BOOK THE SECOND.
CHAPTER I.[ToC]
The youngest of a numerous family,—now that every profession is overstocked,—has no right to entertain considerable expectations. Therefore, when my father endured the expenses of my education till my twenty-third year, he did far more than was incumbent on himself, and far more than I, in any way, deserved. It was, indeed, an expensive education, and the object to be gained by it, the Church. Unfortunately, my inclination for this had never been ascertained, and still more unfortunately, from my youth, I had ever opinions and difficulties on religious points, thoroughly inconsistent with the established one. These I had ever kept within myself, and it has been my ruin. Had I earlier exposed them to my father, perhaps I might have prosperously pursued some other profession, and been, at this moment, something like an useful member of society.
Finally, in opposition to my own judgment and conviction, I bowed to that of others, and was ordained Deacon, in St. George's Chapel, Hanover Square. I now retreated to a parish in a remote county, which henceforth might be considered in the light of an honourable exile.
One Sunday, then, in the depth of a rainy winter, I set off on my horse, with my canonicals strapped before me in a valise, to commence my clerical duties. On entering my parish, for want of a more respectable asylum, I put up at a public-house, where I changed my dress, and came forth, for the first time, in the character of a Divine, walking towards my church, where I met with an unusually large congregation assembled to hear "the new parson."
Notwithstanding my lamentable deficiency of self-possession, I got through the service without any distressing error—I ought not to have read the Absolution, that being restricted to priests, nor should I have upset the cushion on which I was kneeling, for, not having sufficient confidence to replace it, I was forced to hang on by my elbows to the reading-desk for the remainder of the Litany. As for my sermon, I knew it by heart, and it went off very well. I think, at all times, if my sermon was a good one, I used to get along well enough, for, as I proceeded, I became interested in it. On the other hand, when it was considerably below the average, I became even more so, labouring to gain the conclusion, like a wounded partridge to reach the adjoining enclosure.
Having accomplished the service, I fondly concluded that my little devoir was finished for the day, and that I might now retire to collect my agitated nerves in quiet, but at the porch I was requested to visit an old woman who was lying in the poor-house, in the last stage of a dropsy. The only entrance to her chamber, or rather, her loft, was by an upright ladder fixed against the wall, the two upper steps of which were broken away. After a little manœuvring in consequence of this difficulty, I entered the place in the attitude of Nebuchadnezzar in the act of grazing, "meekly kneeling on my knees."
Like all other invalids in humble life, she was anxious that I should become impressed with the full extent of her suffering, and to this intent was irresistibly importunate in her entreaties that I would grasp her arm, and, to my horror, the next moment I saw the impression of my fingers deeply, and, to all appearance, permanently stamped upon her flesh! With this ordeal she appeared satisfied, and having read the prayers for the sick, I really suspect a little impressively, owing to my feelings as a novice, and left upon her pillow a few shillings, I do think and hope that her spirits were a little brighter than before—and there was need, for there were faint hopes of her descending that ladder more, save for her "long home."
I once more directed my steps to the public-house for my horse, whose head I now turned towards a farm-house where I had written to procure apartments. I had proceeded but a short distance, when he sunk up to the girths in a small bog, but contrived to scramble out so soon as I had dismounted. I knew beforehand, that my future residence was inaccessible for any description of carriage, but as I was little likely to be encumbered in this way, it was a matter of no consideration, but it certainly annoyed me to find that every now and then I was liable to get my sermon moistened in a quagmire.
In the midst, then, of these bogs was my solitary abode, which enjoyed the somewhat singular appellation of Pinslow. This, I fancy, from its situation among the surrounding morasses, to have been a corruption of "Peninsula," as it had but one line of access.
I was destined to be the first of my profession that ever resided in the parish. The salary being very minute, with no parsonage-house, hitherto each clergyman, save the one of the neighbouring parish, had conscientiously declined the appointment.
On reaching my house, I found it to be rurally situated in the centre of its straw-yard, but altogether well suited to my wants. There was a very good one-stalled stable, or loose box, and as, on rainy days, I would throw off my reading-coat, and rub down my horse for an hour, this was an object of some importance. I was equally fortunate with regard to my sitting-room, for, without rising, I could reach anything I wished for, from one end of it to the other. A second room was sufficiently spacious to hold the bed.
