1 
 
 > 
 
 ^>^ 
 
 , > . 
 
 > 
 
 
 
 >
 
 
 CUBITT. 
 
 *> $
 
 > j?a*> '^** 
 
 te> _ >> ,_ , -. _>s3l 
 
 > -7 J> 
 
 ' J : 
 j ^ 
 
 * > > 
 
 
 
 *>'~W 
 
 j3zs> ^> ; 
 
 >g > 
 
 . >> -> >' 
 
 -- > >.^.]S3B 
 
 ^ ->J>-' :
 
 NOVELS 
 
 SIB EDWAED BULWEK LYTTON 
 
 Ittbrnry Iztutton 
 
 THE CAXTON NOVELS 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE CAXTONS 
 
 SIB EDWABD BULWEB LYTTON, BAET. 
 
 " Every family is a history in itself, and even a poem to those who kti 
 how to search its pages." LAMARTINE. 
 
 " 01, probos mores docili juvenile, 
 Di, senectuti placidae quictem, 
 Komule genti date remque, prolemque, 
 
 HORAT. Carmen 
 
 LIBRARY EDITION IN TWO VOLUMES 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 MDCCCLIX
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.
 
 ff- 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 IF it be the good fortune of this Work to possess any 
 interest for the Novel reader, that interest, perhaps, 
 will be but little derived from the customary elements 
 of fiction. The plot is extremely slight ; the incidents 
 are few, and, with the exception of those which involve 
 the fate of VIVIAN, such as may be found in the records 
 of ordinary life. 
 
 Regarded as a Novel, this attempt is an experiment 
 somewhat apart from the previous works of the Author ; 
 it is the first of his writings in. which Humour has been 
 employed less for the purpose of satire than in illustra- 
 tion of amiable characters ; it is the first, too, in which 
 man has been viewed less in his active relations with the 
 world, than in his repose at his own hearth : in a word, 
 the greater part of the canvass has been devoted to the 
 completion of a simple FAMILY PICTURE. And thus, in 
 any appeal to the sympathies of the human heart, the 
 common household affections occupy the place of those 
 livelier or larger passions which usually (and not unjustly) 
 arrogate the foreground in Romantic composition. 
 
 In the Hero whose autobiography connects the differ- 
 ent characters and events of the work, it has been the 
 Author's intention to imply the influences of Home 
 upon the conduct and career of youth ; and in the am-
 
 vi PEEFACE. 
 
 bition which estranges PISISTRATUS for a time from the 
 sedentary occupations in which the man of civilised life 
 must usually serve his apprenticeship to Fortune or to 
 Fame, it is not designed to describe the fever of Genius 
 conscious of superior powers and aspiring to high des- 
 tinies, but the natural tendencies of a fresh and buoyant 
 mind, rather vigorous than contemplative, and in which 
 the desire of action is but the symptom of health. 
 
 PISISTRATUS, in this respect (as he himself feels and 
 implies), becomes the specimen or type of a class the 
 numbers of which are daily increasing in the inevitable 
 progress of modern civilisation. He is one too many 
 in the midst of the crowd : he is the representative of 
 the exuberant energies of youth, turning, as with the 
 instinct of nature for space and development, from the 
 Old "World to the New. That which may be called the 
 interior meaning of the whole is sought to be completed 
 by the inference that, whatever our wanderings, our 
 happiness will always be found within a narrow com- 
 pass, and amidst the objects more immediately within 
 our reach ; but that we are seldom sensible of this truth 
 (hackneyed though it be in the Schools of all Philoso- 
 phies) till our researches have spread over a Avider area. 
 To insure the blessing of repose, we require a brisker 
 excitement than a few turns up and down our room. 
 Content is like that humour in the crystal, on which 
 Claudian has lavished the wonder of a child and the 
 fancies of a Poet 
 
 " Vivis gemma tumescit aquis." 
 
 E. B. L.
 
 THE CAXTONS, 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 " SIR sir, it is a boy ! " 
 
 " A boy," said my father, looking up from his book, 
 and evidently much puzzled ; " what is a boy *? " 
 
 Kow my father did not mean by that interrogatory 
 to challenge philosophical inquiry, nor to demand of 
 the honest but unenlightened woman who had just 
 rushed into his study, a solution of that mystery, phy- 
 siological and psychological, which has puzzled so many 
 curious sages, and lies still involved in the question, 
 " "What is man 1 " For, as we need not look further 
 than Dr Johnson's Dictionary to know that a boy is 
 " a male child " i. e., the male young of man ; so he 
 who would go to the depth of things, and know scien- 
 ifically what is a boy, must be able first to ascertain 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 " what is a man." But, for aught I know, my father 
 may have been satisfied with Buffon on that score, or he 
 may have sided with Monboddo. He may have agreed 
 with Bishop Berkeley he may have contented himself 
 with Professor Combe he may have regarded the genus 
 spiritually, like Zeno, or materially, like Epicurus. 
 Grant that boy is the male young of man, and he 
 would have had plenty of definitions to choose from. 
 He might have said, " Man is a stomach ergo, boy a 
 male young stomach. Man is a brain boy a male 
 young brain. Man is a bundle of habits boy a male 
 young bundle of habits. Man is a machine boy a 
 male young machine. Man is a tail-less monkey boy 
 a male young tail-less monkey. Man is a combination 
 of gases boy a male young combination of gases. 
 Man is an appearance boy a male young appearance," 
 &c. &c., and et cetera, ad infinitum! And if none of 
 these definitions had entirely satisfied my father, I am 
 perfectly persuaded that he would never have come to 
 Mrs Primmins for a new one. 
 
 But it so happened that my father was at that mo- 
 ment engaged in the important consideration whether 
 the Iliad was written by one Homer or was rather a 
 collection of sundry ballads, done into Greek by divers 
 hands, and finally selected, compiled, and reduced into 
 a whole by a Committee of Taste, under that elegant 
 old tyrant Pisistratus ; and the sudden affirmation, " It 
 is a boy ! " did not seem to him pertinent to the thread 
 of the discussion. Therefore he asked, " What is a 
 boy 1 " vaguely, and, as it were, taken by surprise.
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 3 
 
 " Lord, sir ! " said Mrs Primmins, " what is a boy 1 
 Why, the baby ! " 
 
 " The baby ! " repeated my father, rising. " What ! 
 you don't mean to say that Mrs Caxton is eh ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Mrs Primmins, dropping a curtsy; 
 " and as fine a little rogue as ever I set eyes upon." 
 
 " Poor dear woman ! " said my father with great 
 compassion. " So soon, too so rapidly ! " he resumed 
 in a tone of musing surprise. " Why, it is but the 
 other day we were married." 
 
 " Bless my heart, sir," said Mrs Primmins, much 
 scandalised, " it is ten months and more." 
 
 " Ten months ! " said my father, with a sigh. " Ten 
 months ! and I have not finished fifty pages of my re- 
 futation of Wolfe's monstrous theory ! In ten months 
 a child ! and I'll be bound complete hands, feet, 
 eyes, ears, and nose ! and not like this poor Infant of 
 Mind (and my father pathetically placed his hand on 
 the treatise), of which nothing is formed and shaped 
 not even the first joint of the little finger ! Why, my 
 wife is a precious woman ! Well, keep her quiet. 
 Heaven preserve her, and send me strength to support 
 this blessing ! " 
 
 " But your honour will look at the baby ? come, 
 sir ! " and Mrs Primmins laid hold of my father's 
 sleeve coaxingly. 
 
 " Look at it to be sure," said my father kindly ; 
 "look at it, certainly; it is but fair to poor Mrs 
 Caxton ; after taking so much trouble, dear soul ! " 
 
 Therewith my father, drawing his dressing -robe
 
 4 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 round him in more stately folds, followed Mrs Prim- 
 mins up-stairs into a room very carefully darkened. 
 
 " How are you, my dear 1 " said my father with 
 compassionate tenderness, as he groped his way to the 
 bed. 
 
 A faint voice muttered, " Better now, and so 
 happy ! " And, at the same moment, Mrs Primmins 
 pulled my father away, lifted a coverlid from a small 
 cradle, and, holding a candle within an inch of an un- 
 developed nose, cried emphatically, " There bless it ! " 
 
 " Of course, ma j am, I bless it," said my father, rather 
 peevishly. " It is my duty to bless it ; BLESS IT ! And 
 this, then, is the way we come into the world ! red, 
 very red, blushing for all the follies we are destined 
 to commit." 
 
 My father sat down on the nurse's chair, the women 
 grouped round him. He continued to gaze on the 
 contents of the cradle, and at length said musingly : 
 " And Homer was once like this ! " 
 
 At this moment and no wonder, considering the 
 propinquity of the candle to his visual organs Homer's 
 infant likeness commenced the first untutored melodies 
 of nature. 
 
 " Homer improved greatly in singing as he grew 
 older," observed Mr Squills, the accoucheur, who was 
 engaged in some mysteries in a corner of the room. 
 
 My father stopped his ears : " Little things can 
 make a great noise," said he philosophically ; " and the 
 smaller the thing the greater noise it can make." 
 
 So saying, he crept on tiptoe to the bed, and clasp-
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 5 
 
 ing the pale hand held out to him, whispered some 
 words that no doubt charmed and soothed the ear that 
 heard them, for that pale hand was suddenly drawn 
 from his own and thrown tenderly round his neck. 
 The sound of a gentle kiss was heard through the still- 
 ness. 
 
 " Mr Caxton, sir," cried Mr Squills, in rehuke, " you 
 agitate my patient you must retire." 
 
 My father raised his mild face, looked round apolo- 
 getically, brushed his eyes with the back of his hand, 
 stole to the door, and vanished. 
 
 " I think," said a kind gossip seated at the other 
 side of my mother's bed " I think, my dear, that Mr 
 Caxton might have shown more joy, more natural 
 feeling, I may say, at the sight of the baby : and 
 SUCH a baby ! But all men are just the same, my dear 
 brutes all brutes, depend upon it." 
 
 " Poor Austin ! " sighed my mother feebly " how 
 little you understand him ! " 
 
 " And now I shall clear the room," said Mr Squills. 
 " Go to sleep, Mrs Caxton." 
 
 " Mr Squills," exclaimed my mother, and the bed- 
 curtains trembled, " pray see that Mr Caxton does not 
 set himself on fire ; and, Mr Squills, tell him not to 
 be vexed and miss me, I shall be down very soon 
 shan't I ] " 
 
 " If you keep yourself easy, you will, ma'am." 
 
 " Pray, say so ; and, Primmins," 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " Every one, I fear, is neglecting your master, Be
 
 6 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 sure, (and my mother's lips approached close to Mrs 
 Primmins' ear), be sure that you air his nightcap 
 yourself." 
 
 " Tender creatures those women," soliloquised Mr 
 Squills, as, after clearing the room of all present, save 
 Mrs Primmins and the nurse, he took his way towards 
 my father's study. Encountering the footman in the 
 passage, " John," said he, " take supper into your 
 master's room, and make us some punch, will you ? 
 stiffish ! "
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 " MR CAXTON, how on earth did you ever come to 
 marry 1 " asked Mr Squills, abruptly, with his feet on 
 the hob, while stirring up his punch. 
 
 That was a home question, which many men might 
 reasonably resent ; but my father scarcely knew what 
 resentment was. 
 
 " Squills," said he, turning round from his books, 
 and laying one finger on the surgeon's arm confiden- 
 tially, " Squills," said he, " I myself should be glad 
 to know how I came to be married." 
 
 Mr Squills was a jovial good-hearted man stout, 
 fat, and with fine teeth, that made his laugh pleasant 
 to look at as well as to hear. Mr Squills, moreover, 
 was a bit of a philosopher in his way ; studied human 
 nature in curing its diseases ; and was accustomed to 
 say, that Mr Caxton was a better book in himself than 
 all he had in his library. Mr Squills laughed and 
 rubbed his hands. 
 
 My father resumed thoughtfully, and in the tone of 
 one who moralises : 
 
 " There are three great events in life, sir birth,
 
 8 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 marriage, and death. None know IIOAV they are born, 
 few know how they die. But I suspect that many can 
 account for the intermediate phenomenon I cannot." 
 
 " It was not for money, it must have been for 
 love," observed Mr Squills ; " and your young wife is 
 as pretty as she is good." 
 
 " Ha ! " said my father, " I remember." 
 
 " Do you, sir ? " exclaimed Squills, highly amused. 
 " How was it ? " 
 
 My father, as was often the case with him, pro- 
 tracted his reply, and then seemed rather to commune 
 with himself than to answer Mr Squills. 
 
 " The kindest, the best of men," he murmured 
 " Abyssus Eruditionis : and to think that he bestowed 
 on me the only fortune he had to leave, instead of to 
 his own flesh and blood, Jack and Kitty. All at least 
 that I could grasp deficiente manu, of his Latin, his 
 Greek, his Orientals. What do I not owe to him ! " 
 
 " To whom ? " asked Squills. " Good Lord, what's 
 the man talking about ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said my father, rousing himself, " such 
 was Giles Tibbets, M.A., Sol Scientiarum, tutor to the 
 humble scholar you address, and father to poor Kitty. 
 He left me his Elzevirs ; he left me also his orphan 
 daughter." 
 
 " Oh ! as a wife" 
 
 " No, as a ward. So she came to live in my house. I 
 am sure there was no harm in it. But my neighbours 
 said there was, and the widow Weltraum told nie the
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 9 
 
 girl's character would suffer. "What could I do 1 Oh 
 yes, I recollect all now ! I married her, that my old 
 friend's child might have a roof to her head, and come 
 to no harm. You see I was forced to do her that 
 injury ; for, after all, poor young creature, it was a sad 
 lot for her. A dull bookworm like me cochleae, vitam 
 agens, Mr Squills leading the life of a snail. But my 
 shell was all I could offer to my poor friend's orphan." 
 
 " Mr Caxton, I honour you," said Squills emphati- 
 cally, jumping up, and spilling half a tumblerful of 
 scalding punch over my father's legs. " You have a 
 heart, sir ; and I understand why your wife loves you. 
 You seem a cold man ; but you have tears in your eyes 
 at this moment." 
 
 " I daresay I have," said my father, rubbing his 
 shins : " it was boiling ! " 
 
 " And your son will be a comfort to you both," said 
 Mr Squills, reseating himself, and, in his friendly emo- 
 tion, wholly abstracted from all consciousness of the 
 suffering he had inflicted. " He will be a dove of 
 peace to your ark." 
 
 " I don't doubt it," said my father ruefully ; " only 
 those doves, when they are small, are a very noisy sort 
 of birds non talium avium cantus somnum reducent. 
 However, it might have been worse. Leda had twins." 
 
 " So had Mrs Barnabas last week," rejoined the 
 accoucheur. " Who knows what may be in store for 
 you yet 1 Here's a health to Master Caxton, and lots 
 of brothers and sisters to him ! "
 
 10 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 " Brothers and sisters ! I am sure Mrs Caxton will 
 never think of such a thing, sir," said my father almost 
 indignantly. " She's much too good a wife to behave 
 so. Once, in a way, it is all very well ; but twice 
 and as it is, not a paper in its place, nor a pen mended 
 the last three days : I, too, who can only write ' cuspide 
 durimculA ' and the baker coming twice to me for his 
 bill too ! The Ilithyiae are troublesome deities, Mr 
 Squills." 
 
 " "Who are the Ilithyise 1 " asked the accoucheur. 
 
 " You ought to know," answered my father, smiling. 
 " The female daemons who presided over the Xeogilos 
 or New-born. They take the name from Juno. See 
 Homer, book XI. By the by, will my Neogilos be 
 brought up like Hector or Astyanax videlicet, nour- 
 ished by its mother or by a nurse 1 " 
 
 "Which do you prefer, Mr Caxton?" asked Mr 
 Squills, breaking the sugar in his tumbler. " In this 
 I always deem it my duty to consult the wishes of the 
 gentleman." 
 
 "A nurse by all means, then," said my father. 
 " And let her carry him upo Jcolpo, next to her bosom. 
 I know all that has been said about mothers nursing 
 their own infants, Mr Squills ; but poor Kitty is so 
 sensitive, that I think a stout healthy peasant woman 
 will be the best for the boy's future nerves, and his 
 mother's nerves, present and future, too. Heigh-ho ! 
 I shall miss the dear woman very much ; when will 
 she be up, Mr Squills ? "
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 11 
 
 " Oh, in less than a fortnight ! " 
 
 " And then the Neogilos shall go to school ! upo 
 ~kolpo the nurse with him, and all will be right again," 
 said my father, with a look of sly mysterious humour, 
 which was peculiar to him. 
 
 " School ! when he's just born ? " 
 
 " Can't begin too soon," said my father positively ; 
 " that's Helve this' opinion, and it is mine too."
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 THAT I was a very wonderful child, I take for granted ; 
 but, nevertheless, it was not of my own knowledge 
 that I came into possession of the circumstances set 
 down in my former chapters. But my father's conduct 
 on the occasion of my birth made a notable impression 
 upon all who witnessed it ; and Mr Squills and Mrs 
 Primmins have related the facts to me sufficiently often 
 to make me as well acquainted with them as those 
 worthy witnesses themselves. I fancy I see my father 
 before me, in his dark-grey dressing-gown, and with his 
 odd, half-sly, half-innocent twitch of the mouth, and 
 peculiar puzzling look, from two quiet, abstracted, indo- 
 lently handsome eyes, at the moment he agreed with 
 Helvetius on the propriety of sending me to school as 
 soon as I was born. Nobody knew exactly what to 
 make of my father his wife excepted. The people of 
 Abdera sent for Hippocrates to cure the supposed insa- 
 nity of Democritus, " who at that time," saith Hippo- 
 crates drily, " was seriously engaged in philosophy." 
 That same people of Abdera would certainly have 
 found very alarming symptoms of madness in my poor 
 father ; for, like Democritus, " he esteemed as nothing
 
 THE CAXTONS. 13 
 
 the things, great or small, in which the rest of the 
 world were employed." Accordingly, some set him 
 down as a sage, some as a fool. The neighbouring 
 clergy respected him as a scholar, " breathing libraries ; " 
 the ladies despised him as an absent pedant, who had 
 no more gallantry than a stock or a stone. The poor 
 loved him for his charities, but laughed at him as a 
 weak sort of man, easily taken in. Yet the squires 
 and farmers found that, in their own matters of rural 
 business, he had always a fund of curious information 
 to impart ; and whoever, young or old, gentle or simple, 
 learned or ignorant, asked his advice, it was given 
 with not more humility than wisdom. In the common 
 affairs of life, he seemed incapable of acting for him- 
 self ; he left all to my mother ; or, if taken unawares, 
 was pretty sure to be the dupe. But in those very 
 affairs if another consulted him his eye brightened, 
 his brow cleared, the desire of serving made him a 
 new being : cautious, profound, practical. Too lazy or 
 too languid where only his own interests were at stake 
 touch his benevolence, and all the wheels of the 
 clockwork felt the impetus of the master- spring. No 
 wonder that, to others, the nut of such a character 
 was hard to crack ! But, in the eyes of my poor 
 mother, Augustine (familiarly Austin) Caxton was the 
 best and the greatest of human beings ; and she ought 
 to have known him well, for she studied him with her 
 whole heart, knew every trick of his face, and, nine 
 times out of ten, divined what he was going to say 
 before he opened his lips. Yet certainly there were
 
 14 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 deeps in his nature which the plummet of her tender 
 woman's wit had never, sounded ; and, certainly, it 
 sometimes happened that, even in his most domestic 
 colloquialisms, my mother was in douht whether he 
 was the simple straightforward person he was mostly 
 taken for. There was, indeed, a kind of suppressed, 
 suhtle irony about him, too unsubstantial to be popu- 
 larly called humour, but dimly implying some sort of 
 jest, which he kept all to himself ; and this was only 
 noticeable when he said something that sounded very 
 grave, or appeared to the grave very silly and irra- 
 tional. 
 
 That I did not go to school at least to what Mr 
 Squills understood by the word school quite so soon 
 as intended, I need scarcely observe. In fact, my 
 mother managed so well my nursery, by means of 
 double doors, was so placed out of hearing that my 
 father, for the most part, was privileged, if he pleased, 
 to forget my existence. He was once vaguely recalled 
 to it on the occasion of my christening. ISTow, my 
 father was a shy man, and he particularly hated all 
 ceremonies and public spectacles. He became uneasily 
 aware that a great ceremony, in which he might be 
 called upon to play a prominent part, was at hand. 
 Abstracted as he was, and conveniently deaf at times, 
 he had heard such significant whispers about " taking 
 advantage of the bishop's being in the neighbourhood," 
 and " twelve new jelly -glasses being absolutely wanted," 
 as to assure him that some deadly festivity was in the 
 wind. And when the question of godmother and god-
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 15 
 
 father was fairly put to him, coupled with the remark 
 that this was a fine opportunity to return the civilities 
 of the neighbourhood, he felt that a strong effort at 
 escape was the only thing left. Accordingly, having, 
 seemingly without listening, heard the day fixed, and 
 seen, as they thought, without observing, the chintz 
 chairs in the best drawing-room uncovered (my dear 
 mother was the tidiest woman in the world), my father 
 suddenly discovered that there was to be a great book- 
 sale, twenty miles off, which would last four days, and 
 attend it he must. My mother sighed ; but she never 
 contradicted my father, even when he was wrong, as 
 he certainly was in this case. She only dropped a 
 timid intimation that she feared " it would look odd, 
 and the world might misconstrue my father's absence 
 had not she better put off the christening 1 " 
 
 " My dear," answered my father, " it will be my duty, 
 by-and-by, to christen the boy a duty not done in a 
 day. At present, I have no doubt that the bishop will 
 do very well without me. Let the day stand, or, if 
 you put it off, upon my word and honour I believe that 
 the wicked auctioneer will put off the book-sale also. 
 Of one thing I am quite sure, that the sale and the 
 christening will take place at the same time." 
 
 There was no getting over this ; but I am certain 
 my dear mother had much less heart than before in 
 uncovering the chintz chairs in the best drawing-room. 
 Five years later this would not have happened. My 
 mother would have kissed my father, and said " Stay," 
 and he would have stayed. But she was then very
 
 16 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 young and timid ; and he, wild man, not of the woods, 
 but the cloisters, nor yet civilised into the tractabilities 
 of home. In short, the post-chaise was ordered and 
 the carpet-bag packed. 
 
 " My love," said my mother, the night before this 
 Hegira, looking up from her work " my love, there 
 is one thing you have quite forgot to settle I beg 
 pardon for disturbing you, but it is important ! baby's 
 name ; shan't we call him Augustine 1 " 
 
 " Augustine," said my father, dreamily ; " why, that 
 name's mine." 
 
 " And you would like your boy's to be the same 1 " 
 
 " No," said my father, rousing himself. " Nobody 
 would know which was which. I should catch myself 
 learning the Latin accidence or playing at marbles. I 
 should never know my own identity, and Mrs Prinimins 
 would be giving me pap." 
 
 My mother smiled ; and putting her hand, which 
 was a very pretty one, on my father's shoulder, and 
 looking at him tenderly, she said, " There's no fear 
 of mistaking you for any other, even your son, dear- 
 est. Still, if you prefer another name, what shall 
 it be 1 " 
 
 " Samuel," said my father. " Dr Parr's name is 
 SamueL" 
 
 " La, my love ! Samuel is the ugliest name 
 
 My father did not hear the exclamation he was again 
 deep in his books ; presently he started up : " Barnes 
 says Homer is Solomon. Eead Omeros backwards, in 
 the Hebrew manner "
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 17 
 
 " Yes, my love," interrupted my mother. " But 
 baby's Christian name ? " 
 
 " Omeros Soremo Solemo Solomo ! " 
 
 " Solomo ! shocking," said my mother. 
 
 " Shocking, indeed," echoed my father ; " an outrage 
 to common sense." Then, after glancing again over his 
 books, he broke out musingly " But, after all, it is 
 nonsense to suppose that Homer was not settled till 
 hi$ time." 
 
 " Whose 1 " asked my mother mechanically. 
 
 My father lifted up his finger. 
 
 My mother continued, after a short pause, " Arthur 
 is a pretty name. Then there's William Henry 
 Charles Robert. What shall it be, love ? " 
 
 " Pisistratus 1 " said my father (who had hung fire till 
 then), in a tone of contempt " Pisistratus, indeed ! " 
 
 " Pisistratus ! a very fine name," said my mother 
 joyfully " Pisistratus Caxton. Thank you, my love : 
 Pisistratus it shall be." 
 
 " Do you contradict me 1 Do you side with Wolfe 
 and Heyne, and that pragmatical fellow Vico 1 Do you 
 mean to say that the Rhapsodists " 
 
 " No, indeed," interrupted my mother. " My dear, 
 you frighten me." 
 
 My father sighed, and threw himself back in his 
 chair. My mother took courage and resumed. 
 
 " Pisistratus is a long name too ! Still one could 
 call him Sisty." 
 
 " Sisty, Viator," muttered my father ; " that's trite ! " 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 " No, Sisty by itself short. Thank you, my dear." 
 
 Four days afterwards, on his return from the book- 
 sale, to my father's inexpressible bewilderment, he was 
 informed that " Pisistratus was growing the very image 
 of him." 
 
 When at length the good man was made thoroughly 
 aware of the fact, that his son and heir boasted a name 
 so memorable in history as that borne by the enslaver 
 of Athens, and the disputed arranger- of Homer and 
 it was asserted to be a name that he himself had sug- 
 gested he was as angry as so mild a man could be. 
 " But it is infamous ! " he exclaimed. " Pisistratus 
 christened ! Pisistratus ! who lived six hundred years 
 before Christ was born. Good heavens, madam ! you 
 have made me the father of an Anachronism." 
 
 My mother burst into tears. But the evil was 
 irremediable. An anachronism I was, and an ana- 
 chronism I must continue to the end of the chapter.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " OP course, sir, you will begin soon to educate your 
 son yourself ? " said Mr Squills. 
 
 " Of course, sir," said my father, " you have read 
 Martinus Scriblerus 1 " 
 
 " I don't understand you, Mr Caxton." 
 
 " Then you have not read Martinus Scriblerus, Mr 
 Squills!" 
 
 " Consider that I have read it, and what then 1 " 
 
 " Why then, Squills," said my father familiarly, 
 "you would know, that though a scholar is often a 
 fool, he is never a fool so supreme, so superlative, as 
 when he is defacing the first unsullied page of the 
 human history, by entering into it the commonplaces 
 of his own pedantry. A scholar, sir at least one like 
 me is of all persons the most unfit to teach young 
 children. A mother, sir a simple, natural, loving 
 mother is the infant's true guide to knowledge." 
 
 " Egad, Mr Caxton, in spite of Helvetius, whom you 
 quoted the night the boy was born egad, I believe 
 you are right." 
 
 " I am sure of it," said my father ; "at least as sure 
 as a poor mortal can be of anything. I agree with
 
 20 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 Helvetius, the child should be educated from its birth ; 
 but how ? there is the rub : send him to school forth- 
 with ! Certainly, he is at school already with the two 
 great teachers, Mature and Love. Observe, that child- 
 hood and genius have the same master-organ in common 
 inquisitiveness. Let childhood have its way, and as 
 it began where genius begins, it may find what genius 
 finds. A certain Greek writer tells us of some man, 
 who, in order to save his bees a troublesome flight to 
 Hymettus, cut their wings, and placed before them the 
 finest flowers he could select. The poor bees made no 
 honey. Now, sir, if I were to teach my boy, I should 
 be cutting his wings, and giving him the flowers he 
 should find himself. Let us leave Nature alone for 
 the present, and Nature's loving proxy, the watchful 
 mother." 
 
 Therewith my father pointed to his heir sprawling 
 on the grass, and plucking daisies on the lawn ; while 
 the young mother's voice rose merrily, laughing at the 
 child's glee. 
 
 " I shall make but a poor bill out of your nursery, I 
 see," said Mr Squills. 
 
 Agreeably to these doctrines, strange in so learned a 
 father, I thrived and flourished, and learned to spell, 
 and make pothooks, under the joint care of niy mother 
 and Dame Primmins. This last was one of an old race 
 fast dying away the race of old faithful servants the 
 race of old tale-telling nurses. She had reared my 
 mother before me : but her affection put out new 
 flowers for the new generation. She was a Devonshire
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 21 
 
 woman and Devonshire women, especially those who 
 have passed their youth near the sea-coast, are generally 
 superstitious. She had a wonderful budget of fables. 
 Before I was six years old, I was erudite in that primi- 
 tive literature, in which the legends of all nations are 
 traced to a common fountain Puss in Boots, Tom 
 Thumb, Fortunio, Fortunatus, Jack the Giant Killer, 
 tales like proverbs, equally familiar, under different ver- 
 sions, to the infant worshippers of Budh and the hardier 
 children of Thor. 'I may say, without vanity, that in 
 an examination in those venerable classics I could have 
 taken honours ! 
 
 My dear mother had some little misgivings as to the 
 solid benefit to be derived from such fantastic erudi- 
 tion, and timidly consulted my father thereon. 
 
 " My love," answered my father, in that tone of 
 voice which always puzzled even my mother to be 
 sure whether he was in jest or earnest " in all these 
 fables, certain philosophers could easily discover sym- 
 bolical significations of the highest morality. I have 
 myself written a treatise to prove that Puss in Boots 
 is an allegory upon the progress of the human under- 
 standing, having its origin in the mystical schools of 
 the Egyptian priests, and evidently an illustration of 
 the worship rendered at Thebes and Memphis to those 
 feline quadrupeds, of which they make both religious 
 symbols and elaborate mummies." 
 
 " My dear Austin," said my mother, opening her 
 blue eyes, " you don't think that Sisty will discover all 
 those fine things in Puss in Boots /"
 
 22 THE CAXTONS : . 
 
 " My dear Kitty," answered my father, " you don't 
 think, when you were good enough to take up with 
 me, that you found in me all the fine things I have 
 learned from books. You knew me only as a harmless 
 creature, who was happy enough to please your fancy. 
 By-and-by you discovered that I was no worse for all 
 the quartos that have transmigrated into ideas within 
 me ideas that are mysteries even to myself. If Sisty, 
 as you call the child (plague on that unlucky ana- 
 chronism ! which you do well to abbreviate into a dis- 
 syllable), if Sisty can't discover all the wisdom of 
 Egypt in Puss in Soots, what then ? Puss in Soots is 
 harmless, and it pleases his fancy. All that wakes 
 curiosity is wisdom, if innocent all that pleases the 
 fancy now, turns hereafter to love or to knowledge. 
 And so, my dear, go back to the nursery." 
 
 But I should wrong thee, O best of fathers ! if I 
 suffered the reader to suppose, that because thou didst 
 seem so indifferent to my birth, and so careless as to 
 my early teaching, therefore thou wert, at heart, indif- 
 ferent to thy troublesome l^eogilos. As I grew older, 
 I became more sensibly aware that a father's eye was 
 upon me. I distinctly remember one incident, that 
 seems to me, in looking back, a crisis in my infant life, 
 as the first tangible link between my own heart and 
 that calm great soul. 
 
 My father was seated on the lawn before the house, 
 his straw-hat over his eyes (it was summer), and his 
 book on his lap. Suddenly a beautiful delf blue-and- 
 white flower-pot, which had been set on the window-
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 23 
 
 sill of an upper story, fell to the ground with a crash, 
 and the fragments spluttered up round my father's 
 legs. Sublime in his studies as Archimedes in the 
 siege, he continued to read; Impavidum ferient ruince ! 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " cried my mother, who was at work 
 in the porch, " my poor flower-pot that I prized so 
 much ! Who could have done this ? Primmins, 
 Primmins !" 
 
 Mrs Primmins popped her head out of the fatal 
 window, nodded to the summons, and came down in a 
 trice, pale and breathless. 
 
 " Oh," said my mother, mournfully, " I would rather 
 have lost all the plants in the greenhouse in the great 
 blight last May, I would rather the best tea-set were 
 broken ! The poor geranium I reared myself, and the 
 dear, dear flower-pot which Mr Caxton bought for me 
 my last birthday ! That naughty child must have done 
 this !" 
 
 Mrs Primmins was dreadfully afraid of my father 
 why, I know not, except that very talkative social 
 persons are usually afraid of very silent shy ones. She 
 cast a hasty glance at her master, who was beginning 
 to evince signs of attention, and cried promptly, " No, 
 ma'am, it was not the dear boy, bless his flesh, it 
 was I !" 
 
 " You 1 how could you be so careless ? and you knew 
 how I prized them both. O Primmins ! " 
 
 Primmins began to sob. 
 
 " Don't tell fibs, nursey," said a small shrill voice ; 
 and Master Sisty (coming out of the house as bold as
 
 24 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 brass) continued rapidly " don't scold Primmins, 
 mamma : it was I who pushed out the flower-pot." 
 
 "Hush!" said nurse, more frightened than ever, 
 and looking aghast towards my father, who had very 
 deliberately taken off his hat, and was regarding the 
 scene with serious eyes wide awake. 
 
 " Hush ! And if he did break it, ma'am, it was 
 quite an accident ; he was standing so, and he never 
 meant it. Did you, master Sisty? Speak ! (this in a 
 whisper) or Pa will be so angry." 
 
 " Well," said my mother, " I suppose it was an acci- 
 dent ; take care in future, my child. You are sorry, 
 I see, to have grieved me. There's a kiss ; don't 
 fret." 
 
 " ~No, mamma, you must not kiss me ; I don't de- 
 serve it. I pushed out the flower-pot on purpose." 
 
 " Ha ! and why 1" said my father, walking up. 
 
 Mrs Primmins trembled like a leaf. 
 
 " For fun ! " said I, hanging my head " just to see 
 how you'd look, papa; and that's the truth of it. Now 
 beat me, do beat me !" 
 
 My father threw his book fifty yards off, stooped 
 down, and caught me to his breast. " Boy," he said, 
 " you have done wrong : you shall repair it by remem- 
 bering all your life that your father blessed God for 
 giving him a son who spoke truth in spite of fear ! 
 Oh ! Mrs Primmins, the next fable of this kind you 
 try to teach him, and we part for ever !" 
 
 From that time I first date the hour when I felt 
 that I loved my father, and knew that he loved me ;
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 25 
 
 from that time, too, he began to converse with me. He 
 would no longer, if he met me in the garden, pass by 
 with a smile and nod ; he would stop, put his book in 
 his pocket, and though his talk was often above my 
 comprehension, still somehow I felt happier and better, 
 and less of an infant, when I thought over it, and 
 tried to puzzle out the meaning ; for he had a way of 
 suggesting, not teaching putting things into my head, 
 and then leaving them to work out their own problems. 
 I remember a special instance with respect to that 
 same flower-pot and geranium. Mr Squills, who was 
 a bachelor, and well to do in the world, often made me 
 little presents. Not long after the event I have nar- 
 rated, he gave me one far exceeding in value those 
 usually bestowed on children, it was a beautiful large 
 domino-box in cut ivory, painted and gilt. This do- 
 mino-box was my delight. I was never weary of play~ 
 ing at dominoes with Mrs Primmins, and I slept with 
 the box under my pillow. 
 
 " Ah ! " said my father one day, when he found me 
 ranging the ivory parallelograms in the parlour, " ah ! 
 you like that better than all your playthings, eh ? " 
 
 " yes, papa." 
 
 " You would be very sorry if your mamma were to 
 throw that box out of the window, and break it for 
 fun." I looked beseechingly at my father, and made 
 no answer. 
 
 " But perhaps you would be very glad," he resumed, 
 " if suddenly one of those good fairies you read of could 
 change the domino-box into a beautiful geranium in a
 
 26 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 beautiful blue-and- white flower-pot, and you could have 
 the pleasure of putting it on your mamma's window-sill." 
 
 " Indeed I would ! " said I, half-crying. 
 
 " My dear boy, I believe you ; but good wishes don't 
 mend bad actions good actions mend bad actions." 
 
 So saying, he shut the door and went out. I cannot 
 tell you how puzzled I was to make out what my father 
 meant by his aphorism. But I know that I played at 
 dominos no more that day. The next morning my 
 father found me seated by myself under a tree in the 
 garden ; he paused and looked at me with his grave 
 bright eyes very steadily. 
 
 " My boy," said he, " I am going to walk to 
 
 (a town about two miles off), will you come 1 and, by 
 the by, fetch your domino-box : I should like to show 
 it to a person there." I ran in for the box, and, not a 
 little proud of walking with niy father upon the high- 
 road, we set out. 
 
 " Papa," said I by the way, " there are no fairies now." 
 
 " What then, my child 1 " 
 
 " Why how then can my domino-box be changed 
 into a geranium and a blue-and- white flower-pot 1 " 
 
 " My dear," said my father, leaning his hand on my 
 shoulder, " everybody who is in earnest to be good, 
 carries two fairies about with him one here," and he 
 touched my heart ; " and one here," and he touched 
 my forehead. 
 
 " I don't understand, papa." 
 
 " I can wait till you do, Pisistratus ! What a name ! "
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 27 
 
 My father stopped at a nursery gardener's, and, after 
 looking over the flowers, paused before a large double 
 geranium. " Ah, this is finer than that which your 
 manirua was so fond of. What is the cost, sir ? " 
 
 " Only 7s. 6d.," said the gardener. 
 
 My father buttoned up his pocket. " I can't afford 
 it to-day," said he gently, and we walked out. 
 
 On entering the town, we stopped again at a china- 
 warehouse. " Have you a flower-pot like that I bought 
 some months ago? Ah, here is one, marked 3s. 6d. 
 Yes, that is the price. "Well, when your mamma's birth- 
 day comes again, we must buy her another. That is 
 some months to wait. And we can wait, Master Sisty. 
 For truth, that blooms all the year round, is better than 
 a poor geranium ; and a word that is never broken, is 
 better than a piece of delf." 
 
 My head, which had drooped before, rose again ; but 
 the rush of joy at niy heart almost stifled me. 
 
 " I have called to pay your little bill," said ray father, 
 entering the shop of one of those fancy stationers qom- 
 nion in country towns, and who sell all kinds of pretty 
 toys and nick-nacks. " And by the way," he added, 
 as the smiling shopman looked over his books for the 
 entry, " I think my little boy here can show you a much 
 handsomer specimen of French workmanship than that 
 work-box which you enticed Mrs Caxton into raffling 
 for, last winter. Show your domino-box, my dear." 
 
 I produced my treasure, and the shopman was liberal 
 in his commendations. " It is always well, my boy, to
 
 28 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 know what a thing is worth, in case one wishes to part 
 with it. If my young gentleman gets tired of his play- 
 thing, what will you giye him for it 1 " 
 
 " Why, sir," said the shopman, " I fear we could not 
 afford to give more than eighteen shillings for it, unless 
 the young gentleman took some of these pretty things 
 in exchange ! " 
 
 " Eighteen shillings ! " said my father ; " you would 
 give that sum. Well, my boy, whenever you do grow 
 tired of your box, you have my leave to sell it." 
 
 My father paid his bill and went out. I lingered 
 behind a few moments, and joined him at the end of 
 the street. 
 
 " Papa, papa ! " I cried, clapping my hands, " we can 
 buy the geranium we can buy the flower-pot." And 
 I pulled a handful of silver from my pockets. 
 
 " Did I not say right ? " said my father, passing his 
 handkerchief over his eyes " You have found the two 
 fairies ! " 
 
 Oh ! how proud, how overjoyed I was, when, after 
 placing vase and flower on the window-sill, I plucked 
 my mother by the gown, and made her follow nie to the 
 spot. 
 
 " It is his doing, and his money ! " said my father ; 
 " good actions have mended the bad." 
 
 " What ! " cried my mother, when she had learned 
 all ; " and your poor domino-box that you were so fond 
 of ! We will go back to-morrow, and buy it back, if it 
 costs us double."
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 29 
 
 " Shall we buy it back, Pisistratus 1 ?" asked my father. 
 
 " Oh no no no ! It would spoil all," I cried, bury- 
 ing my face on my father's breast. 
 
 " My wife," said my father, solemnly, " this is my 
 first lesson to our child the sanctity and the happiness 
 of self-sacrifice undo not what it should teach to his 
 dying day."
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 WHEN I was "between my seventh and my eighth 
 year, a change came over me, which may perhaps be 
 familiar to the notice of those parents who boast the 
 anxious blessing of an only child. The ordinary viva- 
 city of childhood forsook me ; I became quiet, sedate, 
 and thoughtful. The absence of playfellows of my 
 own age, the companionship of mature minds, alter- 
 nated only by complete solitude, gave something pre- 
 cocious, whether to my imagination or my reason. The 
 wild fables muttered to me by the old nurse in the 
 summer twilight, or over the winter's hearth the 
 effort made by my struggling intellect to comprehend 
 the grave, sweet wisdom of my father's suggested les- 
 sons tended to feed a passion for reverie, in which all 
 my faculties strained and struggled, as in the dreams 
 that come when sleep is nearest waking. I had learned 
 to read with ease, and to write with some fluency, and 
 I already began to imitate, to reproduce. Strange tales, 
 akin to those I had gleaned from fairyland rude songs, 
 modelled from such verse-books as fell into my hands, 
 began to mar the contents of marble-covered pages, 
 designed for the less ambitioxis purposes of round text
 
 THE CAXTONS. 31 
 
 and multiplication. My mind was yet more disturbed 
 by the intensity of my borne affections. My love for 
 both my parents had in it something morbid and pain- 
 ful. I often wept to think how little 1 could do for 
 those I loved so well. My fondest fancies built up 
 imaginary difficulties for them, which my arm was to 
 smooth. These feelings, thus cherished, made my 
 nerves over-susceptible and acute. Nature began to 
 affect me powerfully; and from that affection rose a 
 restless curiosity to analyse the charms that so mysteri- 
 ously moved me to joy or awe, to smiles or tears. I 
 got my father to explain to me the elements of astro- 
 nomy ; I extracted from Squills, who was an ardent 
 botanist, some of the mysteries in the life of flowers. 
 But music became my darling passion. My mother 
 (though the daughter of a great scholar a scholar at 
 whose name my father raised his hat if it happened 
 to be on his head) possessed, I must own it fairly, 
 less book-learning than many an humble tradesman's 
 daughter can boast in this more enlightened genera- 
 tion ; but she had some natural gifts which had 
 ripened, Heaven knows how ! into womanly accom- 
 plishments. She drew with some elegance, and painted 
 flowers to exquisite perfection. She played on more 
 than one instrument with more than boarding-school 
 skill; and though she sang in no language but her 
 own, few could hear her sweet voice without being 
 deeply touched. Her music, her songs, had a won- 
 drous effect on me. Thus, altogether, a kind of dreamy 
 yet delightful melancholy seized upon my whole being ;
 
 32 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 and this was the more remarkable, because contrary to 
 my early temperament, which was bold, active, and 
 hilarious. The change in my character began to act 
 upon my form. From a robust and vigorous infant, I 
 grew into a pale and slender boy. I began to ail and 
 mope. Mr Squills was called in. 
 
 "Tonics !" said Mr Squills ; "and don't let him sit 
 over his book. Send him out in the air make him 
 play. Come here, my boy these organs are growing 
 too large;" and Mr Squills, who was a phrenologist, 
 placed his hand on my forehead. " Gad, sir, here's an 
 ideality for you ; and, bless my soul, what a constrac- 
 tiveness !" 
 
 My father pushed aside his papers, and walked to 
 and fro the room with his hands behind him ; but he 
 did not say a word till Mr Squills was gone. 
 
 " My dear," then said he to my mother, on whose 
 breast I was leaning my aching ideality " my dear, 
 Pisistratus must go to school in good earnest." 
 
 " Bless me, Austin ! at his age ?" 
 
 " He is nearly eight years old." 
 
 " But he is so forward." 
 
 " It is for that reason he must go to school." 
 
 " I don't quite understand you, my love. I know 
 he is getting past me ; but you who are so clever-: 
 
 My father took my mother's hand " We can teach 
 him nothing now, Kitty. We send him to school to 
 be taught " 
 
 " By some schoolmaster who knows much less than 
 you do "
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 33 
 
 " By little schoolboys, who will make him a boy 
 again," said my father, almost sadly. " My dear, you re- 
 member that, when our Kentish gardener planted those 
 filbert-trees, and when they were in their third year, 
 and you began to calculate on what they would bring 
 in, you went out one morning, and found he had cut 
 them down to the ground. You were vexed, and asked 
 why. "\Vhat did the gardener say 1 ' To prevent their 
 bearing too soon.' There is no want of fruitfulness 
 here put back the hour of produce, that the plant 
 may last." 
 
 " Let me go to school," said I, lifting my languid 
 head, and smiling on my father. I understood him 
 at once, and it was as if the voice of my life itself 
 answered him. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 A YEAU after the resolution thus come to, I was at 
 home for the holidays. 
 
 " I hope," said my mother, " that they are doing 
 Sisty justice. I do think he is not nearly so quick a 
 child as he was before he went to school. I wish you 
 would examine him, Austin." 
 
 " I have examined him, my dear. It is just as I 
 expected ; and I am quite satisfied." 
 
 "What! you really think he has come on?" said 
 my mother, joyfully. 
 
 " He does not care a button for botany now," said 
 Mr Squills. 
 
 "And he used to be so fond of music, dear boy !" 
 observed my mother, with a sigh. " Good gracious ! 
 what noise is that?" 
 
 "Your son's pop-gun against the window," said my 
 father. "It is lucky it is only the window ; it would 
 have made a less deafening noise, though, if it had 
 been Mr Squills' head, as it was yesterday morning." 
 
 " The left ear," observed Squills ; " and a very 
 sharp blow it was, too. Yet you are satisfied, Mr 
 Caxton?"
 
 THE CAXTONS. 35 
 
 " Yes ; I think the boy is now as great a blockhead 
 as most boys of his age are," observed my father with 
 great complacency. 
 
 "Dear me, Austin a great blockhead?" 
 
 "What else did he go to school for?" asked my 
 father. And observing a certain dismay in the face of 
 his female audience, and a certain surprise in that of 
 his male, he rose and stood on the hearth, with one 
 hand in his waistcoat, as was his wont when about 
 to philosophise in more detail than was usual to 
 him. 
 
 "Mr Squills," said he, "you have had great ex- 
 perience in families." 
 
 "As good a practice as any in the county," said 
 Mr Squills proudly : " more than I can manage. I 
 shall advertise for a partner." 
 
 " And," resumed my father, " you must have ob- 
 served almost invariably that, in every family, there is 
 what father, mother, uncle, and aunt, pronounce to be 
 one wonderful child." 
 
 " One at least," said Mr Squills, smiling. 
 
 " It is easy," continued my father, " to say this is 
 parental partiality, but it is not so. Examine that 
 child as a stranger, and it will startle yourself. You 
 stand amazed at its eager curiosity its quick compre- 
 hension its ready wit its delicate perception. Often, 
 too, you will find some faculty strikingly developed ; 
 the child will have a turn for mechanics, perhaps, and 
 make you a model of a steam-boat or it will have an 
 ear tuned to verse, and will write you a poem like that
 
 36 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 it has got by heart from ' The Speaker' or it will take 
 to botany (like Pisistratus), with the old maid its aunt 
 or it will play a march on its sister's pianoforte. 
 In short, even you, Squills, will declare that it is really 
 a wonderful child." 
 
 "Upon my word," said Mr Squills, thoughtfully, 
 " there's a great deal of truth in what you say. Little 
 Tom Dobbs is a wonderful child so is Frank Step- 
 ington and as for Johnny Styles, I must bring him 
 here for you to hear him prattle on Natural History, 
 and see how well he handles his pretty little micro- 
 scope." 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! " said my father. " And now let 
 me proceed. These thaumata, or wonders, last till 
 when, Mr Squills 1 last till the boy goes to school, 
 and then, somehow or other, the thaumata vanish into 
 thin air, like ghosts at the cockcrow. A year after the 
 prodigy has been at the academy, father and mother, 
 uncle and aunt, plague you no more with his doings 
 and sayings : the extraordinary infant has become a 
 very ordinary little boy. Is it not so, Mr Squills 1 " 
 
 " Indeed you are right, sir. How did you come to 
 be so observant ? you never seem to " 
 
 "Hush !" interrupted my father; and then, look- 
 ing fondly at my mother's anxious face, he said sooth- 
 ingly, " Be comforted : this is wisely ordained and 
 it is for the best." 
 
 " It must be the fault of the school," said my mother, 
 shaking her head. 
 
 " It is the necessity of the school and its virtue, my
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 37 
 
 Kate. Let any one of these wonderful children won- 
 derful as you thought Sisty himself stay at home, 
 and you will see its head grow bigger and bigger, and 
 its body thinner and thinner eh, Mr Squills ? till 
 the mind take all nourishment from the frame, and the 
 frame, in turn, stint or make sickly the mind. You 
 see that noble oak from the window. If the Chinese 
 had brought it up, it would have been a tree in minia- 
 ture at five years old, and at a hundred, you would 
 have set it in a flower-pot on your table, no bigger 
 than it was at five a curiosity for its maturity at one 
 age a show for its diminutiveness at the other. No ! 
 the ordeal for talent is school ; restore the stunted 
 mannikin to the growing child, and then let the child, 
 if it can, healthily, hardily, naturally, work its slow 
 way up into greatness. If greatness be denied it, it 
 will at least be a man, and that is better than to 
 be a little Johnny Styles, all its life an oak in a 
 pill-box." 
 
 At that moment I rushed into the room, glowing 
 and panting health on my cheek vigour in my limbs 
 all childhood at my heart. " Oh, mamma, I have 
 got up the kite so high ! come and see. Do come, 
 papa." 
 
 " Certainly," said my father ; " only don't cry so 
 loud kites make no noise in rising; yet, you see 
 how they soar above the world. Come, Kate. Where 
 is my hat 1 Ah thank you, my boy." 
 
 " Kitty," said my father, looking at the kite, which, 
 attached by its string to the peg I had stuck into the
 
 38 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 ground, rested calm in the sky, " never fear but what 
 our kite shall fly as high ; only, the human soul has 
 stronger instincts to mount upward than a few sheets 
 of paper on a framework of lath. But, observe, that 
 to prevent its being lost in the freedom of space, we 
 must attach it lightly to earth ; and observe again, my 
 dear, that the higher it soars, the more string we must 
 give it."
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WHEN I had reached the age of twelve, I had got to 
 the head of the preparatory school to which I had been 
 sent. And having thus exhausted all the oxygen of 
 learning in that little receiver, my parents looked out 
 for a wider range for my inspirations. During the last 
 two years in which I had been at school, my love for 
 study had returned ; but it was a vigorous, wakeful, 
 undreamy love, stimulated by competition, and ani- 
 mated by the practical desire to excel. 
 
 My father no longer sought to curb my intellectual 
 aspirings. He had too great a reverence for scholarship 
 not to wish me to become a scholar if possible ; though 
 he more than once said to me somewhat sadly, " Mas- 
 ter books, but do not let them master you. Read to 
 live, not live to read. One slave of the lamp is enough 
 for a household : my servitude must not be a heredi- 
 tary bondage." 
 
 My father looked round for a suitable academy ; and
 
 40 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 the fame of Dr Herman's "Philhellenic Institute" came 
 to his ears. 
 
 Now, this Dr Herman was the son of a German 
 music-master, who had settled in England. He had 
 completed his own education at the University of Bonn ; 
 but finding learning too common a drug in that market 
 to bring the high price at which he valued his own, 
 and having some theories as to political freedom which 
 attached him to England, he resolved upon setting up 
 a school, which he designed as an " Era in the History 
 of the Human Mind." Dr Herman was one of the 
 earliest of those new-fashioned authorities in educa- 
 tion, who have, more lately, spread pretty numerously 
 amongst us, and would have given, perhaps, a dangerous 
 shake to the foundations of our great classical semi- 
 naries, if those last had not very wisely, though very 
 cautiously, borrowed some of the more sensible prin- 
 ciples which lay mixed and adulterated amongst the 
 crotchets and chimeras of their innovating rivals and 
 assailants. 
 
 Dr Herman had 'written a great many learned works 
 against every pre-existing method of instruction : that 
 which had made the greatest noise was upon the in- 
 famous fiction of SPELLING - BOOKS : "A more lying, 
 roundabout, puzzle-headed delusion than that by which 
 we CONFUSE the clear instincts of truth in our accursed 
 system of spelling, was never concocted by the father 
 of falsehood." Such was the exordium of this famous 
 treatise. "For instance, take the monosyllable CAT. 
 What a brazen forehead you must have, when you say
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 41 
 
 to an infant, c, A, T, spell CAT : that is, three sounds 
 forming a totally opposite compound opposite in 
 every detail, opposite in the whole compose a poor 
 little monosyllable, which, if you would hut say the 
 simple truth, the child will learn to spell merely by 
 looking at it ! How can three sounds, which run thus 
 to the ear, see eh tee, compose the sound cat? 
 Don't they rather compose the sound see-eh-te or ceaty? 
 How can a system of education flourish that begins 
 by so monstrous a falsehood, which the sense of hear- 
 ing suffices to contradict ? No wonder that the horn- 
 book is the despair of mothers !" From this instance 
 the reader will perceive that Dr Herman, in his theory 
 of education, began at the beginning ! he took the 
 bull fairly by the horns. As for the rest, upon a 
 broad principle of eclecticism, he had combined together 
 every new patent invention for youthful idea-shooting. 
 He had taken his trigger from Hofwyl ; he had bought 
 his wadding from Hamilton ; he had got his copper- 
 caps from Bell and Lancaster. The youthful idea ! he 
 had rammed it tight ! he had rammed it loose ! he 
 had rammed it with pictorial illustrations ! he had 
 rammed it with the monitorial system ! he had 
 rammed it in every conceivable way, and with every 
 imaginable ramrod ; but I have mournful doubts 
 whether he shot the youthful idea an inch farther 
 than it did under the old mechanism of flint and steel ! 
 Nevertheless, as Dr Herman really did teach a great 
 many things too much neglected at schools ; as, besides 
 Latin and Greek, he taught a vast variety in that
 
 42 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 vague infinite nowadays called " useful knowledge ; " 
 as he engaged lecturers on chemistry, engineering, and 
 natural history ; as arithmetic and the elements of 
 physical science were enforced with zeal and care ; as 
 all sorts of gymnastics were intermingled with the 
 sports of the play-ground ; so the youthful idea, if it 
 did not go farther, spread its shots in a wider direc- 
 tion ; and a boy could not stay there five years with- 
 out learning something, which is more than can be said 
 of all schools ! He learned at least to use his eyes, 
 and his ears, and his limbs ; order, cleanliness, exer- 
 cise, grew into habits ; and the school pleased the 
 ladies and satisfied the gentlemen ; in a word, it 
 thrived : and Dr Herman, at the time I speak of, 
 numbered more than one hundred pupils. Now, when 
 the worthy man first commenced the task of tuition, 
 he had proclaimed the humanest abhorrence to the bar- 
 barous system of corporeal punishment. But, alas ! as 
 his school increased in numbers, he had proportion- 
 ately recanted these honourable and anti-birchen ideas. 
 He had, reluctantly, perhaps honestly, no doubt, but 
 with full determination come to the conclusion that 
 there are secret springs which can only be detected by 
 the twigs of the divining-rod ; and having discovered 
 with what comparative ease the whole mechanism of 
 his little government could be carried on by the admis- 
 sion of the birch-regulator, so, as he grew richer, and 
 lazier, and fatter, the Philhellenic Institute spun along 
 as glibly as a top kept in vivacious movement by the 
 perpetual application of the lash.
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 43 
 
 I believe that the school did not suffer in reputation 
 from this sad apostasy on the part of the head-master ; 
 on the contrary, it seemed more natural and English 
 less outlandish and heretical. And it was at the zenith 
 of its renown, when, one bright morning, with all my 
 clothes nicely mended, and a large plum-cake in my 
 box, I was deposited at its hospitable gates. 
 
 Amongst Dr Herman's various whimsicalities, there 
 was one to which he had adhered with more fidelity 
 than to the anti-corporeal punishment articles of his 
 creed ; and, in fact, it was upon this that he had 
 caused those imposing words, "Philhellenic Institute," 
 to blaze in gilt capitals in front of his academy. He 
 belonged to that illustrious class of scholars who are 
 now waging war on our popular mythologies, and up- 
 setting all the associations which the Etonians and 
 Harrovians connect with the household names of 
 ancient history. In a word, he sought to restore to 
 scholastic purity the mutilated orthography of Greek 
 appellatives. He was extremely indignant that little 
 boys should be brought up to confound Zeus with 
 Jupiter, Ares with Mars, Artemis with Diana the 
 Greek deities with the Roman ; and so rigidly did he 
 inculcate the doctrine that these two sets of personages 
 were to be kept constantly contradistinguished from 
 each other, that his cross-examinations kept us in eter- 
 nal confusion. 
 
 "Vat," he would exclaim, to some new boy fresh 
 from some grammar-school on the Etonian system 
 " Vat do you mean by dranslating Zeus Jupiter ? Is
 
 44 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 dat amatory, irascible, cloud-compelling god of Olym- 
 pus, vid his eagle and his segis, in the smallest degree 
 resembling de grave, formal, moral Jupiter Optimus 
 Maximus of the Roman Capitol? a god, Master Sirnp- 
 kins, who would have been perfectly shocked at the 
 idea of running after innocent Fraulein dressed up as 
 a swan or a bull ! I put dat question to you vonce for 
 all, Master Simpkins." Master Simpkins took care to 
 agree with the Doctor. "And how could you," re- 
 sumed Dr Herman majestically, turning to some other 
 criminal alumnus "how could you presume to drans- 
 late de Ares of Homer, sir, by the audacious vulgarism 
 Mars 1 Ares, Master Jones, who roared as loud as ten 
 thousand men when he was hurt ; or as you vil roar 
 if I catch you calling him Mars again ! Ares, who 
 covered seven plectra of ground ; confound Ares, the 
 man-slayer, with the Mars or Mavors whom de Romans 
 stole from de Sabines ! Mars, de solemn and calm 
 protector of Rome ! Master Jones, Master Jones, you 
 ought to be ashamed of yourself !" And then waxing 
 enthusiastic, and warming more and more into German 
 gutturals and pronunciation, the good Doctor would 
 lift up his hands, with two great rings on his thumbs, 
 and exclaim "Und Du ! and dou, Aphrodite; dou, 
 whose bert de seasons velcomed ! dou, who didst put 
 Atonis into a coffer, and den tid durn him into an 
 anemone ; dou to be called Venus by dat snivel-nosed 
 little Master Budderfield ! Venus, who presided over 
 Baumgartens and funerals, and nasty tinking sewers ! 
 Venus Cloacina mein Gott ! Come here, Master
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 45 
 
 Budderfield ; I must flog you for dat ; I must indeed, 
 liddle boy ! " As our Philhellenic preceptor carried 
 his archaeological purism, into all Greek proper names, 
 it was not likely that my unhappy baptismal would 
 escape. The first time I signed my exercise I wrote 
 "Pisistratus Caxton" in my best round-hand. "And 
 dey call your baba a scholar ! " said the Doctor con- 
 temptuously. " Your name, sir, is Greek ; and, as 
 Greek, you vill be dood enough to write it, vith vat 
 you call an e and an o p, E, i, s, i, s, T, R, A, T, o, s. 
 Vat can you expect for to come to, Master Caxton, if 
 you don't pay de care dat is proper to your own dood 
 name de e, and de o ? Ach ! let me see no more of 
 your vile corruptions ! Mein Gott ! Pi ! ven de 
 name is Pei !" 
 
 The next time I wrote home to my father, modestly 
 implying that I was short of cash, that a trap-bat 
 would be acceptable, and that the favourite goddess 
 amongst the boys (whether Greek or Roman was very 
 immaterial) was Diva Moneta, I felt a glow of classical 
 pride in signing myself " your affectionate Peisistratos." 
 The next post brought a sad damper to my scholastic 
 exultation. The letter ran thus : 
 
 " MY DEAR SON, I prefer my old acquaintances 
 Thucydides and Pisistratus to Thoukudides and Peisis- 
 tratos. Horace is familiar to me, but Horatius is only 
 known to me as Codes. Pisistratus can play at trap- 
 ball ; but I find no authority in pure Greek to allow 
 me to suppose that that game was known to Peisis-
 
 46 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 tratos. I should be too happy to send you a drachma 
 or so, but I have no coins in my possession current at 
 Athens at the time when Pisistratus was spelt Peisis- 
 tratos. 
 
 " Your affectionate father, 
 
 " A. CAXTON." 
 
 Verily, here indeed was the first practical embarrass- 
 ment produced by that melancholy anachronism which 
 my father had so prophetically deplored. However, 
 nothing like experience to prove the value of compro- 
 mise in this world ! Peisistratos continued to write 
 exercises, and a second letter from Pisistratus was fol- 
 lowed by the trap-bat.
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 I WAS somewhere about sixteen, when, on going home 
 for the holidays, I found my mother's brother settled 
 among the household Lares. Uncle Jack, as he was 
 familiarly called, was a light-hearted, plausible, enthu- 
 siastic, talkative fellow, who had spent three small 
 fortunes in trying to make a large one. 
 
 Uncle Jack was a great speculator ; but in all his 
 speculations he never affected to think of himself, it 
 was always the good of his fellow-creatures that he 
 had at heart, and in this ungrateful world fellow-crea- 
 tures are not to be relied upon ! On coming of age, 
 he inherited 6000 from his maternal grandfather. It 
 seemed to him then that his fellow-creatures were 
 sadly imposed upon by their tailors. Those ninth 
 parts of humanity notoriously eked out their fractional 
 existence by asking nine times too much for the cloth- 
 ing which civilisation, and perhaps a change of climate, 
 render more necessary to us than to our predecessors, 
 the Picts. Out of pure philanthropy, Uncle Jack 
 started a " Grand National Benevolent Clothing Com- 
 pany" which undertook to supply the public with in- 
 expressibles of the best Saxon cloth at 7s. 6d. a-pair ;
 
 48 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 coats, superfine, 1, 18s. ! and waistcoats at so much 
 per dozen. They were all to be worked off by steam. 
 Thus the rascally tailors were to be put down, human- 
 ity clad, and the philanthropists rewarded (but that 
 was a secondary consideration) with a clear return of 
 thirty per cent. In spite of the evident charitableness 
 of this Christian design, and the irrefragable calculations 
 upon which it was based, this company died a victim 
 to the ignorance and unthankfulness of our fellow- 
 creatures. And all that remained of Jack's 6000 
 was a fifty-fourth share in a small steam-engine, a large 
 assortment of ready-made pantaloons, and the liabilities 
 of the directors. 
 
