Thus was I discharged, very rudely as I thought, from the poor old Partheneion, now entitled the Epistemonicon; and I could not help crying at the manner of it, because people would say that I had been expelled.
But Branker, the new man-of-all-work, who seemed to care little about his place, at the sight of a shilling in my hand, allowed me to have a word or two, in the passage, with Jack Windsor.
"Jack, they have given me the sack," I said; "because I wouldn't put my name down, for father to pay sixteen guineas extra. If I had, I should have been whacked at both ends, for certain. He would have whacked me for doing it; and they would have whacked me worse, for not getting the tin. You have put down your dad for thirty-two guineas. Mind that, and I wish you luck of it."
"Stop the cab, Tommy; stop the cab," cried Jack; "I'll come away with you, in five minutes. I must go in and tell them, I did it for a lark. Why, I should get double the hiding that you would. My governor has got such a host of kids."
I ran to fetch Grip, that he might run behind, and I waited in the cab, for about two minutes, and then out rushed Jack, without any hat on, and jumped in, and banged up the glass, and shouted, "Jarvey, off for Maiden Lane, as hard as you can go!" Then we got out of sight in the back of the cab, and laughed, through the tears on our cheeks, at going home.
So it came to pass, that the boiling-interest was not represented any longer, in those halls of science. When my father heard what I had done, he shook my hand very heartily, and said that he never could have thought I had so much pluck; and he would not mind paying half again as much, but honestly, and on the square, you know, for my education to go on all right; and he would send them his bills, just to let them see what a sight of money their establishment had lost.
"And what language, I should like to know, was all that science to be put in? Elamites, Parthians, Medes, at least"—he said, as he looked at the paper of the fees—"to be any good value, for sixteen guineas."
"No, father," I answered; "it was all to be told us in English, every word of it; only very big words of course, such words as you couldn't make head or tail of."
"None the more honest for that," said father; "why, they make them out of their own heads! I could do that, if I chose to try. Greek and Latin is what I pay for; and this new lot don't know nought of it. If it wasn't for my knowledge of the law, I'd have a defamation action against them, for sending my only son home in a cab like this, and not have the manners to pay the fare! They have done the same thing to Jack Windsor, you say. Every mouth in the Lane will be full of it to-morrow. If John Windsor would go snacks, I should feel half inclined to consider about consulting a Solicitor. And I believe it would pay; I do believe it would. I am a public man now, and under Government I act; and such a man should not have his son kicked out, by a bunch of those dirty Professors."
"Bubbly, don't open old wounds," advised mother; "our Tommy is come home, and I am deeply thankful for it. How could they help getting rid of him, when they never could have taught him half he knows? They knew that he had served his time with their master, the great Professor Megalow; and how could they open their mouths before him? And how could they hold up their heads before Tommy, when they thought of the pit he led them into?"
"Aha, I see! That's it," cried father; "well, I musn't be angry with them after all. One good turn deserves another. And talking of that, we shall have no pits left, if what I was told to-day is true. The Vestry are going to send a man and two boys, all up through our valley, in the course of next month, with sticks and a line, to take measurements, and all the rest of it, for this drainage scheme. Well, it won't hurt us; but I doubt very greatly whether the smell they are sure to make will be wholesome for my workmen. I must try to leave more of my stuff about, to keep the air fresh and the bad smells away. Sophy, I must be off; you might give me a nip of Hollands, before I light my pipe. And while I am at work, you and Tommy can put your heads together, concerning the next thing to be done with a young scamp, who has been expelled from school."
It appeared to me now, that my education might fairly be entrusted to myself, at least until after Christmas-time; but whether it was, that my dear parents were eager to push me on with learning, or else that they had enjoyed enough of my company for the present, the issue was settled against me, and without another week of holidays. Jack Windsor was in the same box with me; and his mother and mine laid their heads together, and came to the conclusion that Dr. Rumbelow had acted very badly. With the aid of a noble "manual of epistolary correspondence," they indited a joint letter to the new bishop, which must have grieved his upright soul. He answered right humbly, and in few words, that he grieved as deeply as they could do, at the utter subversion of a wholesome school; which would not have happened, if he could have helped it. But he had never been the owner, and only acted under the will of Trustees, who had not consulted him, when he left. Feeling the deepest interest in his beloved pupils of many happy years, he watched the result with sad apprehension, but could not interfere with it. But for any, whose parents desired their removal from the influence of wild doctrines, he could with high confidence recommend an orthodox, and most efficient teacher, an old pupil of his own at Oxford, an accurate scholar, and most active man, now doing excellent work in the Church. This was the Reverend St. Simon Cope, curate of St. Athanasius, a District church in Kentish Town.
Armed with this letter, the two ladies went to see Mr. Cope; and came back in high feather, perfectly full of him, and of new ideas. I could not understand their talk at all, and perhaps that was more than they did themselves. However, I made out that I was to get up at half-past five next Monday, put a strap-load of Greek on my back, and knock, at half-past six exactly, at the corner-house in Torriano Square.
All this I accomplished, not without some groans, and was met at the door by Mr. Cope himself. I wanted to have a good look at him, but entirely failed to manage it; so wholly did my nature fall under the influence of his, that when I went home at night, and father said,
"Well, Tommy, what is the new chap like?"
I could only answer, "I don't know. He is not like any man I ever saw before."
"Did he whack you, Tommy?" went on my father; "you must want it, after all this time."
"He!" I exclaimed with a lofty air; "he need never whack any fellow. I can tell that."
Of this wonderful man, it might truly be said, that he was wholly free from selfishness. Can anything, half so strange as that, be declared of any other human being? That my own little body should go up into the air, is exceptional, though not unparalleled. But for the human mind to leave the ground, is an outrage on the laws of gravitation, ten thousandfold as rare as any I have yet accomplished. And now that I have time to consider it calmly, this must have been the reason, why I could not make him out, even with my outward eyes. And probably this was the reason, why we all admired, obeyed in an instant, and thoroughly revered him; and yet we found our spirits rise, when we got away to people more of our own cast.
This gentleman never was in a hurry, but always calm and gentle, and quite ready to be interrupted; yet the quantity of work he got through in a day was enough for ten men of his strength. Twice every day, he had service in his church, without even a clerk to help him, and four hours every day he spent in visiting poor people. Moreover, he always had in hand some article for the great Reviews, and a heap of other careful work; and besides all this, (and I dare say the hardest of the lot to deal with) a score of us day-pupils, to be taught, and fed, and tended. Yet never was one of us ready with a lesson, without the master being there to hear him. And he more than heard us; he poured his own mind, with all its clear and vivid power, as far into our thick brains as ever it would go, so that even Jack Windsor (who had no more taste in his head than a lignified turnip) told me, going home one night, that Horace was a fine chap after all, when you came to know what he was driving at. No other man in the world could have brought our Jack to that conclusion.
