_T B* ,> : ; * ^ f ^ 1$!, ,. >"* + JBV^'-' ! '$ ' "*43 University of California Berkeley Gift of Ephraim Kahn ^L ^ ^ "> % V /Y-' >. f : ..I TALES OP A TRAVELLER, BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT. AUTHOR OF " THE SKETCH BOOK," " BRACEBRIDGE HALL,*' " KNICKERBOCKER'S NEW- YORK." &c. PHILADELPHIA : M. C. CAREY & I. LEA, CHESNUT-STREET, 1824. Southern District of New- York, ss. BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the twenty-second day of July. A.D. 1824, in the forty-ninth year of the Independence of the United States of America, C. S. Van Winkle, of the said district, hath de- posited in this office the title of a book, the right whereof he claims as proprietor, in the words following, to wit: " Tales of a Traveller, Part 1. By Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. Au- thor of " The Sketch Book," " Bracebridge Hall," ' Knickerbocker's New- York," &,c. IN CONFORMITY to the act of Congress of the United States, entitled, " An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and pro- prietors of such copies, during the time therein mentioned j" and also, to an act entitled, " An act supplementary to an act, enti- tled, an act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned," and extend- ing the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other prints." JAMES DILL, Clerk of the Southern District of New-York, Printed by C. S. Van Winkle, No. 2 Thames-street, New-York. CONTENTS OF PART I. Page STRANGE STORIES, BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN 5 A Hunting Dinner, 9 The Adventure of My Uncle, 19 The Adventure of My Aunt, .45 The Bold Dragoon, or The Adventure of My Grandfather, . . 55 The Adventure of the Mysterious Picture, 73 The Adventure of the Mysterious Stranger, 91 The Story of the Young Italian, 109 STRANGE STORIES. BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. I'll tell you more; there was a fish taken, A monstrous fish, with a sword by's side, a long sword, A pike in's neck, and a gun in's nose, a huge gun. And letters of mart in's mouth, from the Duke of Florence. Cleanthes. This is a monstrous lie. Tony. I do confess it. Do you think I'd tell you truths ? FLETCHER'S WIFE FOR A PART T. [The following adventures were related to me by the same nervous gentleman who told me the romantic tale of THE STOUT GENTLEMAN, published in Brace- bridge Hall. It is very singular, that although I expressly stated that story to have been told to me, and described the very person who told it, still it has been received as an adventure that happened to myself. Now, I protest I never met with any adventure of the kind. I should not have grieved at this, had it not been intimated by the author of Waverly, in an introduction to his ro- mance of Peverilof the Peak, that he was himself the Stout Gentleman alluded to. I have ever since been importuned by questions and letters from gentlemen, and particularly from ladies without number, touching what I had seen of the great unknown. Now, all this is extremely tantalizing. It is like be- ing congratulated on the high prize when one has drawn a blank ; for I have just as great a desire as any one of the public to penetrate the mystery of that very singu- lar personage, whose voice fills every corner of the world, without any one being able to tell from whence it comes. He who keeps up such a wonderful and 8 whimsical incognito : whom nobody knows, and yet whom every body thinks he can swear to. My friend, the nervous gentleman, also, who is a man of very shy retired habits, complains that he has been excessively annoyed in consequence of its getting about in his neighbourhood that he is the fortunate personage. Insomuch, that he has become a character of conside- rable notoriety in two or three country towns ; and has been repeatedly teased to exhibit himself at blue stock- ing parties, for no other reason than that of being " the gentleman who has had a glimpse of the author of Waverly." Indeed, the poor man has grown ten times as nervous as ever, since he has discovered, on such good autho- rity, who the stout gentleman was ; and will never for- give himself for not having made a more resolute effort to get a full sight of him. He has anxiously endeav- oured to call up a recollection of what he saw of that portly personage ; and has ever since kept a curi- ous eye on all gentlemen of more than ordinary dimen- sions, whom he has seen getting into stage coaches. All in vain ! The features he had caught a glimpse of seem common to the whole race of stout gentlemen ; and the great unknown remains as great an unknown as ever.] A HUNTING DINNER. I WAS once at a hunting dinner, given by a worthy fox-hunting old Baronet, who kept Bach- elor's Hall in jovial style, in an ancient rook- haunted family mansion, in one of the middle counties. He had been a devoted admirer of the fair sex in his young days ; but having travelled much, studied the sex in various countries with distinguished success, and returned home pro- foundly instructed, as he supposed, in the ways of woman, and a perfect master of the art of pleasing, he had the mortification of being jilted by a little boarding school girl, who was scarcely versed in the accidence of love. The Baronet was completely overcome by such an incredible defeat ; retired from the world in disgust, put himself under the government of his housekeeper, and took to fox hunting like a perfect Jehu. Whatever poets may say to the 10 A HUNTING DINNER. contrary, a man will grow out of love as he grows old ; and a pack of fox hounds may chase out of his heart even the memory of a boarding school goddess. The Baronet was when I saw him as merry and mellow an old bachelor as ever followed a hound ; and the love he had once felt for one woman had spread itself over the whole sex ; so that there was not a pretty face in the whole country round, but came in for a share. The dinner was prolonged till a late hour ; for our host having .no ladies in his household to summon us to the drawing room, the bottle maintained its true bachelor sway, unrivalled by its potent enemy the tea-kettle. The old hall in which we dined echoed to bursts of robustious fox hunting merriment, that made the ancient antlers shake on the walls. By degrees, how- ever, the wine and wassail of mine host began to operate upon bodies already a little jaded by the chase. The choice spirits that flashed up at the beginning of the dinner, sparkled for a time, then gradually went out one after another, or A HUNTING DINNER. 11 only emitted now and then a faint gleam from the socket. Some of the briskest talkers* who had given tongue so bravely at the first burst, fell fast asleep ; and none kept on their way but certain of those long-winded prosers, who, like short legged hounds, worry on unnoticed at the bottom of conversation, but are sure to be in at the death. Even these at length subsided into silence ; and scarcely any thing was heard but the nasal communications of two or three vete- ran masticators, who, having been silent while awake, were indemnifying the company in their sleep. At length the announcement of tea and coffee in the cedar parlour roused all hands from this temporary torpor. Every one awoke marvellous- ly renovated, and while sipping the refreshing beverage out of the Baronet's old-fashioned he- reditary china, began to think of departing for their several homes. But here a sudden difficul- ty arose. While we had been prolonging our repast, a heavy winter storm had set in, with snow, rain, and sleet, driven by such bitter blasts 12 A HUNTING DINNER' of wind, that they threatened to penetrate to the very bone. " It's all in vain," said our hospitable host, " to think of putting one's head out of doors in such weather. So, gentlemen, I hold you my guests for this night at least, and will have your quarters prepared accordingly." The unruly weather, which became more and more tempestuous, rendered the hospitable sug- gestion unanswerable. The only question was, whether such an unexpected accession of compa- ny, to an already crowded house, would not put the housekeeper to her trumps to accommodate them. " Pshaw," cried mine host, " did you ever know of a Bachelor's Hall that was not elastic, and able to accommodate twice as many as it could hold ?' ? So out of a good humoured pique the housekeeper was summoned to consultation before us all. The old lady appeared, in her gala suit of faded brocade, which rustled with flurry and agitation, for in spite of mine host's bravado, she was a little perplexed. But in a bachelor's A HUNTING DINNER. 18 house, and with bachelor guests, these matters are readily managed. There is no lady of the house to stand upon squeamish points about lodging guests in odd holes and corners, and ex- posing the shabby parts of the establishment. A bachelor's housekeeper is used to shifts and emer- gencies. After much worrying to and fro ; and divers consultations about the red room, and the blue room, and the chintz room, and the damask room, and the little room with the bow window, the matter was finally arranged. When all this was done, we were once more summoned to the standing rural amusement of eating. The time that had been consumed in dozing after dinner, and in the refreshment and consultation of the cedar parlour, was sufficient, in the opinion of the rosy-faced butler, to engen- der a reasonable appetite for supper. A slight repast had therefore been tricked up from the re- sidue of dinner, consisting of a cold sirloin of beef; hashed venison ; a devilled leg of a turkey or so, and a few other of those light articles taken by PART I. 3 14 A HUNTING DINNER. country gentlemen to ensure sound sleep and heavy snoring. The nap after dinner had brightened up every one's wit ; and a great deal of excellent humour was expended upon the perplexities of mine host and his housekeeper, by certain married gentle- men of the company, who considered themselves privileged in joking with a bachelor's establish- ment. From this the banter turned as to what quarters each would find, on being thus suddenly billeted in so antiquated a mansion. " By my soul," said an Irish captain of dra- goons, one of the most merry and boisterous of the party " by my soul, but I should not be sur- prised if some of those good-looking gentlefolks that hang along the walls, should walk about the rooms of this stormy night ; or if I should find the ghost of one of these long-waisted ladies turn- ing into my bed in mistake for her grave in the church-yard." " Do you believe in ghosts, then ?" said a thin hatchet-faced gentleman, with projecting eyes Jike a lobster. A HUNTING DINNER. 15 I had remarked this last personage throughout dinner time for one of those incessant questioners, who seem to have a craving, unhealthy, appetite in conversation. He never seemed satisfied with the whole of a story ; never laughed when others laughed ; but always put the joke to the ques- tion. He could never enjoy the kernel of the nut, but pestered himself to get more out of the shell. " Do you believe in ghosts, then ?" said the inquisitive gentleman. " Faith, but I do," replied the jovial Irishman; " I was brought up in the fear and belief of them: we had a Benshee in our own family, honey." " A Benshee and what's that ?" cried the questioner. " Why an old lady ghost that tends upon your real Milesian families, and wails at their window to let them know when some of them are to die." " A mighty pleasant piece of information/ 7 cried an elderly gentleman, with a knowing look and a flexible nose, to which he could give a whimsical twist when he wished to be w r aggish. 16 A HUNTING DINNER. " By my souL but I'd have you know it's a piece of distinction to be waited upon by a Ben- shee. It's a proof that one has pure blood in one's veins. But, egad, now we're talking of ghosts, there never was a house or a night better fitted than the present for a ghost adventure. Faith, Sir John, have'nt you such a thing as a haunted chamber to put a guest in?" " Perhaps," said the Baronet smiling, " I might accommodate you even on that point." 38 THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE, clattering of a troop of horse, at dead of night, up the avenue of a lonely chateau, in those unsettled times, and in a troubled part of the country, was enough to occasion alarm. " A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, armed to the teeth, gallopped ahead, and announced the name of the visiter. All uneasiness was dispel- led. The household turned out with flambeaux to receive her, and never did torches gleam on a more weather-beaten, travel-stained band than came tramping into the court. Such pale, care- worn faces, such bedraggled dresses, as the poor Duchess and her females presented, each seated behind her cavalier; while half drenched, half drowsy pages and attendants, seemed ready to fall from their horses with sleep and fatigue. " The Duchess was received with a hearty welcome by my ancestor. She was ushered in- to the Hall of the chateau, and the fires soon crackled and blazed to cheer herself and her train; and every spit and stewpan was put in requisition to prepare ample refreshments for the wayfarers. " She had a right to our hospitalities,' 7 con- THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 39 tinued the little Marquis, drawing himself up with a slight degree of stateliness, u for she was related to our family. I'll tell you how it was: Her father, Henry de Bourbon, Prince of Con- de" "But did the Duchess pass the night in the chateau ?" said my uncle rather abruptly, terri- fied at the idea of getting involved in one of the Marquis's genealogical discussions. " Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the apartment you occupied last night ; which, at that time, was a kind of state apartment. Her fol- lowers were quartered in the chambers opening upon the neighbouring corridor, and her favourite page slept in an adjoining closet. Up and down the corridor walked the great chasseur, who had announced her arrival, and who acted as a kind of sentinel or guard. He was a dark, stern, powerful looking fellow, and as the light of a lamp in the corridor fell upon his deeply marked face and sinewy form, he seemed capable of de- fending the castle with his single arm. " It was a rough, rude night ; about this time 40 THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. of the year. Apropos now I think of it, last night was the anniversary of her visit. I may well remember the precise date, for it was a night not to be forgotten by our house. There is a singular tradition concerning it in our family." Here the Marquis hesitated, and a cloud seemed to gather about his bushy eyebrows. " There is a tradition that a strange occurrence took place that night a strange, mysterious, inexplicable occurrence." Here he checked himself and paused. " Did it relate to that Lady ?" inquired my un- cle, eagerly. " It was past the hour of midnight," resumed the Marquis " when the whole chateau " Here he paused again my uncle made a movement of anxious curiosity. " Excuse me," said the Marquis a slight blush streaking his sullen visage. " There are some circumstances connected with our family history which I do not like to relate. That was a rude period. A time of great crimes among great men : for you know high blood, when it runs THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 41 wrong, will not run tamely like blood of the canaille poor lady ! But I have a little family pride, that excuse me we will change the sub- ject if you please." My uncle's curiosity was piqued. The pom- pous and magnificent introduction had led him to expect something wonderful in the story to which it served as a kind of avenue. He had no idea of being cheated out of it by a sudden fit of unreasonable squeamishness. Besides, being a traveller, in quest of information, he considered it his duty to inquire into every thing. The Marquis, however, evaded every ques- tion. "Well," said my uncle, a little petulantly, " whatever you may think of it, I saw that lady last night." The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him with surprise. " She paid me a visit in my bed chamber." The Marquis pulled out his snuff-box with a shrug and a smile ; taking it no doubt for an awkward piece of English pleasantry, which 42 THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. politeness required him to be charmed with. My uncle went on gravely, however, and related the whole circumstance. The Marquis heard him through with profound attention, holding his snuff-box unopened in his hand. When the story was finished he tapped on the lid of his box deliberately ; took a long sonorous pinch of snuff " Bah !" said the Marquis, and walked toward the other end of the gallery. Here the narrator paused. The company wait- ed for some time for him to resume his narrative ; but he continued silent. " Well, 5 ' said the inquisitive gentleman, " and what did your uncle say then ? " " Nothing," replied the other. " And what did the Marquis say farther ?' ? " Nothing." " And is that all ?" " That is all," said the narrator filling a glass of wine. THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 43 " I surmise," said the shrewd old gentleman with the waggish nose " I surmise it was the old housekeeper walking her rounds to see that all vvas right." " Bah !" said the narrator, " my uncle vvas too much accustomed to strange sights not to know a ghost from a housekeeper !" There was a murmur round the table half of merriment half of disappointment. I was inclined to think the old gentleman had really an after- part of his story in reserve ; but he sipped his wine and said nothing more ; and there was an odd expression about his dilapidated countenance that left me in doubt whether he were in drol- lery or earnest. " Egad," said the knowing gentleman with the flexible nose, " this story of your uncle puts me in mind of one that used to be told of an aunt of mine, by the mother's side ; though I don't know that it will bear a comparison ; as the good lady was not quite so prone to meet with strange ad- ventures. But at any rate, you shall have it. THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. MY aunt was a lady of large frame, strong mind, and great resolution ; she was what might be termed a very manly woman. My uncle was a thin, puny little man, very meek and acquies- cent, and no match for my aunt. It was obser- ved that he dwindled and dwindled gradually away, from the day of his marriage. His wife's powerful mind was too much for him ; it wore him out. My aunt, however, took all possible care of him, had half the doctors in town to pre- scribe for him, made him take all their prescrip- tions, ivilly nitty 9 and dosed him with physic enough to cure a whole hospital. All was in vain. My uncle grew worse and worse the more dosing and nursing he underwent, until in the end he added another to the long list of matrimo- nial victims, who have been killed with kindness. PART I, 7 40 THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. " And was it his ghost that appeared to her ?' ? asked the inquisitive gentleman, who had ques- tioned the former story teller, " You shall hear," replied the narrator : My aunt took on mightily for the death of her poor dear husband ! Perhaps she felt some compunc- tion at having given him so much physic, and nursed him into his grave. At any rate, she did all that a widow could do to honour his memo- ry. She spared no expense in either the quanti- ty or quality of her mourning weeds ; she wore a miniature of him about her neck, as large as a little sun dial ; and she had a full length portrait of him always hanging in her bed chamber. All the world extolled her conduct to the skies ; and it was determined, that a woman who behaved so well to the memory of one husband, deserved soon to get another. It was not long after this that she went to take up her residence in an old country seat in Derbyshire, which had long been in the care of merely a steward and housekeeper. She took most of her servants with her, intending to make XHE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. 47 it her principal abode. The house stood in a lonely, wild part of the country, among the gray Derbyshire hills ; with a murderer hanging in chains on a bleak height in full view. The servants from town were half frightened out of their wits, at the idea of living in such a dismal, pagan-looking place ; especially when they got together in the servant's hall in the evening, and compared notes on all the hobgob- lin stories they had picked up in the course of the day. They were afraid to venture alone about the forlorn black-looking chambers. My ladies' maid, who was troubled with nerves, declared she could never sleep alone in such a " gashly, rum- maging old building ;" and the footman, who was a kind-hearted young fellow, did all in his power to cheer her up. My aunt, herself, seemed to be struck with the lonely appearance of the house. Before she went to bed, therefore, she examined well the fastenings of the doors and windows, locked up the plate with her own hands, and carried the keys, together with a little box of money and 48 THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. jewels, to her own room ; for she w 7 as a notable woman, and always saw to all things herself. Having put the keys under her pillow, and dis- missed her maid, she sat by her toilet arranging her hair ; for, being, in spite of her grief for my uncle, rather a buxom widow, she was a little particular about her person. She sat for a little while looking at her face in the glass, first on one side, then on the other, as ladies are apt to do, when they would ascertain lif they have been in good looks ; for a roystering country squire of the neighbourhood, with whom she had flirted when a girl, had called that day to welcome her to the country. * All of a sudden she thought she heard some- thing move behind her. She looked hastily round, but there was nothing to be seen. No- thing but the grimly painted portrait of her poor dear man, which had been hung against the wall. She gave a heavy sigh to his memory, as she was accustomed to do, whenever she spoke of him in company ; and went on adjusting her night dress. Her sigh was re-echoed ; or answered by a long- THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. 49 drawn breath. She looked round again, but no one was to be seen. She ascribed these sounds to the wind, oozing through the rat holes of the old mansion ; and proceeded leisurely to put her hair in papers, when, all at once, she thought she perceived one of the eyes of the portrait move. " The back of her head being towards it !" said the story teller with the ruined head, giv- ing a knowing wink on the sound side of his visage " good !" "Yes sir!" replied drily the narrator, "her back being towards the portrait, but her eye fixed on its reflection in the glass." Well, as I was saying, she perceived one of the eyes of the portrait move. So strange a circumstance, as you may well suppose, gave her a sudden shock. To assure herself cautious- ly of the fact, she put one hand to her forehead, as if rubbing it ; peeped through her fingers, and moved the candle with the other hand. The light of the taper gleamed on the eye, and was re- flected from it. She was sure it moved. Nay, more, it seemed to give her a wink, as she had 50 THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. sometimes known her husband to do wheir living ! It struck a momentary chill to her heart ; for she was a lone woman, and felt herself fear- fully situated. The chill was but transient. My aunt, who was almost as resolute a personage as your uncle, sir, (turning to the old story teller,) became instantly calm and collected. She went on ad- justing her dress. She even hummed a favourite air, and did not make a single false note. She casually overturned a dressing box ; took a can- dle and picked up the articles leisurely, one by one, from the floor ; pursued a rolling pin cushion that was making the best of its way under the bed ; then opened the door ; looked for an instant into the corridor, as if in doubt whether to go ; and then walked quietly out. She hastened down stairs, ordered the ser- vants to arm themselves with the first weapons that came to hand, placed herself at their head, and returned almost immediately. Her hastily levied army presented a formida- ble force. The steward had a rusty blunder- THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT, 51 buss ; the coachman a loaded whip ; the foot- man a pair of horse pistols ; the cook a huge chopping knife, and the butler a bottle in each hand. My aunt led the van with a red hot po- ker ; and, in my opinion, she was the most for- midable of the party. The waiting maid brought up the rear, dreading to stay alone in the ser- vant's hall, smelling to a broken bottle of vola- tile salts, and expressing her terror of the ghost- eses. " Ghosts !" said my aunt resolutely, " I'll singe their whiskers for them !" They entered the chamber. All was still and undisturbed as when she left it. They approach- ed the portrait of my uncle. " Pull me down that picture !" cried my aunt A heavy groan, and a sound like the chatter- ing of teeth, was heard from the portrait. The servants shrunk back. The maid uttered a faint shriek, and clung to the footman. " Instantly !'' added my aunt, with a stamp of the foot. The picture was pulled down, and from a 52 THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. recess behind it, in which had formerly stood a clock, they hauled forth a round-shouldered, black-bearded varlet, with a knife as long as my arm, but trembling all over like an aspen leaf. " Well, and who was he ? No ghost, I sup- pose !" said the inquisitive gentleman. " A knight of the post," replied the narrator, " who had been smitten with the worth of the wealthy widow ; or rather a marauding Tarquin, who had stolen into her chamber to violate her purse and rifle her strong box when all the house should be asleep. In plain terms," contiaued he, " the vagabond was a loose idle fellow of the neighbourhood, who had once been a servant in the house, and had been employed to assist in ar- ranging it for the reception of its mistress. He confessed that he had contrived this hiding place for his nefarious purposes, and had borrowed an eye from the portrait by way of a reconnoitering hole." " And what did they do with him did they hang him ?" resumed the questioner. u Hang him ? how could they ?" exclaimed THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. 53 a beetle-browed barrister, with a hawk's nose " the offence was not capital no robbery, nor assault had been committed no forcible entry or breaking into the premises" " My aunt," said the narrator, " was a woman of spirit, and apt to take the law into her own hands. She had her own notions of cleanliness also. She ordered the fellow to be drawn through the horsepond to cleanse away all offences, and then to be well rubbed down with an oaken towel." " And what became of him afterwards ?" said the inquisitive gentleman. " I do not exactly know I believe he was sent on a voyage of improvement to Botany Bay." " And your aunt" said the inquisitive gentle- man " I'll warrant she took care to make her maid sleep in the room with her after that." " No, sir, she did better she gave her hand shortly after to the roystering squire ; for she- used to observe it was a dismal thing for a wo- man to sleep alone in the country." " She was right." observed the inquisitive gen- PART I. 8 54 THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT, tleman, nodding his head sagaciously " but I am sorry they did not hang that fellow." It was agreed on all hands that the last narra- tor had brought his tale to the most satisfactory conclusion ; though a country clergyman present regretted that the uncle and aunt, who figured in the different stories, had not been married toge- ther. They certainly would have been well matched. " But I don't see, after all," said the inquisitive gentleman, " that there was any ghost in this last story." " Oh, if it's ghosts you want, honey," cried the Irish captain of dragoons, " if it's ghosts you want, you shall have a whole regiment of them. And since these gentlemen have been giving the adventures of their uncles and aunts, faith and I'll e'en give you a chapter too, out of my own family history." THE BOLD DRAGOON, OR THE ADVENTURE OF MY GRANDFATHER. MY grandfather was a bold dragoon, for it's a profession, d'ye see, that has run in the family. All my forefathers have been dragoons and died upon the field of honour except myself, and I hope my posterity may be able to say the same ; however, I don't mean to be vainglorious. Well, my grandfather, as I said, was a bold dragoon, and had served in the Low Countries. In fact, he was one of that very army, which, according to my uncle Toby, " swore so terribly in Flan- ders." He could swear a good stick himself ; and. moreover, was the very man that introduced the doctrine Corporal Trim mentions, of radical heat and radical moisture ; or in other words, the mode of keeping out the damps of ditch water by burnt brandy. Be that as it may, it's nothing to the purport of my story. I only tell it to show you THE BOLD DRAGOON. that my grandfather was a man not easily to be humbugged. He had seen service ; or, according to his own phrase, " he had seen the divil" and that's saying every thing. Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was on his way to England, for which he intended to em- bark at Ostend ; bad luck to the place for one where I was kept by storms and head winds for three long days, and the divil of a jolly compa- nion or pretty face to comfort me. Well, as I was saying, my grandfather was on his way to England, or rather to Ostend no matter which, it's all the same. So one evening, towards night- fall, he rode jollily into Bruges. Very like you all know Bruges, gentlemen, a queer, old-fa- shioned Flemish town, once they say a great place for trade and money making, in old times, when the Mynheers were in their glory; but almost as large and as empty as an Irishman's pocket at the present day. Well, gentlemen, it was the time of the annual fair. All Bruges was crowded ; and the canals swarmed with Dutch boats, and the streets swjarmed with Dutch THE BOLD DKAGOON. 57 merchants ; and there was hardly any getting along for goods, wares, and merchandises, and peasants in big breeches, and women in half a score of petticoats. My grandfather rode jollily along, in his easy slashing way, for he was a saucy, sunshiny fel- low staring about him at the motley crowd, and the old houses with gabel ends to the street and storks' nests on the chimneys ; winking at the ya vrou ws who showed their faces at the windows, and joking the women right and left in the street; all of whom laughed and took it in amazing good part ; for though he did not know a word of their language, yet he had always a knack of making himself understood among the women. Well, gentlemen, it being the time of the an- nual fair, all the town was crowded ; every inn and tavern full, and my grandfather applied in vain from one to the other for admittance. At length he rode up to an old rackety inn that look- ed ready to fall to pieces, and which all the rats would have run away from, if they could have found room in any other house to put their heads. 58 THE BOLD DRAGOON. It was just such a queer building as you see in Dutch pictures, with a tall roof that reached up into the clouds ; and as many garrets, one over the other, as the seven heavens of Mahomet. Nothing had saved it from tumbling down but a stork's nest on the chimney, which always brings good luck to a house in the Low Countries ; and at the very time of my grandfather's arrival, there were two of these long-legged birds of grace, standing like ghosts on the chimney top. Faith, but they've kept the house on its legs to this very day ; for you may see it any time you pass through Bruges, as it stands there yet ; only it is turned into a brewery a brewery of strong Flemish beer ; at least it was so when I came that -way after the battle of Waterloo. My grandfather eyed the house curiously as he approached. It might not altogether have struck his fancy, had he not seen in large letters over the door, HEER VERKOOPT MAN GOEDEN DRANK. My grandfather had learnt enough of the lan- guage to know that the sign promised good li- 9 THE BOLD DRAGOON. 59 quor. " This is the house for me," said he, stop- ping short before the door. The sudden appearance of a dashing dragoon was an event in an old inn, frequented only by the peaceful sons of traffick. A rich burgher of Antwerp, a stately ample man, in a broad Flem- ish hat, and who \vas the great man and great patron of the establishment, sat smoking a clean long pipe on one side of the door ; a fat little dis- tiller of Geneva from Schiedam, sat smoking on the other, and the bottle-nosed host stood in the door, and the comely hostess, in crimped cap, beside him ; and the hostess' daughter, a plump Flanders lass, with long gold pendants in her ears, was at a side window. " Humph !" said the rich burgher of Antwerp, with a sulky glance at the stranger. " Der duyvel !" said the fat little distiller of Schiedam. The landlord saw with the quick glance of a publican that the new guest was not at all, at all, to the taste of the old ones ; and to tell the truth, he did not himself like my grandfather's saucy i DO THE BOLD DRAGOON. eye. He shook his head " Not a garret in the house but was full." " Not a garret !" echoed the landlady. " Not a garret !" echoed the daughter. .The burgher of Antwerp and the little distil- ler of Schiedam continued to smoke their pipes sullenly, eyed the enemy askance from under their broad hats, but said nothing. My grandfather was not a man to be brow- beaten. He threw the reins on his horse's neck, cocked his hat on one side, stuck one arm akim- bo, slapped his broad thigh with the other hand " Faith and troth !" said he, " but I'll sleep in this house this very night !" My grandfather had on a tight pair of buck- skins the slap went to the landlady's heart. He followed up the vow by jumping off his horse, and making his way past the staring Myn- heers into the .public room. May be youVe been in the bar room of an old Flemish inn faith, but a handsome chamber it was as you'd wish to see ; with a brick floor, a great fire place, with the whole bible history in glazed THE BOLD DRAGOON. 61 tiles ; and then the mantle-piece, pitching itself head foremost out of the wall, with a whole regir ment of cracked tea- pots and earthen jugs paraded on it ; not to mention half a dozen great Dejft platters hung about the room by way of pictures ; and the little bar in one corner, and the bouncing bar maid inside of it with a red calico cap and yellow ear drops. My grandfather snapped his fingers over his head, as he cast an eye round the room : ' Faith, this is the very house I've been looking after," said he. There was some farther show of resistance on the part of the garrison, but my grandfather was an old soldier, and an Irishman to boot, and not easily repulsed, especially after he had got into the fortress. So he blarney'd the landlord, kiss- ed the landlord's wife, tickled the landlord's daughter, chucked the bar maid under the chin ; and it was agreed on all hands that it would be a thousand pities, and a burning shame into the bargain, to turn such a bold dragoon into the streets. So they laid their heads together, that PART I. 9 62 THE BOLD DRAGOON. is to say, my grandfather and the landlady, and it was at length agreed to accommodate him with an old chamber that had for some time been shut up. " Some say it's haunted !" whispered the land- lord's daughter, " but you're a bold dragoon, and I dare say don't fear ghosts." " The divil a bit !" said my grandfather, pinch- ing her plump cheek ; " but if I should be trou- bled by ghosts, I've been to the Red sea. in my time, and have a pleasant way of laying them, my darling !" And then he whispered something to the girl which made her laugh, and give him a good-hu- moured box on the ear. In short, there was no- body knew better how to make his way among the petticoats than my grandfather. In a little while, as was his usual way, he took complete possession of the house ; swaggering all over it : into the stable to look after his horse ; into the kitchen to look after his supper. He had something to say or do with every one ; smoked with the Dutchmen; drank with the THE BOLD DRAGOON. 