finished the introductory chapter to the first volume of the English
Spy, or Colloquial Sketches of Men and Manners. "He is no misanthrope,"
said my aunt, taking off her spectacles to wipe away the pearly drop
which meek-eyed pity gave to the recollection of scenes long passed.
Horatio paused--the book dropped instinctively upon his knee, as
his raised eye involuntarily caught the benign aspect of virtue and
intelligence, softened by the crystal gems of feeling. "I wish I knew
where he lived," said my aunt. "I'll find him out," said Horatio;-"Do,"
said my aunt, "and tell him an old friend of his father's, on whom
fortune has deigned to smile in the winter of her days, would feign
extend to him as much of worldly happiness as can be derived from the
enjoyment of worldly treasure."
~18~~
By that sort of magical attraction which imperceptibly links together
the souls of kindred spirits, Horatio's chair had made an angular
movement, of at least six degrees, in a direction nearer to his
venerable relation: no lover ever pressed with more fervency of
affection the yielding hand of his soul's deity, than did the grateful
nephew, at this moment, clasp within his eager grasp the aged palm of
bounteous charity. "I wish he may accept your kind offer," said Horatio.
"And why should he not?" said my aunt, with a half inclination of
extricating her hand, and a penetrating glance of doubt, directed full
in the face of the speaker: "I know not," said Horatio, (hesitating, as
if fearful of giving offence), "but,"-"But what?" said my aunt;-"But I
fear his natural love of independence, and eccentricity of mind, will
admit of no constraint, which his high sense of honor will anticipate
must be partially the case whenever he submits himself to accept the
favors of even such generous hearts as yours." "He would feel no
such thing," said my aunt. "He could not resist the impression," said
Horatio; "your liberality would, I know, be calculated to dispossess
him of the painful sensation; but if the inherent pride of the man could
be subdued, or calmed into acquiescence, by breathing the enchanting
air of friendship, the weight of gratitude, the secret monitor of
fine-wrought minds, would overpower his tongue, and leave him, in his
own estimation, a pauper of the poorest class." "Then I'll adopt another
mode," said my aunt; "and though I hate the affectation of secret
charities, because I think the donor of a generous action is well
entitled to his reward, both here and hereafter,--I'll hand out some way,
anonymously or otherwise, to indulge my humour of serving him." "You
are an angel!" said Horatio, with his eyes fixed on the ground--(the
spirit of the angel of benevolence,--quoth Reason, whispering in his
ear, would have been
~19~~
a better metaphor,--certainly inhabits the aged bosom of your father's
sister). Horatio's upraised eye rested on the wrinkled front of his
antique relative, just as the corrective thought gleamed in visionary
brightness o'er his brain; the poetic inspiration of the moment fled
like the passing meteor, but the feeling which excited it remained
engrafted on his memory for ever. "How shall we find him out, my dear
Horatio?" said my aunt, her whole countenance animated with delight
at the last flattering ejaculation of her nephew-"where shall we
seek him?--I'll order the carriage directly." The glow of pleasure
and anticipatory gratification, which at this moment beamed in the
countenance of the old lady, brought back the circling current of health
to the cheeks of age, and, with the blush of honest feeling, dispelled
the stains of time; the furrowed streaks of care vanished from her
front, and left her whole frame proportionably invigorated.
If the mere contemplation of a generous action can thus inspire the
young, and give new life to age, what a load of misery and deformity
might not the sons and daughters of nature divest themselves of, by
following the inherent dictates of benevolence! Reflection, whenever he
deigned to penetrate the pericranium of my cousin Horatio, took entire
possession of the citadel, and left him not even the smallest loophole
for the observation of any passing event. He was just fixed in one
of these abstracted reveries of the mind, traversing over the halcyon
scenes of his collegiate days, and re-associating himself with his early
friend, the author of the eccentric volume then in his hand, when the
above monition sprung from his heart, like the crystal stream that
sparkles in the air, when first it bursts through the mineral bondage of
the womb of nature.
