A GOOD FARE--EAT YOUR PUDDING AND HOLD YOUR TONGUE--THE DOMINIE CROSSED
IN LOVE--THE CROSSER ALSO CROSSED--I FIND THAT "ALL THE WORLD'S A
STAGE," NOT EXCEPTING THE STERN SHEETS OF MY WHERRY--CLEOPATRA'S BARGE
APOSTROPHISED ON THE RIVER THAMES.
I consider that the present was the period from which I might date my
first launching into human life. I was now nearly eighteen years old,
strong, active, and well-made, full of spirits, and overjoyed at the
independence which I had so much sighed for. Since the period of my
dismissal from Mr Drummond's my character had much altered. I had
become grave and silent, brooding over my wrongs, harbouring feelings of
resentment against the parties, and viewing the world in general through
a medium by no means favourable. I had become in some degree restored
from this unwholesome state of mind from having rendered an important
service to Captain Turnbull, for we love the world better as we feel
that we are more useful in it; but the independence now given to me was
the acme of my hopes and wishes. I felt so happy, so buoyant in mind,
that I could even think of the two clerks in Mr Drummond's employ
without feelings of revenge. Let it, however, be remembered that the
world was all before me in anticipation only.
"Boat, sir?"
"No, thanky, my lad. I want old Stapleton--is he here?"
"No, sir, but this is his boat."
"Humph, can't he take me down?"
"No, sir; but I can, if you please."
"Well, then, be quick."
A sedate-looking gentleman, about forty-five years of age, stepped into
the boat, and in a few seconds I was in the stream, shooting the bridge
with the ebbing tide.
"What's the matter with deaf Stapleton?"
"Nothing, sir; but he's getting old, and has made the boat over to me."
"Are you his son?"
"No, sir, his 'prentice."
"Humph! sorry deaf Stapleton's gone."
"I can be as deaf as he, sir, if you wish it."
"Humph!"
The gentleman said no more at the time, and I pulled down the river in
silence; but in a few minutes he began to move his hands up and down,
and his lips, as if he was in conversation. Gradually his action
increased, and words were uttered. At last he broke out:--"It is with
this conviction, I may say important conviction, Mr Speaker, that I now
deliver my sentiments to the Commons' house of Parliament, trusting that
no honourable member will decide until he has fully weighed the
importance of the arguments which I have submitted to his judgment." He
then stopped, as if aware that I was present, and looked at me; but,
prepared as I was, there was nothing in my countenance which exhibited
the least sign of merriment; or, indeed, of having paid any attention to
what he had been saying, for I looked carelessly to the right and left
at the banks of the river. He again entered into conversation.
"Have you been long on the river?"
"Born on it, sir."
"How do you like the profession of a waterman?"
"Very well, sir; the great point is to have regular customers."
"And how do you gain them?"
"By holding my tongue; keeping their counsel and my own."
"Very good answer, my boy. People who have much to do cannot afford to
loose even their time on the water. Just now I was preparing and
thinking over my speech in the House of Commons."
"So I supposed, sir, and I think the river is a very good place for it,
as no one can overhear you except the person whose services you have
hired--and you need not mind him."
"Very true, my lad; but that's why I liked deaf Stapleton: he could not
hear a word."
"But sir, if you've no objection, I like to hear it very much; and you
may be sure that I should never say anything about it, if you will trust
me."
"Do you my lad? well, then I'll just try it over again. You shall be
the speaker--mind you hold your tongue, and don't interrupt me."
The gentleman then began: "Mr Speaker, I should not have ventured to
address the House at this late hour, did I not consider that the
importance of the question now before it is--so important--no, that
won't do--did I not consider that the question now before it is of that,
I may say, paramount importance as to call forth the best energies of
every man who is a well-wisher to his country. With this conviction,
Mr Speaker, humble individual as I am, I feel it my duty, I may say, my
bounden duty, to deliver my sentiments upon the subject. The papers
which I now hold in my hand, Mr Speaker, and to which I shall soon have
to call the attention of the House, will, I trust, fully establish--"
"I say, waterman, be you taking that chap to Bedlam?" cried a shrill
female voice close to us. The speech was stopped; we looked up, and
perceived a wherry with two females passing close to us. A shout of
laughter followed the observation, and my fare looked very much
confused.
