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TALES OF A TRAVELLER, Vol. 2.................................................................................................................1

Washington Irving...................................................................................................................................1

BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS...................................................................................................1

LITERARY LIFE....................................................................................................................................1

A LITERARY DINNER. .........................................................................................................................2

THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS......................................................................................................4

THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR...............................................................................................................7

BUCKTHORNE, OR THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. ......................................15

GRAVE REFLECTIONS OF A DISAPPOINTED MAN. ..................................................................37

THE BOOBY SQUIRE.........................................................................................................................40

THE STROLLING MANAGER...........................................................................................................42

" 'Tis a very good world that we live in, To lend, or to spend, or to give in; But to beg, or to borrow, or get a

man's own, 'Tis the very worst world, sir, that ever was known." Lines from an Inn Window.

Among the great variety of characters which fall in a traveller's way, I became acquainted du ring my

sojourn in London, with an eccentric personage of the name of Buckthorne. He was a literary man, had lived

much in the metropo lis, and had acquired a great deal of curious, though unprofitable knowledge

concerning it. He was a great observer of character, and could give the natural history of every odd animal

that presented itself in this great wilderness of men. Finding me very curious about literary life and literary

"The literary world of England," said he to me one day, "is made up of a number of little fraternities, each

existing merely for itself, and thinking the rest of the world created only to look on and admire. It may be

resembled to the firmament, consisting of a number of systems, each composed of its own central sun with its

revolving train of moons and satellites, all acting in the most harmonious concord; but the com parison fails

in part, inasmuch as the literary world has no general concord. Each system acts independently of the rest,

and indeed considers all other stars as mere exhalations and transient meteors, beaming for a while with false

fires, but doomed soon to fall and be forgotten; while its own luminaries are the lights of the universe,

"And pray," said I, "how is a man to get a peep into one of these systems you talk of? I presume an

intercourse with authors is a kind of intellectual exchange, where one must bring his commodities to barter,

"Pooh, pooh how you mistake," said Buck thorne, smiling: "you must never think to be come popular

among wits by shining. They go into society to shine themselves, not to admire the brilliancy of others. I

thought as you do when I first cultivated the society of men of let ters, and never went to a blue stocking

coterie without studying my part before hand as dili gently as an actor. The consequence was, I soon got the

name of an intolerable proser, and should in a little while have been completely ex communicated had I not

changed my plan of operations. From thenceforth I became a most assiduous listener, or if ever I were

eloquent, it was t�te�t�te with an author, in praise of his own works, or what is nearly as acceptable, in

disparagement of the works of his contempora ries. If ever he spoke favourably of the produc tions of

some particular friend, I ventured boldly to dissent from him, and to prove that his friend was a blockhead,

and much as people say of the pertinacity and irritability of authors I never found one to take offence at my

contradictions. No, no, sir, authors are particularly candid in admitting the faults of their friends.

"Indeed, I was extremely sparing of my re marks on all modern works, excepting to make sarcastic

observations on the most distinguished writers of the day. I never ventured to praise an author that had not

been dead at least half a century; and even then I was rather cautious; for you must know that many old

writers have been enlisted under the banners of different sects, and their merits have become as complete

topics of party prejudice and dispute, as the merits of living statesmen and politicians. Nay, there have been

whole periods of literature absolutely taboo'd, to use a South Sea phrase. It is, for example, as much as a

man's reputation is worth, in some circles, to say a word in praise of any writers of the reign of Charles the

Second, or even of Queen Anne; they being all declared to be Frenchmen in disguise."

"And pray, then," said I, "when am I to know that I am on safe grounds; being totally unacquainted with the

"Oh," replied he, "there is fortunately one tract of literature that forms a kind of neutral ground, on which all

the literary world meet amicably; lay down their weapons, and even run riot in their excess of good humour,

and this is, the reigns of Elizabeth and James. Here you may praise away at a venture; here it is `cut and come

again,' and the more obscure the au thor, and the more quaint and crabbed his style, the more your

admiration will smack of the real relish of the connoisseur; whose taste, like that of an epicure, is always for

"But," continued he, "as you seem anxious to know something of literary society I will take an opportunity to

introduce you to some coterie, where the talents of the day are assembled. I cannot promise you, however,

that they will be of the first order. Some how or other, our great geniuses are not gregarious, they do not go in

flocks; but fly singly in general society. They prefer mingling, like common men, with the mul titude; and

are apt to carry nothing of the author about them but the reputation. It is only the inferior orders that herd

together, acquire strength and importance by their confederacies, and bear all the distinctive characteristics of

A few days after this conversation with Mr. Buckthorne, he called upon me, and took me with him to a

regular literary dinner. It was given by a great bookseller, or rather a company of booksellers, whose firm

I was surprised to find between twenty and thirty guests assembled, most of whom I had never seen before.

Buckthorne explained this to me by informing me that this was a "business dinner," or kind of field day,

which the house gave about twice a year to its authors. It is true, they did occasionally give snug dinners to

three or four literary men at a time, but then these were generally select authors; favourites of the public; such

as had arrived at their sixth and seventh editions. "There are," said he, "certain geographical boundaries in the

land of literature, and you may judge tolerably well of an author's popularity, by the wine his bookseller gives

him. An author crosses the port line about the third edition and gets into claret, but when he has reached the

"And pray," said I, "how far may these gen tlemen have reached that I see around me; are any of these claret

"Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these great dinners the common steady run of authors, one, two, edition

men; or if any others are invi ted they are aware that it is a kind of republican meeting. You understand

me a meeting of the republic of letters, and that they must expect nothing but plain substantial fare."

These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully the arrangement of the table. The two ends were occupied

by two partners of the house. And the host seemed to have adopted Addison's ideas as to the literary

precedence of his guests. A popular poet had the post of honour, opposite to whom was a hot pressed traveller

in quarto, with plates. A grave looking antiquarian, who had produced several solid works, which were much

quoted and little read, was treated with great respect, and seated next to a neat dressy gen tleman in black,

who had written a thin, genteel, hot pressed octavo on political economy, that was getting into fashion.

Several three volume duo decimo men of fair currency were placed about the centre of the table; while the

lower end was taken up with small poets, translators, and au thors, who had not as yet risen into much

The conversation during dinner was by fits and starts; breaking out here and there in various parts of the table

in small flashes, and ending in smoke. The poet who had the confidence of a man on good terms with the

world and independ ent of his bookseller, was very gay and brilliant, and said many clever things, which set

the part ner next him in a roar, and delighted all the com pany. The other partner, however, maintained his

sedateness, and kept carving on, with the air of a thorough man of business, intent upon the occupation of the

moment. His gravity was ex plained to me by my friend Buckthorne. He informed me that the concerns of

the house were admirably distributed among the partners. "Thus, for instance," said he, "the grave gen

tleman is the carving partner who attends to the joints, and the other is the laughing partner who attends to the

The general conversation was chiefly carried on at the upper end of the table; as the authors there seemed to

possess the greatest courage of the tongue. As to the crew at the lower end, if they did not make much figure

in talking they did in eating. Never was there a more deter mined, inveterate, thoroughly sustained attack on

the trencher, than by this phalanx of mastica tors. When the cloth was removed, and the wine began to

circulate, they grew very merry and jo cose among themselves. Their jokes, however, if by chance any of

them reached the upper end of the table, seldom produced much effect. Even the laughing partner did not

seem to think it ne cessary to honour them with a smile; which my neighbour Buckthorne accounted for, by

inform ing me that there was a certain degree of popula rity to be obtained, before a bookseller could af

Among this crew of questionable gentlemen thus seated below the salt, my eye singled out one in particular.

He was rather shabbily dress ed; though he had evidently made the most of a rusty black coat, and wore his

shirt frill plaited and puffed out voluminously at the bosom. His face was dusky, but florid perhaps a little

too florid, particularly about the nose, though the rosy hue gave the greater lustre to a twinkling black eye. He

had a little the look of a boon companion, with that dash of the poor devil in it which gives an inexpressibly

mellow tone to a man's humour. I had seldom seen a face of rich er promise; but never was promise so ill

kept. He said nothing; ate and drank with the keen appetite of a gazetteer, and scarcely stopped to laugh even

at the good jokes from the upper end of the table. I inquired who he was. Buck thorne looked at him

attentively. "Gad," said he, "I have seen that face before, but where I cannot recollect. He cannot be an author

After dinner we retired to another room to take tea and coffee, where we were reinforced by a cloud of

inferior guests. Authors of small volumes in boards, and pamphlets stitched in blue paper. These had not as

yet arrived to the importance of a dinner invitation, but were in vited occasionally to pass the evening "in a

friendly way." They were very respectful to the partners, and indeed seemed to stand a little in awe of them;

but they paid very devoted court to the lady of the house, and were extrava gantly fond of the children. I

looked round for the poor devil author in the rusty black coat and magnificent frill, but he had disappeared

imme diately after leaving the table; having a dread, no doubt, of the glaring light of a drawing room.

Finding nothing farther to interest my attention, I took my departure as soon as coffee had been served,

leaving the port and the thin, genteel, hotpressed, octavo gentlemen, masters of the field.

I think it was but the very next evening that in coming out of Covent Garden Theatre with my eccentric friend

Buckthorne, he proposed to give me another peep at life and character. Finding me willing for any research of

the kind, he took me through a variety of the narrow courts and lanes about Covent Garden, until we stopped

be fore a tavern from which we heard the bursts of merriment of a jovial party. There would be a loud peal

of laughter, then an interval, then another peal, as if a prime wag were telling a story. After a little while there

was a song, and at the close of each stanza a hearty roar and a vehement thumping on the table.

"This is the place," whispered Buckthorne. "It is the `Club of Queer Fellows.' A great resort of the small wits,

third rate actors, and newspaper critics of the theatres. Any one can go in on paying a shilling at the bar for

We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and took our seats at a lone table in a dusky corner of the room.

The club was assembled round a table, on which stood beverages of various kinds, according to the taste of

the individual. The members were a set of queer fellows indeed; but what was my surprise on recognizing in

the prime wit of the meeting the poor devil author whom I had remarked at the booksellers' dinner for his

promising face and his complete taciturnity. Matters, however, were entire ly changed with him. There he

was a mere cypher: here he was lord of the ascendant; the choice spirit, the dominant genius. He sat at the

head of the table with his hat on, and an eye beaming even more luminously than his nose. He had a quiz and

a fillip for every one, and a good thing on every occasion. Nothing could be said or done without eliciting a

spark from him; and I solemnly declare I have heard much worse wit even from noblemen. His jokes, it must

be confessed, were rather wet, but they suited the circle in which he presided. The company were in that

maudlin mood when a little wit goes a great way. Every time he opened his lips there was sure to be a roar,

We were fortunate enough to enter in time for a glee composed by him expressly for the club, and which he

sang with two boon companions, who would have been worthy subjects for Ho garth's pencil. As they were

each provided with a written copy, I was enabled to procure the reading of it. Merrily, merrily push round the

We waited until the party broke up, and no one but the wit remained. He sat at the table with his legs

stretched under it, and wide apart; his hands in his breeches pockets; his head drooped upon his breast; and

gazing with lack lustre countenance on an empty tankard. His gayety was gone, his fire completely

My companion approached and startled him from his fit of brown study, introducing himself on the strength

"By the way," said he, "it seems to me I have seen you before; your face is surely the face of an old

"Very likely," replied he with a smile; "ma ny of my old friends have forgotten me. Though, to tell the truth,

my memory in this instance is as bad as your own. If however it will assist your recollection in any way, my

"The same," said the other, coolly. "Why then we are old schoolmates, though it's no wonder you don't

recollect me. I was your junior by several years; don't you recollect little Jack Buckthorne?"

Here then ensued a scene of school fellow re cognition; and a world of talk about old school times and

school pranks. Mr. Dribble ended by observing, with a heavy sigh, "that times were sadly changed since

"Faith, Mr. Dribble," said I, "you seem quite a different man here from what you were at dinner. I had no idea

that you had so much stuff in you. There you were all silence; but here you absolutely keep the table in a

"Ah, my dear sir," replied he, with a shake of the head and a shrug of the shoulder, "I'm a mere glow worm. I

never shine by daylight. Besides, it's a hard thing for a poor devil of an author to shine at the table of a rich

book seller. Who do you think would laugh at any thing I could say, when I had some of the current wits of

the day about me? But here, though a poor devil, I am among still poorer devils than myself; men who look

up to me as a man of let ters and a bel esprit, and all my jokes pass as sterling gold from the mint."

"You surely do yourself injustice, sir," said I; "I have certainly heard more good things from you this evening

than from any of those beaux esprits by whom you appear to have been so daunted."

"Ah, sir! but they have luck on their side; they are in the fashion there's nothing like being in fashion. A

man that has once got his character up for a wit, is always sure of a laugh, say what he may. He may utter as

much nonsense as he pleases, and all will pass current. No one stops to question the coin of a rich man; but a

poor devil cannot pass off either a joke or a guinea, without its being examined on both sides. Wit and coin

"For my part," continued he, giving his hat a twitch a little more on one side, "for my part, I hate your fine

dinners; there's nothing, sir, like the freedom of a chop house. I'd rather any time, have my steak and tankard

among my own set, than drink claret and eat venison with your cur sed civil, elegant company, who never

laugh at a good joke from a poor devil, for fear of its being vulgar. A good joke grows in a wet soil; it

flourishes in low places, but withers on your d d high, dry grounds. I once kept high company, sir, until I

nearly ruined myself; I grew so dull, and vapid, and genteel. Nothing saved me but being arrested by my

landlady and thrown into prison; where a course of catch clubs, eight pen ny ale, and poor devil company,

As it was now growing late we parted for the evening; though I felt anxious to know more of this practical

philosopher. I was glad, therefore, when Buckthorne proposed to have another meeting to talk over old school

times, and inqui red his schoolmate's address. The latter seem ed at first a little shy of naming his lodgings;

but suddenly assuming an air of hardihood "Green Arbour court, sir," exclaimed he "number in

Green Arbour court. You must know the place. Classic ground, sir! classic ground! It was there Goldsmith

I was amused with this whimsical apology for shabby quarters. On our way homewards Buck thorne

assured me that this Dribble had been the prime wit and great wag of the school in their boyish days, and one

of those unlucky urchins denominated bright geniuses. As he perceived me curious respecting his old

schoolmate, he promised to take me with him in his proposed visit to Green Arbour court.

A few mornings afterwards he called upon me, and we set forth on our expedition. He led me through a

variety of singular alleys, and courts, and blind passages; for he appeared to be pro foundly versed in all the

intricate geography of the metropolis. At length we came out upon Fleet Market, and traversing it, turned up a

nar row street to the bottom of a long steep flight of stone steps, named Breakneck Stairs. These, he told

me, led up to Green Arbour court, and that down them poor Goldsmith might many a time have risked his

neck. When we entered the court, I could not but smile to think in what out of the way corners genius

produces her bant lings! And the muses, those capricious dames, who, forsooth, so often refuse to visit

palaces, and deny a single smile to votaries in splendid studies and gilded drawing rooms, what holes and

This Green Arbour court I found to be a small square of tall and miserable houses, the very in testines of

which seemed turned inside out, to judge from the old garments and frippery that fluttered from every

window. It appeared to be a region of washerwomen, and lines were stretched about the little square, on

which clothes were dangling to dry. Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took place between two virago's

about a disputed right to a washtub, and imme diately the whole community was in a hubbub. Heads in mob

caps popped out of every window, and such a clamour of tongues ensued that I was fain to stop my ears.

Every Amazon took part with one or other of the disputants, and brandished her arms dripping with soapsuds,

and fired away from her window as from the embra zure of a fortress; while the swarms of children nestled

and cradled in every procreant chamber of this hive, waking with the noise, set up their shrill pipes to swell

Poor Goldsmith! what a time must he have had of it, with his quiet disposition and nervous habits, penned up

in this den of noise and vul garity. How strange that while every sight and sound was sufficient to imbitter

the heart and fill it with misanthropy, his pen should be dropping the honey of Hybla. Yet it is more than

probable that he drew many of his inimita ble pictures of low life from the scenes which surrounded him in

this abode. The circumstance of Mrs. Tibbs being obliged to wash her hus band's two shirts in a neighbour's

house, who re fused to lend her washtub, may have been no sport of fancy, but a fact passing under his own

eye. His landlady may have sat for the picture, and Beau Tibbs' scanty wardrobe have been a fac simile of his

It was with some difficulty that we found our way to Dribble's lodgings. They were up two pair of stairs, in a

room that looked upon the court, and when we entered he was seated on the edge of his bed, writing at a

broken table. He received us, however, with a free, open, poor devil air, that was irresistible. It is true he did

at first appear slightly confused; buttoned up his waistcoat a little higher and tucked in a stray frill of linen.

But he recollected himself in an instant; gave a half swagger, half leer, as he stepped forth to receive us; drew

a threelegged stool for Mr. Buckthorne; pointed me to a lum bering old damask chair that looked like a

We soon got engaged in conversation. Buck thorne and he had much to say about early school scenes; and

as nothing opens a man's heart more than recollections of the kind we soon drew from him a brief outline of

I began life unluckily by being the wag and bright fellow at school; and I had the farther misfortune of

becoming the great genius of my native village. My father was a country attor ney, and intended that I

should succeed him in business; but I had too much genius to study, and he was too fond of my genius to

force it into the traces. So I fell into bad company and took to bad habits. Do not mistake me. I mean that I

fell into the company of village literati and vil lage blues, and took to writing village poetry.

It was quite the fashion in the village to be literary. We had a little knot of choice spirits who assembled

frequently together, formed our selves into a Literary, Scientific and Philosophi cal Society, and fancied

ourselves the most learn ed philos in existence. Every one had a great character assigned him, suggested by

some casu al habit or affectation. One heavy fellow drank an enormous quantity of tea; rolled in his arm

chair, talked sententiously, pronounced dogmati cally, and was considered a second Dr. Johnson; another,

who happened to be a curate, uttered coarse jokes, wrote doggerel rhymes, and was the Swift of our

association. Thus we had also our Popes, and Goldsmiths, and Addisons, and a blue stocking lady whose

drawing room we fre quented, who corresponded about nothing with all the world, and wrote letters with

the stiffness and formality of a printed book, was cried up as another Mrs. Montagu. I was, by common con

sent, the juvenile prodigy, the poetical youth, the great genius, the pride and hope of the village, through

My father died and left me his blessing and his business. His blessing brought no money into my pocket; and

as to his business it soon deserted me: for I was busy writing poetry, and could not attend to law; and my

clients, though they had great respect for my talents, had no faith in a poetical attorney.

I lost my business therefore, spent my money, and finished my poem. It was the Pleasures of Melancholy,

and was cried up to the skies by the whole circle. The Pleasures of Imagination, the Pleasures of Hope, and

the Pleasures of Memo ry, though each had placed its author in the first rank of poets, were blank prose in

comparison. Our Mrs. Montagu would cry over it from be ginning to end. It was pronounced by all the

members of the Literary, Scientific and Philoso phical Society, the greatest poem of the age, and all

anticipated the noise it would make in the great world. There was not a doubt but the London booksellers

would be mad after it, and the only fear of my friends was, that I would make a sacrifice by selling it too

cheap. Every time they talked the matter over they increased the price. They reckoned up the great sums

given for the poems of certain popular writers, and determined that mine was worth more than all put

together, and ought to be paid for accord ingly. For my part, I was modest in my ex pectations, and

determined that I would be satis fied with a thousand guineas. So I put my poem in my pocket and set off

My journey was joyous. My heart was light as my purse, and my head full of anticipations of fame and

fortune. With what swelling pride did I cast my eyes upon old London from the heights of Highgate. I was

like a general look ing down upon a place he expects to conquer. The great metropolis lay stretched before

me, buried under a homemade cloud of murky smoke, that wrapped it from the brightness of a sunny day,

and formed for it a kind of artifi cial bad weather. At the outskirts of the city, away to the west, the smoke

gradually decreas ed until all was clear and sunny, and the view stretched uninterrupted to the blue line of

My eye turned fondly to where the mighty cupola of St. Paul's swelled dimly through this misty chaos, and I

pictured to myself the solemn realm of learning that lies about its base. How soon should the Pleasures of

Melancholy throw this world of booksellers and printers into a bus tle of business and delight! How soon

should I hear my name repeated by printers' devils throughout Pater Noster Row, and Angel Court, and Ave

Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the most fashionable publisher. Every new author patronizes him of

course. In fact, it had been determined in the village circle that he should be the fortunate man. I cannot tell

you how vaingloriously I walked the streets; my head was in the clouds. I felt the airs of heaven playing

about it, and fancied it already encircled by a halo of literary glory. As I passed by the windows of

bookshops, I anticipated the time when my work would be shining among the hotpressed wonders of the day;

and my face, scratched on copper, or cut in wood, figuring in fellowship with those of Scott and Byron and

When I applied at the publisher's house there was something in the loftiness of my air, and the dinginess of

my dress, that struck the clerks with reverence. They doubtless took me for some person of consequence,

probably a digger of Greek roots, or a penetrator of pyramids. A proud man in a dirty shirt is always an

imposing character in the world of letters; one must feel intellectually secure before he can venture to dress

shabbily; none but a great scholar or a great genius dares to be dirty; so I was ushered at once to the sanctum

The publishing of books is a very different affair now adays, from what it was in the time of Bernard Lintot.

I found the publisher a fashionably dressed man, in an elegant drawing room, furnished with sofas, and

portraits of celebrated authors, and cases of splendidly bound books. He was writing letters at an elegant

table. This was transacting business in style. The place seemed suited to the magnificent publications that

issued from it. I rejoiced at the choice I had made of a publisher, for I al ways liked to encourage men of

I stepped up to the table with the lofty poeti cal port that I had been accustomed to maintain in our village

circle; though I threw in it some thing of a patronizing air, such as one feels when about to make a man's

fortune. The publisher paused with his pen in his hand, and seemed waiting in mute suspense to know what

I put him at his ease in a moment, for I felt that I had but to come, see, and conquer. I made known my name,

and the name of my poem; produced my precious roll of blotted manuscript, laid it on the table with an

emphasis, and told him at once, to save time and come directly to the point, the price was one thousand

I had given him no time to speak, nor did he seem so inclined. He continued looking at me for a moment with

an air of whimsical perplexity; scanned me from head to foot; looked down at the manuscript, then up again

at me, then pointed to a chair; and whistling softly to himself, went on writing his letter.

I sat for some time waiting his reply, suppo sing he was making up his mind; but he only paused

occasionally to take a fresh dip of ink; to stroke his chin or the tip of his nose, and then resumed his writing.

It was evident his mind was intently occupied upon some other subject; but I had no idea that any other

subject should be attended to and my poem lie unnoticed on the table. I had supposed that every thing would

My gorge at length rose within me. I took up my manuscript; thrust it into my pocket, and walked out of the

room; making some noise as I went, to let my departure be heard. The pub lisher, however, was too much

busied in minor concerns to notice it. I was suffered to walk down stairs without being called back. I sallied

forth into the street, but no clerk was sent after me; nor did the publisher call after me from the drawing room

window. I have been told since, that he considered me either a madman or a fool. I leave you to judge how

When I turned the corner my crest fell. I cooled down in my pride and my expectations, and reduced my

terms with the next bookseller to whom I applied. I had no better success: nor with a third; nor with a fourth.

I then desired the booksellers to make an offer themselves; but the deuce an offer would they make. They told

me poetry was a mere drug; every body wrote poetry; the market was overstocked with it. And then, they

said, the title of my poem was not taking: that pleasures of all kinds were worn threadbare; nothing but

horrors did now adays, and even these were almost worn out. Tales of pirates, robbers, and bloody Turks

might answer tolerably well; but then they must come from some established wellknown name, or the pub

At last I offered to leave my poem with a book seller to read it and judge for himself. "Why, really, my dear

Mr. a a I forget your name," said he, cutting an eye at my rusty coat and shab by gaiters, "really,

sir, we are so pressed with business just now, and have so many manuscripts on hand to read, that we have

not time to look at any new production, but if you can call again in a week or two, or say the middle of next

month, we may be able to look over your wri tings and give you an answer. Don't forget, the month after

next good morning, sir happy to see you any time you are passing this way" so saying he bowed

me out in the civilest way ima ginable. In short, sir, instead of an eager com petition to secure my poem I

could not even get it read! In the mean time I was harassed by letters from my friends, wanting to know when

the work was to appear; who was to be my pub lisher; but above all things warning me not to let it go too

There was but one alternative left. I deter mined to publish the poem myself; and to have my triumph over

the booksellers, when it should become the fashion of the day. I accordingly published the Pleasures of

Melancholy and ruin ed myself. Excepting the copies sent to the re views, and to my friends in the country,

not one, I believe, ever left the bookseller's warehouse. The printer's bill drained my purse, and the only

notice that was taken of my work was contained in the advertisements paid for by myself.

I could have borne all this, and have attribu ted it as usual to the mismanagement of the pub lisher, or the

want of taste in the public; and could have made the usual appeal to posterity: but my village friends would

not let me rest in quiet. They were picturing me to themselves feasting with the great, communing with the

li terary, and in the high course of fortune and re nown. Every little while, some one came to me with a

letter of introduction from the village circle, recommending him to my attentions, and requesting that I would

make him known in so ciety; with a hint that an introduction to the house of a celebrated literary nobleman

I determined, therefore, to change my lodg ings, drop my correspondence, and disappear altogether from the

view of my village admirers. Besides, I was anxious to make one more poetic attempt. I was by no means

disheartened by the failure of my first. My poem was evidently too didactic. The public was wise enough. It

no longer read for instruction. "They want horrors, do they?" said I, "I'faith, then they shall have enough of

them" So I looked out for some quiet retired place, where I might be out of reach of my friends, and have

I had some difficulty in finding a place to my mind, when chance threw me in the way of Ca nonbury

Castle. It is an ancient brick tower, hard by "merry Islington;" the remains of a hunting seat of Queen

Elizabeth, where she took the pleasures of the country, when the neigh bourhood was all woodland. What

gave it par ticular interest in my eyes, was the circumstance that it had been the residence of a poet. It was

here Goldsmith resided when he wrote his De serted Village. I was shown the very apart Collation: Part 7

ment. It was a relique of the original style of the castle, with pannelled wainscots and gothic windows. I was

pleased with its air of antiqui ty, and with its having been the residence of poor Goldy. "Goldsmith was a

pretty poet," said I to myself, "a very pretty poet; though rather of the old school. He did not think and feel so

strongly as is the fashion now aday: but had he lived in these times of hot hearts and hot heads, he would

In a few days I was quietly established in my new quarters; my books all arranged, my wri ting desk placed

by a window looking out into the fields; and I felt as snug as Robinson Crusoe, when he had finished his

bower. For several days I enjoyed all the novelty of change and the charms which grace a new lodgings

before one has found out their defects. I rambled about the fields where I fancied Goldsmith had rambled. I

explored merry Islington; ate my solitary din ner at the Black Bull, which according to tradi tion was a

country seat of Sir Walter Raleigh, and would sit and sip my wine and muse on old times in a quaint old

All this did very well for a few days: I was stimulated by novelty; inspired by the associa tions awakened in

my mind by these curious haunts, and began to think I felt the spirit of com position stirring within me; but

Sunday came, and with it the whole city world, swarming about Canonbury Castle. I could not open my

window but I was stunned with shouts and noi ses from the cricket ground The late quiet road beneath my

window was alive with the tread of feet and clack of tongues; and to complete my misery, I found that my

quiet retreat was abso lutely a "show house!" the tower and its con tents being shown to strangers at

There was a perpetual tramping up stairs of citizens and their families, to look about the country from the top

of the tower, and to take a peep at the city through the telescope, to try if they could discern their own

chimneys. And then, in the midst of a vein of thought, or a mo ment of inspiration, I was interrupted, and all

my ideas put to flight, by my intolerable landlady's tapping at the door, and asking me, if I would "jist please

If you know any thing what an author's study is, and what an author is himself, you must know that there was

no standing this. I put a positive interdict on my rooms being ex hibited; but then it was shown when I was

absent, and my papers put in confusion; and on returning home one day, I absolutely found a cursed

tradesman and his daughters gaping over my manuscripts; and my landlady in a panic at my appearance. I

tried to make out a little longer by taking the key in my pocket, but it would not do. I overheard mine hostess

one day telling some of her customers on the stairs that the room was occupied by an author, who was always

in a tantrum if interrupted; and I immediately perceived, by a slight noise at the door, that they were peeping

at me through the key hole. By the head of Apollo, but this was quite too much! with all my eagerness for

fame, and my ambition of the stare of the million, I had no idea of being exhibited by retail, at six pence a

head, and that through a key hole. So I bade adieu to Canonbury Castle, merry Isling ton, and the haunts of

My next quarters were at a small whitewash ed cottage, which stands not far from Hempstead, just on the

brow of a hill, looking over Chalk farm, and Cambden town, remarkable for the rival houses of Mother Red

The cottage is in no wise remarkable in itself; but I regarded it with reverence, for it had been the asylum of a

persecuted author. Hither poor Steele had retreated and lain perdue when perse cuted by creditors and

bailiffs; those immemo rial plagues of authors and free spirited gentle men; and here he had written many

numbers of the Spectator. It was from hence, too, that he had despatched those little notes to his lady, so full

of affection and whimsicality; in which the fond husband, the careless gentleman, and the shifting spendthrift,

were so oddly blended. I thought, as I first eyed the window of his apartment, that I could sit within it and

No such thing! It was haymaking season, and, as ill luck would have it, immediately op posite the cottage

was a little alehouse with the sign of the load of hay. Whether it was there in Steele's time or not I cannot say;

but it set all attempt at conception or inspiration at defiance. It was the resort of all the Irish haymakers who

mow the broad fields in the neighbourhood; and of drovers and teamsters who travel that road. Here would

they gather in the endless summer twilight, or by the light of the harvest moon, and sit round a table at the

door; and tipple, and laugh, and quarrel, and fight, and sing drowsy songs, and dawdle away the hours until

In the day time I was still less able to write. It was broad summer. The haymakers were at work in the fields,

and the perfume of the new mown hay brought with it the recollection of my native fields. So instead of

remaining in my room to write, I went wandering about Primrose Hill and Hempstead Heights and

Shepherd's Field, and all those Arcadian scenes so celebra ted by London bards. I cannot tell you how many

delicious hours I have passed lying on the cocks of newmown hay, on the pleasant slopes of some of those

hills, inhaling the fragrance of the fields, while the summer fly buzzed about me, or the grasshopper leaped

into my bosom; and how I have gazed with halfshut eye upon the smoky mass of London, and listened to

the distant sound of its population, and pitied the poor sons of earth, toiling in its bowels, like Gnomes in "the

People may say what they please about Cock ney pastorals; but after all, there is a vast deal of rural beauty

about the western vicinity of London; and any one that has looked down upon the valley of Westend, with its

soft bosom of green pasturage, lying open to the south, and dotted with cattle; the steeple of Hempstead rising

among rich groves on the brow of the hill, and the learned height of Harrow in the dis tance; will confess

that never has he seen a more absolutely rural landscape in the vicinity of a great metropolis.