Towards the close of the evening, laying aside etiquette, as Crusoe would in his solitary isle, I went out in order to visit a curate who had lately taken the parish bordering on my own, and who, like myself, had just entered on his noviciate. Here I found Seymour, a fellow Etonian and contemporary.
Though we had never before been intimate, how happy was I to meet with him. For years had I been in the habit of seeing him every day, when all was happiness, and now to be with him again, though my prospects were as gloomy as the barren moors around us! I felt how different was my regard for him to that for friends of later date. The truth is, we knew each other!
This, together with youthful and happy associations, is the secret of all those lasting friendships commenced in boyhood. We feel, however we may try to conceal it, that our acquaintances in later life may be playing a part, or at all events, may be guided more or less by interested motives; while, on the other hand, should sad experience not have taught us the same policy, it will inevitably happen, that sooner or later we shall have to deplore our imprudence. It is not so much that we are betrayed as misconstrued; our opinions are misinterpreted from ignorance of our real dispositions. This, then, is why it has become so imperative on us to shroud ourselves in reserve; and, alas! the more so as our dispositions may be sanguine and ardent. Hence, too, the Lord Chesterfield's scouted maxim, "Do not be, but seem," though his lordship is not to be reprobated so much as the world, that compelled him thus to advise his own son. But I fear I shall be found fault with by both parties, as I have learnt to be, but not to seem.
No wonder, then, that we hasten to renew our early friendships, and throw aside all this deplorable restraint.
"Your father is a horrid radical," I once heard a boy say to the Lord Chancellor's son.
"And your mother is his Majesty's mistress," was the retort, in even plainer language.
This is adopting the other extreme, but will here serve as a sample of that youthful openness, however ridiculous and disagreeable, which teaches us at once how to choose our friends and confidants, with little fear of being mistaken; and when we have arrived at manhood, whatever number of years may have separated us, we are still conscious of each other's nature, because we have learnt, in the meantime, that it never changes, in whatever degree it may have done so in appearance. Let any one, for a moment, bestow his attention upon some prominent person of the present day, whose character may contrast with what it was in boyhood, and has he confidence in him? in other words, is he imposed upon with the rest? He may cling to him for auld lang syne, but he will be far from being deceived, while the other is as conscious that he is not so.
For this reason, I have always thought well of those who have carried on their early intimacy to after-life. One of them must be creditable to our race, for I have noticed friendship between two indifferent characters ever to be brief.
Seymour, poor fellow, was just now under rather adverse circumstances, for he had arrived here but five days, and had been confined to his bed during the four last of them, having caught cold from wet feet, which I regretted the more, as he had but little chance, in such a country, of ever again enjoying the comfort of dry ones. When I arrived at his hovel he had just come down to his sitting-room, and I think I seldom recollect a more comfortless, or ludicrous scene either. Till this moment, I suppose, he who had roughed it as little as any one, was now looking pale, wretched, and emaciated, with his slender, gentlemanly figure crouched close upon the comfortless fire-place. Should he have the energy to stir for anything, his nicely arranged hair was instantly dimmed with the cobwebs and dust which it gathered as it swept across the low ceiling. On the dark and damp floor was scattered a number of splendidly bound books, with a Wilkinson's saddle. Along the wall was tidily arranged an extensive collection of Hoby's boots, and a hat-box, imprinted with "Lock, Saint James' Street," but which article was now converted into a temporary corn-bin, and was nearly full of black oats.
CHAPTER II.[ToC]
It is but yesterday, when I felt that to be "a pot-hunter"[1] was the lowest step of degradation; and I was quite right, for then I lived at home; my father had an admirable kennel of pointers and spaniels, a couple of well-stocked manors, and a zealous keeper. But, since then, "a change came o'er the spirit of my dream," and my finances not so flourishing that I could keep up a shooting establishment on the footing which I have hitherto enjoyed. At present I am provided with sustenance at the cost of one shilling a meal; but should I procure a dinner elsewhere, which seldom happened, or my fishing-rod prove effective, which it never did, a proportionate deduction ensues in the cost of my repast.