63 Germans ; slapped the men on the shoulders, tickled the women under the ribs : never since the days of Ally Croaker had such a rattling blade been seen. The landlord stared at him with as- tonishment; the landlord's daughter hung her head and giggled whenever he came near ; and as he turned his back and swaggered along, his tight jacket setting off his broad shoulders and plump buckskins, and his long sword trailing by his side, the rnaids whispered to one another " What a proper man !" At supper my grandfather took command of the table d'hote as though he had been at home ; helped every body, not forgetting himself; talk* ed with every one, whether he understood their language or not; and made his way into the in- timacy of the rich burgher of Antwerp, who had never been known to be sociable with any one during his life. In fact, he revolutionized the whole establishment, and gave it such a rouse, that the very house reeled with it. He outsat every one at table excepting the little fat distiller of Schiedam, who had sa t soaking for a long time 64 THE BOLD DRAGOON. before he broke forth; but when he did, he was a very devil incarnate. He took a violent affec- tion for my grandfather ; so they sat drinking, and smoking, and telling stories, and singing Dutch and Irish songs, without understanding a a word each other said, until the little Hollander was fairly swampt with his own gin and water, and carried off to bed, whooping and hiccuping, and trolling the burthen of a Low Dutch love song. Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was shown to his quarters, up a huge staircase composed of loads of hewn timber ; and through long rigma- role passages, hung with blackened paintings of fruit, and fish, and game, and country frolicks, and huge kitchens, and portly burgomasters, such as you see about old-fashioned Flemish inns, till at length he arrived at his room. An old-times chamber it was, sure enough, and crowded with all kinds of trumpery. It looked like an infirmary for decayed and super- annuated furniture ; where every thing diseased and disabled was sent to nurse, or to be forgot- THE BOLD DRAGOON. 65 ten. Or rather, it might have been taken for a general congress of old legitimate moveables, where every kind and country had a represen- tative. No two chairs were alike : such high backs and low backs, and leather bottoms and worsted bottoms, and straw bottoms, and no bottoms ; and cracked marble tables with curi- ously carved legs, holding balls in their claws, as though they were going to play at ninepins. My grandfather made a bow to the motley assemblage as he entered, and having undressed himself, placed his light in the fire place, asking pardon of the tongs, which seemed to be making love to the shovel in the chimney corner, and whispering soft nonsense in its ear. The rest of the guests were by this time sound asleep ; for your Mynheers are huge sleepers. The house makis, one by one, crept up yawning to their atticks, and not a female head in the inn was laid on a pillow that night without dream- ing of the Bold Dragoon. My grandfather, for his part, got into bed, and drew over him one of those great bags of down, 66 THE BOLD DRAGOON. under which they smother a man in the Low Countries ; and there he lay, melting between two feather beds, like an anchovy sandwich between two slices of toast and butter. He was a warm complexioned man, and this smothering played the very deuce with him. So, sure enough, in a little while it seemed as if a legion of imps were twitching at him, and all the blood in his veins was in fever heat. He lay still, however, until all the house was quiet, excepting the snoring of the Mynheers from the different chambers ; who answered one another in all kinds of tones and cadences, like so many bull-frogs in a swamp. The quieter the house became, the more unquiet became my grandfather. He waxed warmer and warmer, until at length the bed became too hot to hold him. " May be the maid had warmed it too much ?" said the curious gentleman inquiringly. " I rather think the contrary," replied the Irishman. t; But be that as it may, it grew too hot for my grandfather." THE BOLD DRAGOON. 67 " Faith there's no standing this any longer," says he ; so he jumped out of bed and went strol- ling about the house. " Whit for ?" said the inquisitive gentleman. " Why, to cool himself to be sure," replied the other, " or perhaps to find a more comforta- ble bed or perhaps but. no matter what he went for he never mentioned ; and there's no use in taking up our time in conjecturing." Well, my grandfather had been for some time absent from his room, and was returning, perfectly cool, when just as he reached the door he heared a strange noise within. He paused and listened. It seemed as if some one was try- ing to hum a tune in defiance of the asthma, He recollected the report of the room's being haunted ; but he was no believer in ghosts. So he pushed the door gently ajar, and peeped in. Egad, gentlemen, there was a gambol carry- ing on within enough to have astonished St. Anthony. By the light of the fire he saw a pale weazen^ 68 THE BOLD DRAGOON. faced fellow in a long flannel gown and a tall white nightcap with a tassel to it, who sat by the fire, with a bellows under his arm by way of bagpipe, from which he forced the asthma- tical music that had bothered my grandfather. As he played, too, he kept twitching about with a thousand queer contortions ; nodding his head and bobbing about his tasselled nightcap. My grandfather thought this very odd, and mighty presumptuous, and was about to demand what business he had to play his wind instru- ments in another gentleman's quarters, when a new cause of astonishment met his eye. From the opposite side of the room a long-backed, bandy- legged chair, covered with leather, and studded all over in a coxcomical fashion with little brass nails, got suddenly into motion ; thrust out first a claw foot, then a crooked arm, and at length, making a leg, slided gracefully up to an easy chair, of tarnished brocade, with a hole in its bottom, and led it gallantly out in a ghostly minuet about the floor. The musician now played fiercer and fiercer. THE BOLD DRAGOON. 69 and bobbed his head and his nightcap about like mad. By degrees the dancing mania seemed to seize upon all the other pieces of furniture. The antique, long-bodied chairs paired off in couples and led down a country dance; a three-legged stool danced a hornpipe, though horribly puz- zled by its supernumerary leg ; while the amo- rous tongs seized the shovel round the waist, and whirled it about the room in a German waltz. In short, all the moveables got in mo- lion, capering about ; pirouetting, hands across, right and left, like so many devils, all except a great clothes press, which kept curtseying and curtseying, like a dowager, in one corner, in ex- quisite time to the music ; being either too cor- pulent to dance, or perhaps at a loss for a part- ner. My grandfather concluded the latter to be the reason; so, being, like a true Irishman, devoted to the sex, and at all times ready for a frolick, he bounced into the room, calling to the musician to strike up " Paddy O'RarTerty," capered up to the clothes press and seized upon two handles to PART I. 10 70 THE BOLD DRAGOON. lead her out : When, whizz ! the whole revel was at an end. The chairs, tables, tongs, and shovel slunk in an instant as quietly into their places as if nothing had happened ; and the mu- sician vanished up the chimney, leaving the bel- lows behind him in his hurry. My grandfather found himself seated in the middle of the floor, with the clothes press sprawling before him, and the two handles jerked off and in his hands. " Then after all, this was a mere dream !" said the inquisitive gentleman. "The divil a bit of a dream !" replied the Irishman : " there never was a truer fact in this world. Faith, I should have liked to see any man tell my grandfather it was a dream." Well, gentlemen, as the clothes press was a mighty heavy body, and my grandfather likewise, particularly in rear, you may easily suppose two such heavy bodies coming to the ground would make a bit of a noise. Faith, the old mansion shook as though it had mistaken it for an earthquake. The whole garrison was alarmed. The landlord, who slept just below, hurried up with a candle THE BOLD DRAGOON. 71 to inquire the cause, but with all his haste his daughter had hurried to the scene of uproar before him. The landlord was followed by the landla- dy, who was followed by the bouncing bar maid, who was followed by the simpering chambermaids all holding together, as well as they could, such garments as they had first lain hands on ; but all in a terrible hurry to see what the devil was to pay in the chamber of the bold dragoon. My grandfather related the marvellous scene he had witnessed, and the prostrate clothes press, and the broken handles, bore testimony to the fact. There was no contesting such evidence ; particularly with a lad of my grandfather's com- plexion, who seemed able to make good every word either with sword or shillelah. So the landlord scratched his head and looked silly, as he was apt to do when puzzled. The landlady scratched no, she did not scratch her head, but she knit her brow, and did not seem half pleased with the explanation. But the landlady's daughter corroborated it, by recollecting that the last person who had dwelt in that chamber was 72 THE BOLD DRAGOON. a famous juggler who had died of St. Vitus's dance, and no doubt had infected all the furni- ture. This set all things to rights, particularly when the chambermaids declared that they had all witnessed strange carryings on in that room ; and as they declared this " upon their honours, 53 there could not remain a doubt upon the subject. u And did your grandfather go to bed again in that room ?" said the inquisitive gentleman. " That's more than I can tell. Where he passed the rest of the night was a secret he never disclosed. In fact, though he had seen much service, he was but indifferently acquainted with, geography, and apt to make blunders in his tra- vels about inns at night, that it would have puz- zled him sadly to account for in the morning." " Was he ever apt to walk in his sleep?" said the knowing old gentleman. " Never that I heard of." THE ADVENTURE OP THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. As one story of the kind produces another, and as all the company seemed fully engrossed by the topic, and disposed to bring their relatives and ancestors upon the scene, there is no know- ing how many more ghost adventures we might have heard, had not a corpulent old fox-hunter, who had slept soundly through the whole, now suddenly awakened, with a loud and long-drawn yawn. The sound broke the charm ; the ghosts took to flight as though it had been cock-crow- ing, and there was a universal move for bed. " And now for the haunted chamber," said the Irish captain, taking his candle. " Aye, who's to be the hero of the night ?" said the gentleman with the ruined head. " That we shall see in the morning," said the 74 THE ADVENTURE OF old gentleman with the nose : " whoever looks pale and grizzly will have seen the ghost. " Well, gentlemen," said the Baronet, "there's many a true thing said in jest. In fact, one of you will sleep in a room to-night" " What a haunted room ? a haunted room ? I claim the adventure and I and ! and I," cried a dozen guests, talking and laughing at the same time. " No no," said mine host, " there is a secret about one of my rooms on which I feel disposed to try an experiment. So gentlemen none of you shall know who has the haunted chamber, until circumstances reveal it. I will not even know it myself, but will leave it to chance and the allotment of the housekeeper. At the same time, if it will be any satisfaction to you, I will observe, for the honour of my pater- nal mansion, that there's scarcely a chamber in it but is well worthy of being haunted." We now separated for the night, and each went to his allotted room. Mine was in one wing of the building, and I could not but smile at its re- THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 75 semblance in style to those eventful apartments described in the tales of the supper table. It was spacious and gloomy, decorated with lamp black portraits, a bed of ancient damask, with a tester sufficiently lofty to grace a couch of state, and a number of massive pieces of old-fashioned furni- ture. I drew a great claw-footed arm chair be- fore the wide fire place; stirred up the fire ; sat looking into it, and musing upon the odd stories I had heard ; until, partly overcome by the fa- tigue of the day's hunting, and partly by the wine and wassail of mine host, I fell asleep in my chair. The uneasiness of my position made my slum- ber troubled, and laid me at the mercy of all kinds of wild and fearful dreams ; now it was that my perfidious dinner and supper rose in re- bellion against my peace. I was hag-ridden by a fat saddle of mutton ; a plum pudding weighed like lead upon my conscience ; the merry thought of a capon filled me with horrible suggestions ; and a devilled leg of a turkey stalked in all kinds of diabolical shapes through my imagina- 76 THE ADVENTURE OF tion. In short, I had a violent fit of the night- mare. Some strange indefinite evil seemed hang- ing over me that I could not avert ; something terrible and loathsome oppressed me that I could not shake off*. I was conscious of being asleep, and strove to rouse myself, but every effort redoubled the evil ; until gasping, struggling, almost strangling, I suddenly sprang bolt upright in my chair, and awoke. The light on the mantel piece had burnt low, and the wick was divided ; there was a great winding sheet made by the dripping wax, on the side towards me. The disordered taper emitted a broad flaring flame, and threw a strong light on a painting over the fire place, which I had not hitherto observed. It consisted merely of a head, or rather a face, that appeared to be staring full upon me, and with an expression that was startling. It was without a frame, and at the first glance I could hardly persuade myself that it was not a real face, thrusting itself out of the dark oaken pan- nel. I sat in my chair gazing at it, and the more THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. It I gazed the more it disquieted me. I had never before been affected in the same way by any painting. The emotions it caused were strange and indefinite. They were something like what I have heard ascribed to the eyes of the basilisk ; or like that mysterious influence in reptiles termed fascination. I passed my hand over my eyes several times, as if seeking instinctively to brush away this allusion in vain they instantly re- verted to the picture, and its chilling, creeping influence over my flesh was redoubled. I looked round the room on other pictures, either to divert my attention, or to see whether the same effect would be produced by them. Some of them were grim enough to produce the effect, if the mere grimness of the painting pro- duced it no such thing. My eye passed ovei them all with perfect indifference, but the mo- ment it reverted to this visage over the fire place, it was as if an electric shock darted through me. The other pictures were dim and faded ; but this one protruded from a plain Mack ground'in the strongest relief, and with wonderful truth of co* PART I. 11 78 THE ADVENTURE OF louring. The expression was that of agony the agony of intense bodily pain ; but a menace scowled upon the brow, and a few sprinklings of blood added to its ghastliness. Yet it was not all these characteristics it was some horror of the mind, some inscrutable antipathy awakened by this picture, which harrowed up my feelings. I tried to persuade myself that this was chi- merical ; that my brain was confused by the fumes of mine host's good cheer, and, in some measure, by the odd stories about paintings which had been told at supper. I determined to shake off these vapours of the mind ; rose from my chair, and walked about the room ; snapped my fingers; rallied myself ; laughed aloud. It was a forced laugh, and the echo of it in the old cham- ber jarred upon my ear. I walked to the win- dow ; tried to discern the landscape through the glass. It was pitch darkness, and howling storm without ; and as I heard the wind moan amon- o the trees, I caught a reflection of this accursed visage in the pane of glass, as though it were THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 79 staring through the window at me. Even the reflection of it was thrilling. How was this vile nervous fit, for such I now persuaded myself it was, to be conquered ? I determined to force myself not to look at the painting, but to undress quickly and get into bed. I began to undress, but in spite of every effort I could not keep myself from stealing a glance every now and then at the picture ; and a glance was now sufficient to distress me. Even when my back was turned to it, the idea of this strange face behind me, peering over my shoulder, was insufferable. I threw off my clothes and hurried into bed ; but still this vi- sage gazed upon me. I had a full view of it from my bed, and for some time could not take my eyes from it. I had grown nervous to a dis- mal degree. I put out the light, and tried to force myself to sleep ; all in vain ! The fire gleaming up a little, threw an uncertain light about the room, leaving, however, the region of the picture in deep shadow. What, thought I 3 if this be the 80 THE ADVENTURE OF chamber about which mine host spoke as having a mystery reigning over it ? I had taken his words merely as spoken in jest ; might they have a real import ? I looked around. The faintly lighted apartment had all the qualifications re- quisite for a haunted chamber. It began in my infected imagination to assume strange appear- ances. The old portraits turned paler and paler, and blacker and blacker ; the streaks of light and shadow thrown among the quaint old articles of furniture, gave them singular shapes and charac- ters. There was a huge dark clothes press of antique form, gorgeous in brass and lustrous with wax, that began to grow oppressive to me. Arn I then, thought I, indeed, the hero of the haunted room ? Is there really a spell laid upon me, or is this all some contrivance of mine host, to raise a laugh at my expense ? The idea of being hag-ridden by my own fancy all night, and then bantered on my haggard looks the next day was intolerable ; but the very idea was sufficient to produce the effect, and to render me still more nervous. Pish, said I, it can be no such thing. THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 81 How could my worthy host imagine that I, or any man would be so worried by a mere picture ? It is my own diseased imagination that torments me. I turned in my bed, and shifted from side to side, to try to fall asleep ; but all in vain. When one cannot get asleep by lying quiet, it is seldom that tossing about will effect the purpose. The fire gradually went out and left the room in darkness. Still I had the idea of this inexpli- cable countenance gazing and keeping watch upon me through the darkness. Nay, what was worse, the very darkness seemed to give it ad- ditional power, and to multiply its terrors. It was like having an unseen enemy hovering about one in the night. Instead of having one picture now to worry me, I had a hundred. I fancied it in every direction. And there it is, thought I, and there, and there, with its horrible and mysterious expression, still gazing and gazing on me. No if I must suffer this strange and dismal influence, it were better face a single foe, than thus be haunted by a thousand images of it. Whoever has been in such a state of nervous 82 THE ADVENTURE OF agitation, must know that the longer it continues, the more uncontroulable it grows ; the very air of the chamber seemed at length infected by the baleful presence of this picture. I fancied it ho- vering over me. I almost felt the fearful visage from the wall approaching my face, it seemed breathing upon me, This is not to be borne, said I, at length, springing out of bed. I can stand this no longer. I shall only tumble and toss about here all night ; make a very spectre of my- self> and become the hero of the haunted cham- ber in good earnest. Whatever be the conse- quence, I'll quit this cursed room, and seek a night's rest elsewhere. They can but laugh at me at all events, and they'll be sure to have the laugh upon me if I pass a sleepless night and show them a haggard and w r o-begone visage in the morning. All this was half muttered to myself, as I has- tily slipped on my clothes ; which having done, I groped my way out of the room, and down stairs to the drawing room. Here, after tumbling over two or three pieces of furniture, I made out to THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 83 reach a sopha, and stretching myself upon it de- termined to bivouack there for the night. The moment I found myself out of the neigh- bourhood of that strange picture, it seemed as if the charm were broken. All its influence was at an end. I felt assured that it was confined to its own dreary chamber, for I had, with a sort of instinctive caution, turned the key when I closed the door. I soon calmed down, therefore, into a state of tranquillity ; from that into a drowsi- ness, and finally into a deep sleep ; out of which I did not awake, until the housemaid, with her besom and her matin song, came to put the room in order. She stared at rinding me stretched upon the sofa ; byt I presume circumstances of the kind were not uncommon after hunting din- ners, in her master's bachelor establishment; for she went on with her song and her work, and took no farther heed of me. I had an unconquerable repugnance to return to my chamber ; so I found my way to the but- ler's quarters, made my toilette in the best way circumstances would permit, and was among the 84 THE ADVENTURE OF first to appear at the breakfast table. Our break- fast was a substantial fox-hunter's repast, and the company were generally assembled at it. When ample justice had been done to the tea, coffee* cold meats, and humming ale, for all these were furnished in abundance, according to the tastes of the different guests, the conversation began to break out, with all the liveliness and freshness of morning mirth. " But who is the hero of the haunted cham- ber ? Who has seen the ghost last night ?" said the inquisitive gentleman, rolling his lobster eyes about the table. The question set every tongue in motion ; a vast deal of bantering ; criticizing of countenan- ces ; of mutual accusation and retort took place. Some had drunk deep, and some were unshaven, so that there were suspicious faces enough in the assembly. I alone could not enter with ease and vivacity into the joke. I felt tongue-tied em- barrassed. A recollection of what I had seen and felt the preceding night still haunted my mind. It seemed as if the mysterious picture still held a THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 5 thrall upon me. I thought also that our host's eye was turned on me with an air of curiosity. In short, 1 was conscious that I was the hero of the night, and felt as if every one might read it in my looks. The jokes, however, passed over, and no sus- picion seemed to attach to me. 1 was just con- gratulating myself on my escape, when a servant came in, saying, that the gentleman who had slept on the sofa in the drawing room, had left his watch under one of the pillows. My repeater was in his hand. " What!" said the inquisitive gentleman, " did any gentleman sleep on the sofa ?" " Soho ! soho ! a hare a hare !" cried the old gentleman with the flexible nose. I could not avoid acknowledging the watch, and was rising in great confusion, when a bois- terous old squire who sat beside me, exclaimed, slapping me on the shoulder, " 'Sblood, lad! thou'rt the man as has seen the ghost!" The attention of the company was immediate- ly turned to me ; if my face had been pale the PART I. 12 86 THE ADVENTURE OF moment before, it now glowed almost to burn- ing. I tried to laugh, but could only make a grimace ; and found all the muscles of my face twitching at sixes and sevens, and totally out of all controul. It takes but little to raise a laugh among a set of fox-hunters. There was a world of merri- ment and joking at my expense; and as I ne- ver relished a joke overmuch when it was at my own expense, I began to feel a little nettled. I tried to look cool and calm and to restrain my pique ; but the coolness and calmness of a man in a passion are confounded treacherous. Gentlemen, said I, with a slight cocking of the chin, and a. bad attempt at a smile, this is all very pleasant ha ! ha ! very pleasant but I'd have you know I am as little superstitious as any of you ha! ha! and as to any thing like timidity you may smile gentlemen but I trust there is no one here means to insinuate that. As to a room's being haunted, I repeat, gentlemen ^growing a little warm at seeing y a cursed grin breaking out round me) as to a room's being haunted, I have as little THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE, 87 faith in such silly stones as any one. But, since you put the matter home to me, I will say that I have met with something in my room strange and inexplicable to me (a shout of laughter .) Gen- tlemen, I am serious I know well what I am saying I am calm, gentlemen, (striking my fist upon the table) by heaven I am calm* I am neither trifling, nor do I wish to be trifled with (the laughter of the company suppressed with ludicrous attempts at gravity.) There is a pic- ture in the room in which I was put last night, that has had an effect upon me the most singu- lar and incomprehensible. " A picture !" said the old gentleman with the haunted head. " A picture !" cried the nar- rator with the waggish nose. " A picture ! a picture !" echoed several voices. Here there was an ungovernable peal of laughter. I could not contain myself. I started up from my seat looked round on the company with fiery indignation thrust both my hands into my pockets, and strode up to one of the windows, as though I would have walked through it. I THE ADVENTURE OF stopped short ; looked out upon the landscape without distinguishing a feature of it ; and felt my gorge rising almost to suffocation. Mine host saw it was time to interfere. He had maintained an air of gravity through the whole of the scene, and now stepped forth as if to shel- ter me from the overwhelming merriment of my companions. " Gentlemen," said he, " I dislike to spoil sport, but you have had your laugh, and the joke of the haunted chamber has been enjoyed. I must now take the part of my guest. I must not only vindicate him from your pleasantries, but I must reconcile him to himself, for I sus- pect he is a little out of humour with his own feelings ; and above all, I must crave his pardon for having made him the subject of a kind of ex- periment. " Yes, gentlemen, there is something strange and peculiar in the chamber to which our friend was shown last n|ght. There is a picture which possesses a singular and mysterious influence ; and with which there is connected a very curi- THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 89 ous story. It is a picture to which I attach a value from a variety of circumstances ; and though I have often been tempted to destroy it, from the odd and uncomfortable sensations it produces in every one that beholds it ; yet I have never been able to prevail upon myself to make the sacrifice. It is a picture I never like to look upon myself; and which is held in awe by all my servants. I have therefore banished it to a room but rarely used ; and should have had it covered last night, had not the nature of our con- versation, and the whimsical talk about a haunt- ed chamber tempted me to let it remain, by way of experiment, whether a stranger, totally unac- quainted with its story, would be affected by it." The words of the Baronet had turned every thought into a different channel ; all were anx- ious to hear the story of the mysterious picture : and for myself, so strongly were my feelings in- terested, that I forgot to feel piqued at the expe- riment which my host had made upon my nerves, and joined eagerly in the general entreaty. 90 THE ADVENTURE OF, &C. As the morning was stormy, and precluded all egress, my host was glad of any means of en- tertaining his company ; so drawing his arm chair beside the fire, he began THE ADVENTURE or THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER MANY years since, when I was a young man, and had just left Oxford, I was sent on the grand tour to finish my education. I believe my pa- rents had tried in vain to inoculate me with wis- dom ; so they sent me to mingle with society, in hopes I might take it the natural way. Such, at least, appears to be the reason for which nine- tenths of our youngsters are sent abroad. In the course of my tour I remained some time at Venice. The romantic character of the plax;e delighted me ; I was very much amused by the air of adventure and intrigue that prevailed in this region of masks and gondolas ; and I was ex- ceedingly smitten by a pair of languishing black eyes, that played upon my heart from under an Italian mantle. So I persuaded myself that I 92 THE ADVENTURE OF was lingering at Venice to study men and man- ners. At least I persuaded my friends so, and that answered all my purpose. Indeed, I was a little prone to be struck by peculiarities in cha- racter and conduct, and my imagination was so full of romantic associations with Italy, that I was always on the look out for adventure. Every thing chimed in with such a humour in this old mermaid of a city. My suite of apart- ments were in a proud, melancholy palace on the grand canal, formerly the residence of a Magni- fico, and sumptuous with the traces of decayed grandeur. My gondolier was one of the shrewd- est of his class, active, merry, intelligent, and, like his brethren, secret as the grave ; that is to say, secret to all the world except his master. I had not had him a week before he put me behind all the curtains in Venice. I liked the silence and mystery of the place, and when I sometimes saw from my window a black gondola gliding mys- teriously along in the dusk of the evening, with nothing visible but its little glimmering lantern, I would jump into my own zenduletto, and give a THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 93 signal for pursuit. But I am running away from my subject with the recollection of youthful fol- lies, said the Baronet, checking himself, " let me come to the point." Among my familiar resorts was a Cassino un- der the Arcades on one side of the grand square of St. Mark. Here I used frequently to lounge and take my ice on those warm summer nights when in Italy every body lives abroad until mor- ning. I was seated here one evening, when a groupe of Italians took seat at a table on the op- posite side of the saloon. Their conversation was gay and animated, and carried on with Ita- lian vivacity and gesticulation. I remarked among them one young man, howv ever, who appeared to take no share, and find no enjoyment in the conversation ; though he seem.. ed to force himself to attend to it. He was tall and slender, and of extremely prepossessing ap- pearance. His features were fine, though ema- ciated. He had a profusion of black glossy hair that curled lightly about his head, and contrasted with the extreme paleness of his countenance. PART I. 13 .94 THE ADVENTURE OF His brow was haggard ; deep furrows seemed to have been ploughed into his visage by care, not by age, for he was evidently in the prime of youth. His eye was full of expression and fire, but wild and unsteady. He seemed to be tor- mented by some strange fancy or apprehension. In spite of every effort to fix his attention on the conversation of his companions, I noticed that every now and then he would turn his head slow- ly round, give a glance over his shoulder, and then withdraw it with a sudden jerk, as if some- thing painful had met his eye. This was repeat- ed at intervals of about a minute ; and he appear- ed hardly to have got over one shock, before I saw him slowly preparing to encounter another. After sitting some time in the Cassino, the par- ty paid for the refreshments they had taken, and departed, The young man was the last to leave the saloon, and I remarked him glancing behind him in the same way, just as he passed out at the door. I could not resist the impulse to rise and follow him ; for I was at an age when a roman- tic feeling of curiosity is easily awakened. The THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 95 party walked slowly down the Arcades, talking and laughing as they went. They crossed the Piazzetta, but paused in the middle of it to en- joy the scene. It was one of those moonlight nights so brilliant and clear in the pure at- mosphere of Italy. The moon-beams streamed on the tall tower of St. Mark, and lighted up the magnificent front and swelling domes of the Cathedral. The party expressed their delight in animated terms. I kept my eye upon the young man. He alone seemed abstracted and self-oc- cupied, I noticed the same singular, and as it were, furtive glance over the shoulder that had attracted my attention in the Cassino. The party moved on, and I followed ; they passed along the walks called the Broglio ; turned the corner of the Ducal palace, arid getting into a gondola, glided swiftly away. The countenance and conduct of this young man dwelt upon my mind. There was some- thing in his appearance that interested me >x- ceedingly. I met him a day or two after in a gallery of paintings. He was evidently a con- THE ADVENTURE OF noisseur, for he always singled out the most mas- terly productions, and the few remarks drawn from him by his companions showed an intimate acquaintance with the art. His own taste, how- ever, ran on singular extremes. On Salvator Rosa in his most savage and solitary scenes ; on Raphael, Titian and Corregio in their softest de- lineations of female beauty. On these he would occasionally gaze with transient enthusiasm. But this seemed only a momentary forgetful ness. Still would recur that cautious glance behind, and always quickly withdrawn, as though some- thing terrible had met his view. I encountered him frequently afterwards. At the theatre, at balls, at concerts ; at the prome- nades in the gardens of San Georgio ; at the grotesque exhibitions in the square of St. Mark ; among the throng of merchants on the Exchange by the Rialto. He seemed, in fact, to seek crowds; to hunt after bustle and amusement; yet never to take any interest in either the bu- siness or gayety of the scene. Ever an air of painful thought, of wretched abstraction ; and THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 97 ever that strange and recurring movement, of glancing fearfully over the shoulder. I did not know at first but this might be caused by appre- hension of arrest ; or perhaps from dread of as- sassination. But, if so, why should he go thus continually abroad ; why expose himself at all times and in all places ? I became anxious to know this stranger. I w r as drawn to him by that romantic sympathy that sometimes draws young men towards each other. His melancholy threw a charm about him in my eyes, which was no doubt heighten- ed by the touching expression of his counte- nance, and the manly graces of his person ; for manly beauty has its effect even upon man. I had an Englishman's habitual diffidence and awkwardness of address to contend with ; but I subdued it, and from frequently meeting him in the Cassino, gradually edged myself into his acquaintance. 1 had no reserve on his part to contend with. He seemed on the contrary to court society ; and in fact to seek any thing rather than be alone. 