"You are right," said my aunt. Horatio started with surprise, almost
unconscious of her presence, or
~20~~
what he had said to deserve her approbation. "True happiness," she
continued, "is the offspring of generosity and virtue, and never
inhabits a bosom where worldly interest and selfish principles are
allowed to predominate. There are many who possess all the requisites
for the enjoyment of true happiness, who, from the prejudices of
education, or the mistaken pride of ancestry, have never experienced the
celestial rapture: they have never been amalgamated with society, are
strangers to poverty themselves, and cannot comprehend its operation
upon others; born and moving in a sphere where the chilling blasts of
indigence never penetrate, or the clouds of adversity appal, they have
no conception of the more delightful gratification which springs
from the source of all earthly happiness, the pleasure and ability of
administering to the wants and comforts of our fellow creatures."
"Yours is the true philosophy of nature, aunt," said Horatio, "where
principle and practice may be seen, arm in arm, like the twin sisters,
Charity and Virtue,--a pair of antique curiosities much sought after,
but rarely found amid the assemblage of _virtu_ in the collections of
your modern people of fashion."
"I'll alter my will to-morrow morning," thought my aunt; "this boy
deserves to be as rich in acres as he already is in benevolence: he
shall have the Leicestershire estate added to what I have already
bequeathed him, by way of codicil."
"You would be delighted with my friend Bernard, aunt," said Horatio,
"that is, when he is in good spirits; but you must not judge of him by
the common standard of estimation: if, on the first introduction,
he should happen to be in one of those lively humours when his whole
countenance is lighted up with the brilliancy of genius, you would be
enraptured by the sallies of his wit, and the solidity of his reasoning;
but if, on the contrary, he should unfortunately
~21~~
be in one of those abstracted moods when all terrestrial objects are
equally indifferent, you will, I fear, form no very favourable opinion
of his merit. He is an eccentric in every respect, and must not be
judged of by the acquaintance of an hour. We were boys together at
Eton, and the associations of youth ripened with maturity into the
most sincere friendly attachment, which was materially assisted by the
similarity of our dispositions and pursuits, during our residence at
college. Your kind notice of my poor friend, aunt, has revived the
fondest recollections of my life--the joyous scenes of infancy, when the
young heart, free from the trammels of the world, and buoyant as the
bird of spring, wings along the flowery path of pleasure, plucking at
will the sweets of nature, and decking his infant brow with wreaths of
fresh gathered wild flowers." Horatio paused, not for want of subject,
but a train of recollections overpowered his memory, producing an
unspeakable sensation, which for a moment choked his utterance.
"There is a blank in this work, which you shall fill up," said my aunt;
"you must perform the office of an impartial historian for your friend,
and before we proceed farther with this volume, give me the history of
your school-boy days."
[Illustration: Page021]
~22~~
SCHOOL-BOY REMINISCENCES.
ON EARLY FRIENDSHIP.
In many a strain of grief and joy
My youthful spirit sung to thee;
But I am now no more a boy,
And there's a gulf 'twixt thee and me.
Time on my brow has set his seal;
I start to find myself a man,
And know that I no more shall feel
As only boyhood's spirit can.
ETONIAN.
There is an imperceptible but powerfully connecting link in our early
associations and school-boy friendships, which is very difficult to
describe, but exceedingly grateful to reflect on; particularly when
the retrospective affords a view of early attachments ripened into
perfection with maturity, and cementing firmly with increasing years.
Youth is the period of frankness and of zeal, when the young heart,
buoyant with hope and cheering prospects, fills with joy, and expands
in all the brightness of fancy's variety. The ambition, lures, and
conflicting interests of the world, have as yet made no inroad upon the
mind; the bosom is a stranger to misery, the tongue to deceit, the eye
glows with all the luxuriance of pleasure, and the whole countenance
presents an animated picture of health and intelligence illumined with
delight. The playfulness or incaution of youth may demand correction, or
produce momentary pain; but the tears of
~23~~
infancy fall like the summer dew upon the verdant slope, which the first
gleam of the returning sun kisses away, and leaves the face of nature
tinged with a blush of exquisite brilliancy, but with no trace of
the sparkling moisture which lately veiled its beauty. This is the
glittering period of life, when the gay perspective of the future seems
clothed in every attractive hue, and the objects of this world assume a
grace divine: then it is that happiness, borne on the wings of innocence
and light-hearted mirth, attends our every step, and seems to wait
obedient to our will.
