We arrived at Calais late in the evening, and set off next morning by break of day in a large vessel called a “Steam Boat:” not feeling any ill effects from its motion, I was greatly amused by watching all the strange people on board. There was one, a Miss Wilnemina Pugabunder, who seemed to cause infinite entertainment to all the passengers, by the ridiculous affection she shewed for her numerous pets. A little French Poodle, with a silver collar, ornamented with small bells, and a long blue riband; a large Angola Cat, with a gilt collar, on which were engraved its own name of “Silver Tabby,” and that of its mistress; a large Macaw, two or three guinea-pigs, shut up in a basket, and a quantity of gold and silver fish, in a large tub of fresh water. Though so ill that she was almost unable to stand, still she would not leave her favourites, but staid coaxing first one and then the other, and doing her best to keep peace between them; for the dog did not like the parrot, and the cat seemed to have rather too great an affection for the fish; and when they unluckily came in contact with each other, there was such a screaming from the animals themselves, as well as their mistress, that you would have thought there was a whole menagerie on board. Another of the passengers, an old lady, was so fat, and such an enormous size, that it seemed quite a trouble to her to move about; but her husband was quite the contrary, which rendered her the more remarkable. I at first took him for her son, and it was not till I heard her call him husband, that I could believe it, for he was not, I am sure, so tall as my little Master, Cæsar. I afterwards learned they called him a dwarf, and that he was going to England to show himself as a curiosity, as well as his wife, whose extraordinary rotundity rendered her a still greater object of astonishment.
We did not go to London on our road to Cherry Tree Park, the seat of the Old Lord; at which I was very sorry, but comforted myself with the hope of visiting it at some future time. All I saw in this new country surprised me greatly; every thing was so different from what I had before seen. I longed for poor José to share in the kindness and attentions I received from this good family. The Young Lord (as my little Master Cæsar was called, to distinguish him from his grandfather) was a good tempered, high spirited lad, and though he did sometimes tease me by making me run more than I liked, still I was very fond of him, for I knew he did not do it with a wish to torment me. His little sister Lucy was very amiable; all the poor about her Grandfather’s estate seemed quite to adore her, she was so good to them, and spent all her money in buying them clothes, which she made herself. I advise all my little friends who have it in their power, to be charitable; for, from the pleasure this little girl seemed to enjoy when making others happy, it must be a very delightful thing.
Never having lived a country life, except in my native village, I was greatly surprised at all the wonderful things I saw at the farm: the nice clean kitchen, with its sanded floor, bright oven, great arm chair, and large wooden clock, delighted me excessively; but I was still more pleased when I saw how kind and attentive they are to animals in England: the fold, with its fat beasts; the piggery, with its great engine, to dress the dinners of its sleepy inhabitants; the hen houses, with their flews, to keep them warm in winter; the cow-house, so clean and neat, were all new to me: but I must not omit the dairy, where I was a constant visiter when I could escape unobserved, and steal from its bright earthen vases the good new milk, or fine rich cream. When, however I was discovered to have committed this offence, I was always severely punished, and told it was very wicked to steal, even a thing of hardly any value; for if you can see no harm in taking a cake or a bit of sugar which does not belong to you, you will soon think there can be no harm in taking a sixpence or shilling from Papa or Mamma, if you want it.
I here saw what I had been before told of,—shearing sheep. Little Cæsar took me down with him one morning to the small stream which runs close to the farm, where they were washing the whole flock, previous to depriving them of their nice wool. I was almost stunned with the noise of the men and boys, the barking of the dogs, and the bleating of the poor animals themselves, who did not seem at all to like this cold bath, and gained the opposite bank as fast as possible. A few days after, while their wool was yet of a snowy white, the shepherd drove them from the nice green hill where they were feeding to the farm, where, fastened in the sheep pen, each waited its turn to be committed to the hands of the shearer.
Little Lucy and her brother were very fond of riding: they had two beautiful ponies which their Grandpapa had given them. Cæsar’s was a very great favourite; it was so small, that one day having gone out to meet the hounds, which were running in the fields near the house, its long bushy tail, which nearly touched the ground, was by them taken for the fox’s brush, and they all ran after him for some distance. Cæsar was greatly amused at this little adventure, and came home in high glee to relate to his sister the ludicrous mistake of the hounds in taking poor Taffey for a fox. This pony was very fond of apples, and when his little master did not take him one, would snuff about and put his nose into his pocket, to see if he had forgot to bring him one, or was only withholding it for his own amusement. When Taffey was turned out in an evening, the children used to go and play with him in the field; he knew their voices so well that he came trotting up as soon as ever they called him; sometimes they gave him a pocket handkerchief, which he would take in his mouth, gallop all round the field with, and bring back, without having in the least injured it.