Once or twice, as September approached, it crossed my mind that this kind of economy was not entirely to be overlooked. But, no, no! True, I had got under a cloud, and "my house-hold gods lie shivered around me;" but, to become a pot-hunter! I had not fallen, nor would I fall, so low as that. September has arrived, and I have!
To entertain a proper feeling on the subject, I am fully sensible that a gentleman should only destroy game, which, when killed, is thoroughly useless to him; and being thus principled, I am at a loss to account for the unwonted delight I experienced whenever my gun did its work on the victim, which in a few hours was to smoke on my solitary board.
Some one affirms it to be as probable for an empty sack to stand upright, as for a needy man to be honest. The simile is ingenious and plausible, but as uncharitable. The weakness I have just acknowledged is undoubtedly attributable to my circumstances, though I trust I am still beyond the reach of the graver imputation. But I should be ambitious of proving more than this—the utter extravagance of such a theory; for it is a cruel one, and has caused both mischief and misery. How many otherwise inoffensive persons have I known implicitly to adopt an opinion to the prejudice of their less fortunate acquaintance, merely from their deficiency of the world's wealth! But, not content with this, these persons, who are the very people to esteem poverty as the worst of ills, not satiated with his destitution, must do their utmost to sink him still lower by their treatment of him; little suspecting, too, I should hope, that the most probable means of enticing a man to become a villain, is to convince him that the world deems him to be such. I have known more than one victim to this treatment, for all are not gifted with independency of mind sufficient to defy it.
Owing to an insurmountable detestation of my profession, I spent but a few days of the week in my parish. It was not that I was careless, and indifferent for the welfare of my parishioners; for, in spite of myself, I could not but like them.
Beyond doubt, it is imperative on a clergyman ever to be in the heart of his parish, employed in bestowing, spiritually and corporally, such assistance as it may fall to his share to be able to bestow. As to relieving their distresses arising from poverty, my finances were much too limited to be of any avail. With regard to those who were suffering on a sick bed, with but slender hopes of recovery, my powers of consolation were even more meagre.
I have said that my opinions widely differed from those supposed to be entertained by a Protestant clergyman, and particularly so on the efficacy of a death-bed repentance. Could it then be expected that I was thus to smear myself over with hypocrisy, and to a poor broken-spirited fellow-creature, looking imploringly for religious aid and comfort, utter to his confiding ears such doctrines as, at that time, I unhappily and foolishly thought to be no more "than sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal?"
This, then, was not to be thought of or endured; and, therefore, sooner than remain inactive among my people, I was ever, as much as possible, studiously at a distance. Still it could not but annoy me, should my presence have been required on any emergency, while absent; and this, thanks to my fortune, never occurred, though I had many narrow escapes of it.
At one time, having postponed the preparation of my sermon during the earlier part of the week, I arrived, in consequence, at my lodgings on Saturday evening, in order to get it ready for the morrow. I had scarcely begun, when Maria, dispensing with her lowly knock for admission at the door, rushed in, and announced an event which had just occurred within a mile of the house.
A girl of eighteen, and her sister of eight years old, had been spending her birth-day at their grandfather's, and, after dark, had set out on their return to their father's house, mounted on an old horse, with the younger girl behind. In the bottom of a valley which divided the two houses, ran a little stream, but which now, from heavy rain, had increased to a rapid and deep, though still a narrow rivulet. In passing through the ford, the younger girl, while raising her feet to avoid the water, fell from the saddle, pulling her elder sister with her. The youngest, much frightened, rushed through the water and gained the bank. The foot of the elder one became entangled in the stirrup, which unfortunately caused her head and shoulders to remain beneath the water. The horse was so quiet as to stand still in the stream, grazing on the bank, and was thus stationary long enough for the girl to become insensible, when he walked out, and her foot, on his moving, becoming once more free, her helpless little sister, by the light of the moon which was then shining, could just see the stream roll away the body of her sister towards a deep hole a little lower down, when she lost sight of her. This, then, was the cause of the present interruption.
