_Going Home._
It was expected that the fragments of the store basket, would
prove sufficient to dine the servants in attendance; and it was in
consequence of their resisting this proposal, that I became acquainted
with the following particulars.
The party had viewed the house, and adjourned to the park, where the
cloth was spread on the grass. The basket was produced, when behold!
even as suspected, a bottle of red port had been cracked, in complying
with the whim of Arthur; and nearly the whole of the provision was
spoiled--at this moment perhaps there was no doubt of the junior
parties being hungry. Arthur still continued to rally his aunt on the
loss of the pigeon pie, with more boldness than justice, for Mrs.
Jemima (as I heard the coachman say), was the only person in the
family who was simple in her diet. It seems, that after cutting such
things as were really eatable, Mrs. Cosway told the men to carry the
remainder to the inn, and make the most of them. Joseph, an elderly,
respectable servant, to whom this order had been given, pointed out the
impossibility of doing so.
“I told my mistress,” said he, “that we would very willingly take a
snack of bread and cheese, and wait till we got home; but she was in
such a rage with me for saying so, I never saw her so angry.”
The coachman to whom Joseph addressed himself, was sitting on a stile
cracking nuts, and occasionally throwing the husks at me; having been
a sufferer in this _pleasurable_ jaunt, it is natural to suppose I was
interested in every thing connected with it.
“Well if we can get nothing better, I suppose we had best take our
lunch at once,” cried coachman.
“To say truth, it is a shame to see such good victuals lost,” replied
Joseph, “but look, here’s a mess!” presenting the basket, “to be sure
the’ve picked out the best, but you see its impossible to eat any of
this; the salt has got in amongst it, and the wine, and the pie-crust
is soaked through and through.”
While yet they were examining the spoiled remnants, Master Edward
approached.
“Joseph,” said he, “you must be hungry, and slipping a three shilling
piece into his hand, he ran off before either of the men could thank
him.”
“What a noble fellow that is!” exclaimed coachman, “I only wish he was
in somebody’s place, I think we might look forward to a good Master.”
“He is an excellent boy no doubt, but our young one hasn’t a bad heart
neither; no! he’s only giddy, and that is not so much his own fault;
in poor Master’s time, he was a different creature: to be sure young
Edward is ten to one more like his uncle than t’other is; but if that
Mr. Powel doesn’t do more harm than good, my name’s not Joseph. He’s
always ready to praise him and juggle the mother.”--Here, there is a
chasm in my narration. The men repaired to the inn, and I was left to
_contemplate_ the stubble. Having some taste for antiquities, more
especially those of my native isle, I was beginning to regret that
I should in all probability quit Penshurst without gaining the most
trivial information connected with its history; when glancing my eye
towards an adjacent field, I saw an intelligent looking Ass, whom I
resolved to address. After the usual compliments had passed,
“Pray Madam,” said I, “will you be so obliging as to tell me such
particulars, as may have reached your ears, respecting yon ancient
pile?”
“From what I can learn,” replied she, “it was built in the 16th
century, I believe in the reign of Edward the Sixth. The Sydneys Earls
of Leicester lived here in princely magnificience; _here_ Monarchs were
entertained, and here the good and glorious Sir Philip Sydney was born.”
“If I mistake not Madam,” said I, “our illustrious Queen Elizabeth
visited her minister and favourite, Robert Earl of Leicester, at
Penshurst.”
“She did,” replied my quondam friend, somewhat pettishly, “yes her
majesty was no enemy to favouritism, though it seems, _we_ were almost
extinct during her reign.”[2]
[2] This is a fact.
“Indeed!” said I.
“It is true however, and had not the faculty discovered the medical
qualities of our milk, it is probable we had been expatriated from this
island for ever.”
“I cannot suppose her majesty had any personal enmity to us as a
species,” I resumed; “I should rather imagine, that the less luxurious
habits of that period caused our more useful properties to be
overlooked, if not unknown.”
“I grant there was some difference in the style of living,” resumed
my new friend, “but the Ass, Sir! yes the Ass, had indubitable claims
on a princess who professed and practised the rights of the Christian
Religion.”
The allusion was fair, inasmuch, as the most honourable record attached
to _our_ history, is connected with the history of the religion of
Christ. But the warmth of my friend, convinced me, she was not equal to
discussing this subject judiciously; I therefore endeavoured to divert
the conversation, by observing, “that we were now made very generally
serviceable.”
“But does it conduce to our happiness?” rejoined the lady, “the very
contrary is the fact. Formerly the Ass had a distinct employment, and
if her education was limited, it usually proved sufficient for her
station; but, since we have been appointed to run in gigs, act as
ponies, draw loads, we do neither well; and those frequent tastes of
ease which chance throws in our way, but disqualify or impress us, with
that disgust for _common_ labours which exposes us to chastisement, at
the very moment we most deserve compassion.”
Whatever justice there might be in these conclusions, I felt there
would be danger in attending to them; my friend was evidently a
discontented Ass, and as _I_ had more than once indulged in gloomy
reflections and vague repinings, I thought it best to retreat, ere I
imbibed any additional taste for misery. We parted amicably, and as I
stood gazing on the walls of Penshurst, I could not help fancying to
myself, the British Queen and her gay courtiers, visiting this favoured
spot.