Still, however, I found myself not a whit the better off for my frequent change of lodgings; and I began to

discover that in literature, as in trade, the old proverb holds good, "a rolling stone gathers no moss."

The tranquil beauty of the country played the very vengeance with me. I could not mount my fancy into the

termagant vein. I could not conceive, amidst the smiling landscape, a scene of blood and murder; and the

smug citi zens in breeches and gaiters, put all ideas of heroes and bandits out of my brain. I could think of

nothing but dulcet subjects. "The pleasures of spring" "the pleasures of soli tude" "the pleasures of

tranquillity" "the pleasures of sentiment" nothing but pleasures; and I had the painful experience of

"the pleasures of melancholy" too strongly in my recollection to be beguiled by them.

Chance at length befriended me. I had fre quently in my ramblings loitered about Hemp stead Hill; which

is a kind of Parnassus of the metropolis. At such times I occasionally took my dinner at Jack Straw's Castle. It

is a country inn so named. The very spot where that noto rious rebel and his followers held their council of

war. It is a favourite resort of citizens when rurally inclined, as it commands fine fresh air and a good view of

I sat one day in the public room of this inn, ruminating over a beefsteak and a pint of port, when my

imagination kindled up with an cient and heroic images. I had long wanted a theme and a hero; both

suddenly broke upon my mind; I determined to write a poem on the his tory of Jack Straw. I was so full of

my sub ject that I was fearful of being anticipated. I wondered that none of the poets of the day, in their

researches after ruffian heroes, had ever thought of Jack Straw. I went to work pell mell, blotted several

sheets of paper with choice floating thoughts, and battles, and descriptions, to be ready at a moment's

warning. In a few days time I sketched out the skeleton of my poem, and nothing was wanting but to give it

flesh and blood. I used to take my manuscript and stroll about Caen Wood, and read aloud; and would dine at

I was taking a meal there, one day, at a rather late hour, in the public room. There was no other company but

one man, who sat enjoying his pint of port at a window, and noticing the passers by. He was dressed in a

green shooting coat. His countenance was strongly marked. He had a hooked nose, a romantic eye, excepting

that it had something of a squint; and altoge ther, as I thought, a poetical style of head. I was quite taken

with the man, for you must know I am a little of a physiognomist: I set him down at once for either a poet or

As I like to make new acquaintances, consi dering every man a volume of human nature, I soon fell into

conversation with the stranger, who, I was pleased to find, was by no means difficult of access. After I had

dined, I joined him at the window, and we became so sociable that I proposed a bottle of wine together; to

I was too full of my poem to keep long quiet on the subject, and began to talk about the ori gin of the tavern,

and the history of Jack Straw. I found my new acquaintance to be perfectly at home on the topic, and to jump

exactly with my humour in every respect. I became elevated by the wine and the conversation. In the full

ness of an author's feelings, I told him of my projected poem, and repeated some passages; and he was in

"Sir," said he, filling my glass at the same time, "our poets don't look at home. I don't see why we need go out

of old England for robbers and rebels to write about. I like your Jack Straw, sir. He's a home made hero. I like

him, sir. I like him exceedingly. He's English to the back bone, damme. Give me honest old England, after

"I honour your sentiments," cried I zea lously. "They are exactly my own. An En glish ruffian is as good a

ruffian for poetry as any in Italy or Germany, or the Archipelago; but it is hard to make our poets think so."

"More shame for them!" replied the man in green. "What a plague would they have? What have we to do with

their Archipelago's of Italy and Germany? Haven't we heaths and commons and highways on our own little

island? Aye, and stout fellows to pad the hoof over them too? Come sir, my service to you I agree with

"Poets in old times had right notions on this subject," continued I; "witness the fine old bal lads about Robin

"Right, sir, right," interrupted he. "Robin Hood! He was the lad to cry stand! to a man, and never flinch."

"Ah, sir," said I, "they had famous bands of robbers in the good old times. Those were glo rious poetical

days. The merry crew of Sher wood Forest, who led such a roving picturesque life, "under the greenwood

tree." I have often wished to visit their haunts, and tread the scenes of the exploits of Friar Tuck, and Clym of

"Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, "we have had several very pretty gangs since their day. Those gallant

dogs that kept about the great heaths in the neighbourhood of London; about Bagshot, and Hounslow, and

"I suppose," said I, emptying my glass "I suppose you have heard of the famous Turpin, who was born in

this very village of Hempstead, and who used to lurk with his gang in Epping Forest, about a hundred years

"Have I?" cried he "to be sure I have! A hearty old blade that; sound as pitch. Old Tur pentine! as we

"Well sir," continued I, "I have visited Wal tham Abbey, and Chinkford Church, merely from the stories I

heard, when a boy, of his ex ploits there, and I have searched Epping Forest for the cavern where he used to

conceal himself. You must know," added I, "that I am a sort of amateur of highwaymen. They were dashing,

daring fellows; the last apologies that we had for the knights errants of yore. Ah, sir! the country has been

sinking gradually into tameness and common place. We are losing the old English spirit. The bold knights of

the post have all dwindled down into lurking footpads and sneak ing pickpockets. There's no such thing as

a dash ing gentlemanlike robbery committed nowa days on the king's highway. A man may roll from

one end of England to the other in a drowsy coach or jingling postchaise without any other adventure than

that of being occasionally over turned, sleeping in damp sheets, or having an ill cooked dinner.

"We hear no more of public coaches being stop ped and robbed by a wellmounted gang of reso lute

fellows with pistols in their hands and crapes over their faces. What a pretty poetical inci dent was it for

example in domestic life, for a family carriage, on its way to a country seat, to be attacked about dusk; the old

gentleman eased of his purse and watch, the ladies of their neck laces and earrings, by a politely spoken

high wayman on a blood mare, who afterwards leap ed the hedge and gallopped across the country, to the

admiration of Miss Carolina the daughter, who would write a long and romantic account of the adventure to

her friend Miss Juliana in town. Ah, sir! we meet with nothing of such incidents nowadays!"

"That, sir," said my companion, taking ad vantage of a pause, when I stopped to recover breath and to

take a glass of wine, which he had just poured out "that sir, craving your pardon, is not owing to any want

of old English pluck. It is the effect of this cursed system of banking. People do not travel with bags of gold

as they did formerly. They have post notes and drafts on bankers. To rob a coach is like catching a crow;

where you have nothing but carrion flesh and feathers for your pains. But a coach in old times, sir, was as

rich as a Spanish galleon. It turned out the yellow boys bravely; and a private carriage was a cool hun dred

I cannot express how much I was delighted with the sallies of my new acquaintance. He told me that he often

frequented the castle, and would be glad to know more of me; and I pro mised myself many a pleasant

afternoon with him, when I should read him my poem, as it proceeded, and benefit by his remarks; for it was

"Come, sir!" said he, pushing the bottle, "Damme I like you! You're a man after my own heart; I'm cursed

slow in making new ac quaintances in general. One must stand on the reserve, you know. But when I meet

with a man of your kidney, damme my heart jumps at once to him. Them's my sentiments, sir. Come, Sir,

here's Jack Straw's health! I pre sume one can drink it nowadays without trea son!"

"Ah, sir!" said the man in green, those are the kind of men for poetry. The Newgate ka lendar, sir! the

Newgate kalendar is your only reading! There's the place to look for bold deeds and dashing fellows.

We were so much pleased with each other that we sat until a late hour. I insisted on pay ing the bill, for both

my purse and my heart were full; and I agreed that he should pay the score at our next meeting. As the

coaches had all gone that run between Hempstead and Lon don he had to return on foot. He was so de

lighted with the idea of my poem that he could talk of nothing else. He made me repeat such passages as I

could remember, and though I did it in a very mangled manner, having a wretched memory, yet he was in

Every now and then he would break out with some scrap which he would misquote most ter ribly, but would

rub his hands and exclaim, "By Jupiter that's fine! that's noble! Damme, sir, if I can conceive how you hit

I must confess I did not always relish his mis quotations, which sometimes made absolute non sense of the

passages; but what author stands upon trifles when he is praised? Never had I spent a more delightful

evening. I did not per ceive how the time flew. I could not bear to separate, but continued walking on, arm

in arm with him past my lodgings, through Cambden town, and across Crackscull Common, talking the

When we were half way across the common he interrupted me in the midst of a quotation by telling me that

this had been a famous place for footpads, and was still occasionally infested by them; and that a man had

"The more fool he!" cried I. "A man is an idiot to risk life, or even limb, to save a paltry purse of money. It's

quite a different case from that of a duel, where one's honour is concerned. "For my part," added I, "I should

"Say you so?" cried my friend in green, turning suddenly upon me, and putting a pistol to my breast, "Why,

In a word, I found that the muse had played me another of her tricks, and had betrayed me into the hands of a

footpad. There was no time to parley; he made me turn my pockets inside out; and hearing the sound of

distant foot steps, he made one fell swoop upon purse, watch and all, gave me a thwack over my unlucky

I saw no more of my friend in green until a year or two afterwards; when I caught a sight of his poetical

countenance among a crew of scapegraces, heavily ironed, who were on the way for transportation. He

recognized me at once, tipped me an impudent wink, and asked me how I came on with the history of Jack

The catastrophe at Crackscull Common put an end to my summer's campaign. I was cured of my poetical

enthusiasm for rebels robbers and highwaymen. I was put out of conceit of my subject, and what was worse, I

was lightened of my purse, in which was almost every farthing I had in the world. So I abandoned Sir

Richard Steele's cottage in despair, and crept into less celebrated, though no less poetical and airy lodg ings

I see you are growing weary, so I will not de tain you with any more of my luckless attempts to get astride

of Pegasus. Still I could not con sent to give up the trial and abandon those dreams of renown in which I had

indulged. How should I ever be able to look the literary circle of my native village in the face, if I were so

completely to falsify their predictions. For some time longer, therefore, I continued to write for fame, and of

course was the most miserable dog in existence, besides being in continual risk of starvation.

I have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, with a sad heart and an empty stomach, about five o'clock, and

looked wistfully down the areas in the west end of the town; and seen through the kitchen windows the fires

gleaming, and the joints of meat turning on the spits and dripping with gravy; and the cook maids beating up

pud dings, or trussing turkeys, and have felt for the moment that if I could but have the run of one of those

kitchens, Apollo and the muses might have the hungry heights of Parnassus for me. Oh sir! talk of

meditations among the tombs they are nothing so melancholy as the meditations of a poor devil without

At length, when almost reduced to famine and despair, the idea all at once entered my head, that perhaps I

was not so clever a fellow as the vil lage and myself had supposed. It was the sal vation of me. The

moment the idea popped into my brain, it brought conviction and comfort with it. I awoke from a dream. I

gave up im mortal fame to those who could live on air; took to writing for mere bread, and have ever since

led a very tolerable life of it. There is no man of letters so much at his ease, sir, as he that has no character to

gain or lose. I had to train my self to it a little however, and to clip my wings short at first, or they would

have carried me up into poetry in spite of myself. So I determined to begin by the opposite extreme, and

abandon ing the higher regions of the craft I came plump down to the lowest, and turned creeper.

"Creeper," interrupted I, "and pray what is that?" Oh sir! I see you are ignorant of the language of the craft; a

creeper is one who fur nishes the newspapers with paragraphs at so much a line; one that goes about in quest

of misfortunes; attends the Bowstreet office; the courts of justice and every other den of mischief and

iniquity. We are paid at the rate of a penny a line, and as we can sell the same paragraph to almost every

paper, we sometimes pick up a very decent day's work. Now and then the muse is unkind, or the day

uncommonly quiet, and then we rather starve; and sometimes the unconscionable editors will clip our

paragraphs when they are a little too rhetorical, and snip off twopence or threepence at a go. I have many a

time had my pot of porter snipped off of my dinner in this way; and have had to dine with dry lips. However,

I cannot complain. I rose gradually in the lower ranks of the craft, and am now I think in the most

"At present," said he, "I am a regular job writer, and turn my hand to any thing. I work up the writings of

others at so much a sheet; turn off translations; write second rate articles to fill up reviews and magazines;

compile travels and voyages, and furnish theatrical criticisms for the newspapers. All this authorship, you

perceive, is anonymous; it gives no reputation, except among the trade, where I am considered an au thor of

all work, and am always sure of employ. That's the only reputation I want. I sleep soundly, without dread of

duns or critics, and leave immortal fame to those that choose to fret and fight about it. Take my word for it,

The preceding anecdotes of Buckthorne's early schoolmate, and a variety of peculiarities which I had

remarked in himself, gave me a strong curiosity to know something of his own history. There was a dash of

careless good humour about him that pleased me exceedingly, and at times a whimsical tinge of melancholy

ran through his humour that gave it an additional relish. He had evidently been a little chilled and buffeted by

fortune, without being soured thereby, as some fruits become mellower and sweeter, from having been

bruised or frost bitten. He smiled when I expressed my desire. "I have no great story," said he, "to relate. A

mere tissue of errors and follies. But, such as it is, you shall have one epoch of it, by which you may judge of

the rest. And so, without any farther prelude, he gave me the following anec dotes of his early adventures.

I was born to very little property, but to great expectations; which is perhaps one of the most unlucky fortunes

that a man can be born to. My father was a country gentleman, the last of a very ancient and honourable but

decayed family, and resided in an old hunting lodge in War wickshire. He was a keen sportsman and lived

to the extent of his moderate income, so that I had little to expect from that quarter; but then I had a rich uncle

by the mother's side, a penu rious accumulating curmudgeon, who it was con fidently expected would

make me his heir; be cause he was an old bachelor; because I was named after him, and because he hated all

He was, in fact, an inveterate hater, a miser even in misanthropy, and hoarded up a grudge as he did a guinea.

Thus, though my mother was an only sister, he had never forgiven her marriage with my father, against

whom he had a cold, still, immoveable pique, which had lain at the bottom of his heart, like a stone in a well,

ever since they had been school boys together. My mother, however, considered me as the in termediate

being that was to bring every thing again into harmony, for she looked upon me as a prodigy God bless

her! My heart overflows whenever I recall her tenderness: she was the most excellent, the most indulgent of

mothers. I was her only child, it was a pity she had no more, for she had fondness of heart enough to have

I was sent, at an early age to a public school sorely against my mother's wishes, but my father insisted that it

was the only way to make boys hardy. The school was kept by a con scientious prig of the ancient system,

who did his duty by the boys intrusted to his care; that is to say, we were flogged soundly when we did not

get our lessons. We were put into classes and thus flogged on in droves along the highways of knowledge, in

much the same manner as cattle are driven to market, where those that are heavy in gait or short in leg have to

For my part, I confess it with shame, I was an incorrigible laggard. I have always had the poetical feeling,

that is to say, I have always been an idle fellow and prone to play the va gabond. I used to get away from

my books and school whenever I could, and ramble about the fields. I was surrounded by seductions for such

a temperament. The school house was an old fashioned whitewashed mansion of wood and plaister,

standing on the skirts of a beau tiful village. Close by it was the venerable church with a tall Gothic spire.

Before it spread a lovely green valley, with a little stream glistening along through willow groves; while a

line of blue hills that bounded the landscape gave rise to many a summer day dream as to the fairy land that

In spite of all the scourgings I suffered at that school to make me love my book, I cannot but look back upon

the place with fondness. Indeed, I considered this frequent flaggellation as the common lot of humanity, and

the regular mode in which scholars were made. My kind mo ther used to lament over my details of the sore

trials I underwent in the cause of learning; but my father turned a deaf ear to her expostulations. He had been

flogged through school himself, and swore there was no other way of making a man of parts; though, let me

speak it with all due re verence, my father was but an indifferent illus tration of his own theory, for he was

My poetical temperament evinced itself at a very early period. The village church was attended every Sunday

by a neighbouring squire the lord of the manor, whose park stretched quite to the village, and whose

spacious country seat seemed to take the church under its protection. Indeed, you would have thought the

church had been consecrated to him instead of to the Deity. The parish clerk bowed low before him, and the

vergers humbled themselves into the dust in his presence. He always entered a little late and with some stir,

striking his cane emphatically on the ground; swaying his hat in his hand, and looking loftily to the right and

left, as he walked slowly up the aisle, and the parson, who always ate his Sunday dinner with him, never

commenced service until he appeared. He sat with his family in a large pew gorgeously lined, humbling

himself devoutly on velvet cushions, and reading lessons of meekness and lowliness of spirit out of splended

gold and morocco prayer books. Whenever the parson spoke of the dif ficulty of a rich man's entering the

kingdom of heaven, the eyes of the congregation would turn towards the "grand pew," and I thought the

The pomp of this pew and the aristocratical air of the family struck my imagination wonder fully, and I fell

desperately in love with a little daughter of the squire's about twelve years of age This freak of fancy made

me more truant from my studies than ever. I used to stroll about the squire's park, and would lurk near the

house, to catch glimpses of this little damsel at the windows, or playing about the lawns, or walking out with

I had not enterprize, or impudence enough to venture from my concealment; indeed, I felt like an arrant

poacher, until I read one or two of Ovid's Metamorphoses, when I pictured myself as some sylvan deity, and

she a coy wood nymph of whom I was in pursuit. There is something extremely delicious in these early

awakenings of the tender passion. I can feel even at this moment, the thrilling of my boy ish bosom,

whenever by chance I caught a glimpse of her white frock fluttering among the shrubbery. I now began to

read poetry. I car ried about in my bosom a volume of Waller, which I had purloined from my mother's

library; and I applied to my little fair one all the com pliments lavished upon Sacharissa.

At length I danced with her at a school ball. I was so awkward a booby, that I dared scarcely speak to her; I

was filled with awe and embar rassment in her presence; but I was so inspired that my poetical temperament

for the first time broke out in verse; and I fabricated some glow ing lines, in which I berhymed the little lady

under the favourite name of Sacharissa. I slip ped the verses, trembling and blushing, into her hand the next

Sunday as she came out of church. The little prude handed them to her mamma; the mamma handed them to

the squire; the squire, who had no soul for poetry, sent them in dudgeon to the school master; and the school

master, with a barbarity worthy of the dark ages, gave me a sound and peculiarly humiliating flog ging for

This was a sad outset for a votary of the muse. It ought to have cured me of my passion for poetry; but it only

confirmed it, for I felt the spirit of a martyr rising within me. What was as well, perhaps, it cured me of my

passion for the young lady; for I felt so indignant at the ig nominious horsing I had incurred in celebrating

Fortunately for my wounded sensibility, the midsummer holydays came on, and I returned home. My mother,

as usual, inquired into all my school concerns, my little pleasures, and cares, and sorrows; for boyhood has its

share of the one as well as of the others. I told her all, and she was indignant at the treatment I had ex

perienced. She fired up at the arrogance of the squire, and the prudery of the daughter; and as to the school

masters, she wondered where was the use of having school masters, and why boys could not remain at home

and be educated by tutors, under the eye of their mothers. She asked to see the verses I had written, and she

was de lighted with them; for to confess the truth, she had a pretty taste in poetry. She even showed them to

the parson's wife, who protested they were charming, and the parson's three daughters insisted on each having

All this was exceedingly balsamic, and I was still more consoled and encouraged, when the young ladies,

who were the blue stockings of the neighbourhood, and had read Dr. Johnson's lives quite through, assured

my mother that great ge nuises never studied, but were always idle; upon which I began to surmise that I

was myself something out of the common run. My father, however, was of a very different opinion, for when

my mother, in the pride of her heart, show ed him my copy of verses, he threw them out of the window,

asking her "if she meant to make a ballad monger of the boy." But he was a care less, common thinking

man, and I cannot say that I ever loved him much; my mother absorbed all my filial affection.

I used occasionally, during holydays, to be sent on short visits to the uncle, who was to make me his heir;

they thought it would keep me in his mind, and render him fond of me. He was a withered, anxious looking

old fellow, and lived in a desolate old country seat, which he suffered to go to ruin from absolute niggardli

ness. He kept but one man servant, who had lived, or rather starved with him for years. No woman was

allowed to sleep in the house. A daughter of the old servant lived by the gate, in what had been a porter's

lodge, and was permit ted to come into the house about an hour each day, to make the beds, and cook a

The park that surrounded the house was all run wild; the trees grown out of shape; the fish ponds stagnant;

the urns and statues fallen from their pedestals and buried among the rank grass. The hares and pheasants

were so little molested, except by poachers, that they bred in great abun dance, and sported about the rough

lawns and weedy avenues. To guard the premises and frighten off robbers, of whom he was somewhat

apprehensive, and visiters, whom he held in al most equal awe, my uncle kept two or three blood hounds,

who were always prowling round the house, and were the dread of the neighbour ing peasantry. They were

gaunt and halfstarv ed, seemed ready to devour one from mere hun ger, and were an effectual check on

Such was my uncle's house, which I used to visit now and then during the holydays. I was, as I have before

said, the old man's favourite; that is to say, he did not hate me so much as he did the rest of the world. I had

been apprised of his character, and cautioned to cultivate his good will; but I was too young and careless to be

a courtier; and indeed have never been sufficiently studious of my interests to let them govern my feelings.

However, we seemed to jog on very well together; and as my visits cost him almost nothing, they did not

seem to be very unwelcome. I brought with me my gun and fishing rod, and half supplied the table from the

Our meals were solitary and unsocial. My un cle rarely spoke; he pointed for whatever he wanted, and the

servant perfectly understood him. Indeed, his man John, or Iron John, as he was called in the neighbourhood,

was a counter part of his master. He was a tall bony old fel low, with a dry wig that seemed made of cow's

tail, and a face as tough as though it had been made of bull's hide. He was generally clad in a long, patched

livery coat, taken out of the ward robe of the house; and which bagged loosely about him, having evidently

belonged to some corpulent predecessor, in the more plenteous days of the mansion. From long habits of

taciturni ty, the hinges of his jaws seemed to have grown absolutely rusty, and it cost him as much effort to

set them ajar, and to let out a tolerable sen tence, as it would have done to set open the iron gates of the

park, and let out the old family car riage that was dropping to pieces in the coach house.

I cannot say, however, but that I was for some time amused with my uncle's peculiarities. Even the very

desolateness of the establishment had something in it that hit my fancy. When the weather was fine I used to

amuse myself, in a so litary way, by rambling about the park, and cour sing like a colt across its lawns.

The hares and pheasants seemed to stare with surprise, to see a human being walking these forbidden grounds

by daylight. Sometimes I amused myself by jerking stones, or shooting at birds with a bow and arrows; for

to have used a gun would have been treason. Now and then my path was cross ed by a little redheaded

raggedtailed urchin, the son of the woman at the lodge, who ran wild about the premises. I tried to draw him

into fa miliarity, and to make a companion of him; but he seemed to have imbibed the strange unsocial

character of every thing around him; and always kept aloof; so I considered him as another Or son, and

amused myself with shooting at him with my bow and arrows, and he would hold up his breeches with one

There was something in all this loneliness and wildness strangely pleasing to me. The great stables, empty

and weatherbroken, with the names of favourite horses over the vacant stalls; the windows bricked and

boarded up; the broken roofs, garrisoned by rooks and jack daws; all had a singularly forlorn appearance:

one would have concluded the house to be to tally uninhabited, were it not for a little thread of blue smoke,

which now and then curled up like a corkscrew, from the centre of one of the wide chimneys, when my

My uncle's room was in a remote corner of the building, strongly secured and generally locked. I was never

admitted into this strong hold, where the old man would remain for the greater part of the time, drawn up like

a veteran spider in the citadel of his web. The rest of the mansion, however, was open to me, and I sauntered

about it, unconstrained. The damp and rain which beat in through the broken windows, crumbled the paper

from the walls; mouldered the pictures, and gradually destroyed the furniture. I loved to rove about the wide

waste chambers in bad weather, and listen to the howling of the wind, and the banging about of the doors and

window shutters. I pleased myself with the idea how completely, when I came to the estate, I would renovate

all things, and make the old building ring with merriment, till it was astonished at its own jocundity.

The chamber which I occupied on these visits was the same that had been my mother's, when a girl. There

was still the toilet table of her own adorning; the landscapes of her own draw ing. She had never seen it

since her marriage, but would often ask me if every thing was still the same. All was just the same; for I

loved that chamber on her account, and had taken pains to put every thing in order, and to mend all the flaws

in the windows with my own hands. I anticipated the time when I should once more welcome her to the house

of her fathers, and re store her to this little nestling place of her child hood.

At length my evil genius, or, what perhaps is the same thing, the muse inspired me with the notion of

rhyming again. My uncle, who never went to church, used on Sundays to read chap ters out of the bible; and

Iron John, the woman from the lodge, and myself, were his congregation. It seemed to be all one to him what

he read, so long as it was something from the bible: some times, therefore, it would be the Song of Solo

mon; and this withered anatomy would read about being "stayed with flaggons and com forted with apples,

for he was sick of love." Sometimes he would hobble, with spectacle on nose, through whole chapters of hard

Hebrew names in Deuteronomy; at which the poor wo man would sigh and groan as if wonderfully moved.

His favourite book, however, was "The Pilgrim's Progress;" and when he came to that part which treats of

Doubting Castle and Giant Despair, I thought invariably of him and his de solate old country seat. So much

did the idea amuse me, that I took to scribbling about it un der the trees in the park; and in a few days had

made some progress in a poem, in which I had given a description of the place, under the name of Doubting

I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and I soon suspected that my uncle had found it; as he harshly

intimated to me that I could return home, and that I need not come and see him again until he should send for

Just about this time my mother died. I can not dwell upon the circumstance; my heart, careless and

wayworn as it is, gushes with the recollection. Her death was an event, that per haps gave a turn to all my

after fortunes. With her died all that made home attractive, for my father was harsh, as I have before said, and

had never treated me with kindness. Not that he exerted any unusual severity towards me, but it was his way.

I do not complain of him. In fact, I have never been much of a complaining disposition. I seem born to be

buffetted by friends and fortune, and nature has made me a careless endurer of buffettings.

I now, however, began to grow very impatient of remaining at school, to be flogged for things that I did not

like. I longed for variety, espe cially now that I had not my uncle's to resort to, by way of diversifying the

dullness of school with the dreariness of his country seat. I was now turned of sixteen; tall for my age, and

full of idle fancies. I had a roving, inextinguishable desire to see different kinds of life, and different orders of

society; and this vagrant humour had been fostered in me by Tom Dribble, the prime wag and great genius of

I used to set at my desk in the school, on a fine summer's day, and instead of studying the book which lay

open before me, my eye was gazing through the window on the green fields and blue hills. How I envied the

happy groups seated on the tops of stage coaches, chatting, and joking, and laughing, as they were whirled by

the school house, on their way to the metro polis. Even the waggoners trudging along be side their

ponderous teams, and traversing the kingdom, from one end to the other, were objects of envy to me. I

fancied to myself what ad ventures they must experience, and what odd scenes of life they must witness. All

this was, doubtless, the poetical temperament working within me, and tempting me forth into a world of its

While my mother lived this strong propensity to rove was counteracted by the stronger attrac tions of home,

and by the powerful ties of affec tion, which drew me to her side; but now that she was gone, the attractions

had ceased; the ties were severed. I had no longer an anchor age ground for my heart; but was at the mercy

of every vagrant impulse. Nothing but the nar row allowance on which my father kept me, and the

consequent penury of my purse, prevented me from mounting the top of a stage coach and launching myself

Just about this time the village was agitated for a day or two, by the passing through of several caravans,

containing wild beasts, and other spec tacles for a great fair annually held at a neigh bouring town.

I had never seen a fair of any consequence, and my curiosity was powerfully awakened by this bustle of

preparation. I gazed with re spect and wonder at the vagrant personages who accompanied these caravans. I

loitered about the village inn, listening with curiosity and de light to the slang talk and cant jokes of the

showmen and their followers; and I felt an eager desire to witness this fair, which my fancy decked out as

A holyday afternoon presented, when I could be absent from the school from noon until even ing. A waggon

was going from the village to the fair. I could not resist the temptation, nor the eloquence of Tom Dribble,

who was a truant to the very heart's core. We hired seats, and sat off full of boyish expectation. I promised

myself that I would but take a peep at the land of promise, and hasten back again before my ab sence should

Heavens! how happy I was on arriving at the fair! How I was enchanted with the world of fun and pageantry

around me! The hu mours of Punch; the feats of the equestrians; the magical tricks of the conjurors! But

what principally caught my attention was an itine rant t heatre; where a tragedy, pantomine and farce

were all acted in the course of half an hour, and more of the dramatis person� murder ed, than at either

Drury Lane or Covent Garden in a whole evening. I have since seen many a play performed by the best actors

in the world, but never have I derived half the delight from any that I did from this first representation.

There was a ferocious tyrant in a skull cap like an inverted porringer, and a dress of red baize, magnificently

embroidered with gilt lea ther; with his face so bewhiskered and his eye brows so knit and expanded with

burnt cork, that he made my heart quake within me as he stamped about the little stage. I was enraptured too

with the surpassing beauty of a distressed damsel, in faded pink silk, and dirty white mus lin, whom he held

in cruel captivity by way of gaining her affections; and who wept and wrung her hands and flourished a

ragged pocket hand kerchief from the top of an impregnable tower, of the size of a bandbox.

Even after I had come out from the play, I could not tear myself from the vicinity of the theatre; but lingered,

gazing, and wondering, and laughing at the dramatis person�, as they performed their antics, or danced upon

I was so bewildered by the scene, and so lost in the crowd of sensations that kept swarming upon me, that I

was like one entranced. I lost my companion Tom Dribble, in a tumult and scuffle that took place near one of

the shows, but I was too much occupied in mind to think long about him. I strolled about until dark, when the

fair was lighted up, and a new scene of magic opened upon me. The illumination of the tents and booths; the

brilliant effect of the stages decorated with lamps, with dramatic groups flaunting about them in gaudy

dresses, contrasted splendidly with the surrounding dark ness; while the uproar of drums, trumpets, fid

dles, hautboys and cymbals, mingled with the harangues of the showmen, the squeaking of Punch, and the

Time flew without my perceiving it. When I came to myself and thought of the school, I has tened to return.