On arriving at the spot, it was distressing to observe the insignificancy of the place, with regard to such a melancholy event. The water where she had fallen, was not more than two feet in depth, and while searching for her body during the night, at any place I was able to jump across the stream. Yet, singular to state, we never found the body till the commencement of the fourth night from the accident.
The corpse of this poor girl was the first I had ever seen. Her eldest brother had discovered and placed it on the grass, and as he and her father gazed upon it, while the moon shone down upon the group standing motionless and silent in the gloomy ravine, never was I so conscious of the intensity of the misery which can befal us—that indeed "the trail of the serpent was over us all."
The funeral of this girl was the first at which I had to officiate. It is singular that a funeral consequent on an unusual death should be attended by greater numbers than an ordinary one. On this occasion, I may safely say, that my little retired burial-ground, and its immediate vicinity, were occupied by thousands.
Though always in the habit of taking great exercise, I never experienced severer work than on the day which brought rest to others, not but that I might have avoided it. For five weeks successively I have served three churches each Sunday. On these days I had to walk forty miles, and ride another forty miles, and once or twice experienced heavy falls with my horse. This, then, I suppose, was steeple-hunting, properly so called—all this too was for love, at all events, not for money.
The latter, indeed, was very scarce in this part of England. My predecessor had served the parish fourteen years, for twelve pounds per annum. The present rector was in the annual receipt of forty-three pounds, out of which he had to pay me, but with the aid of a little simony, this was easily avoided, and as I took no fees, I can hardly call it a lucrative appointment, and certainly not a sinecure.
I am fully aware of the fallacy of judging on any subject, without examining both sides of the question, but the following case really seems to have only one:—
By great ingenuity, I should think, the sum of eight hundred and forty-five pounds is distilled from out the peaty soil of my humble parish, under the denomination of great and small tithe.
From the sound, one might be led to suppose that this sum was, in some slight way, connected with ecclesiastical purposes; and, by-the-bye, so it is exactly, for forty-three pounds go to the rector, and the remainder is distributed among three wealthy and noble families.
At first, too, one might expect that this sum would, at all events, afford to pay for a permanent and resident clergyman, with a roof over his head, "be it ever so humble;" but no, the parish is but the receptacle for the luckless, roaming deacon, and its poor parishioners are ever doomed to be as sheep without a shepherd, and to be fleeced accordingly.
Among these sabbatical circuits of mine, there was one which, though I shall be, more than usual, guilty of egotism, I do not wish to forget, it was so in keeping with the nature of the country—primitive and stern. It was the only time I was sensible of fatigue, though in the present instance I had not more than two churches to serve, nor was I under the necessity of walking more than half of the usual distance; but I was so ill with the influenza that I was doubtful of succeeding. Attempt it I would, for hitherto, though invariably hurried, I had never kept a congregation waiting for one moment. Having got upon my horse, I rode him forty miles across the moors, to my own church first: so far from fatiguing me, I found that the freshness of the air had considerably added to my strength: still, the exertion of reading would have proved too much, had not the singers, perceiving my weakness, good-naturedly chaunted the prayers which occur between the lessons, just giving me breathing time, and sufficient strength to finish the service. The instant this was over, I walked away for the other church, determined, at all events, to persevere, for in a whimsical mood I had ever resolved to perform the Sunday's duty punctually, in spite of time, tide, or anything else. As I crossed each field, I was obliged to get on the top of every gate in order to rest myself, notwithstanding the exertion of it. On coming to the fatal little stream in the valley which divided the parishes, I became sensible that I had no strength to clear it, and that, should I attempt it, a total submersion must inevitably be the result. I had no time to hesitate, so at once walked through the ford, though at the time I was in a profuse and faint-like perspiration.
On reaching the church, I found myself to be in good time, but had not proceeded far in the service, when I discovered the clerk to be in such a state of drunkenness, as would have appeared to the least fastidious, blasphemous and repulsive. In this dilemma, I knew it would be useless to tell a noisy boisterous fellow to hold his tongue, so at once, quietly but quickly, reaching his book, I placed it in my reading-desk, and the fellow, without a murmur, resigned himself to his fate and went fast asleep. In spite of the check which my wet clothes might have occasioned, I was rapidly gaining strength, and, to my surprise, got easily through the duty.
