"NIL DESPERANDUM."
To-morrow's sun shall warmer glow,
And o'er this gloomy vale of woe
Diffuse a brighter ray!
"O you lovers, you lovers!"--exclaimed little Miss Pimpernell, on my
unbosoming myself to her, and recounting the incidents of my unhappy
interview with Min's mother, shortly after I quitted the scene of my
discomfiture.--"O you lovers, you lovers! You are always, either on the
heights of ecstasy, or deep down in the depths of despair! Be a man,
Frank, and let her see what noble stuff there is in you! There is
nothing in this world worth the having, which can be obtained by merely
looking at it and longing for it. Bear in mind Monsieur Parole's
favourite proverb, `On ne peut pas faire une omelette sans casser les
oeufs!' You mustn't expect that a girl is going to drop into your
mouth, like a ripe cherry, the moment you gape for her! Young ladies
are not so easily won as that, Master Frank, let me tell you! Put your
shoulder to the wheel, my boy! You will have to work and wait.
Remember how long it was that Jacob remained in suspense about his first
love, Rachel--seven, long years; and, _then_, he had to serve seven more
for her after that!"
"Ah, Miss Pimpernell!"--said I,--"but, seven years were not so much to
the long-lived men who existed in those times, as seven months are to us
ephemerals of the nineteenth century! Jacob could very well afford to
wait that time; for he was not over what we call `middle-age' when he
married; and was, most likely, in the flower of his youth on his
ninetieth birthday!--He did not die you know, until he had reached the
ripe age of `an hundred and forty and seven years.'--Besides, he had
Laban's promise to keep him up to his work; but, _I_ have no promise,
and no hope to lead me on, if I do wait--and what would I be at the end
of seven years? Why, I would be thirty--quite old."
"Nonsense, Frank!"--replied the dear old lady, in her brisk cheery way,
jumping round in her chair, and looking me full in the face with her
twinkling black eyes.--"When you are as old as I am, you will not think
thirty such a very great age, you may be sure! And, I didn't say, too,
that you should have to wait seven years, or anything like it--although,
if you really love Miss Min, you would think nothing of twice that time
of probation. As for Jacob's age, the vicar could explain about that
better than I, Master Frank, sharp though you are; you had best ask him
what he thinks on the subject? What I say, is, my boy, that you must
make up your mind to work, and wait for your sweetheart; work, at any
rate--and wait, if needs be. `Rome wasn't built in a day;' and, when
did you ever hear of the course of true love running smooth? Be a man,
Frank! Say to yourself, `I'll work and win her,' and you will. Put
your heart in it, and it will soon be done--sooner than you now think.
There's no good in your sitting down and whining at your present defeat,
like the naughty child that cried for the moon! You must be up and
doing. A man's business is to overcome obstacles; it is only us, women,
who are allowed to cry at home!"
"But, Mrs Clyde dislikes me," I said.
"What of that?" retorted Miss Pimpernell; "her dislike may be overcome."
"I don't think it ever will be," I said, despondingly.
"Pooh, Frank," replied the old lady;--"`never is a long day.' She's
only a woman, and will change her mind fast enough when it suits her
purpose to do so! You say, that she only objected on the score of your
position, and from your not having a sufficient income?"
"Yes,"--I said,--"that was her ostensible reason; but, I think, she
objects to me personally--in addition to having other and grander
designs for Min."
"Ah, well,"--said Miss Pimpernell,--"we haven't got to consider those
other motives now; she rejected your offer, at all events, on the plea
of your want of fortune?"
"Yes," said I, mechanically, again.
"Then, that is all we've got to deal with, my boy,"--she said.--"Mrs
Clyde is quite right, too, you know, Frank. You have got no profession,
or any regular occupation. Let us see if we cannot mend matters. In
the first place, are you willing to work? Would you like some certain
employment on which you can depend?"--And she looked at me kindly but
searchingly over her spectacles.
"Would a duck swim?" said I, using an expressive Hibernicism.
"Well, what sort of employment would you like?" she asked.
"Anything," I replied.
"Come, that's good!" she said.--"And what can you do?"
"Everything," I said.
She laughed good-humouredly.--"You've a pretty good opinion of yourself
at any rate, Master Frank, if that's any recommendation:--you will never
fail through want of impudence. But, I'll speak to the vicar about
this. I think he could get you a nomination for a Government office."