I had often read the papers in the public-house, and remembering what
was usual in the house in case of interruption, called out, "Order,
order!" This made the gentleman laugh, and as the other wherry was now
far off, he recommenced his oration, with which I shall not trouble my
readers. It was a very fair speech, I have no doubt, but I forget what
it was about.
I landed him at Westminster Bridge, and received treble my fare.
"Recollect," said he, on paying me, "that I shall look out for you when
I come again, which I do every Monday morning, and sometimes oftener.
What's your name?"
"Jacob, sir."
"Very well; good morning, my lad."
This gentleman became a very regular and excellent customer, and we used
to have a great deal of conversation, independent of debating, in the
wherry; and I must acknowledge that I received from him not only plenty
of money, but a great deal of valuable information.
A few days after this I had an opportunity of ascertaining how far Mary
would keep her promise. I was plying at the river side as usual, when
old Stapleton came up to me, with his pipe in his mouth, and said,
"Jacob, there be that old gentleman up at our house with Mary. Now, I
sees a great deal, but I says nothing. Mary will be her mother over
again, that's sartain. Suppose you go and see your old teacher, and
leave me to look a'ter a customer. I begin to feel as if handling the
sculls a little would be of sarvice to me. We all think idleness be a
very pleasant thing when we're obliged to work but when we are idle,
then we feel that a little work be just as agreeable--that's human
natur'."
I thought that Mary was very likely to forget all her good resolutions,
from her ardent love of admiration, and I was determined to go and break
up the conference. I, therefore, left the boat to Stapleton, and
hastened to the house. I did not like to play the part of an
eavesdropper, and was quite undecided how I should act; whether to go in
at once or not, when, as I passed under the window, which was open, I
heard very plainly the conversation that was going on. I stopped in the
street, and listened to the Dominie in continuation--"But, fair maiden,
_omnia vincit amor_--here am I, Dominie Dobbs, who have long passed the
grand climacteric, and can already muster three score years--who have
authority over seventy boys, being Magister Princeps et Dux of Brentford
Grammar School--who have affectioned only the sciences, and communed
only with the classics--who have ever turned a deaf ear to the
allurements of thy sex, and ever hardened my heart to thy fascination--
here am I, even I, Dominie Dobbs, suing at the feet of a maiden who had
barely ripened into womanhood, who knoweth not to read or write, and
whose father earns his bread by manual labour. I feel it all--I feel
that I am too old--that thou art too young--that I am departing from the
ways of wisdom, and am regardless of my worldly prospects. Still,
_omnia vincit amor_, and I bow to the all-powerful god, doing him homage
through thee, Mary. Vainly have I resisted--vainly have I, as I have
lain in bed, tried to drive thee from my thoughts, and tear thine image
from my heart. Have I not felt thy presence everywhere? Do not I
astonish my worthy coadjutor, Mistress Bately, the matron, by calling
her by the name of Mary, when I had always before addressed her by her
baptismal name of Deborah? Nay, have not the boys in the classes
discovered my weakness, and do they not shout out Mary in the hours of
play? _Mare periculosum et turbidum_ hast thou been to me. I sleep
not--I eat not--and every sign of love which hath been adduced by
Ovidius Naso, whom I have diligently collated, do I find in mine own
person. Speak, then, maiden. I have given vent to my feelings, do thou
the same, that I may return, and leave not my flock without their
shepherd. Speak, maiden."
"I will, sir, if you will get up," replied Mary, who paused, and then
continued. "I think, sir, that I am young and foolish, and you are old
and--and--"
"Foolish, thou wouldst say."