The harvest-home was a scene of great mirth and gaiety: my little friends were permitted to join the merry group, who, after the happy termination of their labours, had a feast and dance in the verdant meadow their hands had helped to mow. The Old Lord seemed greatly pleased with the amusement of his labourers and workmen.
On Little Cæsar’s birthday, which was the 17th of June, he was allowed to invite a large party of his young friends to come and spend the day with him and his sister. They had a great deal of fun; donkey races for little books and toys, foot races, and games of every sort, from puss in the corner to hunt the slipper: the evening ended with a sillabub under a spreading beech tree; and great was the anxiety to find to whose share the ring and sixpence would fall. Little Lucy drew the ring, and Alfred Talbot, a friend of Cæsar, got the sixpence, upon which there was a great noise, and all the children laughed excessively at the little boy; why, I could not imagine.
I was very unhappy to hear the Old Lord say, one day to his grandchildren, “My dears you are now old enough for me to think of sending you to school. Your poor father had such an affection for public education, that I agreed to his dying request of your receiving one, when of proper age.” The little children both looked very grave at this address, and the tears starting into poor Lucy’s eyes, she had some trouble to hide her grief from her affectionate protector, who could never bear to see her afflicted.
But I am sure she could not have been more grieved than I was; the idea that I should probably be separated from my dear little friends, and perhaps fall into the hands of some wicked boy, careless little girl, or cross old gentleman, who, if I only discovered he wore a wig, would, unlike my good Old Lord, be furious instead of amused; or some old grumpy woman, who would prefer her tabbies, her minettes, her pugs and her poodles to me, and would scold me most severely for every slight misdemeanour. This idea made me very melancholy; and the evening after I had heard this distressing intelligence I could eat no supper, and retired for the night with a wretched head-ache, feeling very ill. I was awoke next morning by Cæsar and Lucy who were talking very earnestly. “But,” said the little boy, “I do not see why I should be so sorry to go to school: it must be very nice to have so many companions of my own age.” “Yes,” replied his sister, “but you will be so far from home! so far from dear Grandpapa!”—“But I shall always come home for the holidays, and I shall have such long accounts to give you, dear Lucy, of all I have seen and heard—Oh! it will be very nice! and our holiday will, I hope, be at the same time.” “How can you think you will like going to school,” asked Lucy, “where you will have to get up so early, to work so hard, and to eat a great piece of thick batter pudding before you begin your dinner, that you may not devour too much meat?” “That is the account Willy Dawson gives of his school,” replied Cæsar; “but if you ask Tommy Longshanks, he is always sorry when it is holiday time; for at Mr. Thumpem’s they are so happy and merry, playing at cricket, football, leap frog, battledoor and shuttlecock, fishing, and shooting with a bow and arrow, as soon as lessons are over,—Oh! I think it will be quite delightful!” “I wish I could expect as much amusement at the school I am going to,” observed Lucy; “but I fear the girls, like those at Mrs. Adagio’s, will be very sentimental, and pass their time on a verdant lawn, at the edge of a running brook, or under the branches of a weeping willow, scribbling poetry, or at least attempting to do so.” “Well we shall see,” said Cæsar; “but come to Mrs. Marmalade’s, she promised to make each of us a large plum cake whenever we went to school, so we must remind her of it.” So saying they left the room, and I saw no more of them until breakfast time, when Little Lucy, bringing me some bread and milk, said very sorrowfully, “My poor dear Little Marmotte, what will become of you when we are gone.” Oh! how I longed to speak her language, to have asked her more about her departure! In the middle of the day, while I was sitting in the drawing-room with the Old Lord, who on account of the heat had taken off his wig and thrown it down, the entrance bell rung, and, in a minute, before he could find his wig or make his escape from the room, a servant announced Mrs. Eliza Grey.
“My dear Mrs. Grey, I am greatly shocked that I have lost my wig!” exclaimed the old gentleman, as he advanced towards his visiter.