At the conclusion of the service, a labourer's wife came up to me with the usual fee between her finger and thumb, the price of being grateful to her God for safe deliverance in child-birth. She apparently deemed me out of my senses, and I had to tell her twice to keep back the shilling gained by the sweat of her husband's brow.
I had next to visit a dying man, and I had a dread of it. The poor fellow had been for many years an open and avowed infidel, and entertained an invincible hatred towards clergymen. He had, at last, consented to send for me, in compliance with the entreaties of his wife. Being an industrious man, he had realized sufficient to enable him to rent a very comfortable cottage, a cyder orchard, to keep a couple of cows, besides having by him a sum of ready money. A few years back, in assisting at the harvest, he had strained himself internally, and induced an atrophy. On asking the wife whether they were badly off, her sole reply was to take a cup from the chimney-piece, and show me, in heart-breaking silence, a sixpence and three half-pennies! Cows, money, and orchard—all had disappeared during a lingering illness,—and the poor old woman's inevitable fate was now to await the fast approaching death of a good husband, and then retire, for her few remaining and widowed years, to the workhouse of a distant parish!
On speaking to him, I could not but admire his really gentlemanly self-possession, accompanied by a tone of respect and kindness. After I had finished the prayers for the visitation of the sick, I read a few others which I had copied out from some authors, selected by Paley, and beautiful compositions they are; the poor fellow sunk into an agony of grief, and I wish I had not read them. Was I wrong or not? I fear that I was, and am sorry for it; but we shall both know by and bye.
On returning in the evening through my own church-yard, never was I so struck with its air of wretchedness. It was placed in the bottom of a swampy moor, confined on one side by the little decrepit old church, with its boarded steeple looking like a dog-hutch, and just small enough to hold three parts of a cracked bell, if I might judge from the tinkling of it. On another side, it was protected from the bitter blast by the poor-house, thus judiciously placed for the benefit of the invalided paupers. It was a dreary evening in February, and everything was looking chilly and black, except, by the bye, an early primrose peering out from the side of a crumbling tomb in the very darkest corner of the whole—that looked fresh and bright enough.
I suspect the sort of humour I was now in, to have been occasioned either by my illness, the death-bed I had just witnessed, or the separation for a whole week to come from a person for whom I had lately found that I felt "a deep and tender friendship."
About thirty miles from my parish, lived my nearest neighbours, and with whom I had become rather intimate. So much was this the case, that this place gradually assumed the character of what I recollect "home" once used to have for me, many years ago. To this house I used frequently to canter over on a Sunday's evening with all the delight of a school-boy returning from a detested school.
Until now I had thought that my benevolent host had here been my greatest friend; but there was another for whom, to my infinite surprise, I found that I felt far more intensely. Yet it was odd that, in her presence, I was apparently cold and inattentive, and thus, perhaps, it might have ever been, had she not unguardedly attracted my attention by what she meant for a severe rebuke. I happened to be walking with her and a gentleman whose wife had lately experienced, on some occasion, a narrow escape of her life; "and so Miss Bassett I had nearly become a gentleman free of incumbrance, and then I should have come and proposed to you."
"But then I should have tried to thwart you, for the mere sake of opposition," was my rather too free and easy reply.
"Oh, Mr. Graham," she answered, "you might have set your mind quite at rest on the subject, for I should have preferred Mr. Goodriche a thousand times before you."
"For what possible reason, Miss Bassett?" I asked, in sober earnest.
"Because I could have led a quiet, happy life with him—now perhaps I might have liked you, and then you would have immediately behaved like a wretch, and broken my heart."
FOOTNOTES:
[1] One who kills game exclusively to lessen his butcher's bill.
CHAPTER III.[ToC]
It was on my way to London, in company with her father, that, as the sun rose, I caught a glimpse in the horizon of the hill, on the other side of which the abode of my family was situated—I may not call it home, for it is too true, that "without hearts there is no home." Still, how I must have loved the spot! its woods, its lawns, and its valleys! No sooner had the steamer touched at a port, than I left my luggage to go on with it as it might, and jumped out, in order to take one more peep at a place which set at defiance every recollection that I could force to rise up in judgment against it.
