir +Charles, and be wonderfully saucy to any one who was not a lord, +or something of the kind; and this high opinion of themselves +received daily augmentation from the servile homage paid them by +the generality of the untitled male passengers, especially those +on the fore part of the coach, who used to contend for the honour +of sitting on the box with the coachman when no sprig was nigh to +put in his claim. Oh! what servile homage these craven +creatures did pay these same coach fellows, more especially after +witnessing this or t’other act of brutality practised upon +the weak and unoffending—upon some poor friendless woman +travelling with but little money, and perhaps a brace of hungry +children with her, or upon some thin and half-starved man +travelling on the hind part of the coach from London to Liverpool +with only eighteen pence in his pocket after his fare was paid, +to defray his expenses on the road; for as the insolence of these +knights was vast, so was their rapacity enormous; they had been +so long accustomed to have crowns and half-crowns rained upon +them by their admirers and flatterers, that they would look at a +shilling, for which many an honest labourer was happy to toil for +ten hours under a broiling sun, with the utmost contempt; would +blow upon it derisively, or fillip it into the air before they +pocketed it; but when nothing was given them, as would +occasionally happen—for how could they receive from those +who had nothing? and nobody was bound to give them anything, as +they had certain wages from their employers—then what a +scene would ensue! Truly the brutality and rapacious +insolence of English coachmen had reached a climax; it was time +that these fellows should be disenchanted, and the +time—thank Heaven!—was not far distant. Let the +craven dastards who used to curry favour with them, and applaud +their brutality, lament their loss now that they and their +vehicles have disappeared from the roads; I, who have ever been +an enemy to insolence, cruelty, and tyranny, loathe their memory, +and, what is more, am not afraid to say so, well aware of the +storm of vituperation, partly learnt from them, which I may +expect from those who used to fall down and worship them.</p> +<p>Amongst the coachmen who frequented the inn was one who was +called “the bang-up coachman.” He drove to our +inn, in the fore part of every day, one of what were called the +fast coaches, and afterwards took back the corresponding +vehicle. He stayed at our house about twenty minutes, +during which time the passengers of the coach which he was to +return with dined; those at least who were inclined for dinner, +and could pay for it. He derived his sobriquet of +“the bang-up coachman” partly from his being dressed +in the extremity of coach dandyism, and partly from the peculiar +insolence of his manner, and the unmerciful fashion in which he +was in the habit of lashing on the poor horses committed to his +charge. He was a large tall fellow, of about thirty, with a +face which, had it not been bloated by excess, and insolence and +cruelty stamped most visibly upon it, might have been called +good-looking. His insolence indeed was so great, that he +was hated by all the minor fry connected with coaches along the +road upon which he drove, especially the ostlers, whom he was +continually abusing or finding fault with. Many was the +hearty curse which he received when his back was turned; but the +generality of people were much afraid of him, for he was a +swinging strong fellow, and had the reputation of being a +fighter, and in one or two instances had beaten in a barbarous +manner individuals who had quarrelled with him.</p> +<p>I was nearly having a fracas with this worthy. One day, +after he had been drinking sherry with a sprig, he swaggered into +the yard where I happened to be standing; just then a waiter came +by carrying upon a tray part of a splendid Cheshire cheese, with +a knife, plate, and napkin. Stopping the waiter, the +coachman cut with the knife a tolerably large lump out of the +very middle of the cheese, stuck it on the end of the knife, and +putting it to his mouth nibbled a slight piece off it, and then, +tossing the rest away with disdain, flung the knife down upon the +tray, motioning the waiter to proceed; “I wish,” said +I, “you may not want before you die what you have just +flung away,” whereupon the fellow turned furiously towards +me; just then, however, his coach being standing at the door, +there was a cry for coachman, so that he was forced to depart, +contenting himself for the present with shaking his fist at me, +and threatening to serve me out on the first opportunity; before, +however, the opportunity occurred he himself got served out in a +most unexpected manner.</p> +<p>The day after this incident he drove his coach to the inn, and +after having dismounted and received the contributions of the +generality of the passengers, he strutted up, with a cigar in his +mouth, to an individual who had come with him, and who had just +asked me a question with respect to the direction of a village +about three miles off, to which he was going. +“Remember the coachman,” said the knight of the box +to this individual, who was a thin person of about sixty, with a +white hat, rather shabby black coat, and buff-coloured trousers, +and who held an umbrella and a small bundle in his hand. +“If you expect me to give you anything,” said he to +the coachman, “you are mistaken; I will give you +nothing. You have been very insolent to me as I rode behind +you on the coach, and have encouraged two or three trumpery +fellows, who rode along with you, to cut scurvy jokes at my +expense, and now you come to me for money; I am not so poor, but +I could have given you a shilling had you been civil; as it is, I +will give you nothing.” “Oh! you won’t, +won’t you?” said the coachman; “dear me! +I hope I shan’t starve because you won’t give me +anything—a shilling! why, I could afford to give you twenty +if I thought fit, you pauper! civil to you, indeed! things are +come to a fine pass if I need be civil to you! Do you know +who you are speaking to? why, the best lords in the country are +proud to speak to me. Why, it was only the other day that +the Marquis of—said to me—” and then he went on +to say what the Marquis said to him; after which, flinging down +his cigar, he strutted up the road, swearing to himself about +paupers.</p> +<p>“You say it is three miles to ---,” said the +individual to me; “I think I shall light my pipe, and smoke +it as I go along.” Thereupon he took out from a +side-pocket a tobacco-box and short meerschaum pipe, and +implements for striking a light, filled his pipe, lighted it, and +commenced smoking. Presently the coachman drew near. +I saw at once that there was mischief in his eye; the man smoking +was standing with his back towards him, and he came so nigh to +him, seemingly purposely, that as he passed a puff of smoke came +of necessity against his face. “What do you mean by +smoking in my face?” said he, striking the pipe of the +elderly individual out of his mouth. The other, without +manifesting much surprise, said, “I thank you; and if you +will wait a minute, I will give you a receipt for that +favour;” then gathering up his pipe, and taking off his +coat and hat, he laid them on a stepping-block which stood near, +and rubbing his hands together, he advanced towards the coachman +in an attitude of offence, holding his hands crossed very near to +his face. The coachman, who probably expected anything but +such a movement from a person of the age and appearance of the +individual whom he had insulted, stood for a moment motionless +with surprise; but, recollecting himself, he pointed at him +derisively with his finger; the next moment, however, the other +was close upon him, had struck aside the extended hand with his +left fist, and given him a severe blow on the nose with his +right, which he immediately followed by a left-hand blow in the +eye; then drawing his body slightly backward, with the velocity +of lightning he struck the coachman full in the mouth, and the +last blow was the severest of all, for it cut the +coachman’s lips nearly through; blows so quickly and +sharply dealt I had never seen. The coachman reeled like a +fir-tree in a gale, and seemed nearly unsensed. “Ho! +what’s this? a fight! a fight!” sounded from a dozen +voices, and people came running from all directions to see what +was going on. The coachman, coming somewhat to himself, +disencumbered himself of his coat and hat; and, encouraged by two +or three of his brothers of the whip, showed some symptoms of +fighting, endeavouring to close with his foe, but the attempt was +vain, for his foe was not to be closed with; he did not shift or +dodge about, but warded off the blows of his opponent with the +greatest sang-froid, always using the guard which I have already +described, and putting in, in return, short chopping blows with +the swiftness of lightning. In a very few minutes the +countenance of the coachman was literally cut to pieces, and +several of his teeth were dislodged; at length he gave in; stung +with mortification, however, he repented, and asked for another +round; it was granted, to his own complete demolition. The +coachman did not drive his coach back that day, he did not appear +on the box again for a week; but he never held up his head +afterwards. Before I quitted the inn, he had disappeared +from the road, going no one knew where.</p> +<p>The coachman, as I have said before, was very much disliked +upon the road, but there was an esprit de corps amongst the +coachmen, and those who stood by did not like to see their +brother chastised in such tremendous fashion. “I +never saw such a fight before,” said one. +“Fight! why, I don’t call it a fight at all; this +chap here ha’n’t got a scratch, whereas Tom is cut to +pieces; it is all along of that guard of his; if Tom could have +got within his guard he would have soon served the old chap +out.” “So he would,” said another, +“it was all owing to that guard. However, I think I +see into it, and if I had not to drive this afternoon, I would +have a turn with the old fellow and soon serve him +out.” “I will fight him now for a +guinea,” said the other coachman, half taking off his coat; +observing, however, that the elderly individual made a motion +towards him, he hitched it upon his shoulder again, and added, +“that is, if he had not been fighting already, but as it +is, I am above taking an advantage, especially of such a poor old +creature as that.” And when he had said this, he +looked around him, and there was a feeble titter of approbation +from two or three of the craven crew, who were in the habit of +currying favour with the coachmen. The elderly individual +looked for a moment at these last, and then said, “To such +fellows as you I have nothing to say;” then turning to the +coachmen, “and as for you,” he said, “ye +cowardly bullies, I have but one word, which is, that your reign +upon the roads is nearly over, and that a time is coming when ye +will no longer be wanted or employed in your present capacity, +when ye will either have to drive dung-carts, assist as ostlers +at village ale-houses, or rot in the workhouse.” Then +putting on his coat and hat, and taking up his bundle, not +forgetting his meerschaum, and the rest of his smoking apparatus, +he departed on his way. Filled with curiosity, I followed +him.</p> +<p>“I am quite astonished that you should be able to use +your hands in the way you have done,” said I, as I walked +with this individual in the direction in which he was bound.</p> +<p>“I will tell you how I became able to do so,” said +the elderly individual, proceeding to fill and light his pipe as +he walked along. “My father was a journeyman +engraver, who lived in a very riotous neighbourhood in the +outskirts of London. Wishing to give me something of an +education, he sent me to a day-school, two or three streets +distant from where we lived, and there, being rather a puny boy, +I suffered much persecution from my schoolfellows, who were a +very blackguard set. One day, as I was running home, with +one of my tormentors pursuing me, old Sergeant Broughton, the +retired fighting-man, seized me by the arm—”</p> +<p>“Dear me,” said I, “has it ever been your +luck to be acquainted with Sergeant Broughton?”</p> +<p>“You may well call it luck,” said the elderly +individual; “but for him I should never have been able to +make my way through the world. He lived only four doors +from our house; so, as I was running along the street, with my +tyrant behind me, Sergeant Broughton seized me by the arm. +‘Stop, my boy,’ said he; ‘I have frequently +seen that scamp ill-treating you; now I will teach you how to +send him home with a bloody nose; down with your bag of books; +and now, my game chick,’ whispered he to me, placing +himself between me and my adversary, so that he could not observe +his motions; ‘clench your fist in this manner, and hold +your arms in this, and when he strikes at you, move them as I now +show you, and he can’t hurt you; now, don’t be +afraid, but go at him.’ I confess that I was somewhat +afraid, but I considered myself in some degree under the +protection of the famous Sergeant, and, clenching my fist, I went +at my foe, using the guard which my ally recommended. The +result corresponded to a certain degree with the predictions of +the Sergeant; I gave my foe a bloody nose and a black eye, +though, notwithstanding my recent lesson in the art of +self-defence, he contrived to give me two or three clumsy +blows. From that moment I was the especial favourite of the +Sergeant, who gave me further lessons, so that in a little time I +became a very fair boxer, beating everybody of my own size who +attacked me. The old gentleman, however, made me promise +never to be quarrelsome, nor to turn his instructions to account, +except in self-defence. I have always borne in mind my +promise, and have made it a point of conscience never to fight +unless absolutely compelled. Folks may rail against boxing +if they please, but being able to box may sometimes stand a quiet +man in good stead. How should I have fared to-day, but for +the instructions of Sergeant Broughton? But for them, the +brutal ruffian who insulted me must have passed unpunished. +He will not soon forget the lesson which I have just given +him—the only lesson he could understand. What would +have been the use of reasoning with a fellow of that +description? Brave old Broughton! I owe him +much.”</p> +<p>“And your manner of fighting,” said I, “was +the manner employed by Sergeant Broughton?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said my new acquaintance; “it was the +manner in which he beat every one who attempted to contend with +him, till, in an evil hour, he entered the ring with Slack, +without any training or preparation, and by a chance blow lost +the battle to a man who had been beaten with ease by those who, +in the hands of Broughton, appeared like so many children. +It was the way of fighting of him who first taught Englishmen to +box scientifically, who was the head and father of the fighters +of what is now called the old school, the last of which were +Johnson and Big Ben.”</p> +<p>“A wonderful man, that Big Ben,” said I.</p> +<p>“He was so,” said the elderly individual; +“but had it not been for Broughton, I question whether Ben +would have ever been the fighter he was. Oh! there was no +one like old Broughton; but for him I should at the present +moment be sneaking along the road, pursued by the hissings and +hootings of the dirty flatterers of that blackguard +coachman.”</p> +<p>“What did you mean,” said I, “by those words +of yours, that the coachmen would speedily disappear from the +roads?”</p> +<p>“I meant,” said he, “that a new method of +travelling is about to be established, which will supersede the +old. I am a poor engraver, as my father was before me; but +engraving is an intellectual trade, and by following it, I have +been brought in contact with some of the cleverest men in +England. It has even made me acquainted with the projector +of the scheme, which he has told me many of the wisest heads of +England have been dreaming of during a period of six hundred +years, and which it seems was alluded to by a certain Brazen Head +in the story-book of Friar Bacon, who is generally supposed to +have been a wizard, but in reality was a great philosopher. +Young man, in less than twenty years, by which time I shall be +dead and gone, England will be surrounded with roads of metal, on +which armies may travel with mighty velocity, and of which the +walls of brass and iron by which the friar proposed to defend his +native land are the types.” He then, shaking me by +the hand, proceeded on his way, whilst I returned to the inn.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<p>Francis Ardry—His Misfortunes—Dog and Lion +Fight—Great Men of the World.</p> +<p>A few days after the circumstance which I have last +commemorated, it chanced that, as I was standing at the door of +the inn, one of the numerous stage-coaches which were in the +habit of stopping there, drove up, and several passengers got +down. I had assisted a woman with a couple of children to +dismount, and had just delivered to her a band-box, which +appeared to be her only property, which she had begged me to +fetch down from the roof, when I felt a hand laid upon my +shoulder, and heard a voice exclaim, “Is it possible, old +fellow, that I find you in this place?” I turned +round, and, wrapped in a large blue cloak, I beheld my good +friend Francis Ardry. I shook him most warmly by the hand, +and said, “If you are surprised to see me, I am no less so +to see you; where are you bound to?”</p> +<p>“I am bound for L-; at any rate, I am booked for that +sea-port,” said my friend in reply.</p> +<p>“I am sorry for it,” said I, “for in that +case we shall have to part in a quarter of an hour, the coach by +which you came stopping no longer.”</p> +<p>“And whither are you bound?” demanded my +friend.</p> +<p>“I am stopping at present in this house, quite +undetermined as to what to do.”</p> +<p>“Then come along with me,” said Francis Ardry.</p> +<p>“That I can scarcely do,” said I; “I have a +horse in the stall which I cannot afford to ruin by racing to +L--- by the side of your coach.”</p> +<p>My friend mused for a moment: “I have no particular +business at L---,” said he; “I was merely going +thither to pass a day or two, till an affair, in which I am +deeply interested, at C--- shall come off. I think I shall +stay with you for four-and-twenty hours at least; I have been +rather melancholy of late, and cannot afford to part with a +friend like you at the present moment; it is an unexpected piece +of good fortune to have met you; and I have not been very +fortunate of late,” he added, sighing.</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “I am glad to see you once +more, whether fortunate, or not; where is your +baggage?”</p> +<p>“Yon trunk is mine,” said Francis, pointing to a +trunk of black Russian leather upon the coach.</p> +<p>“We will soon have it down,” said I; and at a word +which I gave to one of the hangers-on of the inn, the trunk was +taken from the top of the coach. “Now,” said I +to Francis Ardry, “follow me, I am a person of some +authority in this house;” thereupon I led Francis Ardry +into the house, and a word which I said to a waiter forthwith +installed Francis Ardry in a comfortable private sitting-room, +and his trunk in the very best sleeping-room of our extensive +establishment.</p> +<p>It was now about one o’clock: Francis Ardry ordered +dinner for two, to be ready at four, and a pint of sherry to be +brought forthwith, which I requested my friend the waiter might +be the very best, and which in effect turned out as I requested; +we sat down, and when we had drunk to each other’s health, +Frank requested me to make known to him how I had contrived to +free myself from my embarrassments in London, what I had been +about since I quitted that city, and the present posture of my +affairs.</p> +<p>I related to Francis Ardry how I had composed the Life of +Joseph Sell, and how the sale of it to the bookseller had enabled +me to quit London with money in my pocket, which had supported me +during a long course of ramble in the country, into the +particulars of which I, however, did not enter with any +considerable degree of fulness. I summed up my account by +saying that “I was at present a kind of overlooker in the +stables of the inn, had still some pounds in my purse, and, +moreover, a capital horse in the stall.”</p> +<p>“No very agreeable posture of affairs,” said +Francis Ardry, looking rather seriously at me.</p> +<p>“I make no complaints,” said I, “my +prospects are not very bright, it is true, but sometimes I have +visions both waking and sleeping, which, though always strange, +are invariably agreeable. Last night, in my chamber near +the hayloft, I dreamt that I had passed over an almost +interminable wilderness—an enormous wall rose before me, +the wall, methought, was the great wall of China:—strange +figures appeared to be beckoning to me from the top of the wall; +such visions are not exactly to be sneered at. Not that +such phantasmagoria,” said I, raising my voice, “are +to be compared for a moment with such desirable things as +fashion, fine clothes, cheques from uncles, parliamentary +interest, the love of splendid females. Ah! woman’s +love,” said I, and sighed.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with the fellow?” said +Francis Ardry.</p> +<p>“There is nothing like it,” said I.</p> +<p>“Like what?”</p> +<p>“Love, divine love,” said I.</p> +<p>“Confound love,” said Francis Ardry, “I hate +the very name; I have made myself a pretty fool by it, but trust +me for ever being at such folly again. In an evil hour I +abandoned my former pursuits and amusements for it; in one +morning spent at Joey’s there was more real pleasure than +in—”</p> +<p>“Surely,” said I, “you are not hankering +after dog-fighting again, a sport which none but the gross and +unrefined care anything for? No, one’s thoughts +should be occupied by something higher and more rational than +dog-fighting; and what better than love—divine love? +Oh, there’s nothing like it!”</p> +<p>“Pray, don’t talk nonsense,” said Francis +Ardry.</p> +<p>“Nonsense,” said I; “why I was repeating, to +the best of my recollection, what I heard you say on a former +occasion.”</p> +<p>“If ever I talked such stuff,” said Francis Ardry, +“I was a fool; and indeed I cannot deny that I have been +one: no, there’s no denying that I have been a fool. +What do you think? that false Annette has cruelly abandoned +me.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “perhaps you have yourself +to thank for her having done so; did you never treat her with +coldness, and repay her marks of affectionate interest with +strange fits of eccentric humour?”</p> +<p>“Lord! how little you know of women,” said Francis +Ardry; “had I done as you suppose, I should probably have +possessed her at the present moment. I treated her in a +manner diametrically opposite to that. I loaded her with +presents, was always most assiduous to her, always at her feet, +as I may say, yet she nevertheless abandoned me—and for +whom? I am almost ashamed to say—for a +fiddler.”</p> +<p>I took a glass of wine, Francis Ardry followed my example, and +then proceeded to detail to me the treatment which he had +experienced from Annette, and from what he said, it appeared that +her conduct to him had been in the highest degree reprehensible; +notwithstanding he had indulged her in everything, she was never +civil to him, but loaded him continually with taunts and insults, +and had finally, on his being unable to supply her with a sum of +money which she had demanded, decamped from the lodgings which he +had taken for her, carrying with her all the presents which at +various times he had bestowed upon her, and had put herself under +the protection of a gentleman who played the bassoon at the +Italian Opera, at which place it appeared that her sister had +lately been engaged as a danseuse. My friend informed me +that at first he had experienced great agony at the ingratitude +of Annette, but at last had made up his mind to forget her, and, +in order more effectually to do so, had left London with the +intention of witnessing a fight, which was shortly coming off at +a town in these parts, between some dogs and a lion; which +combat, he informed me, had for some time past been looked +forward to with intense eagerness by the gentlemen of the +sporting world.</p> +<p>I commended him for his resolution, at the same time advising +him not to give up his mind entirely to dog-fighting, as he had +formerly done, but, when the present combat should be over, to +return to his rhetorical studies, and above all to marry some +rich and handsome lady on the first opportunity, as, with his +person and expectations, he had only to sue for the hand of the +daughter of a marquis to be successful, telling him, with a sigh, +that all women were not Annettes, and that, upon the whole, there +was nothing like them. To which advice he answered, that he +intended to return to rhetoric as soon as the lion fight should +be over, but that he never intended to marry, having had enough +of women; adding that he was glad he had no sister, as, with the +feelings which he entertained with respect to her sex, he should +be unable to treat her with common affection, and concluded by +repeating a proverb which he had learnt from an Arab whom he had +met at Venice, to the effect, that, “one who has been stung +by a snake, shivers at the sight of a sting.”</p> +<p>After a little more conversation, we strolled to the stable, +where my horse was standing; my friend, who was a connoisseur in +horseflesh, surveyed the animal with attention, and after +inquiring where and how I had obtained him, asked what I intended +to do with him; on my telling him that I was undetermined, and +that I was afraid the horse was likely to prove a burden to me, +he said, “It is a noble animal, and if you mind what you +are about, you may make a small fortune by him. I do not +want such an animal myself, nor do I know any one who does; but a +great horse-fair will be held shortly at a place where, it is +true, I have never been, but of which I have heard a great deal +from my acquaintances, where it is said a first-rate horse is +always sure to fetch its value; that place is Horncastle, in +Lincolnshire, you should take him thither.”</p> +<p>Francis Ardry and myself dined together, and after dinner +partook of a bottle of the best port which the inn +afforded. After a few glasses, we had a great deal of +conversation; I again brought the subject of marriage and love, +divine love, upon the carpet, but Francis almost immediately +begged me to drop it; and on my having the delicacy to comply, he +reverted to dog-fighting, on which he talked well and learnedly; +amongst other things, he said it was a princely sport of great +antiquity, and quoted from Quintus Curtius to prove that the +princes of India must have been of the fancy, they having, +according to that author, treated Alexander to a fight between +certain dogs and a lion. Becoming, notwithstanding my +friend’s eloquence and learning, somewhat tired of the +subject, I began to talk about Alexander. Francis Ardry +said he was one of the two great men whom the world has produced, +the other being Napoleon; I replied that I believed Tamerlane was +a greater man than either; but Francis Ardry knew nothing of +Tamerlane, save what he had gathered from the play of Timour the +Tartar. “No,” said he, “Alexander and +Napoleon are the great men of the world, their names are known +everywhere. Alexander has been dead upwards of two thousand +years, but the very English bumpkins sometimes christen their +boys by the name of Alexander—can there be a greater +evidence of his greatness? As for Napoleon, there are some +parts of India in which his bust is worshipped.” +Wishing to make up a triumvirate, I mentioned the name of +Wellington, to which Francis Ardry merely said, +“bah!” and resumed the subject of dog-fighting.</p> +<p>Francis Ardry remained at the inn during that day and the +next, and then departed to the dog and lion fight; I never saw +him afterwards, and merely heard of him once after a lapse of +some years, and what I then heard was not exactly what I could +have wished to hear. He did not make much of the advantages +which he possessed, a pity, for how great were those +advantages—person, intellect, eloquence, connection, +riches! yet, with all these advantages, one thing highly needful +seems to have been wanting in Francis. A desire, a craving, +to perform something great and good. Oh! what a vast deal +may be done with intellect, courage, riches, accompanied by the +desire of doing something great and good! Why, a person may +carry the blessings of civilization and religion to barbarous, +yet at the same time beautiful and romantic lands; and what a +triumph there is for him who does so! what a crown of glory! of +far greater value than those surrounding the brows of your mere +conquerors. Yet who has done so in these times? Not +many; not three, not two, something seems to have been always +wanting; there is, however, one instance, in which the various +requisites have been united, and the crown, the most desirable in +the world—at least which I consider to be the most +desirable—achieved, and only one, that of Brooke of +Borneo.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<p>Mr. Platitude and the Man in Black—The +Postillion’s Adventures—The Lone House—A Goodly +Assemblage.</p> +<p>It never rains, but it pours. I was destined to see at +this inn more acquaintances than one. On the day of Francis +Ardry’s departure, shortly after he had taken leave of me, +as I was standing in the corn-chamber, at a kind of writing-table +or desk, fastened to the wall, with a book before me, in which I +was making out an account of the corn and hay lately received and +distributed, my friend the postillion came running in out of +breath. “Here they both are,” he gasped out; +“pray do come and look at them.”</p> +<p>“Whom do you mean?” said I.</p> +<p>“Why, that red-haired Jack Priest, and that idiotic +parson, Platitude; they have just been set down by one of the +coaches, and want a postchaise to go across the country in; and +what do you think? I am to have the driving of them. +I have no time to lose, for I must get myself ready; so do come +and look at them.”</p> +<p>I hastened into the yard of the inn; two or three of the +helpers of our establishment were employed in drawing forward a +postchaise out of the chaise-house, which occupied one side of +the yard, and which was spacious enough to contain nearly twenty +of these vehicles, though it was never full, several of them +being always out upon the roads, as the demand upon us for +postchaises across the country was very great. “There +they are,” said the postillion, softly, nodding towards two +individuals, in one of whom I recognized the man in black, and in +the other Mr. Platitude; “there they are; have a good look +at them, while I go and get ready.” The man in black +and Mr. Platitude were walking up and down the yard, Mr. +Platitude was doing his best to make himself appear ridiculous, +talking very loudly in exceedingly bad Italian, evidently for the +purpose of attracting the notice of the bystanders, in which he +succeeded, all the stable-boys and hangers-on about the yard, +attracted by his vociferation, grinning at his ridiculous figure +as he limped up and down. The man in black said little or +nothing, but from the glances which he cast sideways appeared to +be thoroughly ashamed of his companion; the worthy couple +presently arrived close to where I was standing, and the man in +black, who was nearest to me, perceiving me, stood still as if +hesitating, but recovering himself in a moment, he moved on +without taking any farther notice; Mr. Platitude exclaimed as +they passed in broken lingo, “I hope we shall find the holy +doctors all assembled,” and as they returned, “I make +no doubt that they will all be rejoiced to see me.” +Not wishing to be standing an idle gazer, I went to the chaise +and assisted in attaching the horses, which had now been brought +out, to the pole. The postillion presently arrived, and +finding all ready took the reins and mounted the box, whilst I +very politely opened the door for the two travellers; Mr. +Platitude got in first, and, without taking any notice of me, +seated himself on the farther side. In got the man in +black, and seated himself nearest to me. “All is +right,” said I, as I shut the door, whereupon the +postillion cracked his whip, and the chaise drove out of the +yard. Just as I shut the door, however, and just as Mr. +Platitude had recommenced talking in jergo, at the top of his +voice, the man in black turned his face partly towards me, and +gave me a wink with his left eye.</p> +<p>I did not see my friend the postillion till the next morning, +when he gave me an account of the adventures he had met with on +his expedition. It appeared that he had driven the man in +black and the Reverend Platitude across the country by roads and +lanes which he had some difficulty in threading. At length, +when he had reached a part of the country where he had never been +before, the man in black pointed out to him a house near the +corner of a wood, to which he informed him they were bound. +The postillion said it was a strange-looking house, with a wall +round it; and, upon the whole, bore something of the look of a +madhouse. There was already a postchaise at the gate, from +which three individuals had alighted—one of them the +postillion said was a mean-looking scoundrel, with a regular +petty-larceny expression in his countenance. He was dressed +very much like the man in black, and the postillion said that he +could almost have taken his Bible oath that they were both of the +same profession. The other two he said were parsons, he +could swear that, though he had never seen them before; there +could be no mistake about them. Church of England parsons +the postillion swore they were, with their black coats, white +cravats, and airs, in which clumsiness and conceit were most +funnily blended—Church of England parsons of the Platitude +description, who had been in Italy, and seen the Pope, and kissed +his toe, and picked up a little broken Italian, and come home +greater fools than they went forth. It appeared that they +were all acquaintances of Mr. Platitude, for when the postillion +had alighted and let Mr. Platitude and his companion out of the +chaise, Mr. Platitude shook the whole three by the hand, +conversed with his two brothers in a little broken jergo, and +addressed the petty-larceny looking individual by the title of +Reverend Doctor. In the midst of these greetings, however, +the postillion said the man in black came up to him, and +proceeded to settle with him for the chaise; he had shaken hands +with nobody, and had merely nodded to the others; “and +now,” said the postillion, “he evidently wished to +get rid of me, fearing, probably, that I should see too much of +the nonsense that was going on. It was whilst settling with +me that he seemed to recognize me for the first time, for he +stared hard at me, and at last asked whether I had not been in +Italy; to which question, with a nod and a laugh, I replied that +I had. I was then going to ask him about the health of the +image of Holy Mary, and to say that I hoped it had recovered from +its horsewhipping; but he interrupted me, paid me the money for +the fare, and gave me a crown for myself, saying he would not +detain me any longer. I say, partner, I am a poor +postillion, but when he gave me the crown I had a good mind to +fling it in his face. I reflected, however, that it was not +mere gift-money, but coin which I had earned, and hardly too, so +I put it in my pocket, and I bethought me, moreover, that, knave +as I knew him to be, he had always treated me with civility; so I +nodded to him, and he said something which, perhaps, he meant for +Latin, but which sounded very much like ‘vails,’ and +by which he doubtless alluded to the money which he had given +me. He then went into the house with the rest, the coach +drove away which had brought the others, and I was about to get +on the box and follow; observing, however, two more chaises +driving up, I thought I would be in no hurry, so I just led my +horses and chaise a little out of the way, and pretending to be +occupied about the harness, I kept a tolerably sharp look-out at +the new arrivals. Well, partner, the next vehicle that +drove up was a gentleman’s carriage which I knew very well, +as well as those within it, who were a father and son, the father +a good kind old gentleman, and a justice of the peace, therefore +not very wise, as you may suppose; the son a puppy who has been +abroad, where he contrived to forget his own language, though +only nine months absent, and now rules the roast over his father +and mother, whose only child he is, and by whom he is thought +wondrous clever. So this foreigneering chap brings his poor +old father to this out-of-the-way house to meet these Platitudes +and petty-larceny villains, and perhaps would have brought his +mother too, only, simple thing, by good fortune she happens to be +laid up with the rheumatic. Well, the father and son, I beg +pardon, I mean the son and father, got down and went in, and then +after their carriage was gone, the chaise behind drove up, in +which was a huge fat fellow, weighing twenty stone at least, but +with something of a foreign look, and with him—who do you +think? Why, a rascally Unitarian minister, that is, a +fellow who had been such a minister, but who, some years ago +leaving his own people, who had bred him up and sent him to their +college at York, went over to the High Church, and is now, I +suppose, going over to some other church, for he was talking, as +he got down, wondrous fast in Latin, or what sounded something +like Latin, to the fat fellow, who appeared to take things +wonderfully easy, and merely grunted to the dog Latin which the +scoundrel had learnt at the expense of the poor Unitarians at +York. So they went into the house, and presently arrived +another chaise, but ere I could make any further observations, +the porter of the out-of-the-way house came up to me, asking what +I was stopping there for? bidding me go away, and not pry into +other people’s business. ‘Pretty +business,’ said I to him, ‘that is being transacted +in a place like this,’ and then I was going to say +something uncivil, but he went to attend to the new comers, and I +took myself away on my own business as he bade me, not, however, +before observing that these two last were a couple of +blackcoats.”</p> +<p>The postillion then proceeded to relate how he made the best +of his way to a small public-house, about a mile off, where he +had intended to bait, and how he met on the way a landau and +pair, belonging to a Scotch coxcomb whom he had known in London, +about whom he related some curious particulars, and then +continued: “Well, after I had passed him and his turn-out, +I drove straight to the public-house, where I baited my horses, +and where I found some of the chaises and drivers who had driven +the folks to the lunatic-looking mansion, and were now waiting to +take them up again. Whilst my horses were eating their +bait, I sat me down, as the weather was warm, at a table outside, +and smoked a pipe, and drank some ale, in company with the +coachman of the old gentleman who had gone to the house with his +son, and the coachman then told me that the house was a Papist +house, and that the present was a grand meeting of all the fools +and rascals in the country, who came to bow down to images, and +to concert schemes—pretty schemes no doubt—for +overturning the religion of the country, and that for his part he +did not approve of being concerned with such doings, and that he +was going to give his master warning next day. So, as we +were drinking and discoursing, up drove the chariot of the +Scotchman, and down got his valet and the driver, and whilst the +driver was seeing after the horses, the valet came and sat down +at the table where the gentleman’s coachman and I were +drinking. I knew the fellow well, a Scotchman like his +master, and just of the same kidney, with white kid gloves, red +hair frizzled, a patch of paint on his face, and his hands +covered with rings. This very fellow, I must tell you, was +one of those most busy in endeavouring to get me turned out of +the servants’ club in Park Lane, because I happened to +serve a literary man; so he sat down, and in a kind of affected +tone cried out, ‘Landlord, bring me a glass of cold +negus.’ The landlord, however, told him that there +was no negus, but that if he pleased, he could have a jug of as +good beer as any in the country. ‘Confound the +beer,’ said the valet, ‘do you think that I am +accustomed to such vulgar beverage?’ However, as he +found there was nothing better to be had, he let the man bring +him some beer, and when he had got it, soon showed that he could +drink it easily enough; so, when he had drunk two or three +draughts, he turned his eyes in a contemptuous manner, first, on +the coachman, and then on me: I saw the scamp recollected me, for +after staring at me and my dress for about half a minute, he put +on a broad grin, and flinging his head back, he uttered a loud +laugh. Well, I did not like this, as you may well believe, +and taking the pipe out of my mouth, I asked him if he meant +anything personal, to which he answered, that he had said nothing +to me, and that he had a right to look where he pleased, and +laugh when he pleased. Well, as to a certain extent he was +right, as to looking and laughing; and as I have occasionally +looked at a fool and laughed, though I was not the fool in this +instance, I put my pipe into my mouth and said no more. +This quiet and well-regulated behaviour of mine, however, the +fellow interpreted into fear; so, after drinking a little more, +he suddenly started up, and striding once or twice before the +table, he asked me what I meant by that impertinent question of +mine, saying that he had a good mind to wring my nose for my +presumption. ‘You have?’ said I, getting up, +and laying down my pipe. ‘Well, I’ll now give +you an opportunity.’ So I put myself in an attitude, +and went up to him, saying ‘I have an old score to settle +with you, you scamp; you wanted to get me turned out of the club, +didn’t you?’ And thereupon, remembering that he +had threatened to wring my nose, I gave him a snorter upon his +own. I wish you could have seen the fellow when he felt the +smart; so far from trying to defend himself, he turned round, and +with his hand to his face, attempted to run away; but I was now +in a regular passion, and following him up, got before him, and +was going to pummel away at him, when he burst into tears, and +begged me not to hurt him, saying that he was sorry if he had +offended me, and that, if I pleased, he would go down on his +knees, or do anything else I wanted. Well, when I heard him +talk in this manner, I, of course, let him be; I could hardly +help laughing at the figure he cut; his face all blubbered with +tears, and blood and paint; but I did not laugh at the poor +creature either, but went to the table and took up my pipe, and +smoked and drank as if nothing had happened; and the fellow, +after having been to the pump, came and sat down, crying, and +trying to curry favour with me and the coachman; presently, +however, putting on a confidential look, he began to talk of the +Popish house, and of the doings there, and said he supposed as +how we were of the party, and that it was all right; and then he +began to talk of the Pope of Rome, and what a nice man he was, +and what a fine thing it was to be of his religion, especially if +folks went over to him; and how it advanced them in the world, +and gave them consideration; and how his master, who had been +abroad and seen the Pope, and kissed his toe, was going over to +the Popish religion, and had persuaded him to consent to do so, +and to forsake his own, which I think the scoundrel called the +’Piscopal Church of Scotland, and how many others of that +church were going over, thinking to better their condition in +life by so doing, and to be more thought on; and how many of the +English Church were thinking of going over too—and that he +had no doubt that it would all end right and comfortably. +Well, as he was going on in this way, the old coachman began to +spit, and getting up, flung all the beer that was in his jug upon +the ground, and going away, ordered another jug of beer, and sat +down at another table, saying that he would not drink in such +company; and I too got up, and flung what beer remained in my +jug, there wasn’t more than a drop, in the fellow’s +face, saying, I would scorn to drink any more in such company; +and then I went to my horses, put them to, paid my reckoning, and +drove home.”</p> +<p>The postillion having related his story, to which I listened +with all due attention, mused for a moment, and then said, +“I dare say you remember how, some time since, when old +Bill had been telling us how the Government a long time ago, had +done away with robbing on the highway, by putting down the +public-houses and places which the highwaymen frequented, and by +sending a good mounted police to hunt them down, I said that it +was a shame that the present Government did not employ somewhat +the same means in order to stop the proceedings of Mumbo Jumbo +and his gang now-a-days in England. Howsomever, since I +have driven a fare to a Popish rendezvous, and seen something of +what is going on there, I should conceive that the Government are +justified in allowing the gang the free exercise of their +calling. Anybody is welcome to stoop and pick up nothing, +or worse than nothing, and if Mumbo Jumbo’s people, after +their expeditions, return to their haunts with no better plunder +in the shape of converts than what I saw going into yonder place +of call, I should say they are welcome to what they get; for if +that’s the kind of rubbish they steal out of the Church of +England, or any other church, who in his senses but would say a +good riddance, and many thanks for your trouble: at any rate, +that is my opinion of the matter.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<p>Deliberations with Self-Resolution—Invitation to +Dinner—The Commercial Traveller—The Landlord’s +Offer—The Comet Wine.</p> +<p>It was now that I had frequent deliberations with +myself. Should I continue at the inn in my present +position? I was not very much captivated with it; there was +little poetry in keeping an account of the corn, hay, and straw +which came in, and was given out, and I was fond of poetry; +moreover, there was no glory at all to be expected in doing so, +and I was fond of glory. Should I give up that situation, +and remaining at the inn, become ostler under old Bill? +There was more poetry in rubbing down horses than in keeping an +account of straw, hay, and corn; there was also some prospect of +glory attached to the situation of ostler, for the grooms and +stable-boys occasionally talked of an ostler, a great way down +the road, who had been presented by some sporting people, not +with a silver vase, as our governor had been, but with a silver +currycomb, in testimony of their admiration for his skill; but I +confess that the poetry of rubbing down had become, as all other +poetry becomes, rather prosy by frequent repetition, and with +respect to the chance of deriving glory from the employment, I +entertained, in the event of my determining to stay, very slight +hope of ever attaining skill in the ostler art sufficient to +induce sporting people to bestow upon me a silver +currycomb. I was not half so good an ostler as old Bill, +who had never been presented with a silver currycomb, and I never +expected to become so, therefore what chance had I? It was +true, there was a prospect of some pecuniary emolument to be +derived by remaining in either situation. It was very +probable that, provided I continued to keep an account of the hay +and corn coming in and expended, the landlord would consent to +allow me a pound a week, which at the end of a dozen years, +provided I kept myself sober, would amount to a considerable +sum. I might, on the retirement of old Bill, by taking his +place, save up a decent sum of money, provided, unlike him, I +kept myself sober, and laid by all the shillings and sixpences I +got; but the prospect of laying up a decent sum of money was not +of sufficient importance to induce me to continue either at my +wooden desk, or in the inn-yard. The reader will remember +what difficulty I had to make up my mind to become a merchant +under the Armenian’s auspices, even with the prospect of +making two or three hundred thousand pounds by following the +Armenian way of doing business, so it was not probable that I +should feel disposed to be a book-keeper or ostler all my life +with no other prospect than being able to make a tidy sum of +money. If indeed, besides the prospect of making a tidy sum +at the end of perhaps forty years’ ostlering, I had been +certain of being presented with a silver currycomb with my name +engraved upon it, which I might have left to my descendants, or, +in default thereof, to the parish church destined to contain my +bones, with directions that it might be soldered into the wall +above the arch leading from the body of the church into the +chancel—I will not say with such a certainty of +immortality, combined with such a prospect of moderate pecuniary +advantage,—I might not have thought it worth my while to +stay, but I entertained no such certainty, and, taking everything +into consideration, I determined to mount my horse and leave the +inn.</p> +<p>This horse had caused me for some time past no little +perplexity; I had frequently repented of having purchased him, +more especially as the purchase had been made with another +person’s money, and had more than once shown him to people +who, I imagined, were likely to purchase him; but, though they +were profuse in his praise, as people generally are in the praise +of what they don’t intend to purchase, they never made me +an offer, and now that I had determined to mount on his back and +ride away, what was I to do with him in the sequel? I could +not maintain him long. Suddenly I bethought me of +Horncastle, which Francis Ardry had mentioned as a place where +the horse was likely to find a purchaser, and not having +determined upon any particular place to which to repair, I +thought that I could do no better than betake myself to +Horncastle in the first instance, and there endeavour to dispose +of my horse.</p> +<p>On making inquiries with respect to the situation of +Horncastle, and the time when the fair would be held, I learned +that the town was situated in Lincolnshire, about a hundred and +fifty miles from the inn at which I was at present sojourning, +and that the fair would be held nominally within about a month, +but that it was always requisite to be on the spot some days +before the nominal day of the fair, as all the best horses were +generally sold before that time, and the people who came to +purchase gone away with what they had bought.</p> +<p>The people of the inn were very sorry on being informed of my +determination to depart. Old Bill told me that he had hoped +as how I had intended to settle down there, and to take his place +as ostler when he was fit for no more work, adding, that though I +did not know much of the business, yet he had no doubt but that I +might improve. My friend the postillion was particularly +sorry, and taking me with him to the tap-room called for two +pints of beer, to one of which he treated me; and whilst we were +drinking told me how particularly sorry he was at the thought of +my going, but that he hoped I should think better of the +matter. On my telling him that I must go, he said that he +trusted I should put off my departure for three weeks, in order +that I might be present at his marriage, the banns of which were +just about to be published. He said that nothing would give +him greater pleasure than to see me dance a minuet with his wife +after the marriage dinner; but I told him it was impossible that +I should stay, my affairs imperatively calling me elsewhere; and +that with respect to my dancing a minuet, such a thing was out of +the question, as I had never learned to dance. At which he +said that he was exceedingly sorry, and finding me determined to +go, wished me success in all my undertakings.</p> +<p>The master of the house, to whom, as in duty bound, I +communicated my intention before I spoke of it to the servants, +was, I make no doubt, very sorry, though he did not exactly tell +me so. What he said was, that he had never expected that I +should remain long there, as such a situation never appeared to +him quite suitable to me, though I had been very diligent, and +had given him perfect satisfaction. On his inquiring when I +intended to depart, I informed him next day, whereupon he begged +that I would defer my departure till the next day but one, and do +him the favour of dining with him on the morrow. I informed +him that I should be only too happy.</p> +<p>On the following day at four o’clock I dined with the +landlord, in company with a commercial traveller. The +dinner was good, though plain, consisting of boiled +mackerel—rather a rarity in those parts at that +time—with fennel sauce, a prime baron of roast beef after +the mackerel, then a tart and noble Cheshire cheese; we had prime +sherry at dinner, and whilst eating the cheese prime porter, that +of Barclay, the only good porter in the world. After the +cloth was removed we had a bottle of very good port; and whilst +partaking of the port I had an argument with the commercial +traveller on the subject of the corn-laws.</p> +<p>The commercial traveller, having worsted me in the argument on +the subject of the corn-laws, got up in great glee, saying that +he must order his gig, as business must be attended to. +Before leaving the room, however, he shook me patronizingly by +the hand, and said something to the master of the house, but in +so low a tone that it escaped my ear.</p> +<p>No sooner had he departed than the master of the house told me +that his friend the traveller had just said that I was a +confounded sensible young fellow, and not at all opinionated, a +sentiment in which he himself perfectly agreed—then hemming +once or twice, he said that as I was going on a journey he hoped +I was tolerably well provided with money, adding that travelling +was rather expensive, especially on horseback, the manner in +which he supposed, as I had a horse in the stable, I intended to +travel. I told him that though I was not particularly well +supplied with money, I had sufficient for the expenses of my +journey, at the end of which I hoped to procure more. He +then hemmed again, and said that since I had been at the inn I +had rendered him a great deal of service in more ways than one, +and that he should not think of permitting me to depart without +making me some remuneration; then putting his hand into his +waistcoat pocket, he handed me a cheque for ten pounds, which he +had prepared beforehand, the value of which he said I could +receive at the next town, or that, if I wished it, any waiter in +the house would cash it for me. I thanked him for his +generosity in the best terms I could select, but, handing him +back the cheque, I told him that I could not accept it, saying, +that, so far from his being my debtor, I believed myself to be +indebted to him, as not only myself but my horse had been living +at his house for several weeks. He replied, that as for my +board at a house like his it amounted to nothing, and as for the +little corn and hay which the horse had consumed it was of no +consequence, and that he must insist upon my taking the +cheque. But I again declined, telling him that doing so +would be a violation of a rule which I had determined to follow, +and which nothing but the greatest necessity would ever compel me +to break through—never to incur obligations. +“But,” said he, “receiving this money will not +be incurring an obligation, it is your due.” “I +do not think so,” said I; “I did not engage to serve +you for money, nor will I take any from you.” +“Perhaps you will take it as a loan?” said he. +“No,” I replied, “I never borrow.” +“Well,” said the landlord, smiling, “you are +different from all others that I am acquainted with. I +never yet knew any one else who scrupled to borrow and receive +obligations; why, there are two baronets in the neighbourhood who +have borrowed money of me, ay, and who have never repaid what +they borrowed; and there are a dozen squires who are under +considerable obligations to me, who I dare say will never return +them. Come, you need not be more scrupulous than your +superiors—I mean in station.” “Every +vessel must stand on its own bottom,” said I; “they +take pleasure in receiving obligations, I take pleasure in being +independent. Perhaps they are wise, and I am a fool, I know +not, but one thing I am certain of, which is, that were I not +independent I should be very unhappy: I should have no visions +then.” “Have you any relations?” said the +landlord, looking at me compassionately; “excuse me, but I +don’t think you are exactly fit to take care of +yourself.” “There you are mistaken,” said +I, “I can take precious good care of myself; ay, and can +drive a precious hard bargain when I have occasion, but driving +bargains is a widely different thing from receiving gifts. +I am going to take my horse to Horncastle, and when there I shall +endeavour to obtain his full value—ay to the last +penny.”</p> +<p>“Horncastle!” said the landlord, “I have +heard of that place; you mustn’t be dreaming visions when +you get there, or they’ll steal the horse from under +you. Well,” said he, rising, “I shall not press +you further on the subject of the cheque. I intend, +however, to put you under an obligation to me.” He +then rang the bell, and having ordered two fresh glasses to be +brought, he went out and presently returned with a small pint +bottle, which he uncorked with his own hand; then sitting down, +he said, “The wine that I bring here, is port of eighteen +hundred and eleven, the year of the comet, the best vintage on +record; the wine which we have been drinking,” he added, +“is good, but not to be compared with this, which I never +sell, and which I am chary of. When you have drunk some of +it, I think you will own that I have conferred an obligation upon +you;” he then filled the glasses, the wine which he poured +out diffusing an aroma through the room; then motioning me to +drink, he raised his own glass to his lips, saying, “Come, +friend, I drink to your success at Horncastle.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> +<p>Triumphal Departure—No Season like Youth—Extreme +Old Age—Beautiful England—The Ratcatcher—A +Misadventure.</p> +<p>I departed from the inn much in the same fashion as I had come +to it, mounted on a splendid horse indifferently well +caparisoned, with the small valise attached to my crupper, in +which, besides the few things I had brought with me, was a small +book of roads with a map which had been presented to me by the +landlord. I must not forget to state that I did not ride +out of the yard, but that my horse was brought to me at the front +door by old Bill, who insisted upon doing so, and who refused a +five-shilling piece which I offered him; and it will be as well +to let the reader know that the landlord shook me by the hand as +I mounted, and that the people attached to the inn, male and +female—my friend the postillion at the head—assembled +before the house to see me off, and gave me three cheers as I +rode away. Perhaps no person ever departed from an inn with +more éclat or better wishes; nobody looked at me askance, +except two stage-coachmen who were loitering about, one of whom +said to his companion, “I say, Jim! twig his portmanteau! a +regular Newmarket turn-out, by—!”</p> +<p>It was in the cool of the evening of a bright day—all +the days of that summer were bright—that I departed. +I felt at first rather melancholy at finding myself again +launched into the wide world, and leaving the friends whom I had +lately made behind me; but by occasionally trotting the horse, +and occasionally singing a song of Romanvile, I had dispelled the +feeling of melancholy by the time I had proceeded three miles +down the main road. It was at the end of these three miles, +just opposite a milestone, that I struck into a cross road. +After riding about seven miles, threading what are called, in +postillion parlance, cross-country roads, I reached another high +road, tending to the east, along which I proceeded for a mile or +two, when coming to a small inn, about nine o’clock, I +halted and put up for the night.</p> +<p>Early on the following morning I proceeded on my journey, but +fearing to gall the horse, I no longer rode him, but led him by +the bridle, until I came to a town at the distance of about ten +miles from the place where I had passed the night. Here I +stayed during the heat of the day, more on the horse’s +account than my own, and towards evening resumed my journey, +leading the animal by the bridle as before; and in this manner I +proceeded for several days, travelling on an average from twenty +to twenty-five miles a day, always leading the animal, except +perhaps now and then of an evening, when, if I saw a good piece +of road before me, I would mount and put the horse into a trot, +which the creature seemed to enjoy as much as myself, showing his +satisfaction by snorting and neighing, whilst I gave utterance to +my own exhilaration by shouts, or by “the chi she is kaulo +she soves pré lakie dumo,” or by something else of +the same kind in Romanvile.</p> +<p>On the whole, I journeyed along very pleasantly, certainly +quite as pleasantly as I do at present, now that I am become a +gentleman and weigh sixteen stone, though some people would say +that my present manner of travelling is much the most preferable, +riding as I now do, instead of leading my horse; receiving the +homage of ostlers instead of their familiar nods; sitting down to +dinner in the parlour of the best inn I can find, instead of +passing the brightest part of the day in the kitchen of a village +alehouse; carrying on my argument after dinner on the subject of +the corn-laws, with the best commercial gentlemen on the road, +instead of being glad, whilst sipping a pint of beer, to get into +conversation with blind trampers, or maimed Abraham sailors, +regaling themselves on half-pints at the said village +hostelries. Many people will doubtless say that things have +altered wonderfully with me for the better, and they would say +right, provided I possessed now what I then carried about with me +in my journeys—the spirit of youth. Youth is the only +season for enjoyment, and the first twenty-five years of +one’s life are worth all the rest of the longest life of +man, even though those five-and-twenty be spent in penury and +contempt, and the rest in the possession of wealth, honours, +respectability, ay, and many of them in strength and health, such +as will enable one to ride forty miles before dinner, and over +one’s pint of port—for the best gentleman in the land +should not drink a bottle—carry on one’s argument, +with gravity and decorum, with any commercial gentleman who, +responsive to one’s challenge, takes the part of humanity +and common sense against “protection” and the lord of +the land.</p> +<p>Ah! there is nothing like youth—not that after-life is +valueless. Even in extreme old age one may get on very +well, provided we will but accept of the bounties of God. I +met the other day an old man, who asked me to drink. +“I am not thirsty,” said I, “and will not drink +with you.” “Yes, you will,” said the old +man, “for I am this day one hundred years old; and you will +never again have an opportunity of drinking the health of a man +on his hundredth birthday.” So I broke my word, and +drank. “Yours is a wonderful age,” said +I. “It is a long time to look back to the beginning +of it,” said the old man; “yet, upon the whole, I am +not sorry to have lived it all.” “How have you +passed your time?” said I. “As well as I +could,” said the old man; “always enjoying a good +thing when it came honestly within my reach; not forgetting to +praise God for putting it there.” “I suppose +you were fond of a glass of good ale when you were +young?” “Yes,” said the old man, “I +was; and so, thank God, I am still.” And he drank off +a glass of ale.</p> +<p>On I went in my journey, traversing England from west to +east—ascending and descending hills—crossing rivers +by bridge and ferry—and passing over extensive +plains. What a beautiful country is England! People +run abroad to see beautiful countries, and leave their own behind +unknown, unnoticed—their own the most beautiful! And +then, again, what a country for adventures! especially to those +who travel on foot, or on horseback. People run abroad in +quest of adventures, and traverse Spain or Portugal on mule or on +horseback; whereas there are ten times more adventures to be met +with in England than in Spain, Portugal, or stupid Germany to +boot. Witness the number of adventures narrated in the +present book—a book entirely devoted to England. Why, +there is not a chapter in the present book which is not full of +adventures, with the exception of the present one, and this is +not yet terminated.</p> +<p>After traversing two or three counties, I reached the confines +of Lincolnshire. During one particularly hot day I put up +at a public-house, to which, in the evening, came a party of +harvesters to make merry, who, finding me wandering about the +house a stranger, invited me to partake of their ale; so I drank +with the harvesters, who sang me songs about rural life, such +as—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Sitting in the swale; and listening to the +swindle of the flail, as it sounds dub-a-dub on the corn, from +the neighbouring barn.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In requital for which I treated them with a song, not of +Romanvile, but the song of “Sivory and the horse +Grayman.” I remained with them till it was dark, +having, after sunset, entered into deep discourse with a +celebrated ratcatcher, who communicated to me the secrets of his +trade, saying, amongst other things, “When you see the rats +pouring out of their holes, and running up my hands and arms, +it’s not after me they comes, but after the oils I carries +about me they comes;” and who subsequently spoke in the +most enthusiastic manner of his trade, saying that it was the +best trade in the world, and most diverting, and that it was +likely to last for ever; for whereas all other kinds of vermin +were fast disappearing from England, rats were every day becoming +more abundant. I had quitted this good company, and having +mounted my horse, was making my way towards a town at about six +miles’ distance, at a swinging trot, my thoughts deeply +engaged on what I had gathered from the ratcatcher, when all on a +sudden a light glared upon the horse’s face, who purled +round in great terror, and flung me out of the saddle, as from a +sling, or with as much violence as the horse Grayman, in the +ballad, flings Sivord the Snareswayne. I fell upon the +ground—felt a kind of crashing about my neck—and +forthwith became senseless.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +<p>A Novel Situation—The Elderly Individual—The +Surgeon—A Kind Offer—Chimerical Ideas—Strange +Dream.</p> +<p>How long I remained senseless I cannot say, for a considerable +time, I believe; at length, opening my eyes, I found myself lying +on a bed in a middle-sized chamber, lighted by a candle, which +stood on a table—an elderly man stood near me, and a yet +more elderly female was holding a phial of very pungent salts to +my olfactory organ. I attempted to move, but felt very +stiff—my right arm appeared nearly paralysed, and there was +a strange dull sensation in my head. “You had better +remain still, young man,” said the elderly individual, +“the surgeon will be here presently; I have sent a message +for him to the neighbouring village.” “Where am +I?” said I, “and what has happened?” +“You are in my house,” said the old man, “and +you have been flung from a horse. I am sorry to say that I +was the cause. As I was driving home, the lights in my gig +frightened the animal.” “Where is the +horse?” said I. “Below, in my stable,” +said the elderly individual. “I saw you fall, but +knowing that on account of my age I could be of little use to +you, I instantly hurried home, the accident did not occur more +than a furlong off, and procuring the assistance of my lad, and +two or three neighbouring cottagers, I returned to the spot where +you were lying senseless. We raised you up, and brought you +here. My lad then went in quest of the horse, who had run +away as we drew nigh. When we saw him first he was standing +near you; he caught him with some difficulty, and brought him +home. What are you about?” said the old man, as I +strove to get off the bed. “I want to see the +horse,” said I. “I entreat you to be +still,” said the old man; “the horse is safe, I +assure you.” “I am thinking about his +knees,” said I. “Instead of thinking about your +horse’s knees,” said the old man, “be thankful +that you have not broke your own neck.” “You do +not talk wisely,” said I; “when a man’s neck is +broke, he is provided for; but when his horse’s knees are +broke, he is a lost jockey, that is, if he has nothing but his +horse to depend upon. A pretty figure I should cut at +Horncastle, mounted on a horse blood-raw at the +knees.” “Oh, you are going to +Horncastle,” said the old man, seriously, “then I can +sympathize with you in your anxiety about your horse, being a +Lincolnshire man, and the son of one who bred horses. I +will myself go down into the stable, and examine into the +condition of your horse, so pray remain quiet till I return; it +would certainly be a terrible thing to appear at Horncastle on a +broken-kneed horse.”