98 THE ADVENTURE OF When he found I really took an interest in him he threw himself entirely upon my friend- ship. He clung to me like a drowning man. He would walk with me for hours up and down the place of St. Marks or he would sit until night was far advanced in my apartment ; he took rooms under the same roof with me ; and his constant request was, that I would permit him, when it did not incommode me, to sit by me in my saloon. It was not that he seemed to take a particular delight in my conversation ; but rather that he craved the vicinity of a human being ; and above all, of a being that sympathized with him. u I have often heard," said he, " of the sincerity of Englishmen thank God I have one at length for a friend !" Yet he never seemed disposed to avail himself of my sympathy other than by mere companion- ship. He never sought to unbosom himself t me ; there appeared to be a settled corroding an- guish in his bosom that neither could be soothed " by silence nor by speaking." A devouring me- lancholy preyed upon his heart, and seemed to THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 99 be drying up the very blood in his veins. It was not a soft melancholy the disease of the affections ; but a parching withering agony. I could see at times that his mouth was dry and feverish ; he almost panted rather than breathed ; his eyes \vere bloodshot ; his cheeks pale and livid ; with now and then faint streaks athwart them baleful gleams of the fire that was consu- ming his heart. As my arm was within his, 1 felt him press it at times with a convulsive mo- tion to his side ; his hands would clinch them- selves involuntarily, and a kind of shudder would run through his frame. I reasoned with him about his melancholy, and sought to draw from, him the cause he shrunk from all confiding. " Do riot seek to know it," said he, "you could not relieve it if you knew it ; you would not even seek to relieve it on the contrary, I should lose your sympathy ; and that" said he, pressing my hand convulsively, " that I feel has become too dear to me to risk." I endeavoured to awaken hope within him. He was young ; life had a thousand pleasures 100 THE ADVENTURE OT in store for him ; there is a healthy reaction in the youthful heart ; it medicines its own wounds "Come, come" said I, " there is no grief so great that youth cannot outgrow it." " No ! no !" said he, clinching histeeth, and striking repeatedly, with the energy of despair, upon his bosom " It is here here deep rooted ; drain- ing my heart's blood. It grows and grows, while my heart withers and withers ! I have a dread- ful monitor that gives me no repose that fol- lows me step by step ; and will follow me step by step, until it pushes me into my grave !" As he said this he gave involuntarily one of those fearful glances over his shoulder, and shrunk back with more than usual horror. 1 could not resist the temptation, to allude to this move- ment, which I supposed to be some mere mala- dy of the nerves. The moment I mentioned it his face became crimsoned and convulsed he grasped me by both hands : " For God's sake ex- claimed he," with a piercing agony of voice never allude to that again " let us avoid this subject, my friend : you cannot relieve me, THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 101 indeed you cannot relieve me ; but you may add to the torments I suffer ; at some future day you shall know all." I never resumed the subject ; for however much my curiosity might be aroused, I felt too true a compassion for his sufferings to increase them by rny intrusion. I sought various ways to divert his mind, and to arouse him from the constant meditations in which he was plunged. He saw my efforts, and seconded them as far as in his power, for there was nothing moody or wayward in his nature ; on the contrary, there was something frank, generous, unassuming, in his whole deportment. All the sentiments that he uttered were noble and lofty. He claimed no indulgence ; he asked no toleration. He seemed content to carry his load of misery in si- lence, and only sought to carry it by my side. There was a mute beseeching manner about him, as if he craved companionship as a chari- table boon ; and a tacit thankfulness in his looks, as if he felt grateful to me^for not repul- sing him. PART f. 14. 102 THE ADVEISTURE OF I felt this melancholy to be infectious. It stole over my spirits ; interfered with all my gay pur- suits, and gradually saddened my life ; yet I could not prevail upon myself to shake off a being who seemed to hang upon me for support. In truth, the generous traits of character that beamed through all this gloom had penetrated to my heart. His bounty was lavish and open-handed. His charity melting and spontaneous. Not confined to mere donations, which often humiliate as much as they relieve. The tone of his voice, the beam of his eye, enhanced every gift, and surprised the poor suppliant with that rarest and sweetest of charities, the charity not merely of the hand but of the heart. Indeed, his liberality seemed to have something in it of self-abasement and ex- piation. He humbled himself, in a manner, be- fore the mendicant. " What right have I to ease and affluence," would he murmur to himself, " when innocence wanders in misery and rags ?" The Carnival time arrived. I had hoped that the gay scenes which then presented themselves might have some cheering effect. I mingled with THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 103 him ill the motley throng that crowded the place of St. Mark. We frequented operas, masquerades, balls. All in vain. The evil kept growing on him ; he became more and more haggard and agi- tated. Often, after we had returned from one of these scenes of revelry, I have entered his room, and found him lying on his face on the sofa : his hands clinr.hed in his fine hair, and his whole countenance bearing traces of the convulsions of his mind. The Carnival pass*ed away ; the season of Lent succeeded ; Passion week arrived. We.at tended one evening a solemn service in one of the churches ; in the course of which, a grand piece of vocal and instrumental music was performed relating to the death of our Saviour. I had remarked that he was always power- fully affected by music ; on this occasion he was so in an extraordinary degree. As the pealing notes swelled through the lofty aisles, he seemed to kindle up with fervour. His eyes rolled up^ wards, until nothing but the whites were visible; his hands were clasped together, until the fingers 104 THE ADVENTURE OF were deeply imprinted in the flesh. When the music expressed the dying agony,, his face gra- dually sunk upon his knees ; and at the touching words resounding through the church " Jesu mori," sobs burst from him uncontrolled. I had never seen him weep before; his had alv\ays been agony rather than sorrow. I augured well from the circumstance. I let him weep on un- interrupted. When the service was ended, we left the church. He hung on my arm as we walked homewards, with s6mething of a softer and more subdued manner ; instead of that ner- vous agitation I had been accustomed to witness. He alluded to the service we had heard. " Mu- sic," said he, " is indeed the voice of heaven ; never before have I felt more impressed by the story of the atonement of our Saviour. Yes, my friend," said he, clasping his hands with a kind of transport, u I know that my Redeemer liveth." We parted for the night. His room was not far from mine, and I heard him for some time busied in it. I fell asleep, but was awakened before daylight. The young man stood by my THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 105 bed side, dressed for travelling. He held a sealed pacquet and a large parcel in his hand, which he laid on the table. "Farewell, .my friend," said he, " I am about to set forth on a long journey ; but, before I go, I leave with you these remem- brances. In this pacquet you will find the par- ticulars of my story. When you read them, I shall be far away ; do not remember me with aversion. You have been, indeed, a friend to me. You have poured oil into a broken heart, but you could not heal it. Farewell let me kiss your hand I am unworthy to embrace you." He sunk on his knees, seized my hand in despite of my efforts to the contrary, and covered it with kisses. I was so surprised by all this scene that I had not been able to say a word. But we shall meet again, said I, hastily, as I saw him hurrying towards the door. " Never never in this world !" said he so- lemnly. He sprang once more to my bed side seized my hand, pressed it to his heart and to his lips, and rushed out of the room. Here the Baronet paused. He seemed lost 106 THE ADVENTURE OF in thought, and sat looking upon the floor and drumming with his fingers on the arm of his chair. "And. did this mysterious personage return ?" said the inquisitive gentleman. " Never !" re- plied the Baronet, with a pensive shake of the head : " I never saw him again." And pray what has all this to do with the picture ? inqui- red the old gentleman with the nose " True !" said the questioner " Is it the portrait of this crack-brained Italian ?" " No!" said the Baro- net, drily, not half liking the appellation given to his hero ; but this picture was inclosed in the parcel he left with me. The sealed pacquet con- tained its explanation. There was a request on the outside that I would not open it until six months had elapsed. I kept my promise, in spite of my curiosity, I have a translation of it by me, and had meant to read it, by way of ac- counting for the mystery of the chamber, but I fear I have already detained the company too long, Here there was a general wish expressed to Save the manuscript read ; particularly on the THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 107 part of the inquisitive gentleman. So the worthy Baronet drew out a fairly written manuscript, and wiping his spectacles, read aloud the following story : THE STORY THE YOUNG ITALIAN. I WAS born at Naples. My parents, though of noble rank, were limited in fortune, or rather my father was ostentatious beyond his means, and expended so much in his palace, his equi- page, and his retinue, that he was continually straightened in his pecuniary circumstances. I was a younger son, and looked upon with in- difference by my father, who, from a principle of family pride, wished to leave all his property to my elder brother. I showed, when quite a child, an extreme sensibility. Every thing affected me violently. While yet an infant in my mother's arms, and before I had learnt to talk, I could be wrought upon to a wonderful degree of anguish or de- light by the power of music. As I grew older PART I. ft 110 THE STORY OF my feelings remained equally acute, and I was easily transported into paroxysms of pleasure or rage. It was the amusement of my relatives and of the domestics to play upon this irritable temperament. I was moved to tears, tickled to laughter, provoked to fury, for the entertainment of company, who were amused by such a tem- pest of mighty passion in a pigmy frame. They little thought, or perhaps little heeded the dan- gerous sensibilities they were fostering. I thus became a little creature of passion, before reason was developed. In a short time I grew too old to be a plaything, and then I became a torment. The tricks arid passions I had been teased into became irksome, and I was disliked by my teachers for the very lessons they had taught me. My mother died ; and my power as a spoiled child was at an end. There was no longer any necessity to humour or tolerate trie, for there was nothing to be gained by it, as I was no fa- vourite of my father. I therefore experienced the fate of a spoiled child in such situation, and was neglected, or noticed only to be crossed and THE YOUNG ITALIAN. Ill contradicted. Such was the early treatment of a heart, which, if I am judge of it at all, was na- turally disposed to the extremes of tenderness and affection. My father, as I have already said, never liked me in fact he never understood me ; he looked upon me as wilful and wayw r ard, as deficient in natural affection : it was the stateliness of his own manner ; the loftiness and grandeur of his own look that had repelled me from his arms.' I always pictured him to myself as I had seen him clad in his senatorial robes, rustling with pomp and pride. The magnificence of his person had daunted my strong imagination. I could never approach him with the confiding affection of a child. My father's feelings were wrapped up in my elder brother. He was to be the inheritor of the family title and the family dignity, and every thing was sacrificed to him I, as well as every thing else. It was determined to devote me to the church, that so my humours and myself might be removed out of the way, either of task- 112 THE STORY OF ing my father's time and trouble, or interfering with the interests of my brother. At an early age, therefore, before my mind had dawned upon the world and its delights, or known any thing of it beyond the precincts of my father's palace, 1 was sent to a convent, the superior of which was my uncle, and was confided entirely to his care. My uncle was a man totally estranged from the world ; he had never relished, for he had never tasted its pleasures ; and he deemed rigid self-denial as the great basis of Christian virtue. He considered every one's temperament like his own ; or at least he made them conform to it. His character and habits had an influence over the fraternity of which he was superior A more gloomy saturnine set of beings were never as- sembled together. The convent, too, was calcu- lated to awaken sad and solitary thoughts. It was situated in a gloomy gorge of those moun- tains away south of Vesuvius. All distant views were shut out by sterile volcanic heights. A mountain stream raved beneath its walls, and eagles screamed about its turrets. THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 113 I had been sent to this place at so tender an age as soon to lose all distinct recollection of the scenes I had left behind. As my mind ex- panded, therefore, it formed its idea of the world from the convent and its vicinity, and a dreary world it appeared to me. An early tinge of me- lancholy was thus infused into my character ; and the dismal stories of the monks, about devils and evil spirits, with which they affrighted my young imagination, gave me a tendency to super- stition, which I could never effectually shake off. They took the same delight to work upon my ardent feelings that had been so mischievously exercised by my father's household. I can recollect the horrors with which they fed my heated fancy during an eruption of Ve- suvius. We were distant from that volcano, with mountains between us ; but its convulsive throes shook the solid foundations of nature. Earthquakes threatened to topple down our con- vent towers. A lurid, baleful light hung in the heavens at night, and showers of ashes, borne by the wind, fell in our narrow valley. The monks 114 , THE STORY OF talked of the earth being honey-combed beneath us ; of streams of molten lava raging through its veins ; of caverns of sulphurous flames roar- ing in the centre, the abodes of demons and the damned ; of fiery gulfs ready to yawn beneath our feet. All these tales were told to the dole- ful accompaniment of the mountain's thunders, whose low bellowing made the walls of our con- vent vibrate. One of the monks had been a painter, but had retired from the world, and embraced this dismal life in expiation of some crime. He was a melancholy man, who pursued his art in the solitude of his cell, but made it a source of penance to him. His employment was to por- tray, either on canvass or in waxen models, the human face and human form, in the agonies of d'-ath, and in all the stages of dissolution and de- cay. The fearful mysteries of the charnel house were unfolded in his labours the loathsome banquet of the beetle and the worm. 1 turn with shuddering even from the recollection of his works. Yet, at the time, my strong but ill- tHE YOUNG ITALfAN. % 115 directed imagination seized with ardour upon his instructions in his art. Any thing was a va- riety from the dry studies and monotonous duties of the cloister. In a little while I became ex- pert with my pencil, and my gloomy productions were thought worthy of decorating some of the altars of the chapel. In this dismal way was a creature of feeling and fancy brought up. Every thing genial and amiable in my nature was repressed, and nothing brought out but what was unprofitable and ungra- cious. I was ardent in my temperament ; quick, mercurial, impetuous, formed to be a creature all love and adoration ; but a leaden hand was laid on all my finer qualities. I was taught no- thing but fear an'd hatred. I hated my uncle, I hated the monks, I hated the convent in which I was immured. I hated the world, and I almost hated myself, for being, as I supposed, so hating and hateful an animal. When I had nearly attained the age of sixteen r I was suffered, on one occasion, to accompany one of the brethren on a mission to a distant 116 tHE STORY OF part of the country. We soon left behind us the gloomy valley in which I had been pent up for so many years, and after a short journey among the mountains, emerged upon the voluptuous landscape that spreads itself about the Bay of Naples. Heavens ! how transported was I, when I stretched my gaze over a vast reach of delicious sunny country, gay with groves and vineyards ; with Vesuvius rearing its forked summit to my right; the blue Mediterranean to my left, with its enchanting coast, studded with shining towns and sumptuous villas; and Naples, my native Naples, gleaming far, far in the distance. Good God ! was this the lovely world from which I had been excluded ! I had reached that age when the sensibilities are in all their bloom and freshness. Mine had been checked and chil- led/ They now burst forth with the suddenness of a retarded spring. My heart, hitherto unna- turally shrunk up, expanded into a riot of vague but delicious emotions. The beauty of nature intoxicated, bewildered me. The song of the peasants ; their cheerful looks ; their happy avo- THE VOTING ITALIAN. 117 cations; the picturesque gayety of their dresses; their rustic music ; their dances ; all broke upon me like witchcraft. My soul responded to the music ; my heart danced in my bosom. All the men appeared amiable, all the women lovely. I returned to the convent, that is to say, my body returned, but my heart and soul never en- tered there again. I could not forget this glimpse of a beautiful and a happy world ; a world so suited to my natural character. I had felt so happy while in it ; so different a being from what I felt myself when in the convent that tomb of the living. I contrasted the countenances of the beings I had seen, full of fire and freshness and enjoyment, with the pallid, leaden, lack-lustre visages of the monks ; the music of the dance, with the droning chant of the chapel. I had before found the exercises of the cloister weari- some ; they now became intolerable. The dull round of duties wore away my spirit ; my nerves became irritated by the fretful tinkling of the con- vent bell ; evermore dinging among the moun- tain echoes ; evermore calling me from my re- PART f. 1C .118 THE STORY OF pose at night, my pencil by day, to attend to some tedious and mechanical ceremony of devotion. I was not of a nature to meditate long, with- out putting my thoughts into action. My spirit had been suddenly aroused, and was now all awake within me. 1 watched my opportunity, fled from the convent, and made my way on foot to Naples. As I entered its gay and crowded streets, and beheld the variety and stir of life around me, the luxury of palaces, the splendour of equipages, and the pantomimic animation of the motley populace, I seemed as if awakened to a world of enchantment, and solemnly vowed that nothing should force me back to the mono- tony of the cloister. I had to inquire my way to my father's palace, for I had been so young on leaving it, that I knew not its situation. I found some difficulty in getting admitted to my father's presence, for the domestics scarcely knew that there was such a being as myself in existence, and my monastic dress did not operate in my favour. Even my father entertained no recollection of my person. THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 119 1 told him my name, threw myself at his feet, implored his forgiveness, and entreated that I might not be sent back to the convent. He received me with the condescension of a patron rather than the kindness of a parent. He listened patiently, but coldly to my tale of mo- nastic grievances and disgusts, and promised to think what else could be done for me. This coldness blighted and drove back all the frank affection of my nature that was ready to spring forth at the least warmth of parental kindness. All my early feelings towards my father revived ; I again looked up to him as the stately magnifi- cent being that had daunted my childish imagi- nation, and felt as if I had no pretensions to his sympathies. My brother engrossed all his care and love ; he inherited his nature, and carried himself towards me with a protecting rather than a fraternal air. It wounded my pride, which was great. I could brook condescension from my father, for I looked up to him with awe as a superior being ; but I could not brook pa- tronage from a brother, who, I felt, was intellec- 120 THE STORY OF tually my inferior. The servants perceived that I was an unwelcome intruder in the paternal mansion, and, menial-like, they treated me with neglect. Thus baffled at every point ; my affec- tions outraged wherever they would attach themselves, I became sullen, silent and despond- ing. My feelings driven back upon myself, entered and preyed upon my own heart. I re- tnained for some days an unwelcome guest rather than a restored son in my father's house. I was doomed never to be properly known there. I was made, by wrong treatment, strange even to myself; and they judged of me from my strangeness. I was startled one day at the sight of one of the monks of my convent, gliding out of my father's room. He saw me, but pretended not to notice me ; and this very hypocrisy made me suspect something. I had become sore and sus- ceptible in my feelings ; every thing inflicted a wound on them. In this state of mind I was treated with marked disrespect by a pampered minion, the favourite servant of my father. All THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 121 the pride and passion of my nature rose in an instant, and 1 struck him to the earth. My father was passing by ; he stopped not to inquire the reason, nor indeed could he read the long course of mental sufferings which were the real cause. He rebuked me with anger and scorn ; he summoned all the haughtiness of his nature, and grandeur of his look, to give weight to the contumely with which he treated me. I felt I had not deserved it I felt that I was not appreciated I felt that I had that within me which merited better treatment ; my heart swell- ed against a father's injustice. I broke through my habitual awe of him. I replied to him with impatience ; my hot spirit flushed in my cheek and kindled in my eye, but my sensitive heart swelled as quickly, and before I had half vented my pas- sion I felt it suffocated and quenched in my tears. My father was astonished and incensed at this turning of the worm, and ordered me to my chamber. I retired in silence, choaking with contending emotions. 122 THE STORY OF I had not been long there when I overheard voices in an adjoining apartment. It was a con- sultation betwen my father and the monk, about the means of getting me back quietly to the con- vent. My resolution was taken. I had no lon- ger a home nor a father. That very night I left the paternal roof. I got on board a vessel about making sail from the harbour, and abandoned myself to the wide world. No matter to what port she steered ; any part of so beautiful a world was better than my convent. No matter where I was cast by fortune ; any place would be more a home to me than the home I had left behind. The vessel was bound to Genoa. We arrived there after a voyage of a few days. As I entered the harbour, between the moles which embrace it, and beheld the amphitheatre of palaces and churches and splendid gardens, rising one above another, I felt at once its title to the appellation of Genoa the Superb. I landed on the mole an utter stranger, without knowing what to do, or whither to direct my steps. No matter ; I was released from the thraldom of the THE YOUNG ITALIAN. convent and the humiliations of home ! When I traversed the Strada Balbi and the Strada Nuova, those streets of palaces, and gazed at the won- ders of architecture around me ; when I wander- ed at close of day, amid a gay throng of the brilliant and the beautiful, through the green al- leys of the Aqua Verdi, or among the colonnades and terraces of the magnificent Doria Gardens ; I thought it impossible to be ever otherwise than happy in Genoa. A few days sufficed to show me my mistake. My scanty purse was exhausted, and for the first time in my life I experienced the sordid dis- tress of penury. I had never known the want of money, and had never adverted to the possi- bility of such an evil. I was ignorant of the world and all its ways ; and when first the idea of destitution came over my mind its effect was withering. I was wandering pensively through the streets which no longer delighted my eyes, when chance led my steps into the magnificent church of the Annunciata. A celebrated painter of the day was at that 124 THE STORY OF moment superintending the placing of one of his pictures over an altar. The proficiency which I had acquired in his art during my residence in the convent had made me an enthusiastic ama- teur. I was struck, at the first glance, with the painting. It was the face of a Madonna. So innocent, so lovely, such a divine expression of maternal tenderness ! I lost for the moment all recollection of myself in the enthusiasm of my art. I clasped my hands together, and uttered an ejaculation of delight. The painter pexceiv- ed my emotion. He was flattered and gratified by it. My air and manner pleased him, and he accosted me. I felt too much the want of friend- ship to repel the advances of a stranger, and there was something in this one so benevolent and winning that in a moment he gained my confidence. I told him my story and my situation, conceal- ing only my name and rank. He appeared strongly interested by my recital ; invited me to his house, and from that time 1 became his favour- ite pupil. He thought he perceived in me ex- THE YOUNG ITALIAN. iraordinary talents for the art, and his enco- miums awakened all my ardour. What a bliss- ful period of my existence was it that I passed beneath his roof. Another being seemed created within me, or rather, all that was amiable and excellent was drawn out. I was as recluse as ever 1 had been at the convent, but how differ- ent was my seclusion. My time was spent in storing my mind with lofty and poetical ideas ; in meditating on all that was striking and noble in history or fiction ; in studying and tracing all that was sublime and beautiful in nature. I was always a visionary imaginative being, but now my reveries and imaginings all elevated me to rapture. I looked up to my master as to a benevolent genius that had opened to me a region of en- chantment. I became devotedly attached to him, He was not a native of Genoa, but had been drawn thither by the solicitation of several of the nobility, and had resided there but a few years, for the completion of certain works he had un- dertaken. His health was delicate, and he had PART I. 17 126 THE STORY OF to confide much of the filling up of his designs to the pencils of his scholars. He considered me as particularly happy in delineating the human countenance ; in seizing upon characteristic, though fleeting expressions, and fixing them powerfully upon my canvas. I was employed continually, therefore, in sketching faces, and often when some particular grace or beauty or expression was wanted in a countenance, it was entrusted to my pencil. My benefactor was fond of bringing me forward ; and partly, perhaps, through my actual skill, and partly by his par- tial praises, I began to be noted for the expres- sion of my countenances. Among the various works which he had under- taken, was an historical piece for one of the pa- laces of Genoa, in which were to be introduced the likenesses of several of the family. Among these was one entrusted to my pencil. It was that of a young girl, W 7 ho as yet was in a con- vent for her education. She came out for the purpose of sitting for the picture. I first saw her in an apartment of one of the sumptuous pa- THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 127 laces of Genoa. She stood before a casement that looked out upon the bay : a stream of vernal sunshine fell upon her, and shed a kind of glory round her as it lit up the rich crimson chamber. She was but sixteen years of age and oh how lovely ! The scene broke upon me like a mere vision of spring, and youth, and beauty. I could have fallen down and worshipped her. She was like one of those fictions of poets and painters, when they would express the beau ideal that haunts their minds with shapes of indescribable perfection. I was permitted to sketch her countenance in various positions, and 1 fondly protracted the study that was undoing me. The more I gazed on her the more I became enamoured ; there was something almost painful in my intense admi- ration. 1 was but nineteen years of age; shy, diffident, and inexperienced. I was treated with attention and encouragement, for my youth and my enthusiasm in my art had won favour for me; and I am inclined to think that there was some- thing in my air and manner that inspired interest 128 THE STORY OF and respect. Still the kindness with which I was treated could not dispel the embarrassment into which my own imagination threw me when in presence of this lovely being. It elevated her into something almost more than mortal She seemed too exquisite for earthly use ; too delicate and exalted for human attainment. As I sat tracing her charms on my canvas, with my eyes occasionally riveted on her features, I drank in delicious poison that made me giddy. My heart alternately gushed with tenderness, and ached with despair. Now I became more than ever sensible of the violent fires that had lain dormant at the bottom of my soul. You who are born in a more temperate climate and under a cooler sky, have little idea of the violence of passion in our southern bosoms. A few days finished my task ; Bianca returned to her convent, but her image remained indeli- bly impressed upon my heart. It dwelt on my imagination ; it became my pervading idea of beauty. It had an effect even upon my pencil ; T became noted for my felicity in depicting fe- THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 129 male loveliness ; it was but because I multiplied the image of Bianca. I soothed, and yet fed my fancy, by introducing her in all the productions of my master. I have stood with delight in one of the chapels of the Annunciata, and heard the crowd extol the seraphic beauty of a saint which I had painted ; I have seen them bow down in adoration before the painting : they were bowing before the loveliness of Bianca. I existed in this kind of dream, I might al- most say delirium, for upwards of a year. Such is the tenacity of my imagination that the image which was formed in it continued in all its power and freshness. Indeed, I was a solitary, medita- tive being, much given to reverie, and apt to fos- ter ideas which had once taken strong possession of me. I was roused from this fond, melancho- ly, delicious dream by the death of my worthy benefactor. I cannot describe the pangs his death occasioned me. It left me alone and al- most broken hearted. He bequeathed to me his little property ; which, from the liberality of his disposition and his expensive style of living, was 130 THE STORY OF indeed but small ; and he most particularly re- commended me, in dying, to the protection of a nobleman who had been his patron. The latter was a man who passed for munifi- cent. He was a lover and an encourager of the arts, and evidently wished to be thought so. He fancied he saw in me indications of future excel- lence ; my pencil had already attracted atten- tion ; he took me at once under his protection ; seeing that I was overwhelmed with grief, and in- capable of exerting myself in the mansion of my late benefactor, he invited me to sojourn for a time in a villa which he possessed on the border of the sea, in the picturesque neighbourhood of Sestri de Ponenti. I found at the villa the Count's only son Fi- lippo : he was nearly of my age, prepossessing in his appearance, and fascinating in his man- ners ; he attached himself to me, and seemed to court my good opinion. I thought there was some- thing of profession in his kindness, and of caprice in his disposition ; but I had nothing else near me to attach myself to, and my heart felt the need THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 131 f something to repose itself upon. His educa- tion had been neglected ; he looked upon me as his superior in mental powers and acquirements, and tacitly acknowledged my superiority. I felt that I was his equal in birth, and that gave an independence to my manner, which had its effect. The caprice and tyranny I saw some- times exercised on others, over whom he had power, were never manifested towards me. We became intimate friends, and frequent com- panions. Still I loved to be alone, and to in- dulge in the reveries of my own imagination, among the beautiful scenery by which I was sur- ounded. The villa stood in the midst of ornamented grounds, finely decorated with statues and foun- tains, and laid out into groves and alleys and shady bowers. It commanded a wide view of the Mediterranean, and the picturesque Ligu- rian coast. Every thing was assembled here that could gratify the taste or agreeably occupy the mind. Soothed by the tranquillity of this elegant retreat, the turbulence of my feelings 132 THE STORY OF gradually subsided, and, blending with the TO- mantic spell that still reigned over my imagina- tion, produced a soft voluptuous melancholy. I had not been long under the roof of the Count, when our solitude was enlivened by another in- habitant. It was a daughter of a relation of the Count, who had lately died in reduced cir- cumstances, bequeathing this only child to his protection. I had heard much of her beauty from Filippo, but my fancy had become so engrossed by one idea of beauty as not to admit of any other. We were in the central saloon of the vil- la when she arrived. She was still in mourning, and approached, leaning on the Count's arm. As they ascended the marble portico, I was struck by the elegance of her figure and movement, by the grace with which the mezzaro, the bewitch- ing veil of Genoa, was folded about her slender form. They entered. Heavens ! what was my surprise when I beheld Bianca before me. It was herself; pale with grief; but still more ma- tured in loveliness than when I had last beheld her. The time that had elapsed had developed THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 133 the graces of her person ; and the sorrow she had undergone had diffused over her counte- nance an irresistible tenderness. She blushed and trembled at seeing me, and tears rushed into her eyes, for she remembered in whose company she had been accustomed to behold me. For my part, I cannot express what were my emotions. By degrees I overcame the extreme shyness that had formerly paralyzed me in her presence. We were drawn together by sympathy of situation. We had each lost our best friend in the world ; we were each, in some mea- sure, thrown upon the kindness of others. Whea I came to know her intellectually, all my ideal picturings of her were confirmed. Her newness to the world, her delightful susceptibility to every thing beautiful and agreeable in nature, reminded ine of my own emotions when first I escaped from the convent. Her rectitude of thinking delighted my judgment ; the sweetness of her nature wrapped itself round my heart ; and then her young and tender and budding loveliness, sent a delicious madness to my brain. PART!. 1ft 134 THE STORY OF I gazed upon her with a kind of idolatry, as something more than mortal ; and I felt humilia- ted at the idea of my comparative unworthi- ness Yet she was mortal ; and one of mor- tality's most susceptible and loving compounds; for she loved me ! How first I discovered the transporting truth I cannot recollect ; I believe it stole upon me by degrees, as a wonder past hope or belief. We were both at such a tender and loving age ; in constant intercourse with each other ; min- gling in the same elegant pursuits ; for music, poetry and painting were our mutual delights, and we were almost separated from society, among lovely and romantic scenery ! Is it strange that two young hearts thus brought together should readily twine round each other ? Oh gods ! what a dream a transient dream ! of unalloyed delight then passed over my soul ! Then it was that the world around me was in- deed a paradise, for I had woman lovely, de- licious woman, to share it with me. How often have I rambled over the picturesque shores of THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 135 Sestri, or climbed its wild mountains, with the coast gemmed with villas, and the blue sea far below me, and the slender Pharo of Genoa on its romantic promontory in the distance; and as I sustained the faltering steps of Bianca, have thought there could no unhappiness enter into so beautiful a world. Why, oh why is this budding season of life and love so transient o why is this rosy cloud of love that sheds such a glow over the morning of our days so prone to brew up into the whirlwind and the storm! I was the first to awaken from this blissful de- lirium of the affections. I had gained Bianca's heart ; what was I to do with it ? I had no wealth nor prospects to entitle me to her hand. Was I to take advantage of her ignorance of the world, of her confiding affection, and draw her down to my own poverty ? Was this requiting the hos- pitality of the Count ? was this requiting the love of Bianca? Now first I began to feel that even success- ful love may have its bitterness. A corroding care gathered about my heart. I moved about the 136 THE STORY OF palace like a guilty being. I felt as if I had abused its hospitality as if I were a thief within its walls, I could no longer look with unem- barrassed mien in the countenance of the Count. I accused myself of perfidy to him, and I thought he read it in my looks, and began to distrust and despise me. His manner had always been osten- tatious and condescending, it now appeared cold and haughty. Filippo, too, became reserved and distant ; or at least I suspected him to be so. Heavens ! was this mere coinage of my brain : was I to become suspicious of all the world ? a poor surmising wretch ; watching looks and ges- tures ; and torturing myself with misconstruc- tions. Or if true was I to remain beneath a roof where I was merely tolerated, and linger there on sufferance ? " This is not to be en- dured !" exclaimed I, " I will tear myself from this state of self abasement ; I will break through this fascination and fly Fly ? whither ? from the world ? for where is the world when I leave Bianca behind me !" THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 137 My spirit was naturally proud, and swelled within me at the idea of being looked upon with contumely. Many times I was on the point of declaring my family and rank, and asserting my equality, in the presence of Bianca, when I thought her relatives assumed an air of superiori- ty. But the feeling was transient. I consider- ed myself discarded and contemned by my fami- ly ; and had solemnly vowed never to own re- lationship to them, until they themselves should claim it. The struggle of my mind preyed upon my happiness and my health. It seemed as if the uncertainty of being loved would be less intole- rable than thus to be assured of it, and yet not dare to enjoy the conviction. I was no longer the enraptured admirer of Bianca ; I no longer hung in ecstacy on the tones of her voice, nor drank in with insatiate gaze the beauty of her countenance. Her very smiles ceased to delight me, for I felt culpable in having won them. She could not but be sensible of the change in me, and inquired the cause with her usual 138 THE STORY OF frankness and simplicity. I could not evade the inquiry, for my heart was full to aching. I told her all the conflict of my soul ; my devouring passion, my bitter self upbraiding. " Yes !" said I, " I am unworthy of you. I am an off- cast from my family a wanderer a nameless, homeless wanderer, with nothing but poverty for my portion, and yet I have dared to love you have dared to aspire to your love ! n My agitation moved her to tears ; but she saw nothing in my situation so hopeless as I had de- picted it. Brought up in a convent, she knew nothing of the world, its wants, its cares ; and indeed, what woman is a worldly casuist in mat- ters of the heart ! Nay, more she kindled into a sweet enthusiasm when she spoke of my for- tunes and myself. We had dwelt together on the works of the famous masters. I had related to her their histories ; the high reputation, the influence, the magnificence to which they had attained ; the companions of princes, the fa- vourites of kings, the pride and boast of nations. All this she applied to me. Her love saw no- TflE YOUNG ITALIAN. 