"What, a clerkship?"--I said, ruefully, having hitherto affected to
despise all the race of her Majesty's quill drivers, from Horner
downwards.
"Yes, sir,"--she said,--"`a clerkship;' and a very good thing, too! You
need not turn up your nose at it, Master Frank; _I_ can see you,
although I _do_ wear glasses! Grander men than you think yourself, sir,
have not despised such an opening! Here _is_ the vicar,"--she added, as
her brother walked into the room.--"How lucky! we can ask him now."
The vicar overheard her remark.
"Hullo, Frank!" said he; "what is it, that Sally and you are conspiring
together? Can I do anything for you, my boy?"--he continued, in his
nice kind way,--"if so, only ask me; and if it is in my power, you know
that I will do it."
"He wishes to get into a Government office; don't you think you could
help him?" said Miss Pimpernell.
"You want to be in harness, my boy, eh?"--said the vicar, turning to
me.--"That's right, Frank. Literature will come on, in due course, all
in good time. There's nothing like having regular work to do, however
trifling. It not only gives you a daily object in life, but also
steadies your mind, causing you better to appreciate higher intellectual
employment! I thought, however, my boy, that you looked down on `Her
Majesty's hard bargains,' as poor Government clerks are somewhat
unjustly termed?"
"That was, because I thought they were a pack of idlers, doing nothing,
and earning a menial salary for it. `Playing from ten to to four, like
the fountains in Trafalgar Square,' as _Punch_ declares," I said.
"Ah!" said the vicar, "that is a mistake, as you will soon find out when
you belong to their body. They _do_ work, and well, too. Many of the
grand things on which departmental ministers pride themselves--and get
the credit, too, of effecting by their own unaided efforts--are really
achieved by the plodding office hacks, who work on unrecognised in our
midst! Our whole public service is a blunder, my boy. There is no
effective rise given in it to talent or merit, as is the case in other
official circles. The `big men,' who are appointed for political
purposes, get on, it is true; but, the `little men,' who labour from
year's end to year's end, like horses in a mill, never have a chance of
distinguishing themselves. When they are of a certain age, and attain a
particular height in their office, they become superannuated, and
retire; for, should a vacancy occur, of a higher standing in the public
secretariat, it is not given to _them_--although the training of their
whole life may peculiarly fit them for the post! No, it is bestowed on
some young political adherent of the party then in power, who may be as
unacquainted with the duties connected with the position, as _I_ am
ignorant of double fluxions! This naturally disgusts men with the
service; and, that is why you generally hear Government offices spoken
of as playgrounds for idle youths, who enter them to saunter through
life--on the strength of the constituent-influence of their fathers on
the seats of budding MP's."
"I really thought they never worked," said I. "There's Horner, for
instance. You don't suppose, sir, that _he_ confers such inestimable
benefit on his country by his daily avocations in Downing Street?"
"Ah, poor Jack Horner!" laughed the vicar; "he's really not very bright.
But, we need not be so uncharitable as to think that he does not do his
money's worth for his money! He writes a beautiful hand, you know; and,
I dare say, his mere services as a copying machine are of some value.
Government clerks do not all play every day, Frank:--you will, I'm sure,
find plenty to do, if you go into office life. I remember, in the time
of the Crimean war, that a friend of mine, employed in the Admiralty at
Whitehall, used to have to stop up every alternate night at his office,
the whole night through; and this was the case, too, at all the other
public departments! The clerks in each room were obliged to take it in
turn for night duty; while, those who were free to go home--and they did
not leave work until long after the traditional `four o'clock' on most
days--had to specify where they could be found every evening, in case
they should be suddenly wanted on the arrival of despatches from the
seat of war. Of course this state of affairs is not ordinary; still,
Government clerks are not idlers as a body:--on the contrary, you will
find them thorough working-men."
"Working-men!" ejaculated little Miss Pimpernell, raising her beady
black eyes in astonishment to her brother, "why, I thought all working-
men, properly so-called, were mechanics!"
"That is the radical politician's view, my dear," answered the vicar.
