4 halloo. Scudded off to Bridge-foot, mob at my heels: ducked into Tower-street: slid up St. Mary's-hill: entered Cannon-street: upset a kit of pickled salmon, and brushed into a hackney-coach, which conveyed me home-hit in two places, and covered with mud. Changed clothes: went out again determined to be more wary. Entered Auction-mart, at corner of Throgmorton-street. Chucked fruitwoman under chin, and went up to auction-room. Saw Gab, the auctioneer, mount pulpit. Took a stand at farther corner of room, and tried my tongue at ventriloquy. Beat Matthews hollow. Bid in seven different voices from various parts of room, and saw Gab knock down seven articles to seven innocent bystanders; viz. a fowling-piece to a fat widow a pair of stays to a ward deputy; a gig to a waiting-woman; O'Keefe's Works to a Methodist parson; a complete set of John Bull to Alderman Wood; a Greek grammar to a stock-broker; and a Chapel of ease to a servant-maid of all work. 4 P. M.-Dinner. Asked Jack Mitten to take a glass of sherry, and poked vinegar-cruet into his paw. Made him sputter out liquid, like lion's head at Aldgate pump. Swore it was all his own doing, and for once in a way got believed. Told wife I had been at Batson's; was asked by her what news? Answered the French had taken umbrage. More fools the Spaniards, replied Mrs. Gander, for not fortifying it better. Noise at front door. Sam Snaffle in a fine taking at my hoax in the morning; swore would not quit house till I had paid him for his one inside: paid him eighteen pence, and as he threatened to have me "pulled up," gave him another shilling to drink my health. 5 P. M.-Polite note from Lawyer Lynx, telling me that hoaxing an attorney was felony at common law, and that he meant to indict me at the ensuing Old Bailey Sessions, unless I paid the costs in Dobbs v. Shuffle, according to inclosed account. Perused bill: "Attending plaintiff by appointment, when he asked me how I did, six and eightpence: attending, answering him, pretty middling, six and eightpence, &c. &c. total five pound eighteen." Damned all pettifoggers, and gave bearer a check for the amount. Muffin-man with bell: bawled out Muffins, and bobbed. Aimed at Perriwinkle with a pea-shooter, and chalked, "Mangling done here," upon Slice the surgeon's windowshutter. Visit from bowing bobbing waiter from the City of London tavern, "Beg pardon, sir, but here's the bill, sir." "What bill?" "Mr. Jolter, sir, and Mr. Scraggs, sir, them as you April-fooled this morning; met and compared notes, sir; knew your hand; went to my master's tavern together, City of London, sir; ordered your own dinner, sir; turtle and roast hare for two, sir, and told me to bring you the bill, sir." Swore I would not pay it looked out of window, and saw Jolter and Scraggs walking up and down by the Wandsworth coach, and flourishing a brace of horsewhips. Set it down for no joke, and told waiter to call to-morrow for his money. 6 P. M.-Tea and toast. Determined to play the fool no more, not quite approving of the expense. Put on velvet cap and slippers. Made a leg arm-chair for little Nancy. Wife busy reading Doctor Kitchener's cookery; and Lætitia deep in Peveril of the Peak, with her legs up on the sofa. Rat-a-tat at front door, loud enough to wake defunct Sir Thomas Gresham. Rattle and slap of a hackney-coach step. Hearts sunk within us. Rustling of silk gown on the stairs. Little Nancy despatched as a light troop, to watch the enemy's motions; rushed back, exclaiming with an awful face, "Mrs. Deputy Kilderkin." General scramble to hide objectionables: buttered toast, piled up like planks in a deal-yard, chucked into the cupboard; Peveril canted into the coal-scuttle; bowl of brown sugar carefully crammed. into table-drawer, and best lump substituted; Lætitia's legs put perpendicular, and wife's vinegar visage varnished with a proper coating of sweet oil to greet visitor. Parlour door opened: enter Mrs. Deputy Kilderkin. 7 P. M.-Bows and smiles. Coffee and hard rusks. Found we had been hoaxed. Card in wife's name inviting Mrs. Kilderkin, apologizing for short notice, but mentioning that Mr. Bochsa and his thirteen harps could not be had on any other evening. Suspected Alderman Arrowroot, and vowed to be even with him this day twelvemonth. Listened to a deal of high life from Mrs. Kilderkin and daughter Lætitia. Comparative merits of Miss Taylor of the Circus and Miss Brunton of the West London: glass curtain at the Cobourg: Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam monthly assembly at the Horns, Kennington: the new turnpike in the Borough road, and what a different thing Trinity Square was from old Tower Hill. Nodded assent with my. eyes shut wife kicked my shins to keep me awake. 8 P. M.-Music. Mrs. Kilderkin and Lætitia went through the orthodox routine. Mrs. Kilderkin swore she had no voice, and. Lætitia only wished she had half as good a one. Lætitia vowed she could not finger a note; and Mrs. Kilderkin said, if she could only play a quarter as well, she should think herself a finished performer. Preliminaries thus adjusted, both sat down together and thumped overture to Lodoiska, till the poor piano trembled on its legs. 9 P. M. - -Whist. Wife and I against Lætitia and deputy's lady.. Head running upon take-in of tavern-bill: missed deal with queen of diamonds at bottom: wife kicked my left shin. Second deal: at my old tricks asked Mrs. Kilderkin if she had heard the news? Answered, No: what news? Cortes in hot water. another kick from wife. third kick. Told her that Ferdinand had dissolved the Played a spade, and thought it was a trump: Licked my thumb to deal better, and got a 10 P. M.