139 thing in their greatest productions that I was not able to achieve; and when I saw the lovely creature glow with fervour, tuid her whole coun- tenance radiant with the visions of my glory, which seemed breaking upon her, I was snatched up for the moment into the heaven of her own imagination. I am dwelling too long upon this part of my Btory ; yet I cannot help lingering over a period of my life, on which, with all its cares and con- flicts, I look back with fondness ; for as yet my soul was unstained by a crime. I do not know what might have been the result of this struggle between pride, delicacy, and passion, had I not read in a Neapolitan gazette an account of the sudden death of my brother. It was accom- panied by an earnest inquiry for intelligence con- cerning me, and a prayer, should this notice meet my eye, that I would hasten to Naples, to com- fort an infirm and afflicted father. I was naturally of an affectionate disposition ; but my brother had never been as a brother to me ; I had long considered myself as disconnect- 140 THE STORY OK ed from him, and his death caused me but little emotion. The thoughts of my father, infirm and suffering, touched me, however, to the quick ; and when I thought of him, that lofty magnificent being, now bowed clown and desolate, and suing to me for comfort, all mv resentment for past neg- lect was subdued, and a glow of filial affection was awakened within me. The predominant feeling, however that over- powered all others was transport at the sudden change in my whole fortunes. A home a name rank wealth awaited me ; and love painted a still more rapturous prospect in the distance. I hastened to Bianca, and threw 7 myself at her feet. " Oh, Bianca," exclaimed I, " at length I ean claim you for my own. I am no longer a nameless adventurer, a neglected, rejected out- east. Look read, behold the tidings that re- store me to my name and to myself !" I will not dwell on the scene that ensued. Bi- anca rejoiced in the reverse of my situation, be- cause she saw it lightened my heart of a load of cere ; for her own part she had loved me for my- THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 141 self, and had never doubted that my own merits would command both fame and fortune. I now felt all my native pride buoyant with- in me. I no longer walked with my eyes bent to the dust ; hope elevated them to the skies ; my soul was lit up with fresh fires, and beamed from my countenance. I wished to impart the change in my circum- stances to the Count; to let him know who and what I was, and to make formal proposals for the hand of Bianca ; but the Count was absent on a distant estate. I opened my whole soul to Filip- po. Now first I told him of my passion ; of the doubts and fears that had distracted me, and of the tidings that had suddenly dispelled them. He overwhelmed me with congratulations and with the warmest expressions of sympathy. I embra- ced him in the fullness of my heart. I felt com- punctious for having suspected him of coldness, and asked him forgiveness for having ever doubt- ed his friendship. Nothing is so warm and enthusiastic as a sud- den expansion of the heart between young men. PART I. 1 9 142 THE STORY OF Filippo entered into our concerns with the most eager interest. He was our confidant and coun- sellor. It was determined that I should hasten at once to Naples to re-establish myself in my fa- ther's affections and my paternal home, and the moment the reconciliation was effected and my father's consent insured, I should return and de- mand Bianca of the Count. Filippo engaged to secure his father's acquiescence ; indeed, he un- dertook to watch over our interests, and was the channel through which we were to correspond. My parting with Bianca was tender delicious agonizing. It was in a little pavilion of the garden which had been one of our favourite resorts. How often and often did I return to have one more adieu to have her look once more on me in speechless emotion to enjoy once more the rap- turous sight of those tears streaming down her lovely cheeks to seize once more on that deli- cate hand, the frankly accorded pledge of love, and cover it with tears and kisses ! Heavens ! There is a delight even in the parting agony of two lovers worth a thousand tame pleasures of THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 143 the world. I have her at this moment before my eyes at the window of the pavilion, putting aside the vines that clustered about the casement her light form beaming forth in virgin white her countenance all tears and smiles sending a thou^ sand and a thousand adieus after me, as, hesi- tating, in a delirium of fondness and agitation, I faltered my way down the avenue. As the bark bore me out of the harbour of Genoa, how eagerly my eyes stretched along the coast of Sestri, till it discerned the villa gleaming from among trees at the foot of the mountain. As long as day lasted, I gazed and gazed upon it, till it lessened and lessened to a mere white speck in the distance ; and still my intense and fixed gaze discerned it, when all other objects of the coast had blended into indistinct confusion, or were lost in the evening gloom. On arriving at Naples, I hastened to my pa- ternal home. My heart yearned for the long- withheld blessing of a father's love. As I en- tered the proud portal of the ancestral palace, my emotions were so great that I could not speak. 144 THE STORY OF No one knew me. The servants gazed at me with curiosity and surprise. A few years of in- tellectual elevation and development had made a prodigious change in the poor fugitive stripling from the convent. Still that no one should know me in my rightful home was overpowering. I felt like the prodigal son returned. 1 was a stranger in the house of my father. I burst into tears, and wept aloud. When I made myself known, however, all was changed. I, who had once been almost repulsed from its walls, and forced to fly as an exile, was welcomed back with acclamation, with servility. One of the servants hastened to prepare my father for my reception ; my eagerness to receive the paternal embrace was so great that I could not await his return ; but hurried after him. What a spectacle met my eyes as I entered the chamber. My father, whom I had left in the pride of vigourous age, whose noble and majestic bearing had so awed my young imagination, was bowed down and withered into decrepitude. A paralysis had* ravaged his stately form, and left THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 145 it a shaking ruin. He sat propped up in his chair, with pale relaxed visage and glassy wan* dering eye. His intellects had evidently shared in the ravage of his frame. The servant was endeavouring to make him comprehend the vi- siter that was at hand. I tottered up to him and sunk at his feet. All his past coldness and neg- lect were forgotten in his present sufferings. I remembered only that he was my parent, and that I had deserted him. I clasped his knees ; my voice was almost stifled with convulsive sobs. " Pardon pardon oh my father !" was all that I could utter. His apprehension seemed slowly to return to him. He gazed at me for some moments with a vague, inquiring look ; a convulsive tremor quivered about his lips ; he feebly extended a shaking hand, laid it upon my head, and burst into an infantine flow of -tears. From that moment he would scarcely spare me from his sight. I appeared the only object that his heart responded to in the world : all else was as a blank to him. He had almost lost the powers of speech, and the reasoning faculty 146 THE STORY OF seemed at an end. He was mute and passive ; excepting that fits of child-like weeping would sometimes come over him without any imme- diate cause. If I left the room at any time, his eye was incessantly fixed on the door till my re- turn, and on my entrance there was another gush of tears. To talk with him of my concerns, in this ruin- ed state of mind, would have been worse than useless : to have left him, for ever so short a time, would have been cruel, unnatural. Here then was a new trial for my affections. I wrote to Biancaan account of my return and of my ac- tual situation ; painting in colours vivid, for they were true, the torments I suffered at our being thus separated ; for to the youthful lover every day of absence is an age of love lost. I enclo- sed the' letter in one to Filippo who was the chan- nel of our correspondence. I received a reply from him full of friendship and sympathy ; from Bianca full of assurances of affection and con- stancy. THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 147 Week after week ; month after month elapsed, without making any change in my circum- stances. The vital flame, which had seemed nearly extinct when first I met my father, kept fluttering on without any apparent diminution. I watched him constantly, faithfully I had al- most said patiently. I knew that his death alone would set me free ; yet I never at any moment wished it. I felt too glad to be able to make any atonement for past disobedience ; and, denied as I had been all endearments of relationship in my early days, my heart yearned towards a fa- ther, w r ho, in his age and helplessness, had thrown himself entirely on me for comfort. My passion for Bianca gained daily more force from absence; by constant meditation it wore itself a deeper and deeper channel. I made no new friends nor acquaintance ; sought none of the pleasures of Naples which my rank and fortune threw open to me. Mine was a heart that con- fined itself to few objects, but dwelt upon those with the intenser passion. To sit by my father, and administer to his wants, and to meditate 148 THE STORY OF on Bianca in the silence of his chamber, was my constant habit. Sometimes I amused myself with my pencil in portraying the image that was ever present to my imagination. I trans- ferred to canvas every look and smile of hers that dwelt in my heart. I showed them to my father in hopes of awakening an interest in his bosom for the mere shadow of my love ; but he was too far sunk in intellect to take any more than a child-like notice of them. When I received a letter from Bianca it was a new source of solitary luxury. Her let- ters, it is true, were less and less frequent, but they were always full of assurances of unabated affection. They breathed not the frank and in- nocent warmth, with which she expressed her- self in conversation, but I accounted for it from the embarrassment which inexperienced minds have often to express themselves upon paper. Filippo assured me of her unaltered constancy. They both lamented in the strongest terms our continued separation, though they did justice to the filial feeling that kept me by my father's side. THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 149 Nearly eighteen months elapsed in this pro- tracted exile. To me they were so many ages. Ardent and impetuous by nature, I scarcely know how I should have supported so long an absence, had I not. felt assured that the faith of Bianca was equal to my own. At length my fa- ther died. Life went from him almost imper- ceptibly. I hung over him in mute affliction, and watched the expiring spasms of nature. His last faltering accents whispered repeatedly a bles- sing on me alas ! how has it been fulfilled ! When I had paid due honours to his remains^ and laid them in the tomb of our ancestors, I ar- ranged briefly my affairs ; put them in a pos- ture to be easily at my command from a dis- tance, and embarked once more, with a bounding heart for Genoa. Our voyage was propitious, and oh ! what was my rapture when first, in the dawn of morn- ing, I saw the shadowy summits of the Apen- nines rising almost like clouds above the horizon. The sweet breath of summer just moved us over the long wavering billows that were rollhng , * 20 150 THE STORY OF us on towards Genoa. By degrees the coast of Sestri rose like a sweet creation of enchantment from the silver bosom of the deep. I beheld the line of villages and palaces studding its borders. My eje reverted to a well-known point, and at length, from the confusion of distant objects, it singled out the villa which contained Bianca. It was a mere speck in the landscape, but glimmer- ing from afar, the polar star of my heart. Again I gazed at it for a livelong summer's day ; but oh how different the emotions between departure and return. It now kept growing and growing, instead of lessening and lessening on my sight. My heart seemed to dilate with it. I looked at it through a telescope. I gradually defined one feature after another. The bal- conies of the central saloon where first 1 met Bia nca beneath its roof ; the terrace where we so often had passed the delightful summer evenings ; the awning that shaded her chamber window I almost fancied I saw her form beneath it. Could she but know her lover was in the bark whose white sail now gleamed on the sunny THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 151 bosom of the sea ! My fond impatience increas- ed as we neared the coast. The ship seemed to lag lazily over the billows; I could almost have sprung into the sea and swam to the desired shore. The shadows of evening gradually shrowded the scene, but the moon arose in all her fullness and beauty, and shed the tender light so dear to lovers, over the romantic coast of Sestri. My whole soul was bathed in unutterable tenderness. I anticipated the heavenly evenings I should pass in wandering with Bianca by the light of that blessed moon. It was late at night before we entered the har- bour. As early next morning as I could get re- leased from the formalities of landing I threw myself on horseback and hastened to the villa. As I gallopped round the rocky promontory on which stands the Faro, and saw the coast of Ses- tri opening upon me, a thousand anxieties and doubts suddenly sprang up in my bosom. There is something fearful in returning to those we love, while yet uncertain what ills or changes absence 152 THE STORY OF may have effected. The turbulence of my agi- tation shook my very frame. I spurred my horse to redoubled speed ; he was covered with foam when we both arrived panting at the gateway that opened to the grounds around the villa. I left my horse at a cottage and walked through the grounds that I might regain tranquillity for the approach- ing interview. I chid myself for having suffered mere doubts and surmises thus suddenly to over- come me ; but I was always prone to be carried away by these gusts of the feelings. On entering the garden every thing bore the same look as when I had left it ; and this un- changed aspect of things reassured me. There were the alleys in which I had so often walked with Bianca ; the same shades under which we had so often sat during the noontide heat. There were the same flowers of which she was fond ; and which appeared still to be under the ministry of her hand. Every thing around looked and breathed of Bianca ; hope and joy flushed in my bosom at every step. I passed a little bower in \vhich we had often sat and read together. A THE YOUNG ITALIAN. I5o book and a glove lay on the bench. It was Bi- anca's glove ; it was a volume of the Metestasio I had given her. The glove lay in my favourite passage. I clasped them to my heart. " All is safe !" exclaimed 1, with rapture, " she loves me! she is still my own !" I bounded lightly along the avenue down which I had faltered so slowly at my departure. I be- held her favourite pavilion which had witnessed our parting scene. The window was open, with the same vine clambering about it, precisely as when she waved and wept me an adieu. Oh ! how transporting was the contrast in my situa- tion. As I passed near the pavilion, I heard the tones of a female voice. They thrilled through me with an appeal to my heart not to be mista- ken. Before I could think, I felt they were Bi- anca's. For an instant I paused, overpowered with agitation. I feared to break in suddenly upon her. I softly ascended the steps of the pa- vilion. The door was open. I saw Bianca seat- ed at a table ; her back was towards me ; she was warbling a soft melancholy air, and was oc- 154 THE STORY OF cupied in drawing. A glance sufficed to show me that she was copying one of my own paint- ings. I gazed on her for a moment in a delicious tumult of emotions. She paused in her singing ; a heavy sigh, almost a sob followed. I could no longer contain myself. " Bianca !" exclaimed I, in a half smothered voice. She started at the sound ; brushed back the ringlets that hung clustering about her face ; darted a glance at me ; uttered a piercing shriek, and would have fallen to the earth, had I not caught her in my arms. " Bianca ! my own Bianca !" exclaimed I, folding her to my bosom ; my voice stifled in sobs of convulsive joy. She lay in my arms without sense or motion. Alarmed at the effects of my own precipitation, I scarce kne\v what to do. I tried by a thousand endearing words to call her back to consciousness. She slowly re- covered, and half opening her eyes " where am I ?" murmured she faintly. " Here," exclaimed I, pressing her to my bosom, " Here ! close to THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 155 the heart that adores you ; in the arms of your faithful Ottavio !" " Oh no ! no ! no !" shrieked she, starting into sudden life and terror "away! away! leave me ! leave me !" She tore herself from my arms ; rushed to a corner of the saloon, and covered her face with her hands, as if the very sight of me were bale- ful. I was thunderstruck I could not believe my senses. I followed her, trembling, con- founded. I endeavoured to take her hand, but she shrunk from my very touch with horror. " Good heavens, Bianca," exclaimed I, " what is the meaning of this ? Is this my reception after so long an absence ? Is this the love you professed for me ?" At the mention of love, a shuddering ran through her. She turned to me a face wild with anguish. " No more of that ! no more of that !" gasped she " talk not to me of love I 1 am married !" I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow. A sickness struck to my very heart. I caught 156 THE STORY OF at a window frame for support. For a moment or two, every thing was chaos around me. When I recovered, I beheld Bianca lying on a sofa ; her face buried in the pillow, and sobbing con- vulsively. Indignation at her fickleness for a moment overpowered every other feeling. " Faithless perjured " cried I, striding across the room. But another glance at that beautiful being in distress, checked all my wrath. Anger could not dwell together with her idea in my soul. " Oh Bianca," exclaimed I, in anguish, could I have dreamt of this ; could I have suspected you would have been false to me ?" She raised her face all streaming with tears, all disordered with emotion, and gave me one appealing look " False to you ! they told me you were dead !" " What," said I, " in spite of our constant cor- respondence ?" She gazed wildly at me " correspondence ! what correspondence ?" THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 157 " Have you not repeatedly received and re- plied to my letters ?" She clasped her hands with solemnity and fervour " As I hope for mercy, never!" A horrible surmise shot through my brain " Who told you 1 was dead ?" " It was reported that the ship in which you embarked for Naples perished at sea." " But who told you the report ?" She paused for an instant, and trembled "Filippo!" " May the God of heaven curse him !" cried I, extending my clinched fists aloft. " Oh do not curse him do not curse him !" exclaimed she " He is he is my husband !" This was all that was wanting to unfold the perfidy that had been practised upon me. My blood boiled like liquid fire in my veins. I gasped with rage too great for utterance. I remained for a time bewildered by the whirl of horrible thoughts that rushed through my mind. The poor victim of deception before me thought it was with her I was incensed. She faintly mur- PART I. 21 158 THE STORY OF t mured forth her exculpation. I will not dwell upon it. I saw in it more than she meant to re- veal. I saw with a glance how both of us had been betrayed. " 'Tis well !" muttered I to my- self in smothered accents of concentrated fury. " He shall account to rne for this !" Bianca overheard me. New terror flashed in her countenance* " For mercy's sake do not meet him say nothing of what has passed for my sake say nothing to him I only shall be the sufferer !". A new suspicion darted across my mind " what !" exclaimed I " do you then fear him is he unkind to you tell me" reiterated I, grasping her hand and looking her eagerly in the f ace " tell me dares he to use you harshly !" "No! no! no!" cried she faltering and em- barrassed ; but the glance at her face had told me volumes. I saw in her pallid and wasted features ; in the prompt terror and subdued agony of her eye a whole history of a mind bro- ken down by tyranny. Great God ! *and was this beauteous flower snatched from me to be - THE VOUNG ITALIAN. 159 thus trampled upon. The idea roused me to madness. I clinched my teeth and my hands ; I foamed at the mouth ; every passion seemed to have resolved itself into the fury that like a lava boiled within my heart. Bianca shrunk from me in speechless affright. As I strode by the win- dow my eye darted down the alley. Fatal mo- ment ! I beheld Filippo at a distance ! My brain was in delirium I sprang from the pavilion, and was before him with the quickness of light- ning. He saw me as I came rushing upon him he turned pale, looked wildly to right and left, as if he would have fled, and trembling drew his sword : " Wretch !" cried I, " well may you draw your weapon !" I spake not another word I snatched forth a stiletto, put by the sword which trembled in his hand, and buried my poniard in his bosom. He fell with the blow, but my rage was unsated. I sprang upon him with the blood-thirsty feeling of a tiger ; redoubled my blows ; mangled him in my frenzy, grasped him by the throat, until with reiterated wounds and strangling convul- 160 THE STORY OF sions he expired in my grasp. 1 remained gla- ring on the countenance, horrible in death, that seemed to stare back with its protruded eyes upon me. Piercing shrieks roused me from my deli- rium. I looked round and beheld Bianca flying distractedly towards us. My brain whirled. I waited not to meet her, but fled from the scene of horror. I fled forth from the garden like another Cain, a hell within my bosom, and a curse upon my head. I fled without knowing whither almost without knowing why my only idea was to get farther and farther from the horrors I had left behind ; as if I could throw space between myself and my conscience. I fled to the Apennines, and wandered for days and days among their savage heights. How I ex- isted I cannot tell what rocks and precipices I braved, and how I braved them, I know not. I kept on and on trying to outtravel the curse that clung to me. Alas, the shrieks of Bianca rung for ever in my ear. The horrible counte- nance of my victim was for ever before my eyes. " The blood of Filippo cried to me from the THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 161 ground." Rocks, trees, and torrents all resound- ed with my crime. Then it was 1 felt how much more insup- portable is the anguish of remorse than every other mental pang. Oh ! could I but have cast off this crime that festered in my heart ; could I but have regained the innocence that reigned in my breast as I entered the garden at Sestri; could I but have restored my victim to life, I felt as if I could look on with transport even though Bi- anca were in his arms. By degrees this frenzied fever of remorse set- tled into a permanent malady of the mind. Into one of the most horrible that ever poor wretch was cursed with. Wherever I went the counte- nance of him I had slain appeared to follow me* Wherever I turned my head I beheld it behind me, hideous with the contortions of the dying moment. I have tried in every way to escape from this horrible phantom ; but in vain. I know not whether it is an illusion of the mind, the consequence of my dismal education at the convent, or whether a phantom really sent by 162 THE STORY OF heaven to punish me ; but there it ever is-^at all times in all places nor has time nor habit had any effect in familiarizing me with its terrors. I have travelled from place to place, plunged into amusements tried dissipation and distrac- tion of every kind all all in vain. I once had recourse to my pencil as a despe- rate experiment. I painted an exact resemblance of this phantom face. I placed it before me in hopes that by constantly contemplating the copy I might diminish the effect of the original. But I only doubled instead of diminishing the misery. Such is the curse that has clung to my foot- steps that has made my life a burthen but the thoughts of death, terrible. God knows what I have suffered. What days and days, and nights and nights, of sleepless torment* What a never-dying worm has preyed upon my heart ; what an unquenchable fire has burned within my brain. He knows the wrongs that wrought upon my poor weak nature ; that converted the tenderest of affections into the deadliest of fury. He knows best whether a frail errring creature THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 163 has expiated by long-enduring torture and mea- sureless remorse, the crime of a moment of mad- ness. Often, often have I prostrated myself in the dust, and implored that he would give me, a sign of his forgiveness, and let me die. Thus far had I written some time since. I had meant to leave this record of misery and crime with you, to be read when I should be no more. My prayer to heaven has at length beej> heard. You were witness to my emotions last evening at the performance of the Miserere ; when the vaulted temple resounded with the words of atonement and redemption. I heard a voice speaking to me from the midst of the music ; I heard it rising above the pealing of the organ and the voices of the choir : it spoke to me in tones of celestial melody ; it promised mercy and forgiveness, but demanded from me full expia- tion. I go to make it. To-morrow I shall be on my way to Genoa to surrender myself to justice. You who have pitied my sufferings ; who have poured the balm of sympathy into my wounds, do not shrink from my memory with 164 THE STORY OF abhorrence now that you know my story. Re- collect, when you read of my crime I shall have atoned for it with my blood ! When the Baronet had finished, there was an universal desire expressed to see the painting of this frightful visage. After much entreaty the Baronet consented, on condition that they should only visit it one by one. He called his house- keeper and gave her charge to conduct the gen- tlemen singly to the chamber. They all return- ed varying in their stories: some affected in one way, some in another ; some more, some less; but all agreeing that there was a certain something about the painting that had a very odd effect upon the feelings. I stood in a deep bow window with the Baro- net, and could not help expressing my wonder. "After all," said I, "there are certain myste- ries in our nature, certain inscrutable impulses and influences, that warrant one in being super- stitious* Who can account for so many persons THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 165 of different characters being thus strangely affect- ed, by a mere painting r" " And especially when not one of them has seen it !" said the Baronet with a smile. " How ?" exclaimed I, " not seen it ?" " Not one of them !" replied he, laying his fin- ger on his lips in si^n of secrecy. " I saw that some of them were in a bantering vein, and I did not choose that the memento of the poor Italian should be made a jest of. So I gave the house- keeper a hint to show them all to a different chamber !" Thus end the Stories of the Nervous Gentle- man. PART J. TALES OP A TRAVELLER, BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT. OF " THE SKETCH BOOK," " BRACEBRIDQE HALL," " KNICKERBOCKER'S NEW-YORK,** &c. PHILADELPHIA . H. C. CAREY & I. LEA, CHESNUT-STREET: 1824; v Av . Southern District of New-York, ss. BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the fourteenth day of August, A.D. 1824, in the forty-ninth year of the Independence of the United States of America, C. S. Van Winkle, of the said district, hath de- posited in this office the title of a book, the right whereof he claims as proprietor, in the words following, to wit : " Tales of a Traveller, Part II. By Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. Au- thor of The Sketch Book," Bracebridge Hall," Knickerbocker's New- York," &c. IN CONFORMITY to the act of Congress of the United States, entitled, "An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and pro- prietors of such copies, during the time therein mentioned ;" and also, to an act entitled, " An act supplementary to an act, enti- tled, an act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned," and extend- ing the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other prints." JAMES DILL, Clerk of the Southern District of New- York, Printed by C. S. Van Winkle, No. 2 Thames-street, New- York. CONTENTS OF PART IF. Page BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS,. 5 Literary Life, 7 A Literary Dinner, 13' The Club of Queer Fellows, 21 The Poor Devil Author, 33 Buckthorne, or the Young Man of Great Expectations,. . . 69 Grave Reflections of a Disappointed Man, 163 The Booby Squire, 175 The Strolling Manager, 137 BUCKTHORNS AND HIS FRIENDS. u 'Tis a very good world that we live in, To lend, or to spend, or to give in ; But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own, Tis the very worst world, sir, that ever was known.'* LINES FROM AN INN WINDOW. I'ABT 11. 4- * LITERARY LIFE, AMONG the great variety of characters which fall in a traveller's way, I became acquainted du- ring my sojourn in London, with an eccentric personage of the name of Buckthorne. He was a literary man, had lived much in the metropo- lis, and had acquired a great deal of curious, though unprofitable knowledge concerning it. He was a great observer of character, and could give the natural history of every odd animal that presented itself in this great wilderness of men. Finding me very curious about literary life and literary characters, he took much pains to gratify my curiosity. " The literary world of England," said he to me one day, " is made up of a number of little fraternities, each existing merely for itself, and thinking the rest of the world created only to look 8 LITERARY LIFE. on and admire. It may be resembled to the firmament, consisting of a number of systems, each composed of its own central sun with its revolving train of moons and satellites, all acting in the most harmonious concord ; but the com- parison fails in part, inasmuch as the literary world has no general concord. Each system acts independently of the rest, and indeed considers all other stars as mere exhalations and transient meteors, beaming for a while with false fires, but doomed soon to fall and be forgotten ; while its own luminaries are the lights of the universe, destined to increase in splendour and to shine steadily on to immortality " " And pray," said I, " how is a man to get a peep into one of these systems you talk of? I presume an intercourse with authors is a kind of intellectual exchange, where one must bring his commodities to barter, and always give a quid pro quo." " Pooh, pooh how you mistake," said Buck- thorne, smiling : " you must never think to be- come popular among wits by shining. They go LITERARY LIFE. 9 into society to shine themselves, not to admire the brilliancy of others. I thought as you do when I first cultivated the society of men of let- ters, and never went to a blue stocking coterie without studying my part before hand as dili- gently as an actor. The consequence was, I soon got the name of an intolerable proser, and should in a little while have been completely ex- communicated had I not changed my plan of operations. From thenceforth I became a most assiduous listener, or if ever I were eloquent, it was tete-a-tete with an author, in praise of his own works, or what is nearly as acceptable, in disparagement of the works of his contempora- ries. If ever he spoke favourably of the produc- tions of some particular friend, I ventured boldly to dissent from him, and to prove that his friend was a blockhead, and much as people say of the pertinacity and irritability of authors I never found one to take offence at my contradictions. No, no, sir, authors are particularly candid in admitting the faults of their friends. " Indeed, I was extremely sparing of my re- 10- LITERARY LIFE. marks on all modern works, excepting to make sarcastic observations on the most distinguished writers of the day. I never ventured to praise an author that had not been dead at least half a century ; and even then I was rather cautious ; for you must know that many old writers have been enlisted under the banners of different sects, and their merits have become as complete topics of party prejudice and dispute, as the merits of living statesmen and politicians. Nay, there have been whole periods of literature absolutely tabooed, to use a South Sea phrase. It is, for example, as much as a man's reputation is worth, in some circles, to say a word in praise of any writers of the reign of Charles the Second, or even of Queen Anne ; they being all declared to be Frenchmen in disguise." " And pray, then," said I, " when am I to know that I am on safe grounds ; being totally unacquainted with the literary landmarks and the boundary lines of fashionable taste ?" " Oh," replied he, " there is fortunately one LITERARY LIFE. II tract of literature that forms a kind of neutral ground, on which all the literary world meet amicably ; lay down their weapons, and even run riot in their excess of good humour, and this is, the reigns of Elizabeth and James. Here you may praise away at a venture ; here it is ' cut and come again,' and the more obscure the au- thor, and the more quaint and crabbed his style, the more your admiration will smack of the real relish of the connoisseur ; whose taste, like that of an epicure, is always for game that has an antiquated flavour. " But," continued he, " as you seem anxious to know something of literary society I will take an opportunity to introduce you to some coterie, where the talents of the day are assembled. I cannot promise you, however, that they will be of the first order. Some how or other, our great geniuses are not gregarious, they do not go in flocks ; but fly singly in general society. They prefer mingling, like common men, with the mul- titude ; and are apt to carry nothing of the author ! ;.'