</p> +<p>He left the room and returned in about ten minutes, followed +by another person. “Your horse is safe,” said +he, “and his knees are unblemished; not a hair +ruffled. He is a fine animal, and will do credit to +Horncastle; but here is the surgeon come to examine into your own +condition.” The surgeon was a man about thirty-five, +thin, and rather tall; his face was long and pale, and his hair, +which was light, was carefully combed back as much as possible +from his forehead. He was dressed very neatly, and spoke in +a very precise tone. “Allow me to feel your pulse, +friend?” said he, taking me by the right wrist. I +uttered a cry, for at the motion which he caused a thrill of +agony darted through my arm. “I hope your arm is not +broke, my friend,” said the surgeon, “allow me to +see; first of all, we must divest you of this cumbrous +frock.”</p> +<p>The frock was removed with some difficulty, and then the upper +vestments of my frame, with more difficulty still. The +surgeon felt my arm, moving it up and down, causing me +unspeakable pain. “There is no fracture,” said +he, at last, “but a contusion—a violent +contusion. I am told you were going to Horncastle; I am +afraid you will be hardly able to ride your horse thither in time +to dispose of him; however, we shall see—your arm must be +bandaged, friend; after which I shall bleed you, and administer a +composing draught.”</p> +<p>To be short, the surgeon did as he proposed, and when he had +administered the composing draught, he said, “Be of good +cheer; I should not be surprised if you are yet in time for +Horncastle.” He then departed with the master of the +house, and the woman, leaving me to my repose. I soon began +to feel drowsy, and was just composing myself to slumber, lying +on my back, as the surgeon had advised me, when I heard steps +ascending the stairs, and in a moment more the surgeon entered +again, followed by the master of the house. “I hope I +don’t disturb you,” said the former; “my reason +for returning is to relieve your mind from any anxiety with +respect to your horse. I am by no means sure that you will +be able, owing to your accident, to reach Horncastle in time: to +quiet you, however, I will buy your horse for any reasonable +sum. I have been down to the stable, and approve of his +figure. What do you ask for him?” “This +is a strange time of night,” said I, “to come to me +about purchasing my horse, and I am hardly in a fitting situation +to be applied to about such a matter. What do you want him +for?” “For my own use,” said the surgeon; +“I am a professional man, and am obliged to be continually +driving about; I cover at least one hundred and fifty miles every +week.” “He will never answer your +purpose,” said I, “he is not a driving horse, and was +never between shafts in his life; he is for riding, more +especially for trotting, at which he has few equals.” +“It matters not to me whether he is for riding or +driving,” said the surgeon, “sometimes I ride, +sometimes drive; so, if we can come to terms, I will buy him, +though remember it is chiefly to remove any anxiety from your +mind about him.” “This is no time for +bargaining,” said I, “if you wish to have the horse +for a hundred guineas, you may; if not—” +“A hundred guineas!” said the surgeon, “my good +friend, you must surely be light-headed; allow me to feel your +pulse,” and he attempted to feel my left wrist. +“I am not light-headed,” said I, “and I require +no one to feel my pulse; but I should be light-headed if I were +to sell my horse for less than I have demanded; but I have a +curiosity to know what you would be willing to +offer.” “Thirty pounds,” said the +surgeon, “is all I can afford to give; and that is a great +deal for a country surgeon to offer for a horse.” +“Thirty pounds!” said I, “why, he cost me +nearly double that sum. To tell you the truth, I am afraid +that you want to take advantage of my situation.” +“Not in the least, friend,” said the surgeon, +“not in the least; I only wished to set your mind at rest +about your horse; but as you think he is worth more than I can +afford to offer, take him to Horncastle by all means; I will do +my best to cure you in time. Good night, I will see you +again on the morrow.” Thereupon he once more departed +with the master of the house. “A sharp one,” I +heard him say, with a laugh, as the door closed upon him.</p> +<p>Left to myself, I again essayed to compose myself to rest, but +for some time in vain. I had been terribly shaken by my +fall, and had subsequently, owing to the incision of the +surgeon’s lancet, been deprived of much of the vital fluid; +it is when the body is in such a state that the merest trifles +affect and agitate the mind; no wonder, then, that the return of +the surgeon and the master of the house for the purpose of +inquiring whether I would sell my horse, struck me as being +highly extraordinary, considering the hour of the night, and the +situation in which they knew me to be. What could they mean +by such conduct—did they wish to cheat me of the +animal? “Well, well,” said I, “if they +did, what matters, they found their match; yes, yes,” said +I, “but I am in their power, perhaps”—but I +instantly dismissed the apprehension which came into my mind, +with a pooh, nonsense! In a little time, however, a far +more foolish and chimerical idea began to disturb me—the +idea of being flung from my horse; was I not disgraced for ever +as a horseman by being flung from my horse? Assuredly, I +thought; and the idea of being disgraced as a horseman, operating +on my nervous system, caused me very acute misery. +“After all,” said I to myself, “it was perhaps +the contemptible opinion which the surgeon must have formed of my +equestrian powers, which induced him to offer to take my horse +off my hands; he perhaps thought I was unable to manage a horse, +and therefore in pity returned in the dead of night to offer to +purchase the animal which had flung me;” and then the +thought that the surgeon had conceived a contemptible opinion of +my equestrian powers, caused me the acutest misery, and continued +tormenting me until some other idea (I have forgot what it was, +but doubtless equally foolish) took possession of my mind. +At length, brought on by the agitation of my spirits, there came +over me the same feeling of horror that I had experienced of old +when I was a boy, and likewise of late within the dingle; it was, +however, not so violent as it had been on those occasions, and I +struggled manfully against it, until by degrees it passed away, +and then I fell asleep; and in my sleep I had an ugly +dream. I dreamt that I had died of the injuries I had +received from my fall, and that no sooner had my soul departed +from my body than it entered that of a quadruped, even my own +horse in the stable—in a word, I was, to all intents and +purposes, my own steed; and as I stood in the stable chewing hay +(and I remember that the hay was exceedingly tough), the door +opened, and the surgeon who had attended me came in. +“My good animal,” said he, “as your late master +has scarcely left enough to pay for the expenses of his funeral, +and nothing to remunerate me for my trouble, I shall make bold to +take possession of you. If your paces are good, I shall +keep you for my own riding; if not, I shall take you to +Horncastle, your original destination.” He then +bridled and saddled me, and, leading me out, mounted, and then +trotted me up and down before the house, at the door of which the +old man, who now appeared to be dressed in regular jockey +fashion, was standing. “I like his paces well,” +said the surgeon; “I think I shall take him for my own +use.” “And what am I to have for all the +trouble his master caused me?” said my late entertainer, on +whose countenance I now observed, for the first time, a +diabolical squint. “The consciousness of having done +your duty to a fellow-creature in succouring him in a time of +distress, must be your reward,” said the surgeon. +“Pretty gammon, truly,” said my late entertainer; +“what would you say if I were to talk in that way to +you? Come, unless you choose to behave jonnock, I shall +take the bridle and lead the horse back into the +stable.” “Well,” said the surgeon, +“we are old friends, and I don’t wish to dispute with +you, so I’ll tell you what I will do; I will ride the +animal to Horncastle, and we will share what he fetches like +brothers.” “Good,” said the old man, +“but if you say that you have sold him for less than a +hundred, I shan’t consider you jonnock; remember what the +young fellow said—that young fellow—” I +heard no more, for the next moment I found myself on a broad road +leading, as I supposed, in the direction of Horncastle, the +surgeon still in the saddle, and my legs moving at a rapid +trot. “Get on,” said the surgeon, jerking my +mouth with the bit; whereupon, full of rage, I instantly set off +at a full gallop, determined, if possible, to dash my rider to +the earth. The surgeon, however, kept his seat, and, so far +from attempting to abate my speed, urged me on to greater efforts +with a stout stick, which methought he held in his hand. In +vain did I rear and kick, attempting to get rid of my foe; but +the surgeon remained as saddle-fast as ever the Maugrabin +sorcerer in the Arabian tale what time he rode the young prince +transformed into a steed to his enchanted palace in the +wilderness. At last, as I was still madly dashing on, +panting and blowing, and had almost given up all hope, I saw at a +distance before me a heap of stones by the side of the road, +probably placed there for the purpose of repairing it; a thought +appeared to strike me—I will shy at those stones, and, if I +can’t get rid of him so, resign myself to my fate. So +I increased my speed, till arriving within about ten yards of the +heap, I made a desperate start, turning half round with nearly +the velocity of a mill-stone. Oh, the joy I experienced +when I felt my enemy canted over my neck, and saw him lying +senseless in the road. “I have you now in my +power,” I said, or rather neighed, as, going up to my +prostrate foe, I stood over him. “Suppose I were to +rear now, and let my fore feet fall upon you, what would your +life be worth? that is, supposing you are not killed already; but +lie there, I will do you no further harm, but trot to Horncastle +without a rider, and when there—” and without further +reflection off I trotted in the direction of Horncastle, but had +not gone far before my bridle, falling from my neck, got +entangled with my off fore foot. I felt myself falling, a +thrill of agony shot through me—my knees would be broken, +and what should I do at Horncastle with a pair of broken +knees? I struggled, but I could not disengage my off fore +foot, and downward I fell, but before I had reached the ground I +awoke, and found myself half out of bed, my bandaged arm in +considerable pain, and my left hand just touching the floor.</p> +<p>With some difficulty I readjusted myself in bed. It was +now early morning, and the first rays of the sun were beginning +to penetrate the white curtains of a window on my left, which +probably looked into the garden, as I caught a glimpse or two of +the leaves of trees through a small uncovered part at the +side. For some time I felt uneasy and anxious, my spirits +being in a strange fluttering state. At last my eyes fell +upon a small row of tea-cups seemingly of china, which stood on a +mantelpiece exactly fronting the bottom of the bed. The +sight of these objects, I know not why, soothed and pacified me; +I kept my eyes fixed upon them, as I lay on my back on the bed, +with my head upon the pillow, till at last I fell into a calm and +refreshing sleep.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> +<p>The Morning after a Fall—The Teapot—Unpretending +Hospitality—The Chinese Student.</p> +<p>It might be about eight o’clock in the morning when I +was awakened by the entrance of the old man. “How +have you rested?” said he, coming up to the bedside, and +looking me in the face. “Well,” said I, +“and I feel much better, but I am still very +sore.” I surveyed him now for the first time with +attention. He was dressed in a sober-coloured suit, and was +apparently between sixty and seventy. In stature he was +rather above the middle height, but with a slight stoop; his +features were placid, and expressive of much benevolence, but, as +it appeared to me, with rather a melancholy cast—as I gazed +upon them, I felt ashamed that I should ever have conceived in my +brain a vision like that of the preceding night, in which he +appeared in so disadvantageous a light. At length he said, +“It is now time for you to take some refreshment. I +hear my old servant coming up with your breakfast.” +In a moment the elderly female entered with a tray, on which was +some bread and butter, a teapot and cup. The cup was of +common blue earthenware, but the pot was of china, curiously +fashioned, and seemingly of great antiquity. The old man +poured me out a cupful of tea, and then, with the assistance of +the woman, raised me higher, and propped me up with the +pillows. I ate and drank; when the pot was emptied of its +liquid (it did not contain much), I raised it up with my left +hand to inspect it. The sides were covered with curious +characters, seemingly hieroglyphics. After surveying them +for some time, I replaced it upon the tray. “You seem +fond of china,” said I, to the old man, after the servant +had retired with the breakfast things, and I had returned to my +former posture; “you have china on the mantelpiece, and +that was a remarkable teapot out of which I have just been +drinking.”</p> +<p>The old man fixed his eyes intently on me, and methought the +expression of his countenance became yet more melancholy. +“Yes,” said he, at last, “I am fond of +china—I have reason to be fond of china—but for china +I should—” and here he sighed again.</p> +<p>“You value it for the quaintness and singularity of its +form,” said I; “it appears to be less adapted for +real use than our own pottery.”</p> +<p>“I care little about its form,” said the old man; +“I care for it simply on account of—however, why talk +to you on the subject which can have no possible interest to +you? I expect the surgeon here presently.”</p> +<p>“I do not like that surgeon at all,” said I; +“how strangely he behaved last night, coming back, when I +was just falling asleep, to ask me if I would sell my +horse.”</p> +<p>The old man smiled. “He has but one +failing,” said he, “an itch for horse-dealing; but +for that he might be a much richer man than he is; he is +continually buying and exchanging horses, and generally finds +himself a loser by his bargains: but he is a worthy creature, and +skilful in his profession—it is well for you that you are +under his care.”</p> +<p>The old man then left me, and in about an hour returned with +the surgeon, who examined me and reported favourably as to my +case. He spoke to me with kindness and feeling, and did not +introduce the subject of the horse. I asked him whether he +thought I should be in time for the fair. “I saw some +people making their way thither to-day,” said he; +“the fair lasts three weeks, and it has just +commenced. Yes, I think I may promise you that you will be +in time for the very heat of it. In a few days you will be +able to mount your saddle with your arm in a sling, but you must +by no means appear with your arm in a sling at Horncastle, as +people would think that your horse had flung you, and that you +wanted to dispose of him because he was a vicious brute. +You must, by all means, drop the sling before you get to +Horncastle.”</p> +<p>For three days I kept my apartment by the advice of the +surgeon. I passed my time as I best could. Stretched +on my bed, I either abandoned myself to reflection, or listened +to the voices of the birds in the neighbouring garden. +Sometimes, as I lay awake at night, I would endeavour to catch +the tick of a clock, which methought sounded from some distant +part of the house.</p> +<p>The old man visited me twice or thrice every day to inquire +into my state. His words were few on these occasions, and +he did not stay long. Yet his voice and his words were +kind. What surprised me most in connection with this +individual was, the delicacy of conduct which he exhibited in not +letting a word proceed from his lips which could testify +curiosity respecting who I was, or whence I came. All he +knew of me was, that I had been flung from my horse on my way to +a fair for the purpose of disposing of the animal; and that I was +now his guest. I might be a common horse-dealer for what he +knew, yet I was treated by him with all the attention which I +could have expected, had I been an alderman of Boston’s +heir, and known to him as such. The county in which I am +now, thought I at last, must be either extraordinarily devoted to +hospitality, or this old host of mine must be an extraordinary +individual. On the evening of the fourth day, feeling tired +of my confinement, I put my clothes on in the best manner I +could, and left the chamber. Descending a flight of stairs, +I reached a kind of quadrangle, from which branched two or three +passages; one of these I entered, which had a door at the farther +end, and one on each side; the one to the left standing partly +open, I entered it, and found myself in a middle-sized room with +a large window, or rather glass-door, which looked into a garden, +and which stood open. There was nothing remarkable in this +room, except a large quantity of china. There was china on +the mantelpiece—china on two tables, and a small beaufet, +which stood opposite the glass-door, was covered with +china—there were cups, teapots, and vases of various forms, +and on all of them I observed characters—not a teapot, not +a tea-cup, not a vase of whatever form or size, but appeared to +possess hieroglyphics on some part or other. After +surveying these articles for some time with no little interest, I +passed into the garden, in which there were small parterres of +flowers, and two or three trees, and which, where the house did +not abut, was bounded by a wall; turning to the right by a walk +by the side of a house, I passed by a door—probably the one +I had seen at the end of the passage—and arrived at another +window similar to that through which I had come, and which also +stood open; I was about to pass through it, when I heard the +voice of my entertainer exclaiming, “Is that you? pray come +in.”</p> +<p>I entered the room, which seemed to be a counterpart of the +one which I had just left. It was of the same size, had the +same kind of furniture, and appeared to be equally well stocked +with china; one prominent article it possessed, however, which +the other room did not exhibit—namely, a clock, which, with +its pendulum moving tick-a-tick, hung against the wall opposite +to the door, the sight of which made me conclude that the sound +which methought I had heard in the stillness of the night was not +an imaginary one. There it hung on the wall, with its +pendulum moving tick-a-tick. The old gentleman was seated +in an easy chair a little way into the room, having the +glass-door on his right hand. On a table before him lay a +large open volume, in which I observed Roman letters as well as +characters. A few inches beyond the book on the table, +covered all over with hieroglyphics, stood a china vase. +The eyes of the old man were fixed upon it.</p> +<p>“Sit down,” said he, motioning me with his hand to +a stool close by, but without taking his eyes from the vase.</p> +<p>“I can’t make it out,” said he, at last, +removing his eyes from the vase, and leaning back on the chair, +“I can’t make it out.”</p> +<p>“I wish I could assist you,” said I.</p> +<p>“Assist me,” said the old man, looking at me with +a half smile.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “but I don’t understand +Chinese.”</p> +<p>“I suppose not,” said the old man, with another +slight smile; “but—but—”</p> +<p>“Pray proceed,” said I.</p> +<p>“I wished to ask you,” said the old man, +“how you knew that the characters on yon piece of crockery +were Chinese; or, indeed, that there was such a +language?”</p> +<p>“I knew the crockery was china,” said I, +“and naturally enough supposed what was written upon it to +be Chinese; as for there being such a language—the English +have a language, the French have a language, and why not the +Chinese?”</p> +<p>“May I ask you a question?”</p> +<p>“As many as you like.”</p> +<p>“Do you know any language besides English?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “I know a little of two or +three.”</p> +<p>“May I ask their names?”</p> +<p>“Why not?” said I, “I know a little +French.”</p> +<p>“Anything else?”</p> +<p>“Yes, a little Welsh, and a little Haik.”</p> +<p>“What is Haik?”</p> +<p>“Armenian.”</p> +<p>“I am glad to see you in my house,” said the old +man, shaking me by the hand; “how singular that one coming +as you did should know Armenian!”</p> +<p>“Not more singular,” said I, “than that one +living in such a place as this should know Chinese. How +came you to acquire it?”</p> +<p>The old man looked at me, and sighed. “I beg +pardon,” said I, “for asking what is, perhaps, an +impertinent question; I have not imitated your own delicacy; you +have never asked me a question without first desiring permission, +and here I have been days and nights in your house an intruder on +your hospitality, and you have never so much as asked me who I +am.”</p> +<p>“In forbearing to do that,” said the old man, +“I merely obeyed the Chinese precept, ‘Ask no +questions of a guest;’ it is written on both sides of the +teapot out of which you have had your tea.”</p> +<p>“I wish I knew Chinese,” said I. “Is +it a difficult language to acquire?”</p> +<p>“I have reason to think so,” said the old +man. “I have been occupied upon it five-and-thirty +years, and I am still very imperfectly acquainted with it; at +least, I frequently find upon my crockery sentences the meaning +of which to me is very dark, though it is true these sentences +are mostly verses, which are, of course, more difficult to +understand than mere prose.”</p> +<p>“Are your Chinese studies,” said I, +“confined to crockery literature?”</p> +<p>“Entirely,” said the old man; “I read +nothing else.”</p> +<p>“I have heard,” said I, “that the Chinese +have no letters, but that for every word they have a separate +character—is it so?”</p> +<p>“For every word they have a particular character,” +said the old man; “though, to prevent confusion, they have +arranged their words under two hundred and fourteen what we +should call radicals, but which they call keys. As we +arrange all our words in a dictionary under twenty-four letters, +so do they arrange all their words, or characters, under two +hundred and fourteen radical signs; the simplest radicals being +the first, and the more complex the last.”</p> +<p>“Does the Chinese resemble any of the European languages +in words?” said I.</p> +<p>“I am scarcely competent to inform you,” said the +old man; “but I believe not.”</p> +<p>“What does that character represent?” said I, +pointing to one on the vase.</p> +<p>“A knife,” said the old man, “that character +is one of the simplest radicals or keys.”</p> +<p>“And what is the sound of it?” said I.</p> +<p>“Tau,” said the old man.</p> +<p>“Tau!” said I; “tau!”</p> +<p>“A strange word for a knife is it not?” said the +old man.</p> +<p>“Tawse!” said I; “tawse!”</p> +<p>“What is tawse?” said the old man.</p> +<p>“You were never at school at Edinburgh, I +suppose?”</p> +<p>“Never,” said the old man.</p> +<p>“That accounts for your not knowing the meaning of +tawse,” said I; “had you received the rudiments of a +classical education at the High School, you would have known the +meaning of tawse full well. It is a leathern thong, with +which refractory urchins are recalled to a sense of their duty by +the dominie. Tau—tawse—how singular!”</p> +<p>“I cannot see what the two words have in common, except +a slight agreement in sound.”</p> +<p>“You will see the connection,” said I, “when +I inform you that the thong, from the middle to the bottom, is +cut or slit into two or three parts, from which slits or cuts, +unless I am very much mistaken, it derives its name—tawse, +a thong with slits or cuts, used for chastising disorderly +urchins at the High School, from the French tailler, to cut; +evidently connected with the Chinese tau, a knife—how very +extraordinary!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> +<p>Convalescence—The Surgeon’s Bill—Letter of +Recommendation—Commencement of the Old Man’s +History.</p> +<p>Two days—three days passed away—and I still +remained at the house of my hospitable entertainer; my bruised +limb rapidly recovering the power of performing its +functions. I passed my time agreeably enough, sometimes in +my chamber, communing with my own thoughts; sometimes in the +stable, attending to, and not unfrequently conversing with, my +horse; and at meal-time—for I seldom saw him at any +other—discoursing with the old gentleman, sometimes on the +Chinese vocabulary, sometimes on Chinese syntax, and once or +twice on English horseflesh; though on this latter subject, +notwithstanding his descent from a race of horse-traders, he did +not enter into with much alacrity. As a small requital for +his kindness, I gave him one day, after dinner, unasked, a brief +account of my history and pursuits. He listened with +attention; and when it was concluded, thanked me for the +confidence which I had reposed in him. “Such +conduct,” said he, “deserves a return. I will +tell you my own history; it is brief, but may perhaps not prove +uninteresting to you—though the relation of it will give me +some pain.” “Pray, then, do not recite +it,” said I. “Yes,” said the old man, +“I will tell you, for I wish you to know it.” +He was about to begin, when he was interrupted by the arrival of +the surgeon. The surgeon examined into the state of my +bruised limb, and told me, what indeed I already well knew, that +it was rapidly improving. “You will not even require +a sling,” said he, “to ride to Horncastle. When +do you propose going?” he demanded. “When do +you think I may venture?” I replied. “I think, +if you are a tolerably good horseman, you may mount the day after +to-morrow,” answered the medical man. +“By-the-bye, are you acquainted with anybody at +Horncastle?” “With no living soul,” I +answered. “Then you would scarcely find stable-room +for your horse. But I am happy to be able to assist +you. I have a friend there who keeps a small inn, and who, +during the time of the fair, keeps a stall vacant for any +quadruped I may bring, until he knows whether I am coming or +not. I will give you a letter to him, and he will see after +the accommodation of your horse. To-morrow I will pay you a +farewell visit, and bring you the letter.” +“Thank you,” said I; “and do not forget to +bring your bill.” The surgeon looked at the old man, +who gave him a peculiar nod. “Oh!” said he, in +reply to me, “for the little service I have rendered you, I +require no remuneration. You are in my friend’s +house, and he and I understand each other.” “I +never receive such favours,” said I, “as you have +rendered me, without remunerating them; therefore I shall expect +your bill.” “Oh! just as you please,” +said the surgeon; and shaking me by the hand more warmly than he +had hitherto done, he took his leave.</p> +<p>On the evening of the next day, the last which I spent with my +kind entertainer, I sat at tea with him in a little summer-house +in his garden, partially shaded by the boughs of a large +fig-tree. The surgeon had shortly before paid me his +farewell visit, and had brought me the letter of introduction to +his friend at Horncastle, and also his bill, which I found +anything but extravagant. After we had each respectively +drank the contents of two cups—and it may not be amiss here +to inform the reader that though I took cream with my tea, as I +always do when I can procure that addition, the old man, like +most people bred up in the country, drank his without it—he +thus addressed me:—“I am, as I told you on the night +of your accident, the son of a breeder of horses, a respectable +and honest man. When I was about twenty he died, leaving +me, his only child, a comfortable property, consisting of about +two hundred acres of land and some fifteen hundred pounds in +money. My mother had died about three years +previously. I felt the death of my mother keenly, but that +of my father less than was my duty; indeed, truth compels me to +acknowledge that I scarcely regretted his death. The cause +of this want of proper filial feeling was the opposition which I +had experienced from him in an affair which deeply concerned +me. I had formed an attachment for a young female in the +neighbourhood, who, though poor, was of highly respectable birth, +her father having been a curate of the Established Church. +She was, at the time of which I am speaking, an orphan, having +lost both her parents, and supported herself by keeping a small +school. My attachment was returned, and we had pledged our +vows, but my father, who could not reconcile himself to her lack +of fortune, forbade our marriage in the most positive +terms. He was wrong, for she was a fortune in +herself—amiable and accomplished. Oh! I cannot tell +you all she was—” and here the old man drew his hand +across his eyes. “By the death of my father, the only +obstacle to our happiness appeared to be removed. We +agreed, therefore, that our marriage should take place within the +course of a year; and I forthwith commenced enlarging my house +and getting my affairs in order. Having been left in the +easy circumstances which I have described, I determined to follow +no business, but to pass my life in a strictly domestic manner, +and to be very, very happy. Amongst other property derived +from my father were several horses, which I disposed of in this +neighbourhood, with the exception of two remarkably fine ones, +which I determined to take to the next fair at Horncastle, the +only place where I expected to be able to obtain what I +considered to be their full value. At length the time +arrived for the commencement of the fair, which was within three +months of the period which my beloved and myself had fixed upon +for the celebration of our nuptials. To the fair I went, a +couple of trusty men following me with the horses. I soon +found a purchaser for the animals, a portly, plausible person, of +about forty, dressed in a blue riding coat, brown top boots, and +leather breeches. There was a strange-looking urchin with +him, attired in nearly similar fashion, with a beam in one of his +eyes, who called him father. The man paid me for the +purchase in bank-notes—three fifty-pound notes for the two +horses. As we were about to take leave of each other, he +suddenly produced another fifty-pound note, inquiring whether I +could change it, complaining, at the same time, of the difficulty +of procuring change in the fair. As I happened to have +plenty of small money in my possession, and as I felt obliged to +him for having purchased my horses at what I considered to be a +good price, I informed him that I should be very happy to +accommodate him; so I changed him the note, and he, having taken +possession of the horses, went his way, and I myself returned +home.</p> +<p>“A month passed; during this time I paid away two of the +notes which I had received at Horncastle from the +dealer—one of them in my immediate neighbourhood, and the +other at a town about fifteen miles distant, to which I had +repaired for the purpose of purchasing some furniture. All +things seemed to be going on most prosperously, and I felt quite +happy, when one morning, as I was overlooking some workmen who +were employed about my house, I was accosted by a constable, who +informed me that he was sent to request my immediate appearance +before a neighbouring bench of magistrates. Concluding that +I was merely summoned on some unimportant business connected with +the neighbourhood, I felt no surprise, and forthwith departed in +company with the officer. The demeanour of the man upon the +way struck me as somewhat singular. I had frequently spoken +to him before, and had always found him civil and respectful, but +he was now reserved and sullen, and replied to two or three +questions which I put to him in anything but a courteous +manner. On arriving at the place where the magistrates were +sitting—an inn at a small town about two miles +distant—I found a more than usual number of people +assembled, who appeared to be conversing with considerable +eagerness. At sight of me they became silent, but crowded +after me as I followed the man into the magistrates’ +room. There I found the tradesman to whom I had paid the +note for the furniture at the town fifteen miles off in +attendance, accompanied by an agent of the Bank of England; the +former, it seems, had paid the note into a provincial bank, the +proprietors of which, discovering it to be a forgery, had +forthwith written up to the Bank of England, who had sent down +their agent to investigate the matter. A third individual +stood beside them—the person in my own immediate +neighbourhood to whom I had paid the second note; this, by some +means or other, before the coming down of the agent, had found +its way to the same provincial bank, and also being pronounced a +forgery, it had speedily been traced to the person to whom I had +paid it. It was owing to the apparition of this second note +that the agent had determined, without further inquiry, to cause +me to be summoned before the rural tribunal.</p> +<p>“In a few words the magistrates’ clerk gave me to +understand the state of the case. I was filled with +surprise and consternation. I knew myself to be perfectly +innocent of any fraudulent intention, but at the time of which I +am speaking it was a matter fraught with the greatest danger to +be mixed up, however innocently, with the passing of false +money. The law with respect to forgery was terribly severe, +and the innocent as well as the guilty occasionally +suffered. Of this I was not altogether ignorant; +unfortunately, however, in my transactions with the stranger, the +idea of false notes being offered to me, and my being brought +into trouble by means of them, never entered my mind. +Recovering myself a little, I stated that the notes in question +were two of three notes which I had received at Horncastle, for a +pair of horses, which it was well known I had carried +thither.</p> +<p>“Thereupon, I produced from my pocket-book the third +note, which was forthwith pronounced a forgery. I had +scarcely produced the third note, when I remembered the one which +I had changed for the Horncastle dealer, and with the remembrance +came the almost certain conviction that it was also a forgery; I +was tempted for a moment to produce it, and to explain the +circumstance—would to God I had done so!—but shame at +the idea of having been so wretchedly duped prevented me, and the +opportunity was lost. I must confess that the agent of the +bank behaved, upon the whole, in a very handsome manner; he said +that as it was quite evident that I had disposed of certain +horses at the fair, it was very probable that I might have +received the notes in question in exchange for them, and that he +was willing, as he had received a very excellent account of my +general conduct, to press the matter no farther, that is, +provided—” And here he stopped. +Thereupon, one of the three magistrates, who were present, asked +me whether I chanced to have any more of these spurious notes in +my possession. He certainly had a right to ask the +question; but there was something peculiar in his +tone-insinuating suspicion. It is certainly difficult to +judge of the motives which rule a person’s conduct, but I +cannot help imagining that he was somewhat influenced in his +behaviour on that occasion, which was anything but friendly, by +my having refused to sell him the horses at a price less than +that which I expected to get at the fair; be this as it may, the +question filled me with embarrassment, and I bitterly repented +not having at first been more explicit. Thereupon the +magistrate in the same kind of tone, demanded to see my +pocket-book. I knew that to demur would be useless, and +produced it, and therewith, amongst two or three small country +notes, appeared the fourth which I had received from the +Horncastle dealer. The agent took it up and examined it +with attention. ‘Well, is it a genuine note?’ +asked the magistrate. ‘I am sorry to say that it is +not,’ said the agent; ‘it is a forgery, like the +other three.’ The magistrate shrugged his shoulders, +as indeed did several people in the room. ‘A regular +dealer in forged notes,’ said a person close behind me; +‘who would have thought it?’</p> +<p>“Seeing matters begin to look so serious, I aroused +myself, and endeavoured to speak in my own behalf, giving a +candid account of the manner in which I became possessed of the +notes; but my explanation did not appear to meet much credit; the +magistrate, to whom I have in particular alluded, asked, why I +had not at once stated the fact of my having received a fourth +note; and the agent, though in a very quiet tone, observed that +he could not help thinking it somewhat strange that I should have +changed a note of so much value for a perfect stranger, even +supposing that he had purchased my horses, and had paid me their +value in hard cash; and I noticed that he laid particular +emphasis on the last words. I might have observed that I +was an inexperienced young man, who, meaning no harm myself, +suspected none in others, but I was confused, stunned, and my +tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of my mouth. The men +who had taken my horses to Horncastle, and for whom I had sent, +as they lived close at hand, now arrived, but the evidence which +they could give was anything but conclusive in my favour; they +had seen me in company with an individual at Horncastle, to whom, +by my orders, they had delivered certain horses, but they had +seen no part of the money transaction; the fellow, whether from +design or not, having taken me aside into a retired place, where +he had paid me the three spurious notes, and induced me to change +the fourth, which throughout the affair was what bore most +materially against me. How matters might have terminated I +do not know, I might have gone to prison, and I might have +been—just then, when I most needed a friend, and least +expected to find one, for though amongst those present there were +several who were my neighbours, and who had professed friendship +for me, none of them when they saw that I needed support and +encouragement, came forward to yield me any, but, on the +contrary, appeared by their looks to enjoy my terror and +confusion—just then a friend entered the room in the person +of the surgeon of the neighbourhood, the father of him who has +attended you; he was not on very intimate terms with me, but he +had occasionally spoken to me, and had attended my father in his +dying illness, and chancing to hear that I was in trouble, he now +hastened to assist me. After a short preamble, in which he +apologized to the bench for interfering, he begged to be informed +of the state of the case, whereupon the matter was laid before +him in all its details. He was not slow in taking a fair +view of it, and spoke well and eloquently in my +behalf—insisting on the improbability that a person of my +habits and position would be wilfully mixed up with a transaction +like that of which it appeared I was suspected—adding, that +as he was fully convinced of my innocence, he was ready to enter +into any surety with respect to my appearance at any time to +answer anything which might be laid to my charge. This last +observation had particular effect, and as he was a person +universally respected, both for his skill in his profession and +his general demeanour, people began to think that a person in +whom he took an interest could scarcely be concerned in anything +criminal, and though my friend the magistrate—I call him so +ironically—made two or three demurs, it was at last agreed +between him and his brethren of the bench, that, for the present, +I should be merely called upon to enter into my own recognizance +for the sum of two hundred pounds, to appear whenever it should +be deemed requisite to enter into any further investigation of +the matter.</p> +<p>“So I was permitted to depart from the tribunal of petty +justice without handcuffs, and uncollared by a constable; but +people looked coldly and suspiciously upon me. The first +thing I did was to hasten to the house of my beloved, in order to +inform her of every circumstance attending the transaction. +I found her, but how? A malicious female individual had +hurried to her with a distorted tale, to the effect that I had +been taken up as an utterer of forged notes; that an immense +number had been found in my possession; that I was already +committed, and that probably I should be executed. My +affianced one tenderly loved me, and her constitution was +delicate; fit succeeded fit; she broke a blood-vessel, and I +found her deluged in blood; the surgeon had been sent for; he +came and afforded her every possible relief. I was +distracted; he bade me have hope, but I observed he looked very +grave.</p> +<p>“By the skill of the surgeon, the poor girl was saved in +the first instance from the arms of death, and for a few weeks +she appeared to be rapidly recovering; by degrees, however, she +became melancholy; a worm preyed upon her spirit; a slow fever +took possession of her frame. I subsequently learned that +the same malicious female who had first carried to her an +exaggerated account of the affair, and who was a distant relative +of her own, frequently visited her, and did all in her power to +excite her fears with respect to its eventual termination. +Time passed on in a very wretched manner. Our friend the +surgeon showing to us both every mark of kindness and +attention.</p> +<p>“It was owing to this excellent man that my innocence +was eventually established. Having been called to a town on +the borders of Yorkshire to a medical consultation, he chanced to +be taking a glass of wine with the landlord of the inn at which +he stopped, when the waiter brought in a note to be changed, +saying ‘That the Quaker gentleman, who had been for some +days in the house, and was about to depart, had sent it to be +changed, in order that he might pay his bill.’ The +landlord took the note, and looked at it. ‘A +fifty-pound bill,’ said he; ‘I don’t like +changing bills of that amount, lest they should prove bad ones; +however, as it comes from a Quaker gentleman, I suppose it is all +right.’ The mention of a fifty-pound note aroused the +attention of my friend, and he requested to be permitted to look +at it; he had scarcely seen it, when he was convinced that it was +one of the same description as those which had brought me into +trouble, as it corresponded with them in two particular features, +which the agent of the bank had pointed out to him and others as +evidence of their spuriousness. My friend, without a +moment’s hesitation, informed the landlord that the note +was a bad one, expressing at the same time a great wish to see +the Quaker gentleman who wanted to have it changed. +‘That you can easily do,’ said the landlord, and +forthwith conducted him into the common room, where he saw a +respectable-looking man, dressed like a Quaker, and seemingly +about sixty years of age.</p> +<p>“My friend, after a short apology, showed him the note +which he held in his hand, stating that he had no doubt it was a +spurious one, and begged to be informed where he had taken it, +adding, that a particular friend of his was at present in +trouble, owing to his having taken similar notes from a stranger +at Horncastle; but that he hoped that he, the Quaker, could give +information, by means of which the guilty party, or parties, +could be arrested. At the mention of Horncastle, it +appeared to my friend that the Quaker gave a slight start. +At the conclusion of this speech, however, he answered, with +great tranquillity, that he had received it in the way of +business at ---, naming one of the principal towns in Yorkshire, +from a very respectable person, whose name he was perfectly +willing to communicate, and likewise his own, which he said was +James, and that he was a merchant residing at Liverpool; that he +would write to his friend at ---, requesting him to make +inquiries on the subject; that just at that moment he was in a +hurry to depart, having some particular business at a town about +ten miles off, to go to which he had bespoken a post-chaise of +the landlord; that with respect to the note, it was doubtless a +very disagreeable thing to have a suspicious one in his +possession, but that it would make little difference to him, as +he had plenty of other money, and thereupon he pulled out a +purse, containing various other notes, and some gold, observing, +‘that his only motive for wishing to change the other note +was a desire to be well provided with change;’ and finally, +that if they had any suspicion with respect to him, he was +perfectly willing to leave the note in their possession till he +should return, which he intended to do in about a +fortnight. There was so much plausibility in the speech of +the Quaker, and his appearance and behaviour were so perfectly +respectable, that my friend felt almost ashamed of the suspicion +which at first he had entertained of him, though, at the same +time, he felt an unaccountable unwillingness to let the man +depart without some further interrogation. The landlord, +however, who did not wish to disoblige one who had been, and +might probably be again, a profitable customer, declared that he +was perfectly satisfied; and that he had no wish to detain the +note, which he made no doubt the gentleman had received in the +way of business, and that as the matter concerned him alone, he +would leave it to him to make the necessary inquiries. +‘Just as you please, friend,’ said the Quaker, +pocketing the suspicious note, ‘I will now pay my +bill.’ Thereupon he discharged the bill with a +five-pound note, which he begged the landlord to inspect +carefully, and with two pieces of gold.</p> +<p>“The landlord had just taken the money, receipted the +bill, and was bowing to his customer, when the door opened, and a +lad, dressed in a kind of grey livery, appeared, and informed the +Quaker that the chaise was ready. ‘Is that boy your +servant?’ said the surgeon. ‘He is, +friend,’ said the Quaker. ‘Hast thou any reason +for asking me that question?’ ‘And has he been +long in your service?’ ‘Several years,’ +replied the Quaker, ‘I took him into my house out of +compassion, he being an orphan, but as the chaise is waiting, I +will bid thee farewell.’ ‘I am afraid I must +stop your journey for the present,’ said the surgeon; +‘that boy has exactly the same blemish in the eye which a +boy had who was in company with the man at Horncastle, from whom +my friend received the forged notes, and who there passed for his +son.’ ‘I know nothing about that,’ said +the Quaker, ‘but I am determined to be detained here no +longer, after the satisfactory account which I have given as to +the note’s coming into my possession.’ He then +attempted to leave the room, but my friend detained him, a +struggle ensued, during which a wig which the Quaker wore fell +off, whereupon he instantly appeared to lose some twenty years of +his age. ‘Knock the fellow down, father,’ said +the boy, ‘I’ll help you.’</p> +<p>“And, forsooth, the pretended Quaker took the +boy’s advice, and knocked my friend down in a +twinkling. The landlord, however, and waiter, seeing how +matters stood, instantly laid hold of him; but there can be no +doubt that he would have escaped from the whole three, had not +certain guests who were in the house, hearing the noise, rushed +in, and helped to secure him. The boy was true to his word, +assisting him to the best of his ability, flinging himself +between the legs of his father’s assailants, causing +several of them to stumble and fall. At length, the fellow +was secured, and led before a magistrate; the boy, to whom he was +heard to say something which nobody understood, and to whom, +after the man’s capture, no one paid much attention, was no +more seen.</p> +<p>“The rest, as far as this man was concerned, may be told +in a few words; nothing to criminate him was found on his person, +but on his baggage being examined, a quantity of spurious notes +were discovered. Much of his hardihood now forsook him, and +in the hope of saving his life he made some very important +disclosures; amongst other things, he confessed that it was he +who had given me the notes in exchange for the horses, and also +the note to be changed. He was subsequently tried on two +indictments, in the second of which I appeared against him. +He was condemned to die; but, in consideration of the disclosures +he had made, his sentence was commuted to perpetual +transportation.</p> +<p>“My innocence was thus perfectly established before the +eyes of the world, and all my friends hastened to congratulate +me. There was one who congratulated me more than all the +rest—it was my beloved one, but—but—she was +dying—”</p> +<p>Here the old man drew his hand before his eyes, and remained +for some time without speaking; at length he removed his hand, +and commenced again with a broken voice: “You will pardon +me if I hurry over this part of my story, I am unable to dwell +upon it. How dwell upon a period when I saw my only earthly +treasure pine away gradually day by day, and knew that nothing +could save her! She saw my agony, and did all she could to +console me, saying that she was herself quite resigned. A +little time before her death she expressed a wish that we should +be united. I was too happy to comply with her +request. We were united, I brought her to this house, +where, in less than a week, she expired in my arms.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> +<p>The Old Man’s Story continued—Misery in the +Head—The Strange Marks—Tea-dealer from +London—Difficulties of the Chinese Language.</p> +<p>After another pause the old man once more resumed his +narration:—“If ever there was a man perfectly +miserable it was myself, after the loss of that cherished +woman. I sat solitary in the house, in which I had hoped in +her company to realize the choicest earthly happiness, a prey to +the bitterest reflections; many people visited, and endeavoured +to console me—amongst them was the clergyman of the parish, +who begged me to be resigned, and told me that it was good to be +afflicted. I bowed my head, but I could not help thinking +how easy it must be for those who feel no affliction, to bid +others to be resigned, and to talk of the benefit resulting from +sorrow; perhaps I should have paid more attention to his +discourse than I did, provided he had been a person for whom it +was possible to entertain much respect, but his own heart was +known to be set on the things of this world.</p> +<p>“Within a little time he had an opportunity, in his own +case, of practising resignation, and of realizing the benefit of +being afflicted. A merchant, to whom he had entrusted all +his fortune, in the hope of a large interest, became suddenly a +bankrupt, with scarcely any assets. I will not say that it +was owing to this misfortune that the divine died in less than a +month after its occurrence, but such was the fact. Amongst +those who most frequently visited me was my friend the surgeon; +he did not confine himself to the common topics of consolation, +but endeavoured to impress upon me the necessity of rousing +myself, advising me to occupy my mind with some pursuit, +particularly recommending agriculture; but agriculture possessed +no interest for me, nor, indeed, any pursuit within my reach; my +hopes of happiness had been blighted, and what cared I for +anything? so at last he thought it best to leave me to myself, +hoping that time would bring with it consolation; and I remained +solitary in my house, waited upon by a male and a female +servant. Oh, what dreary moments I passed! My only +amusement—and it was a sad one—was to look at the +things which once belonged to my beloved, and which were now in +my possession. Oh, how fondly would I dwell upon +them! There were some books; I cared not for books, but +these had belonged to my beloved. Oh, how fondly did I +dwell on them! Then there was her hat and bonnet—oh, +me, how fondly did I gaze upon them! and after looking at her +things for hours, I would sit and ruminate on the happiness I had +lost. How I execrated the moment I had gone to the fair to +sell horses! ‘Would that I had never been to +Horncastle to sell horses!’ I would say; ‘I might at +this moment have been enjoying the company of my beloved, leading +a happy, quiet, easy life, but for that fatal expedition;’ +that thought worked on my brain, till my brain seemed to turn +round.</p> +<p>“One day I sat at the breakfast-table gazing vacantly +around me, my mind was in a state of inexpressible misery; there +was a whirl in my brain, probably like that which people feel who +are rapidly going mad; this increased to such a degree that I +felt giddiness coming upon me. To abate this feeling I no +longer permitted my eyes to wander about, but fixed them upon an +object on the table, and continued gazing at it for several +minutes without knowing what it was; at length, the misery in my +head was somewhat stilled, my lips moved, and I heard myself +saying, ‘What odd marks!’ I had fastened my +eyes on the side of a teapot, and by keeping them fixed upon it, +had become aware of a fact that had escaped my notice +before—namely, that there were marks upon it. I kept +my eyes fixed upon them, and repeated at intervals, ‘What +strange marks!’—for I thought that looking upon the +marks tended to abate the whirl in my head: I kept tracing the +marks one after the other, and I observed that though they all +bore a general resemblance to each other, they were all to a +certain extent different. The smallest portion possible of +curious interest had been awakened within me, and, at last, I +asked myself, within my own mind, ‘What motive could induce +people to put such odd marks on their crockery? they were not +pictures, they were not letters; what motive could people have +for putting them there?’ At last I removed my eyes +from the teapot, and thought for a few moments about the marks; +presently, however, I felt the whirl returning; the marks became +almost effaced from my mind, and I was beginning to revert to my +miserable ruminations, when suddenly methought I heard a voice +say, ‘The marks! the marks! cling to the marks? +or—’ So I fixed my eyes again upon the marks, +inspecting them more attentively, if possible, than I had done +before, and, at last, I came to the conclusion that they were not +capricious or fanciful marks, but were arranged systematically; +when I had gazed at them for a considerable time, I turned the +teapot round, and on the other side I observed marks of a similar +kind, which I soon discovered were identical with the ones I had +been observing. All the marks were something alike, but all +somewhat different, and on comparing them with each other, I was +struck with the frequent occurrence of a mark crossing an upright +line, or projecting from it, now on the right, now on the left +side; and I said to myself, ‘Why does this mark sometimes +cross the upright line, and sometimes project?’ and the +more I thought on the matter, the less did I feel of the misery +in my head.</p> +<p>“The things were at length removed, and I sat, as I had +for some time past been wont to sit after my meals, silent and +motionless; but in the present instance my mind was not entirely +abandoned to the one mournful idea which had so long distressed +it. It was, to a certain extent, occupied with the marks on +the teapot; it is true that the mournful idea strove hard with +the marks on the teapot for the mastery in my mind, and at last +the painful idea drove the marks of the teapot out; they, +however, would occasionally return and flit across my mind for a +moment or two, and their coming was like a momentary relief from +intense pain. I thought once or twice that I would have the +teapot placed before me, that I might examine the marks at +leisure, but I considered that it would be as well to defer the +re-examination of the marks till the next morning; at that time I +did not take tea of an evening. By deferring the +examination thus, I had something to look forward to on the next +morning. The day was a melancholy one, but it certainly was +more tolerable to me than any of the others had been since the +death of my beloved. As I lay awake that night I +occasionally thought of the marks, and in my sleep methought I +saw them upon the teapot vividly before me. On the morrow, +I examined the marks again; how singular they looked! +Surely they must mean something, and if so, what could they mean? +and at last I thought within myself whether it would be possible +for me to make out what they meant: that day I felt more relief +than on the preceding one, and towards night I walked a little +about.</p> +<p>“In about a week’s time I received a visit from my +friend the surgeon; after a little discourse, he told me that he +perceived I was better than when he had last seen me, and asked +me what I had been about; I told him that I had been principally +occupied in considering certain marks which I had found on a +teapot, and wondering what they could mean; he smiled at first, +but instantly assuming a serious look, he asked to see the +teapot. I produced it, and after having surveyed the marks +with attention, he observed that they were highly curious, and +also wondered what they meant. ‘I strongly advise +you,’ said he, ‘to attempt to make them out, and also +to take moderate exercise, and to see after your +concerns.’ I followed his advice; every morning I +studied the marks on the teapot, and in the course of the day +took moderate exercise, and attended to little domestic matters, +as became the master of a house.</p> +<p>“I subsequently learned that the surgeon, in advising me +to study the marks, and endeavour to make out their meaning, +merely hoped that by means of them my mind might by degrees be +diverted from the mournful idea on which I had so long +brooded. He was a man well skilled in his profession, but +had read and thought very little on matters unconnected with +it. He had no idea that the marks had any particular +signification, or were anything else but common and fortuitous +ones. That I became at all acquainted with their nature was +owing to a ludicrous circumstance which I will now relate.</p> +<p>“One day, chancing to be at a neighbouring town, I was +struck with the appearance of a shop recently established. +It had an immense bow-window, and every part of it, to which a +brush could be applied, was painted in a gaudy flaming +style. Large bowls of green and black tea were placed upon +certain chests, which stood at the window. I stopped to +look at them, such a display, whatever it may be at the present +time, being, at the period of which I am speaking, quite uncommon +in a country town. The tea, whether black or green, was +very shining and inviting, and the bowls, of which there were +three, standing on as many chests, were very grand and foreign +looking. Two of these were white, with figures and trees +painted upon them in blue; the other, which was the middlemost, +had neither trees nor figures upon it, but, as I looked through +the window, appeared to have on its sides the very same kind of +marks which I had observed on the teapot at home; there were also +marks on the tea-chests, somewhat similar, but much larger, and, +apparently, not executed with so much care. ‘Best +teas direct from China,’ said a voice close to my side; and +looking round I saw a youngish man, with a frizzled head, flat +face, and an immensely wide mouth, standing in his shirt-sleeves +by the door. ‘Direct from China,’ said he; +‘perhaps you will do me the favour to walk in and scent +them?’ ‘I do not want any tea,’ said I; +‘I was only standing at the window examining those marks on +the bowl and the chests. I have observed similar ones on a +teapot at home.’ ‘Pray walk in, sir,’ +said the young fellow, extending his mouth till it reached nearly +from ear to ear; ‘pray walk in, and I shall be happy to +give you any information respecting the manners and customs of +the Chinese in my power.’ Thereupon I followed him +into his shop, where he began to harangue on the manners, +customs, and peculiarities of the Chinese, especially their +manner of preparing tea, not forgetting to tell me that the only +genuine Chinese tea ever imported into England was to be found in +his shop. ‘With respect to those marks,’ said +he, ‘on the bowl and chests, they are nothing more nor less +than Chinese writing expressing something, though what I +can’t exactly tell you. Allow me to sell you this +pound of tea,’ he added, showing me a paper parcel. +‘On the envelope there is a printed account of the Chinese +system of writing, extracted from authors of the most established +reputation. These things I print, principally with the hope +of, in some degree, removing the worse than Gothic ignorance +prevalent amongst natives of these parts. I am from London +myself. With respect to all that relates to the Chinese +real imperial tea, I assure you sir, that—’ +Well, to make short of what you doubtless consider a very +tiresome story, I purchased the tea and carried it home. +The tea proved imperially bad, but the paper envelope really +contained some information on the Chinese language and writing, +amounting to about as much as you gained from me the other +day. On learning that the marks on the teapot expressed +words, I felt my interest with respect to them considerably +increased, and returned to the task of inspecting them with +greater zeal than before, hoping, by continually looking at them, +to be able eventually to understand their meaning, in which hope +you may easily believe I was disappointed, though my desire to +understand what they represented continued on the increase. +In this dilemma I determined to apply again to the shopkeeper +from whom I bought the tea. I found him in rather low +spirits, his shirt-sleeves were soiled, and his hair was out of +curl. On my inquiring how he got on, he informed me that he +intended speedily to leave, having received little or no +encouragement, the people, in their Gothic ignorance, preferring +to deal with an old-fashioned shopkeeper over the way, who, so +far from possessing any acquaintance with the polity and +institutions of the Chinese, did not, he believed, know that tea +came from China. ‘You are come for some more, I +suppose?’ said he. On receiving an answer in the +negative he looked somewhat blank, but when I added that I came +to consult with him as to the means which I must take in order to +acquire the Chinese language he brightened up. ‘You +must get a grammar,’ said he, rubbing his hands. +‘Have you not one?’ said I. ‘No,’ +he replied, ‘but any bookseller can procure you +one.’ As I was taking my departure, he told me that +as he was about to leave the neighbourhood, the bowl at the +window, which bore the inscription, besides some other pieces of +porcelain of a similar description, were at my service, provided +I chose to purchase them. I consented, and two or three +days afterwards took from off his hands all the china in his +possession which bore the inscriptions, paying what he +demanded. Had I waited till the sale of his effects, which +occurred within a few weeks, I could probably have procured it +for a fifth part of the sum which I paid, the other pieces +realizing very little. I did not, however, grudge the poor +fellow what he got from me, as I considered myself to be somewhat +in his debt for the information he had afforded me.</p> +<p>“As for the rest of my story, it may be briefly +told. I followed the advice of the shopkeeper, and applied +to a bookseller who wrote to his correspondent in London. +After a long interval, I was informed that if I wished to learn +Chinese, I must do so through the medium of French, there being +neither Chinese grammar nor dictionary in our language. I +was at first very much disheartened. I determined, however, +at last to gratify my desire of learning Chinese, even at the +expense of learning French. I procured the books, and in +order to qualify myself to turn them to account, took lessons in +French from a little Swiss, the usher of a neighbouring +boarding-school. I was very stupid in acquiring French; +perseverance, however, enabled me to acquire a knowledge +sufficient for the object I had in view. In about two years +I began to study Chinese by myself, through the medium of the +French.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “and how did you get on with +the study of the Chinese?”</p> +<p>And then the old man proceeded to inform me how he got on with +the study of Chinese, enumerated all the difficulties he had had +to encounter; dilating upon his frequent despondency of mind, and +occasionally his utter despair of ever mastering Chinese. +He told me that more than once he had determined upon giving up +the study, but when the misery in his head forthwith returned, to +escape from which he had as often resumed it. It appeared, +however, that ten years elapsed before he was able to use ten of +the two hundred and fourteen keys, which serve to undo the locks +of Chinese writing.</p> +<p>“And are you able at present to use the entire +number?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the old man; “I can at present +use the whole number. I know the key for every particular +lock, though I frequently find the wards unwilling to give +way.”</p> +<p>“Has nothing particular occurred to you,” said I, +“during the time that you have been prosecuting your +studies?”</p> +<p>“During the whole time in which I have been engaged in +these studies,” said the old man, “only one +circumstance has occurred which requires any particular +mention—the death of my old friend the surgeon—who +was carried off suddenly by a fit of apoplexy. His death +was a great shock to me, and for a time interrupted my +studies. His son, however, who succeeded him, was very kind +to me, and, in some degree, supplied his father’s place; +and I gradually returned to my Chinese locks and keys.”</p> +<p>“And in applying keys to the Chinese locks you employ +your time?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the old man, “in making out the +inscriptions on the various pieces of porcelain, which I have at +different times procured, I pass my time. The first +inscription which I translated was that on the teapot of my +beloved.”</p> +<p>“And how many other pieces of porcelain may you have at +present in your possession?”</p> +<p>“About fifteen hundred.”</p> +<p>“And how did you obtain them?” I demanded.</p> +<p>“Without much labour,” said the old man, “in +the neighbouring towns and villages—chiefly at +auctions—of which, about twenty years ago, there were many +in these parts.”</p> +<p>“And may I ask your reasons for confining your studies +entirely to the crockery literature of China, when you have all +the rest at your disposal?”</p> +<p>“The inscriptions enable me to pass my time,” said +the old man; “what more would the whole literature of China +do?”</p> +<p>“And from these inscriptions,” said I, “what +a book it is in your power to make, whenever so disposed. +‘Translations from the crockery literature of +China.’ Such a book would be sure to take; even +glorious John himself would not disdain to publish +it.” The old man smiled. “I have no +desire for literary distinction,” said he; “no +ambition. My original wish was to pass my life in easy, +quiet obscurity, with her whom I loved. I was disappointed +in my wish; she was removed, who constituted my only felicity in +this life; desolation came to my heart, and misery to my +head. To escape from the latter I had recourse to +Chinese. By degrees the misery left my head, but the +desolation of the heart yet remains.”</p> +<p>“Be of good cheer,” said I; “through the +instrumentality of this affliction you have learnt Chinese, and, +in so doing, learnt to practise the duties of hospitality. +Who but a man who could read Runes on a teapot, would have +received an unfortunate wayfarer as you have received +me?”</p> +<p>“Well,” said the old man, “let us hope that +all is for the best. I am by nature indolent, and, but for +this affliction, should, perhaps, have hardly taken the trouble +to do my duty to my fellow-creatures. I am very, very +indolent,” said he, slightly glancing towards the clock; +“therefore let us hope that all is for the best; but, oh! +these trials, they are very hard to bear.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> +<p>The Leave-taking—Spirit of the Hearth—What’s +o’Clock?</p> +<p>The next morning, having breakfasted with my old friend, I +went into the stable to make the necessary preparations for my +departure; there, with the assistance of a stable lad, I cleaned +and caparisoned my horse, and then, returning into the house, I +made the old female attendant such a present as I deemed would be +some compensation for the trouble I had caused. Hearing +that the old gentleman was in his study, I repaired to him. +“I am come to take leave of you,” said I, “and +to thank you for all the hospitality which I have received at +your hands.” The eyes of the old man were fixed +steadfastly on the inscription which I had found him studying on +a former occasion. “At length,” he murmured to +himself, “I have it—I think I have it;” and +then, looking at me, he said, “So you are about to +depart?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “my horse will be at the +front door in a few minutes; I am glad, however, before I go, to +find that you have mastered the inscription.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the old man, “I believe I have +mastered it; it seems to consist of some verses relating to the +worship of the Spirit of the Hearth.”</p> +<p>“What is the Spirit of the Hearth?” said I.</p> +<p>“One of the many demons which the Chinese +worship,” said the old man; “they do not worship one +God, but many.” And then the old man told me a great +many highly-interesting particulars respecting the demon worship +of the Chinese.</p> +<p>After the lapse of at least half an hour I said, “I must +not linger here any longer, however willing. Horncastle is +distant, and I wish to be there to-night. Pray can you +inform me what’s o’clock?”