_A Congress of Donkeys,--and Conclusion._
You will believe my young master was not an unmoved spectator of my
sufferings. It was on this occasion he expressed himself in terms which
at once convinced me of his humanity, and assured me, that even an Ass
by diligence and fidelity may make a lasting friend of man.
“Charles,” said Mr. George addressing master Herbert, “so long as
you condescend to ride a Donkey, I make you master of this poor
animal;--your Sisters will of course share him with you as usual, but
I give him to you. I know I can rely on your using him well, and I
recommend your preventing him from wandering, by cautiously shutting
the gates. And my dear Charlotte,” turning to Mrs. Herbert, “I have
a request to make of you,--never part with this faithful creature;
but should he become useless have him at liberty to range about the
grounds. I am persuaded you will oblige me, for you, equally with
myself, loved the dear girl to whose comfort he contributed most
materially.”
Mrs. Herbert was evidently affected by this reference to the sweet
Caroline; she willingly acceded to the request of my master, promising
she would take care of me so long as I lived.
This arrangement, threw me into raptures, and had I been as agile as
formerly, no doubt I should have evinced my joy by a thousand lively
antics; as it was, I could only look my delight; and if the eyes of
a Donkey may be allowed to look brilliant, mine certainly did on this
memorable occasion. Mr. George then turned to a livelier topic, and
with great humour described my recent frolic. It appeared, that the
gentleman on whose Vine I had regaled, was a friend of Mr. Manton’s;
they had met since the eventful night, and Mr. Crosby when reporting
the ridiculous alarm of his servants, declared he had never witnessed
a more comic scene. It seems the gardener having missed some fruit
(unknown to the family) slept with a loaded musket by his bed-side. My
munching had been heard by this vigilant gentleman; and the frequent
pulls I made at the Vine, led him to believe there must be a gang of
thieves in the garden. The tinkling of the bell, he conceived to be
unintentional on the part of the depredators;--but when I ran down the
gravel path, he thought he had his man, and fired. Mr. Crosby, whom
the report of firearms roused from his bed, instantly arose, and on
quitting his room, found the male and female servants assembled on the
landing-place.
“Depend upon it, it is that great Irishman, that said he was a
haymaker,” said one of the women. “I tell you it’s no such thing,”
replied the gardener, “it was a little short thickset man.”
“I beg your pardon Mr. Thomas, but for my part I’ve never closed
my eyes to-night, which I reckon quite miraculous, and I have been
listening for three hours or more, and at last I peeped through the
curtains, and if ever I saw a tall, black, ill-looking fellow, he was
one!”
Mr. Crosby now interfered, demanding the cause of the alarm, and who
had presumed to keep loaded fire arms without his knowledge. The
gardener excused his transgression by declaring the garden was robbed
every night.
“But where’s the groom?” asked Mr. Crosby, “I thought this musket was
in his care?”
“I begged it of him,” replied the gardener, “but Jack’s gone after the
rascals, Sir;--we shall hear some’at of ’um. He would go, there was no
hindering him, he got over the stables and dropped over the wall.”
Mr. Crosby thought fit to follow the dauntless Jack, making Thomas
(most unwillingly), his companion. It appears, they met the groom a
short distance from the house, who laughingly declared the thief to
have been a poor Donkey, which he had followed all the way to Mrs.
Herbert’s cow-house.--The gardener was not to be convinced:--he had
seen the villain, nay more, he knew he should discover traces of blood
in the morning, for he heard the fellow groan, and hobble off as if he
was wounded!
Daylight, however, brought no proof of Mr. Tom’s accuracy;--there were
no traces of blood, nor any print of a human footstep. The Vine was
stripped to a certain height all round the house, the bell-wire bent,
and the shoe-marks of some hoofed animal plentifully imprinted on the
flower beds. Mrs. Herbert’s cow-herd further corroborated the testimony
of the groom, by examining me, and discovering my tail to have been
singed. Thus the tall Irish hay-maker, and the little fat man, dwindled
into no more formidable an animal than a poor giddy Donkey, who
finding himself unexpectedly placed in the way of temptation, had not
resolution to resist its allurements.
As I listened to this whimsical fact, I could not help wondering at
the extraordinary difference there must be in the sight of men and
women, and that of Donkeys. Did all these people say what they believed
to be truth; or, did fear lead them astray? From what Mr. George
said in conclusion, it would appear, each of these persons maintain
their assertion, and though in the hearing of their master they avoid
the subject; enjoy amongst themselves that most delightful of all
predilections (with the ignorant,)--“a tale of terror.” Now if we
were to indulge such a taste, when conviction so palpably proved our
mistake, we should be called obstinate Asses. Query--What are these
gentry?