What a painful reverse may not the retrospective view afford! how unlike
is the finished picture to the inspiring sketch. The one breathing the
soft air of nature, and sparkling in brilliant tints of variegated
hues, serene, clear, and transparent, like the magic pencilling of
the heavenly Claude, shedding ambrosial sweets around. The reverse
indistinct, and overpowered with gloomy shadows, a mixture of the
terrific and the marvellous, like the stormy and convulsive scenes
of the mighty genius of Salvator Rosa, with here and there a flash of
wildest eccentricity, that only serves to render more visible the murky
deformity of the whole.
Horatio had just finished his introductory rhapsody, when the door
opened, and my aunt's servant entered with tea and toast: the simmering
of the water round the heated tube of the urn, tingling in the ears of
Heartly, broke the thread of his narration. There was a pause of nearly
a minute, while John was busy in arranging the equipage. "You should
have waited till I had rung, John," said my aunt. "Please your
ladyship," said John, "you directed me always to bring tea in at six
precisely, without waiting for orders." My aunt looked puzzled: "You
are right, John, I did; and (addressing Horatio) the fault of the
interruption must therefore rest with me." Horatio bowed; the compliment
was too flattering to be
~24~~
misunderstood. "Draw the curtains, John," said my aunt, "and make up the
fire: we can help ourselves to what we want--you need not wait; and
do not interrupt us again until you are rung for." "This is very
mysterious," thought John, as he closed to the drawing-room door; and
he related what he thought to my lady's maid, when he returned to the
servants' hall. "You are, no conjurer, John," said Mrs. Margaret, with
an oblique inclination of the head, half amorous and half conceited--"the
old lady's will has been signed and sealed these three years; I was
present when it was made--ay, and I signed it too, and what's more, I
knows all its contents; there are some people in the world (viewing
herself in an opposite looking-glass) who may be very differently
circumstanced some day or other." John's heart had long felt a sort of
fluttering inclination to unburthen itself, by linking destinies with
the merry Mrs. Margaret; the prospect of a handsome legacy, or perhaps
an annuity, gave an additional spur to John's affectionate feelings, and
that night he resolved to put the question. All this Mrs. Margaret
had anticipated, and as she was now on the verge of forty, she very
prudently thought there was no time to lose. "They are a pair of
oddities," continued the waiting-maid; "I have sometimes surprised them
both crying, as if their hearts would break, over a new book: I suppose
they have got something very interesting, as my lady calls it and Mr.
Horatio is sermonizing as usual."--Mrs Margaret was not far wrong in her
conjecture, for when my aunt and Horatio were again alone, she rallied
him on the serious complexion of his style.
[Illustration: page025]
~25~~
CHARACTER OF BERNARD BLACKMANTLE.
BY HORATIO HEARTLY.
You shall have it from his own pen, said Horatio. In my portfolio, I
have preserved certain scraps of Bernard's that will best speak his
character; prose and poetry, descriptive and colloquial, Hudibrastic and
pastoral, trifles in every costume of literary fancy, according with the
peculiar humour of the author at the time of their inditing, from these
you shall judge my eccentric friend better than by any commendation of
mine. I shall merely preface these early offerings of his genius with a
simple narrative of our school-boy intimacy.
I had been about three months at Eton, and had grown somewhat familiar
with the characters of my associates, and the peculiarities of their
phraseology and pursuits, when our dame's party was increased by the
arrival of Bernard Blackmantle. It is usual with the sons of old Etona,
on the arrival of a fresh subject, to play off a number of school-boy
witticisms and practical jokes, which though they may produce a little
mortification in the first instance, tend in no small degree to display
the qualifications of mind possessed by their new associate, and give
him a familiarity with his companions and their customs, which
otherwise would take more time, and subject the stranger to much greater
inconvenience. Bernard underwent all the initiatory school ceremonies
and
~26~~
humiliations with great coolness, but not without some display of that
personal courage and true nobleness of mind, which advances the new
comer in the estimation of his school-fellows. First impressions are
almost always indelible: there was a frankness and sincerity in
his manner, and an archness and vivacity in his countenance and
conversation, that imperceptibly attached me to the young stranger. We
were soon the most inseparable cons,{1} the depositors of each other's
youthful secrets, and the mutual participators in every passing sport
and pleasure.
