After breakfast the next morning, I took my hat to go out, when my
father, looking at me, and seeing by my countenance that I had not
slept, said gently--
"My dear Pisistratus, you have not tried my medicine yet."
"What medicine, sir?"
"Robert Hall."
"No, indeed, not yet," said I, smiling.
"Do so, my son, before you go out; depend on it, you will enjoy your
walk more."
I confess that it was, with some reluctance I obeyed. I went back to
my own room, and sate resolutely down to my task. Are there any of
you, my readers, who have not read the _Life of Robert Hall_? If so,
in the words of the great Captain Cuttle, "When found, make a note
of it." Never mind what your theological opinion is--Episcopalian,
Presbyterian, Baptist, Pædobaptist, Independent, Quaker, Unitarian,
Philosopher, Freethinker--send for Robert Hall! Yea, if there exist
yet on earth descendants of the arch-heresies, which made such a
noise in their day--men who believe with Saturnians that the world
was made by seven angels; or with Basilides, that there are as many
heavens as there are days in the year; or with the Nicolaitanes,
that men ought to have their wives in common, (plenty of that sect
still, especially in the Red Republic;) or with their successors,
the Gnostics, who believed in Jaldaboath; or with the Carpacratians,
that the world was made by the devil; or with the Cerinthians, and
Ebionites, and Nazarites, (which last discovered that the name of
Noah's wife was Ouria, and that she set the ark on fire;) or with
the Valentinians, who taught that there were thirty Æones, ages, or
worlds, born out of Profundity, (Bathos,) male, and Silence, female;
or with the Marcites, Colarbasii, and Heracleonites, (who still
kept up that bother about Æones, Mr Profundity, and Mrs Silence;)
or with the Ophites, who are said to have worshipped the serpent;
or the Cainites, who ingeniously found out a reason for honouring
Judas, because he foresaw what good would come to men by betraying
our Saviour; or with the Sethites, who made Seth a part of the
Divine substance; or with the Archonticks, Ascothyptæ, Cerdonians,
Marcionites, the disciples of Apelles, and Severus, (the last was
a teetotaller, and said wine was begot by Satan!) or of Tatian,
who thought all the descendants of Adam were irretrievably damned
except themselves, (some of those Tatiani are certainly extant!) or
the Cataphrygians, who were also called Tascodragitæ, because they
thrust their forefingers up their nostrils to show their devotion;
or the Pepuzians, Quintilians, and Artotyrites; or--but no matter.
If I go through all the follies of men in search of the truth, I
shall never get to the end of my chapter, or back to Robert Hall:
whatever, then, thou art, orthodox or heterodox, send for the _Life
of Robert Hall_. It is the life of a man that it does good to
manhood itself to contemplate.
I had finished the biography, which is not long, and was musing over
it, when I heard the Captain's cork-leg upon the stairs. I opened
the door for him, and he entered, book in hand, as I, also book in
hand, stood ready to receive him.
"Well, sir," said Roland, seating himself, "has the prescription
done you any good?"
"Yes, uncle--great."
"And me too. By Jupiter, Sisty, that same Hall was a fine fellow! I
wonder if the medicine has gone through the same channels in both?
Tell me, first, how it has affected you."
"_Imprimis_, then, my dear uncle, I fancy that a book like this must
do good to all who live in the world in the ordinary manner, by
admitting us into a circle of life of which I suspect we think but
little. Here is a man connecting himself directly with a heavenly
purpose, and cultivating considerable faculties to that one end;
seeking to accomplish his soul as far as he can, that he may do
most good on earth, and take a higher existence up to heaven; a man
intent upon a sublime and spiritual duty: in short, living as it
were in it, and so filled with the consciousness of immortality,
and so strong in the link between God and man, that, without any
affected stoicism, without being insensible to pain--rather,
perhaps, from a nervous temperament, acutely feeling it--he yet
has a happiness wholly independent of it. It is impossible not to
be thrilled with an admiration that elevates while it awes you, in
reading that solemn 'Dedication of himself to God.' This offering of
'soul and body, time, health, reputation, talents,' to the divine
and invisible Principle of Good, calls us suddenly to contemplate
the selfishness of our own views and hopes, and awakens us from the
egotism that exacts all and resigns nothing.
"But this book has mostly struck upon the chord in my own heart,
in that characteristic which my father indicated as belonging to
all biography. Here is a life of remarkable _fulness_, great study,
great thought, and great action; and yet," said I, colouring,
"how small a place those feelings, which have tyrannised over me,
and made all else seem blank and void, hold in that life. It is
not as if the man were a cold and hard ascetic; it is easy to see
in him not only remarkable tenderness and warm affections, but
strong self-will, and the passion of all vigorous natures. Yes, I
understand better now what existence in a true man should be."
"All that is very well said," quoth the Captain, "but it did not
strike me. What I have seen in this book is courage. Here is a
poor creature rolling on the carpet with agony; from childhood to
death tortured by a mysterious incurable malady--a malady that is
described as 'an internal apparatus of torture;' and who does, by
his heroism, more than _bear_ it--he puts it out of power to affect
him; and though (here is the passage) 'his appointment by day and by
night was incessant pain, yet high enjoyment was, notwithstanding,
the law of his existence.' Robert Hall reads me a lesson--me, an old
soldier, who thought myself above taking lessons--in courage, at
least. And, as I came to that passage when, in the sharp paroxysms
before death, he says, 'I have not complained, have I, sir?--and
I won't complain,'--when I came to that passage I started up, and
cried, 'Roland de Caxton, thou hast been a coward! and, an thou
hadst had thy deserts, thou hadst been cashiered, broken, and
drummed out of the regiment long ago!"
"After all, then, my father was not so wrong--he placed his guns
right, and fired a good shot."
"He must have been from 6° to 9° above the crest of the parapet,"
said my uncle, thoughtfully--"which, I take it, is the best
elevation, both for shot and shells, in enfilading a work."
"What say you, then, Captain? up with our knapsacks, and on with the
march!"
"Right about--face!" cried my uncle, as erect as a column.
"No looking back, if we can help it."
"Full in the front of the enemy--'Up, guards, and at 'em!'"
"'England expects every man to do his duty!"'
"Cypress or laurel!" cried my uncle, waving the book over his head.