 Uncle Jack disappeared, and went on his travels. 
 The same spirit of philanthropy which characterised 
 the speculations of his purse attended the risks of his 
 person. Uncle Jack had a natural leaning towards all 
 distressed communities : if any tribe, race, or nation 
 was down in the world, Uncle Jack threw himself 
 plump into the scale to redress the balance. Poles, 
 Greeks (the last were then fighting the Turks), Mexi- 
 cans, Spaniards Uncle Jack thrust his nose into all 
 their squabbles ! Heaven forbid I should mock thee, 
 poor Uncle Jack ! for those generous predilections to- 
 wards the unfortunate ; only, whenever a nation is in 
 a misfortune, there is always a job going on ! The 
 Polish cause, the Greek cause, the Mexican cause, and 
 the Spanish cause, are necessarily mixed up with loans 
 and subscriptions. These Continental patriots, when 
 they take up the sword with one hand, generally con-
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 49 
 
 trive to thrust the other hand deep into their neigh- 
 bours' breeches pockets. Uncle Jack went to Greece, 
 thence he went to Spain, thence to Mexico. No doubt 
 he was of great service to those afflicted populations, 
 for he came back with unanswerable proof of their 
 gratitude, in the shape of X3000. Shortly after this 
 appeared a prospectus of the " New, Grand, National, 
 Benevolent Insurance Company, for the Industrious 
 Classes." This invaluable document, after setting 
 forth the immense benefits to society arising from 
 habits of providence, and the introduction of insurance 
 companies proving the infamous rate of premiums 
 exacted by the existent offices, and their inapplicability 
 to the wants of the honest artisan, and declaring that 
 nothing but the purest intentions of benefiting their 
 fellow- creatures, and raising the moral tone of society, 
 had led the directors to institute a new society, founded 
 on the noblest principles and the most moderate cal- 
 culations proceeded to demonstrate that twenty-four 
 and a half per cent was the smallest possible return the 
 shareholders could anticipate. The company began 
 under the fairest auspices : an archbishop was caught 
 as president, on the condition always that he should 
 give nothing but his name to the society. Uncle 
 Jack more euphoniously designated as "the celebrated 
 philanthropist, John Jones Tibbets, Esquire " was 
 honorary secretary, and the capital stated at two mil- 
 lions. But such was the obtuseness of the industrious 
 classes, so little did they perceive the benefits of sub- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 scribing one-and-ninepence a-week from the age of 
 twenty-one to fifty, in order to secure at the latter age 
 the annuity of 18, that the company dissolved into 
 thin air, and with it dissolved Uncle Jack's 3000. 
 Nothing more was then seen or heard of him for three 
 years. So ohscure was his existence, that on the death 
 of an aunt who left him a small farm in Cornwall, 
 it was necessary to advertise that " If John Jones 
 Tibbets, Esq., would apply to Messrs Blunt and Tin, 
 Lothbury, between the hours of ten and four, he would 
 hear of something to his advantage." But, even as a 
 conjuror declares that he will call the ace of spades, 
 and the ace of spades, that you thought you had 
 safely under your foot, turns up on the table so with 
 this advertisement suddenly turned up Uncle Jack. 
 "With inconceivable satisfaction did the new landowner 
 settle himself in his comfortable homestead. The farm, 
 which was about two hundred acres, was in the best 
 possible condition, and saving one or two chemical 
 preparations, which cost Uncle Jack, upon the most 
 scientific principles, thirty acres of buck -wheat, the 
 ears of which came up, poor things, all spotted and 
 speckled, as if they been inoculated with the small- 
 pox, Uncle Jack for the first two years was a thriving 
 man. Unluckily, however, one day Uncle Jack dis- 
 covered a coal-mine in a beautiful field of Swedish 
 turnips ; in another week the house was full of en- 
 gineers and naturalists, and in another month appeared, 
 in my uncle's best style, much improved by practice, 
 a prospectus of the " Grand National, anti-Monopoly
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 51 
 
 Coal Company, instituted on behalf of the poor house- 
 holders of London, and against the Monster Monopoly 
 of the London Coal Wharfs. 
 
 " A vein of the finest coal has been discovered on 
 the estates of the celebrated philanthropist, John Jones 
 Tibbets, Esq. This new mine, the Molly Wheal, 
 having been satisfactorily tested by that eminent en- 
 gineer, Giles Compass, Esq., promises an inexhaustible 
 field to the energies of the benevolent and the wealth 
 of the capitalist. It is calculated that the best coals 
 may be delivered, screened, at the mouth of the Thames, 
 for 18s. per load, yielding a profit of not less than 
 forty-eight per cent to the shareholders. Shares, 50, 
 to be paid in five instalments. Capital to be sub- 
 scribed, one million. Eor shares, early application 
 must be made to Messrs Blunt and Tin, solicitors, 
 Lothbury." 
 
 Here, then, was something tangible for fellow-crea- 
 tures to go on there was land, there was a mine, there 
 was coal, and there actually came shareholders and 
 capital. Uncle Jack was so persuaded that his fortune 
 was now to be made, and had, moreover, so great a 
 desire to share the glory of ruining the monster 
 monopoly of the London wharfs, that he refused a very 
 large offer to dispose of the property altogether, re- 
 mained chief shareholder, and removed to London, 
 where he set up his carriage, and gave dinners to his 
 fellow- directors. Eor no less than three years did this 
 company flourish, having submitted the entire direction 
 and working of the mines to that eminent engineer,
 
 52 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 Giles Compass twenty per cent was paid regularly by 
 that gentleman to the shareholders, and the shares were 
 at more than cent per cent, when one bright morning 
 Giles Compass, Esq., unexpectedly removed himself to 
 that wider field for genius like his, the United States ; 
 and it was discovered that the mine had for more than 
 a year run itself into a great pit of water, and that Mr 
 Compass had been paying the shareholders out of 
 their own capital. My uncle had the satisfaction this 
 time of being ruined in very good company ; three doc- 
 tors of divinity, two county members, a Scotch lord, 
 and an East India director, were all in the same boat 
 that boat Avhich went down with the coal-mine into the 
 great water-pit ! 
 
 It was just after this event that Uncle Jack, sanguine 
 and light-hearted as ever, suddenly recollected his 
 sister, Mrs Caxton, and not knowing where else to dine, 
 thought he would repose his limbs under my father's 
 trabes citrea, which the ingenious W. S. Landor opines 
 should be translated " mahogany." You never saw a 
 more charming man than Uncle Jack. All plump 
 people are more popular than thin people. There is 
 something jovial and pleasant in the sight of a round 
 face ! "What conspiracy could succeed when its head 
 was a lean and hungry-looking fellow like Cassius ? If 
 the .Roman patriots had had Uncle Jack amongst them, 
 perhaps they would never have furnished a tragedy to 
 Shakespeare. Uncle Jack was as plump as a partridge 
 not unwieldy, not corpulent, not obese, not " vast us," 
 which Cicero objects to in an orator but every crevice
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 53 
 
 comfortably filled up. Like the ocean, " time wrote 
 no wrinkles on his glassy (or brassy) brow." His na- 
 tural lines were all upward curves, his smile most in- 
 gratiating, his eye so frank, even his trick of rubbing 
 his clean, well-fed, English-looking hands, had some- 
 thing about it coaxing and debonnaire, something that 
 actually decoyed you into trusting your money into 
 hands so prepossessing. Indeed, to him might be fully 
 applied the expression " Sedem anirnse in extremis 
 digitis habet ; " " He had his soul's seat in his finger- 
 ends." The critics observe that few men have ever 
 united in equal perfection the imaginative with the 
 scientific faculties. " Happy he," exclaims Schiller, 
 "who combines the enthusiast's warmth with the 
 worldly man's light" light and warmth, Uncle Jack 
 had them both. He was a perfect symphony of be- 
 witching enthusiasm and convincing calculation. Di- 
 cseopolis in the Acharnenses, in presenting a gentleman 
 called Mcharchus to the audience, observes " He is 
 small, I confess, but there is nothing lost in him ; all 
 is knave that is not fool." Parodying the equivocal 
 compliment, I may say that though Uncle Jack was no 
 giant, there was nothing lost in him. "Whatever was not 
 philanthropy was arithmetic, and whatever was not 
 arithmetic was philanthropy. He would have been 
 equally dear to Howard and to Cocker. Uncle Jack 
 was comely, too clear-skinned and florid, had a little 
 mouth, with good teeth, wore no whiskers, shaved his 
 beard as close as if it were one of his grand national 
 companies ; his hair, once somewhat sandy, was now
 
 54 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 rather greyish, which increased the respectability of his 
 appearance ; and he wore it flat at the sides and raised 
 in a peak at the top ; his organs of constructiveness and 
 ideality were pronounced by Mr Squills to be prodigious, 
 and those freely-developed bumps gave great breadth 
 to his forehead. Well-shaped, too, was Uncle Jack, 
 about five feet eight, the proper height for an active 
 man of business. He wore a black coat ; but to make 
 the nap look the fresher, he had given it the relief of 
 gilt buttons, on which were wrought a small crown and 
 anchor ; at a distance this button looked like the king's 
 button, and gave him the air of one who has a place 
 about Court. He always wore a white neckcloth with- 
 out starch, a frill, and a diamond pin, which last fur- 
 nished him with observations upon certain mines of 
 Mexico, which he had a great, but hitherto unsatisfied 
 desire of seeing worked by a grand National United 
 Britons Company. His waistcoat of a morning was 
 pale buff of an evening, embroidered velvet ; where- 
 with were connected sundry schemes of an " association 
 for the improvement of native manufactures." His 
 trousers, matutinally, were of the colour vulgarly called 
 " blotting-paper ; " and he never wore boots, which, he 
 said, unfitted a man for exercise, but short drab gaiters 
 and square-toed shoes. His watch-chain was garnished 
 with a vast number of seals : each seal, indeed, repre- 
 sented the device of some defunct company, and they 
 might be said to resemble the scalps of the slain, worn 
 by the aboriginal Iroquois concerning whom, indeed, 
 he had once entertained philanthropic designs, com-
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 55 
 
 pounded of conversion to Christianity on the principles 
 of the English Episcopal Church, and of an advan- 
 tageous exchange of beaver-skins for "bibles, brandy, 
 and gunpowder. 
 
 That Uncle Jack should win my heart was no won- 
 der ; my mother's he had always won from her earliest 
 recollection of his having persuaded her to let her great 
 doll (a present from her godmother) be put up to a 
 raffle for the benefit of the chimney-sweepers. "So 
 like him so good ! " she would often say pensively ; 
 "they paid sixpence a-piece for the raffle twenty 
 tickets, and the doll cost 2. Nobody was taken in, 
 and the doll, poor thing (it had such blue eyes !) went 
 for a quarter of its value. But Jack said nobody could 
 guess what good the ten shillings did to the chimney- 
 sweepers." Naturally enough, I say, my mother liked 
 Uncle Jack ! but my father liked him quite as well, 
 and that was a strong proof of my uncle's powers of 
 captivation. However, it is noticeable that when some 
 retired scholar is once interested in an active man of the 
 world, he is more inclined to admire him than others 
 are. Sympathy with such a companion gratifies at once 
 his curiosity and his indolence ; he can travel with him, 
 scheme with him, fight with him, go with him through 
 all the adventures of which his own books speak so 
 eloquently, and all the time never stir from his easy- 
 chair. My father said "that it was like listening to 
 Ulysses to hear Uncle Jack ! " Uncle Jack, too, had 
 been in Greece and Asia Minor, gone over the site of 
 the siege of Troy, ate figs at Marathon, shot hares in
 
 56 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 the Peloponnesus, and drank three pints of brown stout 
 at the top of the Great Pyramid. 
 
 Therefore, Uncle Jack was like a book of reference 
 to my father. Yerily at times he looked on him as a 
 book, and took him down after dinner as he would a 
 volume of Dodwell or Pausanias. In fact, I believe 
 that scholars who never move from their cells are not 
 the less an eminently curious, bustling, active race, 
 rightly understood. Even as old Burton saith of him- 
 self " Though I live a collegiate student, and lead a 
 monastic life, sequestered from those tumults and trou- 
 bles of the world, I hear and see what is done abroad, 
 how others run, ride, turmoil, and macerate themselves in 
 town and country : " which citation sufficeth to show that 
 scholars are naturally the most active men of the world, 
 only that while their heads plot with Augustus, fight 
 with Julius, sail with Columbus, and change the face of 
 the globe with Alexander, Attila, or Mahomet, there is a 
 certain mysterious attraction, which our improved know- 
 ledge of mesmerism will doubtless soon explain to the 
 satisfaction of science, between that extremer and anti- 
 podal part of the human frame, called in the vulgate 
 "the seat of honour," and the stuffed leather of an 
 armed chair. Learning somehow or other sinks down 
 to that part into which it was first driven, and produces 
 therein a leaden heaviness and weight, which counteract 
 those lively emotions of the brain, that might otherwise 
 render students too mercurial and agile for the safety 
 of established order. I leave this conjecture to the 
 consideration of experimentalists in the physics.
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 57 
 
 I was still more delighted than my father with Uncle 
 Jack. He was full of amusing tricks, could conjure 
 wonderfully, make a bunch of keys dance a hornpipe, 
 and if ever you gave him half-a-crown, he was sure to 
 turn it into a halfpenny. He was only unsuccessful in 
 turning my halfpennies into halfcrowns. 
 
 We took long walks together, and in the midst of 
 his most diverting conversation my uncle was always 
 an observer. He would' stop to examine the nature of 
 the soil, fill my pockets (not his own) with great lumps 
 of clay, stones, and rubbish, to analyse when he got 
 home, by the help of some chemical apparatus he had 
 borrowed from Mr Squills. He would stand an hour 
 at a cottage door, admiring the little girls who were 
 straw-platting, and then walk into the nearest farm- 
 houses, to suggest the feasibility of "a national straw- 
 plat association." All this fertility of intellect was, 
 alas ! wasted in that " ingrata terra " into which Uncle 
 Jack had fallen. ~No squire could be persuaded into 
 the belief that his mother-stone was pregnant with 
 minerals ; no farmer talked into weaving straw-plat into 
 a proprietary association. So, even as an ogre, having 
 devastated the surrounding country, begins to cast a 
 hungry eye on his own little ones, Uncle Jack's mouth, 
 long defrauded of jucier and more legitimate morsels, 
 began to water for a bite of my innocent father.
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 AT this time we were living in what may be called 
 a very respectable style for people who made no pre- 
 tence to ostentation. On the skirts of a large village 
 stood a square red brick house, about the date of Queen 
 Anne. Upon the top of the house was a balustrade ; 
 why, heaven knows for nobody, except our great tom- 
 cat Ralph, ever walked upon the leads but so it was, 
 and so it often is in houses from the time of Elizabeth, 
 yea, even to that of Victoria. This balustrade was 
 divided by low piers, on each of which was placed a 
 round ball. The centre of the house was distinguish- 
 able by an architrave, in the shape of a triangle, under 
 which was a niche, probably meant for a figure, but 
 the figure was not forthcoming. Below this was the 
 window (encased with carved pilasters) of my dear 
 mother's little sitting-room ; and lower still, raised on 
 a flight of six steps, was a very handsome-looking door, 
 with a projecting porch. All the windows, with 
 smallish panes and largish frames, were relieved with 
 stone copings ; so that the house had an air of soli- 
 dity, and well-to-do-ness about it nothing tricky on 
 the one hand, nothing decayed on the other. The
 
 THE CAXTONS. 59 
 
 house stood a little back from the garden gates, which 
 were large, and set between two piers surmounted 
 with vases. Many might object, that in wet weather 
 you had to walk some way to your carriage ; but we 
 obviated that objection by not keeping a carriage. To 
 the right of the house the enclosure contained a little 
 lawn, a laurel hermitage, a square pond, a modest 
 greenhouse, and half-a-dozen plots of mignonette, 
 heliotrope, roses, pinks, sweet-william, &c. To the left 
 spread the kitchen-garden, lying screened by espaliers 
 yielding the finest apples in the neighbourhood, and 
 divided by three winding gravel walks, of which the 
 extremest was backed by a wall, whereon, as it lay 
 full south, peaches, pears, and nectarines sunned them- 
 selves early into well-remembered flavour. This walk 
 was appropriated to my father. Book in hand, he 
 would, on fine days, pace to and fro, often stopping, 
 dear man, to jot down a pencil-note, gesticulate, or 
 soliloquise. And there, when not in his study, my 
 mother would be sure to find him. In these deambu- 
 lations, as he called them, he had generally a com- 
 panion so extraordinary, that I expect to be met with 
 a hillalu of incredulous contempt when I specify it. 
 Nevertheless I vow and protest that it is strictly true, 
 and no invention of an exaggerating romancer. It 
 happened one day that my mother had coaxed Mr 
 Caxton to walk with her to market. By the way they 
 passed a sward of green, on which sundry little boys 
 were engaged upon the lapidation of a lame duck. It 
 seemed that the duck was to have been taken to market,
 
 60 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 when it was discovered not only to be lame, but dys- 
 peptic ; perhaps some weed had disagreed with its 
 ganglionic apparatus, poor thing. However that be, 
 the goodwife had declared that the duck was good for 
 nothing ; and upon the petition of her children, it had 
 been consigned to them for a little innocent amuse- 
 ment, and to keep them out of harm's way. My 
 mother declared that she never before saw her lord 
 and master roused to such animation. He dispersed 
 the urchins, released the duck, carried it home, kept it 
 in a basket by the fire, fed it and physicked it till it 
 recovered ; and then it was consigned to the square 
 pond. But lo ! the duck knew its benefactor ; and 
 whenever my father appeared outside his door, it 
 would catch sight of him, flap from the pond, gain 
 the lawn, and hobble after him (for it never quite 
 recovered the use of its left leg), till it reached the 
 walk by the peaches ; and there sometimes it would 
 sit, gravely watching its master's deambulations ; some- 
 times stroll by his side, and, at all events, never leave 
 him till, at his return home, he fed it with his own 
 hands ; and, quacking her peaceful adieus, the nymph 
 then retired to her natural element. 
 
 "With the exception of my mother's favourite morn- 
 ing-room, the principal sitting-rooms that is, the study, 
 the dining-room, and what was emphatically called " the 
 best drawing-room," which was only occupied on great 
 occasions, looked south. Tall beeches, firs, poplars, and 
 a few oaks backed the house, and indeed surrounded it
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 61 
 
 on all sides but the south ; so that it was well sheltered 
 from the winter cold and the summer heat. Our prin- 
 cipal domestic, in dignity and station, was Mrs Prirn- 
 mins, who was waiting gentlewoman, housekeeper, and 
 tyrannical dictatrix of the whole establishment. Two 
 other maids, a gardener, and a footman, composed the 
 rest of the serving household. Save a few pasture-fields, 
 which he let, my father was not troubled with land. 
 His income was derived from the interest of about 
 15,000, partly in the three per cents, partly on mort- 
 gage ; and what with my mother and Mrs Primmins, 
 this income always yielded enough to satisfy my father's 
 single hobby for books, pay for my education, and enter- 
 tain our neighbours, rarely, indeed, at dinner, but very 
 often at tea. My dear mother boasted that our society 
 was very select. It consisted chiefly of the clergyman 
 and his family, two old maids who gave themselves 
 great airs, a gentleman who had been in the East India 
 service, and who lived in a large white house at the top 
 of the hill ; some half-a-dozen squires and their wives 
 and children ; Mr Squills, still a bachelor : and once 
 a-year cards were exchanged and dinners too with 
 certain aristocrats who inspired my mother with a great 
 deal of unnecessary awe ; since she declared they were 
 the most good-natured, easy people in the world, and 
 always stuck their cards in the most conspicuous part of 
 the looking-glass frame over the chimney-piece of the 
 best drawing-room. Thus you perceive that our natural 
 position was one highly creditable to us, proving the
 
 62 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 soundness of our finances and the gentility of our pedi- 
 gree of which last more hereafter. At present I con- 
 tent myself with saying on that head, that even the 
 proudest of the neighbouring squirearchs always spoke 
 of us as a very ancient family. But all my father ever 
 said to evince pride of ancestry, was in honour of 
 "William Caxton, citizen and printer in the reign of 
 Edward IV. " Clarum et venerabile nomen!" an 
 ancestor a man of letters might be justly vain of. 
 
 " Heus," said my father, stopping short, and lifting 
 his eyes from the Colloquies of Erasmus, " salve mul- 
 tum, jucundissime." 
 
 Uncle Jack was not much of a scholar, but he knew 
 enough of Latin to answer, " Salve tantundem, mi 
 frater." 
 
 My father smiled approvingly. " I see you com- 
 prehend true urbanity, or politeness, as we phrase it. 
 There is an elegance in addressing the husband of your 
 sister as brother. Erasmus commends it in his opening 
 chapter, under the head of ' Salutandi formulae. ' And, 
 indeed," added my father thoughtfully, " there is no 
 great difference between politeness and affection. My 
 author here observes that it is polite to express saluta- 
 tion hi certain minor distresses of nature. One should 
 salute a gentleman in yawning, salute him in hiccuping, 
 salute him in sneezing, salute him in coughing ; and 
 that evidently because of your interest in his health ; 
 for he may dislocate his jaw in yawning, and the hiccup 
 is often a symptom of grave disorder, and sneezing i 
 perilous to the small blood-vessels of the head, and
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 63 
 
 coughing is either a tracheal, bronchial, pulmonary, or 
 ganglionic affection." 
 
 " Very true. The Turks always salute in sneezing, 
 and they are a remarkably polite people," said Uncle 
 Jack. " But, my dear brother, I was just looking with 
 admiration at these apple-trees of yours. I never saw 
 finer. I am a great judge of apples. I find, in talking 
 with my sister, that you make very little profit by them. 
 That's a pity. One might establish a cider orchard in 
 this county. You can take your own fields in hand ; 
 you can hire more, so as to make the whole, say a hun- 
 dred acres. You can plant a very extensive apple- 
 orchard on a grand scale. I have just run through the 
 calculations; they are quite startling. Take 40 trees 
 per acre that's the proper average at Is. 6d. per tree; 
 4000 trees for 100 acres, 300 ; labour of digging, 
 trenching, say 10 an acre total for 100 acres, 1000. 
 Pave the bottoms of the holes to prevent the tap-root 
 striking down into the bad soil oh, I am very close 
 and careful you see, in all minutiae ! always was pave 
 'em with rubbish and stones, 6d. a hole ; that for 4000 
 trees the 100 acres is 100. Add the rent of the land 
 at 30s. an acre, 150. And how stands the total?" 
 Here Uncle Jack proceeded rapidly ticking off the items 
 with his fingers : 
 
 "Trees, 300 
 
 Labour, 1000 
 
 Paving holes, ...... 100 
 
 Rent, 150 
 
 Total, . . 1550
 
 64 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 That's your expense. Mark. Now to the profit. Or- 
 chards in Kent realise 100 an acre, some even .150 ; 
 but let's be moderate, say only 50 an acre, and your 
 gross profit per year, from a capital of 1550, will be 
 5000 5000 a-year. Think of that, brother Caxton. 
 Deduct 10 per cent, or 500 a-year, for gardeners' wages, 
 manure, &c., and the net product is 4500. Your for- 
 tune's made, man it is made I wish you joy ! " and 
 Uncle Jack rubbed his hands. 
 
 " Bless me, father," said eagerly the young Pisistratus, 
 who had swallowed with ravished ears every syllable 
 and figure of this inviting calculation, " why, we should 
 be as rich as Squire Rollick ; and then, you know, sir, 
 you could keep a pack of fox-hounds." 
 
 " And buy a large library," added Uncle Jack, with 
 more subtle knowledge of human nature as to its appro- 
 priate temptations. " There's my friend the archbishop's 
 collection to be sold." 
 
 Slowly recovering his breath, my father gently turned 
 his eyes from one to the other; and then, laying his 
 left hand on my head, while with the right he held up 
 Erasmus rebukingly to Uncle Jack, said 
 
 " See how easily you can sow covetousness and avidity 
 in the youthful mind. Ah, brother ! " 
 
 " You are too severe, sir. See how the dear boy 
 hangs his head ! Fie ! natural enthusiasm of his 
 years 'gay hope by fancy fed,' as the poet says. 
 Why, for that fine boy's sake, you ought not to lose so 
 certain an occasion of wealth, I may say, untold. For, 
 observe, you will form a nursery of crabs ; each year
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 65 
 
 you go on grafting and enlarging your plantation, 
 renting, nay, Avhy not buying, more land ? Gad, sir, 
 in twenty years you might cover half the country ; but 
 say you stop short at 2000 acres, why, the net profit 
 is 90,000 a-year. A duke's income a duke's and 
 going a-begging, as I may say." 
 
 " But stop," said I, modestly ; " the trees don't 
 grow in a year. I know when our last apple-tree was 
 planted it is five years ago it was then three years 
 old, and it only bore one half-bushel last autumn." 
 
 " "What an intelligent lad it is ! Good head there. 
 Oh, he'll do credit to his great fortune, brother," said 
 Uncle Jack approvingly. " True, my boy. But in the 
 meanwhile we could fill the ground, as they do in 
 Kent, with gooseberries and currants, or onions and 
 cabbages. Nevertheless, considering we are not great 
 capitalists, I am afraid we must give up a share of 
 our profits to diminish our outlay. So, harkye, Pisis- 
 tratus (look at him, brother simple as he stands 
 there, I think he is born with a silver spoon in his 
 mouth) harkye, now to the mysteries of speculation. 
 Your father shall quietly buy the land, and then, 
 presto ! we will issue a prospectus, and start a com- 
 pany. Associations can wait five years for a return. 
 Every year, meanwhile, increases the value of the 
 shares. Your father takes, we say, fifty shares at 50 
 each, paying only an instalment of 2 a share. He 
 sells thirty-five shares at cent per cent. He keeps the 
 remaining fifteen, and his fortune's made all the same ; 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 only it is not quite so large as if he had kept the whole 
 concern in his own hands. "What say you now, brother 
 Caxton? ' Visne edere pomumf as we used to say at 
 school." 
 
 " I don't want a shilling more than I have got," 
 said my father resolutely. " My wife would not love 
 me better ; my food would not nourish me more ; my 
 boy would not, in all probability, be half so hardy, or 
 a tenth part so industrious ; and " 
 
 " But," interrupted Uncle Jack, pertinaciously, and 
 reserving his grand argument for the last, " the good 
 you would confer on the community the progress 
 given to the natural productions of your country, the 
 wholesome beverage of cider brought within cheap reach 
 of the labouring classes. If it was only for your sake, 
 should I have urged this question 1 should I now 1 is 
 it in my character 1 But for the sake of the public ! 
 mankind ! of our fellow-creatures ! Why, sir, England 
 could not get on if gentlemen like you had not a little 
 philanthropy and speculation." 
 
 " Papae ! " exclaimed my father, " to think that Eng- 
 land can't get on without turning Austin Caxton into 
 an apple-merchant ! My dear Jack, listen. You remind 
 me of a colloquy in this book ; wait a bit here it is 
 Pamphagus and Codes. Codes recognises his friend, 
 who had been absent for many years, by his eminent 
 and remarkable nose. Pamphagus says, rather irritably, 
 that he is not ashamed of his nose. 'Ashamed of it ! 
 no indeed,' says Codes : ' I never saw a nose that could 
 be put to so many uses!' 'Ha,' says Pamphagus
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 67 
 
 (whose curiosity is aroused), 'uses! what uses? 1 
 Whereon (lepidigsime frater!) Codes, with eloquence 
 as rapid as yours, runs on with a countless list of the 
 uses to which so vast a development of the organ can 
 be applied. ' If the cellar was deep, it could sniff up 
 the wine like an elephant's trunk, if the bellows were 
 missing, it could blow the fire, if the lamp was too 
 glaring, it could suffice for a shade, it would serve as 
 a speaking-trumpet to a herald, it could sound a sig- 
 nal of battle in the field, it would do for a wedge in 
 wood-cutting a spade for digging a scythe for mowing 
 an anchor in sailing ; till Pamphagus cries out, 
 ' Lucky dog that I am ! and I never knew before what 
 a useful piece of furniture I carried about with me.' " 
 My father paused and strove to whistle, but that effort 
 of harmony failed him and he added smiling, " So 
 much for my apple-trees, brother John. Leave them to 
 their natural destination of filling tarts and dumplings." 
 Uncle Jack looked a little discomposed for a moment ; 
 but he then laughed with his usual heartiness, and saw 
 that he had not yet got to my father's blind side. I 
 confess that my revered parent rose in my estimation 
 after that conference ; and I began to see that a man 
 may not be quite without common sense, though he is 
 a scholar. Indeed, whether it was that Uncle Jack's 
 visit acted as a gentle stimulant to his relaxed faculties, 
 or that I, now grown older and wiser, began to see his 
 character more clearly, I date from those summer holi- 
 days the commencement of that familiar and endearing 
 intimacy which ever after existed between my father
 
 68 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 and myself. Often I deserted the more extensive 
 rambles of Uncle Jack, or the greater allurements of a 
 cricket-rhatch in the village, or a day's fishing in Squire 
 Eollick's preserves, for a quiet stroll with my father by 
 the old peach- wall ; sometimes silent, indeed, and 
 already musing over the future, while he was busy with 
 the past, but amply rewarded when, suspending his 
 lecture, he would pour forth hoards of varied learning, 
 rendered amusing by his quaint comments, and that 
 Socratic satire which only fell short of wit because it 
 never passed into malice. At some moments, indeed, 
 the vein ran into eloquence ; and with some fine heroic 
 sentiment in his old books, his stooping form rose erect, 
 Ms eye flashed ; and you saw that he had not been 
 originally formed and wholly meant for the obscure 
 seclusion in which his harmless days now wore con- 
 tentedly away.
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 " EGAD, sir, the country is going to the dogs ! Our 
 sentiments are not represented in parliament or out of 
 it. The County Mercury has ratted, and be hanged to 
 it ! and now we have not one newspaper in the whole 
 shire to express the sentiments of the respectable part 
 of the community 1 " 
 
 This speech was made on the occasion of one of the 
 rare dinners given by Mr and Mrs Caxton to the 
 grandees of the neighbourhood, and uttered by no less 
 a person than Squire Rollick, of Rollick Hall, chairman 
 of the quarter-sessions. 
 
 I confess that I (for I was permitted on that first 
 occasion not only to dine with the guests, but to out- 
 stay the ladies, in virtue of my growing years, and my 
 promise to abstain from the decanters) I confess, I 
 say,, that I, poor innocent, was puzzled to conjecture 
 what sudden interest in the county newspaper could 
 cause Uncle Jack to prick up his ears bike a war-horse 
 at the sound of the drum, and rush so incontinently 
 across the interval between Squire Rollick and himself, 
 but the mind of that deep and truly knowing man was 
 not to be plumbed by a chit of my age. You could 
 not fish for the shy salmon in that pool with a crooked
 
 70 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 pin and a bobbin, as you would for minnows ; or, to 
 indulge in a more worthy illustration, you could not 
 say of him, as St Gregory saith of the streams of Jordan, 
 " A lanib could wade easily through that ford." 
 
 "Not a county newspaper to advocate the rights 
 
 of " here my uncle stopped, as if at a loss, and 
 
 whispered in my ear, " What are his politics ]" "Don't 
 know," answered I. Uncle Jack intuitively took down 
 from his memory the phrase most readily at hand, and 
 added, with a nasal intonation, " the rights of our dis- 
 tressed fellow-creatures ! " 
 
 My father scratched his eyebrow with his fore-finger, 
 as he was apt to do when doubtful ; the rest of the 
 company a silent set looked up. 
 
 "Fellow-creatures!" said Mr Rollick "fellow-fid- 
 dlesticks ! " 
 
 Uncle Jack was clearly in the wrong-box. He drew 
 out of it cautiously " I mean," said he, "our respectable 
 fellow-creatures ; " and then suddenly it occurred to him 
 that a " County Mercury" would naturally represent 
 the agricultural interest, and that if Mr Rollick said 
 that the " County Mercury ought to be hanged," he 
 was one of those politicians who had already begun to 
 call the agricultural interest " a Vampire." Flushed 
 with that fancied discovery, Uncle Jack rushed on, 
 intending to bear along with the stream, thus fortu- 
 nately directed, all the " rubbish"* subsequently shot 
 into Covent Garden and Hall of Commerce. 
 
 * " We talked sad rubbish when we first began," says Mr Cobden 
 in one of his speeches.
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 71 
 
 " Yes, respectable fellow-creatures, men of capital 
 and enterprise ! For what are these country squires 
 compared to our wealthy merchants ? AVhat is this 
 agricultural interest that professes to be the prop of 
 the land I " 
 
 " Professes !" cried Squire Rollick " it is the prop 
 of the land ; and as for those manufacturing fellows 
 who have bought up the Mercury " 
 
 " Bought up the Mercury, have they, the vilkins ! " 
 cried Uncle Jack, interrupting the Squire, and now 
 bursting into full scent " Depend upon it, sir, it is a 
 part of a diabolical system of buying up, which must 
 be exposed manfully. Yes, as I was saying, what is 
 that agricultural interest which they desire to ruin'? 
 which they declare to be so bloated which they call 
 ' a vampire !' they the true blood-suckers, the venom- 
 ous millocrats ! Fellow-creatures, sir ! I may well call 
 distressed fellow-creatures the members of that much 
 suffering class of which you yourself are an ornament. 
 What can be more deserving of our best efforts for 
 relief, than a country gentleman like yourself, Ave'll say 
 of a nominal 5000 a-year compelled to keep up 
 an establishment, pay for his fox-hounds, support the 
 whole population by contributions to the poor-rates, 
 support the whole church by tithes ; all justice, jails, 
 and prosecutions by the county rates all thoroughfares 
 by the highway rates ground down by mortgages, 
 Jews, or jointures ; having to provide for younger 
 children ; enormous expenses for cutting his woods, 
 manuring his model farm, and fattening huge oxen till
 
 72 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 every pound of flesh costs him five pounds sterling in 
 oil-cake ; and then the lawsuits necessary to protect his 
 rights ; plundered on all hands by poachers, sheep- 
 stealers, dog-stealers, churchwardens, overseers, garden- 
 ers, gamekeepers, and that necessary rascal, his steward. 
 If ever there was a distressed fellow-creature in the 
 world, it is a country gentleman with a great estate." 
 
 My father evidently thought this an exquisite piece 
 of banter, for by the corner of his mouth I saw that he 
 chuckled inly. 
 
 Squire Eollick, who had interrupted the speech by 
 sundry approving exclamations, particularly at the 
 mention of poor-rates, tithes, county-rates, mortgages, 
 and poachers, here pushed the bottle to Uncle Jack, 
 and said, civilly, " There's a great deal of truth in 
 what you say, Mr Tibbets. The agricultural interest 
 is going to rum ; and when it does, I would not give 
 that for Old England ! " and Mr Eollick snapped his 
 finger and thumb. " But what is to be done done 
 for the county ? There's the rub." 
 
 " I was just coming to that," quoth Uncle Jack. 
 " You say that you have not a county paper that up- 
 holds your cause, and denounces your enemies." 
 
 " Not since the Whigs bought the shire Mer- 
 cury." 
 
 " Why, good heavens ! Mr Eollick, how can you 
 suppose that you will have justice done you, if at this 
 time of day you neglect the press ? The press, sir, 
 there it is air we breathe ! What you want is a great 
 national no, not a national A PROVINCIAL proprietary
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 73 
 
 weekly journal, supported liberally and steadily by that 
 niighty party whose very existence is at stake. With- 
 out such a paper, you are gone, you are dead, extinct, 
 defunct, buried alive ; with such a paper, well con- 
 ducted, well edited by a man of the world, of educa- 
 tion, of practical experience in agriculture and human 
 nature, mines, corn, manure, insurances, acts of parlia- 
 ment, cattle-shows, the state of parties, and the best 
 interests of society with such a man and such a paper, 
 you will carry all before you. But it must be done by 
 subscription, by association, by co-operation, by a Grand 
 Provincial Benevolent Agricultural Anti- innovating 
 Society." 
 
 " Egad, sir, you are right ! " said Mr Rollick, slap- 
 ping his thigh ; " and I'll ride over to our Lord-Lieu- 
 tenant to-morrow. His eldest son ought to carry the 
 county." 
 
 " And he will, if you encourage the press and set up 
 a journal," said Uncle Jack, rubbing his hands, and 
 then gently stretching them out, and drawing them 
 gradually together, as if he were already enclosing in 
 that airy circle the unsuspecting guineas of the unborn 
 association. 
 
 All happiness dwells more in the hope than the pos- 
 session ; and at that moment, I dare be sworn that 
 Uncle Jack felt a livelier rapture, circum prcecordia, 
 warming his entrails, and diffusing throughout his 
 whole frame of five feet eight the prophetic glow of 
 the Magna Diva Moneta, than if he had enjoyed for ten 
 years the actual possession of King Crresus's privy purse.
 
 74 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 " I thought Uncle Jack was not a Tory," said I to 
 my father the next day. 
 
 My father, who cared nothing for politics, opened 
 his eyes. 
 
 " Are you a Tory or a Whig, papa 1 " 
 
 " Um," said my father " there's a great deal to be 
 said on both sides of the question. You see, my boy, 
 that Mrs Prinimins has a great many moulds for our 
 butter-pats ; sometimes they come up with a crown on 
 them, sometimes with the more popular impress of a 
 cow. It is all very well for those who dish up the 
 butter to print it according to their taste, or in proof of 
 their abilities ; it is enough for us to butter our bread, 
 say grace, and pay for the dairy. Do you under- 
 stand 1 " 
 
 " Not a bit, sir." 
 
 " Your namesake Pisistratus was wiser than you, 
 then," said my father. "And now let us feed the 
 duck. Where's your uncle 1" 
 
 " He has borrowed Mr Squills' mare, sir, and gone 
 with Squire Rollick to the great lord they were talk- 
 ing of." 
 
 " Oho ! " said my father, " brother Jack is going to 
 print his butter ! " 
 
 And indeed Uncle Jack played his cards so well on 
 this occasion, and set before the Lord- Lieutenant, with 
 whom he had a personal interview, so fine a prospectus, 
 and so nice a calculation, that before my holidays were 
 over, he was installed in a very handsome office in the 
 county town, with private apartments over it, and a
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 75 
 
 salary of 500 a-year for advocating the cause of his 
 distressed fellow-creatures, including noblemen, squires, 
 yeomanry, farmers, and all yearly subscribers in the 
 XBW PROPRIETARY AGRICULTURAL ANTI- INNOVATING 
 
 SHIRE WEEKLY GAZETTE. At the head of his 
 
 newspaper Uncle Jack caused to be engraved a crown 
 supported by a flail and a crook, with the motto, " Pro 
 rege et grege : " And that was the way in which 
 Uncle Jack printed his pats of butter.
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 I SEEMED to myself to have made a leap in life when 
 I returned to school. I no longer felt as a boy. Uncle 
 Jack, out of his own purse, had presented me with my 
 first pair of Wellington boots ; my mother had been 
 coaxed into allowing me a small tail to jackets hitherto 
 tail-less ; my collars, which had been wont, spaniel- 
 like, to flap and fall about my neck, now, terrier-wise, 
 stood erect and rampant, encompassed with a circum- 
 vallation of whalebone, buckram, and black silk. I 
 was, in truth, nearly seventeen, and I gave myself the 
 airs of a man. Now, be it observed, that that crisis in 
 adolescent existence wherein we first pass from Master 
 Sisty into Mr Pisistratus, or Pisistratus Caxton, Esq. 
 wherein we arrogate, and with tacit concession from 
 our elders, the long-envied title of "young man"- 
 always seems a sudden and imprompt upshooting and 
 elevation. We do not mark the gradual preparations 
 thereto ; we remember only one distinct period in 
 which all the signs and symptoms burst and effloresced 
 together ; Wellington boots, coat tail, cravat, down on 
 the upper lip, thoughts on razors, reveries on young 
 ladies, and a new kind of sense of poetry.
 
 THE CAXTONS. 77 
 
 I began now to read steadily, to understand what I 
 did read, and to cast some anxious looks towards the 
 future, with vague notions that I had a place to win in 
 the world, and that nothing is to be won without per- 
 severance and labour ; and so I went on till I was 
 seventeen, and at the head of the school, when I re- 
 ceived the two letters I subjoin. 
 
 1. FKOM AUGUSTINE CAXTON, ESQ. 
 " Mr DEAR SON, I have informed Dr Herman that 
 you will not return to him after the approaching holi- 
 days. You are old enough now to look forward to the 
 embraces of our beloved Alma Mater, and I think stu- 
 dious enough to hope for the honours she bestows on 
 her worthier sons. You are already entered at Trinity, 
 and in fancy I see my youth return to me in your 
 image. I see you wandering where the Cam steals its 
 way through those noble gardens ; and, confusing you 
 with myself, I recall the old dreams that haunted me 
 when the chiming bells swung over the placid waters. 
 ' Verum secretumque Mouseion, .quarn multa dictatis, 
 quam multa invenitis ! ' There at that illustrious col- 
 lege, unless the race has indeed degenerated, you will 
 measure yourself with young giants. You will see 
 those who, in the Law, the Church, the State, or the 
 still cloisters of Learning, are destined to become the 
 eminent leaders of your age. To rank amongst them 
 you are not forbidden to aspire ; he who in youth ' can 
 scorn delight, and love laborious days,' should pitch 
 high his ambition.
 
 78 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 " Your Uncle Jack says he has done wonders with his 
 newspaper, though Mr Rollick grumbles, and declares 
 that it is full of theories, and that it puzzles the farmers. 
 Uncle Jack, in reply, contends that he creates an au- 
 dience, not addresses one, and sighs that his genius 
 is thrown away in a provincial town. In fact, he really 
 is a very clever man, and might do much in London, 1 
 dare say. He often comes over to dine and sleep, re- 
 turning the next morning. His energy is wonderful 
 and contagious. Can you imagine that he has actually 
 stirred up the flame of my vanity, by constantly poking 
 at the bars ? Metaphor apart I find myself collecting 
 all my notes and commonplaces, and wondering to see 
 how easily they fall into method, and take shape in 
 chapters and books. I cannot help smiling when I add, 
 that I fancy I am going to become an author; and 
 smiling more when I think that your Uncle Jack should 
 have provoked me into so egregious an ambition. How- 
 ever, I have read some passages of my book to your 
 mother, and she says, ' it is vastly fine/ which is en- 
 couraging. Your mother has great good sense, though 
 I don't mean to say that she has much learning, which 
 is a wonder, considering that Pic de la Mirandola was 
 nothing to her father. Yet he died, dear great man, 
 and never printed a line, while I positively I blush 
 to think of my temerity ! 
 
 " Adieu, my son ; make the best of the time that 
 remains with you at the Philhellenic. A full mind is 
 the true Pantheism, plena Jovis. It is only in some
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 79 
 
 corner of the brain which we leave empty that Vice can 
 obtain a lodging. When she knocks at your door, my 
 son, be able to say, f ~No room for your ladyship, pass 
 on.' Your affectionate father, 
 
 "A. CAXTON." 
 
 2. FROM MRS CAXTON. 
 
 " MY DEAREST SISTY, You are coming home ! My 
 heart is so full of that thought that it seems to me as if 
 I could not write anything else. Dear child, you are 
 coming home ; you have done with school, you have 
 done with strangers you are our own, all our own son 
 again ! You are mine again, as you were in the cradle, 
 the nursery, and the garden, Sisty, when we used to 
 throw daisies at each other ! You will laugh at me so, 
 when I tell you, that as soon as I heard you were com- 
 ing home for good, I crept away from the room, and 
 went to my drawer where I keep, you know, all my 
 treasures. There was your little cap that I worked 
 myself, and your poor little nankeen jacket that you 
 were so proud to throw off oh ! and many other relics 
 of you when you were little Sisty, and I was not the 
 cold, formal 'Mother' you call me now, but dear 
 ' Mamma.' I kissed them, Sisty, and said, ' my little 
 child is coming back to me again ! ' So foolish was I, 
 I forgot all the long years that have passed, and fancied 
 I could carry you again in my arms, and that I should 
 again coax you to say ' God bless papa.' Well, well ! 
 I wiite now between laughing and crying. You cannot
 
 80 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 be what you were, but you are still my own dear son 
 your father's son dearer to me than all the world 
 except that father. 
 
 " I am so glad, too, that you will come so soon : 
 come while your father is really warm with his book, 
 and while you can encourage and keep him to it. For 
 why should he not be great and famous ? Why should 
 not all admire him as we do ? You know how proud 
 of him I always was ; but I do so long to let the world 
 know why I was so proud. And yet, after all, it is not 
 only because he is so wise and learned, but because 
 he is so good, and has such a large noble heart. But 
 the heart must appear in the book too, as well as the 
 learning. For though it is full of things I don't under- 
 stand every now and then there is something I do 
 understand that seems as if that heart spoke out to all 
 the world. 
 
 " Your uncle has undertaken to get it published ; 
 and your father is going up to town with him about it, 
 as soon as the first volume is finished. 
 
 " All are quite well except poor Mrs Jones, who has 
 the ague very bad indeed ; Primmins has made her 
 wear a charm for it, and Mrs Jones actually declares 
 she is already much better. One can't deny that there 
 may be a great deal in such things, though it seems 
 quite against the reason. Indeed your father says, 
 ' Why not 1 A charm must be accompanied by a 
 strong wish on the part of the charmer that it may 
 succeed, and what is magnetism but a wish 1 ' I don't
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 81 
 
 quite comprehend this ; but, like all your father says, 
 it has more than meets the eye, I am quite sure. 
 
 " Only three weeks to the holidays, and then no more 
 school, Sisty no more school ! I shall have your 
 room all done freshly, and made so pretty ; they are 
 coming about it to-morrow. 
 
 " The duck is quite well, and I really don't think it 
 is quite as lame as it was. 
 
 " God bless you, dear, dear child. Your affectionate 
 happy mother. " K. C." 
 
 The interval between these letters and the morning 
 on which I was to return home seemed to me like one 
 of those long, restless, yet half-dreamy days which in 
 some infant malady I had passed in a sick-bed. I went 
 through my taskwork mechanically, composed a Greek 
 ode in farewell to the Philhellenic, which Dr Herman 
 pronounced a chef cfoeuvre, and my father, to whom I 
 sent it in triumph, returned a letter of false English 
 with it, that parodied all my Hellenic barbarisms by 
 imitating them in my mother tongue. However, I 
 swallowed the leek, and consoled myself with the 
 pleasing recollection that, after spending six years in 
 learning to write bad Greek, I should never have any 
 further occasion to avail myself of so precious an accom- 
 plishment. 
 
 And so came the last day. Then alone, and in a 
 kind of delighted melancholy, I revisited each of the 
 old haunts. The robber's cave we had dug one winter, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 and maintained, six of us, against all the police of the 
 little kingdom. The place near the pales where I had 
 fought my first hattle. The old beech stump on which 
 I sate to read letters from home ! With my knife, rich 
 in six blades (besides a cork-screw, a pen-picker, and a 
 button-hook), I carved my name in large capitals over 
 my desk. Then night came, and the bell rang, and we 
 went to our rooms. And I opened the window and 
 looked out. I saw all the stars, and wondered which 
 was mine which should light to fame and fortune the 
 manhood about to commence. Hope and Ambition 
 were high within me ; and yet, behind them, stood 
 Melancholy. Ah ! who amongst you, readers, can now 
 summon back all those thoughts, sweet and sad all 
 that untold, half-conscious regret for the past all those 
 vague longings for the future, which made a poet of the 
 dullest on the last night before leaving boyhood and 
 school for ever.
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 IT was a beautiful summer afternoon when the coach 
 set me down at my father's gate. Mrs Primmins her- 
 self ran out to welcome me ; and I had scarcely escaped 
 from the warm clasp of her friendly hand, before I was 
 in the arms of my mother. 
 
 As soon as that tenderest of parents was convinced 
 that I was not famished, seeing that I had dined two 
 hours ago at Dr Herman's, she led me gently across 
 the garden towards the arbour. " You will find your 
 father so cheerful," said she, wiping away a tear. " His 
 brother is with him." 
 
 I stopped. His brother ! Will the reader believe 
 it ? I had never heard that he had a brother, so little 
 were family affairs ever discussed in my hearing. 
 
 " His brother !" said I. "Have I then an Uncle 
 Caxton as well as an Uncle Jack?" 
 
 " Yes, my love," said my mother. And then she 
 added, " Your father and he were not such good friends
 
 84 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 as they ought to have been, and the Captain has been 
 abroad. However, thank heaven ! they are now quite 
 reconciled." 
 
 "We had time for no more we were in the arbour. 
 There, a table was spread with wine and fruit the 
 gentlemen were at their dessert ; and those gentlemen 
 were my father, Uncle Jack, Mr Squills, and tall, 
 lean, buttoned-to-the-chin an erect, martial, majestic, 
 and imposing personage, who seemed worthy of a place 
 in my great ancestor's " Boke of Chivalrie." 
 
 All rose as I entered ; but my poor father, who was 
 always slow in his movements, had the last of me. 
 Uncle Jack had left the very powerful impression of 
 his great seal-ring on my fingers ; Mr Squills had 
 patted me on the shoulder, and pronounced me " won- 
 derfully grown ; " my new-found relative had with 
 great dignity said, "Nephew, your hand, sir I am 
 Captain de Caxton;" and even the tame duck had 
 taken her beak from her wing, and rubbed it gently 
 between my legs, which was her usual mode of saluta- 
 tion, before my father placed his pale hand on my fore- 
 head, and, looking at me for a moment with unutter- 
 able sweetness, said, " More and more like your mother 
 God bless you !" 
 
 A chair had been kept vacant for me between my 
 father and his brother. I sat down in haste, and with 
 a tingling colour on my cheeks and a rising at my 
 throat, so much had the unusual kindness of my 
 father's greeting affected me; and then there came 
 over me a sense of my new position. I was no
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 85 
 
 longer a schoolboy at home for his brief holiday : I 
 had returned to the shelter of the roof-tree to become 
 myself one of its supports. I was at last a man, privi- 
 leged to aid or solace those dear ones who had minis- 
 tered, as yet without return, to me. That is a very 
 strange crisis in our life when we come home "for 
 good." Home seems a different thing : before, one 
 has been but a sort of guest after all, only welcomed 
 and indulged, and little festivities held in honour of 
 the released and happy child. But to come home for 
 good to have done with school and boyhood is to 
 be a guest, a child no more. It is to share the every- 
 day life of cares and duties it is to enter into the 
 confidences of home. Is it not so ? I cpuld have buried 
 my face in my hands, and wept ! 
 
 My father, with all his abstraction and all his sim- 
 plicity, had a knack now and then of penetrating at 
 once to the heart. I verily believe he read all that 
 was passing in mine as easily as if it had been Greek. 
 He stole his arm gently round my waist and whispered, 
 " Hush !" Then lifting his voice he cried aloud, " Bro- 
 ther Eoland, you must not let Jack have the best of 
 the argument." 
 
 "Brother Austin," replied the Captain, very for- 
 mally, " Mr Jack, if I may take the liberty so to call 
 him." 
 
 " You may indeed," cried Uncle Jack. 
 
 "Sir," said the Captain, bowing, "it is a familiarity 
 that does me honour. I was about to say that Mr Jack 
 has retired from the field."
 
 86 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 " Far from it," said Squills, dropping an effervescing 
 powder into a chemical mixture which he had been 
 preparing with great attention, composed of sherry and 
 lemon-juice " far from it. Mr Tibbets whose organ 
 of combativeness is finely developed, by the by was 
 saying" 
 
 "That it is a rank sin and shame in the nineteenth 
 century," quoth Uncle Jack, " that a man like my 
 friend Captain Caxton" 
 
 " De Caxton, sir Mr Jack." 
 
 " De Caxton of the highest military talents, of the 
 most illustrious descent a hero sprung from heroes 
 should have served so many years, and with such dis- 
 tinction, in his Majesty's service, and should now be 
 only a captain on half-pay. This, I say, comes of the 
 infamous system of purchase, which sets up the highest 
 honours for sale as they did in the Roman empire"- 
 
 My father pricked up his ears ; but Uncle Jack 
 pushed on before my father could get ready the forces 
 of his meditated interruption. 
 
 "A system which a little effort, a little union, can so 
 easily terminate. Yes, sir," and Uncle Jack thumped 
 the table, and two cherries bobbed up and smote Cap- 
 tain de Caxton on the nose "yes, sir, I will under- 
 take to say that I could put the army upon a very 
 different footing. If the poorer and more meritorious 
 gentlemen, like Captain de Caxton, would, as I was 
 just observing, but unite in a grand anti-aristocratic 
 association, each paying a small sum quarterly, we 
 could realise a capital sufficient to outpurchase all these
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 87 
 
 undeserving individuals, and every man of merit should 
 have his fair chance of promotion." 
 
 "Egad, sir," said Squills, "there is something grand 
 in that eh, Captain?" 
 
 " No, sir," replied the Captain quite seriously ; 
 " there is in monarchies but one fountain of honour. 
 It would be an interference with a soldier's first duty 
 his respect for his sovereign." 
 
 "On the contrary," said Mr Squills, "it would still 
 be to the sovereigns that one would owe the promo- 
 tion." 
 
 " Honour," pursued the Captain, colouring up, and 
 unheeding this witty interruption, " is the reward of a 
 soldier. What do I care that a young jackanapes buys 
 his colonelcy over my head? Sir, he does not buy 
 from me my wounds and my services. Sir, he does 
 not buy from me the medal I won at Waterloo. He 
 is a rich man, and I am a poor man ; he is called 
 colonel, because he paid money for the name. That 
 pleases him ; well and good. It would not please me : 
 I had rather remain a captain, and feel my dignity, 
 not in my title, but in the services by which it has 
 been won. A beggarly, rascally association of stock- 
 brokers, for aught I know, buy me a company ! I 
 don't want to be uncivil, or I would say damn 'em, 
 Mr sir Jack !" 
 
 A sort of thrill ran through the Captain's audience 
 even Uncle Jack seemed touched, for he stared very 
 hard at the grim veteran, and said nothing. The pause 
 was awkward Mr Squills broke it. "I should like,"
 
 88 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 quoth he, "to see your "Waterloo medal you have it 
 not about you]" 
 
 " Mr Squills," answered the Captain, " it lies next 
 to my heart while I live. It shall be buried in my 
 coffin, and I shall rise with it, at the word of com 
 mand, on the day of the Grand Eeview !" So saying, 
 the Captain leisurely unbuttoned his coat, and, de- 
 taching from a piece of striped ribbon as ugly a speci- 
 men of the art of the silversmith (begging its pardon) 
 as ever rewarded merit at the expense of taste, placed 
 the medal on the table. 
 
 The medal passed round, without a word, from hand 
 to hand. 
 
 "It is strange," at last said my father, "how such 
 trifles can be made of such value how in one age a 
 man sells his life for what in the next age he would 
 not give a button ! A Greek esteemed beyond price a 
 few leaves of olive twisted into a circular shape, and 
 set upon his head a very ridiculous headgear we 
 should now call it ! An American Indian prefers a 
 decoration of human scalps, which, I apprehend, we 
 should all agree (save and except Mr Squills, who is 
 accustomed to such things) to be a very disgusting ad- 
 dition to one's personal attractions ; and my brother 
 values this piece of silver, which may be worth about 
 five shillings, more than Jack does a gold mine, or I 
 do the library of the London Museum. A time will 
 come when people will think that as idle a decoration 
 as leaves and scalps."
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 89 
 
 "Brother," said the Captain, "there is nothing 
 strange in the matter. It is as plain as a pike-staff to 
 a man who understands the principles of honour." 
 
 " Possibly," said niy father mildly. " I should like 
 to hear what you have to say upon honour. I am sure 
 it would very much edify us all."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MY UNCLE ROLAND'S DISCOURSE UPON HONOUR. 
 
 " GENTLEMEN," began the Captain, at the distinct 
 appeal thus made to him "Gentlemen, God made 
 the earth, but man made the garden. God made man, 
 but man re-creates himself." 
 
 " True, by knowledge," said my father. 
 
 " By industry," said Uncle Jack. 
 
 "By the physical conditions of his body," said Mr 
 Squills. " He could not have made himself other than 
 he was at first in the woods and wilds if he had fins 
 like a fish, or could only chatter gibberish like a mon- 
 key. Hands and a tongue, sir ; these are the instru- 
 ments of progress." 
 
 "Mr Squills," said my father, nodding, "Anaxa- 
 goras said very much the same thing before you, touch- 
 ing the hands." 
 
 "I can't help that," answered Mr Squills; "one 
 could not open one's lips, if one were bound to say 
 what nobody else had said. But, after all, our superi- 
 ority is less in our hands than the greatness of our 
 thumbs"
 
 THE CAXTONS. 91 
 
 "Albinos, de Sceleto, and our own learned "William 
 LaAvrence, have made a similar remark," again put in 
 my father. 
 
 " Hang it, sir !" exclaimed Squills, " what business 
 have you to know everything ] " 
 
 " Everything ! No ; but thumbs furnish subjects of 
 investigation to the simplest understanding," said my 
 father, modestly. 
 
 " Gentlemen," recommenced my Uncle Roland, 
 "thumbs and hands are given to an Esquimaux, as 
 well as to scholars and surgeons and what the deuce 
 are they the wiser for them ] Sirs, you cannot reduce 
 us thus into mechanism. Look within. Man, I say, 
 recreates himself. How ? BY THE PRINCIPLE OF 
 HONOUR. His first desire is to excel some one else 
 his first impulse is distinction above his fellows. 
 Heaven places in his soul, as if it were a compass, a 
 needle that always points to one end viz. to honour 
 in that which those around him consider honourable. 
 Therefore, as man at first is exposed to all dangers 
 from wild beasts, and from men as savage as himself, 
 COURAGE becomes the first quality mankind must 
 honour : therefore the savage is courageous ; therefore 
 he covets the praise for courage ; therefore he decor- 
 ates himself with the skins of the beasts he has sub- 
 dued, or the scalps of the foes he has slain. Sirs, 
 don't tell me that the skins and the scalps are only 
 hide and leather ; they are trophies of honour. Don't 
 tell me that they are ridiculous and disgusting ; they 
 become glorious as proofs that the savage has emerged
 
 92 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 out of the first brute-like egotism, and attached price 
 to the praise which men never give except for works 
 that secure or advance their welfare. By-and-by, sirs, 
 our savages discover that they cannot live in safety 
 amongst themselves, unless they agree to speak the 
 truth to each other : therefore TKUTH becomes valued, 
 and grows into a principle of honour ; so, brother 
 Austin will tell us that in the primitive times, truth 
 was always the attribute of a hero." 
 
 "Right," said my father; "Homer emphatically 
 assigns it to Achilles." 
 
 " Out of truth comes the necessity for some kind of 
 rude justice and law. Therefore men, after courage in 
 the warrior, and truth in all, begin to attach honour to 
 the elder, whom they intrust with preserving justice 
 amongst them. So, sirs, LAW is born" 
 
 "But the first lawgivers were priests," quoth my 
 father. 
 
 "Sirs, I am coming to that. Whence arises the 
 desire of honour, but from man's necessity of excelling 
 in other words, of improving his faculties for the 
 benefit of others, though, unconscious of that conse- 
 quence, man only strives for their praise ? But that 
 desire for honour is unextinguishable, and man is natu- 
 rally anxious to carry its rewards beyond the grave. 
 Therefore, he who has slain most lions or enemies, is 
 naturally prone to believe that he shall have the best 
 hunting fields in the country beyond, and take the best 
 place at the banquet. Nature, in all its operations, 
 impresses man with the idea of an invisible Power;
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 93 
 
 and the principle of honour that is, the desire of 
 praise anil reward makes him anxious for the ap- 
 proval which that Power can bestow. Thence comes 
 the first rude idea of RELIGION; and in the death-hymn 
 at the stake, the savage chants songs prophetic of the 
 distinctions he is about to receive. Society goes on ; 
 hamlets are built ; property is established. He who 
 has more than another has more power than another. 
 Power is honoured. Man covets the honour attached 
 to the power which is attached to possession. Thus the 
 soil is cultivated ; thus the rafts are constructed ; thus 
 tribe trades with tribe ; thus COMMERCE is founded, 
 and CIVILISATION commenced. Sirs, all that seems 
 least connected with honour, as we approach the vulgar 
 days of the present, has its origin in honour, and is 
 but an abuse of its principles. If men nowadays are 
 hucksters and traders if even military honours are 
 pxirchased, and a rogue buys his way to a peerage 
 still all arise from the desire for honour, which society, 
 as it grows old, gives to the outward signs of titles and 
 gold, instead of, as once, to its inward essentials, 
 courage, truth, justice, enterprise. Therefore, I say, 
 sirs, that honour is the foundation of all improvement 
 in mankind." 
 
 " You have argued like a schoolman, brother," said 
 Mr Caxton, admiringly; "but still, as to this round 
 piece of silver don't we go back to the most barbar- 
 ous ages in estimating so highly such things as have 
 no real value in themselves as could not give us one 
 opportunity for instructing our minds 1 "
 
 94 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 " Could not pay for a pair of boots," added Uncle 
 Jack. 
 
 "Or," said Mr Squills, "save you one twinge of the 
 cursed rheumatism you have got for life from that 
 night's bivouac in the Portuguese marshes to say 
 nothing of the bullet in your cranium, and that cork- 
 leg, which must much diminish the salutary effects of 
 your constitutional walk." 
 
 "Gentlemen," resumed the Captain, nothing abashed, 
 " in going back to those barbarous ages, I go back to 
 the true principles of honour. It is precisely because 
 this round piece of silver has no value in the market 
 that it is priceless, for thus it is only a proof of desert. 
 Where would be the sense of service in this medal, if 
 it could buy back my leg, or if I could bargain it away 
 for forty thousand a-year 1 ~No, sirs, its value is this 
 that when I wear it on my breast, men shall say, 
 ' that formal old fellow is not so useless as he seems. 
 He was one of those who saved England and freed 
 Europe.' And even when I conceal it here" (and, 
 devoutly kissing the medal, Uncle Eoland restored it 
 to its ribbon and its resting-place), "and no eye sees 
 it, its value is yet greater in the thought that my 
 country has not degraded the old and true principles 
 of honour, by paying the soldier who fought for her in 
 the same coin as that in which you, Mr Jack, sir, pay 
 your bootmaker's bill. No, no, gentlemen. As cour- 
 age was the first virtue that honour called forth the 
 first virtue from which all safety and civilisation pro- 
 ceed, so we do right to keep that one virtue at least
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 95 
 
 clear and unsullied from all the money-making, mer- 
 cenary, pay-me-in-cash abominations which are the 
 vices, not the virtues, of the civilisation it has pro- 
 duced." 
 
 ]\Iv Uncle Roland here came to a. full stop; and, 
 filling his glass, rose and said solemnly "A last 
 bumper, gentlemen, 'To the dead who died for 
 England ! ' "
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 " INDEED, my dear, you must take it. You cer- 
 tainly have caught cold : you sneezed three times to- 
 gether." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am; because I would take a pinch of 
 Uncle Eoland's snuff, just to say that I had taken a 
 pinch out of his box the honour of the thing, you 
 know." 
 
 " Ah, my dear ! what was that very clever remark 
 you made at the same time, which so pleased your 
 father something about Jews and the college 1 ?" 
 
 " Jews and oh ! ' pulverem Oiympicum colleyisse 
 juvat,' my dear mother which means, that it is a 
 pleasure to take a pinch out of a brave man's snuff- 
 box. I say, mother, put down the posset. Yes, I'll 
 take it ; I will, indeed. Now, then, sit here that's 
 right and tell me all you know about this famous old 
 Captain. Imprimis, he is older than my father 1 ?" 
 
 "To be sure !" exclaimed my mother, indignantly; 
 " he looks twenty years older ; but there is only five 
 years' real difference. Your father must always look 
 young." 
 
 "And why does Uncle Roland put that absurd
 
 THE CAXTONS. 97 
 
 French de before his name and why were my father 
 and he not good friends and is he married and has 
 he any children ]" 
 
 Scene of this conference my own little room, new 
 papered on purpose for my return for good trellis- 
 work paper, flowers and birds all so fresh, and so 
 new, and so clean, and so gay with my books ranged 
 in neat shelves, and a writing-table by the window ; 
 and, without the window, shines the still summer 
 moon. The window is a little open you scent the 
 flowers and the new-mown hay. Past eleven ; and 
 the boy and his dear mother are all alone. 
 
 " My dear, my dear ! you ask so many questions at 
 once." 
 