</p> +<p>The old man, rising, looked towards the clock which hung on +the side of the room at his left hand, on the farther side of the +table at which he was seated.</p> +<p>“I am rather short-sighted,” said I, “and +cannot distinguish the number, at that distance.”</p> +<p>“It is ten o’clock,” said the old man; +“I believe somewhat past.”</p> +<p>“A quarter, perhaps?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the old man “a quarter +or—”</p> +<p>“Or?”</p> +<p>“Seven minutes, or ten minutes past ten.”</p> +<p>“I do not understand you.”</p> +<p>“Why, to tell you the truth,” said the old man, +with a smile, “there is one thing to the knowledge of which +I could never exactly attain.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say,” said I, “that you do +not know what’s o’clock?”</p> +<p>“I can give a guess,” said the old man, “to +within a few minutes.”</p> +<p>“But you cannot tell the exact moment?”</p> +<p>“No,” said the old man.</p> +<p>“In the name of wonder,” said I, “with that +thing there on the wall continually ticking in your ear, how +comes it that you do not know what’s +o’clock?”</p> +<p>“Why,” said the old man, “I have contented +myself with giving a tolerably good guess; to do more would have +been too great trouble.”</p> +<p>“But you have learnt Chinese,” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the old man, “I have learnt +Chinese.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “I really would counsel you +to learn to know what’s o’clock as soon as +possible. Consider what a sad thing it would be to go out +of the world not knowing what’s o’clock. A +millionth part of the trouble required to learn Chinese would, if +employed, infallibly teach you to know what’s +o’clock.”</p> +<p>“I had a motive for learning Chinese,” said the +old man, “the hope of appeasing the misery in my +head. With respect to not knowing what’s +o’clock, I cannot see anything particularly sad in the +matter. A man may get through the world very creditably +without knowing what’s o’clock. Yet, upon the +whole, it is no bad thing to know what’s +o’clock—you, of course, do? It would be too +good a joke if two people were to be together, one knowing +Armenian and the other Chinese, and neither knowing what’s +o’clock. I’ll now see you off.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> +<p>Arrival at Horncastle—The Inn and Ostlers—The +Garret—Figure of a Man with a Candle.</p> +<p>Leaving the house of the old man who knew Chinese, but could +not tell what was o’clock, I wended my way to Horncastle, +which I reached in the evening of the same day, without having +met any adventure on the way worthy of being marked down in this +very remarkable history.</p> +<p>The town was a small one, seemingly ancient, and was crowded +with people and horses. I proceeded, without delay, to the +inn to which my friend the surgeon had directed me. +“It is of no use coming here,” said two or three +ostlers, as I entered the yard—“all full—no +room whatever;” whilst one added in an undertone, +“That ere a’n’t a bad-looking +horse.” “I want to see the master of this +inn,” said I, as I dismounted from the horse. +“See the master,” said an ostler—the same who +had paid the negative kind of compliment to the +horse—“a likely thing, truly; my master is drinking +wine with some of the grand gentry, and can’t be disturbed +for the sake of the like of you.” “I bring a +letter to him,” said I, pulling out the surgeon’s +epistle. “I wish you would deliver it to him,” +I added, offering a half-crown. “Oh, it’s you, +is it?” said the ostler, taking the letter and the +half-crown; “my master will be right glad to see you; why, +you ha’n’t been here for many a year; I’ll +carry the note to him at once.” And with these words +he hurried into the house. “That’s a nice +horse, young man,” said another ostler, “what will +you take for it?” to which interrogation I made no +answer. “If you wish to sell him,” said the +ostler, coming up to me, and winking knowingly, “I think I +and my partners might offer you a summut under seventy +pounds;” to which kind and half-insinuated offer I made no +reply, save by winking in the same kind of knowing manner in +which I observed him wink. “Rather leary!” said +a third ostler. “Well, young man, perhaps you will +drink to-night with me and my partners, when we can talk the +matter over.” Before I had time to answer, the +landlord, a well-dressed, good-looking man, made his appearance +with the ostler; he bore the letter in his hand. Without +glancing at me, he betook himself at once to consider the horse, +going round him, and observing every point with the utmost +minuteness. At last, having gone round the horse three +times, he stopped beside me, and keeping his eyes on the horse, +bent his head towards his right shoulder. “That horse +is worth some money,” said he, turning towards me suddenly, +and slightly touching me on the arm with the letter which he held +in his hand; to which observation I made no reply, save by +bending my head towards the right shoulder as I had seen him +do. “The young man is going to talk to me and my +partners about it to-night,” said the ostler who had +expressed an opinion that he and his friends might offer me +somewhat under seventy pounds for the animal. +“Pooh!” said the landlord, “the young man knows +what he is about; in the meantime lead the horse to the reserved +stall, and see well after him. My friend,” said he, +taking me aside after the ostler had led the animal away, +“recommends you to me in the strongest manner, on which +account alone I take you and your horse in. I need not +advise you not to be taken in, as I should say, by your look, +that you are tolerably awake; but there are queer hands at +Horncastle at this time, and those fellows of mine, you +understand me—; but I have a great deal to do at present, +so you must excuse me.” And thereupon went into the +house.</p> +<p>That same evening I was engaged at least two hours in the +stable, in rubbing the horse down, and preparing him for the +exhibition which I intended he should make in the fair on the +following day. The ostler, to whom I had given the +half-crown, occasionally assisted me, though he was too much +occupied by the horses of other guests to devote any length of +time to the service of mine; he more than once repeated to me his +firm conviction that himself and partners could afford to offer +me summut for the horse; and at a later hour when, in compliance +with his invitation, I took a glass of summut with himself and +partners, in a little room surrounded with corn-chests, on which +we sat, both himself and partners endeavoured to impress upon me, +chiefly by means of nods and winks, their conviction that they +could afford to give me summut for the horse, provided I were +disposed to sell him; in return for which intimation, with as +many nods and winks as they had all collectively used, I +endeavoured to impress upon them my conviction that I could get +summut handsomer in the fair than they might be disposed to offer +me, seeing as how—which how I followed by a wink and a nod, +which they seemed perfectly to understand, one or two of them +declaring that if the case was so, it made a great deal of +difference, and that they did not wish to be any hindrance to me, +more particularly as it was quite clear I had been an ostler like +themselves.</p> +<p>It was late at night when I began to think of retiring to +rest. On inquiring if there was any place in which I could +sleep, I was informed that there was a bed at my service, +provided I chose to sleep in a two-bedded room, one of the beds +of which was engaged by another gentleman. I expressed my +satisfaction at this arrangement, and was conducted by a +maid-servant up many pairs of stairs to a garret, in which were +two small beds, in one of which she gave me to understand another +gentleman slept; he had, however, not yet retired to rest; I +asked who he was, but the maid-servant could give me no +information about him, save that he was a highly respectable +gentleman, and a friend of her master’s. Presently, +bidding me good night, she left me with a candle; and I, having +undressed myself and extinguished the light, went to bed. +Notwithstanding the noises which sounded from every part of the +house, I was not slow in falling asleep, being thoroughly +tired. I know not how long I might have been in bed, +perhaps two hours, when I was partially awakened by a light +shining upon my face, whereupon, unclosing my eyes, I perceived +the figure of a man, with a candle in one hand, staring at my +face, whilst with the other hand, he held back the curtain of the +bed. As I have said before, I was only partially awakened, +my power of conception was consequently very confused; it +appeared to me, however, that the man was dressed in a green +coat; that he had curly brown or black hair, and that there was +something peculiar in his look. Just as I was beginning to +recollect myself, the curtain dropped, and I heard, or thought I +heard, a voice say, “Don’t know the +cove.” Then there was a rustling like a person +undressing, whereupon being satisfied that it was my +fellow-lodger, I dropped asleep, but was awakened again by a kind +of heavy plunge upon the other bed, which caused it to rock and +creak, when I observed that the light had been extinguished, +probably blown out, if I might judge from a rather disagreeable +smell of burnt wick which remained in the room, and which kept me +awake till I heard my companion breathing hard, when, turning on +the other side, I was again once more speedily in the arms of +slumber.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> +<p>Horncastle Fair.</p> +<p>It had been my intention to be up and doing early on the +following morning, but my slumbers proved so profound, that I did +not wake until about eight; on arising, I again found myself the +sole occupant of the apartment, my more alert companion having +probably risen at a much earlier hour. Having dressed +myself, I descended, and going to the stable, found my horse +under the hands of my friend the ostler, who was carefully +rubbing him down. “There a’n’t a better +horse in the fair,” said he to me, “and as you are +one of us, and appear to be all right, I’ll give you a +piece of advice—don’t take less than a hundred and +fifty for him; if you mind your hits, you may get it, for I have +known two hundred given in this fair for one no better, if so +good.” “Well,” said I, “thank you +for your advice, which I will take, and, if successful, will give +you ‘summut’ handsome.” “Thank +you,” said the ostler; “and now let me ask whether +you are up to all the ways of this here place?” +“I have never been here before,” said I, “but I +have a pair of tolerably sharp eyes in my head.” +“That I see you have,” said the ostler, “but +many a body, with as sharp a pair of eyes as yourn, has lost his +horse in this fair, for want of having been here before, +therefore,” said he, “I’ll give you a caution +or two.” Thereupon the ostler proceeded to give me at +least half a dozen cautions, only two of which I shall relate to +the reader:—the first, not to stop to listen to what any +chance customer might have to say; and the last—the one on +which he appeared to lay most stress—by no manner of means +to permit a Yorkshireman to get up into the saddle, +“for,” said he, “if you do, it is three to one +that he rides off with the horse; he can’t help it; trust a +cat amongst cream, but never trust a Yorkshireman on the saddle +of a good horse; by-the-by,” he continued, “that +saddle of yours is not a particularly good one, no more is the +bridle. I tell you what, as you seem a decent kind of a +young chap, I’ll lend you a saddle and bridle of my +master’s, almost bran new; he won’t object, I know, +as you are a friend of his, only you must not forget your promise +to come down with summut handsome after you have sold the +animal.”</p> +<p>After a slight breakfast I mounted the horse, which, decked +out in his borrowed finery, really looked better by a large sum +of money than on any former occasion. Making my way out of +the yard of the inn, I was instantly in the principal street of +the town, up and down which an immense number of horses were +being exhibited, some led, and others with riders. “A +wonderful small quantity of good horses in the fair this +time!” I heard a stout jockey-looking individual say, who +was staring up the street with his side towards me. +“Halloo, young fellow!” said he, a few moments after +I had passed, “whose horse is that? Stop! I +want to look at him!” Though confident that he was +addressing himself to me, I took no notice, remembering the +advice of the ostler, and proceeded up the street. My horse +possessed a good walking step; but walking, as the reader knows, +was not his best pace, which was the long trot, at which I could +not well exercise him in the street, on account of the crowd of +men and animals; however, as he walked along, I could easily +perceive that he attracted no slight attention amongst those who, +by their jockey dress and general appearance, I imagined to be +connoisseurs; I heard various calls to stop, to none of which I +paid the slightest attention. In a few minutes I found +myself out of the town, when, turning round for the purpose of +returning, I found I had been followed by several of the +connoisseur-looking individuals, whom I had observed in the +fair. “Now would be the time for a display,” +thought I; and looking around me I observed two five-barred +gates, one on each side of the road, and fronting each +other. Turning my horse’s head to one, I pressed my +heels to his sides, loosened the reins, and gave an encouraging +cry, whereupon the animal cleared the gate in a twinkling. +Before he had advanced ten yards in the field to which the gate +opened, I had turned him round, and again giving him cry and +rein, I caused him to leap back again into the road, and still +allowing him head, I made him leap the other gate; and forthwith +turning him round, I caused him to leap once more into the road, +where he stood proudly tossing his head, as much as to say, +“What more?” “A fine horse! a capital +horse!” said several of the connoisseurs. “What +do you ask for him?” “Too much for any of you +to pay,” said I. “A horse like this is intended +for other kind of customers than any of you.” +“How do you know that?” said one; the very same +person whom I had heard complaining in the street of the paucity +of good horses in the fair. “Come, let us know what +you ask for him?” “A hundred and fifty +pounds!” said I; “neither more nor less.” +“Do you call that a great price?” said the man. +“Why, I thought you would have asked double that +amount! You do yourself injustice, young man.” +“Perhaps I do,” said I, “but that’s my +affair; I do not choose to take more.” “I wish +you would let me get into the saddle,” said the man; +“the horse knows you, and therefore shows to more +advantage; but I should like to see how he would move under me, +who am a stranger. Will you let me get into the saddle, +young man?” “No,” said I; “I will +not let you get into the saddle.” “Why +not?” said the man. “Lest you should be a +Yorkshireman,” said I; “and should run away with the +horse.” “Yorkshire?” said the man; +“I am from Suffolk; silly Suffolk—so you need not be +afraid of my running away with the horse.” “Oh! +if that’s the case,” said I, “I should be +afraid that the horse would run away with you; so I will by no +means let you mount.” “Will you let me look in +his mouth?” said the man. “If you +please,” said I; “but I tell you, he’s apt to +bite.” “He can scarcely be a worse bite than +his master,” said the man, looking into the horse’s +mouth; “he’s four off. I say, young man, will +you warrant this horse?” “No,” said I; +“I never warrant horses; the horses that I ride can always +warrant themselves.” “I wish you would let me +speak a word to you,” said he. “Just come +aside. It’s a nice horse,” said he, in a half +whisper, after I had ridden a few paces aside with him. +“It’s a nice horse,” said he, placing his hand +upon the pommel of the saddle, and looking up in my face, +“and I think I can find you a customer. If you would +take a hundred, I think my lord would purchase it, for he has +sent me about the fair to look him up a horse, by which he could +hope to make an honest penny.” “Well,” +said I, “and could he not make an honest penny, and yet +give me the price I ask?” “Why,” said the +go-between, “a hundred and fifty pounds is as much as the +animal is worth, or nearly so; and my lord, do you +see—” “I see no reason at all,” +said I, “why I should sell the animal for less than he is +worth, in order that his lordship may be benefited by him; so +that if his lordship wants to make an honest penny, he must find +some person who would consider the disadvantage of selling him a +horse for less than it is worth, as counterbalanced by the honour +of dealing with a lord, which I should never do; but I +can’t be wasting my time here. I am going back to the +---, where, if you, or any person, are desirous of purchasing the +horse, you must come within the next half hour, or I shall +probably not feel disposed to sell him at all.” +“Another word, young man,” said the jockey; but +without staying to hear what he had to say, I put the horse to +his best trot, and re-entering the town, and threading my way as +well as I could through the press, I returned to the yard of the +inn, where, dismounting, I stood still, holding the horse by the +bridle.</p> +<p>I had been standing in this manner about five minutes, when I +saw the jockey enter the yard, accompanied by another +individual. They advanced directly towards me. +“Here is my lord come to look at the horse, young +man,” said the jockey. My lord, as the jockey called +him, was a tall figure, of about five-and-thirty. He had on +his head a hat somewhat rusty, and on his back a surtout of blue +rather the worse for wear. His forehead, if not high, was +exceedingly narrow; his eyes were brown, with a rat-like glare in +them; the nose was rather long, and the mouth very wide; the +cheek-bones high, and the cheeks, as to hue and consistency, +exhibiting very much the appearance of a withered red apple; +there was a gaunt expression of hunger in the whole +countenance. He had scarcely glanced at the horse, when +drawing in his cheeks, he thrust out his lips very much after the +manner of a baboon, when he sees a piece of sugar held out +towards him. “Is this horse yours?” said he, +suddenly turning towards me, with a kind of smirk. +“It’s my horse,” said I; “are you the +person who wishes to make an honest penny by it?” +“How!” said he, drawing up his head with a very +consequential look, and speaking with a very haughty tone, +“what do you mean?” We looked at each other +full in the face; after a few moments, the muscles of the mouth +of him of the hungry look began to move violently, the face was +puckered into innumerable wrinkles, and the eyes became half +closed. “Well,” said I, “have you ever +seen me before? I suppose you are asking yourself that +question.” “Excuse me, sir,” said he, +dropping his lofty look, and speaking in a very subdued and civil +tone, “I have never had the honour of seeing you before, +that is”—said he, slightly glancing at me again, and +again moving the muscles of his mouth, “no, I have never +seen you before,” he added, making me a bow. “I +have never had that pleasure; my business with you, at present, +is to inquire the lowest price you are willing to take for this +horse. My agent here informs me that you ask one hundred +and fifty pounds, which I cannot think of giving—the horse +is a showy horse, but look, my dear sir, he has a defect here, +and there in his near fore leg I observe something which looks +very like a splint—yes, upon my credit,” said he, +touching the animal, “he has a splint, or something which +will end in one. A hundred and fifty pounds, sir! what +could have induced you ever to ask anything like that for this +animal? I protest that, in my time, I have frequently +bought a better for— Who are you, sir? I am in treaty +for this horse,” said he to a man who had come up whilst he +was talking, and was now looking into the horse’s +mouth. “Who am I?” said the man, still looking +into the horse’s mouth; “who am I? his lordship asks +me. Ah, I see, close on five,” said he, releasing the +horse’s jaws, and looking at me. This new comer was a +thin, wiry-made individual, with wiry curling brown hair; his +face was dark, and wore an arch and somewhat roguish expression; +upon one of his eyes was a kind of speck or beam; he might be +about forty, wore a green jockey coat, and held in his hand a +black riding whip, with a knob of silver wire. As I gazed +upon his countenance, it brought powerfully to my mind the face +which, by the light of the candle, I had seen staring over me on +the preceding night, when lying in bed and half asleep. +Close beside him, and seemingly in his company, stood an +exceedingly tall figure, that of a youth, seemingly about +one-and-twenty, dressed in a handsome riding dress, and wearing +on his head a singular hat, green in colour, and with a very high +peak. “What do you ask for this horse?” said he +of the green coat, winking at me with the eye which had a beam in +it, whilst the other shone and sparkled like Mrs. Colonel +W-’s Golconda diamond. “Who are you, sir, I +demand once more?” said he of the hungry look. +“Who am I? why, who should I be but Jack Dale, who buys +horses for himself and other folk; I want one at present for this +short young gentleman,” said he, motioning with his finger +to the gigantic youth. “Well, sir,” said the +other, “and what business have you to interfere between me +and any purchase I may be disposed to make?” +“Well, then,” said the other, “be quick and +purchase the horse, or, perhaps, I may.” “Do +you think I am to be dictated to by a fellow of your +description?” said his lordship, “begone, +or—” “What do you ask for this +horse?” said the other to me, very coolly. “A +hundred and fifty,” said I. “I shouldn’t +mind giving it to you,” said he. “You will do +no such thing,” said his lordship, speaking so fast that he +almost stuttered. “Sir,” said he to me, +“I must give you what you ask; Symmonds, take possession of +the animal for me,” said he to the other jockey who +attended him. “You will please to do no such thing +without my consent,” said I, “I have not sold +him.” “I have this moment told you that I will +give you the price you demand,” said his lordship; +“is not that sufficient?” “No,” +said I, “there is a proper manner of doing +everything—had you come forward in a manly and gentlemanly +manner to purchase the horse, I should have been happy to sell +him to you, but after all the fault you have found with him, I +would not sell him to you at any price, so send your friend to +find up another.” “You behave in this manner, I +suppose,” said his lordship, “because this fellow has +expressed a willingness to come to your terms. I would +advise you to be cautious how you trust the animal in his hands; +I think I have seen him before, and could tell +you—” “What can you tell of me?” +said the other, going up to him; “except that I have been a +poor dicky-boy, and that now I am a dealer in horses, and that my +father was lagged; that’s all you could tell of me, and +that I don’t mind telling myself: but there are two things +they can’t say of me, they can’t say that I am either +a coward or a screw either, except so far as one who gets his +bread by horses may be expected to be; and they can’t say +of me that I ever ate up an ice which a young woman was waiting +for, or that I ever backed out of a fight. Horse!” +said he, motioning with his finger tauntingly to the other; +“what do you want with a horse, except to take the bread +out of the mouth of a poor man—to-morrow is not the battle +of Waterloo, so that you don’t want to back out of danger, +by pretending to have hurt yourself by falling from the +creature’s back, my lord of the white feather—come, +none of your fierce looks—I am not afraid of +you.” In fact, the other had assumed an expression of +the deadliest malice, his teeth were clenched, his lips quivered, +and were quite pale; the rat-like eyes sparkled, and he made a +half spring, à la rat, towards his adversary, who only +laughed. Restraining himself, however, he suddenly turned +to his understrapper, saying, “Symmonds, will you see me +thus insulted? go and trounce this scoundrel; you can, I +know.” “Symmonds trounce me!” said the +other, going up to the person addressed, and drawing his hand +contemptuously over his face; “why, I beat Symmonds in this +very yard in one round three years ago; didn’t I, +Symmonds?” said he to the understrapper, who held down his +head, muttering, in a surly tone, “I didn’t come here +to fight; let every one take his own part.” +“That’s right, Symmonds,” said the other, +“especially every one from whom there is nothing to be +got. I would give you half-a-crown for all the trouble you +have had, provided I were not afraid that my Lord Plume there +would get it from you as soon as you leave the yard +together. Come, take yourselves both off; there’s +nothing to be made here.” Indeed, his lordship seemed +to be of the same opinion, for after a further glance at the +horse, a contemptuous look at me, and a scowl at the jockey, he +turned on his heel, muttering something which sounded like +fellows, and stalked out of the yard, followed by Symmonds.</p> +<p>“And now, young man,” said the jockey, or whatever +he was, turning to me with an arch leer, “I suppose I may +consider myself as the purchaser of this here animal, for the use +and behoof of this young gentleman?” making a sign with his +head to the tall young man by his side. “By no +means,” said I, “I am utterly unacquainted with +either of you, and before parting with the horse I must be +satisfied as to the respectability of the purchaser.” +“Oh! as to that matter,” said he, “I have +plenty of vouchers for my respectability about me;” and +thrusting his hand into his bosom below his waistcoat, he drew +out a large bundle of notes. “These are the kind of +things,” said he, “which vouch best for a man’s +respectability.” “Not always,” said I; +“indeed, sometimes these kind of things need vouchers for +themselves.” The man looked at me with a peculiar +look. “Do you mean to say that these notes are not +sufficient notes?” said he, “because if you do I +shall take the liberty of thinking you are not over civil, and +when I thinks a person is not over and above civil I sometimes +takes off my coat; and when my coat is off—” +“You sometimes knock people down,” I added; +“well, whether you knock me down or not, I beg leave to +tell you that I am a stranger in this fair, and that I shall part +with the horse to nobody who has no better guarantee for his +respectability than a roll of bank-notes, which may be good or +not for what I know, who am not a judge of such +things.” “Oh! if you are a stranger +here,” said the man, “as I believe you are, never +having seen you here before except last night, when I think I saw +you above stairs by the glimmer of a candle—I say, if you +are a stranger, you are quite right to be cautious; queer things +being done in this fair, as nobody knows better than +myself,” he added with a leer; “but I suppose if the +landlord of the house vouches for me and my notes, you will have +no objection to part with the horse to me?” +“None whatever,” said I, “and in the meantime +the horse can return to the stable.”</p> +<p>Thereupon I delivered the horse to my friend the ostler.</p> +<p>The landlord of the house on being questioned by me as to the +character and condition of my new acquaintance, informed me that +he was a respectable horsedealer, and an intimate friend of his, +whereupon the purchase was soon brought to a satisfactory +conclusion.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> +<p>High Dutch.</p> +<p>It was evening: and myself and the two acquaintances I had +made in the fair—namely, the jockey and the tall +foreigner—sat in a large upstairs room, which looked into a +court; we had dined with several people connected with the fair +at a long <i>table d’hôte</i>; they had now departed, +and we sat at a small side-table with wine and a candle before +us; both my companions had pipes in their mouths—the jockey +a common pipe, and the foreigner, one, the syphon of which, made +of some kind of wood, was at least six feet long, and the bowl of +which, made of a white kind of substance like porcelain, and +capable of holding nearly an ounce of tobacco, rested on the +ground. The jockey frequently emptied and replenished his +glass; the foreigner sometimes raised his to his lips, for no +other purpose seemingly than to moisten them, as he never drained +his glass. As for myself, though I did not smoke, I had a +glass before me, from which I sometimes took a sip. The +room, notwithstanding the window was flung open, was in general +so filled with smoke, chiefly that which was drawn from the huge +bowl of the foreigner, that my companions and I were frequently +concealed from each other’s eyes. The conversation, +which related entirely to the events of the fair, was carried on +by the jockey and myself, the foreigner, who appeared to +understand the greater part of what we said, occasionally putting +in a few observations in broken English. At length the +jockey, after the other had made some ineffectual attempts to +express something intelligibly which he wished to say, observed, +“Isn’t it a pity that so fine a fellow as meinheer, +and so clever a fellow too, as I believe him to be, is not a +better master of our language?”</p> +<p>“Is the gentleman a German?” said I; “if so, +I can interpret for him anything he wishes to say.”</p> +<p>“The deuce you can,” said the jockey, taking his +pipe out of his mouth, and staring at me through the smoke.</p> +<p>“Ha! you speak German,” vociferated the foreigner +in that language. “By Isten, I am glad of it! I +wanted to say—” And here he said in German what +he wished to say, and which was of no great importance, and which +I translated into English.</p> +<p>“Well, if you don’t put me out,” said the +jockey; “what language is that—Dutch?”</p> +<p>“High Dutch,” said I.</p> +<p>“High Dutch, and you speak High Dutch,—why, I had +booked you for as great an ignoramus as myself, who can’t +write—no, nor distinguish in a book a great A from a +bull’s foot.”</p> +<p>“A person may be a very clever man,” said +I—“no, not a clever man, for clever signifies +clerkly, and a clever man one who is able to read and write, and +entitled to the benefit of his clergy or clerkship; but a person +may be a very acute person without being able to read or +write. I never saw a more acute countenance than your +own.”</p> +<p>“No soft soap,” said the jockey, “for I +never uses any. However, thank you for your information; I +have hitherto thought myself a’nition clever fellow, but +from henceforth shall consider myself just the contrary, and +only—what’s the word?—confounded +’cute.”</p> +<p>“Just so,” said I.</p> +<p>“Well,” said the jockey, “as you say you can +speak High Dutch, I should like to hear you and master six foot +six fire away at each other.”</p> +<p>“I cannot speak German,” said I, “but I can +understand tolerably well what others say in it.”</p> +<p>“Come no backing out,” said the jockey, +“let’s hear you fire away for the glory of Old +England.”</p> +<p>“Then you are a German?” said I, in German to the +foreigner.</p> +<p>“That will do,” said the jockey, “keep it +up.”</p> +<p>“A German!” said the tall foreigner. +“No, I thank God that I do not belong to the stupid +sluggish Germanic race, but to a braver, taller, and handsomer +people;” here taking the pipe out of his mouth, he stood up +proudly erect, so that his head nearly touched the ceiling of the +room, then reseating himself, and again putting the syphon to his +lips, he added, “I am a Magyar.”</p> +<p>“What is that?” said I.</p> +<p>The foreigner looked at me for a moment, somewhat +contemptuously, through the smoke, then said, in a voice of +thunder, “A Hungarian!”</p> +<p>“What a voice the chap has when he pleases!” +interposed the jockey; “what is he saying?”</p> +<p>“Merely that he is a Hungarian,” said I; but I +added, “the conversation of this gentleman and myself in a +language which you can’t understand must be very tedious to +you, we had better give it up.”</p> +<p>“Keep on with it,” said the jockey, “I shall +go on listening very contentedly till I fall asleep, no bad thing +to do at most times.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> +<p>The Hungarian.</p> +<p>“Then you are a countryman of Tekeli, and of the queen +who made the celebrated water,” said I, speaking to the +Hungarian in German, which I was able to do tolerably well, owing +to my having translated the Publisher’s philosophy into +that language, always provided I did not attempt to say much at a +time.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Ah! you have heard of Tekeli, and of +L’eau de la Reine d’Hongrie. How is that?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I have seen a play acted, founded on the +exploits of Tekeli, and have read Pigault Le Brun’s +beautiful romance, entitled the “Barons of Felsheim,” +in which he is mentioned. As for the water, I have heard a +lady, the wife of a master of mine, speak of it.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Was she handsome?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Very.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Did she possess the water?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I should say not; for I have heard her +express a great curiosity about it.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Was she growing old?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Of course not; but why do you put all +these questions?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Because the water is said to make +people handsome, and above all, to restore to the aged the beauty +of their youth. Well! Tekeli was my countryman, and I have +the honour of having some of the blood of the Tekelis in my +veins, but with respect to the queen, pardon me if I tell you +that she was not an Hungarian; she was a Pole—Ersebet by +name, daughter of Wladislaus Locticus King of Poland; she was the +fourth spouse of Caroly the Second, King of the Magyar country, +who married her in 1320. She was a great woman and +celebrated politician, though at present chiefly known by her +water.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. How came she to invent it?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. If her own account may be believed, +she did not invent it. After her death, as I have read in +Florentius of Buda, there was found a statement of the manner in +which she came by it, written in her own hand, on a fly-leaf of +her breviary, to the following effect:—Being afflicted with +a grievous disorder at the age of seventy-two, she received the +medicine which was called her water, from an old hermit whom she +never saw before or afterwards; it not only cured her, but +restored to her all her former beauty, so that the King of Poland +fell in love with her, and made her an offer of marriage, which +she refused for the glory of God, from whose holy angel she +believed she had received the water. The receipt for making +it and directions for using it, were also found on the +fly-leaf. The principal component parts were burnt wine and +rosemary, passed through an alembic; a drachm of it was to be +taken once a week, “etelbenn vagy italbann,” in the +food or the drink, early in the morning, and the cheeks were to +be moistened with it every day. The effects according to +the statement, were wonderful—and perhaps they were upon +the queen; but whether the water has been equally efficacious on +other people, is a point which I cannot determine. I should +wish to see some old woman who has been restored to youthful +beauty by the use of L’eau de la Reine d’Hongrie.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Perhaps, if you did, the old gentlewoman +would hardly be so ingenuous as the queen. But who are the +Hungarians—descendants of Attila and his people?</p> +<p>The Hungarian shook his head, and gave me to understand that +he did not believe that his nation were the descendants of Attila +and his people, though he acknowledged that they were probably of +the same race. Attila and his armies, he said, came and +disappeared in a very mysterious manner, and that nothing could +be said with positiveness about them; that the people now known +as Magyars first made their appearance in Muscovy in the year +884, under the leadership of Almus, called so from Alom, which, +in the Hungarian language, signifies a dream; his mother, before +his birth, having dreamt that the child with which she was +enceinte would be the father of a long succession of kings, +which, in fact, was the case; that after beating the Russians he +entered Hungary, and coming to a place called Ungvar, from which +many people believed that modern Hungary derived its name, he +captured it, and held in it a grand festival, which lasted four +days, at the end of which time he resigned the leadership of the +Magyars to his son Arpad. This Arpad and his Magyars +utterly subdued Pannonia—that is, Hungary and Transylvania, +wresting the government of it from the Sclavonian tribes who +inhabited it, and settling down amongst them as conquerors! +After giving me this information, the Hungarian exclaimed with +much animation,—“A goodly country that which they had +entered on, consisting of a plain surrounded by mountains, some +of which intersect it here and there, with noble rapid rivers, +the grandest of which is the mighty Dunau; a country with tiny +volcanoes, casting up puffs of smoke and steam, and from which +hot springs arise, good for the sick; with many fountains, some +of which are so pleasant to the taste as to be preferred to wine; +with a generous soil which, warmed by a beautiful sun, is able to +produce corn, grapes, and even the Indian weed; in fact, one of +the finest countries in the world, which even a Spaniard would +pronounce to be nearly equal to Spain. Here they +rested—meditating, however, fresh conquests. Oh, the +Magyars soon showed themselves a mighty people. Besides +Hungary and Transylvania, they subdued Bulgaria and Bosnia, and +the land of Tot, now called Sclavonia. The generals of +Zoltan, the son of Arpad, led troops of horsemen to the banks of +the Rhine. One of them, at the head of a host, besieged +Constantinople. It was then that Botond engaged in combat +with a Greek of gigantic stature, who came out of the city and +challenged the two best men in the Magyar army. ‘I am +the feeblest of the Magyars,’ said Botond, ‘but I +will kill thee;’ and he performed his word, having +previously given a proof of the feebleness of his arm by striking +his battle-axe through the brazen gate, making a hole so big that +a child of five years old could walk through it.”</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Of what religion were the old +Hungarians?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. They had some idea of a Supreme Being, +whom they called Isten, which word is still used by the Magyars +for God; but their chief devotion was directed to sorcerers and +soothsayers, something like the Schamans of the Siberian +steppes. They were converted to Christianity chiefly +through the instrumentality of Istvan or Stephen, called after +his death St. Istvan, who ascended the throne in the year one +thousand. He was born in heathenesse, and his original name +was Vojk: he was the first kiraly, or king of the Magyars. +Their former leaders had been called fejedelmek, or dukes. +The Magyar language has properly no term either for king or +house. Kiraly is a word derived from the Sclaves; haz, or +house, from the Germans, who first taught them to build houses, +their original dwellings having been tilted waggons.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Many thanks for your account of the great +men of your country.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. The great men of my country! I +have only told you of the— Well, I acknowledge that Almus +and Arpad were great men, but Hungary has produced many greater; +I will not trouble you by recapitulating all, but there is one +name I cannot forbear mentioning—but you have heard of +it—even at Horncastle, the name of Hunyadi must be +familiar.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. It may be so, though I rather doubt it; +but, however that may be, I confess my ignorance. I have +never, until this moment, heard the name of Hunyadi.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Not of Hunyadi Janos, not of Hunyadi +John—for the genius of our language compels us to put a +man’s Christian name after his other; perhaps you have +heard of the name of Corvinus?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Yes, I have heard the name of +Corvinus.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. By my God, I am glad of it; I thought +our hammer of destruction, our thunderbolt, whom the Greeks +called Achilles, must be known to the people of Horncastle. +Well, Hunyadi and Corvinus are the same.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Corvinus means the man of the crow, or +raven. I suppose that your John, when a boy, climbed up to +a crow or a raven’s nest, and stole the young; a bold feat, +well befitting a young hero.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. By Isten, you are an acute guesser; a +robbery there was, but it was not Hunyadi who robbed the raven, +but the raven who robbed Hunyadi.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. How was that?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. In this manner: Hunyadi, according to +tradition, was the son of King Sigmond, by a peasant’s +daughter. The king saw and fell in love with her, whilst +marching against the vaivode of Wallachia. He had some +difficulty in persuading her to consent to his wishes, and she +only yielded at last, on the king making her a solemn promise +that, in the event of her becoming with child by him, he would +handsomely provide for her and the infant. The king +proceeded on his expedition; and on his returning in triumph from +Wallachia, again saw the girl, who informed him that she was +enceinte by him; the king was delighted with the intelligence, +gave the girl money, and at the same time a ring, requesting her, +if she brought forth a son, to bring the ring to Buda with the +child, and present it to him. When her time was up, the +peasant’s daughter brought forth a fair son, who was +baptized by the name of John. After some time the young +woman communicated the whole affair to her elder brother, whose +name was Gaspar, and begged him to convey her and the child to +the king at Buda. The brother consented, and both set out, +taking the child with them. On their way, the woman, +wanting to wash her clothes, laid the child down, giving it the +king’s ring to play with. A raven, who saw the +glittering ring, came flying, and plucking it out of the +child’s hand, carried it up into a tree; the child suddenly +began to cry, and the mother, hearing it, left her washing, and +running to the child, forthwith missed the ring, but hearing the +raven croak in the tree, she lifted up her eyes, and saw it with +the ring in its beak. The woman, in great terror, called +her brother, and told him what had happened, adding that she +durst not approach the king if the raven took away the +ring. Gaspar, seizing his cross-bow and quiver, ran to the +tree, where the raven was yet with the ring, and discharged an +arrow at it, but, being in a great hurry, he missed it; with his +second shot he was more lucky, for he hit the raven in the +breast, which, together with the ring, fell to the ground. +Taking up the ring, they went on their way, and shortly arrived +at Buda. One day, as the king was walking after dinner in +his outer hall, the woman appeared before him with the child, +and, showing him the ring, said, “Mighty lord! behold this +token! and take pity upon me and your own son.” King +Sigmond took the child and kissed it, and, after a pause, said to +the mother, “You have done right in bringing me the boy; I +will take care of you, and make him a nobleman.” The +king was as good as his word, he provided for the mother; caused +the boy to be instructed in knightly exercises, and made him a +present of the town of Hunyad, in Transylvania, on which account +he was afterwards called Hunyadi, and gave him, as an armorial +sign, a raven bearing a ring in his beak.</p> +<p>Such, oh young man of Horncastle! is the popular account of +the birth of the great captain of Hungary, as related by +Florentius of Buda. There are other accounts of his birth, +which is, indeed, involved in much mystery, and of the reason of +his being called Corvinus, but as this is the most pleasing, and +is, upon the whole, founded on quite as good evidence as the +others, I have selected it for recitation.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I heartily thank you; but you must tell +me something more of Hunyadi. You call him your great +captain; what did he do?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Do! what no other man of his day could +have done. He broke the power of the Turk when he was +coming to overwhelm Europe. From the blows inflicted by +Hunyadi, the Turk never thoroughly recovered; he has been +frequently worsted in latter times, but none but Hunyadi could +have routed the armies of Amurath and Mahomed the Second.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. How was it that he had an opportunity of +displaying his military genius?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. I can hardly tell you, but his valour +soon made him famous; King Albert made him Ban of Szorenyi. +He became eventually waivode of Transylvania, and governor of +Hungary. His first grand action was the defeat of Bashaw +Isack; and though himself surprised and routed at St. Imre, he +speedily regained his prestige by defeating the Turks, with +enormous slaughter, killing their leader, Mezerbeg; and +subsequently, at the battle of the Iron Gates, he destroyed +ninety thousand Turks, sent by Amurath to avenge the late +disgrace. It was then that the Greeks called him +Achilles.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. He was not always successful.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Who could be always successful against +the early Turk? He was defeated in the battle in which King +Vladislaus lost his life, but his victories outnumbered his +defeats three-fold. His grandest victory—perhaps the +grandest ever achieved by man—was over the terrible Mahomed +the Second; who, after the taking of Constantinople in 1453, +said, “One God in Heaven—one king on earth;” +and marched to besiege Belgrade at the head of one hundred, and +fifty thousand men; swearing by the beard of the prophet, +“That he would sup within it ere two months were +elapsed.” He brought with him dogs, to eat the bodies +of the Christians whom he should take or slay; so says +Florentius; hear what he also says: The Turk sat down before the +town towards the end of June, 1454, covering the Dunau and Szava +with ships: and on the 4th of July he began to cannonade Belgrade +with cannons twenty-five feet long, whose roar could be heard at +Szeged, a distance of twenty-four leagues, at which place Hunyadi +had assembled his forces. Hunyadi had been able to raise +only fifteen thousand of well-armed and disciplined men, though +he had with him vast bands of people, who called themselves +Soldiers of the Cross, but who consisted of inexperienced lads +from school, peasants, and hermits, armed with swords, slings, +and clubs. Hunyadi, undismayed by the great disparity +between his forces and those of the Turk, advanced to relieve +Belgrade, and encamped at Szalankemen with his army. There +he saw at once, that his first step must be to attack the +flotilla; he therefore privately informed Szilagy, his +wife’s brother, who at that time defended Belgrade, that it +was his intention to attack the ships of the Turks on the 14th +day of July in front, and requested his co-operation in the +rear. On the 14th came on the commencement of the great +battle of Belgrade, between Hunyadi and the Turk. Many days +it lasted.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Describe it.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. I cannot. One has described it +well—Florentius of Buda. I can only repeat a few of +his words:—“On the appointed day, Hunyadi, with two +hundred vessels, attacked the Turkish flotilla in front, whilst +Szilagy, with forty vessels, filled with the men of Belgrade, +assailed it in the rear; striving for the same object, they sunk +many of the Turkish vessels, captured seventy-four, burnt many, +and utterly annihilated the whole fleet. After this +victory, Hunyadi, with his army, entered Belgrade, to the great +joy of the Magyars. But though the force of Mahomed upon +the water was destroyed, that upon the land remained entire; and +with this, during six days and nights, he attacked the city +without intermission, destroying its walls in many parts. +His last and most desperate assault was made on the 21st day of +July. Twice did the Turks gain possession of the outer +town, and twice was it retaken with indescribable +slaughter. The next day the combat raged without ceasing +till mid-day, when the Turks were again beaten out of the town, +and pursued by the Magyars to their camp. There the combat +was renewed, both sides displaying the greatest obstinacy, until +Mahomed received a great wound over his left eye. The Turks +then, turning their faces, fled, leaving behind them three +hundred cannon in the hands of the Christians, and more than +twenty-four thousand slain on the field of battle.”</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. After that battle, I suppose Hunyadi +enjoyed his triumphs in peace?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. In the deepest, for he shortly +died. His great soul quitted his body, which was exhausted +by almost superhuman exertions, on the 11th of August, +1456. Shortly before he died, according to Florentius, a +comet appeared, sent, as it would seem, to announce his coming +end. The whole Christian world mourned his loss. The +Pope ordered the cardinals to perform a funeral ceremony at Rome +in his honour. His great enemy himself grieved for him, and +pronounced his finest eulogium. When Mahomed the Second +heard of his death, he struck his head for some time against the +ground without speaking. Suddenly he broke silence with +these words, “Notwithstanding he was my enemy, yet do I +bewail his loss; since the sun has shone in heaven, no Prince had +ever yet such a man.”</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. What was the name of his Prince?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Laszlo the Fifth; who, though under +infinite obligations to Hunyadi, was anything but grateful to +him; for he once consented to a plan which was laid to +assassinate him, contrived by his mortal enemy Ulrik, Count of +Cilejia; and after Hunyadi’s death, caused his eldest son, +Hunyadi Laszlo, to be executed on a false accusation, and +imprisoned his younger son, Matyas, who, on the death of Laszlo, +was elected by the Magyars to be their king, on the 24th of +January, 1458.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Was this Matyas a good king?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Was Matyas Corvinus a good king? +O young man of Horncastle! he was the best and greatest that ever +Hungary possessed, and, after his father, the most renowned +warrior,—some of our best laws were framed by him. It +was he who organized the Hussar force, and it was he who took +Vienna. Why does your Government always send fools to +represent it at Vienna?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I really cannot say; but with respect to +the Hussar force, is it of Hungarian origin?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Its name shows its origin. Huz, +in Hungarian, is twenty and the Hussar force is so called because +it is formed of twentieths. A law was issued by which it +was ordered that every Hungarian nobleman, out of every twenty +dependents, should produce a well-equipped horseman, and with him +proceed to the field of battle.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Why did Matyas capture Venna?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Because the Emperor Frederick took +part against him with the King of Poland, who claimed the kingdom +of Hungary for his son, and had also assisted the Turk. He +captured it in the year 1487, but did not survive his triumph +long, expiring there in the year 1490. He was so veracious +a man, that it was said of him, after his death, “Truth +died with Matyas.” It might be added that the glory +of Hungary departed with him. I wish to say nothing more +connected with Hungarian history.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Another word. Did Matyas leave a +son?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. A natural son, Hunyadi John, called so +after the great man. He would have been universally +acknowledged as King of Hungary but for the illegitimacy of his +birth. As it was, Ulaszlo, the son of the King of Poland, +afterwards called Ulaszlo the Second, who claimed Hungary as +being descended from Albert, was nominated king by a great +majority of the Magyar electors. Hunyadi John for some time +disputed the throne with him; there was some bloodshed, but +Hunyadi John eventually submitted, and became the faithful +captain of Ulaszlo, notwithstanding that the Turk offered to +assist him with an army of two hundred thousand men.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Go on.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. To what? Tché Drak, to +the Mohacs Veszedelem. Ulaszlo left a son, Lajos the +Second, born without skin, as it is said, certainly without a +head. He, contrary to the advice of all his wise +counsellors,—and amongst them was Batory Stephen, who +became eventually King of Poland—engaged, with twenty-five +thousand men, at Mohacs, Soliman the Turk, who had an army of two +hundred thousand. Drak! the Magyars were annihilated, King +Lajos disappeared with his heavy horse and armour in a bog. +We call that battle, which was fought on the 29th of August, +1526, the destruction of Mohacs, but it was the destruction of +Hungary.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. You have twice used the word drak, what +is the meaning of it? Is it Hungarian?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. No! it belongs to the mad +Wallacks. They are a nation of madmen on the other side of +Transylvania. Their country was formerly a fief of Hungary, +like Moldavia, which is inhabited by the same race, who speak the +same language and are equally mad.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. What language do they speak?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. A strange mixture of Latin and +Sclavonian—they themselves being a mixed race of Romans and +Sclavonians. Trajan sent certain legions to form military +colonies in Dacia; and the present Wallacks and Moldavians are, +to a certain extent, the descendants of the Roman soldiers, who +married the women of the country. I say to a certain +extent, for the Sclavonian element both in blood and language +seems to prevail.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. And what is drak?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Dragon; which the Wallacks use for +“devil.” The term is curious, as it shows that +the old Romans looked upon the dragon as an infernal being.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. You have been in Wallachia?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. I have, and glad I was to get out of +it. I hate the mad Wallacks.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Why do you call them mad?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. They are always drinking or +talking. I never saw a Wallachian eating or silent. +They talk like madmen, and drink like madmen. In drinking +they use small phials, the contents of which they pour down their +throats. When I first went amongst them I thought the whole +nation was under a course of physic, but the terrible jabber of +their tongues soon undeceived me. Drak was the first word I +heard on entering Dacia, and the last when I left it. The +Moldaves, if possible, drink more, and talk more than the +Wallachians.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. It is singular enough that the only +Moldavian I have known could not speak. I suppose he was +born dumb.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. A Moldavian born dumb! Excuse +me, the thing is impossible,—all Moldavians are born +talking! I have known a Moldavian who could not speak, but +he was not born dumb. His master, an Armenian, snipped off +part of his tongue at Adrianople. He drove him mad with his +jabber. He is now in London, where his master has a +house. I have letters of credit on the house: the clerk +paid me money in London, the master was absent; the money which +you received for the horse belonged to that house.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Another word with respect to Hungarian +history.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Drak! I wish to say nothing more +about Hungarian history.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. The Turk, I suppose, after Mohacs, got +possession of Hungary?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Not exactly. The Turk, upon the +whole, showed great moderation; not so the Austrian. +Ferdinand the First claimed the crown of Hungary as being the +cousin of Maria, widow of Lajos; he found too many disposed to +support him. His claim, however, was resisted by Zapolya +John, a Hungarian magnate, who caused himself to be elected +king. Hungary was for a long time devastated by wars +between the partisans of Zapolya and Ferdinand. At last +Zapolya called in the Turk. Soliman behaved generously to +him, and after his death befriended his young son, and Isabella +his queen; eventually the Turks became masters of Transylvania +and the greater part of Hungary. They were not bad masters, +and had many friends in Hungary, especially amongst those of the +reformed faith, to which I have myself the honour of belonging; +those of the reformed faith found the Mufti more tolerant than +the Pope. Many Hungarians went with the Turks to the siege +of Vienna, whilst Tekeli and his horsemen guarded Hungary for +them. A gallant enterprise that siege of Vienna, the last +great effort of the Turk; it failed, and he speedily lost +Hungary, but he did not sneak from Hungary like a frightened +hound. His defence of Buda will not be soon forgotten, +where Apty Basha, the governor, died fighting like a lion in the +breach. There’s many a Hungarian would prefer +Stamboul to Vienna. Why does your Government always send +fools to represent it at Vienna?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I have already told you that I cannot +say. What became of Tekeli?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. When Hungary was lost he retired with +the Turks into Turkey. Count Renoncourt, in his Memoirs, +mentions having seen him at Adrianople. The Sultan, in +consideration of the services which he had rendered to the Moslem +in Hungary, made over the revenues of certain towns and districts +for his subsistence. The count says that he always went +armed to the teeth, and was always attended by a young female +dressed in male attire, who had followed him in his wars, and had +more than once saved his life. His end is wrapped in +mystery, I—whose greatest boast, next to being a Hungarian, +is to be of his blood—know nothing of his end.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Allow me to ask who you are?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Egy szegeny Magyar Nemes ember, a poor +Hungarian nobleman, son of one yet poorer. I was born in +Transylvania, not far to the west of good Coloscvar. I +served some time in the Austrian army as a noble Hussar, but am +now equerry to a great nobleman, to whom I am distantly +related. In his service I have travelled far and wide, +buying horses. I have been in Russia and in Turkey, and am +now at Horncastle, where I have had the satisfaction to meet with +you, and to buy your horse, which is, in truth, a noble +brute.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. For a soldier and equerry you seem to +know a great deal of the history of your country.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. All I know is derived from Florentius +of Buda, whom we call Budai Ferentz. He was professor of +Greek and Latin at the Reformed College of Debreczen, where I was +educated; he wrote a work entitled “Magyar Polgari +Lexicon,” Lives of Great Hungarian Citizens. He was +dead before I was born, but I found his book, when I was a child, +in the solitary home of my father, which stood on the confines of +a puszta, or wilderness, and that book I used to devour in winter +nights when the winds were whistling around the house. Oh! +how my blood used to glow at the descriptions of Magyar valour, +and likewise of Turkish; for Florentius has always done justice +to the Turk. Many a passage similar to this have I got by +heart; it is connected with a battle on the plain of Rigo, which +Hunyadi lost:—“The next day, which was Friday, as the +two armies were drawn up in battle array, a Magyar hero riding +forth, galloped up and down, challenging the Turks to single +combat. Then came out to meet him the son of a renowned +bashaw of Asia; rushing upon each other, both broke their lances, +but the Magyar hero and his horse rolled over upon the ground, +for the Turks had always the best horses.” O young +man of Horncastle! if ever you learn Hungarian—and learn it +assuredly you will after what I have told you—read the book +of Florentius of Buda, even if you go to Hungary to get it, for +you will scarcely find it elsewhere, and even there with +difficulty, for the book has been long out of print. It +describes the actions of the great men of Hungary down to the +middle of the sixteenth century; and besides being written in the +purest Hungarian, has the merit of having for its author a +professor of the Reformed College of Debreczen.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. I will go to Hungary rather than not read +it. I am glad that the Turk beat the Magyar. When I +used to read the ballads of Spain I always sided with the Moor +against the Christian.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. It was a drawn fight after all, for +the terrible horse of the Turk presently flung his own master, +whereupon the two champions returned to their respective armies; +but in the grand conflict which ensued, the Turks beat the +Magyars, pursuing them till night, and striking them on the necks +with their scymetars. The Turk is a noble fellow; I should +wish to be a Turk, were I not a Magyar.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. The Turk always keeps his word, I am +told.</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Which the Christian very seldom does, +and even the Hungarian does not always. In 1444 Ulaszlo +made, at Szeged, peace with Amurath for ten years, which he swore +with an oath to keep, but at the instigation of the Pope Julian +he broke it, and induced his great captain, Hunyadi John, to +share in the perjury. The consequence was the battle of +Varna, of the 10th of November, in which Hunyadi was routed, and +Ulaszlo slain. Did you ever hear his epitaph? it is both +solemn and edifying:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Romulidæ Cannas ego Varnam clade notavi;<br +/> +Discite mortales non temerare fidem:<br /> +Me nisi Pontifices jussissent rumpere foedus<br /> +Non ferret Scythicum Pannonis ora jugum.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Halloo!” said the jockey, starting up from a doze +in which he had been indulging for the last hour, his head +leaning upon his breast, “what is that? That’s +not high Dutch; I bargained for high Dutch, and I left you +speaking high Dutch, as it sounded very much like the language of +horses, as I have been told high Dutch does; but as for what you +are speaking now, whatever you may call it, it sounds more like +the language of another kind of animal. I suppose you want +to insult me, because I was once a dicky-boy.”</p> +<p>“Nothing of the kind,” said I; “the +gentleman was making a quotation in Latin.”</p> +<p>“Latin, was it?” said the jockey; “that +alters the case. Latin is genteel, and I have sent my +eldest boy to an academy to learn it. Come, let us hear you +fire away in Latin,” he continued, proceeding to re-light +his pipe, which, before going to sleep, he had laid on the +table.</p> +<p>“If you wish to follow the discourse in Latin,” +said the Hungarian, in very bad English, “I can oblige you; +I learned to speak very good Latin in the college of +Debreczen.”</p> +<p>“That’s more,” said I, “than I have +done in the colleges where I have been; in any little +conversation which we may yet have, I wish you would use +German.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said the jockey, taking a whiff, +“make your conversation as short as possible, whether in +Latin or Dutch, for, to tell you the truth, I am rather tired of +merely playing listener.”</p> +<p>“You were saying you had been in Russia,” said I; +“I believe the Russians are part of the Sclavonian +race.”</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Yes, part of the great Sclavonian +family; one of the most numerous races in the world. The +Russians themselves are very numerous; would that the Magyars +could boast of the fifth part of their number!</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. What is the number of the Magyars?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Barely four millions. We came a +tribe of Tartars into Europe, and settled down amongst +Sclavonians, whom we conquered, but who never coalesced with +us. The Austrian at present plays in Pannonia the +Sclavonian against us, and us against the Sclavonian; but the +downfall of the Austrian is at hand; they, like us, are not a +numerous people.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Who will bring about his downfall?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. The Russians. The Rysckie Tsar +will lead his people forth, all the Sclavonians will join him, he +will conquer all before him.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Are the Russians good soldiers?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. They are stubborn and unflinching to +an astonishing degree, and their fidelity to their Tsar is quite +admirable. See how the Russians behaved at Plescova, in +Livonia, in the old time, against our great Batory Stephen; they +defended the place till it was a heap of rubbish, and mark how +they behaved after they had been made prisoners. Stephen +offered them two alternatives:—to enter into his service, +in which they would have good pay, clothing, and fair treatment; +or to be allowed to return to Russia. Without the slightest +hesitation they, to a man, chose the latter, though well aware +that their beloved Tsar, the cruel Ivan Basilowits, would put +them all to death, amidst tortures the most horrible, for not +doing what was impossible—preserving the town.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. You speak Russian?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. A little. I was born in the +vicinity of a Sclavonian tribe; the servants of our house were +Sclavonians, and I early acquired something of their language, +which differs not much from that of Russia; when in that country +I quickly understood what was said.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Have the Russians any literature?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. Doubtless; but I am not acquainted +with it, as I do not read their language; but I know something of +their popular tales, to which I used to listen in their +izbushkas; a principal personage in these is a creation quite +original—called Baba Yaga.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Who is the Baba Yaga?</p> +<p><i>Hungarian</i>. A female phantom, who is described as +hurrying along the puszta, or steppe, in a mortar, pounding with +a pestle at a tremendous rate, and leaving a long trace on the +ground behind her with her tongue, which is three yards long, and +with which she seizes any men and horses coming in her way, +swallowing them down into her capacious belly. She has +several daughters, very handsome, and with plenty of money; happy +the young Mujik who catches and marries one of them, for they +make excellent wives.</p> +<p>“Many thanks,” said I, “for the information +you have afforded me: this is rather poor wine,” I +observed, as I poured out a glass—“I suppose you have +better wine in Hungary?”</p> +<p>“Yes, we have better wine in Hungary. First of all +there is Tokay, the most celebrated in the world, though I +confess I prefer the wine of Eger—Tokay is too +sweet.”</p> +<p>“Have you ever been at Tokay?”</p> +<p>“I have,” said the Hungarian.</p> +<p>“What kind of place is Tokay?”</p> +<p>“A small town situated on the Tyzza, a rapid river +descending from the north; the Tokay Mountain is just behind the +town, which stands on the right bank. The top of the +mountain is called Kopacs Teto, or the bald tip; the hill is so +steep that during thunder-storms pieces frequently fall down upon +the roofs of the houses. It was planted with vines by King +Lajos, who ascended the throne in 1342. The best wine +called Tokay is, however, not made at Tokay, but at Kassau, two +leagues farther into the Carpathians, of which Tokay is a +spur. If you wish to drink the best Tokay, you must go to +Vienna, to which place all the prime is sent. For the third +time I ask you, O young man of Horncastle! why does your +Government always send fools to represent it at +Vienna?”</p> +<p>“And for the third time I tell you, O son of Almus! that +I cannot say; perhaps, however, to drink the sweet Tokay wine; +fools, you know, always like sweet things.”