Naturally cheerful, Bernard became highly popular with our miniature
world; there was however one subject which, whenever it was incautiously
started by his companions, always excited a flood of tears, and for a
time spread a gloomy abstraction over his mind. Bernard had from his
very infancy been launched into the ocean of life without a knowledge of
his admiral{2} but not without experiencing all that a mother's fondness
could supply: when others recapitulated the enjoyments of their paternal
home, and painted with all the glow of youthful ardour the anticipated
pleasures of the holidays, the tear would trickle down his crimsoned
cheek; and quickly stealing away to some sequestered spot, his throbbing
bosom was relieved by many a flood of woe. That some protecting spirit
watched over his actions, and directed his course, he was well assured,
but as yet he had never been able to comprehend the mystery with which
he was surrounded. His questions on this point to his mother it was
evident gave her pain, and were always met by some evasive answer. He
had been early taught to keep his own secret, but the prying curiosity
of an Eton school-boy was not easily satisfied, and too often rendered
the task one of great pain and difficulty. On these occasions I would
seek
1 Friends.
2 The Eton phrase for father.
~27~~
him out, and as the subject was one of too tender a nature for the
tongue of friendship to dwell upon, endeavour to divert his thoughts by
engaging him in some enlivening sport. His amiable manners and generous
heart had endeared him to all, and in a short time his delicate feelings
were respected, and the slightest allusion to ambiguity of birth
cautiously avoided by all his associates, who, whatever might be their
suspicions, thought his brilliant qualifications more than compensated
for any want of ancestral distinction.
The following portrait of my friend is from the pen of our elegant con,
Horace Eglantine.
A PORTRAIT.
A heart fill'd with friendship and love,
A brain free from passion's excess,
A mind a mean action above,
A hand to relieve keen distress.
Poverty smiled on his birth,
And gave what all riches exceeds,
Wit, honesty, wisdom, and worth;
A soul to effect noble needs.
Legitimates bow at his shrine;
Unfetter'd he sprung into life;
When vigour with love doth combine
To free nature from priestcraft and strife.
No ancient escutcheon he claim'd,
Crimson'd with rapine and blood;
He titles and baubles disdain'd,
Yet his pedigree traced from the flood.
Ennobled by all that is bright
In the wreath of terrestrial fame,
Genius her pure ray of light
Spreads a halo to circle his name.
The main-spring of all his actions was a social disposition, which
embraced a most comprehensive view
~28~~
of the duties of good fellowship. He was equally popular with all
parties, by never declaring for any particular one: with the cricketers
he was accounted a hard swipe{3} an active field{4} and a stout
bowler;{5} in a water party he was a stroke{6} of the ten oar; at
foot-ball, in the playing fields, or a leap across Chalvey ditch, he was
not thought small beer{7} of; and he has been known to have bagged three
sparrows after a toodle{8} of three miles. His equals loved him for his
social qualities, and courted his acquaintance as the _sine qua non_
of society; and the younger members of the school looked up to him
for protection and assistance. If power was abused by the upper boys,
Bernard was appealed to as the mediator between the fag{9} and
his master. His grants of liberties{10} to the commonalty were
indiscriminate and profuse, while his influence was always exerted to
obtain the same privileges for his numerous proteges from the more
close aristocrats.{11} He was always to be seen attended by a shoal
of dependents of every form in the school, some to get their lessons
construed, and others to further claims to their respective stations in
3 A good bat-man.
4 To run well, or keep a good look out.
5 Strong and expert.
6 A first rate waterman.
7 Not thought meanly of. Sometimes this phrase is used in
derision, as, he does not think small beer of himself.
8 A walk.
9 Any sixth or fifth form boy can fag an Oppidan underling:
the collegers are exempted from this custom.
10 The liberties, or college bounds, are marked by stones
placed in different situations; grants of liberties are
licences given by the head boys to the juniors to break
bounds, or rather to except them from the disagreeable
necessity of shirking, (i. e.) hiding from fear of being
reported to the masters.
11 To that interesting original miscellany, the 'Etonian,' I
am indebted for several valuable hints relative to early
scenes. The characters are all drawn from observation, with
here and there a slight deviation, or heightening touch, the
rather to disguise and free them from aught of personal
offence, than any intentional departure from truth and
nature.