 " Don't answer them, then. Begin at the begin- 
 ning, as ISTurse Primmins does with her fairy tales 
 ' Once on a time. 5 " 
 
 " Once on a time, then," said my mother kissing 
 me between the eyes " once on a time, my love, there 
 was a certain clergyman in Cumberland, who had two 
 sons ; he had but a small living, and the boys were to 
 make their own way in the world. But close to the 
 parsonage, on the brow of a hill, rose an old ruin, with 
 one tower left, and this, with half the country round 
 it, had once belonged to the clergyman's family ; but 
 all had been sold all gone piece by piece, you see, my 
 dear, except the presentation to the living (what they 
 call the advowson was sold too), which had been se- 
 cured to the last of the family. The elder of these 
 
 VOL. i. G
 
 98 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 sons was your Uncle Eoland the younger was your 
 father. Now I believe the first quarrel arose from the 
 absurdest thing possible, as your father says ; but 
 Eoland was exceedingly touchy on all things connected 
 with his ancestors. He was always poring over the 
 old pedigree, or wandering amongst the ruins, or read- 
 ing books of knight-errantry. Well, where this pedi- 
 gree began I know not, but it seems that King Henry II. 
 gave some lands in Cumberland to one Sir Adam de 
 Caxton; and from that time, you see, the pedigree 
 went regularly from father to son till Henry V. ; then, 
 apparently from the disorders produced, as your father 
 says, by the "Wars of the Roses, there was a sad blank 
 left only one or two names, without dates or mar- 
 riages, till the time of Henry VII., except that in the 
 reign of Edward IV. there was one insertion of a 
 William Caxton (named in a deed). Now in the vil- 
 lage church there was a beautiful brass monument to 
 one Sir William de Caxton, who had been killed at 
 the battle of Bosworth, fighting for that wicked king, 
 Richard III. And about the same time there lived, 
 as you know, the great printer, William Caxton. 
 Well, your father, happening to be in town on a visit 
 to his aunt, took great trouble in hunting up all the 
 old papers he could find at the Herald's College ; and 
 sure enough he was overjoyed to satisfy himself that 
 he was descended, not from that poor Sir William, who 
 had been killed in so bad a cause, but from the great 
 printer, who was from a younger branch of the same 
 family, and to whose descendants the estate came, in
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 99 
 
 the reign of Henry VIII. It was upon this that your 
 Uncle Roland quarrelled with him ; and, indeed, I 
 tremble to think that they may touch on that matter 
 again." 
 
 " Then, my dear mother, I must say my uncle was 
 wrong there, so far as common sense is concerned ; but 
 still, somehow or other, I can understand it. Surely 
 this was not the only cause of estrangement?" 
 
 My mother looked down, and moved one hand 
 gently over the other, which was her way when em- 
 barrassed. "What was it, my own mother?" said I, 
 coaxingly. 
 
 " I believe that is, I I think that they were both 
 attached to the same young lady." 
 
 " How ! you don't mean to say that my father was 
 ever in love with any one but you ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sisty yes, and deeply ! and," added my 
 mother, after a slight pause, and with a very low sigh, 
 " he never was in love with me ; and what is more, 
 he had the frankness to tell me so !" 
 
 " And yet you" 
 
 " Married him yes !" said my mother, raising the 
 softest and purest eyes that ever lover could have 
 wished to read his fate in " Yes, for the old love was 
 hopeless. I knew that I could make him happy. I 
 knew that he would love me at last, and he does so ! 
 My son, your father loves me !" 
 
 As she spoke, there came a blush as innocent as 
 virgin ever knew, to my mother's smooth cheek ; and 
 she looked so fair, so good, and still so young, all the
 
 100 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 while, that you would have said that either Dusius, 
 the Teuton fiend, or Nock, the Scandinavian sea-imp, 
 from whom the learned assure us we derive our modern 
 Daimones, " The Deuce," and Old Nick, had indeed 
 possessed my father, if he had not learned to love such 
 a creature. 
 
 I pressed her hand to my lips, but my heart was too 
 full to speak for a moment or so ; and then I partially 
 changed the subject. 
 
 " Well, and this rivalry estranged them more 1 And 
 who was the lady?" 
 
 "Your father never told me, and I never asked," 
 said my mother simply. " But she was very different 
 from me, I know. Very accomplished, very beautiful, 
 very high-born." 
 
 " For all that, my father was a lucky man to escape 
 her. Pass on. What did the Captain do?" 
 
 " Why, about that time your grandfather died, and 
 shortly after an aunt, on the mother's side, who was 
 rich and saving, died, and unexpectedly left them each 
 sixteen thousand pounds. Your uncle, with his share, 
 bought back, at an enormous price, the old castle and 
 some land round it, which they say does not bring him 
 in three hundred a year. With the little that re- 
 mained, he purchased a commission in the army ; and 
 the brothers met no more till last week, when Roland 
 suddenly arrived." 
 
 " He did not marry this accomplished young lady ? " 
 
 " No ! but he married another, and is a widower." 
 
 "Why, he was as inconstant as my father ; and
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 101 
 
 I am sure without so good an excuse. How was 
 that?" 
 
 " I don't know. He says nothing about it." 
 
 " Has he any children 1" 
 
 " Two, a son by the by, you must never speak 
 about him. Your uncle briefly said, when I asked 
 him what was his family, 'A girl, ma'am. I had a 
 son, but ' 
 
 " ' He is dead,' cried your father, in his kind, pity- 
 ing voice." 
 
 " ' Dead to me, brother and you will never men- 
 tion his name !' You should have seen how stern your 
 uncle looked. I was terrified." 
 
 " But the girl why did not he bring her here 1" 
 
 " She is still in France, but he talks of going over 
 for her ; and we have half promised to visit them both 
 in Cumberland. But, bless me ! is that twelve 1 and 
 the posset quite cold !" 
 
 " One word more, dearest mother one word. My 
 father's book is he still going on with it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed!" cried my mother, clasping her 
 hands ; " and he must read it to you, as he does to 
 me you will understand it so well. I have always 
 been so anxious that the world should know him, and 
 be proud of him as we are, so, so anxious ! for, 
 perhaps, Sisty, if he had married that great lady, he 
 would have roused himself, been more ambitious and 
 I could only make him happy, I could not make him 
 great !" 
 
 " So he has listened to you at last ?"
 
 102 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 "To me !" said my mother, shaking her head and 
 smiling gently. " ISTo, rather to your Uncle Jack, who, 
 I am happy to say, has at length got a proper hold 
 over him." 
 
 "A proper hold, my dear mother ! Pray beware of 
 Uncle Jack, or we shall all be swept into a coal-mine, 
 or explode with a grand national company for making 
 gunpowder out of tea-leaves !" 
 
 "Wicked child!" said my mother, laughing; and 
 then, as she took up her candle and lingered a moment 
 while I wound my watch, she said musingly, " Yet 
 Jack is very, very clever, and if for your sake we 
 could make a fortune, Sisty !" 
 
 " You frighten me out of my wits, mother ! You are 
 not in earnest 1" 
 
 " And if my brother could be the means of raising 
 Mm in the world" 
 
 " Your brother would be enough to sink all the 
 ships in the Channel, ma'am," said I, quite irrever- 
 ently. I was shocked before the words were well out 
 of my mouth ; and throwing my arms round my 
 mother's neck, I kissed away the pain I had inflicted. 
 
 When I was left alone, and in my own little crib, in 
 which my slumber had ever been so soft and easy, 
 I might as well have been lying upon cut straw. I 
 tossed to and fro I could not sleep. I rose, threw on 
 my dressing-gown, lighted my candle, and sat down by 
 the table near the window. First I thought of the 
 unfinished outline of my father's youth, so suddenly 
 sketched before me. I filled up the missing colours,
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 103 
 
 and fancied the picture explained all that had often 
 perplexed my conjectures. I comprehended, I suppose 
 by some secret sympathy in my own nature (for expe- 
 rience in mankind could have taught me little enough), 
 how an ardent, serious, inquiring mind struggling into 
 passion under the load of knowledge, had, with that 
 stimulus, sadly and abruptly withdrawn, sunk into the 
 quiet of passive, aimless study. I comprehended how, in 
 the indolence of a happy but unimpassioned marriage, 
 with a companion so gentle, so provident and watchful, 
 yet so little formed to rouse, and task, and fire an intel- 
 lect naturally calm and meditative years upon years 
 had crept away in the learned idleness of a solitary 
 scholar. I comprehended, too, how gradually and 
 slowly, as my father entered that stage of middle life, 
 when all men are most prone to ambition the long- 
 silenced whispers were heard again ; and the mind, at 
 last escaping from the listless weight which a baffled 
 and disappointed heart had laid upon it, saw once 
 more, fair as in youth, the only true mistress of Genius 
 Fame. 
 
 Oh ! how I sympathised, too, in my mother's gentle 
 triumph. Looking over the past, I could see, year after 
 year, how she had stolen more and more into my father's 
 heart of hearts how what had been kindness had 
 grown into love how custom and habit, and the count- 
 less links in the sweet charities 'of home, had supplied 
 that sympathy with the genial man which had been 
 missed at first by the lonely scholar. 
 
 Next I thought of the grey, eagle-eyed old soldier,
 
 104 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 with his ruined tower and barren acres, and saw before 
 me his proud, prejudiced, chivalrous boyhood, gliding 
 through the ruins or poring over the mouldy pedigree. 
 And this son, so disowned, for what dark offence 1 
 an awe crept over me. And this girl his ewe-lamb 
 his all was she fair ? had she blue eyes like my 
 mother, or a high Roman nose and beetle brows like 
 Captain Roland 1 I mused, and mused, and mused 
 and the candle went out and the moonlight grew 
 broader and stiller ; till at last I was sailing in a balloon 
 with Uncle Jack, and had just tumbled into the Red 
 Sea when the well-known voice of nurse Primmins 
 restored me to life with a " God bless my heart ! the 
 boy has not been in bed all this 'varsal night ! "
 
 OHAPTEE IV. 
 
 As soon as I was dressed I hastened down stairs, for I 
 longed to revisit my old haunts the little plot of gar- 
 den I had sown with anemones and cresses ; the walk 
 by the peach wall ; the pond wherein I had angled for 
 roach and perch. 
 
 Entering the hall, I discovered my Uncle Roland in 
 a great state of embarrassment. The maid-servant was 
 scrubbing the stones at the hall-door ; she was naturally 
 plump, and it is astonishing how much more plump 
 a female becomes when she is on all-fours ! the maid- 
 servant, then, was scrubbing the stones, her face turned 
 from the Captain ; and the Captain, evidently meditating 
 a sortie, stood ruefully gazing at the obstacle before him 
 and hemming aloud. Alas, the maid-servant was deaf ! 
 I stopped, curious to see how Uncle Eoland would ex- 
 tricate himself from the dilemma. 
 
 Finding that his hems were in vain, my uncle made 
 himself as small as he could, and glided close to the 
 left of the wall : at that instant, the maid turned ab- 
 ruptly round towards the right, and completely ob- 
 structed, by this manoeuvre, the slight crevice through 
 which hope had dawned on her captive. My uncle
 
 106 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 stood stock-still, and, to say the truth, he could not 
 have stirred an inch without coming into personal con- 
 tact with the rounded charms which blockaded his 
 movements. My uncle took off his hat and scratched 
 his forehead in great perplexity. Presently, by a 
 slight turn of the flanks, the opposing party, while 
 leaving him an opportunity of return, entirely precluded 
 all chance of egress in that quarter. My uncle retreated 
 in haste, and now presented himself to the right wing 
 of the enemy. He had scarcely done so when, without 
 looking behind her, the blockading party shoved aside 
 the pail that crippled the range of her operations, and 
 so placed it that it formed a formidable barricade, which 
 my uncle's cork leg had no chance of surmounting. 
 Therewith Captain Roland lifted his eyes appealingly 
 to heaven, and I heard him distinctly ejaculate 
 
 " Would to Heaven she were a creature in breeches ! " 
 
 But happily at this moment the maid-servant turned 
 her head sharply round, and, seeing the Captain, rose 
 in an instant, moved away the pail, and dropped a 
 frightened curtsy. 
 
 My Uncle Roland touched his hat, "I beg you a 
 thousand pardons, my good girl," said he ; and, with a 
 half bow, he slid into the open air. 
 
 " You have a soldier's politeness, uncle," said I, 
 tucking my arm into Captain Eoland' s. 
 
 "Tush, my boy," said he, smiling seriously, and 
 colouring up to the temples; "tush, say a gentle- 
 man's ! To us, sir, every woman is a lady, in right of 
 her sex."
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 107 
 
 Now, I had often occasion later to recall that aphorism . 
 of my uncle's ; and it served to explain to me how a 
 man, so prejudiced on the score of family pride, never 
 seemed to consider it an offence in my father to have 
 married a woman whose pedigree was as brief as my 
 dear mother's. Had she been a Montmorenci, my 
 uncle could not have been more respectful and gallant 
 than he was to that meek descendant of the Tibbetses. 
 He held, indeed, which I never knew any other man, 
 vain of family, approve or support, a doctrine deduced 
 from the following syllogisms : 1st, That birth was not 
 valuable in itself, but as a transmission of certain 
 qualities which descent from a race of warriors should 
 perpetuate viz. truth, courage, honour; 2dly, That, 
 whereas from the woman's side we derive our more in- 
 tellectual faculties, from the man's we derive our moral ; 
 a clever and witty man generally has a clever and witty 
 mother ; a brave and honourable man, a brave and 
 honourable father. Therefore, all* the qualities which 
 attention to race should perpetuate, are the manly 
 qualities traceable only from the father's side. Again, 
 he held that while the aristocracy have higher and more 
 chivalrous notions, the people generally have shrewder 
 and livelier ideas. Therefore, to prevent gentlemen 
 from degenerating into complete dunderheads, an ad- 
 mixture with the people, provided always it was on the 
 female side, was not only excusable, but expedient ; 
 and, finally, my uncle held, that, whereas a man is a 
 rude, coarse, sensual animal, and requires all manner of 
 associations to dignify and refine him, women are so
 
 108 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 naturally susceptible of everything beautiful in senti- 
 ment, and generous in purpose, that she who is a true 
 woman is a fit peer for a king. Odd and preposterous 
 notions, no doubt, and capable of much controversy, so 
 far as the doctrine of race (if that be any way tenable) is 
 concerned ; but then the plain fact is, that my Uncle 
 Roland was as eccentric and contradictory a gentleman 
 as as why, as you and I are, if we once venture 
 to think for ourselves. 
 
 ""Well, sir, and what profession are you meant for]" 
 asked my uncle " not the army, I fear?" 
 
 " I have never thought of the subject, uncle." 
 
 " Thank Heaven," said Captain Eoland, " we have 
 never yet had a lawyer in the family ! nor a stockbroker, 
 nor a tradesman ahem ! " 
 
 I saw that my great ancestor" the printer suddenly 
 rose up in that hem. 
 
 " Why, uncle, there are honourable men in all call- 
 ings." 
 
 " Certainly, sir. But in all callings honour is not the 
 first principle of action." 
 
 " But it may be, sir, if a man of honour pursue it ! 
 There are some soldiers who have been great rascals ! " 
 
 My uncle looked posed, and his black brows met 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " You are right, boy, I dare say," he answered some- 
 what mildly. " But do you think that it ought to give 
 me as much pleasure to look on my old ruined tower, 
 if I knew it had been bought by some herring-dealer, 
 like the first ancestor of the Poles, as I do now, when
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 109 
 
 I know it was given to a knight and gentleman (who 
 traced his descent from an Anglo-Dane in the time of 
 King Alfred), for services done in Aquitaine and Gas- 
 cony, by Henry the Plantagenet 1 And do you mean 
 to tell me that I should have been the same man if I 
 had not from a boy associated that old tower with all 
 ideas of what its owners were, and should be, as knights 
 and gentlemen 1 Sir, you would have made a different 
 being of me, if at the head of my pedigree you had 
 clapped a herring-dealer ; though I dare say, the herring- 
 dealer might have been as good a man as ever the Anglo- 
 Dane was ! God rest him ! " 
 
 " And for the same reason, I suppose, sir, that you 
 think my father never would have been quite the same 
 being he is, if he had not made that notable discovery 
 touching our descent from the great William Caxton, 
 the printer." 
 
 My uncle bounded as if he had been shot ; bounded 
 so incautiously, considering the materials of which one 
 leg was composed, that he would have fallen into a 
 strawberry-bed if I had not caught him by the arm. 
 
 " Why, you you you young jackanapes," cried the 
 Captain, shaking me off as soon as he had regained his 
 equilibrium. " You do not mean to inherit that infa- 
 mous crotchet my brother has got into his head ? You 
 do not mean to exchange Sir William de Caxton, who 
 fought and fell at Bosworth, for the mechanic who 
 sold black-letter pamphlets in the Sanctuary at West- 
 minster 1 " 
 
 " That depends on the evidence, uncle !"
 
 110 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 " No, sir, like all noble truths, it depends upon faith. 
 Men, nowadays," continued my uncle, with a look of 
 ineffable disgust, " actually require that truths should 
 be proved." 
 
 " It is a sad conceit on their part, no doubt, my dear 
 uncle. But till a truth is proved, how can we know 
 that it is a truth 1" 
 
 I thought that in that very sagacious question I had 
 effectually caught my uncle. Not I. He slipped 
 through it like an eel. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " whatever, in Truth, makes a man's 
 heart warmer, and his soul purer, is a belief, not a 
 knowledge. Proof, sir, is a hand-cuff belief is a 
 wing ! Want proof as to an ancestor in the reign of 
 King Richard ! Sir, you cannot even prove to the 
 satisfaction of a logician that you are the son of your 
 own father. Sir, a religious man does not want to 
 reason about his religion religion is not mathematics. 
 Religion is to be felt, not proved. There are a great 
 many things in the religion of a good man which are 
 not in the catechism. Proof!" continued my uncle, 
 growing violent " Proof, sir, is a low, vulgar, levelling, 
 rascally Jacobin Belief is a loyal, generous, chivalrous 
 gentleman ! No, no, prove what you please, you shall 
 never rob me of one belief that has made me " 
 
 " The finest-hearted creature that ever talked non- 
 sense," said my father, who came up, like Horace's 
 deity, at the right moment. ""What is it you must 
 believe in, brother, no matter what the proof against 
 you?"
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. Ill 
 
 My uncle was silent, and with great energy dug the 
 point of his cane into the gravel. 
 
 " He will not believe in our great ancestor the 
 printer," said I, maliciously. 
 
 My father's calm brow was overcast in a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 "Brother," said the Captain loftily, "you have a 
 right to your own ideas, but you should take care how 
 they contaminate your child." 
 
 " Contaminate ! " said my father ; and for the first 
 time I saw an angry sparkle flash from his eyes, but he 
 checked himself on the instant : change the word, my 
 dear brother." 
 
 " No, sir, I will not change it ! To belie the records 
 of the family!" 
 
 " Records ! A brass plate in a village church against 
 all the books of the College of Arms ! " 
 
 " To renounce your ancestor, a knight who died in 
 the field!" 
 
 " For the worst cause that man ever fought for ! " 
 
 "On behalf of his king!" 
 
 " Who had murdered his nephews !" 
 
 " A knight ! with our crest on his helmet." 
 
 "And no brains underneath it, or he would never 
 have had them knocked out for so bloody a villain ! " 
 
 " A rascally, drudging, money-making printer !" 
 
 " The wise and glorious introducer of the art that 
 has enlightened a world. Prefer for an ancestor, to one 
 whom scholar and sage never name but in homage, a 
 worthless, obscure, jolter-headed booby in mail, whose
 
 112 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 only record to men is a brass plate in a church in a 
 village!" 
 
 My uncle turned round perfectly livid. " Enough, 
 sir ! enough ! I am insulted sufficiently. I ought to 
 have expected it. I wish you and your son a very 
 good day." 
 
 My father stood aghast. The Captain was hobbling 
 off to the iron gate ; in another moment he would 
 have been out of our precincts. I ran up and hung 
 upon him. " Uncle, it is all my fault. Between you 
 and me I am quite of your side ; pray forgive us both. 
 What could I have been thinking of, to vex you so 1 
 And my father, whom your visit has made so happy !" 
 
 My uncle paused, feeling for the latch of the gate. 
 My father had now come up, and caught his hand. 
 " "What are all the printers that ever lived, and all the 
 books they ever printed, to one wrong to thy fine 
 heart, brother Roland 1 Shame on me ! A bookman's 
 weak point, you know ! It is very true I should 
 never have taught the boy one thing to give you pain, 
 brother Roland ; though I don't remember," continued 
 my father, with a perplexed look, " that I ever did 
 teach it him either ! Pisistratus, as you value my 
 blessing, respect as your ancestor, Sir William de Caxton, 
 the hero of Bosworth. Come, come, brother ! " 
 
 " I am an old fool," said Uncle Roland, " whichever 
 way we look at it. Ah, you young dog ! you are laugh- 
 ing at us both !" 
 
 " I have ordered breakfast on the lawn," said my 
 mother, coming out from the porch, with her cheerful
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 113 
 
 smile on her lips ; " and I think the devil will be done 
 to your liking to-day, brother Roland." 
 
 " "We have had enough of the devil already, my love," 
 said my father, wiping his forehead. 
 
 So, while the birds sang overhead, or hopped fami- 
 liarly across the sward for the crumbs thrown forth to 
 them, while the sun was still cool in the east, and the 
 leaves yet rustled with the sweet air of morning, we 
 all sat down to our table, with hearts as reconciled to 
 each other, and as peaceably disposed to thank God for 
 the fair world around us, as if the river had never run 
 red through the field of Bosworth, and the excellent 
 Mr Caxton had never set all mankind by the ears with 
 an irritating invention, a thousand times more provoca- 
 tive of our combative tendencies than the blast of the 
 trumpet and the gleam of the banner ! 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 " BROTHER," said Mr Caxton, " I will walk with you 
 to the Eoman encampment." 
 
 The Captain felt that this proposal was meant as the 
 greatest peace-offering my father could think of ; for, 
 1st, it was a very long walk, and my father detested 
 long walks ; 2dly, it was the sacrifice of a whole day's 
 labour at the Great Work. And yet, with that quick 
 sensibility, which only the generous possess, Uncle 
 Roland accepted at once the proposal. If he had not 
 done so, my father would have had a heavier heart for 
 a month to come. And how could the Great Work 
 have got on while the author was every now and then 
 disturbed by a twinge of remorse 1 
 
 Half an hour after breakfast, the brothers set off 
 arm-in-arm ; and I followed, a little apart, admiring 
 how sturdily the old soldier got over the ground, in 
 spite of the cork leg. It was pleasant enough to 
 listen to their conversation, and notice the contrasts 
 between these two eccentric stamps from Dame Nature's 
 ever- variable mould, Nature who casts nothing in 
 stereotype, for I do believe that not even two fleas can 
 be found identically the same.
 
 THE CAXTONS. 115 
 
 My father was not a quick or minute observer of rural 
 beauties. He had so little of the organ of locality, that 
 I suspect he could have lost his way in his own garden. 
 But the Captain Avas exquisitely alive to external im- 
 pressions not a feature in the landscape escaped him. 
 At every fantastic gnarled pollard he halted to gaze ; 
 his eye followed the lark soaring up from his feet ; when 
 a fresher air came from the hill-top, his nostrils dilated, 
 as if voluptuously to inhale its delight. My father, 
 with all his learning, and though his study had been in 
 the stores of all language, was very rarely eloquent. The 
 Captain had a glow and a passion in his words which, 
 what with his deep, tremulous voice, and animated ges- 
 tures, gave something poetic to half of what he uttered. 
 In every sentence of Roland's, in every tone of his voice, 
 and every play of his face, there was some outbreak of 
 pride ; but, unless you set him on Ms hobby of that 
 great ancestor the printer, my father had not as much 
 pride as a homoeopathist could have put into a globule. 
 He was not proud even of not being proud. Chafe 
 all his feathers, and still you could rouse but a dove. 
 My father was slow and mild, my uncle quick and fiery ; 
 my father reasoned, my uncle imagined ; my father was 
 very seldom wrong, my uncle never quite in the right ; 
 but, as my father once said of him, " Roland beats about 
 the bush till he sends out the very bird that we went to 
 search for. He is never in the wrong without suggest- 
 ing to us what is the right." All in my uncle was stern, 
 rough, and angular ; all in my father was sweet, polished, 
 and rounded into a natural grace. My uncle's character
 
 116 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 cast out a multiplicity of shadows, like a Gothic pile in 
 a northern sky. My father stood serene in the light, 
 like a Greek temple at mid-day in a southern clime. 
 Their persons corresponded with their natures. My 
 uncle's high aquiline features, bronzed hue, rapid fire of 
 eye, and upper lip that always quivered, were a notable 
 contrast to my father's delicate profile, quiet, abstracted 
 gaze, and the steady sweetness that rested on his musing 
 smile. Roland's forehead was singularly high, and rose 
 to a peak in the summit where phrenologists place the 
 organ of veneration, but it was narrow and deeply fur- 
 rowed. Augustine's, might be as high, but then soft, 
 silky hair waved carelessly over it concealing its height, 
 but not its vast breadth on which not a wrinkle was 
 visible. And yet, withal, there was a great family 
 likeness between the two brothers. When some softer 
 sentiment subdued him, Roland caught the very look 
 of Augustine ; when some high emotion animated my 
 father, you might have taken him for Roland. I have 
 often thought since, in the greater experience of man- 
 kind which life has afforded me, that if, in early years, 
 their destinies had been exchanged if Roland had taken 
 to literature, and my father had been forced into action 
 that each would have had greater worldly success. 
 For Roland's passion and energy Avould have given 
 immediate and forcible effect to study ; he might have 
 been a historian or a poet. It is not study alone that 
 produces a writer ; it is intensity. In the mind, as in 
 yonder chimney, to make the fire burn hot and quick, 
 you must narrow the draught. Whereas, had my father
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 117 
 
 been forced into the practical world, his calm depth of 
 comprehension, his clearness of reason, his general accu- 
 racy in such notions as he once entertained and pondered 
 over, joined to a temper that crosses and losses could 
 never ruffle, and utter freedom from vanity and self-love, 
 from prejudice and passion, might have made him a very 
 wise and enlightened counsellor in the great affairs of 
 life a lawyer, a diplomatist, a statesman, for what I 
 know, even a great general if his tender humanity had 
 not stood in the way of his military mathematics. 
 
 But, as it was with his slow pulse never stimulated 
 by action, and too little stirred by even scholarly ambi- 
 tion my father's mind went on widening and widening, 
 till the circle was lost in the great ocean of contempla- 
 tion ; and Eoland's passionate energy, fretted into fever 
 by every let and hindrance, in the struggle with his 
 kind and narrowed more and more as it was curbed 
 within the channels of active discipline and duty 
 missed its due career altogether ; and what might have 
 been the poet, contracted into the humorist. 
 
 Yet, who that had ever known ye, could have wished 
 you other than ye were ye guileless, affectionate, 
 honest, simple creatures ? simple both, in spite of all 
 the learning of the one, all the prejudices, whims, irri- 
 tabilities, and crotchets of the other 1 There you are 
 seated on the height of the old Roman camp, with a 
 volume of the Stratagems of Polyoenus (or is it Fron- 
 tinus ? ) open on my father's lap ; the sheep grazing in 
 the furrows of the circumvallations ; the curious steer 
 gazing at you where it halts in the space whence the
 
 118 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 Roman cohorts glittered forth. And your boy-biographer 
 standing behind you with folded arms ; and, as the 
 scholar read or the soldier pointed his cane to each 
 fancied post in the war, filling up the pastoral land- 
 scape with the eagles of Agricola and the scythed cars 
 of Boadicea !
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " IT is never the same two hours together in this 
 country," said my Uncle Roland, as, after dinner, or 
 rather after dessert, we joined my mother in the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 Indeed, a cold drizzling rain had come on within the 
 last two hours ; and, though it was July, it was as 
 chilly as if it had been October. My mother whis- 
 pered to me, and I went out ; in ten minutes more, 
 the logs (for we live in a wood country) blazed merrily 
 in the grate. Why could not my mother have rung 
 the bell, and ordered the servant to light a fire ? My 
 dear reader, Captain Roland was poor, and he made a 
 capital virtue of economy ! 
 
 The two brothers drew their chairs near to the 
 hearth, my father at the left, my uncle at the right ; 
 and I and my mother sat down to " Fox and geese." 
 
 Coffee came in one cup for the Captain, for the rest 
 of the party avoided that exciting beverage. And on 
 that cup was a picture of His Grace the Duke of 
 Wellington ! 
 
 During our visit to the Roman camp, my mother 
 had borrowed Mr Squills' chaise, and driven over to
 
 120 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 our market-town, for the express purpose of greeting 
 the Captain's eyes with the face of his old chief. 
 
 My uncle changed colour, rose, lifted my mother's 
 hand to his lips, and sat himself down again in 
 silence. 
 
 "I have heard," said the Captain after a pause, 
 " that the Marquess of Hastings, who is every inch a 
 soldier and a gentleman and that is saying not a little, 
 for he measures seventy-five inches from the crown to 
 the sole when he received Louis XVIII. (then an 
 exile) at Donnington, fitted up his apartments exactly 
 like those his majesty had occupied at the Tuileries. 
 It was a kingly attention (my lord Hastings, you 
 know, is sprung from the Plantagenets), a kingly 
 attention to a king. It cost some money and made 
 some noise. A woman can show the same royal deli- 
 cacy of heart in this hit of porcelain, and so quietly, 
 that we men all think it a matter of course, "brother 
 Austin." 
 
 " You are such a worshipper of women, Roland, 
 that it is melancholy to see you single. You must 
 marry again !" 
 
 My uncle first smiled, then frowned, and lastly 
 sighed somewhat heavily. 
 
 " Your time will pass slowly in your old tower, poor 
 brother," continued my father, " with only your little 
 girl for a companion." 
 
 "And the past!" said my uncle; "the past, that 
 mighty world" 
 
 "Do you still read your old books of chivalry, Frois-
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 121 
 
 sart and the Chronicles, Palmerin of England and 
 Amadis of Gaul '? " 
 
 " Why," said my uncle, reddening, " I have tried to 
 improve myself with studies a little more substantial. 
 And" (he added with a sly smile) "there will be your 
 great book for many a long winter to come." 
 
 " Um !" said my father, bashfully. 
 
 "Do you know," quoth my uncle, "that Dame 
 Primmins is a very intelligent woman ; full of fancy, 
 and a capital story-teller ? " 
 
 " Is not she, uncle ? " cried I, leaving my fox in the 
 corner. " Oh, if you could hear her tell the tale of 
 King Arthur and the Enchanted Lake, or the Grim 
 White Woman ! " 
 
 "I have already heard her tell both," said my uncle. 
 
 "The deuce you have, brother ! My dear, we must 
 look to this. These captains are dangerous gentlemen 
 in an orderly household. Pray, where could you have 
 had the opportunity of such private communications 
 with Mrs Primmins ? " 
 
 " Once," said my uncle, readily, "when I went into 
 her room, Avhile she mended my stock ; and once"- 
 he stopped short, and looked down. 
 
 " Once when 1 out with it." 
 
 " When she was warming my bed," said my uncle, 
 in a half -whisper. 
 
 "Dear!" said my mother innocently, "that's how 
 the sheets came by that bad hole in the middle. I 
 thought it was the warming-pan/' 
 
 " I am quite shocked ! " faltered my uncle.
 
 122 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 "You well may be," said my father. "A woman 
 who. has been heretofore above all suspicion ! But, 
 come," he said, seeing that my uncle looked sad, and 
 was no doubt casting up the probable price of twice 
 six yards of Holland "but come, you were always 
 a famous rhapsodist or tale-teller yourself. Come, 
 Roland, let us have some story of your own ; some- 
 thing which your experience has left strong in your 
 impressions." 
 
 "Let us first- have the candles," said my mother. 
 
 The candles were brought, the curtains let down 
 we all drew our chairs to the hearth. But, in the 
 interval, my uncle had sunk into a gloomy reverie ; 
 and, when we called upon him to begin, he seemed to 
 shake off with effort some recollections of pain. 
 
 "You ask me," he said, "to tell you some tale which 
 my own experience has left deeply marked in my im- 
 pressions I will tell you one apart from my own life, 
 but which has often haunted me. It is sad and 
 strange, ma'am." 
 
 "Ma'am, brother?" said my mother reproachfully, 
 letting her small hand drop upon that which, large and 
 sunburnt, the Captain waved towards her as he spoke. 
 
 " Austin, you have married an angel ! " said my 
 uncle ; and he was, I believe, the only brother-in-law 
 who ever made so hazardous an assertion.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MY UNCLE ROLAND'S TALE. 
 
 " IT was in Spain, no matter where or how, that it was 
 niy fortune to take prisoner a French officer of the same 
 rank that I then held a lieutenant ; and there was so 
 much similarity in our sentiments, that we became inti- 
 mate friends the most intimate friend I ever had, 
 sister, out of this dear circle. He was a rough soldier, 
 whom the world had not well treated ; but he never 
 railed at the world, and maintained that he had had 
 his deserts. Honour was his idol, and the sense of 
 honoiir paid him for the loss of all else. 
 
 " We were both at that time volunteers in a foreign 
 service in that worst of service, civil war he on one 
 side, I on the other, both, perhaps, disappointed in 
 the cause we had severally espoused. There was some- 
 thing similar, too, in our domestic relationships. He 
 had a son a boy who was all in life to him, next to 
 his country and his duty. I, too, had then such a son, 
 though of fewer years." (The ^Captain paused an 
 instant : we exchanged glances, and a stifling sensation 
 of pain and suspense was felt by all his listeners.)
 
 124 THE CAXTON8: 
 
 " We were accustomed, brother, to talk of these children 
 to picture their future, to compare our hopes and 
 dreams. We hoped and dreamed alike. A short time 
 sufficed to establish this confidence. My prisoner was 
 sent to headquarters, and soon afterwards exchanged. 
 
 "We met no more till last year. Being then at 
 Paris, I inquired for my old friend, and learned that 
 
 he was living at R , a few miles from the capital. 
 
 I went to visit him. I found his house empty and 
 deserted. That very day he had been led to prison, 
 charged with a terrible crime. I saw him in that pri- 
 son, and from his own lips learned his story. His son 
 had been brought up, as he fondly believed, in the 
 habits and principles of honourable men ; and having 
 finished his education, came to reside with him at 
 R . The young man was accustomed to go fre- 
 quently to Paris. A young Frenchman loves pleasure, 
 sister ; and pleasure is found at Paris. The father 
 thought it natural, and stripped his age of some com- 
 forts to supply luxuries to the son's youth. 
 
 " Shortly after the young man's arrival, my friend 
 perceived that he was robbed. Moneys kept in his 
 bureau were abstracted he knew not how, nor could 
 guess by whom. It must be done in the night. He 
 concealed himself, and watched. He saw a stealthy 
 figure glide in, he saw a false key applied to the lock 
 he started forward, seized the felon, and recognised his 
 son. What should the father have done 1 I do not 
 ask you, sister ! I ask these men, son and father, I 
 ask you."
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 125 
 
 " Expelled him the house," cried I. 
 
 " Done his duty, and reformed the unhappy wretch," 
 said my father. " Nemo repente turpissimus semper 
 fuit y>o man is wholly bad all at once." 
 
 " The father did as you would have advised, brother. 
 He kept the youth ; he remonstrated with him ; he 
 did more he gave him the key of the bureau. ' Take 
 what I have to give/ said he : 'I would rather be a 
 beggar than know my son a thief.' " 
 
 " Right : and the youth repented, and became a good 
 man ? " exclaimed my father. 
 
 Captain Roland shook his head. " The youth pro- 
 mised amendment, and seemed penitent. He spoke of 
 the temptations of Paris, the gaming-table, and what 
 not. He gave up his daily visits to the capital. He 
 seemed to apply to study. Shortly after this, the 
 neighbourhood was alarmed by reports of night rob- 
 beries on the road. Men, masked and armed, plundered 
 travellers, and even broke into houses." 
 
 " The police were on the alert. One night an old 
 brother officer knocked at my friend's door. It was 
 late : the veteran (he was a cripple, by the way, like 
 myself strange coincidence !) was in bed. He came 
 down in haste, when his servant woke, and told him 
 that his old friend, wounded and bleeding, sought an 
 asylum under his roof. The wound, however, was 
 slight. The guest had been attacked and robbed on 
 the road. The next morning the proper authority of 
 the town was sent for. The plundered man described 
 his loss some billets of five hundred francs in a pocket-
 
 126 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 book, on which was embroidered his name and coro- 
 net (he was a vicomte). The guest staid to dinner. 
 Late in the forenoon, the son looked in. The guest 
 started to see him : my friend noticed his paleness. 
 Shortly after, on pretence of faintness, the guest retired 
 to his room, and sent for his host. ' My friend/ said 
 he, ' can you do me a favour 1 go to the magistrate and 
 recall the evidence I have given.' 
 
 " ' Impossible,' said the host. ' What crotchet is this 1 ' 
 
 " The guest shuddered. ' Peste I ' said he : 1 1 do not 
 wish in my old age to be hard on others. Who knows 
 how the robber may have been tempted, and who knows 
 what relations he may have honest men, whom his 
 crime would degrade for ever ! Good heavens ! if de- 
 tected, it is the galleys, the galleys ! ' 
 
 " ' And what then 1 the robber knew what he 
 braved.' 
 
 " ' But did his father know it 1 ' cried the guest. 
 
 " A light broke upon my unhappy comrade in arms : 
 he caught his friend by the hand ' You turned pale at 
 my son's sight where did you ever see him before ? 
 Speak ! ' 
 
 " ' Last night, on the road to Paris. The mask 
 slipped aside. Call back my evidence ! ' 
 
 " ' You are mistaken,' said my friend, calmly. ' I 
 saw my son in his bed, and blessed him, before I went 
 to my own.' 
 
 " ' I will believe you,' said the guest ; ' and never 
 shall my hasty suspicion pass my lips but call back 
 the evidence.'
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 127 
 
 " The guest returned to Paris before dusk. The 
 father conversed with his son on the subject of his 
 studies ; he followed him to his room, waited till he 
 was in bed, and was then about to retire, when the 
 youth said, ' Father, you have forgotten your bless- 
 ing.' 
 
 " The father went back, laid his hand on the boy's 
 head and prayed. He was credulous fathers are so ! 
 He was persuaded that his friend had been deceived. 
 He retired to rest, and fell asleep. He woke suddenly 
 in the middle of the night, and felt (I here quote his 
 words) ' I felt,' said he, ' as if a voice had awakened 
 me a voice that said " Eise and search." I rose at 
 once, struck a light, and went to my son's room. The 
 door was locked. I knocked once, twice, thrice, no 
 answer. I dared not call aloud, lest I should rouse the 
 servants. I went down the stairs I opened the back- 
 door I passed to the stables. My own horse was 
 there, not my son's. My horse neighed ; it was old, 
 like myself my old charger at Mount St Jean. I 
 stole back, I crept into the shadow of the wall by my 
 son's door, and extinguished my light. I felt as if I 
 were a thief myself." 
 
 " Brother," interrupted my mother under her breath, 
 " speak in your own words, not in this wretched father's. 
 I know not why, but it would shock me less." 
 
 The Captain nodded. 
 
 " Before daybreak, my friend heard the back-door 
 open gently ; a foot ascended the stair a key grated 
 in the door of the room close at hand the father glided
 
 128 THE CAXTOXS: 
 
 through the dark into that chamber behind his unseen 
 son. 
 
 " He heard the clink of the tinder-box ; a light was 
 struck ; it spread over the room, but he had time to 
 place himself behind the window- curtain which was 
 close at hand. The figure before him stood a moment 
 or so motionless, and seemed to listen, for it turned to 
 the right, to the left, its visage covered with the black 
 hideous mask which is worn in carnivals. Slowly the 
 mask was removed ; could that be his son's face 1 the 
 son of a brave man 1 ? it was pale and ghastly with 
 scoundrel fears ; the base drops stood on the brow ; 
 the eye was haggard and bloodshot. He looked as a 
 coward looks when death stands before him. 
 
 " The youth walked, or rather skulked, to the secre- 
 taire, unlocked it, opened a secret drawer; placed 
 within it the contents of his pockets and his frightful 
 mask : the father approached softly, looked over his 
 shoulder, and saw in the drawer the pocket-book em- 
 broidered with his friend's name. Meanwhile, the son 
 took out his pistols, uncocked them cautiously, and was 
 about also to secrete them when his father arrested his 
 arm. ' Robber, the use of these is yet to come ! ' 
 
 " The son's knees knocked together, an exclamation 
 for mercy burst from his lips ; but when, recovering 
 the mere shock of his dastard nerves, he perceived it 
 was not the gripe of some hireling of the law, but 
 a father's hand that had clutched his arm, the vile 
 audacity which knows fear only from a bodily cause, 
 none from the awe of shame, returned to him.
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 129 
 
 " 'Tush, sir,' lie said, 'waste not time in reproaches, 
 for, I fear, the gens-d' armes are on my track. It is 
 well that you are here; you can swear that I have 
 spent the night at home. Unhand me, old man I 
 have these witnesses still to secrete,' and he pointed to 
 the garments wet and bedabbled with the mud of the 
 roads. He had scarcely spoken when the walls shook ; 
 there was the heavy clatter of hoofs on the ringing 
 pavement without. 
 
 " 'They come !' cried the son. 'Off, dotard ! save 
 your son from the galleys.' 
 
 " ' The galleys, the*"galleys ! ' said the father, stag- 
 gering back ; ' it is true' he said ' the galleys.' 
 
 " There was a loud knocking at the gate. The gens- 
 d? armes surrounded the house. 'Open, in the name 
 of the law.' No answer came, no door was opened. 
 Some of the gens-d? armes rode to the rear of the house, 
 in which was placed the stable-yard. From the win- 
 dow of the son's room, the father saw the sudden blaze 
 of torches, the shadowy forms of the men-hunters. He 
 heard the clatter of arms as they swung themselves 
 from their horses. He heard a voice cry, 'Yes, this 
 is the robber's grey horse see, it still reeks with 
 sweat !' And behind and in front, at either door, 
 again came the knocking, and again the shout, ' Open, 
 in the name of the law.' 
 
 " Then lights began to gleam from the casements of 
 the neighbouring houses ; then the space filled rapidly 
 with curious wonderers startled from their sleep ; the 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 world was astir, and the crowd came round to know 
 what crime or what shame had entered the old soldier's 
 home. 
 
 " Suddenly, within, there was heard the report of a 
 fire-arm ; and a minute or so afterwards the front door 
 was opened, and the soldier appeared. 
 
 " ' Enter/ he said to the gens-d' armes : ' what would 
 you?' 
 
 " 'We seek a rohber who is within your walls.' 
 
 " ' I know it ; mount and find him : I will lead the 
 way.' 
 
 " He ascended the stairs, he threw open his son's 
 room ; the officers of justice poured in, and on the 
 floor lay the robber's corpse. 
 
 " They looked at each other in amazement. ' Take 
 what is left you,' said the father. 'Take the dead 
 man rescued from the galleys ; take the living man on 
 whose hands rests the dead man's blood !' 
 
 "I was present at my friend's trial. The facts had 
 become known beforehand. He stood there with his 
 grey hair, and his mutilated limbs, and the deep scar 
 on his visage, and the cross of the Legion of Honour 
 on his breast ; and when he had told his tale, he ended 
 with these words ' I have saved the son whom I 
 reared for France from a doom that would have spared 
 the life to brand it with disgrace. Is this a crime 1 
 I give you my life in exchange for my son's disgrace. 
 Does my country need a victim 1 I have lived for my 
 country's glory, and I can die contented to satisfy its 
 laws ; sure that, if you blame me, you will not despise ;
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 131 
 
 sure that the hands that give me to the headsman 
 will scatter flowers over my grave. Thus I confess 
 all. I, a soldier, look round amongst a nation of 
 soldiers; and in the name of the star which glitters 
 on my breast, I dare the Fathers of France to con- 
 demn me !' 
 
 " They acquitted the soldier at least they gave a 
 verdict answering to what in our courts is called ' justi- . 
 fiable homicide.' A shout rose in the court which no 
 ceremonial voice could still ; the crowd would have 
 borne him in triumph to his house, but his look re- 
 pelled such vanities. To his house he returned indeed, 
 and the day afterwards they found him dead, beside 
 the cradle in which his first prayer had been breathed 
 over his sinless child. Now, father and son, I ask you, 
 do you condemn that man ?"
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 MY father took three strides up and down the room, 
 and then, halting on his hearth, and facing his brother, 
 he thus spoke " I condemn his deed, Roland ! At 
 best he was but a haughty egotist. I understand why 
 Brutus should slay his sons. By that sacrifice he saved 
 his coimtry ! What did this poor dupe of an exaggera- 
 tion save 1 nothing but his own name. He could not 
 lift the crime from his son's soul, nor the dishonour 
 from his son's memory. He could but gratify his 
 own vain pride ; and, insensibly to himself, his act 
 was whispered to him by the fiend that ever whispers 
 to the heart of man, ' Dread men's opinions more than 
 God's law !' Oh, my dear brother, what minds like 
 yours should guard against the most is not the mean- 
 ness of evil it is the evil that takes false nobility, by 
 garbing itself in the royal magnificence of good." My 
 uncle walked to the window, opened it, looked out a 
 moment, as if to draw in fresh air, closed it gently, 
 and came back again to his seat ; but during the 
 short time the window had been left open, a moth 
 flew in. 
 
 " Tales like these," renewed my father, pityingly 
 "whether told by some great tragedian, or in thy
 
 THE CAXTONS. 133 
 
 simple style, my brother, tales like these have their 
 uses : they penetrate the heart to make it wiser ; but 
 all wisdom is meek, my Roland. They invite us to 
 put the question to ourselves that thou hast asked 
 'Can we condemn this man 1 ?' and reason answers, as 
 I have answered ' We pity the man, we condemn the 
 
 deed.' We take care, my love ! that moth will 
 
 be in the candle. We whish! loliisli! " and 
 
 my father stopped to drive away the moth. My uncle 
 turned, and taking his handkerchief from the lower 
 part of his face, of which he had wished to conceal the 
 workings, he flapped away the moth from the flame. 
 My mother moved the candles from the moth. I tried 
 to catch the moth in my father's straw-hat. The deuce 
 was in the moth ! it baffled us all, now circling against 
 the ceiling, now sweeping down at the fatal lights. 
 As if by a simultaneous impulse, my father approached 
 one candle, my uncle approached the other ; and just 
 as the moth was wheeling round and round, irresolute 
 which to choose for its funeral pyre, both candles were 
 put out. The fire had burned down low in the grate, 
 and in the sudden dimness my father's soft sweet voice 
 came forth, as if from an invisible being : "We leave 
 ourselves in the dark to save a moth from the flame, 
 brother ! shall we do less for our fellow-men ? Extin- 
 guish, oh ! humanely extinguish the light of our reason, 
 when the darkness more favours our mercy." Before 
 the lights were relit, my uncle had left the room. 
 His brother followed him ; my mother and I drew 
 near to each other and talked in whispers.
 
 PART FOURTH. 
 
 CHAPTEE I 
 
 I WAS always an early riser. Happy the man who is ! 
 Every morning, day comes to him with a virgin's love, 
 full of bloom, and purity, and freshness. The youth 
 of Nature is contagious, like the gladness of a happy 
 child. I doubt if any man can be called "old" so 
 long as he is an early riser, and an early walker. And 
 oh, Youth ! take my word of it youth in dressing- 
 gown and slippers, dawdling over breakfast at noon, is 
 a very decrepit ghastly image of that youth which sees 
 the sun blush over the mountains, and the dews sparkle 
 upon blossoming hedgerows. 
 
 Passing by my father's study, I was surprised to see 
 the windows unclosed surprised more, on looking in, 
 to see him bending over his books for I had never 
 before known him study till after the morning meaL 
 Students are not usually early risers, for students, alas ! 
 whatever their age, are rarely young. Yes ; the Great 
 Book must be getting on in serious earnest. It was 
 no longer dalliance with learning : this was work.
 
 136 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 I passed through, the gates into the road. A few of 
 the cottages were giving signs of returning life ; but it 
 was not yet the hour for labour, and no " Good morn- 
 ing, sir," greeted me on the road. Suddenly at a turn, 
 which an over-hanging beech-tree had before concealed, 
 I canie full upon my Uncle Roland. 
 
 "What! you, sir? So early? Hark, the clock is 
 striking five ! " 
 
 " Not later ! I have walked well for a lame man. 
 It must be more than four miles to and back." 
 
 "You have been to : not on business? No 
 
 soul would be up." 
 
 " Yes, at inns, there is always some one up. Ostlers 
 never sleep ! I have been to order my humble chaise 
 and pair. I leave you to-day, nephew." 
 
 "Ah, uncle, we have offended you. It was my 
 folly, that cursed print " 
 
 "Pooh!" said my uncle, quickly. "Offended me, 
 boy ! I defy you !" and he pressed my hand roughly. 
 
 "Yet this sudden determination ! It was but yester- 
 day, at the Roman Camp, that you planned an excur- 
 sion with my father, to C Castle." 
 
 "Never depend upon a whimsical man. I must be in 
 London to-night." 
 
 "And return to-morrow?" 
 
 " I know not when," said my uncle, gloomily ; and 
 he was silent for some moments. At length, leaning 
 less lightly on my arm, he continued " Young man, 
 you have pleased me. I love that open, saucy brow 
 of yours, on which Nature has written, ' Trust me.' I
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 137 
 
 love those clear eyes, that look one manfully in the 
 face. I must know more of you much of you. You 
 must come and see me some day or other in your ances- 
 tors' ruined keep." 
 
 " Come ! that I will. And you shall show me the 
 old tower " 
 
 " And the traces of the outworks ! " cried my uncle, 
 nourishing his stick. 
 
 "And the pedigree " 
 
 "Ay, and your great -great grandfather's armour, 
 which he wore at Marston Moor " 
 
 " Yes, and the brass plate in the church, uncle." 
 
 " The deuce is in the boy ! Come here, come here ; 
 I've three minds to break your head, sir ! " 
 
 " It is a pity somebody had not broken the rascally 
 printer's, before he had the impudence to disgrace us 
 by having a family, uncle." 
 
 Captain Roland tried hard to frown, but he could 
 not. "Pshaw!" said he, stopping, and taking snuff. 
 " The world of the dead is wide ; why should the 
 ghosts jostle us?" 
 
 "We can never escape the ghosts, uncle. They 
 haunt us always. We cannot think or act, but the 
 soul of some man, who has lived before, points the 
 way. The dead never die, especially since " 
 
 " Since what, boy 1 you speak well." 
 
 "Since our great ancestor introduced printing," said 
 I, majestically. 
 
 My uncle whistled, " MalbrouTc sdn va-t-en guerre" 
 
 I had not the heart to plague him further.
 
 138 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 " Peace ! " said I, creeping cautiously within the 
 circle of the stick. 
 
 "~No ! I forewarn you " 
 
 " Peace ! and describe to me my little cousin, your 
 pretty daughter for pretty I am sure she is." 
 
 " Peace," said my uncle, smiling. " But you must 
 come and judge for yourself."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 UNCLE ROLAND was gone. Before lie went, he was 
 closeted for an hour with my father, who then accom- 
 panied him to the gate; and we all crowded round 
 him as he stepped into his chaise. When the Captain 
 was gone, I tried to sound my father as to the cause 
 of so sudden a departure. But my father was im- 
 penetrable in all that related to his brother's secrets. 
 Whether or not the Captain had ever confided to him 
 the cause of his displeasure with his son a mystery 
 which much haunted me my father was mute on that 
 score, both to my mother and myself. For two or 
 three days, however, Mr Caxton was evidently un- 
 settled. He did not even take to his Great Work, but 
 walked much alone, or accompanied only by the duck, 
 and without even a book in his hand. But by degrees 
 the scholarly habits returned to him ; my mother 
 mended his pens, and the work went on. 
 
 For my part, left much to myself, especially in the 
 mornings, I began to muse restlessly over the future. 
 Ungrateful that I was, the happiness of home ceased 
 to content me. I heard afar the roar of the great 
 world, and roved impatient by the shore.
 
 140 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 At length, one evening, my father, with some 
 modest hums and ha's, and an unaffected blush on his 
 fair forehead, gratified a prayer frequently urged on 
 him, and read me some portions of the Great Work. 
 I cannot express the feelings this lecture created they 
 were something akin to awe. For the design of this 
 book was so immense and towards its execution a 
 learning so vast and various had administered that 
 it seemed to me as if a spirit had opened to me a new 
 world, which had always been before my feet, but 
 which my own human blindness had hitherto concealed 
 from me. The unspeakable patience with which all 
 these materials have been collected, year after year 
 the ease with which now, by the calm power of genius, 
 they seemed of themselves to fall into harmony and 
 system the unconscious humility with which the 
 scholar exposed the stores of a laborious life ; all 
 combined to rebuke my own restlessness and ambition, 
 while they filled me with a pride in my father, which 
 saved my wounded egotism from a pang. Here, indeed, 
 was one of those books which embrace an existence ; 
 like the Dictionary of Bayle, or the History of Gibbon, 
 or the Fasti Hellenici of Clinton, it was a book to 
 which thousands of books had contributed, only to 
 make the originality of the single mind more bold and 
 clear. Into the furnace all vessels of gold, of all ages, 
 had been cast ; but from the mould came the new coin, 
 with its single stamp. And happily, the subject of 
 the Avork did not forbid to the writer the indulgence 
 of his naive, peculiar irony of humour so quiet, yet
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 141 
 
 so profound. My father's book was the " History of 
 Human Error." It was, therefore, the moral history 
 of mankind, told with truth and earnestness, yet with 
 an arch, unmalignant smile. Sometimes, indeed, the 
 smile drew tears. But in all true humour lies its germ, 
 pathos. Oh ! by the goddess Moria or Folly, but he 
 was at home in his theme ! He viewed man first in 
 the savage state, preferring in this the positive accounts 
 of voyagers and travellers, to the vague myths of anti- 
 quity, and the dreams of speculators on our pristine 
 state. From Australia and Abyssinia he drew pictures 
 of mortality unadorned, as lively as if he had lived 
 amongst Bushmen and savages all his life. Then he 
 crossed over the Atlantic, and brought before you the 
 American Indian, with his noble nature, struggling 
 into the dawn of civilisation, when friend Penn cheated 
 him out of his birthright, and the Anglo-Saxon drove- 
 him back into darkness. He showed both analogy 
 and contrast between this specimen of our kind, and 
 others equally apart from the extremes of the savage 
 state and the cultured. The Arab in his tent, the 
 Teuton in his forests, the Greenlander in his boat, the 
 Fin in his reindeer car. Up sprang the rude gods of 
 the north, and the resuscitated Druidism, passing from 
 its earliest templeless belief into the later corruptions 
 of crommell and idol. Up sprang, by their side, the 
 Saturn of the Phoenicians, the mystic Budh of India, 
 the elementary deities of the Pelasgian, the Naith and 
 Serapis of Egypt, the Ormuzd of Persia, the Bel of 
 Babylon, the winged genii of the graceful Etruria.
 
 142 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 How nature and life shaped the religion; how the 
 religion shaped the manners ; how, and by what in- 
 fluences, some tribes were formed for progress ; how 
 others were destined to remain stationary, or be swal- 
 lowed up in war and slavery by their brethren, was 
 told with a precision clear and strong as the voice of 
 Fate. Not only an antiquarian and philologist, but an 
 anatomist and philosopher my father brought to bear 
 on all these grave points the various speculations in- 
 volved in the distinction of races. He showed how 
 race in perfection is produced, up to a certain point, by 
 admixture ; how all mixed races have been the most 
 intelligent how, in proportion as local circumstance 
 and religious faith permitted the early fusion of differ- 
 ent tribes, races improved and quickened into the 
 refinements of civilisation. He tracked the progress 
 and dispersion of the Hellenes, from their mythical 
 cradle in Thessaly ; and showed how those who settled 
 near the sea-shores, and were compelled into commerce 
 and intercourse with strangers, gave to Greece her 
 marvellous accomplishments in arts and letters the 
 flowers of the ancient world. How others, like the 
 Spartans, dwelling evermore in a camp, on guard against 
 their neighbours, and rigidly preserving their Dorian 
 purity of extraction, contributed neither artists, nor 
 poets, nor philosophers to the golden treasure-house of 
 mind. He took the old race of the Celts, Cimry, or 
 Cimmerians. He compared the Celt who, as in Wales, 
 the Scotch Highlands, in Bretagne, and in uncompre- 
 hended Ireland, retains his old characteristics and
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 143 
 
 purity of breed, with the Celt whose blood, mixed by 
 a thousand channels, dictates from Paris the manners 
 and revolutions of the world. He compared the Nor- 
 man in his ancient Scandinavian home, with that 
 wonder of intelligence and chivalry into which he 
 grew, fused imperceptibly with the Frank, the Goth, 
 and the Anglo-Saxon. He compared the Saxon, sta- 
 tionary in the land of Horsa, with the colonist and 
 civiliser of the globe, as he becomes, when he knows 
 not through what channels French, Flemish, Danish, 
 Welsh, Scotch, and Irish he draws his sanguine 
 blood. And out from all these speculations, to which 
 I do such hurried and scanty justice, he drew the 
 blessed truth, that carries hope to the land of the 
 Caffre, the hut of the Bushman that there is nothing 
 in the flattened skull and the ebon aspect that rejects 
 God's law improvement ; that by the same principle 
 which raises the dog, the lowest of the animals in its 
 savage state, to the highest after man viz. admixture 
 of race you can elevate into nations of majesty and 
 power the outcasts of humanity, now your compassion 
 or your scorn. But when my father got into the 
 marrow of his theme when, quitting these preli- 
 minary discussions, he fell pounce amongst the would- 
 be wisdom of the wise ; when he dealt with civilisa- 
 tion itself, its schools, and porticos, and academies ; 
 when he bared the absurdities couched beneath the 
 colleges of the Egyptians, and the Symposia of the 
 Greeks ; when he showed that, even in their own 
 favourite pursuit of metaphysics, the Greeks were
 
 144 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 children ; and, in their own more practical region of 
 politics, the Romans were visionaries and bunglers ; 
 when, following the stream of error through the Mid- 
 dle Ages, he quoted the puerilities of Agrippa, the 
 crudities of Cardan, and passed, with his calm smile, 
 into the salons of the chattering wits of Paris in the 
 eighteenth century, oh ! then his irony was that of 
 Lucian, sweetened by the gentle spirit of Erasmus. 
 For not even here was my father's satire of the cheer- 
 less and Mephistophelian school. From this record of 
 error he drew forth the grand eras of truth. He showed 
 how earnest men never think in vain, though their 
 thoughts may be errors. He proved how, in vast 
 cycles, age after age, the human mind marches on 
 like the ocean, receding here, but there advancing : 
 how from the speculations of the Greek sprang all true 
 philosophy ; how from the institutions of the Roman 
 rose all durable systems of government ; how from the 
 robust follies of the north came the glory of chivalry, 
 and the modern delicacies of honour, and the sweet 
 harmonising influences of woman. He tracked the 
 ancestry of our Sidneys and Bayards from the Hengists, 
 Genserics, and Attilas. Full of all curious and quaint 
 anecdote of original illustration of those niceties of 
 learning which spring from a taste cultivated to the 
 last exquisite polish the book amused, and allured, 
 and charmed ; and erudition lost its pedantry now in 
 the simplicity of Montaigne, now in the penetration of 
 La Bruyere. He lived in each time of which he wrote, 
 and the time lived again in him. Ah ! what a writer
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 145 
 
 of romances he would have been, if if what 1 If he 
 had had as sad an experience of men's passions, as he 
 had the happy intuition into their humours. But he 
 who would see the mirror of the shore, must look 
 where it is cast on the river, not the ocean. The nar- 
 row stream reflects the gnarled tree, and the pausing 
 herd, and the village spire, and the romance of the 
 landscape ; hut the sea reflects only the vast outline of 
 the headland, and the lights of the eternal heaven. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " IT is Lombard Street to a china orange," quoth. 
 Uncle Jack. 
 
 " Are the odds in favour of fame against failure so 
 great? You do not speak, I fear, from experience, 
 brother Jack," answered my father as he stooped down 
 to tickle the duck under the left ear. 
 
 " But Jack Tibbetts is not Augustine Caxton. Jack 
 Tibbetts is not a scholar, a genius, a wond " 
 
 " Stop ! " cried my father. 
 
 "After all," said Mr Squills, "though I am no 
 flatterer, Mr Tibbetts is not so far out. That part of 
 your book which compares the crania, or skulls of the 
 different races, is superb. Lawrence or Dr Prichard 
 could not have done the thing more neatly. Such a 
 book must not be lost to the world ; and I agree with 
 Mr Tibbetts that you should publish as soon as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 " It is one thing to write and another to publish," 
 said my father, irresolutely. " When one considers all 
 the great men who have published ; when one thinks 
 one is going to intrude one's-self audaciously into the 
 company of Aristotle and Bacon, of Locke, of Herder
 
 THE CAXTONS. 147 
 
 of all the grave philosophers who bend over Nature 
 with brows weighty with thought one may well 
 pause, and " 
 
 " Pooh ! " interrupted Uncle Jack ; " science is not 
 a club, it is an ocean : it is open to the cockboat as the 
 frigate. One man carries across it a freightage of 
 ingots, another may fish there for herrings. Who can 
 exhaust the sea 1 who say to intellect, ' The deeps of 
 philosophy are preoccupied ? ' " 
 
 " Admirable ! " cried Squills. 
 
 " So it is really your advice, my friends," said my 
 father, who seemed struck by Uncle Jack's eloquent 
 illustrations, " that I should desert my household gods, 
 remove to London, since my own library ceases to 
 supply my wants ; take lodgings near the British 
 Museum, and finish off one volume, at least, incon- 
 tinently." 
 
 " It is a duty you owe to your country," said Uncle 
 Jack, solemnly. 
 
 " And to yourself," urged Squills. " One must attend 
 to the natural evacuations of the brain. Ah ! you may 
 smile, sir ; but I have observed that if a man has 
 much in his head, he must give it vent, or it oppresses 
 him ; the whole system goes wrong. From being 
 abstracted, he grows stupefied. The weight of the 
 pressure affects the nerves. I would not even guaran- 
 tee you from a stroke of paralysis." 
 
 " Oh, Austin ! " cried my mother tenderly, and 
 throwing her arms round my father's neck. 
 
 " Come, sir, you are conquered," said I.
 
 148 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 " And what is to become of you, Sisty ? " asked my 
 father. " Do you go with us, and unsettle your mind 
 for the university 1 " 
 
 11 My uncle has invited me to his castle ; and in the 
 meanwhile I will stay here, fag hard, and take care of 
 the duck" 
 
 " All alone 1 " said my mother. 
 
 " No. All alone ! Why, Uncle Jack will come 
 here as often as ever, I hope." 
 
 Uncle Jack shook his head. 
 
 " No, my boy I must go to town with your father. 
 You don't understand these things. I shall see the 
 booksellers for him. I know how these gentlemen are 
 to be dealt with. I shall prepare the literary circles 
 for the appearance of the book. In short, it is a sacri- 
 fice of interest, I know. My Journal will suffer. But 
 friendship and my country's good before all things." 
 
 " Dear Jack ! " said my mother affectionately. 
 
 "I cannot suffer it," cried my father. "You are 
 making a good income. You are doing well where 
 you are ; and as to seeing the booksellers why, when 
 the work is ready, you can come to town for a week, 
 and settle that affair." 
 
 " Poor dear Austin ! " said Uncle Jack, with an air 
 of superiority and compassion. " A week ! Sir, the 
 advent of a book that is to succeed requires the pre- 
 paration of months. Pshaw ! I am no genius, but I 
 am a practical man. I know what's what. Leave me 
 alone."
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 149 
 
 But my father continued obstinate, and Uncle Jack 
 at last ceased.to urge the matter. The journey to fame 
 and London was now settled ; but my father would not 
 hear of my staying behind. 
 
 No ; Pisistratus must needs go also to town and see 
 the world ; the duck would take care of itself.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WE had taken the precaution to send, the day before, 
 to secure our due complement of places four in all 
 (including one for Mrs Primmins) in, or upon, the 
 fast family coach called the Sun, which had lately been 
 set up for the special convenience of the neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 This luminary, rising in a town about seven miles 
 distant from us, described at first a very erratic orbit 
 amidst the contiguous villages, before it finally struck 
 into the high-road of enlightenment, and thence per- 
 formed its journey, in the full eyes of man, at the 
 majestic pace of six miles and a half an hour. My 
 father, with his pockets full of books, and a quarto of 
 " Gebelin on the Primitive World," for light reading, 
 under his arm ; my mother with a little basket, con- 
 taining sandwiches, and biscuits of her own baking ; 
 Mrs Primmins, with a new umbrella purchased for the 
 occasion, and a birdcage containing a canary, endeared 
 to her not more by song than age, and a severe pip 
 through which she had successfully nursed it and I 
 myself, waited at the gates to welcome the celestial 
 visitor. The gardener, with a wheelbarrow full of
 
 THE CAXTONS. 151 
 
 boxes and portmanteaus, stood a little in the van ; and 
 the footman, who was to follow when lodgings had 
 been found, had gone to a rising eminence to watch the 
 dawning of the expected Sun, and apprise us of its 
 approach by the concerted signal of a handkerchief 
 fixed to a stick. 
 