Now, in spite of all this, and the spending of every penny that he earned among the poor, the Reverend St. Simon Cope was not loved at all in Kentish Town; except by a few half-starving outcasts, and a good many ladies with nothing to do. And the reason of this was as plain as a pole—he was one of the "High-church parsons," whom the free-will of the Briton will never accept.
Under the care of this excellent man, I got on very fast in "Nescience," (as the Epistemonicon gentlemen called the classics), and history, and theology, and everything else except their own fads. From my very sad deficiency in weight, I never was a fighter, though often tempted grievously; but Jack Windsor was happily enabled to prove, that which has been proved perpetually in Town and Gown disputations, to wit, the clear superiority in conflict of the true Academic element.
For, as we came home about noon of a Saturday, with five days and a half of Greek inside us,—in a place where a bridge was, we were met, only Jack Windsor and myself, by a maniple—if they deserve the term—from the now adulterous Partheneion. These were fellows of the lewder sort, who had taken up gladly with all the new stuff, and were rank with all Chemical mixtures. Without looking twice at them, we could see they desired to give us a hiding. And they began the base unequal conflict, by casting very hard stones at us. With pleasure, and without disgrace (considering the force of numbers against us) we would have fled, by the road that had brought us; but they had provided against this measure, by posting large boys behind us. There was nothing around us, but a world of thumps; and the air was darkened with impending fists.
"Stop a bit; hold hard;" cried Jack Windsor, with his back against the coping of the bridge; "give us fair play, you lot of sneaking cowards. I see a chap, who has been at our house, and squibbed a wasp's nest with me. Let me speak a moment to Bob Stubbs. Now, Bob, I know you were an honourable chap, till you got among dirty foreigners. I don't want to fight you, 'cos we always were good friends. But pick out the biggest of your scientific lot, and let me have a fair turn with him; while Tommy here tackles some fellow of his size. You must all be going to the bad, up there; if you bring a score of fellows to pitch into two. In the old days, we always allowed fair play."
Being English boys, they were moved by this; and after some little talk, two rings were formed—one for Jack and his antagonist, and the other, alas! for me and mine. Loth as I was to fight, it seemed better than to be pounded passively; and so I pulled off my coat, and squared up, as my father had shown me he used to do. And, whether by reason of his ancient system being more practical than the new lights, or whether in virtue of my own quickness, in hopping away when knocked at, I may say, without any exaggeration, that I hit the other fellow more than he hit me; until I was grieved to see him bleed, and then I put down my fists, and shook hands with him.
But my own little combat was no more in comparison with Jack Windsor's, than the skirmish between two charioteers of the "Iliad," while their heroes fight. Jack was in earnest, and knew no remorse. He had been hit on the forehead by a stone, and could swear that the fellow before him was the one who threw it. Moreover, this boy had shouted, "Come on, Suds!" with a most contemptuous toss of his head, being bigger than Jack, though not so strong, for our Jack was built up like a milestone.
"Come on, Suds," he shouted; "come on, my lad of lather!"
"I'll lather you, if I can," said Jack.
The battle was long, and quick with a spirit of trenchant valour, on either side. I did not see the beginning, because I was strenuously occupied with my own engagement; but that being brought to a happy conclusion, the boy I had conquered joined me, with much good will, in observing the other fight. And here let me mention that his name was Bellows, Jeremiah Bellows of Blackpool, a prominent orator, as everybody knows, of the Liberal party, by and by.
When Bellows, and I, came up to look, there was no mistaking the nature of the fray. Very little time had been lost in repose between the rounds, and the action had been so vigorous, and so well sustained, that on either side now it was a harder job to fetch the breath, than to give the blow. Whichever might conquer, there could be no doubt that the fight was a credit to his school.
Happily for us, the "noble science of self-defence" was not yet one of the thirty-two taught by the four Professors. Otherwise Jack would have long been vanquished, for he had not much of polemical skill; and I was astonished at his endurance, having always found him peaceful. But I knew, by the way his lips were set, and his square style of going forward, that his mind was made up, to be knocked to pieces, sooner than knock under.
This was a lesson to me, than which I have never had a better one in all my life. There was scarcely a pin to choose between those two, in the matter of affliction. Jack had got one eye quite bunged up, and his enemy had both eyes half-way closed; the nose of our Jack was gone in at the middle, and that of his adversary at the end; and their other contusions might pretty nearly match. Yet Jack won, all of a heap. And why? Because he would rather be killed, than yield. The other fellow would rather yield, than stand the very smallest chance of being killed.
So when Jack came up for another good round, his enemy sate, and looked at him, and thought it would be wiser to negotiate. He was not by any means whacked, he declared, and he went on to prove it, though still sitting down—as Britannia never lets her tail drop now, without elevating her tongue, to stand for it—but his mind was made up, not to incur further danger of blood-guiltiness.
After all the insults put upon him, Jack would not let him off, without a clearer understanding.
"Either you are whacked, or not," said he; "if you are whacked, say so straightforrard, and I will shake hands with you. If you are not, stand up again."
This was plain English, the only sensible thing in a case of that kind. The other boy looked about; but saw no way to shuffle out of it, having not yet been Prime Minister.
"I don't mean to fight any more," he said, "until I perceive the necessity of it. At the same time, you can see yourself, that I am not a bit afraid of you. Every one who knows me will bear me out in that. I could prove it, if I had time; but there goes the dinner-bell, and we all must run. Not from you, mind, not from you; only because we are obliged to bolt."
Likely enough, there are people who would be glad to make light of this victory; as they do with all those we always lose, while blowing up the trumpet in the very new moon, if ever we cannot help winning one. But Jack, and I, took a natural view of the facts we ourselves had created. Science had bitten the dust before the powers of ancient literature, though the latter had struggled at fearful odds; and seven of the boys, who had seen it, persuaded their parents to take them from the Gorgon, and apprentice them again to the gentle Muse, who only strikes in self-defence. And as soon as my father and mother heard it—by reason of my bruises, one of which required raw beefsteak,—they were for ever confirmed in their perception of their own wisdom.