"Let a man be apprenticed to a skilled trade, and carry a bricklayer's
hod, or a carpenter's rule. Let him only wear slops and work in an
engine-room, or use a mason's trowel--so long as he does these things
and receives his wages weekly, he is a `working-man;' and, must have the
hours of labour made to suit him, the legislation of the country altered
on his behalf, the taxation of the public judiciously contrived to steer
clear of him. He is the typical `working-man,' my dear, of whom
demagogues are always prating:--the fetish, before which so-called
`liberal' statesmen fall down and worship!
"But, your poor agricultural labourer, who lives in poverty, and dirt,
and misery--starving annually on a tenth portion of the wages that the
skilled mechanic gets--_he_ is no working-man; oh no! Nor the wretched
London clerk; he, also, is no working-man; nor the Government hack; nor
the striving, hard-worked doctor; besides, many professional men and
struggling tradesmen, who, for the larger portion of their lives, inch
and pinch to scrape out existence!
"None of these are working-men; although they work harder--and for many
more hours per diem than the mechanic--on, in most instances, a less
income than the happy protege of the radical law-maker gets by the
addition of his weekly wages at the year's end.
"And yet, the clerks, and the struggling tradesmen, and professional
men, have to pay poor-rates and house-rates, and all sorts of petty
taxes, from which the fetish `working-man' is free; besides the income-
tax, which never approaches him. The latter, often getting from three
to five pounds in wages, can dress as he pleases, live in a single room
for five shillings a week, pay no rates or taxes; and may, finally,
disport himself as he likes--leaving off work whenever the fancy strikes
him and resuming it again at his pleasure--without consulting the
convenience or the wishes of his employer, who is, through trades'
unions and special class legislation, entirely at his mercy!
"Clerks, shopkeepers, and struggling professional men, cannot do this,
however. _They_ have to conform to certain rules of society; and keep
up an appearance of respectability on, frequently, half the sum that the
mechanic gets in wages, as I've said already--while groaning under a
burden of taxation from which the great `liberal' fetish is completely
free. _He_ is a `working-man,' my dear:--_they_, are nothing of the
sort.--Oh, no!"
"Do they really obtain such good wages?" I inquired;--"if so, what on
earth do they do with the money?"
"Yes,"--said the vicar, in full swing of his favourite political
argument,--"if anything, I have rather understated the case than
exaggerated it. The manager of one of the telegraph-cable manufactories
down the river, told me the other day, that, many of the hands drew four
and five pounds regularly each Saturday. And these men, he further
informed me, spent the greater part of this in drink and pleasuring on
their off-days. They will have good food and the best, too--such as I
cannot afford, in these days of high butchers' bills; notwithstanding
that they make such a poor show for their money, and save none of it,
either! I do not complain of this, politically speaking, for, `an
Englishman's house is his castle,' you know, and he has the right to
live as he pleases; but, I do say, that when poor curates and clerks are
so taxed, these men ought to bear their share of the taxation,
possessing, as they do, incomes quite as large and in many cases
greater."
"But, they are taxed indirectly, though, are they not?"--I asked.
"Certainly; but, so also are all of us, the larger number of _real_
working-men of the country--quite in addition to the heavy burden we
have to bear of local and direct taxation! The pseudo `working-man'
should fairly contribute his quota to all this--particularly, since his
bottle-holders have been so clamourous for giving him a share in the
government of the state. If he wants `a share in the government,' why,
he should help to support it:--that's what I say!"
And the vicar then went off into a tirade against class legislators and
radical politics, not forgetting to animadvert, too, on the "Manchester
School"--his great bete noir.
"I wonder what Mr Mawley would say, to hear you run down his favourite
party so!"--I said, when he gave me another opening to put in a
word.--"He's such a rabid Liberal."
"Mawley is thorough," said the vicar; "I do not agree with his views,
certainly; but _he_ really believes in them and acts up to his theories,
which is more than can be said for a good many of our `Liberal'
statesmen! What can _one_ think of them when one hears them talking of
`economy,' and cutting down the poor clerk's salary, without dreaming of
touching their own little snug incomes of five thousand a-year!"
"But what has all this got to do with Frank's appointment, brother?"
asked Miss Pimpernell, with a sly chuckle of satisfaction. She always
said she disliked arguments; but, she was never better pleased than to
hear the vicar expressing his sentiments on topics of the day. He was
so earnest and delighted when he got a good listener--although, he was
rather shy of speaking before strangers.