 The quaint old house looked at us mournfully from 
 all its deserted windows. The litter before its threshold 
 and in its open hall ; wisps of straw or hay that had 
 been used for packing ; baskets and boxes that had 
 been examined and rejected ; others, corded and piled, 
 reserved to follow with the footman and the two 
 heated and hurried serving- women left behind standing 
 half-way between house and garden-gate, whispering to 
 each other, and looking as if they had not slept for 
 weeks gave to a scene, usually so trim and orderly, an 
 aspect of pathetic abandonment and desolation. The 
 Genius of the place seemed to reproach us. I felt the 
 omens were against us, and turned my earnest gaze from 
 the haunts behind with a sigh, as the coach now drew 
 up with all its grandeur. An important personage, who, 
 despite the heat of the day, was enveloped in a vast 
 superfluity of belcher, in the midst of which galloped a 
 gilt fox, and who rejoiced in the name of " guard," 
 descended to inform us politely, that only three places, 
 two inside and one out, were at our disposal, the rest 
 having been pre-engaged a fortnight before our orders 
 were received. 
 
 Now, as I knew that Mrs Primmins was indispensable 
 to the comforts of my honoured parents (the more so, as
 
 152 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 she had once lived in London, and knew all its ways), 
 I suggested that she should take the outside seat, and 
 that I should perform the journey on foot a primitive 
 mode of transport, which has its charms to a young man 
 with stout limbs and gay spirits. The guard's out- 
 stretched arm left my mother little time to oppose this 
 proposition, to which my father assented with a silent 
 squeeze of the hand. And, having promised to join 
 them at a family hotel near the Strand, to which Mr 
 Squills had recommended them as peculiarly genteel 
 and quiet, and waved my last farewell to my poor 
 mother, who continued to stretch her meek face out of 
 the window till the coach was whirled off in a cloud like 
 one of the Homeric heroes, I turned within, to put up 
 a few necessary articles in a small knapsack, which I 
 remembered to have seen in the lumber-room, and which 
 had appertained to my maternal grandfather ; and with 
 that on my shoulder, and a strong staff in my hand, I 
 set off towards the great city at as brisk a pace as if I 
 were only bound to the next village. Accordingly, 
 about noon I was both tired and hungry ; and seeing 
 by the wayside one of those pretty inns yet peculiar to 
 England, but which, thanks to the railways, will soon 
 be amongst the things before the Flood, I sat down at 
 a table under some clipped limes, unbuckled my knap- 
 sack, and ordered my simple fare with the dignity of 
 one who, for the first time in his life, bespeaks his own 
 dinner, and pays for it out of his own pocket. 
 
 While engaged on a rasher of bacon and a tankard of 
 what the landlord called " No mistake," two pedestrians,
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 153 
 
 passing the same road which I had traversed, paused, 
 cast a simultaneous look at my occupation, and induced 
 no doubt by its allurements, seated themselves under 
 the same lime-trees, though at the farther end of the 
 table. I surveyed the new-comers with the curiosity 
 natural to my years. 
 
 The elder of the two might have attained the age of 
 thirty, though sundry deep lines, and hues formerly 
 florid and now faded, speaking of fatigue, care, or dis- 
 sipation, might have made him look somewhat older 
 than he was. There was nothing very prepossessing in 
 his appearance. He was dressed with a pretension ill 
 suited to the costume appropriate to a foot-traveller. 
 His coat was pinched and padded ; two enormous pins, 
 connected by a chain, decorated a very stiff stock of blue 
 satin, dotted with yellow stars ; his hands were cased in 
 very dingy gloves, which had once been straw-coloured, 
 and the said hands played with a whalebone cane 
 surmounted by a formidable knob, which gave it the 
 appearance of a " life-preserver." As he took off a white 
 napless hat, which he wiped with great care and affec- 
 tion with the sleeve of his right arm, a profusion of stiff 
 curls instantly betrayed the art of man. Like my land- 
 lord's ale, in that wig there was " no mistake : " it was 
 brought (after the fashion of the wigs we see in the 
 popular effigies of George IV. in his youth) low over his 
 forehead and was raised at the top. The wig had been 
 oiled, and the oil had imbibed no small quantity of 
 dust ; oil and dust had alike left their impression on the 
 forehead and cheeks of the wig's proprietor. For the
 
 154 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 rest, the expression of his face was somewhat impudent 
 and reckless, but not without a certain drollery in the 
 corners of his eyes. 
 
 The younger man was apparently about my own age, 
 a year or two older perhaps judging rather from his set 
 and sinewy frame than his boyish countenance. And 
 this last, boyish as it was, could not fail to demand the 
 attention even of the most careless observer. It had 
 not only the darkness, but the character of the gipsy 
 face, with large brilliant eyes, raven hair, long and wavy, 
 but not curling ; the features were aquiline, but delicate, 
 and when he spoke he showed teeth dazzling as pearls. 
 It was impossible not to admire the singular beauty of 
 the countenance ; and yet, it had that expression, at 
 once stealthy and fierce, which war with society has 
 stamped upon the lineaments of the race of which it 
 reminded me. But, withal, there was somewhat of the 
 air of a gentleman in this young wayfarer. His dress 
 consisted of a black velveteen shooting-jacket, or rather 
 short frock, with a broad leathern strap at the waist, 
 loose white trousers, and a foraging cap, which he threw 
 carelessly on the table as he wiped his brow. Turning 
 round impatiently, and with some haughtiness, from his 
 companion, he surveyed me with a quick, observant 
 flash of his piercing eyes, and then stretched himself at 
 length on the bench, and appeared either to dose or 
 muse, till, in obedience to his companion's orders, the 
 board was spread with all the cold meats the larder 
 could supply. 
 
 " Beef ! " said his companion, screwing a pinchbeck
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 155 
 
 glass into his right eye. " Beef; mottled, cowey 
 humph ! Lamb ; oldish rawish muttony humph ! 
 Pie ; stalish. Veal 1 no, pork. Ah ! what will you 
 have ? " 
 
 " Help yourself," replied the young man peevishly, 
 as he sat up, looked disdainfully at the viands, and, 
 after a long pause, tasted first one, then the other, with 
 many shrugs of the shoulders and muttered exclamations 
 of discontent. Suddenly he looked up, and called for 
 brandy; and, to my surprise, and I fear admiration, he 
 drank nearly half a tumblerful of that poison undiluted, 
 with a composure that spoke of habitual use. 
 
 "Wrong!" said his companion, drawing the bottle 
 to himself, and mixing the alcohol in careful propor- 
 tions with water. "Wrong! coats of stomach soon 
 wear out with that kind of clothes-brush. Better 
 stick to the ' yeasty foam/ as sweet Will says. That 
 young gentleman sets you a good example," and there- 
 with the speaker nodded at me familiarly. Inexperi- 
 enced as I was, I surmised at once that it was his 
 intention to make acquaintance with the neighbour 
 thus saluted. I was not deceived. "Anything to 
 tempt you, sir?" asked this social personage after a 
 short pause, and describing a semicircle with the point 
 of his knife. 
 
 " I thank you, sir, but I have dined." 
 
 " What then ] ' Break out into a second course of 
 mischief,' as the swan recommends swan of Avon, sir ! 
 No ? ' Well, then, I charge you with this sup of sack.' 
 Are you going far, if I may take the liberty to ask 1 ?"
 
 156 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 " To London." 
 
 "Oh!" said the traveller while his young com- 
 panion lifted his eyes ; and I was again struck with 
 their remarkable penetration and brilliancy. 
 
 " London is the best place in the world for a lad of 
 spirit. See life there ; ' glass of fashion and mould of 
 form.' Fond of the play, sir?" 
 
 "I never saw one." 
 
 " Possible ! " cried the gentleman, dropping the handle 
 of his knife, and bringing up the point horizontally : 
 "then, young man," he added solemnly, "you have 
 but I won't say what you have to see. I won't say 
 no, not if you could cover this table with golden 
 guineas, and exclaim with the generous ardour so en- 
 gaging in youth, ' Mr Peacock, these are yours if you 
 will only say what I have to see ! ' " 
 
 t/ 7 
 
 I laughed outright may I be forgiven for the boast, 
 but I had the reputation at school of a pleasant laugh. 
 The young man's face grew dark at the sound : he 
 pushed back his plate and sighed. 
 
 "Why," continued his friend, "my companion here, 
 who, I suppose, is about your own age, he could tell 
 you what a play is he could tell you what life is. He 
 has viewed the manners of the town : ' perused the 
 traders,' as the swan poetically remarks. Have you 
 not, my lad, eh?" 
 
 Thus directly appealed to, the boy looked up with a 
 smile of scorn on his lips 
 
 " Yes, I know what life is, and I say that life, like 
 poverty, has strange bed-fellows. Ask me what life is
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 157 
 
 now, and I say a melodrama ; ask me what it is twenty 
 years hence, and I shall say " 
 
 " A farce ] " put in his comrade. 
 
 " No, a tragedy or comedy as Moliere wrote it." 
 
 "And how is that 1 ?" I asked, interested and some- 
 what surprised at the tone of my contemporary. 
 
 " Where the play ends in the triumph of the wittiest 
 rogue. My friend here has no chance !" 
 
 " 'Praise from Sir Hubert Stanley,' hem yes, Hal 
 Peacock may be witty, but he is no rogue." 
 
 "That was not exactly my meaning," said the boy 
 drily. 
 
 " 'A fico for your meaning,' as the swan says. 
 Hallo, you sir ! Bully Host, clear the table, fresh 
 
 tumblers hot water sugar lemon, and the 
 
 bottle's out ! Smoke, sir 1 " and Mr Peacock offered 
 me a cigar. 
 
 Upon my refusal, he carefully twirled round a very 
 uninviting specimen of some fabulous havannah moist- 
 ened it all over, as a boa-constrictor may do the ox 
 he prepares for deglutition ; bit off one end, and light- 
 ing the other from a little machine for that purpose 
 which he drew from his pocket, he was soon absorbed 
 in a vigorous effort (which the damp inherent in the 
 weed long resisted) to poison the surrounding atmos- 
 phere. Therewith the young gentleman, either from 
 emulation or in self-defence, extracted from his own 
 pouch a cigar-case of notable elegance, being of velvet, 
 embroidered apparently by some fair hand, for " From 
 Juliet" was very legibly worked thereon selected a
 
 158 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 cigar of better appearance than that in favour with his 
 comrade, and seemed quite as familiar with the tobacco 
 as he had been with the brandy. 
 
 "Fast, sir fast lad that," quoth Mr Peacock, in 
 the short gasps which his resolute struggle with his 
 uninviting victim alone permitted " nothing but (puff, 
 puff) your true (suck, suck) syl syl sylva does for 
 him. Out, by the Lord ! ' the jaws of darkness have 
 devoured it up ; ' " and again Mr Peacock applied to 
 his phosphoric machine. This time patience and per- 
 severance succeeded, and the heart of the cigar responded 
 by a dull red spark (leaving the sides wholly untouched) 
 to the indefatigable ardour of its wooer. 
 
 This feat accomplished, Mr Peacock exclaimed tri- 
 umphantly, "And now, what say you, my lads, to a 
 game at cards 1 three of us whist and a dummy 
 nothing better eh 1 ?" As he spoke he produced from 
 his coat pocket a red silk handkerchief, a bunch of 
 keys, a nightcap, a tooth-brush, a piece of shaving- soap, 
 four lumps of sugar, the remains of a bun, a razor, and 
 a pack of cards. Selecting the last, and returning its 
 motley accompaniments to the abyss whence they had 
 emerged, he turned up, with a jerk of his thumb and 
 finger, the knave of clubs, and placing it on the top 
 of the rest, slapped the cards emphatically on the 
 table. 
 
 " You are very good, but I don't know whist," said I. 
 
 " Not know whist not been to a play not smoke ! 
 Then pray tell me, young man," said he majestically, 
 and with a frown, " what on earth you do know ?" 

 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 159 
 
 Much, consternated by this direct appeal, and greatly 
 ashamed of my ignorance of the cardinal points of eru- 
 dition in Mr Peacock's estimation, I hung my head 
 and looked down. 
 
 " That is right," renewed Mr Peacock more benignly ; 
 "you have the ingenuous shame of youth. It is pro- 
 mising, sir 'lowliness is young ambition's ladder,' as 
 the swan says. Mount the first step, and learn whist 
 sixpenny points to begin with." 
 
 Notwithstanding any newness in actual life, I had 
 had the good-fortune to learn a little of the way before 
 me, by those much slandered guides called novels 
 works which are often to the inner world what maps 
 are to the outer; and sundry recollections of "Gil 
 Bias " and the " Vicar of Wakefield " came athwart me. 
 I had no \rish to emulate the worthy Moses, and felt 
 that I might not have even the shagreen spectacles to 
 boast of in my negotiations with this new Mr Jenkin- 
 son. Accordingly, shaking my head, I called for my 
 bill. As I took out my purse knit by my mother 
 with one gold piece in one corner, and sundry silver 
 ones in the other, I saw that the eyes of Mr Peacock 
 twinkled. 
 
 " Poor spirit, sir ! poor spirit, young man ! ' This 
 avarice sticks deep,' as the swan beautifully observes. 
 ' Nothing venture, nothing have.' " 
 
 " Nothing have, nothing venture," I returned, pluck- 
 ing up spirit. 
 
 " Nothing have ! Young sir, do you doubt my 
 solidity my capital my ' golden joys ? ' "
 
 160 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 " Sir, I spoke of myself. I am not rich enough to 
 gamble." 
 
 " Gamble ! " exclaimed Mr Peacock, in virtuous in- 
 dignation " Gamble ! what do you mean, sir 1 You 
 insult me ! " and he rose threateningly, and clapped his 
 white hat on his wig. 
 
 " Pshaw ! let him alone, Hal," said the boy con- 
 temptuously. " Sir, if he is impertinent, thrash him." 
 (This was to me.) 
 
 " Impertinent ! thrash ! " exclaimed Mr Peacock, 
 waxing very red ; but catching the sneer on his com- 
 panion's lip, he sat down, and subsided into sullen 
 silence. 
 
 Meanwhile I paid my bill. This duty, rarely a cheer- 
 ful one, performed, I looked round for my knapsack, 
 and perceived that it was in the boy's hands. He was 
 very coolly reading the address which, in case of acci- 
 dents, I prudently placed on it " Pisistratus Caxton, 
 Esq., Hotel, Street, Strand." 
 
 I took my knapsack from him, more surprised at such 
 a breach of good manners in a young gentleman who 
 knew life so well, than I should have been at a similar 
 error on the part of Mr Peacock. He made no apology, 
 but nodded farewell, and stretched himself at full length 
 on the bench. Mr Peacock, now absorbed in a game 
 of patience, vouchsafed no return to my parting saluta- 
 tion, and in another moment I was alone on the high- 
 road. My thoughts turned long upon the young man 
 I had left : mixed with a sort of instinctive compas- 
 sionate foreboding of an ill future for one with such
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 161 
 
 habits, and in such companionship, I felt an involun- 
 tary admiration, less even for his good looks than his 
 ease, audacity, and the careless superiority he assumed 
 over a comrade so much older than himself. 
 
 The day was far gone when I saw the spires of a 
 town at which I intended to rest for the night. The 
 horn of a coach behind made me turn my head, and as 
 the vehicle passed me, I saw on the outside Mr Peacock, 
 still struggling with a cigar it could scarcely be the 
 same and his young friend stretched on the roof 
 amongst the luggage, leaning Ms handsome head on his 
 hand, and apparently unobservant both of me and every 
 one else. 
 
 VOL. i.
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 1 AM apt judging egotistically, perhaps from my own 
 experience to measure a young man's chance of what 
 is termed practical success in life, by what may seem 
 at first two very vulgar qualities viz. his inquisitive- 
 ness and his animal vivacity. A curiosity which springs 
 forward to examine everything new to his information 
 a nervous activity approaching to restlessness, which 
 rarely allows bodily fatigue to interfere with some ob- 
 ject in view constitute, in my mind, very profitable 
 stock-in-hand to begin the world with. 
 
 Tired as I was, after I had performed my ablutions, 
 and refreshed myself in the little coffee-room of the 
 inn at which I put up, with the pedestrian's best bever- 
 age, familiar and oft-calumniated tea, I could not resist 
 the temptation of the broad, bustling street, which, 
 lighted with gas, shone on me through the dim win- 
 dows of the coffee-room. I had never before seen a 
 large town, and the contrast of lamp -lit, busy night in 
 the streets, with sober, deserted night in the lanes and 
 fields, struck me forcibly. 
 
 I sauntered out, therefore, jostling and jostled, now 
 gazing at the windows, now hurried along the tide of 
 life, till I found myself before a cook-shop, round which
 
 THE CAXTONS. 163 
 
 clustered a small knot of housewives, citizens, and 
 hungry-looking children. While contemplating this 
 group, and marvelling how it comes to pass that the 
 staple business of earth's majority is how, when, and 
 where to eat, my ear was struck with " ' In Troy there 
 lies the scene,' as the illustrious Will remarks." 
 
 Looking round, I perceived Mr Peacock pointing his 
 stick towards an open doorway next to the cook-shop, 
 the hall beyond which was lighted with gas, while, 
 painted in black letters on a pane of glass over the 
 door, was the word " Billiards." 
 
 Suiting the action to the word, the speaker plunged 
 at once into the aperture, and vanished. The boy-com- 
 panion was following more slowly, when his eye caught 
 mine. A slight blush came over his dark cheek ; he 
 stopped, and leaning against the door-jambs, gazed on 
 me hard and long before he said " Well met again, 
 sir ! You find it hard to amuse yourself in this dull 
 place ; the nights are long out of London." 
 
 " Oh," said I, ingenuously, " everything here amuses 
 me ; the lights, the shops, the crowd ; but then, to 
 me everything is new." 
 
 The youth came from his lounging-place and moved 
 on, as if inviting me to walk ; while he answered, 
 rather with bitter sullenness than the melancholy his 
 words expressed 
 
 " One thing, at least, cannot be new to you ; it is an 
 old truth with us before we leave the nursery ' What- 
 ever is worth having must be bought ; ergo, he who 
 cannot biiy, has nothing worth having.' "
 
 164 THE CAXTOXS : 
 
 " I don't think," said I wisely, " that the things best 
 worth having can be bought at all. You see that poor 
 dropsical jeweller standing before his shop-door : his 
 shop is the finest in the street, and I dare say he 
 would be very glad to give it to you or me in return 
 for our good health and strong legs. Oh no ! I think 
 with my father ' All that are worth having are given 
 to all;' that is, nature and labour." 
 
 " Your father says that ; and you go by what your 
 father says ! Of course, all fathers have preached that, 
 and many other good doctrines, since Adam preached 
 to Cain ; but I don't see that the fathers have found 
 their sons very credulous listeners." 
 
 " So much the worse for the sons," said I bluntly. 
 
 " Nature," continued my new acquaintance, without 
 attending to my ejaculation " nature indeed does give 
 us much, and nature also orders each of us how to use 
 her gifts. If nature give you the propensity to drudge, 
 you will drudge ; if she give me the ambition to rise, 
 and the contempt for work, I may rise but I certainly 
 shall not work." 
 
 " Oh," said I, " you agree with Squills, I suppose, 
 and fancy we are all guided by the bumps on our fore- 
 heads?" 
 
 " And the blood in our veins, and our mother's milk. 
 "We inherit other things besides gout and consump- 
 tion. So you always do as your father tells you ! Good 
 boy !" 
 
 I was piqued. Why we should be ashamed of being 
 taunted for goodness, I never could understand ; but
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 165 
 
 certainly I felt humbled. However, I answered sturdily 
 " If you had as good a father as I have, you would 
 not think it so very extraordinary to do as he tells 
 you." 
 
 " Ah ! so he is a very good father, is he ! He must 
 have a great trust in your sobriety and steadiness to let 
 you wander about the world as he does." 
 " I am going to join him in London." 
 " In London ! Oh, does he live there?" 
 " He is going to live there for some time." 
 " Then, perhaps, we may meet. I, too, am going to 
 town." 
 
 " Oh, we shall be sure to meet there ! " said I with 
 frank gladness ; for my interest in the young man was 
 not diminished by his conversation, however much I 
 disliked the sentiments it expressed. 
 
 The lad laughed and his laugh was peculiar : it was 
 low, musical, but hollow and artificial. 
 
 " Sure to meet ! London is a large place : where 
 shall you be found 1 " 
 
 I gave him, without scruple, the address of the hotel 
 at which I expected to find my father ; although his 
 deliberate inspection of my knapsack must already have 
 apprised him of that address. He listened attentively, 
 and repeated it twice over, as if to impress it oil his 
 memory ; and we both walked on in silence, till, turn- 
 ing up a small passage, we suddenly found ourselves 
 in a large churchyard, a flagged path stretched dia- 
 gonally across it towards the market-place, on which it 
 bordered. In this churchyard, upon a grave-stone, sat
 
 166 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 a young Savoyard ; his hurdy-gurdy, or whatever else 
 his instrument might be called, was on his lap ; and he 
 was gnawing his crust, and feeding some poor little 
 white mice (standing on their hind-legs on the hurdy- 
 gurdy) as merrily as if he had chosen the gayest resting- 
 place in the world. 
 
 We both stopped. The Savoyard, seeing us, put his 
 arch head on one side, showed all his white teeth in 
 that happy smile so peculiar to his race, and in which 
 poverty seems to beg so blithely, and gave the handle 
 of his instrument a turn. 
 
 " Poor child !" said I. 
 
 "Aha, you pity him! but why? According to your 
 rule, Mr Caxton, he is not so much to be pitied ; the 
 dropsical jeweller would give him as much for his limbs 
 and health as for ours ! How is it answer me, son of 
 so wise a father that no one pities the dropsical 
 jeweller, and all pity the healthy Savoyard ] Is it, sir, 
 because there is a stern truth which is stronger than all 
 Spartan lessons Poverty is the master-ill of the world] 
 Look round. Does poverty leave its signs over the 
 graves 1 Look at that large tomb fenced round ; read 
 that long inscription ! 'Virtue' 'best of husbands' 
 'affectionate father' 'inconsolable grief 'sleeps 
 in the joyful hope,' &c. &c. Do you suppose these 
 stoneless mounds hide no dust of what were men just 
 as good ] But .no epitaph tells their virtues, bespeaks 
 their wives' grief, or promises joyful hope to them ! " 
 
 " Does it matter 1 Does God care for the epitaph 
 and tombstone I "
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 167 
 
 "Date mi qualche cosa!" said the Savoyard in his 
 touching patois, still smiling, and holding out his 
 little hand ; therein I dropped a small coin. The 
 boy evinced his gratitude by a new turn of the hurdy- 
 gurdy. 
 
 "That is not labour," said my companion; "and 
 had you found him at work, you had given him nothing. 
 I too have my instrument to play upon, and my mice 
 to see after. Adieu ! " 
 
 He waved his hand, and strode irreverently over the 
 graves back in the direction we had come. 
 
 I stood before the fine tomb with its fine epitaph ; 
 the Savoyard looked at me wistfully.
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 THE Savoyard looked at me wistfully. I wished to 
 enter into conversation with him. That was not easy. 
 However, I began : 
 
 PISISTBATUS. "You must be often hungry enough, 
 my poor boy. Do the mice feed you 1 " 
 
 SAVOYARD puts his head on one side, shakes it, and 
 strokes his mice. 
 
 PISISTRATUS. " You are very fond of the mice ; 
 they are your only friends, I fear." 
 
 SAVOYARD, evidently understanding Pisistratus, rubs 
 his face gently against the mice, then puts them softly 
 down on a grave, and gives a turn to the hurdy-gurdy. 
 The mice play unconcernedly over the grave. 
 
 PISISTRATUS, pointing first to the beasts, then to the 
 instrument. "Which do you like best, the mice or 
 the hurdy-gurdy ? " 
 
 SAVOYARD shows his teeth considers stretches 
 himself on the grass plays with the mice and 
 answers volubly. 
 
 PISISTRATUS, by the help of Latin comprehending 
 that the Savoyard says that the mice are alive, and the 
 hurdy-gurdy is not " Yes, a live friend is better than 
 a dead one. Mortua est hurda-gurda ! "
 
 THE CAXTONS. 169 
 
 SAVOYARD shakes his head vehemently. " X6 no ! 
 Eccellenza, non e morta ! " and strikes up a lively air 
 on the slandered instrument. The Savoyard's face 
 brightens he looks happy : the mice run from the 
 grave into his hosoni. 
 
 PISISTRATUS, affected, and putting the question in 
 Latin. " Have you a father]" 
 
 SAVOYARD, with his face overcast, " N6 Eccel- 
 lenza ! " then pausing a little, he says briskly, " Si si ! " 
 and plays a solemn air on the hurdy-gurdy stops 
 rests one hand on the instrument, and raises the other 
 to heaven. 
 
 PISISTRATUS understands : the father is like the 
 hurdy-gurdy, at once dead and living. The mere form 
 is a dead thing, but the music lives. Pisistratus drops 
 another small piece of silver on the ground, and turns 
 away. 
 
 God help and God bless thee, Savoyard. Thou hast 
 done Pisistratus all the good in the world. Thou hast 
 corrected the hard wisdom of the young gentleman in 
 the velveteen jacket ; Pisistratus is a better lad for 
 having stopped to listen to thee. 
 
 I regained the entrance to the churchyard I looked 
 back : there sat the Savoyard, still amidst men's graves, 
 but under God's sky. He was still looking at me wist- 
 fully ; and when he caught my eye, he pressed his 
 hand to his heart, and smiled. God help and God 
 bless thee, young Savoyard.
 
 PART FIFTH. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 IN setting off the next morning, the Boots, whose heart 
 I had won by an extra sixpence for calling me betimes, 
 good-naturedly informed me that I might save a mile 
 of the journey, and have a very pleasant walk into the 
 bargain, if I took the footpath through a gentleman's 
 park, the lodge of which I should see about seven miles 
 from the town. 
 
 "And the grounds are showed too," said the Boots, 
 " if so be you has a mind to stay and see 'em. But 
 don't you go to the gardener, he'll want half-a-crown ; 
 there's an old 'oman at the lodge, who will show you 
 all that's worth seeing the walks and the big cascade 
 for a tizzy. You may make use of my name," he added 
 proudly " Bob, boots at the Lion. She be a /muiit 
 o' mine, and she minds them that come from me 
 pertiklerly." 
 
 Not doubting that the purest philanthropy actuated 
 these counsels, I thanked my shock-headed friend, and 
 asked carelessly to whom the park belonged.
 
 172 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 " To Muster Trevanion, the great parliament man," 
 answered the Boots. " You has heard o' him, I guess, 
 sir?" 
 
 I shook my head, surprised every hour more and 
 more to find how very little there was in it. 
 
 " They takes in the Moderate Man's Journal at the 
 Lamb ; and they say in the tap there that he's one of 
 the cleverest chaps in the House o' Commons," con- 
 tinued the Boots in a confidential whisper. " But we 
 takes in the People's Thunderbolt at the Lion, and we 
 knows better this Muster Trevanion : he's but a trim- 
 mer milk and water, no /^orator, not the right 
 sort, you understand 1 " 
 
 Perfectly satisfied that I understood nothing about 
 it, I smiled, and said, " Oh yes ; " and slipping on my 
 knapsack, commenced my adventures ; the Boots bawl- 
 ing after me, " Mind, sir, you tells /zaunt I sent you." 
 
 The town was only languidly putting forth symptoms 
 of returning life as I strode through the streets ; a pale 
 sickly unwholesome look on the face of the slothful 
 Phoebus had succeeded the feverish hectic of the past 
 night : the artisans whom I met glided by me haggard 
 and dejected ; a few early shops were alone open ; one 
 or two drunken men, emerging from the lanes, sallied 
 homeward with broken pipes in their mouths ; bills, 
 with large capitals, calling attention to " Best family 
 teas at 4s. a-pound;" "the arrival of Mr Sloinan's 
 caravan of wild beasts;" and Dr Do' em's " Paracelsian 
 Pills of Immortality," stared out dull and uncheering
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 173 
 
 from the walls of tenantless dilapidated houses, in that 
 chill sunrise which favours no illusion. I was glad 
 when I had left the town behind me, and saw the reapers 
 in the cornfields, and heard the chirp of the birds. I 
 arrived at the lodge of which the Boots had spoken : a 
 pretty rustic building half-concealed by a belt of plan- 
 tations, with two large iron gates for the owner's 
 friends, and a small turnstile for the public, who, by 
 some strange neglect on his part, or sad want of inte- 
 rest with the neighbouring magistrates, had still pre- 
 served a right to cross the rich man's domains, and 
 look on his grandeur, limited to compliance with a 
 reasonable request mildly stated on the notice-board, 
 "to keep to the paths." As it was not yet eight 
 o'clock, I had plenty of time before me to see the 
 grounds, and profiting by the economical hint of the 
 Boots, I entered the lodge, and inquired for the old lady 
 who was 7?aunt to Mr Bob. A young woman, who 
 was busied in preparing breakfast, nodded with great 
 civility to this request, and, hastening to a bundle of 
 clothes which I then perceived in the corner, she 
 cried, " Grandmother, here's a gentleman to see the 
 cascade." 
 
 The bundle of clothes then turned round, and ex- 
 hibited a human countenance, which lighted up with 
 great intelligence as the granddaughter, turning to me, 
 said with simplicity " She's old, honest cretur, but 
 she still likes to earn a sixpence, sir ; " and taking a 
 crutch-staff in her hand while her granddaughter put
 
 174 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 a neat bonnet on her head, this industrious gentlewoman 
 sallied out at a pace which surprised me. 
 
 I attempted to enter into conversation with my guide ; 
 but she did not seem much inclined to be sociable, and 
 the beauty of the glades and groves which now spread 
 before my eyes reconciled me to silence. 
 
 I have seen many fine places since then, but I do 
 not remember to have seen a landscape more beautiful 
 in its peculiar English character than that which I now 
 gazed on. It had none of the feudal characteristics of 
 ancient paries, with giant oaks, fantastic pollards, glens 
 covered with fern, and deer grouped upon the slopes ; 
 on the contrary, in spite of some fine trees, chiefly 
 beech, the impression conveyed was, that it was a new 
 place a made place. You might see ridges on the 
 lawns which showed where hedges had been removed ; 
 the pastures were parcelled out in divisions by new 
 wire-fences ; young plantations, planned with exquisite 
 taste, but without the venerable formality of avenues 
 and quincunxes, by which you know the parks that 
 date from Elizabeth and James, diversified the rich 
 extent of verdure ; instead of deer, were short-horned 
 cattle of the finest breed sheep that would have won 
 the prize at an agricultural show. Everywhere there 
 was the evidence of improvement energy capital ; 
 but capital clearly not employed for the mere purpose 
 of return. The ornamental was too conspicuously pre- 
 dominant amidst the lucrative, not to say eloquently 
 " The owner is willing to make the most of his land, 
 but not the most of his money."
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 175 
 
 But the old woman's eagerness to earn sixpence had 
 impressed me unfavourably as to the character of the 
 master. " Here," thought I, " are all the signs of 
 riches ; and yet this poor old woman, living on the 
 very threshold of opulence, is in want of a sixpence." 
 
 These surmises, in the indulgence of which I piqued 
 myself on my penetration, were strengthened into con- 
 victions by the few sentences which I succeeded at last 
 in eliciting from the old woman. 
 
 " Mr Trevanion must be a rich man ? " said I. 
 
 " ay, rich eno' ! " grumbled my guide. 
 
 " And," said I, surveying the extent of shrubbery or 
 dressed ground through which our way wound, now 
 emerging into lawns and glades, now belted by rare 
 garden-trees, now (as every inequality of the ground 
 was turned to advantage in the landscape) sinking into 
 the dell, now climbing up the slopes, and now confin- 
 ing the view to some object of graceful art or enchant- 
 ing nature "And," said I, "he must employ many 
 hands here plenty of work, eh 1 " 
 
 " Ay, ay I don't say that he don't find work for 
 those who want it. But it ain't the same place it wor 
 in my day." 
 
 " You remember it in other hands, then ? " 
 
 " Ay, ay ! When the Hogtons had it, honest folk ! 
 My good man was the gardener none of those set-up 
 fine gentlemen who can't put hand to a spade ! " 
 
 Poor faithful old woman ! 
 
 I began to hate the unknown proprietor. Here 
 clearly was some mushroom usurper who had bought
 
 176 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 out the old simple hospitable family, neglected its 
 ancient servants, left them to earn tizzies by showing 
 waterfalls, and insulted their eyes by Ms selfish wealth. 
 
 "There's the water all spiTt it warn't so in my 
 day," said the guide. ^ 
 
 A rivulet, whose murmur I had long heard, now stole 
 suddenly into view, and gave to the scene the crowning 
 charm. As, relapsing into silence, we tracked its sylvan 
 course, under dipping chestnuts and shady limes, the 
 house itself emerged on the opposite side a modern 
 building of white stone, with the noblest Corinthian 
 portico I ever saw in this country. 
 
 " A fine house, indeed," said I. " Is Mr Trevanion 
 here much ? " 
 
 " Ay, ay I don't mean to say that he goes away 
 altogether, but it ain't as it wor in my day, when the 
 Hogtons lived here all the year round in their warm 
 house, not that one." 
 
 Good old woman, and these poor banished Hogtons ! 
 thought I : hateful parvenu ! I was pleased when a 
 curve in the shrubberies shut out the house from view, 
 though in reality bringing us nearer to it. And the 
 boasted cascade, whose roar I had heard for some mo- 
 ments, came in sight. 
 
 Amidst the Alps, such a waterfall would have been 
 insignificant, but contrasting ground highly dressed, 
 with no other bold features, its effect was striking, and 
 even grand. The banks were here narrowed and com- 
 pressed ; rocks, partly natural, partly no doubt artificial, 
 gave a rough aspect to the margin ; and the cascade fell
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 177 
 
 from a considerable height into rapid waters, which my 
 guide mumbled out were " mortal deep." 
 
 " There wor a madman leapt over where you he stand- 
 ing," said the old woman, " two years ago last June." 
 
 " A madman ! why," said I, observing, with an eye 
 practised in the gymnasium of the Hellenic Institute, 
 the narrow space of the banks over the gulf " why, my 
 good lady, it need not be a madman to perform that 
 leap." 
 
 And so saying, with one of those sudden impulses 
 which it would be wrong to ascribe to the noble quality 
 of courage, I drew back a few steps, and cleared the 
 abyss. But when from the other side I looked back at 
 what I had done, and saw that failure had been death, 
 a sickness came over me, and I felt as if I would not 
 have releapt the gulf to become lord of the domain. 
 
 " And how am I to get back 1 " said I in a forlorn 
 voice to the old woman, who stood staring at me on the 
 other side " Ah ! I see there is a bridge below 1 " 
 
 " But you can't go over the bridge ; there's a gate on 
 it ; master keeps the key himself. You are in the pri- 
 vate grounds now. Dear dear ! the squire would be 
 so angry if he knew. You must go back ; and they'll 
 see you from the house ! Dear me ! dear dear ! 
 What shall I do 1 Can't you leap back again 1 " 
 
 Moved by these piteous exclamations, and not wish- 
 ing to subject the poor old lady to the wrath of a master 
 evidently an unfeeling tyrant, I resolved to pluck up 
 courage and releap the dangerous abyss. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 178 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 " Oh yes never fear," said I, therefore. " What's 
 been done once ought to be done twice, if needful. 
 Just get out of my way, will you ? " 
 
 And I receded several paces over a ground much too 
 rough to favour my run for a spring. But my heart 
 knocked against my ribs. I felt that impulse can do 
 wonders where preparation fails. 
 
 " You had best be quick, then," said the old woman. 
 
 Horrid old woman ! I began to esteem her less. I 
 set my teeth, and was about to rush on, when a voice 
 close beside me said 
 
 " Stay, young man ; I will let you through the gate." 
 
 I turned round sharply, and saw close by my side, 
 in great wonder that I had not seen him before, a man, 
 whose homely (but not working) dress seemed to inti- 
 mate his station as that of the head gardener, of whom 
 my guide had spoken. He was seated on a stone under 
 a chestnut tree, with an ugly cur at his feet, who snarled 
 at me as I turned. 
 
 "Thank you, my man," said I joyfully. "I confess 
 frankly that I was very much afraid of that leap." 
 
 " Ho ! Yet you said, what can be done once can be 
 done twice." 
 
 " I did not say it could be done, but ought to be 
 done." 
 
 " Humph ! That's better put." 
 
 Here the man rose ; the dog came and smelt my legs, 
 and then, as if satisfied with my respectability, wagged 
 the stump of his tail. 
 
 I looked across the waterfall for the old woman, and,
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 179 
 
 to my surprise, saw her hobbling back as fast as she 
 could. 
 
 " Ah ! " said I, laughing, " the poor old thing is 
 afraid you'll tell her master for you're the head gar- 
 dener, I suppose 1 But I am the only person to blame. 
 Pray say that, if you mention the circumstance at all ! " 
 and I drew out half-a-crown, which I proffered to my 
 new conductor. 
 
 He put back the money with a low " Humph not 
 amiss." Then, in a louder voice, " No occasion to bribe 
 me, young man ; I saw it all." 
 
 " I fear your master is rather hard to the poor Hog- 
 tons' old servants." 
 
 " Is he 1 Oh ! humph ! my master. Mr Trevanion 
 you mean 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, I daresay people say so. This is the way." 
 And he led me down a little glen away from the 
 fall. 
 
 Everybody must have observed, that after he has in- 
 curred or escaped a great danger, his spirits rise wonder- 
 fully he is in a state of pleasing excitement. So it 
 was with me. I talked to the gardener a cceur ouvert, as 
 the French say : and I did not observe that his short 
 monosyllables in rejoinder all served to draw out my 
 little history my journey, its destination ; my school- 
 ing under Dr Herman, and my father's Great Book. I 
 was only made somewhat suddenly aware of the fami- 
 liarity that had sprung up between us, when, just as, 
 having performed a circuitous meander, we regained the
 
 180 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 stream and stood before an iron gate, set in an arch of 
 rock- work, my companion said simply " And your 
 name, young gentleman 1 What's your name 1 " 
 
 I hesitated a moment ; but having heard that such 
 communications were usually made by the visitors of 
 show places, I answered " Oh ! a very venerable one, 
 if your master is what they call a bibliomaniac 
 Caxton." 
 
 " Caxton ! " cried the gardener, with some vivacity : 
 " there is a Cumberland family of that name " 
 
 " That's mine ; and my Uncle Roland is the head of 
 that family." 
 
 " And you are the son of Augustine Caxton 1 " 
 
 " I am. You have heard of my dear father, 
 then 1 " 
 
 " We will not pass by the gate now. Follow me 
 this way ; and my guide, turning abruptly round, strode 
 up a narrow path, and the house stood a hundred yards 
 before me ere I recovered my surprise. 
 
 " Pardon me," said I, " but where are we going, my 
 good friend ? " 
 
 " Good friend good friend ! Well said, sir. You 
 are going amongst good friends. I was at college with 
 your father. I loved him well. I knew a little of your 
 uncle too. My name is Trevanion." 
 
 Blind young fool that I was ! The moment my guide 
 told his name, I was struck with amazement at my 
 unaccountable mistake. The small, insignificant figure 
 took instant dignity ; the homely dress, of rough dark 
 broadcloth, was the natural and becoming dishabille of
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 181 
 
 a country gentleman in his own demesnes. Even the 
 ugly cur became a Scotch terrier of the rarest breed. 
 
 My guide smiled good-naturedly at my stupor ; and 
 patting me on the shoulder, said 
 
 "It is the gardener you must apologise to, not me. 
 He is a very handsome fellow, six feet high." 
 
 I had not found my tongue before we had ascended 
 a broad flight of stairs under the portico ; passed a spa- 
 cious hall, adorned with statues and fragrant with large 
 orange-trees ; and, entering a small room hung with 
 pictures, in which were arranged all the appliances for 
 breakfast, my companion said to a lady, who rose from 
 behind the tea-urn, " My dear Ellinor, I introduce to 
 you the son of our old friend Augustine Caxton. Make 
 him stay with us as long as he can. Young gentleman, 
 in Lady Ellinor Trevanion think that you see one 
 whom you ought to know well family friendships 
 should descend." 
 
 My host said these last words in an imposing tone, 
 and then pounced on a letter-bag on the table, drew 
 forth an immense heap of letters and newspapers, threw 
 himself into an arm-chair, and seemed perfectly forget- 
 ful of my existence. 
 
 The lady stood a moment in mute surprise, and I saw 
 that she changed colour from pale to red, and red to 
 pale, before she came forward with the enchanting grace 
 of unaffected kindness, took me by the hand, drew me 
 to a seat next to her own, and asked so cordially after 
 my father, my uncle, my whole family, that in five 
 minutes I felt myself at home. Lady Ellinor listened
 
 182 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 with a smile (though with moistened eyes, which she 
 wiped every now and then) to my artless details. At 
 length she said 
 
 " Have you never heard your father speak of me I 
 mean of us of the Trevanions 1 " 
 
 " Never," said I bluntly : " and that would puzzle 
 me, only my dear father, you know, is not a great 
 talker." 
 
 " Indeed ! he was very animated when I knew him," 
 said Lady Ellinor ; and she turned her head and sighed. 
 
 At this moment there entered a young lady, so fresh, 
 so blooming, so lovely, that every other thought vanished 
 out of my head at once. She came in singing, as gay 
 as a bird, and seeming to my adoring sight quite as 
 native to the skies. 
 
 " Fanny," said Lady Ellinor, " shake hands with Mr 
 Caxton, the son of one whom I have not seen since I 
 was little older than you, hut whom I remember as if 
 it were but yesterday." 
 
 Miss Fanny blushed and smiled, and held out her 
 hand with an easy frankness which I in vain endea- 
 voured to imitate. During breakfast, Mr Trevanion 
 continued to read his letters and glance over the papers, 
 with an occasional ejaculation of " Pish ! " " Stuff ! " 
 between the interval in which he mechanically swal- 
 lowed his tea, or some small morsels of dry toast. Then 
 rising with a suddenness which characterised his move- 
 ments, he stood on Ms hearth for a few moments buried 
 in thought ; and now that a large-brimmed hat was 
 removed from his brow, and the abruptness of his first
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 183 
 
 movement, with the sedateness of his after pause, ar- 
 rested my curious attention, I was more than ever 
 ashamed of my mistake. It was a careworn, eager, and 
 yet musing countenance, hollow-eyed, and with deep 
 lines ; but it was one of those faces which take dignity 
 and refinement from that mental cultivation which dis- 
 tinguishes the true aristocrat viz. the highly educated, 
 acutely intelligent man. Very handsome might that 
 face have been in youth, for the features, though small, 
 were exquisitely defined ; the brow, partially bald, was 
 noble and massive, and there was almost feminine deli- 
 cacy in the curve of the lip. The whole expression of 
 the face was commanding, but sad. Often, as my ex- 
 perience of life increased, have I thought to trace upon 
 that expressive visage the history of energetic ambition 
 curbed by a fastidious philosophy and a scrupulous con- 
 science ; but then all that I could see was a vague, 
 dissatisfied melancholy, which dejected me I knew not 
 why. 
 
 Presently Trevanion returned to the table, collected 
 his letters, moved slowly towards the door, and vanished. 
 
 His wife's eyes followed him tenderly. Those eyes 
 reminded me of my mother's, as I verily believe did 
 all eyes that expressed affection. I crept nearer to her, 
 and longed to press the white hand that lay so listless 
 before me. 
 
 " Will you walk out with us 1" said Miss Trevanion, 
 turning to me. I bowed, and in a few minutes I found 
 myself alone. "While the ladies left me, for their shawls 
 and bonnets, I took up the newspapers which Mr
 
 184 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 Trevanion had thrown on the table, by way of some- 
 thing to do. My eye was caught by his own name ; 
 it occurred often, and in all the papers. There was 
 contemptuous . abuse in one, high eulogy in another ; 
 but one passage, in a journal that seemed to aim at 
 impartiality, struck me so much as to remain in my 
 memory ; and I am sure that I can still quote the sense, 
 though not the exact words. The paragraph ran some- 
 what thus : 
 
 " In the present state of parties, our contemporaries 
 have, not unnaturally, devoted much space to the claims 
 or demerits of Mr Trevanion. It is a name that stands 
 unquestionably high in the House of Commons ; but, 
 as unquestionably, it commands little sympathy in the 
 country. Mr Trevanion is essentially and emphatic- 
 ally a member of parliament. He is a close and ready 
 debater ; he is an admirable chairman in committees. 
 Though never in office, his long experience of public 
 life, his gratuitous attention to public business, have 
 ranked him high among those practical politicians from 
 whom ministers are selected. A man of spotless cha- 
 racter and excellent intentions, no doubt, he must be 
 considered ; and in him any cabinet would gain an 
 honest and a useful member. There ends all we can 
 say in his praise. As a speaker he wants the fire and 
 enthusiasm which engage the popular sympathies. He 
 has the ear of the House, not the heart of the country. 
 An oracle on subjects of mere business, in the great 
 questions of policy he is comparatively a failure. He 
 never embraces any party heartily ; he never espouses
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 185 
 
 any question as if wholly in earnest. The moderation 
 on which he is said to pique himself, often exhibits 
 itself in fastidious crotchets, and an attempt at philo- 
 sophical originality of candour, which has long obtained 
 him, with his enemies, the reputation of a trimmer. 
 Such a man circumstances may throw into temporary 
 power ; but can he command lasting influence 1 No : 
 let Mr Trevanion remain in what nature and position 
 assign as his proper post that of an upright, inde- 
 pendent, able member of parliament ; conciliating sen- 
 sible men on both sides, when party runs into extremes. 
 He is undone as a cabinet minister. His scruples would 
 break up any government ; and his want of decision 
 when, as in all human affairs, some errors must be 
 conceded to obtain a great good would shipwreck his 
 own fame." 
 
 I had just got to the end of this paragraph when 
 the ladies returned. 
 
 My hostess observed the newspaper in my hand, and 
 said, with a constrained smile, " Some attack on Mr 
 Trevanion, I suppose 1 " 
 
 " Xo," said I, awkwardly; for, perhaps, the paragraph 
 that appeared to me so impartial, was the most galling 
 attack of all " No, not exactly." 
 
 " I never read the papers now, at least what are 
 called the leading articles it is too painful : and once 
 they gave me so much pleasure that was when the 
 career began, and before the fame was made." 
 
 Here Lady Ellinor opened the window which admitted 
 on the lawn, and in a few moments we were in that
 
 186 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 part of the pleasure-grounds which, the family reserved 
 from the public curiosity. We passed by rare shrubs and 
 strange flowers, long ranges of conservatories, in which 
 bloomed and lived all the marvellous vegetation of Africa 
 and the Indies. 
 
 " Mr Trevanion is fond of flowers 1 " said I. 
 
 The fair Fanny laughed. " I don't think he knows 
 one from another." 
 
 " Nbr I either," said I : " that is, when I fairly lose 
 sight of a rose or a hollyhock." 
 
 " The farm will interest you more," said Lady 
 Ellinor. 
 
 We came to farm buildings recently erected, and no 
 doubt on the most improved principle. Lady Ellinor 
 pointed out to me machines and contrivances of the 
 newest fashion, for abridging labour, and perfecting the 
 mechanical operations of agriculture. 
 
 "Ah, then, Mr Trevanion is fond of farming ? " 
 
 The pretty Fanny laughed again. 
 
 " My father is one of the great oracles in agriculture, 
 one of the great patrons of all its improvements ; but 
 as for being fond of farming, I doubt if he knows his 
 own fields when he rides through them." 
 
 We returned to the house ; and Miss Trevanion, 
 whose frank kindness had already made too deep an 
 impression upon the youthful heart of Pisistratus the 
 Second, offered to show me the picture-gallery. The 
 collection was confined to the works of English artists ; 
 and Miss Trevanion pointed out to me the main attrac- 
 tions of the gallery.
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 187 
 
 " "Well, at least Mr Trevanion is fond of pictures 1 " 
 
 " Wrong again," said Fanny, shaking her arch head. 
 " My father is said to be an admirable judge ; but he 
 only buys pictures from a sense of duty to encourage 
 our own painters. A picture once bought, I am not 
 sure that he ever looks at it again." 
 
 " What does he then " I stopped short, for I 
 
 felt my meditated question was ill-bred. 
 
 ' What does he like then 1 you were about to say. 
 Why, I have known him, of course, since I could know 
 anything; but I have never yet discovered what my 
 father does Like. No not even politics, though he 
 lives for politics alone. You look puzzled ; you will 
 know him better some day, I hope ; but you will 
 never solve the mystery what Mr Trevanion likes." 
 
 " You are wrong," said Lady Ellinor, who had fol- 
 lowed us into the room, unheard by us. " I can tell 
 you what your father does more than like what he 
 loves and serves every hour of his noble life justice, 
 beneficence, honour, and his country. A man Avho 
 loves these may be excused for indifference to the last 
 geranium, or the newest plough, or even (though that 
 offends you more, Fanny) the freshest masterpiece by 
 Landseer, or the latest fashion honoured by Miss Tre- 
 vanion." 
 
 " Mamma ! " said Fanny, and the tears sprang to her 
 eyes. 
 
 But Lady Ellinor looked to me sublime as she spoke, 
 her eyes kindled, her breast heaved. The wife taking 
 the husband's part against the child, and comprehend-
 
 188 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 ing so well what the child felt not, despite its expe- 
 rience of every day, and what the world would never 
 know, despite all the vigilance of its praise and its 
 blame, was a picture, to my taste, finer than any in the 
 collection. 
 
 Her face softened as she saw the tears in Fanny's 
 bright hazel eyes ; she held out her hand, which her 
 child kissed tenderly : and whispering, " Tis not the 
 giddy word you must go by, mamma, or there will be 
 something to forgive every minute," Miss Trevauion 
 glided from the room. 
 
 " Have you a sister 1 " asked lady Ellinor. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " And Trevanion has no son," she said, mournfully. 
 The blood rushed to my cheeks. Oh ! young fool, 
 again ! We were both silent, when the door was opened, 
 and Mr Trevanion entered. 
 
 " Humph ! " said he, smiling as he saw me and 
 his smile was charming though rare. " Humph, young 
 sir, I came to seek for you, I have been rude, I fear : 
 pardon it that thought has only just occurred to me, 
 so I left my Blue Books, and my amanuensis hard at 
 work on them, to ask you to come out for half an 
 hour, just half an hour, it is all I can give you a 
 deputation at One ! You dine and sleep here, of 
 course ? " 
 
 " Ah, sir ! my mother will be so uneasy if I am not 
 in town to-night." 
 
 " Pooh ! " said the member, " I'll send an express." 
 
 " Oh, no indeed ; thank you."
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 189 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 I hesitated. " You see, sir, that my father and 
 mother are both new to London : and though I ani 
 new too, yet they may want me I may be of use." 
 Lady Ellinor put her hand on my head, and sleeked 
 down my hair as I spoke. 
 
 " Eight, young man, right ; you will do in the world, 
 wrong as that is. I don't mean that you'll succeed, as 
 the rogues say that's another question ; but if you 
 don't rise, you'll not fall. Kow, put on your hat and 
 come with me ; we'll walk to the lodge you will be in 
 time for a coach." 
 
 I took my leave of Lady Ellinor, and longed to say 
 something about " compliments to Miss Fanny ; " but 
 the words stuck in my throat, and my host seemed 
 impatient. 
 
 " We must see you soon again ! " said Lady Ellinor 
 kindly, as she followed us to the door. 
 
 Mr Trevanion walked on briskly and in silence one 
 hand in his bosom, the other swinging carelessly a thick 
 Avalking-stick. 
 
 " But I must go round by the bridge," said I, " for 
 I forgot my knapsack. I threw it off when I made 
 my leap, and the old lady certainly never took charge 
 of it," 
 
 " Come, then, this way. How old are you 1 " 
 
 " Seventeen and a half." 
 
 " You know Latin and Greek as they know them at 
 schools, I suppose 1 " 
 
 11 1 think 1 know them pretty well, sir."
 
 190 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 " Does your father say so 1 " 
 
 " Why, my father is fastidious ; however, he owns 
 that he is satisfied, on the whole." 
 
 " So am I, then. Mathematics 1 " 
 
 A little." 
 
 " Good." 
 
 Here the conversation dropped for some time. I had 
 found and restrapped the knapsack, and we were near 
 the lodge, when Mr Trevanion said, abruptly, " Talk, 
 my young friend, talk': I like to hear you talk it 
 refreshes me. oSTobody has talked naturally to me these 
 last ten years." 
 
 The request was a complete damper to my ingenuous 
 eloquence : I could not have talked naturally now for 
 the life of me. 
 
 " I made a mistake, I see," said my companion, 
 good-humouredly, noticing my embarrassment. " Here 
 we are at the lodge. The coach will be by in five 
 minutes : you can spend that time in hearing the old 
 woman praise the Hogtons and abuse me. And hark 
 you, sir, never care three straws for praise or blame 
 leather and prunella ! praise and blame are here!" and 
 he struck his hand upon his breast, with almost pas- 
 sionate emphasis. " Take a specimen. These Hogtons 
 were the bane of the place ; uneducated and miserly ; 
 then? land a wilderness, their village a pig-sty. I come, 
 with capital and intelligence ; I redeem the soil, I 
 banish pauperism, I civilise all around me ; no merit 
 in me I am but a type of capital guided by education 
 a machine. And yet the old woman is not the only
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 191 
 
 one who will hint to you that the Hogtons were angels, 
 and myself the usual antithesis to angels. And, what 
 is more, sir, because that old woman, who has ten 
 shillings a-week from me, sets her heart upon earning 
 her sixpences and I give her that privileged luxury 
 every visitor she talks to goes away with the idea that 
 I, the rich Mr Trevanion, let her starve on what she 
 can pick up from the sight-seers. Kow, does that 
 signify a jot 1 Good-by. Tell your father his old 
 friend must see him ; profit by his calm wisdom ; his old 
 friend is a fool sometimes, and sad at heart. When you 
 are settled, send me a line to St James's Square, to 
 say where you are. Humph ! that's enough." 
 
 Mr Trevanion wrung my hand, and strode off. 
 
 I did not wait for the coach, but proceeded towards 
 the turn-stile where the old woman (who had either 
 seen, or scented from a distance, that tizzy of which I 
 was the impersonation) 
 
 " Hushed in grim repose, did wait her morning prey." 
 
 My opinions as to her sufferings, and the virtues of 
 the departed Hogtons, somewhat modified, I contented 
 myself with dropping into her open palm the exact 
 sum virtually agreed on. But that palm still remained 
 open, and the fingers of the other clawed hold of me as 
 I stood, impounded in the curve of the turnstile, like a 
 cork in a patent corkscrew. 
 
 " And threepence for Nephy Bob," said the old 
 lady. 
 
 " Threepence for nephew Bob, and why ? " 
 
 " 'Tis his parquisites when he recommends a gentle-
 
 192 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 man. You would not have me pay out of my own 
 earnings : for he will have it, or he'll ruin my bizziness. 
 Poor folk must he paid for their trouble." 
 
 Obdurate to this appeal, and mentally consigning 
 Bob to a master whose feet would be all the handsomer 
 for boots, I threaded the stile and escaped. 
 
 Towards evening I reached London. Who ever saw 
 London for the first time and was not disappointed] 
 Those long suburbs melting indefinably away into the 
 capital, forbid all surprise. The gradual is a great dis- 
 enchanter. I thought it prudent to take a hackney- 
 coach, and so jolted my way to the Hotel, the 
 
 door of which was in a small street out of the Strand, 
 though the greater part of the building faced that 
 noisy thoroughfare. I found my father in a state of 
 great discomfort in a little room, which he paced up 
 and down like a lion new caught in his cage. My poor 
 mother was full of complaints for the first time in her 
 life, I found her indisputably crossish. It was an ill 
 time to relate my adventures. I had enough to do to 
 listen. They had all day been hunting for lodgings in 
 vain. My father's pocket had been picked of a new 
 India handkerchief. Primmins, who ought to know 
 London so well, knew nothing about it, and declared 
 it was turned topsy-turvy, and all the streets had 
 changed names. The new silk umbrella, left for five 
 minutes unguarded in the hall, had been exchanged for 
 an old gingham with three holes in it. 
 
 It Avas not till my mother remembered that if she 
 did not see herself that my bed was well aired I should
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 193 
 
 certainly lose the use of my limbs, and therefore dis- 
 appeared with Primmins and a pert chambermaid, who 
 seemed to think we gave more trouble than we were 
 worth, that I told my father of my new acquaintance 
 with Mr Trevanion. 
 
 He did not seem to listen to me till I got to the 
 name Trevanion. He then became very pale, and sat 
 down quietly. " Go on," said he, observing I stopped 
 to look at him. 
 
 When I had told all, and given him the kind mes- 
 sages with which I had been charged by husband and 
 wife, he smiled faintly : and then, shading his face 
 with his hand, he seemed to muse, not cheerfully, 
 perhaps, for I heard him sigh once or twice. 
 
 " And Ellinor," said he at last, without looking up 
 " Lady Ellinor, I mean : she is very very " 
 
 " Very what, sir ? " 
 
 " Very handsome still I " 
 
 " Handsome ! Yes, handsome, certainly ; but I 
 thought more of her manner than her face. And 
 then Fanny, Miss Fanny, is so young ! " 
 
 "Ah!" said my father, murmuring in Greek the 
 celebrated lines of which Pope's translation is familiar 
 to aU: 
 
 " ' Like leaves on trees the race of man is found, 
 
 Now green in youth, now withering on the ground.' 
 
 " Well, so they wish to see me. Did Ellinor, Lady 
 Ellinor, say that, or her her husband ? " 
 VOL. r. N
 
 194 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 " Her husband, certainly Lady Ellinor rather im- 
 plied than said it." 
 
 " We shall see," said my father. " Open the win- 
 dow, this room is stifling." 
 
 I opened the window, which looked on the Strand. 
 The noise, the voices, the trampling feet, the rolling 
 wheels, became loudly audible. My father leant out 
 for some moments, and I stood by his side. He turned 
 to me with a serene face. " Every ant on the hill," 
 said he, " carries its load, and its home is but made by 
 the burden that it bears. How happy am I ! how I 
 should bless God ! How light my burden ! how 
 secure my home ! " 
 
 My mother came in as he ceased. He went up to 
 her, put his arm round her waist and kissed her. 
 
 Such caresses with him had not lost their tender 
 charm by custom : my mother's brow, before some- 
 what ruffled, grew smooth on the instant. Yet she 
 lifted her eyes to his in soft surprise. " I was but 
 thinking," said my father, apologetically, " how much 
 I owed you, and how much I love you ! "
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AND now behold us, three days after my arrival, settled 
 in all the state and grandeur of our own house in 
 Russell Street, Bloomsbury : the library of the Museum 
 close at hand. My father spends his mornings in those 
 lata silentia, as Virgil calls the world beyond the 
 grave. And a world beyond the grave we may well 
 call that land of the ghosts, a book collection. 
 
 " Pisistratus," said my father, one evening as he 
 arranged his notes before him, and rubbed his spec- 
 tacles. " Pisistratus, a great library is an aicful place ! 
 There are interred all the remains of men since the 
 Flood." 
 
 " It is a burial-place ! " quoth my Uncle Ptoland, 
 who had that day found us out. 
 
 " It is an Heraclea ! " said my father. 
 
 " Please, not such hard words," said the Captain, 
 shaking his head. 
 
 " Heraclea was the city of necromancers, in which 
 they raised the dead. Do I want to speak to Cicero 1 
 I invoke him. Do I want to chat in the Athenian 
 market-place, and hear news two thousand years old ? 
 I write down my charm on a slip of paper, and a
 
 196 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 grave magician calls me up Aristophanes. And we 
 owe all this to our ancest " 
 
 " Brother ! " 
 
 " Ancestors, who wrote books thank you." 
 
 Here Eoland offered his snuff-box to my father, who, 
 abhorring snuff, benignly imbibed a pinch, and sneezed 
 five times in consequence : an excuse for Uncle Eoland ' 
 to say, which he did five times, with great unction, 
 " God bless you, brother Austin ! " 
 
 As soon as my father had recovered himself, he pro- 
 ceeded, with tears in his eyes, but calm as before the 
 interruption for he was of the philosophy of the 
 Stoics : 
 
 " But it is not that which is awful. It is the pre- 
 suming to vie with these ' spirits elect : ' to say to 
 them, ' Make way I too claim place with the chosen. 
 I too would confer with the living, centuries after the 
 death that consumes my dust. I too ' Ah, Pisistratus ! 
 I wish Uncle Jack had been at Jericho before he had 
 brought me up to London, and placed me in the midst 
 of those rulers of the world ! " 
 
 I was busy, while my father spoke, in making some 
 pendant shelves for these " spirits elect : " for my 
 mother, always provident where my father's comforts 
 were concerned, had foreseen the necessity of some 
 such accommodation in a hired lodging-house, and had 
 not only carefully brought up to town my little box of 
 tools, but gone out herself that morning to buy the 
 raw materials. Checking the plane in its progress over 
 the smooth deal, " My dear father," said I, " if at the
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 197 
 
 Philhellenic Institute I had looked with as much awe 
 as you do on the big fellows that had gone before me, 
 I should have stayed, to all eternity, the lag of the 
 Infant Division." 
 
 " Pisistratus, you are as great an agitator as your 
 namesake/' cried my father, smiling. " And so, a fig 
 for the big fellows ! " 
 
 And now my mother entered in her pretty evening 
 cap, all smiles and good-humour, having just arranged 
 a room for Uncle Roland, concluded advantageous 
 negotiations with the laundress, held high council with 
 Mrs Primmins on the best mode of defeating the 
 extortions of London tradesmen; and, pleased with 
 herself and all the world, she kissed my father's fore- 
 head as it bent over his notes, and came to the tea- 
 table, which only waited its presiding deity. My 
 Uncle Eoland, with his usual gallantry, started up, 
 kettle in hand (our own urn for we had one not 
 being yet unpacked), and having performed with sol- 
 dier-like method the chivalrous office thus volunteered, 
 he joined me at my employment, and said 
 
 " There is a better steel for the hands of a well-born 
 lad than a carpenter's plane." 
 
 " Aha ! uncle that depends " 
 
 " Depends ! What on 1 " 
 
 " On the use one makes of it. Peter the Great was 
 better employed in making ships than Charles XII. in 
 cutting throats." 
 
 " Poor Charles XII. ! " said my uncle, sighing 
 pathetically " a very brave fellow ! "
 
 198 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 " Pity lie did not like the ladies a little better ! " 
 
 " No man is perfect ! " said my uncle, sententiously. 
 " But, seriously, you are now the male hope of the 
 
 family you are now " My uncle stopped, and 
 
 his face darkened. I saw that he thought of his son 
 that mysterious son ! And, looking at him tenderly, 
 I observed that his deep lines had grown deeper, his 
 iron-grey hair more grey. There was the trace of 
 recent suffering on his face ; and though he had not 
 spoken to us a word of the business on which he had 
 left us, it required no penetration to perceive that it 
 had come to no successful issue. 
 
 My uncle resumed " Time out of mind, every 
 generation of our house has given one soldier to his 
 country. I look round now : only one branch is bud- 
 ding yet on the old tree ; and " 
 
 " Ah ! uncle. But what would they say 1 Do you 
 think I should not like to be a soldier 1 Don't tempt 
 me!" 
 