</p> +<p>“Good,” said the Hungarian; “it must be so, +and when I return to Hungary, I will state to my countrymen your +explanation of a circumstance which has frequently caused them +great perplexity. Oh! the English are a clever people, and +have a deep meaning in all they do. What a vision of deep +policy opens itself to my view! they do not send their fool to +Vienna in order to gape at processions, and to bow and scrape at +a base Papist court, but to drink at the great dinners the +celebrated Tokay of Hungary, which the Hungarians, though they do +not drink it, are very proud of, and by doing so to intimate the +sympathy which the English entertain for their fellow +religionists of Hungary. Oh! the English are a deep +people.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XL</h2> +<p>The Horncastle Welcome—Tzernebock and Bielebock.</p> +<p>The pipe of the Hungarian had, for some time past, exhibited +considerable symptoms of exhaustion, little or no ruttling having +been heard in the tube, and scarcely a particle of smoke, drawn +through the syphon, having been emitted from the lips of the +possessor. He now rose from his seat, and going to a corner +of the room, placed his pipe against the wall, then striding up +and down the room, he cracked his fingers several times, +exclaiming, in a half-musing manner, “Oh, the deep nation, +which, in order to display its sympathy for Hungary, sends its +fool to Vienna, to drink the sweet wine of Tokay!”</p> +<p>The jockey, having looked for some time at the tall figure +with evident approbation, winked at me with that brilliant eye of +his on which there was no speck, saying, “’Did you +ever see a taller fellow?”</p> +<p>“Never,” said I.</p> +<p>“Or a finer?”</p> +<p>“That’s another question,” said I, +“which I am not so willing to answer; however, as I am fond +of truth, and scorn to flatter, I will take the liberty of saying +that I have seen a finer.”</p> +<p>“A finer! where?” said the jockey; whilst the +Hungarian, who appeared to understand what we said, stood still, +and looked full at me.</p> +<p>“Amongst a strange set of people,” said I, +“whom, if I were to name, you would, I dare say, only laugh +at me.”</p> +<p>“Who be they?” said the jockey. “Come, +don’t be ashamed; I have occasionally kept queerish company +myself.”</p> +<p>“The people whom we call gypsies,” said I; +“whom the Germans call Zigeuner, and who call themselves +Romany chals.”</p> +<p>“Zigeuner!” said the Hungarian; “by +Isten! I do know those people.”</p> +<p>“Romany chals!” said the jockey; +“whew! I begin to smell a rat.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by smelling a rat?” said I.</p> +<p>“I’ll bet a crown,” said the jockey, +“that you be the young chap what certain folks call +‘the Romany Rye.’”</p> +<p>“Ah!” said I, “how came you to know that +name?”</p> +<p>“Be not you he?” said the jockey.</p> +<p>“Why, I certainly have been called by that +name.”</p> +<p>“I could have sworn it,” said the jockey; then +rising from his chair, he laid his pipe on the table, took a +large hand-bell which stood on the side-board, and going to the +door, opened it, and commenced ringing in a most tremendous +manner on the staircase. The noise presently brought up a +waiter, to whom the jockey vociferated, “Go to your master, +and tell him to send immediately three bottles of champagne, of +the pink kind, mind you, which is twelve guineas a dozen;” +the waiter hurried away, and the jockey resumed his seat and his +pipe. I sat in silent astonishment until the waiter +returned with a basket containing the wine, which, with three +long glasses, he placed on the table. The jockey then got +up, and going to a large bow-window at the end of the room, which +looked into a court-yard, peeped out; then saying, “the +coast is clear,” he shut down the principal sash which was +open for the sake of the air, and taking up a bottle of +champagne, he placed another in the hands of the Hungarian, to +whom he said something in private. The latter, who seemed +to understand him, answered by a nod. The two then going to +the end of the table fronting the window, and about eight paces +from it, stood before it, holding the bottles by their necks; +suddenly the jockey lifted up his arm. +“Surely,” said I, “you are not mad enough to +fling that bottle through the window?” +“Here’s to the Romany Rye; here’s to the sweet +master,” said the jockey, dashing the bottle through the +pane in so neat a manner that scarcely a particle of glass fell +into the room.</p> +<p>“Eljen edes csigany ur—eljen gul eray!” said +the Hungarian, swinging round his bottle, and discharging it at +the window; but, either not possessing the jockey’s +accuracy of aim, or reckless of the consequences, he flung his +bottle so, that it struck against part of the wooden setting of +the panes, breaking along with the wood and itself three or four +panes to pieces. The crash was horrid, and wine and +particles of glass flew back into the room, to the no small +danger of its inmates. “What do you think of +that?” said the jockey; “were you ever so honoured +before?” “Honoured!” said I. +“God preserve me in future from such honour;” and I +put my finger to my cheek, which was slightly hurt by a particle +of the glass. “That’s the way we of the cofrady +honour great men at Horncastle,” said the jockey. +“What, you are hurt! never mind; all the better; your +scratch shows that you are the body the compliment was paid +to.” “And what are you going to do with the +other bottle?” said I. “Do with it!” said +the jockey, “why, drink it, cosily and comfortably, whilst +holding a little quiet talk. The Romany Rye at Horncastle, +what an idea!”</p> +<p>“And what will the master of the house say to all this +damage which you have caused him!”</p> +<p>“What will your master say, William?” said the +jockey to the waiter, who had witnessed the singular scene just +described without exhibiting the slightest mark of +surprise. William smiled, and slightly shrugging his +shoulders, replied, “Very little, I dare say, sir; this +a’n’t the first time your honour has done a thing of +this kind.” “Nor will it be the first time that +I shall have paid for it,” said the jockey; “well, I +shall never have paid for a certain item in the bill with more +pleasure than I shall pay for it now. Come, William, draw +the cork, and let us taste the pink champagne.”</p> +<p>The waiter drew the cork, and filled the glasses with a pinky +liquor, which bubbled, hissed, and foamed. “How do +you like it?” said the jockey, after I had imitated the +example of my companions, by despatching my portion at a +draught.</p> +<p>“It is wonderful wine,” said I; “I have +never tasted champagne before, though I have frequently heard it +praised; it more than answers my expectations; but, I confess, I +should not wish to be obliged to drink it every day.”</p> +<p>“Nor I,” said the jockey, “for every-day +drinking give me a glass of old port, or—”</p> +<p>“Of hard old ale,” I interposed, “which, +according to my mind, is better than all the wine in the +world.”</p> +<p>“Well said, Romany Rye,” said the jockey, +“just my own opinion; now, William, make yourself +scarce.”</p> +<p>The waiter withdrew, and I said to the jockey, “How did +you become acquainted with the Romany chals?”</p> +<p>“I first became acquainted with them,” said the +jockey, “when I lived with old Fulcher the basketmaker, who +took me up when I was adrift upon the world; I do not mean the +present Fulcher, who is likewise called old Fulcher, but his +father, who has been dead this many a year; while living with him +in the caravan, I frequently met them in the green lanes, and of +latter years I have had occasional dealings with them in the +horse line.”</p> +<p>“And the gypsies have mentioned me to you?” said +I.</p> +<p>“Frequently,” said the jockey, “and not only +those of these parts; why, there’s scarcely a part of +England in which I have not heard the name of the Romany Rye +mentioned by these people. The power you have over them is +wonderful; that is, I should have thought it wonderful, had they +not more than once told me the cause.”</p> +<p>“And what is the cause?” said I, “for I am +sure I do not know.”</p> +<p>“The cause is this,” said the jockey, “they +never heard a bad word proceed from your mouth, and never knew +you do a bad thing.”</p> +<p>“They are a singular people,” said I.</p> +<p>“And what a singular language they have got,” said +the jockey.</p> +<p>“Do you know it?” said I.</p> +<p>“Only a few words,” said the jockey, “they +were always chary in teaching me any.”</p> +<p>“They were vary sherry to me too,” said the +Hungarian, speaking in broken English; “I only could learn +from them half-a-dozen words, for example, gul eray, which, in +the czigany of my country, means sweet gentleman; or edes ur in +my own Magyar.”</p> +<p>“Gudlo Rye, in the Romany of mine, means a sugar’d +gentleman,” said I; “then there are gypsies in your +country?”</p> +<p>“Plenty,” said the Hungarian, speaking German, +“and in Russia and Turkey too; and wherever they are found, +they are alike in their ways and language. Oh, they are a +strange race, and how little known! I know little of them, +but enough to say, that one horse-load of nonsense has been +written about them; there is one Valter Scott—”</p> +<p>“Mind what you say about him,” said I; “he +is our grand authority in matters of philology and +history.”</p> +<p>“A pretty philologist,” said the Hungarian, +“who makes the gypsies speak Roth-Welsch, the dialect of +thieves; a pretty historian, who couples together Thor and +Tzernebock.”</p> +<p>“Where does he do that?” said I.</p> +<p>“In his conceited romance of ‘Ivanhoe,’ he +couples Thor and Tzernebock together, and calls them gods of the +heathen Saxons.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “Thur or Thor was certainly +a god of the heathen Saxons.”</p> +<p>“True,” said the Hungarian; “but why couple +him with Tzernebock? Tzernebock was a word which your +Valter had picked up somewhere without knowing the meaning. +Tzernebock was no god of the Saxons, but one of the gods of the +Sclaves, on the southern side of the Baltic. The Sclaves +had two grand gods to whom they sacrificed, Tzernebock and +Bielebock; that is, the black and white gods, who represented the +powers of dark and light. They were overturned by Waldemar, +the Dane, the great enemy of the Sclaves; the account of whose +wars you will find in one fine old book, written by Saxo +Gramaticus, which I read in the library of the college of +Debreczen. The Sclaves, at one time, were masters of all +the southern shore of the Baltic, where their descendants are +still to be found, though they have lost their language, and call +themselves Germans; but the word Zernevitz near Dantzic, still +attests that the Sclavic language was once common in those +parts. Zernevitz means the thing of blackness, as +Tzernebock means the god of blackness. Prussia itself +merely means, in Sclavish, Lower Russia. There is scarcely +a race or language in the world more extended than the +Sclavic. On the other side of the Dunau you will find the +Sclaves and their language. Czernavoda is Sclavic, and +means black water; in Turkish, kara su; even as Tzernebock means +black god; and Belgrade, or Belograd, means the white town; even +as Bielebock, or Bielebog, means the white god. Oh! he is +one great ignorant, that Valter. He is going, they say, to +write one history about Napoleon. I do hope that in his +history he will couple his Thor and Tzernebock together. By +my God! it would be good diversion that.”</p> +<p>“Walter Scott appears to be no particular favourite of +yours,” said I.</p> +<p>“He is not,” said the Hungarian; “I hate him +for his slavish principles. He wishes to see absolute power +restored in this country, and Popery also—and I hate him +because—what do you think? In one of his novels, +published a few months ago, he has the insolence to insult +Hungary in the presence of one of her sons. He makes his +great braggart, Coeur de Lion, fling a Magyar over his +head. Ha! it was well for Richard that he never felt the +gripe of a Hungarian. I wish the braggart could have felt +the gripe of me, who am ‘a’ magyarok közt +legkissebb,’ the least among the Magyars. I do hate +that Scott, and all his vile gang of Lowlanders and +Highlanders. The black corps, the fekete regiment of +Matyjas Hunyadi, was worth all the Scots, high or low, that ever +pretended to be soldiers; and would have sent them all headlong +into the Black Sea, had they dared to confront it on its shores; +but why be angry with an ignorant, who couples together Thor and +Tzernebock? Ha! Ha!”</p> +<p>“You have read his novels?” said I.</p> +<p>“Yes, I read them now and then. I do not speak +much English, but I can read it well, and I have read some of his +romances, and mean to read his ‘Napoleon,’ in the +hope of finding Thor and Tzernebock coupled together in it, as in +his high-flying ‘Ivanhoe.’”</p> +<p>“Come,” said the jockey, “no more Dutch, +whether high or low. I am tired of it; unless we can have +some English, I am off to bed.”</p> +<p>“I should be very glad to hear some English,” said +I; “especially from your mouth. Several things which +you have mentioned, have awakened my curiosity. Suppose you +give us your history?”</p> +<p>“My history?” said the jockey. “A rum +idea! however, lest conversation should lag, I’ll give it +you. First of all, however, a glass of champagne to +each.”</p> +<p>After we had each taken a glass of champagne, the jockey +commenced his history.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLI</h2> +<p>The Jockey’s Tale—Thieves’ +Latin—Liberties with Coin—The Smasher in +Prison—Old Fulcher—Every One has His +Gift—Fashion of the English.</p> +<p>“My grandfather was a shorter, and my father was a +smasher; the one was scragg’d, and the other +lagg’d.”</p> +<p>I here interrupted the jockey by observing that his discourse +was, for the greater part, unintelligible to me.</p> +<p>“I do not understand much English,” said the +Hungarian, who, having replenished and resumed his mighty pipe, +was now smoking away; “but, by Isten, I believe it is the +gibberish which that great ignorant Valther Scott puts into the +mouths of the folks he calls gypsies.”</p> +<p>“Something like it, I confess,” said I, +“though this sounds more genuine than his dialect, which he +picked up out of the canting vocabulary at the end of the +‘English Rogue,’ a book which, however despised, was +written by a remarkable genius. What do you call the speech +you were using?” said I, addressing myself to the +jockey.</p> +<p>“Latin,” said the jockey, very coolly, “that +is, that dialect of it which is used by the light-fingered +gentry.”</p> +<p>“He is right,” said the Hungarian; “it is +what the Germans call Roth-Welsch: they call it so because there +are a great many Latin words in it, introduced by the priests, +who, at the time of the Reformation, being too lazy to work and +too stupid to preach, joined the bands of thieves and robbers who +prowled about the country. Italy, as you are aware, is +called by the Germans Welschland, or the land of the Welschers; +and I may add that Wallachia derives its name from a colony of +Welschers which Trajan sent there. Welsch and Wallack being +one and the same word, and tantamount to Latin.”</p> +<p>“I dare say you are right,” said I; “but why +was Italy termed Welschland?”</p> +<p>“I do not know,” said the Hungarian.</p> +<p>“Then I think I can tell you,” said I; “it +was called so because the original inhabitants were a Cimbric +tribe, who were called Gwyltiad, that is, a race of wild people, +living in coverts, who were of the same blood, and spoke the same +language as the present inhabitants of Wales. Welsh seems +merely a modification of Gwyltiad. Pray continue your +history,” said I to the jockey, “only please to do so +in a language which we can understand, and first of all interpret +the sentence with which you began it.”</p> +<p>“I told you that my grandfather was a shorter,” +said the jockey, “by which is meant a gentleman who +shortens or reduces the current coin of these realms, for which +practice he was scragged, that is, hung by the scrag of the +neck. And when I said that my father was a smasher, I meant +one who passes forged notes, thereby doing his best to smash the +Bank of England; by being lagged, I meant he was laid fast, that +is, had a chain put round his leg and then +transported.”</p> +<p>“Your explanations are quite satisfactory,” said +I; “the three first words are metaphorical, and the fourth, +lagged, is the old genuine Norse term, lagda, which signifies +laid, whether in durance, or in bed, has nothing to do with the +matter. What you have told me confirms me in an opinion +which I have long entertained, that thieves’ Latin is a +strange mysterious speech, formed of metaphorical terms, and +words derived from the various ancient languages. Pray tell +me, now, how the gentleman, your grandfather, contrived to +shorten the coin of these realms?”</p> +<p>“You shall hear,” said the jockey; “but I +have one thing to beg of you, which is, that when I have once +begun my history you will not interrupt me with questions, I +don’t like them, they stops one, and puts one out of +one’s tale, and are not wanted; for anything which I think +can’t be understood, I should myself explain, without being +asked. My grandfather reduced or shortened the coin of this +country by three processes. By aquafortis, by clipping, and +by filing. Filing and clipping he employed in reducing all +sorts of coin, whether gold or silver; but aquafortis he used +merely in reducing gold coin, whether guineas, jacobuses, or +Portugal pieces, otherwise called moidores, which were at one +time as current as guineas. By laying a guinea in +aquafortis for twelve hours, he could filch from it to the value +of ninepence, and by letting it remain there for twenty-four to +the value of eighteenpence, the aquafortis eating the gold away, +and leaving it like a sediment in the vessel. He was +generally satisfied with taking the value of ninepence from a +guinea, of eighteenpence from a jacobus or moidore, or +half-a-crown from a broad Spanish piece, whether he reduced them +by aquafortis, filing, or clipping. From a five-shilling +piece, which is called a bull in Latin because it is round like a +bull’s head, he would file or clip to the value of +fivepence, and from lesser coin in proportion. He was +connected with a numerous gang, or set, of people, who had given +up their minds and talents entirely to shortening.”</p> +<p>Here I interrupted the jockey. “How +singular,” said I, “is the fall and debasement of +words; you talk of a gang, or set, of shorters; you are, perhaps, +not aware that gang and set were, a thousand years ago, only +connected with the great and Divine; they are ancient Norse +words, which may be found in the heroic poems of the north, and +in the Edda, a collection of mythologic and heroic songs. +In these poems we read that such and such a king invaded Norway +with a gang of heroes; or so and so, for example, Erik Bloodaxe, +was admitted to the set of gods; but at present gang and set are +merely applied to the vilest of the vile, and the lowest of the +low,—we say a gang of thieves and shorters, or a set of +authors. How touching is this debasement of words in the +course of time; it puts me in mind of the decay of old houses and +names. I have known a Mortimer who was a hedger and +ditcher, a Berners who was born in a workhouse, and a descendant +of the De Burghs, who bore the falcon, mending old kettles, and +making horse and pony shoes in a dingle.”</p> +<p>“Odd enough,” said the jockey; “but you were +saying you knew one Berners—man or woman? I would +ask.”</p> +<p>“A woman,” said I.</p> +<p>“What might her Christian name be?” said the +jockey.</p> +<p>“It is not to be mentioned lightly,” said I, with +a sigh.</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder if it were Isopel,” said +the jockey with an arch glance of his one brilliant eye.</p> +<p>“It was Isopel,” said I; “did you know +Isopel Berners?”</p> +<p>“Ay, and have reason to know her,” said the +jockey, putting his hand into his left waistcoat pocket, as if to +feel for something, “for she gave me what I believe few men +could do—a most confounded whopping. But now, Mr. +Romany Rye, I have again to tell you that I don’t like to +be interrupted when I’m speaking, and to add that if you +break in upon me a third time, you and I shall +quarrel.”</p> +<p>“Pray proceed with your story,” said I; “I +will not interrupt you again.”</p> +<p>“Good!” said the jockey. “Where was +I? Oh, with a set of people who had given up their minds to +shortening! Reducing the coin, though rather a lucrative, +was a very dangerous trade. Coin filed felt rough to the +touch; coin clipped could be easily detected by the eye; and as +for coin reduced by aquafortis, it was generally so discoloured +that, unless a great deal of pains was used to polish it, people +were apt to stare at it in a strange manner, and to say, +‘What have they been doing to this here gold?’ +My grandfather, as I have said before, was connected with a gang +of shorters, and sometimes shortened money, and at other times +passed off what had been shortened by other gentry.</p> +<p>“Passing off what had been shortened by others was his +ruin; for once, in trying to pass off a broad piece which had +been laid in aquafortis for four-and-twenty hours, and was very +black, not having been properly rectified, he was stopped and +searched, and other reduced coins being found about him, and in +his lodgings, he was committed to prison, tried, and +executed. He was offered his life, provided he would betray +his comrades; but he told the big-wigs, who wanted him to do so, +that he would see them farther first, and died at Tyburn, amidst +the cheers of the populace, leaving my grandmother and father, to +whom he had always been a kind husband and parent—for, +setting aside the crime for which he suffered, he was a moral +man; leaving them, I say, to bewail his irreparable loss.</p> +<p>“’Tis said that misfortune never comes alone; this +is, however, not always the case. Shortly after my +grandfather’s misfortune, as my grandmother and her son +were living in great misery in Spitalfields, her only +relation—a brother from whom she had been estranged some +years, on account of her marriage with my grandfather, who had +been in an inferior station to herself—died, leaving all +his property to her and the child. This property consisted +of a farm of about a hundred acres, with its stock, and some +money besides. My grandmother, who knew something of +business, instantly went into the country, where she farmed the +property for her own benefit and that of her son, to whom she +gave an education suitable to a person in his condition, till he +was old enough to manage the farm himself. Shortly after +the young man came of age, my grandmother died, and my father, in +about a year, married the daughter of a farmer, from whom he +expected some little fortune, but who very much deceived him, +becoming a bankrupt almost immediately after the marriage of his +daughter, and himself and family going into the workhouse.</p> +<p>“My mother, however, made my father an excellent wife; +and if my father in the long run did not do well it was no fault +of hers. My father was not a bad man by nature, he was of +an easy, generous temper, the most unfortunate temper, by the +bye, for success in this life that any person can be possessed +of, as those who have it are almost sure to be made dupes of by +the designing. But, though easy and generous, he was +anything but a fool; he had a quick and witty tongue of his own +when he chose to exert it, and woe be to those who insulted him +openly, for there was not a better boxer in the whole country +round. My parents were married several years before I came +into the world, who was their first and only child. I may +be called an unfortunate creature; I was born with this beam or +scale on my left eye, which does not allow me to see with it; and +though I can see tolerably sharply with the other, indeed more +than most people can with both of theirs, it is a great +misfortune not to have two eyes like other people. +Moreover, setting aside the affair of my eye, I had a very ugly +countenance; my mouth being slightly wrung aside, and my +complexion swarthy. In fact, I looked so queer that the +gossips and neighbours, when they first saw me, swore I was a +changeling—perhaps it would have been well if I had never +been born; for my poor father, who had been particularly anxious +to have a son, no sooner saw me than he turned away, went to the +neighbouring town, and did not return for two days. I am by +no means certain that I was not the cause of his ruin, for till I +came into the world he was fond of his home, and attended much to +business, but afterwards he went frequently into company, and did +not seem to care much about his affairs: he was, however, a kind +man, and when his wife gave him advice never struck her, nor do I +ever remember that he kicked me when I came in his way, or so +much as cursed my ugly face, though it was easy to see that he +didn’t over-like me. When I was six years old I was +sent to the village-school, where I was soon booked for a dunce, +because the master found it impossible to teach me either to read +or write. Before I had been at school two years, however, I +had beaten boys four years older than myself, and could fling a +stone with my left hand (for if I am right-eyed I am left-handed) +higher and farther than any one in the parish. Moreover, no +boy could equal me at riding, and no people ride so well or +desperately as boys. I could ride a donkey—a thing +far more difficult to ride than a horse—at full gallop over +hedges and ditches, seated, or rather floating upon his hinder +part,—so, though anything but clever, as this here Romany +Rye would say, I was yet able to do things which few other people +could do. By the time I was ten my father’s affairs +had got into a very desperate condition, for he had taken to +gambling and horse-racing, and, being unsuccessful, had sold his +stock, mortgaged his estate, and incurred very serious +debts. The upshot was, that within a little time all he had +was seized, himself imprisoned, and my mother and myself put into +a cottage belonging to the parish, which, being very cold and +damp, was the cause of her catching a fever, which speedily +carried her off. I was then bound apprentice to a farmer, +in whose service I underwent much coarse treatment, cold, and +hunger.</p> +<p>“After lying in prison near two years, my father was +liberated by an Act for the benefit of insolvent debtors; he was +then lost sight of for some time; at last, however, he made his +appearance in the neighbourhood dressed like a gentleman, and +seemingly possessed of plenty of money. He came to see me, +took me into a field, and asked me how I was getting on. I +told him I was dreadfully used, and begged him to take me away +with him; he refused, and told me to be satisfied with my +condition, for that he could do nothing for me. I had a +great love for my father, and likewise a great admiration for him +on account of his character as a boxer, the only character which +boys in general regard, so I wished much to be with him, +independently of the dog’s life I was leading where I was; +I therefore said if he would not take me with him, I would follow +him; he replied that I must do no such thing, for that if I did, +it would be my ruin. I asked him what he meant, but he made +no reply, only saying that he would go and speak to the +farmer. Then taking me with him, he went to the farmer, and +in a very civil manner said that he understood I had not been +very kindly treated by him, but he hoped that in future I should +be used better. The farmer answered in a surly tone, that I +had been only too well treated, for that I was a worthless young +scoundrel; high words ensued, and the farmer, forgetting the kind +of man he had to deal with, checked him with my grandsire’s +misfortune, and said he deserved to be hanged like his +father. In a moment my father knocked him down, and on his +getting up, gave him a terrible beating, then taking me by the +hand he hastened away; as we were going down a lane he said we +were now both done for: ‘I don’t care a straw for +that, father,’ said I, ‘provided I be with +you.’ My father took me to the neighbouring town, and +going into the yard of a small inn, he ordered out a pony and +light cart which belonged to him, then paying his bill, he told +me to mount upon the seat, and getting up drove away like +lightning; we drove for at least six hours without stopping, till +we came to a cottage by the side of a heath; we put the pony and +cart into a shed, and went into the cottage, my father unlocking +the door with a key which he took out of his pocket; there was +nobody in the cottage when we arrived, but shortly after there +came a man and a woman, and then some more people, and by ten +o’clock at night there were a dozen of us in the +cottage. The people were companions of my father. My +father began talking to them in Latin, but I did not understand +much of the discourse, though I believe it was about myself, as +their eyes were frequently turned to me. Some objections +appeared to be made to what he said; however, all at last seemed +to be settled, and we all sat down to some food. After +that, all the people got up and went away, with the exception of +the woman, who remained with my father and me. The next day +my father also departed, leaving me with the woman, telling me +before he went that she would teach me some things which it +behoved me to know. I remained with her in the cottage +upwards of a week; several of those who had been there coming and +going. The woman, after making me take an oath to be +faithful, told me that the people whom I had seen were a gang who +got their livelihood by passing forged notes, and that my father +was a principal man amongst them, adding, that I must do my best +to assist them. I was a poor ignorant child at that time, +and I made no objection, thinking that whatever my father did +must be right; the woman then gave me some instructions in the +smasher’s dialect of the Latin language. I made great +progress, because, for the first time in my life, I paid great +attention to my lessons. At last my father returned, and, +after some conversation with the woman, took me away in his +cart. I shall be very short about what happened to my +father and myself during two years. My father did his best +to smash the Bank of England by passing forged notes, and I did +my best to assist him. We attended races and fairs in all +kinds of disguises; my father was a first-rate hand at a +disguise, and could appear of all ages, from twenty to fourscore; +he was, however, grabbed at last. He had said, as I have +told you, that he should be my ruin, but I was the cause of his, +and all owing to the misfortune of this here eye of mine. +We came to this very place of Horncastle, where my father +purchased two horses of a young man, paying for them with three +forged notes, purporting to be Bank of Englanders of fifty pounds +each, and got the young man to change another of the like amount; +he at that time appeared as a respectable dealer, and I as his +son, as I really was.</p> +<p>“As soon as we had got the horses, we conveyed them to +one of the places of call belonging to our gang, of which there +were several. There they were delivered into the hands of +our companions, who speedily sold them in a distant part of the +country. The sum which they fetched—for the gang kept +very regular accounts—formed an important item on the next +day of sharing, of which there were twelve in the year. The +young man, whom my father had paid for the horses with his +smashing notes, was soon in trouble about them, and ran some +risk, as I heard, of being executed; but he bore a good +character, told a plain story, and, above all, had friends, and +was admitted to bail; to one of his friends he described my +father and myself. This person happened to be at an inn in +Yorkshire, where my father, disguised as a Quaker, attempted to +pass a forged note. The note was shown to this individual, +who pronounced it a forgery, it being exactly similar to those +for which the young man had been in trouble, and which he had +seen. My father, however, being supposed a respectable man, +because he was dressed as a Quaker—the very reason, by the +bye, why anybody who knew aught of the Quakers would have +suspected him to be a rogue—would have been let go, had I +not made my appearance, dressed as his footboy. The friend +of the young man looked at my eye, and seized hold of my father, +who made a desperate resistance, I assisting him, as in duty +bound. Being, however, overpowered by numbers, he bade me +by a look, and a word or two in Latin, to make myself +scarce. Though my heart was fit to break, I obeyed my +father, who was speedily committed. I followed him to the +county town in which he was lodged, where shortly after I saw him +tried, convicted, and condemned. I then, having made +friends with the jailor’s wife, visited him in his cell, +where I found him very much cast down. He said, that my +mother had appeared to him in a dream, and talked to him about a +resurrection and Christ Jesus; there was a Bible before him, and +he told me the chaplain had just been praying with him. He +reproached himself much, saying, he was afraid he had been my +ruin, by teaching me bad habits. I told him not to say any +such thing, for that I had been the cause of his, owing to the +misfortune of my eye. He begged me to give over all +unlawful pursuits, saying, that if persisted in, they were sure +of bringing a person to destruction. I advised him to try +and make his escape, proposing, that when the turnkey came to let +me out, he should knock him down, and fight his way out, offering +to assist him; showing him a small saw, with which one of our +companions, who was in the neighbourhood, had provided me, and +with which he could have cut through his fetters in five minutes; +but he told me he had no wish to escape, and was quite willing to +die. I was rather hard at that time; I am not very soft +now; and I felt rather ashamed of my father’s want of what +I called spirit. He was not executed after all; for the +chaplain, who was connected with a great family, stood his +friend, and got his sentence commuted, as they call it, to +transportation; and in order to make the matter easy, he induced +my father to make some valuable disclosures with respect to the +smashers’ system. I confess that I would have been +hanged before I would have done so, after having reaped the +profit of it; that is, I think so now, seated comfortably in my +inn, with my bottle of champagne before me. He, however, +did not show himself carrion; he would not betray his companions, +who had behaved very handsomely to him, having given the son of a +lord, a great barrister, not a hundred-pound forged bill, but a +hundred hard guineas, to plead his cause, and another ten, to +induce him, after pleading, to put his hand to his breast, and +say, that, upon his honour, he believed the prisoner at the bar +to be an honest and injured man. No; I am glad to be able +to say, that my father did not show himself exactly carrion, +though I could almost have wished he had let himself— +However, I am here with my bottle of champagne and the Romany +Rye, and he was in his cell, with bread and water and the prison +chaplain. He took an affectionate leave of me before he was +sent away, giving me three out of five guineas, all the money he +had left. He was a kind man, but not exactly fitted to fill +my grandfather’s shoes. I afterwards learned that he +died of fever, as he was being carried across the sea.</p> +<p>“During the ’sizes I had made acquaintance with +old Fulcher. I was in the town on my father’s +account, and he was there on his son’s, who, having +committed a small larceny, was in trouble. Young Fulcher, +however, unlike my father, got off, though he did not give the +son of a lord a hundred guineas to speak for him, and ten more to +pledge his sacred honour for his honesty, but gave Counsellor +P--- one-and-twenty shillings to defend him, who so frightened +the principal evidence, a plain honest farming-man, that he +flatly contradicted what he had first said, and at last +acknowledged himself to be all the rogues in the world, and, +amongst other things, a perjured villain. Old Fulcher, +before he left the town with his son,—and here it will be +well to say that he and his son left it in a kind of triumph, the +base drummer of a militia regiment, to whom they had given +half-a-crown, beating his drum before them—old Fulcher, I +say, asked me to go and visit him, telling me where, at such a +time, I might find him and his caravan and family; offering, if I +thought fit, to teach me basket-making: so, after my father had +been sent off, I went and found up old Fulcher, and became his +apprentice in the basket-making line. I stayed with him +till the time of his death, which happened in about three months, +travelling about with him and his family, and living in green +lanes, where we saw gypsies and trampers, and all kinds of +strange characters. Old Fulcher, besides being an +industrious basket-maker, was an out-and-out thief, as was also +his son, and, indeed, every member of his family. They used +to make baskets during the day, and thieve during a great part of +the night. I had not been with them twelve hours before old +Fulcher told me that I must thieve as well as the rest. I +demurred at first, for I remembered the fate of my father, and +what he had told me about leaving off bad courses, but soon +allowed myself to be over-persuaded; more especially as the first +robbery I was asked to do was a fruit robbery. I was to go +with young Fulcher, and steal some fine Morell cherries, which +grew against a wall in a gentleman’s garden; so young +Fulcher and I went and stole the cherries, one half of which we +ate, and gave the rest to the old man, who sold them to a +fruiterer ten miles off from the place where we had stolen +them. The next night old Fulcher took me out with +himself. He was a great thief, though in a small way. +He used to say, that they were fools, who did not always manage +to keep the rope below their shoulders, by which he meant, that +it was not advisable to commit a robbery, or do anything which +could bring you to the gallows. He was all for petty +larceny, and knew where to put his hand upon any little thing in +England, which it was possible to steal. I submit it to the +better judgment of the Romany Rye, who I see is a great hand for +words and names, whether he ought not to have been called old +Filcher, instead of Fulcher. I shan’t give a regular +account of the larcenies he committed during the short time I +knew him, either alone by himself, or with me and his son. +I shall merely relate the last.</p> +<p>“A melancholy gentleman, who lived a very solitary life, +had a large carp in a shady pond in a meadow close to his house; +he was exceedingly fond of it, and used to feed it with his own +hand, the creature being so tame that it would put its snout out +of the water to be fed when it was whistled to; feeding and +looking at his carp were the only pleasures the poor melancholy +gentleman possessed. Old Fulcher—being in the +neighbourhood, and having an order from a fishmonger for a large +fish, which was wanted at a great city dinner, at which His +Majesty was to be present—swore he would steal the carp, +and asked me to go with him. I had heard of the +gentleman’s fondness for his creature, and begged him to +let it be, advising him to go and steal some other fish; but old +Fulcher swore, and said he would have the carp, although its +master should hang himself; I told him he might go by himself, +but he took his son and stole the carp, which weighed seventeen +pounds. Old Fulcher got thirty shillings for the carp, +which I afterwards heard was much admired and relished by His +Majesty. The master, however, of the carp, on losing his +favourite, became more melancholy than ever, and in a little time +hanged himself. ‘What’s sport for one, is death +to another,’ I once heard at the village-school read out of +a copy-book.</p> +<p>“This was the last larceny old Fulcher ever +committed. He could keep his neck always out of the noose, +but he could not always keep his leg out of the trap. A few +nights after, having removed to a distance, he went to an osier +car in order to steal some osiers for his basket-making, for he +never bought any. I followed a little way behind. Old +Fulcher had frequently stolen osiers out of the car, whilst in +the neighbourhood, but during his absence the property, of which +the car was a part, had been let to a young gentleman, a great +hand for preserving game. Old Fulcher had not got far into +the car before he put his foot into a man-trap. Hearing old +Fulcher shriek, I ran up, and found him in a dreadful +condition. Putting a large stick which I carried into the +jaws of the trap, I contrived to prize them open, and get old +Fulcher’s leg out, but the leg was broken. So I ran +to the caravan, and told young Fulcher of what had happened, and +he and I helped his father home. A doctor was sent for, who +said that it was necessary to take the leg off, but old Fulcher, +being very much afraid of pain, said it should not be taken off, +and the doctor went away, but after some days, old Fulcher +becoming worse, ordered the doctor to be sent for, who came and +took off his leg, but it was then too late, mortification had +come on, and in a little time old Fulcher died.</p> +<p>“Thus perished old Fulcher; he was succeeded in his +business by his son, young Fulcher, who, immediately after the +death of his father, was called old Fulcher, it being our English +custom to call everybody old, as soon as their fathers are +buried; young Fulcher—I mean he who had been called young, +but was now old Fulcher—wanted me to go out and commit +larcenies with him; but I told him that I would have nothing more +to do with thieving, having seen the ill effects of it, and that +I should leave them in the morning. Old Fulcher begged me +to think better of it, and his mother joined with him. They +offered, if I would stay, to give me Mary Fulcher as a mort, till +she and I were old enough to be regularly married, she being the +daughter of the one, and the sister of the other. I liked +the girl very well, for she had always been civil to me, and had +a fair complexion and nice red hair, both of which I like, being +a bit of a black myself; but I refused, being determined to see +something more of the world than I could hope to do with the +Fulchers, and, moreover, to live honestly, which I could never do +along with them. So the next morning I left them: I was, as +I said before, quite determined upon an honest livelihood, and I +soon found one. He is a great fool who is ever dishonest in +England. Any person who has any natural gift, and everybody +has some natural gift, is sure of finding encouragement in this +noble country of ours, provided he will but exhibit it. I +had not walked more than three miles before I came to a +wonderfully high church steeple, which stood close by the road; I +looked at the steeple, and going to a heap of smooth pebbles +which lay by the roadside, I took up some, and then went into the +churchyard, and placing myself just below the tower, my right +foot resting on a ledge, about two foot from the ground, I, with +my left hand—being a left-handed person, do you +see—flung or chucked up a stone, which, lighting on the top +of the steeple, which was at least a hundred and fifty feet high, +did there remain. After repeating this feat two or three +times, I ‘hulled’ up a stone, which went clean over +the tower, and then one, my right foot still on the ledge, which +rising at least five yards above the steeple, did fall down just +at my feet. Without knowing it, I was showing off my gift +to others besides myself, doing what, perhaps, not five men in +England could do. Two men, who were passing by, stopped and +looked at my proceedings, and when I had done flinging came into +the churchyard, and, after paying me a compliment on what they +had seen me do, proposed that I should join company with them; I +asked them who they were, and they told me. The one was +Hopping Ned, and the other Biting Giles. Both had their +gifts, by which they got their livelihood; Ned could hop a +hundred yards with any man in England, and Giles could lift up +with his teeth any dresser or kitchen-table in the country, and, +standing erect, hold it dangling in his jaws. There’s +many a big oak table and dresser in certain districts of England, +which bear the marks of Giles’s teeth; and I make no doubt +that, a hundred or two years hence, there’ll be strange +stories about those marks, and that people will point them out as +a proof that there were giants in bygone time, and that many a +dentist will moralize on the decays which human teeth have +undergone.</p> +<p>“They wanted me to go about with them, and exhibit my +gift occasionally, as they did theirs, promising that the money +that was got by the exhibitions should be honestly divided. +I consented, and we set off together, and that evening coming to +a village, and putting up at the ale-house, all the grand folks +of the village being there smoking their pipes, we contrived to +introduce the subject of hopping—the upshot being that Ned +hopped against the school-master for a pound, and beat him +hollow; shortly after, Giles, for a wager, took up the kitchen +table in his jaws, though he had to pay a shilling to the +landlady for the marks he left, whose grandchildren will perhaps +get money by exhibiting them. As for myself, I did nothing +that day, but the next, on which my companions did nothing, I +showed off at hulling stones against a cripple, the crack man for +stone-throwing, of a small town, a few miles farther on. +Bets were made to the tune of some pounds; I contrived to beat +the cripple, and just contrived; for to do him justice I must +acknowledge he was a first-rate hand at stones, though he had a +game hip, and went sideways; his head, when he walked—if +his movements could be called walking—not being above three +feet above the ground. So we travelled, I and my +companions, showing off our gifts, Giles and I occasionally for a +gathering, but Ned never hopping, unless against somebody for a +wager. We lived honestly and comfortably, making no little +money by our natural endowments, and were known over a great part +of England as ‘Hopping Ned,’ ‘Biting +Giles,’ and ‘Hull over the Head Jack,’ which +was my name, it being the blackguard fashion of the English, do +you see, to—”</p> +<p>Here I interrupted the jockey. “You may call it a +blackguard fashion,” said I, “and I dare say it is, +or it would scarcely be English; but it is an immensely ancient +one, and is handed down to us from our northern ancestry, +especially the Danes, who were in the habit of giving people +surnames, or rather nicknames, from some quality of body or mind, +but generally from some disadvantageous peculiarity of feature; +for there is no denying that the English, Norse, or whatever we +may please to call them, are an envious, depreciatory set of +people, who not only give their poor comrades contemptuous names, +but their great people also. They didn’t call you the +matchless Hurler, because, by doing so, they would have paid you +a compliment, but Hull over the Head Jack, as much as to say that +after all you were a scrub; so, in ancient time, instead of +calling Regner the great conqueror, the Nation Tamer, they +surnamed him Lodbrog, which signifies Rough or Hairy +Breeks—lod or loddin signifying rough or hairy; and instead +of complimenting Halgerdr, the wife of Gunnar of Hlitharend, the +great champion of Iceland, upon her majestic presence, by calling +her Halgerdr, the stately or tall; what must they do but term her +Ha-brokr, or Highbreeks, it being the fashion in old times for +Northern ladies to wear breeks, or breeches, which English ladies +of the present day never think of doing; and just, as of old, +they called Halgerdr Long-breeks, so this very day a fellow of +Horncastle called, in my hearing, our noble-looking Hungarian +friend here, Long-stockings. Oh, I could give you a hundred +instances, both ancient and modern, of this unseemly propensity +of our illustrious race, though I will only trouble you with a +few more ancient ones; they not only nicknamed Regner, but his +sons also, who were all kings, and distinguished men: one, whose +name was Biorn, they nicknamed Ironsides; another, Sigurd, Snake +in the Eye; another, White Sark, or White Shirt—I wonder +they did not call him Dirty Shirt; and Ivarr, another, who was +king of Northumberland, they called Bienlausi, or the Legless, +because he was spindle-shanked, had no sap in his bones, and +consequently no children. He was a great king, it is true, +and very wise, nevertheless his blackguard countrymen, always +averse, as their descendants are, to give credit to anybody, for +any valuable quality or possession, must needs lay hold, do you +see—”</p> +<p>But before I could say any more, the jockey, having laid down +his pipe, rose, and having taken off his coat, advanced towards +me.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLII</h2> +<p>A Short-tempered Person—Gravitation—The Best +Endowment—Mary Fulcher—Fair +Dealing—Horse-witchery—Darius and his Groom—The +Jockey’s Tricks—The Two Characters—The +Jockey’s Song.</p> +<p>The jockey, having taken off his coat and advanced towards me, +as I have stated in the preceding chapter, exclaimed, in an angry +tone, “This is the third time you have interrupted me in my +tale, Mr. Rye; I passed over the two first times with a simple +warning, but you will now please to get up and give me the +satisfaction of a man.”</p> +<p>“I am really sorry,” said I, “if I have +given you offence, but you were talking of our English habits of +bestowing nicknames, and I could not refrain from giving a few +examples tending to prove what a very ancient habit it +is.”</p> +<p>“But you interrupted me,” said the jockey, +“and put me out of my tale, which you had no right to do; +and as for your examples, how do you know that I wasn’t +going to give some as old or older than yourn? Now stand +up, and I’ll make an example of you.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said I, “I confess it was wrong in +me to interrupt you, and I ask your pardon.”</p> +<p>“That won’t do,” said the jockey, +“asking pardon won’t do.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said I, getting up, “if asking pardon +does not satisfy you, you are a different man from what I +considered you.”</p> +<p>But here the Hungarian, also getting up, interposed his tall +form and pipe between us, saying in English, scarcely +intelligible, “Let there be no dispute! As for +myself, I am very much obliged to the young man of Horncastle for +his interruption, though he has told me that one of his dirty +townsmen called me ‘Long-stocking.’ By Isten! +there is more learning in what he has just said than in all the +verdammt English histories of Thor and Tzernebock I ever +read.”</p> +<p>“I care nothing for his learning,” said the +jockey. “I consider myself as good a man as he, for +all his learning; so stand out of the way, Mr. Sixfooteleven, +or—”</p> +<p>“I shall do no such thing,” said the +Hungarian. “I wonder you are not ashamed of +yourself. You ask a young man to drink champagne with you, +you make him dronk, he interrupt you with very good sense; he ask +your pardon, yet you not—”</p> +<p>“Well,” said the jockey, “I am +satisfied. I am rather a short-tempered person, but I bear +no malice. He is, as you say, drinking my wine, and has +perhaps taken a drop too much, not being used to such high +liquor; but one doesn’t like to be put out of one’s +tale, more especially when one was about to moralize, do you see, +oneself, and to show off what little learning one has. +However, I bears no malice. Here is a hand to each of you; +we’ll take another glass each, and think no more about +it.”</p> +<p>The jockey having shaken both of our hands, and filled our +glasses and his own with what champagne remained in the bottle, +put on his coat, sat down, and resumed his pipe and story.</p> +<p>“Where was I? Oh, roaming about the country with +Hopping Ned and Biting Giles. Those were happy days, and a +merry and prosperous life we led. However, nothing +continues under the sun in the same state in which it begins, and +our firm was soon destined to undergo a change. We came to +a village where there was a very high church steeple, and in a +little time my comrades induced a crowd of people to go and see +me display my gift by flinging stones above the heads of Matthew, +Mark, Luke and John, who stood at the four corners on the top, +carved in stone. The parson, seeing the crowd, came +waddling out of his rectory to see what was going on. After +I had flung up the stones, letting them fall just where I +liked—and one, I remember, fell on the head of Mark, where +I dare say it remains to the present day—the parson, who +was one of the description of people called philosophers, held up +his hand, and asked me to let the next stone I flung up fall upon +it. He wished, do you see, to know with what weight the +stone would fall down, and talked something about +gravitation—a word which I could never understand to the +present day, save that it turned out a grave matter to me. +I, like a silly fellow myself, must needs consent, and, flinging +the stone up to a vast height, contrived so that it fell into the +parson’s hand, which it cut dreadfully. The parson +flew into a great rage, more particularly as everybody laughed at +him, and, being a magistrate, ordered his clerk, who was likewise +constable, to conduct me to prison as a rogue and vagabond, +telling my comrades that if they did not take themselves off, he +would serve them in the same manner. So Ned hopped off, and +Giles ran after him, without making any gathering, and I was led +to Bridewell, my mittimus following at the end of a week, the +parson’s hand not permitting him to write before that +time. In the Bridewell I remained a month, when, being +dismissed, I went in quest of my companions, whom, after some +time, I found up, but they refused to keep my company any longer; +telling me that I was a dangerous character, likely to bring them +more trouble than profit; they had, moreover, filled up my +place. Going into a cottage to ask for a drink of water, +they saw a country fellow making faces to amuse his children; the +faces were so wonderful that Hopping Ned and Biting Giles at once +proposed taking him into partnership, and the man—who was a +fellow not very fond of work—after a little entreaty, went +away with them. I saw him exhibit his gift, and +couldn’t blame the others for preferring him to me; he was +a proper ugly fellow at all times, but when he made faces his +countenance was like nothing human. He was called Ugly +Moses. I was so amazed at his faces, that though poor +myself I gave him sixpence, which I have never grudged to this +day, for I never saw anything like them. The firm throve +wonderfully after he had been admitted into it. He died +some little time ago, keeper of a public-house, which he had been +enabled to take from the profits of his faces. A son of +his, one of the children he was making faces to when my comrades +entered his door, is at present a barrister, and a very rising +one. He has his gift—he has not, it is true, the gift +of the gab, but he has something better, he was born with a grin +on his face, a quiet grin; he would not have done to grin through +a collar like his father, and would never have been taken up by +Hopping Ned and Biting Giles, but that grin of his caused him to +be noticed by a much greater person than either; an attorney +observing it took a liking to the lad, and prophesied that he +would some day be heard of in the world; and in order to give him +the first lift, took him into his office, at first to light fires +and do such kind of work, and after a little time taught him to +write, then promoted him to a desk, articled him afterwards, and +being unmarried, and without children, left him what he had when +he died. The young fellow, after practising at the law some +time, went to the bar, where, in a few years, helped on by his +grin, for he had nothing else to recommend him, he became, as I +said before, a rising barrister. He comes our circuit, and +I occasionally employ him, when I am obliged to go to law about +such a thing as an unsound horse. He generally brings me +through—or rather that grin of his does—and yet I +don’t like the fellow, confound him, but I’m an +oddity—no, the one I like, and whom I generally employ, is +a fellow quite different, a bluff sturdy dog, with no grin on his +face, but with a look that seems to say I am an honest man, and +what cares I for any one? And an honest man he is, and +something more. I have known coves with a better gift of +the gab, though not many, but he always speaks to the purpose, +and understands law thoroughly; and that’s not all. +When at college, for he has been at college, he carried off +everything before him as a Latiner, and was first-rate at a game +they call matthew mattocks. I don’t exactly know what +it is, but I have heard that he who is first-rate at matthew +mattocks is thought more of than if he were first-rate +Latiner.</p> +<p>“Well, the chap that I’m talking about, not only +came out first-rate Latiner, but first-rate at matthew mattocks +too; doing, in fact, as I am told by those who knows, for I was +never at college myself, what no one had ever done before. +Well, he makes his appearance at our circuit, does very well, of +course, but he has a somewhat high front, as becomes an honest +man, and one who has beat every one at Latin and matthew +mattocks; and one who can speak first-rate law and +sense;—but see now, the cove with the grin, who has like +myself never been at college; knows nothing of Latin, or matthew +mattocks, and has no particular gift of the gab, has two briefs +for his one, and I suppose very properly, for that grin of his +curries favour with the juries; and mark me, that grin of his +will enable him to beat the other in the long run. We all +know what all barrister coves looks forward to—a seat on +the hop sack. Well, I’ll bet a bull to fivepence, +that the grinner gets upon it, and the snarler doesn’t; at +any rate, that he gets there first. I calls my +cove—for he is my cove—a snarler; because your +first-rates at matthew mattocks are called snarlers, and for no +other reason; for the chap, though with a high front, is a good +chap, and once drank a glass of ale with me, after buying an +animal out of my stable. I have often thought it a pity he +wasn’t born with a grin on his face like the son of Ugly +<i>Moses</i>. It is true he would scarcely then have been +an out and outer at Latin and matthew mattocks, but what need of +either to a chap born with a grin? Talk of being born with +a silver spoon in one’s mouth! give me a cove born with a +grin on his face—a much better endowment.</p> +<p>“I will now shorten my history as much as I can, for we +have talked as much as folks do during a whole night in the +Commons’ House, though, of course, not with so much +learning, or so much to the purpose, because—why? +They are in the House of Commons, and we in a public room of an +inn at Horncastle. The goodness of the ale, do ye see, +never depending on what it is made of, oh, no! but on the fashion +and appearance of the jug in which it is served up. After +being turned out of the firm, I got my living in two or three +honest ways, which I shall not trouble you with describing. +I did not like any of them, however, as they did not exactly suit +my humour; at last I found one which did. One Saturday +afternoon, I chanced to be in the cattle-market of a place about +eighty miles from here; there I won the favour of an old +gentleman who sold dickeys. He had a very shabby squad of +animals, without soul or spirit; nobody would buy them, till I +leaped upon their hinder ends, and by merely wriggling in a +particular manner, made them caper and bound so to people’s +liking, that in a few hours every one of them was sold at very +sufficient prices. The old gentleman was so pleased with my +skill, that he took me home with him, and in a very little time +into partnership. It’s a good thing to have a gift, +but yet better to have two. I might have got a very decent +livelihood by throwing stones, but I much question whether I +should ever have attained to the position in society which I now +occupy, but for my knowledge of animals. I lived very +comfortably with the old gentleman till he died, which he did in +about a fortnight after he had laid his old lady in the +ground. Having no children, he left me what should remain +after he had been buried decently, and the remainder was six +dickeys and thirty shillings in silver. I remained in the +dickey trade ten years, during which time I saved a hundred +pounds. I then embarked in the horse line. One day, +being in the—market on a Saturday, I saw Mary Fulcher with +a halter round her neck, led about by a man, who offered to sell +her for eighteen-pence. I took out the money forthwith and +bought her; the man was her husband, a basket-maker, with whom +she had lived several years without having any children; he was a +drunken, quarrel-some fellow, and having had a dispute with her +the day before, he determined to get rid of her, by putting a +halter round her neck and leading her to the cattle-market, as if +she were a mare, which he had, it seems, a right to do;—all +women being considered mares by old English law, and, indeed, +still called mares in certain counties, where genuine old English +is still preserved. That same afternoon, the man who had +been her husband, having got drunk in a public-house, with the +money which he had received for her, quarrelled with another man, +and receiving a blow under the ear, fell upon the floor, and died +of artiflex; and in less than three weeks I was married to Mary +Fulcher, by virtue of regular bans. I am told she was +legally my property by virtue of my having bought her with a +halter round her neck; but, to tell you the truth, I think +everybody should live by his trade, and I didn’t wish to +act shabbily towards our parson, who is a good fellow, and has +certainly a right to his fees. A better wife than Mary +Fulcher—I mean Mary Dale—no one ever had; she has +borne me several children, and has at all times shown a +willingness to oblige me, and to be my faithful wife. +Amongst other things, I begged her to have done with her family, +and I believe she has never spoken to them since.</p> +<p>“I have thriven very well in business, and my name is up +as being a person who can be depended on, when folks treats me +handsomely. I always make a point when a gentleman comes to +me, and says, ‘Mr. Dale,’ or ‘John,’ for +I have no objection to be called John by a +gentleman—‘I wants a good horse, and am ready to pay +a good price’—I always makes a point, I say, to +furnish him with an animal worth the money; but when I sees a +fellow, whether he calls himself gentleman or not, wishing to +circumvent me, what does I do? I doesn’t quarrel with +him; not I; but, letting him imagine he is taking me in, I +contrives to sell him a screw for thirty pounds, not worth thirty +shillings. All honest respectable people have at present +great confidence in me, and frequently commissions me to buy them +horses at great fairs like this.</p> +<p>“This short young gentleman was recommended to me by a +great landed proprietor, to whom he bore letters of +recommendation from some great prince in his own country, who had +a long time ago been entertained at the house of the landed +proprietor, and the consequence is, that I brings young six foot +six to Horncastle, and purchases for him the horse of the Romany +Rye. I don’t do these kind things for nothing, it is +true; that can’t be expected; for every one must live by +his trade; but, as I said before, when I am treated handsomely, I +treat folks so. Honesty, I have discovered, as perhaps some +other people have, is by far the best policy; though, as I also +said before, when I’m along with thieves, I can beat them +at their own game. If I am obliged to do it, I can pass off +the veriest screw as a flying drummedary, for even when I was a +child I had found out by various means what may be done with +animals. I wish now to ask a civil question, Mr. Romany +Rye. Certain folks have told me that you are a horse witch; +are you one, or are you not?”</p> +<p>“I, like yourself,” said I, “know, to a +certain extent, what may be done with animals.”</p> +<p>“Then how would you, Mr. Romany Rye, pass off the +veriest screw in the world for a flying drummedary?”</p> +<p>“By putting a small live eel down his throat; as long as +the eel remained in his stomach, the horse would appear brisk and +lively in a surprising degree.”</p> +<p>“And how would you contrive to make a regular kicker and +biter appear so tame and gentle, that any respectable fat old +gentleman of sixty, who wanted an easy goer, would be glad to +purchase him for fifty pounds?”</p> +<p>“By pouring down his throat four pints of generous old +ale, which would make him so happy and comfortable, that he would +not have the heart to kick or bite anybody, for a season at +least.”</p> +<p>“And where did you learn all this?” said the +jockey.</p> +<p>“I have read about the eel in an old English book, and +about the making drunk in a Spanish novel, and, singularly +enough, I was told the same things by a wild blacksmith in +Ireland. Now tell me, do you bewitch horses in this +way?”</p> +<p>“I?” said the jockey; “mercy upon us! +I wouldn’t do such things for a hatful of money. No, +no, preserve me from live eels and hocussing! And now let +me ask you, how would you spirit a horse out of a +field?”</p> +<p>“How would I spirit a horse out of a field?”</p> +<p>“Yes; supposing you were down in the world, and had +determined on taking up the horse-stealing line of +business.”</p> +<p>“Why, I should— But I tell you what, friend, I see +you are trying to pump me, and I tell you plainly that I will +hear something from you with respect to your art, before I tell +you anything more. Now how would you whisper a horse out of +a field, provided you were down in the world, and so +forth?”</p> +<p>“Ah, ah, I see you are up to a game, Mr. Romany: +however, I am a gentleman in mind, if not by birth, and I scorn +to do the unhandsome thing to anybody who has dealt fairly +towards me. Now you told me something I didn’t know, +and I’ll tell you something which perhaps you do +know. I whispers a horse out of a field in this way: I have +a mare in my stable; well, in the early season of the year I goes +into my stable—Well, I puts the sponge into a small bottle +which I keeps corked. I takes my bottle in my hand, and +goes into a field, suppose by night, where there is a very fine +stag horse. I manage with great difficulty to get within +ten yards of the horse, who stands staring at me just ready to +run away. I then uncorks my bottle, presses my fore-finger +to the sponge, and holds it out to the horse, the horse gives a +sniff, then a start, and comes nearer. I corks up my bottle +and puts it into my pocket. My business is done, for the +next two hours the horse would follow me anywhere—the +difficulty, indeed, would be to get rid of him. Now is that +your way of doing business?”</p> +<p>“My way of doing business? Mercy upon us! I +wouldn’t steal a horse in that way, or, indeed, in any way, +for all the money in the world: however, let me tell you, for +your comfort, that a trick somewhat similar is described in the +history of Herodotus.”</p> +<p>“In the history of Herod’s ass!” said the +jockey; “well, if I did write a book, it should be about +something more genteel than a dickey.”</p> +<p>“I did not say Herod’s ass,” said I, +“but Herodotus, a very genteel writer, I assure you, who +wrote a history about very genteel people, in a language no less +genteel than Greek, more than two thousand years ago. There +was a dispute as to who should be king amongst certain imperious +chieftains. At last they agreed to obey him whose horse +should neigh first on a certain day, in front of the royal +palace, before the rising of the sun; for you must know that they +did not worship the person who made the sun as we do, but the sun +itself. So one of these chieftains, talking over the matter +to his groom, and saying he wondered who would be king, the +fellow said, ‘Why you, master, or I don’t know much +about horses.’ So the day before the day of trial, +what does the groom do, but take his master’s horse before +the palace and introduce him to a mare in the stable, and then +lead him forth again. Well, early the next day all the +chieftains on their horses appeared in front of the palace before +the dawn of day. Not a horse neighed but one, and that was +the horse of him who had consulted with his groom, who, thinking +of the animal within the stable, gave such a neigh that all the +buildings rang. His rider was forthwith elected king, and a +brave king he was. So this shows what seemingly wonderful +things may be brought about by a little preparation.”</p> +<p>“It doth,” said the jockey; “what was the +chap’s name?”</p> +<p>“His name—his name—Darius +Hystaspes.”</p> +<p>“And the groom’s?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“And he made a good king?”</p> +<p>“First-rate.”</p> +<p>“Only think! well, if he made a good king, what a +wonderful king the groom would have made, through whose knowledge +of ’orses he was put on the throne. And now another +question, Mr. Romany Rye, have you particular words which have +power to soothe or aggravate horses?”