Silvis, ubi passim
Palantes error certo de tramite pellit,
Ille sinistrorsum, hic dextrorsum abit; unus utrique
Error, sed variis illudit partibus.--HORACE.
[“Wandering in those woods where error evermore forces life’s
stragglers from the beaten path,--this one deflects to the left,
his fellow chooses the exact contrary. The fault is all the same
in each, but it excuses itself by a thousand different reasons.”]
As Wolfe strode away from the inn, he muttered to himself,--
“Can it be that Mordaunt has suddenly grown rich? If so, I rejoice at
it. True, that he was not for our cause, but he had the spirit and the
heart which belonged to it. Had he not been bred among the prejudices
of birth, or had he lived in stormier times, he might have been the
foremost champion of freedom. As it is, I rather lament than condemn.
Yet I would fain see him once more. Perhaps prosperity may have altered
his philosophy. But can he, indeed, be the same Mordaunt of whom that
trading itinerant spoke? Can he have risen to the pernicious eminence of
a landed aristocrat? Well, it is worth the journey; for if he have
power in the neighbourhood, I am certain that he will exert it for our
protection; and, at the worst, I shall escape from the idle words of my
compatriots. Oh! if it were possible that the advocates could debase
the glory of the cause, how long since should I have flinched from the
hardship and the service to which my life is devoted! Self-interest;
Envy, that snarls at all above it, without even the beast’s courage
to bite; Folly, that knows not the substance of Freedom, but loves
the glitter of its name; Fear, that falters; Crime, that seeks in
licentiousness an excuse; Disappointment, only craving occasion to rail;
Hatred; Sourness, boasting of zeal, but only venting the blackness of
rancour and evil passion,--all these make our adherents, and give our
foes the handle and the privilege to scorn and to despise. But man
chooses the object, and Fate only furnishes the tools. Happy for our
posterity, that when the object is once gained, the frailty of the tools
will be no more!”
Thus soliloquizing, the republican walked rapidly onwards, till a turn
of the road brought before his eye the form of Mr. Brown, seated upon a
little rough pony, and “whistling as he went for want of thought.”
Wolfe quickened his pace, and soon overtook him.
“You must forgive me, my good man,” said he, soothingly; “I meant not to
impeach your honesty or your calling. Perhaps I was hasty and peevish;
and, in sad earnest, I have much to tease and distract me.”
“Well, sir, well,” answered Mr. Brown, greatly mollified; “I am sure no
Christian can be more forgiving than I am; and, since you are sorry
for what you were pleased to say, let us think no more about it. But
touching the umbrella, Mr. Wolfe, have you a mind for that interesting
and useful relic of the late Lady Waddilove?”
“Not at present, I thank you,” said Wolfe, mildly; “I care little for
the inclemencies of the heavens, and you may find many to whom your
proffered defence from them may be more acceptable. But tell me if
the Mr. Mordaunt you mentioned was ever residing in town, and in very
indifferent circumstances?”
“Probably he was,” said the cautious Brown, who, as we before said, had
been bribed into silence, and who now grievously repented that passion
had betrayed him into the imprudence of candour; “but I really do not
busy myself about other people’s affairs. ‘Brown,’ said the late Lady
Waddilove to me, ‘Brown, you are a good creature, and never talk of what
does not concern you.’ Those, Mr. Wolfe, were her ladyship’s own words.”
“As you please,” said the reformer, who did not want shrewdness, and saw
that his point was already sufficiently gained; “as you please. And now,
to change the subject, I suppose we shall have your attendance at the
meeting at W---- to-morrow?”
“Ay,” replied the worthy Brown: “I thought it likely I should meet many
of my old customers in the town on such a busy occasion; so I went a
little out of my way home to London, in order to spend a night or two
there. Indeed, I have some valuable articles for Mr. Glumford, the
magistrate, who will be in attendance to-morrow.”
“They say,” observed Wolfe, “that the magistrates, against all law,
right, and custom, will dare to interfere with and resist the meeting.
Think you report says true?”
“Nay,” returned Brown, prudently, “I cannot exactly pretend to decide
the question: all I know is that Squire Glumford said to me, at his own
house, five days ago, as he was drawing on his boots, ‘Brown,’ said he,
‘Brown, mark my words, we shall do for those rebellious dogs!’”
“Did he say so?” muttered Wolfe, between his teeth. “Oh, for the old
times, or those yet to come, when our answer would have been, or shall
be, the sword!”
“And you know,” pursued Mr. Brown, “that Lord Ulswater and his regiment
are in town, and have even made great preparations against the meeting a
week ago.”
“I have heard this,” said Wolfe; “but I cannot think that any body of
armed men dare interrupt or attack a convocation of peaceable subjects,
met solely to petition Parliament against famine for themselves and
slavery for their children.”
“Famine!” quoth Mr. Brown. “Indeed it is very true, very! times are
dreadfully bad. I can scarcely get my own living; Parliament certainly
ought to do something: but you must forgive me, Mr. Wolfe; it may be
dangerous to talk with you on these matters; and, now I think of it, the
sooner I get to W---- the better; good morning; a shower’s coming on.
You won’t have the umbrella, then?”
“They dare not,” said Wolfe to himself, “no, no,--they dare not attack
us; they dare not;” and clenching his fist, he pursued, with a quicker
step, and a more erect mien, his solitary way.