"Dear me!"--exclaimed the vicar, rubbing his forehead vigorously.--"I
declare, I thought I was talking to Parole d'Honneur! You must forgive
me, Frank."
"Do you think you could manage to get him an appointment, my dear?"--
repeated my little old friend, bringing the vicar back to our main
question, now that she had unhorsed him from his Radical charger.
"Yes, certainly,"--replied the vicar, cordially,--"I do not see why I
should not. I'll speak to the bishop to-morrow, if I can catch him in.
He's got some good influence with the ministry; and, with mine in
conjunction, the two of us together ought to manage it, eh, Sally?"
"And how soon do you think, sir,"--I asked,--"would you be likely to
procure it for me? I've been a long time idle; and, I am, now, anxious,
you know, to make up for lost time."
Miss Pimpernell's words had thoroughly spurred me up. I wanted to set
to work for Min at once.
"How soon, eh, my boy?"--said he, kindly.--"You must have some special
object to be so anxious for employment! But, you need not be shy,
Frank; I can guess it, I think, without your telling me; and, I'm glad
of it. How soon, eh? Let me consider. If I see the bishop to-morrow,
as I very likely shall, we might arrange to get you a nomination in a
fortnight, I think; but, I'm certain, I can promise obtaining it within
a month at the outside. Will that do, Frank?"
"Oh, thank you, sir!"--I exclaimed, in grateful gladness,--"that is ever
so much sooner than I expected! I thought it might take months to get
me an appointment! I shall be ready for it, however, when it comes, all
the same, dear sir."
"You had better get crammed in the meantime, however, my boy," said the
vicar, reflectively.
"`Get crammed,' brother!"--said Miss Pimpernell, aghast at the term, of
which she clearly did not understand the slang sense. "Get crammed!
Why, what do you mean? Frank is thin, certainly, and he might be a
little stouter to advantage; but, has he got to be of a particular
weight, the same as the height of recruits is measured for the army?"
The vicar laughed, and held his sides in hearty merriment.--"Sally,
Sally!"--he exclaimed after a while.--"You will be the death of me some
day! I did not allude to physical cramming, such as the Strasbourg
geese undergo; but, mental stuffing. A `crammer' is a `coach,' you
know."
"I'm sure I don't,"--said little Miss Pimpernell, energetically;--"for,
what with your crammers and coaches, I really do not know what you are
speaking about!"
"Well, my dear, I'll now enlighten you,"--said the vicar, still laughing
at the old lady's very natural mistake.--"Crammers and coaches, are
certain high-pressure machines, in the form of man, for forcing any
amount of superficial knowledge into uneducated youths within a fixed
time. It is an unnatural process, resulting pretty much in the same way
as does the artificial mode of fattening geese:--the latter have
diseased livers; while, the subjects of high-pressure cram are usually
afterwards subject to unmitigated ignorance--of the worst kind, because
it pretends to learning--in addition to an insufferable pedantry, which
can never convince judges acquainted with the genuine article! Ah, my
dear, as Pope wisely wrote, `a little learning is a dangerous thing!'"
"Then you mean tutors,"--said Miss Pimpernell.--"Why could you not call
them by their proper name?"
"I could, my dear,"--said the vicar, good-humouredly,--"but, the term I
used, is an old relic of college jargon; you see how hard it is to cure
oneself of bad habits!"
"And you think Frank will want to be `crammed,' then?"--asked Miss
Pimpernell, making use of the very word she had just abused, because she
thought her brother might feel hurt at her implied reproach. The dear
old lady would have talked slang all day if she had believed it would
have given the vicar any satisfaction!
"Yes, my dear,"--he replied.--"You see, he might have to compete for his
appointment with a dozen others; and, as the examination for the civil
service is now pretty stiff in its way, it would not do for him to fail.
Frank has received a good sound public school education; but, they ask
so many purely-routine questions of candidates, that he had better have
a tutor who makes these subjects his speciality, to put him up in the
little details of the machinery."
"I never thought of that,"--said I.--"It is so long since I left school,
that I fear I may be plucked!"