Having walked twenty miles, I stopped at a public-house within a mile and a half of the place, for some refreshment, as well as to await the darkness of night. At ten o'clock I sallied forth, and the first of the paternal estate on which I trespassed was a large wood, every tree of which, I might say, was an old acquaintance.
Here, then, what a contrast was I conscious of! Some years back, I used to range this very wood, the sworn friend of the keeper, in order to detect the poacher; and now I was listening to every rustle, and peering along the gloomy paths, lest I myself should be detected by my former ally. So much did my fears on this point increase on me, that I took to the open fields, and gained the park.
Here at once, in spite of everything, I felt myself to be on my own property,—roaming about in ecstacy—visiting every tree that I had planted and fenced round years ago. Each of these I pruned, and even had the temerity to steal into the green-house, which was close to the library, and procure the gardener's saw, with which I climbed up into an old Scotch fir, and dismembered a large limb which over-hung and injured a lime-tree I had planted in the dell below. Having sawed the limb into portable pieces, I concealed the whole in an adjoining plantation.
Notwithstanding the lights in the windows evinced that the inmates had not yet retired to rest, I sauntered over every part of the lawn, and at last walked directly up to the drawing-room window. The blind was down, but the shutters unclosed. By stooping close to the ground, and peeping beneath the blind, I could survey the whole room.
Here were two daughters and their father. The eldest was fast asleep in an arm-chair; the younger one working, and their father, as usual reading a volume of Sir Walter Scott, the well known binding of which I at once recognised. I could not get a sight of his face, for the book he held before him; but I saw his forehead and thin silvery hair.
What was now my surprise, to hear a carriage, at this time of the night, driving towards the house! I instantly placed myself behind a tree, close to the road-side. Curious to state, at that very spot the carriage suddenly stopped, and I might have touched it with my hand. The horses had gibbed, owing to the steepness of the ascent; and on her inquiring into the cause, I immediately recognised the voice of another daughter, who, with her husband, was coming on a visit to her father from a distant county.
I now returned to my public-house, and was off at dawn in a coach for town. Byron felt from experience, when he sighed, "and oh, the utter solitude of passing your own door without a welcome, finding your hearth turned into a tombstone, and around it the ashes of your early hopes, lying cold and deserted."
In all and each of my various excursions, in foul weather or in fair, I had ever one invariable companion. This was my horse, and his name was Clodhopper. He was a light bay, with a pale face. Our intimacy commenced under the following circumstances:
One Saturday afternoon I was staying on a visit with a family, many miles from my church, and being therefore in great need of a horse, I at once went to look through the stables of an extensive horse-dealer in a neighbouring town. Having ascertained the price of several likely-looking horses, I ordered a large powerful one, for better examination, to be led into the yard. It was not unnecessary in this case; for the animal had one totally-extinguished and dreadfully-disfigured eye, a broken knee, both fore-legs fired, and a conspicuous spavin.
"He's a little blemished, Mr. Turner," I observed.
"Why, how, Sir, can you, or any other gentleman, expect to see a great, fine, upstanding horse like that ere, but what has a some'ut?"
But as I did, I requested to see another. For this one he asked but eighteen pounds. With my own eyes I could see that he stood above fifteen hands, was only just coming six, and was a strong, hardy animal, with a written warranty for soundness. All this being quite clear, I could not possibly account for the lowness of the price, otherwise than by feeling quite confident that there must be "a some'ut."
While thus deliberating, "Mr. Graham," said the dealer, "will you mind what I says? You'll never be married—you never can make up your mind to nothun, I see."
On my getting into the saddle, to try him along a few streets, Mr. Turner added this very disinterested advice—
"Now, don't you go and hammer a good horse like that ere over the hard stones. A parcel of little ragged, dirty-nosed boys, run athwart, and upsots a respectable individual."
I did hammer him, wasn't "upsot," and bought Clodhopper.
