BEGINS TO UNFOLD THE TALE OF THE LIONS BY DESCRIBING THE LION OF THE
TALE.
We trust, good reader, that it will not cause you a feeling of
disappointment to be told that the name of our hero is Brown--Tom Brown.
It is important at the beginning of any matter that those concerned
should clearly understand their position, therefore we have thought fit,
even at the risk of throwing a wet blanket over you, to commence this
tale on one of the most romantic of subjects by stating--and now
repeating that our hero was a member of the large and (supposed to be)
unromantic family of "the Browns."
A word in passing about the romance of the family. Just because the
Brown family is large, it has come to be deemed unromantic. Every one
knows that two of the six green-grocers in the next street are Browns.
The fat sedate butcher round the corner is David Brown, and the milkman
is James Brown. The latter is a square-faced practical man, who is
looked up to as a species of oracle by all his friends. Half a dozen
drapers within a mile of you are named Brown, and all of them are shrewd
men of business, who have feathered their nests well, and stick to
business like burrs. You will certainly find that several of the
hardest-working clergymen, and one or more of the city missionaries, are
named Brown; and as to Doctor Browns, there is no end of them! But why
go further? The fact is patent to every unprejudiced person.
Now, instead of admitting that the commonness of the name of Brown
proves its owners to be unromantic, we hold that this is a distinct
evidence of the deep-seated romance of the family. In the first place,
it is probable that their multitudinosity is the result of romance,
which, as every one knows, has a tendency to cause men and women to fall
in love, and marry early in life. Brown is almost always a good husband
and a kind father. Indeed he is a good, steady-going man in all the
relations of life, and his name, in our mind at least, is generally
associated with troops of happy children who call him "daddy," and
regard him in the light of an elephantine playmate. And they do so with
good reason, for Brown is manly and thorough-going in whatever he
undertakes, whether it be the transaction of business or romping with
his children.
But, besides this, the multitudinosity of the Browns cuts in two
directions. If there are so many of them green-grocers, butchers, and
milkmen--who without sufficient reason are thought to be unromantic--it
will be found that they are equally numerous in other walks of life; and
wherever they walk they do so coolly, deliberately, good-humouredly, and
very practically. Look at the learned professions, for instance. What
a host of Browns are there. The engineers and contractors too, how they
swarm in their lists. If you want to erect a suspension bridge over the
British Channel, the only man who is likely to undertake the job for you
is Adam Brown, C.E., and Abel Brown will gladly provide the materials.
As to the army, here their name is legion; they compose an army of
themselves; and they are all enthusiasts--but quiet, steady-going, not
noisy or boastful enthusiasts. In fact, the romance of Brown consists
very much in his willingness to fling himself, heart and soul, into
whatever his hand finds to do. The man who led the storming party, and
achieved immortal glory by getting himself riddled to death with
bullets, was Lieutenant Brown--better known as Ned Brown by his brother
officers, who could not mention his name without choking for weeks after
his sad but so-called "glorious" fall. The other man who accomplished
the darling wish of his heart--to win the Victoria Cross--by attaching a
bag of gunpowder to the gate of the fortress and blowing it and himself
to atoms to small that no shred of him big enough to hang the Victoria
Cross upon was ever found, was Corporal Brown, and there was scarcely a
dry eye in the regiment when he went down.
Go abroad among the barbarians of the earth, to China, for instance, and
ask who is yonder thick-set, broad-chested man, with the hearty
expression of face, and the splendid eastern uniform, and you will be
told that he is Too Foo, the commander-in-chief of the Imperial forces
in that department. If, still indulging curiosity, you go and introduce
yourself to him, he will shake you heartily by the hand, and, in good
English, tell you that his name is Walter Brown, and that he will be
charmed to show you something of Oriental life if you will do him the
favour to take a slice of puppy dog in his pagoda after the review! If
there is a chief of a hill tribe in Hindustan in want of a prime
minister who will be able to carry him through a serious crisis, there
is a Brown at hand, who speaks not only his own language, but all the
dialects and languages of Hindustan, who is quite ready to assume
office. It is the same at the diggings, whether of Australia,
California, or Oregon; and we are persuaded that the man whose
habitation is nearest to the pole at this moment, whether north or
south, is a Brown, if he be not a Jones, Robinson, or Smith!
Need more be said to prove that this great branch of the human family is
truly associated with all that is wild, grand, and romantic? We think
not; and we hope that the reader is now somewhat reconciled to the
fact--which cannot be altered, and which we would not alter if we
could--that our hero's name is Tom Brown.