</p> +<p>“You should ask me,” said I, “whether I have +horses that can be aggravated or soothed by particular +words. No words have any particular power over horses or +other animals who have never heard them before—how, should +they? But certain animals connect ideas of misery or +enjoyment with particular words which they are acquainted +with. I’ll give you an example. I knew a cob in +Ireland that could be driven to a state of kicking madness by a +particular word, used by a particular person, in a particular +tone; but that word was connected with a very painful operation +which had been performed upon him by that individual, who had +frequently employed it at a certain period whilst the animal had +been under his treatment. The same cob could be soothed in +a moment by another word, used by the same individual in a very +different kind of tone; the word was deaghblasda, or sweet +tasted. Some time after the operation, whilst the cob was +yet under his hands, the fellow—who was what the Irish call +a fairy smith—had done all he could to soothe the creature, +and had at last succeeded by giving it gingerbread-buttons, of +which the cob became passionately fond. Invariably, +however, before giving it a button, he said, +‘Deaghblasda,’ with which word the cob by degrees +associated an idea of unmixed enjoyment: so if he could rouse the +cob to madness by the word which recalled the torture to its +remembrance, he could as easily soothe it by the other word, +which the cob knew would be instantly followed by the button, +which the smith never failed to give him after using the word +deaghblasda.”</p> +<p>“There is nothing wonderful to be done,” said the +jockey, “without a good deal of preparation, as I know +myself. Folks stare and wonder at certain things which they +would only laugh at if they knew how they were done; and to prove +what I say is true, I will give you one or two examples. +Can either of you lend me a handkerchief? That won’t +do,” said he, as I presented him with a silk one. +“I wish for a delicate white handkerchief. +That’s just the kind of thing,” said he, as the +Hungarian offered him a fine white cambric handkerchief, +beautifully worked with gold at the hems; “now you shall +see me set this handkerchief on fire.” +“Don’t let him do so by any means,” said the +Hungarian, speaking to me in German, “it is the gift of a +lady whom I highly admire, and I would not have it burnt for the +world.” “He has no occasion to be under any +apprehension,” said the jockey, after I had interpreted to +him what the Hungarian had said, “I will restore it to him +uninjured, or my name is not Jack Dale.” Then +sticking the handkerchief carelessly into the left side of his +bosom, he took the candle, which by this time had burnt very low, +and holding his head back, he applied the flame to the +handkerchief, which instantly seemed to catch fire. +“What do you think of that?” said he to the +Hungarian. “Why, that you have ruined me,” said +the latter. “No harm done, I assure you,” said +the jockey, who presently, clapping his hand on his bosom, +extinguished the fire, and returned the handkerchief to the +Hungarian, asking him if it was burnt. “I see no burn +upon it,” said the Hungarian; “but in the name of +Gott, how could you set it on fire without burning +it?” “I never set it on fire at all,” +said the jockey; “I set this on fire,” showing us a +piece of half-burnt calico. “I placed this calico +above it, and lighted not the handkerchief, but the rag. +Now I will show you something else. I have a magic shilling +in my pocket, which I can make run up along my arm. But, +first of all, I would gladly know whether either of you can do +the like.” Thereupon the Hungarian and myself, +putting our hands into our pockets, took out shillings, and +endeavoured to make them run up our arms, but utterly failed; +both shillings, after we had made two or three attempts, falling +to the ground. “What noncomposses you both +are,” said the jockey; and placing a shilling on the end of +the fingers of his right hand he made strange faces to it, +drawing back his head, whereupon the shilling instantly began to +run up his arm, occasionally hopping and jumping as if it were +bewitched, always endeavouring to make towards the head of the +jockey.</p> +<p>“How do I do that?” said he, addressing himself to +me. “I really do not know,” said I, +“unless it is by the motion of your arm.” +“The motion of my nonsense,” said the jockey, and, +making a dreadful grimace, the shilling hopped upon his knee, and +began to run up his thigh and to climb up his breast. +“How is that done?” said he again. “By +witchcraft, I suppose,” said I. “There you are +right,” said the jockey; “by the witchcraft of one of +Miss Berners’ hairs; the end of one of her long hairs is +tied to that shilling by means of a hole in it, and the other end +goes round my neck by means of a loop; so that, when I draw back +my head, the shilling follows it. I suppose you wish to +know how I got the hair,” said he, grinning at me. +“I will tell you. I once, in the course of my +ridings, saw Miss Berners beneath a hedge, combing out her long +hair, and, being rather a modest kind of person, what must I do +but get off my horse, tie him to a gate, go up to her, and +endeavour to enter into conversation with her. After giving +her the sele of the day, and complimenting her on her hair, I +asked her to give me one of the threads; whereupon she gave me +such a look, and, calling me fellow, told me to take myself +off. ‘I must have a hair first,’ said I, making +a snatch at one. I believe I hurt her; but, whether I did +or not, up she started, and, though her hair was unbound, gave me +the only drubbing I ever had in my life. Lor! how, with her +right hand, she fibbed me whilst she held me round the neck with +her left arm; I was soon glad to beg her pardon on my knees, +which she gave me in a moment, when she saw me in that condition, +being the most placable creature in the world, and not only her +pardon, but one of the hairs which I longed for, which I put +through a shilling, with which I have on evenings after fairs, +like this, frequently worked what seemed to those who looked on +downright witchcraft, but which is nothing more than pleasant +deception. And now, Mr. Romany Rye, to testify my regard +for you, I give you the shilling and the hair. I think you +have a kind of respect for Miss Berners; but whether you have or +not, keep them as long as you can, and whenever you look at them +think of the finest woman in England, and of John Dale, the +jockey of Horncastle. I believe I have told you my +history,” said he—“no, not quite; there is one +circumstance I had passed over. I told you that I have +thriven very well in business, and so I have, upon the whole; at +any rate, I find myself comfortably off now. I have horses, +money, and owe nobody a groat; at any rate, nothing but what I +could pay to-morrow. Yet I have had my dreary day, ay, +after I had obtained what I call a station in the world. +All of a sudden, about five years ago, everything seemed to go +wrong with me—horses became sick or died, people who owed +me money broke or ran away, my house caught fire, in fact, +everything went against me; and not from any mismanagement of my +own. I looked round for help, but—what do you +think?—nobody would help me. Somehow or other it had +got abroad that I was in difficulties, and everybody seemed +disposed to avoid me, as if I had got the plague. Those who +were always offering me help when I wanted none, now, when they +thought me in trouble, talked of arresting me. Yes; two +particular friends of mine, who had always been offering me their +purses when my own was stuffed full, now talked of arresting me, +though I only owed the scoundrels a hundred pounds each; and they +would have done so, provided I had not paid them what I owed +them; and how did I do that? Why, I was able to do it +because I found a friend—and who was that friend? +Why, a man who has since been hung, of whom everybody has heard, +and of whom everybody for the next hundred years will +occasionally talk.</p> +<p>“One day, whilst in trouble, I was visited by a person I +had occasionally met at sporting-dinners. He came to look +after a Suffolk Punch, the best horse, by the bye, that anybody +can purchase to drive, it being the only animal of the horse kind +in England that will pull twice at a dead weight. I told +him that I had none at that time that I could recommend; in fact, +that every horse in my stable was sick. He then invited me +to dine with him at an inn close by, and I was glad to go with +him, in the hope of getting rid of unpleasant thoughts. +After dinner, during which he talked nothing but slang, observing +I looked very melancholy, he asked me what was the matter with +me, and I, my heart being opened by the wine he had made me +drink, told him my circumstances without reserve. With an +oath or two for not having treated him at first like a friend, he +said he would soon set me all right; and pulling out two hundred +pounds, told me to pay him when I could. I felt as I never +felt before; however, I took his notes, paid my sneaks, and in +less than three months was right again, and had returned him his +money. On paying it to him, I said that I had now a Punch +which would just suit him, saying that I would give it to +him—a free gift—for nothing. He swore at +me;—telling me to keep my Punch, for that he was suited +already. I begged him to tell me how I could requite him +for his kindness, whereupon, with the most dreadful oath I ever +heard, he bade me come and see him hanged when his time was +come. I wrung his hand, and told him I would, and I kept my +word. The night before the day he was hanged at H---, I +harnessed a Suffolk Punch to my light gig, the same Punch which I +had offered to him, which I have ever since kept, and which +brought me and this short young man to Horncastle, and in eleven +hours I drove that Punch one hundred and ten miles. I +arrived at H--- just in the nick of time. There was the +ugly jail—the scaffold—and there upon it stood the +only friend I ever had in the world. Driving my Punch, +which was all in a foam, into the midst of the crowd, which made +way for me as if it knew what I came for, I stood up in my gig, +took off my hat, and shouted, ‘God Almighty bless you, +Jack!’ The dying man turned his pale grim face +towards me—for his face was always somewhat grim, do you +see—nodded and said, or I thought I heard him say, +‘All right, old chap.’ The next moment—my +eyes water. He had a high heart, got into a scrape whilst +in the marines, lost his half-pay, took to the turf, ring, +gambling, and at last cut the throat of a villain who had robbed +him of nearly all he had. But he had good qualities, and I +know for certain that he never did half the bad things laid to +his charge; for example, he never bribed Tom Oliver to fight +cross, as it was said he did on the day of the awful +thunder-storm. Ned Flatnose fairly beat Tom Oliver, for +though Ned was not what’s called a good fighter, he had a +particular blow, which if he could put in he was sure to +win. His right shoulder, do you see, was two inches farther +back than it ought to have been, and consequently his right fist +generally fell short; but if he could swing himself round, and +put in a blow with that right arm, he could kill or take away the +senses of anybody in the world. It was by putting in that +blow in his second fight with Spring that he beat noble +Tom. Spring beat him like a sack in the first battle, but +in the second Ned Painter—for that was his real +name—contrived to put in his blow, and took the senses out +of Spring; and in like manner he took the senses out of Tom +Oliver.</p> +<p>“Well, some are born to be hanged, and some are not; and +many of those who are not hanged are much worse than those who +are. Jack, with many a good quality, is hanged, whilst that +fellow of a lord, who wanted to get the horse from you at about +two-thirds of his value, without a single good quality in the +world, is not hanged, and probably will remain so. You ask +the reason why, perhaps. I’ll tell you; the lack of a +certain quality called courage, which Jack possessed in +abundance, will preserve him; from the love which he bears his +own neck he will do nothing which can bring him to the +gallows. In my rough way I’ll draw their characters +from their childhood, and then ask whether Jack was not the best +character of the two. Jack was a rough, audacious boy, fond +of fighting, going a birds’-nesting, but I never heard he +did anything particularly cruel save once, I believe, tying a +canister to a butcher’s dog’s tail; whilst this +fellow of a lord was by nature a savage beast, and when a boy +would in winter pluck poor fowls naked, and set them running on +the ice and in the snow, and was particularly fond of burning +cats alive in the fire. Jack, when a lad, gets a commission +on board a ship as an officer of horse marines, and in two or +three engagements behaves quite up to the mark—at least of +a marine; the marines having no particular character for courage, +you know—never having run to the guns and fired them like +madmen after the blue jackets had had more than enough. Oh, +dear me, no! My lord gets into the valorous British army, +where cowardice—Oh, dear me!—is a thing almost +entirely unknown; and being on the field of Waterloo the day +before the battle, falls off his horse, and, pretending to be +hurt in the back, gets himself put on the sick list—a +pretty excuse—hurting his back—for not being present +at such a fight. Old Benbow, after part of both his legs +had been shot away in a sea-fight, made the carpenter make him a +cradle to hold his bloody stumps, and continued on deck, cheering +his men till he died. Jack returns home, and gets into +trouble, and having nothing to subsist by but his wits, gets his +living by the ring and the turf, doing many an odd kind of thing, +I dare say, but not half those laid to his charge. My lord +does much the same without the excuse for doing so which Jack +had, for he had plenty of means, is a leg, and a black, only in a +more polished way, and with more cunning, and I may say success, +having done many a rascally thing never laid to his charge. +Jack at last cuts the throat of a villain who had cheated him of +all he had in the world, and who, I am told, was in many points +the counterpart of this screw and white feather, is taken up, +tried, and executed; and certainly taking away a man’s life +is a dreadful thing; but is there nothing as bad? +Whitefeather will cut no person’s throat—I will not +say who has cheated him, for, being a cheat himself, he will take +good care that nobody cheats him, but he’ll do something +quite as bad; out of envy to a person who never injured him, and +whom he hates for being more clever and respected than himself, +he will do all he possibly can, by backbiting and every unfair +means, to do that person a mortal injury. But Jack is +hanged, and my lord it not. Is that right? My wife, +Mary Fulcher—I beg her pardon, Mary Dale—who is a +Methodist, and has heard the mighty preacher, Peter Williams, +says some people are preserved from hanging by the grace of +God. With her I differs, and says it is from want of +courage. This Whitefeather, with one particle of +Jack’s courage, and with one tithe of his good qualities, +would have been hanged long ago, for he has ten times +Jack’s malignity. Jack was hanged because, along with +his bad qualities, he had courage and generosity; this fellow is +not, because with all Jack’s bad qualities, and many more, +amongst which is cunning, he has neither courage nor +generosity. Think of a fellow like that putting down two +hundred pounds to relieve a distressed fellow-creature; why he +would rob, but for the law and the fear it fills him with, a +workhouse child of its breakfast, as the saying is—and has +been heard to say that he would not trust his own father for +sixpence, and he can’t imagine why such a thing as credit +should be ever given. I never heard a person give him a +good word—stay, stay, yes! I once heard an old +parson, to whom I sold a Punch, say that he had the art of +receiving company gracefully and dismissing them without +refreshment. I don’t wish to be too hard with him, +and so let him make the most of that compliment. Well! he +manages to get on, whilst Jack is hanged; not quite enviably, +however; he has had his rubs, and pretty hard +ones—everybody knows he slunk from Waterloo, and +occasionally checks him with so doing; whilst he has been +rejected by a woman—what a mortification to the low pride +of which the scoundrel has plenty! There’s a song +about both circumstances, which may, perhaps, ring in his ears on +a dying bed. It’s a funny kind of song, set to the +old tune of the Lord-Lieutenant or Deputy, and with it I will +conclude my discourse, for I really think it’s past +one.” The jockey then, with a very tolerable voice, +sung the following song:—</p> +<h3>THE JOCKEY’S SONG.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Now list to a ditty both funny and true!—<br +/> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +A ditty that tells of a coward and screw,<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>Sir Plume, though not liking a bullet at all,—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +Had yet resolution to go to a <i>ball</i>,<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>“Woulez wous danser, mademoiselle?”—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along;—<br /> +Said she, “Sir, to dance I should like very well,”<br +/> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>They danc’d to the left, and they danc’d to the +right,—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along;—<br /> +And her troth the fair damsel bestow’d on the knight,<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>“Now what shall I fetch you, +mademoiselle?”—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along;—<br /> +Said she, “Sir, an ice I should like very well,”<br +/> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>But the ice, when he’d got it, he instantly +ate,—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along;—<br /> +Although his poor partner was all in a fret,<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>He ate up the ice like a prudent young lord,—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along;—<br /> +For he saw ’t was the very last ice on the board,—<br +/> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>“Now, when shall we marry?” the gentleman +cried;—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along;—<br /> +“Sir, get you to Jordan,” the damsel replied,<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>“I never will wed with the pitiful elf”—<br +/> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +“Who ate up the ice which I wanted myself,”<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +<p>“I’d pardon your backing from red +Waterloo,”—<br /> + Merrily moves the dance along—<br /> +“But I never will wed with a coward and screw,”<br /> + My Lord-Lieutenant so free and young.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII</h2> +<p>The Church.</p> +<p>The next morning I began to think of departing; I had sewed up +the money which I had received for the horse in a portion of my +clothing, where I entertained no fears for its safety, with the +exception of a small sum in notes, gold, and silver, which I +carried in my pocket. Ere departing, however, I determined +to stroll about and examine the town, and observe more +particularly the humours of the fair than I had hitherto an +opportunity of doing. The town, when I examined it, offered +no object worthy of attention but its church—an edifice of +some antiquity; under the guidance of an old man, who officiated +as sexton, I inspected its interior attentively, occasionally +conversing with my guide, who, however, seemed much more disposed +to talk about horses than the church. “No good horses +in the fair this time, measter,” said he; “none but +one brought hither by a chap whom nobody knows, and bought by a +foreigneering man, who came here with Jack Dale. The horse +fetched a good swinging price, which is said, however, to be much +less than its worth; for the horse is a regular clipper; not such +a one, ’tis said, has been seen in the fair for several +summers. Lord Whitefeather says that he believes the fellow +who brought him to be a highwayman, and talks of having him taken +up, but Lord Whitefeather is only in a rage because he could not +get him for himself. The chap would not sell it to un; Lord +Screw wanted to beat him down, and the chap took huff, said he +wouldn’t sell it to him at no price, and accepted the offer +of the foreigneering man, or of Jack, who was his +’terpreter, and who scorned to higgle about such a hanimal, +because Jack is a gentleman, though bred a dickey-boy, whilst +t’other, though bred a lord, is a screw and a +whitefeather. Every one says the cove was right, and I says +so too; I likes spirit, and if the cove were here, and in your +place, measter, I would invite him to drink a pint of beer. +Good horses are scarce now, measter, ay, and so are good men, +quite a different set from what there were when I was young; that +was the time for men and horses. Lord bless you, I know all +the breeders about here; they are not a bad set, and they breed a +very fairish set of horses, but they are not like what their +fathers were, nor are their horses like their fathers’ +horses. Now there is Mr. --- the great breeder, a very +fairish man, with very fairish horses; but, Lord bless you, +he’s nothing to what his father was, nor his steeds to his +father’s; I ought to know, for I was at the school here +with his father, and afterwards for many a year helped him to get +up his horses; that was when I was young, measter—those +were the days. You look at that monument, measter,” +said he, as I stopped and looked attentively at a monument on the +southern side of the church near the altar; “that was put +up for a rector of this church, who lived a long time ago, in +Oliver’s time, and was ill-treated and imprisoned by Oliver +and his men; you will see all about it on the monument. +There was a grand battle fought nigh this place, between +Oliver’s men and the Royal party, and the Royal party had +the worst of it, as I’m told they generally had; and +Oliver’s men came into the town, and did a great deal of +damage, and ill-treated the people. I can’t remember +anything about the matter myself, for it happened just one +hundred years before I was born, but my father was acquainted +with an old countryman, who lived not many miles from here, who +said he remembered perfectly well the day of the battle; that he +was a boy at the time, and was working in a field near the place +where the battle was fought; and heard shouting, and noise of +firearms, and also the sound of several balls, which fell in the +field near him. Come this way, measter, and I will show you +some remains of that day’s field.” Leaving the +monument, on which was inscribed an account of the life and +sufferings of the Royalist Rector of Horncastle, I followed the +sexton to the western end of the church, where, hanging against +the wall, were a number of scythes stuck in the ends of +poles. “Those are the weapons, measter,” said +the sexton, “which the great people put into the hands of +the country folks, in order that they might use them against +Oliver’s men; ugly weapons enough; however, Oliver’s +men won, and Sir Jacob Ashley and his party were beat. And +a rare time Oliver and his men had of it, till Oliver died, when +the other party got the better, not by fighting, ’tis said, +but through a General Monk, who turned sides. Ah, the old +fellow that my father knew, said he well remembered the time when +General Monk went over and proclaimed Charles the Second. +Bonfires were lighted everywhere, oxen roasted, and beer drunk by +pailfuls; the country folks were drunk with joy, and something +else; sung scurvy songs about Oliver to the tune of Barney Banks, +and pelted his men, wherever they found them, with stones and +dirt.” “The more ungrateful scoundrels +they,” said I. “Oliver and his men fought the +battle of English independence against a wretched king and +corrupt lords. Had I been living at the time, I should have +been proud to be a trooper of Oliver.” “You +would, measter, would you? Well, I never quarrels with the +opinions of people who come to look at the church, and certainly +independence is a fine thing. I like to see a chap of an +independent spirit, and if I were now to see the cove that +refused to sell his horse to my Lord Screw and Whitefeather, and +let Jack Dale have him, I would offer to treat him to a pint of +beer—e’es, I would, verily. Well, measter, you +have now seen the church, and all there’s in it worth +seeing—so I’ll just lock up, and go and finish +digging the grave I was about when you came, after which I must +go into the fair to see how matters are going on. Thank ye, +measter,” said he, as I put something into his hand; +“thank ye kindly; ’tis not every one who gives me a +shilling now-a-days who comes to see the church, but times are +very different from what they were when I was young; I was not +sexton then, but something better; helped Mr. --- with his +horses, and got many a broad crown. Those were the days, +measter, both for men and horses—and I say, measter, if men +and horses were so much better when I was young than they are +now, what, I wonder, must they have been in the time of Oliver +and his men?”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIV</h2> +<p>An Old Acquaintance.</p> +<p>Leaving the church, I strolled through the fair, looking at +the horses, listening to the chaffering of the buyers and +sellers, and occasionally putting in a word of my own, which was +not always received with much deference; suddenly, however, on a +whisper arising that I was the young cove who had brought the +wonderful horse to the fair which Jack Dale had bought for the +foreigneering man, I found myself an object of the greatest +attention; those who had before replied with stuff! and nonsense! +to what I said, now listened with the greatest eagerness to any +nonsense I wished to utter, and I did not fail to utter a great +deal; presently, however, becoming disgusted with the beings +about me, I forced my way, not very civilly, through my crowd of +admirers; and passing through an alley and a back street, at last +reached an outskirt of the fair, where no person appeared to know +me. Here I stood, looking vacantly on what was going on, +musing on the strange infatuation of my species, who judge of a +person’s words, not from their intrinsic merit, but from +the opinion—generally an erroneous one—which they +have formed of the person. From this reverie I was roused +by certain words which sounded near me, uttered in a strange +tone, and in a strange cadence—the words were, “them +that finds, wins; and them that can’t find, +loses.” Turning my eyes in the direction from which +the words proceeded, I saw six or seven people, apparently all +countrymen, gathered round a person standing behind a tall white +table of very small compass. “What!” said I, +“the thimble-engro of --- Fair here at +Horncastle.” Advancing nearer, however, I perceived +that though the present person was a thimble-engro, he was a very +different one from my old acquaintance of --- Fair. The +present one was a fellow about half-a-foot taller than the +other. He had a long, haggard, wild face, and was dressed +in a kind of jacket, something like that of a soldier, with dirty +hempen trousers, and with a foreign-looking peaked hat on his +head. He spoke with an accent evidently Irish, and +occasionally changed the usual thimble formule, “them that +finds wins, and them that can’t—och, sure!—they +loses;” saying also frequently, “your honour,” +instead of “my lord.” I observed, on drawing +nearer, that he handled the pea and thimble with some +awkwardness, like that which might be expected from a novice in +the trade. He contrived, however, to win several shillings, +for he did not seem to play for gold, from “their +honours.” Awkward, as he was, he evidently did his +best, and never flung a chance away by permitting any one to +win. He had just won three shillings from a farmer, who, +incensed at his loss, was calling him a confounded cheat, and +saying that he would play no more, when up came my friend of the +preceding day, Jack, the jockey. This worthy, after looking +at the thimble-man a moment or two, with a peculiarly crafty +glance, cried out, as he clapped down a shilling on the table, +“I will stand you, old fellow!” “Them +that finds wins; and them that can’t—och, +sure!—they loses,” said the thimble-man. The +game commenced, and Jack took up the thimble without finding the +pea; another shilling was produced, and lost in the same manner; +“this is slow work,” said Jack, banging down a guinea +on the table; “can you cover that, old fellow?” +The man of the thimble looked at the gold, and then at him who +produced it, and scratched his head. “Come, cover +that, or I shall be off,” said the jockey. +“Och, sure, my lord!—no, I mean your honour—no, +sure, your lordship,” said the other, “if I covers it +at all, it must be with silver, for divil a bit of gold have I by +me.” “Well, then, produce the value in +silver,” said the jockey, “and do it quickly, for I +can’t be staying here all day.” The thimble-man +hesitated, looked at Jack with a dubious look, then at the gold, +and then scratched his head. There was now a laugh amongst +the surrounders, which evidently nettled the fellow, who +forthwith thrust his hand into his pocket, and pulling out all +his silver treasure, just contrived to place the value of the +guinea on the table. “Them that finds wins, and them +that can’t find—<i>loses</i>,” interrupted +Jack, lifting up a thimble, out of which rolled a pea. +“There, paddy, what do you think of that?” said he, +seizing the heap of silver with one hand, whilst he pocketed the +guinea with the other. The thimble-engro stood, for some +time, like one transfixed, his eyes glaring wildly, now at the +table, and now at his successful customers; at last he said, +“Arrah, sure, master!—no, I manes my lord—you +are not going to ruin a poor boy!” “Ruin +you!” said the other; “what! by winning a +guinea’s change? a pretty small dodger you—if you +have not sufficient capital, why do you engage in so deep a trade +as thimbling? come, will you stand another game?” +“Och, sure, master, no! the twenty shillings and one which +you have cheated me of were all I had in the world.” +“Cheated you,” said Jack, “say that again, and +I will knock you down.” “Arrah! sure, master, +you knows that the pea under the thimble was not mine; here is +mine, master; now give me back my money.” “A +likely thing,” said Jack; “no, no, I know a trick +worth two or three of that; whether the pea was yours or mine, +you will never have your twenty shillings and one again; and if I +have ruined you, all the better; I’d gladly ruin all such +villains as you, who ruin poor men with your dirty tricks, whom +you would knock down and rob on the road, if you had but courage; +not that I mean to keep your shillings, with the exception of the +two you cheated from me, which I’ll keep. A scramble, +boys! a scramble!” said he, flinging up all the silver into +the air, with the exception of the two shillings; and a scramble +there instantly was, between the rustics who had lost their money +and the urchins who came running up; the poor thimble-engro tried +likewise to have his share; and though he flung himself down, in +order to join more effectually in the scramble, he was unable to +obtain a single sixpence; and having in his rage given some of +his fellow-scramblers a cuff or two, he was set upon by the boys +and country fellows, and compelled to make an inglorious retreat +with his table, which had been flung down in the scuffle, and had +one of its legs broken. As he retired, the rabble hooted, +and Jack, holding up in derision the pea with which he had +outmanoeuvred him, exclaimed, “I always carry this in my +pocket in order to be a match for vagabonds like you.”</p> +<p>The tumult over, Jack gone, and the rabble dispersed, I +followed the discomfited adventurer at a distance, who, leaving +the town, went slowly on, carrying his dilapidated piece of +furniture; till coming to an old wall by the roadside, he placed +it on the ground, and sat down, seemingly in deep despondency, +holding his thumb to his mouth. Going nearly up to him, I +stood still, whereupon he looked up, and perceiving I was looking +steadfastly at him, he said, in an angry tone, “Arrah! what +for are you staring at me so? By my shoul, I think you are +one of the thaives who are after robbing me. I think I saw +you among them, and if I were only sure of it, I would take the +liberty of trying to give you a big bating.” +“You have had enough of trying to give people a +beating,” said I; “you had better be taking your +table to some skilful carpenter to get it repaired. He will +do it for sixpence.” “Divil a sixpence did you +and your thaives leave me,” said he; “and if you do +not take yourself off, joy, I will be breaking your ugly head +with the foot of it.” “Arrah, Murtagh!” +said I, “would ye be breaking the head of your friend and +scholar, to whom you taught the blessed tongue of Oilien nan +Naomha, in exchange for a pack of cards?” Murtagh, +for he it was, gazed at me for a moment with a bewildered look; +then, with a gleam of intelligence in his eye, he said, +“Shorsha! no, it can’t be—yes, by my faith it +is!” Then, springing up, and seizing me by the hand, +he said, “Yes, by the powers, sure enough it is Shorsha +agra! Arrah, Shorsha! where have you been this many a +day? Sure, you are not one of the spalpeens who are after +robbing me?” “Not I,” I replied, +“but I saw all that happened. Come, you must not take +matters so to heart; cheer up; such things will happen in +connection with the trade you have taken up.” +“Sorrow befall the trade, and the thief who taught it +me,” said Murtagh; “and yet the trade is not a bad +one, if I only knew more of it, and had some one to help and back +me. Och! the idea of being cheated and bamboozled by that +one-eyed thief in the horseman’s dress.” +“Let bygones be bygones, Murtagh,” said I; “it +is no use grieving for the past; sit down, and let us have a +little pleasant gossip. Arrah, Murtagh! when I saw you +sitting under the wall, with your thumb to your mouth, it brought +to my mind tales which you used to tell me all about +Finn-ma-Coul. You have not forgotten Finn-ma-Coul, Murtagh, +and how he sucked wisdom out of his thumb.” +“Sorrow a bit have I forgot about him, Shorsha,” said +Murtagh, as we sat down together, “nor what you yourself +told me about the snake. Arrah, Shorsha! what ye told me +about the snake, bates anything I ever told you about Finn. +Ochone, Shorsha! perhaps you will be telling me about the snake +once more? I think the tale would do me good, and I have +need of comfort, God knows, ochone!” Seeing Murtagh +in such a distressed plight, I forthwith told him over again the +tale of the snake, in precisely the same words as I have related +it in the first part of this history. After which, I said, +“Now, Murtagh, tit for tat; ye will be telling me one of +the old stories of Finn-ma-Coul.” “Och, +Shorsha! I haven’t heart enough,” said +Murtagh. “Thank you for your tale, but it makes me +weep; it brings to my mind Dungarvon times of old—I mean +the times we were at school together.” “Cheer +up, man,” said I, “and let’s have the story, +and let it be about Ma-Coul and the salmon and his +thumb.” “Arrah, Shorsha! I +can’t. Well, to oblige you, I’ll give it +you. Well, you know Ma-Coul was an exposed child, and came +floating over the salt sea in a chest which was cast ashore at +Veintry Bay. In the corner of that bay was a castle, where +dwelt a giant and his wife, very respectable and decent people, +and this giant, taking his morning walk along the bay, came to +the place where the child had been cast ashore in his box. +Well, the giant looked at the child, and being filled with +compassion for his exposed state, took the child up in his box, +and carried him home to his castle, where he and his wife, being +dacent respectable people, as I telled ye before, fostered the +child and took care of him, till he became old enough to go out +to service and gain his livelihood, when they bound him out +apprentice to another giant, who lived in a castle up the +country, at some distance from the bay.</p> +<p>“This giant, whose name was Darmod David Odeen, was not +a respectable person at all, but a big old vagabond. He was +twice the size of the other giant, who, though bigger than any +man, was not a big giant; for, as there are great and small men, +so there are great and small giants—I mean some are small +when compared with the others. Well, Finn served this giant +a considerable time, doing all kinds of hard and unreasonable +service for him, and receiving all kinds of hard words, and many +a hard knock and kick to boot—sorrow befall the old +vagabond who could thus ill-treat a helpless foundling. It +chanced that one day the giant caught a salmon, near a +salmon-leap upon his estate—for, though a big ould +blackguard, he was a person of considerable landed property, and +high sheriff for the county Cork. Well, the giant brings +home the salmon by the gills, and delivers it to Finn, telling +him to roast it for the giant’s dinner; ‘but take +care, ye young blackguard,’ he added, ‘that in +roasting it—and I expect ye to roast it well—you do +not let a blister come upon its nice satin skin, for if ye do, I +will cut the head off your shoulders.’ +‘Well,’ thinks Finn, ‘this is a hard task; +however, as I have done many hard tasks for him, I will try and +do this too, though I was never set to do anything yet half so +difficult.’ So he prepared his fire, and put his +gridiron upon it, and lays the salmon fairly and softly upon the +gridiron, and then he roasts it, turning it from one side to the +other just in the nick of time, before the soft satin skin could +be blistered. However, on turning it over the eleventh +time—and twelve would have settled the business—he +found he had delayed a little bit of time too long in turning it +over, and that there was a small, tiny blister on the soft outer +skin. Well, Finn was in a mighty panic, remembering the +threats of the ould giant; however, he did not lose heart, but +clapped his thumb upon the blister in order to smooth it +down. Now the salmon, Shorsha, was nearly done, and the +flesh thoroughly hot, so Finn’s thumb was scalt, and he, +clapping it to his mouth, sucked it, in order to draw out the +pain, and in a moment—hubbuboo!—became imbued with +all the wisdom of the world.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Stop, Murtagh! stop!</p> +<p><i>Murtagh</i>. All the witchcraft, Shorsha.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. How wonderful!</p> +<p><i>Murtagh</i>. Was it not, Shorsha? The salmon, +do you see, was a fairy salmon.</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. What a strange coincidence!</p> +<p><i>Murtagh</i>. A what, Shorsha?</p> +<p><i>Myself</i>. Why, that the very same tale should be +told of Finn-ma-Coul, which is related of Sigurd Fafnisbane.</p> +<p>“What thief was that, Shorsha?”</p> +<p>“Thief! ’Tis true, he took the treasure of +Fafnir. Sigurd was the hero of the North, Murtagh, even as +Finn is the great hero of Ireland. He, too, according to +one account, was an exposed child, and came floating in a casket +to a wild shore, where he was suckled by a hind, and afterwards +found and fostered by Mimir, a fairy blacksmith; he, too, sucked +wisdom from a burn. According to the Edda, he burnt his +finger whilst feeling of the heart of Fafnir, which he was +roasting, and putting it into his mouth in order to suck out the +pain, became imbued with all the wisdom of the world, the +knowledge of the language of birds, and what not. I have +heard you tell the tale of Finn a dozen times in the blessed days +of old, but its identity with the tale of Sigurd never occurred +to me till now. It is true, when I knew you of old, I had +never read the tale of Sigurd, and have since almost dismissed +matters of Ireland from my mind; but as soon as you told me again +about Finn’s burning his finger, the coincidence struck +me. I say, Murtagh, the Irish owe much to the +Danes—”</p> +<p>“Devil a bit, Shorsha, do they owe to the thaives, +except many a bloody bating and plundering, which they never paid +them back. Och, Shorsha! you, edicated in ould Ireland, to +say that the Irish owes anything good to the plundering +villains—the Siol Loughlin.”</p> +<p>“They owe them half their traditions, Murtagh, and +amongst others, Finn-ma-Coul and the burnt finger; and if ever I +publish the Loughlin songs, I’ll tell the world +so.”</p> +<p>“But, Shorsha, the world will never believe ye—to +say nothing of the Irish part of it.”</p> +<p>“Then the world, Murtagh—to say nothing of the +Irish part of it—will be a fool, even as I have often +thought it; the grand thing, Murtagh, is to be able to believe +oneself, and respect oneself. How few whom the world +believes believe and respect themselves.”</p> +<p>“Och, Shorsha! shall I go on with the tale of +Finn?”</p> +<p>“I’d rather you should not, Murtagh; I know all +about it already.”</p> +<p>“Then why did you bother me to tell it at first, +Shorsha? Och, it was doing my ownself good, and making me +forget my own sorrowful state, when ye interrupted me with your +thaives of Danes! Och, Shorsha! let me tell you how Finn, +by means of sucking his thumb, and the witchcraft he imbibed from +it, contrived to pull off the arm of the ould wagabone, Darmod +David Odeen, whilst shaking hands with him—for Finn could +do no feat of strength without sucking his thumb, Shorsha, as +Conan the Bald told the son of Oisin in the song which I used to +sing ye in Dungarvon times of old;” and here Murtagh +repeated certain Irish words to the following effect:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“O little the foolish words I heed<br /> +O Oisin’s son, from thy lips which come;<br /> +No strength were in Finn for valorous deed,<br /> +Unless to the gristle he suck’d his thumb.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Enough is as good as a feast, Murtagh, I am no longer +in the cue for Finn. I would rather hear your own +history. Now tell us, man, all that has happened to ye +since Dungarvon times of old?”</p> +<p>“Och, Shorsha, it would be merely bringing all my +sorrows back upon me!”</p> +<p>“Well, if I know all your sorrows, perhaps I shall be +able to find a help for them. I owe you much, Murtagh; you +taught me Irish, and I will do all I can to help you.”</p> +<p>“Why, then, Shorsha, I’ll tell ye my +history. Here goes!”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLV</h2> +<p>Murtagh’s Tale.</p> +<p>“Well, Shorsha, about a year and a half after you left +us—and a sorrowful hour for us it was when ye left us, +losing, as we did, your funny stories of your snake—and the +battles of your military—they sent me to Paris and +Salamanca, in order to make a saggart of me.”</p> +<p>“Pray excuse me,” said I, “for interrupting +you, but what kind of place is Salamanca?”</p> +<p>“Divil a bit did I ever see of it, Shorsha!”</p> +<p>“Then why did ye say ye were sent there? Well, +what kind of place is Paris? Not that I care much about +Paris.”</p> +<p>“Sorrow a bit did I ever see of either them, Shorsha, +for no one sent me to either. When we says at home a person +is going to Paris and Salamanca, it manes that he is going abroad +to study to be a saggart, whether he goes to them places or +not. No, I never saw either—bad luck to them—I +was shipped away from Cork up the straits to a place called +Leghorn, from which I was sent to—to a religious house, +where I was to be instructed in saggarting till they had made me +fit to cut a dacent figure in Ireland. We had a long and +tedious voyage, Shorsha; not so tedious, however, as it would +have been had I been fool enough to lave your pack of cards +behind me, as the thaif, my brother Denis, wanted to persuade me +to do, in order that he might play with them himself. With +the cards I managed to have many a nice game with the sailors, +winning from them ha’pennies and sixpences until the +captain said I was ruining his men, and keeping them from their +duty; and, being a heretic and a Dutchman, swore that unless I +gave over he would tie me up to the mast and give me a round +dozen. This threat obliged me to be more on my guard, +though I occasionally contrived to get a game at night, and to +win sixpennies and ha’pennies.</p> +<p>“We reached Leghorn at last, and glad I was to leave the +ship and the master, who gave me a kick as I was getting over the +side, bad luck to the dirty heretic for kicking a son of the +church, for I have always been a true son of the church, Shorsha, +and never quarrelled with it unless it interfered with me in my +playing at cards. I left Leghorn with certain muleteers, +with whom I played at cards at the baiting-houses, and who +speedily won from me all the ha’pennies and sixpences I had +won from the sailors. I got my money’s worth, +however, for I learnt from the muleteers all kind of quaint +tricks upon the cards, which I knew nothing of before; so I did +not grudge them what they chated me of, and when we parted we did +so in kindness on both sides. On getting to—I was +received into the religious house for Irishes. It was the +Irish house, Shorsha, into which I was taken, for I do not wish +ye to suppose that I was in the English religious house which +there is in that city, in which a purty set are educated, and in +which purty doings are going on if all tales be true.</p> +<p>“In this Irish house I commenced my studies, learning to +sing and to read the Latin prayers of the church. +’Faith, Shorsha, many’s the sorrowful day I passed in +that house learning the prayers and litanies, being half-starved, +with no earthly diversion at all, at all; until I took the cards +out of my chest and began instructing in card-playing the chum +which I had with me in my cell; then I had plenty of diversion +along with him during the times when I was not engaged in +singing, and chanting, and saying the prayers of the church; +there was, however, some drawback in playing with my chum, for +though he was very clever in learning, divil a sixpence had he to +play with, in which respect he was like myself, the master who +taught him, who had lost all my money to the muleteers who taught +me the tricks upon the cards; by degrees, however, it began to be +noised about the religious house that Murtagh, from Hibrodary, <a +name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1" +class="citation">[1]</a> had a pack of cards with which he played +with his chum in the cell; whereupon other scholars of the +religious house came to me, some to be taught and others to play, +so with some I played, and others I taught, but neither to those +who could play, or to those who could not, did I teach the +elegant tricks which I learnt from the muleteers. Well, the +scholars came to me for the sake of the cards, and the porter and +cook of the religious house, who could both play very well, came +also; at last I became tired of playing for nothing, so I +borrowed a few bits of silver from the cook, and played against +the porter, and by means of my tricks I won money from the +porter, and then I paid the cook the bits of silver which I had +borrowed of him; and played with him, and won a little of his +money, which I let him win back again, as I had lived long enough +in a religious house to know that it is dangerous to take money +from the cook. In a little time, Shorsha, there was +scarcely anything going on in the house but card-playing; the +almoner played with me, and so did the sub-rector, and I won +money from both; not too much, however, lest they should tell the +rector, who had the character of a very austere man, and of being +a bit of a saint; however, the thief of a porter, whose money I +had won, informed the rector of what was going on, and one day +the rector sent for me into his private apartment, and gave me so +long and pious a lecture upon the heinous sin of card-playing, +that I thought I should sink into the ground; after about +half-an-hour’s inveighing against card-playing, he began to +soften his tone, and with a long sigh told me that at one time of +his life he had been a young man himself, and had occasionally +used the cards; he then began to ask me some questions about +card-playing, which questions I afterwards found were to pump +from me what I knew about the science. After a time he +asked me whether I had got my cards with me, and on my telling +him I had, he expressed a wish to see them, whereupon I took the +pack out of my pocket, and showed it to him; he looked at it very +attentively, and at last, giving another deep sigh, he said, that +though he was nearly weaned from the vanities of the world, he +had still an inclination to see whether he had entirely lost the +little skill which at one time he possessed. When I heard +him speak in this manner, I told him that if his reverence was +inclined for a game of cards, I should be very happy to play one +with him; scarcely had I uttered these words than he gave a third +sigh, and looked so very much like a saint that I was afraid he +was going to excommunicate me. Nothing of the kind, +however, for presently he gets up and locks the door, then +sitting down at the table, he motioned me to do the same, which I +did, and in five minutes we were playing at cards, his reverence +and myself.</p> +<p>“I soon found that his reverence knew quite as much +about card-playing as I did. Divil a trick was there +connected with cards that his reverence did not seem awake +to. As, however, we were not playing for money, this +circumstance did not give me much uneasiness; so we played game +after game for two hours, when his reverence, having business, +told me I might go, so I took up my cards, make my obedience, and +left him. The next day I had other games with him, and so +on for a very long time, still playing for nothing. At last +his reverence grew tired of playing for nothing, and proposed +that we should play for money. Now, I had no desire to play +with his reverence for money, as I knew that doing so would bring +on a quarrel. As long as we were playing for nothing, I +could afford to let his reverence use what tricks he pleased; but +if we played for money, I couldn’t do so. If he +played his tricks, I must play mine, and use every advantage to +save my money; and there was one I possessed which his reverence +did not. The cards being my own, I had put some delicate +little marks on the trump cards, just at the edges, so that when +I dealt, by means of a little sleight of hand, I could deal +myself any trump card I pleased. But I wished, as I said +before, to have no dealings for money with his reverence, knowing +that he was master in the house, and that he could lead me a dog +of a life if I offended him, either by winning his money, or not +letting him win mine. So I told him I had no money to play +with, but the ould thief knew better; he knew that I was every +day winning money from the scholars, and the sub-rector, and the +other people of the house, and the ould thaif had determined to +let me go on in that way winning money, and then by means of his +tricks, which he thought I dare not resent, to win from me all my +earnings—in a word, Shorsha, to let me fill myself like a +sponge, and then squeeze me for his own advantage. So he +made me play with him, and in less than three days came on the +quarrel; his reverence chated me, and I chated his reverence; the +ould thaif knew every trick that I knew, and one or two more; but +in daling out the cards I nicked his reverence; scarcely a trump +did I ever give him, Shorsha, and won his money purty +freely. Och, it was a purty quarrel! All the delicate +names in the ‘Newgate Calendar,’ if ye ever heard of +such a book; all the hang-dog names in the Newgate histories, and +the lives of Irish rogues, did we call each other—his +reverence and I! Suddenly, however, putting out his hand, +he seized the cards, saying, ‘I will examine these cards, +ye cheating scoundrel! for I believe there are dirty marks on +them, which ye have made in order to know the winning +cards.’ ‘Give me back my pack,’ said I, +‘or m’anam on Dioul if I be not the death of +ye!’ His reverence, however, clapped the cards into +his pocket, and made the best of his way to the door, I hanging +upon him. He was a gross, fat man, but, like most fat men, +deadly strong, so he forced his way to the door, and, opening it, +flung himself out, with me still holding on him like a terrier +dog on a big fat pig; then he shouts for help, and in a little +time I was secured and thrust into a lock-up room, where I was +left to myself. Here was a purty alteration. +Yesterday I was the idol of the religious house, thought more on +than his reverence, every one paying me court and wurtship, and +wanting to play cards with me, and to learn my tricks, and fed, +moreover, on the tidbits of the table; and to-day I was in a +cell, nobody coming to look at me but the blackguard porter who +had charge of me, my cards taken from me, and with nothing but +bread and water to live upon. Time passed dreary enough for +a month, at the end of which time his reverence came to me, +leaving the porter just outside the door in order to come to his +help should I be violent; and then he read me a very purty +lecture on my conduct, saying I had turned the religious house +topsy-turvy, and corrupted the scholars, and that I was the cheat +of the world, for that on inspecting the pack he had discovered +the dirty marks which I had made upon the trump cards for to know +them by. He said a great deal more to me, which is not +worth relating, and ended by telling me that he intended to let +me out of confinement next day, but that if ever I misconducted +myself any more, he would clap me in again for the rest of my +life. I had a good mind to call him an ould thaif, but the +hope of getting out made me hold my tongue, and the next day I +was let out; and need enough I had to be let out, for what with +being alone, and living on bread and water, I was becoming +frighted, or, as the doctors call it, narvous. But when I +was out—oh, what a change I found in the religious house! +no card-playing, for it had been forbidden to the scholars, and +there was now nothing going on but reading and singing; divil a +merry visage to be seen, but plenty of prim airs and graces; but +the case of the scholars, though bad enough, was not half so bad +as mine, for they could spake to each other, whereas I could not +have a word of conversation, for the ould thaif of a rector had +ordered them to send me to ‘Coventry,’ telling them +that I was a gambling cheat, with morals bad enough to corrupt a +horse regiment; and whereas they were allowed to divert +themselves with going out, I was kept reading and singing from +morn till night. The only soul who was willing to exchange +a word with me was the cook, and sometimes he and I had a little +bit of discourse in a corner, and we condoled with each other, +for he liked the change in the religious house almost as little +as myself; but he told me that, for all the change below stairs, +there was still card-playing on above, for that the ould thaif of +a rector, and the sub-rector, and the almoner played at cards +together, and that the rector won money from the others—the +almoner had told him so—and, moreover, that the rector was +the thaif of the world, and had once been kicked out of a +club-house at Dublin for cheating at cards, and after that +circumstance had apparently reformed and lived decently till the +time when I came to the religious house with my pack, but that +the sight of that had brought him back to his ould +gambling. He told the cook, moreover, that the rector +frequently went out at night to the houses of the great clergy +and cheated at cards.</p> +<p>“In this melancholy state, with respect to myself, +things continued a long time, when suddenly there was a report +that his Holiness the Pope intended to pay a visit to the +religious house in order to examine into its discipline. +When I heard this I was glad, for I determined after the Pope had +done what he had come to do, to fall upon my knees before him, +and make a regular complaint of the treatment I had received, to +tell him of the cheating at cards of the rector, and to beg him +to make the ould thaif give me back my pack again. So the +day of the visit came, and his Holiness made his appearance with +his attendants, and, having looked over the religious house, he +went into the rector’s room with the rector, the +sub-rector, and the almoner. I intended to have waited +until his Holiness came out, but finding he stayed a long time I +thought I would e’en go into him, so I went up to the door +without anybody observing me—his attendants being walking +about the corridor—and opening it I slipped in, and there +what do you think I saw? Why, his Holiness the Pope, and +his reverence the rector, and the sub-rector, and the almoner +seated at cards; and the ould thaif of a rector was dealing out +the cards which ye had given me, Shorsha, to his Holiness the +Pope, the sub-rector, the almoner, and himself.”</p> +<p>In this part of his history I interrupted Murtagh, saying that +I was afraid he was telling untruths, and that it was highly +improbable that the Pope would leave the Vatican to play cards +with Irish at their religious house, and that I was sure, if on +his, Murtagh’s authority, I were to tell the world so, the +world would never believe it.</p> +<p>“Then the world, Shorsha, would be a fool, even as you +were just now saying you had frequently believed it to be; the +grand thing, Shorsha, is to be able to believe oneself; if ye can +do that, it matters very little whether the world believe ye or +no. But a purty thing for you and the world to stickle at +the Pope’s playing at cards at a religious house of Irish; +och! if I were to tell you and the world, what the Pope has been +sometimes at, at the religious house of English thaives, I would +excuse you and the world for turning up your eyes. However, +I wish to say nothing against the Pope. I am a son of the +church, and if the Pope don’t interfere with my cards, +divil a bit will I have to say against him; but I saw the Pope +playing, or about to play, with the pack which had been taken +from me, and when I told the Pope, the Pope did not—Ye had +better let me go on with my history, Shorsha; whether you or the +world believe it or not, I am sure it is quite as true as your +tale of the snake, or saying that Finn got his burnt finger from +the thaives of Loughlin; and whatever you may say, I am sure the +world will think so too.”</p> +<p>I apologized to Murtagh for interrupting him, and telling him +that his history, whether true or not, was infinitely diverting, +begged him to continue it.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVI</h2> +<p>Murtagh’s Story continued—The Priest, Exorcist, +and Thimble-engro—How to Check a Rebellion.</p> +<p>I was telling ye, Shorsha, when ye interrupted me, that I +found the Pope, the rector, the sub-rector, and the almoner +seated at the table, the rector with my pack of cards in his +hands, about to deal out to the Pope and the rest, not forgetting +himself, for whom he intended all the trump-cards, no +doubt. No sooner did they perceive me than they seemed +taken all aback; but the rector, suddenly starting up with the +cards in his hand, asked me what I did there, threatening to have +me well disciplined if I did not go about my business; ‘I +am come for my pack,’ said I, ‘ye ould thaif, and to +tell his Holiness how I have been treated by ye;’ then +going down on my knees before his Holiness, I said, ‘Arrah, +now, your Holiness! will ye not see justice done to a poor boy +who has been sadly misused? The pack of cards which that +old ruffian has in his hand are my cards, which he has taken from +me, in order to chate with. Arrah! don’t play with +him, your Holiness, for he’ll only chate ye—there are +dirty marks upon the cards which bear the trumps, put there in +order to know them by; and the ould thaif in daling out will give +himself all the good cards, and chate ye of the last farthing in +your pocket; so let them be taken from him, your Holiness, and +given back to me; and order him to lave the room, and then, if +your Holiness be for an honest game, don’t think I am the +boy to baulk ye. I’ll take the old ruffian’s +place, and play with ye till evening, and all night besides, and +divil an advantage will I take of the dirty marks, though I know +them all, having placed them on the cards myself.’ I +was going on in this way when the ould thaif of a rector, +flinging down the cards, made at me as if to kick me out of the +room, whereupon I started up and said, ‘If ye are for +kicking, sure two can play at that;’ and then I kicked at +his reverence, and his reverence at me, and there was a regular +scrimmage between us, which frightened the Pope, who, getting up, +said some words which I did not understand, but which the cook +afterwards told me were, ‘English extravagance, and this is +the second edition;’ for it seems that, a little time +before, his Holiness had been frightened in St. Peter’s +Church by the servant of an English family, which those thaives +of the English religious house had been endeavouring to bring +over to the Catholic faith, and who didn’t approve of their +being converted. Och! his Holiness did us all sore +injustice to call us English, and to confound our house with the +other; for however dirty our house might be, our house was a +clane house compared with the English house, and we honest people +compared with those English thaives. Well, his Holiness was +frighted, and the almoner ran out, and brought in his +Holiness’s attendants, and they laid hold of me, but I +struggled hard, and said, ‘I will not go without my pack; +arrah, your Holiness! make them give me my pack, which Shorsha +gave me in Dungarvon times of old;’ but my struggles were +of no use. I was pulled away and put out in the ould +dungeon, and his Holiness went away sore frighted, crossing +himself much, and never returned again.</p> +<p>“In the old dungeon I was fastened to the wall by a +chain, and there I was disciplined once every other day for the +first three weeks, and then I was left to myself, and my chain, +and hunger; and there I sat in the dungeon, sometimes screeching, +sometimes hallooing, for I soon became frighted, having nothing +in the cell to divert me. At last the cook found his way to +me by stealth, and comforted me a little, bringing me tidbits out +of the kitchen; and he visited me again and again—not +often, however, for he dare only come when he could steal away +the key from the custody of the thaif of a porter. I was +three years in the dungeon, and should have gone mad but for the +cook, and his words of comfort, and his tidbits, and nice books +which he brought me out of the library, which were the +‘Calendars of Newgate,’ and the ‘Lives of Irish +Rogues and Raparees,’ the only English books in the +library. However, at the end of three years, the ould thaif +of a rector, wishing to look at them books, missed them from the +library, and made a perquisition about them, and the thaif of a +porter said that he shouldn’t wonder if I had them; saying +that he had once seen me reading; and then the rector came with +others to my cell, and took my books from me, from under my +straw, and asked me how I came by them; and on my refusal to +tell, they disciplined me again till the blood ran down my back; +and making more perquisition they at last accused the cook of +having carried the books to me, and not denying, he was given +warning to leave next day, but he left that night, and took me +away with him; for he stole the key, and came to me and cut my +chain through, and then he and I escaped from the religious house +through a window—the cook with a bundle, containing what +things he had. No sooner had we got out than the honest +cook gave me a little bit of money and a loaf, and told me to +follow a way which he pointed out, which he said would lead to +the sea; and then, having embraced me after the Italian way, he +left me, and I never saw him again. So I followed the way +which the cook pointed out, and in two days reached a seaport +called Chiviter Vik, terribly foot-foundered, and there I met a +sailor who spoke Irish, and who belonged to a vessel just ready +to sail for France; and the sailor took me on board his vessel, +and said I was his brother, and the captain gave me a passage to +a place in France called Marseilles; and when I got there, the +captain and sailor got a little money for me and a passport, and +I travelled across the country towards a place they directed me +to called Bayonne, from which they said I might, perhaps, get to +Ireland. Coming, however, to a place called Pau, all my +money being gone, I enlisted into a regiment called the Army of +the Faith, which was going into Spain, for the King of Spain had +been dethroned and imprisoned by his own subjects, as perhaps you +may have heard; and the King of France, who was his cousin, was +sending an army to help him, under the command of his own son, +whom the English called Prince Hilt, because when he was told +that he was appointed to the command, he clapped his hand on the +hilt of his sword. So I enlisted into the regiment of the +Faith, which was made up of Spaniards, many of them priests who +had run out of Spain, and broken Germans, and foot-foundered +Irish, like myself. It was said to be a blackguard +regiment, that same regiment of the Faith; but, ’faith, I +saw nothing blackguardly going on in it, for you would hardly +reckon card-playing and dominoes, and pitch and toss +blackguardly, and I saw nothing else in it. There was one +thing in it which I disliked—the priests drawing their +Spanish knives occasionally, when they lost their money. +After we had been some time at Pau, the army of the Faith was +sent across the mountains into Spain, as the vanguard of the +French; and no sooner did the Spaniards see the Faith than they +made a dash at it, and the Faith ran away, myself along with it, +and got behind the French army, which told it to keep there, and +the Faith did so, and followed the French army, which soon +scattered the Spaniards, and in the end placed the king on his +throne again. When the war was over the Faith was +disbanded; some of the foreigners, however, amongst whom I was +one, were put into a Guard regiment, and there I continued for +more than a year.</p> +<p>“One day, being at a place called the Escurial, I took +stock, as the tradesmen say, and found I possessed the sum of +eighty dollars won by playing at cards, for though I could not +play so well with the foreign cards as with the pack you gave me, +Shorsha, I had yet contrived to win money from the priests and +soldiers of the Faith. Finding myself possessed of such a +capital, I determined to leave the service, and to make the best +of my way to Ireland; so I deserted, but coming in an evil hour +to a place they calls Torre Lodones, I found the priest playing +at cards with his parishioners. The sight of the cards made +me stop, and then, fool like, notwithstanding the treasure I had +about me, I must wish to play, so not being able to speak their +language, I made signs to them to let me play, and the priest and +his thaives consented willingly; so I sat down to cards with the +priest and two of his parishioners, and in a little time had won +plenty of their money, but I had better never have done any such +thing, for suddenly the priest and all his parishioners set upon +me and bate me, and took from me all I had, and cast me out of +the village more dead than alive. Och! it’s a bad +village that, and if I had known what it was I would have avoided +it, or run straight through it, though I saw all the card-playing +in the world going on in it. There is a proverb about it, +as I was afterwards told, old as the time of the Moors, which +holds good to the present day—it is, that in Torre Lodones +there are twenty-four housekeepers, and twenty-five thieves, +maning that all the people are thaives, and the clergyman to +boot, who is not reckoned a housekeeper; and troth I found the +clergyman the greatest thaif of the lot. After being cast +out of that village I travelled for nearly a month, subsisting by +begging tolerably well, for though most of the Spanish are +thaives, they are rather charitable; but though charitable +thaives they do not like their own being taken from them without +leave being asked, as I found to my cost; for on my entering a +garden near Seville, without leave, to take an orange, the +labourer came running up and struck me to the ground with a +hatchet, giving me a big wound in the arm. I fainted with +loss of blood, and on reviving I found myself in a hospital at +Seville, to which the labourer and the people of the village had +taken me. I should have died of starvation in that hospital +had not some English people heard of me and come to see me; they +tended me with food till I was cured, and then paid my passage on +board a ship to London, to which place the ship carried me.