But I have done with adventures; and in this stage of my existence,
when I am pressing forward as a candidate for Donkey fame, feel all the
presumption and danger of attempting further analysis of the _human_
character.
As my spirits recovered their tone, Balaam reverted to my hints
respecting authorship. I hung my ears, and no doubt looked very silly
as he commenced his harangue. I thought my answers, however, had their
effect. He was silent for a few minutes, when, resting his nose on
my fence, as was his custom, he asked, what I anticipated from the
publication of my memoirs.
“Why, my dear Sir,” said I, “the writer who neither desires nor could
be benefited by pecuniary emolument, has some right to be considered
a disinterested scribe. I grant that our lives exhibit none of those
marvellous incidents that can amuse the romantic, but surely, if a
genuine history of a very useful animal was submitted to the public, it
might teach that public to estimate their services more agreeably to
humanity.”
“The attempt is hazardous,” replied Balaam, “in fact, my dear Jemmy, I
feel so timid on the subject, so fearful of encouraging you to do that
which may expose you to derision, I would rather you sought the advice
of some Ass better qualified to give you counsel on a matter of such
importance.”
“If you approved,” said I, despairingly, “what were the whole race of
Donkeys to me!”
“I cannot apply, for I do not deserve this compliment,” resumed
Balaam;--“however, not to dismiss the subject too abruptly, suppose
we were to convene a meeting of the best informed Donkeys of our
acquaintance, and take their opinions.--It could do no harm, and may
exonerate me from that appearance of fastidiousness which I perceive
has had its effect on your spirits.”
I denied this, but I fear rather awkwardly, for Balaam with a smile
added, “you may ride your _hobby_ yet Jem, younger heads, and more
sanguine Asses, may see this matter in a different point of view; I
think Juba must be our secretary on this occasion. Shall I depute him
to apprize our friends of your wishes?”
“My dear Sir,” I replied, “if I am not asking too much, will you allow
the committee to be assembled in your name?”
“That, is incompatible with my principles, dear Jem. It is a serious
thing to lend one’s name in a case of this nature, nor could it be
done, without in a manner, announcing me as favouring your design; and
as I at present cannot give you encouragement to prosecute your plan, I
would rather remain a neuter personage, in this stage of the business.”
“Then I must give it up altogether,” sighed I.
“By no means,” continued Balaam, “Juba shall intimate, that you have
suggested a plan, which you conceive to be beneficial to the Donkey
world at large: but that, unwilling to rely on your own judgment, you
request the presence of such of our mutual friends, as are interested
in the lives and fortunes of the Assinine community.”
“Admirable!” I exclaimed, “nothing can be better, we shall muster
pretty strong no doubt.--But my dear Sir, you will give me your
support?”
“I will broach the subject, Jemmy,” he resumed, “but recollect, it will
be with the utmost impartiality.”
“Enough, my respected friend, I feel all the value of this
condescension, and can never sufficiently express my gratitude.”
“I will imagine it to be such as I prize,” rejoined Balaam, “viz,
sincere. But now my good fellow, compose your spirits; and as
authorship is your passion, arrange your thoughts, and prepare yourself
to submit them to the ears of our committee.”
We parted, and it was now I felt all the temerity of my project.
Stretching my length upon the grass, I began (in idea,) to polish my
language, smooth my periods and according to Donkey taste, improve
my style altogether. But I found this a most unprofitable if not
an endless rumination;--what I liked one moment I rejected in the
next. “I believe I must trust a little to the imagination,” said I to
myself,--“that is, not in point of fact, but for that colouring which a
favourite subject ever receives from the fancy.”
Again, I recollected I was preparing a work expressly designed for
the juvenile world, a class of readers who demand the best efforts of
all who presume to address them; and perhaps in point of criticism,
there is not a more formidable ordeal, than that which is sometimes
instituted by these caviling young gentry. “Tush!” said I, “they cannot
expect much from an Ass, a simple, self-taught Donkey.” In short
though the sanction of the committee was yet wanting, I did not find
my scribbling mania subside, that happy leisure on which I could now
securely reckon, increased my desire of imparting my memoirs; and, when
Balaam the next evening whispered me, that I might expect the junto
at eight o’clock the ensuing night, I gave myself up to meditation
scarcely taking food or nourishment, so completely was my every feeling
absorbed in that of authorship.
