I had long ago determined to leave London as soon as the means should be
in my power, and, now that they were, I determined to leave the Great
City; yet I felt some reluctance to go. I would fain have pursued the
career of original authorship which had just opened itself to me, and
have written other tales of adventure. The bookseller had given me
encouragement enough to do so; he had assured me that he should be always
happy to deal with me for an article (that was the word) similar to the
one I had brought him, provided my terms were moderate; and the
bookseller's wife, by her complimentary language, had given me yet more
encouragement. But for some months past I had been far from well, and my
original indisposition, brought on partly by the peculiar atmosphere of
the Big City, partly by anxiety of mind, had been much increased by the
exertions which I had been compelled to make during the last few days. I
felt that, were I to remain where I was, I should die, or become a
confirmed valetudinarian. I would go forth into the country, travelling
on foot, and, by exercise and inhaling pure air, endeavour to recover my
health, leaving my subsequent movements to be determined by Providence.
But whither should I bend my course? Once or twice I thought of walking
home to the old town, stay some time with my mother and my brother, and
enjoy the pleasant walks in the neighbourhood; but, though I wished very
much to see my mother and my brother, and felt much disposed to enjoy the
said pleasant walks, the old town was not exactly the place to which I
wished to go at this present juncture. I was afraid the people would
ask, Where are your Northern Ballads? Where are your alliterative
translations from Ab Gwilym--of which you were always talking, and with
which you promised to astonish the world? Now, in the event of such
interrogations, what could I answer? It is true I had compiled _Newgate
Lives and Trials_, and had written the life of Joseph Sell, but I was
afraid that the people of the old town would scarcely consider these as
equivalents for the Northern Ballads and the songs of Ab Gwilym. I would
go forth and wander in any direction but that of the old town.
But how one's sensibility on any particular point diminishes with time!
At present, I enter the old town perfectly indifferent as to what the
people may be thinking on the subject of the songs and ballads. With
respect to the people themselves, whether, like my sensibility, their
curiosity has altogether evaporated, or whether, which is at least
equally probable, they never entertained any, one thing is certain, that
never in a single instance have they troubled me with any remarks on the
subject of the songs and ballads.
As it was my intention to travel on foot, with a bundle and a stick, I
despatched my trunk containing some few clothes and books to the old
town. My preparations were soon made; in about three days I was in
readiness to start.
Before departing, however, I bethought me of my old friend the
apple-woman of London Bridge. Apprehensive that she might be labouring
under the difficulties of poverty, I sent her a piece of gold by the
hands of a young maiden in the house in which I lived. The latter
punctually executed her commission, but brought me back the piece of
gold. The old woman would not take it; she did not want it, she said.
"Tell the poor thin lad," she added, "to keep it for himself, he wants it
more than I."
Rather late one afternoon I departed from my lodging, with my stick in
one hand and a small bundle in the other, shaping my course to the south-
west. When I first arrived, somewhat more than a year before, I had
entered the city by the north-east. As I was not going home, I
determined to take my departure in the direction the very opposite to
home.
Just as I was about to cross the street called the Haymarket at the lower
part, a cabriolet, drawn by a magnificent animal, came dashing along at a
furious rate; it stopped close by the curb-stone where I was, a sudden
pull of the reins nearly bringing the spirited animal upon its haunches.
The Jehu who had accomplished this feat was Francis Ardry. A small
beautiful female, with flashing eyes, dressed in the extremity of
fashion, sat beside him.
"Holloa, friend," said Francis Ardry, "whither bound?"
"I do not know," said I; "all I can say is, that I am about to leave
London."
"And the means?" said Francis Ardry.
"I have them," said I, with a cheerful smile.
"_Qui est celui-ci_?" demanded the small female impatiently.
"_C'est_--_mon ami le plus intime_; so you were about to leave London
without telling me a word," said Francis Ardry somewhat angrily.
"I intended to have written to you," said I: "what a splendid mare that
is!"
"Is she not?" said Francis Ardry, who was holding in the mare with
difficulty; "she cost a hundred guineas."
"_Qu'est-ce qu'il dit_?" demanded his companion.
"_Il dit que le cheval est bien beau_."
"_Allons_, _mon ami_, _il est tard_," said the beauty, with a scornful
toss of her head; "_allons_!"
"_Encore un moment_," said Francis Ardry; "and when shall I see you
again?"
"I scarcely know," I replied: "I never saw a more splendid turn-out."
"_Qu'est-ce qu'il dit_?" said the lady again.
"_Il dit que tout l'equipage est en assez bon gout_."
"_Allons_, _c'est un ours_," said the lady; "_le cheval meme en a peur_,"
added she, as the mare reared up on high.
"Can you find nothing else to admire but the mare and the equipage?" said
Francis Ardry reproachfully, after he had with some difficulty brought
the mare to order.
Lifting my hand, in which I held my stick, I took off my hat. "How
beautiful!" said I, looking the lady full in the face.
"_Comment_?" said the lady inquiringly.
"_Il dit que vous etes belle comme un ange_," said Francis Ardry
emphatically.
"_Mais a la bonne heure_! _arretez_, _mon ami_," said the lady to Francis
Ardry, who was about to drive off; "_je voudrais bien causer un moment
avec lui_; _arretez_, _il est delicieux_. _Est-ce bien ainsi que vous
traitez vos amis_?" said she passionately, as Francis Ardry lifted up his
whip. "_Bonjour_, _Monsieur_, _bonjour_," said she, thrusting her head
from the side and looking back, as Francis Ardry drove off at the rate of
thirteen miles an hour.