I inquired for the waggon in which I had come: it had been gone for hours. I asked the time: it was almost

midnight! A sudden quaking seized me. How was I to get back to school? I was too weary to make the

journey on foot, and I knew not where to apply for a conveyance. Even if I should find one, could I venture to

disturb the school house long after midnight? to arouse that sleeping lion the usher, in the very midst of his

night's rest? The idea was too dreadful for a delinquent school boy. All the horrors of return rushed upon me

my absence must long before this have been remarked and absent for a whole night! a deed of

darkness not easily to be expiated. The rod of the pedagogue budded forth into tenfold terrors before my

affrighted fancy. I pictured to myself punishment and humiliation in every va riety of form; and my heart

sickened at the pic ture. Alas! how often are the petty ills of boy hood as painful to our tender natures, as

I wandered about among the booths, and I might have derived a lesson from my actual feel ings, how much

the charms of this world depend upon ourselves; for I no longer saw any thing gay or delightful in the revelry

around me. At length I lay down, wearied and perplexed, behind one of the large tents, and covering myself

with the margin of the tent cloth, to keep off the night chill, I soon fell asleep.

I had not slept long, when I was awakened by the noise of merriment within an adjoining booth. It was the

itinerant theatre, rudely con structed of boards and canvas. I peeped through an aperture, and saw the whole

dramatis per son�, tragedy, comedy, and pantomime, all re freshing themselves after the final dismissal of

their auditors. They were merry and gamesome, and made their flimsy theatre ring with their laughter. I was

astonished to see the tragedy tyrant in red baize and fierce whiskers, who had made my heart quake as he

strutted about the boards, now transformed into a fat, good hu moured fellow; the beaming porringer laid

aside from his brow, and his jolly face washed from all the terrors of burnt cork. I was delighted, too, to see

the distressed damsel, in faded silk and dirty muslin, who had trembled under his tyranny, and afflicted me so

much by her sor rows; now seated familiarly on his knee, and quaffing from the same tankard. Harlequin lay

asleep on one of the benches; and monks, satyrs, and vestal virgins were grouped together, laugh ing

outrageously at a broad story, told by an un happy count, who had been barbarously murder ed in the

This was, indeed, novelty to me. It was a peep into another planet. I gazed and listened with intense curiosity

and enjoyment. They had a thousand odd stories and jokes about the events of the day, and burlesque

descriptions and mimickings of the spectators, who had been ad miring them. Their conversation was full of

allusions to their adventures at different places, where they had exhibited; the characters they had met with in

different villages; and the lu dicrous difficulties in which they had occasion ally been involved. All past

cares and troubles were now turned by these thoughtless beings into matter of merriment; and made to con

tribute to the gayety of the moment. They had been moving from fair to fair about the kingdom, and were the

My resolution was taken. I crept from my nest, and scrambled through a hedge into a neighbouring field,

where I went to work to make a tatterdemalion of myself. I tore my clothes; soiled them with dirt; begrimed

my face and hands; and, crawling near one of the booths, purloined an old hat, and left my new one in its

place. It was an honest theft, and I hope may not hereafter rise up in judgment against me.

I now ventured to the scene of merrymaking, and, presenting myself before the dramatic corps, offered

myself as a volunteer. I felt terribly agitated and abashed, for "never before stood I in such a presence." I had

addressed myself to the manager of the company. He was a fat man dressed in dirty white; with a red sash

fringed with tinsel, swathed round his body. His face was smeared with paint, and a majestic plume towered

from an old spangled black bon net. He was the Jupiter tonans of this Olym pus, and was surrounded by

the inferior gods and goddesses of his court. He sat on the end of a bench, by a table, with one arm akimbo

and the other extended to the handle of a tankard, which he had slowly set down from his lips, as he surveyed

me from head to foot. It was a moment of awful scrutiny, and I fancied the groups around all watching us in

He questioned me as to who I was; what were my qualifications; and what terms I expected. I passed myself

off for a discharged servant from a gentleman's family; and as, happily, one does not require a special

recommendation to get ad mitted into bad company, the questions on that head were easily satisfied. As to

my accomplish ments, I would spout a little poetry, and knew several scenes of plays, which I had learnt at

school exhibitions. I could dance , that was enough; no farther questions were asked me as to

accomplishments; it was the very thing they wanted; and, as I asked no wages, but merely meat and drink,

Behold me, therefore, transformed of a sud den, from a gentleman student to a dancing buf foon; for such,

in fact, was the character in which I made my debut. I was one of those who formed the groupes in the

dramas, and were prin cipally employed on the stage in front of the booth, to attract company. I was

equipped as a satyr, in a dress of drab frize that fitted to my shape; with a great laughing mask, ornamented

with huge ears and short horns. I was pleased with the disguise, because it kept me from the danger of being

discovered, whilst we were in that part of the country; and, as I had merely to dance and make antics, the

character was fa vourable to a debutant, being almost on a par with Simon Snug's part of the Lion, which

I cannot tell you how happy I was at this sud den change in my situation. I felt no degrada tion, for I had

seen too little of society to be thoughtful about the differences of rank; and a boy of sixteen is seldom

aristocratical. I had given up no friend; for there seemed to be no one in the world that cared for me, now my

poor mother was dead. I had given up no pleasure; for my pleasure was to ramble about and indulge the flow

of a poetical imagination; and I now enjoyed it in perfection. There is no life so truly poetical as that of a

It may be said that all this argued grovelling inclinations. I do not think so; not that I mean to vindicate

myself in any great degree; I know too well what a whimsical compound I am. But in this instance I was

seduced by no love of low company, nor disposition to indulge in low vices. I have always despised the

brutally vulgar; and I have always had a disgust at vice, whether in high or low life. I was governed merely

by a sudden and thoughtless impulse. I had no idea of resorting to this profession as a mode of life; or of

attaching myself to these people, as my fu ture class of society. I thought merely of a tem porary

gratification of my curiosity, and an in dulgence of my humours. I had already a strong relish for the

peculiarities of character and the varieties of situation, and I have always been fond of the comedy of life, and

In mingling, therefore, among mountebanks and buffoons I was protected by the very vivaci ty of

imagination which had led me among them. I moved about enveloped, as it were, in a protecting delusion,

which my fancy spread around me. I assimilated to these people only as they struck me poetically; their

whimsical ways and a certain picturesqueness in their mode of life entertained me; but I was neither amus

ed nor corrupted by their vices. In short, I min gled among them, as Prince Hal did among his graceless

I did not investigate my motives in this man ner, at the time, for I was too careless and thoughtless to reason

about the matter; but I do so now, when I look back with trembling to think of the ordeal to which I

unthinkingly ex posed myself, and the manner in which I passed through it. Nothing, I am convinced, but

the poetical temperament, that hurried me into the scrape, brought me out of it without my be coming an

Full of the enjoyment of the moment, giddy with the wildness of animal spirits, so rapturous in a boy, I

capered, I danced, I played at housand fantastic tricks about the stage, in the villages in which we exhibited;

and I was universally pronounced the most agreeable monster that had ever been seen in those parts. My

disappearance from school had awakened my father's anxiety; for I one day heard a description of myself

cried before the very booth in which I was exhibiting; with the offer of a reward for any intelligence of me. I

had no great scruple about letting my fa ther suffer a little uneasiness on my account; it would punish him

for past indifference, and would make him value me the more when he found me again. I have wondered that

some of my com rades did not recognize in me the stray sheep that was cried; but they were all, no doubt,

oc cupied by their own concerns. They were all la bouring seriously in their antic vocations, for fol ly

was a mere trade with most of them, and they often grinned and capered with heavy hearts. With me, on the

contrary, it was all real. I acted con amore, and rattled and laughed from the ir repressible gayety of my

spirits. It is true that, now and then, I started and looked grave on re ceiving a sudden thwack from the

wooden sword of Harlequin, in the course of my gambols; as it brought to mind the birch of my

schoolmaster. But I soon got accustomed to it; and bore all the cuffing, and kicking, and tumbling about, that

form the practical wit of your itinerant pantomime, with a good humour that made me a prodigious favourite.

The country campaign of the troop was soon at an end, and we set off for the metropolis, to perform at the

fairs, which are held in its vicinity. The greater part of our theatrical property was sent on direct, to be in a

state of preparation for the opening of the fairs; while a detachment of the company travelled slowly on,

foraging among the villages. I was amused with the desultory, haphazard kind of life we led; here today,

and gone tomorrow. Sometimes revelling in ale houses; sometimes feasting under hedges in the green

fields. When audiences were crowded and business profitable, we fared well, and when otherwise, we fared

At length the increasing frequency of coaches hurrying past us, covered with passengers; the increasing

number of carriages, carts, wagons, gigs, droves of cattle and flocks of sheep, all thronging the road; the snug

country boxes with trim flower gardens twelve feet square, and their trees twelve feet high, all powdered with

dust; and the innumerable seminaries for young ladies and gentlemen, situated along the road, for the benefit

of country air and rural retirement; all these insignia announced that the mighty Lon don was at hand. The

hurry, and the crowd, and the bustle, and the noise, and the dust, increased as we proceeded, until I saw the

great cloud of smoke hanging in the air, like a canopy of state, over this queen of cities.

In this way, then, did I enter the metropolis; a strolling vagabond; on the top of a caravan with a crew of

vagabonds about me; but I was as hap py as a prince, for, like Prince Hal, I felt myself superior to my

situation, and knew that I could at any time cast it off and emerge into my proper sphere.

How my eyes sparkled as we passed Hyde park corner, and I saw splendid equipages roll ing by, with

powdered footmen behind, in rich liveries, and fine nosegays, and goldhead ed canes; and with lovely

women within, so sumptuously dressed and so surpassingly fair. I was always extremely sensible to female

beauty; and here I saw it in all its fascination, for, what ever may be said of "beauty unadorned," there is

something almost awful in female loveliness decked out in jewelled state. The swanlike neck encircled with

diamonds; the raven locks, clus tered with pearls; the ruby glowing on the snowy bosom, are objects that I

could never contem plate without emotion; and a dazzling white arm clasped with bracelets, and taper

transparent fin gers laden with sparkling rings, are to me irre sistible. My very eyes ached as I gazed at the

high and courtly beauty that passed before me. It surpassed all that my imagination had conceiv ed of the

sex. I shrunk, for a moment, into shame at the company in which I was placed, and re pined at the vast

I forbear to give a detail of the happy life which I led about the skirts of the metropolis, playing at the various

fairs, held there during the latter part of spring and the beginning of summer. This continual change from

place to place, and scene to scene, fed my imagination with novel ties, and kept my spirits in a perpetual

As I was tall of my age I aspired, at one time, to play heroes in tragedy; but after two or three trials, I was

pronounced, by the manager, totally unfit for the line; and our first tragic actress, who was a large woman,

The fact is, I had attempted to give point to language which had no point, and nature to scenes which had no

nature. They said I did not fill out my characters; and they were right. The characters had all been prepared

for a dif ferent sort of man. Our tragedy hero was a round robustious fellow, with an amazing voice; who

stamped and slapped his breast until his wig shook again; and who roared and bellowed out his bombast, until

every phrase swelled upon the ear like the sound of a kettledrum. I might as well have attempted to fill out

his clothes as his characters. When we had a dialogue to gether, I was nothing before him, with my slen

der voice and discriminating manner. I might as well have attempted to parry a cudgel with a small sword. If

he found me in any way gaining ground upon him, he would take refuge in his mighty voice and throw his

tones like peals of thunder at me, until they were drowned in the still louder thunders of applause from the

To tell the truth, I suspect that I was not shown fair play, and that there was management at the bottom; for

without vanity, I think I was a better actor than he. As I had not embarked in the vagabond line through

ambition, I did not repine at lack of preferment; but I was grieved to find that a vagrant life was not without

its oares and anxieties, and that jealousies, intrigues and mad ambition were to be found even among

Indeed, as I became more familiar with my situation, and the delusions of fancy began to fade away, I

discovered that my associates were not the happy careless creatures I had at first imagined them. They were

jealous of each other's talents; they quarrelled about parts, the same as the actors on the grand theatres; they

quarrelled about dresses; and there was one robe of yellow silk, trimmed with red, and a head dress of three

rumpled ostrich feathers, which were continually setting the ladies of the com pany by the ears. Even those

who had attained the highest honours were not more happy than the rest; for Mr. Flimsey himself, our first

tra gedian, and apparently a jovial good humoured fellow, confessed to me one day, in the fullness of his

heart, that he was a miserable man. He had a brotherinlaw, a relative by marriage, though not by blood,

who was manager of a theatre in a small country town. And this same brother, ("a little more than kin, but

less than kind,") looked down upon him, and treated him with contumely, because forsooth he was but a

strolling player. I tried to console him with the thoughts of the vast applause he daily received, but it was all

in vain. He declared that it gave him no delight, and that he should never be a happy man until the name of

How little do those before the scenes know of what passes behind; how little can they judge, from the

countenances of actors, of what is pass ing in their hearts. I have known two lovers quarrel like cats behind

the scenes, who were, the moment after, to fly into each other's em braces. And I have dreaded, when our

Belvi dera was to take her farewell kiss of her Jaffier, lest she should bite a piece out of his cheek. Our

tragedian was a rough joker off the stage; our prime clown the most peevish mortal living. The latter used to

go about snapping and snarl ing, with a broad laugh painted on his counte nance; and I can assure you that,

whatever may be said of the gravity of a monkey, or the me lancholy of a gibed cat, there is no more melan

The only thing in which all parties agreed was to backbite the manager, and cabal against his regulations.

This, however, I have since discovered to be a common trait of human na ture, and to take place in all

communities. It would seem to be the main business of man to repine at government. In all situations of life

into which I have looked, I have found mankind divided into two grand parties; those who ride and those

who are ridden. The great struggle of life seems to be which shall keep in the sad dle. This, it appears to me,

is the fundamental principle of politics, whether in great or little life. However, I do not mean to moralize; but

Well then, to return to myself. It was deter mined, as I said, that I was not fit for tragedy, and, unluckily, as

my study was bad, having a very poor memory, I was pronounced unfit for comedy also: besides, the line of

young gentle men was already engrossed by an actor with whom I could not pretend to enter into compe

tition, he having filled it for almost half a cen tury. I came down again therefore to panto mime. In

consequence, however, of the good offices of the manager's lady, who had taken a liking to me, I was

promoted from the part of the satyr to that of the lover; and with my face patched and painted; a huge cravat

of paper; a steeple crowned hat, and dangling longskirted, sky blue coat, was metamorphosed into the lover

of Columbine. My part did not call for much of the tender and sentimental. I had merely to pursue the

fugitive fair one; to have a door now and then slammed in my face; to run my head occasionally against a

post; to tumble and roll about with Pantaloon and the clown; and to endure the hearty thwacks of Harlequin's

As ill luck would have it, my poetical temper ament began to ferment within me, and to work out new

troubles. The inflammatory air of a great metropolis, added to the rural scenes in which the fairs were held;

such as Greenwich Park; Epping Forest; and the lovely valley of West End, had a powerful effect upon me.

While in Greenwich Park I was witness to the old ho lyday games of running down hill; and kissing in the

ring; and then the firmament of blooming faces and blue eyes, that would be turned to wards me, as I was

playing antics on the stage; all these set my young blood, and my poetical vein, in full flow. In short, I played

my charac ter to the life, and became desperately enamour ed of Columbine. She was a trim, well made,

tempting girl; with a roguish dimpling face, and fine chesnut hair clustering all about it. The mo ment I got

fairly smitten, there was an end to all playing. I was such a creature of fancy and feeling, that I could not put

on a pretended, when I was powerfully affected by a real emotion. I could not sport with a fiction that came

so near to the fact. I became too natural in my acting to succeed. And then; what a situation for a lover! I was

a mere stripling, and she played with my passion; for girls soon grow more adroit and knowing in these

matters, than your awkward youngsters. What agonies had I to suffer. Every time that she danced in front of

the booth, and made such liberal displays of her charms, I was in torment. To complete my misery, I had a

real rival in Harlequin; an active, vigorous, knowing varlet of sixandtwenty. What had a raw inexperienced

I had still, however, some advantages in my favour. In spite of my change of life, I retained that indescribable

something, which always dis tinguishes the gentleman; that something which dwells in a man's air and

deportment, and not in his clothes; and which it is as difficult for a gen tleman to put off, as for a vulgar

fellow to put on. The company generally felt it, and used to call me little gentleman Jack. The girl felt it too;

and in spite of her predilection for my pow erful rival, she liked to flirt with me. This only aggravated my

troubles, by increasing my pas sion, and awakening the jealousy of her parti coloured lover.

Alas! think what I suffered, at being obliged to keep up an ineffectual chase after my Colum bine through

whole pantomimes; to see her car ried off in the vigorous arms of the happy Har lequin; and to be obliged

instead of snatching her from him, to tumble sprawling with Panta loon and the clown; and bear the infernal

and degrading thwacks of my rival's weapon of lath; which, may heaven confound him! (excuse my passion)

the villain laid on with a malicious good will; nay, I could absolutely hear him chuckle and laugh beneath his

accursed mask. I beg pardon for growing a little warm in my narra tion. I wish to be cool, but these

recollections will sometimes agitate me. I have heard and read of many desperate and deplorable situations of

lovers; but none I think in which true love was ever exposed to so severe and peculiar a trial.

This could not last long. Flesh and blood, at least such flesh and blood as mine, could not bear it. I had

repeated heartburnings and quarrels with my rival, in which he treated me with the mortifying forbearance

of a man towards a child. Had he quarrelled outright with me, I could have stomached it; at least I should

have known what part to take; but to be humoured and treated as a child in the presence of my mistress, when

I felt all the bantam spirit of a little man swelling within me gods, it was insufferable!

At length we were exhibiting one day at West End fair, which was at that time a very fashion able resort,

and often beleaguered by gay equip ages from town. Among the spectators that fill ed the front row of our

little canvas theatre one afternoon, when I had to figure in a pantomime, was a party of young ladies from a

boarding school, with their governess. Guess my confu sion, when, in the midst of my antics, I beheld

among the number my quondam flame; her whom I had berhymed at school; her for whose charms I had

smarted so severely; the cruel Sacharissa! What was worse, I fancied she recollected me; and was repeating

the story of my humiliating flagellation, for I saw her whispering her com panions and her governess. I lost

all conscious ness of the part I was acting, and of the place where I was. I felt shrunk to nothing, and could

have crept into a rathole unluckily, none was open to receive me. Before I could recover from my

confusion, I was tumbled over by Pantaloon and the clown; and I felt the sword of Harlequin making

Heaven and earth! was I again to suffer mar tyrdom in this ignominious manner, in the know ledge, and

even before the very eyes of this most beautiful, but most disdainful of fair ones? All my longsmothered

wrath broke out at once; the dormant feelings of the gentleman arose with in me; stung to the quick by

intolerable morti fication. I sprang on my feet in an instant; leaped upon Harlequin like a young tiger; tore

off his mask; buffetted him in the face, and soon shed more blood on the stage than had been spilt upon it

As soon as Harlequin recovered from his sur prise he returned my assault with interest. I was nothing in his

hands. I was game to be sure, for I was a gentleman; but he had the clown ish advantages of bone and

muscle. I felt as if I could have fought even unto the death; and I was likely to do so; for he was, according to

the vulgar phrase, "putting my head into Chan cery," when the gentle Columbine flew to my assistance. God

The battle now became general; the dramatis person� ranged on either side. The manager interfered in vain.

In vain were his spangled black bonnet and towering white feathers seen whisking about, and nodding, and

bobbing, in the thickest of the fight. Warriors, ladies, priests, satyrs, kings, queens, gods and goddesses, all

joined pellmell in the fray. Never, since the conflict under the walls of Troy, had there been such a chance

medley warfare of combatants, human and divine. The audience applauded, the ladies shrieked, and fled from

Nothing but the interference of the peace of ficers restored some degree of order. The havoc, however, that

had been made among dresses and decorations put an end to all farther acting for that day. The battle over,

the next thing was to inquire why it was begun; a common ques tion among politicians, after a bloody and

unpro fitable war; and one not always easy to be an swered. It was soon traced to me, and my un

accountable transport of passion, which they could only attribute to my having run a muck. The manager was

judge and jury, and plaintiff into the bargain, and in such cases justice is always speedily administered. He

came out of the fight as sublime a wreck as the Santissima Trinidada. His gallant plumes, which once

towered aloft, were drooping about his ears. His robe of state hung in ribbands from his back, and but ill con

cealed the ravages he had suffered in the rear. He had received kicks and cuffs from all sides, during the

tumult; for every one took the op portunity of slyly gratifying some lurking grudge on his fat carcass. He

was a discreet man, and did not choose to declare war with all his com pany; so he swore all those kicks and

cuffs had been given by me, and I let him enjoy the opi nion. Some wounds he bore, however, which were

the incontestible traces of a woman's war fare. His sleek rosy cheek was scored by trick ling furrows,

which were ascribed to the nails of my intrepid and devoted Columbine. The ire of the monarch was not to be

appeased. He had suffered in his person, and he had suffered in his purse; his dignity too had been insulted,

and that went for something; for dignity is always more irascible the more petty the potentate. He wreaked his

wrath upon the beginners of the af fray, and Columbine and myself were discharg ed, at once, from the

Figure me, then, to yourself, a stripling of lit tle more than sixteen; a gentleman by birth; a vagabond by

trade; turned adrift upon the world; making the best of my way through the crowd of West End fair; my

mountebank dress fluttering in rags about me; the weeping Columbine hang ing upon my arm, in splendid,

but tattered finery; the tears coursing one by one down her face; carrying off the red paint in torrents, and

The crowd made way for us as we passed and hooted in our rear. I felt the ridicule of my si tuation, but had

too much gallantry to desert this fair one, who had sacrificed every thing for me. Having wandered through

the fair, we emerged, like another Adam and Eve, into unknown re gions, and "had the world before us

where to choose." Never was a more disconsolate pair seen in the soft valley of West End. The luck less

Columbine cast back many a lingering look at the fair, which seemed to put on a more than usual splendour;

its tents, and booths, and parti coloured groups, all brightening in the sunshine, and gleaming among the

trees; and its gay flags and streamers playing and fluttering in the light summer airs. With a heavy sigh she

would lean on my arm and proceed. I had no hope or con solation to give her; but she had linked herself to

Pensive and silent, then, we traversed the beau tiful fields that lie behind Hempstead, and wan dered on,

until the fiddle, and the hautboy, and the shout, and the laugh, were swallowed up in the deep sound of the

big bass drum, and even that died away into a distant rumble. We pass ed along the pleasant sequestered

walk of Night ingale lane. For a pair of lovers what scene could be more propitious? But such a pair of

lovers! Not a nightingale sang to soothe us: the very gypsies who were encamped there du ring the fair

made no offer to tell the fortunes of such an illomened couple, whose fortunes, I suppose, they thought too

legibly written to need an interpreter; and the gypsey children crawled into their cabins and peeped out

fearfully at us as we went by. For a moment I paused, and was almost tempted to turn gypsey, but the poetical

feeling for the present was fully satisfied, and I passed on. Thus we travelled, and tra velled, like a prince

and princess in nursery chro nicle, until we had traversed a part of Hempstead Heath and arrived in the

Here, wearied and dispirited we seated our selves on the margin of the hill, hard by the very mile stone

where Whittington of yore heard the Bow bells ring out the presage of his future great ness. Alas! no bell

rung an invitation to us, as we looked disconsolately upon the distant city. Old London seemed to wrap itself

up unsociably in its mantle of brown smoke, and to offer no en couragement to such a couple of

For once at least the usual course of the pan tomime was reversed. Harlequin was jilted, and the lover had

carried off Columbine in good ear nest. But what was I to do with her? I had never contemplated such a

dilemma; and I now felt that even a fortunate lover may be embar rassed by his good fortune. I really knew

not what was to become of me; for I had still the boyish fear of returning home; standing in awe of the stern

temper of my father, and dreading the ready arm of the pedagogue. And even if I were to venture home, what

was I to do with Columbine? I could not take her in my hand, and throw myself on my knees, and crave his

forgiveness and his blessing according to drama tic usage. The very dogs would have chased such a

In the midst of my doleful dumps, some one tapped me on the shoulder, and looking up I saw a couple of

rough sturdy fellows standing behind me. Not knowing what to expect I jumped on my legs, and was

preparing again to make bat tle; but I was tripped up and secured in a twink ling.

"Come, come, young master," said one of the fellows in a gruff, but good humoured tone, "don't let's have

any of yourtantrums; one would have thought you had had swing enough for this bout. Come, it's high time to

In fact I had a couple of Bow street officers hold of me. The cruel Sacharissa had proclaim ed who I was,

and that a reward had been of fered throughout the country for any tidings of me; and they had seen a

description of me which had been forwarded to the police office in town. Those harpies, therefore, for the

mere sake of filthy lucre, were resolved to deliver me over into the hands of my father and the clutches of my

It was in vain that I swore I would not leave my faithful and afflicted Columbine. It was in vain that I tore

myself from their grasp, and flew to her; and vowed to protect her; and wiped the tears from her cheek, and

with them a whole blush that might have vied with the carnation for brilliancy. My persecutors were

inflexible; they even seemed to exult in our dis tress; and to enjoy this theatrical display of dirt, and finery,

and tribulation. I was carried off in despair, leaving my Columbine destitute in the wide world; but many a

look of agony did I cast back at her, as she stood gazing pi teously after me from the brink of Hempstead

Thus ended my first peep into the world. I returned home, rich in goodfornothing experi ence, and

dreading the reward I was to receive for my improvement. My reception, however, was quite different from

what I had expected. My father had a spice of the devil in him, and did not seem to like me the worse for my

freak, which he termed "sewing my wild oats." He happened to have several of his sporting friends to dine

with him the very day of my return; they made me tell some of my adventures, and laugh ed heartily at

them. One old fellow, with an outrageously red nose, took to me hugely. I heard him whisper to my father

that I was a lad of mettle, and might make something clever; to which my father replied that "I had good

points, but was an ill broken whelp, and required a great deal of the whip." Perhaps this very con versation

raised me a little in his esteem, for I found the rednosed old gentleman was a vete ran fox hunter of the

neighbourhood, for whose opinion my father had vast deference. Indeed, I believe he would have pardoned

any thing in me more readily than poetry; which he called a cursed, sneaking, puling, housekeeping employ

ment, the bane of all true manhood. He swore it was unworthy of a youngster of my expectations, who was

one day to have so great an estate, and would be able to keep horses and hounds and hire poets to write songs

I had now satisfied, for a time, my roving pro pensity. I had exhausted the poetical feeling. I had been

heartily buffeted out of my love for theatrical display. I felt humiliated by my ex posure, and was willing to

hide my head any where for a season; so that I might be out of the way of the ridicule of the world; for I

found folks not altogether so indulgent abroad, as they were at my father's table. I could not stay at home; the

house was intolerably doleful now that my mother was no longer there to cherish me. Every thing around

spoke mournfully of her. The little flowergarden in which she de lighted, was all in disorder and overrun

with weeds. I attempted, for a day or two, to ar range it, but my heart grew heavier and heavier as I

laboured. Every little broken down flower, that I had seen her rear so tenderly, seemed to plead in mute

eloquence to my feelings. There was a favourite honeysuckle which I had seen her often training with

assiduity, and had heard her say it should be the pride of her garden. I found it grovelling along the ground,

tangled and wild, and twining round every worthless weed, and it struck me as an emblem of myself: a mere

scatterling, running to waste and uselessness. I could work no longer in the garden.

My father sent me to pay a visit to my uncle, by way of keeping the old gentleman in mind of me. I was

received, as usual, without any ex pression of discontent; which we always consi dered equivalent to a

hearty welcome. Whether he had ever heard of my strolling freak or not I could not discover; he and his man

were both so taciturn. I spent a day or two roaming about the dreary mansion and neglected park; and felt at

one time, I believe, a touch of poetry, for I was tempted to drown myself in a fishpond; I rebuked the evil

spirit, however, and it left me. I found the same redheaded boy running wild about the park, but I felt in no

humour to hunt him at present. On the contrary, I tried to coax him to me, and to make friends with him, but

When I returned from my uncle's I remained at home for some time, for my father was dispo sed, he said, to

make a man of me. He took me out hunting with him, and I became a great fa vourite of the rednosed

squire, because I rode at every thing; never refused the boldest leap, and was always sure to be in at the death.

I used often, however, to offend my father at hunting dinners, by taking the wrong side in politics. My father

was amazingly ignorant so ignorant in fact, as not to know that he knew nothing. He was staunch,

however, to church and king, and full of oldfashioned prejudices. Now, I had picked up a little knowledge in

politics and reli gion, during my rambles with the strollers, and found myself capable of setting him right as

to many of his antiquated notions. I felt it my du ty to do so; we were apt, therefore, to differ oc casionally

I was at that age when a man knows least and is most vain of his knowledge; and when he is extremely

tenacious in defending his opinion up on subjects about which he knows nothing. My father was a hard man

for any one to argue with, for he never knew when he was refuted. I sometimes posed him a little, but then he

had one argument that always settled the question; he would threaten to knock me down. I believe he at last

grew tired of me, because I both out talked and outrode him. The rednosed squire, too, got out of conceit

of me, because in the heat of the chase, I rode over him one day as he and his horse lay sprawling in the dirt.

My father, therefore, thought it high time to send me to col lege; and accordingly to Trinity College at Ox

I had lost my habits of study while at home; and I was not likely to find them again at col lege. I found that

study was not the fashion at college, and that a lad of spirit only ate his terms; and grew wise by dint of knife

and fork. I was always prone to follow the fashions of the com pany into which I fell; so I threw by my

books, and became a man of spirit. As my father made me a tolerable allowance, notwithstanding the

narrowness of his income, having an eye always to my great expectations, I was enabled to appear to

advantage among my fellow students. I cul tivated all kinds of sports and exercises. I was one of the most

expert oarsmen that rowed on the Isis. I boxed, and fenced. I was a keen huntsman, and my chambers in

college were al ways decorated with whips of all kinds, spurs, foils, and boxing gloves. A pair of leather

breeches would seem to be throwing one leg out of the half open drawers, and empty bottles lum bered the

I soon grew tired of this; and relapsed into my vein of mere poetical indulgence. I was charmed with Oxford,

for it was full of poetry to me. I thought I should never grow tired of wandering about its courts and cloisters;

and visiting the different college halls. I used to love to get in places surrounded by the colleges, where all

modern buildings were screened from the sight; and to walk about them in twilight, and see the professors

and students sweeping along in the dusk in their caps and gowns. There was complete delusion in the scene.

It seemed to transport me among the edifices and the people of old times. It was a great luxury, too, for me to

attend the evening service in the new college chapel, and to hear the fine organ and the choir swelling an

anthem in that solemn building; where painting and music and archi tecture seem to combine their grandest

I became a loiterer, also, about the Bodleian library, and a great dipper into books; but too idle to follow any

course of study or vein of re search. One of my favourite haunts was the beautiful walk, bordered by lofty

elms, along the Isis, under the old gray walls of Magdalen College, which goes by the name of Addison's

Walk; and was his resort when a student at the college. I used to take a volume of poetry in my hand, and

My father came to see me at college. He ask ed me how I came on with my studies; and what kind of

hunting there was in the neighbour hood. He examined my sporting apparatus; wanted to know if any of the

professors were fox hunters; and whether they were generally good shots; for he suspected this reading so

much was rather hurtful to the sight. Such was the only person to whom I was responsible for my

improvement: is it matter of wonder, there fore, that I became a confirmed idler?