"Oh, you'll be quite ready for the examination in a week, my boy,"--said
the vicar, to encourage me.--"The examiners only require superficial
knowledge; not, honest groundwork--although, they pretend to test the
effects of a `good liberal education!' One of these public crammers
would make you fit to pass in any certified time, if you could barely
read and write. He would hardly require even that preliminary basis to
work upon, for that matter. But, I ought not to blame them; for, I am a
coach myself, or, rather, was one, once, when I had the time to read
with pupils for the university. These competitive examinations are a
mistake, I think,"--he continued,--"for the men who pass them the most
brilliantly seldom make the best clerks, which one would imagine to be
the result mainly desired. I would prefer, myself, the present middle-
class examinations at Oxford--which they lately instituted, for
discovering talent and merit--to all these hot-house tests; although, of
course, I may be biassed against them, through the recollection of my
old don days, when I was at college.
"Not but what the idea of throwing open all appointments in the public
service is better than the former custom of close patronage. The system
is only abused, that's all, in consequence of the Competition-Wallah
business being carried to excess. Your poor man, whom the change was
especially supposed to benefit, has no chance now, unless he has the
money to pay for the services of a crammer--be his attainments never so
great. The examinations have really degenerated into a technical
groove, into which aspirants have to be regularly initiated by a
`coach,' or they will never succeed in getting out of it, to receive
their certificates of proficiency.
"I will write you down the name of a good man to apply to, Frank,"--he
added.--"He'll pass you, I warrant, or I will eat my hat! And now I
must be off, my boy. I have a lot of visiting to do to-night ere I can
hope to go to bed. I'll not forget to speak to the bishop, as I have
promised; and, I think, you may rely upon getting a nomination for a
good office within the time I have named. Have you anything to do out,
Sally--any letters to post?"--he then said, turning to his sister, and
putting on the hat he had just volunteered to eat.--"No? Then I'm off.
Good-night, Frank! Mind you go to that tutor to-morrow,"--he said,
handing me the address he had hastily scribbled down; and, he went out
on some errand of mercy, leaving Miss Pimpernell and myself to resume
our tete-a-tete conversation, which he had so satisfactorily
interrupted.
"Well, Frank!"--said she, as his coat tails disappeared out of the
doorway,--"will not that do for you?"
"I should just think it would!"--I replied, buoyantly;--"and I do not
know how to thank you and the vicar for all your kindness. I can't tell
what I should have done without your help!"
"Oh, never mind that, my boy,"--she answered kindly;--"we are both only
too glad to assist any one, especially you, Frank, whom the vicar calls
his `old maid's son!' All you have to do now, is, to be hopeful and
persevere! Only let me see you and Miss Min happily married in the
end--for I, you know, like to see young lovers happy:--I have such a
large amount of romance in me!" Indeed she had, I thought, when she
laughed cheerily at the idea.
"I'll work, never fear,"--I said--"but, promotion is very slow in
Government offices. It may be years before I have a decent income such
as would satisfy Mrs Clyde!"
"Don't think of that, my boy,"--she said, presently.--"Don't look too
far ahead! Let me see what my Keble says," she added, taking down the
volume of the _Christian Year_, which she constantly consulted each day,
from its regular place on her corner of the mantelpiece, where it always
stood guard over her favourite chair.--"Ah,"--she continued, turning
over the pages,--"I knew that I would find something to suit you. Just
hear what he says of the `lilies of the field'--
"`Alas! of thousand bosoms kind
That daily court you and caress,
How few the happy secret find
Of your calm loveliness!
Live for to-day! to-morrow's light
To-morrow's cares shall bring to sight,
Go, sleep like closing flowers at night,
And Heaven thy morn shall bless.'"
"Ah! But do you think I shall be successful?"--I asked, wishing to have
my own hopes corroborated.
"To be sure you will, my boy. Why, there you will have another hundred
a-year at once added to your income, besides what you make from your
literary work! In a short time you will be quite `an eligible person,'
I do declare!"--she said, laughing away my fit of the blues, in her
bright brisk way.
"And do you think Min will wait for me?"
"Certainly, Frank. You wrong her by the very question. She's not the
girl to change, or, I'm very much mistaken in her honest, noble face.
She will be constant and true, after what she has said to you, until
death!"
"Oh, thank you for that assurance,"--I said.