.; 12 LITERARY LIFE. about them but the reputation. It is only the inferior orders that herd together, acquire strength and importance by their confederacies, and bear all the distinctive characteristics of their species." A LITERARY DINNER. A FEW days after this conversation with Mr. Buckthorne, he called upon me, and took me with him to a regular literary dinner. It was given by a great bookseller, or rather a company of booksellers, whose firm surpassed in length even that of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego. I was surprised to find between twenty and thirty guests assembled, most of whom I had never seen before. Buckthorne explained this to me by informing me that this was a " business dinner," or kind of field day, which the house gave about twice a year to its authors. It is true, they did occasionally give snug dinners to three or four literary men at a time, but then these were generally select authors ; favourites of the public ; such as had arrived at their sixth and seventh editions. "There are," said he, PART II. 3 14 A LITERARY DINNER. " certain geographical boundaries in the land of literature, and you may judge tolerably well of an author's popularity, by the wine his bookseller gives him. An author crosses the port line about the third edition and gets into claret, but when he has reached the sixth and seventh, he may revel in champaigne and burgundy." " Arid pray,' 3 said I, " how far may these gen- tlemen have reached that I see around me ; are any of these claret drinkers ?" " Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these great dinners the common steady run of authors, one, two, edition men ; or if any others are invi- ted they are aware that it is a kind of republican meeting. You understand me- a meeting of the republic of letters, and that they must expect nothing but plain substantial fare." These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully the arrangement of the table. The two ends were occupied by two partners of the house. And the host seemed to have adopted Addison's ideas as to the literary precedence of his guests. A popular poet had the post of honour, opposite A LITERARY DINNER. 16 to whom was a hot pressed traveller in quarto, with plates. A grave looking antiquarian, who had produced several solid works, which were much quoted and little read, was treated with great respect, and seated next to a neat dressy gen- tleman in black, who had written a thin, genteel, hot pressed octavo on political economy, that was getting into fashion. Several three volume duo- decimo men of fair currency were placed about the centre of the table ; while (he lower end was taken up with small poets, translators, and au- thors, who had not as yet risen into much notice. The conversation during dinner was by fits and starts ; breaking out here and there in various parts of the table in small flashes, and ending in smoke. The poet who had the confidence of a man on good terms with the world and independ- ent of his bookseller, was very gay and brilliant, and said many clever things, which set the part- ner next him in a roar, and delighted all the com- pany. The other partner, however, maintained his sedateness, and kept carving on, with the air of a thorough man of business, latent upon the 16 A LITERARY DINNER. occupation of the moment. His gravity was ex- plained to me by my friend Buckthorne. He informed me that the concerns of the house were admirably distributed among the partners. " Thus, for instance," said he, " the grave gen- tleman is the carving partner who attends to the joints, and the other is the laughing partner who attends to the jokes." The general conversation was chiefly carried on at the upper end of the table ; as the authors there seemed to possess the greatest courage of the tongue. As to the crew at the lower end, if they did not make much figure in talking they did in eating. Never was there a more deter- mined, inveterate, thoroughly sustained attack on the trencher, than by this phalanx of mastica- tors. When the cloth was removed, and the wine began to circulate, they grew very merry and jo- cose among themselves. Their jokes, hoivever, if by chance any of them reached the upper end of the table, seldom produced much effect. Even the laughing partner did not seem to think it ne- cessary to honour them with a smile ; which my \ A LITERARY DINNER. 17 neighbour Buckthorne accounted for, by inform- ing me that there was a certain degree of popula- rity to be obtained, before a bookseller could af- ford to laugh at an author's jokes. Among this crew of questionable gentlemen thus seated below the salt, my eye singled out one in particular. He was rather shabbily dress- ed ; though he had evidently made the most of a rusty black coat, and wore his shirt frill plaited and puffed out voluminously at the bosom. His face was dusky, but florid perhaps a little too florid, particularly about the nose, though the rosy hue gave the greater lustre to a twinkling black eye. He had a little the look of a boon companion, with that dash of the poor devil in it which gives an inexpressibly mellow tone to a man's humour. I had seldom seen a face of rich- er promise ; but never was promise so ill kept. He said nothing ; ate and drank with the keen appetite of a gazetteer, and scarcely stopped to laugh even at the good jokes from the upper end of the table. I inquired who he was. Buck- 18 A LITERARY DINNER. thorne looked at him attentively. " Gad," said he, " I have seen that face before, but where I cannot recollect. He cannot be an author of any note. I suppose some writer of sermons or grinder of foreign travels." After dinner we retired to another room to take tea and coffee, where we were reinforced by a cloud of inferior guests. Authors of small volumes in boards, and pamphlets stitched in blue paper. These had not as yet arrived to the importance of a dinner invitation, but were in- vited occasionally to pass the evening " in a friendly way." They were very respectful to the partners, and indeed seemed to stand a little in awe of them ; but they paid very devoted court to the lady of the house, and were extrava- gantly fond of the children. I looked round for the poor devil author in the rusty black coat and magnificent frill, but he had disappeared imme- diately after leaving the table; having a dread, no doubt, of the glaring light of a drawing room. Finding nothing farther to interest my attention, A LITERARY DINNER 1 took my departure as soon as coffee had been served, leaving the port and the thin, genteel, hot-pressed, octavo gentlemen, masters of the iield. THE CLUB OF QJJEER FELLOWS. I THINK it was but the very next evening that in coming out of Covent Garden Theatre with my eccentric friend Buckthorne, he proposed to give me another peep at life and character. Finding me willing for any research of the kind, he took me through a variety of the narrow courts and lanes about Covent Garden, until we stopped be- fore a tavern from which we heard the bursts of merriment of a jovial party. There would be a. loud peal of laughter, then an interval, then another peal, as if a prime wag were telling a story. After a little while there was a song, and at the close of each stanza a hearty roar and a vehement thumping on the table. " This is the place," whispered Buckthorne. PART II. 4 22 THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. " It is the ' Club of Queer Fellows.' A great resort of the small wits, third rate actors, and newspaper critics of the theatres. Any one can go in on paying a shilling at the bar for the use of the club." We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and took our seats at a lone table in a dusky corner of the room. The club was assembled round a table, on which stood beverages of various kinds, according to the taste of the individual. The members were a set of queer fellows indeed ; but what was my surprise on recognizing in the prime wit of the meeting the poor devil author whom I had remarked at the booksellers' dinner for his promising face and his complete taciturnity. Matters, however, were entire- ly changed with him. There he was a mere cypher: here he was lord of the ascendant; the choice spirit, the dominant genius. He sat at the head of the table with his hat on, and an eye beaming even more luminously than his nose. He had a quiz and a fillip for every one, and a good thing on every occasion. Nothing could THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 23 be said or done without eliciting a spark from him ; and I solemnly declare I have heard much worse wit even from noblemen. His jokes, it must be confessed, were rather wet, but they suited the circle in which, he presided. The company were in that maudlin mood when a little wit goes a great way. Every time he opened his lips there was sure to be a roar, and sometimes before he had time to speak. We were fortunate enough to enter in time for a glee composed by him expressly for the club, and which he sang with two boon companions, who would have been worthy subjects for Ho- garth's pencil. As they were each provided with a written copy, I was enabled to procure the reading of it. Merrily, merrily push round the glass, And merrily troll the glee, Tor he who won't drink till he wink is an ass. So neighbour I drink to thee. Merrily, merrily puddle thy nose, Until it right rosy shall be ; For a jolly red nose, I speak under the rose, Is a sign of good company. 24 THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. We waited until the party broke up, and no one but the wit remained. He sat at the table with his legs stretched under it, and wide apart ; his hands in his breeches pockets; his head drooped upon his breast ; and gazing with lack- lustre countenance on an empty tankard. His gayety was gone, his fire completely quenched. My companion approached and startled him from his fit of brown study, introducing himself . on the strength of their having dined together at the booksellers'. " By the way," said he, " it seems to me I have seen you before ; your face is surely the face of an old acquaintance, though for the life of me I cannot tell where I have known you." " Very likely," replied he with a smile ; " ma- ny of my old friends have forgotten me. Though, to tell the truth, my memory in this instance is as bad as your own. If however it will assist your recollection in any way, my name is Tho- mas Dribble, at your service." " What, Tom Dribble, who was at old Bir- chell's school in Warwickshire ?" THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 25 The same," said the other, coolly. " Why then we are old schoolmates, though it's no wonder you don't recollect me. I was your junior by several years; don't you recollect little Jack Buckthorne ?" Here then ensued a scene of school fellow re- cognition ; and a world of talk about old school times and school pranks. Mr. Dribble ended by observing, with a heavy sigh, " that times were sadly changed since those days." " Faith, Mr. Dribble," said I, " you seem quite a different man here from what you were at dinner. I had no idea that you had so much stuff in you. There you were all silence ; but here you absolutely keep the table in a roar." " Ah, my dear sir," replied he, with a shake of the head and a shrug of the shoulder, " I'm a mere glow worm. I never shine by daylight. Besides, it's a hard thing for a poor devil of an author to shine at the table of a rich book- seller. Who do you think would laugh at any thing I could say, when I had some of the current wits of the day about me ? But here, though a poor devil, I am among still poorer devils than 26 THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. myself ; men who look up to me as a man of let- ters and a bel esprit, and all my jokes pass as sterling gold from the mint." " You surely do yourself injustice, sir," said I ; " I have certainly heard more good things from you this evening than from any of those beaux esprits by whom you appear to have been so daunted." " Ah, sir ! but they have luck on their side ; they are in the fashion there's nothing like being in fashion. A man that has once got his character up for a wit, is always sure of a laugh, say what he may. He may utter as much nonsense as he pleases, and all will pass current No one stops to question the coin of a rich man ; but a poor devil cannot pass off either a joke or a guinea, without its being examined on both sides. Wit and coin are always doubted with a threadbare coat. " For my part," continued he, giving his hat a twitch a little more on one side, " for my part, I hate your fine dinners ; there's nothing, sir, like the freedom of a chop house. I'd rather any time,. THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 27 have my steak and tankard among my own set, than drink claret and eat venison with your cur- sed civil, elegant company, who never laugh at a good joke from a poor devil, for fear of its being vulgar. A good joke grows in a wet soil; it flourishes in low places, but withers on yourd d high, dry grounds. I once kept high company, sir, until I nearly ruined myself; I grew so dull, and vapid, and genteel. Nothing saved me but being arrested by my landlady and thrown into prison ; where a course of catch clubs, eight pen- ny ale, and poor devil company, manured my mind and brought it back to itself again." As it was now growing late we parted for the evening ; though I felt anxious to know more of this practical philosopher. I was glad, therefore, when Buckthorne proposed to have another meeting to talk over old school times, and inqui- red his schoolmate's address. The latter seem- ed at first a little shy of naming his lodgings ; but suddenly assuming an air of hardihood " Green Arbour court, -sir," exclaimed he " number in Green Arbour court, YQU must know the 28 THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. place. Classic ground, sir ! classic ground ! It was there Goldsmith wrote his Vicar of Wake- field. I always like to live in literary haunts." I was amused with this whimsical apology for shabby quarters. On our way homewards Buck- thorne assured me that this Dribble had been the prime wit and great wag of the school in their boyish days, and one of those unlucky urchins denominated bright geniuses. As he perceived me curious respecting his old schoolmate, he promised to take me with him in his proposed visit to Green Arbour court. A few mornings afterwards he called upon me, and we set forth on our expedition. He led me through a variety of singular alleys, and courts, and blind passages ; for he appeared to be pro- foundly versed in all the intricate geography of the metropolis. At length we came out upon Fleet Market, and traversing it, turned up a nar- row street to the bottom of a long steep flight of stone steps, named Break-neck Stairs. These, he told me, led up to Green Arbour court, and that down them poor Goldsmith might m any a THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 29 time have risked his neck. When we entered the court, I could not but smile to think in what out of the way corners genius produces her bant- lings ! And the muses, those capricious dames, who, forsooth, so often refuse to visit palaces, and deny a single smile to votaries in splendid studies and gilded drawing rooms, what holes and burrows will they frequent to lavish their favours on some ragged disciple ! This Green Arbour court I found to be a small square of tall and miserable houses, the very in- testines of which seemed turned inside out, to judge from the old garments and frippery that fluttered from every window. It appeared to be a region of washerwomen, and lines were stretched about the little square, on which clothes were dangling to dry. Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took place between two virago's about a disputed right to a washtub, and imme- diately the whole community was in a hubbub. Heads in mob caps popped out of every window, and such a ^clamour of tongues ensued that 1 was fain to stop my ears. Every Amazon took PART IT. $ 30 THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. part with one or other of the disputants, and brandished her arms dripping with soapsuds, and fired away from her window as from the embra- zure of a fortress ; while the swarms of children nestled and cradled in every procreant chamber of this hive, waking with the noise, set up their shrill pipes to swell the general concert. Poor Goldsmith ! what a time must he have had of it, with his quiet disposition and nervous habits, penned up in this den of noise and vul- garity. How strange that while every sight and sound was sufficient to imbitter the heart /> and fill it with misanthropy, his pen should be dropping the honey of Hybla. Yet it is more than probable that he drew many of his inimita- ble pictures of low life from the scenes which surrounded him in this abode. The circumstance of Mrs. Tibbs being obliged to wash her hus- band's two shirts in a neighbour's house, who re- fused to lend her washtub, may have been no sport of fancy, but a fact passing under his own eye. His landlady may have sat for the picture, and Beau Tibbs' scanty wardrobe have been a fac simile of his own. THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 31 It was with some difficulty that we found our way to Dribble's lodgings. They were up two pair of stairs, in a room that looked upon the court, and when we entered he was seated on the edge of his bed, writing at a broken table. He received us, however, with a free, open, poor devil air, that was irresistible. It is true he did at first appear slightly confused ; buttoned up his waistcoat a little higher and tucked in a stray frill of linen. But he recollected himself in an instant ; gave a half swagger, half leer, as he stepped forth to receive us ; drew a three-legged stool for Mr. Buckthorne ; pointed me to a lum- bering old damask chair that looked like a de- throned monarch in exile, and bade us welcome to his garret. We soon got engaged in conversation. Buck- thorne and he had much to say about early school scenes; and as nothing opens a man's heart more than recollections of the kind we soon drew from him a brief outline of his literary career. THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. I BEGAN life unluckily by being the wag and bright fellow at school ; and I had the farther misfortune of becoming the great genius of my native village. My father was a country attor- ney, and intended that I should succeed him in business ; but I had too much genius to study, and he was too fond of my genius to force it into the traces. So I fell into bad company and took to bad habits. Do not mistake me. I mean that I fell into the company of village literati and vil- lage blues, and took to writing village poetry. It was quite the fashion in the village to be literary. We had a little knot of choice spirits who assembled frequently together, formed our- selves into a Literary, Scientific and Philoso^hi- 34 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. cal Society, and fancied ourselves the most learn- ed philos in existence. Every one had a great character assigned him, suggested by some casu- al habit or affectation. One heavy fellow drank an enormous quantity of tea ; rolled in his arm chair, talked sententiously, pronounced dogmati- cally, and was considered a second Dr. Johnson ; another, who happened to be a curate, uttered coarse jokes, wrote doggerel rhymes, and was the Swift of our association. Thus we had also our Popes, and Goldsmiths, and Addisons, and a blue stocking lady whose drawing room we fre- quented, who corresponded about nothing with all the world, and wrote letters with the stiffness and formality of a printed book, was cried up as another Mrs. Montagu. I was, by common con- sent, the juvenile prodigy, the poetical youth, the great genius, the pride and hope of the village, through whom it was to become one day as ce- lebrated as Stratford on Avon. My father died and left me his blessing and his business. His blessing brought no money into my pocket ; and as to his business it soon THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 35 deserted me : for I was busy writing poetry, and could not attend to law ; and my clients, though they had great respect for my talents, had no faith in a poetical attorney. I lost my business therefore, spent my money, and finished my poem. It was the Pleasures of Melancholy, and was cried up to the skies by the whole circle. The Pleasures of Imagination, the Pleasures of Hope, and the Pleasures of Memo- ry, though each had placed its author in the first rank of poets, were blank prose in comparison. Our Mrs. Montagu would cry over it from be- ginning to end. It was pronounced by all the members of the Literary, Scientific and Philoso- phical Society, the greatest poem of the age, and all anticipated the noise it would make in the great world. There was not a doubt but the London booksellers would be mad after it, and the only fear of my friends was, that 1 would make a sacrifice by selling it too cheap. Every time they talked the matter over they increased the price. They reckoned up the great sums given for the poems of certain popular writers, 36 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. and determined that mine was worth more than all put together, and ought to be paid for accord- ingly. For my part, I was modest in my ex- pectations, and determined that I would be satis- fied with a thousand guineas. So I put rny poem in my pocket and set off for London. My journey was joyous. My heart was light as my purse, and my head full of anticipations of fame and fortune. With what swelling pride did I cast my eyes upon old London from the heights of Highgate. I was like a general look- ing down upon a place he expects to conquer. The great metropolis lay stretched before me, buried under a home-made cloud of murky smoke, that wrapped it from the brightness of a sunny day, and formed for it a kind of artifi- cial bad weather. At the outskirts of the city, away to the west, the smoke gradually decreas- ed until all was clear and sunny, and the view stretched uninterrupted to the blue line of the Kentish Hills. My eye turned fondly to where the mighty cupola of St. Paul's swelled dimly through this THE POOR DEVFL AUTHOR. 37 misty chaos, and I pictured to myself the solemn realm of learning that lies about its base. How soon should the Pleasures of Melancholy throw this world of booksellers and printers into a bus- tle of business and delight ! How soon should I hear my name repeated by printers' devils throughout Pater Noster Row, and Angel Court, and Ave Maria Lane, until Amen corner should echo back the sound ! Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the most fashionable publisher. Every new author patronizes him of course. In fact, it had been determined in the village circle that he should be the fortunate man. I cannot tell you how vaingloriously I walked the streets ; my head was in the clouds. I felt the airs of heaven playing about it, and fancied it already encircled by a halo of literary glory. As I passed by the windows of bookshops, I anticipated the time when my work would be shining among the hotpiessed wonders of the day ; and my face, scratched on copper, or cut in wood, figuring in PART II. 6 58 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOft. fellowship with those of Scott and Byron and Moore. When I applied at the publisher's house there was something in the loftiness of my air, and the dinginess of my dress, that struck the clerks with reverence. They doubtless took me for some person of consequence, probably a digger of Greek roots, or a penetrator of pyramids. A proud man in a dirty shirt is always an imposing character in the world of letters ; one must feel intellectually secure before he can venture to dress shabbily ; none but a great scholar or a great genius dares to be dirty ; so I was ushered at once to the sanctum sanctorum of this high priest of Minerva. The publishing of books is a very different affair now a-days, from what it was in the time of Bernard Lintot. I found the publisher a fashionably dressed man, in an elegant drawing room, furnished with sofas, and portraits of celebrated authors, and cases of splendidly bound books. He was writing letters at an elegant table. This was transacting business in style. THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR 39 The place seemed suited to the magnificent publications that issued from it. I rejoiced at the choice I had made of a publisher, for I al- ways liked to encourage men of taste and spirit. I stepped up to the table with the lofty poeti- cal port that I had been accustomed to maintain in our village circle ; though I threw in it some- thing of a patronizing air, such as one feels when about to make a man's fortune. The publisher paused with his pen in his hand, and seemed waiting in mute suspense to know what was Jo be announced by so singular an apparition. I put him at his ease in a moment, for I felt that 1 had but to come, see, and conquer. I made known my name, and the name of my poem ; produced my precious roll of blotted manuscript, laid it on the table with an emphasis, and told him at once, to save time and come directly to the point, the price was one thousand guineas. I had given him no time to speak, nor did he seem so inclined. He continued looking at me for a moment with an air of whimsical perplexity ; scanned me from head to foot; looked dowa at 40 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. the manuscript, then up again at me, then pointed to a chair ; and whistling softly to himself, went on writing his letter. I sat for some time waiting his reply, suppo- sing he was making up his mind ; but he only paused occasionally to take a fresh dip of ink ; to stroke his chin or the tip of his nose, and then resumed his writing. It was evident his mind was intently occupied upon some other subject ; but I had no idea that any other subject should be attended to and my poem lie unnoticed on the table. I had supposed that every thing would make way for the Pleasures of Melancholy. My gorge at length rose within me. I took up my manuscript; thrust it into iny pocket, and walked out of the room ; making some noise as I went, to let my departure be heard. The pub- lisher, however, was too much busied in minor concerns to notice it. I was suffered to walk down stairs without being called back. I sallied forth into the street, but no clerk was sent after me; nor did the publisher call after me from the drawing room window. I have been told since, THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 41 that he considered me either a madman or a fool. I leave you to judge how much he was in the wrong in his opinion. When I turned the corner my crest fell. I cooled down in my pride and my expectations, and reduced my terms with the next bookseller to whom I applied. I had no better success : nor with a third ; nor with a fourth. I then desired the booksellers to make an offer themselves ; but the deuce an offer would they make. They told me poetry was a mere drug ; every body wrote poetry ; the market was overstocked with it. And then, they said, the title of my poem was not taking : that pleasures of all kinds were worn threadbare ; nothing but horrors did now a-days, and even these were almost worn out. Tales of pirates, robbers, and bloody Turks might answer tolerably well ; but then they must come from some established well-known name, or the pub- lic would not look at them. At last I offered to leave my poem with a book- seller to read it and judge for himself. " Why, really, my dear Mr. a a I forget your name," THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR, said he, cutting an eye at my rusty coat and shab- by gaiters, "really, sir, we are so pressed with business just now, and have so many manuscripts on hand to read, that we have not time to look at any new production, but if you can call again in a week or two, or say the middle of next month, w r e may be able to look over your wri- tings and give you an answer. Don't forget, the month after next good morning, sir happy to see you any time you are passing this way" so saying he bowed me out in the civilest way ima- ginable. In short, sir, instead of an eager com- petition to secure my poem I could not even get it read! In the mean time I was harassed by letters from my friends, wanting to know when the work was to appear ; who was to be my pub- lisher ; but above all things warning me not to let it go too cheap. There was but one alternative left. I deter- mined to publish the poem myself; and to have my triumph over the booksellers, when it should become the fashion of the day. I accordingly published the Pleasures of Melancholy and ruin- THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 43' ed myself. Excepting the copies sent to the re- views, and to my friends in the country, not one, I believe, ever left the bookseller's warehouse. The printer's bill drained my purse, and the only notice that was taken of my work was contained in the advertisements paid for by myself. I could have borne all this, and have attribu- ted it as usual to the mismanagement of the pub- lisher, or the want of taste in the public ; and could have made the usual appeal to posterity: but my village friends would not let me rest in quiet. They were picturing me to themselves feasting with the great, communing with the li- terary, and in the high course of fortune and re- nown. Every little while, some one came to me with a letter of introduction from the village circle, recommending him to my attentions, and requesting that I would make him known in so- ciety ; with a hint that an introduction to the house of a celebrated literary nobleman would be extremely agreeable. I determined, therefore, to change my lodg- ings, drop my correspondence, and disappear 44 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. altogether from the view of my village admirers. Besides, I was anxious to make one more poetic attempt. I was by no means disheartened by the failure of my first. My poem was evidently too didactic. The public was wise enough. It no longer read for instruction. " They want horrors, do they ?" said I, " Pfaith, then they shall have enough of them " So I looked out for some quiet retired place, where I might be out of reach of my friends, arid have leisure to cook up some delectable dish of poetical " hell- broth." I had some difficulty in finding a place to my mind, when chance threw me in the way of Ca- nonbury Castle. It is an ancient brick tower, hard by " merry Islington ;" the remains of a hunting seat of Queen Elizabeth, where she took the pleasures of the country, when the neigh- bourhood was all woodland. What gave it par- ticular interest in my eyes, was the circumstance that it had been the residence of a poet. It was here Goldsmith resided when he wrote his De- serted Village. I was shown the very apart- THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 45 ment. It was a relique of -the original style of the castle, with pannelled wainscots and gothic windows. I was pleased with its air of antiqui- ty, and with its having been the residence of poor Goldy. " Goldsmith was a pretty poet," said I to myself, " a very pretty poet ; though rather of the old school. He did not think and feel so strongly as is the fashion now a-days : but had he lived in these times of hot hearts and hot heads, he would have written quite differently." In a few days. I was quietly established in my new quarters; my books all arranged, my wri ting desk placed by a window looking out into the fields; and I felt as snug as Robinson Crusoe, when he had finished his bower. For several days 1 enjoyed all the novelty of change and the charms which grace a new lodgings before one has found out their defects. I rambled about the fields where I fancied Goldsmith had rambled. I explored merry Islington ; ate my solitary din- ner at the Black Bull, which according to tradi- tion was a country seat of Sir Walter Raleigh, and would sit and sip my wine and muse on old PART 7 46 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. times* in a quaint old room, where many a coun- cil had been held. All this did very well for a few T days : I was stimulated by novelty ; inspired by the associa- tions awakened in my mind by these curious haunts, and began to think I felt the spirit of com- position stirring within me; but Sunday came, and with it the whole city world, swarming about Canonbury Castle. I could not open my window but I was stunned with shouts and noi- ses from the cricket ground The late quiet road beneath my window was alive with the tread of feet and clack of tongues ; and to complete my misery, I found that my quiet retreat was abso- lutely a " show house !'" the tower and its con- tents being shown to strangers at sixpence a head. There was a perpetual tramping up stairs of citizens and their families, to look about the country from the top of the tower, and to take a peep at the city through the telescope, to try if they could discern their own chimneys. And then, in the midst of a vein of thought, or a mo- THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 47 ment of inspiration, I was interrupted, and all my ideas put to flight, by my intolerable landlady's tapping at the door, and asking me, if I would "jist please to let a lady and gentleman come in to take a look at Mr. Goldsmith's room." If you know any thing what an author's study is, and what an author is himself, you must know that there was no standing this. I put a positive interdict on my rooms being ex- hibited; but then it was shown when I was absent, and my papers put in confusion ; and on returning home one day, I absolutely found a cursed tradesman and his daughters gaping over my manuscripts ; and my landlady in a panic at my appearance. I tried to make out a little longer by taking the key in my pocket, but it would not do. I overheard mine hostess one day telling some of her customers on the stairs that the room was occupied by an author, who was always in a tantrum if interrupted ; and I immediately perceived, by a slight noise at the door, that they were peeping at me through the key hole. By the head of Apollo, but this was 48 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. quite too much ! with all my eagerness for fame, and my ambition of the stare of the million, I had no idea of being exhibited by retail, at six- pence a head, and that through a key hole. So I bade adieu to Canonbury Castle, merry Isling- ton, and the haunts of poor Goldsmith, without having advanced a single line in my labours. My next quarters were at a small white-wash- ed cottage, which stands not far from Hernpstead, just on the brow of a hill, looking over Chalk farm, and Carnbden town, remarkable for the rival houses of Mother Red Cap and Mother Black Cap ; and so across Crackskull common to the distant city. The cottage is in no wise remarkable in itself; but I regarded it with reverence, for it had been the asylum of a persecuted author. Hither poor Steele had retreated and lain perdue when perse- cuted by creditors and bailiffs ; those immemo- rial plagues of authors and free spirited gentle- men ; and here he had written many numbers of the Spectator. It was from hence, too, that he had despatched those little notes to his lady, THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR, 49 so full of affection and whimsicality; in which the fond husband, the careless gentleman, and the shifting spendthrift, were so oddly blended. I thought, as I first eyed the window of his apartment, that I could sit within it and write volumes. No such thing ! It was haymaking season, and, as ill luck would have it, immediately op- posite the cottage was a little alehouse with the sign of the load of hay. Whether it was there in Steele's time or not I cannot say ; but it set all attempt at conception or inspiration at defiance. It was the resort of all the Irish haymakers who mow the broad fields in the neighbourhood ; and of drovers and teamsters who travel that road. Here would they gather in the endless summer twilight, or by the light of the harvest moon, and sit round a table at the door ; and tipple, and laugh, and quarrel, and fight, and sing drowsy songs, and dawdle away the hours until the deep solemn notes of St. Paul's clock would warn the varlets home. In the day time I was still less able to write. 