I do not know how it is, but I cannot be idle long without getting in love. I became deeply smitten with a

shopkeeper's daughter in the high street; who in fact was the admiration of many of the students. I wrote

several sonnets in praise of her, and spent half of my pocket money at the shop, in buying articles which I did

not want, that I might have an opportunity of speaking to her. Her father, a severe looking old gentleman,

with bright silver buckles and a crisp curled wig, kept a strict guard on her; as the fathers gene rally do upon

their daughters in Oxford; and well they may. I tried to get into his good gra ces, and to be sociable with

him; but in vain. I said several good things in his shop, but he never laughed; he had no relish for wit and hu

mour. He was one of those dry old gentlemen who keep youngsters at bay. He had already brought up two or

three daughters, and was ex perienced in the ways of students. He was as knowing and wary as a gray old

badger that has often been hunted. To see him on Sunday, so stiff and starched in his demeanour; so precise

in his dress; with his daughter under his arm, and his ivoryheaded cane in his hand, was enough to deter all

I managed, however, in spite of his vigilance, to have several conversations with the daughter, as I cheapened

articles in the shop. I made terrible long bargains, and examined the articles over and over, before I

purchased. In the mean time, I would convey a sonnet or an acrostic under cover of a piece of cambric, or

slipped into a pair of stockings; I would whisper soft nonsense into her ear as I haggled about the price; and

would squeeze her hand tenderly as I received my halfpence of change, in a bit of whitybrown paper. Let

this serve as a hint to all haberdashers, who have pretty daughters for shop girls, and young students for

customers. I do not know whether my words and looks were very eloquent; but my poetry was irresistible;

for, to tell the truth, the girl had some literary taste, and was seldom without a book from the circulating

By the divine power of poetry, therefore, which is irresistible with the lovely sex, did I subdue the heart of

this fair little haberdasher. We carried on a sentimental correspondence for a time across the counter, and I

supplied her with rhyme by the stocking full. At length I prevailed on her to grant me an assignation. But how

was it to be effected? Her father kept her always under his eye; she never walked out alone; and the house

was locked up the moment that the shop was shut. All these difficulties served but to give zest to the

adventure. I pro posed that the assignation should be in her own chamber, into which I would climb at night.

The plan was irresistible. A cruel father, a secret lover, and a clandestine meeting! All the little girl's studies

from the circulating library seemed about to be realized. But what had I in view in making this assignation?

Indeed I know not. I had no evil intentions; nor can I say that I had any good ones. I liked the girl, and wanted

to have an opportunity of seeing more of her; and the assignation was made, as I have done many things else,

heedlessly and without forethought. I asked myself a few ques tions of the kind, after all my arrangements

were made; but the answers were very unsatisfactory. "Am I to ruin this poor thoughtless girl?" said I to

myself. "No!" was the prompt and in dignant answer. "Am I to run away with her?" "Whither and to

what purpose?" "Well, then, am I to marry her?" "Pah! a man of my expectations marry a shopkeeper's

daughter!" "What then am I to do with her?" "Hum why Let me get into her chamber first, and then

Well, sir, "come what come might," I stole under cover of the darkness to the dwelling of my dulcinea. All

was quiet. At the concerted signal her window was gently opened. It was just above the projecting bow

window of her fa ther's shop, which assisted me in mounting. The house was low, and I was enabled to scale

the fortress with tolerable ease. I clambered with a beating heart; I reached the casement; I hoist ed my body

half into the chamber and was wel comed, not by the embraces of my expecting fair one, but by the grasp of

I extricated myself from his clutches and en deavoured to make my retreat; but I was con founded by his

cries of thieves! and robbers! I was bothered too by his Sunday cane; which was amazingly busy about my

head as I descend ed; and against which my hat was but a poor protection. Never before had I an idea of the

activity of an old man's arm, and hardness of the knob of an ivoryheaded cane. In my hurry and confusion I

missed my footing, and fell sprawling on the pavement. I was immediately surround ed by myrmidons, who

I doubt not were on the watch for me. Indeed, I was in no situation to escape, for I had sprained my ankle in

the fall, and could not stand. I was seized as a house breaker; and to exonerate myself from a greater crime I

had to accuse myself of a less. I made known who I was, and why I came there. Alas! the varlets knew it

already, and were only amu sing themselves at my expense. My perfidious muse had been playing me one

of her slippery tricks. The old curmudgeon of a father had found my sonnets and acrostics hid away in holes

and corners of his shop; he had no taste for poetry like his daughter, and had instituted a rigorous though

silent observation. He had moused upon our letters; detected the ladder of ropes, and prepared every thing for

my reception. Thus was I ever doomed to be led into scrapes by the muse. Let no man henceforth carry on a

The old man's ire was in some measure ap peased by the pummelling of my head, and the anguish of my

sprain; so he did not put me to death on the spot. He was even humane enough to furnish a shutter, on which I

was carried back to college like a wounded warrior. The porter was roused to admit me; the college gate was

thrown open for my entry; the affair was blazed abroad the next morning, and became the joke of the college

I had leisure to repent during several weeks confinement by my sprain, which I passed in translating

Boethius' Consolations of Philosophy. I received a most tender and illspelled letter from my mistress, who

had been sent to a relation in Coventry. She protested her innocence of my misfortunes, and vowed to be true

to me "till death." I took no notice of the letter, for I was cured, for the present, both of love and poetry.

Women, however, are more constant in their at tachments than men, whatever philosophers may say to the

contrary. I am assured that she ac tually remained faithful to her vow for several months; but she had to deal

with a cruel father whose heart was as hard as the knob of his cane. He was not to be touched by tears or

poetry; but absolutely compelled her to marry a reputa ble young tradesman; who made her a happy woman

in spite of herself, and of all the rules of romance; and what is more, the mother of seve ral children. They

are at this very day a thri ving couple, and keep a snug corner shop, just opposite the figure of Peeping Tom

I will not fatigue you by any more details of my studies at Oxford, though they were not al ways as severe

as these; nor did I always pay as dear for my lessons. People may say what they please, a studious life has its

charms, and there are many places more gloomy than the cloisters of a university.

To be brief, then, I lived on in my usual mis cellaneous manner, gradually getting a knowledge of good and

evil, until I had attained my twenty first year. I had scarcely come of age when I heard of the sudden death

of my father. The shock was severe, for though he had never treat ed me with kindness, still he was my

I returned home to act as chief mourner at his funeral. It was attended by many of the sportsmen of the

county; for he was an impor tant member of their fraternity. According to his request his favourite hunter

was led after the hearse. The rednosed fox hunter, who had taken a little too much wine at the house, made a

maudlin eulogy of the deceased, and wished to give the view halloo over the grave; but he was rebuked by

the rest of the company. They all shook me kindly by the hand, said many conso latory things to me, and

When I found myself alone in my paternal home, a crowd of gloomy feelings came throng ing upon me. It

was a place that always seem ed to sober me, and bring me to reflection. Now especially, it looked so

deserted and me lancholy; the furniture displaced about the room; the chairs in groups, as their departed

occupants had sat, either in whispering t�te�t�tes, or gossipping clusters; the bottles and decanters and

wine glasses, half emptied, and scattered about the tables all dreary traces of a funeral festival. I entered

the little breakfasting room. There were my father's whip and spurs hanging by the fireplace, and his

favourite pointer lying on the hearth rug. The poor animal came fondling about me, and licked my hand,

though he had never before noticed me; and then he looked round the room, and whined, and wagged his tail

slightly, and gazed wistfully in my face. I felt the full force of the appeal. "Poor Dash!" said I, "we are both

alone in the world, with nobody to care for us, and we'll take care of one another." The dog never quitted me

I could not go into my mother's room: my heart swelled when I passed within sight of the door. Her portrait

hung in the parlour, just over the place where she used to sit. As I cast my eyes on it I thought it looked at me

with ten derness, and I burst into tears. My heart had long been seared by living in public schools, and

buffetting about among strangers who cared nothing for me; but the recollection of a mo ther's tenderness

I was not of an age or a temperament to be long depressed. There was a reaction in my system that always

brought me up again after every pressure; and indeed my spirits were most buoyant after a temporary

prostration. I settled the concerns of the estate as soon as pos sible; realized my property, which was not

very considerable; but which appeared a vast deal to me, having a poetical eye that magnified every thing;

and finding myself at the end of a few months, free of all farther business or restraint, I determined to go to

London and enjoy myself. Why should not I? I was young, animated, joyous; had plenty of funds for

present plea sures, and my uncle's estate in the perspective. Let those mope at college and pore over books,

thought I, who have their way to make in the world; it would be ridiculous drudgery in a youth of my

Well, sir, away to London I rattled in a tan dem, determined to take the town gayly. I passed through several

of the villages where I had played the jackpudding a few years before; and I visited the scenes of many of

my adven tures and follies, merely from that feeling of me lancholy pleasure which we have in stepping

again in the footprints of foregone existence, even when they have passed among weeds and briars. I made a

circuit in the latter part of my journey, so as to take in West End and Hempstead, the scenes of my last

dramatic exploit, and of the battle royal of the booth. As I drove along the ridge of Hempstead Hill, by Jack

Straw's castle, I paused at the spot where Columbine and I had sat down so disconsolately in our rag ged

finery, and looked dubiously upon London. I almost expected to see her again, standing on the hill's brink,

"Poor Columbine!" said I, with a heavy sigh, "thou wert a gallant, generous girl a true wo man, faithful

to the distressed, and ready to sa crifice thyself in the cause of worthless man!"

I tried to whistle off the recollection of her; for there was always something of selfreproach with it. I drove

gayly along the road, enjoying the stare of hostlers and stable boys as I managed my horses knowingly down

the steep street of Hempstead; when, just at the skirts of the vil lage, one of the traces of my leader came

loose. I pulled up; and as the animal was restive and my servant a bungler, I called for assistance to the

robustious master of a snug ale house, who stood at his door with a tankard in his hand. He came readily to

assist me, followed by his wife with her bosom half open, a child in her arms, and two more at her heels. I

stared for a mo ment as if doubting my eyes. I could not be mistaken; in the fat beerblown landlord of the

ale house I recognized my old rival Harlequin, and in his slattern spouse, the once trim and dimpling

The change of my looks, from youth to man hood, and the change of my circumstances, pre vented them

from recognizing me. They could not suspect, in the dashing young buck, fashiona bly dressed, and driving

his own equipage, their former comrade, the painted beau, with old peaked hat and long, flimsy, sky blue

coat. My heart yearned with kindness towards Colum bine, and I was glad to see her establishment a

thriving one. As soon as the harness was ad justed I tossed a small purse of gold into her ample bosom; and

then, pretending to give my horses a hearty cut of the whip, I made the lash curl with a whistling about the

sleek sides of ancient Harlequin. The horses dashed off like lightning, and I was whirled out of sight, before

either of the parties could get over their surprise at my liberal donations. I have always consider ed this as

one of the greatest proofs of my poeti cal genius. It was distributing poetical justice in perfection.

I now entered London en cavalier, and be came a blood upon town. I took fashionable lodgings in the West

End; employed the first tailor; frequented the regular lounges; gam bled a little; lost my money good

humouredly, and gained a number of fashionable goodfor nothing acquaintances. Had I had more indus

try and ambition in my nature, I might have worked my way to the very height of fashion, as I saw many

laborious gentlemen doing around me. But it is a toilsome, an anxious, and an unhappy life; there are few

I was quite content with that kind of society which forms the frontiers of fashion, and may be easily taken

possession of. I found it a light, easy, productive soil. I had but to go about and sow visiting cards, and I

reaped a whole harvest of invitations. Indeed, my figure and address were by no means against me. It was

whisper ed, too, among the young ladies, that I was pro digiously clever, and wrote poetry; and the old

ladies had ascertained that I was a young gentle man of good family, handsome fortune, and "great

I now was carried away by the hurry of gay life, so intoxicating to a young man; and which a man of poetical

temperament enjoys so highly on his first tasting of it. That rapid variety of sensations; that whirl of brilliant

objects; that succession of pungent pleasures. I had no time for thought; I only felt. I never attempted to write

poetry; my poetry seemed all to go off by transpiration. I lived poetry; it was all a poeti cal dream to me. A

mere sensualist knows no thing of the delights of a splendid metropolis. He lives in a round of animal

gratifications and heartless habits. But to a young man of poeti cal feelings it is an ideal world; a scene of

en chantment and delusion; his imagination is in perpetual excitement, and gives a spiritual zest to every

A season of town life somewhat sobered me of my intoxication; or rather I was rendered more serious by one

of my old complaints I fell in love. It was with a very pretty, though a very haughty fair one, who had

come to London under the care of an old maiden aunt, to enjoy the pleasures of a winter in town, and to get

married. There was not a doubt of her commanding a choice of lovers; for she had long been the belle of a

little cathedral town; and one of the pre bendaries had absolutely celebrated her beauty in a copy of Latin

I paid my court to her, and was favourably re ceived both by her and her aunt. Nay, I had a marked

preference shown me over the younger son of a needy Baronet, and a captain of dra goons on half pay. I did

not absolutely take the field in form, for I was determined not to be pre cipitate; but I drove my equipage

frequently through the street in which she lived, and was always sure to see her at the window, generally with

a book in her hand. I resumed my knack at rhyming, and sent her a long copy of verses; anonymously to be

sure; but she knew my hand writing. They displayed, however, the most de lightful ignorance on the

subject. The young lady showed them to me; wondered who they could be written by; and declared there was

no thing in this world she loved so much as poetry: while the maiden aunt would put her pinching spectacles

on her nose, and read them, with blun ders in sense and sound, that were excruciating to an author's ears;

The fashionable season closed without my ad venturing to make a declaration, though I cer tainly had

encouragement. I was not perfectly sure that I had effected a lodgement in the young ladies heart; and, to tell

the truth, the aunt over did her part, and was a little too extravagant in her liking of me. I knew that maiden

aunts were not apt to be captivated by the mere per sonal merits of their nieces' admirers, and I wanted to

ascertain how much of all this favour I owed to my driving an equipage and having great expectations.

I had received many hints how charming their native town was during the summer months; what pleasant

society they had; and what beau tiful drives about the neighbourhood. They had not, therefore, returned

home long, before I made my appearance in dashing style, driving down the principal street. It is an easy

thing to put a little quiet cathedral town in a buzz. The very next morning I was seen at prayers, seated in the

pew of the reigning belle. All the congre gation was in a flutter. The prebends eyed me from their stalls;

questions were whispered about the aisles after service, "who is he?" and "what is he?" and the replies were

as usual "A young gentleman of good family and fortune, and great expectations."

I was pleased with the peculiarities of a ca thedral town, where I found I was a personage of some

consequence. I was quite a brilliant acquisition to the young ladies of the cathedral circle, who were glad to

have a beau that was not in a black coat and clerical wig. You must know that there was a vast distinction

between the classes of society of the town. As it was a place of some trade there were many wealthy

inhabitants among the commercial and manu facturing classes, who lived in style and gave many

entertainments. Nothing of trade, how ever, was admitted into the cathedral circle faugh! the thing could

not be thought of. The cathedral circle, therefore, was apt to be very select, very dignified, and very dull.

They had evening parties, at which the old ladies played cards with the prebends, and the young ladies sat and

looked on, and shifted from one chair to another about the room, until it was time to go home.

It was difficult to get up a ball, from the want of partners, the cathedral circle being very defi cient in

dancers; and on those occasions, there was an occasional drafting among the dancing men of the other circle,

who, however, were generally regarded with great reserve and con descension by the gentlemen in

powdered wigs. Several of the young ladies, assured me, in con fidence, that they had often looked with a

wist ful eye at the gayety of the other circle, where there was such plenty of young beaux, and where they

all seemed to enjoy themselves so merrily; but that it would be degradation to think of de scending from

I admired the degree of old fashioned cere mony, and superannuated courtesy that prevailed in this little

place. The bowings and curtsey ings that would take place about the cathedral porch after morning service,

where knots of old gentlemen and ladies would collect together to ask after each other's health, and settle the

card party for the evening. The little presents of fruit and delicacies, and the thousand petty mes sages that

would pass from house to house; for in a tranquil community like this, living entirely at ease, and having little

to do, little duties and little civilities and little amusements, fill up the day. I have smiled, as I looked from

my win dow on a quiet street near the cathedral, in the middle of a warm summer day, to see a corpu lent

powdered footman in rich livery, carrying a small tart on a large silver salver. A dainty tit bit, sent, no

doubt, by some worthy old dowager, to top off the dinner of her favourite prebend.

Nothing could be more delectable, also, than the breaking up of one of their evening card par ties. Such

shakings of hand; such mobbing up in cloaks and tippets! There were two or three old sedan chairs that did

the duty of the whole place; though the greater part made their exit in clogs or pattens, with a footman or

waiting maid carrying a lanthorn in advance; and at a certain hour of the night the clank of pattens and the

gleam of these jack lanthorns, here and there, about the quiet little town, gave notice that the cathedral card

party had dissolved, and the luminaries were severally seeking their homes. To such a community, therefore,

or at least to the female part of it, the accession of a gay, dashing young beau was a matter of some

importance. The old ladies eyed me with com placency through their spectacles, and the young ladies

pronounced me divine. Every body re ceived me favourably, excepting the gentleman who had written the

Latin verses on the belle. Not that he was jealous of my success with the lady, for he had no pretensions to

her; but he heard my verses praised wherever he went, and he could not endure a rival with the muse.

I was thus carrying every thing before me. I was the Adonis of the cathedral circle; when one evening there

was a public ball which was attended likewise by the gentry of the neigh bourhood. I took great pains with

my toilet on the occasion, and I had never looked better. I had determined that night to make my grand

assault on the heart of the young lady, to batter it with all my forces, and the next morning to demand a

I entered the ball room amidst a buzz and flutter, which generally took place among the young ladies on my

appearance. I was in fine spirits; for to tell the truth, I had exhilarated myself by a cheerful glass of wine on

the occa sion. I talked, and rattled, and said a thousand silly things, slap dash, with all the confidence of a

In the midst of my triumph I observed a little knot gathering together in the upper part of the room. By

degrees it increased. A tittering broke out there; and glances were cast round at me, and then there would be

fresh tittering. Some of the young ladies would hurry away to distant parts of the room, and whisper to their

friends: wherever they went there was still this tittering and glancing at me. I did not know what to make of

all this: I looked at myself from head to foot; and peeped at my back in a glass, to see if any thing was odd

about my per son; any awkward exposure; any whimsical tag hanging out no every thing was right. I

I determined that it must be some choice say ing of mine, that was bandied about in this knot of merry

I stepped gently, therefore, up the room, smi ling at every one as I passed, who I must say all smiled and

tittered in return. I approached the group, smirking and perking my chin, like a man who is full of pleasant

feeling, and sure of being well received. The cluster of little belles open ed as I advanced.

Heavens and earth! whom should I perceive in the midst of them, but my early and tormenting flame, the

everlasting Sacharissa! She was grown up, it is true, into the full beauty of wo manhood, but showed by the

provoking merri ment of her countenance, that she perfectly re collected me, and the ridiculous

I saw at once the exterminating cloud of ridi cule that was bursting over me. My crest fell. The flame of

love went suddenly out in my bo som; or was extinguished by overwhelming shame. How I got down the

room I know not; I fancied every one tittering at me. Just as I reached the door, I caught a glance of my mis

tress and her aunt listening to the whispers of my poetic rival; the old lady raising her hands and eyes, and the

face of the young one lighted up with scorn ineffable. I paused to see no more; but made two steps from the

top of the stairs to the bottom. The next morning, before sunrise, I beat a retreat; and did not feel the blushes

cool from my tingling cheeks, until I had lost sight of the old towers of the cathedral.

I now returned to town thoughtful and crest fallen. My money was nearly spent, for I had lived freely and

without calculation. The dream of love was over, and the reign of pleasure at an end. I determined to retrench

while I had yet a trifle left; so selling my equipage and horses for half their value, I quietly put the money in

my pocket, and turned pedestrian. I had not a doubt that, with my great expectations, I could at any time raise

funds, either on usury or by bor rowing; but I was principled against both one and the other; and resolved,

by strict economy, to make my slender purse hold out, until my un cle should give up the ghost; or rather,

I staid at home, therefore, and read, and would have written; but I had already suffered too much from my

poetical productions, which had generally involved me in some ridiculous scrape. I gradually acquired a rusty

look, and had a straightened, moneyborrowing air, upon which the world began to shy me. I have never felt

disposed to quarrel with the world for its conduct. It has always used me well. When I have been flush, and

gay, and disposed for society, it has caressed me; and when I have been pinched, and reduced, and wished to

be alone, why, it has left me alone; and what more could a man de sire? Take my word for it, this world

Well, sir, in the midst of my retrenchment, my retirement and my studiousness, I received news that my uncle

was dangerously ill. I hastened on the wings of an heir's affections to receive his dying breath and his last

testament. I found him attended by his faithful valet old Iron John; by the woman who occasionally worked

about the house; and by the foxyheaded boy young Orson, whom I had occasionally hunted about the park.

Iron John gasped a kind of asthmatical saluta tion as I entered the room, and received me with something

almost like a smile of welcome. The woman sat blubbering at the foot of the bed; and the foxy headed Orson,

who had now grown up to be a lubberly lout, stood gazing in stupid va cancy at a distance.

My uncle lay stretched upon his back. The chamber was without fire, or any of the comforts of a sick room.

The cobwebs flaunted from the ceiling. The tester was covered with dust, and the curtains were tattered.

From underneath the bed peeped out one end of his strong box. Against the wainscot were suspended rusty

blun derbusses, horse pistols, and a cutandthrust sword, with which he had fortified his room to defend

his life and treasure. He had employed no physician during his illness, and from the scanty relics lying on the

When I entered the room he was lying mo tionless; his eyes fixed and his mouth open; at the first look I

thought him a corpse. The noise of my entrance made him turn his head. At the sight of me a ghastly smile

came over his face, and his glazing eye gleamed with satisfac tion. It was the only smile he had ever given

me, and it went to my heart. "Poor old man!" thought I, "why would you not let me love you? Why would

you force me to leave you thus desolate, when I see that my presence has the power to cheer you?"

"Nephew," said he, after several efforts, and in a low gasping voice "I am glad you are come. I shall now

die with satisfaction. Look," said he, raising his withered hand and point ing "look in that box on the

I pressed his hand to my heart, and the tears stood in my eyes. I sat down by his bed side, and watched him,

but he never spoke again. My presence, however, gave him evident satis faction for every now and then,

as he looked at me, a vague smile would come over his visage, and he would feebly point to the sealed box

on the table. As the day wore away his life seem ed to wear away with it. Towards sun set, his hand sunk on

the bed and lay motionless; his eyes grew glazed; his mouth remained open, and thus he gradually died.

I could not but feel shocked at this absolute extinction of my kindred. I dropped a tear of real sorrow over this

strange old man, who had thus reserved his smile of kindness to his death bed; like an evening sun after a

gloomy day, just shining out to set in darkness. Leaving the corpse in charge of the domestics, I retired for the

It was a rough night. The winds seemed as if singing my uncle's requiem about the mansion; and the

bloodhounds howled without as if they knew of the death of their old master. Iron John almost grudged me

the tallow candle to burn in my apartment and light up its dreariness; so accustomed had he been to starveling

economy. I could not sleep. The recollection of my un cle's dying scene and the dreary sounds about the

house, affected my mind. These, however, were succeeded by plans for the future, and I lay awake the greater

part of the night, indulging the poeti cal anticipation, how soon I would make these old walls ring with

My uncle's funeral was decent, but private. I knew there was nobody that respected his me mory; and I was

determined that none should be summoned to sneer over his funeral wines, and make merry at his grave. He

was buried in the church of the neighbouring village, though it was not the burying place of his race; but he

had expressly enjoined that he should not be buried with his family; he had quarrelled with the most of them

I defrayed the expenses of the funeral out of my own purse, that I might have done with the undertakers at

once, and clear the illomened birds from the premises. I invited the parson of the parish, and the lawyer

from the village to at tend at the house the next morning and hear the reading of the will. I treated them to

an excel lent breakfast, a profusion that had not been seen at the house for many a year. As soon as the

breakfast things were removed, I summoned Iron John, the woman, and the boy, for I was parti cular in

having every one present and proceed ing regularly. The box was placed on the table. All was silence. I

broke the seal; raised the lid; and beheld not the will, but my accursed poem of Doubting Castle and Giant

Could any mortal have conceived that this old withered man; so taciturn, and apparently lost to feeling, could

have treasured up for years the thoughtless pleasantry of a boy, to punish him with such cruel ingenuity? I

now could account for his dying smile, the only one he had ever given me. He had been a grave man all his

life; it was strange that he should die in the en joyment of a joke; and it was hard that that joke should be at

The lawyer and the parson seemed at a loss to comprehend the matter. "Here must be some mistake," said the

"Oh," said Iron John, creaking forth his rusty. jaws, "if it is a will you are looking for, I be lieve I can find

He retired with the same singular smile with which he had greeted me on my arrival, and which I now

apprehended boded me no good. In a little while he returned with a will perfect at all points, properly signed

and sealed and wit nessed; worded with horrible correctness; in which he left large legacies to Iron John and

his daughter, and the residue of his fortune to the foxyheaded boy; who, to my utter astonishment, was his

son by this very wo man; he having married her privately; and, as I verily believe, for no other purpose than

to have an heir, and so baulk my father and his issue of the inheritance. There was one little proviso, in which

he mentioned that having discovered his nephew to have a pretty turn for poetry, he presumed he had no

occasion for wealth: he re commended him, however, to the patronage of his heir; and requested that he

Mr. Buckthorne had paused at the death of his uncle, and the downfall of his great ex pectations, which

formed, as he said, an epoch in his history; and it was not until some little time afterwards, and in a very

After leaving the domains of my defunct uncle, said he, when the gate closed between me and what was once

to have been mine, I felt thrust out naked into the world, and completely aban doned to fortune. What was to

become of me? I had been brought up to nothing but expecta tions, and they had all been disappointed. I had

no relations to look to for counsel or assist ance. The world seemed all to have died away from me. Wave

after wave of relationship had ebbed off, and I was left a mere hulk upon the strand. I am not apt to be greatly

cast down, but at this time I felt sadly disheartened. I could not realize my situation, nor form a con jecture

I was now to endeavour to make money. The idea was new and strange to me. It was like being asked to

discover the philosophers' stone. I had never thought about money, other than to put my hand into my pocket

and find it, or if there were none there, to wait until a new supply came from home. I had considered life as a

mere space of time to be filled up with en joyments; but to have it portioned out into long hours and days of

toil, merely that I might gain bread to give me strength to toil on; to labour but for the purpose of

perpetuating a life of la bour was new and appalling to me. This may appear a very simple matter to some,

but it will be understood by every unlucky wight in my pre dicament, who has had the misfortune of being

I passed several days in rambling about the scenes of my boyhood; partly because I absolute ly did not

know what to do with myself, and partly because I did not know that I should ever see them again. I clung to

them as one clings to a wreck, though he knows he must eventually cast himself loose and swim for his life. I

sat down on a hill within sight of my paternal home, but I did not venture to approach it, for I felt com

punction at the thoughtlessness with which I had dissipated my patrimony. But was I to blame, when I had

The new possessor of the place was making great alterations. The house was almost rebuilt. The trees which

stood about it were cut down; my mother's flowergarden was thrown into a lawn; all was undergoing a

change. I turned my back upon it with a sigh, and rambled to ano ther part of the country.

How thoughtful a little adversity makes one, As I came within sight of the school house where I had so often

been flogged in the cause of wis dom, you would hardly have recognized the tru ant boy who but a few

years since had eloped so heedlessly from its walls. I leaned over the pa ling of the play ground, and

watched the scholars at their games, and looked to see if there might not be some urchin among them, like I

was once, full of gay dreams about life and the world. The play ground seemed smaller than when I used to

sport about it. The house and park, too, of the neighbouring squire, the father of the cruel Sa charissa, had

shrunk in size and diminished in magnificence. The distant hills no longer ap peared so far off, and, alas! no

As I was rambling pensively through a neigh bouring meadow, in which I had many a time gathered

primroses, I met the very pedagogue who had been the tyrant and dread of my boy hood. I had sometimes

vowed to myself, when suffering under his rod, that I would have my revenge if ever I met him when I had

grown to be a man. The time had come; but I had no disposition to keep my vow. The few years which had

matured me into a vigorous man had shrunk him into decrepitude. He appeared to have had a paralytic stroke.

I looked at him, and wondered that this poor helpless mortal could have been an object of terror to me! That I

should have watched with anxiety the glance of that failing eye, or dreaded the power of that trembling hand!

He tottered feebly along the path, and had some difficulty in getting over a style. I ran and assisted him. He

looked at me with surprise, but did not recognize me, and made a low bow of humility and thanks. I had no

disposition to make myself known, for I felt that I had nothing to boast of. The pains he had taken and the

pains he had inflicted had been equally useless. His repeated predictions were fully verified, and I felt that

little Jack Buck thorne, the idle boy, had grown up to be a very goodfornothing man.

This is all very comfortless detail; but as I have told you of my follies, it is meet that I show you how for

The most thoughtless of mortals will some time or other have this day of gloom, when he will be compelled

to reflect. I felt on this occa sion as if I had a kind of penance to perform, and I made a pilgrimage in

Having passed a night at Leamington, I set off by a private path which leads up a hill, through a grove, and

across quiet fields, until I came to the small village, or rather hamlet of Lenington. I sought the village

church. It is an old low edifice of gray stone on the brow of a small hill, looking over fertile fields to where

the proud towers of Warwick Castle lift them selves against the distant horizon. A part of the church yard is

shaded by large trees. Under one of these my mother lay buried. You have, no doubt, thought me a light,

heartless being. I thought myself so but there are moments of adversity which let us into some feelings of

I sought my mother's grave. The weeds were already matted over it, and the tombstone was half hid among

nettles. I cleared them away and they stung my hands; but I was heed less of the pain, for my heart ached

too severely. I sat down on the grave, and read over and over again the epitaph on the stone. It was simple,

but it was true. I had written it myself. I had tried to write a poetical epitaph, but in vain; my feelings refused

to utter themselves in rhyme. My heart had gradually been filling during my lonely wanderings; it was now

charged to the brim and overflowed. I sank upon the grave and buried my face in the tall grass and wept like a

child. Yes, I wept in manhood upon the grave, as I had in infancy upon the bosom of my mother, Alas! how

little do we appreciate a mother's tenderness while living! How heed less are we, in youth, of all her

anxieties and kindness. But when she is dead and gone; when the cares and coldness of the world come

withering to our hearts; when we find how hard it is to find true sympathy, how few love us for ourselves,

how few will befriend us in our misfortunes; then it is we think of the mo ther we have lost. It is true I had

always loved my mother, even in my most heedless days; but I felt how inconsiderate and ineffectual had

been my love. My heart melted as I retraced the days of infancy, when I was led by a mother's hand, and

rocked to sleep in a mother's arms, and was without care or sorrow. "Oh, my mo ther!" exclaimed I, burying

my face again in the grass of the grave "Oh, that I were once more by your side; sleeping, never to wake

I am not naturally of a morbid temperament, and the violence of my emotion gradually ex hausted itself. It

was a hearty, honest, natural, discharge of griefs which had been slowly accu mulating, and gave me

wonderful relief. I rose from the grave as if I had been offering up a sacrifice, and I felt as if that sacrifice had

I sat down again on the grass, and plucked, one by one, the weeds from her grave; the tears trickled more

slowly down my cheeks, and ceased to be bitter. It was a comfort to think that she had died before sorrow and

I leaned my cheek upon my hand and looked upon the landscape. Its quiet beauty soothed me. The whistle of

a peasant from an adjoin ing field came cheerily to my ear. I seemed to respire hope and comfort with the

free air that whispered through the leaves and played lightly with my hair, and dried the tears upon my cheek.