 My uncle had recourse to his snuff-box : and at that 
 moment, unfortunately, perhaps, for the laurels that 
 might otherwise have wreathed the brows of Pisis- 
 tratus of England, private conversation was stopped 
 by the sudden and noisy entrance of Uncle Jack. No 
 apparition could have been more unexpected. 
 
 " Here I am, my dear friends. How d'ye do how 
 are you all 1 Captain de Caxton, yours heartily. Yes, 
 I am released, thank heaven ! I have given up the 
 drudgery of that pitiful provincial paper. I was not 
 made for it. An ocean in a tea-cup ! I was indeed !
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 199 
 
 Little, sordid, narrow interests and I, whose heart 
 embraces all humanity. You might as well turn a 
 circle into an isolated triangle." 
 
 " Isosceles ! " said my father, sighing as he pushed 
 aside his notes, and very slowly becoming aware of the 
 eloquence that destroyed all chance of further progress 
 that night in the Great Book. " Isosceles triangle, Jack 
 Tibbets not isolated. 
 
 " Isosceles or isolated, it is all one," said Uncle Jack, 
 as he rapidly performed three evolutions, by no means 
 consistent with his favourite theory of "the greatest 
 happiness of the greatest number : " first, he emptied 
 into the cup which he took from my mother's hands 
 half the thrifty contents of a London cream-jug ; 
 secondly, he reduced the circle of a muffin, by the 
 abstraction of three triangles, to as nearly an isosceles 
 as possible ; and thirdly, striding towards the fire, 
 lighted in consideration of Captain de Caxton, and 
 hooking his coat-tails under his arms, while he sipped 
 his tea, he permitted another circle peculiar to humanity 
 wholly to eclipse the luminary it approached. 
 
 " Isolated or isosceles, it is all the same thing. Man 
 is made for his fellow-creatures. I had long been dis- 
 gusted with the interference of those selfish Squire- 
 archs. Your departure decided me. I have concluded 
 negotiations with a London firm of spirit and capital, 
 and extended views of philanthropy. On Saturday 
 last I retired from the service of the oligarchy. I am 
 now in my true capacity of protector of the million. 
 My prospectus is printed here it is in my pocket.
 
 200 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 Another cup of tea, sister ; a little more cream, and 
 another muffin. Shall I ring 1 " Having disembar- 
 rassed himself of his cup and saucer, Uncle Jack then 
 drew forth from his pocket a damp sheet of printed 
 paper. In large capitals stood out " The AxTi-Moxo- 
 POLY GAZETTE, or POPULAR CHAMPION." He waved it 
 triumphantly before my father's eyes. 
 
 " Pisistratus," said my father, " look here. This is 
 the way your Uncle Jack now prints his pats of butter : 
 a cap of liberty growing out of an open book ! Good, 
 Jack ! Good ! good ! " 
 
 "It is Jacobinical ! " exclaimed the Captain. 
 
 " Very likely," said my father ; " but knowledge and 
 freedom are the best devices in the world to print upon 
 pats of butter intended for the market." 
 
 " Pats of butter ! I don't understand," said Uncle 
 Jack. 
 
 " The less you understand, the better will the butter 
 sell, Jack," said my father, settling back to his notes.
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 UNCLE Jack had made up his mind to lodge with us, 
 and my mother found some difficulty in inducing him 
 to comprehend that there was no hed to spare. 
 
 " That's unlucky," said he. " I had no sooner 
 arrived in town than I was pestered with invitations ; 
 but I refused them all, and kept myself for you." 
 
 " So kind in you ! so like you ! " said my mother ; 
 " but you see " 
 
 " Well, then, I must be off and find a room. Don't 
 fret ; you know I can breakfast and dine with you all 
 the same ; that is, when my other friends will let me. 
 I shall be dreadfully persecuted." So saying, Uncle 
 Jack repocketed his prospectus, and wished us good- 
 night. 
 
 The clock had struck eleven, my mother had retired, 
 when my father looked up from his books, and returned 
 his spectacles to their case. I had finished my work, 
 and was seated over the fire, thinking now of Fanny 
 Trevanion's hazel eyes now, with a heart that beat as 
 high at the thought of campaigns, battle-fields, laurels, 
 and glory , while, with his arms folded on his breast 
 and his head drooping, Uncle Eoland gazed into the
 
 202 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 low clear embers. My father cast his eyes round the 
 room, and after surveying his brother for some moments, 
 he said, almost in a whisper 
 
 "My son has seen the Trevanions. They remember 
 us, Roland." 
 
 The Captain sprang to his feet, and began whistling 
 a habit with him when he was much disturbed. 
 
 " And Trevanion wishes to see us. Pisistratus pro- 
 mised to give him our address; shall he do so, Roland'?" 
 
 " If you like it," answered the Captain, in a military 
 attitude, and drawing himself up till he looked seven 
 feet high. 
 
 " I should like it," said my father, mildly. "Twenty 
 years since* we met." 
 
 " More than twenty," said my uncle, with a stern 
 smile ; " and the season was the fall of the leaf ! " 
 
 " Man renews the fibre and material of his body 
 every seven years," said my father ; " in three times 
 seven years he has time to renew the inner man. Can 
 two passengers in yonder street be more unlike each 
 other than the soul is to the soul after an interval of 
 twenty years ? Brother, the plough does not pass over 
 the soil in vain, nor care over the human heart. New 
 crops change the character of the land ; and the plough 
 must go deep indeed before it stirs up the mother 
 stone." 
 
 "Let us see Trevanion," cried my uncle; then, turn- 
 ing to me, he said, abruptly, "What family has he ?" 
 
 " One daughter." 
 
 "No son?"
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 203 
 
 "]S T o." 
 
 "That must vex the poor foolish ambitious man. 
 Oho ! you admire this Mr Trevanion much, eh 1 Yes, 
 that fire of manner, his fine words, and bold thoughts, 
 were made to dazzle youth." 
 
 " Fine words, my dear uncle ! fire ! I should have 
 said, in hearing Mr Trevanion, that his style of conver- 
 sation was so homely, you would wonder how he could 
 have won such fame as a public speaker." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "The plough has passed there," said my father. 
 
 " But not the plough of care : rich, famous, Ellinor 
 his wife, and no son !" 
 
 "It is because his heart is sometimes sad that he 
 would see us." 
 
 Roland stared first at my father, next at me. 
 "Then," quoth my uncle, heartily, "in God's name, 
 let him come. I can shake him by the hand, as I 
 would a brother soldier. Poor Trevanion ! Write to 
 him at once, Sisty." 
 
 I sat down and obeyed. When I had sealed my 
 letter, I looked up, and saw that Roland was lighting 
 his bed-candle at my father's table ; and my father, 
 taking his hand, said something to him in a low voice. 
 I guessed it related to his son, for he shook his head, 
 and answered in a stern, hollow voice, " Renew grief if 
 you please not shame. On that subject silence ! "
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 LEFT to myself in the earlier part of the day, I wan- 
 dered, wistful and lonely, through the vast wilderness 
 of London. By degrees, I familiarised myself with 
 that populous solitude I ceased to pine for the green 
 fields. That active energy all around, at first sadden- 
 ing, became soon exhilarating, and at last contagious. 
 To an industrious mind, nothing is so catching as 
 industry. I began to grow weary of my golden holi- 
 day of unlaborious childhood, to sigh for toil, to look 
 around me for a career. The University, which I had 
 before anticipated with pleasure, seemed now to fade 
 into a dull monastic prospect : after having trode the 
 streets of London, to wander through cloisters was to 
 go back in life. Day by day, my mind grew sensibly 
 within me ; it came out from the rosy twilight of boy- 
 hood it felt the doom of Cain, under the broad sun 
 of man. 
 
 Uncle Jack soon became absorbed in his new specu- 
 lation for the good of the human race, and, except at 
 meals (whereat, to do him justice, he was punctual 
 enough, though he did not keep us in ignorance of the 
 sacrifices he made, and the invitations he refused, for
 
 THE CAXTONS. 205 
 
 our sake), we seldom saw him. The Captain, too, 
 generally vanished after breakfast, seldom dined with 
 us, and it was often late before he returned. He had 
 the latch-key of the house, and let himself in when he 
 pleased. Sometimes (for his chamber was next to 
 mine) his step on the stairs awoke me ; and sometimes 
 I heard him pace his room with perturbed strides, or 
 fancied that I caught a low groan. He became every 
 day more care-worn in appearance, and every day the 
 hair seemed more gray. Yet he talked to us all easily 
 and cheerfully; and I thought that I was the only one 
 in the house who perceived the gnawing pangs over 
 which the stout old Spartan drew the decorous cloak. 
 
 Pity, blended with admiration, made me curious to 
 learn how these absent days, that brought nights so 
 disturbed, were consumed. I felt that, if I could 
 master the Captain's secret, I might win the right 
 both to comfort and to aid. 
 
 I resolved at length, after many conscientious 
 scruples, to endeavour to satisfy a curiosity excused by 
 its motives. 
 
 Accordingly, one morning, after watching him from 
 the house, I stole in his track, and followed him at a 
 distance. 
 
 And this was the outline of his day : he set off at 
 first with a firm stride, despite his lameness his gaunt 
 figure erect, the soldierly chest well thrown out from 
 the threadbare but speckless coat. First, he took his 
 way towards the purlieus of Leicester Square ; several 
 times, to and fro, did he pace the isthmus that leads
 
 206 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 from Piccadilly into that reservoir of foreigners, and 
 the lanes and courts that start thence towards St 
 Martin's. After an hour or two so passed, the step 
 became more slow ; and often the sleek, napless hat 
 was lifted up, and the brow wiped. At length he 
 bent his way towards the two great theatres, paused 
 before the play- bills, as if deliberating seriously on the 
 chances of entertainment they severally proffered, wan- 
 dered slowly through the small streets that surround 
 those temples of the Muse, and finally emerged into 
 the Strand. There he rested himself for an hour, at 
 a small cook-shop ; and, as I passed the windoAv and 
 glanced within, I could see him seated before the 
 simple dinner, which he scarcely touched, and poring 
 over the advertisement columns of the Times. The 
 Times finished, and a few morsels distastefully swal- 
 lowed, the Captain put down his shilling in silence, 
 receiving his pence in exchange, and I had just time 
 to slip aside as he reappeared at the threshold. He 
 looked round as he lingered, but I took care he should 
 not detect me ; and then struck off towards the more 
 fashionable quarters of the town. It was now the 
 afternoon, and, though not yet the season, the streets 
 swarmed with life. As he came into Waterloo Place, 
 a slight but muscular figure buttoned up across the 
 breast like his own, cantered by on a handsome bay 
 horse : every eye was on that figure. Uncle Eoland 
 stopped short, and lifted his hand to his hat ; the rider 
 touched his own with his forefinger, and cantered on 
 Uncle Eoland turned round and gazed.
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 207 
 
 " Who," I asked, of a shop-boy just before me, also 
 staring with aU his eyes" who is that gentleman on 
 horseback 1" 
 
 "Why, the Duke to be sure," said the boy, con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 "The Duke?" 
 
 " Wellington stu-pid !" 
 
 " Thank you," said I, meekly. Uncle Eoland had 
 moved on into Eegent Street, but with a brisker step : 
 the sight of the old chief had done the old soldier 
 good. Here again he paced to and fro ; till I, watch- 
 ing him from the other side of the way, was ready to 
 drop with fatigue, stout walker though I was. But 
 the Captain's day was not half done. He took out his 
 watch, put it to his ear, and then, replacing it, passed 
 into Bond Street, and thence into Hyde Park. There, 
 evidently wearied out, he leant against the rails, near 
 the bronze statue, in an attitude that spoke despond- 
 ency. I seated myself on the grass near the statue, 
 and gazed at him ; the park was empty compared with 
 the streets, but still there were some equestrian idlers, 
 and many foot-loungers. My uncle's eye turned wist- 
 fully on each : once or twice, some gentleman of a 
 military aspect (which I had already learned to detect) 
 stopped, looked at him, approached, and spoke ; but 
 the Captain seemed as if ashamed of such greetings. 
 He answered shortly, and turned again : 
 
 The day waned evening came on : the Captain 
 again looked at his watch, shook his head, and made 
 his way to a bench, where he sat perfectly motionless
 
 208 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 his liat over his brows, his arms folded ; till uprose the 
 moon. I had tasted nothing since breakfast I was 
 famished ; but I still kept my post like an old Roman 
 sentinel. 
 
 At length the Captain rose, and re-entered Picca- 
 dilly ; but how different his mien and bearing ! lan- 
 guid, stooping ; his chest sunk, his head inclined ; his 
 limbs dragging one after the other ; his lameness pain- 
 fully perceptible. What a contrast in the broken 
 invalid at night from the stalwart veteran of the 
 morning ! 
 
 How I longed to spring forward to offer my arm ! 
 but I did not dare. 
 
 The Captain stopped near a cab-stand. He put his 
 hand in his pocket he drew out his purse he passed 
 his fingers over the network ; the purse slipped again 
 into the pocket, and, as if with a heroic effort, my 
 uncle drew up his head, and walked on sturdily. 
 
 " Where next V thought I. " Surely home ! Eo, 
 he is pitiless !" 
 
 The Captain stopped not till he arrived at one of 
 the small theatres in the Strand ; then he read the 
 bill, and asked if half-price was begun. " Just be- 
 gun," was the answer, and the Captain entered. I 
 also took a ticket and followed. Passing by the open 
 doors of a refreshment-room, I fortified myself with 
 some biscuits and soda-water ; and in another minute, 
 for the first time in my life, I beheld a play. But 
 the play did not fascinate me. It was the middle of 
 some jocular afterpiece ; roars of laughter resounded
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 209 
 
 round me. I could detect nothing to laugh at, and 
 sending my keen eyes into every corner, I perceived at 
 last, in the uppermost tier, one face as saturnine as my 
 own. Eureka ! It was the Captain's ! " Why should 
 he go to a play if he enjoys it so little !" thought I ; 
 "better have spent a shilling on a cab, poor old 
 fellow !" 
 
 But soon came smart-looking men, and still smarter- 
 looking ladies, around the solitary corner of the poor 
 Captain. He grew fidgety he rose he vanished. I 
 left my place, and stood without the box to watch for 
 him. Downstairs he stumped I recoiled into the 
 shade ; and after standing a moment or two, as in doubt, 
 he entered boldly the refreshment-room or saloon. 
 
 Xow, since I had left that saloon, it had become 
 crowded, and I slipped in unobserved. Strange was it, 
 grotesque yet pathetic, to mark the old soldier in the 
 midst of that gay swarm. He towered above all like 
 a Homeric hero, a head taller than the tallest ; and 
 his appearance was so remarkable, that it invited the 
 instant attention of the fair. I, in my simplicity, 
 thought it was the natural tenderness of that amiable 
 and penetrating sex, ever quick to detect trouble and 
 anxious to relieve it, which induced three ladies, in 
 silk attire one having a hat and plume, the other two 
 with a profusion of ringlets to leave a little knot of 
 gentlemen with whom they were conversing, and to 
 plant themselves before my uncle. I advanced through 
 the press to hear what passed. 
 
 VOL. i.
 
 210 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 " You are looking for some one, I'm sure," quoth 
 one, familiarly, tapping his arm with her fan. 
 
 The Captain started. " Ma'am, you are not wrong," 
 said he. 
 
 " Can I do as well 1 " said one of those compassionate 
 angels, with heavenly sweetness. 
 
 "You are very kind, I thank you ; no, no, ma'am," 
 said the Captain, with his best bow. 
 
 "Do take a glass of negus," said another, as her 
 friend gave way to her. " You seem tired, and so am 
 I. Here, this way ; " and she took hold of his arm to 
 lead him to the table. The Captain shook his head 
 mournfully ; and then, as if suddenly aware of the 
 nature of the attentions so lavished on him, he looked 
 down upon these fair Arniidas with a look of such 
 mild reproach, such sweet compassion not shaking off 
 the hand, in his chivalrous devotion to the sex, which 
 extended even to all its outcasts that each bold eye 
 fell abashed. The hand was timidly and involuntarily 
 withdrawn from the arm, and my uncle passed his way. 
 
 He threaded the crowd, passed out at the further 
 door, and I, guessing his intention, was in waiting for 
 his steps in the street. 
 
 " Now home at last, thank heaven ! " thought I. 
 Mistaken still ! My uncle went first towards that 
 popular haunt which I have since discovered is called 
 " the Shades ; " but he soon re-emerged, and finally he 
 knocked at the door of a private house in one of the 
 streets out of St James's. It was opened jealously, and 
 closed as he entered, leaving me without. What could
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 211 
 
 this house be ? As I stood and watched, some other 
 men'approached, again the low single knock, again 
 the jealous opening, and the stealthy entrance. 
 
 A policeman passed and repassed me. " Don't be 
 tempted, young man," said he, looking hard at me : 
 " take my advice, and go home." 
 
 " What is that house, then? " said I, with a sort of 
 shudder at this ominous warning. 
 
 " Oh, you know." 
 
 "'Not I. I am new to London." 
 
 " It is a hell," said the policeman satisfied, by my 
 frank manner, that I spoke the truth. 
 
 " God bless me a what ? I could not have heard 
 you rightly ?" 
 
 " A hell ; a gambling-house ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " and I moved on. Could Captain Roland, 
 the rigid, the thrifty, the penurious, be a gambler? 
 The light broke on me at once : the unhappy father 
 sought his son ! I leant against the post, and tried hard 
 not to sob. 
 
 By-and-by, I heard the door open : the Captain came 
 out and took the way homeward. I ran on before, and 
 got in first, to the inexpressible relief both of father 
 and mother, who had not seen me since breakfast, and 
 who were in equal consternation at my absence. I 
 submitted to be scolded with a good grace. " I had 
 been sight-seeing, and lost my way ; " begged for 
 some supper, and slunk to bed ; and five minutes after- 
 wards the Captain's jaded step came wearily up the 
 stabs.
 
 PART SIXTH. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 " I DON'T know that," said my father. 
 
 What is it my father does not know ? My father 
 does not know that " happiness is our being's end and 
 aim." 
 
 And pertinent to what does my father reply, by 
 words so sceptical, to an assertion so seldom disputed ? 
 
 Eeader, Mr Trevanion has been half an hour seated 
 in our little drawing-room. He has received two cups 
 of tea from my mother's fair hand ; he has made him- 
 self at home. With Mr Trevanion has come another 
 old friend of my father's, whom he has not seen since 
 he left college Sir Sedley Beaudesert. 
 
 Now, you must understand that it is a warm night, 
 a little after nine o'clock a night between departing 
 summer and approaching autumn. The windows are 
 open we have a balcony, which my mother has taken 
 care to fill with flowers the air, though we are in 
 London, is sweet and fresh the street quiet, except
 
 214 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 that an occasional carriage or hackney cabriolet rolls 
 rapidly by a few stealthy passengers pass to and fro 
 noiselessly on their way homeward. We are on classic 
 ground near that old and venerable Museum, the dark 
 monastic pile which the taste of the age had spared 
 then and the quiet of the temple seems to hallow the 
 precincts. Captain Roland is seated by the fireplace, 
 and, though there is no fire, he is shading his face with 
 a hand-screen ; my father and Mr Trevanion have 
 drawn their chairs close to each other in the middle of 
 the room ; Sir Sedley Beaudesert leans against the wall 
 near the window, and behind my mother, who looks 
 prettier and more pleased than usual, since her Austin 
 has his old friends about him ; and I, leaning my elbow 
 on the table, and my chin upon my hand, am gazing 
 with great admiration on Sir Sedley Beaudesert. 
 
 O rare specimen of a race fast decaying ! specimen 
 of the true fine gentleman, ere the word dandy was 
 known, and before exquisite became a noun sub- 
 stantive let me here pause to describe thee ! Sir 
 Sedley Beaudesert was the contemporary of Trevanion 
 and my father ; but, without affecting to be young, he 
 still seemed so. Dress, tone, look, manner all were 
 young yet all had a certain dignity which does not 
 belong to youth. At the age of five-and-twenty, he 
 had won what would have been fame to a French 
 marquis of the old regime, viz. the reputation of being 
 " the most charming man of his day" the most popu- 
 lar of our sex the most favoured, my dear lady-reader, 
 by yours. It is a mistake, I believe, to suppose that
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 215 
 
 it does not require talent to become the fashion ; at all 
 events, Sir Sedley was the fashion, and he had talent. 
 He had travelled much, he had read much especially 
 in memoirs, history, and belles-lettres he made verses 
 with grace and a certain originality of easy wit and 
 courtly sentiment he conversed delightfully, he was 
 polished and urbane in manner he was brave and 
 honourable in conduct ; in words he could natter in 
 deeds he was sincere. 
 
 Sir Sedley Beaudesert had never married. Whatever 
 his years, he was still young enough in looks to be 
 married for love. He was highborn, he was rich ; he 
 was, as I have said, popular ; yet on his fair features 
 there was an expression of melancholy ; and on that 
 forehead pure from the lines of ambition, and free 
 from the weight of study there was the shadow of 
 unmistakable regret. 
 
 " I don't know that," said my father ; " I have 
 never yet found in life one man who made happiness 
 his end and aim. One wants to gain a fortune, another 
 to spend it one to get a place, another to build a 
 name ; but they all know very well that it is not hap- 
 piness they search for. No Utilitarian was ever actu- 
 ated by self-interest, poor man, when he sat down to 
 scribble his unpopular crotchets to prove self-interest 
 universal. And as to that notable distinction between 
 self-interest vulgar and self-interest enlightened the 
 more the self-interest is enlightened, the less we are 
 influenced by it. If you tell the young man who has 
 just written a fine book or made a fine speech, that he
 
 216 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 will not be any happier if he attain to the fame of 
 Milton or the power of Pitt, and that, for the sake of 
 his own happiness, he had much better cultivate a 
 farm, live in the country, and postpone to the last the 
 days of dyspepsia and gout, he will answer you fairly 
 ' I am quite as sensible of that as you are. But I 
 am not thinking whether or not I shall be happy. I 
 have made up my mind to be, if I can, a great author 
 or a prime minister.' . So it is with all the active sons 
 of the world. To push on is the law of nature. And 
 you can no more say to men and to nations than 
 to children ' Sit still, and don't wear out your 
 shoes ! ' " 
 
 " Then," said Trevanion, " if I tell you I am not happy, 
 your only answer is, that I obey an inevitable law." 
 
 " No ! I don't say that it is an inevitable law that 
 man should not be happy; but it is an inevitable law 
 that a man, in spite of himself, should live for something 
 higher than his own happiness. He cannot live in him- 
 self or for himself, however egotistical he may try to be. 
 Every desire he has links him with others. Man is not 
 a machine he is a part of one." 
 
 " True, brother, he is a soldier, not an army," said 
 Captain Roland. 
 
 " Life is a drama, not a monologue," pursued my 
 father. " Drama is derived from a Greek verb, signify- 
 ing to do. Every actor in the drama has something to 
 do, which helps on the progress of the whole : that is 
 the object for which the author created him. Do your 
 part, and let the Great Play get on."
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 217 
 
 " Ah. I " said Trevanion, briskly, " but to do the part 
 is the difficulty ! Every actor helps to the catastrophe, 
 and yet must do his part without knowing how all is to 
 end. Shall he help the curtain to fall on a tragedy or 
 a comedy 1 Come, I will tell you the one secret of my 
 public life that which explains all its failure (for, in 
 spite of my position, I have failed), and its regrets / 
 want conviction ! " 
 
 " Exactly," said my father ; " because to every ques- 
 tion there are two sides, and you look at them both." 
 
 " You have said it," answered Trevanion, smiling also. 
 " For public life a man should be one-sided ; he must 
 act with a party ; and a party insists that the shield is 
 silver, when, if it will take the trouble to turn the corner, 
 it will see that the reverse of the shield is gold. Woe 
 to the man who makes that discovery alone, while his 
 party are still swearing the shield is silver, and that not 
 once in his life, but every night ! " 
 
 " You have said quite enough to convince me that 
 you ought not to belong to a party, but not enough to 
 convince me why you should not be happy," said my 
 father. 
 
 " Do you remember," said Sir Sedley Beaudesert, 
 " an anecdote of the first Duke of Portland 1 He had 
 a gallery in the great stable of his villa in Holland, 
 where a concert was given once a week, to cheer and 
 amuse his horses ! I have no doubt the horses thrived 
 all the better for it. What Trevanion wants is a con- 
 cert once a week. With him it is always saddle and 
 spur. Yet, after all, who would not envy him? If life
 
 218 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 be a drama, his name stands high in the playbill, and 
 is printed in capitals on the walls." 
 
 " Envy me ! " cried Trevanion " ME ! no, you are 
 the enviable man you who have only one grief in the 
 world, and that so absurd a one, that I will make you 
 blush by disclosing it. Hear, sage Austin ! sturdy 
 Eoland ! Olivares was haunted by a spectre, and Sedley 
 Beaudesert by the dread of old age ! " 
 
 " Well," said my mother, seriously, " I do think 
 it requires a great sense of religion, or, at all events, 
 children of one's own, in whom one is young again, to 
 reconcile one's-self to becoming old." 
 
 " My dear ma'am," said Sir Sedley, who had slightly 
 coloured at Trevanion's charge, but had now recovered 
 his easy self-possession, " you have spoken so admirably, 
 that you give me courage to confess my weakness. I do 
 dread to be old. All the joys of my life have been the 
 joys of youth. I have had so exquisite a pleasure in 
 the mere sense of living, that old age, as it comes near, 
 terrifies me by its dull eyes and grey hairs. I have 
 lived the life of a butterfly. Summer is over, and I see 
 my flowers withering ; and my wings are chilled by the 
 first airs of winter. Yes, I envy Trevanion ; for, in 
 public life no man is ever young ; and, while he can 
 work, he is never old." 
 
 " My dear Beaudesert," said my father, " when St 
 Amable, patron saint of Eiom, in Auvergne, went to 
 Eome, the sun waited upon him as a servant, carried his 
 cloak and gloves for him in the heat, and kept off the
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 219 
 
 rain, if the weather changed, like an umbrella. You 
 want to put the sun to the same use ; you are quite 
 right ; but then, you see, you must first be a saint before 
 you can be sure of the sun as a servant." 
 
 Sir Sedley smiled charmingly ; but the smile changed 
 to a sigh as he added, " I don't think I should much 
 mind being a saint, if the sun would be my sentinel 
 instead of my courier. I want nothing of him but to 
 stand still. You see he moved even for St Amable. 
 My dear madam, you and I understand each other ; and 
 it is a very hard thing to grow old, do what one will to 
 keep young." 
 
 " What say you, Roland, of these two malcontents ? " 
 asked my father. The captain turned uneasily in his 
 chair, for the rheumatism was gnawing his shoulder, 
 and sharp pains were shooting through his mutilated 
 limb. 
 
 " I say," answered Roland, " that these men are 
 wearied with marching from Brentford to Windsor 
 that they have never known the bivouac and the 
 battle." 
 
 Both the gramblers turned their eyes to the veteran : 
 the eyes rested first on the furrowed, care-worn lines in 
 his eagle face then they fell on the stiff outstretched 
 cork limb and then they turned away. 
 
 Meanwhile my mother had softly risen, and under 
 pretence of looking for her work on the table near him, 
 bent over the old soldier and pressed his hand. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said my father, " I don't think my
 
 220 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 brother ever heard of Nichocorus, the Greek comic 
 writer ; yet he has illustrated him very ably. Saith 
 Nichocorus, ' the best cure for drunkenness is a sudden 
 calamity.' For chronic drunkenness, a continued course 
 of real misfortune must be very salutary ! " 
 
 No answer came from the two complainants ; and my 
 father took up a great book.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " MY friends," said my father, looking up from his 
 book, and addressing himself to his two visitors, " I 
 know of one thing, milder than calamity, that would do 
 you both a great deal of good." 
 
 " What is that 1 " asked Sir Sedley. 
 
 " A saffron bag, worn at the pit of the stomach ! " 
 
 " Austin, my dear!" said my mother, reprovingly. 
 
 My father did not heed the interruption, but con- 
 tinued, gravely " Nothing is better for the spirits ! 
 Roland is in no want of saffron, because he is a warrior; 
 and the desire of fighting, and the hope of victory, in- 
 fuse such a heat into the spirits as is profitable for long 
 life, and keeps up the system." 
 
 " Tut ! " said Trevanion. 
 
 " But gentlemen in your predicament must have re- 
 course to artificial means. Nitre in broth, for instance 
 about three grains to ten (cattle fed upon nitre grow 
 fat) ; or earthy odours such as exist in cucumbers and 
 cabbage. A certain great lord had a clod of fresh earth, 
 laid in a napkin, put under his nose every morning 
 after sleep. Light anointing of the head with oil, mixed 
 with roses and salt, is not bad ; but, upon the whole, I 
 prescribe the saffron bag at the "
 
 222 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 "Sisty, my dear, will you look for my scissors?" said 
 my mother. 
 
 " What nonsense are you talking ! Question ! ques- 
 tion !" cried Mr Trevanion. 
 
 "Nonsense!" exclaimed my father, opening his 
 eyes : "I am giving you the advice of Lord Bacon. 
 You want conviction conviction comes from passion 
 passion from the spirits spirits from a saffron bag. 
 You, Beaudesert, on the other hand, want to keep 
 youth. He keeps youth longest who lives longest. 
 Nothing more conduces to longevity than a saffron 
 "bag, provided always it is worn at the 
 
 " Sisty, my thimble !" said my mother. 
 
 " You laugh at us justly," said Beaudesert, smiling ; 
 "and the same remedy, I dare say, would cure us 
 both ! " 
 
 " Yes," said my father, " there is no doubt of that. 
 In the pit of the stomach is that great central web of 
 nerves called the ganglions ; thence they affect the 
 head and the heart. Mr Squills proved that to us, 
 Sisty." 
 
 " Yes," said I ; " but I never heard Mr Squills talk 
 of a saffron bag." 
 
 " Oh, foolish boy ! it is not the saffron bag it is 
 the belief in the saffron bag. Apply BELIEF to the 
 centre of the nerves, and all will go well," said my 
 father.
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 " BUT it is a devil of a thing to have too nice a con- 
 science ! " quoth the member of Parliament. 
 
 "And it is not an angel of a thing to lose one's front 
 teeth !" sighed the fine gentleman. 
 
 Therewith my father rose, and putting his hand into 
 his waistcoat, more suo, delivered his famous 
 
 SERMON UPON THE CONNECTION BETWEEN FAITH 
 AND PURPOSE. 
 
 Famous it was in our domestic circle. But, as yet, 
 it has not gone beyond. And since the reader, I am 
 sure, does not turn to the Caxton Memoirs with the 
 expectation of finding sermons, so to that circle let its 
 fame be circumscribed. All I shall say about it is, 
 that it was a very fine sermon, and that it proved in- 
 disputably, to me at least, the salubrious effects of a 
 saffron bag applied to the great centre of the nervous 
 system. But the wise Ali saith, that " a fool doth not 
 know what maketh him look little, neither will he 
 hearken to him that adviseth him." I cannot assert 
 that my father's friends were fools, but they certainly 
 came under this definition of Folly.
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 FOR therewith arose, not conviction, but discussion ; . 
 Trevanion was logical, Beaudesert sentimental. My 
 father held firm to the saffron hag. When James the 
 First dedicated to the Duke of Buckingham his medi- 
 tation on the Lord's Prayer, he gave a very sensible 
 reason for selecting his grace for that honour ; " For," 
 saith the king, "it is made upon a very short and plain 
 prayer, and, therefore, the fitter for a courtier, for cour- 
 tiers are for the most part thought neither to have lust 
 nor leisure to say long prayers ; liking best courte messe 
 et long disner." I suppose it was for a similar reason 
 that my father persisted in dedicating to the member 
 of Parliament and the fine gentleman this "short and 
 plaine" morality of his to wit, the saffron bag. He 
 was evidently persuaded, if he could once get them to 
 apply that, it was all that was needful ; that they had 
 neither lust nor leisure for longer instructions. And 
 this saffron bag, it came down with such a whack, at 
 every round in the argument ! You would have 
 thought my father one of the old plebeian combatants 
 in the popular ordeal, who, forbidden to use sword and 
 lance, fought with a sand-bag tied to a flail : a very
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 225 
 
 stunning weapon it was when filled only with sand ; 
 but a bag filled with saffron, it was irresistible ! 
 Though my father had two to one against him, they 
 could not stand such a deuce of a weapon. And after 
 tuts and pishes innumerable from Mr Trevanion, and 
 sundry bland grimaces from Sir Sedley Beaudesert, 
 they fairly gave in, though they would not own they 
 were beaten. 
 
 "Enough," said the member, " I see that you don't 
 comprehend me ; I must continue to move by own 
 impulse." 
 
 My father's pet book was the Colloquies of Erasmus; 
 he was wont to say that those Colloquies furnished life 
 with illustrations in every page. Out of the Colloquies 
 of Erasmus he now answered the member : 
 
 "Rabirius, wanting his servant Syrus to get up," 
 quoth my father, " cried out to him to move. l I do 
 move,' said Syrus. 'I see you move,' replied Rabirius, 
 'but you move nothing.' To return to the saffron 
 bag 
 
 " Confound the saffron bag !" cried Trevanion, in a 
 rage ; and then softening his look as he drew on his 
 gloves, he turned to my mother, and said, with more 
 politeness than was natural to, or at least customary 
 with him 
 
 "By the way, my dear Mrs Caxton, I should tell 
 you that Lady Ellinor comes to town to-morrow, on 
 purpose to call on you. We shall be here some little 
 time, Austin ; and though London is so empty, there 
 
 VOL. i. p
 
 226 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 are still some persons of note to whom I should like to 
 introduce you, and yours " 
 
 "Nay," said my father ; "your world and my world 
 are not the same. Books for me, and men for you. 
 Neither Kitty nor I can change our habits, even for 
 friendship ; she has a great piece of work to finish, 
 and so have I. Mountains cannot stir, especially when 
 in labour ; but Mahomet can come to the mountain as 
 often as he likes." 
 
 Mr Trevanion insisted, and Sir Sedley Beaudesert 
 mildly put in his own claims ; both boasted acquaint- 
 ance with literary men, whom my father would, at 
 all events, be pleased to meet. My father doubted 
 whether he could meet any literary men more eloquent 
 than Cicero, or more amusing than Aristophanes ; and 
 observed, that if such did exist, he would rather meet 
 them in their books than in a drawing-room. In fine, 
 he was immovable ; and so also, with less argument, 
 was Captain Roland. 
 
 Then Mr Trevanion turned to me. 
 
 "Your son, at all events, should see something of 
 the world." 
 
 My mother's soft eye sparkled. 
 
 "My dear friend, I thank you," said my father, 
 touched ; " and Pisistratus and I will talk it over." 
 
 Our guests had departed. All four of us gathered 
 to the open window, and enjoyed in silence the cool air 
 and the moonlight. 
 
 " Austin," said my mother at last, " I fear it is 
 for my sake that you refuse going amongst your old
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 227 
 
 friends : you knew I should be frightened by such fine 
 people, and " 
 
 " And we have been happy for more than eighteen 
 years without them, Kitty ! My poor friends are not 
 happy, and we are. To leave well alone is a golden 
 rule worth all in Pythagoras. The ladies of Bubastis, 
 my dear, a place in Egypt where the cat was wor- 
 shipped, ahvays kept rigidly aloof from the gentlemen 
 in Athribis, who adored the shrew-mice. Cats are 
 domestic animals, your shrew-mice are sad gadabouts : 
 you can't find a better model, my Kitty, than the ladies 
 of Bubastis !" 
 
 " How Trevanion is altered ! " said Eoland, musingly 
 "he who was so lively and ardent !" 
 
 " He ran too fast up-hill at first, and has been out of 
 breath ever since," said my father. 
 
 " And Lady Ellinor," said Koland, hesitatingly, " shall 
 you see her to-morrow ?" 
 
 " Yes ! " said my father, calmly. 
 
 As Captain Eoland spoke, something in the tone of 
 his question seemed to flash a conviction on my mother's 
 hear t t, the woman there was quick : she drew back, 
 turning pale, even in the moonlight, and fixed her eyes 
 on my father, while I felt her hand, which had clasped 
 mine, tremble convulsively. 
 
 I understood her. Yes, this Lady Ellinor was the 
 early rival whose name till then she had not known. 
 She fixed her eyes on my father, and at his tranquil 
 tone and quiet look she breathed more freely, and, 
 sliding her hand from mine, rested it fondly on his
 
 228 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 shoulder. A few moments afterwards, I and Cap- 
 tain Roland found ourselves standing alone by the 
 window. 
 
 " You are young, nephew," said the Captain ; " and 
 you have the name of a fallen family to raise. Your 
 father does well not to reject for you that opening into 
 the great world which Trevanion offers. As for me, 
 my business in London seems over : I cannot find what 
 I came to seek. I have sent for my daughter ; when 
 she arrives I shall return to my old tower ; and the 
 man and the ruin will crumble away together." 
 
 " Tush, uncle ! I must work hard and get money ; 
 and then we will repair the old tower, and buy back 
 the old estate. My father shall sell the red brick 
 house ; we will fit him up a library in the keep ; and 
 we will all live united, in peace, and in state, as grand 
 as our ancestors before us." 
 
 While I thus spoke, my uncle's eyes were fixed 
 upon a corner of the street, where a figure, half in 
 shade, half in moonlight, stood motionless, " Ah ! " 
 said I, following his eye, " I have observed that man, 
 two or three times, pass up and down the street on the 
 other side of the way, and turn his head towards our 
 window. Our guests were with us then, and my father 
 in full discourse, or I should have " 
 
 Before I could finish the sentence, my uncle, stifling 
 an exclamation, broke away, hurried out of the room, 
 stumped down the stairs, and was in the street, while 
 I was yet rooted to the spot with surprise. I remained 
 at the window, and my eye rested on the figure. I
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 229 
 
 saw the Captain, with his bare head and his grey hair, 
 cross the street ; the figure started, turned the corner, 
 and fled. 
 
 Then I followed my uncle, and arrived in time to 
 save him from falling : he leant his head on my breast, 
 and I heard him murmur, " It is he it is he ! He 
 has watched us ! he repents !"
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 THE next day Lady Ellinor called ; but, to iny great 
 disappointment, without Fanny. 
 
 Whether or not some joy at the incident of the 
 previous night had served to rejuvenate my uncle, I 
 know not, but he looked to me ten years younger 
 when Lady Ellinor entered. How carefully the but- 
 toned-up coat was brushed ! how new and glossy was 
 the black stock ! The poor Captain was restored to 
 his pride, and mighty proud he looked ! "With a glow 
 on his cheek, and a fire in his eye ; his head thrown 
 back, and his whole air composed, severe, Mavortian, 
 and majestic, as if awaiting the charge of the French 
 cuirassiers at the head of his detachment. 
 
 My father, on the contrary, was as usual (till dinner, 
 when he always dressed punctiliously, out of respect 
 to his Kitty) in his .easy morning-gown and slippers ; 
 and nothing but a certain compression in his lips, 
 which had lasted all the morning, evinced his antici- 
 pation of the visit, or the emotion it caused him. 
 
 Lady Ellinor behaved beautifully. She could not 
 conceal a certain nervous trepidation, when she first 
 took the hand my father extended ; and, in touching
 
 THE CAXTONS. 231 
 
 rebuke of the Captain's stately bow, she held out to 
 him the hand left disengaged, with a look which brought 
 Roland at once to her side. It was a desertion of his 
 colours to which nothing, short of Ney's shameful 
 conduct at Napoleon's return from Elba, affords a 
 parallel in history. Then, without waiting for intro- 
 duction, and before a word indeed was said, Lady 
 Ellinor came to my mother so cordially, so caressingly 
 she threw into her smile, voice, manner, such win- 
 ning sweetness, that I, intimately learned in my poor 
 mother's simple loving heart, wondered how she re- 
 frained from throwing her arms round Lady Ellinor's 
 neck and kissing her outright. It must have been a 
 great conquest over herself not to do it ! My turn 
 canie next : and talking to me, and about me, soon 
 set all parties at their ease at least apparently. 
 
 What was said I cannot remember ; I do not think 
 one of us could. But an hour slipped away, and there 
 was no gap in the conversation. 
 
 With curious interest, and a survey I strove to make 
 impartial, I compared Lady Ellinor with my mother. 
 And I comprehended the fascination which the high- 
 born lady must, in their earlier youth, have exercised 
 over both brothers, so dissimilar to each other. For 
 charm was the characteristic of Lady Ellinor a charm 
 indefinable. It was not the mere grace of refined 
 breeding, though that went a great way: it was a 
 charm that seemed to spring from natural sympathy. 
 Whomsoever she addressed, that person appeared for 
 the moment to engage all her attention, to interest her
 
 232 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 whole mind. She had a gift of conversation very 
 peculiar. She made what she said like a continuation 
 of what was said to her. She seemed as if she had 
 entered into your thoughts, and talked them aloud. 
 Her mind was evidently cultivated with great care, but 
 she was perfectly void of pedantry. A hint, an allu- 
 sion, sufficed to show how much she knew, to one well 
 instructed, without mortifying or perplexing the igno- 
 rant. Yes, there probably was the only woman my 
 father had ever met who could be the companion to 
 his mind, walk through the garden of knowledge by 
 his side, and trim the flowers while he cleared the 
 vistas. On the other hand, there was an inborn no- 
 bility in Lady Ellinor's sentiments that must have 
 struck the most susceptible chord in Roland's nature, 
 and the sentiments took eloquence from the look, the 
 mien, the sweet dignity of the very turn of the head. 
 Yes, she must have been a fitting Oriana to a young 
 Amadis. It was not hard to see that Lady Ellinor was 
 ambitious that she had a love of fame, for fame itself 
 that she was proud that she set value (and that 
 morbidly) on the world's opinion. This was percep- 
 tible when she spoke of her husband, even of her 
 daughter. It seemed to me as if she valued the intellect 
 of the one, the beauty of the other, by the gauge of 
 the social distinction it conferred. She took measure 
 of the gift, as I was taught at Dr Herman's to take 
 measure of the height of a tower by the length of the 
 shadow it cast upon the ground. 
 
 My dear father ! with such a wife you would never
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 233 
 
 have lived eighteen years, shivering on the edge of a 
 Great Book. 
 
 My dear uncle, with such a wife you would never 
 have been contented with a cork leg and a Waterloo 
 medal ! And I understand why Mr Trevanion, " eager 
 and ardent" as ye say he was in youth, with a heart 
 bent on the practical success of life, won the hand of 
 the heiress. Well, you see Mr Trevanion has contrived 
 not to be happy ! By the side of my listening, admir- 
 ing mother, with her blue eyes moist, and her coral 
 lips apart, Lady Ellinor looks faded. Was she ever as 
 pretty as my mother is now ? Never. But she was 
 much handsomer. What delicacy in the outline, and 
 yet how decided in spite of the delicacy ! The eye- 
 brow so denned the profile slightly aquiline so 
 clearly cut with the curved nostril, which, if physi- 
 ognomists are right, shows sensibility so keen ; and the 
 classic lip, that, but for the neighbouring dimple, would 
 be so haughty. But wear and tear are in that face. 
 The nervous excitable temper has helped the fret and 
 cark of ambitious life. My dear uncle, I know not 
 yet your private life. But as for my father, I am sure 
 that, though he might have done more on earth, he 
 would have been less fit for heaven, if he had married 
 Lady Ellinor. 
 
 At last this visit dreaded, I am sure, by three of the 
 party, was over, but not before I had promised to dine 
 at the Trevanions' that day. 
 
 When we were again alone, my father threw off a 
 long breath, and, looking round him cheerfully, said,
 
 234 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 " Since Pisistratus deserts us, let us console ourselves 
 for his absence send for brother Jack, and all four go 
 down to Richmond to drink tea." 
 
 " Thank you, Austin," said Eoland ; " but I don't 
 want it, I assure you ! " 
 
 " Upon your honour 1 " said my father in a half- 
 whisper. 
 
 " Upon my honour." 
 
 " ISTor I either ! So, my dear Kitty, Roland and I 
 will take a walk, and be back in time to see if that 
 young Anachronism looks as handsome as his new 
 London-made clothes will allow him. Properly speak- 
 ing, he ought to go with an apple in his hand, and a 
 dove in his bosom. But now I think of it, that was 
 luckily not the fashion with the Athenians till the time 
 of Alcibiades ! "
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 You may judge of the effect that my dinner at Mr 
 Trevanion's, with a long conversation after it with 
 Lady Ellinor, made upon my mind, when, on my 
 return home, after having satisfied all questions of 
 parental curiosity, I said nervously, and looking down, 
 " My dear father, I should like very much, if you 
 have no objection to to " 
 
 " What, my dear ] " asked my father, kindly. 
 
 " Accept an offer Lady Ellinor has made me, on the 
 part of Mr Trevanion. He wants a secretary. He is 
 kind enough to excuse my inexperience, and declares I 
 shall do very well, and can soon get into his ways. 
 Lady Ellinor says (I continued with dignity) that it 
 will be a great opening in public life for me ; and at 
 all events, my dear father, I shall see much of the 
 world, and learn what I really think will be more 
 useful to me than anything they will teach me at 
 college." 
 
 My mother looked anxiously at my father. " It 
 will indeed be a great thing for Sisty," said she, timidly ; 
 and then, taking courage, she added "and that is 
 just the sort of life he is formed for."
 
 236 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 " Hem ! " said my uncle. 
 
 My father rubbed his spectacles thoughtfully, and 
 replied, after a long pause, 
 
 " You may be right, Kitty : I don't think Pisistratus 
 is meant for study ; action will suit him better. But 
 what does this office lead to 1 " 
 
 " Public employment, sir," said ~i, boldly ; " the 
 service of my country." 
 
 " If that be the case," quoth Roland, " I have not a 
 word to say. But I should have thought that for a 
 lad of spirit a descendant of the old De Caxtons, the 
 army would have " 
 
 " The army ! " exclaimed my mother, clasping her 
 hands, and looking involuntarily at my uncle's cork leg. 
 
 " The army ! " repeated my father, peevishly. 
 " Bless my soul, Roland, you seem to think man is 
 made for nothing else but to be shot at ! You would 
 not like the army, Pisistratus 1 " 
 
 " Why, sir, not if it pained you and niy dear mother ; 
 otherwise, indeed " 
 
 " Papse ! " said my father, interrupting me. " This 
 all comes of your giving the boy that ambitious, uncom- 
 fortable name, Mrs Caxton ; what could a Pisistratus 
 be but the plague of one's life ? That idea of serving 
 his country is Pisistratus ipsissimus all over. If ever 
 I have another son (Dii meliora /) he has only got to 
 be called Eratostratus, and then he will be burning 
 down St Paul's ; which I believe was, by the way, first 
 made out of the stones of a temple to Diana ! Of the 
 two, certainly, you had better serve your country with
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 237 
 
 a goose-quill than by poking a bayonet into the ribs of 
 some unfortunate Indian ; I don't think there are any 
 other people whom the service of one's country makes 
 it necessary to kill just at present, eh, Roland ? " 
 
 " It is a very fine field, India," said my uncle, sen- 
 tentiously : " it is the nursery of captains." 
 
 " Is it 1 Those plants take up a great deal of ground, 
 then, that might be more profitably cultivated. And, 
 indeed, considering that the tallest captains in the 
 world will be ultimately set into a box not above seven 
 feet at the longest, it is astonishing what a quantity of 
 room that species of arbor mortis takes in the growing ! 
 However, Pisistratus, to return to your request, I will 
 think it over, and talk to Trevanion." 
 
 " Or rather to Lady Ellinor," said I, imprudently ; 
 my mother slightly shivered, and took her hand from 
 mine. I felt cut to the heart by the slip of my 
 own tongue. 
 
 " That, I think, your mother could do best," said my 
 father, drily, " if she wants to be quite convinced that 
 somebody will see that your shirts are aired. For I 
 suppose they mean you to lodge at Trevanion's." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " cried my mother ; " he might as well 
 go to college then. I thought he was to stay with us ; 
 only go in the morning, but, of course, sleep here." 
 
 " If I know anything of Trevanion," said my father, 
 his secretary will be expected to do without sleep. 
 Poor boy ! You don't know what it is you desire. 
 And yet at your age, I " my father stopped short. 
 " No ! " he renewed abruptly after a long silence, and
 
 238 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 as if soliloquising " No : man is never wrong while 
 lie lives for others. The philosopher who contemplates 
 from the rock is a less noble image than the sailor who 
 struggles with the storm. Why should there be two 
 of us ? And could he be an alter ego, even if I wished 
 it ? Impossible ! " My father turned on his chair, 
 and laying the left leg on the right knee, said smil- 
 ingly, as he bent down to look me full in the face : 
 But, Pisistratus, will you promise me always to wear 
 the saffron bag 1 "
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 I NOW make a long stride in my narrative. I am 
 domesticated with the Trevanions. A very short con- 
 versation -with the statesman sufficed to decide my 
 father ; and the pith of it lay in this single sentence 
 uttered by Trevanion " I promise you one thing 
 he shall never he idle !" 
 
 Looking hack, I am convinced that my father was 
 right, and that he understood my character, and the 
 temptations to which I was most prone, when he con- 
 sented to let me resign college and enter thus prema- 
 turely on the world of men. I was naturally so joyous, 
 that I should have made college life a holiday, and 
 then, in repentance, worked myself into a phthisis. 
 
 And my father, too, was right, that, though I could 
 study, I was not meant for a student. 
 
 After all, the thing was an experiment. I had 
 time to spare : if the experiment failed, a year's delay 
 would not necessarily he a year's loss. 
 
 I am ensconced, then, at Mr Trevanion's. I have 
 been there some months it is late in the winter; 
 parliament and the season have commenced. I work
 
 240 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 hard Heaven knows harder than I should have 
 worked at college. Take a day for sample. 
 
 Trevanion gets up at eight o'clock, and in all 
 weathers rides an hour before breakfast ; at nine he 
 takes that meal in his wife's dressing-room ; at half- 
 past nine he comes into his study. By that time he 
 expects to find done by his secretary the work I am. 
 about to describe. 
 
 On coming home, or rather before going to bed, 
 which is usually after three o'clock, it is Mr Tre- 
 vanion's habit to leave on the table of the said study 
 a list of directions for the secretary. The following, 
 which I take at random from many I have preserved, 
 may show their multifarious nature : 
 
 1. Look out in the Reports (Committee House of Lords) for the 
 last seven years all that is said about the growth of flax mark 
 the passages for me. 
 
 2. Do. do. " Irish Emigration." 
 
 3. Hunt out second volume of Kames's History of Man, passage 
 containing " Reid's Logic" don't know where the book is ! 
 
 4. How does the line beginning " Lumina conjurent, inter " 
 something, end ? Is it in Gray ? See ! 
 
 5. Fracastorius writes " Quantum hoc infecit vitium, quot 
 adiverit urbes." Query, ought it not in strict grammar to be 
 infecerit instead of infecit ? If you don't know, write to father. 
 
 6. Write the four letters in full from the notes I leave, i.e. about 
 the Ecclesiastical Courts. 
 
 7. Look out Population Returns strike average of last five 
 years (between mortality and births) in Devonshire and Lanca- 
 shire. 
 
 8. Answer these six begging letters, "No" civilly. 
 
 9. The other six, to constituents " that I have no interest 
 with Government." 
 
 10. See, if you have time, whether any of the new books on the 
 round table are not trash. 
 
 11. I want to know ALL about Indian corn ? 
 
 12. Longinus says something, somewhere, in regret for uncon-
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 241 
 
 genial pursuits (public life, I suppose) what is it? N.B. Longi- 
 nus is not in my London Catalogue, but is here, I know I think 
 in a box in the lumber-room. 
 
 13. Set right the calculation I leave on the poor-rates. I have 
 made a blunder somewhere. &c. &c. 
 
 Certainly my father knew Mr Trevanion ; he never 
 expected a secretary to sleep ! To get through the 
 work required of me by half-past nine, I get up by 
 candle-light. At half-past nine I am still hunting for 
 Longinus, when Mr Trevanion comes in with a bundle 
 of letters. 
 
 Answers to half the said letters fall to my share. 
 Directions verbal in a species of short-hand talk. 
 While I write, Mr Trevanion reads the newspapers 
 examines what I have done makes notes therefrom, 
 some for Parliament, some for conversation, some for 
 correspondence skims over the Parliamentary papers 
 of the morning and jots down directions for extract- 
 ing, abridging, and comparing them with others, per- 
 haps twenty years old. At eleven he walks down to 
 a Committee of the House of Commons leaving me 
 plenty to do till half-past three, when he returns. 
 At four, Fanny puts her head into the room and I 
 lose mine. Four days in the week Mr Trevanion then 
 disappears for the rest of the day dines at Bellamy's 
 or a club expects me at the House at eight o'clock, 
 in case he thinks of something, wants a fact or a 
 quotation. He then releases me generally with a 
 fresh list of instructions. But I have my holidays, 
 nevertheless. On Wednesdays and Saturdays Mr Tre- 
 
 VOL. i. Q
 
 242 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 vanion gives dinners, and I meet the most eminent 
 men of the day on both sides. For Trevanion is on 
 both sides himself or no side at all, which comes 
 to the same thing. On Tuesdays, Lady Ellinor gives 
 me a ticket for the Opera, and I get there at least in 
 time for the ballet. I have already invitations enough 
 to balls and soirees, for I am regarded as an only son 
 of great expectations. I am treated as becomes a 
 Caxton who has the right, if he pleases, to put a De 
 before his name. I have grown very smart. I have 
 taken a passion for dress, natural to eighteen. I like 
 everything I do, and every one about me. I am over 
 head and ears in love with Fanny Trevanion who 
 breaks my heart, nevertheless ; for she flirts with two 
 peers, a life-guardsman, three old members of parlia- 
 ment, Sir Sedley Beaudesert, one ambassador, and all 
 his attaches, and, positively (the audacious minx !) 
 with a bishop, in full wig .and apron, who, people say, 
 means to marry again. 
 
 Pisistratus has lost colour and flesh. His mother 
 says he is very much improved, that he takes to be 
 the natural effect produced by Stultz and Hoby. Uncle 
 Jack says he is " fined down." 
 
 His father looks at him and writes to Trevanion, 
 
 " Dear T. I refused a salary for my son. Give 
 him a horse, and two hours a day to ride it. Yours, 
 A. C." 
 
 The next day I am master of a pretty bay mare, and 
 riding by the side of Fanny Trevanion. Alas ! alas !
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 I HAVE not mentioned my Uncle Roland. He is 
 gone abroad to fetch his daughter. He has stayed 
 longer than was expected. Does he seek his son still 
 there as here 1 My father has finished the first 
 portion of his work, in two great volumes. Uncle 
 Jack, who for some time has been looking melancholy, 
 and who now seldom stirs out, except on Sundays (on 
 which days we all meet at my father's and dine together) 
 Uncle Jack, I say, has undertaken to sell it. 
 
 "Don't be over sanguine," says Uncle Jack, as he 
 locks up the MS. in two red boxes with a slit in the 
 lids, which belonged to one of the defunct companies. 
 " Don't be over sanguine as to the price. These pub- 
 lishers never venture much on a first experiment. They 
 must be talked even into looking at the book." 
 
 " Oh ! " said my father, " if they will publish it at 
 all, and at their own risk, I should not stand out for 
 any other terms. 'JSTothing great,' said Dryden, 'ever 
 came from a venal pen ! ' ' 
 
 " An uncommonly foolish observation of Dryden's," 
 returned Uncle Jack : " he ought to have known 
 better."
 
 244 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 " So he did," said I, " for lie used his pen to fill his 
 pockets poor man ! " 
 
 " But the pen was not venal, master Anachronism," 
 said my father. " A baker is not to be called venal if 
 he sells his loaves he is venal if he sells himself : 
 Dryden only sold his loaves." 
 
 " And we must sell yours," said Uncle Jack, empha- 
 tically. " A thousand pounds the volume will be about 
 the mark, eh ? " 
 
 " A thousand pounds a volume ! " cried my father. 
 " Gibbon, I fancy, did not receive more." 
 
 " Very likely ; Gibbon had not an Uncle Jack to 
 look after his interests," said Mr Tibbets, laughing and 
 rubbing those smooth hands of his. " No I two thou- 
 sand pounds the two volumes ! a sacrifice, but still I 
 recommend moderation." 
 
 " I should be happy, indeed, if the book brought in 
 anything," said my father, evidently fascinated ; " for 
 that young gentleman is rather expensive ; and you, 
 my dear Jack ; perhaps half the sum may be of use 
 to you ! " 
 
 " To me ! my dear brother," cried Uncle Jack " to 
 me ! why when my new speculation has succeeded, I 
 shall be a millionnaire ! " 
 
 " Have you a new speculation, uncle 1 " said I, anxiously. 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Mum ! " said my uncle, putting his finger to his lip, 
 and looking all round the room " Mum ! ! Mum ! ! " 
 
 PISISTRATUS. "A Grand National Company for 
 blowing up both Houses of Parliament ! "
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 245 
 
 MR CAXTON. " Upon my life, I hope something 
 newer than that ; for they, to judge by the newspapers, 
 don't want brother Jack's assistance to blow up each 
 other ! " 
 
 UNCLE JACK (mysteriously). " Newspapers ! you 
 don't often read a newspaper, Austin Caxton ! " 
 
 MB CAXTON. " Granted, John Tibbets ! " 
 
 UNCLE JACK. " But if my speculation make you read 
 a newspaper every day 1 " 
 
 MR CAXTON (astounded). " Make me read a news- 
 paper every day ! " 
 
 UNCLE JACK (warming, and expanding his hands to 
 the fire). " As big as the Times ! " 
 
 MR CAXTON (uneasily). " Jack, you alarm me ! " 
 
 UNCLE JACK. " And make you write in it too a 
 leader ! " 
 
 MR CAXTON, pushing back his chair, seizes the only 
 weapon at his command, and hurls at Uncle Jack a 
 great sentence of Greek " Too? (ttv ya% 
 
 UNCLE JACK (nothing daunted). " Ay, and put as 
 much Greek as you like into it ! " 
 
 MR CAXTON (relieved and softening). " My dear 
 Jack, you are a great man let us hear you ! " 
 
 Then Uncle Jack began. Now, perhaps my readers 
 may have remarked that this illustrious speculator was 
 
 * " Some were so barbarous as to eat their own species." The 
 sentence refers to the Scythians, and is in Strabo. I mention the 
 authority, for Strabo is not an author that any man engaged on a 
 less work than the History of Human Error is expected to have by 
 heart
 
 246 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 really fortunate in his ideas. His speculations in them- 
 selves always had something sound in the kernel, con- 
 sidering how barren they were in the fruit; and this it 
 was that made him so dangerous. The idea Uncle Jack 
 had now got hold of will, I am convinced, make a man's 
 fortune one of these days ; and I relate it with a sigh, 
 in thinking how much has gone out of the family. 
 Know, then, it was nothing less than setting up a daily 
 paper on the plan of the Times, but devoted entirely to 
 Art, Literature, and Science Mental Progress, in short ; 
 I say on the plan of the Times, for it was to imitate the 
 mighty machinery of that diurnal illuminator. It was 
 to be the Literary Salmoneus of the Political Jupiter, 
 and rattle its thunder over the bridge of knowledge. It 
 was to have correspondents in all parts of the globe ; 
 everything that related to the chronicle of the mind, 
 from the labour of the missionary in the South Sea 
 Islands, or the research of a traveller in pursuit of that 
 mirage called Timbuctoo, to the last new novel at Paris, 
 or the last great emendation of a Greek particle at a 
 German university, was to find a place in this focus of 
 light. It was to amuse, to instruct, to interest there 
 was nothing it was not to do. Not a man in the whole 
 reading public, not only of the three kingdoms, not 
 only of the British empire, but under the cope of 
 heaven, that it was not to touch somewhere, in head, 
 in heart, or in pocket. The most crotchety member of 
 the intellectual community might find his own hobby 
 in those stables. 
 
 " Think," cried Uncle Jack, " think of the march
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 247 
 
 of mind think of the passion for cheap knowledge 
 think how little quarterly, monthly, weekly journals 
 can keep pace with the main Avants of the age. As well 
 have a weekly journal on politics, as a weekly journal 
 on all the matters still more interesting than politics to 
 the mass of the public. My Literary Times once started, 
 people will wonder how they had ever lived without it ! 
 Sir, they have not lived without it they have vege- 
 tated they have lived in holes and caves, like the 
 Troggledikes." 
 
 " Troglodytes," said my father, mildly " from trogle, 
 a cave and dumi, to go under. They li ved in Ethiopia, 
 and had their wives in common." 
 
 " As to the last point, I don't say that the public, 
 poor creatures, are as bad as that," said Uncle Jack, 
 candidly ; " but no simile holds good in all its points. 
 And the public are no less Troggledummies, or whatever 
 you call them, compared with what they will be when 
 living under the full light of my Literary Times. Sir, 
 it will be a revolution in the world. It will bring 
 literature out of the clouds into the parlour, the cottage, 
 the kitchen. The idlest dandy, the finest fine lady, will 
 find something to her taste ; the busiest man of the 
 mart and .counter will find some acquisition to his prac- 
 tical knowledge. The practical man will see the progress 
 of divinity, medicine, nay, even law. Sir, the Indian 
 will read me under the banyan ; I shall be in the 
 seraglios of the East ; and over my sheets the American 
 Indian will smoke the calumet of peace. "We shall 
 reduce politics to its proper level in the affairs of life
 
 248 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 raise literature to its due place in the thoughts and 
 business of men. It is a grand thought and my heart 
 swells with pride while I contemplate it ! " 
 
 " My dear Jack," said my father, seriously, and rising 
 with emotion, " it is a grand thought, and I honour 
 you for it. You are quite right it would be a revolu- 
 tion ! It would educate mankind insensibly. Upon 
 my life, I should be proud to write a leader, or a para- 
 graph. Jack, you will immortalise yourself ! " 
 
 " I believe I shall," said Uncle Jack, modestly ; " but 
 I have not said a word yet on the greatest attraction 
 of all." 
 
 " Ah ! and that 1 " 
 
 " THE ADVERTISEMENTS ! " cried my uncle, spreading 
 his hands with all the fingers at angles, like the threads 
 of a spider's web. " The advertisements oh, think of 
 them! a perfect El Dorado. The advertisements, 
 sir, on the most moderate calculation, will bring us in 
 .50,000 a-year. My dear Pisistratus, I shall never 
 marry ; you are my heir. Embrace me ! " 
 
 So saying, my Uncle Jack threw himself upon me, 
 and squeezed out of breath the prudential demur that 
 was rising to my lips. 
 
 My poor mother, between laughing and sobbing, fal- 
 tered out "And it is my brother who will pay back 
 to his son all all he gave up for me !" 
 
 While my father walked to and fro the room, more 
 excited than ever I saw him before, muttering, " A sad 
 useless dog I have been hitherto ! I should like to 
 serve the world ! I should indeed ! "
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 249 
 
 Uncle Jack had fairly done it this time. He had 
 found out the only bait in the world to catch so shy a 
 carp as my father " hceret lethalis arundo." I saw 
 that the deadly hook was within an inch of my father's 
 nose, and that he was gazing at it with a fixed deter- 
 mination to swallow. 
 
 But if it amused my father 1 Boy that I was, I 
 saw no further. I must own I myself was dazzled, 
 and, perhaps with childlike malice, delighted at the 
 perturbation of my betters. The young carp was 
 pleased to see the waters so playfully in movement, 
 when the old carp waved his tail, and swayed himself 
 on his fins. 
 
 "Mum!" said Uncle Jack, releasing me: "not a 
 word to Mr Trevanion, to any one." 
 
 " But why 1 " 
 
 " Why 1 God bless my soul Why ? If my scheme 
 gets wind, do you suppose some one will not clap on 
 sail to be before me ? You frighten me out of my 
 senses. Promise me faithfully to be silent as the 
 grave." 
 