At the appointed hour, I beheld the assembled group consisting of
Balaam, Mrs. Scamper, Juba, Dicky, Snap, Fairy, Hob, Bobtail, Fatima
and Vixen.--By a whimsical concurrence, Balaam’s field gate was
unclosed,--thus I, from my green fence, appeared as if placed at the
bar, before my judges. Balaam opened the sitting, in a forcible but
impartial statement of my wishes. I saw some ears particularly erect,
and Mrs. Vixen stepped forward and examined my countenance with deep
scrutiny. Balaam proceeded, without noticing this lady’s rudeness; as
he made his peroration, a silence of a few seconds ensued. Mrs. Vixen,
with a grin, was on the eve of replying, when Balaam good-naturedly
observed, “Seniority of age must have the preference,” bowing to Mrs.
Scamper.
“Then I may take a nap,” retorted Vixen, “for I believe I am the
youngest lady in the committee.”
We all smiled, well knowing madam Vixen had made an egregious mistake.
Mrs. Scamper, however, advanced towards my fence, and in a voice of
conciliating harmony, addressed me as follows:--
“If I am not misinformed, Mr. Jemmy, your proposed publication is
designed for the use and amusement of young people; then how do you
hope to benefit your species by an address to children; beings under
authority; incapable of doing us service, even were they so disposed?”
“It is with the utmost deference I venture to avow a contrary opinion,
madam,” I replied: “children of amiable manners, have much influence
in society; particularly amongst their inferiors. A well-educated child
may, in the most graceful manner, and in language at once appropriate
and kind, reprove the inhumanity of the less informed, and since
we have been appointed to the distinction of carrying ladies and
gentlemen, drawing garden-chairs, &c. &c. this sort of interference
becomes a point of some importance.”
Mrs. Scamper smiled; “I know it is a thankless office to oppose the
favourite project of an ardent mind,” said she, “but until I hear
something of your plan, and the incidents it is to comprise, I must
continue to doubt its utility.”
“I differ from you, ma’am,” interjoined Snap; “so many rational Asses
have thrust their histories on the public, I can see no reason for
preventing a _genuine_ Ass from telling his own story.”
There was such an emphasis laid on the word genuine by this petulant
Donkey, that I really rejoiced Madam Luna denied us her beams; I felt
that I blushed profusely, and had not the gentle voice of Fatima
rallied my aroused feelings, I believe I should have retorted.
“Mr. Jemmy,” said the charming Fatima, “I applaud your intention, and
sincerely hope you will carry it into execution: allow me to ask, if
you propose to make your work a general or an individual memoir?”
“Individual, madam,” I replied, “but interspersed with anecdote and
observations.”
“Ah!” she resumed, “to be sure you are the best judge; yet I must think
our genus, from its antiquity and the honourable mention made of us in
the best and most valuable of records, offers a wide field for exalting
us in the estimation of the present generation.”
Here old Balaam drew nearer the fence, evidently desirous of attending
to my reply.
“My dear madam,” said I, “I was fully aware of this, and would gladly
have availed myself of testimonials so irrefragably convincing and
distinguished; but we are no longer the animals we were! The horse has
superseded us! Our very name is a by-word amongst the vulgar! And, our
occupations, (though varying in laboriousness as in respectability,)
yet expose us so much to the ludicrous, that I would rather forbear
from quoting the proofs you mention, than blend them with matter
irreverent.”
“But, Jem,” interjoined Balaam, “as you would turn author in the
service of children, how can you reconcile this omission?”
“Sir,” I replied, “the children for whom my humble efforts would
be exerted, must of course have some acquaintance with the Sacred
Writings; and it is from them I should expect that blending of
authentic record and individual history, that might ultimately prove
beneficial to my species.”
“You have my free assent from this moment,” rejoined Balaam; “it was
this one point which led me to oppose your scheme. I will hope your
reasoning is just, for it is agreeable to principle--and that view of
the human character, it has ever been my wish to entertain.”
“So then,” exclaimed Mrs. Vixen, “you expect great things from your
undertaking! Well, vanity is a fine dream, till we wake and find it
_but_ a dream.”
“We shall never get a blow less, nor an additional mouthful of hay, for
all the wisest of Donkeys could say in our favour,” sneered Snap.
“I think I saw you once in Kent, Mr. Jemmy,” resumed Mrs. Vixen, “at
the Tunbridge Races. You may remember my husband won the saddle. You
must have been very nervous at that time; it quite surprised my friends
to see you frightened by a _penny trumpet_--ha! ha! ha!”