A lark, rising from the field before me, and leaving, as it were, a stream of song behind him as he rose, lifted

my fancy with him. He hovered in the air just above the place where the towers of Warwick Castle marked

the horizon; and seemed as if fluttering with delight at his own melody. "Surely," thought I, "if there were

such a thing as transmigration of souls, this might be taken for some poet, let loose from earth, but still

At this moment the long forgotten feeling of poetry rose within me. A thought sprung at once into my mind:

"I will become an author," said I. "I have hitherto indulged in poetry as a pleasure, and it has brought me

nothing but pain. Let me try what it will do, when I cul tivate it with devotion as a pursuit."

The resolution, thus suddenly aroused within me, heaved a load from off my heart. I felt a confidence in it

from the very place where it was formed. It seemed as though my mother's spirit whispered it to me from her

grave. "I will henceforth," said I, "endeavour to be all that she fondly imagined me. I will endeavour to act as

if she were witness of my actions. I will endeavour to acquit myself in such manner, that when I revisit her

I bowed down and kissed the turf in solemn attestation of my vow. I plucked some prim roses that were

growing there and laid them next my heart. I left the church yard with my spi rits once more lifted up, and

Here my companion made a pause, and I wait ed in anxious suspense; hoping to have a whole volume of

literary life unfolded to me. He seem ed, however, to have sunk into a fit of pensive musing; and when after

some time I gently roused him by a question or two as to his literary career. "No," said he smiling, "over that

part of my story I wish to leave a cloud. Let the mysteries of the craft rest sacred for me. Let those who have

never adventured into the republic of letters, still look upon it as a fairy land. Let them sup pose the author

the very being they picture him from his works: I am not the man to mar their illusion. I am not the man to

hint, while one is admiring the silken web of Persia, that it has been spun from the entrails of a miserable

"Well," said I, "if you will tell me nothing of your literary history, let me know at least if you have had any

A long time elapsed, said Buckthorne, with out my receiving any accounts of my cousin and his estate.

Indeed, I felt so much soreness on the subject, that I wished, if possible, to shut it from my thoughts. At

length chance took me into that part of the country, and I could not re frain from making some inquiries.

I learnt that my cousin had grown up igno rant, selfwilled, and clownish. His ignorance and clownishness

had prevented his mingling with the neighbouring gentry. In spite of his great fortune he had been

unsuccessful in an at tempt to gain the hand of the daughter of the par son, and had at length shrunk into

the limits of such society, as a mere man of wealth can gather in a country neighbourhood.

He kept horses and hounds and a roaring ta ble, at which were collected the loose livers of the country

round, and the shabby gentlemen of a village in the vicinity. When he could get no other company he would

smoke and drink with his own servants, who in their turns fleeced and despised him. Still, with all this

apparent pro digality, he had a leaven of the old man in him, which showed that he was his true born son.

He lived far within his income, was vulgar in his expenses, and penurious on many points on which a

gentleman would be extravagant. His house servants were obliged occasionally to work on the estate, and

His table, though plentiful, was coarse; his liquors strong and bad; and more ale and whis key were

expended in his establishment than generous wine. He was loud and arrogant at his own table, and exacted a

As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he had grown impatient of the tight hand his own grandson kept over

him, and quarrelled with him soon after he came to the estate. The old man had retired to a neighbouring

village where he lived on the legacy of his late master, in a small cottage, and was as seldom seen out of it as

The cub, like Caliban, seemed to have an instinctive attachment to his mother. She re sided with him; but,

from long habit, she acted more as servant than as mistress of the man sion; for she toiled in all the domestic

drudgery, and was oftener in the kitchen than the parlour. Such was the information which I collected of my

I now felt an irresistible hankering to pay a visit to this scene of my boyhood; and to get a peep at the odd

kind of life that was passing within the mansion of my maternal ancestors. I determined to do so in disguise.

My booby cousin had never seen enough of me to be very familiar with my countenance, and a few years

make great difference between youth and man hood. I understood he was a breeder of cattle and proud of

his stock. I dressed myself, there fore, as a substantial farmer, and with the assist ance of a red scratch that

It was past three o'clock when I arrived at the gate of the park, and was admitted by an old woman, who was

washing in a dilapidated building which had once been a porter's lodge. I advanced up the remains of a noble

avenue, many of the trees of which had been cut down and sold for timber. The grounds were in scarcely

better keeping than during my uncle's lifetime. The grass was overgrown with weeds, and the trees wanted

pruning and clear ing of dead branches. Cattle were grazing about the lawns, and ducks and geese

The road to the house bore very few traces of carriage wheels, as my cousin received few visit ers but such

as came on foot or horseback, and never used a carriage himself. Once, indeed, as I was told, he had had the

old family carriage drawn out from among the dust and cobwebs of the coach house and furbished up, and

had drove with his mother, to the village church, to take formal possession of the family pew; but there was

such hooting and laughing after them as they passed through the village, and such gig gling and bantering

As I approached the house, a legion of whelps sallied out barking at me, accompanied by the low howling

rather than barking of two old worn out bloodhounds, which I recognized for the an cient life guards of my

uncle. The house had still a neglected, random appearance, though much altered for the better since my last

visit. Several of the windows were broken and patch ed up with boards; and others had been bricked up, to

save taxes. I observed smoke, however, rising from the chimneys; a phenomenon rarely witnessed in the

ancient establishment. On passing that part of the house where the dining room was situated, I heard the

sound of boister ous merriment; where three or four voices were talking at once, and oaths and laughter

The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant to the door, a tall, hardfisted country clown, with a livery coat

put over the under garments of a ploughman. I requested to see the master of the house, but was told he was

at dinner with some "gemmen" of the neighbourhood. I made known my business and sent in to know if I

might talk with the master about his cattle; for I felt a great desire to have a peep at him at his orgies. Word

was returned that he was enga ged with company, and could not attend to busi ness, but that if I would

"step in and take a drink of something, I was heartily welcome." I accordingly entered the hall, where whips

and hats of all kinds and shapes were lying on an oaken table; two or three clownish servants were lounging

The apartments through which I passed had the same air of departed gentility and sluttish housekeeping. The

once rich curtains were faded and dusty; the furniture greased and tar nished. On entering the dining room I

found a number of odd vulgar looking rustic gentlemen seated round a table, on which were bottles, de

canters, tankards, pipes and tobacco. Several dogs were lying about the room, or sitting and watching their

The master of the feast sat at the head of the board. He was greatly altered. He had grown thick set and rather

gummy, with a fiery foxy head of hair. There was a singular mixture of foolishness arrogance and conceit in

his counte nance. He was dressed in a vulgarly fine style, with leather breeches, a red waistcoat and green

coat, and was evidently, like his guests, a little flushed with drinking. The whole company stared at me with a

whimsical muggy look; like men whose senses were a little obfruseated by beer rather than wine.

My cousin, (God forgive me! the appellation sticks in my throat,) my cousin invited me with awkward

civility, or, as he intended it, condes cension, to sit to the table and drink. We talk ed as usual, about the

weather, the crops, poli tics, and hard times. My cousin was a loud politician, and evidently accustomed to

talk without contradiction at his own table. He was amazingly loyal, and talked of standing by the throne to

the last guinea, "as every gentle man of fortune should do." The village excise man, who was half asleep,

The conversation turned upon cattle; he boast ed of his breed, his mode of managing it, and of the general

management of his estate. This un luckily drew on a history of the place and of the family. He spoke of my

late uncle with the greatest irreverence, which I could easily forgive. He mentioned my name, and my blood

began to boil. He described my frequent visits to my un cle when I was a lad, and I found the varlet, even at

He described the scene of my uncle's death, and the opening of the will, with a degree of coarse humour that I

had not expected from him; and, vexed as I was, I could not help joining in the laugh; for I have always

relished a joke, even though made at my own expense. He went on to speak of my various pursuits; my

strolling freak, and that somewhat nettled me. At length he talked of my parents. He ridiculed my fa ther: I

stomached even that, though with great difficulty. He mentioned my mother with a sneer and in an instant

Here a scene of tumult succeeded. The table was nearly overturned. Bottles, glasses, and tankards rolled

crashing and clattering about the floor. The company seized hold of both of us to keep us from doing farther

mischief. I struggled to get loose, for I was boiling with fury. My cousin defied me to strip and fight him on

the lawn. I agreed; for I felt the strength of a gi ant in me, and I longed to pummel him soundly.

Away then we were borne. A ring was form ed. I had a second assigned me in true boxing style. My cousin,

as he advanced to fight, said something about his generosity in showing me such fair play, when I had made

"Stop there!" cried I, in a rage "unprovo ked! know that I am John Buckthorne, and you have insulted

The lout was suddenly struck by what I said. He drew back and reflected for a moment.

"Nay, damn it," said he, "that's too much that's clear another thing. I've a mother my self, and no one

"Damn it, cousin," cried he, "I'm sorry for what I said. Thou'st served me right in knock ing me down, and I

like thee the better for it. Here's my hand. Come and live with me, and damme but the best room in the house,

I declare to you I was strongly moved at this instance of nature breaking her way through such a lump of

flesh. I forgave the fellow in a moment all his crimes of having been born in wedlock and inheriting my

estate. I shook the hand he offered me, to convince him that I bore him no ill will; and then making my way

through the gaping crowd of toad eaters, bade adieu to my uncle's domains forever. This is the last I have

As I was walking one morning with Buckthorne, near one of the principal theatres, he directed my attention

to a groupe of those equivocal beings that may often be seen hovering about the stage doors of theatres. They

were marvellously ill favoured in their attire, their coats buttoned up to their chins; yet they wore their hats

smart ly on one side, and had a certain knowing, dirty gentleman like air, which is common to the su

These, said he, are the ghosts of departed kings and heroes; fellows who sway sceptres and truncheons;

command kingdoms and armies; and after giving away realms and treasures over night, have scarce a shilling

to pay for a break fast in the morning. Yet they have the true vagabond abhorrence of all useful and

industrious employment; and they have their pleasures too: one of which is to longue in this way in the sun

shine, at the stage door, during rehearsals, and make hackneyed theatrical jokes on all passers by.

Nothing is more traditional and legitimate than the stage. Old scenery, old clothes, old sentiments, old

ranting, and old jokes, are hand ed down from generation to generation; and will probably continue to be so,

until time shall be no more. Every hanger on of a theatre becomes a wag by inheritance, and flourishes about

While amusing ourselves with reconnoitring this groupe, we noticed one in particular who appeared to be the

oracle. He was a weather beaten veteran, a little bronzed by time and beer, who had, no doubt, grown gray in

"There's something in the set of that hat, and the turn of that physiognomy, that is extremely familiar to me,"

said Buckthorne. He looked a little closer. "I cannot be mistaken," added he, "that must be my old brother of

It was he in fact. The poor fellow showed evident signs that times went hard with him; he was so finely and

shabbily dressed. His coat was somewhat threadbare, and of the Lord Townly cut; single breasted, and

scarcely capa ble of meeting in front of his body; which, from long intimacy, had acquired the symmetry

and robustness of a beer barrel. He wore a pair of dingy white stockinet pantaloons, which had much ado to

reach his waistcoat; a great quan tity of dirty cravat; and a pair of old russetco loured tragedy boots.

When his companions had dispersed, Buck thorne drew him aside and made himself known to him. The

tragic veteran could scarcely recog nize him, or believe that he was really his quon dam associate "little

gentleman Jack." Buck thorne invited him to a neighbouring coffee house to talk over old times; and in the

He had continued to act the heroes in the strol ling company for some time after Buckthorne had left it, or

rather had been driven from it so abruptly. At length the manager died, and the troop was thrown into

confusion. Every one aspired to the crown; every one was for taking the lead; and the manager's widow,

although a tragedy queen, and a brimstone to boot, pronoun ced it utterly impossible to keep any controul

Upon this hint I spoke, said Flimsey I stepped forward, and offered my services in the most effectual way.

They were accepted. In a week's time I married the widow and succeed ed to the throne. "The funeral baked

meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage table," as Ham let says. But the ghost of my predecessor never

haunted me; and I inherited crowns, sceptres, bowls, daggers, and all the stage trappings and trumpery, not

I now led a flourishing life of it; for our com pany was pretty strong and attractive, and as my wife and I

took the heavy parts of tragedy, it was a great saving to the treasury. We carried off the palm from all the

rival shows at country fairs; and I assure you we have even drawn full houses, and been applauded by the

critics at Bart lemy fair itself, though we had Astley's troop, the Irish giant, and "the death of Nelson" in

I soon began to experience, however, the cares of command. I discovered that there were ca bals breaking

out in the company, headed by the clown, who you may recollect was a terri bly peevish, fractious fellow,

and always in ill humour. I had a great mind to turn him off at once, but I could not do without him, for there

was not a droller scoundrel on the stage. His very shape was comic for he had but to turn his back upon the

audience and all the ladies were ready to die with laughing. He felt his impor tance, and took advantage of

it. He would keep the audience in a continual roar, and then come behind the scenes and fret and fume and

play the very devil. I excused a great deal in him, however, knowing that comic actors are a little prone to this

I had another trouble of a nearer and dearer na ture to struggle with; which was, the affection of my wife. As

ill luck would have it she took it into her head to be very fond of me, and became in tolerably jealous. I

could not keep a pretty girl in the company, and hardly dared embrace an ugly one, even when my part

required it. I have known her to reduce a fine lady to tatters, "to very rags," as Hamlet says, in an instant, and

destroy one of the very best dresses in the ward robe; merely because she saw me kiss her at the side scenes;

This was doubly annoying, because I have a natural liking to pretty faces, and wish to have them about me;

and because they are indispen sable to the success of a company at a fair, where one has to vie with so many

rival theatres. But when once a jealous wife gets a freak in her head there's no use in talking of interest or any

thing else. Egad, sirs, I have more than once trembled when during a fit of her tantrums, she was playing high

tragedy, and flourishing her tin dagger on the stage, lest she should give way to her humour, and stab some

I went on better, however, than could be ex pected, considering the weakness of my flesh and the violence

of my rib. I had not a much worse time of it than old Jupiter, whose spouse was continually ferreting out

At length, as luck would have it, we were performing at a country fair, when I understood the theatre of a

neighbouring town to be vacant. I had always been desirous to be enrolled in a settled company, and the

height of my desire was to get on a par with a brotherinlaw, who was manager of a regular theatre, and

who had looked down upon me. Here was an opportu nity not to be neglected. I concluded an agree ment

Behold me now at the summit of my ambition, "the high topgallant of my joy," as Thomas says. No longer a

chieftain of a wandering tribe, but the monarch of a legitimate throne and entitled to call even the great

You no doubt think my happiness complete. Alas, sir! I was one of the most uncomfortable dogs living. No

one knows, who has not tried, the miseries of a manager; but above all, of a country manager no one can

conceive the con tentions and quarrels within doors, the oppres sions and vexations from without.

I was pestered with the bloods and loungers of a country town, who infested my green room, and played the

mischief among my actresses. But there was no shaking them off. It would have been ruin to affront them;

for, though troublesome friends, they would have been dangerous enemies. Then there were the village critics

and village amateurs, who were continually tormenting me with advice, and getting into a passion if I would

not take it: especially the village doctor and the village at torney; who had both been to London

I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scape graces as were ever collected together within the walls of a

theatre. I had been obliged to com bine my original troop with some of the former troop of the theatre, who

were favourites with the public. Here was a mixture that produced perpetual ferment. They were all the time

either fighting or frolicking with each other, and I scarcely knew which mood was least trouble some. If

they quarrelled, every thing went wrong; and if they were friends, they were con tinually playing off some

confounded prank upon each other, or upon me; for I had unhappily acquired among them the character of an

Their waggery at times drove me almost cra zy; for there is nothing so vexatious as the hackneyed tricks

and hoaxes and pleasantries of a veteran band of theatrical vagabonds. I relish ed them well enough, it is

true, while I was merely one of the company, but as manager I found them detestable. They were incessantly

bringing some disgrace upon the theatre by their tavern frolicks, and their pranks about the coun try town.

All my lectures upon the importance of keeping up the dignity of the profession, and the respectability of the

company were in vain. The villains could not sympathize with the de licate feelings of a man in station.

They even trifled with the seriousness of stage business. I have had the whole piece interrupted and a crowd

ed audience of at least twentyfive pounds kept waiting, because the actors had hid away the breeches of

Rosalind; and have known Hamlet stalk solemnly on to deliver his soliloquy, with a dish clout pinned to his

skirts. Such are the baleful consequences of a managers' getting a character for good nature.

I was intolerably annoyed, too, by the great actors, who came down starring, as it is called, from London. Of

all baneful influences, keep me from that of a London star. A first rate ac tress, going the rounds of the

country theatres, is as bad as a blazing comet, whisking about the heavens, and shaking fire, and plagues, and

The moment one of these "heavenly bodies," appeared on my horizon, I was sure to be in hot water. My

theatre was overrun by provincial dan dies, copperwashed counterfeits of Bondstreet loungers; who are

always proud to be in the train of an actress from town, and anxious to be thought on exceeding good terms

with her. It was really a relief to me when some random young nobleman would come in pursuit of the bait,

and awe all this small fry to a distance. I have always felt myself more at ease with a no bleman than with

And then the injuries I suffered in my person al dignity and my managerial authority from the visits of these

great London actors. Sir, I was no longer master of myself or my throne. I was hectored and lectured in my

own greenroom, and made an absolute nincompoop on my own stage. There is no tyrant so absolute and

I dreaded the sight of all of them; and yet if I did not engage them, I was sure of having the public

clamourous against me. They drew full houses, and appeared to be making my fortune; but they swallowed

up all the profits by their in satiable demands. They were absolute tape worms to my little theatre; the more

it took in, the poorer it grew. They were sure to leave me with an exhausted public, empty benches, and a

score or two of affronts to settle among the towns folk, in consequence of misunderstandings about the taking

But the worst thing I had to undergo in my ma nagerial career was patronage. Oh, sir, of all things deliver

me from the patronage of the great people of a country town. It was my ruin. You must know that this town,

though small, was filled with feuds, and parties, and great folks; being a busy little trading and manufacturing

town. The mischief was, that their greatness was of a kind not to be settled by reference to the court calender,

or college of heraldry. It was therefore the most quarrelsome kind of greatness in existence. You smile, sir,

but let me tell you there are no feuds more furious than the frontier feuds, which take place on these

"debateable lands" of gentility. The most violent dispute that I ever knew in high life, was one that oc curred

at a country town, on a question of pre cedence between the ladies of a manufacturer of pins, and a

At the town where I was situated there were perpetual altercations of the kind. The head manufacturer's lady,

for instance, was at daggers drawings with the head shopkeeper's, and both were too rich, and had too many

friends to be treated lightly. The doctor's and lawyer's la dies held their heads still higher; but they in their

turn were kept in check by the wife of a country banker, who kept her own carriage; while a masculine

widow of cracked character, and second hand fashion, who lived in a large house, and was in some way

related to nobility, looked down upon them all. She had been exi led from the great world, but here she

ruled ab solute. To be sure her manners were not over elegant, nor her fortune over large; but then, sir, her

blood oh, her blood carried it all hol low; there was no withstanding a woman with such blood in her

After all, she had frequent battles for prece dence at balls and assemblies, with some of the sturdy dames of

the neighbourhood, who stood upon their wealth and their reputations; but then she had two dashing

daughters, who dressed as fine as dragons, and had as high blood as their mother, and seconded her in every

thing. So they carried their point with high heads, and every body hated, abused, and stood in awe of the

Such was the state of the fashionable world in this selfimportant little town. Unluckily I was not as well

acquainted with its politics as I should have been. I had found myself a stranger and in great perplexities

during my first season; I determined, therefore, to put myself under the patronage of some powerful name,

and thus to take the field with the prejudices of the public in my favour. I cast round my thoughts for the

purpose, and in an evil hour they fell upon Mrs. Fantadlin. No one seemed to me to have a more absolute

sway in the world of fashion. I had always noticed that her party slammed the box door the loudest at the

theatre; had most beaux attending on them; and talked and laughed loud est during the performance; and

then the Miss Fantadlins wore always more feathers and flow ers than any other ladies; and used quizzing

glasses incessantly. The first evening of my theatre's reopening, therefore, was announced in flaring capitals

Sir, the whole community flew to arms! The banker's wife felt her dignity grievously insulted at not having

the preference; her husband being high bailiff, and the richest man in the place. She immediately issued

invitations for a large party, for the night of the performance, and asked many a lady to it whom she never

had noticed before. The fashionable world had long groan ed under the tyranny of the Fantadlins, and were

glad to make a common cause against this new instance of assumption. Presume to patronize the theatre!

insufferable! Those, too, who had never before been noticed by the banker's lady, were ready to enlist in any

quarrel, for the honour of her acquaintance. All minor feuds were there fore forgotten. The doctor's lady and

the law yer's lady met together; and the manufacturer's lady and the shopkeeper's lady kissed each other; and

all, headed by the banker's lady, vo ted the theatre a bore, and determined to encou rage nothing but the

Alas for poor Pillgarlick! I little knew the mischief that was brewing against me. My box book remained

blank. The evening arrived; but no audience. The music struck up to a tole rable pit and gallery, but no

fashionables! I peeped anxiously from behind the curtain, but the time passed away; the play was retarded

until pit and gallery became furious; and I had to raise the curtain, and play my greatest part in tragedy to "a

It is true the Fantadlins came late, as was their custom, and entered like a tempest, with a flutter of feathers

and red shawls; but they were evidently disconcerted at finding they had no one to admire and envy them,

and were enraged at this glaring defection of their fashionable fol lowers. All the beaumonde were

engaged at the banker's lady's rout. They remained for some time in solitary and uncomfortable state, and

though they had the theatre almost to them selves, yet, for the first time, they talked in whispers. They left

Such was the rock on which I split. I never got over the patronage of the Fantadlin family. It became the

vogue to abuse the theatre and declare the performers shocking. An eques trian troop opened a circus in the

town about the same time, and rose on my ruins. My house was deserted; my actors grew discontented be

cause they were ill paid; my door became a hammering place for every bailiff in the county; and my wife

The establishment now became a scene of confusion and peculation. I was considered a ruined man, and of

course fair game for every one to pluck at, as every one plunders a sinking ship. Day after day some of the

troop deserted, and like deserting soldiers, carried off their arms and accoutrements with them. In this manner

my wardrobe took legs and walked away; my finery strolled all over the country; my swords and daggers

glittered in every barn; until at last my tailor made "one fell swoop," and car ried off three dress coats, half a

This was the "be all and the end all" of my fortune. I no longer hesitated what to do. Egad, thought I, since

stealing is the order of the day, I'll steal too. So I secretly gathered together the jewels of my wardrobe;

packed up a hero's dress in a handkerchief, slung it on the end of a tragedy sword, and quietly stole off at

dead of night "the bell then beating one," leaving my queen and kingdom to the mercy of my re

Such, sir, was the "end of all my greatness." I was heartily cured of all passion for governing, and returned

once more into the ranks. I had for some time the usual run of an actor's life. I played in various country

theatres, at fairs and in barns; sometimes hard pushed; sometimes flush, until on one occasion I came within

I was playing the part of Richard the Third in a country barn, and absolutely "outHerod ing Herod." An

agent of one of the great Lon don theatres was present: He was on the look out for something that might be

got up as a prodigy. The theatre it seems was in desperate condition nothing but a miracle could save it.

He pitched upon me for that miracle. I had a remarkable bluster in my style, and swagger in my gait, and

having taken to drink a little during my troubles, my voice was somewhat cracked; so that it seemed like two

voices run into one. The thought struck the agent to bring me out as a theatrical wonder; as the restorer of

natural and legitimate acting; as the only one who could understand and act Shakspeare right ly. He waited

upon me the next morning, and opened his plan. I shrunk from it with becom ing modesty; for well as I

" 'Sblood, man!" said he, "no praise at all. You don't imagine that I think you all this. I only want the public to

think so. Nothing so easy as gulling the public if you only set up a prodigy. You need not try to act well, you

must only act furiously. No matter what you do, or how you act, so that it be but odd and strange. We will

have all the pit packed, and the news papers hired. Whatever you do different from famous actors, it shall be

insisted that you are right and they were wrong. If you rant, it shall be pure passion; if you are vulgar, it shall

be a touch of nature. Every one shall be prepared to fall into raptures, and shout and yell, at cer tain points

which you shall make. If you do but escape pelting the first night, your fortune and the fortune of the theatre

I set off for London, therefore, full of new hopes. I was to be the restorer of Shakspeare and nature, and the

legitimate drama; my very swagger was to be heroic, and my cracked voice the standard of elocution. Alas,

sir! my usual luck attended me. Before I arrived at the me tropolis, a rival wonder had appeared. A wo

man who could dance the slack rope, and run up a cord from the stage to the gallery with fire works all round

her. She was seized on by the manager with avidity; she was the saving of the great national theatre for the

season. Nothing was talked of but Madame Saqui's fire works and flamecoloured pantaloons; and nature,

Shakspeare, the legitimate drama, and poor Pill garlick were completely left in the lurch.

However, as the manager was in honour bound to provide for me he kept his word. It had been a turn up of a

die whether I should be Alexan der the Great or Alexander the coppersmith: the latter carried it. I could not

be put at the head of the drama, so I was put at the tail. In other words, I was enrolled among the number of

what are called useful men; who, let me tell you, are the only comfortable actors on the stage. We are safe

from hisses and below the hope of ap plause. We fear not the success of rivals, nor dread the critic's pen. So

long as we get the words of our parts, and they are not often many, it is all we care for. We have our own

merri ment, our own friends, and our own admirers; for every actor has his friends and admirers, from the

highest to the lowest. The first rate actor dines with the noble amateur, and entertains a fashionable table with

scraps and songs and the atrical slipslop. The second rate actors have their second rate friends and

admirers, with whom they likewise spout tragedy and talk slipslop; and so down even to us; who have our

friends and admirers among spruce clerks and aspiring apprentices, who treat us to a dinner now and then,

and enjoy at tenth hand the same scraps, and songs, and slipslop, that have been served up by our more

I now, for the first time in my theatrical life, knew what true pleasure is. I have known enough of notoriety to

pity the poor devils who are called favourites of the public. I would ra ther be a kitten in the arms of a

spoiled child, to be one moment petted and pampered, and the next moment thumped over the head with the

spoon. I smile, too, to see our leading actors, fretting themselves with envy and jealousy about a trumpery

renown, questionable in its quality and uncertain in its duration. I laugh, too, though of course in my sleeve,

at the bustle and importance and trouble and perplexities of our manager, who is harrassing himself to death

I have found among my fellow subalterns two or three quondam managers, who, like myself, have wielded

the sceptres of country theatres; and we have many a sly joke together at the ex pense of the manager and

the public. Some times, too, we meet like deposed and exiled kings, talk over the events of our respective

reigns; moralize over a tankard of ale, and laugh at the humbug of the great and little world; which, I take it,

Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and his friends. A few mornings after our hearing the history of the

"Give me joy! Give me joy!" said he, rub bing his hands with the utmost glee, "my great expectations are

"My booby cousin is dead!" cried he, "may he rest in peace! He nearly broke his neck in a fall from his horse

in a fox chase. By good luck he lived long enough to make his will. He has made me his heir, partly out of an

odd feeling of retributive justice, and partly because, as he says, none of his own family or friends knew how

to enjoy such an estate. I'm off to the country to take possession. I've done with authorship That for the

critics!" said he, snapping his fin gers. "Come down to Doubting Castle when I get settled, and egad I'll give

you a rouse." So saying he shook me heartily by the hand and bounded off in high spirits.

A long time elapsed before I heard from him again. Indeed, it was but a short time since that I received a

letter written in the happiest of moods. He was getting the estate into fine order, every thing went to his

wishes, and what was more, he was married to Sacharissa: who it seems had always entertained an ardent

though secret attachment for him, which he fortunately discovered just after coming to his estate.

"I find," said he, "you are a little given to the sin of authorship, which I renounce. If the anecdotes I have

given you of my story are of any interest, you may make use of them; but come down to Doubting Castle and

see how we live, and I'll give you my whole London life over a social glass; and a rattling history it shall be

If ever I visit Doubting Castle, and get the his tory he promises, the public shall be sure to hear of it. Library

of Congress Subject Headings Irving, Washington Electronic Text Center, University of Virginia Library

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version. About the print version Tales of a Traveller, volume 3 By Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. [pseud.] Irving,

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CAREY I. LEA, CHESNUTSTREET. 1824. Southern District of NewYork, ss. BE IT REMEMBERED,

that on the thirtieth day of August, A. D. 1824, in the fortyninth year of the Independence of the United

States of America, C. S. Van Winkle, of the said district, hath de posited in this office the title of a book, the

right whereof he claims as proprietor, in the words following, to wit: "Tales of a Traveller, Part III. By

Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. Au thor of "The Sketch Book," "Bracebridge Hall," "Knickerbocker's NewYork,"

In conformity to the act of Congress of the United States, entitled, "An act for the encouragement of learning,

by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and pro prietors of such copies, during the

time therein mentioned;" and also, to an act entitled, "An act supplementary to an act, enti tled, an act for

the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and

proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned," and extend ing the benefits thereof to the

arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other prints. JAMES DILL, Clerk of the Southern

District of NewYork. Printed by C. S. Van Winkle, No. 2 Thamesstreet, NewYork. CONTENTS OF

"Here comes the estafette from Naples," said mine host of the inn at Terracina, "bring out the relay."

