London. The odd old place looked as if it hadn't changed a particle.
There was the wooden gallery outside, where the chamber-maids stood to
see the coach off; the archway under which poor Nicholas drove that cold
morning; the office, or bar, where the miserable little boys shivered
while they took alternate sips out of one mug, and bolted hunches of
bread and butter as Squeers 'nagged' them in private and talked to them
like a father in public. Livy was tempted to bring away a little
porter-pot hanging outside the door, as a trophy; but fearing Squeers's
squint eye was upon her, she refrained, and took a muddy pebble instead.
They took a peep at the Temple and its garden. The fountain was not
playing, but it looked very pleasant, nevertheless; and as they stood
there the sun came out, as if anxious that they should see it at its
best. It was all very well to know that Shakespeare's 'Twelfth Night'
was played in Middle Temple Hall, that the York and Lancaster roses grew
here, that Dr. Johnson lived No. 1 Inner Temple Lane, and that Goldsmith
died No. 2 Brick Court, Middle Temple; these actual events and people
seemed far less real than the scenes between Pendennis and Fanny, John
Westlock and little Ruth Pinch. For their sakes Livy went to see the
place; and for their sakes she still remembers that green spot in the
heart of London, with the June sunshine falling on it as it fell that
day.
The pilgrimage ended with a breathless climb up the Monument, whence
they got a fine view of London, and better still of Todgerses. Livy
found the house by instinct; and saw Cherry Pecksniff, now a sharp-nosed
old woman, sitting at the back window. A gaunt, anxious-looking lady, in
a massive bonnet, crossed the yard, with a basket in her hand; and the
Professor said at once, 'That's Mrs. Todgers, and the amount of gravy
single gentlemen eat is still weighing heavy on her mind.' As if to
make the thing quite perfect, they discovered fitful glimpses of a
tousled-looking boy, cleaning knives or boots, in a cellar-kitchen; and
all the lawyers in London couldn't have argued them out of their firm
belief that it was young Bailey, undergoing his daily torment in company
with the black beetles and the mouldy bottles.
That nothing might be wanting to finish off the rainy-day ramble in an
appropriate manner, when Livy's companion asked what she'd have for
lunch, she boldly replied,--
'Weal pie and a pot of porter.'
As she was not fond of either, it was a sure proof of the sincerity of
her regard for the persons who have made them immortal. They went into
an eating-house, and ordered the lunch, finding themselves objects of
interest to the other guests. But, though a walking doormat in point of
mud, and somewhat flushed and excited by the hustling, climbing, and
adoring, it is certain there wasn't a happier spinster in this 'Piljin
Projess of a wale,' than the one who partook of 'weal pie' in memory of
Sam Weller, and drank 'a modest quencher' to the health of Dick
Swiveller at the end of that delightful Dickens day.
Much might be written about the domestic pleasures of English people,
but as the compiler of this interesting work believes in the sacredness
of private life, and has a holy horror of the dreadful people who
outrage hospitality by basely reporting all they have seen and heard,
she will practise what she preaches, and firmly resist the temptation to
describe the delights of country strolls with poets, cosey five-o'clock
teas in famous drawing-rooms, and interviews with persons whose names
are household words.
This virtuous reticence leaves the best untold, and brings the story of
two of our travellers to a speedy end. Matilda decided to remain and
study art, spending her days copying Turner at the National Gallery, and
her evenings in the society of the eight agreeable gentlemen who adorned
the house where she abode.
Amanda hurried home with friends to enjoy a festive summer among the
verdant plains of Cape Cod. With deep regret did her mates bid her
adieu, and nothing but the certainty of soon embracing her again would
have reconciled Livy to the parting; for in Amanda she had found that
rare and precious treasure, a friend.
'Addio, my beloved Granny; take care of your dear bones and come home
soon,' said Amanda, in the little back entry, while her luggage was
being precipitated downstairs.
'Heaven bless and keep you safe, my own Possum. I shall not stay long
because I can't possibly get on without you,' moaned Livy, clinging to
the departing treasure as Diogenes might have clung to his honest man,
if he ever found him; for, with better luck than the old philosopher,
Livy had searched long years for a friend to her mind, and got one at
last.
'Don't be sentimental, girls' said Matilda, with tears in her eyes, as
she hugged her Mandy, and bore her to the cab.
'Rome and Raphael for ever!' cried Amanda, as a cheerful parting salute.
'London and Turner!' shouted Matilda with her answering war-cry.
'Boston and Emerson!' sobbed Lavinia, true to her idols even in the
deepest woe.
Then three damp pocket-handkerchiefs waved wildly till the dingy cab
with the dear Egyptian nose at the window, and the little bath-pan
clattering frantically up aloft, vanished round the corner, leaving a
void behind that all Europe could not fill.
A few weeks later Livy followed, leaving Mat to enjoy the liberty with
which American girls may be trusted when they have a purpose or a
profession to keep them steady. And so ended the travels of the trio,
travels which had filled a year with valuable experiences, memorable
days, and that culture which a larger knowledge of the world, our
fellow-men, and ourselves gives to the fortunate souls to whom this
pleasure is permitted.
One point was satisfactorily proved by the successful issue of this
partnership; for, in spite of many prophecies to the contrary, three
women, utterly unlike in every respect, had lived happily together for
twelve long months, had travelled unprotected safely over land and sea,
had experienced two revolutions, an earthquake, an eclipse, and a flood,
yet met with no loss, no mishap, no quarrel, and no disappointment worth
mentioning.
With this triumphant statement as a moral to our tale, we would
respectfully advise all timid sisters now lingering doubtfully on the
shore, to strap up their bundles in light marching order, and push
boldly off. They will need no protector but their own courage, no guide
but their own good sense and Yankee wit, and no interpreter, if that
woman's best gift, the tongue, has a little French polish on it.
Dear Amandas, Matildas, and Lavinias, why delay? Wait on no man, but
take your little store and invest it in something far better than Paris
finery, Geneva jewellery, or Roman relics. Bring home empty trunks, if
you will, but heads full of new and larger ideas, hearts richer in the
sympathy that makes the whole world kin, hands readier to help on the
great work God gives humanity, and souls elevated by the wonders of art
and the diviner miracles of Nature.
Leave _ennui_ and discontent, frivolity and feebleness, among the ruins
of the Old World, and bring home to the New the grace, the culture, and
the health which will make American women what now they just fail of
being, the bravest, brightest, happiest, and handsomest women in the
world.
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