-Whist again: seats changed to change luck. Long. dispute between Mrs. Kilderkin and Mrs. Gander, the one asserting that Lord Byron should never marry a daughter of hers, and the other that he should. Head bothered by Beppo, Mazeppo, and Aleppo. Trumped my partner's lead. Fourth kick from wife, luckily intercepted by Mrs. Kilderkin's off-ankle. Wife begged pardon. Another rat-tat-tat, and another rattle and slap from hackney-coach step, announced the arrival of Mrs. Deputy's equipage: bows and curtesies: . shawls, simpers, and ceremonious exit, Mrs. Kilderkin vowing, with a yawn, that she had never passed a pleasanter evening. 11. P. M.-Bed candles. One made by me, consisting of a round pole of cut turnip, tipped with charcoal, unluckily selected by my wife. Much poking with snuffers before trick detected. Glance of vengeance; exit wife upstairs, husband following. 12. P M.-Listened to curtain lecture fifty-nine minutes, and then fell asleep. SPRING, YOUTH, AND LOVE. SPRING re-appears :--I remember, when I was young-and who ever forgets that time? I remember how I used to enjoy a spring day, its redolence, its vivency, its thrilling sensations of pleasure. Alas! what but the reminiscences of the season, as respects its peculiar perceptions, remain at present! It returns now with very different impressions from what it then had :—it is delightful, but it no longer excites rapture-it is lovely to the eye, as ever, but it no longer makes the heart leap, and every fibre vibrate with joy, as it did then. Ye retrospects of the happiest moments of existence, of life free from anxiety, gaiety that thought not of the morrow, and love without alloy, pure as that of angels-where are ye now? I remember my youthy spring seasons well, and how I enjoyed them, as if they were a feast of yesterday. It is true I have but shadows of them remaining in the place of realities, but those very shadows are a sumless treasure to me. What cherished recollections of long buried events-buried to all the living world, save myself; unimportant, perhaps, to the living world; but of infinite concernment to me-come up in bodiless array before my sight, recalled by a vernal sensation a little allied to those of former years! What revivals of buried joy come across me in a green field or wood in the month of May, touching the chords of the past, and awakening the long slumbering sensations of days never to return! Mournfully pleasant, they lead the way over fragments of mouldered friendships; wrecks of love, that crushed the heart in their fall; and ashes of the dead, that when animated were parts of ourselves. Now, clear skies never seem of such unsullied azure as they did then, nor nature's tints so beautiful-thus appearing, perhaps, to wean us, as we grow older, from the best things of life, the glories of creation, ever productive of some exquisite pleasure even now, besides those arising from ancient associations. Of these, every man has his treasury; the species of wealth stored in which may differ with the individual, though the mode of applying it may be the same in all. It comes forth to sustain us in age, and to nourish the soul when the body is incapable of collecting more-it is an annuity laid up for the last years of life. Spring! only season known in heaven, purveyor of earth's richest festival, compass of hope, fosterer of nature's love, awakener of harmony, ushered in with perfumes and flowers-elysian Spring, would thou wert eternal! May I always have sight to gaze upon thee, and feelings never sufficiently dulled by age to be altogether insensible to thy influences! About a mile and half from the country-town where I dwelt when a boy, there was a small eminence crowned with a wood. This wood was the scene of many of my most delightful hours, from the age of fourteen to twenty. What I may relate of one so young, if it appear singular, is nevertheless true. Let the reader, then, excuse my dwelling on self, in the consideration of the veracity of what I may say, and the amusement he may derive from a brief summary of a few youthful sensations. The impressions of his younger days that may, perchance, most gratify him now, might not have taken their source in retirement, love, or fondness for nature. "The untaught harmony of spring" might have been discord to his ear. He might have dwelt all his days in cities, and his youth might have been passed in shops and warehouses, amid bustle and traffic; he might, therefore, have no sympathy with me, for, when he recalls his youthful associations, they must be grounded on very different recollections from mine;-still a history of his, as well as mine, would form part of the history of man's mind, and both or either might not be wholly worthless." But to my tale." From a stile leading over the opposite side of the hill to the approach was thickly covered with trees and underwood, quite down into a valley and up the side of a second eminence for two-thirds of the way. Through the valley a rapid stream, pellucid as crystal, ran flashing over irregular masses of stone that composed its bed. The stream itself was shaded, in the leafy season, in some parts so thickly that the light could scarcely penetrate through any direct opening. The shadow darkened to blackness numerous pools or eddies among the rocks, formed by the current, and gave a solemnity to the place highly in unison with feelings always sombre, and inclined, perhaps too much, to melancholy. This place then was my youthful sunctum sanctorum-it suited my disposition, which, in respect to externals, was fond of circumscription rather than extension, of the solemn and wild rather than the beautiful and cultivated: my young mind was discursive enough; it extended its range further as the body kept itself circumscribed and inactive. My little retreat was secluded completely from the world: a narrow path, trod principally by goats, in their descent from a granite-crowned ridge higher up on one shore of the rivulet, where it towered to a considerable height, alone marked the footsteps of animated beings along the sinuosities of the grassy bank. On the skirt of the wood, near the approach, was a group of tall dark-coloured firs, two of which forked off from the ground as they taperly arose, and admitted of my fixing a plank, which I brought one day for the purpose, between them, in the way of a seat. From this seat an extensive prospect lay stretched in view, across a distant cultivated landscape, that faded away and was lost in the grey distance. This was my look-out, the spot where I used to sit and take a view of nature in her more artificial forms. Here I often rested, in boyish vacuity of thought, or thinking as youth thinks, and watched the shadows of the clouds traversing over the landscape, the breaking forth of the Spring sunbeams that were drawing the callow herbage from its earthy bed into light and air, or listened to the lowing of the cattle in the meadows, and the hum of day. How the colours of this scene used to stand out in my keen eye! how the blue winding stripes of water sparkled, and the balmy breeze that swept over it seemed to breathe a living freshness, a vernal delight and joy, able to drive All sadness but despair! Amid this affluence of nature's beauty, my ideas were at first too young to be distinct. I loved the scene I knew not why, and was delighted I could not tell from what cause. It is the property of mature years to assign causes for things, and to analyze them; I had, however, the same enjoyment of them as if I were able to do this. Peeping above a deep ravine on my left hand, situated some way down a declivity on the opposite side, an old church tower arose, solitary and melancholy-it was the burial-place of my fathers. I used even then to gaze upon it, and ask myself whether any, when I lay in death under its shadow, would think of me as I then thought of those who were there reposing. I always found, young as I was, that I wanted somewhat which I had not; some being who would sympathize with me, and enter into my notions. None of my few young acquaintance did any thing but stare or laugh if I ventured to impart an idea of what I felt to them-of any boyish impression made by a natural beauty, though expressed with the utmost simplicity. They could not comprehend me; they thought only of their sports. This sort of reception, and want of communion with another's mind of a similar temperament with mine, made me reserved and close in all my thoughts. I was too timid to impart them to grown persons; and they lay hoarded from a want of the means of exhausting themselves. I was not, perhaps, such a lover of solitude as I appeared. I was a solitary because solitude alone was most grateful to the state of my feelings, and was so much more in unison with them than the society of my fellows. If I met with a boyish trouble-keen as boyish troubles really are, in spite of opinions generally held to the contrary; for the truth is, that youth feels pain as deeply from its vivid susceptibility, but that the pain is not so enduring as in manhood; it even penetrates farther perhaps for the instant, but its traces are quickly eradicated by the intervention of new objects and the reaction of elastic spirits:-if I met with a boyish trouble, I flew for consolation to my favourite spot, and feeling a disgust even to the view of the town from whence I had come, I rushed down into the valley, and, seated on some granite block on the edge of the water, vented my sorrow unobserved. There, watching the stream break over the stones, I was in a short time myself again. There, delighted, I listened to the blackbird's mellow note coming in gushes of wild melody to my ear; for I loved then, as still, the song of the feathered choir, and the musicians themselves above all creatures. Their music, their harmlessness, their sagacity (not enough noticed by men), their unreined career through air, tenants of unbounded space, never to be subjugated by tyrant man, emblemed the liberty of a realm beyond the reach of despotism. Whenever I read of human slavery, or the oppression of men, I longed to be a bird. I was better than fourteen years old when this retirement first drew me towards it; and in the years that succeeded, in spring, summer, and autumn, a large portion of my leisure was spent there: in fact, till I left my parental home in my twenty-first year. Two or three times a-week I visited it alone, in those seasons, generally with a book in my hand, a novel or work of history. I remember how ill I endured the winter, because it excluded me from my wonted resort. When winter was over, how I enjoyed my solitude! in which perhaps I should have imbibed a reserve, and even a downright hatred of society, had 1 not been saved by an influence that has preserved more than one under similar circumstances from a morbid dislike to social life. I have before observed that something always seemed wanting to me; that my solitude was the effect of necessity rather than of choice, because I could find neither companion nor human being who could enter into my feelings, or rather perhaps whom I could imagine able to do so. This deficiency was now to be supplied. I was soon to have a companion there, and to reveal my innermost thoughts without disguise, to be heard with interest, and replied to even with affection. |