“Madam,” I replied, “I have not forgotten the circumstance: the penny
trumpet shall be duly mentioned in my memoirs; I will neither increase
its size, nor enhance its value; nor will I omit to name Mr. Vixen’s
talents as a racer.”
It was in this stage of my examination that Juba stepped forward.
“I do not pretend to know any thing of books or histories of any kind,”
said he; “but if you do publish your life, Jemmy, do not forget to say
something of Donkey prejudices and Donkey satire.”
It is clear he alluded to Mrs. Vixen, and I was alarmed lest the junto
should squabble amongst themselves, and prematurely dissolve the
meeting.
“It was my firm intention to be just,” I replied; “and if a Donkey may
pledge his honour, I here declare, I will not
--“‘Extenuate, nor aught set down in malice.’”
“Then now, Mr. Jem,” said Hob, “give us a brief sketch of your intended
history.”
I complied--but not without considerable embarrassment: my situation
was in truth very trying. To see so many long ears stretched to catch
my accents--to hear two or three (as I thought) dissentient snorts,
as certain observations escaped my lips--how I got through my task,
even at this moment appears extraordinary. Yet I accomplished it, and
obtained a majority.
Bobtail, who was of a phlegmatic character, astonished us all
by entering into the spirit of my memoirs. “What you say of
soot-carrying,” said he, “is strictly true; I could almost have
fancied the odious powder was under my nose: yes, I know what it is to
carry bags, and chimney-sweepers too.”
Dicky and Miss Fairy evinced little interest during the first part
of the discussion; but perceiving they whispered, I thought it
possible timidity restrained them from offering an opinion. Therefore,
addressing myself to Miss Fairy, I begged she would favour me with her
sentiments.
“Indeed I have no opinion to give,” she replied, petulantly; “Mr. Dicky
and I to be sure, have remarked, that you have said very little of the
beauty of lady Asses, though one ought not to be offended at that; for
some Donkeys are too much taken up with themselves to think of any
thing else.”
This was a terrible attack upon a Donkey who had the highest respect
for the fair sex.
“Madam” I rejoined, “I trust those who know me will exonerate me from
the imputation of being insensible to the worth of the female Ass.
If my memoir enters more largely into the sufferings of Donkeys, it
is, because I hope and believe, excessive labour and hard usage are
more particularly their lot. Of the utility and worth of our feminine
friends, none but an illiterate Ass could entertain a doubt. That I
have not attempted the language of the flatterer, is a point on which I
pride myself; for though this style is said to be a favourite one with
_Asses_, I have not availed myself of the privilege,--not less cautious
of injuring the morals of my own class, than fearful of appearing as
the copyist of a higher order of animals.”
The committee now dispersed; and Balaam with an impressive adieu
retired to repose.
I saw the dear old Ass go out to his accustomed work next morning,
and, occupied by my own projects, night again revolved ere the claims
of friendship refreshed my memory. Nine, ten, eleven o’clock--and no
Balaam. I lingered near the fence, cheating the tedious minutes by a
thousand vague conjectures; at length, wearied with watching, I sunk
into a light slumber, from which I was awakened by the well-known voice
of Juba; it was day-break, and a cold rainy morning.
“Jemmy,” said my friend Juba, “you have been alarmed by the absence of
our poor Balaam?”
“Yes, indeed, Juba, most seriously alarmed.”
“Alas!” he resumed, “our anxiety on his account is at an end--you will
see him no more--the excellent Balaam is dead.”
“Dead!” I exclaimed; “tell me when and where he died.”
“It happened yesterday morning; I overtook his master in
Tottenham-Court Road; our old friend lay extended quite senseless, and
by what I heard from the crowd, his death was occasioned by a fit.”
This melancholy intelligence affected me deeply; I had lost my early
counsellor, my constant friend; and the only consolation now left me,
was to talk of him, an indulgence in which Juba feelingly participated.
One evening, after having enjoyed this luxury, my mind yet dwelling on
his virtues, the following tribute to his memory escaped me:--
_To the Memory of Balaam._
If ever Donkey claim’d the meed of fame,
Balaam! that honour should adorn thy name;
Born to do credit to thy helpless race,
In thee each virtue of the Ass we trace;
Patient, submissive, moderate in food,
Shaming the vicious, inspiring the good;
Thy bright example should for ever give
Rules, to succeeding Donkeys, how to live;
But, if inconstant feelings lead astray,
And, Asses yet, in Folly’s mazes bray,
One grateful convert shall thy worth proclaim,
And cherish virtue in thy much-loved name.