The estafette came as usual galloping up the road, brandishing over his head a shorthandled whip, with a

long knotted lash; every smack of which made a report like a pistol. He was a tight squareset young fellow,

in the customary uniform a smart blue coat, ornamented with facings and gold lace, but so short behind as

to reach scarcely below his waistband, and cocked up not unlike the tail of a wren. A cocked hat, edged with

gold lace; a pair of stiff riding boots; but instead of the usual leathern breeches he had a fragment of a pair of

"A glass of rosolio, a fresh horse, and a pair of breeches," said he, "and quickly I am be hind my time,

"What! rob an estafette! I never heard of such folly. What could they hope to get from thee?"

"My leather breeches!" replied the estafette. "They were bran new, and shone like gold, and hit the fancy of

"Well, these fellows grow worse and worse. To meddle with an estafette! And that merely for the sake of a

The robbing of a government messenger seem ed to strike the host with more astonishment than any other

enormity that had taken place on the road; and indeed it was the first time so wanton an outrage had been

committed; the rob bers generally taking care not to meddle with any thing belonging to government.

The estafette was by this time equipped; for he had not lost an instant in making his prepa rations while

talking. The relay was ready: the rosolio tossed off. He grasped the reins and the stirrup.

"Were there many robbers in the band?" said a handsome, dark young man, stepping forward from the door

"As formidable a band as ever I saw," said the estafette, springing into the saddle.

"Are they cruel to travellers?" said a beauti ful young Venetian lady, who had been hanging on the

"Cruel, signora!" echoed the estafette, giv ing a glance at the lady as he put spurs to his horse. "Corpo del

Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! the last words were drowned in the smacking of the whip, and away

The inn of Terracina stands just outside of the walls of the old town of that name, on the frontiers of the

Roman territory. A little, lazy, Italian town, the inhabitants of which, apparent ly heedless and listless, are

said to be little better than the brigands which surround them, and in deed are half of them supposed to be in

some way or other connected with the robbers. A vast, rocky height rises perpendicularly above it, with the

ruins of the castle of Theodoric the Goth, crowning its summit; before it spreads the wide bosom of the

Mediterranean, that sea without flux or reflux. There seems an idle pause in every thing about this place. The

port is without a sail, excepting that once in a while a solitary felucca may be seen, disgorging its ho ly

cargo of baccala, the meagre provision for the Quaresima or Lent. The naked watch towers, rising here and

there along the coast, speak of pirates and corsairs which hover about these shores: while the low huts, as

stations for sol diers, which dot the distant road, as it winds through an olive grove, intimate that in the as

Indeed, it is between this town and Fondi, that the road to Naples is most infested by ban ditti. It winds

among rocky and solitary places, where the robbers are enabled to see the travel ler from a distance, from

the brows of hills or impending precipices, and to lie in wait for him, at the lonely and difficult passes.

At the time that the estafette made this sud den appearance, almost in cuerpo, the audacity of the robbers

had risen to an unparalleled height. They had their spies and emissaries in every town, village and osteria, to

give them notice of the quality and movements of travellers. They did not scruple to send messages into the

country towns and villas, demanding certain sums of money, or articles of dress and luxury; with menaces of

vengeance in case of refusal. They had plundered carriages; carried people of rank and fortune into the

mountains and obliged them to write for heavy ransoms; and had committed outrages on females who had

The police exerted its rigour in vain. The brigands were too numerous and powerful for a weak police. They

were countenanced and che rished by several of the villages; and though now and then the limbs of

malefactors hung black ening in the trees near which they had committed some atrocity; or their heads stuck

upon posts in iron cages made some dreary part of the road still more dreary, still they seemed to strike dis

The dark, handsome, young man, and the Ve netian lady, whom I have mentioned, had arri ved early that

afternoon in a private carriage, drawn by mules and attended by a single servant. They had been recently

married, were spending the honey moon in travelling through these deli cious countries, and were on their

The lady was young, and tender and timid. The stories she had heard along the road had fill ed her with

apprehension, not more for herself than for her husband; for though she had been married almost a month,

she still loved him almost to idolatry. When she reached Terracina the ru mours of the road had increased to

an alarming magnitude; and the sight of two robbers' skulls grinning in iron cages on each side of the old

gateway of the town brought her to a pause. Her husband had tried in vain to reassure her. They had lingered

all the afternoon at the inn, until it was too late to think of starting that evening, and the parting words of the

"Let us return to Rome," said she, putting her arm within her husband's, and drawing towards him as if for

"Nay what is my aunt in comparison with your safety," said she, looking up tenderly in his face.

There was something in her tone and man ner that showed she really was thinking more of her husband's

safety at that moment than of her own; and being recently married, and a match of pure affection, too, it is

very possible that she was. At least her husband thought so. Indeed, any one who has heard the sweet, musi

cal tone of a Venetian voice, and the melting tenderness of a Venetian phrase, and felt the soft witchery of a

Venetian eye, would not wonder at the husband's believing whatever they professed.

He clasped the white hand that had been laid within his, put his arm round her slender waist, and drawing her

Another apparition of the road attracted the attention of mine host and his guests. From the road across the

Pontine marshes, a carriage drawn by half a dozen horses, came driving at a furious pace the postillions

smacking their whips like mad, as is the case when conscious of the greatness or the munificence of their

fare. It was a landaulet, with a servant mounted on the dickey. The compact, highly finished, yet proudly

simple construction of the carriage; the quantity of neat, wellarranged trunks and con veniences; the loads

of box coats and upper benjamins on the dickey and the fresh, burly, grufflooking face at the window,

"Fresh horses to Fondi," said the English man, as the landlord came bowing to the carriage door.

"No, no, no! I tell you no! I want no thing but horses, and as quick as possible. John! see that the

horses are got ready, and don't let us be kept here an hour or two. Tell him if we're delayed over the time, I'll

John touched his hat, and set off to obey his master's orders, with the taciturn obedience of an English

servant. He was a ruddy, round faced fellow, with hair cropped close; a short coat, drab breeches, and long

gaiters; and ap peared to have almost as much contempt as his master for every thing around him.

In the mean time the Englishman got out of the carriage and walked up and down before the inn, with his

hands in his pockets: taking no notice of the crowd of idlers who were gazing at him and his equipage. He

was tall, stout, and well made; dressed with neatness and pre cision, wore a travelling cap of the colour of

gin gerbread, and had rather an unhappy expression about the corners of his mouth; partly from not having

yet made his dinner, and partly from not having been able to get on at a greater rate than seven miles an hour.

Not that he had any other cause for haste than an Englishman's usual hur ry to get to the end of a journey;

After some time the servant returned from the stable with as sour a look as his master.

"No, sir I never saw such a place. There's no getting any thing done. I think your honour had better step

into the house and get something to eat; it will be a long while before we get to Fundy."

"D n the house it's a mere trick I'll not eat any thing, just to spite them," said the Englishman, still

"They say your honour's very wrong," said John, "to set off at this late hour. The road's full of highwaymen."

"The estafette which passed us was stopped by a whole gang," said John, increasing his emphasis with each

"They robbed him of his breeches," said John, giving at the same time a hitch to his own waistband.

Here the dark, handsome young man step ped forward and addressing the Englishman very politely in

broken English, invited him to partake of a repast he was about to make. "Thank'ee," said the Englishman,

thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets, and casting a slight side glance of suspicion at the young man, as

"We shall be most happy if you will do us that favour," said the lady, in her soft Venetian dialect. There was

a sweetness in her accents that was most persuasive. The Englishman cast a look upon her countenance; her

beauty was still more eloquent. His features instantly relaxed. He made an attempt at a civil bow. "With great

In short, the eagerness to "get on" was sud denly slackened; the determination to famish himself as far as

Fondi by way of punishing the landlord was abandoned; John chose the best apartment in the inn for his

The carriage was unpacked of such of its contents as were indispensable for the night. There was the usual

parade of trunks, and wri ting desks, and portfolios, and dressing boxes, and those other oppressive

conveniences which burthen a comfortable man. The observant loiterers about the inn door, wrapped up in

great dirtcoloured cloaks, with only a hawk's eye un covered, made many remarks to each other on this

quantity of luggage that seemed enough for an army. And the domestics of the inn talked with wonder of the

splendid dressing case, with its gold and silver furniture that was spread out on the toilette table, and the bag

of gold that chinked as it was taken out of the trunk. The strange "Milors" wealth, and the treasures he carried

The Englishman took some time to make his ablutions and arrange his dress for table, and after considerable

labour and effort in putting himself at his ease, made his appearance, with stiff white cravat, his clothes free

from the least speck of dust, and adjusted with precision. He made a formal bow on entering, which no doubt

he meant to be cordial, but which any one else would have considered cool, and took his seat.

The supper, as it was termed by the Italian, or dinner, as the Englishman called it, was now served. Heaven

and earth, and the waters under the earth, had been moved to furnish it, for there were birds of the air and

beasts of the earth and fish of the sea. The Englishman's servant, too, had turned the kitchen topsy turvy in his

zeal to cook his master a beefsteak; and made his ap pearance loaded with ketchup, and soy, and Cayenne

pepper, and Harvey sauce, and a bottle of port wine, from that warehouse, the carriage, in which his master

seemed desirous of carrying England about the world with him. Every thing, however, according to the

Englishman, was execrable. The tureen of soup was a black sea, with livers and limbs and fragments of all

kinds of birds and beasts, floating like wrecks about it. A meagre winged animal, which my host called a

delicate chicken, was too delicate for his stomach, for it had evidently died of a consumption. The macaroni

was smoked. The beefsteak was tough buffalo's flesh, and the countenance of mine host confirmed the

assertion. Nothing seemed to hit his palate but a dish of stewed eels, of which he ate with great relish, but had

nearly refunded them when told that they were vipers, caught among the rocks of Ter racina, and esteemed a

In short, the Englishman ate and growled, and ate and growled, like a cat eating in com pany, pronouncing

himself poisoned by every dish, yet eating on in defiance of death and the doctor. The Venetian lady, not

accustomed to English travellers, almost repented having per suaded him to the meal; for though very

gracious to her, he was so crusty to all the world beside, that she stood in awe of him. There is nothing,

however, that conquers John Bull's crustiness sooner than eating, whatever may be the cooke ry; and

nothing brings him into good humour with his company sooner than eating together; the Englishman,

therefore, had not half finished his repast and his bottle, before he began to think the Venetian a very

tolerable fellow for a foreign er, and his wife almost handsome enough to be an Englishwoman.

In the course of the repast the tales of robbers which harassed the mind of the fair Venetian, were brought

into discussion. The landlord and the waiter served up such a number of them as they served up the dishes,

that they almost fright ened away the poor lady's appetite. Among these was the story of the school of

Terracina, still fresh in every mind, where the students were carried up the mountains by the banditti, in

hopes of ransom, and one of them massacred, to bring the parents to terms for the others. There was a story

also of a gentleman of Rome, who delayed remitting the ransom demanded for his son, detained by the

banditti, and received one of his son's ears in a letter, with information that the other would be remitted to

him soon, if the money were not forthcoming, and that in this way he would receive the boy by instalments

The fair Venetian shuddered as she heard these tales. The landlord, like a true story teller, doubled the dose

when he saw how it operated. He was just proceeding to relate the misfortunes of a great English lord and his

family, when the Englishman, tired of his volubility, testily inter rupted him, and pronounced these accounts

mere traveller's tales, or the exaggerations of peasants and innkeepers. The landlord was indignant at the

doubt levelled at his stories, and the inuendo levelled at his cloth; he cited half a dozen sto ries still more

The landlord muttered to himself as he went out at the door, "San Genaro, come sono singo lari questi

A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the arrival of more travellers; and from the vari ety of voices,

or rather clamours, the clattering of horses' hoofs, the rattling of wheels, and the gene ral uproar both within

and without, the arrival seemed to be numerous. It was in fact the pro caccio, and its convoy a kind of

caravan of mer chandise, that sets out on stated days, under an escort of soldiery to protect it from the

robbers. Travellers avail themselves of the occasion, and many carriages accompany the procaccio. It was a

long time before either landlord or waiter returned, being hurried away by the tempest of new custom. When

mine host appeared, there was a smile of triumph on his countenance. "Perhaps," said he, as he cleared

"Oh, the procaccio has arrived, and has brought accounts of fresh exploits of the robbers, signor."

"There's more news of the English Milor and his family," said the host, emphatically.

"O Sicuro a great nobleman that passed through here lately with his Milady and daugh ters a

"Sicuro, aldermanno Popkin, and the prin cipezza Popkin, and the signorina Popkin!" said mine host,

triumphantly. He would now have entered into a full detail, but was thwarted by the Englishman, who

seemed determined not to credit or indulge him in his stories. An Ita lian tongue, however, is not easily

checked: that of mine host continued to run on with increasing volubility as he conveyed the fragments of the

repast out of the room, and the last that could be distinguished of his voice, as it died away along the corridor,

was the constant recurrence of the favourite word Popkin Popkin Popkin pop pop pop.

The arrival of the procaccio had indeed filled the house with stories as it had with guests. The Englishman

and his companions walked out af ter supper into the great hall, or common room of the inn, which runs

through the centre of the building; a gloomy, dirtylooking apartment, with tables placed in various parts of

it, at which some of the travellers were seated in groups, while others strolled about in famished impatience

for their evening's meal. As the procaccio was a kind of caravan of travellers, there were peo ple of every

class and country, who had come in all kinds of vehicles; and though they kept in some measure in separate

parties, yet the being united under one common escort had jumbled them into companionship on the road.

Their formidable number and the formidable guard that accompanied them, had prevented any molesta tion

from the banditti; but every carriage had its tale of wonder, and one vied with another in the recital. Not one

but had seen groups of robbers peering over the rocks; or their guns peeping out from among the bushes, or

had been reconnoitred by some suspicious looking fellow with scowling eye, who disappeared on seeing the

The fair Venetian listened to all these stories with that eager curiosity with which we seek to pamper any

feeling of alarm. Even the Eng lishman began to feel interested in the subject, and desirous of gaining more

correct information than these mere flying reports. He mingled in one of the groups which appeared to be the

most respectable, and which was assembled round a tall thin person, with long Roman nose, a high forehead,

and lively prominent eye, beaming from under a green velvet travelling cap, with gold tassel. He was holding

forth with all the fluen cy of a man who talks well and likes to exert his talent. He was of Rome; a surgeon

by profession, a poet by choice, and one who was something of an improvvisatore. He soon gave the

Englishman abundance of information re specting the banditti. "The fact is," said he, "that many of the

people in the villages among the mountains are robbers, or rather the robbers find perfect asylum among

them. They range over a vast extent of wild impracticable country, along the chain of Appenines, bordering

on dif ferent states; they know all the difficult passes, the short cuts and strong holds. They are se cure of

the good will of the poor and peaceful inhabitants of those regions whom they never disturb, and whom they

often enrich. Indeed, they are looked upon as a sort of illegitimate heroes among the mountain villages, and

some of the frontier towns, where they dispose of their plunder. From these mountains they keep a look out

"The road to Fondi, which you are about to travel, is one of the places most noted for their exploits. It is

overlooked from some distance by little hamlets, perched upon heights. From hence, the brigands, like hawks

in their nests, keep on the watch for such travellers as are like ly to afford either booty or ransom. The

wind ings of the road enable them to see carriages long before they pass, so that they have time to get to

"The police is too weak and the banditti are too strong," replied the improvvisatore. "To root them out would

be a more difficult task than you imagine. They are connected and identifi ed with the people of the villages

and the pea santry generally; the numerous bands have an understanding with each other, and with people of

various conditions in all parts of the country. They know all that is going on; a gens d'armes cannot stir

without their being aware of it. They have their spies and emissaries in every direction; they lurk about

towns, villages, inns, mingle in every crowd, pervade every place of resort. I should not be surprised,"

"One peculiarity of the Italian banditti," con tinued the improvvisatore, "is that they wear a kind of uniform,

or rather costume, which desig nates their profession. This is probably done to take away from its skulking

lawless character, and to give it something of a military air in the eyes of the common people; or perhaps to

catch by outward dash and show the fancies of the young men of the villages. These dresses or costumes are

often rich and fanciful. Some wear jackets and breeches of bright colours, richly em broidered; broad belts

of cloth; or sashes of silk net; broad highcrowned hats, decorated with feathers or variously coloured

"Many of the robbers are peasants who fol low ordinary occupations in the villages for a part of the year,

and take to the mountains for the rest. Some only go out for a season, as it were, on a hunting expedition, and

then resume the dress and habits of common life. Many of the young men of the villages take to this kind of

life occasionally from a mere love of adventure, the wild wandering spirit of youth and the contagion of bad

example; but it is remarked that they can never after brook a long continuance in settled life. They get fond of

the unbounded freedom and rude license they enjoy; and there is some thing in this wild mountain life

checquered by adventure and peril, that is wonderfully fascina ting, independent of the gratification of

Here the improvvisatore was interrupted by a lively Neapolitan lawyer. "Your mention of the younger

robbers" said he, "puts me in mind of an adventure of a learned doctor, a friend of mine, which happened in

A wish was of course expressed to hear the ad venture of the doctor by all except the improv visatore, who

being fond of talking and of hearing himself talk, and accustomed moreover to ha rangue without

The Neapolitan, however, took no notice of his chagrin, but related the following anecdote. THE

My friend the doctor was a thorough antiquary: a little rusty, musty old fellow, always groping among ruins.

He relished a building as you Eng lishmen relish a cheese, the more mouldy and crumbling it was, the more

it was to his taste. A shell of an old nameless temple, or the cracked walls of a broken down amphitheatre,

would throw him into raptures; and he took more de light in these crusts and cheese parings of anti quity

He had taken a maggot into his brain at one time to hunt after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi which are said

to exist to this day among the moun tains of the Abruzzi; but the condition of which is strangely unknown to

antiquaries. It is said that he had made a great many valuable notes and memorandums on the subject, which

he al ways carried about with him, either for the pur pose of frequent reference, or because he feared the

precious documents might fall into the hands of brother antiquaries. He had therefore a large pocket behind,

Be this as it may; happening to pass a few days at Terracina, in the course of his research es, he one day

mounted the rocky cliffs which overhang the town, to visit the castle of Theo doric. He was groping about

these ruins, to wards the hour of sunset, buried in his reflec tions, his wits no doubt wool gathering

He turned and beheld five or six young fel lows, of rough, saucy demeanour, clad in a sin gular manner,

half peasant, half huntsman, with fusils in their hands. Their whole appearance and carriage left him in no

The doctor was a feeble little man, poor in look and poorer in purse. He had but little mo ney in his pocket;

but he had certain valuables, such as an old silver watch, thick as a turnip, with figures on it large enough for

a clock, and a set of seals at the end of a steel chain, that dangled half down to his knees; all which were of

precious esteem, being family reliques. He had also a seal ring, a veritable antique intaglio, that covered half

his knuckles; but what he most valued was, the precious treatise on the Pelasgian cities, which he would

gladly have given all the money in his pocket to have had safe at the bot tom of his trunk in Terracina.

However, he plucked up a stout heart; at least as stout a heart as he could, seeing that he was but a puny little

man at the best of times. So, he wished the hunters a "buon giorno." They returned his salutation, giving the

old gentleman a sociable slap on the back that made his heart leap into his throat.

They fell into conversation, and walked for some time together among the heights, the doc tor wishing them

all the while at the bottom of the crater of Vesuvius. At length they came to a small osteria on the mountain,

where they pro posed to enter and have a cup of wine together. The doctor consented; though he would as

One of the gang remained sentinel at the door; the others swaggered into the house; stood their fusils in a

corner of the room; and each drawing a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid it, with some emphasis on the

table. They now called lustily for wine; drew benches round the table, and hailing the doctor as though he had

been a boon companion of long standing, insisted upon his sitting down and making merry. He com plied

with forced grimace, but with fear and trembling; sitting on the edge of his bench; supping down heartburn

with every drop of li quor; eyeing ruefully the black muzzled pistols, and cold, naked stilettos. They pushed

the bot tle bravely, and plied him vigorously; sang, laugh ed, told excellent stories of robberies and

combats, and the little doctor was fain to laugh at these cut throat pleasantries, though his heart was dying

By their own account they were young men from the villages, who had recently taken up this line of life in

the mere wild caprice of youth. They talked of their exploits as a sportsman talks of his amusements. To

shoot down a traveller seemed of little more consequence to them than to shoot a hare. They spoke with

rapture of the glorious roving life they led; free as birds; here today, gone tomorrow; ranging the forests,

climbing the rocks, scouring the valleys; the world their own wherever they could lay hold of it; full purses,

merry companions; pretty women. The little antiquary got fuddled with their talk and their wine, for they

did not spare bumpers. He half forgot his fears, his seal ring and his family watch; even the treatise on the

Pelasgian cities which was warming under him, for a time faded from his memory, in the glowing picture

which they drew. He declares that he no longer wonders at the prevalence of this rob ber mania among the

mountains; for he felt at the time, that had he been a young man and a strong man, and had there been no

danger of the galleys in the back ground, he should have been half tempted himself to turn bandit.

At length the fearful hour of separating arri ved. The doctor was suddenly called to himself and his fears, by

seeing the robbers resume their weapons. He now quaked for his valuables, and above all for his antiquarian

treatise. He endeavoured, however, to look cool and uncon cerned; and drew from our of his deep pocket a

long, lank, leathern purse, far gone in con sumption, at the bottom of which a few coin chinked with the

The chief of the party observed his move ment; and laying his hand upon the antiquary's shoulder

"Harkee! Signor Dottore!" said he, "we have drank together as friends and com rades, let us part as such.

We understand you; we know who and what you are; for we know who every body is that sleeps at Terracina,

or that puts foot upon the road. You are a rich man, but you carry all your wealth in your head. We can't get

at it, and we should not know what to do with it, if we could. I see you are un easy about your ring; but don't

worry your mind; it is not taking; you think it an an tique, but it's a counterfeit a mere sham."

Here the doctor would have put in a word, for his antiquarian pride was touched.

"Nay, nay," continued the other, "we've no time to dispute about it. Value it as you please. Come, you are a

brave little old signor one more cup of wine and we'll pay the reckoning. No compliments I insist on it.

So now make the best of your way back to Terracina; it's growing late buono viaggio! and hark'ee,

They shouldered their fusils, sprang gayly up the rocks, and the little doctor hobbled back to Terracina,

rejoicing that the robbers had let his seal ring, his watch, and his treatise escape un molested, though rather

The improvvisatore had shown many symp toms of impatience during this recital. He saw his theme in

danger of being taken out of his hands by a rival story teller, which to an able talker is always a serious

grievance; it was also in danger of being taken away by a Neapolitan, and that was still more vexatious; as the

mem bers of the different Italian states have an inces sant jealousy of each other in all things, great and

small. He took advantage of the first pause of the Neapolitan to catch hold again of the thread of the

"As I was saying," resumed he, "the preva lence of these banditti is so extensive; their pow er so combined

"For that matter," said the Neapolitan, "I have heard that your government has had some understanding with

"Hush!" said the Roman, holding up his fin ger, and rolling his large eyes about the room.

"Nay I only repeat what I heard commonly rumoured in Rome," replied the other, sturdily. "It was

whispered that the Cardinal had been up to the mountain, and had an interview with some of the chiefs. And I

have been told that when honest people have been kicking their heels in the Cardinal's antichamber, waiting

by the hour for admittance, one of these stiletto looking fellows has elbowed his way through the crowd, and

"I know," replied the Roman, "that there have been such reports; and it is not impossible that government

may have made use of these men at particular periods, such as at the time of your abortive revolution, when

your carbonari were sobusy with their machinations all over the country. The information that men like

these could collect, who were familiar, not merely with all the recesses and secret places of the mountains,

but also with all the dark and dan gerous recesses of society, and knew all that was plotting in the world of

mischief; the utility of such instruments in the hands of government was too obvious to be overlooked, and

Cardinal Gon salvi as a politic statesman may perhaps have made use of them; for it is well known the rob

bers with all their atrocities are respectful to wards the church, and devout in their religion."

"Yes religion!" repeated the improvvisatore. "Scarce one of them but will cross himself and say his

prayers when he hears in his mountain fastness the matin or the ave maria bells sound ing from the valleys.

They will often confess themselves to the village priests, to obtain abso lution; and occasionally visit the

village church es to pray at some favourite shrine. I recollect an instance in point: I was one evening in the

village of Frescati, which lies below the moun tains of Abruzzi. The people, as usual in fine evenings in our

Italian towns and villages, were standing about in groups in the public square, conversing and amusing

themselves. I observed a tall, muscular fellow, wrapped in a great man tle, passing across the square, but

skulking along in the dark, as if avoiding notice. The people, too, seemed to draw back as he passed. It was

"Because it was nobody's business; because nobody wished to incur the vengeance of his comrades; because

there were not sufficient gens d'armes near to insure security against the num bers of desperadoes he might

have at hand; be cause the gene d'armes might not have received particular instructions with respect to him,

and might not feel disposed to engage in a hazardous conflict without compulsion. In short, I might give you

a thousand reasons, rising out of the state of our government and manners, not one of which after all might

"I have been told," added the Roman, rather quickly, "that even in your metropolis of Lon don, notorious

thieves, well known to the police as such, walk the streets at noonday, in search of their prey, and are not

"Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring wolf thus prowling through the fold, and saw him enter a church. I

was curious to witness his devotions. You know our spacious, magni ficent churches. The one in which he

entered was vast and shrowded in the dusk of evening. At the extremity of the long aisles a couple of tapers

feebly glimmered on the grand altar. In one of the side chapels was a votive candle placed before the image

of a saint. Before this image the robber had prostrated himself. His mantle partly falling off from his

shoulders as he knelt, revealed a form of Herculean strength; a stiletto and pistol glittered in his belt, and the

light falling on his countenance showed features not unhandsome, but strongly and fiercely cha ractered. As

he prayed he became vehemently agitated; his lips quivered; sighs and murmurs, almost groans burst from

him; he beat his breast with violence, then clasped his hands and wrung them convulsively as he extended

them towards the image. Never had I seen such a terrific pic ture of remorse. I felt fearful of being

discover ed by him, and withdrew. Shortly after I saw him issue from the church, wrapped in his man tle;

he recrossed the square, and no doubt re turned to his mountain with disburthened con science, ready to

The conversation was here taken up by two other travellers, recently arrived, Mr. Hobbs and Mr. Dobbs, a

linen draper and a green grocer, just returning from a tour in Greece and the Holy Land: and who were full of

the story of Alderman Popkins. They were astonished that the robbers should dare to molest a man of his

importance on 'change; he being an eminent dry salter of Throgmortonstreet, and a magis trate to boot.

In fact, the story of the Popkins family was but too true; it was attested by too many present to be for a

moment doubted; and from the con tradictory and concordant testimony of half a score, all eager to relate it,

the company were enabled to make out all the particulars. THE ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS

It was but a few days before that the carriage of Alderman Popkins had driven up to the inn of Terracina.

Those who have seen an English family carriage on the continent, must know the sensation it produces. It is

an epitome of Eng land; a little morsel of the old island rolling about the world every thing so compact,

so snug, so finished and fitting. The wheels that roll on patent axles without rattling; the body that hangs so

well on its springs, yielding to every motion, yet proof against every shock. The ruddy faces gaping out of the

windows; sometimes, of a portly old citizen, sometimes of a voluminous dowager, and sometimes of a fine

fresh hoyden, just from boarding school. And then the dickeys loaded with welldressed ser vants, beef fed

and bluff; looking down from their heights with contempt on all the world around; profoundly ignorant of the

country and the people, and devoutly certain that every thing not English must be wrong.

Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins, as it made its appearance at Terracina. The courier who had

preceded it, to order horses, and who was a Neapolitan, had given a magni ficent account of the riches and

greatness of his master, blundering with all an Italian's splen dour of imagination about the alderman's titles

and dignities; the host had added his usual share of exaggeration, so that by the time the alderman drove up to

The alderman was advised to take an escort to Fondi and Itri, but he refused. It was as much as a man's life

was worth, he said, to stop him on the king's highway; he would complain of it to the ambassador at Naples;

he would make a national affair of it. The principezza Popkins, a fresh, motherly dame, seemed perfectly

secure in the protection of her husband, so om nipotent a man in the city. The signorini Pop kins, two fine

bouncing girls looked to their bro ther Tom, who had taken lessons in boxing; and as to the dandy himself,

he was sure no sca ramouch of an Italian robber would dare to med dle with an Englishman. The landlord

shrug ged his shoulders and turned out the palms of his hands with a true Italian grimace, and the carriage of

They passed through several very suspicious places without any molestation. The Misses Pop kins, who

were very romantic, and had learnt to draw in water colours, were enchanted with the savage scenery around;

it was so like what they had read in Mrs. Radcliffe's romances, they should like of all things to make sketches

At length, the carriage arrived at a place where the road wound up a long hill. Mrs. Popkins had sunk into a

sleep; the young ladies were reading the last works of Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron, and the dandy was

hectoring the pos tilions from the coach box. The alderman got out, as he said, to stretch his legs up the hill.

It was a long winding ascent, and obliged him every now and then to stop and blow and wipe his forehead

with many a pish! and phew! being rather pursy and short of wind. As the carriage, however, was far behind

him, and toil ing slowly under the weight of so many well stuffed trunks and well stuffed travellers, he had

On a jutting point of rock that overhung the road nearly at the summit of the hill, just where the route began

again to descend, he saw a soli tary man seated, who appeared to be tending goats. Alderman Popkins was

one of your shrewd travellers that always like to be picking up small information along the road, so he

thought he'd just scramble up to the honest man, and have a little talk with him by way of learning the news

and getting a lesson in Italian. As he drew near to the peasant he did not half like his looks. He was partly

reclining on the rocks wrapped in the usual long mantle, which, with his slouch ed hat, only left a part of a

swarthy visage, with a keen black eye, a beetle brow and a fierce mou stache to be seen. He had whistled

several times to his dog which was roving about the side of the hill. As the alderman approached he rose and

greeted him. When standing erect he seemed almost gigantic, at least in the eyes of Alderman Popkins; who,

The latter would gladly now have been back in the carriage, or even on 'change in London, for he was by no

means well pleased with his company. However, he determined to put the best face on matters, and was

beginning a con versation about the state of the weather, the baddishness of the crops and the price of goats

in that part of the country, when he heard a violent screaming. He ran to the edge of the rock, and, looking

over, saw away down the road his carriage surrounded by robbers. One held down the fat footman, another

had the dandy by his starched cravat, with a pistol to his head; one was rummaging a portmanteau, another

rum maging the principezza's pockets, while the two Misses Popkins were screaming from each win dow

Alderman Popkins felt all the fury of the parent and the magistrate roused within him. He grasp ed his cane

and was on the point of scrambling down the rocks, either to assault the robbers or to read the riot act, when

he was suddenly grasp ed by the arm. It was by his friend the goatherd, whose cloak, falling partly off,

discovered a belt stuck full of pistols and stilettos. In short, he found himself in the clutches of the captain of

the band, who had stationed himself on the rock to look out for travellers and to give notice to his men.