But alas! I scarcely know how to tell the next event in my sad career. Gladly would I leave it all untold, save by mine enemies; if the latter would only tell it truly, or leave it untold falsely. But this it is hopeless to expect. There is a certain rancour in all persons of loose politics; wherewith—to put it liberally—nature, abhorring a vacuum, has stopped the vast gap of their principles. And this pervasive bitterness, when not obtaining vent enough, as it fairly might do upon one another, sometimes sets them raking up the private life, and domestic history, of those who are not like themselves.
It has been related, some way back, that the great authorities of our parish, having been urged by fussy people—most of whom paid no rates at all—to abate, what they were pleased to call, the nuisance of our wholesome smell, had arrived at last at a resolution, to cure the air of our chimney-tops, by carrying a big culvert through the valley, a hundred yards below. How this was to effect that purpose, none of us clearly understood; but as it would not come near our works, yet saved them from being grumbled at, we accepted the conviction of the public, that it must prove a perfect cure. And reasoning by analogy, we expected no stroke to be struck, for a score of happy years yet to come.
But Joe Cowl, that same chimney-sweep who had tried to summon father, told all his friends, till he quite believed, that he never had been the same man, since the time my father syringed him. If this had been true, how much it would have been to his benefit, and his neighbours'! But being scant of introspection, he positively made a grievance of it! He contrived to push himself on the Committee appointed by the Vestry, for the drainage of Maiden valley, for no other reason in the world, than that he hoped to pester us, by carrying out that noisome scheme. As everybody said, there was no reason for such hurry; the valley had been a valley for more thousands of years than we could count, without wanting a bodkin put along it. In wet weather it drained itself; and in dry weather what was there to drain? The Lord had made it, as seemed Him best; and could any ratepayer improve His works?
Nevertheless, by stirring up, and rushing about with his best clothes on, and grouting (like a pig, with his ring come out) and writing, every other day, to every paper that would print his stuff, Chimney-sweep Cowl robbed all the parish of the pleasure of considering the next thing to be done. For he made them actually begin this job, at very little more than three years from the time of their voting it urgent, and not very much over two years from the time they raised the cash for it. But we let him see, when it was begun, that we were rather pleased than otherwise; and father went down and told Cowl himself, with as pleasant a smile as need be seen, that he would lend them a spare wheel-barrow, if they would put new gudgeons in; and as a large ratepayer of St. Pancras, he would try to keep them to their work. And it is a sad thing now to think of, that if he had been a bad-tempered man, and shunned them altogether, he might have been alive, while I write this.
Perhaps no man in London, except the Reverend St. Simon Cope, worked harder now than my father did. Not from any narrow-minded hankering after bullion; nor the common doom of our species, to find its final cause, as well as case, in specie; but from the stern resolution of a man, to turn out a good article, at a good figure, and to keep his own finger, and no others, in his pie. Mr. John Windsor had been trying very hard, to dip his own ladle into our warm vats; but while father valued him most highly as a friend, and would eagerly have done anything whatever, that lay in his power, to help him; he found it lie more and more beyond his power, to let him come into his yard just now. Plump and portly as Mr. Windsor was, and equally blunt at either end, my father kept calling him—as soon as he was gone—the thin end of the wedge, and telling dear mother to be very careful, not to say a word to let him in. This was exactly in accordance with my mother's own view of the case; and she said, that she first had insisted upon it, and that if Mrs. Windsor came sounding her for ever—as she did, even on a Sunday—it would take her a long time to discover any hollow place in her presence of mind. For she always answered.
"Oh, my dear, what do I care for odious business? You know, how much sooner you would hear me talk, about delightful Happystowe, and the sun coming over the sea, and the shrimps, and the shameful proceedings of the bathing females—for I never can call them ladies—and that dear good Lady Towers-Twentifold, who longed so extremely to make my acquaintance; and has written once more, for my Tommy to go down, and spend the holidays with his old friend, Sir Roland, at Twentifold Towers. What a pity it is, that we live so far asunder!"
"But don't you think, dear," Mrs. Windsor asked demurely, "that when the wind was blowing towards the windows of the Tower, her ladyship might object a little to the—the flavour of Mr. Upmore's operations?"
While a fact is under fifty years of age, surely it is early days to despise it, as if in its dotage, and to traduce it as a mere tradition. Yet this was already, at the time I speak of, done by the wiseacres of Maiden Lane to the great, and well-established fact, that the Cholera, when it first appeared in the year 1832, had avoided—as if it ran away from the feeding smells, and pursued the opposite—every house, where a man could say that he ever tasted our chimney-stack. On the other hand, it had followed strictly, as on any good map can be shown, the main lines of the sewage system, so far as these could yet be traced. For as yet, they were very bold in places, and then vanished, without a mouth.
Now, if there had been any medical man, with power to think for himself—as certainly some do, in every century—he might have chanced to put these two facts together, and breed a conclusion. And the conclusion must have been—increase your chimneys, issuing a fine detergent smell, and abolish all drains, that bottle up and condense destructive odours, sending them out with a fizz at the traps, to rush into first-floor windows. But alas! there was no such man just then; and I fear that even now he is hard to find. Drain, drain, drain, was the cry of the period; and ventilate all your drains, that every one may smell them, and inhale a rich interest for his sewage-rate.
My father had never been blessed with any scientific education. He had thriven most stoutly, as his years increased, by dwelling in a feeding atmosphere. In an unwise moment, he convinced himself, that a change of inhalation would improve his lungs; which were as sound as a bell used to be, in the days when people knew how to cast them. The only fault anywhere near them was, that from the increase of "adipose deposit," they had not the room to swing, that in thinner years they had. But he said to himself, and to my mother too—though she had the sense to say 'nonsense'—that a daily influx of entirely fresh odours would enable him to holloa, as he used to do.
"Did you ever see Tommy look so well," he asked, "as when he came back from the inside of the whale? I require something of that sort; and I shall go, and smoke my pipe, every evening after tea, in the bracing air of Joe Cowl's drain."
"That sounds very well," dear mother answered, "but I do think, Bubbly, that you ought to ask Dr. Flebotham first, what he thinks about it."
To me it seems a sufficient proof, how grand my dear father's constitution was, that for more than two months he pursued this medical course, as he loftily termed it, without any visible harm to himself. And to the last moment of his life—so stout and solid was his faith in his own mind—he declared that his illness had nothing whatever to do with the cause we assigned for it. But after looking blue in the face one Sunday, and suffering from cold hands and feet, he came home at night, with a desperate headache, such as he had never felt before. My mother, in alarm, gave him brandy and salt; but he took the brandy, and left out the salt. On the following day, he was terribly sick, and as blue as the men at the Indigo works; and Dr. Flebotham pronounced it a case of aggravated English Cholera. He ordered strong measures to be taken at once, hot applications, and a bottleful of chalk, with opium in large quantities.
