After breakfast the next morning I took my hat to go out. when my
father, looking at me, and seeing by my countenance that I had not
slept, said gently,--
"My dear Pisistratus, you have not tried my medicine yet."
"What medicine, sir?"
"Robert Hall."
"No, indeed, not yet," said I, smiling.
"Do so, my son, before you go out; depend on it you will enjoy your walk
more."
I confess that it was with some reluctance I obeyed. I went back to my
own room and sat resolutely down to my task. Are there any of you, my
readers, who have not read the "Life of Robert Hall?" If so, in the
words of the great Captain Cuttle, "When found, make a note of it."
Never mind what your theological opinion is,--Episcopalian,
Presbyterian, Baptist, Paedobaptist, Independent, Quaker, Unitarian,
Philosopher, Freethinker,--send for Robert Hall! Yea, if there exists
yet on earth descendants of the arch-heretics which made such a noise in
their day,--men who believe, with Saturninus, that the world was made by
seven angels; or with Basilides, that there are as many heavens as there
are days in the year; or with the Nicolaitanes, that men ought to have
their wives in common (plenty of that sect still, especially in the Red
Republic); or with their successors, the Gnostics, who believed in
Jaldaboath; or with the Carpacratians, that the world was made by the
devil; or with the Cerinthians and Ebionites and Nazarites (which last
discovered that the name of Noah's wife was Ouria, and that she set the
ark on fire); or with the Valentinians, who taught that there were
thirty AEones, ages or worlds, born out of Profundity (Bathos), male,
and Silence, female; or with the Marcites, Colarbasii, and Heracleonites
(who still kept up that bother about AEones, Mr. Profundity and Mrs.
Silence); or with the Ophites, who are said to have worshipped the
serpent; or the Cainites, who ingeniously found out a reason for
honoring Judas, because he foresaw what good would come to men by
betraying our Saviour; or with the Sethites, who made Seth a part of the
divine substance; or with the Archonticks, Ascothyctae, Cerdonians,
Marcionites, the disciples of Apelles, and Severus (the last was a
teetotaller, and said wine was begot by Satan!), or of Tatian, who
thought all the descendants of Adam were irretrievably damned except
themselves (some of those Tatiani are certainly extant!), or the
Cataphrygians, who were also called Tascodragitae, because they thrust
their forefingers up their nostrils to show their devotion; or the
Pepuzians, Quintilians, and Artotyrites; or--But no matter. If I go
through all the follies of men in search of the truth, I shall never get
to the end of my chapter or back to Robert Hall; whatever, then, thou
art, orthodox or heterodox, send for the "Life of Robert Hall." It is
the life of a man that it does good to manhood itself to contemplate.
I had finished the biography, which is not long, and was musing over it,
when I heard the Captain's cork-leg upon the stairs. I opened the door
for him, and he entered, book in hand, as I also, book in hand, stood
ready to receive him.
"Well, sir," said Roland, seating himself, "has the prescription done
you any good?"
"Yes, uncle,--great."
And me too. By Jupiter, Sisty, that same Hall was a fine
fellow! I wonder if the medicine has gone through the same
channels in both? Tell me, first, how it has affected you."
"Imprimis, then, my dear uncle, I fancy that a book like this must do
good to all who live in the world in the ordinary manner, by admitting
us into a circle of life of which I suspect we think but little. Here
is a man connecting himself directly with a heavenly purpose, and
cultivating considerable faculties to that one end; seeking to
accomplish his soul as far as he can, that he may do most good on earth,
and take a higher existence up to heaven; a man intent upon a sublime
and spiritual duty: in short, living as it were in it, and so filled
with the consciousness of immortality, and so strong in the link between
God and man, that, without any affected stoicism, without being
insensible to pain,--rather, perhaps, from a nervous temperament,
acutely feeling it,--he yet has a happiness wholly independent of it.
It is impossible not to be thrilled with an admiration that elevates
while it awes you, in reading that solemn 'Dedication of himself to
God.' This offering of 'soul and body, time, health, reputation,
talents,' to the divine and invisible Principle of Good, calls us
suddenly to contemplate the selfishness of our own views and hopes, and
awakens us from the egotism that exacts all and resigns nothing.
"But this book has mostly struck upon the chord in my own heart in that
characteristic which my father indicated as belonging to all biography.
Here is a life of remarkable fulness, great study, great thought, and
great action; and yet," said I, coloring, "how small a place those
feelings which have tyrannized over me and made all else seem blank and
void, hold in that life! It is not as if the man were a cold and hard
ascetic it is easy to see in him, not only remarkable tenderness and
warm affections, but strong self-will, and the passion of all vigorous
natures. Yes; I understand better now what existence in a true man
should be."
"All that is very well said," quoth the Captain, "but it did not strike
me. What I have seen in this book is courage. Here is a poor creature
rolling on the carpet with agony; from childhood to death tortured by a
mysterious incurable malady,--a malady that is described as 'an internal
apparatus of torture;' and who does, by his heroism, more than bear it,
--he puts it out of power to affect him; and though (here is the passage)
'his appointment by day and by night was incessant pain, yet high
enjoyment was, notwithstanding, the law of his existence.' Robert Hall
reads me a lesson,--me, an old soldier, who thought myself above taking
lessons,--in courage, at least. And as I came to that passage when, in
the sharp paroxysms before death, he says, 'I have not complained, have
I, sir? And I won't complain!'--when I came to that passage I started
up and cried, 'Roland de Caxton, thou hast been a coward! and an thou
hadst had thy deserts, thou hadst been cashiered, broken, and drummed
out of the regiment long ago!'"
"After all, then, my father was not so wrong,--he placed his guns right,
and fired a good shot."
"He must have been from six to nine degrees above the crest of the
parapet," said my uncle, thoughtfully,--"which, I take it, is the best
elevation, both for shot and shells in enfilading a work."
"What say you then, Captain,--up with our knapsacks, and on with the
march?"
"Right about--face!" cried my uncle, as erect as a column.
"No looking back, if we can help it."
"Full in the front of the enemy. 'Up, Guards, and at 'em!'"
"'England expects every man to do his duty!'"
"Cypress or laurel!" cried my uncle, waving the book over his head.