50 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. It was broad summer. The haymakers were at work in the fields, and the perfume of the new- mown hay brought with it the recollection of rny native fields. So instead of remaining: in my room to write, I went wandering about Primrose Hill and Hempstead Heights and Shepherd's Field, and all those Arcadian scenes so celebra- ted by London bards. I cannot tell you how many delicious hours I have passed lying on the cocks of new-mown hay, on the pleasant slopes of some of those hills, inhaling the fragrance of the fields, while the summer fly buzzed about me, or the grasshopper leaped into my bosom ; and how I have gazed with half-shut eye upon the smoky mass of London, and listened to the distant sound of its population, and pitied the poor sons of earth, toiling in its bowels, like Gnomes in " the dark gold mine." People may say what they please about Cock- ney pastorals ; but after all, there is a vast deal of rural beauty about the western vicinity of London ; and any one that has looked down upon the valley of Westend, with its soft bosom 'THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 51 of green pasturage, lying open to the south, and dotted with cattle ; the steeple of Hempstead rising among rich groves on the brow of the hill, and the learned height of Harrow in the dis- tance ; will confess that never has he seen a more absolutely rural landscape in the vicinity of a great metropolis. Still, however, I found myself not a whit the better off for my frequent change of lodgings ; and I began to discover that in literature, as in trade, the old proverb holds good, u a rolling stone gathers no moss." The tranquil beauty of the country played the very vengeance with me. I could not mount my fancy into the termagant vein. I could not conceive, amidst the smiling landscape, a scene of blood and murder ; and the smug citi- zens in breeches and gaiters, put all ideas of heroes and bandits out of my brain. I could think of nothing but dulcet subjects. "The pleasures of spring" "the pleasures of soli- tude" " the pleasures of tranquillity" " the pleasures of sentiment" nothing but pleasures j 52 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. and I had the painful experience of " the pleasures of melancholy" too strongly in my recollection to he beguiled by them. Chance at length befriended me. I had fre- quently in my ramblings loitered about Hemp- stead Hill; which is a kind of Parnassus of the metropolis. At such times I occasionally took my dinner at Jack Straw's Castle. It is a country inn so named. The very spot where that noto- rious rebel and his followers held their council of war. It is a favourite resort of citizens when rurally inclined, as it commands fine fresh air and a good view of the city. I sat one day in the public room of this inn, ruminating over a beefsteak and a pint of port, when my imagination kindled up with an- cient and heroic images. I had long wanted a theme and a hero ; both suddenly broke upon my mind; I determined to write a poem on the his- tory of Jack Straw. I was so full of my sub- ject that I was fearful of being anticipated. I wondered that none of the poets of the day, in their researches after ruffian heroes, had ever THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 53 thought of Jack Straw. I went to work pell- mell, blotted several sheets of paper with choice floating thoughts, and battles, and descriptions, to be ready at a moment's warning. In a few days time I sketched out the skeleton of my poem, and nothing was wanting but to give it flesh and blood. I used to take my manuscript and stroll about Caen Wood, and read aloud ; and would dine at the castle, by way of keeping up the vein of thought. I was taking a meal there, one day, at a rather late hour, in the public room. There was no other company but one man, who sat enjoying his pint of port at a window, and noticing the passers by. He was dressed in a green shooting coat. His countenance was strongly marked. He had a hooked nose, a romantic eye, excepting that it had something of a squint ; and altoge- ther, as I thought, a poetical style of head. I was quite taken with the man, for you must know I am a little of a physiognomist : I set him down at once for either a poet or a philosopher. PART IT. 8 54 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. As I like to make new acquaintances, consi- dering every man a volume of human nature, I soon fell into conversation with the stranger, who, I was pleased to find, was by no means difficult of access. After I had dined, I joined him at the window, and we became so sociable that I proposed a bottle of wine together ; to which he most cheerfully assented. I was too full of my poem to keep long quiet on the subject, and began to talk about the ori- gin of the tavern, and the history of Jack Straw. I found my new acquaintance to be perfectly at home on the topic, and to jump exactly with my humour in every respect. I became elevated by the wine and the conversation. In the full- ness of an author's feelings, I told him of my projected poem, and repeated some passages and he was in raptures. He was evidently of a strong poetical turn. " Sir," said he, filling my glass at the same time, ." our poets don't look at home. I don't see why we need go out of old England for robbers and rebels to write about. I like your THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 55 Jack Straw, sir. He's a home made hero. I like him, sir. I like him exceedingly. He's English to the back bone, damme. Give me honest old England, after all ; them's my senti- ments, sir !" " I honour your sentiments," cried I zea- lously. " They are exactly my own. An En- glish ruffian is as good a ruffian for poetry as any in Italy or Germany, or the Archipelago ; but it is hard to make our poets think so." " More shame for them !" replied the man in green. " What a plague would they have ? What have we to do with their Archipelago's of Italy and Germany ? Haven't we heaths and commons and high-ways on our own little island ? Aye, and stout fellows to pad the hoof over them too ? Come sir, my service to you I agree with you perfectly." " Poets in old times had right notions on this subject," continued I; "witness the fine old bal- lads about Robin Hood, Allen A'Dale, and other staunch blades of yore." " Right, sir, right," interrupted he. " Robin 56 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. Hood ! He was the lad to cry stand ! to a man, and never flinch." " Ah, sir," said I, " they had famous bands'of robbers in the good old times. Those were glo- rious poetical days. The merry crew of Sher- wood Forest, who led such a roving picturesque life, " under the greenwood tree." I have often wished to visit their haunts, and tread the scenes of the exploits of Friar Tuck, and Clym of the Clough, and Sir William of Cloudeslie." " Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, " we frave had several very pretty gangs since their day. Those gallant dogs that kept about the great heaths in the neighbourhood of London ; about Bagshot, and Hounslow, and Black Heath, for instance come sir, my service to you. You don't drink." " 1 suppose," said I, emptying my glass " I suppose you have heard of the famous Turpin, who was born in this very village of Hempstead, and who used to lurk with his gang in Epping Forest, about a hundred years since." " Have I ?" cried he " to be sure I have ! A THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 57 hearty old blade that ; sound as pitch. Old Tur- pentine ! as we used to call him. A famous fine fellow, sir." " Well sir," continued I, " I have visited Wal- tham Abbey, and Chinkford Church, merely from the stories I heard, when a boy, of his ex- ploits there, and I have searched Epping Forest for the cavern where he used to conceal himself. You must know," added I, " that I am a sort of amateur of highwaymen. They were dashing, daring fellows ; the last apologies that we had for the knights errants of yore. Ah, sir ! the country has been sinking gradually into tameness and common place. We are losing the old English spirit. The bold knights of the post have all dwindled down into lurking footpads and sneak- ing pick-pockets. There's no such thing as a dash- ing gentleman-like robbery committed now-a- days on the king's highway. A man may roll from one end of England to the other in a drowsy coach or jingling post-chaise without any other adventure than that of being occasionally over- turned, sleeping in damp sheets, or having an ill cooked dinner. 58 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. " We hear no more of public coaches being stop- ped and robbed by a well -mounted gang of reso- lute fellows with pistols in their hands and crapes over their faces. What a pretty poetical inci- dent was it for example in domestic life, for a family carriage, on its way to a country seat, to be attacked about dusk ; the old gentleman eased of his purse and watch, the ladies of their neck- laces and ear-rings, by a politely spoken high- wayman on a blood mare, who afterwards leap- ed the hedge and gallopped across the country, to the admiration of Miss Carolina the daughter, who would write a long and romantic account of the adventure to her friend Miss Juliana in town. Ah, sir ! we meet with nothing of such incidents now-a-days !" " That, sir," said my companion, taking ad- vantage of a pause, when I stopped to recover breath and to take a glass of wine, which he had just poured out " that sir, craving your pardon, is not owing to any want of old English pluck. It is the effect of this cursed system of banking. People do not travel with bags of THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 59 gold as they did formerly. They have post notes and drafts on bankers. To rob a coach is like catching a crow ; where you hare nothing but carrion flesh and feathers for your pains. But a coach in old times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish galleon. It turned out the yellow boys bravely ; and a private carriage was a cool hun- dred or two at least." I cannot express how much I was delighted with the sallies of my new acquaintance. He told me that he often frequented the castle, and would be glad to know more of me ; and I pro- mised myself many a pleasant afternoon with him, when I should read him my poem, as it proceeded, and benefit by his remarks ; for it was evident he had the true poetical feeling. " Come, sir !" said he, pushing the bottle, " Damme I like you ! You're a man after my own heart ; I'm cursed slow in making new ac- quaintances in general. One must stand on the reserve, you know. But when I meet with a man of your kidney, damme my heart jumps at once to him. Them's my sentiments, sir. 60 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. Come, Sir, here's Jack Straw's health ! I pre- sume one can drink it now-a-days without trea- son !" " With all my heart," said I gayly, " and Dick Turpin's into the bargain !" " Ah, sir !" said the man in green, those are the kind of men for poetry. The Newgate ka- lendar, sir ! the Newgate kalendar is your only reading ! There's the place to look for bold deeds and dashing fellows. We were so much pleased with each other that we sat until a late hour. I insisted on pay- ing the bill, for both my purse and my heart were full ; and I agreed that he should pay the score at our next meeting. As the coaches had all gone that run between Hempstead and Lon- don he had to return on foot. He was so de- lighted with the idea of my poem that he could talk of nothing else. He made me repeat such passages as I could remember, and though I did it in a very mangled manner, having a wretched memory, yet he was in raptures. Every now and then he would break out with THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 61 some scrap which he would misquote most ter- ribly, but would rub his hands and exclaim, " By Jupiter that's fine ! that's noble ! Damme, sir, if I can conceive how you hit upon such ideas !" I must confess I did not always relish his mis- quotations, which sometimes made absolute non- sense of the passages ; but what author stands upon trifles when he is praised ? Never had I spent a more delightful evening. I did not per- ceive how the time flew. I could not bear to separate, but continued walking on, arm in arm with him past my lodgings, through Cambden town, and across Crackscull Common, talking the whole way about my poem. When we were half way across the common he interrupted me in the midst of a quotation by telling me that this had been a famous place for footpads, and was still occasionally infested by them ; and that a man had recently been shot there in attempting to defend himself. " The more fool he !" cried I. " A man is an idiot to risk life, or even limb, to save a paltry PART II. 9 62 THE POOR DETAIL AUTHOR. purse of money. It's quite a different case from that of a duel, where one's honour is concerned. " For my part," added I, " I should never think of making resistance against one of those des- peradoes." " Say you so ?" cried my friend in green, turning suddenly upon me, and putting a pistol to my breast, " Why, then have at you my lad ! come, disburse ! empty ! unsack !" In a word, I found that the muse had played me another of her tricks, and had betrayed me into the hands of a footpad. There was no time to parley ; he made me turn my pockets inside out ; and hearing the sound of distant foot- steps, he made one fell swoop upon purse, watch and all, gave me a thwack over my unlucky pate that laid me sprawling on the ground ; and scampered away with his booty. I saw no more of my friend in green until a year or two afterwards ; when I caught a sight of his poetical countenance among a crew of scapegraces, heavily ironed, who were on the way for transportation. He recognized me at fHE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 63 once, tipped me an impudent wink, and asked me how 1 came on with the history of Jack Straw's castle. Tiie catastrophe at Crackscull Com.non put an end to my summer's campaign. I was cured of my poetical enthusiasm for rebels, robbers and highwaymen. I was put out of conceit of my subject, and what was worse, I was lightened of my purse, in which was almost every farthing I had in the World. So I abandoned Sir Richard Steele's cottage in despair, and crept into less celebrated, though no less poetical and airy lodg- ings in a garret in town. I see you are growing weary, so I will not de- tain you with any more of my luckless attempts to get astride of Pegasus. Still I could not con- sent to give up the trial and abandon those dreams of renown in which I had indulged. How should I ever be able to look the literary circle of my native village in the face, if I were so completely to f dsify their predictions. For some time longer, therefore, I continued to write for fame, and of . 64 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. course was the most miserable dog in existence, besides being in continual risk of starvation. I have manj a time strolled sorrowfully along, with a sad heart and an empty stomach, about five o'clock, and looked wistfully down the areas in the west end of the town ; and seen through the kitchen windows the fires gleaming, and the joints of meat turning on- the spits and dripping with gravy ; and the cook maids hearing up pud- dings, or trussing turkeys, and have felt for the moment that if 1 could but have the run of one of those kitchens, Apollo and the muses might have the hungry heights of Parnassus for me. Oh sir! talk of meditations among the tombs they are nothing so melancholy as the meditations of a poor devil without penny in pouch, along a line of kitchen windows towards dinner time. At length, when almost reduced to famine and despair, the idea all at once entered my head, that perhaps I was not so clever a fellow as the vil- lage and myself had supposed, It was the sal- vation of me. The moment the idea popped into my brain, it brought conviction and comfort with THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 66 it. I awoke as from a dream. I gave up im- mortal fame to those who could live on air ; took to writing for mere bread, and have ever since led a very tolerable life of it. There is no man of letters so much at his ease, sir, as he that has no character to gain or lose. I had to train my- self to it a little however, and to clip my wings short at first, or they would have carried me up into poetry in spite of myself. So I determined to begin by the opposite extreme, and abandon- ing the higher regions of the craft I came plump down to the lowest, and turned creeper. " Creeper," interrupted I, u and pray what is that ?" Oh sir ! I see you are ignorant of the language of the craft ; a creeper is one who fur- nishes the newspapers with paragraphs at so much a line ; one that goes about inquest of misfortunes; attends the Bow-street office ; the courts of justice and every other den of mischief and iniquity. We are paid at the rate of a penny a line, and as we can sell the same paragraph to almost every paper, we sometimes pick up a very decent day's work. Now and then the muse is unkind, or the day 66 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. uncommonly quiet, and then we rather starve ; and sometimes the unconscionable editors will clip our paragraphs when they are a little too rhetorical, and snip off twopence or threepence at a go. I have many a time had my pot of porter snipped off of my dinner in this way; and have had to dine with dry lips. However, I cannot complain. I rose gradually in the lower ranks of the craft, and am now I think in the most comfortable region of literature. " And pray," said I, " what may you be at present ?" " At present," said he, " I am a regular job writer, and turn my hand to any thing. I work up the writings of others at so much a sheet ; turn off translations; write second rate articles to fill up reviews and magazines ; compile travels and voyages, and furnish theatrical criticisms for the newspapers. All this authorship, you perceive, is anonymous; it gives no reputation, except among the trade, where I am considered an au- thor of all work, and am always sure of employ. That's the only reputation I want. I sleep THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 67 soundly, without dread of duns or critics, and leave immortal fame to those that choose to fret and fight about it. Take my word for it, the only happy author in this world is he who is below the care of reputation. The preceding anecdotes of Buckthorne's early schoolmate, and a variety of peculiarities which I had remarked in himself, gave me a strong curiosity to know something of his own history. There was a dash of careless good humour about him that pleased me exceedingly, and at times a whimsical tinge of melancholy ran through his humour that gave it an additional relish. He had evidently been a little chilled and buffeted by fortune, without being soured thereby, as some fruits become mellower and sweeter, from having been bruised or frost bitten. He smiled when I expressed my desire. " I have no great story," said he, " to relate. A mere 68 THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. tissue of errors and follies. But, such as it is, you shall have one epoch of it, by which you may judge of the rest. And so, without any farther prelude, he gave me the following anec- dotes of his early adventures. BUCKTHORNE, OR THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. I WAS born to very little property, but to great, expectations ; which is perhaps one of the most unlucky fortunes that a man can be born to. My father was a country gentleman, the last of a very ancient and honourable but decayed family, and resided in an old hunting lodge in War- wickshire. He was a keen sportsman and lived to the extent of his moderate income, so that I had little to expect from that quarter ; but then I had a rich uncle by the mother's side, a penu- rious accumulating curmudgeon, who it was con- fidently expected would make me his heir ; be- cause he was an old bachelor ; because I was named after him, and because he hated all the world except myself. PART II. JO 70 BUCKTHORNS, OR THE He was, in fact, an inveterate hater, a miser even in misanthropy, and hoarded up a grudge as he did a guinea. Thus, though my mother was an only sister, he had never forgiven her marriage with my father, against whom he had a cold, still, immoveable pique, which had lain at the bottom of his heart, like a stone in a well, ever since they had been school boys together. My mother, however, considered me as the in- termediate being that was to bring every thing again into harmony, for she looked upon me as a prodigy God bless her ! My heart overflows whenever I recall her tenderness : she was the most excellent, the most indulgent of mothers. 1 was her only child, it was a pity she had no more, for she had fondness of heart enough to have spoiled a dozen ! I was sent, at an early age to a public school sorely against my mother's wishes, but my father insisted that it was the only way to make boys hardy. The school was kept by a con- scientious prig of the ancient system, who did his duty by the boys intrusted to his care ; that is YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 71 to say, we were flogged soundly when we did not get our lessons. We were put into classes and thus flogged on in droves along the highways of knowledge, in much the same manner as cattle are driven to market, where those that are heavy in gait or short in leg have to suffer for the su- perior alertness or longer limbs of their com- panions. For my part, I confess it with shame, I was an incorrigible laggard. I have always had the poetical feeling, that is to say, I have always been an idle fellow and prone to play the va- gabond. I used to get away from my books and school whenever I could, and ramble about the fields. I was surrounded by seductions for such a temperament. The school house was an old fashioned white-washed mansion of wood and plaister, standing on the skirts of a beau- tiful village. Close by it was the venerable church with a tall Gothic spire. Before it spread a lovely green valley, with a little stream glistening along through willow groves ; while a line of blue hills that bounded the landscape 7^ BUCKTHORNE, OR THE gave rise to many a summer day dream as to the fairy land that lay beyond. In spite of all the scourgings I suffered at that school to make me love my book, I cannot but look back upon the place with fondness. Indeed, I considered this frequent flaggellation as the common lot of humanity, and the regular mode in which scholars were made. My kind mo- ther used to lament over my details of the sore trials I underwent in the cause of learning ; but o " my father turned a deaf ear to her expostulations. He had been flogged through school himself, and swore there was no other way of making a man of parts ; though, let me speak it with all due re- verence, my father was but an indifferent illus- tration of his own theory, for he was considered a grievous blockhead. My poetical temperament evinced itself at a very early period. The village church was attended every Sunday by a neighbouring squire the lord of the manor, whose park stretched quite to the village, and whose spacious country seat seemed to take the church under its protection* YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. IS Indeed, you would have thought the church had been consecrated to him instead of to the Deity. The parish clerk bowed low before him, and the vergers humbled themselves into the dust in his presence. He always entered a little late and with some stir, striking his cane emphatically on the ground ; swaying his hat in his hand, and looking loftily to the right and left, as he walked slowly up the aisle, and the parson, who always ate his Sunday dinner with him, never commenced service until he appeared. He sat with his family in a large pew gorgeously lined, humbling himself devoutly on velvet cushions, and reading lessons of meekness and lowliness of spirit out of splended gold and morocco prayer books. Whenever the parson spoke of the dif- ficulty of a rich man's entering the kingdom of heaven, the eyes of the congregation would turn towards the " grand pew," and I thought the squire seemed pleased with the application. The pomp of this pew and the aristocratical air of the family struck my imagination wonder- fully, and I fell desperately in love with a little 74 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE daughter of the squire's about twelve years of age This freak of fancy made me more truant from my studies than ever. I used to stroll about the squire's park, and would lurk near the house, to catch glimpses of this little damsel at the windows, or playing about the lawns, or walking out with her governess. I had not enterprize, or impudence enough to venture from my concealment ; indeed, I felt like an arrant poacher, until I read one or two of Ovid's Metamorphoses, when I pictured myself as some sylvan deity, and she a coy wood nymph of whom I was in pursuit. There is something extremely delicious in these early awakenings of the tender passion. I can feel even at this moment, the thrilling of my boy- ish bosom, whenever by chance I caught a glimpse of her white frock fluttering among the shrubbery. I now began to read poetry. I car- ried about in my bosom a volume of Waller, which I had purloined from my mother's library ; and I applied to my little fair one all the com- pliments lavished upon Sacharissa. YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. * 75 At length I danced with her at a school ball. I was so awkward a booby, that I dared scarcely speak to her ; I was filled with awe and embar- rassment in her presence ; but 1 was so inspired that my poetical temperament for the first time broke out in verse ; and I fabricated some glow- ing lines, in which I berhymed the little lady under the favourite name of Sacharissa. I slip- ped the verses, trembling and blushing, into her hand the next Sunday as she came out of church. The little prude handed them to her mamma ; the mamma handed them to the squire; the squire, who had no soul for poetry, sent them in dudgeon to the school master; and the school master, with a barbarity worthy of the dark ages, gave me a sound and peculiarly humiliating flog- ging for thus trespassing upon Parnassus. This was a sad outset for a votary of the muse. It ought to have cured me of my passion for poetry; but it only confirmed it, for I felt the spirit of a martyr rising within me. What was as well, perhaps, it cured me of my passion for the young lady ; for I felt so indignant at the ig- 76 BUCKTHORtfE, Oil TH^E nominious horsing I had incurred in celebrating her charms, that I could not hold up my head in church. Fortunately for my wounded sensibility, the midsummer holydays came on, and I returned home. My mother, as usual, inquired into all my school concerns, my little pleasures, and cares, and sorrows ; for boyhood has its share of the one as well as of the others. I told her all, and she was indignant at the treatment I had ex- perienced. She fired up at the arrogance of the squire, and the prudery of the daughter ; and as to the school master, she wondered where was the use of having school masters, and why boys could not remain at home and be educated by tutors, under the eye of their, mothers. She asked to see the verses I had written, and she w r as de- lighted with them ; for to confess the truth, she had a pretty taste in poetry. She even showed them to the parson's wife, who protested they were charming, and the parson's three daughters insisted on each having a copy of them. All this was exceedingly balsamic, and I was YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 77 still more consoled and encouraged, when the young ladies, who were the blue stockings of the neighbourhood, and had read Dr. Johnson's lives quite through, assured my mother that great ge- nuises never studied, but were always idle ; upon which I began to surmise that 1 was myself something out of the common run. My father, however, was of a very different opinion, for when my mother, in the pride of her heart, show- ed him my copy of verses, he threw them out of the window, asking her " if she meant to make a ballad monger of the boy." But he was a care- less, common thinking man, and I cannot say that I ever loved him much ; my mother absorbed all my filial affection. I used occasionally, during holydays, to be sent on short visits to the uncle, who was to make me his heir ; they thought it would keep me in his mind, and render him fond of me. He was a withered, anxious looking old fellow, and lived in a desolate old country seat, which he suffered to go to ruin from absolute niggardli- ness. He kept but one man servant, who had PART II. 11 78 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE lived, or rather starved with him for years. No woman was allowed to sleep in the house. A daughter of the old servant lived by the gate, in what had been a porter's lodge, and was permit- ted to come into the house about an hour each day, to make the beds, and cook a morsel of pro- visions. The park that surrounded the house was all run wild ; the trees grown out of shape ; the fish ponds stagnant ; the urns and statues fallen from their pedestals and buried among the rank grass. The hares and pheasants were so little molested, except by poachers, that they bred in great abun- dance, and sported about the rough lawns and weedy avenues. To guard the premises and frighten off robbers, of whom he w r as somewhat apprehensive, and visiters, whom he held in al- most equal awe, my uncle kept tv\o or three blood hounds, who were always prowling round the house, and were the dread of the neighbour- ing peasantry. They were gaunt and half-starv- ed, seemed ready to devour one from mere hun- YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 79 ger, and were an effectual check on any stran- ger's approach to this wizard castle. Such was my uncle's house, which I used to visit now and then during the holydays. I was, as I have before said, the old man's favourite ; that is to say, he did not hate me so much as he did the rest of the world. I had been apprised of his character, and cautioned to cultivate his good will ; but I was too young and careless to be a courtier ; and indeed have never been sufficiently studious of my interests to let them govern my feelings. However, we seemed to jog on very well together ; and as my visits cost him almost nothing, they did not seem to be very unwelcome. I brought with me my gun and fishing rod, and half supplied the table from the park and the fish ponds. Our meals were solitary and unsocial. My un- cle rarely spoke ; he pointed for whatever he wanted, and the servant perfectly understood him. Indeed, his man John, or Iron John, as he was called in the neighbourhood, was a counter- part of his master. He was a tall bony old fel- 80 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE low, with a dry wig that seemed made of cow-s tail, and a face as tough as though it had been made of bull's hide. He was generally clad in a long, patched livery coat, taken out of the ward- robe of the house; and which bagged loosely about him, having evidently belonged to some corpulent predecessor, in the more plenteous days of the mansion. From long habits of taciturni- ty, the hinges of his jaws seemed to have grown absolutely rusty, and it cost him as much effort to set them ajar, and to let out a tolerable sen- tence, as it would have done to set open the iron gates of the park, and let out the old family car- riage that was dropping to pieces in the coach house. I cannot say, however, but that I was for some time amused with my uncle's peculiarities. Even the very desolateness of the establishment had something in it that hit my fancy. When the weather was fine I used to amuse myself, in a so- litary way, by rambling about the park, and cour- sing like a colt across its lawns. The hares and pheasants seemed to stare with surprise, to see a YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 81 human being walking these forbidden grounds by day- light. Sometimes I amused myself by jerking stones, or shooting at birds with a bow arid arrows ; for tb have used a gun would have been treason. Now and then my path was cross- ed by a little red-headed ragged-tailed urchin, the son of the woman at the lodge, who ran wild about the premises. I tried to draw him into fa- miliarity, and to make a companion of him; but he seemed to have imbibed the strange unsocial character of every thing around him ; and always kept aloof; so I considered him as another Or- son, and amused myself with shooting at him with my bow and arrows, and he would hold up his breeches with one hand, and scamper away like a deer. There was something in all this loneliness and wildness strangely pleasing to me. The great stables, empty and weather-broken, with the names of favourite horses over the vacant stalls; the windows bricked and boarded up; the broken roofs, garrisoned by rooks and jack- daws ; all had a singularly forlorn appearance : 82 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE one would have concluded the house to be to- tally uninhabited, were it not for a little thread of blue smoke, which now and then curled up like a corkscrew, from the centre of one of the wide chimneys, when my uncle's starveling meal was cooking. My uncle's room was in a remote corner of the building, strongly secured and generally locked. I was never admitted into this strong hold, where the old man would remain for the greater part of the time, drawn up like a veteran spider in the citadel of his web. The rest of the mansion, however, was open to me, and I sauntered about it, unconstrained. The damp and rain which beat in through the broken windows, crumbled the paper from the walls ; mouldered the pictures, and gradually destroyed the furniture. I loved to rove about the wide waste chambers in bad weather, and listen to the howling of the wind, and the banging about of the doors and window shutters. I pleased myself with the idea how completely, when I came to the estate, I would renovate all things, YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 83 and make the old building ring with merriment, till it was astonished at its own jocundity. The chamber which I occupied on these visits was the same that had been my mother's, when a girl. There was still the toilet table of her own adorning ; the landscapes of her own draw- ing. She had never seen it since her marriage, but would often ask me if every thing was still the same. All was just the same ; for I loved that chamber on her account, and had taken pains to put every thing in order, and to mend all the flaws in the windows with my own hands. I anticipated the time when I should once more welcome her to the house of her fathers, and re- store her to this little nestling place of her child- hood. At length my evil genius, or, what perhaps is the same thing, the muse inspired me with the notion of rhyming again. My uncle, who never went to church, used on Sundays to read chap- ters out of the bible ; and Iron John, the woman from the lodge, and myself, were his congregation. It seemed to be all one to him what he read, so long as it was something from the bible : some- 84 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE times, therefore, it would be the Song of Solo- mon ; and this withered anatomy would read about being " stayed with flaggons and com- forted with apples, for he was sick of love." Sometimes he would hobble, with spectacle