Tom was the son of a settler at the Cape of Good Hope, who, after
leading the somewhat rough life of a trader into the interior of Africa,
made a fortune, and retired to a suburban villa in Cape Town, there to
enjoy the same with his wife and family. Having been born in Cape Town,
our hero soon displayed a disposition to extend his researches into the
unknown geography of his native land, and on several occasions lost
himself in the bush. Thereafter he ran away from school twice, having
been seized with a romantic and irresistible desire to see and shoot a
lion! In order to cure his son of this propensity, Mr Brown sent him
to England, where he was put to school, became a good scholar, and a
proficient in all games and athletic exercises. After that he went to
college, intending, thereafter, to return to the Cape, join his father,
and go on a trading expedition into the interior, in order that he might
learn the business, and carry it on for himself.
Tom Brown's mother and sisters--there were six of the latter--were
charming ladies. Everybody said what pleasant people the Browns were--
that there was no nonsense about them, and that they were so practical,
yet so lively and full of spirit. Mrs Brown, moreover, actually held
the belief that people had souls as well as bodies, which required
feeding in order to prevent starvation, and ensure healthy growth! On
the strength of this belief she fed her children out of that
old-fashioned, yet ever new, volume, the Bible, and the consequence was,
that the Miss Browns were among the most useful members of the church to
which they belonged, a great assistance to the clergymen and
missionaries who visited those regions, and a blessing to the poor of the
community. But we must dismiss the family without further remark, for
our story has little or nothing to do with any member of it except Tom
himself.
When he went to school in England, Tom carried his love for the lion
along with him. The mere word had a charm for him which he could not
account for. In childhood he had dreamed of lion-hunting; in riper
years he played at games of his own invention which had for their chief
point the slaying or capturing of lions. Zoological gardens and "wild
beast shows" had for him attractions which were quite irresistible. As
he advanced in years, Richard of the Lion-heart became his chief
historical hero; Androcles and the lion stirred up all the enthusiasm of
his nature. Indeed it might have been said that the lion-rampant was
stamped indelibly on his heart, while the British lion became to him the
most attractive myth on record.
When he went to college and studied medicine, his imagination was
sobered down a little; but when he had passed his examinations and was
capped, and was styled Dr Brown by his friends, and began to make
preparations for going back to the Cape, all his former enthusiasm about
lions returned with tenfold violence.
Tom's father intended that he should study medicine, not with a view to
practising it professionally, but because he held it to be very
desirable that every one travelling in the unhealthy regions of South
Africa should possess as much knowledge of medicine as possible.
One morning young Dr Brown received a letter from his father which ran
as follows:--
"MY DEAR TOM,--A capital opportunity of letting you see a little of
the country in which I hope you will ultimately make your fortune has
turned up just now. Two officers of the Cape Rifles have made up
their minds to go on a hunting excursion into the interior with a
trader named Hicks, and want a third man to join them. I knew you
would like to go on such an expedition, remembering your leaning in
that direction in days of old, so I have pledged you to them. As they
start three months hence, the sooner you come out the better. I
enclose a letter of credit to enable you to fit out and start at once.
Your mother and sisters are all well, and send love.--YOUR
AFFECTIONATE FATHER, J.B."
Tom Brown uttered a wild cheer of delight on reading this brief and
business-like epistle, and his curious landlady immediately answered to
the shout by entering and wishing to know "if he had called and if he
wanted hanythink?"
"No, Mrs Pry, I did not call; but I ventured to express my feelings in
regard to a piece of good news which I have just received."
"La, sir!"
"Yes, Mrs Pry, I'm going off immediately to South Africa to hunt
lions."
"You _don't_ mean it, sir!"
"Indeed I do, Mrs Pry; so pray let me have breakfast without delay, and
make up my bill to the end of the week; I shall leave you then. Sorry
to part, Mrs Pry. I have been very comfortable with you."
"I 'ope so, sir."
"Yes, very comfortable; and you may be assured that I shall recommend
your lodgings highly wherever I go--not that there is much chance of my
recommendation doing you any good, for out in the African bush I sha'n't
see many men who want furnished lodgings in London, and wild beasts are
not likely to make inquiries, being already well provided in that way at
home. By the way, when you make up your bill, don't forget to charge me
with the tumbler I smashed yesterday in making chemical experiments, and
the tea-pot cracked in the same good cause. Accidents will happen, you
know, Mrs Pry, and bachelors are bound to pay for 'em."
"Certainly, sir; and please, sir, what am I to do with the cupboard full
of skulls and 'uman bones downstairs?"
"Anything you choose, Mrs Pry," said Tom, laughing; "I shall trouble my
head no more with such things, so you may sell them if you please, or
send them as a valuable gift to the British Museum, only don't bother me
about them; and do take yourself off like a good soul, for I must reply
to my father's letter immediately."
Mrs Pry retired, and Tom Brown sat down to write a letter to "J.B." in
which he briefly thanked him for the letter of credit, and assured him
that one of the dearest wishes of his heart was about to be realised,
for that still--not less but rather more than when he was a runaway
boy--his soul was set upon hunting the lions.