</p> +<p>“And now I was in London with five shillings in my +pocket—all I had in the world—and that did not last +for long; and when it was gone I begged in the streets, but I did +not get much by that, except a month’s hard labour in the +correction-house; and when I came out I knew not what to do, but +thought I would take a walk in the country, for it was +spring-time, and the weather was fine, so I took a walk about +seven miles from London, and came to a place where a great fair +was being held; and there I begged, but got nothing but a +halfpenny, and was thinking of going farther, when I saw a man +with a table, like that of mine, playing with thimbles, as you +saw me. I looked at the play, and saw him win money, and +run away, and hunted by constables more than once. I kept +following the man, and at last entered into conversation with +him; and learning from him that he was in want of a companion to +help him, I offered to help him if he would pay me; he looked at +me from top to toe, and did not wish at first to have anything to +do with me, as he said my appearance was against me. +’Faith, Shorsha, he had better have looked at home, for his +appearance was not much in his favour: he looked very much like a +Jew, Shorsha. However, he at last agreed to take me to be +his companion, or bonnet as he called it; and I was to keep a +look-out, and let him know when constables were coming, and to +spake a good word for him occasionally, whilst he was chating +folks with his thimbles and his pea. So I became his +bonnet, and assisted him in the fair, and in many other fairs +beside; but I did not like my occupation much, or rather my +master, who, though not a big man, was a big thaif, and an unkind +one, for do all I could I could never give him pleasure; and he +was continually calling me fool and bogtrotter, and twitting me +because I could not learn his thaives’ Latin, and discourse +with him in it, and comparing me with another acquaintance, or +bit of a pal of his, whom he said he had parted with in the fair, +and of whom he was fond of saying all kinds of wonderful things, +amongst others, that he knew the grammar of all tongues. At +last, wearied with being twitted by him with not being able to +learn his thaives’ Greek, I proposed that I should teach +him Irish, that we should spake it together when we had anything +to say in secret. To that he consented willingly; but, och! +a purty hand he made with Irish, ’faith, not much better +than I did with his thaives’ Hebrew. Then my turn +came, and I twitted him nicely with dulness, and compared him +with a pal that I had in ould Ireland, in Dungarvon times of +yore, to whom I teached Irish, telling him that he was the broth +of a boy, and not only knew the grammar of all human tongues, but +the dialects of the snakes besides; in fact, I tould him all +about your own sweet self, Shorsha, and many a dispute and +quarrel had we together about our pals, which was the cleverest +fellow, his or mine.</p> +<p>“Well, after having been wid him about two months, I +quitted him without noise, taking away one of his tables, and +some peas and thimbles; and that I did with a safe conscience, +for he paid me nothing, and was not over free with the meat and +the drink, though I must say of him that he was a clever fellow, +and perfect master of his trade, by which he made a power of +money, and bating his not being able to learn Irish, and a +certain Jewish lisp which he had, a great master of his tongue, +of which he was very proud; so much so, that he once told me that +when he had saved a certain sum of money he meant to leave off +the thimbling business, and enter Parliament; into which, he +said, he could get at any time, through the interest of a friend +of his, a Tory Peer—my Lord Whitefeather, with whom, he +said, he had occasionally done business. With the table, +and other things which I had taken, I commenced trade on my own +account, having contrived to learn a few of his tricks. My +only capital was the change for half-a-guinea, which he had once +let fall, and which I picked up, which was all I could ever get +from him: for it was impossible to stale any money from him, he +was so awake, being up to all the tricks of thaives, having +followed the diving trade, as he called it, for a considerable +time. My wish was to make enough by my table to enable me +to return with credit to ould Ireland, where I had no doubt of +being able to get myself ordained as priest; and, in troth, +notwithstanding I was a beginner, and without any companion to +help me, I did tolerably well, getting my meat and drink, and +increasing my small capital, till I came to this unlucky place of +Horncastle, where I was utterly ruined by the thaif in the +rider’s dress. And now, Shorsha, I am after telling +you my history; perhaps you will now be telling me something +about yourself?”</p> +<p>I told Murtagh all about myself that I deemed necessary to +relate, and then asked him what he intended to do; he repeated +that he was utterly ruined, and that he had no prospect before +him but starving, or making away with himself. I inquired +“How much would take him to Ireland, and establish him +there with credit.” “Five pounds,” he +answered, adding, “but who in the world would be fool +enough to lend me five pounds, unless it be yourself, Shorsha, +who, may be, have not got it; for when you told me about +yourself, you made no boast of the state of your +affairs.” “I am not very rich,” I +replied, “but I think I can accommodate you with what you +want. I consider myself under great obligations to you, +Murtagh; it was you who instructed me in the language of Oilein +nan Naomha, which has been the foundation of all my acquisitions +in philology; without you, I should not have been what I +am—Lavengro! which signifies a philologist. Here is +the money, Murtagh,” said I, putting my hand into my +pocket, and taking out five pounds, “much good may it do +you.” He took the money, stared at it, and then at +me—“And you mane to give me this, +Shorsha?” “It is no longer mine to give,” +said I; “it is yours.” “And you give it +me for the gratitude you bear me?” “Yes,” +said I, “and for Dungarvon times of old.” +“Well, Shorsha,” said he, “you are a broth of a +boy, and I’ll take your benefaction—five pounds! och, +Jasus!” He then put the money in his pocket, and +springing up, waved his hat three times, uttering some old Irish +cry; then, sitting down, he took my hand, and said, “Sure, +Shorsha, I’ll be going thither; and when I get there, it is +turning over another leaf I will be; I have learnt a thing or two +abroad; I will become a priest; that’s the trade, Shorsha! +and I will cry out for repale; that’s the cry, Shorsha! and +I’ll be a fool no longer.” “And what will +you do with your table?” said I. “’Faith, +I’ll be taking it with me, Shorsha; and when I gets to +Ireland, I’ll get it mended, and I will keep it in the +house which I shall have; and when I looks upon it, I will be +thinking of all I have undergone.” “You had +better leave it behind you,” said I; “if you take it +with you, you will, perhaps, take up the thimble trade again +before you get to Ireland, and lose the money I am after giving +you.” “No fear of that, Shorsha; never will I +play on that table again, Shorsha, till I get it mended, which +shall not be till I am a priest, and have a house in which to +place it.”</p> +<p>Murtagh and I then went into the town, where we had some +refreshment together, and then parted on our several ways. +I heard nothing of him for nearly a quarter of a century, when a +person who knew him well, coming from Ireland, and staying at my +humble house, told me a great deal about him. He reached +Ireland in safety, soon reconciled himself with his Church, and +was ordained a priest; in the priestly office he acquitted +himself in a way very satisfactory, upon the whole, to his +superiors, having, as he frequently said, learned wisdom +abroad. The Popish Church never fails to turn to account +any particular gift which its servants may possess; and +discovering soon that Murtagh was endowed with considerable +manual dexterity—proof of which he frequently gave at +cards, and at a singular game which he occasionally played at +thimbles—it selected him as a very fit person to play the +part of exorcist; and accordingly he travelled through a great +part of Ireland, casting out devils from people possessed, which +he afterwards exhibited, sometimes in the shape of rabbits, and +occasionally birds and fishes. There is a holy island in a +lake in Ireland, to which the people resort at a particular +season of the year. Here Murtagh frequently attended, and +it was here that he performed a cure which will cause his name +long to be remembered in Ireland, delivering a possessed woman of +two demons, which he brandished aloft in his hands, in the shape +of two large eels, and subsequently hurled into the lake, amidst +the shouts of an enthusiastic multitude. Besides playing +the part of an exorcist, he acted that of a politician with +considerable success; he attached himself to the party of the +sire of agitation—“the man of paunch,” and +preached and hallooed for repeal with the loudest and best, as +long as repeal was the cry; as soon, however, as the Whigs +attained the helm of Government, and the greater part of the +loaves and fishes—more politely termed the patronage of +Ireland—was placed at the disposition of the priesthood, +the tone of Murtagh, like that of the rest of his brother +saggarts, was considerably softened; he even went so far as to +declare that politics were not altogether consistent with +sacerdotal duty; and resuming his exorcisms, which he had for +some time abandoned, he went to the Isle of Holiness, and +delivered a possessed woman of six demons in the shape of white +mice. He, however, again resumed the political mantle in +the year 1848, during the short period of the rebellion of the +so-called Young Irelanders. The priests, though they +apparently sided with this party, did not approve of it, as it +was chiefly formed of ardent young men, fond of what they termed +liberty, and by no means admirers of priestly domination, being +mostly Protestants. Just before the outbreak of this +rebellion, it was determined between the priests and the ---, +that this party should be rendered comparatively innocuous by +being deprived of the sinews of war—in other words, certain +sums of money which they had raised for their enterprise. +Murtagh was deemed the best qualified person in Ireland to be +entrusted with the delicate office of getting their money from +them. Having received his instructions, he invited the +leaders to his parsonage amongst the mountains, under pretence of +deliberating with them about what was to be done. They +arrived there just before nightfall, dressed in red, yellow, and +green, the colours so dear to enthusiastic Irishmen; Murtagh +received them with great apparent cordiality, and entered into a +long discourse with them, promising them the assistance of +himself and order, and received from them a profusion of +thanks. After a time Murtagh, observing, in a jocular tone, +that consulting was dull work, proposed a game of cards, and the +leaders, though somewhat surprised, assenting, he went to a +closet, and taking out a pack of cards, laid it upon the table; +it was a strange dirty pack, and exhibited every mark of having +seen very long service. On one of its guests making some +remarks on the “ancientness” of its appearance, +Murtagh observed that there was a very wonderful history attached +to that pack; it had been presented to him, he said, by a young +gentleman, a disciple of his, to whom, in Dungarvon times of +yore, he had taught the Irish language, and of whom he related +some very extraordinary things; he added that he, Murtagh, had +taken it to ---, where it had once the happiness of being in the +hands of the Holy Father; by a great misfortune, he did not say +what, he had lost possession of it, and had returned without it, +but had some time since recovered it; a nephew of his, who was +being educated at—for a priest, having found it in a nook +of the college, and sent it to him.</p> +<p>Murtagh and the leaders then played various games with this +pack, more especially one called by the initiated “blind +hookey,” the result being that at the end of about two +hours the leaders found they had lost one-half of their funds; +they now looked serious, and talked of leaving the house, but +Murtagh begging them to stay to supper, they consented. +After supper, at which the guests drank rather freely, Murtagh +said that, as he had not the least wish to win their money, he +intended to give them their revenge; he would not play at cards +with them, he added, but at a funny game of thimbles, at which +they would be sure of winning back their own; then going out, he +brought in a table, tall and narrow, on which placing certain +thimbles and a pea, he proposed that they should stake whatever +they pleased on the almost certainty of finding the pea under the +thimbles. The leaders, after some hesitation, consented, +and were at first eminently successful, winning back the greater +part of what they had lost; after some time, however, Fortune, or +rather Murtagh, turned against them, and then, instead of leaving +off, they doubled and trebled their stakes, and continued doing +so until they had lost nearly the whole of their funds. +Quite furious, they now swore that Murtagh had cheated them, and +insisted on having their property restored to them. +Murtagh, without a word of reply, went to the door, and shouting +into the passage something in Irish, the room was instantly +filled with bogtrotters, each at least six feet high, with a +stout shillelah in his hand. Murtagh then turning to his +guests, asked them what they meant by insulting an anointed +priest; telling them that it was not for the likes of them to +avenge the wrongs of Ireland. “I have been clane +mistaken in the whole of ye,” said he, “I supposed ye +Irish, but have found, to my sorrow, that ye are nothing of the +kind; purty fellows to pretend to be Irish, when there is not a +word of Irish on the tongue of any of ye, divil a ha’porth; +the illigant young gentleman to whom I taught Irish, in Dungarvon +times of old, though not born in Ireland, has more Irish in him +than any ten of ye. He is the boy to avenge the wrongs of +Ireland, if ever foreigner is to do it.” Then saying +something to the bogtrotters, they instantly cleared the room of +the young Irelanders, who retired sadly disconcerted; +nevertheless, being very silly young fellows, they hoisted the +standard of rebellion; few, however, joining them, partly because +they had no money, and partly because the priests abused them +with might and main, their rebellion ended in a lamentable +manner; themselves being seized and tried, and though convicted, +not deemed of sufficient importance to be sent to the scaffold, +where they might have had the satisfaction of saying—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Dulce et decorum est pro patria +mori.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>My visitor, after saying that of the money won, Murtagh +retained a considerable portion, that a part went to the +hierarchy for what were called church purposes, and that +the—took the remainder, which it employed in establishing a +newspaper, in which the private characters of the worthiest and +most loyal Protestants in Ireland were traduced and vilified, +concluded his account by observing, that it was the common belief +that Murtagh, having by his services, ecclesiastical and +political, acquired the confidence of the priesthood and favour +of the Government, would, on the first vacancy, be appointed to +the high office of Popish Primate of Ireland.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVII</h2> +<p>Departure from Horncastle—Recruiting +Sergeant—Kauloes and Lolloes.</p> +<p>Leaving Horncastle I bent my steps in the direction of the +east. I walked at a brisk rate, and late in the evening +reached a large town, situate at the entrance of an extensive +firth, or arm of the sea, which prevented my farther progress +eastward. Sleeping that night in the suburbs of the town, I +departed early next morning in the direction of the south. +A walk of about twenty miles brought me to another large town, +situated on a river, where I again turned towards the east. +At the end of the town I was accosted by a fiery-faced +individual, somewhat under the middle size, dressed as a +recruiting sergeant.</p> +<p>“Young man,” said the recruiting sergeant, +“you are just the kind of person to serve the Honourable +East India Company.”</p> +<p>“I had rather the Honourable Company should serve +me,” said I.</p> +<p>“Of course, young man. Well, the Honourable East +India Company shall serve you—that’s +reasonable. Here, take this shilling; ’tis +service-money. The Honourable Company engages to serve you, +and you the Honourable Company; both parties shall be thus +served; that’s just and reasonable.”</p> +<p>“And what must I do for the Company?”</p> +<p>“Only go to India; that’s all.”</p> +<p>“And what should I do in India?”</p> +<p>“Fight, my brave boy! fight, my youthful +hero!”</p> +<p>“What kind of country is India?”</p> +<p>“The finest country in the world! Rivers, bigger +than the Ouse. Hills, higher than anything near +Spalding! Trees—you never saw such trees! +Fruits—you never saw such fruits!”</p> +<p>“And the people—what kind of folk are +they?”</p> +<p>“Pah! Kauloes—blacks—a set of rascals +not worth regarding.”</p> +<p>“Kauloes!” said I; “blacks!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the recruiting sergeant; “and +they call us lolloes, which, in their beastly gibberish, means +red.”</p> +<p>“Lolloes!” said I; “reds!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the recruiting sergeant, +“kauloes and lolloes; and all the lolloes have to do is to +kick and cut down the kauloes, and take from them their rupees, +which mean silver money. Why do you stare so?”</p> +<p>“Why,” said I, “this is the very language of +Mr. Petulengro.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Pet—?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said I, “and Tawno Chikno.”</p> +<p>“Tawno Chik—? I say, young fellow, I +don’t like your way of speaking; no, nor your way of +looking. You are mad, sir; you are mad; and what’s +this? Why, your hair is grey! You won’t do for +the Honourable Company—they like red. I’m glad +I didn’t give you the shilling. Good day to +you.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder,” said I, as I proceeded +rapidly along a broad causeway, in the direction of the east, +“if Mr. Petulengro and Tawno Chikno came originally from +India. I think I’ll go there.”</p> +<h2>APPENDIX</h2> +<h3>CHAPTER I—A Word for Lavengro.</h3> +<p>Lavengro is the history up to a certain period of one of +rather a peculiar mind and system of nerves, with an exterior shy +and cold, under which lurk much curiosity, especially with regard +to what is wild and extraordinary, a considerable quantity of +energy and industry, and an unconquerable love of +independence. It narrates his earliest dreams and feelings, +dwells with minuteness on the ways, words, and characters of his +father, mother, and brother, lingers on the occasional +resting-places of his wandering half military childhood, +describes the gradual hardening of his bodily frame by robust +exercises, his successive struggles, after his family and himself +have settled down in a small local capital, to obtain knowledge +of every kind, but more particularly philological lore; his +visits to the tent of the Romany chal, and the parlour of the +Anglo-German philosopher; the effect produced upon his character +by his flinging himself into contact with people all widely +differing from each other, but all extraordinary; his reluctance +to settle down to the ordinary pursuits of life; his struggles +after moral truth; his glimpses of God and the obscuration of the +Divine Being, to his mind’s eye; and his being cast upon +the world of London by the death of his father, at the age of +nineteen. In the world within a world, the world of London, +it shows him playing his part for some time as he best can, in +the capacity of a writer for reviews and magazines, and describes +what he saw and underwent whilst labouring in that capacity; it +represents him, however, as never forgetting that he is the son +of a brave but poor gentleman, and that if he is a hack author, +he is likewise a scholar. It shows him doing no +dishonourable jobs, and proves that if he occasionally associates +with low characters, he does so chiefly to gratify the curiosity +of a scholar. In his conversations with the apple-woman of +London Bridge, the scholar is ever apparent, so again in his +acquaintance with the man of the table, for the book is no raker +up of the uncleanness of London, and if it gives what at first +sight appears refuse, it invariably shows that a pearl of some +kind, generally a philological one, is contained amongst it; it +shows its hero always accompanied by his love of independence, +scorning in the greatest poverty to receive favours from anybody, +and describes him finally rescuing himself from peculiarly +miserable circumstances by writing a book, an original book, +within a week, even as Johnson is said to have written his +“Rasselas,” and Beckford his “Vathek,” +and tells how, leaving London, he betakes himself to the roads +and fields.</p> +<p>In the country it shows him leading a life of roving +adventure, becoming tinker, gypsy, postillion, ostler; +associating with various kinds of people, chiefly of the lower +classes, whose ways and habits are described; but, though leading +this erratic life, we gather from the book that his habits are +neither vulgar nor vicious, that he still follows to a certain +extent his favourite pursuits, hunting after strange characters, +or analysing strange words and names. At the conclusion of +the last chapter, which terminates the first part of the history, +it hints that he is about to quit his native land on a grand +philological expedition.</p> +<p>Those who read this book with attention—and the author +begs to observe that it would be of little utility to read it +hurriedly—may derive much information with respect to +matters of philology and literature; it will be found treating of +most of the principal languages from Ireland to China, and of the +literature which they contain; and it is particularly minute with +regard to the ways, manners, and speech of the English section of +the most extraordinary and mysterious clan or tribe of people to +be found in the whole world—the children of Roma. But +it contains matters of much more importance than anything in +connection with philology, and the literature and manners of +nations. Perhaps no work was ever offered to the public in +which the kindness and providence of God have been set forth by +more striking examples, or the machinations of priestcraft been +more truly and lucidly exposed, or the dangers which result to a +nation when it abandons itself to effeminacy, and a rage for what +is novel and fashionable, than the present.</p> +<p>With respect to the kindness and providence of God, are they +not exemplified in the case of the old apple-woman and her +son? These are beings in many points bad, but with warm +affections, who, after an agonizing separation, are restored to +each other, but not until the hearts of both are changed and +purified by the influence of affliction. Are they not +exemplified in the case of the rich gentleman, who touches +objects in order to avert the evil chance? This being has +great gifts and many amiable qualities, but does not everybody +see that his besetting sin is selfishness? He fixes his +mind on certain objects, and takes inordinate interest in them, +because they are his own, and those very objects, through the +providence of God, which is kindness in disguise, become snakes +and scorpions to whip him. Tired of various pursuits, he at +last becomes an author, and publishes a book, which is very much +admired, and which he loves with his usual inordinate affection; +the book, consequently, becomes a viper to him, and at last he +flings it aside and begins another; the book, however, is not +flung aside by the world, who are benefited by it, deriving +pleasure and knowledge from it: so the man who merely wrote to +gratify self, has already done good to others, and got himself an +honourable name. But God will not allow that man to put +that book under his head and use it as a pillow: the book has +become a viper to him, he has banished it, and is about another, +which he finishes and gives to the world; it is a better book +than the first, and every one is delighted with it; but it proves +to the writer a scorpion, because he loves it with inordinate +affection; but it was good for the world that he produced this +book, which stung him as a scorpion. Yes; and good for +himself, for the labour of writing it amused him, and perhaps +prevented him from dying of apoplexy; but the book is banished, +and another is begun, and herein, again, is the providence of God +manifested; the man has the power of producing still, and God +determines that he shall give to the world what remains in his +brain, which he would not do, had he been satisfied with the +second work; he would have gone to sleep upon that as he would +upon the first, for the man is selfish and lazy. In his +account of what he suffered during the composition of this work, +his besetting sin of selfishness is manifest enough; the work on +which he is engaged occupies his every thought, it is his idol, +his deity, it shall be all his own, he won’t borrow a +thought from any one else, and he is so afraid lest, when he +publishes it, that it should be thought that he had borrowed from +any one, that he is continually touching objects, his nervous +system, owing to his extreme selfishness, having become partly +deranged. He is left touching, in order to banish the evil +chance from his book, his deity. No more of his history is +given; but does the reader think that God will permit that man to +go to sleep on his third book, however extraordinary it may +be? Assuredly not. God will not permit that man to +rest till he has cured him to a certain extent of his +selfishness, which has, however, hitherto been very useful to the +world.</p> +<p>Then, again, in the tale of Peter Williams, is not the hand of +Providence to be seen? This person commits a sin in his +childhood, utters words of blasphemy, the remembrance of which, +in after life, preying upon his imagination, unfits him for quiet +pursuits, to which he seems to have been naturally inclined; but +for the remembrance of that sin, he would have been Peter +Williams the quiet and respectable Welsh farmer, somewhat fond of +reading the ancient literature of his country in winter evenings, +after his work was done. God, however, was aware that there +was something in Peter Williams to entitle him to assume a higher +calling; he therefore permits this sin, which, though a childish +affair, was yet a sin, and committed deliberately, to prey upon +his mind till he becomes at last an instrument in the hand of +God, a humble Paul, the great preacher, Peter Williams, who, +though he considers himself a reprobate and a castaway, instead +of having recourse to drinking in mad desperation, as many do who +consider themselves reprobates, goes about Wales and England +preaching the word of God, dilating on his power and majesty, and +visiting the sick and afflicted, until God sees fit to restore to +him his peace of mind; which he does not do, however, until that +mind is in a proper condition to receive peace, till it has been +purified by the pain of the one idea which has so long been +permitted to riot in his brain; which pain, however, an angel, in +the shape of a gentle faithful wife, had occasionally alleviated; +for God is merciful even in the blows which He bestoweth, and +will not permit any one to be tempted beyond the measure which he +can support. And here it will be as well for the reader to +ponder upon the means by which the Welsh preacher is relieved +from his mental misery: he is not relieved by a text from the +Bible, by the words of consolation and wisdom addressed to him by +his angel-minded wife, nor by the preaching of one yet more +eloquent than himself; but by a quotation made by Lavengro from +the life of Mary Flanders, cut-purse and prostitute, which life +Lavengro had been in the habit of reading at the stall of his old +friend the apple-woman, on London Bridge, who had herself been +very much addicted to the perusal of it, though without any +profit whatever. Should the reader be dissatisfied with the +manner in which Peter Williams is made to find relief, the author +would wish to answer, that the Almighty frequently accomplishes +his purposes by means which appear very singular to the eyes of +men, and at the same time to observe that the manner in which +that relief is obtained, is calculated to read a lesson to the +proud, fanciful, and squeamish, who are ever in a fidget lest +they should be thought to mix with low society, or to bestow a +moment’s attention on publications which are not what is +called of a perfectly unobjectionable character. Had not +Lavengro formed the acquaintance of the apple-woman on London +Bridge, he would not have had an opportunity of reading the life +of Mary Flanders; and, consequently, of storing in a memory, +which never forgets anything, a passage which contained a balm +for the agonized mind of poor Peter Williams. The best +medicines are not always found in the finest shops. +Suppose, for example, if, instead of going to London Bridge to +read, he had gone to Albemarle Street, and had received from the +proprietors of the literary establishment in that very +fashionable street, permission to read the publications on the +tables of the saloons there, does the reader think he would have +met any balm in those publications for the case of Peter +Williams? does the reader suppose that he would have found Mary +Flanders there? He would certainly have found that highly +unobjectionable publication, “Rasselas,” and the +“Spectator,” or “Lives of Royal and Illustrious +Personages,” but, of a surety, no Mary Flanders; so when +Lavengro met with Peter Williams, he would have been unprovided +with a balm to cure his ulcerated mind, and have parted from him +in a way not quite so satisfactory as the manner in which he took +his leave of him; for it is certain that he might have read +“Rasselas,” and all other unexceptionable works to be +found in the library of Albemarle Street, over and over again, +before he would have found any cure in them for the case of Peter +Williams. Therefore the author requests the reader to drop +any squeamish nonsense he may wish to utter about Mary Flanders, +and the manner in which Peter Williams was cured.</p> +<p>And now with respect to the old man who knew Chinese, but +could not tell what was o’clock. This individual was +a man whose natural powers would have been utterly buried and +lost beneath a mountain of sloth and laziness, had not God +determined otherwise. He had in his early years chalked out +for himself a plan of life in which he had his own ease and +self-indulgence solely in view; he had no particular bad passions +to gratify, he only wished to live a happy quiet life, just as if +the business of this mighty world could be carried on by innocent +people fond of ease or quiet, or that Providence would permit +innocent quiet drones to occupy any portion of the earth and to +cumber it. God had at any rate decreed that this man should +not cumber it as a drone. He brings a certain affliction +upon him, the agony of which produces that terrible whirling of +the brain which, unless it is stopped in time, produces madness; +he suffers indescribable misery for a period, until one morning +his attention is arrested, and his curiosity is aroused, by +certain Chinese letters on a teapot; his curiosity increases more +and more, and, of course, in proportion as his curiosity is +increased with respect to the Chinese marks, the misery in his +brain, produced by his mental affliction, decreases. He +sets about learning Chinese, and after the lapse of many years, +during which his mind subsides into a certain state of +tranquillity, he acquires sufficient knowledge of Chinese to be +able to translate with ease the inscriptions to be found on its +singular crockery. Yes, the laziest of human beings, +through the Providence of God, a being too of rather inferior +capacity, acquires the written part of a language so difficult +that, as Lavengro said on a former occasion, none but the +cleverest people in Europe, the French, are able to acquire +it. But God did not intend that man should merely acquire +Chinese. He intended that he should be of use to his +species, and by the instrumentality of the first Chinese +inscription which he translates, the one which first arrested his +curiosity, he is taught the duty of hospitality; yes, by means of +an inscription in the language of a people, who have scarcely an +idea of hospitality themselves, God causes the slothful man to +play a useful and beneficent part in the world, relieving +distressed wanderers, and, amongst others, Lavengro +himself. But a striking indication of the man’s +surprising sloth is still apparent in what he omits to do; he has +learnt Chinese, the most difficult of languages, and he practises +acts of hospitality, because he believes himself enjoined to do +so by the Chinese inscription, but he cannot tell the hour of the +day by the clock within his house; he can get on, he thinks, very +well without being able to do so; therefore from this one +omission, it is easy to come to a conclusion as to what a +sluggard’s part the man would have played in life, but for +the dispensation of Providence; nothing but extreme agony could +have induced such a man to do anything useful. He still +continues, with all he has acquired, with all his usefulness, and +with all his innocence of character, without any proper sense of +religion, though he has attained a rather advanced age. If +it be observed, that this want of religion is a great defect in +the story, the author begs leave to observe that he cannot help +it. Lavengro relates the lives of people so far as they +were placed before him, but no further. It was certainly a +great defect in so good a man to be without religion; it was +likewise a great defect in so learned a man not to be able to +tell what was o’clock. It is probable that God, in +his loving kindness, will not permit that man to go out of the +world without religion; who knows but some powerful minister of +the church full of zeal for the glory of God, will illume that +man’s dark mind; perhaps some clergyman will come to the +parish who will visit him and teach him his duty to his +God. Yes, it is very probable that such a man, before he +dies, will have been made to love his God; whether he will ever +learn to know what’s o’clock is another matter. +It is probable that he will go out of the world without knowing +what’s o’clock. It is not so necessary to be +able to tell the time of day by the clock as to know one’s +God through His inspired word; a man cannot get to heaven without +religion, but a man can get there very comfortably without +knowing what’s o’clock.</p> +<p>But, above all, the care and providence of God are manifested +in the case of Lavengro himself, by the manner in which he is +enabled to make his way in the world up to a certain period, +without falling a prey either to vice or poverty. In his +history, there is a wonderful illustration of part of the text, +quoted by his mother, “I have been young, but now am old, +yet never saw I the righteous forsaken, or his seed begging his +bread.” He is the son of good and honourable parents, +but at the critical period of life, that of entering into the +world, he finds himself without any earthly friend to help him, +yet he manages to make his way; he does not become a Captain in +the Life Guards, it is true, nor does he get into Parliament, nor +does the last volume conclude in the most satisfactory and +unobjectionable manner, by his marrying a dowager countess, as +that wise man Addison did, or by his settling down as a great +country gentleman, perfectly happy and contented, like the very +moral Roderick Random, or the equally estimable Peregrine Pickle; +he is hack author, gypsy, tinker, and postillion, yet, upon the +whole, he seems to be quite as happy as the younger sons of most +earls, to have as high feelings of honour; and when the reader +loses sight of him, he has money in his pocket honestly acquired, +to enable him to commence a journey quite as laudable as those +which the younger sons of earls generally undertake. Surely +all this is a manifestation of the kindness and providence of +God: and yet he is not a religious person; up to the time when +the reader loses sight of him, he is decidedly not a religious +person; he has glimpses, it is true, of that God who does not +forsake him, but he prays very seldom, is not fond of going to +church; and, though he admires Tate and Brady’s version of +the Psalms, his admiration is rather caused by the beautiful +poetry which that version contains than the religion; yet his +tale is not finished—like the tale of the gentleman who +touched objects, and that of the old man who knew Chinese without +knowing what was o’clock; perhaps, like them, he is +destined to become religious, and to have, instead of occasional +glimpses, frequent and distinct views of his God; yet, though he +may become religious, it is hardly to be expected that he will +become a very precise and straightlaced person; it is probable +that he will retain, with his scholarship, something of his +gypsyism, his predilection for the hammer and tongs, and perhaps +some inclination to put on certain gloves, not white kid, with +any friend who may be inclined for a little old English +diversion, and a readiness to take a glass of ale, with plenty of +malt in it, and as little hop as may well be—ale at least +two years old—with the aforesaid friend, when the diversion +is over; for, as it is the belief of the writer that a person may +get to heaven very comfortably without knowing what’s +o’clock, so it is his belief that he will not be refused +admission there, because to the last he has been fond of healthy +and invigorating exercises, and felt a willingness to partake of +any of the good things which it pleases the Almighty to put +within the reach of his children during their sojourn upon +earth.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER II—On Priestcraft.</h3> +<p>The writer will now say a few words about priestcraft, and the +machinations of Rome, and will afterwards say something about +himself, and his motives for writing against them.</p> +<p>With respect to Rome, and her machinations, much valuable +information can be obtained from particular parts of Lavengro, +and its sequel. Shortly before the time when the hero of +the book is launched into the world, the Popish agitation in +England had commenced. The Popish propaganda had determined +to make a grand attempt on England; Popish priests were scattered +over the land, doing the best they could to make converts to the +old superstition. With the plans of Rome, and her hopes, +and the reasons on which those hopes are grounded, the hero of +the book becomes acquainted, during an expedition which he makes +into the country, from certain conversations which he holds with +a priest in a dingle, in which the hero had taken up his +residence; he likewise learns from the same person much of the +secret history of the Roman See, and many matters connected with +the origin and progress of the Popish superstition. The +individual with whom he holds these conversations is a learned, +intelligent, but highly-unprincipled person, of a character +however very common amongst the priests of Rome, who in general +are people void of all religion, and who, notwithstanding they +are tied to Rome by a band which they have neither the power nor +wish to break, turn her and her practices, over their cups with +their confidential associates, to a ridicule only exceeded by +that to which they turn those who become the dupes of their +mistress and themselves.</p> +<p>It is now necessary that the writer should say something with +respect to himself, and his motives for waging war against +Rome. First of all, with respect to himself, he wishes to +state, that to the very last moment of his life, he will do and +say all that in his power may be to hold up to contempt and +execration the priestcraft and practices of Rome; there is, +perhaps, no person better acquainted than himself, not even among +the choicest spirits of the priesthood, with the origin and +history of Popery. From what he saw and heard of Popery in +England, at a very early period of his life, his curiosity was +aroused, and he spared himself no trouble, either by travel or +study, to make himself well acquainted with it in all its phases, +the result being a hatred of it, which he hopes and trusts he +shall retain till the moment when his spirit quits the +body. Popery is the great lie of the world; a source from +which more misery and social degradation have flowed upon the +human race, than from all the other sources from which those +evils come. It is the oldest of all superstitions; and +though in Europe it assumes the name of Christianity, it existed +and flourished amidst the Himalayan hills at least two thousand +years before the real Christ was born in Bethlehem of Judea; in a +word, it is Buddhism; and let those who may be disposed to doubt +this assertion, compare the Popery of Rome, and the superstitious +practices of its followers, with the doings of the priests who +surround the grand Lama; and the mouthings, bellowing, turnings +round, and, above all, the penances of the followers of Buddh +with those of Roman devotees. But he is not going to dwell +here on this point; it is dwelt upon at tolerable length in the +text, and has likewise been handled with extraordinary power by +the pen of the gifted but irreligious Volney; moreover, the +<i>élite</i> of the Roman priesthood are perfectly well +aware that their system is nothing but Buddhism under a slight +disguise, and the European world in general has entertained for +some time past an inkling of the fact.</p> +<p>And now a few words with respect to the motives of the writer +for expressing a hatred for Rome.</p> +<p>This expressed abhorrence of the author for Rome might be +entitled to little regard, provided it were possible to attribute +it to any self-interested motive. There have been professed +enemies of Rome, or of this or that system; but their professed +enmity may frequently be traced to some cause which does them +little credit; but the writer of these lines has no motive, and +can have no motive, for his enmity to Rome, save the abhorrence +of an honest heart for what is false, base, and cruel. A +certain clergyman wrote with much heat against the Papists in the +time of—who was known to favour the Papists, but was not +expected to continue long in office, and whose supposed +successor, the person, indeed, who did succeed him, was thought +to be hostile to the Papists. This divine, who obtained a +rich benefice from the successor of—who during ---’s +time had always opposed him in everything he proposed to do, and +who, of course, during that time affected to be very inimical to +Popery—this divine might well be suspected of having a +motive equally creditable for writing against the Papists, as +that which induced him to write for them, as soon as his patron, +who eventually did something more for him, had espoused their +cause; but what motive, save an honest one, can the present +writer have, for expressing an abhorrence of Popery? He is +no clergyman, and consequently can expect neither benefices nor +bishoprics, supposing it were the fashion of the present, or +likely to be the fashion of any future administration, to reward +clergymen with benefices or bishoprics, who, in the defence of +the religion of their country write, or shall write, against +Popery, and not to reward those who write, or shall write, in +favour of it, and all its nonsense and abominations.</p> +<p>“But if not a clergyman, he is the servant of a certain +society, which has the overthrow of Popery in view, and +therefore,” etc. This assertion, which has been +frequently made, is incorrect, even as those who have made it +probably knew it to be. He is the servant of no society +whatever. He eats his own bread, and is one of the very few +men in England who are independent in every sense of the +word.</p> +<p>It is true he went to Spain with the colours of that society +on his hat—oh! the blood glows in his veins! oh! the marrow +awakes in his old bones when he thinks of what he accomplished in +Spain in the cause of religion and civilization with the colours +of that society in his hat, and its weapon in his hand, even the +sword of the word of God; how with that weapon he hewed left and +right, making the priests fly before him, and run away squeaking: +“Vaya! que demonio es este!” Ay, and when he +thinks of the plenty of Bible swords which he left behind him, +destined to prove, and which have already proved, pretty +calthrops in the heels of Popery. “Halloo! +Batuschca,” he exclaimed the other night, on reading an +article in a newspaper; “what do you think of the present +doings in Spain? Your old friend the zingaro, the gitano +who rode about Spain, to say nothing of Galicia, with the Greek +Buchini behind him as his squire, had a hand in bringing them +about; there are many brave Spaniards connected with the present +movement who took Bibles from his hands, and read them and +profited by them, learning from the inspired page the duties of +one man towards another, and the real value of a priesthood and +their head, who set at nought the word of God, and think only of +their own temporal interests; ay, and who learned +Gitano—their own Gitano—from the lips of the London +Caloró, and also songs in the said Gitano, very fit to +dumbfounder your semi-Buddhist priests when they attempt to +bewilder people’s minds with their school-logic and +pseudo-ecclesiastical nonsense, songs such as—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Un Erajai<br /> +Sinaba chibando un sermon—.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>- But with that society he has long since ceased to have any +connection; he bade it adieu with feelings of love and admiration +more than fourteen years ago; so, in continuing to assault +Popery, no hopes of interest founded on that society can sway his +mind—interest! who, with worldly interest in view, would +ever have anything to do with that society? It is poor and +supported, like its founder Christ, by poor people; and so far +from having political influence, it is in such disfavour, and has +ever been, with the dastardly great, to whom the government of +England has for many years past been confided, that they having +borne its colours only for a month would be sufficient to exclude +any man, whatever his talents, his learning, or his courage may +be, from the slightest chance of being permitted to serve his +country either for fee, or without. A fellow who unites in +himself the bankrupt trader, the broken author, or rather +book-maker, and the laughed-down single speech spouter of the +House of Commons, may look forward, always supposing that at one +time he has been a foaming radical, to the government of an +important colony. Ay, an ancient fox who has lost his tail +may, provided he has a score of radical friends, who will swear +that he can bark Chinese, though Chinese is not barked but sung, +be forced upon a Chinese colony, though it is well known that to +have lost one’s tail is considered by the Chinese in +general as an irreparable infamy, whilst to have been once +connected with a certain society, to which, to its honour be it +said, all the radical party are vehemently hostile, would be +quite sufficient to keep any one not only from a government, but +something much less, even though he could translate the rhymed +“Sessions of Hariri,” and were versed, still +retaining his tail, in the two languages in which Kien-Loung +wrote his Eulogium on Moukden, that piece which, translated by +Amyot, the learned Jesuit, won the applause of the celebrated +Voltaire.</p> +<p>No! were the author influenced by hopes of fee or reward, he +would, instead of writing against Popery, write for it; all the +trumpery titled—he will not call them great +again—would then be for him, and their masters the +radicals, with their hosts of newspapers, would be for him, more +especially if he would commence maligning the society whose +colours he had once on his hat—a society which, as the +priest says in the text, is one of the very few Protestant +institutions for which the Popish Church entertains any fear, and +consequently respect, as it respects nothing which it does not +fear. The writer said that certain “rulers” +would never forgive him for having been connected with that +society; he went perhaps too far in saying +“never.” It is probable that they would take +him into favour on one condition, which is, that he should turn +his pen and his voice against that society; such a mark “of +a better way of thinking” would perhaps induce them to give +him a government, nearly as good as that which they gave to a +certain ancient radical fox at the intercession of his radical +friends (who were bound to keep him from the pauper’s +kennel), after he had promised to foam, bark, and snarl at +corruption no more; he might even entertain hopes of succeeding, +nay, of superseding, the ancient creature in his government; but +even were he as badly off as he is well off, he would do no such +thing. He would rather exist on crusts and water; he has +often done so, and been happy; nay, he would rather starve than +be a rogue—for even the feeling of starvation is happiness +compared with what he feels who knows himself to be a rogue, +provided he has any feeling at all. What is the use of a +mitre or knighthood to a man who has betrayed his +principles? What is the use of a gilt collar, nay, even of +a pair of scarlet breeches, to a fox who has lost his tail? +Oh! the horror which haunts the mind of a fox who has lost his +tail; and with reason, for his very mate loathes him, and more +especially if, like himself, she has lost her brush. Oh! +the horror which haunts the mind of the two-legged rogue who has +parted with his principles, or those which he professed—for +what? We’ll suppose a government. What’s +the use of a government, if the next day after you have received +it, you are obliged for very shame to scurry off to it with the +hoot of every honest man sounding in your ears?</p> +<blockquote><p>“Lightly liar leaped and away +ran.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Piers +Plowman</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But bigotry, it has been said, makes the author write against +Popery; and thorough-going bigotry, indeed, will make a person +say or do anything. But the writer is a very pretty bigot +truly! Where will the public find traces of bigotry in +anything he has written? He has written against Rome with +all his heart, with all his mind, with all his soul, and with all +his strength; but as a person may be quite honest, and speak and +write against Rome, in like manner he may speak and write against +her, and be quite free from bigotry; though it is impossible for +any one but a bigot or a bad man to write or speak in her praise; +her doctrines, actions, and machinations being what they are.</p> +<p>Bigotry! The author was born, and has always continued +in the wrong church for bigotry, the quiet, unpretending Church +of England; a church which, had it been a bigoted church, and not +long suffering almost to a fault, might with its opportunities, +as the priest says in the text, have stood in a very different +position from that which it occupies at present. No! let +those who are in search of bigotry, seek for it in a church very +different from the inoffensive Church of England, which never +encourages cruelty or calumny. Let them seek for it amongst +the members of the Church of Rome, and more especially amongst +those who have renegaded to it. There is nothing, however +false and horrible, which a pervert to Rome will not say for his +church, and which his priests will not encourage him in saying; +and there is nothing, however horrible—the more horrible +indeed and revolting to human nature, the more eager he would be +to do it—which he will not do for it, and which his priests +will not encourage him in doing.</p> +<p>Of the readiness which converts to Popery exhibit to sacrifice +all the ties of blood and affection on the shrine of their +newly-adopted religion, there is a curious illustration in the +work of Luigi Pulci. This man, who was born at Florence in +the year 1432, and who was deeply versed in the Bible, composed a +poem, called the “Morgante Maggiore,” which he +recited at the table of Lorenzo de Medici, the great patron of +Italian genius. It is a mock-heroic and religious poem, in +which the legends of knight-errantry, and of the Popish Church, +are turned to unbounded ridicule. The pretended hero of it +is a converted giant, called Morgante; though his adventures do +not occupy the twentieth part of the poem, the principal +personages being Charlemagne, Orlando, and his cousin Rinaldo of +Montalban. Morgante has two brothers, both of them giants, +and in the first canto of the poem, Morgante is represented with +his brothers as carrying on a feud with the abbot and monks of a +certain convent, built upon the confines of heathenesse; the +giants being in the habit of flinging down stones, or rather huge +rocks, on the convent. Orlando, however, who is banished +from the court of Charlemagne, arriving at the convent, +undertakes to destroy them, and, accordingly, kills Passamonte +and Alabastro, and converts Morgante, whose mind had been +previously softened by a vision, in which the “Blessed +Virgin” figures. No sooner is he converted than, as a +sign of his penitence, what does he do, but hastens and cuts off +the hands of his two brothers, saying—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Io vo’ tagliar le mani a tutti +quanti<br /> +E porterolle a que’ monaci santi.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And he does cut off the hands of his brethren, and carries +them to the abbot, who blesses him for so doing. Pulci here +is holding up to ridicule and execration the horrid butchery or +betrayal of friends by popish converts, and the encouragement +they receive from the priest. No sooner is a person +converted to Popery, than his principal thought is how he can +bring the hands and feet of his brethren, however harmless they +may be, and different from the giants, to the “holy +priests,” who, if he manages to do so, never fail to praise +him, saying to the miserable wretch, as the abbot said to +Morgante:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Tu sarai or perfetto e vero amico<br /> +A Cristo, quanto tu gli eri nemico.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Can the English public deny the justice of Pulci’s +illustration, after something which it has lately +witnessed? Has it not seen equivalents for the hands and +feet of brothers carried by popish perverts to the “holy +priests,” and has it not seen the manner in which the +offering has been received? Let those who are in quest of +bigotry seek for it among the perverts to Rome, and not amongst +those who, born in the pale of the Church of England, have always +continued in it.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER III—On Foreign Nonsense.</h3> +<p>With respect to the third point, various lessons which the +book reads to the nation at large, and which it would be well for +the nation to ponder and profit by.</p> +<p>There are many species of nonsense to which the nation is much +addicted, and of which the perusal of Lavengro ought to give them +a wholesome shame. First of all, with respect to the +foreign nonsense so prevalent now in England. The hero is a +scholar; but, though possessed of a great many tongues, he +affects to be neither Frenchman, nor German, nor this or that +foreigner; he is one who loves his country, and the language and +literature of his country, and speaks up for each and all when +there is occasion to do so. Now what is the case with nine +out of ten amongst those of the English who study foreign +languages? No sooner have they picked up a smattering of +this or that speech than they begin to abuse their own country, +and everything connected with it, more especially its +language. This is particularly the case with those who call +themselves German students. It is said, and the writer +believes with truth, that when a woman falls in love with a +particularly ugly fellow, she squeezes him with ten times more +zest than she would a handsome one, if captivated by him. +So it is with these German students; no sooner have they taken +German in hand than there is nothing like German. Oh, the +dear delightful German! How proud I am that it is now my +own, and that its divine literature is within my reach! And +all this whilst mumbling the most uncouth speech, and crunching +the most crabbed literature in Europe. The writer is not an +exclusive admirer of everything English; he does not advise his +country people never to go abroad, never to study foreign +languages, and he does not wish to persuade them that there is +nothing beautiful or valuable in foreign literature; he only +wishes that they would not make themselves fools with respect to +foreign people, foreign languages or reading; that if they chance +to have been in Spain, and have picked up a little Spanish, they +would not affect the airs of Spaniards; that if males they would +not make Tomfools of themselves by sticking cigars into their +mouths, dressing themselves in zamarras, and saying, carajo! <a +name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2" +class="citation">[2]</a> and if females that they would not make +zanies of themselves by sticking cigars into their mouths, +flinging mantillas over their heads, and by saying carai, and +perhaps carajo too; or if they have been in France or Italy, and +have picked up a little French or Italian, they would not affect +to be French or Italians; and particularly, after having been a +month or two in Germany, or picked up a little German in England, +they would not make themselves foolish about everything German, +as the Anglo-German in the book does—a real character, the +founder of the Anglo-German school in England, and the cleverest +Englishman who ever talked or wrote encomiastic nonsense about +Germany and the Germans. Of all infatuations connected with +what is foreign, the infatuation about everything that is German, +to a certain extent prevalent in England, is assuredly the most +ridiculous. One can find something like a palliation for +people making themselves somewhat foolish about particular +languages, literatures, and people. The Spanish certainly +is a noble language, and there is something wild and captivating +in the Spanish character, and its literature contains the grand +book of the world. French is a manly language. The +French are the great martial people in the world; and French +literature is admirable in many respects. Italian is a +sweet language, and of beautiful simplicity—its literature +perhaps the first in the world. The +Italians!—wonderful men have sprung up in Italy. +Italy is not merely famous for painters, poets, musicians, +singers, and linguists—the greatest linguist the world ever +saw, the late Cardinal Mezzofanti, was an Italian; but it is +celebrated for men—men emphatically speaking: Columbus was +an Italian, Alexander Farnese was an Italian, so was the +mightiest of the mighty, Napoleon Bonaparte;—but the German +language, German literature, and the Germans! The writer +has already stated his opinion with respect to German; he does +not speak from ignorance or prejudice; he has heard German +spoken, and many other languages. German literature! +He does not speak from ignorance, he has read that and many a +literature, and he repeats— However, he acknowledges that +there is one fine poem in the German language, that poem is the +“Oberon;” a poem, by the bye, ignored by the +Germans—a speaking fact—and of course, by the +Anglo-Germanists. The Germans! he has been amongst them, +and amongst many other nations, and confesses that his opinion of +the Germans, as men, is a very low one. Germany, it is +true, has produced one very great man, the monk who fought the +Pope, and nearly knocked him down; but this man his +countrymen—a telling fact—affect to despise, and, of +course, the Anglo-Germanists: the father of Anglo-Germanism was +very fond of inveighing against Luther.</p> +<p>The madness, or rather foolery, of the English for foreign +customs, dresses, and languages, is not an affair of to-day, or +yesterday—it is of very ancient date, and was very properly +exposed nearly three centuries ago by one Andrew Borde, who under +the picture of a “Naked man, with a pair of shears in one +hand, and a roll of cloth in the other,” <a +name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3" +class="citation">[3]</a> inserted the following lines along with +others:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I am an Englishman, and naked I stand +here,<br /> +Musing in my mind what garment I shall weare;<br /> +For now I will weare this, and now I will weare that,<br /> +Now I will weare, I cannot tell what.<br /> +All new fashions be pleasant to mee,<br /> +I will have them, whether I thrive or thee;<br /> +What do I care if all the world me fail?<br /> +I will have a garment reach to my taile;<br /> +Then am I a minion, for I wear the new guise.<br /> +The next yeare after I hope to be wise,<br /> +Not only in wearing my gorgeous array,<br /> +For I will go to learning a whole summer’s day;<br /> +I will learn Latine, Hebrew, Greek, and French,<br /> +And I will learn Dutch, sitting on my bench.<br /> +I had no peere if to myself I were true,<br /> +Because I am not so, divers times do I rue.<br /> +Yet I lacke nothing, I have all things at will<br /> +If I were wise and would hold myself still,<br /> +And meddle with no matters but to me pertaining,<br /> +But ever to be true to God and my king.<br /> +But I have such matters rowling in my pate,<br /> +That I will and do—I cannot tell what,” etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<h3>CHAPTER IV—On Gentility Nonsense—Illustrations of +Gentility.</h3> +<p>What is gentility? People in different stations in +England—entertain different ideas of what is genteel, <a +name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4" +class="citation">[4]</a> but it must be something gorgeous, +glittering, or tawdry, to be considered genteel by any of +them. The beau-ideal of the English aristocracy, of course +with some exceptions, is some young fellow with an imperial +title, a military personage of course, for what is military is so +particularly genteel, with flaming epaulets, a cocked hat and +plume, a prancing charger, and a band of fellows called generals +and colonels, with flaming epaulets, cocked hats and plumes, and +prancing chargers vapouring behind him. It was but lately +that the daughter of an English marquis was heard to say, that +the sole remaining wish of her heart—she had known +misfortunes, and was not far from fifty—was to be +introduced to—whom? The Emperor of Austria! The +sole remaining wish of the heart of one who ought to have been +thinking of the grave and judgment, was to be introduced to the +miscreant who had caused the blood of noble Hungarian females to +be whipped out of their shoulders, for no other crime than +devotion to their country, and its tall and heroic sons. +The middle classes—of course there are some +exceptions—admire the aristocracy, and consider them pinks, +the aristocracy who admire the Emperor of Austria, and adored the +Emperor of Russia, till he became old, ugly, and unfortunate, +when their adoration instantly terminated; for what is more +ungenteel than age, ugliness, and misfortune! The +beau-ideal with those of the lower classes, with peasants and +mechanics, is some flourishing railroad contractor: look, for +example, how they worship Mr. Flamson. This person makes +his grand débût in the year ’thirty-nine, at a +public meeting in the principal room of a country inn. He +has come into the neighbourhood with the character of a man worth +a million pounds, who is to make everybody’s fortune; at +this time, however, he is not worth a shilling of his own, though +he flashes about dexterously three or four thousand pounds, part +of which sum he has obtained by specious pretences, and part from +certain individuals who are his confederates. But in the +year ’forty-nine, he is really in possession of the fortune +which he and his agents pretended to be worth ten years +before—he is worth a million pounds. By what means +has he come by them? By railroad contracts, for which he +takes care to be paid in hard cash before he attempts to perform +them, and to carry out which he makes use of the sweat and blood +of wretches who, since their organization, have introduced crimes +and language into England to which it was previously almost a +stranger—by purchasing, with paper, shares by hundreds in +the schemes to execute which he contracts, and which are his own +devising; which shares he sells as soon as they are at a high +premium, to which they are speedily forced by means of +paragraphs, inserted by himself and agents, in newspapers devoted +to his interest, utterly reckless of the terrible depreciation to +which they are almost instantly subjected. But he is worth +a million pounds, there can be no doubt of the fact—he has +not made people’s fortunes, at least those whose fortunes +it was said he would make; he has made them away; but his own he +has made, emphatically made it; he is worth a million +pounds. Hurrah for the millionnaire! The clown who +views the pandemonium of red brick which he has built on the +estate which he has purchased in the neighbourhood of the place +of his grand débût, in which every species of +architecture, Greek, Indian, and Chinese, is employed in +caricature—who hears of the grand entertainment he gives at +Christmas in the principal dining-room, the hundred wax-candles, +the waggon-load of plate, and the ocean of wine which form parts +of it, and above all the two ostrich poults, one at the head, and +the other at the foot of the table, exclaims, “Well! if he +a’n’t bang up, I don’t know who be; why he +beats my lord hollow!” The mechanic of the borough +town, who sees him dashing through the streets in an open landau, +drawn by four milk-white horses, amidst his attendant out-riders; +his wife, a monster of a woman, by his side, stout as the wife of +Tamerlane, who weighed twenty stone, and bedizened out like her +whose person shone with the jewels of plundered Persia, stares +with silent wonder, and at last exclaims “That’s the +man for my vote!” You tell the clown that the man of +the mansion has contributed enormously to corrupt the rural +innocence of England; you point to an incipient branch railroad, +from around which the accents of Gomorrah are sounding, and beg +him to listen for a moment, and then close his ears. Hodge +scratches his head and says, “Well, I have nothing to say +to that; all I know is, that he is bang up, and I wish I were +he;” perhaps he will add—a Hodge has been known to +add—“He has been kind enough to put my son on that +very railroad; ’tis true the company is somewhat queer, and +the work rather killing, but he gets there half-a-crown a day, +whereas from the farmers he would only get +eighteen-pence.” You remind the mechanic that the man +in the landau has been the ruin of thousands and you mention +people whom he himself knows, people in various grades of life, +widows and orphans amongst them, whose little all has been +dissipated, and whom he has reduced to beggary by inducing them +to become sharers in his delusive schemes. But the mechanic +says, “Well, the more fools they to let themselves be +robbed. But I don’t call that kind of thing robbery, +I merely call it out-witting; and everybody in this free country +has a right to outwit others if he can. What a turn-out he +has!” One was once heard to add, “I never saw a +more genteel-looking man in all my life except one, and that was +a gentleman’s walley, who was much like him. It is +true that he is rather under-sized, but then madam, you know, +makes up for all.”</p> +<h3>CHAPTER V—Subject of Gentility continued.</h3> +<p>In the last chapter have been exhibited specimens of +gentility, so considered by different classes; by one class +power, youth, and epaulets are considered the ne plus ultra of +gentility; by another class pride, stateliness, and title; by +another, wealth and flaming tawdriness. But what +constitutes a gentleman? It is easy to say at once what +constitutes a gentleman, and there are no distinctions in what is +gentlemanly, <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5" +class="citation">[5]</a> as there are in what is genteel. +The characteristics of a gentleman are high feeling—a +determination never to take a cowardly advantage of +another—a liberal education—absence of narrow +views—generosity and courage, propriety of behaviour. +Now a person may be genteel according to one or another of the +three standards described above, and not possess one of the +characteristics of a gentleman. Is the emperor a gentleman, +with spatters of blood on his clothes, scourged from the backs of +noble Hungarian women? Are the aristocracy gentlefolks, who +admire him? Is Mr. Flamson a gentleman, although he has a +million pounds? No! cowardly miscreants, admirers of +cowardly miscreants, and people who make a million pounds by +means compared with which those employed to make fortunes by the +getters up of the South Sea Bubble might be called honest +dealing, are decidedly not gentlefolks. Now as it is +clearly demonstrable that a person may be perfectly genteel +according to some standard or other, and yet be no gentleman, so +it is demonstrable that a person may have no pretensions to +gentility, and yet be a gentleman. For example, there is +Lavengro! Would the admirers of the emperor, or the +admirers of those who admire the emperor, or the admirers of Mr. +Flamson, call him genteel? and gentility with them is +everything! Assuredly they would not; and assuredly they +would consider him respectively as a being to be shunned, +despised, or hooted. Genteel! Why at one time he is a +hack author—writes reviewals for eighteenpence a +page—edits a Newgate chronicle. At another he wanders +the country with a face grimy from occasionally mending kettles; +and there is no evidence that his clothes are not seedy and torn, +and his shoes down at the heel; but by what process of reasoning +will they prove that he is no gentleman? Is he not +learned? Has he not generosity and courage? Whilst a +hack author, does he pawn the books entrusted to him to +review? Does he break his word to his publisher? Does +he write begging letters? Does he get clothes or lodgings +without paying for them? Again, whilst a wanderer, does he +insult helpless women on the road with loose proposals or ribald +discourse? Does he take what is not his own from the +hedges? Does he play on the fiddle, or make faces in +public-houses, in order to obtain pence or beer? or does he call +for liquor, swallow it, and then say to a widowed landlady, +“Mistress, I have no brass?” In a word, what +vice and crime does he perpetrate—what low acts does he +commit? Therefore, with his endowments, who will venture to +say that he is no gentleman?