A sad ransacking took place. Trunks were turned inside out, and all the finery and the frip pery of the

Popkins family scattered about the road. Such a chaos of Venice beads and Ro man mosaics; and Paris

bonnets of the young ladies, mingled with the alderman's night caps and lamb's wool stockings, and the

The gentlemen were eased of their purses and their watches; the ladies of their jewels, and the whole party

were on the point of being carried up into the mountain, when fortunately the ap pearance of soldiery at a

distance obliged the robbers to make off with the spoils they had se cured, and leave the Popkins family to

gather to gether the remnants of their effects, and make the best of their way to Fondi.

When safe arrived, the alderman made a terri ble blustering at the inn; threatened to complain to the

ambassador at Naples, and was ready to shake his cane at the whole country. The dan dy had many stories

to tell of his scuffles with the brigands, who overpowered him merely by numbers. As to the Misses Popkins,

they were quite delighted with the adventure, and were oc cupied the whole evening in writing it in their

journals. They declared the captain of the band to be a most romantic looking man; they dared to say some

unfortunate lover, or exiled nobleman: and several of the band to be very handsome young men "quite

"In verity," said mine host of Terracina, "they say the captain of the band is un galant uomo."

"A gallant man!" said the Englishman. "I'd have your gallant man hang'd like a dog!"

"Our ambassador should make a complaint to the government of Naples," said Mr. Dobbs.

"They should be requested to drive these ras cals out of the country," said Hobbs.

The Englishman was a little wearied by this story, and by the ultra zeal of his countrymen, and was glad

when a summons to their supper relieved him from the crowd of travellers. He walked out with his Venetian

friends and a young Frenchman of an interesting demeanour, who had become sociable with them in the

course of the conversation. They directed their steps toward the sea, which was lit up by the rising moon. The

Venetian, out of politeness, left his beautiful wife to be escorted by the Englishman. The latter, however,

either from shyness or reserve, did not avail himself of the civility, but walked on without offering his arm.

The fair Venetian, with all her devotion to her husband, was a little nettled at a want of gallantry to which her

charms had rendered her unaccustomed, and took the profered arm of the Frenchman with a pretty air of

Not far distant from the inn they came to where there was a body of soldiers on the beach, encircling and

guarding a number of galley slaves, who were permitted to refresh themselves in the evening breeze, and to

"It was difficult," the Frenchman observed, "to conceive a more frightful mass of crime than was here

collected. The parricide, the fratri cide, the infanticide, who had first fled from jus tice and turned

mountain bandit, and then, by betraying his brother desperadoes, had bought a commutation of punishment,

and the privilege of wallowing on the shore for an hour a day, with this wretched crew of miscreants!"

The remark of the Frenchman had a strong effect upon the company, particularly upon the Venetian lady,

who shuddered as she cast a timid look at this horde of wretches at their evening relaxation. "They seemed,"

The Frenchman now adverted to the stories they had been listening to at the inn, adding, that if they had any

farther curiosity on the subject, he could recount an adventure which happened to himself among the robbers,

and which might give them some idea of the habits and manners of those beings. There was an air of modesty

and frankness about the Frenchman which had gained the good will of the whole party, not even excepting

the Englishman. They all gladly ac cepted his proposition; and as they strolled slow ly up and down the sea

I am an historical painter by profession, and resided for some time in the family of a foreign prince, at his

villa, about fifteen miles from Rome, among some of the most interesting scenery of Italy. It is situated on the

heights of ancient Tusculum. In its neighbourhood are the ruins of the villas of Cicero, Sylla, Lucullus,

Rufinus, and other illustrious Romans, who sought refuge here occasionally, from their toils, in the bosom of

a soft and luxurious repose. From the midst of delightful bowers, refreshed by the pure mountain breeze, the

eye looks over a romantic landscape full of poetical and historical associa tions. The Albanian mountains,

Tivoli, once the favourite residence of Horace and M�cenas; the vast deserted Campagna with the Tiber run

ning through it, and St. Peter's dome swelling in the midst, the monument as it were, over the grave of

I assisted the prince in the researches which he was making among the classic ruins of his vici nity. His

exertions were highly successful. Many wrecks of admirable statues and frag ments of exquisite sculpture

were dug up; mo numents of the taste and magnificence that reigned in the ancient Tusculan abodes. He had

studded his villa and its grounds with statues, relievos, vases and sarcophagi, thus retrieved from the bosom

The mode of life pursued at the villa was de lightfully serene, diversified by interesting occu pations and

elegant leisure. Every one passed the day according to his pleasure or occupation; and we all assembled in a

cheerful dinner party at sunset. It was on the fourth of November, a beautiful serene day, that we had

assembled in the saloon at the sound of the first dinner bell. The family were surprised at the absence of the

prince's confessor. They waited for him in vain, and at length placed themselves at table. They first attributed

his absence to his having prolong ed his customary walk; and the first part of the dinner passed without any

uneasiness. When the desart was served, however, without his ma king his appearance, they began to feel

anxious. They feared he might have been taken ill in some alley of the woods; or, that he might have fallen

into the hands of robbers. At the inter val of a small valley rose the mountains of the Abruzzi, the strong

hold of banditti. Indeed, the neighbourhood had, for some time, been infested by them; and Barbone, a

notorious bandit chief, had often been met prowling about the solitudes of Tusculum. The daring enterprises

of these ruffians were well known; the objects of their cupidity or vengeance were insecure even in pa laces.

As yet they had respected the possessions of the prince; but the idea of such dangerous spirits hovering about

The fears of the company increased as evening closed in. The prince ordered out forest guards, and domestics

with flambeaux to search for the confessor. They had not departed long, when a slight noise was heard in the

corridor of the ground floor. The family were dining on the first floor, and the remaining domestics were oc

cupied in attendance. There was no one on the ground floor at this moment but the housekeeper, the

laundress, and three field labourers, who were resting themselves, and conversing with the women.

I heard the noise from below, and presuming it to be occasioned by the return of the absentee, I left the table,

and hastened down stairs, eager to gain intelligence that might relieve the anxie ty of the prince and

princess. I had scarcely reached the last step, when I beheld before me a man dressed as a bandit; a carbine in

his hand, and a stiletto and pistols in his belt. His coun tenance had a mingled expression of ferocity and

I saw at once into what hands I had fallen, but endeavoured to summon up coolness and pre sence of mind.

A glance towards the lower end of the corridor, showed me several ruffians, clothed and armed in the same

manner with the one who had seized me. They were guarding the two females and the field labourers. The

robber, who held me firmly by the collar, de manded repeatedly whether or not I were the prince. His object

evidently was to carry off the prince, and extort an immense ransom. He was enraged at receiving none but

A sudden thought struck me how I might ex tricate myself from his clutches. I was unarm ed, it is true, but

I was vigorous. His compa nions were at a distance. By a sudden exertion I might wrest myself from him,

and spring up the staircase, whither he would not dare to follow me singly. The idea was put in execution as

soon as conceived. The ruffian's throat was bare: with my right hand I seized him by it, just be tween the

mastoides; with my left hand I grasp ed the arm which held the carbine. The sud denness of my attack took

him completely una wares; and the strangling nature of my grasp paralized him. He choked and faltered. I

felt his hand relaxing its hold, and was on the point of jerking myself away, and darting up the stair case

before he could recover himself, when I was suddenly seized by some one from behind.

I had to let go my grasp. The bandit, once more released, fell upon me with fury, and gave me several blows

with the butt end of his car bine, one of which wounded me severely in the forehead, and covered me with

blood. He took advantage of my being stunned, to rifle me of my watch, and whatever valuables I had about

When I recovered from the effects of the blow, I heard the voice of the chief of the ban ditti, who

exclaimed, "Quello e il principe, siamo contente, audiamo!" (It is the prince, enough, let us be off.) The band

immediately closed round me, and dragged me out of the palace, bearing off the three labourers likewise.

I had no hat on, and the blood was flowing from my wound; I managed to staunch it, how ever, with my

pocket handkerchief, which I bound round my forehead. The captain of the band conducted me in triumph,

supposing me to be the prince. We had gone some distance, before he learnt his mistake from one of the

labourers. His rage was terrible. It was too late to return to the villa, and endeavour to retrieve his error, for

by this time the alarm must have been given, and every one in arms. He darted at me a fu rious look; swore I

had deceived him, and caus ed him to miss his fortune; and told me to pre pare for death. The rest of the

robbers were equally furious. I saw their hands upon their poniards; and I knew that death was seldom an

The labourers saw the peril into which their information had betrayed me, and eagerly as sured the captain

that I was a man for whom the prince would pay a great ransom. This pro duced a pause. For my part, I

cannot say that I had been much dismayed by their menaces. I mean not to make any boast of courage; but I

have been so schooled to hardship during the late revolutions, and have beheld death around me in so many

perilous and disastrous scenes, that I have become, in some measure, callous to its terrors. The frequent

hazard of life makes a man at length as reckless of it, as a gambler of his money. To their threat of death I

replied, "That the sooner it was executed the better." This reply seemed to astonish the captain, and the

prospect of ransom held out by the labourers had, no doubt, a still greater effect on him. He considered for a

moment; assumed a calmer manner, and made a sign to his companions, who had remained waiting for my

We descended rapidly towards the road of la Molara, which leads to Rocca Priori. In the midst of this road is

a solitary inn. The captain ordered the troop to halt at the distance of a pistol shot from it; and enjoined

profound silence. He then approached the threshold alone, with noiseless steps. He examined the outside of

the door very narrowly, and then returning precipitately, made a sign for the troop to con tinue its march in

silence. It has since been as certained, that this was one of those infamous inns which are the secret resorts

of banditti. The innkeeper had an understanding with the captain, as he most probably had with the chiefs of

the different bands. When any of the patroles and gens d'armes were quartered at his house, the brigands were

warned of it by a preconcert ed signal on the door; when there was no such signal, they might enter with

safety, and be sure of welcome. Many an isolated inn among the lonely parts of the Roman territories, and

espe cially on the skirts of the mountains, have the same dangerous and suspicious character. They are

places where the banditti gather information; where they concert their plans, and where the unwary traveller,

remote from hearing or assist ance, is sometimes betrayed to the stiletto of the midnight murderer.

After pursuing our road a little farther, we struck off towards the woody mountains, which en velope Rocca

Priori. Our march was long and painful, with many circuits and windings; at length we clambered a steep

ascent, covered with a thick forest, and when we had reached the cen tre, I was told to seat myself on the

earth. No sooner had I done so, than at a sign from their chief, the robbers surrounded me, and spreading their

great cloaks from one to the other, formed a kind of pavilion of mantles, to which their bo dies might be

said to seem as columns. The captain then struck a light, and a flambeau was lit immediately. The mantles

were extended to prevent the light of the flambeau from being seen through the forest. Anxious as was my

situa tion, I could not look round upon this screen of dusky drapery, relieved by the bright colours of the

robbers' under dresses, the gleaming of their weapons, and the variety of strongmarked coun tenances, lit

up by the flambeau, without admi ring the picturesque effect of the scene. It was quite theatrical.

The captain now held an inkhorn, and giving me pen and paper, ordered me to write what he should dictate.

I obeyed. It was a demand, couched in the style of robber eloquence, "that the prince should send three

thousand dollars for my ransom, or that my death should be the con sequence of a refusal."

I knew enough of the desperate character of these beings to feel assured this was not an idle menace. Their

only mode of insuring attention to their demands, is to make the infliction of the penalty inevitable. I saw at

I told the captain so, and assured him, that so ex travagant a sum would never be granted; "that I was neither

a friend or relative of the prince, but a mere artist, employed to execute certain paintings. That I had nothing

to offer as a ran som but the price of my labours; if this were not sufficient, my life was at their disposal: it

I was the more hardy in my reply, because I saw that coolness and hardihood had an effect upon the robbers.

It is true, as I finished speak ing the captain laid his hand upon his stiletto, but he restrained himself, and

snatching the let ter, folded it, and ordered me, in a peremptory tone, to address it to the prince. He then

des patched one of the labourers with it to Tuscu lum, who promised to return with all possible speed.

The robbers now prepared themselves for sleep, and I was told that I might do the same. They spread their

great cloaks on the ground, and lay down around me. One was stationed at a little dis tance to keep watch,

and was relieved every two hours. The strangeness and wildness of this mountain bivouac, among lawless

beings whose hands seemed ever ready to grasp the stiletto, and with whom life was so trivial and insecure,

was enough to banish repose. The coldness of the earth and of the dew, however, had a still greater effect

than mental causes in disturbing my rest. The airs wafted to these mountains from the dis tant

Mediterranean diffused a great chilliness as the night advanced. An expedient suggested itself. I called one of

my fellow prisoners, the labourers, and made him lie down beside me. Whenever one of my limbs became

chilled I approached it to the robust limb of my neighbour, and borrow ed some of his warmth. In this way I

Day at length dawned, and I was roused from my slumber by the voice of the chieftain. He desired me to rise

and follow him. I obey ed. On considering his physiognomy attentive ly, it appeared a little softened. He

even assist ed me in scrambling up the steep forest among rocks and brambles. Habit had made him a vi

gorous mountaineer; but I found it excessively toilsome to climb those rugged heights. We ar rived at length

Here it was that I felt all the enthusiasm of my art suddenly awakened; and I forgot, in an in stant, all perils

and fatigues at this magnificent view of the sunrise in the midst of the moun tains of Abruzzi. It was on

these heights that Hannibal first pitched his camp, and pointed out Rome to his followers. The eye embraces a

vast extent of country. The minor height of Tusculum, with its villas, and its sacred ruins, lie below; the

Sabine hills and the Albanian moun tains stretch on either hand, and beyond Tuscu lum and Frescati

spreads out the immense Cam pagna, with its line of tombs, and here and there a broken aqueduct stretching

Fancy this scene lit up by the glories of a rising sun, and bursting upon my sight, as I looked forth from

among the majestic forests of the Abruzzi. Fancy, too, the savage foreground, made still more savage by

groups of the banditti, armed and dress ed in their wild picturesque manner, and you will not wonder that

The banditti were astonished at my admira tion of a scene which familiarity had made so common in their

eyes. I took advantage of their halting at this spot, drew forth a quire of draw ing paper, and began to sketch

the features of the landscape. The height, on which I was seated, was wild and solitary, separated from the

ridge of Tusculum by a valley nearly three miles wide; though the distance appeared less from the purity of

the atmosphere. This height was one of the favourite retreats of the banditti, com manding a lookout over

the country; while, at the same time, it was covered with forests, and distant from the populous haunts of

While I was sketching, my attention was call ed off for a moment by the cries of birds and the bleatings of

sheep. I looked around, but could see nothing of the animals that uttered them. They were repeated, and

appeared to come from the summits of the trees. On look ing more narrowly, I perceived six of the robbers

perched on the tops of oaks, which grew on the breezy crest of the mountain, and commanded an

uninterrupted prospect. From hence they were keeping a look out, like so many vultures; cast ing their eyes

into the depths of the valley below us; communicating with each other by signs, or holding discourse in

sounds, which might be mistaken by the wayfarer, for the cries of hawks and crows, or the bleating of the

mountain flocks. After they had reconnoitred the neighbour hood, and finished their singular discourse, they

descended from their airy perch, and returned to their prisoners. The captain posted three of them at three

naked sides of the mountain, while he remained to guard us with what appeared his most trusty companion.

I had my book of sketches in my hand; he requested to see it, and after having run his eye over it, expressed

himself convinced of the truth of my assertion, that I was a painter. I thought I saw a gleam of good feeling

dawning in him, and determined to avail myself of it. I knew that the worst of men have their good points and

their accessible sides, if one would but study them carefully. Indeed, there is a singular mix ture in the

character of the Italian robber. With reckless ferocity, he often mingles traits of kind ness and good humour.

He is often not radical ly bad, but driven to his course of life by some unpremeditated crime, the effect of

those sudden bursts of passion to which the Italian tempera ment is prone. This has compelled him to take to

the mountains, or, as it is technially termed among them, "andare in Campagna." He has become a robber by

profession; but like a sol dier, when not in action, he can lay aside his weapon and his fierceness, and

I took occasion from the observations of the captain on my sketchings, to fall into conversa tion with him. I

found him sociable and com municative. By degress I became complete ly at my ease with him. I had

fancied I per ceived about him a degree of selflove, which I determined to make use of. I assumed an air of

careless frankness, and told him that, as artist, I pretended to the power of judging of the physi ognomy; that

I thought I perceived something in his features and demeanour, which announced him worthy of higher

fortunes. That he was not formed to exercise the profession to which he had abandoned himself; that he had

talents and qualities fitted for a nobler sphere of action; that he had but to change his course of life, and in a

legitimate career, the same courage and en dowments which now made him an object of terror, would

I had not mistaken my man. My discourse both touched and excited him. He seized my hand, pressed it, and

replied with strong emotion, "You have guessed the truth; you have judged of me rightly." He remained for a

moment si lent; then with a kind of effort he resumed. I will tell you some particulars of my life, and you

will perceive that it was the oppression of others, rather than my own crimes, that drove me to the mountains.

I sought to serve my fellow men, and they have persecuted me from among them. We seated ourselves on the

grass, and the rob ber gave me the following anecdotes of his his tory. THE STORY OF THE BANDIT

I am a native of the village of Prossedi. My father was easy enough in circumstances, and we lived peaceably

and independently, cultivating our fields. All went on well with us until a new chief of the sbirri was sent to

our village to take command of the police. He was an arbitrary fellow, prying into every thing, and practising

I was at that time eighteen years of age, and had a natural love of justice and good neighbour hood. I had

also a little education, and knew something of history, so as to be able to judge a little of men and their

actions. All this inspired me with hatred for this paltry despot. My own family, also, became the object of his

suspicion or dislike, and felt more than once the arbitrary abuse of his power. These things worked to gether

on my mind, and I gasped after vengeance. My character was always ardent and energetic; and acted upon by

Full of my project I rose one morning before peep of day, and concealing a stiletto under my waistcoat

here you see it! (and he drew forth a long keen poniard) I lay in wait for him in the outskirts of the

village. I knew all his haunts, and his habit of making his rounds and prow ling about like a wolf, in the gray

of the morn ing; at length I met him and attacked him with fury. He was armed, but I took him unawares,

and was full of youth and vigour. I gave him repeated blows to make sure work, and laid him lifeless at my

When I was satisfied that I had done for him, I returned with all haste to the village, but had the ill luck to

meet two of the sbirri as I entered it. They accosted me and asked if I had seen their chief. I assumed an air of

tranquillity, and told them I had not. They continued on their way, and, within a few hours, brought back the

dead body to Prossedi. Their suspicions of me being already awakened, I was arrested and thrown into prison.

Here I lay several weeks, when the prince who was Seigneur of Prossedi directed judicial proceedings against

me. I was brought to trial, and a witness was produced who pretended to have seen me not far from the

bleed ing body, and flying with precipitation, so I was condemned to the galleys for thirty years.

"Curse on such laws," vociferated the bandit, foaming with rage; "curse on such a govern ment, and ten

thousand curses on the prince who caused me to be adjudged so rigorously, while so many other Roman

princes harbour and pro tect assassins a thousand times more culpable. What had I done but what was

inspired by a love of justice and my country? Why was my act more culpable than that of Brutus, when he

There was something at once both lofty and ludicrous in the rhapsody of this robber chief, thus associating

himself with one of the great names of antiquity. It showed, however, that he had at least the merit of

knowing the remark able facts in the history of his country. He be came more calm, and resumed his

I was conducted to Civita Vecchia in fetters. My heart was burning with rage. I had been married scarce six

months to a woman whom I passionately loved, and who was pregnant. My family was in despair. For a long

time I made unsuccessful efforts to break my chain. At length I found a morsel of iron which I hid carefully,

and endeavoured with a pointed flint to fashion it into a kind of file. I occupied myself in this work during the

night time, and when it was finished, I made out, after a long time, to sever one of the rings of my chain. My

I wandered for several weeks in the mountains which surround Prossedi, and found means to inform my wife

of the place where I was con cealed. She came often to see me. I had de termined to put myself at the head

of an armed band. She endeavoured for a long time to dis suade me; but finding my resolution fixed, she at

By her means I communicated with several brave fellows of the neighbouring villages, who I knew to be

ready to take to the mountains, and only panting for an opportunity to exercise their daring spirits. We soon

formed a combination, procured arms, and we have had ample opportu nities of revenging ourselves for the

wrongs and injuries which most of us have suffered. Every thing has succeeded with us until now, and had it

not been for our blunder in mistaking you for the prince, our fortunes would have been made.

Here the robber concluded his story. He had talked himself into complete companionship, and assured me he

no longer bore me any grudge for the error of which I had been the innocent cause. He even professed a

kindness for me, and wish ed me to remain some time with them. He promised to give me a sight of certain

grottos which they occupied beyond Villetri, and whither they resorted during the intervals of their expe

ditions. He assured me that they led a jovial life there; had plenty of good cheer; slept on beds of moss, and

I confess I felt my curiosity roused by his de scriptions of these grottos and their inhabitants: they realized

those scenes in robber story which I had always looked upon as mere creations of the fancy. I should gladly

have accepted his in vitation, and paid a visit to those caverns, could I have felt more secure in my

I began to find my situation less painful. I had evidently propitiated the good will of the chieftain, and hoped

that he might release me for a moderate ransom. A new alarm, however, awaited me. While the captain was

looking out with impatience for the return of the messen ger who had been sent to the prince, the sentinel

who had been posted on the side of the moun tain facing the plain of la Molara, came running towards us

with precipitation. "We are be trayed!" exclaimed he. "The police of Fres cati are after us. A party of

carabiniers have just stopped at the inn below the mountain." Then laying his hand on his stiletto, he swore,

with a terrible oath, that if they made the least movement towards the mountain, my life and the lives of my

The chieftain resumed all his ferocity of de meanour, and approved of what his companion said; but when

the latter had returned to his post, he turned to me with a softened air: "I must act as chief," said he, "and

humour my dangerous subalterns. It is a law with us to kill our prisoners rather than suffer them to be

rescued; but do not be alarmed. In case we are surprised keep by me; fly with us, and I will consider myself

There was nothing very consolatory in this arrangement, which would have placed me be tween two

dangers; I scarcely knew in case of flight, which I should have most to apprehend from, the carbines of the

pursuers, or the stilettos of the pursued. I remained silent, however, and endeavoured to maintain a look of

For an hour was I kept in this state of peril and anxiety. The robbers, crouching among their leafy coverts,

kept an eagle watch upon the carabiniers below, as they loitered about the inn; sometimes lolling about the

portal; some times disappearing for several minutes, then sallying out, examining their weapons, pointing in

different directions and apparently asking questions about the neighbourhood; not a move ment or gesture

was lost upon the keen eyes of the brigands. At length we were relieved from our apprehensions. The

carabiniers having finished their refreshment, seized their arms, continued along the valley towards the great

road, and gradually left the mountain behind them. "I felt almost certain," said the chief, "that they could not

be sent after us. They know too well how prisoners have fared in our hands on similar occasions. Our laws in

this respect are inflexible, and are necessary for our safety. If we once flinched from them, there would no

There were no signs yet of the messenger's return. I was preparing to resume my sketch ing, when the

captain drew a quire of paper from his knapsack "Come," said he, laughing, "you are a painter; take my

likeness. The leaves of your portfolio are small; draw it on this." I gladly consented, for it was a study that

seldom presents itself to a painter. I recol lected that Salvator Rosa in his youth had vo luntarily sojourned

for a time among the bandit ti of Calabria, and had filled his mind with the savage scenery and savage

associates by which he was surrounded. I seized my pencil with enthusiasm at the thought. I found the

captain the most docile of subjects, and after various shiftings of position, I placed him in an attitude to my

Picture to yourself a stern muscular figure, in fanciful bandit costume, with pistols and poniards in belt, his

brawny neck bare, a handkerchief loosely thrown round it, and the two ends in front strung with rings of all

kinds, the spoils of travellers; reliques and medals hung on his breast; his hat decorated with various coloured

ribbands; his vest and short breeches of bright colours and finely embroidered; his legs in buskius or leggins.

Fancy him on a mountain height, among wild rocks and rugged oaks, lean ing on his carbine as if

meditating some exploit, while far below are beheld villages and villas, the scenes of his maraudings, with

The robber was pleased with the sketch, and seemed to admire himself upon paper. I had scarcely finished,

when the labourer arrived who had been sent for my ransom. He had reached Tusculum two hours after

midnight. He brought me a letter from the prince, who was in bed at the time of his arrival. As I had predict

ed, he treated the demand as extravagant, but offered five hundred dollars for my ransom. Hav ing no

money by him at the moment, he had sent a note for the amount, payable to whomever should conduct me

safe and sound to Rome. I presented the note of hand to the chieftain, he received it with a shrug. "Of what

use are notes of hand to us?" said he, "who can we send with you to Rome to receive it? We are all marked

men, known and described at every gate and mili tary post, and village church door. No, we must have gold

The captain again placed a sheet of paper before me to communicate his determination to the prince. When I

had finished the letter and took the sheet from the quire, I found on the opposite side of it the portrait which I

"Hold," said he, "let it go to Rome; let them see what kind of looking fellow I am. Perhaps the prince and his

This was said sportively, yet it was evident there was vanity lurking at the bottom. Even this wary, distrustful

chief of banditti forgot for a moment his usual foresight and precaution in the common wish to be admired.

He never re flected what use might be made of this portrait in his pursuit and conviction.

The letter was folded and directed, and the messenger departed again for Tusculum. It was now eleven

o'clock in the morning, and as yet we had eaten nothing. In spite of all my anxiety, I began to feel a craving

appetite. I was glad therefore to hear the captain talk something of eating. He observed that for three days and

nights they had been lurking about among rocks and woods, meditating their expedition to Tus culum,

during which all their provisions had been exausted. He should now take measures to procure a supply.

Leaving me therefore in the charge of his comrade, in whom he appeared to have implicit confidence, he

departed, assu ring me that in less than two hours we should make a good dinner. Where it was to come

from was an enigma to me, though it was evident these beings had their secret friends and agents throughout

Indeed, the inhabitants of these mountains and of the valleys which they embosom are a rude, half civilized

set. The towns and villages among the forests of the Abruzzi, shut up from the rest of the world, are almost

like savage dens. It is wonderful that such rude abodes, so little known and visited, should be embosomed in

the midst of one of the most travelled and civilized countries of Europe. Among these regions the robber

prowls unmolested, not a mountaineer hesitates to give him secret harbour and assist ance. The shepherds,

however, who tend their flocks among the mountains, are the favourite emissaries of the robbers, when they

would send messages down to the valleys either for ransom or supplies. The shepherds of the Abruzzi are as

wild as the scenes they frequent. They are clad in a rude garb of black or brown sheep skin, they have high

conical hats, and coarse sandals of cloth bound round their legs with thongs, simi lar to those worn by the

robbers. They carry long staffs, on which as they lean they form pic turesque objects in the lonely

landscape, and they are followed by their ever constant companion the dog. They are a curious questioning

set, glad at any time to relieve the monotony of their solitude by the conversation of the passer by, and the

dog will lend an attentive ear, and put on as sagacious and inquisitive a look as his master.

But I am wandering from my story. I was now left alone with one of the robbers, the con fidential

companion of the chief. He was the youngest and most vigorous of the band, and though his countenance had

something of that dissolute fierceness which seems natural to this desperate, lawless mode of life, yet there

were traits of manly beauty about it. As an artist I could not but admire it. I had remarked in him an air of

abstraction and reverie, and at times a movement of inward suffering and impatience. He now sat on the

ground; his elbows on his knees, his head resting between his clenched fists, and his eyes fixed on the earth

with an expression of sad and bitter rumination. I had grown fa miliar with him from repeated

conversations, and had found him superior in mind to the rest of the band. I was anxious to seize every

opportunity of sounding the feelings of these singular beings. I fancied I read in the countenance of this one

traces of selfcondemnation and remorse; and the ease with which I had drawn forth the confi dence of the

After a little preliminary conversation I ventu red to ask him if he did not feel regret at having abandoned

his family, and taken to this dangerous profession. "I feel" replied he, "but one regret, and that will end only

with my life," as he said this he pressed his clenched fists upon his bosom, drew his breath through his set

teeth, and added with deep emotion, "I have something within here thatstifles me; it is like a burning iron

consuming my very heart. I could tell you a misirable story, but not now another time." He relapsed

into his former position, and sat with his head between his hands, muttering to himself in broken ejacu

lations, and what appeared at times to be curses and maledictions. I saw he was not in a mood to be disturbed,

so I left him to himself. In a little time the exhaustion of his feelings, and pro bably the fatigues he had

undergone in this ex pedition, began to produce drowsiness. He struggled with it for a time, but the warmth

and sultriness of midday made it irresistible, and he at length stretched himself upon the herbage and fell

I now beheld a chance of escape within my reach. My guard lay before me at my mercy. His vigorous limbs

relaxed by sleep; his bosom open for the blow; his carbine slipped from his nerveless grasp, and lying by his

side; his stilet to half out of the pocket in which it was usually carried. But two of his comrades were in

sight, and those at a considerable distance, on the edge of the mountain; their backs turned to us, and their

attention occupied in keeping a lookout upon the plain. Through a strip of intervening forest, and at the foot

of a steep descent, I beheld the village of Rocca Priori. To have secured the carbine of the sleeping brigand,

to have seized upon his poniard and have plunged it in his heart, would have been the work of an instant.

Should he die without noise, I might dart through the forest and down to Rocca Priori before my flight might

be discovered. In case of alarm, I should still have a fair start of the robbers, and a chance of getting beyond

Here then was an opportunity for both escape and vengeance; perilous, indeed, but powerfully tempting. Had

my situation been more criti cal I could not have resisted it. I reflected, however, for a moment. The

attempt, if suc cessful, would be followed by the sacrifice of my two fellow prisoners, who were sleeping

profoundly, and could not be awakened in time to escape. The labourer who had gone after the ransom might

also fall a victim to the rage of the robbers, without the money which he brought being saved. Besides, the

conduct of the chief towards me made me feel certain of speedy deliverance. These reflections overcame the

first powerful impulse, and I calmed the turbulent agitation which it had awakened.

I again took out my materials for drawing, and amused myself with sketching the magni ficent prospect. It

was now about noon, and every thing seemed sunk into repose, like the bandit that lay sleeping before me.

The noon tide stillness that reigned over these mountains, the vast landscape below, gleaming with dis tant

towns and dotted with various habitations and signs of life, yet all so silent, had a powerful effect upon my

mind. The intermediate valleys, too, that lie among mountains have a peculiar air of solitude. Few sounds are

heard at mid day to break the quiet of the scene. Sometimes the whistle of a solitary muleteer, lagging with

his lazy animal along the road that winds through the centre of the valley; sometimes the faint piping of a

shepherd's reed from the side of the mountain, or sometimes the bell of an ass slowly pacing along, followed

by a monk with bare feet and bare shining head; and carrying provisions to the convent.