"We must not be nervous, my dear madam," he said to my mother, who was crying sadly; "our dear patient has an iron constitution, and great strength of will, and a rare fund of courage. Why, he won't admit even now, that there is much amiss with him; and nothing will make him stay in bed. The recumbent position is the one he should preserve, to give our therapeutic course fair play; yet he keeps on calling for his boots, and would go to his work without them, if you left the door unlocked. We must humour him, my dear madam; we must tell him that he shall go to-morrow to his most useful, and in many ways I am sure—delightful occupation; without which this neighbourhood would lose one of its most—most pungent associations. Though Mr. Windsor certainly does, in his smaller way, make a much stronger st—stimulate our olfactory powers to even higher action, is what I mean. And it seems to be now very generally admitted, apart from all incontrovertible statistics, I may indeed say that it has been proved, a priori, by our new lights, that the chemical constituents, which you liberate by rapid evaporation, are for hygienic purposes the very ones which Nature has omitted to supply. But bless me, I have a lady doing well with twins! You will remember all my directions. I shall have no time to dine to-day. I hope to look in again, at six o'clock."
He lifted his hat, and had scarcely time for me to run after him, and say, "If you please, sir, mother does so hope that you will not be offended, if we have a roast fowl on the table hot, when you come from the poor lady, with the two babies."
"Tommy," replied Dr. Flebotham; "that is the very first nourishment, your dear father should take, in a solid form. He must not touch it to-day, of course; but a very small slice, quite cold, to-morrow. It should be roasted this afternoon, and it must be excessively tender. It might be as well, for me to judge of that myself. It should be a large one, and yet very young—such as they call capons. Tell your dear mother, that I will try it for him."
"Oh, thank you, sir, thank you! How very kind you are!" I exclaimed, with the tears coming into my eyes. "Only please to be punctual at six o'clock."
He made this promise; and made it good.
"Unless the case becomes complicated," said the Doctor, three days afterwards, "with cardiac symptoms, or pulmonary, or possibly renal derangement, or any other resultant cachexy of the organisms; we may anticipate, my dear madam, a condition of gradual convalescence."
"Why, Doctor, he is ever so much better already!" my mother exclaimed impatiently; "he has ordered our Tommy to go himself, as far as the shop of the famous Mr. Chumps, and to try to be back by twelve o'clock, with three pounds cut thick of tender rumpsteak, and two dozen of oysters from Tester's. And he is coming downstairs, to dine at one o'clock. But he is so weak, that I shall have to help him. Deary me, what a thing to think of! And a week ago, he carried me up, when I slipped, and hurt my ancle. And I am not so light as I was, you know, sir. All that I leave now to my son Tommy. He will never be good weight."
"Very few medical men," replied the Doctor, with a pleasant smile at both of us, "would like to have the question of diet so completely taken out of their own hands. But as soon as therapeusis has reinstated our patients, though it be but a little, they are apt to think themselves quit of us. And then there comes the relapse, my dear madam; then there comes the sad relapse; and the blame of it is cast on us."
"He has taken a great many bottles, sir, such as I never could have believed;" my mother answered sorrowfully, "and it will be a little too hard upon him, not to let him have his change. How much will you please to allow him, sir?"
"Not an ounce, if I could help it—liquid nourishment for three days more. Our poor stomach is still most delicate, and unfitted for solid food. Restrict him, at any rate, to three ounces, and the like number of oysters."
This was easier said than done. My father got through a good pound of steak, and at least a dozen oysters; and after that, he felt so well, that he had a pint of ale, and some of his healthy red returned to him. My mother was so pleased with this, that she came to his chair, and kissed him; and he said,
"My dear, I thought at one time, I never should kiss you no more, nor Tommy neither. But the Lord has shown Himself most merciful. And I don't see, as a pipe would hurt me."
The next day, he was so much better, that at nine o'clock I went back to school, and worked with a light heart; trying to make up for the work I had fallen back with. And Mr. Cope was most kind to me, and said that I did very well.
I was let off, early in the afternoon, as mother had asked that I might be; and with a good wind at my back, I made my way home, at such a pace, that every one turned to look at me; for my lead had been laid aside, through father's illness, which was weight enough. My mother was equally short of breath, with pleasure and excitement, when she ran out to kiss me. And she said,
"Oh, Tommy, your father is as well as ever, I do believe. He came downstairs without a stick, and he wrote for an hour about something; and then he made a capital dinner, and slept a little in the afternoon. And Dr. Flebotham came and saw him, and said, 'My dear sir, not too fast! You are getting well, at a wonderful rate, but you must avoid excitement. You are not quite out of our hands yet.' And then he turned to me, and said, 'We must be careful of the heart, dear madam. The heart has had a sharp trial, and has borne it well; so far as we can see. But we must not be too hard upon it, while its action is so weak. Any sudden shock, for instance, might have very grave results.' Your father began to laugh at this, until he remembered how very kind the doctor had been, and so skilful. And then he begged his pardon, and shook hands with him; and the doctor said, 'Not a bad grip that, Mr. Upmore, for a hand that was like a swab, on Monday. Keep him quiet, and he will do. Ah, I shall boast of this case, a little; and I am sure you will help me, madam.' And so I will, Tommy, though I never can approve of being called 'Madam,' like a Frenchwoman; for your dear father is in such spirits, that he has taken an ounce of bird's-eye with him, and gone to his favourite corner, by the tree; where the wind brings down the smoke so well, and what the people who write in the papers call the 'pestilential fumes.' All he now wants to set him up, is that, and a quart of fresh-drawn stout; and he said, that he would wait for that, till you came home from school to fetch it. So don't stop now, to do anything, my dear, except to put your slop-coat on, but run down to the tree, and here is the eightpence—a couple of Joeys, as you call them—and there's going to be a crab for supper, Tommy; such a beauty, from a friend of yours! I'll tell you all about it, when you come back, and you shall have his toes to suck, while you help me to do his cream."
I did love a crab, I always did. And as the greatest delight in oysters hovers over opening them (for no delight does more than hover), so of a crab, the finest hope is in getting him ready to be eaten, and in tasting stolen bits of him.
"You may look at him, Tommy," my dear mother said; and there he lay among lettuces, with his sweet legs clasped, as if in prayer for some one to come and eat them, and his fat claws crossed, in resignation to the mallet, or the rolling-pin.