There were two accomplishments in which I think he was unrivalled—falling down without breaking his knees, and in running backwards. In performing the first feat, which, on an average, occurred twice in three weeks, he fell, without a moment's hesitation, directly on his head, and instantly took a somersault on his back; so that literally he never had time to break his knees, though he broke the saddle now and then. The second, he could perform at a frightful pace; and the more one whipped and spurred, the faster he would go, and never stop till he came in contact with something. One of these I suspect to have been the "some'ut"—unless, by-the-bye, it had been the whooping-cough, or something very like it.
But Clodhopper's chief recommendation was, that whether in winter or in summer, with oats or without them, he was ever the same—stoical and indefatigable, so long as he was on the top of his legs. When eventually I had no further use for his services, I sold him for a leader to a coach proprietor, for seventeen pounds and a dozen of bad champagne; but I fear that the unfortunate wheeler in his rear must, by this time, have tumbled over him a lamentable number of times.
There was another rather prominent character in my establishment. This was "Old Bob."
The master whom he served was a neighbouring farmer, but I frequently obtained his services. His appearance was that of a veteran bull-dog, seamed with the traces of youthful strife, but in reality he was a pointer. Unfortunately, too, in his younger days, the stable-door had jambed his tail off within two inches of its origin, but still Bob flattered himself that it was a tail, for he affected to brush the flies away with it.
I think he had a high opinion of my shooting, for, whenever I was so inclined, he despised the society of any one else. As he was a selfish fellow, I suspect that I was indebted for his services to interested motives. He was a pot-hunter, like myself, and would instantly swallow anything I shot, could he but reach it first. He could certainly trot very fast, but that was the best pace he could accomplish, and had we anything like a fair start, I could distance him; and so convinced did he become of this, that the moment he found me abreast of him, he would give up the race in despair.
Considering this and other infirmities, for he was stone deaf and very near-sighted, he was highly creditable to his profession.
Though he frequently found game under his very nose, he was perfectly aware, though his mouth watered to taste it, that he had not a chance until I came up and shot it. He was, in consequence, the staunchest dog in the country. Only once, in this respect, did I know him guilty of a breach of decorum, and that too, I must say, under very aggravating circumstances.
One sultry day, at the expense of a great deal of time, and still more trouble, he had carefully footed an old cock pheasant round three sides of a very extensive field, and at last brought him to a stand-still in a bunch of nettles, and was now patiently waiting for me to come up and help him. In the meantime, an unfortunate terrier had chanced upon the trail of the pheasant, and now came yapping along the ditch as hard as he could scamper. Of course, Bob being as deaf as a post, was quite unaware of this circumstance, and as the terrier brushed rudely by him, poor Bob looked so mortified! He wasn't going to find game for him, so "the devil take the hindmost," became the order of the day, and had I not shot the pheasant, which they put up between them, Bob was so angry that he would have wrung the very soul out of little Whisky.
After the fatigues of a long day, Bob was dozing in the farm-yard, when the team arrived in the evening from market. Nobody saw Bob, and Bob couldn't hear the wagon, which the next moment passed over his neck, and broke it.
CHAPTER IV.[ToC]
The sole thing connected with my days on this spot, attended by a satisfactory feeling, is the remembrance of my long and quiet evenings, when I did happen to spend the week in the parish. It was the only period of my life that I read to any effect, and I must own, that even then it was no fault of mine, for it was impossible to do otherwise.
I used to rise at one o'clock in the afternoon, and go to bed at five the next morning. As to late hours, as it is termed, I have no sort of compunction, so long as I do not spend more than the necessary quantum of the twenty-four in bed.
I was agreeably surprised with the number of works I crept through; among which, my favourites were Byron's works throughout, with his life by Moore; Butler's Analogy, White's Farriery, and Dwight's Theology, which last is as full of poetry as Childe Harold.
The last half hour of each night or morning, I invariably enjoyed with my feet on the fender, in dreamy contemplation of the past, wreathed in the fumes of a cigar, and soothed by the lowly and desultory murmurs of the geese in the straw-yard beneath my window.
At the distance of about two miles from me, was Winthra, a seat of his Grace the Duke of Northumberland. Though the smallest of his several domains, it was the most beautiful; nor was it diminutive, being six miles in circumference. This paradise was placed in the centre of a country which was hideous in the extreme. Here then, was "the diamond of the desert."