I had continued to sketch for some time among my sleeping companions, when at length I saw the captain of

the band approaching, fol lowed by a peasant leading a mule, on which was a wellfilled sack. I at first

apprehended that this was some new prey fallen into the hands of the robbers, but the contented look of the

peasant soon relieved me, and I was rejoiced to hear that it was our promised repast. The brigands now came

running from the three sides of the mountain, having the quick scent of vul tures. Every one busied himself

The first thing that made its appearance was an enormous ham of a colour and plumpness that would have

inspired the pencil of Teniers. It was followed by a large cheese, a bag of boiled chesnuts, a little barrel of

wine, and a quantity of good household bread. Every thing was ar ranged on the grass with a degree of

symmetry, and the captain presenting me his knife, request ed me to help myself. We all seated ourselves

round the viands, and nothing was heard for a time but the sound of vigorous mastication, or the gurgling of

the barrel of wine as it revolved briskly about the circle. My long fasting and the mountain air and exercise

had given me a keen appetite, and never did repast appear to me more excellent or picturesque.

From time to time one of the band was des patched to keep a look out upon the plain: no enemy was at

The peasant received nearly twice the value of his provisions, and set off down the moun tain highly

satisfied with his bargain. I felt in vigorated by the hearty meal I had made, and notwithstanding that the

wound I had received the evening before was painful, yet I could not but feel extremely interested and

gratified by the singular scenes continually presented to me. Every thing seemed picture about these wild be

ings and their haunts. Their bivouacs, their groups on guard, their indolent noontide repose on the mountain

brow, their rude repast on the herbage among rocks and trees, every thing pre sented a study for a painter.

But it was to wards the approach of evening that I felt the highest enthusiasm awakened.

The setting sun, declining beyond the vast Campagna, shed its rich yellow beams on the woody summits of

the Abruzzi. Several moun tains crowned with snow shone brilliantly in the distance, contrasting their

brightness with others, which thrown into shade, assumed deep tints of purple and violet. As the evening

advanced, the landscape darkened into a sterner character. The immense solitude around; the wild moun

tains broken into rocks and precipices, inter mingled with vast oak, cork and chesnuts; and the groups of

banditti in the foreground, re minded me of those savage scenes of Salvator Rosa.

To beguile the time the captain proposed to his comrades to spread before me their jewels and cameos, as I

must doubtless be a judge of such articles, and able to inform them of their nature. He set the example, the

others followed it, and in a few moments I saw the grass before me sparkling with jewels and gems that

would have delighted the eyes of an antiquary or a fine lady. Among them were several precious jew els and

antique intaglios and cameos of great value, the spoils doubtless of travellers of dis tinction. I found that

they were in the habit of selling their booty in the frontier towns. As these in general were thinly and poorly

peopled, and little frequented by travellers, they could offer no market for such valuable articles of taste and

luxury. I suggested to them the certainty of their readily obtaining great prices for these gems among the rich

The impression made upon their greedy minds was immediately apparent. One of the band, a young man, and

the least known, requested per mission of the captain to depart the following day in disguise for Rome, for

the purpose of traf fick; promising on the faith of a bandit (a sacred pledge amongst them) to return in two

days to any place he might appoint. The captain consent ed, and a curious scene took place. The robbers

crowded round him eagerly, confiding to him such of their jewels as they wished to dispose of, and giving

him instructions what to demand. There was bargaining and exchanging and selling of trinkets among

themselves, and I beheld my watch which had a chain and valuable seals, pur chased by the young robber

merchant of the ruf fian who had plundered me, for sixty dollars. I now conceived a faint hope that if it went

The idea of passing another night in the woods was extremely disheartening; for I began to be satisfied with

what I had seen of robber life. The chieftain now ordered his men to follow him that he might station them at

their posts, adding, that if the messenger did not return be fore night they must shift their quarters to some

I was again left alone with the young bandit who had before guarded me: he had the same gloomy air and

haggard eye, with now and then a bitter sardonic smile. I was determined to probe this ulcerated heart, and

reminded him of a kind of promise he had given me to tell me the cause of his suffering.

It seemed to me as if these troubled spirits were glad of an opportunity to disburthen them selves; and of

having some fresh undiseased mind with which they could communicate. I had hardly made the request but

he seated him self by my side, and gave me his story in, as nearly as I can recollect, the following words.

I was born at the little town of Frosinone, which lies at the skirts of the Abruzzi. My fa ther had made a little

property in trade, and gave me some education, as he intended me for the church, but I had kept gay company

too much to relish the cowl, so I grew up a loiterer about the place. I was a heedless fellow, a little quarrel

some on occasions, but good humoured in the main, so I made my way very well for a time, until I fell in

love. There lived in our town a surveyor, or land bailiff, of the prince's, who had a young daughter, a

beautiful girl of sixteen. She was looked upon as something better than the common run of our townsfolk,

and kept almost entirely at home. I saw her occasionally, and became madly in love with her, she looked so

fresh and tender, and so different from the sun burnt females to whom I had been accustomed.

As my father kept me in money, I always dressed well, and took all opportunities of show ing myself to

advantage in the eyes of the little beauty. I used to see her at church; and as I could play a little upon the

guitar, I gave her a tune sometimes under her window of an evening; and I tried to have interviews with her

in her fa ther's vineyard, not far from the town where she sometimes walked. She was evidently pleased

with me, but she was young and shy, and her father kept a strict eye upon her, and took alarm at my

attentions, for he had a bad opinion of me, and looked for a better match for his daughter. I became furious at

the difficulties thrown in my way, having been accustomed always to easy success among the women, being

Her father brought home a suitor for her; a rich farmer from a neighbouring town. The wedding day was

appointed, and preparations were making. I got sight of her at her window, and I thought she looked sadly at

me. I deter mined the match should not take place, cost what it might. I met her intended bridegroom in the

marketplace, and could not restrain the expres sion of my rage. A few hot words passed be tween us,

when I drew my stiletto, and stabbed him to the heart. I fled to a neighbouring church for refuge; and with a

little money I obtained absolution; but I did not dare to venture from my asylum.

At that time our captain was forming his troop. He had known me from boyhood, and hearing of my

situation, came to me in secret, and made such offers, that I agreed to enlist myself among his followers.

Indeed, I had more than once thought of taking to this mode of life, having known several brave fellows of

the mountains, who used to spend their money freely among us youngsters of the town. I accordingly left my

asylum late one night, repaired to the appointed place of meeting; took the oaths prescribed, and became one

of the troop. We were for some time in a distant part of the mountains, and our wild adventurous kind of life

hit my fancy won derfully, and diverted my thoughts. At length they returned with all their violence to the

recol lection of Rosetta. The solitude in which I of ten found myself, gave me time to brood over her

image, and as I have kept watch at night over our sleeping camp in the mountains, my feelings have been

At length we shifted our ground, and deter mined to make a descent upon the road between Terracina and

Naples. In the course of our ex pedition, we passed a day or two in the woody mountains which rise above

Frosinone. I can not tell you how I felt when I looked down up on the place, and distinguished the

residence of Rosetta. I determined to have an interview with her; but to what purpose? I could not expect that

she would quit her home, and accompany me in my hazardous life among the mountains. She had been

brought up too tenderly for that; and when I looked upon the women who were associated with some of our

troop, I could not have borne the thoughts of her being their com panion. All return to my former life was

like wise hopeless; for a price was set upon my head. Still I determined to see her; the very hazard and

It is about three weeks since I persuaded our captain to draw down to the vicinity of Frosi none, in hopes of

entrapping some of its princi pal inhabitants, and compelling them to a ransom. We were lying in ambush

towards evening, not far from the vineyard of Rosetta's father. I stole quietly from my companions, and drew

How my heart beat when among the vines, I beheld the gleaming of a white dress! I knew it must be

Rosetta's; it being rare for any female of the place to dress in white. I advanced se cretly and without noise,

until putting aside the vines, I stood suddenly before her. She utter ed a piercing shriek, but I seized her in

my arms, put my hand upon her mouth and conjured her to be silent. I poured out all the frenzy of my pas

sion; offered to renounce my mode of life, to put my fate in her hands, to fly with her where we might live in

safety together. All that I could say, or do, would not pacify her. Instead of love, horror and affright seemed

to have taken posses sion of her breast. She struggled partly from my grasp, and filled the air with her

cries. In an instant the captain and the rest of my companions were around us. I would have given any thing at

that moment had she been safe out of our hands, and in her father's house. It was too late. The captain

pronounced her a prize, and ordered that she should be borne to the mountains. I represented to him that she

was my prize, that I had a previous claim to her; and I mentioned my former attachment. He sneered bitterly

in reply; observed that brigands had no business with village intrigues, and that, according to the laws of the

troop, all spoils of the kind were determined by lot. Love and jealousy were ra ging in my heart, but I had to

choose between obedience and death. I surrendered her to the captain, and we made for the mountains.

She was overcome by affright, and her steps were so feeble and faltering, that it was neces ary to support

her. I could not endure the idea that my comrades should touch her, and assu ming a forced tranquillity,

begged that she might be confided to me, as one to whom she was more accustomed. The captain regarded

me for a moment with a searching look, but I bore it without flinching, and he consented. I took her in my

arms: she was almost senseless. Her head rested on my shoulder, her mouth was near to mine. I felt her breath

on my face, and it seemed to fan the flame which devoured me. Oh God! to have this glowing treasure in my

We arrived at the foot of the mountain. I as cended it with difficulty, particularly where the woods were

thick; but I would not relinquish my delicious burthen. I reflected with rage, however, that I must soon do so.

The thoughts that so delicate a creature must be abandoned to my rude companions, maddened me. I felt

tempt ed, the stiletto in my hand, to cut my way through them all, and bear her off in triumph. I scarcely

conceived the idea, before I saw its rashness; but my brain was fevered with the thought that any but myself

should enjoy her charms. I endeavoured to outstrip my compa nions by the quickness of my movements;

and to get a little distance a head, in case any favour able opportunity of escape should present. Vain effort!

The voice of the captain suddenly order ed a halt. I trembled, but had to obey. The poor girl partly opened a

languid eye, but was without strength or motion. I laid her upon the grass. The captain darted on me a terrible

look of suspicion, and ordered me to scour the woods with my companions, in search of some shep herd

I saw at once the peril. To resist with vio lence was certain death; but to leave her alone, in the power of the

captain! I spoke out then with a fervour, inspired by my passion and my despair. I reminded the captain

that I was the first to seize her; that she was my prize, and that my previous attachment for her should make

her sacred among my companions. I insisted, there fore, that he should pledge me his word to respect her;

otherwise I should refuse obedience to his orders. His only reply was, to cock his carbine; and at the signal

my comrades did the same. They laughed with cruelty at my impotent rage. What could I do? I felt the

madness of resist ance. I was menaced on all hands, and my com panions obliged me to follow them. She

Here the robber paused in his recital, over powered by his emotions. Great drops of sweat stood on his

forehead; he panted rather than breathed; his brawny bosom rose and fell like the waves of a troubled sea.

I was not long in finding a shepherd, said he. I ran with the rapidity of a deer, eager, if possi ble, to get back

before what I dreaded might take place. I had left my companions far be hind, and I rejoined them before

they had reach ed one half the distance I had made. I hurried them back to the place where we had left the

captain. As we approached, I beheld him seat ed by the side of Rosetta. His triumphant look, and the

desolate condition of the unfortunate girl, left me no doubt of her fate. I know not how I restrained my fury.

It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding her hand, that she was made to trace a few cha racters,

requesting her father to send three hun dred dollars as her ransom. The letter was des patched by the

shepherd. When he was gone, the chief turned sternly to me: "You have set an example," said he, "of mutiny

and selfwill, which if indulged would be ruinous to the troop. Had I treated you as our laws require, this

bullet would have been driven through your brain. But you are an old friend: I have borne patiently with your

fury and your folly; I have even pro tected you from a foolish passion that would have unmanned you. As to

this girl, the laws of our association must have their course." So say ing, he gave his commands, lots were

Here the robber paused again, panting with fury, and it was some moments before he could resume his story.

Hell, said he, was raging in my heart. I be held the impossibility of avenging myself, and I felt that,

according to the articles in which we stood bound to one another, the captain was in the right. I rushed with

frenzy from the place. I threw myself upon the earth; tore up the grass with my hands, and beat my head, and

gnashed my teeth in agony and rage. When at length I returned, I beheld the wretched victim, pale,

dishevelled; her dress torn and disordered. An emotion of pity for a moment subdued my fiercer feelings. I

bore her to the foot of a tree, and leaned her gently against it. I took my gourd, which was filled with wine,

and applying it to her lips, endeavoured to make her swallow a lit tle. To what a condition was she

recovered! She, whom I had once seen the pride of Frosi none, who but a short time before I had beheld

sporting in her father's vineyard, so fresh and beautiful and happy! Her teeth were clenched; her eyes fixed on

the ground; her form without motion, and in a state of absolute insensibility. I hung over her in an agony of

recollection of all that she had been, and of anguish at what I now beheld her. I darted round a look of hor

ror at my companions, who seemed like so many fiends exulting in the downfall of an angel, and I felt a

The captain, always suspicious, saw with his usual penetration what was passing within me, and ordered me

to go upon the ridge of woods to keep a look out upon the neighbourhood and await the return of the

shepherd. I obeyed, of course, stifling the fury that raged within me, though I felt for the moment that he was

On my way, however, a ray of reflection came across my mind. I perceived that the captain was but following

with strictness the terrible laws to which we had sworn fidelity. That the passion by which I had been blinded

might with justice have been fatal to me but for his forbearance; that he had penetrated my soul, and had

taken precautions, by sending me out of the way, to prevent my committing any excess in my anger. From

Occupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the foot of the mountain. The country was solitary and secure; and

in a short time I beheld the shepherd at a distance crossing the plain. I hastened to meet him. He had obtained

nothing. He had found the father plunged in the deepest distress. He had read the letter with violent emotion,

and then calming himself with a sud den exertion, he had replied coldly, "My daughter has been

dishonoured by those wretches; let her be returned without ransom, or let her die!"

I shuddered at this reply. I knew, accord ing to the laws of our troop, her death was ine vitable. Our oaths

required it. I felt, never theless, that, not having been able to have her to myself, I could become her

The robber again paused with agitation. I sat musing upon his last frightful words, which proved to what

excess the passions may be car ried when escaped from all moral restraint. There was a horrible verity in

We now come to a fatal moment, resum�d the bandit. After the report of the shepherd, I returned with him,

and the chieftain received from his lips the refusal of the father. At a sig nal, which we all understood, we

followed him some distance from the victim. He there pro nounced her sentence of death. Every one stood

ready to execute his order; but I inter fered. I observed that there was something due to pity, as well as to

justice. That I was as ready as any one to approve the implacable law which was to serve as a warning to all

those who hesitated to pay the ransoms demanded for our prisoners, but that, though the sacrifice was proper,

it ought to be made without cruelty. The night is approaching, continued I; she will soon be wrapped in sleep:

let her then be des patched. All that I now claim on the score of former fondness for her is, let me strike the

Several raised their voices against my propo sition, but the captain imposed silence on them. He told me I

might conduct her into a thicket at some distance, and he relied upon my promise.

I hastened to seize my prey. There was a forlorn kind of triumph at having at length be come her exclusive

possessor. I bore her off into the thickness of the forest. She remained in the same state of insensibility and

stupor. I was thankful that she did not recollect me; for had she once murmured my name, I should have been

overcome. She slept at length in the arms of him who was to poniard her. Many were the conflicts I

underwent before I could bring my self to strike the blow. My heart had become sore by the recent conflicts

it had undergone, and I dreaded lest, by procrastination, some other should become her executioner. When

her re pose had continued for some time, I separated myself gently from her, that I might not disturb her

sleep, and seizing suddenly my poniard, plun ged it into her bosom. A painful and concen trated murmur,

but without any convulsive move ment, accompanied her last sigh. So perished this unfortunate.

He ceased to speak. I sat horror struck, co vering my face with my hands, seeking, as it were, to hide from

myself the frightful images he had presented to my mind. I was roused from this silence, by the voice of the

captain. "You sleep," said he, "and it is time to be off. Come, we must abandon this height, as night is setting

in, and the messenger is not returned. I will post some one on the mountain edge, to conduct him to the place

This was no agreeable news to me. I was sick at heart with the dismal story I had heard. I was harassed and

The captain assembled his comrades. We ra pidly descended the forest which we had mount ed with so

much difficulty in the morning, and soon arrived in what appeared to be a frequented road. The robbers

proceeded with great cau tion, carrying their guns cocked, and looking on every side with wary and

suspicious eyes. They were apprehensive of encountering the civic pa trole. We left Rocca Priori behind us.

There was a fountain near by, and as I was excessively thirsty, I begged permission to stop and drink. The

captain himself went, and brought me wa ter in his hat. We pursued our route, when, at the extremity of an

alley which crossed the road, I perceived a female on horseback, dressed in white. She was alone. I

recollected the fate of the poor girl in the story, and trembled for her safety.

One of the brigands saw her at the same in stant, and plunging into the bushes, he ran pre cipitately in the

direction towards her. Stopping on the border of the alley, he put one knee to the ground, presented his

carbine ready for menace, or to shoot her horse if she attempted to fly, and in this way awaited her approach.

I kept my eyes fixed on her with intense anxiety. I felt tempted to shout, and warn her of her danger, though

my own destruction would have been the consequence. It was awful to see this tiger couching ready for a

bound, and the poor inno cent victim wandering unconsciously near him. Nothing but a mere chance could

save her. To my joy, the chance turned in her favour. She seemed almost accidentally to take an opposite

path, which led outside of the wood, where the robber dare not venture. To this casual devia tion, she owed

I could not imagine why the captain of the band had ventured to such a distance from the height, on which he

had placed the sentinel to watch the return of the messenger. He seemed himself uneasy at the risk to which

he exposed himself. His movements were rapid and uneasy; I could scarce keep pace with him. At length,

after three hours of what might be termed a forced march, we mounted the extremity of the same woods, the

summit of which we had occu pied during the day; and I learnt, with satisfac tion, that we had reached our

quarters for the night. "You must be fatigued," said the chief tain; "but it was necessary to survey the

environs, so as not to be surprised during the night. Had we met with the famous civic guard of Rocca Priori

you would have seen fine sport." Such was the indefatigable precaution and forethought of this robber chief,

The night was magnificent. The moon rising above the horizon in a cloudless sky, faintly lit up the grand

features of the mountains, while lights twinkling here and there, like terrestrial stars, in the wide, dusky

expanse of the landscape, betrayed the lonely cabins of the shepherds, Exhausted by fatigue, and by the many

agitations I had experienced, I prepared to sleep, soothed by the hope of approaching deliverance. The captain

ordered his companions to collect some dry moss; he arranged with his own hands a kind of mattress and

pillow of it, and gave me his ample mantle as a covering. I could not but feel both surprised and gratified by

such unexpected attentions on the part of this benevolent cutthroat: for there is nothing more striking than to

find the ordinary charities, which are matters of course in common life, flourishing by the side of such stern

and sterile crime. It is like finding the tender flowers and fresh herbage of the valley growing among the

Before I fell asleep, I had some farther dis course with the captain, who seemed to put great confidence in

me. He referred to our previous conversation of the morning, told me he was weary of his hazardous

profession; that he had acquired sufficient property, and was anxious to return to the world and lead a

peaceful life in the bosom of his family. He wished to know whether it was not in my power to procure him a

passport for the United States of America. I applauded his good intentions, and promised to do every thing in

my power to promote its suc cess. We then parted for the night. I stretched myself upon my couch of moss,

which, after my fatigues, felt like a bed of down, and sheltered by the robber's mantle from all humidity, I

It was nearly six o'clock, and the day was just dawning. As the place where we had passed the night was too

much exposed, we moved up into the thickness of the woods. A fire was kindled. While there was any flame,

the mantles were again extended round it; but when nothing re mained but glowing cinders, they were

The scene before me reminded me of some of those described by Homer. There wanted only the victim on

the coals, and the sacred knife, to cut off the succulent parts, and distribute them around. My companions

might have rivaled the grim warriors of Greece. In place of the no ble repasts, however, of Achilles and

Agamem non, I beheld displayed on the grass the remains of the ham which had sustained so vigorous an

attack on the preceding evening, accompanied by the reliques of the bread, cheese and wine.

We had scarcely commenced our frugal break fast, when I heard again an imitation of the bleating of sheep,

similar to what I had heard the day before. The captain answered it in the same tone. Two men were soon

after seen de scending from the woody height, where we had passed the preceding evening. On nearer ap

proach, they proved to be the sentinel and the messenger. The captain rose and went to meet them. He made a

signal for his comrades to join him. They had a short conference, and then re turning to me with eagerness,

Though I had anticipated deliverance, I can not tell you what a rush of delight these tidings gave me. I cared

not to finish my repast, but prepared to depart. The captain took me by the hand; requested permission to

write to me, and begged me not to forget the passport. I replied, that I hoped to be of effectual service to him,

and that I relied on his honour to return the prince's note for five hundred dollars, now that the cash was paid.

He regarded me for a moment with surprise; then, seeming to recollect himself, "E giusto," said he, "eccolo

adio!"1 He delivered me the note, pressed my hand once more, and we separated. The labourers were

The artist ceased to speak; the party continu ed for a few moments to pace the shore of Terra cina in

silence. The story they had heard had made a deep impression on them, particularly on the fair Venetian, who

had gradually regained her husband's arm. At the part that related to the young girl of Frosinone, she had

been vio lently affected; sobs broke from her; she clung close to her husband, and as she looked up to him

as if for protection, the moonbeams shining on her beautifully fair countenance showed it paler than usual

with terror, while tears glittered in her fine dark eyes. "O caro mio!" would she murmur, shuddering at every

"Corragio, mia vita!" was the reply, as the husband gently and fondly tapped the white hand that lay upon his

The Englishman alone preserved his usual phlegm, and the fair Venetian was piqued at it.

She had pardoned him a want of gallantry to wards herself, though a sin of omission seldom met with in the

gallant climate of Italy, but the quiet coolness which he maintained in matters which so much affected her;

and the slow credence which he had given to the stories which had fill ed her with alarm, were quite

"Santa Maria!" said she to her husband as they retired for the night, "what insensible beings these English

The procaccio had departed at daybreak, on its route towards Rome, but the Englishman was yet to start,

and the departure of an English equi page is always enough to keep an inn in a bustle. On this occasion there

was more than usual stir; for the Englishman having much property about him, and having been convinced of

the real danger of the road, had applied to the police and obtain ed, by dint of liberal pay, an escort of eight

Perhaps, too, there might have been a little ostentation at bottom, from which, with great delicacy be it

spoken, English travellers are not always exempt; though to say the truth, he had nothing of it in his manner.

He moved about taciturn and reserved as usual, among the gaping crowd, in his gingerbreadcoloured

travelling cap, with his hands in his pockets. He gave laconic orders to John as he packed away the thousand

and one indispensable conveniencies of the night, double loaded his pistols with great sang froid, and

deposited them in the pockets of the carriage, taking no notice of a pair of keen eyes gazing on him from

among the herd of loitering idlers. The fair Venetian now came up with a request made in her dulcet tones,

that he would permit their carriage to proceed under protection of his escort. The Englishman, who was busy

loading another pair of pistols for his servant, and held the ramrod between his teeth, nodded assent as a

matter of course, but without lifting up his eyes. The fair Venetian was not accustomed to such indifference.

"O Dio!" ejaculated she softly as she retired, "come sono freddi questi Inglesi." At length off they set in

gallant style, the eight dragoons pran cing in front, the twelve foot soldiers marching in rear, and the

carriages moving slowly in the centre to enable the infantry to keep pace with them. They had proceeded but

a few hundred yards when it was discovered that some indispensable article had been left behind.

In fact the Englishman's purse was missing, and John was despatched to the inn to search for it.

This occasioned a little delay, and the carriage of the Venetians drove slowly on. John came back out of

breath and out of humour, the purse was not to be found, his master was irritated, he recollected the very

place where it lay; the cursed Italian servant had pocketed it. John was again sent back. He returned once

more, with out the purse, but with the landlord and the whole household at his heels. A thousand eja

culations and protestations, accompanied by all sorts of grimaces and contortions. "No purse had been seen

No his excellenza was not mistaken; the purse lay on the marble table, under the mirror, a green purse,

half full of gold and silver. Again a thousand grimaces and contortions, and vows by San Genario, that no

The Englishman became furious. "The waiter had pocketed it. The landlord was a knave. The inn a den of

thieves it was a d d country he had been cheated and plun dered from one end of it to the other

He was on the point of ordering the postil lions to turn back, when, on rising, he displaced the cushion of the

All the blood in his body seemed to rush into his face. "D n the purse," said he, as he snatched it up. He

dashed a handfull of money on the ground before the pale cringing waiter. "There be off," cried he: "John,

Above half an hour had been exhausted in this altercation. The Venetian carriage had loitered along; its

passengers looking out from time to time, and expecting the escort every moment to follow. They had

gradually turned an angle of the road that shut them out of sight. The little army was again in motion, and

made a very pic turesque appearance as it wound along at the bottom of the rocks; the morning sunshine

The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, vexed with himself at what had passed, and con sequently out of

humour with all the world. As this, however, is no uncommon case with gentle men who travel for their

They had wound up from the coast among the hills, and came to a part of the road that admit ted of some

"I see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," said John, leaning over from the coach box.

"Hang the lady's carriage!" said the Eng lishman, crustily; "don't plague me about the lady's carriage; must I

John said not another word, for he understood his master's mood. The road grew more wild and lonely; they

were slowly proceeding in a foot pace up a hill; the dragoons were some distance ahead, and had just reached

the summit of the hill, when they uttered an exclamation, or rather shout, and galloped forward. The Eng

lishman was roused from his sulky reverie. He stretched his head from the carriage which had attained the

brow of the hill. Before him ex tended a long hollow defile, commanded on one side by rugged precipitous

heights, covered with bushes and scanty forest trees. At some dis tance, he beheld the carriage of the

Venetians overturned; a numerous gang of desperadoes were rifling it; the young man and his servant were

overpowered and partly stripped, and the lady was in the hands of two of the ruffians. The Englishman seized

his pistols, sprang from the carriage, and called upon John to follow him. In the mean time as the dragoons

came forward, the robbers who were busy with the carriage quitted their spoil, formed themselves in the

mid dle of the road, and taking deliberate aim, fired. One of the dragoons fell, another was wounded, and

the whole were for a moment checked and thrown in confusion. The robbers loaded again in an instant. The

dragoons had discharged their carbines, but without apparent effect; they received another volley, which,

though none fell, threw them again into confusion. The robbers were loading a second time, when they saw

the foot soldiers at hand. "Scampa via!" was the word. They abandoned their prey, and retreated up the

rocks; the soldiers after them. They fought from cliff to cliff and bush to bush, the robbers turning every now

and then to fire upon their pursuers; the soldiers scrambling after them, and discharging their muskets

whenever they could get a chance. Sometimes a soldier or a robber was shot down, and came tumbling

among the cliffs. The dragoons kept firing from below, whenever a robber came in sight.

The Englishman had hastened to the scene of action, and the balls discharged at the dragoons had whistled

past him as he advanced. One ob ject, however, engrossed his attention. It was the beautiful Venetian lady

in the hands of two of the robbers, who during the confusion of the fight, carried her shrieking up the moun

tains. He saw her dress gleaming among the bushes, and he sprang up the rocks to in tercept the robbers as

they bore off their prey. The ruggedness of the steep and the entan glements of the bushes, delayed and

impe ded him. He lost sight of the lady, but was still guided by her cries, which grew fainter and fainter.

They were off to the left, while the re port of muskets showed that the battle was ra ging to the right.

At length he came upon what appeared to be a rugged footpath, faintly worn in a gully of the rock, and

beheld the ruffians at some distance hurrying the lady up the defile. One of them hearing his approach let go

his prey, advanced towards him, and levelling the carbine which had been slung on his back, fired. The ball

whizzed through the Englishman's hat, and carried with it some of his hair. He returned the fire with one of

his pistols; and the robber fell. The other brigand now dropped the lady, and drawing a long pistol from his

belt, fired on his adversary with de liberate aim; the ball passed between his left arm and his side, slightly

wounding the arm. The Englishman advanced and discharged his remain ing pistol, which wounded the

robber, but not severely. The brigand drew a stiletto, and rush ed upon his adversary, who eluded the blow,

re ceiving merely a slight wound, and defended him self with his pistol, which had a spring bayonet. They

closed with one another, and a desperate struggle ensued. The robber was a square built, thick set man,

powerful, muscular and active. The Englishman though of larger frame and greater strength, was less active

and less accustomed to athletic exercises and feats of hardihood, but he showed himself practised and skilled

in the art of defence. They were on a craggy height, and the Englishman perceived that his antago nist was

A side glance showed him also the robber whom he had first wounded, scrambling up to the assistance of his

comrade, stiletto in hand. He had, in fact, attained the summit of the cliff, and the Englishman saw him within

a few steps, when he heard suddenly the report of a pistol and the ruffian fell. The shot came from John, who

The remaining robber, exhausted by loss of blood and the violence of the contest, showed signs of faltering.

His adversary pursued his advantage; pressed on him, and as his strength relaxed, dashed him headlong from

the precipice. He looked after him and saw him lying motion less among the rocks below.

The Englishman now sought the fair Vene tian. He found her senseless on the ground. With his servant's

assistance he bore her down to the road, where her husband was raving like one distracted.

The occasional discharge of fire arms along the height showed that a retreating fight was still kept up by the

robbers. The carriage was righted; the baggage was hastily replaced; the Venetian, transported with joy and

gratitude, took his lovely and senseless burthen in his arms, and the party resumed their route towards Fondi,

While on the way John dressed his master's wounds, which were found not to be serious.

Before arriving at Fondi the fair Venetian had recovered from her swoon, and was made con scious of her

safety and of the mode of her de liverance. Her transports were unbounded; and mingled with them were

enthusiastic ejacu lations of gratitude to her deliverer. A thousand times did she reproach herself for having

accused him of coldness and insensibility. The moment she saw him she rushed into his arms, and clasp ed

"You are wounded!" shrieked the fair Ve netian, as she saw the blood upon his clothes.

"O Dio!" exclaimed she, clasping him again round the neck and sobbing on his bosom.

"Pooh!" said the Englishman, looking some what foolish, "this is all nonsense." 1. It is just there it is

Library of Congress Subject Headings Irving, Washington Electronic Text Center, University of Virginia

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version. About the print version Tales of a Traveller, volume 4 By Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. [pseud.] Irving,