"I had rather you said it, sir, than I; it is not for me to use such an
expression towards one so learned as you are. I think, sir, that I am
too young to marry; and that perhaps you are--too old. I think, sir,
that you are too clever--and that I am very ignorant; that it would not
suit you in your situation to marry; and that it would not suit me to
marry you--equally obliged to you all the same."
"Perhaps thou hast in thy reply proved the wiser of the two," answered
the Dominie; "but why, maiden, didst thou raise those feelings, those
hopes in my breast, only to cause me pain, and make me drink deep of the
cup of disappointment? didst thou appear to cling to me in fondness, if
thou felt not a yearning towards me?"
"But are there no other sorts of love besides the one you would require,
sir? May I not love you because you are so clever, and so learned in
Latin. May I not love you as I do my father?"
"True, true, child; it is all my own folly, and I must retrace my steps
in sorrow. I have been deceived--but I have been deceived only by
myself. My wishes have clouded my understanding, and have obscured my
reason; have made me forgetful of my advanced years, and of the little
favour I was likely to find in the eyes of a young maiden. I have
fallen into a pit through blindness, and I must extricate myself, sore
as will be the task. Bless thee, maiden, bless thee! May another be
happy in thy love, and never feel the barb of disappointment. I will
pray for thee, Mary--that Heaven may bless thee." And the Dominie
turned away and wept.
Mary appeared to be moved by the good old man's affliction, and her
heart probably smote her for her coquettish behaviour. She attempted to
console the Dominie, and appeared to be more than half crying herself.
"No, sir, do not take on so, you make me feel very uncomfortable. I
have been wrong--I feel I have--though you have not blamed me, I am a
very foolish girl."
"Bless thee, child--bless thee!" replied the Dominie, in a subdued
voice.
"Indeed, sir, I don't deserve it--I feel I do not; but pray do not
grieve, sir; things will go cross in love. Now, sir, I'll tell you a
secret, to prove it to you. I love Jacob--love him very much, and he
does not care for me--I am sure he does not; so, you sir, you are not
the only one--who is--very unhappy;" and Mary commenced sobbing with the
Dominie.
"Poor thing!" said the Dominie; "and thou lovest Jacob? truly is he
worthy of thy love. And, at thy early age, thou knowest what it is to
have thy love unrequited. Truly is this a vale of tears--yet let us be
thankful. Guard well thy heart, child, for Jacob may not be for thee;
nay I feel that he will not be."
"And why so, sir?" replied Mary, despondingly.
"Because, maiden--but nay, I must not tell thee; only take my warning,
Mary--fare thee well? I come not here again."
"Good-bye, sir, and pray forgive me; this will be a warning to me."
"Verily, maiden, it will be a warning to us both. God bless thee!"
I discovered by the sound that Mary had vouchsafed to the Dominie a
kiss, and heard soon afterwards his steps as he descended the stairs.
Not wishing to meet him I turned round the corner, and went down to the
river, thinking over what had passed. I felt pleased with Mary, but I
was not in love with her.
The spring was now far advanced, and the weather was delightful. The
river was beautiful, and parties of pleasure were constantly to be seen
floating up and down with the tide. The Westminster boys, the Funny
Club, and other amateurs in their fancy dresses, enlivened the scene;
while the races for prize wherries, which occasionally took place,
rendered the water one mass of life and motion. How I longed for my
apprenticeship to be over, that I might try for a prize! One of my best
customers was a young man, who was an actor at one of the theatres, who,
like the M.P., used to rehearse the whole time he was in the boat; but
he was a lively, noisy personage, full of humour, and perfectly
indifferent as to appearances. He had a quiz and a quirk for everybody
that passed in another boat, and would stand up and rant at them until
they considered him insane. We were on very intimate terms, and I was
never more pleased than when he made his appearance, as it was
invariably the signal for mirth. The first time I certainly considered
him to be a lunatic, for playhouse phraseology was quite new to me.
"Boat, sir," cried I to him as he came to the hard.
"My affairs do even drag me homeward. Go on; I'll follow thee," replied
he, leaping into the boat. "Our fortune lies in this jump."