It was not a sight to cause depression in the hungry human mind; neither could that effect be got from a very well-browned backstone cake; which mother allowed me to smell, before she put it back, to crisp a bit. Oh, if she had only said, "My dear boy, put your belt on," what a difference it would have made! But she never thought of it, any more than I did; and I always tried not to think of it.
With all these things to set me up, and a holiday and a half to come, out of the two ensuing days—for this was Friday afternoon—I set off, rather at a dance than walk, with my arms thrown up, and lungs expanded; and my broad-brimmed Leghorn giving flips at the wind, like a pigeon's wing; and the tucks, and gathers, and quilted flounces of my blouse lifting, and filling in the air, like clouds; and scarcely so much as a thread of my curls—as mother was fond of expressing it—that did not glisten in the sun, and hover like a crown of golden gossamer. Instead of opening the gate, I flew over it, and could scarcely keep between the walls below, and I heard mother calling,
"Oh, Tommy, dear Tommy, come back for your belt."
And I tried to do it; but the breeze was behind me, and I must go on. Then, where the old weeping plane-tree stands, at the bottom of our garden and enjoys the smoke, there was father on the bench, with his back against the trunk, and his red plush waistcoat on, and a long "churchwarden" in his mouth, and his favourite pewter waiting for the stout, and his face so bright at seeing me, that I called out,
"Father is quite well again! As well as he ever was, in all his life!"
And he said—"Yes, Tommy, thank the Lord, I am. I've been thinking of you all day, my boy. Come, and give me a kiss. Why, how wonderful you look!"
For the joy was more than I could bear; and instead of being able to go to him, I was lifted in a moment, from the surface of the earth, quicker than I ever had gone up before. Now, the faster I go up, the faster I go round,—this seems to be a law of my ascents—yet I do not remember to have felt much fear; and indeed there was little to be afraid of, unless it was a fall into our own chimneystacks. And in my vile stupidity, I even called down—
"Now, father, now will you believe at last?"
Alas, that my very last words to him should have been of low, and unfilial triumph! As I tried to look down at him, through the tree, to show him how comfortable I was up there, I saw him rush out, with his pipe in one hand, from the bower of the drooping branches; and he stood, with his legs wide apart, and his hat off, and threw down his pipe, and rubbed his eyes with both hands, and then lifted them up, and cried—
"The Lord forgive me—that He hath made a son of mine to fly!"
Before he had finished his exclamation, I could see him no more, (because of the way in which I was carried round,) and thus escaped the awful shock of seeing my own dear father fall. And before I could look again in that direction, the briskness of the wind, which was north-west, had taken me so far, that the plane-tree came between, and I could not see the fearful thing that I myself had done.
Yet somehow, or other, my mind misgave me, that I had left some harm behind; and my weight grew greater and greater; as I saw no more of father, who ought to have run up the hill to watch me, as people do to a balloon. This made me come down, at the bottom of our yard, when I might have gone over the Regent's Canal. My flights are always cut short by grief; but no other, by such a grief as this.
When I came to know what I had done, through shameful levity, and heedlessness, and selfish triumph and greedy ways—for that crab had much to do with it—also through laziness, and, self-conceit, and the absence of humble gratitude—which would have taught me to fall on my knees, instead of skipping up like a bubble—for many hours I lay and groaned, and was much more likely to sink into the earth, than ever to mount into the air again.
My mother, in her first great shock and anguish, had called me a wicked boy, and said that I never ought to have been born; and I could only answer—
"Oh, how much I wish I had never been! But it was more your doing than mine, mother."
I believe that I should have gone mad, after seeing the people come with father's coffin, if I had been left in the house, to hear, and think of all that they were doing. For mother was not at all strong-minded, but kept on falling from one condition of heart into the opposite; and sometimes cried by the hour, and sometimes laughed at herself, for the soreness of her eyes. And then it was so clear what father had been, by the way that every one spoke well of him—so gentle, and generous, and kind-hearted, and living entirely for the good of others—that instead of being comforted, I cried more, to think that it was I, who had destroyed all this. Several people took me by the hand, or patted my head, and made me look up at them, all of them seeming to say the same words, so far as I took heed of them—"Don't fret, my boy, don't knock under like that. It can't be helped now. Why, you did not mean to do it; and you must bear it, like a man, you know."
But all this only made me fret the more; my heart was so broken that I touched no food, and I kept on asking every man, who looked at all like an authority, to please to get me sent to prison for seven years' hard labour. Finding no one ready to do this, I banished myself to the coal-cellar, and had a fresh cry with the maid, whenever she came to fill the scuttles. For no one else came near me now, my poor mother being unwell upstairs, and the command of the house handed over to people, who called themselves her nearest relatives; and were so, if Uncle Bill had met with a watery grave, as was supposed. These people were the Stareys of Stoke Newington,—a widow lady, and her two unmarried daughters, beginning now to be old maids. Mrs. Starey was mother's half-sister, yearly fifteen years the elder; and so her daughters were my half first cousins, and might have tried to help me. Mother said afterwards, when she came to know of all their conduct, that they did their best to send me after father; and for a very good reason of their own—if I were out of the way, they would be the nearest to her (if Uncle Bill were drowned, as they had reason to hope of him) and under my father's will that might be of no little service to them. But it is not in my nature, to believe that they would act so. And even by seeming so to do, they lost all chance of everything. So much wiser, as well as sweeter, is it in the long run for us, to be kind to one another.
But to dwell upon this, is hateful to me, and I cannot bear ill-will. Most likely the truth was simply this, that they had quite enough to do, with mother lying ill, and father dead, and could not be bothered with me as well, and therefore, were glad to be quit of me, saying that a boy's grief soon forgets itself. And if I did not eat, it was because I was not hungry; but time and youth would soon cure that. And perhaps they might have done so.
However, a man who was not in the habit of judging people harshly, the Reverend St. Simon Cope, was highly indignant with them. As soon as he heard of our sad loss, he thought he had a right to come and help us, as a minister of the Lord, though we were not in his District, and even belonged to another parish. Mr. Cope was not at all the man to move his neighbour's landmark, and he knew that our parson (who never came near us) was largely Evangelical, as the people who went to hear him said. So that Mr. Cope came to visit us, and was careful to put it so, not as a minister of the Word, but as my tutor in dead languages. In whatever capacity he meant to come, no sooner did he see how we were placed, than he threw parish boundaries overboard, and became the true minister of Christ. It is not for me to tell what he said; such matters are far above me. And in truth it was less what he said than did, and his manner of doing it, that moved us. I had thought him a very cold man before—so little had he shown of feeling, as perhaps was needful among boys, but now brave tears were on his firm thin cheeks; and I sobbed to look at them.
