A FINE OLD CITY--NORMAN MASTER-WORK--LOLLARDS' HOLE--GOOD BLOOD--THE
SPANIARD'S SWORD--OLD RETIRED OFFICER--WRITING TO A DUKE--GOD HELP THE
CHILD--NOTHING LIKE JACOB--IRISH BRIGADES--OLD SERGEANT MEREDITH--I HAVE
BEEN YOUNG--IDLENESS--THE BOOKSTALL--A PORTRAIT--A BANISHED PRIEST
From the wild scenes which I have attempted to describe in the latter
pages I must now transport the reader to others of a widely different
character. He must suppose himself no longer in Ireland, but in the
eastern corner of merry England. Bogs, ruins, and mountains have
disappeared amidst the vapours of the west: I have nothing more to say of
them; the region in which we are now is not famous for objects of that
kind: perhaps it flatters itself that it can produce fairer and better
things, of some of which let me speak; there is a fine old city before
us, and first of that let me speak.
A fine old city, truly, is that, view it from whatever side you will; but
it shows best from the east, where the ground, bold and elevated,
overlooks the fair and fertile valley in which it stands. Gazing from
those heights, the eye beholds a scene which cannot fail to awaken, even
in the least sensitive bosom, feelings of pleasure and admiration. At
the foot of the heights flows a narrow and deep river, with an antique
bridge communicating with a long and narrow suburb, flanked on either
side by rich meadows of the brightest green, beyond which spreads the
city; the fine old city, perhaps the most curious specimen at present
extant of the genuine old English town. Yes, there it spreads from north
to south, with its venerable houses, its numerous gardens, its thrice
twelve churches, its mighty mound, which, if tradition speaks true, was
raised by human hands to serve as the grave-heap of an old heathen king,
who sits deep within it, with his sword in his hand, and his gold and
silver treasures about him. There is a grey old castle upon the top of
that mighty mound; and yonder, rising three hundred feet above the soil,
from among those noble forest trees, behold that old Norman master-work,
that cloud-encircled cathedral spire, around which a garrulous army of
rooks and choughs continually wheel their flight. Now, who can wonder
that the children of that fine old city are proud of her, and offer up
prayers for her prosperity? I, myself, who was not born within her
walls, offer up prayers for her prosperity, that want may never visit her
cottages, vice her palaces, and that the abomination of idolatry may
never pollute her temples. Ha, idolatry! the reign of idolatry has been
over there for many a long year, never more, let us hope, to return;
brave hearts in that old town have borne witness against it, and sealed
their testimony with their hearts' blood--most precious to the Lord is
the blood of His saints! we are not far from hallowed ground. Observe ye
not yon chalky precipice, to the right of the Norman bridge? On this
side of the stream, upon its brow, is a piece of ruined wall, the last
relic of what was of old a stately pile, whilst at its foot is a place
called the Lollards' Hole; and with good reason, for many a saint of God
has breathed his last beneath that white precipice, bearing witness
against popish idolatry, midst flame and pitch; many a grisly procession
has advanced along that suburb, across the old bridge, towards the
Lollards' Hole: furious priests in front, a calm pale martyr in the
midst, a pitying multitude behind. It has had its martyrs, the venerable
old town!
Ah! there is good blood in that old city, and in the whole circumjacent
region of which it is the capital. The Angles possessed the land at an
early period, which, however, they were eventually compelled to share
with hordes of Danes and Northmen, who flocked thither across the sea to
found hearthsteads on its fertile soil. The present race, a mixture of
Angles and Danes, still preserve much which speaks strongly of their
northern ancestry; amongst them ye will find the light-brown hair of the
north, the strong and burly forms of the north, many a wild superstition,
ay, and many a wild name connected with the ancient history of the north
and its sublime mythology; the warm heart and the strong heart of the old
Danes and Saxons still beats in those regions, and there ye will find, if
anywhere, old northern hospitality and kindness of manner, united with
energy, perseverance, and dauntless intrepidity; better soldiers or
mariners never bled in their country's battles than those nurtured in
those regions, and within those old walls. It was yonder, to the west,
that the great naval hero of Britain first saw the light; he who
annihilated the sea pride of Spain, and dragged the humble banner of
France in triumph at his stern. He was born yonder, towards the west,
and of him there is a glorious relic in that old town; in its dark flint
guildhouse, the roof of which you can just descry rising above that maze
of buildings, in the upper hall of justice, is a species of glass shrine,
in which the relic is to be seen; a sword of curious workmanship, the
blade is of keen Toledan steel, the heft of ivory and mother-of-pearl.
'Tis the sword of Cordova, won in bloodiest fray off Saint Vincent's
promontory, and presented by Nelson to the old capital of the much-loved
land of his birth. Yes, the proud Spaniard's sword is to be seen in
yonder guildhouse, in the glass case affixed to the wall: many other
relics has the good old town, but none prouder than the Spaniard's sword.