We may remember that, in olden times, the amorous Edgar, on the fame of Ordulph's lovely daughter, despatched a confidant to her distant home in order to ascertain whether her beauty was of such transcendency as report declared it.
In this spot, then, the ancient seat of the Earls of Devon, the future queen, Elfrida, lived. A park it has ever been, from that day to this; and as one winds his silent steps between the stems of the giant and ruined oaks, the impression is, that here the spirits of Druids linger and roam as the last refuge left them untouched by the hand of man.
It contained the two sides of an extensive valley, sweeping gradually down to the Winthra, a beautiful trout-stream murmuring along the ravine. The only inhabitant of the enormous mansion was a worn out and pensioned butler; so that my sole companions of the solitude were the deer, and these being never or seldom meddled with, had increased to multitudes; and when one observed the huge and lofty walls with which the whole was shut in, he felt indeed in Rasselas's happy valley.
Here, then, have I passed days and days, without seeing one soul, reading, sketching, fishing, and bathing. Only once was I sensible of an intruder.
One bright moonlight night, I was passing along by the banks of the stream, when I observed on the other side something which I was confident, from familiar acquaintance with the spot, was not wont to be there. As it was lying on the pebbly beach, partly in the chequered shade of a beech-tree, and partly in the water, I was totally at a loss to imagine what it might be, but had a strong foreboding that it was a human body. A little lower down there was a shallow, through which I passed; and on reaching the spot, I must acknowledge that I was equally horrified to find that the object of my anxiety was a freshly-killed deer. The poor thing had evidently come here to drink, when it had been seized upon by some dog; and I cannot express my mixture of rage and remorse as I watched the damp, warm vapour slowly rising from the lacerated and bloody flank, and contemplated the beautiful but dimmed eye, glazed by the pale moonlight. Our peaceful sanctuary was violated!
I borrowed the very old gun of the very old butler, and watched for the moment of my revenge till daybreak, but it was never satiated.
A few months after this, having received an invitation to a delightful residence near the sea, and at the same time to meet some families of the county, among whom was to be "my own dear somebody," Seymour and I had set off in high glee with such a break in the monotony of our monastic habits.
That afternoon, then, I was riding by the side of this "somebody." A sort of confidence had arisen between us, very delightful and unaccountable; except simply that, on one side of me, as I rode along the edge of the cliffs, there was the Atlantic looking lowering and stormy, mingled in the horizon with the still drearier sky, broken or relieved by the contrast of a very lovely girl.
At this moment it was blowing and raining heavily, and, as she cantered along, my admiration of her was anything but diminished, when I witnessed the cheerful and good-natured indifference with which she treated a boisterous day of "bleak and chill December."
Being an ardent sort of little personage, she had been descanting with considerable animation and enthusiasm on a subject which affected her deeply. Her hair, completely dripping, was hanging down her cheek, now freshened by the coldness of the pelting rain. I cannot conceive how anything could look more beautiful than this girl did at that moment. At the same time though she appeared serious and melancholy, and, I think, a little out of humour too, while her hat, which was too large for her, had, from the wet, become quite shapeless, and appeared pressed down over her face, so that I could not forbear laughing, in spite of everything, though at the moment I felt wofully wretched!
Interrupting herself, and looking up towards the clouds, she pointed out to me, with her whip, a portion of blue sky, perhaps intimating a cessation of the storm. Regardless of either, I coolly as thoughtlessly put my hand out to take hers! but owing to the action of our horses, missed it. She never saw the attempt, and I narrowly escaped making a great fool of myself.
The most egregious act of folly, I think, a man can be guilty of, is to allow himself to meet with "a refusal."
We may easily have tact enough to know, beforehand, the real state and probable result of the case.
In the present one, this girl and her family would have seen me at the bottom of the Red Sea, ere my hopes and wishes on the subject had met with, "a consummation so devoutly to be wished."
Two days afterwards, I was standing once more on the deck of a steamer, with my carpet-bag at my feet, bound for a foreign port.
The Church I have resigned for ever—my parish, Winthra Park, both deserted—and my humble abode! "its hearth is desolate."