—unless it be an admirer of Mr. +Flamson—a clown—who will, perhaps, +shout—“I say he is no gentleman; for who can be a +gentleman who keeps no gig?”</p> +<p>The indifference exhibited by Lavengro for what is merely +genteel, compared with his solicitude never to infringe the +strict laws of honour, should read a salutary lesson. The +generality of his countrymen are far more careful not to +transgress the customs of what they call gentility, than to +violate the laws of honour or morality. They will shrink +from carrying their own carpet-bag, and from speaking to a person +in seedy raiment, whilst to matters of much higher importance +they are shamelessly indifferent. Not so Lavengro; he will +do anything that he deems convenient, or which strikes his fancy, +provided it does not outrage decency, or is unallied to +profligacy; is not ashamed to speak to a beggar in rags, and will +associate with anybody, provided he can gratify a laudable +curiosity. He has no abstract love for what is low, or what +the world calls low. He sees that many things which the +world looks down upon are valuable, so he prizes much which the +world condemns; he sees that many things which the world admires +are contemptible, so he despises much which the world does not; +but when the world prizes what is really excellent, he does not +contemn it, because the world regards it. If he learns +Irish, which all the world scoffs at, he likewise learns Italian, +which all the world melts at. If he learns Gypsy, the +language of the tattered tent, he likewise learns Greek, the +language of the college-hall. If he learns smithery, he +also learns—ah! what does he learn to set against +smithery?—the law? No; he does not learn the law, +which, by the way, is not very genteel. Swimming? +Yes, he learns to swim. Swimming, however, is not genteel; +and the world—at least the genteel part of it—acts +very wisely in setting its face against it; for to swim you must +be naked, and how would many a genteel person look without his +clothes? Come, he learns horsemanship; a very genteel +accomplishment, which every genteel person would gladly possess, +though not all genteel people do.</p> +<p>Again as to associates: if he holds communion when a boy with +Murtagh, the scarecrow of an Irish academy, he associates in +after life with Francis Ardry, a rich and talented young Irish +gentleman about town. If he accepts an invitation from Mr. +Petulengro to his tent, he has no objection to go home with a +rich genius to dinner; who then will say that he prizes a thing +or a person because they are ungenteel? That he is not +ready to take up with everything that is ungenteel he gives a +proof, when he refuses, though on the brink of starvation, to +become bonnet to the thimble-man, an office, which, though +profitable, is positively ungenteel. Ah! but some +sticker-up for gentility will exclaim, “The hero did not +refuse this office from an insurmountable dislike to its +ungentility, but merely from a feeling of principle.” +Well! the writer is not fond of argument, and he will admit that +such was the case; he admits that it was a love of principle, +rather than an over-regard for gentility, which prevented the +hero from accepting, when on the brink of starvation, an +ungenteel though lucrative office, an office which, the writer +begs leave to observe, many a person with a great regard for +gentility, and no particular regard for principle, would in a +similar strait have accepted; for when did a mere love for +gentility keep a person from being a dirty scoundrel, when the +alternatives were “either be a dirty scoundrel or +starve?” One thing, however, is certain, which is, +that Lavengro did not accept the office, which if a love for what +is low had been his ruling passion he certainly would have done; +consequently, he refuses to do one thing which no genteel person +would willingly do, even as he does many things which every +genteel person would gladly do, for example, speaks Italian, +rides on horseback, associates with a fashionable young man, +dines with a rich genius, et cetera. Yet—and it +cannot be minced—he and gentility with regard to many +things are at strange divergency; he shrinks from many things at +which gentility placidly hums a tune, or approvingly simpers, and +does some things at which gentility positively shrinks. He +will not run into debt for clothes or lodgings, which he might do +without any scandal to gentility; he will not receive money from +Francis Ardry, and go to Brighton with the sister of Annette Le +Noir, though there is nothing ungenteel in borrowing money from a +friend, even when you never intend to repay him, and something +poignantly genteel in going to a watering-place with a gay young +Frenchwoman; but he has no objection, after raising twenty pounds +by the sale of that extraordinary work “Joseph Sell,” +to set off into the country, mend kettles under hedge-rows, and +make pony and donkey shoes in a dingle. Here, perhaps, some +plain, well-meaning person will cry—and with much apparent +justice—how can the writer justify him in this act? +What motive, save a love for what is low, could induce him to do +such a thing? Would the writer have everybody who is in +need of recreation go into the country, mend kettles under +hedges, and make pony shoes in dingles? To such an +observation the writer would answer, that Lavengro had an +excellent motive in doing what he did, but that the writer is not +so unreasonable as to wish everybody to do the same. It is +not everybody who can mend kettles. It is not everybody who +is in similar circumstances to those in which Lavengro was. +Lavengro flies from London and hack authorship, and takes to the +roads from fear of consumption; it is expensive to put up at +inns, and even at public-houses, and Lavengro has not much money; +so he buys a tinker’s cart and apparatus, and sets up as +tinker, and subsequently as blacksmith; a person living in a +tent, or in anything else, must do something or go mad; Lavengro +had a mind, as he himself well knew, with some slight tendency to +madness, and had he not employed himself, he must have gone wild; +so to employ himself he drew upon one of his resources, the only +one available at the time. Authorship had nearly killed +him, he was sick of reading, and had besides no books; but he +possessed the rudiments of an art akin to tinkering; he knew +something of smithery, having served a kind of apprenticeship in +Ireland to a fairy smith; so he draws upon his smithery to enable +him to acquire tinkering, he speedily acquires that craft, even +as he had speedily acquired Welsh, owing to its connection with +Irish, which language he possessed; and with tinkering he amuses +himself until he lays it aside to resume smithery. A man +who has an innocent resource, has quite as much right to draw +upon it in need, as he has upon a banker in whose hands he has +placed a sum; Lavengro turns to advantage, under particular +circumstances, a certain resource which he has, but people who +are not so forlorn as Lavengro, and have not served the same +apprenticeship which he had, are not advised to follow his +example. Surely he was better employed in plying the trades +of tinker and smith than in having recourse to vice, in running +after milk-maids, for example. Running after milk-maids is +by no means an ungenteel rural diversion; but let any one ask +some respectable casuist (the Bishop of London for example), +whether Lavengro was not far better employed, when in the +country, at tinkering and smithery than he would have been in +running after all the milk-maids in Cheshire, though tinkering is +in general considered a very ungenteel employment, and smithery +little better, notwithstanding that an Orcadian poet, who wrote +in Norse about eight hundred years ago, reckons the latter among +nine noble arts which he possessed, naming it along with playing +at chess, on the harp, and ravelling runes, or as the original +has it, “treading runes”—that is, compressing +them into a small compass by mingling one letter with another, +even as the Turkish caligraphists ravel the Arabic letters, more +especially those who write talismans.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Nine arts have I, all noble;<br /> +I play at chess so free,<br /> +At ravelling runes I’m ready,<br /> +At books and smithery;<br /> +I’m skilled o’er ice at skimming<br /> +On skates, I shoot and row,<br /> +And few at harping match me,<br /> +Or minstrelsy, I trow.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But though Lavengro takes up smithery, which, though the +Orcadian ranks it with chess-playing and harping, is certainly +somewhat of a grimy art, there can be no doubt that, had he been +wealthy and not so forlorn as he was, he would have turned to +many things, honourable, of course, in preference. He has +no objection to ride a fine horse when he has the opportunity: he +has his day-dream of making a fortune of two hundred thousand +pounds by becoming a merchant and doing business after the +Armenian fashion; and there can be no doubt that he would have +been glad to wear fine clothes, provided he had had sufficient +funds to authorize him in wearing them. For the sake of +wandering the country and plying the hammer and tongs, he would +not have refused a commission in the service of that illustrious +monarch George the Fourth, provided he had thought that he could +live on his pay, and not be forced to run in debt to tradesmen, +without any hope of paying them, for clothes and luxuries, as +many highly genteel officers in that honourable service were in +the habit of doing. For the sake of tinkering, he would +certainly not have refused a secretaryship of an embassy to +Persia, in which he might have turned his acquaintance with +Persian, Arabic, and the Lord only knows what other languages, to +account. He took to tinkering and smithery, because no +better employments were at his command. No war is waged in +the book against rank, wealth, fine clothes, or dignified +employments; it is shown, however, that a person may be a +gentleman and a scholar without them. Rank, wealth, fine +clothes, and dignified employments, are no doubt very fine +things, but they are merely externals, they do not make a +gentleman, they add external grace and dignity to the gentleman +and scholar, but they make neither; and is it not better to be a +gentleman without them than not a gentleman with them? Is +not Lavengro, when he leaves London on foot with twenty pounds in +his pocket, entitled to more respect than Mr. Flamson flaming in +his coach with a million? And is not even the honest jockey +at Horncastle, who offers a fair price to Lavengro for his horse, +entitled to more than the scoundrel lord, who attempts to cheat +him of one-fourth of its value?</p> +<p>Millions, however, seem to think otherwise, by their servile +adoration of people whom without rank, wealth, and fine clothes +they would consider infamous, but whom possessed of rank, wealth, +and glittering habiliments they seem to admire all the more for +their profligacy and crimes. Does not a blood-spot, or a +lust-spot, on the clothes of a blooming emperor, give a kind of +zest to the genteel young god? Do not the pride, +superciliousness, and selfishness of a certain aristocracy make +it all the more regarded by its worshippers? and do not the +clownish and gutter-blood admirers of Mr. Flamson like him all +the more because they are conscious that he is a knave? If +such is the case —and, alas! is it not the case?—they +cannot be too frequently told that fine clothes, wealth, and +titles adorn a person in proportion as he adorns them; that if +worn by the magnanimous and good they are ornaments indeed, but +if by the vile and profligate they are merely san benitos, and +only serve to make their infamy doubly apparent; and that a +person in seedy raiment and tattered hat, possessed of courage, +kindness, and virtue, is entitled to more respect from those to +whom his virtues are manifested than any cruel profligate +emperor, selfish aristocrat, or knavish millionaire in the +world.</p> +<p>The writer has no intention of saying that all in England are +affected with the absurd mania for gentility; nor is such a +statement made in the book; it is shown therein that individuals +of certain classes can prize a gentleman, notwithstanding seedy +raiment, dusty shoes or tattered hat,—for example, the +young Irishman, the rich genius, the postillion, and his +employer. Again, when the life of the hero is given to the +world, amidst the howl about its lowness and vulgarity, raised by +the servile crew whom its independence of sentiment has stung, +more than one powerful voice has been heard testifying +approbation of its learning and the purity of its morality. +That there is some salt in England, minds not swayed by mere +externals, he is fully convinced; if he were not, he would spare +himself the trouble of writing; but to the fact that the +generality of his countrymen are basely grovelling before the +shrine of what they are pleased to call gentility, he cannot shut +his eyes.</p> +<p>Oh! what a clever person that Cockney was, who, travelling in +the Aberdeen railroad carriage, after edifying the company with +his remarks on various subjects, gave it as his opinion that +Lieutenant P--- would, in future, be shunned by all respectable +society! And what a simple person that elderly gentleman +was, who, abruptly starting, asked in rather an authoritative +voice, “and why should Lieutenant P--- be shunned by +respectable society?” and who, after entering into what was +said to be a masterly analysis of the entire evidence of the +case, concluded by stating, “that having been accustomed to +all kinds of evidence all his life, he had never known a case in +which the accused had obtained a more complete and triumphant +justification than Lieutenant P--- had done in the late +trial.”</p> +<p>Now the Cockney, who is said to have been a very foppish +Cockney, was perfectly right in what he said, and therein +manifested a knowledge of the English mind and character, and +likewise of the modern English language, to which his catechist, +who, it seems, was a distinguished member of the Scottish bar, +could lay no pretensions. The Cockney knew what the Lord of +Session knew not, that the British public is gentility crazy, and +he knew, moreover, that gentility and respectability are +synonymous. No one in England is genteel or respectable +that is “looked at,” who is the victim of oppression; +he may be pitied for a time, but when did not pity terminate in +contempt? A poor, harmless young officer—but why +enter into the details of the infamous case? they are but too +well known, and if ever cruelty, pride, and cowardice, and things +much worse than even cruelty, cowardice, and pride were brought +to light, and, at the same time, countenanced, they were in that +case. What availed the triumphant justification of the poor +victim? There was at first a roar of indignation against +his oppressors, but how long did it last? He had been +turned out of the service, they remained in it with their red +coats and epaulets; he was merely the son of a man who had +rendered good service to his country, they were, for the most +part, highly connected—they were in the extremest degree +genteel, he quite the reverse; so the nation wavered, considered, +thought the genteel side was the safest after all, and then with +the cry of, “Oh! there is nothing like gentility,” +ratted bodily. Newspaper and public turned against the +victim, scouted him, apologized for the—what should they be +called?—who were not only admitted into the most +respectable society, but courted to come, the spots not merely of +wine on their military clothes, giving them a kind of +poignancy. But there is a God in heaven; the British +glories are tarnished—Providence has never smiled on +British arms since that case—oh! Balaklava! thy name +interpreted is net of fishes, and well dost thou deserve that +name. How many a scarlet golden fish has of late perished +in the mud amidst thee, cursing the genteel service, and the +genteel leader which brought him to such a doom.</p> +<p>Whether the rage for gentility is most prevalent amongst the +upper, middle, or lower classes it is difficult to say; the +priest in the text seems to think that it is exhibited in the +most decided manner in the middle class; it is the writer’s +opinion, however, that in no class is it more strongly developed +than in the lower: what they call being well-born goes a great +way amongst them, but the possession of money much farther, +whence Mr. Flamson’s influence over them. Their rage +against, and scorn for, any person who by his courage and talents +has advanced himself in life, and still remains poor, are +indescribable; “he is no better than ourselves,” they +say, “why should he be above us?”—for they have +no conception that anybody has a right to ascendency over +themselves except by birth or money. This feeling amongst +the vulgar has been, to a certain extent, the bane of two +services, naval and military. The writer does not make this +assertion rashly; he observed this feeling at work in the army +when a child, and he has good reason for believing that it was as +strongly at work in the navy at the same time, and is still as +prevalent in both. Why are not brave men raised from the +ranks? is frequently the cry; why are not brave sailors +promoted? The Lord help brave soldiers and sailors who are +promoted; they have less to undergo from the high airs of their +brother officers, and those are hard enough to endure, than from +the insolence of the men. Soldiers and sailors promoted to +command are said to be in general tyrants; in nine cases out of +ten, when they are tyrants, they have been obliged to have +recourse to extreme severity in order to protect themselves from +the insolence and mutinous spirit of the men,—“He is +no better than ourselves: shoot him, bayonet him, or fling him +overboard!” they say of some obnoxious individual raised +above them by his merit. Soldiers and sailors, in general, +will bear any amount of tyranny from a lordly sot, or the son of +a man who has “plenty of brass”—their own +term—but will mutiny against the just orders of a skilful +and brave officer who “is no better than +themselves.” There was the affair of the +“Bounty,” for example: Bligh was one of the best +seamen that ever trod deck, and one of the bravest of men; proofs +of his seamanship he gave by steering, amidst dreadful weather, a +deeply-laden boat for nearly four thousand miles over an almost +unknown ocean—of his bravery, at the fight of Copenhagen, +one of the most desperate ever fought, of which after Nelson he +was the hero: he was, moreover, not an unkind man; but the crew +of the “Bounty” mutinied against him, and set him +half naked in an open boat, with certain of his men who remained +faithful to him, and ran away with the ship. Their +principal motive for doing so was an idea, whether true or +groundless the writer cannot say, that Bligh was “no better +than themselves;” he was certainly neither a lord’s +illegitimate, nor possessed of twenty thousand pounds. The +writer knows what he is writing about, having been acquainted in +his early years with an individual who was turned adrift with +Bligh, and who died about the year ’22, a lieutenant in the +navy, in a provincial town in which the writer was brought +up. The ringleaders in the mutiny were two scoundrels, +Christian and Young, who had great influence with the crew, +because they were genteelly connected. Bligh, after leaving +the “Bounty,” had considerable difficulty in managing +the men who had shared his fate, because they considered +themselves “as good men as he,” notwithstanding, that +to his conduct and seamanship they had alone to look, under +Heaven, for salvation from the ghastly perils that surrounded +them. Bligh himself, in his journal, alludes to this +feeling. Once, when he and his companions landed on a +desert island, one of them said, with a mutinous look, that he +considered himself “as good a man as he;” Bligh, +seizing a cutlass, called upon him to take another and defend +himself, whereupon the man said that Bligh was going to kill him, +and made all manner of concessions; now why did this fellow +consider himself as good a man as Bligh? Was he as good a +seaman? no, nor a tenth part as good. As brave a man? no, +nor a tenth part as brave; and of these facts he was perfectly +well aware, but bravery and seamanship stood for nothing with +him, as they still stand with thousands of his class; Bligh was +not genteel by birth or money, therefore Bligh was no better than +himself. Had Bligh, before he sailed, got a twenty-thousand +pound prize in the lottery, he would have experienced no +insolence from this fellow, for there would have been no mutiny +in the “Bounty.” “He is our +betters,” the crew would have said, “and it is our +duty to obey him.”</p> +<p>The wonderful power of gentility in England is exemplified in +nothing more than in what it is producing amongst Jews, Gypsies, +and Quakers. It is breaking up their venerable +communities. All the better, some one will say. Alas! +alas! It is making the wealthy Jews forsake the synagogue +for the opera-house, or the gentility chapel, in which a disciple +of Mr. Platitude, in a white surplice, preaches a sermon at +noon-day from a desk, on each side of which is a flaming +taper. It is making them abandon their ancient literature, +their “Mischna,” their “Gemara,” their +“Zohar,” for gentility novels, “The Young +Duke,” the most unexceptionably genteel book ever written, +being the principal favourite. It makes the young Jew +ashamed of the young Jewess, it makes her ashamed of the young +Jew. The young Jew marries an opera-dancer, or if the +dancer will not have him, as is frequently the case, the cast-off +Miss of the Honourable Spencer So-and-so. It makes the +young Jewess accept the honourable offer of a cashiered +lieutenant of the Bengal Native Infantry; or, if such a person +does not come forward, the dishonourable offer of a cornet of a +regiment of crack hussars. It makes poor Jews, male and +female, forsake the synagogue for the sixpenny theatre or penny +hop; the Jew to take up with an Irish female of loose character, +and the Jewess with a musician of the Guards, or the Tipperary +servant of Captain Mulligan. With respect to the gypsies, +it is making the women what they never were before—harlots; +and the men what they never were before—careless fathers +and husbands. It has made the daughter of Ursula the chaste +take up with the base drummer of a wild-beast show. It +makes Gorgiko Brown, the gypsy man, leave his tent and his old +wife, of an evening, and thrust himself into society which could +well dispense with him. “Brother,” said Mr. +Petulengro to the Romany Rye, after telling him many things +connected with the decadence of gypsyism, “there is one +Gorgiko Brown, who, with a face as black as a tea-kettle, wishes +to be mistaken for a Christian tradesman; he goes into the +parlour of a third-rate inn of an evening, calls for rum and +water, and attempts to enter into conversation with the company +about politics and business; the company flout him and give him +the cold shoulder, or perhaps complain to the landlord, who comes +and asks him what business he has in the parlour, telling him if +he wants to drink to go into the tap-room, and perhaps collars +him and kicks him out, provided he refuses to move.” +With respect to the Quakers, it makes the young people like the +young Jews, crazy after gentility diversions, worship, marriages, +or connections, and makes old Pease do what it makes Gorgiko +Brown do, thrust himself into society which could well dispense +with him, and out of which he is not kicked, because unlike the +gypsy he is not poor. The writer would say much more on +these points, but want of room prevents him; he must therefore +request the reader to have patience until he can lay before the +world a pamphlet, which he has been long meditating, to be +entitled “Remarks on the strikingly similar Effects which a +Love for Gentility has produced, and is producing, amongst Jews, +Gypsies, and Quakers.”</p> +<p>The Priest in the book has much to say on the subject of this +gentility-nonsense; no person can possibly despise it more +thoroughly than that very remarkable individual seems to do, yet +he hails its prevalence with pleasure, knowing the benefits which +will result from it to the church of which he is the sneering +slave. “The English are mad after gentility,” +says he; “well, all the better for us; their religion for a +long time past has been a plain and simple one, and consequently +by no means genteel; they’ll quit it for ours, which is the +perfection of what they admire; with which Templars, Hospitalers, +mitred abbots, Gothic abbeys, long-drawn aisles, golden censers, +incense, et cetera, are connected; nothing, or next to nothing, +of Christ, it is true, but weighed in the balance against +gentility, where will Christianity be? why, kicking against the +beam—ho! ho!” And in connection with the +gentility-nonsense, he expatiates largely, and with much +contempt, on a species of literature by which the interests of +his church in England have been very much advanced—all +genuine priests have a thorough contempt for everything which +tends to advance the interests of their church—this +literature is made up of pseudo Jacobitism, Charlie o’er +the waterism, or nonsense about Charlie o’er the +water. And the writer will now take the liberty of saying a +few words about it on his own account.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI—On Scotch Gentility-Nonsense—Charlie +o’er the Waterism.</h3> +<p>Of the literature just alluded to Scott was the +inventor. It is founded on the fortunes and misfortunes of +the Stuart family, of which Scott was the zealous defender and +apologist, doing all that in his power lay to represent the +members of it as noble, chivalrous, high-minded, unfortunate +princes; though, perhaps, of all the royal families that ever +existed upon the earth, this family was the worst. It was +unfortunate enough, it is true; but it owed its misfortunes +entirely to its crimes, viciousness, bad faith, and +cowardice. Nothing will be said of it here until it made +its appearance in England to occupy the English throne.</p> +<p>The first of the family which we have to do with, James, was a +dirty, cowardly miscreant, of whom the less said the +better. His son, Charles the First, was a +tyrant—exceedingly cruel and revengeful, but weak and +dastardly; he caused a poor fellow to be hanged in London, who +was not his subject, because he had heard that the unfortunate +creature had once bitten his own glove at Cadiz, in Spain, at the +mention of his name; and he permitted his own bull-dog, +Strafford, to be executed by his own enemies, though the only +crime of Strafford was, that he had barked furiously at those +enemies, and had worried two or three of them, when Charles +shouted, “Fetch ’em.” He was a bitter, +but yet a despicable enemy, and the coldest and most worthless of +friends; for though he always hoped to be able, some time or +other, to hang his enemies, he was always ready to curry favour +with them, more especially if he could do so at the expense of +his friends. He was the haughtiest, yet meanest of +mankind. He once caned a young nobleman for appearing +before him in the drawing-room not dressed exactly according to +the court etiquette; yet he condescended to flatter and +compliment him who, from principle, was his bitterest enemy, +namely, Harrison, when the republican colonel was conducting him +as a prisoner to London. His bad faith was notorious; it +was from abhorrence of the first public instance which he gave of +his bad faith, his breaking his word to the Infanta of Spain, +that the poor Hiberno-Spaniard bit his glove at Cadiz; and it was +his notorious bad faith which eventually cost him his head; for +the Republicans would gladly have spared him, provided they could +put the slightest confidence in any promise, however solemn, +which he might have made to them. Of them, it would be +difficult to say whether they most hated or despised him. +Religion he had none. One day he favoured Popery; the next, +on hearing certain clamours of the people, he sent his +wife’s domestics back packing to France, because they were +Papists. Papists, however, should make him a saint, for he +was certainly the cause of the taking of Rochelle.</p> +<p>His son, Charles the Second, though he passed his youth in the +school of adversity, learned no other lesson from it than the +following one—take care of yourself, and never do an +action, either good or bad, which is likely to bring you into any +great difficulty; and this maxim he acted up to as soon as he +came to the throne. He was a Papist, but took especial care +not to acknowledge his religion, at which he frequently scoffed, +till just before his last gasp, when he knew that he could lose +nothing, and hoped to gain everything by it. He was always +in want of money, but took care not to tax the country beyond all +endurable bounds; preferring to such a bold and dangerous course, +to become the pensioner of Louis, to whom, in return for his +gold, he sacrificed the honour and interests of Britain. He +was too lazy and sensual to delight in playing the part of a +tyrant himself; but he never checked tyranny in others save in +one instance. He permitted beastly butchers to commit +unmentionable horrors on the feeble, unarmed, and disunited +Covenanters of Scotland, but checked them when they would fain +have endeavoured to play the same game on the numerous united, +dogged, and warlike Independents of England. To show his +filial piety, he bade the hangman dishonour the corpses of some +of his father’s judges, before whom, when alive, he ran +like a screaming hare; but permitted those who had lost their all +in supporting his father’s cause, to pine in misery and +want. He would give to a painted harlot a thousand pounds +for a loathsome embrace, and to a player or buffoon a hundred for +a trumpery pun, but would refuse a penny to the widow or orphan +of an old Royalist soldier. He was the personification of +selfishness; and as he loved and cared for no one, so did no one +love or care for him. So little had he gained the respect +or affection of those who surrounded him, that after his body had +undergone an after-death examination, parts of it were thrown +down the sinks of the palace, to become eventually the prey of +the swine and ducks of Westminster.</p> +<p>His brother, who succeeded him, James the Second, was a +Papist, but sufficiently honest to acknowledge his Popery, but +upon the whole, he was a poor creature; though a tyrant, he was +cowardly, had he not been a coward he would never have lost his +throne. There were plenty of lovers of tyranny in England +who would have stood by him, provided he would have stood by +them, and would, though not Papists, have encouraged him in his +attempt to bring back England beneath the sway of Rome, and +perhaps would eventually have become Papists themselves; but the +nation raising a cry against him, and his son-in-law, the Prince +of Orange, invading the country, he forsook his friends, of whom +he had a host, but for whom he cared little—left his +throne, for which he cared a great deal—and Popery in +England, for which he cared yet more, to their fate, and escaped +to France, from whence, after taking a little heart, he repaired +to Ireland, where he was speedily joined by a gallant army of +Papists whom he basely abandoned at the Boyne, running away in a +most lamentable condition, at the time when by showing a little +courage he might have enabled them to conquer. This worthy, +in his last will, bequeathed his heart to England—his right +arm to Scotland—and his bowels to Ireland. What the +English and Scotch said to their respective bequests is not +known, but it is certain that an old Irish priest, supposed to +have been a great-grand-uncle of the present Reverend Father +Murtagh, on hearing of the bequest to Ireland, fell into a great +passion, and having been brought up at “Paris and +Salamanca,” expressed his indignation in the following +strain:—“Malditas sean tus tripas! teniamos bastante +del olor de tus tripas al tiempo de tu nuida dela batalla del +Boyne!”</p> +<p>His son, generally called the Old Pretender, though born in +England, was carried in his infancy to France, where he was +brought up in the strictest principles of Popery, which +principles, however, did not prevent him becoming (when did they +ever prevent any one?) a worthless and profligate scoundrel; +there are some doubts as to the reality of his being a son of +James, which doubts are probably unfounded, the grand proof of +his legitimacy being the thorough baseness of his +character. It was said of his father that he could speak +well, and it may be said of him that he could write well, the +only thing he could do which was worth doing, always supposing +that there is any merit in being able to write. He was of a +mean appearance, and, like his father, pusillanimous to a +degree. The meanness of his appearance disgusted, and his +pusillanimity discouraged the Scotch when he made his appearance +amongst them in the year 1715, some time after the standard of +rebellion had been hoisted by Mar. He only stayed a short +time in Scotland, and then, seized with panic, retreated to +France, leaving his friends to shift for themselves as they best +could. He died a pensioner of the Pope.</p> +<p>The son of this man, Charles Edward, of whom so much in later +years has been said and written, was a worthless ignorant youth, +and a profligate and illiterate old man. When young, the +best that can be said of him is, that he had occasionally springs +of courage, invariably at the wrong time and place, which merely +served to lead his friends into inextricable difficulties. +When old, he was loathsome and contemptible to both friend and +foe. His wife loathed him, and for the most terrible of +reasons; she did not pollute his couch, for to do that was +impossible—he had made it so vile; but she betrayed it, +inviting to it not only Alfieri the Filthy, but the coarsest +grooms. Doctor King, the warmest and almost last adherent +of his family, said, that there was not a vice or crime of which +he was not guilty; as for his foes, they scorned to harm him even +when in their power. In the year 1745 he came down from the +Highlands of Scotland, which had long been a focus of +rebellion. He was attended by certain clans of the +Highlands, desperadoes used to free-bootery from their infancy, +and, consequently, to the use of arms, and possessed of a certain +species of discipline; with these he defeated at Prestonpans a +body of men called soldiers, but who were in reality peasants and +artizans, levied about a month before, without discipline or +confidence in each other, and who were miserably massacred by the +Highland army; he subsequently invaded England, nearly destitute +of regular soldiers, and penetrated as far as Derby, from which +place he retreated on learning that regular forces which had been +hastily recalled from Flanders were coming against him, with the +Duke of Cumberland at their head; he was pursued, and his +rearguard overtaken and defeated by the dragoons of the duke at +Clifton, from which place the rebels retreated in great confusion +across the Eden into Scotland, where they commenced dancing +Highland reels and strathspeys on the bank of the river, for joy +at their escape, whilst a number of wretched girls, paramours of +some of them, were perishing in the waters of the swollen river +in an attempt to follow them; they themselves passed over by +eighties and by hundreds, arm in arm, for mutual safety, without +the loss of a man, but they left the poor paramours to shift for +themselves, nor did any of these canny people after passing the +stream dash back to rescue a single female life,—no, they +were too well employed upon the bank in dancing strathspeys to +the tune of “Charlie o’er the water.” It +was, indeed, Charlie o’er the water, and canny Highlanders +o’er the water, but where were the poor prostitutes +meantime? <i>In the water</i>.</p> +<p>The Jacobite farce, or tragedy, was speedily brought to a +close by the battle of Culloden; there did Charlie wish himself +back again o’er the water, exhibiting the most unmistakable +signs of pusillanimity; there were the clans cut to pieces, at +least those who could be brought to the charge, and there fell +Giles Mac Bean, or as he was called in Gaelic, Giliosa Mac +Beathan, a kind of giant, six feet four inches and a quarter +high, “than whom,” as his wife said in a coronach she +made upon him, “no man who stood at Cuiloitr was +taller”—Giles Mac Bean the Major of the clan +Cattan—a great drinker—a great fisher—a great +shooter, and the champion of the Highland host.</p> +<p>The last of the Stuarts was a cardinal.</p> +<p>Such were the Stuarts, such their miserable history. +They were dead and buried in every sense of the word until Scott +resuscitated them—how? by the power of fine writing and by +calling to his aid that strange divinity, gentility. He +wrote splendid novels about the Stuarts, in which he represents +them as unlike what they really were as the graceful and +beautiful papillon is unlike the hideous and filthy worm. +In a word, he made them genteel, and that was enough to give them +paramount sway over the minds of the British people. The +public became Stuart-mad, and everybody, specially the women, +said, “What a pity it was that we hadn’t a Stuart to +govern.” All parties, Whig, Tory, or Radical, became +Jacobite at heart, and admirers of absolute power. The +Whigs talked about the liberty of the subject, and the Radicals +about the rights of man still, but neither party cared a straw +for what it talked about, and mentally swore that, as soon as by +means of such stuff they could get places, and fill their +pockets, they would be as Jacobite as the Jacobs +themselves. As for Tories, no great change in them was +necessary; everything favouring absolutism and slavery being +congenial to them. So the whole nation, that is, the +reading part of the nation, with some exceptions, for thank God +there has always been some salt in England, went over the water +to Charlie. But going over to Charlie was not enough, they +must, or at least a considerable part of them, go over to Rome +too, or have a hankering to do so. As the Priest +sarcastically observes in the text, “As all the Jacobs were +Papists, so the good folks who through Scott’s novels +admire the Jacobs must be Papists too.” An idea got +about that the religion of such genteel people as the Stuarts +must be the climax of gentility, and that idea was quite +sufficient. Only let a thing, whether temporal or +spiritual, be considered genteel in England, and if it be not +followed it is strange indeed; so Scott’s writings not only +made the greater part of the nation Jacobite, but Popish.</p> +<p>Here some people will exclaim—whose opinions remain +sound and uncontaminated—what you say is perhaps true with +respect to the Jacobite nonsense at present so prevalent being +derived from Scott’s novels, but the Popish nonsense, which +people of the genteeler classes are so fond of, is derived from +Oxford. We sent our sons to Oxford nice honest lads, +educated in the principles of the Church of England, and at the +end of the first term they came home puppies, talking Popish +nonsense, which they had learned from the pedants to whose care +we had entrusted them; ay, not only Popery but Jacobitism, which +they hardly carried with them from home, for we never heard them +talking Jacobitism before they had been at Oxford; but now their +conversation is a farrago of Popish and Jacobite +stuff—“Complines and Claverse.” Now, what +these honest folks say is, to a certain extent, founded on fact; +the Popery which has overflowed the land during the last fourteen +or fifteen years, has come immediately from Oxford, and likewise +some of the Jacobitism, Popish and Jacobite nonsense, and little +or nothing else, having been taught at Oxford for about that +number of years. But whence did the pedants get the Popish +nonsense with which they have corrupted youth? Why, from +the same quarter from which they got the Jacobite nonsense with +which they have inoculated those lads who were not inoculated +with it before—Scott’s novels. Jacobitism and +Laudism, a kind of half Popery, had at one time been very +prevalent at Oxford, but both had been long consigned to oblivion +there, and people at Oxford cared as little about Laud as they +did about the Pretender. Both were dead and buried there, +as everywhere else, till Scott called them out of their graves, +when the pedants of Oxford hailed both—ay, and the Pope, +too, as soon as Scott had made the old fellow fascinating, +through particular novels, more especially the +“Monastery” and “Abbot.” Then the +quiet, respectable, honourable Church of England would no longer +do for the pedants of Oxford; they must belong to a more genteel +church—they were ashamed at first to be downright +Romans—so they would be Lauds. The pale-looking, but +exceedingly genteel non-juring clergyman in Waverley was a Laud; +but they soon became tired of being Lauds, for Laud’s +Church, gew-gawish and idolatrous as it was, was not sufficiently +tinselly and idolatrous for them, so they must be Popes, but in a +sneaking way, still calling themselves Church-of-England men, in +order to batten on the bounty of the church which they were +betraying, and likewise have opportunities of corrupting such +lads as might still resort to Oxford with principles +uncontaminated.</p> +<p>So the respectable people, whose opinions are still sound, +are, to a certain extent, right when they say that the tide of +Popery, which has flowed over the land, has come from +Oxford. It did come immediately from Oxford, but how did it +get to Oxford? Why, from Scott’s novels. Oh! +that sermon which was the first manifestation of Oxford feeling, +preached at Oxford some time in the year ’38 by a divine of +a weak and confused intellect, in which Popery was mixed up with +Jacobitism! The present writer remembers perfectly well, on +reading some extracts from it at the time in a newspaper, on the +top of a coach, exclaiming—“Why, the simpleton has +been pilfering from Walter Scott’s novels!”</p> +<p>O Oxford pedants! Oxford pedants! ye whose politics and +religion are both derived from Scott’s novels! what a pity +it is that some lad of honest parents, whose mind ye are +endeavouring to stultify with your nonsense about +“Complines and Claverse,” has not the spirit to start +up and cry, “Confound your gibberish! I’ll have +none of it. Hurrah for the Church, and the principles of my +<i>father</i>!”</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII—Same Subject continued.</h3> +<p>Now what could have induced Scott to write novels tending to +make people Papists and Jacobites, and in love with arbitrary +power? Did he think that Christianity was a gaudy +mummery? He did not, he could not, for he had read the +Bible; yet was he fond of gaudy mummeries, fond of talking about +them. Did he believe that the Stuarts were a good family, +and fit to govern a country like Britain? He knew that they +were a vicious, worthless crew, and that Britain was a degraded +country as long as they swayed the sceptre; but for those facts +he cared nothing, they governed in a way which he liked, for he +had an abstract love of despotism, and an abhorrence of +everything savouring of freedom and the rights of man in +general. His favourite political picture was a joking, +profligate, careless king, nominally absolute—the heads of +great houses paying court to, but in reality governing, that +king, whilst revelling with him on the plunder of a nation, and a +set of crouching, grovelling vassals (the literal meaning of +vassal is a wretch), who, after allowing themselves to be +horsewhipped, would take a bone if flung to them, and be +grateful; so that in love with mummery, though he knew what +Christianity was, no wonder he admired such a church as that of +Rome, and that which Laud set up; and by nature formed to be the +holder of the candle to ancient worm-eaten and profligate +families, no wonder that all his sympathies were with the Stuarts +and their dissipated insolent party, and all his hatred directed +against those who endeavoured to check them in their proceedings, +and to raise the generality of mankind something above a state of +vassalage, that is, wretchedness. Those who were born +great, were, if he could have had his will, always to remain +great, however worthless their characters. Those who were +born low, were always to remain so, however great their talents; +though, if that rule were carried out, where would he have been +himself?</p> +<p>In the book which he called the “History of Napoleon +Bonaparte,” in which he plays the sycophant to all the +legitimate crowned heads in Europe, whatever their crimes, vices, +or miserable imbecilities, he, in his abhorrence of everything +low which by its own vigour makes itself illustrious, calls Murat +of the sabre the son of a pastry-cook, of a Marseilleise +pastry-cook. It is a pity that people who give themselves +hoity-toity airs—and the Scotch in general are wonderfully +addicted to giving themselves hoity-toity airs, and checking +people better than themselves with their birth <a +name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6" +class="citation">[6]</a> and their country—it is a great +pity that such people do not look at home-son of a pastry-cook, +of a Marseilleise pastry-cook! Well, and what was Scott +himself? Why, son of a pettifogger, of an Edinburgh +pettifogger. “Oh, but Scott was descended from the +old cow-stealers of Buccleuch, and therefore—” +descended from old cow-stealers, was he? Well, had he +nothing to boast of beyond such a pedigree, he would have lived +and died the son of a pettifogger, and been forgotten, and +deservedly so; but he possessed talents, and by his talents rose +like Murat, and like him will be remembered for his talents +alone, and deservedly so. “Yes, but Murat was still +the son of a pastry-cook, and though he was certainly good at the +sabre, and cut his way to a throne, still—” +Lord! what fools there are in the world; but as no one can be +thought anything of in this world without a pedigree, the writer +will now give a pedigree for Murat, of a very different character +from the cow-stealing one of Scott, but such a one as the +proudest he might not disdain to claim. Scott was descended +from the old cow-stealers of Buccleuch—was he? Good! +and Murat was descended from the old Moors of Spain, from the +Abencerages (sons of the saddle) of Granada. The name Murat +is Arabic, and is the same as Murad (Le Desiré, or the +wished-for one). Scott in his genteel Life of Bonaparte, +says that “when Murat was in Egypt, the similarity between +the name of the celebrated Mameluke Mourad and that of +Bonaparte’s Meilleur Sabreur was remarked, and became the +subject of jest amongst the comrades of the gallant +Frenchman.” But the writer of the novel of Bonaparte +did not know that the names were one and the same. Now +which was the best pedigree, that of the son of the pastry-cook, +or that of the son of the pettifogger? Which was the best +blood? Let us observe the workings of the two bloods. +He who had the blood of the “sons of the saddle” in +him, became the wonderful cavalier of the most wonderful host +that ever went forth to conquest, won for himself a crown, and +died the death of a soldier, leaving behind him a son, only +inferior to himself in strength, in prowess, and in +horsemanship. The descendant of the cow-stealer became a +poet, a novel writer, the panegyrist of great folk and genteel +people; became insolvent because, though an author, he deemed it +ungenteel to be mixed up with the business part of the +authorship; died paralytic and broken-hearted because he could no +longer give entertainments to great folks, leaving behind him, +amongst other children, who were never heard of, a son, who, +through his father’s interest, had become +lieutenant-colonel in a genteel cavalry regiment. A son who +was ashamed of his father because his father was an author; a son +who—paugh—why ask which was the best blood?</p> +<p>So, owing to his rage for gentility, Scott must needs become +the apologist of the Stuarts and their party; but God made this +man pay dearly for taking the part of the wicked against the +good; for lauding up to the skies the miscreants and robbers, and +calumniating the noble spirits of Britain, the salt of England, +and his own country. As God had driven the Stuarts from +their throne, and their followers from their estates, making them +vagabonds and beggars on the face of the earth, taking from them +all that they cared for, so did that same God, who knows +perfectly well how and where to strike, deprive the apologist of +that wretched crew of all that rendered life pleasant in his +eyes, the lack of which paralysed him in body and mind, rendered +him pitiable to others, loathsome to himself,—so much so, +that he once said, “Where is the beggar who would change +places with me, notwithstanding all my fame?” Ah! God +knows perfectly well how to strike. He permitted him to +retain all his literary fame to the very last—his literary +fame for which he cared nothing; but what became of the sweetness +of life, his fine house, his grand company, and his +entertainments? The grand house ceased to be his; he was +only permitted to live in it on sufferance, and whatever grandeur +it might still retain, it soon became as desolate a looking house +as any misanthrope could wish to see—where were the grand +entertainments and the grand company? there are no grand +entertainments where there is no money; no lords and ladies where +there are no entertainments—and there lay the poor lodger +in the desolate house, groaning on a bed no longer his, smitten +by the hand of God in the part where he was most +vulnerable. Of what use telling such a man to take comfort, +for he had written the “Minstrel” and “Rob +Roy,”—telling him to think of his literary +fame? Literary fame, indeed! he wanted back his lost +gentility:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Retain my altar,<br /> +I care nothing for it—but, oh! touch not my +<i>beard</i>.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Porny’s</span> <i>War of the Gods</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>He dies, his children die too, and then comes the crowning +judgment of God on what remains of his race and the house which +he had built. He was not a Papist himself, nor did he wish +any one belonging to him to be Popish, for he had read enough of +the Bible to know that no one can be saved through Popery, yet +had he a sneaking affection for it, and would at times in an +underhand manner, give it a good word both in writing and +discourse, because it was a gaudy kind of worship, and ignorance +and vassalage prevailed so long as it flourished—but he +certainly did not wish any of his people to become Papists, nor +the house which he had built to become a Popish house, though the +very name he gave it savoured of Popery; but Popery becomes +fashionable through his novels and poems—the only one that +remains of his race, a female grandchild, marries a person who, +following the fashion, becomes a Papist, and makes her a Papist +too. Money abounds with the husband, who buys the house, +and then the house becomes the rankest Popish house in +Britain. A superstitious person might almost imagine that +one of the old Scottish Covenanters, whilst the grand house was +being built from the profits resulting from the sale of writings +favouring Popery and persecution, and calumniatory of +Scotland’s saints and martyrs, had risen from the grave, +and banned Scott, his race, and his house, by reading a certain +psalm.</p> +<p>In saying what he has said about Scott, the author has not +been influenced by any feeling of malice or ill-will, but simply +by a regard for truth, and a desire to point out to his +countrymen the harm which has resulted from the perusal of his +works;—he is not one of those who would depreciate the +talents of Scott—he admires his talents, both as a prose +writer and a poet; as a poet especially he admires him, and +believes him to have been by far the greatest, with perhaps the +exception of Mickiewicz, who only wrote for unfortunate Poland, +that Europe has given birth to during the last hundred +years. As a prose writer he admires him, less, it is true, +but his admiration for him in that capacity is very high, and he +only laments that he prostituted his talents to the cause of the +Stuarts and gentility. What book of fiction of the present +century can you read twice, with the exception of +“Waverley” and “Rob Roy?” There is +“Pelham,” it is true, which the writer of these lines +has seen a Jewess reading in the steppe of Debreczin, and which a +young Prussian Baron, a great traveller, whom he met at +Constantinople in ’44 told him he always carried in his +valise. And, in conclusion, he will say, in order to show +the opinion which he entertains of the power of Scott as a +writer, that he did for the sceptre of the wretched Pretender +what all the kings of Europe could not do for his +body—placed it on the throne of these realms; and for +Popery, what Popes and Cardinals strove in vain to do for three +centuries—brought back its mummeries and nonsense into the +temples of the British Isles.</p> +<p>Scott during his lifetime had a crowd of imitators, who, +whether they wrote history so called—poetry so +called—or novels—nobody would call a book a novel if +he could call it anything else—wrote Charlie o’er the +water nonsense; and now that he has been dead nearly a quarter of +a century, there are others daily springing up who are striving +to imitate Scott in his Charlie o’er the water +nonsense—for nonsense it is, even when flowing from his +pen. They, too, must write Jacobite histories, Jacobite +songs, and Jacobite novels, and much the same figure as the +scoundrel menials in the comedy cut when personating their +masters, and retailing their masters’ conversation, do they +cut as Walter Scotts. In their histories, they too talk +about the Prince and Glenfinnan, and the pibroch; and in their +songs about “Claverse” and “Bonny +Dundee.” But though they may be Scots, they are not +Walter Scotts. But it is perhaps chiefly in the novel that +you see the veritable hog in armour; the time of the novel is of +course the ’15 or ’45; the hero a Jacobite, and +connected with one or other of the enterprises of those periods; +and the author, to show how unprejudiced he is, and what +<i>original</i> views he takes of subjects, must needs speak up +for Popery, whenever he has occasion to mention it; though, with +all his originality, when he brings his hero and the vagabonds +with which he is concerned before a barricadoed house, belonging +to the Whigs, he can make them get into it by no other method +than that which Scott makes his rioters employ to get into the +Tolbooth, <i>burning down</i> the door.</p> +<p>To express the more than utter foolishness of this latter +Charlie o’er the water nonsense, whether in rhyme or prose, +there is but one word, and that word a Scotch word. Scotch, +the sorriest of jargons, compared with which even Roth Welsch is +dignified and expressive, has yet one word to express what would +be inexpressible by any word or combination of words in any +language, or in any other jargon in the world; and very properly; +for as the nonsense is properly Scotch, so should the word be +Scotch which expresses it—that word is +“fushionless,” pronounced <i>fooshionless</i>; and +when the writer has called the nonsense fooshionless—and he +does call it fooshionless—he has nothing more to say, but +leaves the nonsense to its fate.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII—On Canting Nonsense.</h3> +<p>The writer now wishes to say something on the subject of +canting nonsense, of which there is a great deal in +England. There are various cants in England, amongst which +is the religious cant. He is not going to discuss the +subject of religious cant: lest, however, he should be +misunderstood, he begs leave to repeat that he is a sincere +member of the Church of England, in which he believes there is +more religion, and consequently less cant, than in any other +church in the world; nor is he going to discuss many other cants; +he shall content himself with saying something about +two—the temperance cant and the unmanly cant. +Temperance canters say that “it is unlawful to drink a +glass of ale.” Unmanly canters say that “it is +unlawful to use one’s fists.” The writer begs +leave to tell both these species of canters that they do not +speak words of truth.</p> +<p>It is very lawful to take a cup of ale, or wine, for the +purpose of cheering or invigorating yourself when you are faint +and down-hearted; and likewise to give a cup of ale or wine to +others when they are in a similar condition. The Holy +Scripture sayeth nothing to the contrary, but rather encourageth +people in so doing by the text, “Wine maketh glad the heart +of man.” But it is not lawful to intoxicate yourself +with frequent cups of ale or wine, nor to make others +intoxicated, nor does the Holy Scripture say it is. The +Holy Scripture no more says that it is lawful to intoxicate +yourself or others, than it says that it is unlawful to take a +cup of ale or wine yourself, or to give one to others. Noah +is not commended in the Scripture for making himself drunken on +the wine he brewed. Nor is it said that the Saviour, when +he supplied the guests with first-rate wine at the +marriage-feast, told them to make themselves drunk upon it. +He is said to have supplied them with first-rate wine, but He +doubtless left the quantity which each should drink to each +party’s reason and discretion. When you set a good +dinner before your guests, you do not expect that they should +gorge themselves with the victuals you set before them. +Wine may be abused, and so may a leg of mutton.</p> +<p>Second. It is lawful for any one to use his fists in his +own defence, or in the defence of others, provided they +can’t help themselves; but it is not lawful to use them for +purposes of tyranny or brutality. If you are attacked by a +ruffian, as the elderly individual in Lavengro is in the +inn-yard, it is quite lawful, if you can, to give him as good a +thrashing as the elderly individual gave the brutal coachman; and +if you see a helpless woman—perhaps your own +sister—set upon by a drunken lord, a drunken coachman, or a +drunken coalheaver, or a brute of any description, either drunk +or sober, it is not only lawful but laudable, to give them, if +you can, a good drubbing; but it is not lawful because you have a +strong pair of fists, and know how to use them, to go swaggering +through a fair, jostling against unoffending individuals; should +you do so, you would be served quite right if you were to get a +drubbing, more particularly if you were served out by some one +less strong, but more skilful than yourself—even as the +coachman was served out by a pupil of the immortal +Broughton—sixty years old, it is true, but possessed of +Broughton’s guard and chop. Moses is not blamed in +the Scripture for taking part with the oppressed, and killing an +Egyptian persecutor. We are not told how Moses killed the +Egyptian; but it is quite as creditable to Moses to suppose that +he killed the Egyptian by giving him a buffet under the left ear, +as by stabbing him with a knife. It is true that the +Saviour in the New Testament tells His disciples to turn the left +cheek to be smitten, after they had received a blow on the right; +but He was speaking to people divinely inspired, or whom He +intended divinely to inspire—people selected by God for a +particular purpose. He likewise tells these people to part +with various articles of raiment when asked for them, and to go +a-travelling without money, and take no thought of the +morrow. Are those exhortations carried out by very good +people in the present day? Do Quakers, when smitten on the +right cheek, turn the left to the smiter? When asked for +their coat, do they say, “Friend, take my shirt +also?” Has the Dean of Salisbury no purse? Does +the Archbishop of Canterbury go to an inn, run up a reckoning, +and then say to his landlady, “Mistress, I have no +coin?” Assuredly the Dean has a purse, and a +tolerably well-filled one; and, assuredly, the Archbishop, on +departing from an inn, not only settles his reckoning, but leaves +something handsome for the servants, and does not say that he is +forbidden by the gospel to pay for what he has eaten, or the +trouble he has given, as a certain Spanish cavalier said he was +forbidden by the statutes of chivalry. Now, to take the +part of yourself, or the part of the oppressed, with your fists, +is quite as lawful in the present day as it is to refuse your +coat and shirt also to any vagabond who may ask for them, and not +to refuse to pay for supper, bed, and breakfast, at the Feathers, +or any other inn, after you have had the benefit of all +three.</p> +<p>The conduct of Lavengro with respect to drink may, upon the +whole, serve as a model. He is no drunkard, nor is he fond +of intoxicating other people; yet when the horrors are upon him +he has no objection to go to a public-house and call for a pint +of ale, nor does he shrink from recommending ale to others when +they are faint and downcast. In one instance, it is true, +he does what cannot be exactly justified; he encourages the +Priest in the dingle, in more instances than one, in drinking +more hollands and water than is consistent with decorum. He +has a motive indeed in doing so; a desire to learn from the knave +in his cups the plans and hopes of the Propaganda of Rome. +Such conduct, however, was inconsistent with strict fair dealing +and openness; and the author advises all those whose consciences +never reproach them for a single unfair or covert act committed +by them, to abuse him heartily for administering hollands and +water to the Priest of Rome. In that instance the hero is +certainly wrong; yet in all other cases with regard to drink, he +is manifestly right. To tell people that they are never to +drink a glass of ale or wine themselves, or to give one to +others, is cant; and the writer has no toleration for cant of any +description. Some cants are not dangerous; but the writer +believes that a more dangerous cant than the temperance cant, or +as it is generally called, teetotalism, is scarcely to be +found. The writer is willing to believe that it originated +with well meaning, though weak people; but there can be no doubt +that it was quickly turned to account by people who were neither +well meaning nor weak. Let the reader note particularly the +purpose to which this cry has been turned in America; the land, +indeed, par excellence, of humbug and humbug cries. It is +there continually in the mouth of the most violent political +party, and is made an instrument of almost unexampled +persecution. The writer would say more on the temperance +cant, both in England and America, but want of space prevents +him. There is one point on which he cannot avoid making a +few brief remarks—that is, the inconsistent conduct of its +apostles in general. The teetotal apostle says, it is a +dreadful thing to be drunk. So it is, teetotaller; but if +so, why do you get drunk? I get drunk? Yes, unhappy +man, why do you get drunk on smoke and passion? Why are +your garments impregnated with the odour of the Indian +weed? Why is there a pipe or a cigar always in your +mouth? Why is your language more dreadful than that of a +Poissarde? Tobacco-smoke is more deleterious than ale, +teetotaller; bile more potent than brandy. You are fond of +telling your hearers what an awful thing it is to die +drunken. So it is, teetotaller. Then take good care +that you do not die with smoke and passion, drunken, and with +temperance language on your lips; that is, abuse and calumny +against all those who differ from you. One word of sense +you have been heard to say, which is, that spirits may be taken +as a medicine. Now you are in a fever of passion, +teetotaller; so, pray take this tumbler of brandy; take it on the +homoeopathic principle, that heat is to be expelled by +heat. You are in a temperance fury, so swallow the contents +of this tumbler, and it will, perhaps, cure you. You look +at the glass wistfully—you occasionally take a glass +medicinally—and it is probable you do. Take one +now. Consider what a dreadful thing it would be to die +passion drunk; to appear before your Maker with intemperate +language on your lips. That’s right! You +don’t seem to wince at the brandy. That’s +right!—well done! All down in two pulls. Now +you look like a reasonable being!</p> +<p>If the conduct of Lavengro with regard to drink is open to +little censure, assuredly the use which he makes of his fists is +entitled to none at all. Because he has a pair of tolerably +strong fists, and knows to a certain extent how to use them, is +he a swaggerer or oppressor? To what ill account does he +turn them? Who more quiet, gentle, and inoffensive than +he? He beats off a ruffian who attacks him in a dingle; has +a kind of friendly tuzzle with Mr. Petulengro, and behold the +extent of his fistic exploits.</p> +<p>Ay, but he associates with prize-fighters; and that very +fellow, Petulengro, is a prize-fighter, and has fought for a +stake in a ring. Well, and if he had not associated with +prize-fighters, how could he have used his fists? Oh, +anybody can use his fists in his own defence, without being +taught by prize-fighters. Can they? Then why does not +the Italian, or Spaniard, or Affghan use his fists when insulted +or outraged, instead of having recourse to the weapons which he +has recourse to? Nobody can use his fists without being +taught the use of them by those who have themselves been taught, +no more than any one can “whiffle” without being +taught by a master of the art. Now let any man of the +present day try to whiffle. Would not any one who wished to +whiffle have to go to a master of the art? Assuredly! but +where would he find one at the present day? The last of the +whifflers hanged himself about a fortnight ago on a bell-rope in +a church steeple of “the old town,” from pure grief +that there was no further demand for the exhibition of his art, +there being no demand for whiffling since the discontinuation of +Guildhall banquets. Whiffling is lost. The old chap +left his sword behind him; let any one take up the old +chap’s sword and try to whiffle. Now much the same +hand as he would make who should take up the whiffler’s +sword and try to whiffle, would he who should try to use his +fists who had never had the advantage of a master. Let no +one think that men use their fists naturally in their own +disputes—men have naturally recourse to any other thing to +defend themselves or to offend others; they fly to the stick, to +the stone, to the murderous and cowardly knife, or to abuse as +cowardly as the knife, and occasionally more murderous. Now +which is best when you hate a person, or have a pique against a +person, to clench your fist and say “Come on,” or to +have recourse to the stone, the knife,—or murderous +calumny? The use of the fist is almost lost in +England. Yet are the people better than they were when they +knew how to use their fists? The writer believes not. +A fisty combat is at present a great rarity, but the use of the +knife, the noose, and of poison, to say nothing of calumny, are +of more frequent occurrence in England than perhaps in any +country in Europe. Is polite taste better than when it +could bear the details of a fight? The writer believes +not. Two men cannot meet in a ring to settle a dispute in a +manly manner without some trumpery local newspaper letting loose +a volley of abuse against “the disgraceful +exhibition,” in which abuse it is sure to be sanctioned by +its dainty readers; whereas some murderous horror, the discovery +for example of the mangled remains of a woman in some obscure +den, is greedily seized hold of by the moral journal, and dressed +up for its readers, who luxuriate and gloat upon the ghastly +dish. Now, the writer of Lavengro has no sympathy with +those who would shrink from striking a blow, but would not shrink +from the use of poison or calumny; and his taste has little in +common with that which cannot tolerate the hardy details of a +prize-fight, but which luxuriates on descriptions of the murder +dens of modern England. But prize-fighters and pugilists +are blackguards, a reviewer has said; and blackguards they would +be provided they employed their skill and their prowess for +purposes of brutality and oppression; but prize-fighters and +pugilists are seldom friends to brutality and oppression; and +which is the blackguard, the writer would ask, he who uses his +fists to take his own part, or instructs others to use theirs for +the same purpose, or the being who from envy and malice, or at +the bidding of a malicious scoundrel, endeavours by calumny, +falsehood, and misrepresentation to impede the efforts of lonely +and unprotected genius?</p> +<p>One word more about the race, all but extinct, of the people +opprobriously called prize-fighters. Some of them have been +as noble, kindly men as the world ever produced. Can the +rolls of the English aristocracy exhibit names belonging to more +noble, more heroic men than those who were called respectively +Pearce, Cribb, and Spring? Did ever one of the English +aristocracy contract the seeds of fatal consumption by rushing up +the stairs of a burning edifice, even to the topmost garret, and +rescuing a woman from seemingly inevitable destruction? The +writer says no. A woman was rescued from the top of a +burning house; but the man who rescued her was no aristocrat; it +was Pearce, not Percy, who ran up the burning stairs. Did +ever one of those glittering ones save a fainting female from the +libidinous rage of six ruffians? The writer believes +not. A woman was rescued from the libidinous fury of six +monsters on --- Down; but the man who rescued her was no +aristocrat; it was Pearce not Paulet, who rescued the woman, and +thrashed my lord’s six gamekeepers—Pearce, whose +equal never was, and probably never will be, found in sturdy +combat. Are there any of the aristocracy of whom it can be +said that they never did a cowardly, cruel, or mean action, and +that they invariably took the part of the unfortunate and weak +against cruelty and oppression? As much can be said of +Cribb, of Spring, and the other; but where is the aristocrat of +whom as much can be said? Wellington? Wellington +indeed! a skilful general, and a good man of valour, it is true, +but with that cant word of “duty” continually on his +lips, did he rescue Ney from his butchers? Did he lend a +helping hand to Warner?