 " I should like to hear Trevanion's opinion too." 
 
 " As well hear the town-crier ! Sir, I have trusted 
 to your honour. Sir, at the domestic hearth all secrets 
 are sacred. Sir, I " 
 
 " My dear Uncle Jack, you have said quite enough. 
 Xot a word will I breathe ! " 
 
 " I am sure you may trust him, Jack," said my 
 mother.
 
 250 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 " And I do trust him with wealth untold," replied 
 my uncle. " May I ask you for a little water with a 
 trifle of brandy in it and a biscuit, or indeed a sand- 
 wich. This talking makes me quite hungry." 
 
 My eye fell upon Uncle Jack as he spoke. Poor 
 Uncle Jack, he had grown thin !
 
 PART SEVENTH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SAITH Dr Luther, " When I saw Dr Gode begin to tell 
 his puddings hanging in the chimney, I told him he 
 would not live long ! " 
 
 I wish I had copied that passage from "The Table 
 Talk " in large round hand, and set it before niy father 
 at breakfast, the morn preceding that fatal eve in which 
 Uncle Jack persuaded him to tell his puddings. 
 
 Yet, now I think of it, Uncle Jack hung the pud- 
 dings in the chimney, but he did not persuade my 
 father to tell them. 
 
 Beyond a vague surmise that half the suspended 
 " tomacula " would furnish a breakfast to Uncle Jack, 
 and that the youthful appetite of Pisistratus would 
 despatch the rest, my father did not give a thought to 
 the nutritious properties of the puddings, in other 
 words, to the two thousand pounds which, thanks to 
 Mr Tibbets, dangled down the chimney. So far as the 
 Great Work was concerned, niy father only cared for
 
 252 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 its publication, not its profits. I will not say that he 
 might not hunger for praise, but I am quite sure that 
 he did not care a button for pudding. Nevertheless, 
 it was an infaust and sinister augury for Austin Caxton, 
 the very appearance, the^very suspension and dangle- 
 ment of any puddings whatsoever, right over his ingle- 
 nook, when those puddings were made by the sleek 
 hands of Uncle Jack ! None of the puddings which 
 he, poor man, had all his life been stringing, whether 
 from his own chimneys, or the chimneys of other people, 
 had turned out to be real puddings, they had always 
 been the eidola, the erscheinungen, the phantoms and 
 semblances of puddings. I question if Uncle Jack 
 knew much about Democritus of Abdera. But he was 
 certainly tainted with the philosophy of that fanciful 
 sage. He peopled the air with images of colossal sta- 
 ture which impressed all his dreams and divinations, 
 and from whose influences came his very sensations 
 and thoughts. His whole being, asleep or waking, was 
 thus but the reflection of great phantom puddings ! 
 
 As soon as Mr Tibbets had possessed himself of the 
 two volumes of the " History of Human Error," he had 
 necessarily established that hold upon my father which 
 hitherto those lubricate hands of his had failed to 
 effect. He had found what he had so long sighed for 
 in vain, his point d'appui, wherein to fix the Archi- 
 median screw. He fixed it tight in the "History of 
 Human Error," and moved the Caxtonian world. 
 
 A day or two after the conversation recorded in my 
 last chapter, I saw Uncle Jack coming out of the ma-
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 253 
 
 hogany doors of my father's banker ; and, from that 
 time, there seemed no reason why Mr Tibbets should 
 not visit his relations on week-days as well as Sundays. 
 Not a day, indeed, passed but what he held long con- 
 versations with my father. He had much to report 
 of his interviews with the publishers. In these con- 
 versations he naturally recurred to that grand idea of 
 the " Literary Times," which had so dazzled my poor 
 father's imagination ; and, having heated the iron, Uncle 
 Jack was too knowing a man not to strike while it 
 was hot. 
 
 When I think of the simplicity my wise father exhi- 
 bited in this crisis of his life, I must own that I am 
 less moved by pity than admiration for that poor great- 
 hearted student. We have seen that out of the learned 
 indolence of twenty years, the ambition which is the 
 instinct of a man of genius had emerged ; the serious 
 preparation of the Great Book for the perusal of the 
 world, had insensibly restored the claims of that noisy 
 world on the silent individual. And therewith came a 
 noble remorse that he had hitherto done so little for 
 his species. Was it enough to write quartos upon the 
 past history of Human Error 1 Was it not his duty, 
 when the occasion was fairly presented, to enter upon 
 that present, daily, hourly war with Error which is 
 the sworn chivalry of Knowledge 1 St George did not 
 dissect dead dragons, he fought the live one. And 
 London, with that magnetic atmosphere which in great 
 capitals fills the breath of life with stimulating parti- 
 cles, had its share in quickening the slow pulse of the
 
 254 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 student. In the country, he read but his old authors, 
 and lived with them through the gone ages. In the 
 city, my father, during the intervals of repose from the 
 Great Book, and still more now that the Great Book 
 had come to a pause, inspected the literature of his 
 own time. It had a prodigious effect upon him. He 
 was unlike the ordinary run of scholars, and, indeed, 
 of readers for that matter who, in their superstitious 
 homage to the dead, are always willing enough to sacri- 
 fice the living. He did justice to the marvellous fer- 
 tility of intellect which characterises the authorship of 
 the present age. By the present age, I do not only 
 mean the present day, I commence with the century. 
 " What," said my father one day in dispute with Tre- 
 vanion "what characterises the literature of our time 
 is its human interest. It is true that we do not see 
 scholars addressing scholars, but men addressing men, 
 not that scholars are fewer, but that the reading public 
 is more large. Authors in all ages address themselves 
 to what interests their readers ; the same things do not 
 interest a vast community Avhich interested half a score 
 of monks or book-worms. The literary polls was once 
 an oligarchy, it is now a republic. It is the general 
 brilliancy of the atmosphere which prevents your 
 noticing the size of any particular star. Do you not 
 see that with the cultivation of the masses has awak- 
 ened the Literature of the affections 1 Every senti- 
 ment finds an expositor, every feeling an oracle. Like 
 Epimenides, I have been sleeping in a cave ; and, wak- 
 ing, I see those whom I left children are bearded men ;
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 255 
 
 and towns have sprung up in the landscapes which I 
 left as solitary wastes." 
 
 Thence the reader may perceive the causes of the 
 change which had come over my father. As Eobert 
 Hall says, I think of Dr Kippis, " he had laid so many 
 hooks at the top of his head, that the hrains could not 
 move." But the electricity had now penetrated the 
 heart, and the quickened vigour of that noble organ 
 enabled the brain to stir. Meanwhile, I leave my father 
 to these influences, and to the continuous conversations 
 of Uncle Jack, and proceed with the thread of my own 
 egotism. 
 
 Thanks to Mr Trevanion, my habits were not those 
 which favour friendships with the idle, but I formed 
 some acquaintances amongst young men a few years 
 older than myself, who held subordinate situations in 
 the public offices, or were keeping their terms for the 
 bar. There was no want of ability amongst these gen- 
 tlemen ; but they had not yet settled into the stern 
 prose of life. Then* busy hours only made them more 
 disposed to enjoy the hours of relaxation. And when 
 we got together, a very gay, light-hearted set we were ! 
 We had neither money enough to be very extravagant, 
 nor leisure enough to be very dissipated ; but we amused 
 ourselves notwithstanding. My new friends were won- 
 derfully erudite in all matters connected with the 
 theatres. From an opera to a ballet, from Hamlet to 
 the last farce from the French, they had the literature 
 of the stage at the finger-ends of their straw-coloured 
 gloves. They had a pretty large acquaintance with actors
 
 256 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 and actresses, and were perfect Walpoluli in the minor 
 scandals of the day. To do them justice, however, they 
 were not indifferent to the more masculine knowledge 
 necessary in " this wrong world." They talked as fami- 
 liarly of the real actors of life as of the sham ones. They 
 could adjust to a hair the rival pretensions of contend- 
 ing statesmen. They did not profess to be deep in the 
 mysteries of foreign cabinets (with the exception of one 
 young gentleman connected with the Foreign Office, 
 who prided himself on knowing exactly what the Eus- 
 sians meant to do with India when they got it) ; but, 
 to make amends, the majority of them had penetrated 
 the closest secrets of our own. It is true that, accord- 
 ing to a proper subdivision of labour, each took some 
 particular member of the government for his special 
 observation; just as the most skilful surgeons, however 
 profoundly versed in the general structure of our frame, 
 rest their anatomical fame on the light they throw on 
 particular parts of it one man taking the brain, another 
 the duodenum, a third the spinal cord, while a fourth, 
 perhaps, is a master of all the symptoms indicated by a 
 pensile finger. Accordingly, one of my friends appro- 
 priated to himself the Home Department ; another the 
 Colonies ; and a third, whom we all regarded as a 
 future Talleyrand (or a De Retz at least), had devoted 
 himself to the special study of Sir Robert Peel, and 
 knew, by the way in which that profound and inscrut- 
 able statesman threw open his coat, every thought that 
 was passing in his breast ! Whether lawyers or officials, 
 they all had a great idea of themselves high notions of
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 257 
 
 what they were to be, rather than what they were to do, 
 some day. As the king of modern fine gentlemen said 
 of himself, in paraphrase of Yoltaire, " they had letters 
 in their pockets addressed to Posterity which the 
 chances were, however, that they might forget to de- 
 liver." Somewhat " priggish" most of them might he ; 
 but, on the whole, they were far more interesting than 
 mere idle men of pleasure. There was ahout them, 
 as features of a general family likeness, a redundant 
 activity of life a gay exuberance of ambition a light- 
 hearted earnestness when at work a schoolboy's enjoy- 
 ment of the hours of play. 
 
 A great contrast to these young men was Sir Sedley 
 Beaudesert, who was pointedly kind to me, and whose 
 bachelor's house was always open to me after noon : 
 Sir Sedley was visible to no one but his valet, before 
 that hour. A perfect bachelor's house it was, too with 
 its windows opening on the Park, and sofas niched into 
 the windows, on which you might loll at your ease, like 
 the philosopher in Lucretius, 
 
 " Despicero unde queas alios, passimque videre, 
 Errare," 
 
 and see the gay crowds ride to and fro Rotten Row 
 without the fatigue of joining them, especially if the 
 wind was in the east. 
 
 There was no affectation of costliness about the rooms, 
 but a wonderful accumulation of comfort. Every patent 
 chair that proffered a variety in the art of lounging 
 found its place there ; and near every chair a little 
 
 VOL. i. R
 
 258 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 table, on which you might deposit your book or your 
 coffee-cup, without the trouble of moving more than 
 your hand. In winter, nothing warmer than the quilted 
 curtains and Axminster carpets can be conceived. In 
 summer, nothing airier and cooler than the muslin 
 draperies and the Indian mattings. And I defy a man 
 to know to what perfection dinner may be brought, 
 unless he had dined with Sir Sedley Beaudesert. Cer- 
 tainly, if that distinguished personage had but been an 
 egotist, he had been the happiest of men. But, unfor- 
 tunately for him, he was singularly amiable and kind- 
 hearted. He had the bonne digestion, but not the other 
 requisite for worldly felicity the mauvais cceur. He 
 felt a sincere pity for every one else who lived in rooms 
 without patent chairs and little coffee-tables whose 
 windows did not look on the Park, with sofas niched 
 into then- recesses. As Henry IV. wished every man 
 to have his pot au feu, so Sir Sedley Beaudesert, if he 
 could have had his way, would have every man served 
 with an early cucumber for his fish, and a caraffe of iced 
 water by the side of his bread and cheese. He thus 
 evinced on politics a naive simplicity, which delight- 
 fully contrasted his acuteness on matters of taste. I 
 remember his saying, in a discussion on the Beer Bill, 
 " The poor ought not to be allowed to drink beer, it is 
 so particularly rheumatic ! The best drink in hard work 
 is dry champagne (not mousseux) I found that out 
 when I used to shoot on the moors." 
 
 Indolent as Sir Sedley was, he had contrived to open 
 an extraordinary number of drains on his wealth.
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 259 
 
 First, as a landed proprietor, there was no end to 
 applications from distressed farmers, aged poor, benefit 
 societies, and poachers he had thrown out of employ- 
 ment by giving up his preserves to please his tenants. 
 
 Next, as a man of pleasure, the whole race of woman- 
 kind had legitimate demands on him. From a distressed 
 duchess, whose picture lay perdu tinder a secret spring 
 of his snuff-box, to a decayed laundress, to whom he 
 might have paid a compliment on the perfect involu- 
 tions of a frill, it was quite sufficient to be a daughter 
 of Eve to establish a just claim on Sir Sedley's inherit- 
 ance from Adam. 
 
 Again, as an amateur of art, and a respectful servant 
 of every muse, all whom the public had failed to 
 patronise painter, actor, poet, musician turned, like 
 dying sunflowers to the sun, towards the pitying smile 
 of Sir Sedley Beaudesert. Add to these the general 
 miscellaneous multitude, who " had heard of Sir Sed- 
 ley's high character for benevolence," and one may well 
 suppose what a very costly reputation he had set up. 
 In fact, though Sir Sedley could not spend on what 
 might fairly be called "himself," a fifth part of his very 
 handsome income, I have no doubt that he found it 
 difficult to make both ends meet at the close of the 
 year. That he did so, he owed perhaps to two rules 
 which his philosophy had peremptorily adopted. He 
 never made debts, and he never gambled. For both 
 these admirable aberrations from the ordinary routine 
 of fine gentlemen, I believe he was indebted to the 
 softness of his disposition. He had a great compassion
 
 260 THE CAXTOXS: 
 
 for a wretch, who was dunned. " Poor fellow ! " he 
 would say, "it must be so painful to him to pass his 
 life in saying No." So little did he know about that 
 class of promisers as if a man dunned ever said No. 
 As Beau Brummell, when asked if he was fond of vege- 
 tables, owned that he had once eat a pea, so Sir Sedley 
 Beaudesert owned that he had once played high at 
 piquet. "I was so unlucky as to win," said he, refer- 
 ring to that indiscretion, "and I shall never forget the 
 anguish on the face of the man who paid me. Unless 
 I could always lose, it would be a perfect purgatory to 
 play." 
 
 Now nothing could be more different in their kinds 
 of benevolence than Sir Sedley and Mr Trevanion. 
 Mr Trevanion had a great contempt for individual 
 charity. He rarely put his hand into his purse he 
 drew a great check on his bankers. "Was a congregation 
 without a church, or a village without a school, or a 
 river without a bridge, Mr Trevanion set to work on 
 calculations, found out the exact sum required by an 
 algebraic x y, and paid it as he would have paid his 
 butcher. It must be owned that the distress of a man, 
 whom he allowed to be deserving, did not appeal to 
 him in vain. But it is astonishing how little he spent 
 in that way ; for it< was hard indeed to convince Mr 
 Trevanion that a deserving man ever was in such dis- 
 tress as to want charity. 
 
 That Trevanion, nevertheless, did infinitely more real 
 good than Sir Sedley, I believe ; but he did it as a 
 mental operation by no means as an impulse from the
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 261 
 
 heart. I am sorry to say that the main difference was 
 this, distress always seemed to accumulate round Sir 
 Sedley, and vanish from the presence of Trevanion. 
 Where the last came, with his busy, active, searching 
 mind, energy woke, improvement sprang up. Where 
 the first came, with his warm kind heart, a kind of tor- 
 por spread under its rays ; people lay down and basked 
 in the liberal sunshine. Nature in one broke forth 
 like a brisk sturdy winter, in the other like a lazy 
 Italian summer. Winter is an excellent invigorator, 
 no doubt, but we all love summer better. 
 
 Now, it is a proof how lovable Sir Sedley was, that 
 I loved him, and yet was jealous of him. Of all the 
 satellites round my fair Cynthia, Fanny Trevanion, I 
 dreaded most this amiable luminary. It was in vain 
 for me to say with the insolence of youth that Sir 
 Sedley Beaudesert was of the same age as Fanny's 
 father ; to see them together, he might have passed 
 for Trevanion's son. No one amongst the younger 
 generation was half so handsome as Sedley Beaudesert. 
 He might be eclipsed at first sight by the showy effect 
 of more redundant locks and more brilliant bloom ; 
 but he had but to speak, to smile, in order to throw a 
 whole cohort of dandies into the shade. It was the 
 expression of his countenance that was so bewitching ; 
 there was something so kindly in its easy candour, its 
 benign good-nature. And he understood women so 
 well ! He nattered their foibles so insensibly ; he 
 commanded their affection with so gracious a dignity. 
 Above all, what with his accomplishments, his peculiar
 
 262 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 reputation, his long celibacy, and the soft melancholy 
 of his sentiments, he always contrived to interest them. 
 There was not a charming woman by whom this charm- 
 ing man did not seem just on the point of being 
 caught ! It was like the sight of a splendid trout in a 
 transparent stream, sailing pensively to and fro your 
 fly, in a Avill-and-a- won't sort of way. Such a trout ! 
 it would be a thousand pities to leave him, when evi- 
 dently so well disposed ! That trout, fair maid or 
 gentle widow, would have kept you whipping the 
 stream and dragging the fly from morning to dewy 
 eve. Certainly I don't wish worse to my bitterest foe 
 of five-and-twenty than such a rival as Sedley Beau- 
 desert at seven-and-forty. 
 
 Fanny, indeed, perplexed me horribly. Sometimes 
 I fancied she Liked me ; but the fancy scarce thrilled 
 me with delight, before it vanished in the frost of a 
 careless look, or the cold beam of a sarcastic laugh. 
 Spoiled darling of the world as she was, she seemed so 
 innocent in her exuberant happiness, that one forgot 
 all her faults in that atmosphere of joy which she dif- 
 fused around her. And, despite her pretty insolence, 
 she had so kind a woman's heart below the surface ! 
 When she once saw that she had pained you, she was 
 so soft, so winning, so humble, till she had healed the 
 wound. But then, if she saw she had pleased you too 
 much, the little witch was never easy till she had 
 plagued you again. As heiress to so rich a father, or 
 rather perhaps mother (for the fortune came from Lady
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 263 
 
 Ellinor), she was naturally surrounded with admirers 
 not wholly disinterested. She did right to plague them 
 but ME ! Poor boy that I was, why should I seem 
 more disinterested than others ! how should she per- 
 ceive all that lay hid in my young deep heart ? Was 
 I not in all worldly pretensions the least worthy of her 
 admirers, and might I not seem, therefore, the most 
 mercenary 1 I who never thought of her fortune, or 
 if that thought did come across me, it was to make me 
 start and turn pale ! And then it vanished at her first 
 glance, as a ghost from the dawn. How hard it is to 
 convince youth, that sees all the world of the future 
 before it, and covers that future with golden palaces, 
 of the inequalities of life ! In my fantastic and sublime 
 romance, I looked out into that Great Beyond, saw my- 
 self orator, statesman, minister, ambassador Heaven 
 knows what laying laurels, which I mistook for rent- 
 rolls, at Fanny's feet. 
 
 "Whatever Fanny might have discovered as to the 
 state of my heart, it seemed an abyss not worth prying 
 into by either Trevanion or Lady Ellinor. The first, 
 indeed, as may be supposed, was too busy to think of 
 such trifles. And Lady Ellinor treated me as a mere 
 boy almost like a boy of her own, she was so kind to 
 me. But she did not notice much the things that lay 
 immediately around her. In brilliant conversation 
 with poets, wits, and statesmen in sympathy with, the 
 toils of her husband or proud schemes for his aggran- 
 disement, Lady Ellinor lived a life of excitement.
 
 264 THE CAXTOXS. 
 
 Those large eager shining eyes of hers, bright with 
 some feverish discontent, looked far abroad as if for 
 new worlds to conquer the world at her feet escaped 
 from her vision. She loved her daughter, she was 
 proud of her, trusted in her with a superb repose she 
 did not watch over her. Lady Ellinor stood alone on 
 a mountain, and amidst a cloud.
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 OXE day the Trevanions had all gone into the country, 
 on a visit to a retired minister distantly related to 
 Lady Ellinor, and who was one of the few persons Tre- 
 vanion himself condescended to consult. I had almost 
 a holiday. I went to call on Sir Sedley Beaudesert. 
 I had always longed to sound him on one subject, and 
 had never dared. This time I resolved to pluck up 
 courage. 
 
 "Ah, my young friend!" said he, rising from the 
 contemplation of a villanous picture by a young artist, 
 which he had just benevolently purchased, " I was 
 thinking of you this morning. "Wait a moment, Sum- 
 mers (this to the valet). Be so good as to take this 
 picture, let it be packed up and go down into the 
 country. It is a sort of picture," he added, turning to 
 me, " that requires a large house. I have an old gal- 
 lery with little casements that let in no light. It is 
 astonishing how convenient I have found it ! " As 
 soon as the picture was gone, Sir Sedley drew a long 
 breath, as if relieved ; and resumed more gaily 
 
 " Yes, I was thinking of you ; and if you will for- 
 give any interference in your affairs from your father's
 
 266 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 old friend I should be greatly honoured by your per- 
 mission to ask Trevanion what he supposes is to be the 
 ultimate benefit of the horrible labours he inflicts upon 
 you." 
 
 " But, my dear Sir Sedley, I like the labours ; I am 
 perfectly contented." 
 
 "Not to remain always secretary to one who, if 
 there were no business to be done among men, would 
 set about teaching the ants to build hills upon better 
 architectural principles ! My dear sir, Trevanion is an 
 awful man, a stupendous man one catches fatigue if 
 one is in the same room with him three minutes ! At 
 your age, an age that ought to be so happy," continued 
 Sir Sedley, with a compassion perfectly angelic, " it is 
 sad to see so little enjoyment !" 
 
 " But, Sir Sedley, I assure you that you are mistaken. 
 I thoroughly enjoy myself ; and have I not heard even 
 you confess that one may be idle and not happy ? " 
 
 " I did not confess that till I was on the wrong side 
 of forty ! " said Sir Sedley, with a slight shade on his 
 brow. 
 
 " Nobody would ever think you were on the wrong 
 side of forty ! " said I, with artful flattery, winding into 
 my subject. " Miss Trevanion for instance 1 " 
 
 I paused. Sir Sedley looked hard at me, from his 
 bright dark-blue eyes. "Well, Miss Trevanion for 
 instance 1 " 
 
 " Miss Trevanion, who has all the best-looking fellows 
 in London round her, evidently prefers you to any of 
 them."
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 267 
 
 I said this with a great gulp. I was obstinately bent 
 on plumbing the depth of my own fears. 
 
 Sir Sedley rose ; he laid his hand kindly on mine, 
 and said, "Do not let Fanny Trevanion torment you 
 even more than her father does ! " 
 
 " I don't understand you, Sir Sedley ! " 
 
 " But if I understand you, that is more to the pur- 
 pose. A girl like Miss Trevanion is cruel till she dis- 
 covers she has a heart. It is not safe to risk one's own 
 with any woman till she has ceased to be a coquette. 
 My dear young friend, if you took life less in earnest, 
 I should spare you the pain of these hints. Some men 
 sow flowers, some plant trees you are planting a tree 
 under which you will soon find that no flower will grow. 
 Well and good, if the tree could last to bear fruit and 
 give shade ; but beware lest you have to tear it up one 
 day or other ; for then what then 1 why you will find 
 your whole life plucked away with its roots ! " 
 
 Sir Sedley said these last words with so serious an 
 emphasis, that I was startled from the confusion I had 
 felt at the former part of his address. He paused long, 
 tapped his snuff-box, inhaled a pinch slowly, and con- 
 tinued, with his more accustomed sprightliness : 
 
 " Go as much as you can into the Avorld again I say 
 'enjoy yourself.' And again I ask, what is all this 
 labour to do for you ? On some men, far less eminent 
 than Trevanion, it would impose a duty to aid you in a 
 practical career, to secure you a public employment 
 not so on him. He would not mortgage an inch of his 
 independence by asking a favour from a minister. He
 
 268 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 so thinks occupation the delight of life, that he oc- 
 cupies you out of pure affection. He does not trouble 
 his head about your future. He supposes your father 
 will provide for that, and does not consider that mean- 
 while your work leads to nothing ! Think over all this. 
 I have now bored you enough." 
 
 I was bewildered I was dumb : these practical men 
 of the world, how they take us by surprise ! Here had 
 I come to sound Sir Sedley, and here was I plumbed, 
 gauged, measured, turned inside out, without having 
 got an inch beyond the surface of that smiling delon- 
 naire, unruffled ease. Yet with his invariable delicacy, 
 in spite of all this horrible frankness, Sir Sedley had 
 not said a word to wound what he might think the more 
 sensitive part of my amour propre not a word as to 
 the inadequacy of my pretensions to think seriously of 
 Fanny Trevanion. Had we been the Celadon and 
 Chloe of a country village, he could not have regarded 
 us as more equal, so far as the world went. And for 
 the rest, he rather insinuated that poor Fanny, the great 
 heiress, was not worthy of me, than that I was not 
 worthy of Fanny. 
 
 I felt that there was no wisdom in stammering and 
 blushing out denials and equivocations ; so I stretched 
 my hand to Sir Sedley, took up my hat, and went. 
 Instinctively I bent my way to my father's house, I 
 had not been there for many days. Not only had I had 
 a great deal to do in the way of business, but I am 
 ashamed to say that pleasure itself had so entangled my 
 leisure hours, and Miss Trevanion especially so absorbed
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 269 
 
 them, that, without even uneasy foreboding, I had left 
 my father fluttering his wings more feebly and feebly 
 in the web of Uncle Jack. When I arrived in Eussell 
 Street, I found the fly and the spider cheek-by-jowl 
 together. Uncle Jack sprang up at my entrance, and 
 cried, " Congratulate your father. Congratulate him ! 
 no ; congratulate the world ! " 
 
 " AVhat, uncle ! " said I, with a dismal effort at sym- 
 pathising liveliness, "is the ' Literary Times' launched 
 at last 1 " 
 
 " Oh, that is all settled settled long since. Here's 
 a specimen of the type we have chosen for the leaders." 
 And Uncle Jack, whose pocket was never without a 
 wet sheet of some kind or other, drew forth a steaming 
 papyral monster, which in point of size was to the 
 political " Times" as a mammoth may be to an elephant. 
 " That is all settled. "We are only preparing our con- 
 tributors, and shall put out our programme next week 
 or the week after. Ko, Pisistratus, I mean the Great 
 Work." 
 
 " My dear father, I am so glad. What ! it is really 
 sold, then 1 " 
 
 " Hum ! " said my father. 
 
 "Sold!" burst forth Uncle Jack. "Sold no sir, 
 we would not sell it ! No : if all the booksellers fell 
 down on their knees to us, as they will some day, that 
 book should not be sold ! Sir, that book is a revolu- 
 tion it is an era it is the emancipator of genius from 
 mercenary thraldom ; THAT BOOK ! " 
 
 I looked inquiringly from uncle to father, and men-
 
 270 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 tally retracted my congratulations. Then Mr Caxton, 
 slightly blushing, and shyly rubbing his spectacles, said, 
 " You see, Pisistratus, that though poor Jack has de- 
 voted uncommon pains to induce the publishers to 
 recognise the m^rit he has discovered in the ' History of 
 Human Error,' he has failed to do so." 
 
 " Not a bit of it ; they all acknowledge its miraculoiis 
 learning its ' ' 
 
 " Very true ; but they don't think it will sell, and 
 therefore most selfishly refuse to buy it. One book- 
 seller, indeed, offered to treat for it if I would leave 
 out all about the Hottentots and Caffres, the Greek 
 philosophers and Egyptian priests, and, confining myself 
 solely to polite society, entitle the work ' Anecdotes of 
 the Courts of Europe, ancient and modern.' " 
 
 " The wretch ! " groaned Uncle Jack. 
 
 " Another thought it might be cut up into little essays, 
 leaving out the quotations, entitled ' Men and Manners.' 
 A third was kind enough to observe, that though this 
 particular work was quite unsaleable, yet, as I appeared 
 to have some historical information, he should be happy 
 to undertake an historical romance from ' iny graphic 
 pen ' that was the phrase, was it not, Jack ? " 
 
 Jack was too full to speak. 
 
 " Provided I would introduce a proper love-plot, 
 and make it into three volumes, post octavo, twenty- 
 three lines in a page, neither more nor less. One honest 
 fellow at last was found, who seemed to me a very 
 respectable and indeed enterprising person. And after 
 going through a list of calculations, which showed that
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 271 
 
 no possible profit could arise, he generously offered to 
 give me half of those no-profits, provided I would gua- 
 rantee half the very visible expenses. I was just 
 meditating the prudence of accepting this proposal, 
 when your uncle was seized with a sublime idea, which 
 has whisked up my book in a whirlwind of expecta- 
 tion." 
 
 " And that idea 1 " said I, despondingly. 
 
 " That idea," quoth Uncle Jack, recovering himself, 
 " is simply and shortly this. From time immemorial, 
 authors have been the prey of the publishers. Sir, 
 authors have lived in garrets, nay, have been choked in 
 the street by an unexpected crumb of bread, like the 
 man who wrote the play, poor fellow ! " 
 
 " Otway," said my father. " The story is not true 
 no matter." 
 
 " Milton, sir, as everybody knows, sold ' Paradise 
 Lost' for ten pounds ten pounds, sir ! In short, 
 instances of a like nature are too numerous to quote. 
 But the booksellers, sir they are leviathans they 
 roll in seas of gold. They subsist upon authors as 
 vampires upon little children. But at last endurance 
 has reached its limit the fiat has gone forth the 
 tocsin of liberty has resounded authors have burst 
 their fetters. And we have just inaugurated the insti- 
 tution of ' THE GRAND ANTI-PUBLISHER CONFEDERATE 
 AUTHORS' SOCIETY,' by which, Pisistratus by which, 
 mark you, every author is to be his own publisher 
 that is, every author who joins the Society. No more 
 submission of immortal works to mercenary calculators,
 
 272 THE CAXTOXS : 
 
 to sordid tastes no more hard bargains and broken 
 hearts ! no more crumbs of bread choking great tragic 
 poets in the streets no more Paradises Lost sold at 
 10 apiece ! The author brings his book to a select 
 committee appointed for the purpose ; men of delicacy, 
 education, and refinement authors themselves ; they 
 read it, the Society publish ; and after a modest deduc- 
 tion, which goes toward the funds of the Society, the 
 Treasurer hands over the profits to the author." 
 
 " So that, in fact, Uncle, every author who can't find 
 a publisher anywhere else, will of course come to the 
 Society. The fraternity will be numerous." 
 
 " It will indeed." 
 
 " And the speculation ruinous." 
 
 "Kuinous, why?" 
 
 " Because, in all mercantile negotiations, it is ruinous 
 to invest capital in supplies which fail of demand. You 
 undertake to publish books that booksellers will not 
 publish why 1 because booksellers can't sell them ! 
 It is just probable that you'll not sell them any better 
 than the booksellers. Ergo, the more your business, 
 the larger your deficit ; and the more numerous your 
 society, the more disastrous your condition. Q.E.D." 
 
 "Pooh! The select committee will decide what 
 books are to be published." 
 
 " Then, where the deuce is the advantage to the 
 authors ! I would as lief submit my work to a pub- 
 lisher as I would to a select committee of authors. At 
 all events, the publisher is not my rival ; and I suspect
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 273 
 
 he is the best judge, after all, of a book as an accou- 
 cheur ought to be of a baby." 
 
 " Upon my word, nephew, you pay a bad compliment 
 to your father's Great Work, which the booksellers will 
 have nothing to do with." 
 
 That was artfully said, and I was posed : when Mr 
 Caxton observed, with an apologetic smile, 
 
 "The fact is, my dear Pisistratus, that I want my 
 book published without diminishing the little fortune 
 I keep for you some day. Uncle Jack starts a society 
 so to publish it. Health and long life to Uncle Jack's 
 society. One can't look a gift horse in the mouth." 
 
 Here my mother entered, rosy from a shopping expe- 
 dition with Mrs Primmins ; and in her joy at hearing 
 that I could stay dinner, all else was forgotten. By a 
 wonder, which I did not regret, Uncle Jack really was 
 engaged to dine out. He had other irons in the fire 
 besides the " Literary Times " and the " Confederate 
 Authors' Society ; " he was deep in a scheme for making 
 house-tops of felt (which, under other hands, has, I 
 believe, since succeeded) ; and he had found a rich man 
 (I suppose a hatter) who seemed well inclined to the 
 project, and had actually asked him to dine and expound 
 his views. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 HERE we three are seated round the open window after 
 dinner familiar as in the old happy time and my 
 mother is talking low, that she may not disturb my 
 father, who seems in thought. 
 
 Cr-cr-crrr-cr-cr ! I feel it I have it. Where ! 
 What ! Where ! Knock it down brush it off ! For 
 Heaven's sake, see to it ! Crrrr-crrrrr there here 
 in my hair in my sleeve in my ear. Cr-cr. 
 
 I say solemnly, and on the word of a Christian, 
 that, as I sat down to begin this chapter, being some- 
 what in a brown study, the pen insensibly slipt from 
 my hand, and, leaning back in my chair, I fell to 
 gazing into the fire. It is the end of June, and a 
 remarkably cold evening even for that time of year. 
 And while I was so gazing I felt something crawling 
 just by the nape of the neck, ma'am. Instinctively 
 and mechanically, and still musing, I put my hand 
 there, and drew forth What 1 That what it is which 
 perplexes me. It was a thing a dark thing a much 
 bigger thing than I had expected. And the sight took 
 me so by surprise, that I gave my hand a violent shake, 
 and the thing went where I know not. The what
 
 THE CAXTONS. 275 
 
 and the where are the knotty points in the whole 
 question ! ]STo sooner had it gone, than I was seized 
 Avith repentance not to have examined it more closely 
 not to have ascertained what the creature was. It 
 might have been an earwig a very large motherly ear- 
 wig an earwig far gone in that way in which earwigs 
 wish to be who love their lords. I have a profound 
 horror of earwigs I firmly believe that they do get 
 into the ear. That is a subject on which it is useless 
 to argue with me upon philosophical grounds. I have 
 a vivid recollection of a story told me by Mrs Primmins 
 How a lady for many years suifered under the most 
 excruciating headaches ; how, as the tombstones say, 
 " physicians were in vain ; " how she died ; and how 
 her head was opened, and how such a nest of earwigs 
 ma'am such a nest ! Earwigs are the prolifickest 
 things, and so fond of their offspring ! They sit on 
 their eggs like hens and the young, as soon as they are 
 born, creep under them for protection quite touchingly ! 
 Imagine such an establishment domesticated at one's 
 tympanum ! 
 
 But the creature was certainly larger than an earwig. 
 It might have been one of that genus in the family of 
 Forficulidcfi, called Labidoura monsters whose an- 
 tennae have thirty joints ! There is a species of this 
 creature in England, but, to the great grief of naturalists, 
 and to the great honour of Providence, very rarely 
 found, infinitely larger than the common earwig, or 
 Forftculida auriculana. Could it have been an early 
 hornet? It had certainly a black head and great feelers.
 
 276 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 I have a greater horror of hornets, if possible, than I 
 have of earwigs. Two hornets will kill a man, and three 
 a carriage-horse sixteen hands high. However, the 
 creature was gone. Yes, hut where 1 "Where had I so 
 rashly thrown it 1 It might have got into a fold of my 
 dressing-gown or into my slippers or, in short, any- 
 where in the various recesses for earwigs and hornets 
 which a gentleman's habiliments afford. I satisfy my- 
 self at last, as far as I can, seeing that I am not alone 
 in the room that it is not upon me. I look upon the 
 carpet the rug the chair under the fender. It is 
 non inventus. I barbarously hope it is frizzing behind 
 that great black coal in the grate. I pluck up courage 
 I prudently remove to the other end of the room. I 
 take up my pen I begin my chapter very nicely, too, 
 I think upon the whole. I am just getting into my 
 subject, when cr-cr-cr-cr-cr crawl crawl crawl 
 creep creep creep. Exactly, my dear ma'am, in the 
 same place it was before ! Oh, by the Powers ! I for- 
 got all my scientific regrets at not having scrutinised its 
 genus before, whether Forficulida or Labidoura. I 
 made a desperate lunge with both hands something 
 between thrust and cut, ma'am. The beast is gone. 
 Yes, but again where 1 I say that that where is a very 
 horrible question. Having come twice, in spite of all 
 my precautions and exactly on the same spot, too it 
 shows a confirmed disposition to habituate itself to its 
 quarters to effect a parochial settlement upon me ; 
 there is something awful and preternatural in it. I 
 assure you that there is not a part of me that has not
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 277 
 
 gone cr-cr-cr ! that has not crept crawled and forfi- 
 culated ever since ; and I put it to you what sort of a 
 
 chapter I can make after such a My good little girl, 
 
 will you just take the candle, and look carefully under 
 the table 1 that's a dear ! Yes, my love, very "black 
 indeed, with two horns, and inclined to be corpulent. 
 Gentlemen and ladies who have cultivated an acquaint- 
 ance with the Phoenician language, are aware that Bel- 
 zebub, examined etymologically and entomologically, is 
 nothing more nor less than Baalzebub " the Jupiter- 
 fly" an emblem of the Destroying Attribute, which 
 attribute, indeed, is found in all the insect tribes more 
 or less. "Wherefore, as Mr Payne Knight, in his In- 
 quiry into Symbolical Languages, hath observed, the 
 Egyptian priests shaved their whole bodies, even to their 
 eyebrows, lest unaware they should harbour any of the 
 minor Zebubs of the great Baal. If I were the least 
 bit more persuaded that that black cr-cr were about me 
 still, and that the sacrifice of my eyebrows would deprive 
 him of shelter, by the souls of the Ptolemies ! I would, 
 and I will, too. Ring the bell, my little dear ! John, 
 my my cigar-box ! There is not a cr in the world that 
 can abide the fumes of the Havannah ! Pshaw ! sir, I 
 am not the only man who lets his first thoughts upon 
 cold steel end, like this chapter, in Pff pff pff !
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 EVERYTHING in this world is of use, even a black 
 thing crawling over the nape of one's neck ! Grim 
 unknown ! I shall make of thee a simile ! 
 
 I think, ma'am, you will allow that if an incident 
 such as I have described had befallen yourself, and you 
 had a proper and lady-like horror of earwigs (however 
 motherly and fond of their offspring), and also of early 
 hornets, and indeed of all unknown tilings of the 
 insect tribe with black heads and two great horns, or 
 feelers, or forceps, just by your ear I think, ma'am, 
 you will allow that you would find it difficult to settle 
 back to your former placidity of mood and innocent 
 stitch- work. You would feel a something that grated 
 on your nerves and cr'd-cr'd " all over you like," as 
 the children say. And the worst is, that you would be 
 ashamed to say it. You would feel obliged to look 
 pleased and join in the conversation, and not fidget too 
 much, nor always be shaking your flounces, and looking 
 into a dark corner of your apron. Thus it is with many 
 other things in life besides black insects. One has a 
 secret care an abstraction a something between the 
 memory and the feeling, of a dark crawling cr, which
 
 THE CAXTOXS. 279 
 
 one has never dared to analyse. So I sat by my mother, 
 trying to smile and talk as in the old time, but longing 
 to move about and look around, and escape to my own 
 solitude, and take the clothes off my mind, and see what 
 it was that had so troubled and terrified me for trouble 
 and terror were upon me. And my mother, who was 
 always (heaven bless her !) inquisitive enough in all that 
 concerned her darling Anachronism, was especially in- 
 quisitive that evening. She made me say where I had 
 been, and what I had done, and how I had spent my 
 time, and Fanny Trevanion (whom she had seen, by 
 the way, three or four times, and whom she thought 
 the prettiest person in the world) oh, she must know 
 exactly what I thought of Fanny Trevanion ! 
 
 And all this while my father seemed in thought ; 
 and so, with my arm over my mother's chair, and my 
 hand in hers, I answered my mother's questions some- 
 times by a stammer, sometimes by a violent effort at 
 volubility; when at some interrogatory that went ting- 
 Hug right to my heart, I turned uneasily, and there 
 were my father's eyes fixed on mine fixed as they had 
 been when, and none knew why, I pined and lan- 
 guished, and my father said " he must go to school." 
 Fixed, with quiet watchful tenderness. Ah no ! his 
 thoughts had not been on the Great Work he had 
 been deep in the pages of that less Avorthy one for which 
 he had yet more an author's paternal care. I met those 
 eyes, and yearned to throw myself on his heart and 
 tell him all. Tell him what 1 Ma'am, I no more knew 
 what to tell him, than I know what that black thing
 
 280 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 was which, has so worried me all this blessed even- 
 ing ! 
 
 " Pisistratus," said my father, softly, " I fear you have 
 forgotten the saffron bag." 
 
 " No, indeed, sir," said I, smiling. 
 
 " He," resumed my father, " he who wears the saf- 
 fron bag has more cheerful, settled spirits than you seem 
 to have, my poor boy." 
 
 " My dear Austin, his spirits are very good, I think," 
 said my mother, anxiously. 
 
 My father shook his head then he took two or three 
 turns about the room. 
 
 " Shall I ring for candles, sir ? It is getting dark : 
 you will wish to read 1 " 
 
 " No, Pisistratus, it is you who shall read ; and this 
 hour of twilight best suits the book I am about to open 
 to you." 
 
 So saying, he drew a chair between me and my mother, 
 and seated himself gravely, looking down a long time in 
 silence then turning his eyes to each of us alternately. 
 
 " My dear wife," said he, at length, almost solemnly, 
 " I am going to speak of myself as I was before I knew 
 you." 
 
 Even in the twilight I saw that my mother's coun- 
 tenance changed. 
 
 " You have respected my secrets, Katherine, tenderly 
 honestly. Now the time is come when I can tell 
 them to you and to our son."
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 MY FATHER'S FIRST LOVE. 
 
 '' I LOST my mother early ; my father (a good man, but 
 who was so indolent that he rarely stirred from his 
 chair, and who often passed whole days without speak- 
 ing, like an Indian dervish) left Roland and myself to 
 educate ourselves much according to our own tastes. 
 Roland shot, and hunted, and fished, read all the 
 poetry and books of chivalry to be found in my father's 
 collection, which was rich in such matters, and made a 
 great many copies of the old pedigree ; the only thing 
 in which my father ever evinced much vital interest. 
 Early in life I conceived a passion for graver studies, 
 and by good luck I found a tutor in Mr Tibbets, who, 
 but for his modesty, Kitty, would have rivalled Porson. 
 He was a second Buda?us for industry, and by the way, 
 he said exactly the same thing that Budseus did, viz., 
 ' that the only lost day in his life was that in which he 
 was married ; for on that day he had only had six hours 
 for reading ! ' Under such a master I could not fail to 
 be a scholar. I came from the university with such 
 distinction as led me to look sanguinely on my career 
 in the world.
 
 282 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 " I returned to my father's quiet rectory to pause and 
 consider what path I should take to fame. The rectory 
 was just at the foot of the hill, on the brow of which 
 were the ruins of the castle Roland has since purchased. 
 And though I did not feel for the ruins the same ro- 
 mantic veneration as my dear brother (for my day- 
 dreams were more coloured by classic than feudal recol- 
 lections), I yet loved to climb the hill, book in hand, 
 and built my castles in the air amidst the wrecks of 
 that which time had shattered on the earth. 
 
 " One day, entering the old weed-grown court, I saw 
 a lady seated on my favourite spot, sketching the ruins. 
 The lady was young more beautiful than any woman 
 I had yet seen, at least to my eyes. In a word, I was 
 fascinated, and, as the trite phrase goes, ' spell-bound.' 
 I seated myself at a little distance, and contemplated 
 her without desiring to speak. By-and-by, from another 
 part of the ruins, which were then uninhabited, came a 
 tall, imposing, elderly gentleman, with a benignant 
 aspect : and a little dog. The dog ran up to me bark- 
 ing. This drew the attention of both lady and gentle- 
 man to me. The gentleman approached, called off the 
 dog, and apologised with much politeness. Surveying 
 me somewhat curiously, he then began to ask questions 
 about the old place and the family it had belonged to, 
 with the name and antecedents of which he was Avell 
 acquainted. By degrees it came out that I was the 
 descendant of that family, and the younger son of the 
 humble rector who was now its representative. The 
 gentleman then introduced himself to me as the Earl of
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 283 
 
 Eainsforth, the principal proprietor in the neighbour- 
 hood, but who had so rarely visited the county during 
 my childhood and earlier youth, that I had never before 
 seen him. His only son, however, a young man of 
 great promise, had been at the same college with me 
 in my first year at the university. The young lord was 
 a reading man and a scholar ; and we had become 
 slightly acquainted when he left for his travels. 
 
 " Kow, on hearing my name, Lord Eainsforth took 
 my hand cordially, and, leading me to his daughter, 
 said, ' Think, Ellinor, how fortunate ! this is the Mr 
 Caxton Avhom your brother so often spoke of.' 
 
 " In short, my dear Pisistratus, the ice was broken, 
 the acquaintance made, and Lord Eainsforth, saying he 
 was come to atone for his long absence from the county, 
 and to reside at Compton the greater part of the year, 
 pressed me to visit him. I did so. Lord Eainsforth's 
 liking to me increased : I went there often." 
 
 My father paused, and seeing my mother had fixed 
 her eyes upon him with a sort of mournful earnestness, 
 and had pressed her hands very tightly together, he bent 
 down and kissed her forehead. 
 
 " There is no cause, my child ! " said he. It was the 
 only time I ever heard him address my mother so 
 parentally. But then I never heard him before so grave 
 and solemn not a quotation, too it was incredible : 
 it was not my father speaking, it was another man. 
 " Yes, I went there often. Lord Eainsforth was a re- 
 markable person. Shyness that was wholly without 
 pride (which is rare), and a love for quiet literary pur-
 
 284 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 suits, had prevented his taking that personal part in 
 public life for which he was richly qualified ; but his 
 reputation for sense and honour, and his personal popu- 
 larity, had given him no inconsiderable influence even, 
 I believe, in the formation of cabinets, and he had once 
 been prevailed upon to fill a high diplomatic situation 
 abroad, in which I have no doubt that he was as miser- 
 able as a good man can be under any infliction. He 
 was now pleased to retire from the world, and look at 
 it through the loopholes of retreat. Lord Rainsforth 
 had a great respect for talent, and a warm interest in 
 such of the young as seemed to him to possess it. By 
 talent, indeed, his family had risen, and were strikingly 
 characterised. His ancestor, the first peer, had been a 
 distinguished lawyer ; his father had been celebrated 
 for scientific attainments ; his children, Ellinor and 
 Lord Pendarvis, were highly accomplished. Thus the 
 family identified themselves with the aristocracy of 
 intellect, and seemed unconscious of their claims to the 
 lower aristocracy of rank. You must bear this in mind 
 throughout my story. 
 
 " Lady Ellinor shared her father's tastes and habits 
 of thought (she was not then an heiress). Lord 
 Eainsforth talked to me of my career. It was a time 
 when the French Revolution had made statesmen look 
 round with some anxiety to strengthen the existing 
 order of things, by alliance with all in the rising 
 generation who evinced such ability as might influence 
 their contemporaries. 
 
 " University distinction is, or was formerly, among
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 285 
 
 the popular passports to public life. By degrees, Lord 
 Rainsforth liked rue so well as to suggest to nie a seat 
 in the House of Commons. A member of Parliament 
 might rise to anything, and Lord Rainsforth had suffi- 
 cient influence to effect my return. Dazzling prospect 
 this to a young scholar fresh from Thucydides, and 
 with Demosthenes fresh at his tongue's end. My dear 
 boy, I was not then, you see, quite what I am now ; in 
 a word, I loved Ellinor Compton, and therefore I was 
 ambitious. You know how ambitious she is still. But 
 I could not mould my ambition to hers. I could not 
 contemplate entering the senate of my country as a 
 dependant on a party or a patron as a man who must 
 make his fortune there as a man who, in every vote, 
 must consider how much nearer he advanced himself 
 to emolument. I was not even certain that Lord 
 Rainsforth' s views on politics were the same as mine 
 would be. How could the politics of an experienced 
 man of the world be those of an ardent young student 1 
 But had they been identical, I felt that I could not so 
 creep into equality with a patron's daughter. No ! I 
 was ready to abandon my own more scholastic predilec- 
 tions to strain every energy at the bar to carve or 
 force my own way to fortune and if I arrived at inde- 
 pendence, then what then 1 why, the right to speak 
 of love, and aim at power. This was not the view 
 of Ellinor Compton. The law seemed to her a tedious, 
 needless drudgery : there was nothing in it to captivate 
 her imagination. She listened to me with that charm 
 which she yet retains, and by which she seems to
 
 286 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 identify herself with those who speak to her. She 
 would turn to me with a pleading look when her father 
 dilated on the hrilliant prospects of a parliamentary 
 success ; for he (not having gained it, yet having lived 
 with those who had) overvalued it, and seemed ever to 
 wish to enjoy it through some other. But when I, in 
 turn, spoke of independence, of the bar, Ellinor's face 
 grew overcast. The world the world was with her, 
 and the ambition of the world, which is always for 
 power or effect ! A part of the house lay exposed to 
 the east wind. ' Plant half-way down the hill,' said I, 
 one day. ' Plant ! ' cried Lady Ellinor ' it will be 
 twenty years before the trees grow up. No, my dear 
 father, build a wall, and cover it with creepers ! ' 
 That was an illustration of her whole character. She 
 could not wait till trees had time to grow ; a dead wall 
 would be so much more quickly thrown up, and para- 
 site creepers would give it a prettier effect. Never- 
 theless, she was a grand and noble creature. And I 
 in love ! Not so discouraged as you may suppose ; for 
 Lord Rainsforth often hinted encouragement, which 
 even I could scarcely misconstrue. Not caring for 
 rank, and not wishing for fortune beyond competence 
 for his daughter, he saw in me all he required a gen- 
 tleman of ancient birth, and one in whom his own 
 active mind could prosecute that kind of mental ambi- 
 tion which overflowed in him, and yet had never had 
 its vent. And Ellinor ! Heaven forbid I should say 
 she loved me, but something made me think she could
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 287 
 
 do so. Under these notions, suppressing all my hopes, 
 I made a bold effort to master the influences round me, 
 and to adopt that career I thought worthiest of us all. 
 I went to London to read for the bar." 
 
 " The bar ! is it possible 1 " cried I. My father smiled 
 sadly. 
 
 " Everything seemed possible to me then. I read 
 some months. I began to see my way even in that 
 short time ; began to comprehend what would be the 
 difficulties before me, and to feel there was that within 
 me which could master them. I took a holiday and 
 returned to Cumberland. I found Roland there on my 
 return. Always of a roving, adventurous temper, 
 though he had not then entered the army, he had, for 
 more than two years, been wandering over Great 
 Britain and Ireland on foot. It Avas a young knight- 
 errant whom I embraced, and who overwhelmed me 
 with reproaches that I should be reading for the law. 
 There had never been a lawyer in the family ! It was 
 about that time, I think, that I petrified him with the 
 discovery of the printer ! I knew not exactly where- 
 fore, whether from jealousy, fear, foreboding but it 
 certainly was a pain that seized me when I learned 
 from Roland that he had become intimate at Compton 
 Hall. Roland and Lord Rainsforth had met at the 
 house of a neighbouring gentleman, and Lord Rainsforth 
 had welcomed his acquaintance, at first, perhaps, for 
 my sake, afterwards for his own. 
 
 " I could not for the life of me," continued my
 
 288 THE CAXTOXS. 
 
 father, " ask lioland if he admired Ellinor ; but when 
 I found that he did not put that question to nie, I 
 trembled ! 
 
 " We went to Compton together, speaking little by 
 the way. We stayed there some days." 
 
 My father here thrust his hand into his waistcoat 
 all men have their little ways, which denote much ; 
 and when my father thrust his hand into his waistcoat, 
 it was always a sign of some mental effort he was 
 going to prove, or to argue, to moralise, or to preach. 
 Therefore, though I was listening before with all my 
 ears, I believe I had, speaking magnetically and nies- 
 merically, an extra pair of ears, a new sense supplied 
 to me, when my father put his hand into his waist- 
 coat.
 
 CHAPTEE VI 
 
 WHEREIN MY FATHER CONTINUES HIS STORY. 
 
 " THERE is not a mystical creation, type, symbol, or 
 poetical invention for meanings abstruse, recondite, and 
 incomprehensible, which is not represented by the 
 female gender," said my father, having his hand quite 
 buried in his waistcoat. " For instance, the Sphinx 
 and Isis, whose veil no man had ever lifted, were both 
 ladies, Kitty ! And so was Persephone, who must be 
 always either in heaven or hell and Hecate, who was 
 one thing by night and another by day. The Sibyls 
 were females ; and so were the Gorgons, the Harpies, 
 the Furies, the Fates, and the Teutonic Valkyrs, 
 Xornies, and Hela herself : in short, all representations 
 of ideas, obscure, inscrutable, and portentous, are nouns 
 feminine." 
 
 Heaven bless my father ! Augustine Caxton was 
 himself again ! I began to fear that the story had 
 slipped away from him, lost in that labyrinth of learn- 
 ing. But, luckily, as he paused for breath, his look 
 fell on those limpid blue eyes of my mother's, and that 
 
 VOL. i. T
 
 290 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 honest open brow of hers, which had certainly nothing 
 in common with Sphinges, Fates, Furies, or Valkyrs ; 
 and whether his heart smote him, or his reason made 
 him own that he had fallen into a very disingenuous 
 and unsound train of assertion, I know not, hut his 
 front relaxed, and with a smile he resumed " Ellinor 
 was the last person in the world to deceive any one 
 willingly. Did she deceive me and Eoland, that we 
 both, though not conceited men, fancied that, if we 
 had dared to speak openly of love, we had not so dared 
 in vain ] or do you think, Kitty, that a woman really 
 can love (not much, perhaps, but somewhat) two or 
 three, or half-a-dozen at a time ? " 
 
 "Impossible !" cried my mother. "And as for this 
 Lady Ellinor, I am shocked at her I don't know 
 what to call it !" 
 
 "Nor I either, my dear," said my father, slowly 
 taking his hand from his waistcoat, as if the effort 
 were too much for him, and the problem were insol- 
 uble. "But this, begging your pardon, I do think, 
 that before a young woman does really, truly, and cor- 
 dially centre her affections on one object, she suffers 
 fancy, imagination, the desire of power, curiosity, or 
 heaven knows what, to simulate, even to her own mind, 
 pale reflections of the luminary not yet risen parhelia 
 that precede the sun. Don't judge of Eoland as you 
 see him now, Pisistratus grim, and grey, and formal ; 
 imagine a nature soaring high amongst daring thoughts, 
 or exuberant with the nameless poetry of youthful life 
 with a frame matchless for bounding elasticity an
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 291 
 
 eye bright with haughty fire a heart from which 
 noble sentiments sprang like sparks from an anvil. 
 Lady Ellinor had an ardent, inquisitive imagination. 
 This bold fiery nature must have moved her interest. 
 On the other hand, she had an instructed, full, and 
 eager mind. Am I vain if I say, now after the lapse 
 of so many years, that in my mind her intellect felt 
 companionship 1 When a woman loves, and marries, 
 and settles, why then she becomes a one whole, a 
 completed being. But a girl like Ellinor has in her 
 many women. Various herself, all varieties please her. 
 I do believe that, if either of us had spoken the word 
 boldly, Lady Ellinor would have shrunk back to her 
 own heart examined it, tasked it, and given a frank 
 and generous answer. And he who had spoken first 
 might have had the better chance not to receive a 
 ' JSTo.' But neither of us spoke. And perhaps she was 
 rather curious to know if she had made an impression, 
 than anxious to create it. It was not that she will- 
 ingly deceived us, but her whole atmosphere was delu- 
 sion. Mists come before the sunrise. However this 
 be, Eoland and I were not long in detecting each other. 
 And hence arose, first coldness, then jealousy, then 
 quarrel." 
 
 " Oh, my father, your love must have been indeed 
 powerful, to have made a breach between the hearts of 
 two such brothers !" 
 
 " Yes," said my father, " it was amidst the old ruins 
 of the castle, there, where I had first seen Ellinor 
 that, winding my arm round Eoland's neck, as I found
 
 292 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 him seated amongst the weeds and stones, his face 
 buried in his hands it was there that I said, 
 ' Brother, we both love this woman ! My nature is 
 the calmer of the two ; I shall feel the loss less. 
 Brother, shake hands, and God speed you, for I go. ' " 
 
 "Austin !" murmured my mother, sinking her head 
 on my father's breast. 
 
 " And therewith we quarrelled. For it was Roland 
 who insisted, while the tears rolled down his eyes, and 
 he stamped his foot on the ground, that he was the 
 intruder, the interloper that he had no hope that 
 he had been a fool and a madman and that it was for 
 him to go ! Now, while we were disputing, and words 
 began to run high, my father's old servant entered the 
 desolate place, with a note from Lady Ellinor to. me, 
 asking for the loan of some book I had praised. 
 Roland saw the handwriting, and while I turned the 
 note over and over irresolutely before I broke the seal, 
 he vanished. 
 
 " He did not return to my father's house. We did 
 not know what had become of him. But I, thinking 
 over that impulsive volcanic nature, took quick alarm. 
 And I went in search of him ; came on his track at 
 last ; and, after many days, found him in a miserable 
 cottage amongst the most dreary of the dreary wastes 
 which form so large a part of Cumberland. He was so 
 altered, I scarcely knew him. To be brief, we came at 
 last to a compromise. We would go back to Compton. 
 This suspense was intolerable. One of us at least
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 293 
 
 should take courage and learn his fate. But who 
 should speak first 1 We drew lots, and the lot fell on 
 me. 
 
 "And now that I was really to pass the Eubicon, 
 now that I was to impart that secret hope which had 
 animated me so long been to me a new life what 
 were my sensations ? My dear boy, depend on it that 
 that age is the happiest, when such feelings as I felt 
 then can agitate us no more : they are mistakes in the 
 serene order of that majestic life which heaven meant 
 for thoughtful man. Our souls should be as stars on 
 earth, not as meteors and tortured comets. What 
 could I offer to Ellinor, to her father ? What but a 
 future of patient labour 1 And in either answer, what 
 alternative of misery ! my own existence shattered, 
 or Roland's noble heart ! 
 
 " Well, we went to Compton. In our former visits 
 we had been almost the only guests. Lord Eainsforth 
 did not much affect the intercourse of country squires, 
 less educated then than now ; and in excuse for Ellinor 
 and for us, we were almost the only men of our own 
 age she had seen in that large dull house. But now 
 the London season had broken up, the house was 
 filled ; there was no longer that familiar and constant 
 approach to the mistress of the Hall, which had made 
 us like one family. Great ladies, fine people were 
 round her; a look, a smile, a passing word were as 
 much as I had a right to expect. And the talk, too, 
 how different ! Before, I could speak on books, I
 
 294 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 was at home there ! Roland could pour forth his 
 dreams, his chivalrous love for the past, his bold de- 
 fiance of the unknown future. And Ellinor, cultivated 
 and fanciful, could sympathise with both. And her 
 father, scholar and gentleman, could sympathise too. 
 But now "
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 WHEREIN MY FATHER BRINGS OUT HIS DENOUEMENT. 
 
 " IT is no use in the world," said my father, "to know 
 all the languages expounded in grammars and splin- 
 tered up into lexicons, if we don't learn the language 
 of the world. It is a talk apart, Kitty," cried my 
 father, warming up. " It is an ANAGLYPH a spoken 
 anaglyph, my dear ! If all the hieroglyphs of the 
 Egyptians had been A B C to you, still if you did not 
 know the anaglyph, you would know nothing of the 
 true mysteries of the priests. * 
 
 "Neither Roland nor I knew one symbol letter of the 
 anaglyph. Talk, talk talk on persons we never heard 
 of, things we never cared for. All we thought of impor- 
 tance, puerile or pedantic trifles all we thought so trite 
 and childish, the grand momentous business of life ! If 
 you found a little schoolboy, on his half-holiday, fishing 
 for minnows with a crooked pin, and you began to tell 
 him of all the wonders of the deep, the laws of the tides, 
 and the antediluvian relics of iguanodon and ichthyosau- 
 
 * The anaglyph was peculiar to the Egyptian priests the hiero- 
 glyph generally known to the well-educated.
 
 296 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 rus nay, if you spoke but of pearl-fisheries and coral 
 banks, or water-kelpies and naiads, would not the little 
 boy cry out peevishly, ' Don't tease me with all that 
 nonsense ! let me fish in peace for my minnows ! ' I 
 think the little boy is right after his own way it was 
 to fish for minnows that he came out, poor child, not 
 to hear about iguanodons and water-kelpies ! 
 
 " So the company fished for minnows, and not a word 
 could we say about our pearl-fisheries and coral banks ! 
 And as for fishing for minnows ourselves, my dear 
 boy, we should have been less bewildered if you had 
 asked us to fish for a mermaid ! Do you see, now, 
 one reason why I have let you go thus early into the 
 world ? Well, but amongst these minnow-fishers there 
 was one who fished with an air that made the minnows 
 look larger than salmons. 
 
 " Trevanion had been at Cambridge with me. We 
 were even intimate. He was a young man like myself, 
 with his way to make in the world. Poor as I of a 
 family upon a par with mine old enough, but de- 
 cayed. There was, however, this difference between 
 us : he had connections in the great world I had none. 
 Like me, his chief pecuniary resource was a college fel- 
 lowship. Now, Trevanion had established a high repu- 
 tation at the University ; but less as a scholar, though 
 a pretty fair one, than as a man to rise in life. Every 
 faculty he had was an energy. He aimed at every- 
 thing lost some things gained others. He was a 
 great speaker in a debating society, a member of some 
 politico-economical club. He was an eternal talker
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 297 
 
 brilliant, various, paradoxical, florid different from 
 what he is now. For, dreading fancy, his career since 
 has been one effort to curb it. But all his mind 
 attached itself to something that we Englishmen call 
 solid : it was a large mind not, my dear Kitty, like a 
 fine whale sailing through knowledge from the pleasure 
 of sailing but like a polypus, that puts forth all its 
 feelers for the purpose of catching hold of something. 
 Trevanion had gone at once to London from the Uni- 
 versity : his reputation and his talk dazzled his con- 
 nections, not unjustly. They made an effort they got 
 him into Parliament : he had spoken, he had succeeded. 
 He came to Compton in the flush of his virgin fame. 
 I cannot convey to you who know him now with his 
 careworn face, and abrupt dry manner reduced by 
 perpetual gladiatorship to the skin and bone of his 
 former self what that man was when he first stepped 
 into the arena of life. 
 
 " You see, my listeners, that you have to recollect 
 that we middle-aged folks were young then ; that is to 
 say, we were as different from what we are now, as the 
 green bough of summer is from the dry wood, out of 
 which we make a ship or a gate-post. -Neither man 
 nor wood comes to the uses of life till the green leaves 
 are stripped and the sap gone. And then the uses of 
 life transform us into strange things with other names : 
 the tree is a tree no more it is a gate or a ship ; the 
 youth is a youth no more, but a one-legged soldier ; 
 a hollow-eyed statesman ; a scholar spectacled and 
 slippered ! When Micyllus (here the hand slides
 
 298 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 into the waistcoat again !) when Micyllus," said my 
 father, " asked the cock that had once been Pytha- 
 goras,* if the affair of Troy was really as Homer told 
 it, the cock replied scornfully, ' How could Homer 
 know anything about it 1 at that time he was a camel 
 in Bactria.' Pisistratus, according to the doctrine of 
 metempsychosis, you might have been a Bactrian camel, 
 when that which to my life was the siege of Troy saw 
 Roland and Trevanion before the walls. 
 
 "Handsome you can see that Trevanion has been; 
 but the beauty of his countenance then was in its per- 
 petual play, its intellectual eagerness ; and his conver- 
 sation was so discursive, so various, so animated, and, 
 above all, so full of the things of the day ! If he had 
 been a priest of Serapis for fifty years, he could not 
 have known the anaglyph better. Therefore he filled 
 up every crevice and pore of that hollow society with 
 his broken, inquisitive, petulant light. Therefore he 
 was admired, talked of, listened to ; and everybody said, 
 ' Trevanion is a rising man.' 
 