Such was the place to which, when the war was over, my father retired: it
was here that the old tired soldier set himself down with his little
family. He had passed the greater part of his life in meritorious
exertion, in the service of his country, and his chief wish now was to
spend the remainder of his days in quiet and respectability; his means,
it is true, were not very ample; fortunate it was that his desires
corresponded with them; with a small fortune of his own, and with his
half-pay as a royal soldier, he had no fears for himself or for his
faithful partner and helpmate; but then his children! how was he to
provide for them? how launch them upon the wide ocean of the world? This
was, perhaps, the only thought which gave him uneasiness, and I believe
that many an old retired officer at that time, and under similar
circumstances, experienced similar anxiety; had the war continued, their
children would have been, of course, provided for in the army, but peace
now reigned, and the military career was closed to all save the scions of
the aristocracy, or those who were in some degree connected with that
privileged order, an advantage which few of these old officers could
boast of; they had slight influence with the great, who gave themselves
very little trouble either about them or their families.
'I have been writing to the Duke,' said my father one day to my excellent
mother, after we had been at home somewhat better than a year. 'I have
been writing to the Duke of York about a commission for that eldest boy
of ours. He, however, affords me no hopes; he says that his list is
crammed with names, and that the greater number of the candidates have
better claims than my son.'
'I do not see how that can be,' said my mother.
'Nor do I,' replied my father. 'I see the sons of bankers and merchants
gazetted every month, and I do not see what claims they have to urge,
unless they be golden ones. However, I have not served my king fifty
years to turn grumbler at this time of life. I suppose that the people
at the head of affairs know what is most proper and convenient; perhaps
when the lad sees how difficult, nay, how impossible it is that he should
enter the army, he will turn his mind to some other profession; I wish he
may!'
'I think he has already,' said my mother; 'you see how fond he is of the
arts, of drawing and painting, and, as far as I can judge, what he has
already done is very respectable; his mind seems quite turned that way,
and I heard him say the other day that he would sooner be a Michael
Angelo than a general officer. But you are always talking of him; what
do you think of doing with the other child?'
'What, indeed!' said my father; 'that is a consideration which gives me
no little uneasiness. I am afraid it will be much more difficult to
settle him in life than his brother. What is he fitted for, even were it
in my power to provide for him? God help the child! I bear him no ill
will, on the contrary, all love and affection; but I cannot shut my eyes;
there is something so strange about him! How he behaved in Ireland! I
sent him to school to learn Greek, and he picked up Irish!'
'And Greek as well,' said my mother. 'I heard him say the other day that
he could read St. John in the original tongue.'
'You will find excuses for him, I know,' said my father. 'You tell me I
am always talking of my first-born; I might retort by saying you are
always thinking of the other: but it is the way of women always to side
with the second-born. There's what's her name in the Bible, by whose
wiles the old blind man was induced to give to his second son the
blessing which was the birthright of the other. I wish I had been in his
place! I should not have been so easily deceived! no disguise would ever
have caused me to mistake an impostor for my first-born. Though I must
say for this boy that he is nothing like Jacob; he is neither smooth nor
sleek, and, though my second-born, is already taller and larger than his
brother.'
'Just so,' said my mother; 'his brother would make a far better Jacob
than he.'
'I will hear nothing against my first-born,' said my father, 'even in the
way of insinuation: he is my joy and pride; the very image of myself in
my youthful days, long before I fought Big Ben; though perhaps not quite
so tall or strong built. As for the other, God bless the child! I love
him, I'm sure; but I must be blind not to see the difference between him
and his brother. Why, he has neither my hair nor my eyes; and then his
countenance! why, 'tis absolutely swarthy, God forgive me! I had almost
said like that of a gypsy, but I have nothing to say against that; the
boy is not to be blamed for the colour of his face, nor for his hair and
eyes; but, then, his ways and manners!--I confess I do not like them, and
that they give me no little uneasiness--I know that he kept very strange
company when he was in Ireland; people of evil report, of whom terrible
things were said--horse-witches and the like. I questioned him once or
twice upon the matter, and even threatened him, but it was of no use; he
put on a look as if he did not understand me, a regular Irish look, just
such a one as those rascals assume when they wish to appear all innocence
and simplicity, and they full of malice and deceit all the time. I don't
like them; they are no friends to old England, or its old king, God bless
him! They are not good subjects, and never were; always in league with
foreign enemies. When I was in the Coldstream, long before the
Revolution, I used to hear enough about the Irish brigades kept by the
French kings, to be a thorn in the side of the English whenever
opportunity served. Old Sergeant Meredith once told me that in the time
of the Pretender there were always, in London alone, a dozen of fellows
connected with these brigades, with the view of seducing the king's
soldiers from their allegiance, and persuading them to desert to France
to join the honest Irish, as they were called. One of these traitors
once accosted him and proposed the matter to him, offering handfuls of
gold if he could induce any of his comrades to go over. Meredith
appeared to consent, but secretly gave information to his colonel; the
fellow was seized, and certain traitorous papers found upon him; he was
hanged before Newgate, and died exulting in his treason. His name was
Michael Nowlan. That ever son of mine should have been intimate with the
Papist Irish, and have learnt their language!'
'But he thinks of other things now,' said my mother.