When he was about the distance of three miles from W----, he was
overtaken by a middle-aged man of a frank air and a respectable
appearance. “Good day, sir,” said he; “we seem to be journeying the same
way: will it be against your wishes to join company?”
Wolfe assented, and the stranger resumed:--
“I suppose, sir, you intend to be present at the meeting at W----
to-morrow? There will be an immense concourse, and the entrance of a
new detachment of soldiers, and the various reports of the likelihood of
their interference with the assembly, make it an object of some interest
and anxiety to look forward to.”
“True, true,” said Wolfe, slowly, eying his new acquaintance with a
deliberate and scrutinizing attention. “It will, indeed, be interesting
to see how far an evil and hardy government will venture to encroach
upon the rights of the people, which it ruins while it pretends to
rule.”
“Of a truth,” rejoined the other, “I rejoice that I am no politician.
I believe my spirit is as free as any cooped in the narrow dungeon of
earth’s clay can well be; yet I confess that it has drawn none of its
liberty from book, pamphlet, speech, or newspaper, of modern times.”
“So much the worse for you, sir,” said Wolfe, sourly: “the man who has
health and education can find no excuse for supineness or indifference
to that form of legislation by which his country decays or prospers.”
“Why,” said the other, gayly, “I willingly confess myself less of a
patriot than a philosopher; and as long as I am harmless, I strive
very little to be useful, in a public capacity; in a private one, as a
father, a husband, and a neighbour, I trust I am not utterly without my
value.”
“Pish!” cried Wolfe; “let no man who forgets his public duties prate of
his private merits. I tell you, man, that he who can advance by a single
hair’s-breadth the happiness or the freedom of mankind has done more to
save his own soul than if he had paced every step of the narrow circle
of his domestic life with the regularity of clockwork.”
“You may be right,” quoth the stranger, carelessly; “but I look on
things in the mass, and perhaps see only the superficies, while you,
I perceive already, are a lover of the abstract. For my part, Harry
Fielding’s two definitions seem to me excellent. ‘Patriot,--a candidate
for a place!’ ‘Politics,--the art of getting such a place!’ Perhaps,
sir, as you seem a man of education, you remember the words of our great
novelist.”
“No!” answered Wolfe, a little contemptuously; “I cannot say that I
burden my memory with the deleterious witticisms and shallow remarks of
writers of fancy. It has been a mighty and spreading evil to the world
that the vain fictions of the poets or the exaggerations of novelists
have been hitherto so welcomed and extolled. Better had it been for us
if the destruction of the lettered wealth at Alexandria had included all
the lighter works which have floated, from their very levity, down the
stream of time, an example and a corruption to the degraded geniuses of
later days.”
The eyes of the stranger sparkled. “Why, you outgoth the Goth!”
exclaimed he, sharply. “But you surely preach against what you have not
studied. Confess that you are but slightly acquainted with Shakspeare,
and Spenser, and noble Dan Chaucer. Ay, if you knew them as well as I
do, you would, like me, give--
‘To hem faith and full credence,
And in your heart have hem in reverence.’”
“Pish!” again muttered Wolfe; and then rejoined aloud, “It grieves me to
see time so wasted, and judgment so perverted, as yours appears to have
been; but it fills me with pity and surprise, as well as grief, to find
that, so far from shame at the effeminacy of your studies, you appear to
glory and exult in them.”
“May the Lord help me, and lighten thee,” said Cole; for it was he.
“You are at least not a novelty in human wisdom, whatever you may be in
character; for you are far from the only one proud of being ignorant,
and pitying those who are not so.”
Wolfe darted one of his looks of fire at the speaker, who, nothing
abashed, met the glance with an eye, if not as fiery, at least as bold.
“I see,” said the republican, “that we shall not agree upon the topics
you have started. If you still intrude your society upon me, you will,
at least, choose some other subject of conversation.”
“Pardon me,” said Cole, whose very studies, while they had excited, in
their self-defence, his momentary warmth, made him habitually courteous
and urbane, “pardon me for my hastiness of expression. I own myself in
fault.” And, with this apology, our ex-king slid into the new topics
which the scenery and the weather afforded him.
Wolfe, bent upon the object of his present mission, made some inquiries
respecting Mordaunt; and though Cole only shared the uncertain
information of the country gossips as to the past history of that
person, yet the little he did know was sufficient to confirm the
republican in his belief of Algernon’s identity; while the ex-gypsy’s
account of his rank and reputation in the country made Wolfe doubly
anxious to secure, if possible, his good offices and interference on
behalf of the meeting. But the conversation was not always restricted to
neutral and indifferent ground, but ever and anon wandered into
various allusions or opinions from the one, certain to beget retort or
controversy in the other.
Had we time and our reader patience, it would have been a rare and fine
contrast to have noted more at large the differences of thought and
opinion between the companions: each in his several way so ardent for
liberty, and so impatient of the control and customs of society; each
so enthusiastic for the same object, yet so coldly contemptuous to the
enthusiasm of the other. The one guided only by his poetical and
erratic tastes, the other solely by dreams, seeming to the world no less
baseless, yet, to his own mind, bearing the name of stern judgment and
inflexible truth. Both men of active and adventurous spirits, to whom
forms were fetters and ceremonies odious; yet, deriving from that
mutual similarity only pity for mutual perversion, they were memorable
instances of the great differences congeniality itself will occasion,
and of the never-ending varieties which minds, rather under the
influence of imagination than judgment, will create.