This naturally gave rise, to what amongst rationals, is called an
association of ideas. Armours and helmets rose to my “mind’s eye”--then
_our_ strength and stature: nor could all my self-love, reconcile me to
the belief that _we_ could have been made useful as beasts of burthen
in those days. I do not speak of inanimate weight. Imagine to yourself,
gentle reader, a man in armour, seated on a full grown donkey! The
thing is too absurd to dwell upon.--Well then, if the nutritive
property of Asses’ milk, had escaped the observation of medical men,
(as I believe was the case,) I think the Asses of the present day will
allow, that the Queen of England may be forgiven the sin of omitting
to support the assinine race; since the human race were so highly
benefited by the wisdom of her councils, the example of her government,
and the never-fading lessons of magnanimity she has bequeathed to
posterity. I recollected hearing Doctor Manton and his son, discussing
the characters of some discontented Englishmen one evening; but I
remember _they_ were displeased with the present times, and found
something to applaud in all that was gone past.
I cannot enter into the merits of this matter, but like other Asses,
I have my opinion; and must think those who vent their chagrin on the
departed dead, are infinitely less excusable than the caviler who
fights with the hour in hand. It is _seeking_ misery, while it exhibits
the very worst species of resentment. My new acquaintance would not
suffer me to leave Penshurst, without displaying further proofs of her
unhappy temper.
“You have not fared too well here,” said she, thrusting her nose
over the fence that divided us, “but it is no wonder, the owner of
this field thinks himself a great agriculturist; he knows nothing of
farming, or these acres would have been sown with turnips.”
I merely smiled, fearful of venturing any remark before so great an
adept.
“Turn which way you will,” she resumed, “there is nothing but hops, as
if the _sight_ of these plantations was to satisfy the appetite.”
“Oh, oh, madam!” thinks I, “I understand you now, the old fable of ‘the
fox and the grapes’ applies here, as I believe it does in a thousand
instances which escape our observation.” So anxious was I to avoid the
contagion of this lady’s example, I actually forgot the short allowance
to which I had for some hours been doomed; and only longed for the
moment of departure. It was nearly five o’clock, when seeing the horses
putting too, I bade adieu to my testy friend, and approached the gate.
Chance brought Mr. Edward to the spot.
“Why Joseph,” said he! “if this poor animal has had nothing given to
him, he must be almost starved; he could not pick a mouthful from this
field.”
“Not much to be sure Sir,” laughed Joseph.
“Get me some corn,” rejoined Edward.--Conceive my joy as these words
reached my ears; and imagine the glee with which I fed from the sieve
my kind young friend brought to me.
O ye! who eat from habit, for whom many hands provide, and who are
regularly _summoned_ to your meals, you know not what it is to be
forgotten; to hear the joyous gaiety attendant on a pleasant dinner,
nay perhaps _smell_ the tempting viands, while one’s empty stomach
is yawning to partake of the feast. If I thought amplification on
this head, would have the effect of procuring a single comfort to my
contemporaries, I would venture to be diffuse; but, I doubt my powers
in this line. You _all think_ you know how an _Ass_ should be treated
or _maltreated_, and my zeal might chance to expose him to more obvious
neglect.
We quitted Penshurst, observing the same arrangement in our cavalcade,
as when we left home. Mrs. Cosway had gently hinted, that she would
prefer her son’s taking a seat in the barouche, but Arthur, was too
used to command, to listen where his own wishes were concerned; we
therefore set off at a pleasant trot. Miss Fanny Cosway soon took
occasion to express her disappointment in their excursion.
“It has been so stupid!” said she; “for my part, I see nothing
wonderful in old houses, and old furniture, with all the long stories
about the Sydneys; our own house in Warwickshire is much handsomer.”
“Edward is laughing at you Miss Fan,” replied Arthur; “he was quite
at home, while old Powel displayed what he knew, or thought he knew,
still I think it is a fine place; but pray Ned, how do you manage to
recollect names and dates? Aunt Jemima was in raptures with her dear
boy; I could have forgiven her that, if she had not rowed me, because I
forgot there ever was such a person as Edward the Sixth.”
“You affected ignorance in order to teaze your Aunt,” said Edward, “if
I know any thing of English history, I owe it to her instruction; and
as you have had more of her society than I ever enjoyed, it must be
your own fault, if she did not give you the same advantage.”
“Why, to be sure! I recollect she was well disposed to teach, if I had
chosen to listen; but I never could bear to be taught by a woman. They
think themselves so clever, and gabble so much--dont _you_ tell the old
Lady what I say, Miss Fan: I know you have a trick of blabbing.”
“I’m sure Arthur you are very unkind,” pouted Miss Fanny, “but this is
always the way, when you are vexed with yourself.”
“I never was better pleased with myself than at this time,” said
Arthur, “for if there has been any fun to-day, it may fairly be
attributed to me.”
“It certainly has not been the most pleasant of your whimsical
attempts,” resumed Edward; “at least, I judge so from Mrs. Cosway’s
being so low spirited.”