 " Yet I did not do him then the justice I have done 
 since ; for we students and abstract thinkers are apt 
 too much, in our first youth, to look to the depth of a 
 man's mind or knowledge, and not enough to the 
 surface it may cover. There may be more water in a 
 flowing stream, only four feet deep, and certainly more 
 force and more health, than in a sullen pool thirty 
 yards to the bottom. I did not do Trevanion justice. 
 I did not see how naturally he realised Lady Ellinor's 
 * LUCIAN, The Dream of Micyllus.
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 299 
 
 ideal. I have said that she was like many Avomen in 
 one. Trevanion was a thousand men in one. He had 
 learning to please her mind, eloquence to dazzle her 
 fancy, beauty to please her eye, reputation precisely of 
 the kind to allure her vanity, honour and conscientious 
 purpose to satisfy her judgment ; and, above all, he 
 was ambitious ; ambitious, not as I not as Roland 
 was, but ambitious as Ellinor was : ambitious, not to 
 realise some grand ideal in the silent heart, but to 
 grasp the practical positive substances that lay without. 
 
 "Ellinor was a child of the great world, and so 
 was he. 
 
 " I saw not all this, nor did Roland ; and Trevanion 
 seemed to pay no particular court to Ellinor. 
 
 "But the time approached when I ought to speak. 
 The house began to thin. Lord Rainsforth had leisure 
 to resume his easy conferences with me ; and one day, 
 walking in his garden, he gave me the opportunity ; 
 for I need not say, Pisistratus," said my father, look- 
 ing at me earnestly, "that before any man of honour, 
 if of inferior worldly pretensions, will open his heart 
 seriously to the daughter, it is his duty to speak first 
 to the parent, whose confidence has imposed that trust." 
 I bowed my head and coloured. 
 
 "I know not how it was," continued my father, 
 " but Lord Rainsforth turned the conversation 011 Elli- 
 nor. After speaking of his expectations in his son, 
 who was returning home, he said, ' But he will of 
 course enter public life will, I trust, soon marry, have 
 a separate establishment, and I shall see but little of
 
 300 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 him. My Ellinor ! I cannot bear the thought of part- 
 ing wholly with her. And that, to say the selfish 
 truth, is one reason why I have never wished her to 
 marry a rich man, and so leave me for ever. I could 
 hope that she will give herself to one who may be 
 contented to reside at least great part of the year with 
 me, who may bless me with another son, not steal from 
 me a daughter. I do not mean that he should waste 
 his life in the country ; his occupations would probably 
 lead him to London. I care not where my house is 
 all I want is to keep my home. You know ' (he added, 
 with a smile that I thought meaning) ' how often I 
 have implied to you that I have no vulgar ambition for 
 Ellinor. Her portion must be very small, for my 
 estate is strictly entailed, and I have lived too much 
 up to my income all my life to hope to save much now. 
 But her tastes do not require expense ; and while I 
 live, at least, there need be no change. She can only 
 prefer a man whose talents, congenial to hers, will win 
 their own career, and ere I die that career may be made.' 
 Lord Eainsforth paused; and then how, in what 
 words I know not but out all burst ! my long-sup- 
 pressed, timid, anxious, doubtful, fearful love. The 
 strange energy it had given to a nature till then so 
 retiring and calm ! My recent devotion to the law 
 my confidence that with such a prize I could succeed 
 it was but a transfer of labour from one study to 
 another. Labour could conquer all things, and custom 
 sweeten them in the conquest. The bar was a less 
 brilliant career than the senate. But the first aim of
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 301 
 
 the poor man should be independence. In short, 
 Pisistratus, wretched egotist that I was, I forgot Roland 
 in that moment ; and I spoke as one who felt his life 
 was in his words. 
 
 " Lord Eainsforth looked at me, when I had done, 
 with a countenance full of affection, but it was not 
 cheerful. 
 
 " ' My dear Caxton,' said he, tremulously, ' I own 
 that I once wished this wished it from the hour I 
 knew you; but why did you so long I never sus- 
 pected that nor, I am sure, did Ellinor.' He stopped 
 short, and added quickly ' However, go and speak, as 
 you have spoken to me, to Ellinor. Go, it may not yet 
 be too late. And yet but go.' 
 
 " Too late ! what meant those words ? Lord Eains- 
 forth had turned hastily down another walk, and left 
 me alone, to ponder over an answer which concealed a 
 riddle. Slowly I took my way towards the house, and 
 sought Lady Ellinor, half hoping, half dreading to find 
 her alone. There was a little room communicating 
 with a conservatory, where she usually sat in the morn- 
 ing. Thither I took my course. 
 
 " That room I see it still ! the walls covered with 
 pictures from her own hand, many were sketches of the 
 haunts we had visited together the simple ornaments, 
 womanly but not effeminate the very books on the 
 table, that had been made familiar by dear associations. 
 Yes ; there, the Tasso in which we had read together 
 the episode of Clorinda there, the ^Eschylus in which 
 I translated to her the Prometheus. Pedantries these
 
 302 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 might seem to some ; pedantries perhaps they were ; 
 but they were proofs of that congeniality which had 
 knit the man of books to the daughter of the world. 
 That room, it was the home of my heart. Such, in my 
 vanity of spirit, methought would be the air round a 
 home to come. I looked about me, troubled and con- 
 fused, and, halting timidly, I saw Ellinor before me, 
 leaning her face on her hand, her cheek more flushed 
 than usual, and tears in her eyes. I approached in 
 silence, and as I drew my chair to the table, my eye 
 fell on a glove on the floor. It was a man's glove. Do 
 you know," said my father, "that once, when I was 
 very young, I saw a Dutch picture called The Glove, 
 and the subject was of murder 1 There was a weed- 
 grown marshy pool, a desolate dismal landscape, that of 
 itself inspired thoughts of ill deeds and terror. And 
 two men, as if walking by chance, came to this pool ; 
 the finger of one pointed to a blood-stained glove, and 
 the eyes of both were fixed on each other, as if there 
 were no need of words. That glove told its tale ! The 
 picture had long haunted me in my boyhood, but it 
 never gave me so uneasy and fearful a feeling as did 
 that real glove upon the floor. Why ? My dear Pisis- 
 tratus, the theory of forebodings involves one of those 
 questions on which we may ask ' why ' for ever. More 
 chilled than I had been in speaking to her father, I 
 took heart at last, and spoke to Ellinor." 
 
 My father stopped short, the moon had risen, and 
 was shining full into the room and on his face. And 
 by that light the face was changed ; young emotions
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 303 
 
 had brought back youth my father looked a young 
 man. But what pain was there ! If the memory alone 
 could raise what, after all, was but the ghost of suifer- 
 ing, what had been its living reality ! Involuntarily I 
 seized his hand ; my father pressed it convulsively, and 
 said with a deep breath " It was too late ; Trevanion 
 was Lady Ellinor's accepted, plighted, happy lover. 
 My dear Katherine, I do not envy him now ; look up, 
 sweet wife, look up ! "
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " ELLINOR (let me do her justice) was shocked at my 
 silent emotion. IsTo human lip could utter more tender 
 sympathy, more noble self-reproach ; but that was no 
 balm to my wound. So I left the house ; so I never 
 returned to the law ; so all impetus, all motive for ex- 
 ertion, seemed taken from my being ; so I went back 
 into books. And so, a moping, despondent, worthless 
 mourner might I have been to the end of my days, but 
 that Heaven, in its mercy, sent thy mother, Pisistratus, 
 across my path ; and day and night I bless God and 
 her ; for I have been, and am oh, indeed, I am, a 
 happy man ! " 
 
 My mother threw herself on my father's breast, sob- 
 bing violently, and then turned from the room without 
 a word ; my father's eye, swimming in tears, followed 
 her ; and then, after pacing the room for some moments 
 in silence, he came up to me, and leaning his arm on 
 my shoulder, whispered, " Can you guess why I have 
 now told you all this, my son 1 " 
 
 " Yes, partly : thank you father," I faltered, and sat 
 down, for I felt faint. 
 
 " Some sons," said my father, seating himself beside
 
 THE CAXTONS. 305 
 
 me, " would find in their fathers' follies and errors an 
 excuse for their own ; not so will you, Pisistratus." 
 
 " I see no folly, no error, sir; only nature and sorrow." 
 
 " Pause ere you thus think," said niy father. " Great 
 was the folly and great the error of indulging imagina- 
 tion that had no basis of linking the whole usefulness 
 of my life to the will of a human creature like myself. 
 Heaven did not design the passion of love to be this 
 tyrant ; nor is it so with the mass and multitude of 
 human life. We dreamers, solitary students like me, 
 or half-poets like poor Roland, make our own disease. 
 How many years, even after I had regained serenity, as 
 your mother gave me a home long not appreciated, have 
 I wasted ! The mainspring of my existence was snap- 
 ped I took no note of time. And therefore now, you 
 see, late in life, Nemesis wakes. I look back with 
 regret at powers neglected, opportunities gone. Gal- 
 vanically I brace up energies half-palsied by disuse ; 
 and you see me, rather than rest quiet and good for 
 nothing, talked into what, I daresay, are sad follies, 
 by an Uncle Jack ! And now I behold Ellinor again ; 
 and I say in wonder 'All this all this all this 
 agony, all this torpor, for that haggard face, that 
 worldly spirit ! ' So is it ever in life : mortal things 
 fade ; immortal things spring more freshly with every 
 step to the tomb. 
 
 " Ah ! " continued my father, with a sigh, "it would 
 not have been so, if at your age I had found out the 
 secret of the saffron bag ! " 
 
 VOL. i. u
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 " AND Eoland, sir," said I " how did he take it ? " 
 " With all the indignation of a proud unreasonable 
 man. More indignant, poor fellow, for me than him- 
 self. And so did he wound and gall me by what he 
 said of Ellinor, and so did he rage against me because 
 I would not share his rage, that again we quarrelled. 
 We parted, and did not meet for many years. We 
 came into sudden possession of our little fortunes. His 
 he devoted (as you may know) to the purchase of the 
 old ruins, and the commission in the army, which had 
 always been his dream and so went his way, wrathful. 
 My share gave me an excuse for indolence it satisfied 
 all my wants ; and when my old tutor died, and his 
 young child became my ward, and, somehow or other, 
 from my ward my wife, it allowed me to resign my 
 fellowship, and live amongst my books still as a book 
 myself. One comfort, somewhat before my marriage, 
 I had conceived ; and that, too, Roland has since said 
 was comfort to birn. Ellinor became an heiress. Her 
 poor brother died ; and all of the estate that did not 
 pass in the male line devolved on her. That fortune 
 made a gulf between us almost as wide as her marriage.
 
 THE CAXTONS. - 307 
 
 For Ellinor, poor and portionless in spite of her rank, 
 I could have worked, striven, slaved ; but Ellinor EICH ! 
 it would have crushed me. This was a comfort. But 
 still, still the past that perpetual aching sense of 
 something that had seemed the essential of life with- 
 drawn from life, evermore, evermore ! What was left 
 was not sorrow it was a void. Had I lived more with 
 men, and less with dreams and books, I should have 
 made my nature large enough to bear the loss of a single 
 passion. But in solitude we shrink up. No plant so 
 much as man needs the sun and the air. I comprehend 
 now why most of our best and wisest men have lived 
 in capitals; and therefore again I say, that one scholar 
 in a family is enough. Confiding in your sound heart 
 and strong honour, I turn you thus betimes on the 
 world. Have I done wrong ] Prove that I have not, 
 my child. Do you know what a very good man has 
 said 1 Listen, and follow my precept, not example. 
 
 " ' The state of the world is such, and so much de- 
 pends on action, that everything seems to say aloud to 
 every man, Do something do it do it ! ' " * 
 
 I was profoundly touched, and I rose refreshed and 
 hopeful, when suddenly the door opened, and who or 
 what in the world should come in ; but certainly he, 
 she, it, or they, shall not come into this chapter ! On 
 that point I am resolved. No, my dear young lady, I 
 am extremely flattered ; I feel for your curiosity ; but 
 really not a peep not one ! And yet well then, if 
 
 * Remains of the Rev. Richard Cecil, p. 349.
 
 308 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 you will have it, and look so coaxingly who or what, 
 I say, should come in abrupt, unexpected taking away 
 one's .breath, not giving one time to say " By your leave, 
 or with your leave," but making one's mouth stand 
 open with surprise, and one's eyes fix in a big round 
 stupid stare, but 
 
 THE END OF THE CHAPTER.
 
 PART EIGHTH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THERE entered, in the front drawing-room of my 
 father's house in Russell Street an Elf ! ! ! clad in 
 white, small, delicate, with curls of jet over her 
 shoulders; with eyes so large and so lustrous that 
 they shone through the room, as no eyes merely human 
 could possibly shine. The Elf approached, and stood 
 facing us. The sight was so unexpected, and the appa- 
 rition so strange, that we remained for some moments 
 in startled silence. At length my father, as the bolder 
 and wiser man of the two, and the more fitted to deal 
 with the eerie things of another world, had the audacity 
 to step close up to the little creature, and, bending 
 down to examine its face, said, " What do you want, 
 my pretty child *? " 
 
 Pretty child ! was it only a pretty child after all 1 
 Alas, it would be well if all we mistake for fairies at the 
 first glance could resolve themselves only into pretty 
 children !
 
 310 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 " Come," answered the child, with a foreign accent, 
 and taking my father by the lappet of his coat, " come, 
 poor papa is so ill ! I am frightened ! come and save 
 him." 
 
 " Certainly," exclaimed my father, quickly : " where's 
 my hat, Sisty? Certainly, my child, we will go and 
 save papa." 
 
 " But who is papa 1 " asked Pisistratus a question 
 that would never have occurred to my father. He never 
 asked who or what the sick papas of poor children were, 
 when the children pulled him by the lappet of his coat 
 " Who is papa ?" 
 
 The child looked hard at me, and the big tears rolled 
 from those large luminous eyes, but quite silently. At 
 this moment a full-grown figure filled up the threshold, 
 and, emerging from the shadow, presented to us the 
 aspect of a stout well-favoured young woman. She 
 dropped a curtsy, and then said, mincingly, 
 
 " Oh, miss, you ought to have waited for me, and 
 not alarmed the gentlefolks by running up-stairs in that 
 way. If you please, sir, I was settling with the cab- 
 man, and he was so imperent : them low fellows always 
 are, when they have only us poor women to deal with, 
 sir and ' ' 
 
 " But what is the matter ? " cried I, for my father 
 had taken the child in his arms, soothingly, and she 
 was now weeping on his breast. 
 
 " Why, you see, sir (another curtsy), the gent only 
 arrived last night at our hotel, sir the Lamb, close by 
 Lunnun Bridge and he was taken ill and he's not
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 311 
 
 quite in his right mind like : so we sent for the doctor, 
 and the doctor looked at the brass plate on the gent's 
 carpet-bag, sir and he then looked into the Court 
 Guide, and he said, ' There is a Mr Caxton in Great 
 Russell Street, is he any relation ? ' and this young 
 lady said, ' That's my papa's brother, and we were going 
 there.' And so, sir, as the Boots was out, I got into a 
 cab, and miss would come with me, and " 
 
 " Roland Roland ill ! Quick quick, quick ! " 
 cried my father, and, with the child still in his arms, 
 he ran down the stairs. I followed with his hat, 
 which of course he had forgotten. A cab, by good 
 luck, was passing our very door ; but the chambermaid 
 would not let us enter it till she had satisfied herself 
 that it was not the same she had dismissed. This pre- 
 liminary investigation completed, we entered, and drove 
 to the Lamb. 
 
 The chambermaid, who sate opposite, passed the 
 time in ineffectual overtures to relieve my father of 
 the little girl, who still clung nestling to his breast, 
 in a long epic, much broken into episodes, of the causes 
 which had led to her dismissal of the late cabman, 
 who, to swell his fare, had thought proper to take a 
 " circumbendibus ! " and with occasional tugs at her 
 cap, and smoothings down of her gown, and apologies 
 for being such a figure, especially when her eyes rested 
 on my satin cravat, or drooped on my shining boots. 
 
 Arrived at the Lamb, the chambermaid, with con- 
 scious dignity, led us up a large staircase, which 
 seemed interminable. As she mounted the region
 
 312 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 above the third story, she paused to take breath, and 
 inform us, apologetically, that the house was full, but 
 that, if the " gent " stayed over Friday, he would be 
 moved into No. 54, " with a look-out and a chimbly." 
 My little cousin now slipped from my father's arms, 
 and, running up the stairs, beckoned to us to follow. 
 We did so, and were led to a door, at which the child 
 stopped and listened ; then, taking off her shoes, she 
 stole in on tiptoe. "We entered after her. 
 
 By the light of a single candle we saw my poor 
 uncle's face ; it was flushed with fever, and the eyes 
 had that bright vacant stare which it is so terrible to 
 meet. Less terrible is it to find the body wasted, the 
 features sharp with the great life-struggle, than to look 
 on the face from which the mind is gone, the eyes in 
 which there is no recognition. Such a sight is a start- 
 ling shock to that unconscious habitual materialism 
 with which we are apt familiarly to regard those we 
 love : for, in thus missing the mind, the heart, the 
 affection that sprang to ours, we are suddenly made 
 aware that it was the something within the form, and 
 not the form itself, that was so dear to us. The form 
 itself is still, perhaps, little altered ; but that lip which 
 smiles no welcome, that eye which wanders over us as 
 strangers, that ear which distinguishes no more our 
 voices, the friend we sought is not there ! Even our 
 own love is chilled back grows a kind of vague super- 
 stitious terror. Yes, it was not the matter, still pre- 
 sent to us, which had conciliated all those subtle name- 
 less sentiments which are classed and fused in the word
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 313 
 
 " affection". it was the airy, intangible, electric some- 
 thing, the absence of which now appals us. 
 
 I stood speechless my father crept on, and took the 
 hand that returned no pressure : The child only did 
 not seem to share our emotions, but, clambering on the 
 bed, laid her cheek on the breast, and was still. 
 
 " Pisistratus," whispered my father at last, and I 
 stole near, hushing my breath, " Pisistratus, if your 
 mother were here ! " 
 
 I nodded : the same thought had struck us both. 
 His deep wisdom, my active youth, both felt their 
 nothingness then and there. In the sick chamber, 
 both turned helplessly to miss the woman. 
 
 So I stole out, descended the stairs, and stood in the 
 open air in a sort of stunned amaze. Then the tramp 
 of feet, and the roll of wheels, and the great London 
 roar, revived me. That contagion of practical life which 
 lulls the heart and stimulates the brain, what an in- 
 tellectual mystery there is in its common atmosphere ! 
 In another moment I had singled out, like an inspira- 
 tion, from a long file of those ministrants of our Trivia, 
 the cab of the lightest shape and with the strongest 
 horse, and was on my way, not to my mother's, but to 
 
 Dr M H , Manchester Square, whom I knew 
 
 as the medical adviser to the Trevanions. Fortunately, 
 that kind and able physician was at home, and he pro- 
 mised to be with the sufferer before I myself could join 
 him. I then drove to Eussell Street, and broke to my 
 mother, as cautiously as I could, the intelligence with 
 which I was charged.
 
 314 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 When we arrived at the Lamb, we found the doctor 
 already writing his prescription and injunctions : the 
 activity of the treatment announced the danger. I 
 flew for the surgeon who had been before called in. 
 Happy those who are strange to that indescribable 
 silent bustle which the sick-room at times presents 
 that conflict which seems almost hand to hand between 
 life and death when all the poor, unresisting, uncon- 
 scious frame is given up to the war against its terrible 
 enemy ; the dark blood flowing flowing ; the hand 
 on the pulse, the hushed suspense, every look on the 
 physician's bended brow ; then the sinaplasms to the 
 feet and the ice to the head ; and now and then, 
 through the lull of the low whispers, the incoherent 
 voice of the sufferer babbling, perhaps, of green fields 
 and fairyland, while your hearts are breaking ! Then, 
 at length, the sleep in that sleep, perhaps, the crisis 
 the breathless watch, the slow waking, the first sane 
 words the old smile again, only fainter your gush- 
 ing tears, your low " Thank God ! thank God ! " 
 
 Picture all this ; it is past : Roland has spoken 
 his sense has returned my mother is leaning over 
 him his child's small hands are clasped round his 
 neck the surgeon, who has been there six hours, has 
 taken up his hat, and smiles gaily as he nods farewell 
 and my father is leaning against the wall, his face 
 covered with his hands.
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 ALL this had been so sudden that, to use the trite 
 phrase for no other is so expressive it was like a 
 dream. I felt an absolute, an imperious want of soli- 
 tude, of the open air. The swell of gratitude almost 
 stifled me the room did not seem large enough for my 
 big heart. In early youth, if we find it difficult to 
 control our feelings, so we find it difficult to vent them 
 in the presence of others. On the spring side of twenty, 
 if anything affects us, we rush to lock ourselves up in 
 our room, or get away into the streets or fields ; in our 
 earlier years we are still the savages of Nature, and we 
 do as the poor brute does, the wounded stag leaves 
 the herd, and if there is anything on a dog's faithful 
 heart, he slinks away into a corner. 
 
 Accordingly, I stole out of the hotel, and wandered 
 through the streets, which were quite deserted. It was 
 about the first hour of dawn, the most comfortless hour 
 there is, especially in London ! But I only felt fresh- 
 ness in the raw air, and soothing in the desolate still- 
 ness. The love my uncle inspired was very remarkable 
 in its nature : it was not like that quiet affection with 
 which those advanced in life must usually content
 
 316 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 themselves, "but connected with, the more vivid interest 
 that youth awakens. There was in him still so much 
 of vivacity and fire, in his errors and crotchets so much 
 of the self-delusion of youth, that one could scarce fancy 
 him other than young. Those Quixotic exaggerated 
 notions of honour, that romance of sentiment, which 
 no hardship, care, grief, disappointment, could wear 
 away (singular in a period when, at two-and-twenty, 
 young men declare themselves biases /) seemed to leave 
 him all the charm of boyhood. A season in London 
 had made me more a man of the world, older in heart 
 than he was. Then, the sorrow that gnawed him with 
 such silent sternness. No, Captain Roland Avas one of 
 those men who seize hold of your thoughts, who mix 
 themselves up with your lives. The idea that Roland 
 should die die with the load at his heart unlightened, 
 was one that seemed to take a spring out of the wheels 
 of nature, an object out of the aims of life of my life 
 at least. For I had made it one of the ends of my 
 existence to bring back the son to the father, and 
 restore the smile that must have been gay once to the 
 downward curve of that iron lip. But Roland was 
 now out of danger, and yet, like one who has escaped 
 shipwreck, I trembled to look back on the danger past ; 
 the voice of the devouring deep still boomed in my ears. 
 While rapt in my reveries, I stopped mechanically to 
 hear a clock strike four ; and, looking round, I per- 
 ceived that I had wandered from the heart of the City, 
 and was in one of the streets that lead out of the Strand. 
 Immediately before me, on the doorsteps of a large shop,
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 317 
 
 whose closed shutters wore as obstinate a stillness as if 
 they had guarded the secrets of seventeen centuries in 
 a street in Pompeii, reclined a form fast asleep ; the 
 arm propped on the hard stone supporting the head, 
 and the limbs imeasily strewn over the stairs. The 
 dress of the slumberer was travel-stained, tattered, yet 
 with the remains of a certain pretence : an air of faded, 
 shabby, penniless gentility made poverty more painful, 
 because it seemed to indicate unfitness to grapple with 
 it. The face of this person was hollow and pale, but 
 its expression, even in sleep, was fierce and hard. I 
 drew near and nearer ; I recognised the countenance, 
 the regular features, the raven hair, even a peculiar 
 gracefulness of posture : the young man whom I had 
 met at the inn by the way-side, and who had left me 
 alone with the Savoyard and his mice in the church- 
 yard, was before me. I remained behind the shadow 
 of one of the columns of the porch, leaning against the 
 area rails, and irresolute whether or not so slight an 
 acquaintance justified me in waking the sleeper, when 
 a policeman, suddenly emerging from an angle in the 
 street, terminated my deliberations with the decision of 
 his practical profession ; for he laid hold of the young 
 man's arm and shook it roughly, " You must not lie 
 here ; get up and go home ! " The sleeper woke with 
 a quick start, rubbed his eyes, looked round, and fixed 
 them upon the policeman so haughtily, that that dis- 
 criminating functionary probably thought that it was 
 not from sheer necessity that so improper a couch had 
 been selected, and, with an air of greater respect, he said,
 
 318 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 " You have been drinking, young man, can you find 
 your way home i " 
 
 " Yes," said the youth, resettling himself, " you see 
 I have found it ! " 
 
 " By the Lord Harry ! " muttered the policeman, "if 
 he ben't going to sleep again ! Come, come, walk on, 
 or I must walk you off." 
 
 My old acquaintance turned round. "Policeman," 
 said he, with a strange sort of smile, " what do you 
 think this lodging is worth 1 I don't say for the night, 
 for you see that is over, but for the next two hours 1 
 The lodging is primitive, but it suits me ; I should 
 think a shilling would be a fair price for it eh 1 " 
 
 " You love your joke, sir," said the policeman, with a 
 brow much relaxed, and opening his hand mechanically. 
 
 " Say a shilling, then it is a bargain ! I hire it of 
 you upon credit. Good-night, and call me at six 
 o'clock." 
 
 With that the young man settled himself so reso- 
 lutely, and the policeman's face exhibited such bewil- 
 derment, that I burst out laughing, and came from my 
 hiding-place. 
 
 The policeman looked at me. "Do you know this 
 this " 
 
 " This gentleman 1 " said I, gravely. " Yes, you may 
 leave him to me ; and I slipped the price of the lodging 
 into the policeman's hand. He looked at the shilling 
 he looked at me he looked up the street and down 
 the street shook his head, and walked off. I then ap- 
 proached tlie youth, touched him, and said " Can you
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 319 
 
 remember me, sir ; and what have you done with Mr 
 Peacock 1 " 
 
 STRANGER (after a pause). " I remember you ; your 
 name is Caxton." 
 
 PISISTRATUS. " And yours ? " 
 
 STRANGER. " Poor devil, if you ask my pockets 
 pockets, which are the symbols of man ; Dare-devil, if 
 you ask my heart. (Surveying me from head to foot.) 
 The world seems to have smiled on you, Mr Caxton ! 
 Are you not ashamed to speak to a wretch lying on the 
 stones 1 but, to be sure, no one sees you." 
 
 PISISTRATUS (sententiously). " Had I lived in the 
 last century, I might have found Samuel Johnson 
 lying on the stones." 
 
 STRANGER (rising). " You have spoilt my sleep ; 
 you had a right, since you paid for the lodging. Let 
 me walk with you a few paces ; you need not fear I 
 do not pick pockets yet ! " 
 
 PISISTRATUS. "You say the world has smiled on 
 me ; I fear it has frowned on you. I don't say ' cou- 
 rage,' for you seem to have enough of that ; but I say 
 ' patience,' which is the rarer quality of the two." 
 
 STRANGER. " Hem ! " (again looking at me keenly). 
 " "Why is it that you stop to speak to me one of whom 
 you know nothing, or worse than nothing ? " 
 
 PISISTRATUS. " Because I have often thought of 
 you ; because you interest me ; because pardon me 
 I would help you if I can that is, if you want help." 
 
 STRANGER. " Want ! I am one want ! I want 
 sleep I want food : I want the patience you recom-
 
 320 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 mend patience to starve and rot. I have travelled 
 from Paris to Boulogne on foot, with twelve sous in my 
 pocket. Out of those twelve sous in my pocket I saved 
 four ; with the four I went to a billiard-room at Bou- 
 logne ; I won just enough to pay my passage and buy 
 three rolls. You see I only require capital in order to 
 make a fortune. If with four sous I can win ten 
 francs in a night, what could I win with a capital of 
 four sovereigns, and in the course of a year 1 that is 
 an application of the Rule of Three which my head 
 aches too much to calculate just at present. Well, 
 those three rolls have lasted me three days ; the last 
 crumb went for supper last night. Therefore, take 
 care how you offer me money (for that is what men 
 mean by help). You see I have no option but to take 
 it. But I warn you, don't expect gratitude ! I have 
 none in me ! " 
 
 PISISTRATUS. "You are not so bad as you paint 
 yourself. I would do something more for you if I can, 
 than lend you the little I have to offer. Will you be 
 frank with me ? " 
 
 STRANGER. "That depends I have been frank 
 enough hitherto, I think." 
 
 PISISTRATUS. " True ; so I proceed without scruple. 
 Don't tell me your name or your condition, if you 
 object to such confidence ; but tell me if you have 
 relations to whom you can apply? You shake your 
 head : well, then, are you willing to work for your- 
 self? or is it only at the billiard- table (pardon me) 
 that you can try to make four sous produce ten francs ? "
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 321 
 
 STRANGER (musing). " I understand you. I have 
 never worked yet I abhor work. But I have no 
 objection to try if it is in me." 
 
 PISISTRATUS. " It is in you : a man who can walk 
 from Paris to Boulogne with twelve sous in his pocket, 
 and save four for a purpose who can stake those four 
 on the cool confidence in his own skill, even, at billiards 
 who can subsist for three days on three rolls and 
 who, on the fourth day, can wake from the stones of a 
 capital with an eye and a spirit as proud as yours, has 
 in him all the requisites to subdue fortune." 
 STRANGER. " Do you work ? you 1 " 
 PISISTRATUS. " Yes and hard." 
 STRANGER. " I am ready to work, then." 
 PISISTRATUS. " Good. Now, what can you do ? " 
 STRANGER (with his odd smile). " Many things 
 useful. I can split a bullet on a penknife ; I know 
 the secret tierce of Coulon, the fencing-master ; I can 
 speak two languages (besides English) like a native, 
 even to their slang : I know every game in the cards : 
 I can act comedy, tragedy, farce : I can drink down 
 Bacchus himself : I can make any woman I please in 
 love with me that is, any woman good-for-nothing. 
 Can I earn a handsome livelihood out of all this wear 
 kid gloves, and set up a cabriolet ? You see my wishes 
 are modest ! " 
 
 PISISTRATUS. " You speak two languages, you say, 
 like a native French, I suppose, is one of them *? " 
 STRANGER. " Yes." 
 
 VOL. i. x
 
 322 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 PISISTRATUS. " Will you teach it 1 " 
 
 STRANGER (haughtily). " No. Je suis gentilhomme, 
 which means more or less than a gentleman. Gentil- 
 homme means well born, because free born teachers 
 are slaves ! " 
 
 PISISTRATUS (unconsciously imitating Mr Trevanion). 
 "Stuff!" 
 
 STRANGER (looks angry, and then laughs). " Very 
 true ; stilts don't suit shoes like these ! But I cannot 
 teach : heaven help those / should teach ! anything 
 else ? " 
 
 PISISTRATUS. " Anything else ! you leave me a 
 wide margin. You know French thoroughly to write 
 as well as speak? that is much. Give me some 
 address where I can find you or will you call on 
 me?" 
 
 STRANGER. "No! Any evening at dusk I will 
 meet you. I have no address to give ; and I cannot 
 show these rags at another man's door." 
 
 PISISTRATUS. "At nine in the evening, then, and 
 here in the Strand, on Thursday next. I may then 
 have found something that will suit you. Mean- 
 while " (slides his purse into the Stranger's hand. 
 N.B. Purse not very full). 
 
 Stranger, with the air of one conferring a favour, 
 pockets the purse ; and there is something so striking 
 in the very absence of all emotion at so accidental a 
 rescue from starvation, that Pisistratus exclaims 
 
 " I don't know why I should have taken this fancy 
 to you, Mr Daredevil, if that be the name that pleases
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 323 
 
 you best. The wood you are made of seems cross- 
 grained, and full of knots ; and yet, in the hands of a 
 skilful carver, I think it would be worth much." 
 
 STRANGER (startled). " Do you? do you? None, I 
 believe, ever thought that before. But the same wood, 
 I suppose, that makes the gibbet, could make the 
 mast of a man-of-war. I tell you, however, why you 
 have taken this fancy to me the strong sympathise 
 with the strong. You, too, could subdue fortune ! " 
 
 PISISTRATUS. " Stop ; if so if there is congeniality 
 between us ; then liking should be reciprocal. Come, 
 say that ; for half my chance of helping you is in my 
 power to touch your heart." 
 
 STRANGER (evidently softened). " If I were as great 
 a rogue as I ought to be, my answer would be easy 
 enough. As it is, I delay it. Adieu. On Thursday." 
 
 Stranger vanishes in the labyrinth of alleys round 
 Leicester Square.
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 ON my return to The Lamb, I found that my uncle 
 was in a soft sleep ; and after a morning visit from the 
 surgeon, and his assurance that the fever was fast sub- 
 siding, and all cause for alarm was gone, I thought it 
 necessary to go back to Trevanion's house, and explain 
 the reason for my night's absence. But the family 
 had not returned from the country. Trevanion him- 
 self came up for a few hours in the afternoon, and 
 seemed to feel much for my poor uncle's illness. 
 Though, as usual, very busy, he accompanied me to 
 The Lamb, to see my father, and cheer him up. 
 Eoland still continued to mend, as the surgeon phrased 
 it ; and as we went back to St James's Square, Tre- 
 vanion had the consideration to release me from my 
 oar in his galley for the next few days. My mind, 
 relieved from my anxiety for Roland, now turned to 
 my new friend. It had not been without an object 
 that I had questioned the young man as to his know- 
 ledge of French. Trevanion had a large correspon- 
 dence in foreign countries which was carried on in that 
 language, and here I could be but of little help to him. 
 He himself, though he spoke and wrote French with 
 fluency and grammatical correctness, wanted that inti-
 
 THE CAXTONS. 325 
 
 mate knowledge of the most delicate and diplomatic 
 of all languages to satisfy his classical purism. For 
 Trevanion was a terrible word-weigher. His taste was 
 the plague of my life and his own. His prepared 
 speeches (or rather perorations) were the most finished 
 pieces of cold diction that could be conceived under 
 the marble portico of the Stoics, so filed and turned, 
 trimmed and tamed, that they never admitted a sen- 
 tence that could warm the heart, or one that could 
 offend the ear. He had so great a horror of a vulgar- 
 ism that, like Canning, he would have made a peri- 
 phrasis of a couple of lines to avoid using the word 
 "cat." It was only in extempore speaking that a ray 
 of his real genius could indiscreetly betray itself. One 
 may judge what labour such a super-refinement of taste 
 would inflict upon a man writing in a language not his 
 own to some distinguished statesman, or some literary 
 institution, knowing that language just well enough 
 to recognise all the native elegancies he failed to attain. 
 Trevanion, at that very moment, was employed upon a 
 statistical document intended as a communication to a 
 Society at Copenhagen, of which he was an honorary 
 member. It had been for three weeks the torment of 
 the whole house, especially of poor Fanny (whose 
 French was the best at our joint disposal). But Tre- 
 vanion had found her phraseology too mincing, too 
 effeminate, too much that of the boudoir. Here, then, 
 was an opportunity to introduce my new friend, and 
 test the capacities that I fancied he possessed. I 
 therefore, though with some hesitation, led the subject
 
 326 , THE CAXTONS : 
 
 to "Remarks on the Mineral Treasures of Great Britain 
 and Ireland" (such, was the title of the work intended 
 to enlighten the savans of Denmark) ; and, by certain 
 ingenious circumlocutions, known to all able appli- 
 cants, I introduced my acquaintance with a young 
 gentleman who possessed the most familiar and inti- 
 mate knowledge of French, and who might be of use 
 in revising the manuscript. I knew enough of Tre- 
 vanion to feel that I could not reveal the circumstances 
 under which I had formed that acquaintance, for he 
 was much too practical a man not to have been fright- 
 ened out of his wits at the idea of submitting so classi- 
 cal a performance to so disreputable a scapegrace. As 
 it was, however, Trevanion, whose mind at that 
 moment was full of a thousand other things, caught at 
 my suggestion, with very little cross-questioning on 
 the subject, and before he left London, consigned the 
 manuscript to my charge. 
 
 " My friend is poor," said I, timidly. 
 
 "Oh! as to that," cried Trevanion hastily, "if it 
 be a matter of charity, I put my purse in your hands ; 
 but don't put my manuscript in his ! If it be a matter 
 of business, it is another affair ; and I must judge of 
 his work before I can say how much it is worth per- 
 haps nothing !" 
 
 So ungracious was this excellent man in his very vir- 
 tues ! 
 
 " Nay," said I, " it is a matter of biisiness, and so 
 we will consider it." 
 
 "In that case," said Trevanion, concluding the mat-
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 327 
 
 ter, and buttoning his pockets, " if I dislike his work, 
 nothing ; if I like it, twenty guineas. Where are the 
 evening papers ? " and in another moment the Member 
 of Parliament had forgotten the statist, and was pish- 
 ing and tutting over the Globe or the Sun. 
 
 On Thursday, my uncle was well enough to be 
 moved into our house ; and on the same evening, I 
 went forth to keep rny appointment with the stranger. 
 The clock struck nine as we met. The palm of punc- 
 tuality might be divided between us. He had profited 
 by the interval, since our last meeting, to repair the 
 more obvious deficiencies of his wardrobe ; and though 
 there was something still wild, dissolute, outlandish, 
 about his whole appearance, yet in the elastic energy 
 of his step, and the resolute assurance of his bearing, 
 there was that which .Nature gives to her own aristo- 
 cracy, for, as far as my observation goes, what has 
 been called the "grand air" (and which is wholly dis- 
 tinct from the polish of manner, or the urbane grace 
 of high breeding) is always accompanied, and perhaps 
 produced, by two qualities courage, and the desire of 
 command. It is more common to a half-savage nature 
 than to one wholly civilised. The Arab has it, so has 
 the American Indian : and I suspect that it was more 
 frequent among the knights and barons of the Middle 
 Ages than it is among the polished gentlemen of the 
 modern drawing-room. 
 
 "We shook hands, and walked on a few moments in 
 silence ; at length thus commenced the STRANGER, 
 
 " You have found it more difficult, I fear, than you
 
 328 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 imagined, to make the empty sack stand upright. Con- 
 sidering that at least one-third of those born to work 
 cannot find it, why should I ? " 
 
 PISISTEATUS. " I am hard-hearted enough to believe 
 that work never fails to those who seek it in good 
 earnest. It was said of some man, famous for keeping 
 his word, that, ' if he had promised you an acorn, and 
 all the oaks in England failed to produce one, he would 
 have sent to Norway for an acorn.' If I wanted work, 
 and there was none to be had in the Old "World, I 
 would find my way to the New. But, to the point : I 
 have found something for you, which I do not think 
 your taste will oppose, and which may open to you the 
 means of an honourable independence. But I cannot 
 well explain it in the streets : where shall we go 1 " 
 
 STRANGER (after some hesitation). " I have a lodging 
 near here, which I need not blush to take you to I 
 mean, that it is not among rogues and cast-away s." 
 
 PISISTRATUS (much pleased, and taking the stranger's 
 arm). " Come, then." 
 
 Pisistratus and the stranger pass over Waterloo 
 Bridge, and pause before a small house of respectable 
 appearance. Stranger admits them both with a latch- 
 key leads the way to the third story strikes a light, 
 and does the honours to a small chamber, clean and 
 orderly. Pisistratus explains the task to be done, and 
 opens the manuscript. The stranger draws his chair 
 deliberately towards the light, and runs his eye rapidly 
 over the pages. Pisistratus trembles to see him pause 
 before a long array of figures and calculations. Certainly
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 329 
 
 it does not look inviting ; but, pshaw ! it is scarcely a 
 part of the task which limits itself to the mere correc- 
 tion of words. 
 
 STRANGER (briefly). " There must be a mistake here 
 stay ! I see " (He turns back a few pages, and 
 corrects with rapid precision an error in a somewhat 
 complicated and abstruse calculation). 
 
 PISISTRATUS (surprised). " You seem a notable 
 arithmetician." 
 
 STRANGER. " Did I not tell you that I was skilful 
 in all games of mingled skill and chance ? It requires 
 an arithmetical head for that : a first-rate card-player 
 is a financier spoilt. I am certain that you never could 
 find a man fortunate on the turf, or at the gaming- 
 table, who had not an excellent head for figures. Well, 
 this French is good enough apparently; there are but 
 a few idioms, here and there, that, strictly speaking, 
 are more English than French. But the whole is a 
 work scarce worth paying for ! " 
 
 PISISTRATUS. " The work of the head fetches a price 
 not proportioned to the quantity, but the quality. 
 When shall I call for this ? " 
 
 STRANGER. " To-morrow." (And he puts the ma- 
 nuscript away in a drawer.) 
 
 We then conversed on various matters for nearly an 
 hour ; and my impression of this young man's natural 
 ability was confirmed and heightened. But it was an 
 ability as wrong and perverse in its directions or in- 
 stincts as a French novelist's. He seemed to have, to 
 a high degree, the harder portion of the reasoning
 
 330 THE CAXTOXS : 
 
 faculty, but to be almost wholly without that arch 
 beautifier of character, that sweet purifier of mere intel- 
 lect the imagination. For, though we are too much 
 taught to be on our guard against imagination, I hold 
 it, with Captain Roland, to be the divinest kind of 
 reason we possess, and the one that leads us the least 
 astray. In youth, indeed, it occasions errors, but they 
 are not of a sordid or debasing nature. Newton says 
 that one final effect of the comets is to recruit the seas 
 and the planets by a condensation of the vapours and 
 exhalations therein ; and so even the erratic flashes of 
 an imagination really healthful and vigorous deepen our 
 knowledge and brighten our lights ; they recruit our 
 seas and our stars. Of such flashes my new friend was 
 as innocent as the sternest matter-of-fact person could 
 desire. Fancies he had in profusion, and very bad ones : 
 but of imagination not a scintilla! His mind was one 
 of those which live in a prison of logic, and cannot, or 
 will not, see beyond the bars : such a nature is at once 
 positive and sceptical. This boy had thought proper to 
 decide at once on the numberless complexities of the 
 social world from his own harsh experience. With 
 him the whole system was a war and a cheat. If the 
 universe were entirely composed of knaves, he would 
 be sure to have made his way. Now this bias of mind, 
 alike shrewd and unamiable, might be safe enough if 
 accompanied by a lethargic temper ; but it threatened 
 to become terrible and dangerous in one who, in default 
 of imagination, possessed abundance of passion : and 
 this was the case with the young outcast. Passion, in
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 331 
 
 him, comprehended many of the worst emotions which 
 militate against human happiness. You could not con- 
 tradict him, but you raised quick choler ; you could not 
 speak of wealth, but the' cheek paled with gnawing 
 envy. The astonishing natural advantages of this poor 
 boy his beauty, his readiness, the daring spirit that 
 breathed around him. like a fiery atmosphere had 
 raised his constitutional self-confidence into an arro- 
 gance that turned his very claims to admiration into 
 prejudices against him. Irascible, envious, arrogant 
 bad enough, but not the worst, for these salient angles 
 were all varnished over with a cold repellant cynicism 
 Ms passions vented themselves in sneers. There seemed 
 in him no moral susceptibility ; and, what was more 
 remarkable in a proud nature, little or nothing of the 
 true point of honour. He had, to a morbid excess, that 
 desire to rise, which is vulgarly called ambition, but no 
 apparent wish for fame, or esteem, or the love of his 
 species ; only the hard wish to succeed, not shine, not 
 serve, succeed, that he might have the right to despise 
 a world which galled his self-conceit, and enjoy the plea- 
 sures which the redundant nervous life in him seemed 
 to crave. Such were the more patent attributes of a 
 character that, ominous as it was, yet interested me, and 
 yet appeared to me to be redeemable, nay, to have in 
 it the rude elements of a certain greatness. Ought we 
 not to make something great out of a youth under 
 twenty, who has, in the highest degree, quickness to 
 conceive and courage to execute 1 On the other hand, 
 all faculties that can make greatness, contain those that
 
 332 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 can attain goodness. In the savage Scandinavian, or the 
 ruthless Frank, lay the germs of a Sydney or a Bayard. 
 What would the best of us be, if we were suddenly 
 placed at war with the whole world 1 And this fierce 
 spirit was at war with the whole world a war self- 
 sought, perhaps, but it was war not the less. You must 
 surround the savage with peace, if you want the virtues 
 of peace. 
 
 I cannot say that it was in a single interview and 
 conference that I came to these convictions; but I am 
 rather summing up the impressions which I received as 
 I saw more of this person, whose destiny I presumed to 
 take under my charge. 
 
 In going away, I said, " But, at all events, you have 
 a name in your lodgings : whom am I to ask for when 
 I call to-morrow ] " 
 
 " Oh, you may know my name now/' said he, smiling : 
 " it is Vivian Francis Vivian."
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 I REMEMBER one morning, when a boy, loitering by an 
 old wall, to watch the operations of a garden spider, 
 whose web seemed to be in great request. When I 
 first stopped, she was engaged very quietly with a fly 
 of the domestic species, whom she managed with ease 
 and dignity. But just when she was most interested 
 in that absorbing employment, came a couple of May- 
 flies, and then a gnat, and then a blue-bottle, all at 
 different angles of the web. Never was a poor spider 
 so distracted by her good fortune ! She evidently did 
 not know which godsend to take first. The aboriginal 
 victim being released, she slid half-way towards the 
 May-flies ; then one of her eight eyes caught sight of 
 the blue-bottle ! and she shot off in that direction : 
 when the hum of the gnat again diverted her ; and in 
 the middle of this perplexity, pounce came a young 
 wasp in a violent passion ! Then the spider evidently 
 lost her presence of mind ; she became clean demented : 
 and after standing, stupid and stock-still, in the middle 
 of her meshes, for a minute or two, she ran off to her 
 hole as fast as she could run, and left her guests to 
 shift for themselves. I confess that I am somewhat in
 
 334 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 the dilemma of the attractive and amiable insect I have 
 just described. I got on well enough while I had only 
 my domestic fly to see after. But now that there is 
 something fluttering at every end of my net (and espe- 
 cially since the advent of that passionate young wasp, 
 who is fuming and buzzing in the nearest corner !) 
 I am fairly at a loss which I should first grapple with 
 and alas ! unlike the spider, I have no hole where I 
 can hide myself, and let the web do the weaver's work. 
 But I will imitate the spider as far as I can ; and while 
 the rest hum and struggle away their impatient, un- 
 noticed hour, I will retreat into the inner labyrinth of 
 my own life. 
 
 The illness of my uncle, and my renewed acquaint- 
 ance with Yivian, had naturally sufficed to draw my 
 thoughts from the rash and unpropitious love I had 
 conceived for Fanny Trevanion. During the absence 
 of the family from London (and they stayed some time 
 longer than had been expected), I had leisure, how- 
 ever, to recall my father's touching history, and the 
 moral it had so obviously preached to me ; and I 
 formed so many good resolutions, that it was with an 
 untrembling hand that I welcomed Miss Trevanion at 
 last to London, and with a firm heart that I avoided, 
 as much as possible, the 1 fatal charm of her society. 
 The slow convalescence of my uncle gave me a just 
 excuse to discontinue our rides. What time Trevanion 
 spared me, it was natural that I should spend with my 
 family. I went to no balls nor parties. I even ab- 
 sented myself from Trevanion's periodical dinners.
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 335 
 
 Miss Trevanion at first rallied me on my seclusion, 
 with her usual lively malice. But I continued wor- 
 thily to complete my martyrdom. I took care that no 
 reproachful look at the gaiety that wrung my soul 
 should betray my secret. Then Fanny seemed either 
 hurt or disdainful, and avoided altogether entering her 
 father's study ; all at once she changed her tactics, and 
 was seized with a strange desire for knowledge, which 
 brought her into the room to look for a book, or ask a 
 question, ten times a day. I was proof to all. But, 
 to speak truth, I was profoundly wretched. Looking 
 back now, I am dismayed at the remembrance of my 
 own sufferings ; my health became seriously affected ; 
 I dreaded alike the trial of the day and the anguish of 
 the night. My only distractions were in my visits to 
 Vivian, and my escape to the dear circle of home. 
 And that home was my safeguard and preservative in 
 that crisis of my life ; its atmosphere of unpretending 
 honour and serene virtue strengthened all my resolu- 
 tions ; it braced me for my struggles against the 
 strongest passion which youth admits, and counter- 
 acted the evil vapours of that air in which Vivian's 
 envenomed spirit breathed and moved. Without the 
 influence of such a home, if I had succeeded in the 
 conduct that probity enjoined towards those in whose 
 house I was a trusted guest, I do not think I could 
 have resisted the contagion of that malign and morbid 
 bitterness against fate and the world, which love, 
 thwarted by fortune, is too inclined of itself to con- 
 ceive, and in the expression of which Vivian was not
 
 336 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 without the eloquence which belongs to earnestness, 
 whether in truth or falsehood. But, somehow or 
 other, I never left the little room that contained the 
 grand suffering in the face of the veteran soldier, 
 whose lip, often quivering with anguish, was never 
 heard to murmur ; and the tranquil wisdom which 
 had succeeded my father's early trials (trials like my 
 own), and the loving smile on my mother's tender 
 face, and the innocent childhood of Blanche (by which 
 name the Elf had familiarised herself to us), whom 
 I already loved as a sister, without feeling that those 
 four walls contained enough to sweeten the world, 
 had it been filled to its capacious brim with gall and 
 hyssop. 
 
 Trevanion had been more than satisfied with Vivian's 
 performance he had been struck with it. For though 
 the corrections in the mere phraseology had been very 
 limited, they went beyond verbal amendments they 
 suggested such words as improved the thoughts ; and, 
 besides that notable correction of an arithmetical error, 
 which Trevanion's mind was formed to over-appreciate, 
 one or two brief annotations on the margin were boldly 
 hazarded, prompting some stronger link in a chain of 
 reasoning, or indicating the necessity for some further 
 evidence in the assertion of a statement. And all this 
 from the mere natural and naked logic of an acute mind, 
 unaided by the smallest knowledge of the subject 
 treated of ! Trevanion threw quite enough work into 
 Vivian's hands, and at a remuneration sufficiently 
 liberal to realise my promise of an independence. And
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 337 
 
 more than once he asked me to introduce to him my 
 friend. But this I continued to elude heaven knows, 
 not from jealousy, but simply because I feared that 
 Vivian's manner and way of talk would singularly dis- 
 please one who detested presumption, and understood 
 no eccentricities but his own. 
 
 Still, Vivian, whose industry was of a strong wing, 
 but only for short nights, had not enough to employ 
 more than a few hours of his day, and I dreaded lest 
 he should, from very idleness, fall back into old habits, 
 and re-seek old friendships. His cynical candour 
 allowed that both were sufficiently disreputable to jus- 
 tify grave apprehensions of such a result ; accordingly, 
 I contrived to find leisure in my evenings to lessen his 
 ennui, by accompanying him in rambles through the 
 gas-lit streets, or occasionally, for an hour or so, to one 
 of the theatres. 
 
 Vivian's first care, on finding himself rich enough, 
 had been bestowed on his person ; and those two facul- 
 ties of observation and imitation which minds so ready 
 always eminently possess, had enabled him to achieve 
 that graceful neatness of costume peculiar to the Eng- 
 lish gentleman. For the first few days of his meta- 
 morphosis, traces indeed of a constitutional love of 
 show, or vulgar companionship, were noticeable ; but 
 one by one they disappeared. First went a gaudy neck- 
 cloth, with collars turned down ; then a pair of spurs 
 vanished ; and lastly, a diabolical instrument that he 
 called a cane but which, by means of a running bullet, 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 338 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 could serve as a bludgeon at one end, and concealed a 
 dagger in the other subsided into the ordinary walk- 
 ing-stick adapted to our peaceable metropolis. A similar 
 change, though in a less degree, gradually took place in 
 his manner and his conversation. He grew less abrupt 
 in the one, and more calm, perhaps more cheerful, in 
 the other. It was evident that he was not insensible 
 to the elevated pleasure of providing for himself by 
 praiseworthy exertion of feeling for the first time that 
 his intellect was of use to him, creditably. A new 
 world, though still dim seen through mist and fog 
 began to dawn upon him. 
 
 Such is the vanity of us poor mortals, that my interest 
 in Vivian was probably increased, and my aversion to 
 much in him materially softened, by observing that I 
 had gained a sort of ascendancy over his savage nature. 
 When we had first met by the roadside, and afterwards 
 conversed in the churchyard, the ascendancy was cer- 
 tainly not on nay side. But I now came from a larger 
 sphere of society than that in which he had yet moved. 
 I had seen and listened to the first men in England. 
 What had then dazzled me only, now moved my pity. 
 On the other hand, his active mind could not but ob- 
 serve the change in me ; and, whether from envy or a 
 better feeling, he was willing to learn from me how to 
 eclipse me, and resume his earlier superiority not to 
 be superior chafed him. Thus he listened to me with 
 docility when I pointed out the books which connected 
 themselves with the various subjects incidental to the 
 miscellaneous matters on which he was employed.
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 339 
 
 Though he had less of the literary turn of mind than 
 any one equally clever I had ever met, and had read 
 little, considering the quantity of thought he had ac- 
 quired, and the show he made of the few works with 
 which he had voluntarily made himself familiar, he yet 
 resolutely sate himself down to study ; and though it 
 was clearly against the grain, I augured the more 
 favourably from tokens of a determination to do what 
 was at the present irksome for a purpose in the future. 
 Yet, whether I should have approved the purpose had 
 I thoroughly understood it, is another question ! There 
 were abysses, both in his past life and in his character, 
 which I could not penetrate. There was in him both 
 a reckless frankness and a vigilant reserve : his frank- 
 ness was apparent in his talk on all matters immediately 
 before us ; in the utter absence of all effort to make him- 
 self seem better than he was. His reserve was equally 
 shown in the ingenious evasion of every species of con- 
 fidence that could admit me into such secrets of his life 
 as he chose to conceal : where he had been born, reared, 
 and educated ; how he came to be thrown on his own 
 resources ; how he had contrived, how he had subsisted, 
 were all matters on which he had seemed to take an 
 oath to Harpocrates, the god of silence. And yet he 
 was full of anecdotes of what he had seen, of strange 
 companions whom he never named, but with whom he 
 had been thrown. And, to do him justice, I remarked 
 that, though his precocious experience seemed to have 
 been gathered from the holes and corners, the sewers 
 and drains of life, and though he seemed wholly without
 
 340 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 dislike to dishonesty, and to regard virtue or vice with 
 as serene an indifference as some grand poet who views 
 them both merely as ministrants to his art, yet he never 
 betrayed any positive breach of honesty in himself. He 
 could laugh over the story of some ingenious fraud that 
 he had witnessed, and seem insensible to its turpitude ; 
 but he spoke of it in the tone of an approving witness, 
 not of an actual accomplice. As we grew more intimate, 
 he felt gradually, however, that pudor, or instinctive 
 shame, which the contact with minds habituated to the 
 distinctions between wrong and right unconsciously 
 produces, and such stories ceased. He never but once 
 mentioned his family, and that was in the following odd 
 and abrupt manner : 
 
 " Ah ! " cried he one day, stopping suddenly before 
 a print-shop, " how that reminds me of my dear, dear 
 mother." 
 
 " Which 1 " said I eagerly, puzzled between an en- 
 graving of Raffaelle's "Madonna," and another of " The 
 Brigand's Wife." 
 
 Vivian did not satisfy my curiosity, but drew me on 
 in spite of my reluctance. 
 
 " You loved your mother, then 1 ?" said I, after a pause. 
 
 " Yes, as a whelp may a tigress." 
 
 " That's a strange comparison." 
 
 " Or a bull-dog may the prize-fighter, his master ! 
 Do you like that better ? " 
 
 " Not much ; is it a comparison your mother would 
 like 1 " 
 
 " Like 1 she is dead ! " said he rather falteringly.
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 341 
 
 I pressed his arm closer to mine. 
 
 " I understand you," said he, with his cynic repellant 
 smile. " But you do wrong to feel for my loss. I feel 
 for it but no one who cares for me should sympathise 
 with my grief." 
 
 " Why 1 " 
 
 " Because my mother was not what the world would 
 call a good woman. I did not love her the less for that. 
 And now let us change the subject." 
 
 " Nay ; since you have said so much, Vivian, let me 
 coax you to say on. Is not your father living I " 
 
 " Is not the Monument standing 1 " 
 
 " I suppose so ; what of that ? " 
 
 " Why, it matters very little to either of us ; and my 
 question answers yours ! " 
 
 I could not get on after this, and I never did get on 
 a step farther. I must own that if Vivian did not 
 impart his confidence liberally, neither did he seek con- 
 fidence inquisitively from me. He listened with interest 
 if I spoke of Trevanion (for I told him frankly of my 
 connection with that personage, though you may be 
 sure that I said nothing of Fanny), and of the brilliant 
 world that my residence with one so distinguished 
 opened to me. But if ever, in the fulness of my heart, 
 I began to speak of my parents, of my home, he evinced 
 either so impertinent an ennui, or assumed so chilling 
 a sneer, that I usually hurried away from him, as well 
 as the subject, in indignant disgust. Once especially, 
 when I asked him to let me introduce him to my father 
 a point on which I was really anxious, for I thought
 
 342 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 it impossible but that the devil within him would be 
 softened by that contact he said, with his low, scornful 
 laugh 
 
 " My dear Caxton, when I was a child, I was so 
 bored with ' Telemachus,' that, in order to endure it, I 
 turned it into travesty." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Are you not afraid that the same wicked disposition 
 might make a caricature of your Ulysses 1 " 
 
 I did not see Mr Vivian for three days after that 
 speech ; and I should not have seen him then, only we 
 met by accident, under the Colonnade of the Opera- 
 House. Vivian was leaning against one of the columns, 
 and watching the long procession which swept to the 
 only temple in vogue that Art has retained in the 
 English Babel. Coaches and chariots, blazoned with 
 arms and coronets cabriolets (the brougham had not 
 then replaced them) of sober hue, but exquisite appoint- 
 ment, with gigantic horses and pigmy "tigers," dashed 
 on, and rolled off before him. Fair women and gay 
 dresses, stars and ribbons the rank and the beauty of 
 the patrician world passed him by. And I could not 
 resist the compassion with which this lonely, friendless, 
 eager, discontented spirit inspired me gazing on that 
 gorgeous existence in which it fancied itself formed to 
 shine, with the ardour of desire and the despair of 
 exclusion. By one glimpse of that dark countenance, I 
 read what was passing within the yet darker heart. 
 The emotion might not be amiable, nor the thoughts 
 wise, yet were they unnatural ? I had experienced
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 343 
 
 something of them not at the sight of gay-dressed 
 people, of wealth and idleness, pleasure and fashion ; 
 but when, at the doors of Parliament, men who have 
 won noble names, and whose word had weight on the 
 destinies of glorious England, brushed heedlessly by to 
 their grand arena ; or when, amidst the holiday crowd 
 of ignoble pomp, I had heard the murmur of fame buzz 
 and gather round some lordly labourer in art or letters : 
 that contrast between glory so near, and yet so far, and 
 one's own obscurity, of course I had felt it who has 
 not 1 Alas ! many a youth not fated to be a Themis- 
 tocles, will yet feel that the trophies of a Miltiades will 
 not suffer him to sleep ! So I went up to Vivian and 
 laid my hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " Ah ! " said he, more gently than usual, " I am 
 glad to see you, and to apologise I offended you the 
 other day. But you would not get very gracious answers 
 from souls in purgatory if you talked to them of the 
 happiness of heaven. Never speak to me about homes 
 and fathers ! Enough ! I see you forgive me. Why 
 are you not going to the opera 1 You can 1" 
 
 " And you too, if you so please. A ticket is shame- 
 fully dear, to be sure ; still, if you are fond of music, 
 it is a luxury you can afford." 
 
 " Oh, you flatter me if you fancy the prudence of 
 saving withholds me ! I did go the other night, but I 
 shall not go again. Music ! when you go to the opera, 
 is it for the music 1 " 
 
 " Only partially, I own : the lights, the scene, the 
 pageant, attract me quite as much. But I do not think
 
 344 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 the opera a very profitable pleasure for either of us. 
 For rich idle people, I daresay, it may be as innocent 
 an amusement as any other, but I find it a sad ener- 
 vator." 
 
 "And I just the reverse a horrible stimulant! 
 Caxton, do you know that, ungracious as it will sound 
 to you, I am growing impatient of this ' honourable 
 independence ! ' What does it lead to 1 -board, 
 clothes, and lodging, can it ever bring me anything 
 more ? " 
 
 " At first, Vivian, you limited your aspirations to 
 kid gloves and a cabriolet : it has brought the kid 
 gloves already by-and-by it will bring the cabriolet ! " 
 
 " Our wishes grow by what they feed on. You live 
 in. the great world you can have excitement if you 
 please it I want excitement, I want the world, I 
 want room for my mind, man ! Do you understand 
 me 1 " 
 
 "Perfectly and sympathise with you, my poor 
 Yivian ; but it will all come. Patience, as I preached 
 to you while dawn rose so comfortless over the streets 
 of London. You are not losing time ; fill your mind ; 
 read, study, fit yourself for ambition. "Why wish to fly 
 till you have got your wings 1 Live in books now : 
 after all, they are splendid palaces, and open to us all, 
 rich and poor.". 
 
 " Books, books ! ah ! you are the son of a bookman. 
 It is not by books that men get on in the world, and 
 enjoy life in the meanwhile." 
 
 " I don't know that ; but, my good fellow, you want
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 345 
 
 to do both get on in the world as fast as labour can, 
 and enjoy life as pleasantly as indolence may. You 
 want to live like the butterfly, and yet have all the 
 honey of the bee ; and, what is the very deuce of the 
 whole, even as the butterfly, you ask every flower to 
 grow up in a moment j and, as a bee, the whole hive 
 must be stored in a quarter of an hour ! Patience, 
 patience, patience." 
 
 Vivian sighed a fierce sigh. " I suppose," said he, 
 after an unquiet pause, " that the vagrant and the out- 
 law are strong in me, for I long to run back to my old 
 existence, which was all action, and therefore allowed 
 no thought." 
 
 While he thus said, we had wandered round the 
 Colonnade, and were in that narrow passage in which 
 is situated the more private entrance to the opera : 
 close by the doors of that entrance, two or three young 
 men were lounging. As Vivian ceased, the voice of one 
 of these loungers came laughingly to our ears. 
 
 " Oh ! " it said, apparently in answer to some ques- 
 tion, " I have a much quicker way to fortune than that ; 
 I mean to marry an heiress ! " 
 
 Vivian started, and looked at the speaker. He was 
 a very good-looking fellow. Vivian continued to look 
 at him, and deliberately, from head to foot ; he then 
 turned away with a satisfied and thoughtful smile. 
 
 " Certainly," said I, gravely (construing the smile), 
 " you are right there ; you are even better-looking than 
 that heiress-hunter ! " 
 
 Vivian coloured ; but before he could answer, one
 
 346 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 of the loungers, as the group recovered from the gay 
 kugh which their companion's easy coxcombry had 
 excited, said, 
 
 " Then, by the way, if you want an heiress, here 
 comes one of the greatest in England ; but instead of 
 being a younger son, with three good lives between you 
 and an Irish peerage, one ought to be an earl at least 
 to aspire to Fanny Trevanion ! " 
 
 The name thrilled through me I felt myself tremble ; 
 and, looking up, I saw Lady Ellinor and Miss Trevan- 
 ion, as they hurried from their carriage towards the 
 entrance of the opera. They both recognised nie, and 
 Fanny cried, 
 
 "You here ! How fortunate ! You must see us 
 into the box, even if you run away the moment after." 
 
 " But I am not dressed for the opera," said I, em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 " And why not 1 " asked Miss Trevanion ; then, 
 dropping her voice, she added, " Why do you desert us 
 so wilfully ? " and, leaning her hand on my arm, I 
 was drawn irresistibly into the lobby. The young 
 loungers at the door made way for us, and eyed me, no 
 doubt, with envy. 
 