on nose, through whole chapters of hard Hebrew names in Deuteronomy ; at which the poor wo- man would sigh and groan as if wonderfully moved. His favourite book, however, was " The Pilgrim's Progress ;" and when he came to that part which treats of Doubting Castle and Giant Despair, I thought invariably of him and his de- solate old country seat. So much did the idea amuse me, that I took to scribbling about it un- der the trees in the park ; and in a few days had made some progress in a poem, in which I had given a description of the place, under the name of Doubting Castle, and personified my uncle as Giant Despair. I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and I soon suspected that my uncle had found it ; as he harshly intimated to me that I could return YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 86 home, and that I need not coine and see him again until he should send for me. Just about this time my mother died. I can- not dwell upon the circumstance ; my heart, careless and wayworn as it is, gushes with the recollection. Her death was an event, that per- haps gave a turn to all my after fortunes. With her died all that made home attractive, for my father was harsh, as I have before said, and had never treated me with kindness. Not that he exerted any unusual severity towards me, but it was his way. I do not complain of him. In fact, I have never been much of a complaining disposition. I seem born to be buffetted by friends and fortune, and nature has made me a careless endurer of buffettings. I now, however, began to grow very impatient of remaining at school, to be flogged for things that I did not like. I longed for variety, espe- cially now that I had not my uncle's to resort to ? by way of diversifying the dullness of school with the dreariness of his country seat. I was now turned of sixteen ; tall for my age, and ftfll PART II. 12 #6 BUCKTHORNE, OR of idle fancies. I had a roving, inextinguishable desire to see different kinds of life, and different orders of society ; and this vagrant humour had been fostered in me by Tom Dribble, the prime wag and great genius of the school, who had all the rambling propensities of a poet. I used to set at my desk in the school, on a fine summer's day, and instead of studying the book which lay open before me, my eye was gazing through the window on the green fields and blue hills. How I envied the happy groups seated on the tops of stage coaches, chatting, and joking, and laughing, as they were whirled by the school house, on their way to the metro- polis. Even the waggoners trudging along be- side their ponderous teams, and traversing the kingdom, from one end to the other, were objects of envy to me. I fancied to myself what ad- ventures the^ must experience, and what odd scenes of life they must witness. All this was, doubtless, the poetical temperament working within me, arid tempting me forth into a world of its own creation, which I mistook for the world of real life. YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 87 While my mother lived this strong propensity to rove was counteracted by the stronger attrac- tions of home, and by the powerful ties of affec- tion, which drew me to her side ; but now that she was gone, the attractions had ceased ; the ties were severed. I had no longer an anchor- age ground for my heart ; but was at the mercy of every Tagrant impulse. Nothing but the nar- row allowance on which my father kept me, and the consequent penury of my purse, prevented me from mounting the top of a stage coach arid launching myself adrift on the great ocean of life. Just about this time the village was agitated for a day or two, by the passing through of several caravans, containing wild beasts, and other spec- tacles for a great fair annually held at a neigh- bouring town. I had never seen a fair of any consequence, and my curiosity was powerfully awakened by this bustle of preparation. I gazed with re- spect and wonder at the vagrant personages who accompanied these caravans. I loitered about 8& BITCKTHORNE, OR THE the village inn, listening with curiosity and de- light to the slang talk and cant jokes of the showmen and their followers ; and I felt an eager desire to witness this fair, which my fancy decked out as something wonderfully fine. A holy day afternoon presented, when I could be absent from the school from noon until even- ing. A waggon was going from the village to the fair. I could not resist the temptation, nor the eloquence of Tom Dribble, who was a truant to the very heart's core. We hired seats, and sat off full of boyish expectation. I promised myself that I would but take a peep at the land of promise, and hasten back again before my ab- sence should be noticed. Heavens ! how happy I was on arriving at the fair ! How I was enchanted with the world of fun and pageantry around me ! The hu- mours of Punch ; the feats of the equestrians ; the magical tricks of the conjurors ! But what principally caught my attention was an itine- rant theatre ; where a tragedy, pantomine and force were all acted in the course of half an YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 89 hour, and more of the dramatis personae murder- ed, than at either Drury Lane or Covent Garden in a whole .evening. I have since seen many a play performed by the best actors in tha world, but never have I derived half the delight from any that I did from this first representation. There was a ferocious tyrant in a skull cap like an inverted porringer, and a dress of red baize, magnificently embroidered with gilt lea- ther ; with his face so be-whiskered and his eye- brows so knit and expanded with burnt cork, that he made my heart quake within me as he stamped about the little stage. I was enraptured too with the surpassing beauty of a distressed damsel, in faded pink silk, and dirty white mus- lin, whom he held in cruel captivity by way of gaining her affections ; and who wept and wrung her hands and flourished a ragged pocket hand- kerchief from the top of an impregnable tower, of the size of a band -box. Even after 1 had come out from the play, I could not tear myself from the vicinity of the theatre ; but lingered, gazing, and wondering, 90 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE and laughing at the dramatis personse, as they performed their antics, or danced upon a stage in front of the booth, to decoy a new set of spec- tators. I was so bewildered by the scene, and so lost in the crowd of sensations that kept swarming upon me, that I was like one entranced. I lost my companion Tom Dribble, in a tumult and scuffle that took place near one of the shows, but I was too much occupied in mind to think long about him. I strolled about until dark, when the fair was lighted up, and a new scene of magic opened upon me. The illumination of the tents and booths ; the brilliant effect of the stages decorated with lamps, with dramatic groups flaunting about them in gaudy dresses, contrasted splendidly with the surrounding dark- ness ; while the uproar of drums, trumpets, fid- dles, hautboys and cymbals, mingled with the harangues of the showmen, the squeaking of Punch, and the shouts and laughter of the crowd, all united to complete my giddy distrac- tion. YOUNG MAN OF GftEAT EXPECTATIONS. 91 Time flew without my perceiving it. When \ came to myself and thought of the school, I has- tened to return. I inquired for the waggon in which I had come : it had been gone for hours. I asked the time : it was almost midnight ! A sudden quaking seized me. How was I to get back to school ? I was too weary to make the journey on foot, and I knew not where to apply for a conveyance. Even if I should find one, could I venture to disturb the school house long after midnight ? to arouse that sleeping lion the usher, in the very midst of his night's rest ? The idea was too dreadful for a delinquent school- boy. All the horrors of return rushed upon me my absence must long before this have been remarked and absent for a whole night! a deed of darkness not easily to be expiated. The rod of the pedagogue budded forth into tenfold terrors before my affrighted fancy. I pictured to myself punishment and humiliation in every va- riety of form ; and my heart sickened at the pic- ture. Alas ! how often are the petty ills of boy- 92 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE hood as painful to our tender natures, as are the sterner evils of manhood to our robuster minds. I wandered about among the booths, and I might have derived a lesson from my actual feel- ings, how much the charms of this world depend upon ourselves ; for I no longer saw any thing gay or delightful in the revelry around me. At length I lay down, wearied and perplexed, behind one of the large tents, and covering myself with the margin of the tent cloth, to keep off the night chill, I soon fell asleep. I had not slept long, when I was awakened by the noise of merriment within an adjoining booth. It was the itinerant theatre, rudely con- structed of boards and canvas. I peeped through an aperture, and saw the whole dramatis per- sonae, tragedy, comedy, and pantomime, all re- freshing themselves after the final dismissal of their auditors. They were merry and gamesome, and made their flimsy theatre ring with their laughter. I was astonished to see the tragedy tyrant in red baize and fierce whiskers, who had made my heart quake as he strutted about the YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 93 boards, now transformed into a fat, good hu- moured fellow ; the beaming porringer laid aside ^from his brow, and his jolly face washed from ^all the terrors of burnt cork. I was delighted, too, to see the distressed damsel, in faded silk and dirty muslin, who had trembled under his tyranny, and afflicted me so much by her sor- rows ; now seated familiarly on his knee, and quaffing from the same tankard. Harlequin lay asleep on one of the benches ; and monks, satyrs, and vestal virgins were grouped together, laugh- ing outrageously at a broad story, told by an un- happy count, who had been barbarously murder- ed in the tragedy. This was, indeed, novelty to me. It was a peep into another planet. I gazed and listened with intense curiosity and enjoyment. They had a thousand odd stories and jokes about the events of the day, and burlesque descriptions and mimickings of the spectators, who had been ad- miring them. Their conversation was full of allusions to their adventures at different places, where they had exhibited ; the characters they PART II. 13 94 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE had met with in different villages ; and the lu- dicrous difficulties in which they had occasion- ally been involved. All past cares and troubles ^ were now turned by these thoughtless beings into matter of merriment ; and made to con- tribute to the gayety of the moment. They had been moving from fair to fair about the kingdom, and were the next morning to set out on their way to London. My resolution was taken. I crept from my nest, and scrambled through a hedge into a neighbouring field, where 1 went to work to make a tatterdemalion of myself. I tore my clothes ; sailed them with dirt ; begrimed my face and hands ; and, crawling near one of the booths, purloined an old hat, and left my new one in its place. It was an honest theft, and I hope may not hereafter rise up in judgment against me. I now ventured to the scene of merrymaking, and, presenting myself before the dramatic corps, offered myself as a volunteer. I felt terribly agitated and abashed, for " never before stood YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 95 I in such a presence." I had addressed myself to the manager of the company. He was a fat man dressed in dirty white ; with a red sash fringed with tinsel, swathed round his body. His face was smeared with paint, and a majestic plume towered from an old spangled black bon- net. He was the Jupiter tonans of this Olym- pus, and was surrounded by the inferior gods and goddesses of his court. He sat on the end of a bench, by a table, with one arm akimbo and the other extended to the handle of a tankard, which he had slowly set down from his lips, as he surveyed me from head to foot. It was a moment of awful scrutiny, and I fancied the groups around all watching us in silent suspense, and waiting for the imperial nod. He questioned me as to who I was ; \vhat were my qualifications ; and what terms I expected. I passed myself off for a discharged servant from a gentleman's family ; and as, happily, one does not require a special recommendation to get ad- mitted into bad company, the questions on that head were easily satisfied. As to my accomplish- 96 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE ments, I would spout a little poetry, and knew several scenes of plays, which I had learnt at school exhibitions. I could dance , that was enough ; no farther questions were asked me as to accomplishments ; it w as the very thing they wanted ; and, as I asked no wages, but merely meat and drink, and safe conduct about the world, a bargain was struck in a moment. Behold me, therefore, transformed of a sud- den, from a gentleman student to a dancing buf- foon ; for such, in fact, was the character in which I made my debut. I was one of those who formed the groupes in the dramas, and were prin- cipally employed on the stage in front of the booth, to attract company. I was equipped as a satyr, in a dress of drab frize that fitted to my shape ; with a great laughing mask, ornamented with huge ears and short horns. I was pleased with the disguise, because it kept me from the danger of being discovered, whilst we were in that part of the country ; and, as I had merely to dance and make antics, the character was fa- vourable to a debutant, being almost on a par YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 97 with Simon Snug's part of the Lion, which re- quired nothing but roaring. I cannot tell you how happy I was at this sud- den change in my situation. I felt no degrada- tion, for I had seen too little of society to be thoughtful about the differences of rank ; and a boy of sixteen is seldom aristocrarical. I had given up no friend ; for there seemed to be no one in the world that cared for me, now my poor mother was dead. I had given up no pleasure ; for my pleasure was to ramble about and indulge the flow of a poetical imagination ; and I now enjoyed it in perfection. There is no life so truly poetical as that of a dancing buffoon. It may be Said that all this argued grovelling inclinations. I do not think so ; not that I mean to vindicate myself in any great degree ; I know too well what a whimsical compound I am. But in this instance I was seduced by no love of low company, nor disposition to indulge in low vices. I have always despised the brutally vulgar ; and I have always had a disgust at vice, whether in high or low life. I was governed merely by a 98 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE sudden and thoughtless impulse. I had no idea of resorting to this profession as a mode of life ; or of attaching myself to these people, as my fu- ture class of society. I thought merely of a tem- porary gratification of my curiosity, and an in- dulgence of my humours. I had already a strong relish for the peculiarities of character and the varieties of situation, and I have always been fond of the comedy of life, and desirous of seeing it through all its shifting scenes. In mingling, therefore, among mountebanks and buffoons I was protected by the very vivaci- ty of imagination which had led me among them. I moved about enveloped, as it were, in a protecting delusion, which my fancy spread around me. I assimilated to these people only as they struck me poetically ; their whimsical ways and a certain picturesqueness in their mode of life entertained me ; but I was neither amus- ed nor corrupted by their vices. In short, I min- gled among them, as Prince Hal did among his graceless associates, merely to gratify my humour. YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 99 I did not investigate my motives in this man- ner, at the time, for I was too careless and thoughtless to reason about the matter ; but I do so now, when I look back with trembling to think of the ordeal to which I unthinkingly ex- posed myself, and the manner in which I passed through it. Nothing, I am convinced, but the poetical temperament, that hurried me into the scrape, brought me out of it without my be- coming an arrant vagabond. Full of the enjoyment of the moment, giddy with the wildness of animal spirits, so rapturous in a boy, 1 capered, I danced, I played at housand fantastic tricks about the stage, in the villages in which we exhibited ; and I was universally pronounced the most agreeable monster that had ever been seen in those parts. My disappearance from school had awakened my father's anxiety ; for I one day heard a description of myself cried before the very booth in which I was exhibiting ; with the offer of a reward for any intelligence of me. I had no great scruple about letting my fa- ther suffer a little uneasiness on my account ; it 100 BUCKTHORINE, OR THE would punish him for past indifference, and would make him value me the more when he found me again. I have wondered that some of my com- rades did not recognize in me the stray sheep that was cried ; but they were all, no doubt, oc- cupied by their own concerns. They were all la- bouring seriously in their antic vocations, for fol- ly was a mere trade with most of them, and they often grinned and capered with heavy hearts. With me, on the contrary, it was all real. I acted con amore, and rattled and laughed from the ir- repressible gayety of my spirits. It is true that, now and then, I started and looked grave on re- ceiving a sudden thwack from the wooden sword o of Harlequin, in the course of my gambols; as it brought to mind the birch of my schoolmaster. But 1 soon got accustomed to it; and bore all the cuffing, and kicking, and tumbling about, that form the practical wit of your itinerant pantomime, with a good humour that made me a prodigious favourite. The country campaign of the troop was soon at an end, and we set off for the metropolis, to YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 101 perform at the fairs, which are held in its vicinity. T{ie greater part of our theatrical property was sent on direct, to be in a state of preparation for the opening of the faifs ; while a detachment of the company travelled slowly on, foraging among the villages. I was amused with the desultory, hap-hazard kind of life we led ; here to-day, arid gone to-morrow. Sometimes revelling in ale houses ; sometimes feasting under hedges in the green fields. When audiences were crowded and business profitable, we fared well, and when otherwise, we fared scantily, and consoled our- selves with anticipations of the next day's success. At length the increasing frequency of coaches hurrying past us, covered with passengers ; the increasing number of carriages, carts, wagons, gigs, droves of cattle and flocks of sheep, all thronging the road ; the snug country boxes with trim flower gardens twelve feet square, and their trees twelve feet high, all powdered with dust : and the innumerable seminaries for young ladies and gentlemen, situated along the road, fur the benefit of country air and rural retirement ; all PART II. 14 102 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE' these insignia announced that the mighty Lon- don was at hand. The hurry, and the crowd, and the bustle, and the noise, and the dust, increased as we proceeded, until I^aw the great cloud of smoke hanging in the air, like a canopy of state, over this queen of cities. In this way, then, did I enter the metropolis ; a strolling vagabond ; on the top of a caravan with a crew of vagabonds about me ; but 1 was as hap- py as a prince, for, like Prince Hal, I felt myself superior to my situation, and knew that I could at any time cast it off and emerge into my proper sphere. How my eyes sparkled as we passed Hyde- park corner, and I saw splendid equipages roll- ing by, with powdered footmen behind, in rich liveries, and fine nosegays, and gold-head- ed canes ; and with lovely women within, so sumptuously dressed and so surpassingly fair. I was always extremely sensible to female beauty ; and here I saw it in all its fascination, for, what- ever may be said of "beauty unadorned," there is something almost awful in female loveliness YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 103 decked out in jewelled state. The swan-like neck encircled with diamonds ; the raven locks, clus- tered with pearls ; the ruby glowing on the snowy bosom, are objects that I could never contem- plate without emotion ; and a dazzling white arm clasped with bracelets, and taper transparent fin- gers laden with sparkling rings, are to me irre- sistible. My very eyes ached as I gazed at the high and courtly beauty that passed before me. It surpassed all that my imagination had conceiv- ed of the sex. I shrunk, for a moment, into shame at the company in which I was placed, and re- pined at the vast distance that seemed to inter- vene between me and these magnificent beings. I forbear to give a detail of the happy life which I led about the skirts of the metropolis, playing at the various fairs, held there during the latter part of spring and the beginning of summer. This continual change from place to place, and scene to scene, fed my imagination with novel- ties, and kept my spirits in a perpetual state of excitement. As I was tall of my age I aspired, at one time, 104 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE to play heroes in tragedy ; but after two or three trials, I was pronounced, by the manager, totally unfit for the line ; and our first tragic actress, who was a large woman, and held a small hero in abhorrence, confirmed his decision. The fact is, I had attempted to give point to language which had no point, and nature to scenes which had no nature. They said 1 did not fill out my characters ; and they were right. The characters had all been prepared for a dif- ferent sort of man. Our tragedy hero was a round robustious fellow, with an amazing voice ; who stamped and slapped his breast until his wig shook again ; and who roared and bellowed out his bombast, until every phrase swelled upon the ear like the sound of a kettle-drum. I might as well have attempted to fill out his clothes as his characters. When we had a dialogue to- gether, I was nothing before him, with my slen- der voice and discriminating manner. I might as well have attempted to parry a cudgel with a small sword. If he found me in any way gaining ground upon him, he would take refuge YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 105 in his mighty voice, and throw his tones like peals of thunder at me, until they were drowned in the still louder thunders of applause from the audience. To tell the truth, I suspect that I was not shown fair play, and that there was management at the bottom ; for without vanity, I think I was a better actor than he. As I had not embarked in the vagabond line through ambition, I did not repine at lack of preferment ; but I was grieved to find that a vagrant life was not without its cares and anxieties, and that jealousies, intrigues and mad ambition were to be found even among vagabonds. Indeed, as I became more familiar with my situation, and the delusions of fancy began to fade away, I discovered that my associates w r ere not the h'appy careless creatures I had at first imagined them. They were jeateus of each other's talents ; they quarrelled about parts, the same as the actors on the grand theatres ; they quarrelled about dresses ; and there was one robe of yellow silk, trimmed with red, and a head- ' 106 BUCKTHORNS, OR THfc dress of three rumpled ostrich feathers, which were continually setting the ladies of the com- pany by the ears. Even those who had attained the highest honours were not more happy than the rest ; for Mr. Flimsey himself, our first tra- gedian, and apparently a jovial good humoured fellow, confessed to me one day, in the fullness of his heart, that he was a miserable man. He had a brother-in-law, a relative by marriage, though not by blood, who was manager of a theatre in a small country town. And this same brother, ("a little more than kin, but less than kind,") looked down upon him, and treated him with contumely, because forsooth he was but a strolling player. I tried to console him with the thoughts of the vast applause he daily received, but it was all in vain. He declared that it gave him no delight, and that he should never be' a happy man until the name of Flimsey rivalled the name of Crimp. How little do those before the scenes know of what passes behind ; how little can they judge, from the countenances of actors, of what is pass- YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 107 ing in their hearts. I have known two lovers quarrel like cats behind the scenes, who were, the moment after, to fly into each other's em- braces. And I have dreaded, when our Belvi- dera was to take her farewell kiss of her Jaffier^ lest she should bite a piece out of his cheek. Our tragedian was a rough joker off the stage ; our prime clown the most peevish mortal living. The latter used to go about snapping and snarl- ing, with a broad laugh painted on his counte- nance ; and I can assure you that, whatever may be said of the gravity of a monkey, or the me- lancholy of a gibed cat, there is no more melan- choly creature in existence than a mountebank off duty. The only thing in which all parties agreed was to backbite the manager, and cabal against his regulations. This, however, I have since discovered to be a common trait of human na- ture, and to take place in all communities. It would seem to be the main business of man to repine at government. In all situations of life into which I have looked, I have found mankind 10(> BUCKTHORNE, OR THE divided into two grand parties ; those who ride and those who are ridden. The great struggle of life seems to be which shall keep in the sad- dle. This, it appears to me, is the fundamental principle of politics, whether in great or little life. However, I do not mean to moralize ; but one cannot always sink the philosopher. Well then, to return to myself. It was deter- mined, as I said, that I was not fit for tragedy, and, unluckily, as my study was bad, having a very poor memory, I was pronounced unfit for comedy also : besides, the line of young gentle- men was already engrossed by an actor with whom I could not pretend to enter into compe- tition, he having filled it for almost half a cen- tury. I came down again therefore to panto- mime. In consequence, however, of the good offices of the manager's lady, who had taken a liking to me, I was promoted from the part of the satyr to that of the lover ; and with my face patched and painted ; a huge cravat of paper ; a steeple crowned hat, and dangling long-skirted, sky blue coat, was metamorphosed into the YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 109 lover of Columbine. My part did not call for much of the tender and sentimental. I had merely to pursue the fugitive fair one ; to have a door now and then slammed in my face ; to run my head occasionally against a post ; to tumble and roll about with Pantaloon and the clown ; and to endure the hearty thwacks of Harlequin's wooden sword. As ill luck would have it, my poetical temper- ament began to ferment within me, and to work out new troubles. The inflammatory air of a great metropolis, added to the rural scenes in which the fairs were held ; such as Greenwich Park; Epping Forest; and the lovely valley of West End, had a powerful effect upon me. While in Greenwich Park I was witness to the old ho- lyday games of running down hill ; and kissing in the ring ; and then the firmament of blooming faces and blue eyes, that would be turned to- wards me, as I was playing antics on the stage ; all these set my young blood, and my poetical vein, in full flow. In short, I played my charac- ter to the life, and became desperately enamour- PART IL 15 110 BUCKTHORNE, Oil THli ed of Columbine. She was a trim, well made, tempting girl ; with a roguish dimpling face, and fine chesnut hair clustering all about it. The mo- ment I got fairly smitten, there was an end to all playing, I was such a creature of fancy and feeling, that I could not put on a pretended, when I was powerfully affected by a real emotion. 1 could not sport with a fiction that came so near to the fact. I became too natural in my acting to succeed. And then ; what a situation for a lover! I was a mere stripling, and she played with my passion ; for girls soon grow more adroit and knowing in these matters, than your awkward youngsters. What agonies had I to suffer. Every time that she danced in front of the booth, and made such liberal displays of her charms, I was in torment. To complete my misery, I had a real rival in Harlequin ; an active, vigorous, knowing varlet of six-and-twenty. What had a raw inexperienced youngster like me to hope from such a competition. I had still, however, some advantages in my favour. In spite of my change of life, I retained YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. Ill Uiat indescribable something, which always dis- tinguishes the gentleman ; that something which dwells in a man's air and deportment, and not in his clothes ; and which it is as difficult for a gen- tleman to put off, as for a vulgar fellow to put on. The company generally felt it, and used to call me little gentleman Jack. The girl felt it too ; and in spite of her predilection for my pow- erful rival, she liked to flirt with me. This only aggravated my troubles, by increasing my pas- sion, and awakening the jealousy of her parti- coloured lover. Alas! think what I suffered, at being obliged to keep up an ineffectual chase after my Colum- bine through whole pantomimes ; to see her car- ried off in the vigorous arms of the happy Har- lequin ; and to be obliged instead of snatching her from him, to tumble sprawling with Panta- loon and the clown ; and bear the infernal and degrading thwacks of my rival's weapon of lath ; which, may heaven confound him ! (excuse my passion) the villain laid on with a malicious good will ; nay, I could absolutely hear him chuckle 112 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE and laugh beneath his accursed mask. I beg pardon for growing a little warm in my narra- tion. I wish to be cool, but these recollections will sometimes agitate me. I have heard and read of many desperate and deplorable situations of lovers ; but none I think in which true love was ever exposed to so severe and peculiar a trial. This could not last long. Flesh and blood, at least such flesh and blood as mine, could not bear it. I had repeated heart-burnings and quarrels with my rival, in which he treated me with the mortifying forbearance of a man towards a child. Had he quarrelled outright with me, I could have stomached it ; at least 1 should have known what part to take ; but to be humoured and treated as a child in the presence of my mistress, when I felt all the bantam spirit of a little man swelling within me gods, it was insufferable ! At length we were exhibiting one day at West End fair, which was at that time a very fashion- able resort, and often beleaguered by gay equip- ages from town. Among the spectators that fill- YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 113 ed the front row of our little canvas theatre one afternoon, when I had to figure in a pantomime, was a party of young ladies from a boarding- school, with their governess. Guess my confu- sion, when, in the. midst of my antics, I beheld among the number my quondam flame; her whom I had berhymed at school ; her for whose charms I had smarted so severely ; the cruel Sacharissa ! What was worse, I fancied she recollected me ; and was repeating the story of my humiliating flagellation, for I saw her whispering her com- panions and her governess. I lost all conscious- ness of the part I was acting, and of the place where I was. I felt shrunk to nothing, and could have crept into a rat-hole unluckily, none was open to receive me. Before I could recover from my confusion, I wa's tumbled over by Pantaloon and the clown ; and I felt the sword of Harlequin making vigorous assaults, in a manner most de-. grading to my dignity. Heaven and earth ! was I again to suffer mar- tyrdom in this ignominious manner, in the know- ledge, and even before the very eyes of this 114 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE beautiful, but most disdainful of fair ones ? All my long-smothered wrath broke out at once ; the dormant feelings of the gentleman arose with- in me ; stung to the quick by intolerable morti- fication. I sprang on my feet in an instant ; leaped upon Harlequin like a young tiger ; tore off his mask ; buffetted him in the face, and soon shed more blood on the stage than had been spilt upon it during a whole tragic campaign of battles and murders. As soon as Harlequin recovered from his sur- prise he returned my assault with interest. I was nothing in his hands. I was game to be sure, for I was a gentleman ; but he had the clown- ish advantages of bone and muscle. I felt as if I could have fought even unto the death ; and I was likely to do so ; for he was, according to the vulgar phrase, " putting my head into Chan- cery," when the gentle Columbine flew to my assistance. God bless the women ; they are always on the side of the weak and the oppressed. The battle now became general ; the dramatis personae ranged on either side. The manager YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 115 interfered in vain. In vain were his spangled black bonnet and towering white feathers seen whisking about, and nodding, and bobbing, in the thickest of the fight. Warriors, ladies, priests, satyrs, kings, queens, gods and goddesses, all joined pell-mell in the fray. Never, since the conflict under the walls of Troy, had there been such a chance medley warfare of combatants, human and divine. The audience applauded, the ladies shrieked, and fled from the theatre, and a scene of discord ensued that baffles all de- scription. Nothing but the interference of the peace of- ficers restored some degree of order. The havoc, however, that had been made among dresses and decorations put an end to all farther acting for that day. The battle over, the next thing was to inquire why it was begun ; a common ques- tion among politicians, after a bloody and unpro- fitable war ; and one not always easy to be an- swered. It was soon traced to me, and my un- accountable transport of passion, which they could only attribute to my having run a muck. The 116 BUCKTHORNE, OR THE manager was judge and jury, and plaintiff into the bargain, and in such cases justice is always speedily administered. He came out of the fight as sublime a wreck as the Santissima Trinidada. His gallant plumes, which once towered aloft, were drooping about his ears. His robe of state hung in ribbands from his back, and but ill con- cealed the ravag.es he had suffered in the rear. He had received kicks and cuffs from all sides, during the tumult; for every one took the op- portunity of slyly gratifying some lurking grudge on his faC carcass. He was a discreet man, and did not choose to declare war with all his com- pany ; so he swore all those kicks and cuffs had been given by me, and I let hi en enjoy the opi- nion. Some wounds he bore, however, which were the incontestible traces of a woman's war- fare. His sleek rosy cheek was scored by trick- ling furrows, which were ascribed to the nails of my intrepid and devoted Columbine. The ire of the monarch was not to be appeased. He had suffered in his person, and he had suffered in his purse ; his dignity too had been insulted, and that YOUNG MAN OP GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 117 went for something : tor dignity is always more irascible the more petty the potentate* He wreaked his wrath upon the beginners of the af- fray, and Columbine and myself were discharg- ed, at once, from the company. Figure me, then, to yourself, a stripling of lit* tie more than sixteen ; a gentleman by birth ; a vagabond by trade ; turned adrift upon the \ making the (test of my way through the crowd of West End rair ; my mountebank dress flutter i in rags about me ; the weeping Columbine hang- ing upon my arm, in splendid, but tattered finery; the tears coursing one by one down her face ; carrying off the red paint in torrents, and literal- ly " preying upon her damask cheek." The crowd made way for us as we passed and hooted in our rear. 1 felt the ridicule of my si- tuation, but had too much gallantry to desert this fair one, who had sacrificed every thing for me, Having wandered through the fair, we emerged, like another Adam and Eve, into unknown re- gions, and u had the world before us where to choose." Never was a more disconsolate pair . 