</p> +<p>In conclusion, the writer would advise those of his +country-folks who read his book to have nothing to do with the +two kinds of canting nonsense described above, but in their +progress through life to enjoy as well as they can, but always +with moderation, the good things of this world, to put confidence +in God, to be as independent as possible, and to take their own +parts. If they are low-spirited, let them not make +themselves foolish by putting on sackcloth, drinking water, or +chewing ashes, but let them take wholesome exercise, and eat the +most generous food they can get, taking up and reading +occasionally, not the lives of Ignatius Loyola and Francis Spira, +but something more agreeable; for example, the life and +adventures of Mr. Duncan Campbell, the deaf and dumb gentleman; +the travels of Captain Falconer in America, and the journal of +John Randall, who went to Virginia and married an Indian wife; +not forgetting, amidst their eating and drinking, their walks +over heaths, and by the sea-side, and their agreeable literature, +to be charitable to the poor, to read the Psalms and to go to +church twice on a Sunday. In their dealings with people, to +be courteous to everybody, as Lavengro was, but always +independent like him; and if people meddle with them, to give +them as good as they bring, even as he and Isopel Berners were in +the habit of doing; and it will be as well for him to observe +that he by no means advises women to be too womanly, but bearing +the conduct of Isopel Berners in mind, to take their own parts, +and if anybody strikes them, to strike again.</p> +<p>Beating of women by the lords of the creation has become very +prevalent in England since pugilism has been +discountenanced. Now the writer strongly advises any woman +who is struck by a ruffian to strike him again; or if she cannot +clench her fists, and he advises all women in these singular +times to learn to clench their fists, to go at him with tooth and +nail, and not to be afraid of the result, for any fellow who is +dastard enough to strike a woman, would allow himself to be +beaten by a woman, were she to make at him in self-defence, even +if, instead of possessing the stately height and athletic +proportions of the aforesaid Isopel, she were as diminutive in +stature, and had a hand as delicate, and foot as small, as a +certain royal lady, who was some time ago assaulted by a fellow +upwards of six feet high, whom the writer has no doubt she could +have beaten had she thought proper to go at him. Such is +the deliberate advice of the author to his countrymen and +women—advice in which he believes there is nothing +unscriptural or repugnant to common sense.</p> +<p>The writer is perfectly well aware that, by the plain language +which he has used in speaking of the various kinds of nonsense +prevalent in England, he shall make himself a multitude of +enemies; but he is not going to conceal the truth or to tamper +with nonsense, from the fear of provoking hostility. He has +a duty to perform and he will perform it resolutely; he is the +person who carried the Bible to Spain; and as resolutely as he +spoke in Spain against the superstitions of Spain, will he speak +in England against the nonsense of his own native land. He +is not one of those who, before they sit down to write a book, +say to themselves, what cry shall we take up? what principles +shall we advocate? what principles shall we abuse? before we put +pen to paper we must find out what cry is the loudest, what +principle has the most advocates, otherwise, after having written +our book, we may find ourselves on the weaker side.</p> +<p>A sailor of the “Bounty,” waked from his sleep by +the noise of the mutiny, lay still in his hammock for some time, +quite undecided whether to take part with the captain or to join +the mutineers. “I must mind what I do,” said he +to himself, “lest, in the end, I find myself on the weaker +side;” finally, on hearing that the mutineers were +successful, he went on deck, and seeing Bligh pinioned to the +mast, he put his fist to his nose, and otherwise insulted +him. Now, there are many writers of the present day whose +conduct is very similar to that of the sailor. They lie +listening in their corners till they have ascertained which +principle has most advocates; then, presently, they make their +appearance on the deck of the world with their book; if truth has +been victorious, then has truth the hurrah! but if truth is +pinioned against the mast, then is their fist thrust against the +nose of truth, and their gibe and their insult spirted in her +face. The strongest party had the sailor, and the strongest +party has almost invariably the writer of the present day.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX—Pseudo-Critics.</h3> +<p>A certain set of individuals calling themselves critics have +attacked Lavengro with much virulence and malice. If what +they call criticism had been founded on truth, the author would +have had nothing to say. The book contains plenty of +blemishes, some of them, by the bye, wilful ones, as the writer +will presently show; not one of these, however, has been detected +and pointed out; but the best passages in the book, indeed +whatever was calculated to make the book valuable, have been +assailed with abuse and misrepresentation. The duty of the +true critic is to play the part of a leech, and not of a +viper. Upon true and upon malignant criticism there is an +excellent fable by the Spaniard Iriarte. The viper says to +the leech, “Why do people invite your bite, and flee from +mine?” “Because,” says the leech, +“people receive health from my bite, and poison from +yours.” “There is as much difference,” +says the clever Spaniard, “between true and malignant +criticism, as between poison and medicine.” Certainly +a great many meritorious writers have allowed themselves to be +poisoned by malignant criticism; the writer, however, is not one +of those who allow themselves to be poisoned by pseudo-critics; +no! no! he will rather hold them up by their tails, and show the +creatures wriggling, blood and foam streaming from their broken +jaws. First of all, however, he will notice one of their +objections. “The book isn’t true,” say +they. Now one of the principal reasons with those that have +attacked Lavengro for their abuse of it is, that it is +particularly true in one instance, namely, that it exposes their +own nonsense, their love of humbug, their slavishness, their +dressings, their goings out, their scraping and bowing to great +people; it is the showing up of “gentility-nonsense” +in Lavengro that has been one principal reason for raising the +above cry; for in Lavengro is denounced the besetting folly of +the English people, a folly which those who call themselves +guardians of the public taste are far from being above. +“We can’t abide anything that isn’t +true!” they exclaim. Can’t they? Then why +are they so enraptured with any fiction that is adapted to +purposes of humbug, which tends to make them satisfied with their +own proceedings, with their own nonsense, which does not tell +them to reform, to become more alive to their own failings, and +less sensitive about the tyrannical goings on of the masters, and +the degraded condition, the sufferings, and the trials of the +serfs in the star Jupiter? Had Lavengro, instead of being +the work of an independent mind, been written in order to further +any of the thousand and one cants, and species of nonsense +prevalent in England, the author would have heard much less about +its not being true, both from public detractors and private +censurers.</p> +<p>“But Lavengro pretends to be an autobiography,” +say the critics; and here the writer begs leave to observe, that +it would be well for people who profess to have a regard for +truth, not to exhibit in every assertion which they make a most +profligate disregard of it; this assertion of theirs is a +falsehood, and they know it to be a falsehood. In the +preface Lavengro is stated to be a dream; and the writer takes +this opportunity of stating that he never said it was an +autobiography; never authorized any person to say that it was +one; and that he has in innumerable instances declared in public +and private, both before and after the work was published, that +it was not what is generally termed an autobiography: but a set +of people who pretend to write criticisms on books, hating the +author for various reasons,—amongst others, because, having +the proper pride of a gentleman and a scholar, he did not, in the +year ’43, choose to permit himself to be exhibited and made +a zany of in London, and especially because he will neither +associate with, nor curry favour with, them who are neither +gentlemen nor scholars,—attack his book with abuse and +calumny. He is, perhaps, condescending too much when he +takes any notice of such people; as, however, the English public +is wonderfully led by cries and shouts, and generally ready to +take part against any person who is either unwilling or unable to +defend himself, he deems it advisable not to be altogether quiet +with those who assail him. The best way to deal with vipers +is to tear out their teeth; and the best way to deal with +pseudo-critics is to deprive them of their poison-bag, which is +easily done by exposing their ignorance. The writer knew +perfectly well the description of people with whom he would have +to do, he therefore very quietly prepared a stratagem, by means +of which he could at any time exhibit them, powerless and +helpless, in his hand. Critics, when they review books, +ought to have a competent knowledge of the subjects which those +books discuss.</p> +<p>Lavengro is a philological book, a poem if you choose to call +it so. Now, what a fine triumph it would have been for +those who wished to vilify the book and its author, provided they +could have detected the latter tripping in his +philology—they might have instantly said that he was an +ignorant pretender to philology—they laughed at the idea of +his taking up a viper by its tail, a trick which hundreds of +country urchins do every September, but they were silent about +the really wonderful part of the book, the philological +matter—they thought philology was his stronghold, and that +it would be useless to attack him there; they of course would +give him no credit as a philologist, for anything like fair +treatment towards him was not to be expected at their hands, but +they were afraid to attack his philology—yet that was the +point, and the only point in which they might have attacked him +successfully; he was vulnerable there. How was this? +Why, in order to have an opportunity of holding up pseudo-critics +by the tails, he wilfully spelt various foreign words +wrong—Welsh words, and even Italian words—did they +detect these misspellings? not one of them, even as he knew they +would not, and he now taunts them with ignorance; and the power +of taunting them with ignorance is the punishment which he +designed for them—a power which they might but for their +ignorance have used against him. The writer besides knowing +something of Italian and Welsh, knows a little of Armenian +language and literature; but who knowing anything of the Armenian +language, unless he had an end in view, would say, that the word +sea in Armenian is anything like the word tide in English? +The word for sea in Armenian is dzow, a word connected with the +Tebetian word for water, and the Chinese shuy, and the Turkish +su, signifying the same thing; but where is the resemblance +between dzow and tide? Again, the word for bread in ancient +Armenian is hats; yet the Armenian on London Bridge is made to +say zhats, which is not the nominative of the Armenian noun for +bread, but the accusative: now, critics, ravening against a man +because he is a gentleman and a scholar, and has not only the +power but also the courage to write original works, why did you +not discover that weak point? Why, because you were +ignorant, so here ye are held up! Moreover, who with a name +commencing with Z, ever wrote fables in Armenian? There are +two writers of fables in Armenian—Varthan and Koscht, and +illustrious writers they are, one in the simple, and the other in +the ornate style of Armenian composition, but neither of their +names begins with a Z. Oh, what a precious opportunity ye +lost, ye ravening crew, of convicting the poor, half-starved, +friendless boy of the book, of ignorance or misrepresentation, by +asking who with a name beginning with Z ever wrote fables in +Armenian; but ye couldn’t help yourselves, ye are +duncie. We duncie! Ay, duncie. So here ye are +held up by the tails, blood and foam streaming from your +jaws.</p> +<p>The writer wishes to ask here, what do you think of all this, +Messieurs les Critiques? Were ye ever served so +before? But don’t you richly deserve it? +Haven’t you been for years past bullying and insulting +everybody whom you deemed weak, and currying favour with +everybody whom you thought strong? “We approve of +this. We disapprove of that. Oh, this will never +do. These are fine lines!” The lines perhaps +some horrid sycophantic rubbish addressed to Wellington, or Lord +So-and-so. To have your ignorance thus exposed, to be shown +up in this manner, and by whom? A gypsy! Ay, a gypsy +was the very right person to do it. But is it not galling, +after all?</p> +<p>“Ah, but <i>we</i> don’t understand Armenian, it +cannot be expected that <i>we</i> should understand Armenian, or +Welsh, or—Hey, what’s this? The mighty +<i>we</i> not understand Armenian or Welsh, or—Then why +does the mighty <i>we</i> pretend to review a book like +Lavengro? From the arrogance with which it continually +delivers itself, one would think that the mighty <i>we</i> is +omniscient; that it understands every language; is versed in +every literature; yet the mighty <i>we</i> does not even know the +word for bread in Armenian. It knows bread well enough by +name in England, and frequently bread in England only by its +name, but the truth is, that the mighty <i>we</i>, with all its +pretension, is in general a very sorry creature, who, instead of +saying nous disons, should rather say nous dis: Porny in his +“Guerre des Dieux,” very profanely makes the three in +one say, Je faisons; now, Lavengro, who is anything but profane, +would suggest that critics, especially magazine and Sunday +newspaper critics, should commence with nous dis, as the first +word would be significant of the conceit and assumption of the +critic, and the second of the extent of the critic’s +information. The <i>we</i> says its say, but when fawning +sycophancy or vulgar abuse are taken from that say, what +remains? Why a blank, a void like Ginnungagap.</p> +<p>As the writer, of his own accord, has exposed some of the +blemishes of his book—a task, which a competent critic +ought to have done—he will now point out two or three of +its merits, which any critic, not altogether blinded with +ignorance might have done, or not replete with gall and envy +would have been glad to do. The book has the merit of +communicating a fact connected with physiology, which in all the +pages of the multitude of books was never previously +mentioned—the mysterious practice of touching objects to +baffle the evil chance. The miserable detractor will, of +course, instantly begin to rave about such a habit being common: +well and good; but was it ever before described in print, or all +connected with it dissected? He may then vociferate +something about Johnson having touched:—the writer cares +not whether Johnson, who, by the bye, during the last twenty or +thirty years, owing to people having become ultra Tory mad from +reading Scott’s novels and the “Quarterly +Review,” has been a mighty favourite, especially with some +who were in the habit of calling him a half crazy old +fool—touched, or whether he did or not; but he asks where +did Johnson ever describe the feelings which induced him to +perform the magic touch, even supposing that he did perform +it? Again, the history gives an account of a certain book +called the “Sleeping Bard,” the most remarkable prose +work of the most difficult language but one, of modern +Europe,—a book, for a notice of which, he believes, one +might turn over in vain the pages of any review printed in +England, or, indeed, elsewhere.—So here are two facts, one +literary and the other physiological, for which any candid critic +was bound to thank the author, even as in Romany Rye there is a +fact connected with Iro Norman Myth, for the disclosing of which, +any person who pretends to have a regard for literature is bound +to thank him, namely, that the mysterious Finn or Fingal of +“Ossian’s Poems” is one and the same person as +the Sigurd Fofnisbane of the Edda and the Wilkina, and the +Siegfried Horn of the Lay of the Niebelungs.</p> +<p>The writer might here conclude, and, he believes, most +triumphantly; as, however, he is in the cue for writing, which he +seldom is, he will for his own gratification, and for the sake of +others, dropping metaphors about vipers and serpents, show up in +particular two or three sets or cliques of people, who, he is +happy to say, have been particularly virulent against him and his +work, for nothing indeed could have given him greater +mortification than their praise.</p> +<p>In the first place, he wishes to dispose of certain +individuals who call themselves men of wit and +fashion—about town—who he is told have abused his +book “vaustly”—their own word. These +people paint their cheeks, wear white kid gloves, and dabble in +literature, or what they conceive to be literature. For +abuse from such people, the writer was prepared. Does any +one imagine that the writer was not well aware, before he +published his book, that, whenever he gave it to the world, he +should be attacked by every literary coxcomb in England who had +influence enough to procure the insertion of a scurrilous article +in a magazine or newspaper! He has been in Spain, and has +seen how invariably the mule attacks the horse; now why does the +mule attack the horse? Why, because the latter carries +about with him that which the envious hermaphrodite does not +possess.</p> +<p>They consider, forsooth, that his book is low—but he is +not going to waste words about them—one or two of whom, he +is told, have written very duncie books about Spain, and are +highly enraged with him, because certain books which he wrote +about Spain were not considered duncie. No, he is not going +to waste words upon them, for verily he dislikes their company, +and so he’ll pass them by, and proceed to others.</p> +<p>The Scotch Charlie o’er the water people have been very +loud in the abuse of Lavengro—this again might be expected; +the sarcasms of the Priest about the Charlie o’er the water +nonsense of course stung them. Oh! it is one of the claims +which Lavengro has to respect, that it is the first, if not the +only work, in which that nonsense is, to a certain extent, +exposed. Two or three of their remarks on passages of +Lavengro, he will reproduce and laugh at. Of course your +Charlie o’er the water people are genteel exceedingly, and +cannot abide anything low. Gypsyism they think is +particularly low, and the use of gypsy words in literature +beneath its gentility; so they object to gypsy words being used +in Lavengro where gypsies are introduced +speaking—“What is Romany forsooth?” say +they. Very good! And what is Scotch? has not the +public been nauseated with Scotch for the last thirty +years? “Ay, but Scotch is not”—the writer +believes he knows much better than the Scotch what Scotch is and +what it is not; he has told them before what it is, a very sorry +jargon. He will now tell them what it is not—a sister +or an immediate daughter of the Sanscrit, which Romany is. +“Ay, but the Scotch are”—foxes, foxes, nothing +else than foxes, even like the gypsies—the difference +between the gypsy and Scotch fox being that the first is wild, +with a mighty brush, the other a sneak with a gilt collar and +without a tail.</p> +<p>A Charlie o’er the water person attempts to be witty, +because the writer has said that perhaps a certain old Edinburgh +High-School porter, of the name of Boee, was perhaps of the same +blood as a certain Bui, a Northern Kemp who distinguished himself +at the battle of Horinger Bay. A pretty matter, forsooth, +to excite the ridicule of a Scotchman! Why, is there a +beggar or trumpery fellow in Scotland, who does not pretend to be +somebody, or related to somebody? Is not every Scotchman +descended from some king, kemp, or cow-stealer of old, by his own +account at least? Why, the writer would even go so far as +to bet a trifle that the poor creature, who ridicules +Boee’s supposed ancestry, has one of his own, at least as +grand and as apocryphal as old Boee’s of the High +School.</p> +<p>The same Charlie o’er the water person is mightily +indignant that Lavengro should have spoken disrespectfully of +William Wallace; Lavengro, when he speaks of that personage, +being a child of about ten years old, and repeating merely what +he had heard. All the Scotch, by the bye, for a great many +years past, have been great admirers of William Wallace, +particularly the Charlie o’er the water people, who in +their nonsense-verses about Charlie generally contrive to bring +in the name of William, Willie, or Wullie Wallace. The +writer begs leave to say that he by no means wishes to bear hard +against William Wallace, but he cannot help asking why, if +William, Willie, or Wullie Wallace was such a particularly nice +person, did his brother Scots betray him to a certain renowned +southern warrior, called Edward Longshanks, who caused him to be +hanged and cut into four in London, and his quarters to be placed +over the gates of certain towns? They got gold, it is true, +and titles, very nice things, no doubt; but, surely, the life of +a patriot is better than all the gold and titles in the +world—at least Lavengro thinks so—but Lavengro has +lived more with gypsies than Scotchmen, and gypsies do not betray +their brothers. It would be some time before a gypsy would +hand over his brother to the harum-beck, even supposing you would +not only make him a king, but a justice of the peace, and not +only give him the world, but the best farm on the Holkham estate; +but gypsies are wild foxes, and there is certainly a wonderful +difference between the way of thinking of the wild fox who +retains his brush, and that of the scurvy kennel creature who has +lost his tail.</p> +<p>Ah! but thousands of Scotch, and particularly the Charlie +o’er the water people, will say, “We didn’t +sell Willie Wallace, it was our forbears who sold Willie +Wallace—If Edward Longshanks had asked us to sell Wullie +Wallace, we would soon have shown him that—” +Lord better ye, ye poor trumpery set of creatures, ye would not +have acted a bit better than your forefathers; remember how ye +have ever treated the few amongst ye who, though born in the +kennel, have shown something of the spirit of the wood. +Many of ye are still alive who delivered over men, quite as +honest and patriotic as William Wallace, into the hands of an +English minister, to be chained and transported for merely +venturing to speak and write in the cause of humanity, at the +time when Europe was beginning to fling off the chains imposed by +kings and priests. And it is not so very long since Burns, +to whom ye are now building up obelisks rather higher than he +deserves, was permitted by his countrymen to die in poverty and +misery, because he would not join with them in songs of adulation +to kings and the trumpery great. So say not that ye would +have acted with respect to William Wallace one whit better than +your fathers—and you in particular, ye children of Charlie, +whom do ye write nonsense-verses about? A family of dastard +despots, who did their best, during a century and more, to tread +out the few sparks of independent feeling still glowing in +Scotland—but enough has been said about ye.</p> +<p>Amongst those who have been prodigal in abuse and defamation +of Lavengro, have been your modern Radicals, and particularly a +set of people who filled the country with noise against the King +and Queen, Wellington, and the Tories, in ’32. About +these people the writer will presently have occasion to say a +good deal, and also of real Radicals. As, however, it may +be supposed that he is one of those who delight to play the +sycophant to kings and queens, to curry favour with Tories, and +to bepraise Wellington, he begs leave to state that such is not +the case.</p> +<p>About kings and queens he has nothing to say; about Tories, +simply that he believes them to be a bad set; about Wellington, +however, it will be necessary for him to say a good deal, of +mixed import, as he will subsequently frequently have occasion to +mention him in connection with what he has to say about +pseudo-Radicals.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER X—Pseudo-Radicals.</h3> +<p>About Wellington, then, he says, that he believes him at the +present day to be infinitely overrated. But there certainly +was a time when he was shamefully underrated. Now what time +was that? Why the time of pseudo-Radicalism, par +excellence, from ’20 to ’32. Oh, the abuse that +was heaped on Wellington by those who traded in Radical +cant—your newspaper editors and review writers! and how he +was sneered at then by your Whigs, and how faintly supported he +was by your Tories, who were half ashamed of him; for your +Tories, though capital fellows as followers, when you want nobody +to back you, are the faintest creatures in the world when you cry +in your agony, “Come and help me!” Oh, +assuredly Wellington was infamously used at that time, especially +by your traders in Radicalism, who howled at and hooted him; said +he had every vice—was no general—was beaten at +Waterloo—was a poltroon—moreover a poor illiterate +creature, who could scarcely read or write; nay, a principal +Radical paper said boldly he could not read, and devised an +ingenious plan for teaching Wellington how to read. Now +this was too bad; and the writer, being a lover of justice, +frequently spoke up for Wellington, saying, that as for vice, he +was not worse than his neighbours; that he was brave; that he won +the fight at Waterloo, from a half-dead man, it is true, but that +he did win it. Also, that he believed he had read +“Rules for the Manual and Platoon Exercises” to some +purpose; moreover, that he was sure he could write, for that he +the writer had once written to Wellington, and had received an +answer from him; nay, the writer once went so far as to strike a +blow for Wellington; for the last time he used his fists was upon +a Radical sub-editor, who was mobbing Wellington in the street, +from behind a rank of grimy fellows; but though the writer spoke +up for Wellington to a certain extent, when he was shamefully +underrated, and once struck a blow for him when he was about +being hustled, he is not going to join in the loathsome +sycophantic nonsense which it has been the fashion to use with +respect to Wellington these last twenty years. Now what +have those years been to England! Why the years of +ultra-gentility, everybody in England having gone gentility mad +during the last twenty years, and no people more so than your +pseudo-Radicals. Wellington was turned out, and your Whigs +and Radicals got in, and then commenced the period of +ultra-gentility in England. The Whigs and Radicals only +hated Wellington as long as the patronage of the country was in +his hands, none of which they were tolerably sure he would bestow +on them; but no sooner did they get it into their own, than they +forthwith became admirers of Wellington. And why? +Because he was a duke, petted at Windsor and by foreign princes, +and a very genteel personage. Formerly many of your Whigs +and Radicals had scarcely a decent coat on their backs; but now +the plunder of the country was at their disposal, and they had as +good a chance of being genteel as any people. So they were +willing to worship Wellington because he was very genteel, and +could not keep the plunder of the country out of their +hands. And Wellington has been worshipped, and prettily so, +during the last fifteen or twenty years. He is now a noble +fine-hearted creature; the greatest general the world ever +produced; the bravest of men; and—and—mercy upon us! +the greatest of military writers! Now the present writer +will not join in such sycophancy. As he was not afraid to +take the part of Wellington when he was scurvily used by all +parties, and when it was dangerous to take his part, so he is not +afraid to speak the naked truth about Wellington in these days, +when it is dangerous to say anything about him but what is +sycophantically laudatory. He said in ’32, that as to +vice, Wellington was not worse than his neighbours; but he is not +going to say, in ’54, that Wellington was a noble-hearted +fellow; for he believes that a more cold-hearted individual never +existed. His conduct to Warner, the poor Vaudois, and +Marshal Ney, showed that. He said, in ’32, that he +was a good general and a brave man; but he is not going, in +’54, to say that he was the best general, or the bravest +man the world ever saw. England has produced a better +general—France two or three—both countries many +braver men. The son of the Norfolk clergyman was a brave +man; Marshal Ney was a braver man. Oh, that battle of +Copenhagen! Oh, that covering the retreat of the Grand +Army! And though he said in ’32 that he could write, +he is not going to say in ’54 that he is the best of all +military writers. On the contrary, he does not hesitate to +say that any Commentary of Julius Cæsar, or any chapter in +Justinus, more especially the one about the Parthians, is worth +the ten volumes of Wellington’s Despatches; though he has +no doubt that, by saying so, he shall especially rouse the +indignation of a certain newspaper, at present one of the most +genteel journals imaginable—with a slight tendency to +Liberalism, it is true, but perfectly genteel—which is +nevertheless the very one which, in ’32, swore bodily that +Wellington could neither read nor write, and devised an ingenious +plan for teaching him how to read.</p> +<p>Now, after the above statement, no one will venture to say, if +the writer should be disposed to bear hard upon Radicals, that he +would be influenced by a desire to pay court to princes, or to +curry favour with Tories, or from being a blind admirer of the +Duke of Wellington; but the writer is not going to declaim +against Radicals, that is, real Republicans, or their principles; +upon the whole, he is something of an admirer of both. The +writer has always had as much admiration for everything that is +real and honest as he has had contempt for the opposite. +Now real Republicanism is certainly a very fine thing, a much +finer thing than Toryism, a system of common robbery, which is +nevertheless far better than Whiggism <a name="citation7"></a><a +href="#footnote7" class="citation">[7]</a>—a compound of +petty larceny, popular instruction, and receiving of stolen +goods. Yes, real Republicanism is certainly a very fine +thing, and your real Radicals and Republicans are certainly very +fine fellows, or rather were fine fellows, for the Lord only +knows where to find them at the present day—the writer does +not. If he did, he would at any time go five miles to +invite one of them to dinner, even supposing that he had to go to +a workhouse in order to find the person he wished to +invite. Amongst the real Radicals of England, those who +flourished from the year ’16 to ’20, there were +certainly extraordinary characters, men partially insane, +perhaps, but honest and brave—they did not make a market of +the principles which they professed, and never intended to do so; +they believed in them, and were willing to risk their lives in +endeavouring to carry them out. The writer wishes to speak +in particular of two of these men, both of whom perished on the +scaffold—their names were Thistlewood and Ings. +Thistlewood, the best known of them, was a brave soldier, and had +served with distinction as an officer in the French service; he +was one of the excellent swordsmen of Europe; had fought several +duels in France, where it is no child’s play to fight a +duel; but had never unsheathed his sword for single combat, but +in defence of the feeble and insulted—he was kind and +open-hearted, but of too great simplicity; he had once ten +thousand pounds left him, all of which he lent to a friend, who +disappeared and never returned a penny. Ings was an +uneducated man, of very low stature, but amazing strength and +resolution; he was a kind husband and father, and though a humble +butcher, the name he bore was one of the royal names of the +heathen Anglo-Saxons. These two men, along with five +others, were executed, and their heads hacked off, for levying +war against George the Fourth; the whole seven dying in a manner +which extorted cheers from the populace; the most of then +uttering philosophical or patriotic sayings. Thistlewood, +who was, perhaps, the most calm and collected of all, just before +he was turned off, said, “We are now going to discover the +great secret.” Ings, the moment before he was choked, +was singing “Scots wha ha’ wi’ Wallace +bled.” Now there was no humbug about those men, nor +about many more of the same time and of the same +principles. They might be deluded about Republicanism, as +Algernon Sidney was, and as Brutus was, but they were as honest +and brave as either Brutus or Sidney; and as willing to die for +their principles. But the Radicals who succeeded them were +beings of a very different description; they jobbed and traded in +Republicanism, and either parted with it, or at the present day +are eager to part with it for a consideration. In order to +get the Whigs into power, and themselves places, they brought the +country by their inflammatory language to the verge of a +revolution, and were the cause that many perished on the +scaffold; by their incendiary harangues and newspaper articles +they caused the Bristol conflagration, for which six poor +creatures were executed; they encouraged the mob to pillage, pull +down and burn, and then rushing into garrets looked on. +Thistlewood tells the mob the Tower is a second Bastile; let it +be pulled down. A mob tries to pull down the Tower; but +Thistlewood is at the head of that mob; he is not peeping from a +garret on Tower Hill like Gulliver at Lisbon. Thistlewood +and Ings say to twenty ragged individuals, Liverpool and +Castlereagh are two satellites of despotism; it would be highly +desirable to put them out of the way. And a certain number +of ragged individuals are surprised in a stable in Cato Street, +making preparations to put Castlereagh and Liverpool out of the +way, and are fired upon with muskets by Grenadiers, and are +hacked at with cutlasses by Bow Street runners; but the twain who +encouraged those ragged individuals to meet in Cato Street are +not far off, they are not on the other side of the river, in the +Borough, for example, in some garret or obscure cellar. The +very first to confront the Guards and runners are Thistlewood and +Ings; Thistlewood whips his long thin rapier through +Smithers’ lungs, and Ings makes a dash at Fitzclarence with +his butcher’s knife. Oh, there was something in those +fellows! honesty and courage—but can as much be said for +the inciters of the troubles of ’32? No; they egged +on poor ignorant mechanics and rustics, and got them hanged for +pulling down and burning, whilst the highest pitch to which their +own daring ever mounted was to mob Wellington as he passed in the +streets.</p> +<p>Now, these people were humbugs, which Thistlewood and Ings +were not. They raved and foamed against kings, queens, +Wellington, the aristocracy, and what not, till they had got the +Whigs into power, with whom they were in secret alliance, and +with whom they afterwards openly joined in a system of robbery +and corruption, more flagitious than the old Tory one, because +there was more cant about it; for themselves they got +consulships, commissionerships, and in some instances +governments; for their sons clerkships in public offices; and +there you may see those sons with the never-failing badge of the +low scoundrel-puppy, the gilt chain at the waistcoat pocket; and +there you may hear and see them using the languishing tones, and +employing the airs and graces which wenches use and employ, who, +without being in the family way, wish to make their keepers +believe that they are in the family way. Assuredly great is +the cleverness of your Radicals of ’32, in providing for +themselves and their families. Yet, clever as they are, +there is one thing they cannot do—they get governments for +themselves, commissionerships for their brothers, clerkships for +their sons, but there is one thing beyond their craft—they +cannot get husbands for their daughters, who, too ugly for +marriage, and with their heads filled with the nonsense they have +imbibed from gentility-novels, go over from Socinus to the Pope, +becoming sisters in fusty convents, or having heard a few sermons +in Mr. Platitude’s “chapelle,” seek for +admission at the establishment of mother S---, who, after +employing them for a time in various menial offices, and making +them pluck off their eyebrows hair by hair, generally dismisses +them on the plea of sluttishness; whereupon they return to their +papas to eat the bread of the country, with the comfortable +prospect of eating it still in the shape of a pension after their +sires are dead. Papa (ex uno disce omnes) living as quietly +as he can; not exactly enviably, it is true, being now and then +seen to cast an uneasy and furtive glance behind, even as an +animal is wont, who has lost by some mischance a very slight +appendage; as quietly however as he can, and as dignifiedly, a +great admirer of every genteel thing and genteel personage, the +Duke in particular, whose “Despatches,” bound in red +morocco, you will find on his table. A disliker of coarse +expressions, and extremes of every kind, with a perfect horror +for revolutions and attempts to revolutionize, exclaiming now and +then, as a shriek escapes from whipped and bleeding Hungary, a +groan from gasping Poland, and a half-stifled curse from +down-trodden but scowling Italy, “Confound the +revolutionary canaille, why can’t it be quiet!” in a +word, putting one in mind of the parvenu in the “Walpurgis +Nacht.” The writer is no admirer of Göthe, but +the idea of that parvenu was certainly a good one. Yes, +putting one in mind of the individual who says—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Wir waren wahrlich auch nicht dumm,<br /> + Und thaten oft was wir nicht sollten;<br /> +Doch jetzo kehrt sich alles um und um,<br /> + Und eben da wir’s fest erhalten +wollten.”</p> +<p>We were no fools, as every one discern’d,<br /> + And stopp’d at nought our projects in +fulfilling;<br /> +But now the world seems topsy-turvy turn’d,<br /> + To keep it quiet just when we were willing.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now, this class of individuals entertain a mortal hatred for +Lavengro and its writer, and never lose an opportunity of +vituperating both. It is true that such hatred is by no +means surprising. There is certainly a great deal of +difference between Lavengro and their own sons; the one thinking +of independence and philology, whilst he is clinking away at +kettles, and hammering horse-shoes in dingles; the others stuck +up at public offices with gilt chains at their waistcoat-pockets, +and giving themselves the airs and graces of females of a certain +description. And there certainly is a great deal of +difference between the author of Lavengro and themselves—he +retaining his principles and his brush; they with scarlet +breeches on, it is true, but without their Republicanism, and +their tails. Oh, the writer can well afford to be +vituperated by your pseudo-Radicals of ’32!</p> +<p>Some time ago the writer was set upon by an old Radical and +his wife; but the matter is too rich not to require a chapter to +itself.</p> +<h3>CHAPTER XI—The Old Radical.</h3> +<blockquote><p>“This very dirty man, with his very dirty +face,<br /> +Would do any dirty act, which would get him a place.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Some time ago the writer was set upon by an old Radical and +his wife; but before he relates the manner in which they set upon +him, it will be as well to enter upon a few particulars tending +to elucidate their reasons for so doing.</p> +<p>The writer had just entered into his eighteenth year, when he +met at the table of a certain Anglo-Germanist an individual, +apparently somewhat under thirty, of middle stature, a thin and +weaselly figure, a sallow complexion, a certain obliquity of +vision, and a large pair of spectacles. This person, who +had lately come from abroad, and had published a volume of +translations, had attracted some slight notice in the literary +world, and was looked upon as a kind of lion in a small +provincial capital. After dinner he argued a great deal, +spoke vehemently against the church, and uttered the most +desperate Radicalism that was perhaps ever heard, saying, he +hoped that in a short time there would not be a king or queen in +Europe, and inveighing bitterly against the English aristocracy, +and against the Duke of Wellington in particular, whom he said, +if he himself was ever president of an English republic—an +event which he seemed to think by no means improbable—he +would hang for certain infamous acts of profligacy and bloodshed +which he had perpetrated in Spain. Being informed that the +writer was something of a philologist, to which character the +individual in question laid great pretensions, he came and sat +down by him, and talked about languages and literature. The +writer, who was only a boy, was a little frightened at first, +but, not wishing to appear a child of absolute ignorance, he +summoned what little learning he had, and began to blunder out +something about the Celtic languages and literature, and asked +the Lion who he conceived Finn-Ma-Coul to be? and whether he did +not consider the “Ode to the Fox,” by Red Rhys of +Eryry, to be a masterpiece of pleasantry? Receiving no +answer to these questions from the Lion, who, singular enough, +would frequently, when the writer put a question to him, look +across the table, and flatly contradict some one who was talking +to some other person, the writer dropped the Celtic languages and +literature, and asked him whether he did not think it a funny +thing that Temugin, generally called Genghis Khan, should have +married the daughter of Prester John? <a +name="citation8"></a><a href="#footnote8" +class="citation">[8]</a> The Lion, after giving a side-glance at +the writer through his left spectacle glass, seemed about to +reply, but was unfortunately prevented, being seized with an +irresistible impulse to contradict a respectable doctor of +medicine, who was engaged in conversation with the master of the +house at the upper and farther end of the table, the writer being +a poor ignorant lad, sitting of course at the bottom. The +doctor, who had served in the Peninsula, having observed that +Ferdinand the Seventh was not quite so bad as had been +represented, the Lion vociferated that he was ten times worse, +and that he hoped to see him and the Duke of Wellington hanged +together. The doctor, who, being a Welshman, was somewhat +of a warm temper, growing rather red, said that at any rate he +had been informed that Ferdinand the Seventh knew sometimes how +to behave himself like a gentleman—this brought on a long +dispute, which terminated rather abruptly. The Lion having +observed that the doctor must not talk about Spanish matters with +one who had visited every part of Spain, the doctor bowed, and +said he was right, for that he believed no people in general +possessed such accurate information about countries as those who +had travelled them as bagmen. On the Lion asking the doctor +what he meant, the Welshman, whose under jaw began to move +violently, replied, that he meant what he said. Here the +matter ended, for the Lion, turning from him, looked at the +writer. The writer, imagining that his own conversation +hitherto had been too trivial and common-place for the Lion to +consider worth his while to take much notice of it, determined to +assume a little higher ground, and after repeating a few verses +of the Koran, and gabbling a little Arabic, asked the Lion what +he considered to be the difference between the Hegira and the +Christian era, adding, that he thought the general computation +was in error by about one year; and being a particularly modest +person, chiefly, he believes, owing to his having been at school +in Ireland, absolutely blushed at finding that the Lion returned +not a word in answer. “What a wonderful individual I +am seated by,” thought he, “to whom Arabic seems a +vulgar speech, and a question about the Hegira not worthy of an +answer!” not reflecting that as lions come from the Sahara, +they have quite enough of Arabic at home, and that the question +about the Hegira was rather mal à propos to one used to +prey on the flesh of hadjis. “Now I only wish he +would vouchsafe me a little of his learning,” thought the +boy to himself, and in this wish he was at last gratified; for +the Lion, after asking him whether he was acquainted at all with +the Sclavonian languages, and being informed that he was not, +absolutely dumb-foundered him by a display of Sclavonian +erudition.</p> +<p>Years rolled by—the writer was a good deal about, +sometimes in London, sometimes in the country, sometimes abroad; +in London he occasionally met the man of the spectacles, who was +always very civil to him, and, indeed, cultivated his +acquaintance. The writer thought it rather odd that, after +he himself had become acquainted with the Sclavonian languages +and literature, the man of the spectacles talked little or +nothing about them. In a little time, however, the matter +ceased to cause him the slightest surprise, for he had discovered +a key to the mystery. In the mean time the man of +spectacles was busy enough; he speculated in commerce, failed, +and paid his creditors twenty pennies in the pound; published +translations, of which the public at length became heartily +tired; having, indeed, got an inkling of the manner in which +those translations were got up. He managed, however, to +ride out many a storm, having one trusty +sheet-anchor—Radicalism. This he turned to the best +advantage—writing pamphlets and articles in reviews, all in +the Radical interest, and for which he was paid out of the +Radical fund; which articles and pamphlets, when Toryism seemed +to reel on its last legs, exhibited a slight tendency to +Whiggism. Nevertheless, his abhorrence of desertion of +principle was so great in the time of the Duke of +Wellington’s administration, that when S--- left the Whigs +and went over, he told the writer, who was about that time +engaged with him in a literary undertaking, that the said S--- +was a fellow with a character so infamous, that any honest man +would rather that you spit in his face than insult his ears with +the mention of the name of S---.</p> +<p>The literary project having come to nothing,—in which, +by the bye, the writer was to have all the labour, and his friend +all the credit, provided any credit should accrue from +it,—the writer did not see the latter for some years, +during which time considerable political changes took place; the +Tories were driven from, and the Whigs placed in, office, both +events being brought about by the Radicals coalescing with the +Whigs, over whom they possessed great influence for the services +which they had rendered. When the writer next visited his +friend, he found him very much altered; his opinions were by no +means so exalted as they had been—he was not disposed even +to be rancorous against the Duke of Wellington, saying that there +were worse men than he, and giving him some credit as a general; +a hankering after gentility seeming to pervade the whole family, +father and sons, wife and daughters, all of whom talked about +genteel diversions—gentility novels, and even seemed to +look with favour on High Churchism, having in former years, to +all appearance, been bigoted Dissenters. In a little time +the writer went abroad; as, indeed, did his friend; not, however, +like the writer, at his own expense, but at that of the +country—the Whigs having given him a travelling +appointment, which he held for some years, during which he +received upwards of twelve thousand pounds of the money of the +country, for services which will, perhaps, be found inscribed on +certain tablets, when another Astolfo shall visit the moon. +This appointment, however, he lost on the Tories resuming +power—when the writer found him almost as Radical and +patriotic as ever, just engaged in trying to get into Parliament, +into which he got by the assistance of his Radical friends, who, +in conjunction with the Whigs, were just getting up a crusade +against the Tories, which they intended should be a conclusive +one.</p> +<p>A little time after the publication of “The Bible in +Spain,” the Tories being still in power, this individual, +full of the most disinterested friendship for the author, was +particularly anxious that he should be presented with an official +situation, in a certain region a great many miles off. +“You are the only person for that appointment,” said +he; “you understand a great deal about the country, and are +better acquainted with the two languages spoken there than any +one in England. Now I love my country, and have, moreover, +a great regard for you, and as I am in Parliament, and have +frequent opportunities of speaking to the Ministry, I shall take +care to tell them how desirable it would be to secure your +services. It is true they are Tories, but I think that even +Tories would give up their habitual love of jobbery in a case +like yours, and for once show themselves disposed to be honest +men and gentlemen; indeed, I have no doubt they will, for having +so deservedly an infamous character, they would be glad to get +themselves a little credit, by a presentation which could not +possibly be traced to jobbery or favouritism.”</p> +<p>The writer begged his friend to give himself no trouble about +the matter, as he was not desirous of the appointment, being in +tolerably easy circumstances, and willing to take some rest after +a life of labour. All, however, that he could say was of no +use, his friend indignantly observing, that the matter ought to +be taken entirely out of his hands, and the appointment thrust +upon him for the credit of the country. “But may not +many people be far more worthy of the appointment than +myself?” said the writer. “Where?” said +the friendly Radical. “If you don’t get it, it +will be made a job of, given to the son of some steward, or, +perhaps, to some quack who has done dirty work; I tell you what, +I shall ask it for you, in spite of you; I shall, indeed!” +and his eyes flashed with friendly and patriotic fervour through +the large pair of spectacles which he wore.</p> +<p>And, in fact, it would appear that the honest and friendly +patriot put his threat into execution. “I have +spoken,” said he, “more than once to this and that +individual in Parliament, and everybody seems to think that the +appointment should be given to you. Nay, that you should be +forced to accept it. I intend next to speak to Lord +A---” And so he did, at least it would appear +so. On the writer calling upon him one evening, about a +week afterwards, in order to take leave of him, as the writer was +about to take a long journey for the sake of his health, his +friend no sooner saw him than he started up in a violent fit of +agitation, and glancing about the room, in which there were +several people, amongst others two Whig members of Parliament, +said, “I am glad you are come, I was just speaking about +you. This,” said he, addressing the two members, +“is so and so, the author of so and so, the well-known +philologist; as I was telling you, I spoke to Lord A--- this day +about him, and said that he ought forthwith to have the head +appointment in—and what did the fellow say? Why, that +there was no necessity for such an appointment at all, and if +there were, why—and then he hummed and ha’d. +Yes,” said he, looking at the writer, “he did +indeed. What a scandal! what an infamy! But I see how +it will be, it will be a job. The place will be given to +some son of a steward or to some quack, as I said before. +Oh, these Tories! Well, if this does not make +one—” Here he stopped short, crunched his +teeth, and looked the image of desperation.</p> +<p>Seeing the poor man in this distressed condition, the writer +begged him to be comforted, and not to take the matter so much to +heart; but the indignant Radical took the matter very much to +heart, and refused all comfort whatever, bouncing about the room, +and, whilst his spectacles flashed in the light of four +spermaceti candles, exclaiming, “It will be a job—a +Tory job! I see it all, I see it all, I see it +all!”</p> +<p>And a job it proved, and a very pretty job, but no Tory +job. Shortly afterwards the Tories were out, and the Whigs +were in. From that time the writer heard not a word about +the injustice done to the country in not presenting him with the +appointment to ---; the Radical, however, was busy enough to +obtain the appointment, not for the writer, but for himself, and +eventually succeeded, partly through Radical influence, and +partly through that of a certain Whig lord, for whom the Radical +had done, on a particular occasion, work of a particular +kind. So, though the place was given to a quack, and the +whole affair a very pretty job, it was one in which the Tories +had certainly no hand.</p> +<p>In the meanwhile, however, the friendly Radical did not drop +the writer. Oh, no! On various occasions he obtained +from the writer all the information about the country in +question, and was particularly anxious to obtain from the writer, +and eventually did obtain, a copy of a work written in the court +language of that country, edited by the writer, a language +exceedingly difficult, which the writer, at the expense of a +considerable portion of his eyesight, had acquired, at least as +far as by the eyesight it could be acquired. What use the +writer’s friend made of the knowledge he had gained from +him, and what use he made of the book, the writer can only guess; +but he has little doubt that when the question of sending a +person to --- was mooted in a Parliamentary Committee—which +it was at the instigation of the writer’s friend—the +Radical on being examined about the country, gave the information +which he had obtained from the writer as his own, and flashed the +book and its singular characters in the eyes of the Committee; +and then of course his Radical friends would instantly say, +“This is the man! there is no one like him. See what +information he possesses; and see that book written by himself in +the court language of Serendib. This is the only man to +send there. What a glory, what a triumph it would be to +Britain, to send out a man so deeply versed in the mysterious +lore of—as our illustrious countryman; a person who with +his knowledge could beat with their own weapons the wise men +of— Is such an opportunity to be lost? Oh, no! surely +not; if it is, it will be an eternal disgrace to England, and the +world will see that Whigs are no better than Tories.”</p> +<p>Let no one think the writer uncharitable in these +suppositions. The writer is only too well acquainted with +the antecedents of the individual, to entertain much doubt that +he would shrink from any such conduct, provided he thought that +his temporal interest would be forwarded by it. The writer +is aware of more than one instance in which he has passed off the +literature of friendless young men for his own, after making them +a slight pecuniary compensation and deforming what was originally +excellent by interpolations of his own. This was his +especial practice with regard to translation, of which he would +fain be esteemed the king. This Radical literato is +slightly acquainted with four or five of the easier dialects of +Europe, on the strength of which knowledge he would fain pass for +a universal linguist, publishing translations of pieces +originally written in various difficult languages; which +translations, however, were either made by himself from literal +renderings done for him into French or German, or had been made +from the originals into English, by friendless young men, and +then deformed by his alterations.</p> +<p>Well, the Radical got the appointment, and the writer +certainly did not grudge it him. He, of course, was aware +that his friend had behaved in a very base manner towards him, +but he bore him no ill-will, and invariably when he heard him +spoken against, which was frequently the case, took his part when +no other person would; indeed, he could well afford to bear him +no ill-will. He had never sought for the appointment, nor +wished for it, nor, indeed, ever believed himself to be qualified +for it. He was conscious, it is true, that he was not +altogether unacquainted with the language and literature of the +country with which the appointment was connected. He was +likewise aware that he was not altogether deficient in courage +and in propriety of behaviour. He knew that his appearance +was not particularly against him; his face not being like that of +a convicted pickpocket, nor his gait resembling that of a fox who +has lost his tail; yet he never believed himself adapted for the +appointment, being aware that he had no aptitude for the doing of +dirty work, if called to do it, nor pliancy which would enable +him to submit to scurvy treatment, whether he did dirty work or +not—requisites, at the time of which he is speaking, +indispensable in every British official; requisites, by the bye, +which his friend the Radical possessed in a high degree; but +though he bore no ill-will towards his friend, his friend bore +anything but good-will towards him; for from the moment that he +had obtained the appointment for himself, his mind was filled +with the most bitter malignity against the writer, and naturally +enough; for no one ever yet behaved in a base manner towards +another, without forthwith conceiving a mortal hatred against +him. You wrong another, know yourself to have acted basely, +and are enraged, not against yourself—for no one hates +himself—but against the innocent cause of your baseness; +reasoning very plausibly, “But for that fellow, I should +never have been base; for had he not existed I could not have +been so, at any rate against him;” and this hatred is all +the more bitter, when you reflect that you have been needlessly +base.</p> +<p>Whilst the Tories are in power the writer’s friend, of +his own accord, raves against the Tories because they do not give +the writer a certain appointment, and makes, or says he makes, +desperate exertions to make them do so; but no sooner are the +Tories out, with whom he has no influence, and the Whigs in, with +whom he, or rather his party, has influence, than he gets the +place for himself, though, according to his own expressed +opinion—an opinion with which the writer does not, and +never did, concur—the writer was the only person competent +to hold it. Now had he, without saying a word to the +writer, or about the writer with respect to the employment, got +the place for himself when he had an opportunity, knowing, as he +very well knew, himself to be utterly unqualified for it, the +transaction, though a piece of jobbery, would not have merited +the title of a base transaction; as the matter stands, however, +who can avoid calling the whole affair not only a piece +of—come, come, out with the word—scoundrelism on the +part of the writer’s friend, but a most curious piece of +uncalled-for scoundrelism? and who, with any knowledge of fallen +human nature, can wonder at the writer’s friend +entertaining towards him a considerable portion of gall and +malignity?</p> +<p>This feeling on the part of the writer’s friend was +wonderfully increased by the appearance of Lavengro, many +passages of which the Radical in his foreign appointment applied +to himself and family—one or two of his children having +gone over to Popery, the rest become members of Mr. +Platitude’s chapel, and the minds of all being filled with +ultra notions of gentility.</p> +<p>The writer, hearing that his old friend had returned to +England, to apply, he believes, for an increase of salary, and +for a title, called upon him, unwillingly, it is true, for he had +no wish to see a person for whom, though he bore him no ill-will, +he could not avoid feeling a considerable portion of contempt; +the truth is, that his sole object in calling was to endeavour to +get back a piece of literary property which his friend had +obtained from him many years previously, and which, though he had +frequently applied for it, he never could get back. Well, +the writer called; he did not get his property, which, indeed, he +had scarcely time to press for, being almost instantly attacked +by his good friend and his wife—yes, it was then that the +author was set upon by an old Radical and his wife—the +wife, who looked the very image of shame and malignity, did not +say much, it is true, but encouraged her husband in all he +said. Both of their own accord introduced the subject of +Lavengro. The Radical called the writer a grumbler, just as +if there had ever been a greater grumbler than himself until, by +the means above described, he had obtained a place: he said that +the book contained a melancholy view of human nature—just +as if anybody could look in his face without having a melancholy +view of human nature. On the writer quietly observing that +the book contained an exposition of his principles, the +pseudo-Radical replied, that he cared nothing for his +principles—which was probably true, it not being likely +that he would care for another person’s principles after +having shown so thorough a disregard for his own. The +writer said that the book, of course, would give offence to +humbugs; the Radical then demanded whether he thought him a +humbug?—the wretched wife was the Radical’s +protection, even as he knew she would be; it was on her account +that the writer did not kick his good friend; as it was, he +looked at him in the face and thought to himself, “How is +it possible I should think you a humbug, when only last night I +was taking your part in a company in which everybody called you a +humbug?”</p> +<p>The Radical, probably observing something in the +writer’s eye which he did not like, became all on a sudden +abjectly submissive, and, professing the highest admiration for +the writer, begged him to visit him in his government; this the +writer promised faithfully to do, and he takes the present +opportunity of performing his promise.</p> +<p>This is one of the pseudo-Radical calumniators of Lavengro and +its author; were the writer on his deathbed he would lay his hand +on his heart and say, that he does not believe that there is one +trait of exaggeration in the portrait which he has drawn. +This is one of the pseudo-Radical calumniators of Lavengro and +its author; and this is one of the genus, who, after having +railed against jobbery for perhaps a quarter of a century, at +present batten on large official salaries which they do not +earn. England is a great country, and her interests require +that she should have many a well-paid official both at home and +abroad; but will England long continue a great country if the +care of her interests, both at home and abroad, is in many +instances intrusted to beings like him described above, whose +only recommendation for an official appointment was that he was +deeply versed in the secrets of his party and of the Whigs?</p> +<p>Before he concludes, the writer will take the liberty of +saying of Lavengro that it is a book written for the express +purpose of inculcating virtue, love of country, learning, manly +pursuits, and genuine religion, for example, that of the Church +of England, and for awakening a contempt for nonsense of every +kind, and a hatred for priestcraft, more especially that of +Rome.</p> +<p>And in conclusion, with respect to many passages of his book +in which he has expressed himself in terms neither measured nor +mealy, he will beg leave to observe, in the words of a great +poet, who lived a profligate life, it is true, but who died a +sincere penitent—thanks, after God, to good Bishop +Burnet—</p> +<blockquote><p>“All this with indignation I have +hurl’d<br /> +At the pretending part of this proud world,<br /> +Who, swollen with selfish vanity, devise<br /> +False freedoms, formal cheats, and holy lies,<br /> +Over their fellow fools to tyrannize.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Rochester</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>Footnotes</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" +class="footnote">[1]</a> Tipperary.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2" +class="footnote">[2]</a> An obscene oath.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3" +class="footnote">[3]</a> See “Muses’ +Library,” pp. 86, 87. London, 1738.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4" +class="footnote">[4]</a> Genteel with them seems to be +synonymous with Gentile and Gentoo; if so, the manner in which it +has been applied for ages ceases to surprise, for genteel is +heathenish. Ideas of barbaric pearl and gold, glittering +armour, plumes, tortures, blood-shedding, and lust, should always +be connected with it. Wace, in his grand Norman poem, calls +the Baron genteel:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“La furent li gentil Baron,” etc.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And he certainly could not have applied the word better than +to the strong Norman thief, armed cap-à-pie, without one +particle of truth or generosity; for a person to be a pink of +gentility, that is heathenism, should have no such feelings; and, +indeed, the admirers of gentility seldom or never associate any +such feelings with it. It was from the Norman, the worst of +all robbers and miscreants, who built strong castles, garrisoned +them with devils, and tore out poor wretches’ eyes, as the +Saxon Chronicle says, that the English got their detestable word +genteel. What could ever have made the English such +admirers of gentility, it would be difficult to say; for, during +three hundred years, they suffered enough by it. Their +genteel Norman landlords were their scourgers, their torturers, +the plunderers of their homes, the dishonourers of their wives, +and the deflourers of their daughters. Perhaps, after all, +fear is at the root of the English veneration for gentility.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5" +class="footnote">[5]</a> Gentle and gentlemanly may be +derived from the same root as genteel; but nothing can be more +distinct from the mere genteel, than the ideas which enlightened +minds associate with these words. Gentle and gentlemanly +mean something kind and genial; genteel, that which is glittering +or gaudy. A person can be a gentleman in rags, but nobody +can be genteel.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6" +class="footnote">[6]</a> The writer has been checked in +print by the Scotch with being a Norfolk man. Surely, +surely, these latter times have not been exactly the ones in +which it was expedient for Scotchmen to check the children of any +county in England with the place of their birth, more especially +those who have had the honour of being born in +Norfolk—times in which British fleets, commanded by +Scotchmen, have returned laden with anything but laurels from +foreign shores. It would have been well for Britain had she +had the old Norfolk man to dispatch to the Baltic or the Black +sea, lately, instead of Scotch admirals.</p> +<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7" +class="footnote">[7]</a> As the present work will come out +in the midst of a vehement political contest, people may be led +to suppose that the above was written expressly for the +time. The writer therefore begs to state that it was +written in the year 1854. He cannot help adding that he is +neither Whig, Tory, nor Radical, and cares not a straw what party +governs England, provided it is governed well. But he has +no hopes of good government from the Whigs. It is true that +amongst them there is one very great man, Lord Palmerston, who is +indeed the sword and buckler, the chariots and the horses of the +party; but it is impossible for his lordship to govern well with +such colleagues as he has—colleagues which have been forced +upon him by family influence, and who are continually pestering +him into measures anything but conducive to the country’s +honour and interest. If Palmerston would govern well, he +must get rid of them; but from that step, with all his courage +and all his greatness, he will shrink. Yet how proper and +easy a step it would be! He could easily get better, but +scarcely worse, associates. They appear to have one object +in view, and only one—jobbery. It was chiefly owing +to a most flagitious piece of jobbery, which one of his +lordship’s principal colleagues sanctioned and promoted, +that his lordship experienced his late parliamentary +disasters.</p> +<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8" +class="footnote">[8]</a> A fact.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANY RYE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 422-h.htm or 422-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/422 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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