"Tommy," he said, as he drew me forth from the coal which was all over me, and he never had called me "Tommy" before, which made it sound so kind to me; "Tommy, you must get up, and wash, and take some food, and come with me. Your dear mother is very poorly, and I have promised to take you to her. It is the greatest comfort she can have; but she must not see you look like this."
"Have I been and killed mother too? Will mother die, sir, do you think, the same as my father did, through me?"
"No, my dear boy. Your mother will soon be well again, when she sees you. She keeps on calling 'Tommy, Tommy!' But they say that you refuse to go to her."
"They told me, sir, that she never would bear the sight of me again, as long as she lived. And she keeps on saying, 'Wicked Tommy, wicked Tommy, why ever were you born?' And I wish I never had been, sir."
"Listen to me for a moment, Tommy. Not one word of that is true. What she may have said at first, I cannot tell, and you must not think of; for she cannot have known what she said. I am sure, that you have a tender heart, and not a bitter one, my child. You have been afflicted heavily, and you blame yourself unjustly. Your only fault was sudden and thoughtless joy; and your mother sees that now. She wants you to forgive her, for she behaved unkindly, and she feels it. And if you wish to make her well, go up, and see her, and give her a kiss, and let her talk, while you say little. Then she will get some sleep to-night; she has not had a wink, since her sad shock. And to-morrow, she will be well almost, and able to face her sorrow calmly, for her illness is more of the mind than body. But go, and do what I told you first; and then I will take you to the door."
Thus it was that this good man saved us, or me at least, from black despair, and consequent insanity; for who can be sane, when hope is dead? Everything came to pass, exactly as he had foretold it; though I will not attempt to describe what passed, between dear mother and myself. Such matters are more for the heart, than tongue. Enough, that when she was quite worn out, with feeling things, and talking of them, she fell into a smiling sleep, and I smoothed the bows of her night-cap, and tried not to believe how pale she was, and how many little sheaves of silver grief had set up in her fine dark hair.
Then, when she was fast asleep, after having managed, with my help, to get through a calf's sweetbread—which Mr. Cope himself went all the way to Mr. Chumps, to fetch for us—and there was no likelihood of her wanting me till morning, my tutor said,
"Tommy, you look respectable; which could hardly be said of you just now. Get your nightclothes, and whatever you want, and reverse the accustomed walk. Come with me to Kentish Town and I will bring you back in a day or two. But I cannot give you much time to get ready, and you will have to walk six miles an hour."
If he had told me to take his hand, for an urgent appointment with the Devil, I should have done it, without two thoughts; but the only engagement he had to keep, was with his congregation. This was at eight o'clock in the evening; and counting me, and a baby, there were eight of us there for the good of it, without including the minister. This made me think, with a turn of tears, of a story my father used to tell, of his asking the Clerk at some church, why the Vicar had service at five o'clock of an afternoon on week-days, instead of seven, or eight, or nine. "Lord bless you, sir," the Clerk replied, "if we was to go into them long hours, we should never keep up with the time of day; five is our number at the outside, and no more." And although the joke was very small, it made me smile, as a bad joke does; when I never expected to have another smile. The service, moreover, did me good; though I never heard a word of it.
He put me with the other boys, next day; and they were very kind to me, knowing the trouble that I was in. Jack Windsor was not there now; because Mr. Cope had plainly told his father, that he found it useless to go on with him, unless there were any downright need of a standard to pass—and it must be a low one—for the Army, or for medicine, or for Holy Orders. For all lower purposes, his tutor said that he was quite up to the average; he could write and spell, quite well enough, and was up to the mark in arithmetic. But of Latin and Greek, if by great pressure, any more were ground into him, there was no chance of it staying longer, than the time his nails (which he was always biting) would take to grow, if he left off. Mr. Windsor answered loftily—for, together with his wife, he had always taken Jack to be a wonder—that he considered his son too good, by a d—d sight, for any of the lines of life Mr. Cope had been kind enough to mention, and he would take away poor Jack that day, and put him into his own office; where he would learn life, instead of burying dead languages.
Now, my dear father was in the habit of speaking his mind quite plainly; but he never would have spoken like that, so rudely; and sooner would he have bitten his tongue, very severely, I am sure, than have sworn, in the presence of a parson!
However, although Jack was gone, there were several fellows who had heard all, and a great deal more than all, about me, and my inborn affliction; and although they behaved with extraordinary kindness (being all on the way to be gentlemen) whenever they thought that I was not looking, they were looking at me, with desire to form their own opinions silently, and compare them freely, when my back was turned. For the result of any peculiarity, less conspicuous perhaps than mine, is to attract attention; and that becomes a curse far greater, than the blessing of even the noblest gifts.
When the Doctor was kind enough to spare my mother all the public pain of an inquest, by certifying "sudden death, from failure of the heart, after violent attack of Cholera," it might have been hoped, that outside strangers would have gone on their way, without meddling. So all right-minded persons did. They had their little talk among themselves, and expressed a very natural surprise, and agreed, or differed, according to the peace, or pugnacity of character. And the matter would have been a nine days' wonder, for the nine or ten beholders, but for the prying self-conceit of a picker-up of news for the Pratt Street Express, a penny paper, coming out on Saturdays. I will not speak ill of this gentleman; for I came to know him afterwards, and found him a pleasant, and well-meaning man. He had no intention of inflicting pain; and he freely admitted, that a sense of duty compelled him to write, what he did not believe a word of, lest a rival journal should get the start of his.
My tutor, Mr. Cope, sent a line to my mother on Tuesday, to inform her, that he thought it would be, for very many reasons, wiser that I should not be present, at the funeral of my beloved father. He did not tell me, that it was to be that day; and I did not venture to ask about it, leaving myself entirely in his hands. My mother wrote back, as it afterwards appeared, that she quite agreed with him, and would not expect me, until all was over. That same evening, he took me home, and asked me on the road, whether I could bear to hear a few words from him. I said yes, whatever he thought fit, for my heart was strengthened, while I held his hand.