~29~~
the next cricket match or water expedition. The duck and green pea
suppers at Surley Hall would have lost half their relish without the
enlivening smiles and smart repartees of Bernard Blackmantle. The
preparations for the glorious fourth of June were always submitted to
his superior skill and direction. His fiat could decide the claims of
the rival boats, in their choice of jackets, hats, and favors; and the
judicious arrangement of the fire-works was another proof of his taste.
Let it not, however, be thought that his other avocations so entirely
monopolized him as to preclude a due attention to study. Had it been so,
his success with the [Greek phrase] would never have been so complete:
his desire to be able to confer obligations on his schoolfellows induced
Bernard to husband carefully every hour which he spent at home; a decent
scholarship, and much general knowledge, was the reward of this plan.
The treasure-house of his memory was well stored, and his reputation as
an orator gave promise of future excellence. His classical attainments,
if not florid, were liberal, and free from pedantry. His proficiency
in English literature was universally acknowledged, and his love of
the poets amounted to enthusiasm. He was formed for all the bustle
of variegated life, and his conversation was crystallized with the
sparkling attractions of wit and humour. Subject to the weakness to
which genius is ever liable, he was both eccentric and wayward, but he
had the good sense to guard his failing from general observation; and
although he often shot his arrows anonymously, he never dipt them in the
gall of prejudice or ill-nature. I have dwelt upon his character with
pleasure, because there are very few who know him intimately. With a
happy versatility of talents, he is neither lonesome in his solitude,
nor over joyous in a crowd. For his literary attainments, they must be
judged of by their fruits. I cannot better conclude my attempt
~30~~
to describe his qualifications than by offering his first essay to your
notice, a school-boy tribute to friendship.
TRUE FRIENDSHIP.
'Infido scurrae distabit amicus.'
Horace.
How very seldom do we find
A relish in the human mind
For friendship pure and real;
How few its approbation seek,
How oft we count its censures weak,
Disguising what we feel.
Adulation lives to please,
Truth dies the victim of disease,
Forgotten by the world:
The flattery of the fool delights
The wise, rebuke our pride affrights,
And virtue's banner's furl'd.
Wherefore do we censure fate,
When she withholds the perfect state
Of friendship from our grasp,
If we ourselves have not the power,
The mind to enjoy the blessed hour,
The fleeting treasure clasp?
This (I have reason to believe his first poetical essay) was presented
me on my birthday, when we had been about two years together at Eton:
a short time afterwards I surprised him one morning writing in his
bedroom; my curiosity was not a little excited by the celerity with
which I observed he endeavoured to conceal his papers. "I must see what
you are about, Bernard," said I. "Treason, Horatio," replied the young
author. "Would you wish to be implicated, or become a confederate? If
so, take the oath of secrecy, and read." Judge of my surprise, when, on
casting my eye over his lucubrations, I perceived he had been sketching
the portraits of the group, with
~31~~
whom we were in daily association at our dame's. As I perceive by a
glance at his work that most of his early friends have parts assigned
them in his colloquial scenes, I consider the preservation of this
trifle important, as it will furnish a key to the characters.
[Illustration: page032]
~32~~
ETON SKETCHES OF CHARACTER.
'----I'll paint for grown up people's knowledge,
The manners, customs, and affairs of college.'
PORTRAITS IN MY DAME'S DINING-ROOM.
At the head of the large table on the right hand you will perceive the
Honourable Lilyman Lionise, the second son of a nobleman, whose ancient
patrimony has been nearly dissipated between his evening parties at
the club-houses, in French hazard, or Rouge et noir, and his morning
speculations with his betting book at Tattersall's, Newmarket, or the
Fives-court; whose industry in getting into debt is only exceeded by
his indifference about getting out; whose acquired property (during his
minority) and personals have long since been knocked down by the hammer
of the auctioneer, under direction of the sheriff, to pay off some
gambling bond in preference to his honest creditor; yet who still
flourishes a fashionable gem of the first water, and condescends to lend
the lustre of
~33~~
his name, when he has nothing else to lend, that he may secure the
advantage of a real loan in return. His patrimonial acres and heirlooms
remain indeed untouched, because the court of chancery have deemed it
necessary to appoint a receiver to secure their faithful transmission to
the next heir.