TRIUMPHAL DEPARTURE--NO SEASON LIKE YOUTH--EXTREME OLD AGE--BEAUTIFUL
ENGLAND--THE RATCATCHER--A MISADVENTURE
I departed from the inn much in the same fashion as I had come to it,
mounted on a splendid horse indifferently well caparisoned, with the
small valise attached to my crupper, in which, besides the few things I
had brought with me, was a small book of roads with a map, which had been
presented to me by the landlord. I must not forget to state that I did
not ride out of the yard, but that my horse was brought to me at the
front door by old Bill, who insisted upon doing so, and who refused a
five-shilling piece which I offered him; and it will be as well to let
the reader know that the landlord shook me by the hand as I mounted, and
that the people attached to the inn, male and female--my friend the
postillion at the head--assembled before the house to see me off, and
gave me three cheers as I rode away. Perhaps no person ever departed
from an inn with more eclat or better wishes; nobody looked at me
askance, except two stage-coachmen who were loitering about, one of whom
said to his companion, 'I say, Jim! twig his portmanteau! a regular
Newmarket turn out by ---!'
It was in the cool of the evening of a bright day--all the days of that
summer were bright--that I departed. I felt at first rather melancholy
at finding myself again launched into the wide world, and leaving the
friends whom I had lately made behind me; but by occasionally trotting
the horse, and occasionally singing a song of Romanvile, {182a} I had
dispelled the feeling of melancholy by the time I had proceeded three
miles down the main road. It was at the end of these three miles, just
opposite a milestone, that I struck into a cross road. After riding
about seven miles, threading what are called, in postillion parlance,
cross-country roads, I reached another high road, tending to the east,
along which I proceeded for a mile or two, when coming to a small inn,
about nine o'clock, I halted and put up for the night.
Early on the following morning I proceeded on my journey, but fearing to
gall the horse, I no longer rode him, but led him by the bridle, until I
came to a town at the distance of about ten miles from the place where I
had passed the night. Here I stayed during the heat of the day, more on
the horse's account than my own, and towards evening resumed my journey,
leading the animal by the bridle as before; and in this manner I
proceeded for several days, travelling on an average from twenty to
twenty-five miles a day, always leading the animal, except perhaps now
and then of an evening, when, if I saw a good piece of road before me, I
would mount and put the horse into a trot, which the creature seemed to
enjoy as much as myself, showing his satisfaction by snorting and
neighing, whilst I gave utterance to my own exhilaration by shouts, or by
'the chi she is kaulo she soves pre lakie dumo,' {182b} or by something
else of the same kind in Romanvile.
On the whole, I journeyed along very pleasantly, certainly quite as
pleasantly as I do at present, now that I am become a gentleman, and
weigh sixteen stone, though some people would say that my present manner
of travelling is much the most preferable, riding as I now do, instead of
leading my horse; receiving the homage of ostlers instead of their
familiar nods; sitting down to dinner in the parlour of the best inn I
can find, instead of passing the brightest part of the day in the kitchen
of a village alehouse; carrying on my argument after dinner on the
subject of the corn-laws, with the best commercial gentlemen on the road,
instead of being glad, whilst sipping a pint of beer, to get into
conversation with blind trampers, or maimed Abraham sailors, {183}
regaling themselves on half-pints at the said village hostelries. Many
people will doubtless say that things have altered wonderfully with me
for the better, and they would say right, provided I possessed now what I
then carried about with me in my journeys--the spirit of youth. Youth is
the only season for enjoyment, and the first twenty-five years of one's
life are worth all the rest of the longest life of man, even though those
five-and-twenty be spent in penury and contempt, and the rest in the
possession of wealth, honours, respectability, ay, and many of them in
strength and health, such as will enable one to ride forty miles before
dinner, and over one's pint of port--for the best gentleman in the land
should not drink a bottle--carry on one's argument, with gravity and
decorum, with any commercial gentleman who, responsive to one's
challenge, takes the part of common sense and humanity against
'protection' and the lord of land.
Ah! there is nothing like youth--not that after-life is valueless. Even
in extreme old age one may get on very well, provided we will but accept
of the bounties of God. I met the other day an old man, who asked me to
drink. 'I am not thirsty,' said I, 'and will not drink with you.' 'Yes,
you will,' said the old man, 'for I am this day one hundred years old;
and you will never again have an opportunity of drinking the health of a
man on his hundredth birthday.' So I broke my word, and drank. 'Yours
is a wonderful age,' said I. 'It's a long time to look back to the
beginning of it,' said the old man: 'yet, upon the whole, I am not sorry
to have lived it all.' 'How have you passed your time?' said I. 'As
well as I could,' said the old man; 'always enjoying a good thing when it
came honestly within my reach; not forgetting to praise God for putting
it there.' 'I suppose you were fond of a glass of good ale when you were
young?' 'Yes,' said the old man, 'I was; and so, thank God, I am still.'
And he drank off a glass of ale.
On I went in my journey, traversing England from west to east--ascending
and descending hills--crossing rivers by bridge and ferry--and passing
over extensive plains. What a beautiful country is England! People run
abroad to see beautiful countries, and leave their own behind unknown,
unnoticed--their own the most beautiful! And then, again, what a country
for adventures! especially to those who travel it on foot, or on
horseback. People run abroad in quest of adventures, and traverse Spain
and Portugal on mule or on horseback; whereas there are ten times more
adventures to be met with in England than in Spain, Portugal, or stupid
Germany to boot. Witness the number of adventures narrated in the
present book--a book entirely devoted to England. Why, there is not a
chapter in the present book which is not full of adventures, with the
exception of the present one, and this is not yet terminated.
After traversing two or three counties, I reached the confines of
Lincolnshire. During one particularly hot day I put up at a
public-house, to which, in the evening, came a party of harvesters to
make merry, who, finding me wandering about the house a stranger, invited
me to partake of their ale; so I drank with the harvesters, who sang me
songs about rural life, such as--
'Sitting in the swale; and listening to the swindle of the flail, as
it sounds dub-a-dub on the corn, from the neighbouring barn.'
In requital for which I treated them with a song, not of Romanvile, but
the song of 'Sivord and the horse Grayman.' I remained with them till it
was dark, having, after sunset, entered into deep discourse with a
celebrated ratcatcher, who communicated to me the secrets of his trade,
saying, amongst other things, 'When you see the rats pouring out of their
holes, and running up my hands and arms, it's not after me they comes,
but after the oils I carries about me they comes;' and who subsequently
spoke in the most enthusiastic manner of his trade, saying that it was
the best trade in the world, and most diverting, and that it was likely
to last for ever; for whereas all other kinds of vermin were fast
disappearing from England, rats were every day becoming more abundant. I
had quitted this good company, and having mounted my horse, was making my
way towards a town at about six miles' distance, at a swinging trot, my
thoughts deeply engaged on what I had gathered from the ratcatcher, when
all on a sudden a light glared upon the horse's face, who purled round in
great terror, and flung me out of the saddle, as from a sling, or with as
much violence as the horse Grayman, in the ballad, flings Sivord the
Snareswayne. I fell upon the ground--felt a kind of crashing about my
neck--and forthwith became senseless.