16 118 feUCKTHOKNE, OR TH THE BOOBY SQUIRE. such society, as a mere man of wealth can gather in a country neighbourhood. He kept horses and hounds and a roaring ta- ble, at which were collected the loose livers of the country round, and the shabby gentlemen of a village in the vicinity. When he could get no other company he would smoke and drink with his own servants, who in their turns fleeced and despised him. Still, with all this apparent pro- digality, he had a leaven of the old man in him, which showed that he was his true born son. He lived far within his income, was vulgar in his expenses, and penurious on many points on which a gentleman w r ould be extravagant. His house servants were obliged occasionally to work on the estate, and part of the pleasure grounds were ploughed up and devoted to husbandry. His table, though plentiful, was coarse ; his liquors strong and bad ; and more ale and whis- key were expended in his establishment than generous wine. He was loud and arrogant at his own table, and exacted a rich man's homage from his vulgar and obsequious guests. THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 177 As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he had grown impatient of the tight hand his own grandson kept over him, and quarrelled with him soon after he came to the estate. The old man had retired to a neighbouring village where he lived on the legacy of his late master, in a small cottage, and was as seldom seen out of it as a rat out of his hole in day light. The cub, like Caliban, seemed to have an instinctive attachment to his mother. She re- sided with him ; but, from long habit, she acted more as servant than as mistress of the man- sion ; for she toiled in all the domestic drudgery, and was oftener in the kitchen than the parlour. Such was the information which I collected of my rival cousin who had so unexpectedly el- bowed me out of all my expectations. I now felt an irresistible hankering to pay a visit to this scene of my boyhood ; and to get a peep at the odd kind of life that \vas passing within the mansion of my maternal ancestors. I determined to do so in disguise. My booby cousin had never seen enough of me to be very 178 THE BOOBY SQUIUE. familiar with my countenance, and a few years make great difference between youth and man- hood. I understood he was a breeder of cattle and proud of his stock. I dressed myself, there- fore, as a substantial farmer, and with the assist- ance of a red scratch that came low down on my forehead, made a complete change in my physiognomy. It was past three o'clock when I arrived at the gate of the park, and was admitted by an old woman, who was washing in a dilapidated building which had once been a porter's lodge. I advanced up the remains of a noble avenue, many of the trees of which had been cut down and sold for timber. The grounds were in scarcely better keeping than during my uncle's lifetime. The grass was overgrown with weeds, and the trees wanted pruning and clear- ing of dead branches. Cattle were grazing about the lawns, and ducks and geese swimming in the fishponds. The road to the house bore very few traces of carriage w r heels, as my cousin received few visit- THE BOOBY SQUIRE. crs but such as came on foot or horseback, and never used a carriage himself. Once, indeed, as I was told, he had had the old family carriage drawn out from among the dust and cobwebs of the coach house and furbished up, and had drove with his mother, to the village church, to take formal possession of the family pew ; but there was such hooting and laughing after them as they passed through the village, and such gig- gling and bantering about the church door, that the pageant had never made a reappearance. As I approached the house, a legion of whelps sallied out barking at me, accompanied by the low howling rather than barking of two old worn- out bloodhounds, which I recognized for the an- cient life guards of my uncle. The house had still a neglected, random appearance, though much altered for the better since my last visit* Several of the windows were broken and patch- ed up with boards ; and others had been bricked up, to save taxes. I observed smoke, however, rising from the chimneys ; a phenomenon rarely witnessed in the ancient establishment. On 180 THE BOOBY SQUIRE. passing that part of the house where the dining room was situated, I heard the sound of boister- ous merriment ; where three or four voices were talking at once, and oaths and laughter were horribly mingled. The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant to the door, a tall, hard-fisted country clown, with a livery coat put over the under garments of a ploughman. I requested to seethe master of the house, but was told he was at dinner with some " gemmen" of the neighbourhood. I made known my business and sent in to know if I might talk with the master about his cattle ; for t felt a great desire to have a peep at him at his orgies. Word was returned that he was enga- ged with company, and could not attend to busi- ness, but that if I would " step in and take a drink of something, I was heartily welcome." I accordingly entered the hall, where whips and hats of all kinds and shapes were lying on an oaken table ; tvvoor three clownish servants were lounging about ; every thing had a look of con- fusion and carelessness. THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 181 The apartments through which I passed had the same air of departed gentility and sluttish housekeeping. The once rich curtains were faded and dusty; the furniture greased and tar- nished. On entering the dining room I found a number of odd vulgar looking rustic gentlemen seated round a table, on which were bottles, de- canters, tankards, pipes and tobacco. Several dogs were lying about the room, or sitting and watching their masters, and one was gnawing a bone under a side table. The master of the feast sat at the head of the board. He was greatly altered. He had grown thick set and rather gummy, with a fiery foxy head of hair. There was a singular mixture of foolishness arrogance and conceit in his counte- nance. He was dressed in a vulgarly fine style, with leather breeches, a red waistcoat and green coat, and was evidently, like his guests, a little flushed with drinking. The whole company stared at me with a whimsical muggy look ; like men whose senses were a little obfruseated by beer rather than wine. PART IL 24 182 THE BOOBY SQUIRE. My cousin, (God forgive me ! the appellation sticks in my throat,) my cousin invited me with awkward civility, or, as he intended it, condes- cension, to sit to the table and drink. We talk- ed as usual, about the weather, the crops, poli- tics, and hard times. My cousin was a loud politician, and evidently accustomed to talk without contradiction at his own table. He was amazingly loyal, and talked of standing by the throne to the last guinea, " as every gentle- man of fortune should do." The village excise- man, who was half asleep, could just ejaculate " very true," to every thing he said. The conversation turned upon cattle ; he boast- ed of his breed, his mode of managing it, and of the general management of his estate. This un- luckily drew on a history of the place and of the family. He spoke of my late uncle with the greatest irreverence, which I could easily forgive. He mentioned my name, and my blood began to boil. He described my frequent visits to my un- cle when I was a lad, and I found the varlet, even THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 183 at that time, imp as he was, had known that he was lo inherit the estate. He described the scene of my uncle's death, and the opening of the will, with a degree of coarse humour that I had not expected from him ; and, vexed as I was, I could not help joining in the laugh ; for I have always relished a joke, even though made at my own expense. He went on to speak of my various pursuits ; my strolling freak, and that somewhat nettled me. At length he talked of my parents. He ridiculed my fa- ther : I stomached even that, though with great difficulty. He mentioned my mother with a sneer and in an instant he lay sprawling at my feet. Here a scene of tumult succeeded. The table was nearly overturned. Bottles, glasses, and tankards rolled crashing and clattering about the floor. The company seized hold of both of us to keep us from doing farther mischief. I struggled to get loose, for I was boiling with fury. My cousin defied me to strip and fight him on the lawn. I agreed ; for I felt the strength of a gi- ant in me, and I longed to pummel him soundly. 184 THE BOOBY SQUIRE. Away then we were borne. A ring was form- ed. I had a second assigned me in true boxing style. IVIy cousin, as he advanced to fight, said something about his generosity in showing me such fair play, when I had made such an unpro- voked attack upon him at his own table. " Stop there !" cried I, in a rage u unprovo- ked ! know that I am John Buckthorne, and you have insulted the memory of my mother." The lout was suddenly struck by what I said. He drew back and reflected for a moment. " Nay, damn it," said he, " that's too much that's clear another thing. I've a mother my- self, and no one shall speak ill of her, bad as she is." He paused again. Nature seemed to have a rough struggle in his rude bosom. " Damn it, cousin," cried he, " I'm sorry for what I said. Thou'st served me right in knock- ing me down, and I like thee the better for it. Here's my hand. Come and live with me, and damme but the best room in the house, and the best horse in the stable, shall be at thy service." THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 185 I declare to you I was strongly moved at this instance of nature breaking her way through such a lump of flesh. I forgave the fellow in a moment all his crimes of having been born in wedlock and inheriting my estate. I shook the hand he offered me, to convince him that I bore him no ill will ; and then making my way through the gaping crowd of toad eaters, bade adieu to my uncle's domains forever. This is the last I have seen or heard of my cousin, or of the do- mestic concerns of Doubting Castle. THE STROLLING MANAGER As I was walking one morning with Buckthorne, near one of the principal theatres, he directed my attention to a groupe of those equivocal beings that may often be seen hovering about the stage doors of theatres. They were marvellously ill favoured in their attire, their coats buttoned up to their chins ; yet they wore their hats smart- ly on one side, and had a certain knowing, dirty- gentleman like air, which is common to the su- balterns of the drama. Buckthorne knew them well by early experience. These, said he, are the ghosts of departed kings and heroes ; fellows who sway sceptres and truncheons ; command kingdoms and armies; 188 THE STROLLING MANAGER. and after giving away realms and treasures over night, have scarce a shilling to pay for a break- fast in the morning. Yet they have the true vagabond abhorrence of all useful and industrious employment ; and they have their pleasures too : one of which -is to lounge in this way in the sun- shine, at the stage door, during rehearsals, and make hackneyed theatrical jokes on all passers by- Nothing is more traditional and legitimate than the stage. Old scenery, old clothes, old sentiments, old ranting, and old jokes, are hand- ed down from generation to generation ; and will probably continue to be so, until time shall be no more. Every hanger on of a theatre becomes a wag by inheritance, and flourishes about at tap rooms and six-penny clubs, with the property jokes of the green room. While amusing ourselves with reconnoitring this groupe, we noticed one in particular who appeared to be the oracle. He was a weather beaten veteran, a little bronzed by time and beer, who had, no doubt, grown gray in the THE STROLLING MANAGER. 189 parts of robbers, cardinals, Roman senators, and walking noblemen. " There's something in the set of that hat, and the turn of that physiognomy, that is extremely familiar to me," said Buckthorne. He looked a little closer. " I cannot be mistaken," added he, " that must be my old brother of the trun- cheon, Flimsey, the tragic hero of the strolling company." It was he in fact. The poor fellow showed evident signs that times went hard with him ; he was so finely and shabbily dressed. His coat was somewhat threadbare, and of the Lord Townly cut ; single breasted, and scarcely capa- ble of meeting in front of his body ; which, from long intimacy, had acquired the symmetry and robustness of a beer barrel. He wore a pair of dingy white stockinet pantaloons, which had much ado to reach his waistcoat ; a great quan- tity of dirty cravat; and a pair of old russet-co- loured tragedy boots. When his companions had dispersed, Buck- thorne drew him aside and made himself known PART II. 25 190 THE STROLLING MANAGER. to him. The tragic veteran could scarcely recog- nize him, or believe that he was realty his quon- dam associate " little gentleman Jack." Buck- thorne invited him to a neighbouring coffee house to talk over old times ; and in the course of a little while we were put in possession of his his- tory in brief. He had continued to act the heroes in the strol- ling company for some time after Buckthorne had left it, or rather had been driven from it so abrupt!). At length the manager died, and the troop was thrown into confusion. Every one aspired to the crown ; every one was for taking the lead ; and the manager's widow, although a tragedy queen, and a brimstone to boot, pronoun- ced it utterly impossible to keep any controul over such a set of tempestuous rascallions. Upon this hint I spoke, said Flimsey I stepped forward, and offered my services in the most effectual way. They were accepted. In a week's time I married the widow and succeed- ed to the throne. " The funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage table," as Ham- THE STROLLING MANAGER. 19! let says. But the ghost of my predecessor never haunted me ; and I inherited crowns, sceptres, bowls, daggers, and all the stage trappings and trumpery, not omitting the widow, without the least molestation. I now led a flourishing life of it ; for our com- pany was pretty strong and attractive, and as my wife and I took the heavy parts of tragedy, it was a great saving to the treasury. We carried off the palm from all the rival shows at country fairs ; and I assure you we have even drawn full houses, and been applauded by the critics at Bart- lemy fair itself, though we had Astley's troop, the Irish giant, and " the death of Nelson" in wax work to contend against. I soon began to experience, however, the cares of command. I discovered that there were ca- bals breaking out in the company, headed by the clown, who you may recollect was a terri- bly peevish, fractious fellow, and always in ill humour. I had a great mind to turn him off at once, but I could not do without him, for there was not a droller scoundrel on the stage. His 192 THE STROLLING MANAGER. very shape was comic for he had but to turn his back upon the audience and all the ladies were ready to die with laughing. He felt his impor- tance, and took advantage of it. He would keep the audience in a continual roar, and then come behind the scenes and fret and fume and play the very devil. I excused a great deal in him, however, knowing that comic actors are a little prone to this infirmity of temper. I had another trouble of a nearer and dearer na- ture to struggle with ; which was, the affection of my wife. As ill luck would have it she took it into her head to be very fond of me, and became in- tolerably jealous. I could not keep a pretty girl in the company, and hardly dared embrace an ugly one, even when my part required it. I have known her to reduce a fine lady to tatters, "to very rags," as Hamlet says, in an instant, and destroy one of the very best dresses in the ward- robe ; merely because she saw me kiss her at the side scenes ; though I give you my honour it was done merely by way of rehearsal. This was doubly annoying, because I have a THE STROLLING MANAGER. 198 natural liking to pretty faces, and wish to have them about me ; and because they are indispen- sable to the success of a company at a fair, where one has to vie with so many rival theatres. But when once a jealous wife gets a freak in her head there's no use in talking of interest or any thing else. Egad, sirs, I have more than once trembled when during a fit of her tantrums, she was playing high tragedy, and flourishing her tin dagger on the stage, lest she should give way to her humour, and stab some fancied rival in good earnest. I went on better, however, than could be ex- pected, considering the weakness of my flesh and the violence of my rib. I had not a much worse time of it than old Jupiter, whose spouse was continually ferreting out some new intrigue and making the heavens almost too hot to hold him. At length, as luck would have it, we were performing at a country fair, when I understood the theatre of a neighbouring town to be vacant. I had always been desirous to be enrolled in a 194 THE STROLLING MANAGER. settled company, and the height of my desire was to get on a par with a brother-in-law, who was manager of a regular theatre, and who had looked down upon me. Here was an opportu- nity not to be neglected. I concluded an agree- ment with the proprietors, and in a few days opened the theatre with great eclat. Behold me now at the summit of my ambition, "the high top-gallant of my joy," as Thomas says. No longer a chieftain of a wandering tribe, but the monarch of a legitimate throne and entitled to call even the great potentates of Covent Garden and Drury Lane cousin. You no doubt think my happiness complete* Alas, sir ! I was one of the most uncomfortable dogs living. No one knows, who has not tried, the miseries of a manager ; but above all, of a country manager no one can conceive the con- tentions and quarrels within doors, the oppres- sions and vexations from without. I was pestered with the bloods and loungers of a country town, who infested my green room, and played the mischief among my actresses. THE STROLLING MANAGER. 195 But there was no shaking them off. It would have been ruin to affront them ; for, though troublesome friends, they would have been dangerous enemies. Then there were the village critics and village amateurs, who were continually tormenting me with advice, and getting into a passion if I would not take it : especially the village doctor and the village at^ torney ; who had both been to London occasion- ally, and knew what acting should be. I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scape graces as were ever collected together within the walls of a theatre. I had been obliged to com- bine my original troop with some of the former troop of the theatre, who were favourites with the public. Here was a mixture that produced perpetual ferment. They were all the time either fighting or frolicking with each other, and I scarcely knew which mood was least trouble- some. If they quarrelled, every thing went wrong ; and if they were friends, they were con- tinually playing off some confounded prank upon each other, or upon me ; for I -had unhappily 196 THE STROLLING MANAGER. acquired among them the character of an easy gooti-natured fellow, the worst character that a manager can possess. Their waggery at times drove me almost cra- zy ; for there is nothing so vexatious as the hackneyed tricks and hoaxes and pleasantries of a veteran band of theatrical vagabonds. I relish- ed them wrll enough, it is true, while I was merely one of the company, but as manager I found them detestable. They were incessantly bringing some disgrace upon the theatre by their tavern frolicks, and their pranks about the coun- try town. All my lectures upon the importance of keeping up the dignity of the profession, and the respectability of the company were in vain. The villains could not sympathize with the de- licate feelings of a man in station. They even trifled with the seriousness of stage business. I have had the whole piece interrupted and a crowd- ed audience of at least twenty-five pounds kept waiting, because the actors, had hid away the breeches of Rosalind ; and have known Hamlet stalk solemnly on to deliver his soliloquy, with a THE STROLLING MANAGER. 197 dish clout pinned to his skirts. Such are the baleful consequences of a managers' getting a character for good nature. I was intolerably annoyed, too, by the great actors, who came down starring, as it is called; from London. Of all baneful influences, keep me from that of a London star. A first rate ac- tress, going the rounds of the country theatres, is as bad as a blazing comet, whisking about the heavens, and shaking fire, and plagues, and dis- cords from its tail. The moment one of these " heavenly bodies," appeared on my horizon, I was sure to be in hot water. My theatre was overrun by provincial dan- dies, copper-washed counterfeits of Bond-street loungers; who are always proud to be in the train of an actress from town, and anxious to be thought on exceeding good terms with her. It was really a relief to me when some random young nobleman would come in pursuit of the bait, and awe all this small fry to a distance. I have always felt myself more at ease with a no- bleman than with the dandy of a country town. PART II. 26 198 THE STROLLING MANAGER. And then the injuries I suffered in my person- al dignity and my managerial authority from the visits of these great London actors. Sir, I was no longer master of myself or my throne. I was hectored and lectured in my own green-room, and made an absolute nincompoop on my own stage. There is no tyrant so absolute and capricious as a London star at a country theatre. I dreaded the sight of all of them ; and yet if I did not engage them, I was sure of having the public clamourous against me. They drew full houses, and appeared to be making my fortune ; but they swallowed up all the profits by their in- satiable demands. They were absolute tape worms to my little theatre ; the more it took in, the poorer it grew. They were sure to leave me with an exhausted public, empty benches, and a score or two of affronts to settle among the towns folk, in consequence of misunderstandings about the taking of places. But the worst thing I had to undergo in my ma- nagerial career was patronage. Oh, sir, of all things deliver me from the patronage of the great THE STROLLING MANAGER. 199 people of a country town. It was my ruin. You must know that this town, though small, was filled with feuds, and parties, and great folks ; being a busy little trading and manufacturing town. The mischief was, that their greatness was of a kind not to be settled by reference to the court calender, or college of heraldry. It was therefore the most quarrelsome kind of greatness in existence. You smile, sir, but let me tell you there are no feuds more furious than the frontier feuds, which take place on these " debateable lands" of gentility. The most violent dispute that I ever knew in high life, was one that oc- curred at a country town, on a question of pre- cedence between the ladies of a manufacturer of pins, and a manufacturer of needles. At the town where I was situated there were perpetual altercations of the kind. The head manufacturer's lady, for instance, was at daggers drawings with the head shopkeeper's, and both were too rich, and had too many friends to be treated lightly. The doctor's arid lawyer's la- dies held their heads still higher ; but they in 200 THE STROLLING MANAGER. their turn were kept in check by the wife of a country banker, who kept her own carnage ; while a masculine widow of cracked character, and second hand fashion, who lived in a large house, and was in some way related to nobility, looked down upon them all. She had been exi- led from the great world, but here she ruled ab- solute. To be sure her manners were not over elegant, nor her fortune over large ; but then, sir, her blood oh, her blood carried it all hol- low; there was no withstanding a woman with such blood in her veins. After all, she had frequent battles for prece- dence at balls and assemblies, with some of the sturdy dames of the neighbourhood, who stood upon their wealth and their reputations ; but then she had two dashing daughters, who dressed as fine as dragons, and had as high blood as their mother, and seconded her in every thing. So they carried their point with high heads, and every body hated, abused, and stood in awe of the Fantadlins.* Such was the state of the fashionable world in THE STROLLING MANAGER. 201 this self-important little town. Unluckily I was not as well acquainted with its politics as I should have been. 1 had found myself a stranger and in great perplexities during my first season ; I determined, therefore, to put myself under the patronage of some powerful name, and thus to take the field with the prejudices of the public in my favour. I cast round my thoughts for the purpose, and in an evil hour they fell upon Mrs. Fantadlin. No one seemed to me to have a more absolute sway in the world of fashion. I had always noticed that her party slammed the box door the loudest at the theatre ; had most beaux attending on them ; and talked and laughed loud- est during the performance ; and then the Miss Fantadlins wore always more feathers and flow- ers than any other ladies ; and used quizzing glasses incessantly. The first evening of my theatre's reopening, therefore, was announced in flaring capitals on the play bills, " under the pa- tronage of the Honourable Mrs. Fantadlin." Sir, the whole community flew to arms ! The banker's wife felt her dignity grievously insulted 202 THE STROLLING MANAGER. at not having the preference ; her husband being high bailiff, and the richest man in the place. She immediately issued invitations for a large party, for the night of the performance, arid asked many a lady to it whom she never had noticed before. The fashionable world had long groan- ed under the tyranny of the Fantadlins, and were glad to make a common cause against this new instance of assumption. Presume to patronize the theatre ! insufferable ! Those, too, who had never before been noticed by the banker's lady, were ready to enlist in any quarrel, for the honour of her acquaintance. All minor feuds were there- fore forgotten. The doctor's lady and the law- yer's lady met together ; and the manufacturer's lady and the shopkeeper's lady kissed each other; and all, headed by the banker's lady, vo- ted the theatre a bore, and determined to encou- rage nothing but the Indian Jugglers, and Mr. Walker's Eidonianeon. Alas for poor Pillgarlick ! I little knew the mischief that was brewing against me. My box book remained blank. The evening arrived ; THE STROLLING MANAGER. 203 Eut no audience. The music struck up to a tole- rable pit and gallery, but no fashionables! I peeped anxiously from behind the curtain, but the time passed away ; the play was retarded until pit and gallery became furious; and I had to raise the curtain, and play my greatest part in * tragedy to "a beggarly account of empty boxes." It is true the Fantadlins came late, as was their custom, and entered like a tempest, with a flutter of feathers and red shawls; but they were evidently disconcerted at finding they had no one to admire and envy them, and were enraged at this glaring defection of their fashionable fol- lowers. Ail the beau-monde were engaged at the banker's lady's rout. They remained for some time in solitary and uncomfortable state, and though they had the theatre almost to them- selves, yet, for the first time, they talked hi whispers. They left the house at the end of the first piece, and I never saw them afterwards. Such was the rock on which I split. I-never got over the patronage of the Fantadlin family. It became the vogue to abuse the theatre and 204 THE STROLLING MANAGER. declare the performers shocking. An eques- trian troop opened a circus in the town about the same time, arid rose on my ruins. My house was deserted ; my actors grew discontented be- cause they were ill paid ; my door became a hammering place for every bailiff in the county ; and my wife became more and more shrewish and tormenting, the more I wanted comfort. The establishment now became a scene of confusion and peculation. I was considered a ruined man, and of course fair game for every one to pluck at, as every one plunders a sinking ship. Day after day some of the troop deserted, and like deserting soldiers, carried off their arms and accoutrements with them. In this manner my wardrobe took legs and walked away ; my finery strolled all over the country ; my swords and daggers glittered in every barn ; until at last my tailor made " one fell swoop," and car- ried off three dress coats, half a dozen doublets, and nineteen pair of flesh coloured pantaloons. This was the " be all and the end all" of my fortune. I no longer hesitated what to do. THE STROLLING MANAGER. 205 Egad, thought I, since stealing is the order of the day, I'll steal too. So I secretly gathered together the jewels of my wardrobe ; packed up a hero's dress in a handkerchief, slung it on the end of a tragedy sword, and quietly stole off at dead of night " the bell then beating one," leaving my queen and kingdom to the mercy of my re- bellious subjects, and my merciless foes the bum- bailiffs. Such, sir, was the "end of all my greatness." I was heartily cured of all passion for governing, and returned once more into the ranks. I had for some time the usual run of an actor's life. I played in various country theatres, at fairs and in barns ; sometimes hard pushed ; sometimes flush, until on one occasion I came within an ace of making my fortune, and becoming one of the wonders of the age. I was playing the part of Richard the Third in a country barn, and absolutely " out-Herod- ing Herod." An agent of one of the great Lon- don theatres was present. He was on the look- out for something that might be got up as a PART If. 27 206 THE STROLLING MANAGER. prodigy. The theatre it seems was in desperate condition nothing but a miracle could save it. He pitched upon me for that miracle. I had a remarkable bluster in my style, and swagger in my gait, and having taken to drink a little during my troubles, my voice was somewhat cracked ; so that it seemed like two voices run into one. The thought struck the agent to bring me out as a theatrical wonder ; as the restorer of natural and legitimate acting ; as the only one who could understand and act Shakspeare right- ly. He waited upon me the next morning, and opened his plan. I shrunk from it with becom- ing modesty ; for well as I thought of myself, I felt myself unworthy of such praise. " 'Sblood, man !" said he, " no praise at all. You don't imagine that I think you all this. I only want the public to think so. Nothing so easy as gulling the public if you only set up a prodigy. You need not try to act well, you must only act furiously. No matter what you do, or how you act, so that it be but odd and strange, We will have all the pit packed, and the news- tHE STROLLING MANAGER. 207 papers hired. Whatever you do different from famous actors, it shall be insisted that you are right and they were wrong. If you rant, it shall be pure passion ; if you are vulgar, it shall be a touch of nature. Every one shall be prepared to fall into raptures, and shout and yell, at cer- tain points which you shall make. If you do but escape pelting the first night, your fortune and the fortune of the theatre is made." I set off for London, therefore, full of new hopes. I was to be the restorer of Shakspeare and nature, and the legitimate drama; my very swagger was to be heroic, arid my cracked voice the standard of elocution. Alas, sir ! my usual luck attended me. Before I arrived at the me- tropolis, a rival wonder had appeared. A wo- man who could dance the slack rope, and run up a cord from the stage to the gallery with fire works all round her. She was seized on by the manager with avidity ; she was the saving of the great national theatre for the season. Nothing was talked of but Madame Saqui's fire works and flame-coloured pantaloons; and nature* THE STROLLING MANAGER. Shakspeare, the legitimate drama, and poor Pill- garlick were completely left in the lurch. However, as the ma nager was in honour bound to provide for me he kept his word. It had been a turn up of a die whether I should be Alexan- der the Great or Alexander the coppersmith : the latter carried it. I could not be put at the head of the drama, so I was put at the tail. In other words, I was enrolled among the number of what are called useful men ; who, let me tell you, are the only comfortable actors on the stage. We are safe from hisses and below the hope of ap- plause. We fear not the success of rivals, nor dread the critic's pen. So long as we get the words of our parts, and they are not often many, it is all we care for. We have our own merri- ment, our own friends, and our own admirers ; * for every actor has his friends and admirers, from the highest to the lowest. The first rate actor dines with the noble amateur, and entertains a fashionable table with, scraps and songs and the- atrical slip-slop. The secoad rate actors have their second rate friends and admirers, with whom THE STROLLING MANAGER. 209 they likewise spout tragedy and talk slip-slop; and so down even to us; who have our friends and admirers among spruce clerks and aspiring apprentices, who treat us to a dinner now and then, and enjoy at tenth hand the same scraps, and songs, and slip-slop, that have been served up by our more fortunate brethren at the tables of the great. I now, for the first time in my theatrical life, knew what true pleasure is- I have known enough of notoriety to pity the poor devils who are called favourites of the public. I would ra- ther be a kitten in the arms of a spoiled child, to be one moment petted and pampered, and' the next moment thumped over the head with the spoon. I smile, too, to see our leading actors, fretting themselves with envy and jealousy about a trumpery renown, questionable in its quality and uncertain in its duration. I laugh, too, though of course in my sleeve, at the bustle and importance and trouble and perplexities of our manager, who is harrassing himself to death in the hopeless effort to please every body. THE STROLLING MANAGER. | have found among my fellow subalterns two or three quondam managers, who, like myself, have wielded the sceptres of country theatres ; and we have many a sly joke together at the ex- pense of the manager and the public. Some- times, too, we meet like deposed and exiled kings, talk over the events of our respective reigns ; moralize over a tankard of ale, and laugh at the humbug of the great and little world ; which, I take it, is the very essence of practical philosophy. Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and his friends. A few mornings after our hearing the history of the ex-manager, he bounced into my room before I was out of bed. " Give me joy 1 Give me joy !" said he, rub^ bing his hands with the utmost glee, " my great expectations are realized !" I stared at him with a look of wonder and inquiry. THE STROLLING MANAGER. 211 " My booby cousin is dead !" cried he, " may he rest in peace ! He nearly broke his neck in a fall from his horse in a fox chase. By good luck he lived long enough to make his will. He has made me his heir, partly out of an odd feeling of retributive justice, and partly because, as he says, none of his own family or friends knew how to enjoy such an estate. I'm off to the country to take possession. I've done with authorship That for the critics!" said he, snapping his fin- gers. " Come down to Doubting Castle when I get settled, and egad I'll give you a rouse." So saying he shook me heartily by the hand and bounded off iu high spirits. A long time elapsed before I heard from him again. Indeed, it was but a short time since that I received a letter written in the happiest of moods. He was getting the estate into fine order, every thing went to his wishes, and what was more, he was married to Sacharissa: who it seems had always entertained an ardent though secret attachment for him, which he fortunately discovered just after coming to his estate. THE STROLLING MANAGER; "Ifind,"saiclhe, "you are a little given to the silt of authorship, which I renounce. If the anecdotes I have given you of my story are of any interest, you may make use of them ; but come down to Doubting Castle and see how we live, and I'll give you my whole London life over a social glass ; and a rattling history it shall be about au- thors and reviewers." If ever I visit Doubting Castle, and get the his- tory he promises, the public shall be sure to hear of it. , c ,jm- ^^ii "