After words of religious consolation, which fell from his lips, as if from heaven—for the whole of his life was above this world, and the preface to a better one—he proceeded partly as follows, though I cannot put it quite as he did—
"From all that I hear, and allowing much for large exaggerations, you have a remarkable gift, my boy; of which I heard something from my friend, the Bishop. From my own observation, I know that your bodily frame is of wonderful buoyancy; as your mind was also, until this sad distress, for the time, oppressed it. You have very good abilities, far above the average, an extremely tenacious memory, quick apprehension, with clearness of insight, and a love of whatever is elegant; which would make you a very good classical scholar, with industry, good teaching, and above all, good health. That last is the point, which makes me doubt the wisdom of pressing you much, in that way; although you have never known a day of illness, until this trouble fell upon you. For a body so light can scarcely contain the substance needful for hard work. But your duty, as to that, will depend very much upon what your father's orders were. He has left, (as I happened to observe) a statement in writing of his wishes concerning you. One of the ladies in the house had opened his desk, which had the key left in, while looking for some paper, to boil the kettle. And I fear, that she would have used this important paper, in ignorance of what she was doing at the moment, if I had not asked her to put it back. Then I locked the desk, and your mother has the key. It was not a will—your mother has his will—but to you it should have all the authority of a will. These things are important; but what I would speak of is, from my point of view, more important still. You know, that whatever is given to us, is given for some good purpose. Your mental gifts are not wonderful; although, as I have said, they are above the average. But your bodily gifts are quite exceptional—I think I may say, though I have never studied physics—and for them, you will have a good account to render."
"But how, sir, how?" I asked with some excitement; "as yet I have only come to trouble, through all that. Please to tell me any way of doing any good with it."
"At present I cannot," Mr. Cope replied; "but as sure as I am speaking to you, Tommy Upmore, the way and the means will appear, by and by. It is your duty, to improve your gift, so far as discretion and health permit, and to await the opportunity for some great good, to your country, humanity, or religion."
That very evening, it was thought wise that the members of the Starey family, who had come so kindly to our aid, should return to the bosom of their own affairs, at that pleasant place, Stoke Newington. My dear father was so widely known, and so loved and admired, by all the trade, that he received an exceedingly large funeral. My dear mother told me, how many high firms, nearly all of them wholesale, were represented; but I was pleased only because of her pleasure, or rather of the comfort she drew from it. Moreover, there were ancient friends who came, as well as still more of new date, and even some nephews of the name of Upmore, with warm recollections of their dear Uncle, and hopes of a mutual (though posthumous) remembrance. Some of these had a good claim to be fed, in the hunger and thirst of unavailing sorrow—for none of them was down for sixpence—and my mother, who had made a great effort to attend, naturally left Mrs. Starey, and her daughters, to offer consolation to these mourners. Among them, so deep a flow of sympathy was opened, that when Mr. Cope and myself came in, all the members of the Starey family, for our three had fetched the residue, were (as Mr. Cope said afterwards) totally unable stare. This made it incumbent upon us to send them home; and two cabs were ordered, with drivers of well-known integrity, who received the whole of them, and their goods, on condition of getting their money, as soon as their job was discharged conscientiously. Only they must get it from the people they took home, and not from those compelled to pack them off. Like all other sensible arrangements, this turned out to all reasonable satisfaction; though the Stareys made a fearful fuss about it, grieving to go away at all, and still more to do it at their own expense. They seemed to forget altogether, that when starvation stared them in the face, my father set them up in a small candleshop, and supplied them for three months, on full credit. But such is the way of the world; and what right have I to be finding fault with it, while yet I continue to belong to it?
When all this was over, and my mother gone to sleep, I opened the paper which she had given me; and with two of our own best candles lit, (for my father would never have gas in the house, to ruin our eyes and to disgrace our business) I read every word of it, sighing sometimes, and sometimes crying, to find how good he had been to me, who had paid him out so badly. And private as the matter was, the public, having taken such a kindly interest in me, might fairly call me ungrateful, if I shut them out of all of it. Neither could that be done, without a confusion arising between us. My dear father had clear ideas, as to his own will and way; and while he enjoyed himself much in the world, he carried on his work to suit. He had written a letter to me, to be read when he could no more talk to me; though he little thought, how soon that would be. After things which I need not enter into, he proceeded with these words, the whole being written in a plain round hand:
"You will see, my son, that I have worked hard, chiefly that you may do well. If anything happens to me of a sudden, as may be the case, after what I have gone through, your mother will be well provided for, as she has thoroughly deserved of me. Everything will be at her discretion; but I am sure that she will carry out whatever I wish concerning you. Cut no capers with my hard earnings; I think you have too much sense for that, and I have taken good care to prevent it. None of your high society nonsense, which is not fit for a tradesman's son; but a steady rise in the world, which is according to the laws of England. When the business has been well disposed of, after completion of all jobs in hand, according to the meaning of my will, you must go on with your school-learning, at the Oxford colleges, where your friend Bill Chumps has done so well. I have had a long talk with Mr. Cope, though I did not tell your mother of it, and he says that the money will not be thrown away; for it makes you anybody's equal, except among the nobility. You have quite as good a head piece as Bill Chumps, if you will stick to it, as he has done; and you will see that it pays as well to boil down animals, as to cut them up, when a man understands the business.
"When you have been through the Colleges, I intend to send you into Parliament, that you may flabergast the Radicals. These are now making so much bluster, and getting their own wicked way so fast, that unless a firm stand is made against them, no man's life will be his own, no more than his land or money will. Robbery is the beginning, and robbery is the end of it; and in the middle stands the man with the biggest pair of jaws; and laughs, as he pockets all their thievery. If this goes on, a man had better lie down on his back, and rant all day, than labour hard, and be robbed of it. You have heard me talk of this, my son; but we have only turned the first leaf yet; if Mr. Panclast gets the power he has set his stubborn heart on.
"Tommy, I am not a wise man, nor even to be called a clever one; but I am of a sort that is going by, and perhaps will be missed hereafter. That is to say, an Englishman, of common sense, and of fair play, and of tidy pride in his Country. All these are dragged in the dirt, by the people now getting upper hand of us; and what will come of it? They will drag themselves in the dirt, and their children; until our grandsons are ashamed to say—'I am an Englishman.'
"Now mind you this, my dear son, though you have little chance of doing it, fight you, tooth and nail, against the white-livered lot of Panclast. Who is he, by right of gab, and words no more English than himself, to upset the meaning of England, and the value of an Englishman? A change will come, among the changes he is always starting, when people will try to respect themselves; and finding it all too late for that, will turn against him, who has made it so. Then a very few men, without possessing any quality at all wonderful, except their love of their Country, may lay hold of the sense of our disgrace, and make it serve for common sense. Then good-bye to Mr. Panclast!
"Tommy, I wish that I might live, to see a son of mine bear share, in such an act of righteousness. But I hear your mother with the dinner ready, and I will go on about it, to-morrow."