“O! my mother is subject to such fits:” said Arthur, with the utmost
coolness, “but as you say, she must be flat indeed, for even old
Powel’s flattery of me, could not make her smile:--I hate that old
quiz.”
“I neither like nor hate him Arthur, and only wonder to see him made of
consequence any where.”
“Edward you ought not to set Arthur against Mr. Powel, he is our
guardian you know,” said Miss Fanny, “and I’m sure he’s very good
natured, and makes us very handsome presents whenever he comes to stay
with us.”
“It was your brother said he hated Mr. Powel,” rejoined Edward; “I hope
you do not believe him Fanny, and I likewise hope _you_ have a better
motive for _liking_ your guardian than that of the useless presents he
brings you.”
“Dear me, you are so good Edward, there’s no saying a word before you.”
“He is very right for all that,” cried Arthur, “I only wish you and I
thought like him in all respects.”
This justness of sentiment in Master Pickle, claimed my unqualified
approbation; it was clear to me, he wanted only the guidance of firm
and judicious friends to make him a respectable member of society;
whether these advantages ever fell to the lot of the young gentleman in
question, I cannot say.
It soon became evident to me, that the seniors in this _pleasurable_
excursion, were equally disappointed in its result. As the carriage was
ascending a little steep, Mrs. Cosway inquired of her son, “how far he
thought we were from home.” The question was put, and answered by every
one according to their ideas of distance, till the coachman set us all
right by saying, we had about four miles to go.
“Four miles!” exclaimed Mrs. Cosway, “why it will be dark. Sister, I
said it would have been better to set off directly after breakfast, but
you said there would be sufficient daylight for our purpose.”
“It was impossible to foresee the delays to which we have been
subjected,” said Mrs. Jemima calmly.
“Poor Arthur,” sneered Mrs. Cosway, “well he will soon return to
school, and spare his aunt the pain of seeing him happy.”
“You mistake me sister, I am anxious when he is from home,” rejoined
Mrs. Jemima, “because I know his foibles, and he never visits us, that
I do not discover additional cause for uneasiness.”
Arthur laughed, distorted his features, and shewed every mark of silent
derision; fortunately the road became level, and we were left a little
behind.
“The old lady is seriously offended,” said he, “yet it is ridiculous
in my mother to squabble with _her_ because a day in September is not
like a day in June.”
“When you recollect what influences your mother to this opposition, I
think at least _you_ should not arraign her conduct,” said Edward.
This rebuke offended the young gentleman, who I suppose, aware, that he
dared not resent it as his feelings at the moment prompted, found an
opportunity of revenge in teasing me.
“Ah Mr. long ears, I owe you a thrashing,” said he, at the same time
giving me a few lashes with his whip. Edward remonstrated to no purpose.
“It is but a hired Donkey,” said Arthur, “you are over squeamish Sir,
if you dont like his capering, exchange, and I’ll be bound to work him
so, he shan’t throw me again.”
“He shall not be left to your mercy Arthur,” rejoined Edward, and
clapping his spurs, I understood his wishes, and triumphantly bore
my burthen off at a smart canter. It had escaped my rider’s notice,
that a shoe of the Pony Arthur rode, was so loose, as to impede his
progress. I however had seen it, and more confident in myself from this
discovery, entertained no fear of being able to distance my tormentor.
We did so, and arrived at the dwelling of Mrs. Cosway, without further
adventure. I just heard Mr. Edward give orders for tea being made
ready, for the expected travelers, and was quietly led home by a boy,
whom my considerate young friend paid handsomely for his errand.
“And this” thinks I, “is what they call a day of pleasure: if _I_ had
experienced disappointment in being ill treated by one of the party,
it is certain, as far as happiness consists in cheerful spirits,
a _desire_ to be pleased, a wish to accommodate oneself to the
_circumstances_ of situation; not one of these rationals has known what
it is to-day.” Balaam laughed immoderately at my description of this
trip; but, he astonished me by saying, “that if I could hear the party
_themselves_ describe their pleasure, it would wear a very different
character.”
“Impossible,” said I; “excepting Master Edward, there was nothing but
cross purposes, from the time we left Tunbridge till we returned.”
“And for this very reason it would be as I say,” replied Balaam,
“each knows, how far their own petulance contributed to make it
uncomfortable, it is therefore their interest to _combine_ in thinking
or saying, it was otherwise; unless they are all seriously determined
on correcting their tempers.”
I cannot say _I_ was convinced by the reasoning of my old Mentor, but I
had learned to respect him so far, as to be silent though unconvinced.
Balaam certainly was a most discerning Donkey: I trust my readers have
discovered this long since, for myself I may truly say, even his
pleasantries were lessons in disguise; and though I ought to blush for
the many ignorances these memoirs contain, I must acknowledge, that had
he not given me habits of thinking, and taught me to arrange my ideas,
“The Adventures of a Donkey,” had never glided into the press,--a loss
which the juvenile world, will, I trust, duly consider; and while they
do justice to the character of my old friend, make every allowance for
the deficiencies of his grateful pupil: for you all know, that the
wisest teachers do not always succeed in making their scholars wise.