 " Kay ! " said I, affecting to laugh, as I saw Miss 
 Trevanion waited for my reply. " You forget how 
 little time I have for such amusements now and my 
 uncle " 
 
 " Oh, but mamma and I have been to see your uncle 
 to-day, and he is nearly well is he not, mamma 1 I 
 cannot tell you how I like and admire him. He is
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 347 
 
 just what I fancy a Douglas of the old day. But 
 mamma is impatient. Well you must dine with us to- 
 morrow promise ! not adieu but au revoir" and 
 Tanny glided to her mother's arm. Lady Ellinor, 
 always kind and courteous to me, had good-naturedly 
 lingered till this dialogue, or rather monologue, was over. 
 
 On returning to the passage, I found Vivian walking 
 to and fro ; he had lighted his cigar, and was smoking 
 energetically. 
 
 " So this great heiress," said he, smiling, " who, as 
 far as I could see under her hood seems no less fair 
 than rich, is the daughter, I presume, of the Mr Tre- 
 vanion, whose effusions you so kindly submit to me. 
 He is very rich, then 1 You never said so, yet I ought 
 to have known it : but you see I know nothing of your 
 beau monde not even that Miss Trevanion is one of 
 the greatest heiresses in England." 
 
 "Yes, Mr Trevanion is rich;" said I, repressing a 
 sigh "very rich." 
 
 " And you are his secretary ! My dear friend, you 
 may well offer me patience, for a large stock of yours 
 will, I hope, be superfluous to you." 
 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 "Yet you heard that young gentleman, as well as 
 myself; and you are in the same house as the heiress." 
 
 "Vivian!" 
 
 "Well, what have I said so monstrous?" 
 
 " Pooh ! since you refer to that young gentleman, you 
 heard, too, what his companion told him, ' one ought 
 to be an Earl, at least, to aspire to Fanny Trevanion ! ' "
 
 348 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 "Tut ! as well say that one ought to be a million- 
 aire to aspire to a million ! yet I believe those who 
 make millions generally begin with pence." 
 
 "That belief should be a comfort and encouragement to 
 you, Vivian. And now, good-night, I have much to do. " 
 
 " Good-night, then," said Vivian, and we parted. 
 
 I made my way to Mr Trevanion's house, and to the 
 study. There was a formidable arrear of business 
 waiting for me, and I sate down to it at first reso- 
 lutely ; but by degrees I found my thoughts wander- 
 ing from the eternal blue-books, and the pen slipped 
 from my hand, in the midst of an extract from a 
 Report on Sierra Leone. My pulse beat loud and 
 quick ; I was in that state of nervous fever which only 
 emotion can occasion. The sweet voice of Fanny rang 
 in my ears ; her eyes, as I had last met them, un- 
 usually gentle almost beseeching gazed upon me 
 wherever I turned : and then, as in mockery, I heard 
 again those words, "One ought to be an earl, at least, 
 to aspire to" Oh ! did I aspire? Was I vain fool so 
 frantic 1 household traitor so consummate ? No, no ! 
 Then what did I under the same roof? why stay to 
 imbibe this sweet poison, that was corroding the very 
 springs of my life ? At that self-question, which, had 
 I been but a year or two older, I should have asked 
 long before, a mortal terror seized me ; the blood 
 rushed from my heart, and left me cold icy cold. To 
 leave the house leave Fanny ! never again to see 
 those eyes never to hear that voice ! better die of the 
 sweet poison than of the desolate exile ! I rose I
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 349 
 
 opened the windows I walked to and fro the room : 
 I could decide nothing think of nothing ; all my mind 
 was in an uproar. With a violent effort at self-mas- 
 tery, I approached the table again. I resolved to force 
 myself to my task, if it were only to re-collect my 
 faculties, and enable them to bear my own torture. I 
 turned over the books impatiently, when, lo ! buried 
 amongst them, what met my eye ? archly, yet re- 
 proachfully the face of Fanny herself ! Her minia- 
 ture was there. It had been, I knew, taken a few 
 days before by a young artist whom Trevanion patron- 
 ised. I suppose he had carried it into his study to 
 examine it, and so left it there carelessly. The painter 
 had seized her peculiar expression, her ineffable smile 
 so charming, so malicious ; even her favourite pos- 
 ture the small head turned over the rounded Hebe- 
 like shoulder the eye glancing up from under the 
 hair. I know not what change in my madness came 
 over me ; but I sank on my knees, and, kissing the 
 miniature again and again, burst into tears. Such 
 tears ! I did not hear the door open I did not see 
 the shadow steal over the floor : a light hand rested 
 on my shoulder, trembling as it rested I started. 
 Fanny herself was bending over me ! 
 
 "What is the matter 1 " she asked, tenderly. "What 
 has happened 1 your uncle your family all well ] 
 Why are you weeping 1 " 
 
 I could not answer ; but I kept my hands clasped 
 over the miniature, that she might not see what they 
 contained.
 
 350 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 " Will you not answer 1 Am I not your friend 1 
 almost your sister ? Come, shall I call mamma ? " 
 
 "Yes yes ; go go." 
 
 " No, I will not go yet. What have you there 1 
 what are you hiding ? " 
 
 And innocently, and sister-like, those hands took 
 mine ; and so and so the picture became visible ! 
 There was a dead silence. I looked up through my 
 tears. Fanny had recoiled some steps, and her cheek 
 was very flushed, her eyes downcast. I felt as if I had 
 committed a crime as if dishonour clung to me ; and 
 yet I repressed yes, thank Heaven ! I repressed the 
 cry that swelled from my heart, and rushed to my lips 
 " Pity me, for I love you ! " I repressed it, and 
 only a groan escaped me the wail of my lost happi- 
 ness ! Then, rising, I laid the miniature on the table, 
 and said, in a voice that I believe was firm 
 
 " Miss Trevanion, you liave been as kind as a sister 
 to me, and therefore I was bidding a brother's farewell 
 to your likeness ; it is so like you this ! " 
 
 " Farewell ! " echoed Fanny, still not looking up. 
 
 "Farewell sister! There, I have boldly said the 
 word ; for for" I hurried to the door, and, there 
 turning, added, with what I meant to be a smile "for 
 they say at home that I I am not well ; too much for 
 me this ; you know, mothers will be foolish ; and 
 and I am to speak to your father to-morrow ; and 
 good night God bless you, Miss Trevanion ! "
 
 PART NINTH. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 AND my father pushed aside his books. 
 
 O young reader, whoever thou art, or reader, at 
 least, who hast been young, canst thou not remember 
 some time when, with thy wild troubles and sorrows 
 as yet borne in secret, thou hast come back from that 
 hard, stern world which opens on thee when thou 
 puttest thy foot out of the threshold of home come 
 back to the four quiet walls, wherein thine elders sit 
 in peace and seen, with a sort of sad amaze, how calm 
 and undisturbed all is there 1 That generation which 
 has gone before thee in the path of the passions the 
 generation of thy parents (not so many years, perchance, 
 remote from thine own) how immovably far off, in 
 its still repose, it seems from thy turbulent youth ! It 
 has in it a stillness as of a classic age, antique as the 
 statues of the Greeks. That tranquil monotony of 
 routine into which those lives that preceded thee have 
 merged the occupations that they have found suf-
 
 352 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 ficing for their happiness, by the fireside in the arm- 
 chair and corner appropriated to each how strangely 
 they contrast thine own feverish excitement ! And 
 they make room for thee, and bid thee welcome, and 
 then resettle to their hushed pursuits, as if nothing 
 had happened ! Nothing had happened ! while in thy 
 heart, perhaps, the whole world seems to have shot 
 from its axis, all the elements to be at war ! And you 
 sit down, crushed by that quiet happiness which you 
 can share no more, and smile mechanically, and look 
 into the fire ; and, ten to one, you say nothing till the 
 time comes for bed, and you take up your candle, and 
 creep miserably to your lonely room. 
 
 Now, if in a stage-coach in the depth of winter, 
 when three passengers are warm and snug, a fourth, 
 all besnowed and frozen, descends from the outside 
 and takes place amongst them, straightway all the 
 three passengers shift their places, uneasily pull up 
 their cloak collars, re-arrange their " comforters," feel 
 indignantly a sensible loss of caloric the intruder has 
 at least made a sensation. But if you had all the 
 snows of the Grampians in your heart, you might 
 enter unnoticed ; take care not to tread on the toes of 
 your opposite neighbour, and not a soul is disturbed, 
 not a " comforter" stirs an inch ! I had not slept a 
 wink, I had not even laid down all that night the 
 night in which I had said farewell to Fanny Trevanion 
 and the next morning, when the sun rose, I wan- 
 dered out where, I know not. I have a dim recollec- 
 tion of long, grey, solitary streets of the river that
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 353 
 
 seemed flowing in dull sullen silence, away, far away, 
 into some invisible eternity trees and turf, and the 
 gay voices of children. I must have gone from one 
 end of the great Babel to the other : but my memory 
 only became clear and distinct when I knocked, some- 
 where before noon, at the door of my father's house, 
 and, passing heavily up the stairs, came into the draw- 
 ing-room, which was the rendezvous of the little 
 family ; for, since we had been in London, my father 
 had ceased to have his study apart, and contented him- 
 self with what he called "a corner" a corner wide 
 enough to contain two tables and a dumb waiter, with 
 chairs a discretion all littered with books. On the 
 opposite side of this capacious corner sat my uncle, 
 now nearly convalescent, and he was jotting down, in 
 his stiff military hand, certain figures in a little red 
 account-book for you know already that my uncle 
 Eoland was, in his expenses, the most methodical of 
 men. 
 
 My father's face was more benign than usual, for 
 before him lay a proof the first proof of his first work 
 his one work the Great Book ! Yes ! it had posi- 
 tively found a press. And the first proof of your first 
 work ask any author what that is ! My mother was 
 out with the faithful Mrs Primniins, shopping or mar- 
 keting, no doubt ; so, while the brothers were thus en- 
 gaged, it was natural that my entrance should not make 
 as much noise as if it had been a bomb, or a singer, or 
 a clap of thunder, or the last "great novel of the season," 
 
 VOL. i. z
 
 354 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 or anything else that made a noise in those days. For 
 what makes a noise now ? Now, when the most aston- 
 ishing thing of all is our easy familiarity with things 
 astounding when we say, listlessly, " Another revolu- 
 tion at Paris," or " By the by, there is the deuce to do 
 at Vienna ! " when De Joinville is catching fish in the 
 ponds at Claremont, and you hardly turn back to look 
 at Metternich on the pier at Brighton ! 
 
 My uncle nodded and growled indistinctly ; my 
 father 
 
 " Put aside his books ; you have told us that already." 
 
 Sir, you are very much mistaken ; it was not then that 
 he put aside his books, for he was not then engaged in 
 them he was reading his proof. And he smiled, and 
 pointed to it (the proof I mean) pathetically, and with 
 a kind of humour, as much as to say " what can you 
 expect, Pisistratus 1 my new baby in short clothes 
 or long primer, which is all the same thing ! " 
 
 I took a chair between the two, and looked first at 
 one, then at the other heaven forgive me ! I felt a 
 rebellious ungrateful spite against both. The bitterness 
 of my soul must have been deep indeed, to have over- 
 flowed in that direction, but it did. The grief of youth 
 is an abominable egotist, and that is the truth. I got 
 up from the chair, and walked towards the window ; it 
 was open, and outside the window was Mrs Primmins' 
 canary, in its cage. London air had agreed with it, and 
 it was singing lustily. Now, when the canary saw me 
 standing opposite to its cage, and regarding it seriously, 
 and, I have no doubt, with a very sombre aspect, the
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 355 
 
 creature stopped short, and hung its head on one side, 
 looking at me obliquely and suspiciously. Finding that 
 I did it no harm, it began to hazard a few broken notes, 
 timidly and interrogatively, as it were, pausing between 
 each ; and at length, as I made no reply, it evidently 
 thought it had solved the doubt, and ascertained that I 
 was more to be pitied than feared for it stole gradually 
 into so soft and silvery a strain that, I verily believe, 
 it did it on purpose to comfort me ! me, its old friend, 
 whom it had unjustly suspected. Never did any music 
 touch me so home as did that long plaintive cadence. 
 And when the bird ceased, it perched itself close to the 
 bars of the cage, and looked at me steadily with its 
 bright intelligent eyes. I felt mine water, and I turned 
 back and stood in the centre of the room, irresolute 
 what to do, where to go. My father had done with the 
 proof, and was deep in his folios. Eoland had clasped 
 his red account-book, restored it to his pocket, wiped 
 his pen carefully, and now watched me from under his 
 great beetle-brows. Suddenly he rose, and, stamping 
 on the hearth with his cork-leg, exclaimed, " Look up 
 from those cursed books, brother Austin ! What is 
 there in your son's face ? Construe that, if you can ! "
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 AND my father pushed aside his books, and rose hastily. 
 He took off his spectacles, and rubbed them mechani- 
 cally, but he said nothing ; and my uncle, staring at 
 him for a moment, in surprise at his silence, burst 
 out 
 
 " Oh ! I see ; he has been getting into some scrape, 
 and you are angry. Fie ! young blood will have its 
 way, Austin, it will. I don't blame that it is only 
 when come here, Sisty. Zounds ! man, come here." 
 
 My father gently brushed off the Captain's hand, and, 
 advancing towards me, opened his arms. The next 
 moment I was sobbing on his breast. 
 
 " But what is the matter 1 " cried Captain Roland 
 " will nobody say what is the matter 1 Money, I sup- 
 pose money, you confounded extravagant young dog. 
 Luckily you have got an uncle who has more than he 
 knows what to do with. How much ] Fifty 1 a hun- 
 dred ? two hundred 1 How can I write the cheque, if 
 you'll not speak." 
 
 " Hush, brother ! it is no money you can give that will 
 set this right. My poor boy ! Have I guessed truly 1 
 Did I guess truly the other evening, when "
 
 THE CAXTONS. 357 
 
 " Yes, sir, yes ! I have been so wretched. But I am 
 better now I can tell you all." 
 
 My uncle moved slowly towards the door : his fine 
 sense of delicacy made him think that even he was out 
 of place in the confidence between son and father. 
 
 " No, uncle," I said, holding out my hand to him, 
 "stay; you too can advise me strengthen me. I 
 have kept my honour yet help me to keep it still." 
 
 At the sound of the word honour, Captain Roland 
 stood mute, and raised his head quickly. 
 
 So I told all incoherently enough at first, but 
 clearly and manfully as I went on. Now I know that 
 it is not the custom of lovers to confide in fathers and 
 uncles. Judging by those mirrors of life, plays and 
 novels, they choose better ; valets and chambermaids, 
 and friends whom they have picked up in the street, as 
 I had picked up poor Francis Vivian to these they 
 make clean breasts of their troubles. But fathers and 
 uncles to them they are close, impregnable, " buttoned 
 to the chin." The Caxtons were an eccentric family, 
 and never did anything like other people. When I 
 had ended, I lifted up my eyes, and said, pleadingly, 
 " Now, tell me, is there no hope none ? " 
 
 " Why should there be none 1 " cried Captain Roland, 
 hastily " The De Caxtons are as good a family as the 
 Trevanions ; and as for yourself, all I will say is, that 
 the young lady might choose worse for her own happi- 
 ness." 
 
 I wrung my uncle's hand, and turned to my father 
 in anxious fear, for I knew that, in spite of his secluded
 
 358 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 habits, few men ever formed a sounder judgment on 
 worldly matters, when he was fairly drawn to look at 
 them. A thing wonderful is that plain wisdom which 
 scholars and poets often have for others, though they 
 rarely deign to use it for themselves. And how on earth 
 do they get at it 1 I looked at my father, and the vague 
 hope Eoland had excited fell as I looked. 
 
 " Brother," said he, slowly, and shaking his head, 
 " the world, which gives codes and laws to those who 
 live in it, does not care much for a pedigree, unless it 
 goes with a title-deed to estates." 
 
 " Trevanion was not richer than Pisistratus when he 
 married Lady Ellinor," said my uncle. 
 
 " True ; hut Lady Ellinor was not then an heiress ; 
 and her father viewed these matters as no other peer 
 in England perhaps would. As for Trevanion himself, 
 I dare say he has no prejudices about station, but he is 
 strong in common sense. He values himself on being 
 a practical man. It would be folly to talk to him of 
 love, and the affections of youth. He would see in the 
 son of Austin Caxton, living on the interest of some 
 fifteen or sixteen thousand pounds, such a match for 
 his daughter as no prudent man in his position could 
 approve. And as for Lady Ellinor "- 
 
 " She owes us much, Austin ! " exclaimed Roland, 
 his face darkening. 
 
 " Lady Ellinor is now what, if we had known her 
 better, she promised always to be the ambitious, 
 brilliant, scheming woman of the world. Is it not so, 
 Pisistratus 1 "
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 359 
 
 I said nothing I felt too much. 
 
 " And does the girl like you ? but I think it is clear 
 she does ! " exclaimed Roland. " Fate, fate ; it has 
 been a fatal family to us ! Zounds ! Austin, it was 
 your fault. Why did you let him go there 1 " 
 
 " My son is now a man at least in heart, if not in 
 years can man be shut from danger and trial 1 They 
 found me in the old parsonage, brother ! " said my 
 father, mildly. 
 
 My uncle walked, or rather stumped, three times up 
 and down the room ; and he then stopped short, folded 
 his arms, and came to a decision 
 
 " If the girl likes you, your duty is doubly clear 
 you can't take advantage of it. You have done right 
 to leave the house, for the temptation might be too 
 strong." 
 
 " But what excuse shall I make to Mr Trevanion 1 " 
 said I, feebly " what story can I invent ? So careless 
 as he is while he trusts, so penetrating if he once sus- 
 pects, he will see through all my subterfuges, and 
 and " 
 
 " It is as plain as a pike-staff," said my uncle, 
 abruptly " and there need be no subterfuge in the 
 matter. ' I must leave you, Mr Trevanion,' ' Why,' 
 says he. 'Don't ask me.' He insists. 'Well then, 
 sir, if you must know, I love your daughter. I have 
 nothing, she is a great heiress. You will not approve 
 of that love, and therefore I leave you ! ' That is the 
 course that becomes an English gentleman. Eh, 
 Austin 1 "
 
 360 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 "You are never wrong when your instincts speak, 
 Roland," said my father. " Can you say this, Pisistra- 
 tus, or shall I say it for you ? " 
 
 " Let him say it himself," said Roland ; " and let 
 him judge himself of the answer. He is young, he is 
 clever, he may make a figure in the world. Trevanion 
 may answer, ' Win the lady after you have won the 
 laurel, like the knights of old.' At all events you will 
 hear the worst." 
 
 " I will go," said I, firmly ; and I took my hat and 
 left the room. As I was passing the landing-place, a 
 light step stole down the upper flight of stairs, and a 
 little hand seized my own. I turned quickly, and 
 met the full, dark, seriously sweet eyes of my cousin 
 Blanche. 
 
 " Don't go away yet, Sisty," said she coaxingly. 
 " I have been waiting for you, for I heard your voice, 
 and did not like to come in and disturb you." 
 
 " And why did you wait for me, my little Blanche?" 
 
 "Why! only to see you. But your eyes are red. 
 Oh, cousin ! " and, before I was aware of her childish 
 impulse, she had sprung to my neck and kissed me. 
 Now Blanche was not like most children, and was very 
 sparing of her caresses. So it was out of the deeps of 
 a kind heart that that kiss came. I returned it with- 
 out a word ; and, putting her down gently, descended 
 the stairs, and was in the streets. But I had not got 
 far before I heard my father's voice ; and he came up, 
 and hooking his arm into mine, said, " Are there not 
 two of us that suffer 1 let us be together ! " I pressed
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 361 
 
 his arm, and we walked on in silence. But when 
 we were near Trevanion's house, I said, hesitatingly, 
 " Would it not be better, sir, that I went in alone ] If 
 there is to be an explanation between Air Trevanion 
 and myself, would it not seem as if your presence im- 
 plied either a request to him that would lower us both, 
 or a doubt of me that " 
 
 " You will go in alone, of course : I will wait for 
 you " 
 
 " Not in the streets oh, no ! father," cried I, 
 touched inexpressibly. For all this was so unlike my 
 father's habits, that I felt remorse to have so com- 
 municated my young griefs to the calm dignity of his 
 serene life. 
 
 " My son, you do not know how I love you. I have 
 only known it myself lately. Look you, I am living 
 in you now, my first-born ; not in my other son the 
 Great Book : I must have my way. Go in ; that is 
 the door, is it not ? " 
 
 I pressed my father's hand, and I felt then, that 
 while that hand could reply to mine, even the loss of 
 Fanny Trevanion could not leave the world a blank. 
 How much we have before us in life, while we retain 
 our parents ! How much to strive and to hope for ! 
 What a motive in the conquest of our sorrow that 
 they may not sorrow with us !
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 I ENTERED Trevanion's study. It was an hour in which 
 he was rarely at home, but I had not thought of that ; 
 and I saw without surprise that, contrary to his custom, 
 he was in his arm-chair, reading one of his favourite 
 classic authors, instead of being in some committee- 
 room of the House of Commons. 
 
 " A pretty fellow you are," said he, looking up, " to 
 leave me all the morning, without rhyme or reason ! 
 And my committee is postponed chairman ill ; people 
 who get ill should not go into the House of Commons. 
 So here I am, looking into Propertius : Parr is right ; 
 not so elegant a writer as Tibullus. But what the 
 deuce are you about 1 why don't you sit down 1 
 Humph ! you look grave you have something to say 
 say it ! " 
 
 And, putting down Propertius, the acute sharp face 
 of Trevanion instantly became earnest and attentive. 
 
 "My dear Mr Trevanion," said I, Avith as much 
 steadiness as I could assume, " you have been most 
 kind to me ; and out of my own family there is no man 
 I love and respect more." 
 
 TREVANION. " Humph ! What's all this ? (In an 
 under tone) Am I going to be taken in 1 "
 
 THE CAXTONS. 363 
 
 PISISTRATUS. " Do not think me ungrateful, then, 
 when I say I come to resign my office to leave the 
 house where I have been so happy." 
 
 TREVANION. "Leave the house! Pooh! I have 
 overtasked you. I will be more merciful in future. 
 You must forgive a political economist ; it is the fault 
 of my sect to look upon men as machines." 
 
 PISISTRATUS (smiling faintly). " No, indeed ; that is 
 not it ! I have nothing to complain of ; nothing I 
 could wish altered could I stay." 
 
 TREVANION (examining me thoughtfully). " And 
 does your father approve of your leaving me thus ? " 
 
 PISISTRATUS. " Yes fully." 
 
 TREVANION (musing a moment). " I see, he would 
 send you to the University, make you a book- worm like 
 himself : pooh ! that will not do you will never be- 
 come wholly a man of books it is not in you. Young 
 man, though I may seem careless, I read characters, 
 when I please it, pretty quickly. You do wrong to 
 leave me ; you are made for the great world I can 
 open to you a high career. I wish to do so ! Lady 
 Ellinor wishes it nay, insists on it for your father's 
 sake as well as yours. I never ask a favour from min- 
 isters, and I never will. But (here Trevanion rose 
 suddenly, and, with an erect mien and a quick gesture 
 of his arm, he added,) but a minister can dispose as 
 he pleases of his patronage. Look you, it is a secret yet, 
 and I trust to your honour. But, before the year is out, 
 I must be in the cabinet. Stay with me, I guarantee 
 your fortunes three months ago I would not have said
 
 364 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 that. By-and-by I will open Parliament for you you 
 are not of age yet work till then. And now sit down 
 and write my letters a sad arrear ! " 
 
 " My dear, dear Mr Trevanion ! " said I, so affected 
 that I could scarcely speak, and seizing his hand, which 
 I pressed between both mine " I dare not thank you 
 I cannot ! But you don't know my heart it is not 
 ambition. ~No ! if I could but stay here on the same 
 terms for ever here " looking ruefully on that spot 
 where Fanny had stood the night before. " But it is 
 impossible ! if you knew all, you would be the first to 
 bid me go ! " 
 
 " You are in debt," said the man of the world, coldly. 
 " Bad, very bad still'* 
 
 " No, sir; no ! worse" 
 
 " Hardly possible to be worse, young man hardly ! 
 But, just as you will ; you leave me, and will not say 
 why. Good- by. Why do you linger 1 Shake hands, 
 and go ! " 
 
 " I cannot leave you thus : I I sir, the truth shall 
 out. I am rash and mad enough not to see Miss Tre- 
 vanion without forgetting that I am poor, and 
 
 " Ha ! " interrupted Trevanion, softly, and growing 
 pale, "this is a misfortune, indeed ! And I, who talked 
 of reading characters ! Truly, truly, we would-be prac- 
 tical men are fools fools ! And you have made love 
 to my daughter ! " 
 
 "Sir? Mr Trevanion ! no never, never so base ! 
 In your house, trusted by you, how could you think 
 it 1 I dared, it may be, to love at all events, to feel
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 365 
 
 that I could not be insensible to a temptation too strong 
 for me. But to say it to your heiress to ask love in 
 return I would as soon have broken open your desk ! 
 Frankly I tell you my folly : it is a folly, not a disgrace." 
 
 Trevanion came up to me abruptly, as I leant against 
 the bookcase, and, grasping my hand with a cordial 
 kindness, said, " Pardon me ! You have behaved as 
 your father's son should I envy him such a son ! Now, 
 listen to me I cannot give you my daughter " 
 
 " Believe me, sir, I never " 
 
 " Tut, listen ! I cannot give you my daughter. I 
 say nothing of inequality all gentlemen are equal ; 
 and if not, any impertinent affectation of superiority, in 
 such a case, would come ill from one who owes his own 
 fortune to his wife ! But, as it is, I have a stake in 
 the world, won not by fortune only, but the labour of 
 a life, the suppression of half my natxire the drudging, 
 squaring, taming down all that made the glory and joy 
 of my youth to be that hard matter-of-fact thing which 
 the English world expect in a statesman! This station 
 has gradually opened into its natural result power ! I 
 tell you I shall soon have high office in the administra- 
 tion : I hope to render great services to England for 
 we English politicians, whatever the mob and the press 
 say of us, are not selfish place-hunters. I refused office, 
 as high as I look for now, ten years ago. "We believe 
 in our opinions, and we hail the power that may carry 
 them into effect. In this cabinet I shall have enemies. 
 Oh, don't think we leave jealousy behind us, at the 
 doors of Downing Street ! I shall be one of a minority.
 
 366 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 I know well what must happen : like all men in power, 
 I must strengthen myself by other heads and hands 
 than my own. My daughter shall bring to me the 
 alliance of that house in England which is most neces- 
 sary to me. My life falls to the ground, like a child's 
 pyramid of cards, if I waste I do not say on you, but 
 on men of ten times your fortune (whatever that be), 
 the means of strength which are at my disposal in the 
 hand of Fanny Trevanion. To this end I have looked ; 
 but to this end her mother has schemed for these 
 household matters are within a man's hopes, but belong 
 to a woman's policy. So much for us. But to you, my 
 dear, and frank, and high-souled young friend to you, 
 if I were not Fanny's father if I were your nearest 
 relation, and Fanny could be had for the asking, with 
 all her princely dower (for it is princely), to you I 
 should say, fly from a load upon the heart, on the genius, 
 the energy, the pride, and the spirit, which not one man 
 in ten thousand can bear ; fly from the curse of owing 
 everything to a wife ! it is a reversal of all natural 
 position; it is a blow to all the manhood within us. 
 You know not what it is ; I do ! My wife's fortune 
 came not till after marriage so far, so well ; it saved my 
 reputation from the charge of fortune-hunting. But, I 
 tell you fairly, that if it had never come at all, I should 
 be a prouder, and a greater, and a happier man than I 
 have ever been, or ever can be, with all its advantages ; 
 it has been a millstone round my neck. And yet Ellinor 
 has never breathed a word that could wound my pride. 
 Would her daughter be as forbearing ? Much as I love
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 367 
 
 Fanny, I doubt if she has the great heart of her mother. 
 You look incredulous naturally. Oh, you think I 
 shall sacrifice my child's happiness to a politician's am- 
 bition. Folly of youth ! Fanny would be wretched 
 with you. She might not think so now ; she would 
 five years hence ! Fanny will make an admirable 
 duchess, countess, great lady ; but wife to a man who 
 owes all to her ! no, no, don't dream it ! I shall not 
 sacrifice her happiness, depend on it. I speak plainly, 
 as man to man man of the world to a man just enter- 
 ing it but still man to man ! What say you ? " 
 
 " I will think over all you tell me. I know that 
 you are speaking to me most generously as a father 
 would. Now let me go, and may God keep you and 
 yours ! " 
 
 " Go I return your blessing go ! I don't insult 
 you now with offers of service ; but, remember, you 
 have a right to command them in all ways, in all 
 times. Stop ! take this comfort away with you a 
 sorry comfort now, a great one hereafter. In a posi- 
 tion that might have moved anger, scorn, pity, you 
 have made a barren-hearted man honour and admire 
 you. You, a boy, have made me, with my grey hairs, 
 think better of the whole world ; tell your father that." 
 I closed the door, and stole out softly softly. But 
 when I got into the hall, Fanny suddenly opened the 
 door of the breakfast parlour, and seemed, by her look, 
 her gesture, to invite me in. Her face was very pale, 
 and there were traces of tears on the heavy lids. 
 
 I stood still a moment, and my heart beat violently.
 
 368 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 I then muttered something inarticulately, and, bowing 
 low, hastened to the door. 
 
 I thought, but my ears might deceive me, that I 
 heard my name pronounced ; but fortunately the tall 
 porter started from his newspaper and his leathern 
 chair, and the entrance stood open. I joined my father. 
 
 " It is all over," said I, with a resolute smile. " And 
 now, my dear father, I feel how grateful I should be 
 for all that your lessons your life have taught me ; 
 for, believe me, I am not unhappy."
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 came back to my father's house, and on the stairs 
 we met my mother, whom Roland's grave looks, and 
 her Austin's strange absence, had alarmed. My father 
 quietly led the way to a little room, which my mother 
 had appropriated to Blanche and herself: and then, 
 placing my hand in that which had helped his own 
 steps from the stony path down the quiet vales of life, 
 he said to me, " Nature gives you here the soother ; " 
 and so saying, he left the room. 
 
 And it was true, my mother ! that in thy simple 
 loving breast nature did place the deep wells of com- 
 fort ! We come to men for philosophy to women for 
 consolation. And the thousand weaknesses and regrets 
 
 the sharp sands of the minutiae that make up sorrow 
 
 all these, which I could have betrayed to no man 
 not even to him, the dearest and tenderest of all men 
 
 I showed without shame to thee ! And thy tears, 
 that fell on my cheek, had the balm of Araby ; and 
 my heart, at length, lay lulled and soothed under thy 
 moist gentle eyes. 
 
 I made an effort, and joined the little circle at 
 VOL. i. 2 A
 
 370 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 dinner ; and I felt grateful that no violent attempt was 
 made to raise my spirits nothing but affection, more 
 subdued, and soft, and tranquil. Even little Blanche, 
 as if by the intuition of sympathy, ceased her babble, 
 and seemed to hush her footstep as she crept to my 
 side. But after dinner, when we had reassembled in 
 the drawing-room, and the lights shone bright, and the 
 curtains were let down and only the quick roll of 
 some passing wheels reminded us that there was a 
 world without my father began to talk. He had laid 
 aside all his work ; the younger but less perishable 
 child was forgotten, and my father began to talk. 
 
 "It is," said he, musingly, "a well-known thing, 
 that particular drugs or herbs suit the body according 
 to its particular diseases. When we are ill, we don't 
 open our medicine-chest at random, and take out any 
 powder or phial that comes to hand. The skilful 
 doctor is he who adjusts the dose to the malady." 
 
 "Of that there can be no doubt," quoth Captain 
 Roland. " I remember a notable instance of the jus- 
 tice of what you say. When I was in Spain, both my 
 horse and I fell ill at the same time ; a dose was sent 
 for each ; and, by some infernal mistake, I swallowed 
 the horse's physic, and the horse, poor thing, swallowed 
 mine ! " 
 
 " And what was the result 1 " asked my father. 
 
 " The horse died ! " answered Roland, mournfully 
 " a valuable beast bright bay, with a star ! " 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "Why, the doctor said it ought to have killed me ;
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 371 
 
 but it took a great deal more than a paltry bottle of 
 physic to kill a man in my regiment." 
 
 " Nevertheless, we arrive at the same conclusion," 
 pursued my father, " I with my theory, you with 
 your experience, that the physic we take must not 
 be chosen haphazard ; and that a mistake in the bottle 
 may kill a horse. But when we come to the medicine 
 for the mind, how little do we think of the golden rule 
 which common sense applies to the body ! " 
 
 " Anan," said the Captain, " what medicine is there 
 for the mind 1 Shakespeare has said something on that 
 subject, which, if I recollect right, 'implies that there 
 is no ministering to a mind diseased." 
 
 " I think not, brother ; he only said physic (mean- ' 
 ing boluses and black draughts) would not do it. And 
 Shakespeare was the last man to find fault with his own 
 art ; for, verily, he has been a great physician to the 
 mind." 
 
 " Ah ! I take you now, brother, books again ! So 
 you think that, when a man breaks his heart, or loses 
 his fortune, or his daughter (Blanche, child, come 
 here) that you have only to clap a plaster of print on 
 the sore place, and all is well. I wish you would find 
 me such a cure." 
 
 " Will you try it 1 " 
 
 " If it is not Greek," said my uncle.
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 MY FATHER S CROTCHET ON THE HYGEIENIC CHEMISTRY 
 OF BOOKS. 
 
 " IF," said my father and here his hand was deep in 
 his waistcoat " if we accept the authority of Diodorus, 
 as to the inscription on the great Egyptian library 
 and I don't see why Diodorus should not be as near 
 the mark as any one else 1 " added my father, interro- 
 gatively, turning round. 
 
 My mother thought herself the person addressed, 
 and nodded her gracious assent to the authority of 
 Diodorus. His opinion thus fortified, my father con- 
 tinued, " If, I say, we accept the authority of Dio- 
 dorus, the inscription on the Egyptian library was 
 ' The Medicine of the Mind.' Now, that phrase has 
 become notoriously trite and hackneyed, and people 
 repeat vaguely that books are the medicine of the mind. 
 Yes ; but to apply the medicine is the thing ! " 
 
 " So you have told us at least twice before, brother," 
 quoth the Captain, bluffly. " And what Diodorus has 
 to do with it, I know no more than the man of the 
 moon."
 
 THE CAXTONS. 373 
 
 " I shall never get on at this rate," said my father, 
 in a tone between reproach and entreaty. 
 
 "Be good children, Roland and Blanche both," said 
 my mother, stopping from her work, and holding up 
 her needle threateningly and indeed inflicting a slight 
 puncture upon the Captain's shoulder. 
 
 " Bern acu tetigisti, my dear," said my father, bor- 
 rowing Cicero's pun on the occasion.* " And now we 
 shall go upon velvet. I say, then, that books, taken 
 indiscriminately, are no cure to the diseases and afflic- 
 tions of the mind. There is a world of science neces- 
 sary in the taking them. I have known some people 
 in great sorrow fly to a novel, or the last light book in 
 fashion. One might as well take a rose-draught for 
 the plague ! Light reading does not do when the 
 heart is really heavy. I am told that Goethe, when he 
 lost his son, took to study a science that was new to 
 him. Ah ! Goethe was a physician who knew what he 
 was about. In a great grief like that, you cannot tickle 
 and divert the mind ; you must wrench it away, ab- 
 stract, absorb bury it in an abyss, hurry it into a 
 labyrinth. Therefore, for the irremediable sorrows of 
 middle life and old age, I recommend a strict chronic 
 course of science and hard reasoning Counter-irrita- 
 tion. Bring the brain to act upon the heart ! If 
 science is too much against the grain (for we have not 
 all got mathematical heads), something in the reach of 
 the humblest understanding, but sufficiently searching 
 
 * Cicero's joke on a senator who was the son of a tailor " Thou 
 hast touched the thing sharply" (or with a needle acu).
 
 374 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 to the highest a new language Greek, Arabic, Scan- 
 dinavian, Chinese, or Welsh ! For the loss of fortune, 
 the dose should be applied less directly to the under- 
 standing. I would administer something elegant and 
 cordial. For as the heart is crushed and lacerated by 
 a loss in the affections, so it is rather the head that 
 aches and surfers by the loss of money. Here we find 
 the higher class of poets a very valuable remedy. For 
 observe that poets of the grander and more compre- 
 hensive kind of genius have in them two separate men, 
 quite distinct from each other the imaginative man, 
 and the practical, circumstantial man ; and it is the 
 happy mixture of these that suits diseases of the mind, 
 half imaginative and half practical. There is Homer, 
 now lost with the gods, now at home with the home 
 liest, the very ' poet of circumstance,' as Gray has finely 
 called him ; and yet with imagination enough to seduce 
 and coax the dullest into forgetting, for a while, that 
 little spot on his desk which his banker's book can 
 cover. There is Virgil, far below him, indeed 
 
 ' Virgil the wise, 
 Whose verse walks highest, but not flies,' 
 
 as Cowley expresses it. But Virgil still has genius 
 enough to be two men to lead you into the fields, not 
 only to listen to the pastoral reed, and to hear the bees 
 hum, but to note how you can make the most of the 
 glebe and the vineyard. There is Horace, charming 
 man of the world, who will condole with you feelingly 
 on the loss of your fortune, and by no means under- 
 value the good things of this life ; but who will yet
 
 A FAMILY PICTUKE. 375 
 
 show you that a man may be happy with a vile modi- 
 cum, mparva rura. There is Shakespeare, who, above 
 all poets, is the mysterious dual of hard sense and em- 
 pyreal fancy and a great many more, whom I need 
 not name ; but who, if you take to them gently and 
 quietly, will not, like your mere philosopher, your un- 
 reasonable stoic, tell you that you have lost nothing ; 
 but who will insensibly steal you out of this world, with 
 its losses and crosses, and slip you into another world, 
 before you know where you are ! a world where you 
 are just as welcome, though you carry no more earth of 
 your lost acres with you than covers the sole of your 
 shoe. Then, for hypochondria and satiety, what is 
 better than a brisk alterative course of travels espe- 
 cially early, out-of-the-way, marvellous, legendary 
 travels ! How they freshen up the spirits ! How 
 they take you out of the humdrum yawning state you 
 are in. See, with Herodotus, young Greece spring up 
 into life ; or note with him how already the wondrous 
 old Orient world is crumbling into giant decay ; or go 
 with Carpini and Eubruquis to Tartary, meet 'the 
 carts of Zagathai laden with houses, and think that a 
 great city is travelling towards you.'* Gaze on that 
 vast wild empire of the Tartar, where the descendants 
 of Jenghis 'multiply and disperse over the immense 
 waste desert, which is as boundless as the ocean.' Sail 
 with the early northern discoverers, and penetrate to 
 the heart of winter, among sea-serpents and bears, and 
 tusked morses, with the faces of men. Then, what 
 * RUBRUQUIS, sect. xii.
 
 376 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 think you of Columbus, and the stern soul of Cortes, 
 and the kingdom of Mexico, and the strange gold city 
 of the Peruvians, with that audacious brute Pizarro ? 
 and the Polynesians, just for all the world like the 
 ancient Britons 1 and the American Indians, and the 
 South-Sea Islanders 1 how petulant, and young, and 
 adventurous, and frisky your hypochondriac must get 
 upon a regimen like that ! Then, for that vice of the 
 mind which I call sectarianism not in the religious 
 sense of the word, but little, narrow prejudices, that 
 make you hate your next-door neighbour, because he 
 has his eggs roasted when you have yours boiled ; 
 and gossiping and prying into people's affairs, and 
 backbiting, and thinking heaven and earth are coming 
 together, if some broom touch a cobweb that you have 
 let grow over the window-sill of your brains what 
 like a large and generous, mildly aperient (I beg your 
 pardon, my dear) course of history ! How it clears 
 away all the fumes of the head ! better than the helle- 
 bore with which the old leeches of the middle ages 
 purged the cerebellum. There, amidst all that great 
 whirl and sturmbad (storm-bath), as the Germans say, 
 of kingdoms and empires, and races and ages, how your 
 mind enlarges beyond that little feverish animosity 
 to John Styles ; or that unfortunate prepossession of 
 yours, that all the world is interested in your griev- 
 ances against Tom Stokes and his wife ! 
 
 " I can only touch, you see, on a few ingredients in 
 this magnificent pharmacy its resources are boundless, 
 but require the nicest discretion. I remember to have
 
 A FAMILY PICTUEE. 377 
 
 cured a disconsolate widower, who obstinately refused 
 every other medicament, by a strict course of geology. 
 I dipped him deep into gneiss and mica-schist. Amidst 
 the first strata, I suffered the watery action to expend 
 itself upon cooling crystallised masses ; and, by the 
 time I had got him into the tertiary period, amongst 
 the transition chalks of Maestricht, and the conchifer- 
 ous marls of Gosau, he was ready for a new wife. 
 Kitty, my dear ! it is no laughing matter. I made no 
 less notable a cure of a young scholar at Cambridge, 
 who was meant for the church, when he suddenly 
 caught a cold fit of freethinking, with great shiverings, 
 from wading out of his depth in Spinosa. None of the 
 divines, whom I first tried, did him the least good in 
 that state ; so I turned over a new leaf, and doctored 
 him gently upon the chapters of faith in Abraham 
 Tucker's book (you should read it, Sisty) ; then I threw 
 in strong doses of Fichte ; after that I put him on the 
 Scotch metaphysicians, with plunge-baths into certain 
 German transcendentalists ; and having convinced him 
 that faith is not an unphilosophical state of mind, and 
 that he might believe without compromising his under- 
 standing for he was mightily conceited on that score 
 I threw in my divines, which he was now fit to 
 digest; and his theological constitution, since then, 
 has become so robust, that he has eaten up two livings 
 and a deanery ! In fact, I have a plan for a library 
 that, instead of heading its compartments, ' Philology, 
 Natural Science, Poetry,' &c., one shall head them 
 according to the diseases for which they are severally
 
 378 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 good, bodily and mental up from a dire calamity, or 
 the pangs of the gout, down to a fit of the spleen or a 
 slight catarrh ; for which last your light reading comes 
 in with a whey-posset and barley-water. But," con- 
 tinued my father, more gravely, " when some one sor- 
 row, that is yet reparable, gets hold of your mind like 
 a monomania when you think, because heaven has 
 denied you this or that, on which you had set your 
 heart, that all your life must be a blank oh ! then 
 diet yourself well on biography the biography of good 
 and great men. See how little a space one sorrow 
 really makes in life. See scarce a page, perhaps, given 
 to some grief similar to your own; and how trium- 
 phantly the life sails on beyond it ! You thought the 
 wing was broken ! Tut tut it was but a bruised 
 feather ! See what life leaves behind it when all is 
 done ! a summary of positive facts far out of the 
 region of sorrow and suffering, linking themselves with 
 the being of the world. Yes, biography is the medi- 
 cine here ! Roland, you said you would try my pre- 
 scription here it is," and my father took up a book, 
 and reached it to the Captain. 
 
 My uncle looked over it Life of the Reverend 
 Robert Hall. " Brother, he was a Dissenter, and, 
 thank heaven ! I am a church-and-state man to the 
 back-bone !" 
 
 "Robert Hall was a brave man, and a true soldier 
 under the Great Commander," said my father, art- 
 fully. 
 
 The Captain mechanically carried his forefinger to
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 379 
 
 his forehead in military fashion, and saluted the book 
 respectfully. 
 
 " I have another copy for you, Pisistratus that is 
 mine which I have lent Roland. This, which I bought 
 for you to-day, you will keep." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said I, listlessly, not seeing what 
 great good the Life of Robert Hall could do me, or 
 why the same medicine should siiit the old weather- 
 beaten uncle, and the nephew yet in his teens. 
 
 " I have said nothing," resumed my father, slightly 
 bowing his broad temples, "of the Book of Books, for 
 that is the lignum vitce, the carnal medicine for all. 
 These are but the subsidiaries : for, as you may remem- 
 ber, my dear Kitty, that I have said before we can 
 never keep the system quite right unless we place just 
 in the centre of the great ganglionic system, whence the 
 nerves carry its influence gently and smoothly through 
 the whole frame THE SAFFRON BAG ! "
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 AFTER breakfast the next morning, I took my hat to go 
 out, when my father, looking at me, and seeing by my 
 countenance that I had not slept, said gently 
 
 " My dear Pisistratus, you have not tried my medi- 
 cine yet." 
 
 " What medicine, sir 1 " 
 
 " Eobert Hall." 
 
 " No, indeed, not yet," said I, smiling. 
 
 " Do so, my son, before you go out ; depend on it 
 you will enjoy your walk more." 
 
 I confess that it was with some reluctance I obeyed. 
 I went back to my own room, and sate resolutely down 
 to my task. Are there any of you, my readers, who 
 have not read the Life of Eobert Hall ? If so, in the 
 words of the great Captain Cuttle, "When found, make 
 a note of it." Never mind what your theological opinion 
 is Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Baptist, Psedobaptist, 
 Independent, Quaker, Unitarian, Philosopher, Free- 
 thinker, send for Eobert Hall ! Yea, if there exist 
 yet on earth descendants of the arch-heresies, which 
 made such a noise in their day men who believe with 
 Saturninus that the world was made by seven angels ;
 
 THE CAXTONS. 381 
 
 or with Basilides, that there are as many heavens as 
 there are days in the year ; or with the Nicolaitanes, 
 that men ought to have their wives in common (plenty 
 of that sect still, especially in the Red Eepublic) ; or 
 with their successors, the Gnostics, who believed in 
 Jaldaboath ; or with the Carpacratians, that the world 
 was made by the devil ; or with the Cerinthians, and 
 Ebionites, and Nazarites (which last discovered that the 
 name of Xoah's wife was Ouria, and that she set the 
 ark on fire) ; or with the Yalentinians, who taught that 
 there were thirty ^Eones, ages, or worlds, born out of 
 Profundity (Bathos), male, and Silence, female ; or with 
 the Marcites, Colarbasii and Heracleonites (who still 
 kept up that bother about ^Eones, Mr Profundity, and 
 Mrs Silence) ; or with the Ophites, who are said to 
 have worshipped the serpent ; or the Cainites, who 
 ingeniously found out a reason for honouring Judas, 
 because he foresaw what good would come to men by 
 betraying our Saviour ; or with the Sethites, who made 
 Seth a part of the divine substance ; or with the 
 Archonticks, Ascothyptse, Cerdonians, Marcionites, the 
 disciples of Apelles, and Severus (the last was a tee- 
 totaller, and said wine was begot by Satan !) or of 
 Tatian, who thought all the descendants of Adam were 
 irretrievably damned except themselves (some of those 
 Tatiani are certainly extant !) or the Cataphrygians, who 
 were also called Tascodragitae, because they thrust their 
 forefingers up their nostrils to show their devotion ; or 
 the Pepuzians, Quintilians, and Artotyrites ; or but 
 no matter. If I go through all the follies of men in
 
 382 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 search of the truth, I shall never get to the end of my 
 chapter, or back to Robert Hall : whatever, then, thou 
 art, orthodox or heterodox, send for the Life of Robert 
 Hall. It is the life of a man that it does good to man- 
 hood itself to contemplate. 
 
 I had finished the biography, which is not long, and 
 was musing over it, when I heard the Captain's cork- 
 leg upon the stairs. I opened the door for him, and 
 he entered, book in hand, as I, also, book in hand, stood 
 ready to receive him. 
 
 "Well, sir," said Roland, seating himself, "has the 
 prescription done you any good 1 " 
 
 "Yes, uncle great." 
 
 " And me, too. By Jupiter, Sisty, that same Hall 
 was a fine fellow ! I wonder if the medicine has gone 
 through the same channels in both 1 Tell me first how 
 it has affected you." 
 
 " Imprimis, then, my dear uncle, I fancy that a book 
 like this must do good to all who live in the world in 
 the ordinary manner, by admitting us into a circle of 
 life of which I suspect we think but little. Here is a 
 man connecting himself directly with a heavenly pur- 
 pose, and cultivating considerable faculties to that one 
 end ; seeking to accomplish his soul as far as he can, 
 that he may do most good on earth, and take a higher 
 existence up to heaven ; a man intent upon a sublime 
 and spiritual duty : in short, living as it were in it, and 
 so filled with the consciousness of immortality, and so 
 strong in the link between God and man, that, without 
 any affected stoicism, without being insensible to pain
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 383 
 
 rather, perhaps, from a nervous temperament, acutely 
 feeling it he yet has a happiness wholly independent 
 of it. It is impossible not to be thrilled with an ad- 
 miration that elevates while it awes you, in reading that 
 solemn 'Dedication of himself to God.' This offering 
 of ' soul and body, time, health, reputation, talents,' to 
 the divine and invisible Principle of Good, calls us sud- 
 denly to contemplate the selfishness of our own views 
 and hopes, and awakens us from the egotism that exacts 
 all and resigns nothing. 
 
 " But this book has mostly struck upon the chord in 
 my own heart, in that characteristic which my father 
 indicated as belonging to all biography. Here is a life 
 of remarkable fulness, great study, great thought, and 
 great action ; and yet," said I, colouring, " how small 
 a place those feelings, which have tyrannised over me, 
 and made all else seem blank and void, hold in that life. 
 It is not as if the man were a cold and hard ascetic; 
 it is easy to see in him, not only remarkable tenderness 
 and warm affections, but strong self-will, and the pas- 
 sion of all vigorous natures. Yes ; I understand better 
 now what existence in a true man should be." 
 
 " All that is very well said," quoth the Captain, 
 " but it did not strike me. What I have seen in this 
 book is courage. Here is a poor creature rolling on the 
 carpet with agony ; from childhood to death tortured 
 by a mysterious incurable malady a malady that is 
 described as ' an internal apparatus of torture ; ' and 
 who does by his heroism, more than bear it he puts 
 it out of power to affect him ; and though (here is the
 
 384 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 passage) 'his appointment by day and by night was 
 incessant pain, yet high enjoyment was, notwithstand- 
 ing, the law of his existence.' Robert Hall reads me 
 a lesson me, an old soldier, who thought myself above 
 taking lessons in courage, at least. And, as I came to 
 that passage when, in the sharp paroxysms before death, 
 he says, ' I have not complained, have I, sir ? and I 
 won't complain ! ' when I came to that passage I 
 started up, and cried, ' Roland de Caxton, thou hast 
 been a coward ! and, an thou hadst had thy deserts, 
 thou hadst been cashiered, broken, and drummed out 
 of the regiment long ago ! " : 
 
 " After all, then, my father was not so wrong he 
 placed his guns right, and fired a good shot." 
 
 " He must have been from 6 to 9 above the crest 
 of the parapet," said my uncle, thoughtfully "which, 
 I take it, is the best elevation, both for shot and shells, 
 in enfilading a work." 
 
 " What say you, then, Captain 1 up with our knap- 
 sacks, and on with the march ! " 
 
 " Right about face ! " cried my uncle, as erect as a 
 column. 
 
 " lN"o looking back, if we can help it." 
 
 " Full in the front of the enemy. ' Up, guards, and 
 at 'em ! ' " 
 
 " 'England expects every man to do his duty ! ' ' 
 
 " Cypress or laurel ! " cried my uncle, waving the 
 book over his head.
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 I WENT out and to see Francis Vivian ; for, on leaving 
 Mr Trevanion, I was not without anxiety for my new 
 friend's future provision. But Vivian was from home, 
 and I strolled from his lodgings into the suburbs on 
 the other side of the river, and began to meditate 
 seriously on the best course now to pursue. In quitting 
 my present occupations, I resigned prospects far more 
 brilliant, and fortunes far more rapid, than I could ever 
 hope to realise in any other entrance into life. But I 
 felt the necessity, if I desired to keep steadfast to that 
 more healthful frame of mind I had obtained, of some 
 manly and continuous labour some earnest employ- 
 ment. My thoughts flew back to the university ; and 
 the quiet of its cloisters, which, until I had been 
 blinded by the glare of the London world, and grief 
 had somewhat dulled the edge of my quick desires and 
 hopes, had seemed to me cheerless and unaltering 
 took an inviting aspect. It presented what I needed 
 most a new scene, a new arena, a partial return into 
 boyhood ; repose for passions prematurely raised ; 
 activity for the reasoning powers in fresh directions. 
 
 VOL. I. 2 B
 
 386 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 I had not lost my time in London : I had kept up, if 
 not studies purely classical, at least the habits of 
 application ; I had sharpened my general comprehen- 
 sion, and augmented my resources. Accordingly, when 
 I returned home, I resolved to speak to my father. 
 But I found he had forestalled me ; and, on entering, 
 my mother drew me up-stairs into her room, with a 
 smile kindled by my smile, and told me that she and 
 her Austin had been thinking that it was best that I 
 should leave London as soon as possible ; that my 
 father found he could now dispense with the library of 
 the Museum for some months ; that the time for which 
 they had taken their lodgings would be up in a few 
 days ; that the summer was far advanced, town odious, 
 the country beautiful in a word, we were to go home. 
 There I could prepare myself for Cambridge, till the long 
 vacation was over ; and, my mother added hesitatingly, 
 and with a prefatory caution to spare my health, that 
 my father, whose income could ill afford the requisite 
 allowance to me, counted on my soon lightening his 
 burden, by getting a scholarship. I felt how much 
 provident kindness there was in all this even in that 
 hint of a scholarship, which was meant to rouse my 
 faculties, and spur me, by affectionate incentives, to a 
 new ambition. I was not less delighted than grateful. 
 
 " But poor Boland," said I, " and little Blanche 
 will they come with us 1 " 
 
 " I fear not," said my mother, " for Eoland is anxious 
 to get back to his tower ; and in a day or two he will 
 be well enough to move."
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 387 
 
 " Do you not think, my dear mother, that, somehow 
 or other, this lost son of his had something to do with 
 Roland's illness that the illness was as much mental 
 as physical ? " 
 
 " I have no doubt of it, Sisty. What a sad, bad 
 heart that young man must have ! " 
 
 "My uncle seems to have abandoned all hope of 
 finding him in London ; otherwise, ill as he has been, 
 I am sure we could not have kept him at home. So 
 he goes back to the old tower. Poor man, he must be 
 dull enough there ! We must contrive to pay him a 
 visit. Does Blanche ever speak of her brother ] " 
 
 " No ; for it seems they were not brought up much 
 together at all events, she does not remember him. 
 How lovely she is ! Her mother must surely have been 
 very handsome." 
 
 " She is a pretty child, certainly, though in a strange 
 style of beauty such immense eyes ! and affectionate, 
 and loves Roland as she ought." 
 
 And here the conversation dropped. 
 
 Our plans being thus decided, it was necessary that I 
 should lose no time in seeing Vivian, and making some 
 arrangement for the future. His manner had lost so 
 much of its abruptness, that I thought I could venture to 
 recommend him personally to Trevanion ; and I knew, 
 after what had passed, that Trevanion would make a 
 point to oblige me. I resolved to consult my father 
 about it. As yet, I had either never found, or never 
 made the opportunity to talk to my father on the sub- 
 ject, he had been so occupied ; and, if he had proposed
 
 388 THE CAXTONS : 
 
 to see my new friend, what answer could I have made, 
 in the teeth of Vivian's cynic objections 1 However, 
 as we were now going away, that last consideration 
 ceased to be of importance ; and, for the first, the 
 student had not yet entirely settled back to his books. 
 I therefore Avatched the time when my father walked 
 down to the Museum, and, slipping my arm in his, I 
 told him, briefly and rapidly, as we went along, how I 
 had formed this strange acquaintance, and how I was 
 now situated. The story did not interest my father 
 quite so much as I expected, and he did not under- 
 stand all the complexities of Vivian's character how 
 could he 1 for he answered briefly, " I should think 
 that, for a young man, apparently without a sixpence, 
 and whose education seems so imperfect, any resource 
 in Trevanion must be most temporary and uncertain. 
 Speak to your Uncle Jack he can find him some 
 place, I have no doubt perhaps a readership in a 
 printer's office, or a reporter's place on some journal, if 
 he is fit for it. But if you want to steady him, let it 
 be something regular." 
 
 Therewith my father dismissed the matter, and van- 
 ished through the gates of the Museum. Readership 
 to a printer reportership on a journal for a young 
 gentleman with the high notions and arrogant vanity of 
 Francis Vivian his ambition already soaring far beyond 
 kid gloves and a cabriolet ! The idea was hopeless ; 
 and, perplexed and doubtful, I took my way to Vivian's 
 lodgings. I found him at home, and unemployed, 
 standing by his window, with folded arms, and in a
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 389 
 
 state of such reverie that he was not aware of my en- 
 trance till I had touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 " Ha ! " said he then, with one of his short, quick, 
 impatient sighs, " I thought you had given me up, and 
 forgotten me but you look pale and harassed. I 
 could almost think you had grown thinner within the 
 last few days." 
 
 " Oh ! never mind me, Vivian : I have come to 
 speak of yourself. I have left Trevanion ; it is settled 
 that I should go to the university and we all quit 
 town in a few days." 
 
 " In a few days ! all ! who are all T' 
 
 " My family father, mother, uncle, cousin, and 
 myself. But, my dear fellow, now let us think seri- 
 ously what is best to be done for you. I can present 
 you to Trevanion." 
 
 " Ha ! " 
 
 " But Trevanion is a hard, though an excellent man ; 
 and, moreover, as he is always changing the subjects 
 that engross him, in a month or so he may have nothing 
 to give you. You said you would work will you con- 
 sent not to complain if the work cannot be done in 
 kid gloves 1 Young men who have risen high in the 
 world have begun, it is well known, as reporters to the 
 press. It is a situation of respectability, and in request, 
 and not easy to obtain, I fancy ; but still 
 
 Vivian interrupted me hastily 
 
 " Thank you a thousand times ! but what you say 
 confirms a resolution I had taken before you came. I 
 shall make it up with my family, and return home."
 
 390 THE CAXTONS: 
 
 " Oh ! I am so really glad. How wise in you ! " 
 
 Vivian turned away his head abruptly 
 
 " Your pictures of family life and domestic peace, 
 you see," he said, "seduced me more than you thought. 
 When do you leave town 1 " 
 
 " Why, I believe, early next week." 
 
 " So soon," said Yivian, thoughtfully. " Well, per- 
 haps I may ask you yet to introduce me to Mr Tre- 
 vanion ; for who knows 1 my family and I may fall 
 out again. But I will consider. I think I have heard 
 you say that this Trevanion is a very old friend of your 
 father's or uncle's ? " 
 
 " He, or rather Lady Ellinor, is an old friend of both." 
 
 "And therefore would listen to your recommenda- 
 tions of me. But perhaps I may not need them. So 
 you have left left of your own accord a situation 
 that seemed more enjoyable, I should think, than rooms 
 in a college ; left why did you leave 1 " 
 
 And Vivian fixed his bright eyes full and piercingly 
 on mine. 
 
 " It was only for a time, for a trial, that I was 
 there," said I, evasively ; " out at nurse, as it were, till 
 the Alma Mater opened her arms alma indeed she 
 ought to be to my father's son." 
 
 Vivian looked unsatisfied with my explanation, but 
 did not question me farther. He himself was the first 
 to turn the conversation, and he did this with more 
 aifectionate cordiality than was common to him. He 
 inquired into our general plans, into the probabilities 
 of our return to town, and drew from me a description
 
 A FAMILY PICTURE. 391 
 
 of our rural Tusculum. He was quiet and subdued ; 
 and once or twice I thought there was a moisture in 
 those luminous eyes. We parted with more of the un- 
 reserve and fondness of youthful friendship at least 
 on my part, and seemingly on his than had yet en- 
 deared our singular intimacy ; for the cement of cordial 
 attachment had been wanting to an intercourse in 
 which one party refused all confidence, and the other 
 mingled distrust and fear with keen interest and com- 
 passionate admiration. 
 
 That evening, before lights were brought in, my 
 father, turning to me, abruptly asked if I had seen my 
 friend, and what he was about to do. 
 
 " He thinks of returning to his family," said I. 
 
 Eoland, who had seemed dozing, winced uneasily. 
 
 " Who returns to his family 1 " asked the Captain. 
 
 " Why, you must know," said my father, " that 
 Sisty has fished up a friend of whom he can give no 
 account that would satisfy a policeman, and whose for- 
 tunes he thinks himself under the necessity of protect- 
 ing. You are very lucky that he has not picked your 
 pockets, Sisty ; but I dare say he has 1 What's his name V 
 
 11 Vivian," said I, " Francis Vivian." 
 
 " A good name, and a Cornish," said my father. 
 " Some derive it from the Romans Vivianus ; others 
 from a Celtic word, which means " 
 
 " Vivian ! " interrupted Eoland " Vivian ! I won- 
 der if it be the son of Colonel Vivian ? " 
 
 " He is certainly a gentleman's son," said I ; " but he 
 never told me what his family and connections were."
 
 392 THE CAXTONS. 
 
 "Vivian," repeated my uncle " poor Colonel Vivian ! 
 So the young man is going to his father. I have no 
 doubt it is the same. Ah ! " 
 
 " What do you know of Colonel Vivian or his son?" 
 said I. " Pray tell me ; I am so interested in this 
 young man." 
 
 " I know nothing of either, except by gossip," said 
 my uncle moodily. " I did hear that Colonel Vivian, 
 an excellent officer and honourable man, had been in 
 in (Roland's voice faltered) in great grief about his 
 son, whom, a mere boy, he had prevented from some 
 improper marriage, and who had run away and left 
 him it was supposed for America. The story affected 
 me at the time," added my uncle, trying to speak calmly. 
 
 "We were all silent, for we felt why Roland was so 
 disturbed, and why Colonel Vivian's grief should have 
 touched him home. Similarity in affliction makes us 
 brothers even to the unknown. 
 
 "You say he is going home to his family I am heart- 
 ily glad of it ! " said the envying old soldier, gallantly. 
 
 The lights came in then, and two minutes after, 
 Uncle Roland and I were nestled close to each other, 
 side by side ; and I was reading over his shoulder, and 
 his finger was silently resting on that passage that had 
 so struck him " I have not complained have I, sir ? 
 and I won't complain ! " 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
 ? / / 
 l< ~ ? J". . < c < 
 
 <: < , < ' 
 
 ..<'* 
 *r - - < <, 
 
 < (. < 
 
 < < r.r. 
 
 << 
 < 
 
 
 i 1 ' 
 
 < 
 
 ^ i 
 
 1 : < tt 
 
 , . I 
 < f C ( (.<.< 
 
 re ( <-< O 
 < < < c < t < " 
 
 r < c 
 
 X s-. < < 
 
 C I f K- <C- 
 
 : < 
 
 "' c : c?. ci 
 
 <L 
 
 *<*-,-.:_%< < -"<-_. 
 t ^ , , . ;< , 
 
 3 
 
 ' 
 
 <<<:< 
 
 ( ^ (<t cV ^ 
 
 
 *s 
 
 < :L^ 
 
 c <TC^= 
 
 ^* 1^- 
 
 P 
 
 Cr 
 
 /" 
 ^ "' C '
 
 UC Southern Regional Library Facility 
 
 <-< 
 
 
 , . 
 
 << i^ 
 
 A 000 493 377 6 
 
 f- <. < * 
 
 < c < 
 
 t 
 
 < 
 
 . -* < 
 
 < 
 
 ( 
 
 < < < - 
 
 * ' 1C' 
 
 ' 
 
 :<sr . 
 
 f < < 
 
 ' 
 
 c -< < - 
 
 - 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 f < . 
 e ' ' 
 
 < 
 I 
 
 sss?&. 
 
 - 
 
 ' ' * " 
 
 . < < S- 
 
 . 
 ' 

 
 .< i 
 
 
 
 
 :-<- L 
 
 C> 
 
 
 ^^ 
 "V