* * * * *
The abruptness of this conclusion made me as sad almost as anything; although I do not see how my father, writing so much in prophetic vein, could have added anything of more precision, for my future guidance. I thoroughly understood his wishes, from the above brief sketch of them, and they agreed entirely with my own; so far at least as I had paid attention to such matters. Very few boys at school as yet, had made up their minds immutably,—as Sir Roland Twentifold had done already, and as every school-boy now does at once—what side in politics is the only right one, and how it may best be promoted.
As soon as we had the time, and spirit, to look round and think again, we could not help admiring, more and more, my father's wisdom. Not, by any manner of means, on account of the sum he had left for our benefit; though this turned out to be three times as much as my mother, in her most hopeful moments, had ever dreamed of finding it. It would be unnatural, if this had failed to increase her admiration; but she wished everybody to understand, that of that she thought nothing, in comparison with subjects so much higher. When coarse people said—"He has cut up grandly. My dear lady, I congratulate you, and your most interesting son, with all my heart;" she simply waved her hand, and said, "Sir, you can never have felt, as I do. Money is only an added trouble, when the guiding hand is gone, and gross exaggerations are made about it." And she felt most deeply the great injustice, and cruel hardship, of paying for probate a sum which made her weep again; because of the utter want of feeling, exhibited by the Revenue.
However, all this had one good effect, perhaps contemplated by the Revenue. To some extent, it helped to turn the channels of her grief towards indignation, as well as compelled her to look sharp, to baffle the harpies of the law, by all the resources of honesty. And so well did she manage, with the aid of Mrs. Windsor, (who became a very dear friend now, and entered into all her righteous feelings) that much disappointment, and many low suspicions, rankled in the stony heart of Somerset House.
But that, which my mother, and myself, and even the lawyer whom we were obliged to employ, found the most remarkable, was the skill and forethought displayed by father, in the settlement of all trade-affairs. I need not go into particulars now; any more than I need state exactly the value of his net estate. Upon that point, there are always people, who know ten times as much as the acting executor can discover, and are not to be put down, by any process of sworn arithmetic; though as yet it had not become the duty of any public journal, to measure the depth of a dead man's pocket, and tell the world, how he divided it. It will be enough, for those who care to follow my humble fortune, to know that Kentish Town, Camden Town, Islington, and Ball's Pond were wrong—though they all agreed about it, and, if any stranger doubted, doubled it—in putting it at considerably over the sum of a hundred thousand pounds.
With regard to the Works, my father had provided that any Government contracts, taken before his death, should be executed; and if any more were offered, upon like terms, his Executors should accept them, so long as the Conservatives remained in office. But if, as he clearly anticipated, the Kingdom were over-run shortly by Radicalism and robbery, the long-established firm of Upmore was not to be associated with them. For they cut down contracts to the uttermost farthing, and no honest man could work under them. In that case, our works must be offered for sale, upon certain conditions, and terms, etc., all of which proved his wisdom.
But nothing proved his wisdom, and clenched his words, with a sledge-hammer power, so much as the speedy result upon his proviso about contracts. For fear of spoiling my education, and attaching a soapy smell to me, it was strictly declared, that I must keep away from meddling with a business, which I did not understand. This alone will show the absurdity of the cries (now raised for party purposes) of "soap," and "dips," and "where's the grease-pot?"—with which I still have to contend, when I rise to address our enlightened operatives. My father had foreseen, I will not say all,—for no Jeremiah could have ever done that—but some of the mumbling, and blear-eyed decrepitude of the British nation, which now sets us longing to be Boers, or Zulus, or anything but what we unhappily are. And this foresight was shown in the result of the very next general election. The Radicals, (who are forced, by their own consciences, to set every other nation in the world before their own) came in with a rampant and blatant—the former to the friends of our country, and the latter to her foes—majority of six score at least.
No sooner was the result made known, with a mighty flourish of trumpets, and a proclamation of the Millennium, than a private and confidential circular was received by all substantial and enterprising Boilers. In it, the very ancient date of this typical firm was stated, as well as its rare advantages in position, and a thousand other things, including a vested right in Government contracts, and a certainty of being bought out, at a very noble figure, by the Committee of the new Cattle Market. Moreover, ashes were in great demand, for a newly formed Building-Company would take a million loads at once, to erect a thousand substantial villas, entirely upon, and for the most part of them.
Everything was going up and off, just then, like steam, and smoke, and bubbles mixed, as they used to be at our chimney-top. When a Liberal Government first comes in, it sets all knaves a-dancing; and even honest folk prick long ears up, at the infectious fanfarade of the great Rogue's March. There are certain to be, at once, bright summers, kindly winters, and vernal springs; and autumn will stand so thick with corn, that even the British farmer may have some hope, to get a gleaning. Trade shall flourish, bubble-companies abound; adulteration—alone of British industries,—be subsidised; and every foreign bullet, fired into the back of an Englishman, shall go back, ton for ton, in gold.
National securities went up, with the certainty that they might be sacked, without outlay in defending them; and commercial circles squared themselves, with the magic joy, which precedes the sure accomplishment of the impossible. Every sort of investment was in demand, and everybody expected ten per cent. on his capital, without posting it. Even Mr. Windsor, a stout old Tory, fell into the rush of the Liberal flood, and longed to buy my father's works; but my mother begged him not to do so, for she would have been loth to see him disappointed; and the price was high. She told him of my father's caution; and he wisely saw its force.
I am heartily glad, that it was so; for without that risk, our friend and neighbour lost as much as he could afford; when the usual relapse set in, from braggart talk, and swindling promise.
But while these were new, and bright, they served our turn, without fault of ours; and a Radical, of high faith, and sound cash, lost both—I am very sorry to say—in carrying on our fine old trade.
When these arrangements were complete, my dear mother carried out what she knew to be my father's wishes—though he had not found time to state them—by removing to a house upon Haverstock Hill, which stood in its own grounds, and saw as little of London as a "genteel villa" could wish to do; while the omnibuses passed our gate, every twenty minutes both to and fro.
Under the lawyer's advice, she bought this house, when she had tried it; and then she set up a cook, and housemaid, and a boy to do the knives, and a pony, twelve hands high, to carry me, when he went quietly, or to pitch me off, when he was cross. And, whatever the weather was, every day, by 'bus, or pony, or afoot, I went to Mr. St. Simon Cope; to learn the classics on week-days, and to hear him preach on Sundays. Until I became eighteen years old, and obliged to go to Oxford.