'Other languages, you mean,' said my father. 'It is strange that he has
conceived such a zest for the study of languages; no sooner did he come
home than he persuaded me to send him to that old priest to learn French
and Italian, and, if I remember right, you abetted him; but, as I said
before, it is in the nature of women invariably to take the part of the
second-born. Well, there is no harm in learning French and Italian,
perhaps much good in his case, as they may drive the other tongue out of
his head. Irish! why, he might go to the university but for that; but
how would he look when, on being examined with respect to his
attainments, it was discovered that he understood Irish? How did you
learn it? they would ask him; how did you become acquainted with the
language of Papists and rebels? The boy would be sent away in disgrace.'
'Be under no apprehension, I have no doubt that he has long since
forgotten it.'
'I am glad to hear it,' said my father; 'for, between ourselves, I love
the poor child; ay, quite as well as my first-born. I trust they will do
well, and that God will be their shield and guide; I have no doubt He
will, for I have read something in the Bible to that effect. What is
that text about the young ravens being fed?'
'I know a better than that,' said my mother; 'one of David's own words,
"I have been young and now am grown old, yet never have I seen the
righteous man forsaken, or his seed begging their bread."'
I have heard talk of the pleasures of idleness, yet it is my own firm
belief that no one ever yet took pleasure in it. Mere idleness is the
most disagreeable state of existence, and both mind and body are
continually making efforts to escape from it. It has been said that
idleness is the parent of mischief, which is very true; but mischief
itself is merely an attempt to escape from the dreary vacuum of idleness.
There are many tasks and occupations which a man is unwilling to perform,
but let no one think that he is therefore in love with idleness; he turns
to something which is more agreeable to his inclination, and doubtless
more suited to his nature; but he is not in love with idleness. A boy
may play the truant from school because he dislikes books and study; but,
depend upon it, he intends doing something the while--to go fishing, or
perhaps to take a walk; and who knows but that from such excursions both
his mind and body may derive more benefit than from books and school?
Many people go to sleep to escape from idleness; the Spaniards do; and,
according to the French account, John Bull, the 'squire, hangs himself in
the month of November; but the French, who are a very sensible people,
attribute the action _a une grande envie de se desennuyer_; he wishes to
be doing something, say they, and having nothing better to do, he has
recourse to the cord.
It was for want of something better to do that, shortly after my return
home, I applied myself to the study of languages. By the acquisition of
Irish, with the first elements of which I had become acquainted under the
tuition of Murtagh, I had contracted a certain zest and inclination for
the pursuit. Yet it is probable that had I been launched about this time
into some agreeable career, that of arms for example, for which, being
the son of a soldier, I had, as was natural, a sort of penchant, I might
have thought nothing more of the acquisition of tongues of any kind; but,
having nothing to do, I followed the only course suited to my genius
which appeared open to me.
So it came to pass that one day, whilst wandering listlessly about the
streets of the old town, I came to a small book-stall, and stopping,
commenced turning over the books; I took up at least a dozen, and almost
instantly flung them down. What were they to me? At last, coming to a
thick volume, I opened it, and after inspecting its contents for a few
minutes, I paid for it what was demanded, and forthwith carried it home.
It was a tessaraglot grammar; a strange old book, printed somewhere in
Holland, which pretended to be an easy guide to the acquirement of the
French, Italian, Low Dutch, and English tongues, by means of which anyone
conversant in any one of these languages could make himself master of the
other three. I turned my attention to the French and Italian. The old
book was not of much value; I derived some benefit from it, however, and,
conning it intensely, at the end of a few weeks obtained some insight
into the structure of these two languages. At length I had learnt all
that the book was capable of informing me, yet was still far from the
goal to which it had promised to conduct me. 'I wish I had a master!' I
exclaimed; and the master was at hand. In an old court of the old town
lived a certain elderly personage, perhaps sixty, or thereabouts; he was
rather tall, and something of a robust make, with a countenance in which
bluffness was singularly blended with vivacity and grimace; and with a
complexion which would have been ruddy, but for a yellow hue which rather
predominated. His dress consisted of a snuff-coloured coat and drab
pantaloons, the former evidently seldom subjected to the annoyance of a
brush, and the latter exhibiting here and there spots of something which,
if not grease, bore a strong resemblance to it; add to these articles an
immense frill, seldom of the purest white, but invariably of the finest
French cambric, and you have some idea of his dress. He had rather a
remarkable stoop, but his step was rapid and vigorous, and as he hurried
along the streets, he would glance to the right and left with a pair of
big eyes like plums, and on recognising any one would exalt a pair of
grizzled eyebrows, and slightly kiss a tawny and ungloved hand. At
certain hours of the day he might be seen entering the doors of female
boarding-schools, generally with a book in his hand, and perhaps another
just peering from the orifice of a capacious back pocket; and at a
certain season of the year he might be seen, dressed in white, before the
altar of a certain small popish chapel, chanting from the breviary in
very intelligible Latin, or perhaps reading from the desk in utterly
unintelligible English. Such was my preceptor in the French and Italian
tongues. 'Exul sacerdos; vone banished priest. I came into England
twenty-five year ago, "my dear."'