I consider that the present was the period from which I might date my first launching into human life. I was now nearly eighteen years old, strong, active, and well-made, full of spirits, and overjoyed at the independence which I had so much sighed for. Since the period of my dismissal from Mr Drummond’s my character had much altered. I had become grave and silent, brooding over my wrongs, harbouring feelings of against the parties, and viewing the world in general through a medium by no means . I had become in some degree restored from this unwholesome state of mind from having rendered an important service to Captain Turnbull, for we love the world better as we feel that we are more useful in it; but the independence now given to me was the of my hopes and wishes. I felt so happy, so buoyant in mind, that I could even think of the two clerks in Mr Drummond’s employ without feelings of revenge. Let it, however, be remembered that the world was all before me in only.
“Boat, sir?”
“No, thanky, my lad. I want old Stapleton—is he here?”
“No, sir, but this is his boat.”
“Humph, can’t he take me down?”
“No, sir; but I can, if you please.”
“Well, then, be quick.”
A sedate-looking gentleman, about forty-five years of age, stepped into the boat, and in a few seconds I was in the stream, shooting the bridge with the tide.
“What’s the matter with deaf Stapleton?”
“Nothing, sir; but he’s getting old, and has made the boat over to me.”
“Are you his son?”
“No, sir, his ’prentice.”
“Humph! sorry deaf Stapleton’s gone.”
“I can be as deaf as he, sir, if you wish it.”
“Humph!”
The gentleman said no more at the time, and I pulled down the river in silence; but in a few minutes he began to move his hands up and down, and his lips, as if he was in conversation. Gradually his action increased, and words were uttered. At last he broke out:— “It is with this conviction, I may say important conviction, Mr Speaker, that I now deliver my sentiments to the Commons’ house of Parliament, trusting that no member will decide until he has weighed the importance of the arguments which I have submitted to his .” He then stopped, as if aware that I was present, and looked at me; but, prepared as I was, there was nothing in my which exhibited the least sign of merriment; or, indeed, of having paid any attention to what he had been saying, for I looked carelessly to the right and left at the banks of the river. He again entered into conversation.
“Have you been long on the river?”
“Born on it, sir.”
“How do you like the profession of a waterman?”
“Very well, sir; the great point is to have regular customers.”
“And how do you gain them?”
“By holding my tongue; keeping their counsel and my own.”
“Very good answer, my boy. People who have much to do cannot afford to loose even their time on the water. Just now I was preparing and thinking over my speech in the House of Commons.”
“So I supposed, sir, and I think the river is a very good place for it, as no one can overhear you except the person whose services you have hired—and you need not mind him.”
“Very true, my lad; but that’s why I liked deaf Stapleton: he could not hear a word.”
“But sir, if you’ve no objection, I like to hear it very much; and you may be sure that I should never say anything about it, if you will trust me.”
“Do you my lad? well, then I’ll just try it over again. You shall be the speaker—mind you hold your tongue, and don’t interrupt me.”
The gentleman then began: “Mr Speaker, I should not have ventured to address the House at this late hour, did I not consider that the importance of the question now before it is—so important—no, that won’t do—did I not consider that the question now before it is of that, I may say, importance as to call the best energies of every man who is a well-wisher to his country. With this conviction, Mr Speaker, individual as I am, I feel it my duty, I may say, my bounden duty, to deliver my sentiments upon the subject. The papers which I now hold in my hand, Mr Speaker, and to which I shall soon have to call the attention of the House, will, I trust, fully establish—”
“I say, waterman, be you taking that chap to ?” cried a female voice close to us. The speech was stopped; we looked up, and perceived a wherry with two females passing close to us. A shout of laughter followed the observation, and my fare looked very much confused.
I had often read the papers in the public-house, and remembering what was usual in the house in case of interruption, called out, “Order, order!” This made the gentleman laugh, and as the other wherry was now far off, he recommenced his , with which I shall not trouble my readers. It was a very fair speech, I have no doubt, but I forget what it was about.
I landed him at Westminster Bridge, and received treble my fare. “Recollect,” said he, on paying me, “that I shall look out for you when I come again, which I do every Monday morning, and sometimes oftener. What’s your name?”
“Jacob, sir.”
“Very well; good morning, my lad.”
This gentleman became a very regular and excellent customer, and we used to have a great deal of conversation, independent of debating, in the wherry; and I must acknowledge that I received from him not only plenty of money, but a great deal of valuable information.
A few days after this I had an opportunity of how far Mary would keep her promise. I was at the river side as usual, when old Stapleton came up to me, with his pipe in his mouth, and said, “Jacob, there be that old gentleman up at our house with Mary. Now, I sees a great deal, but I says nothing. Mary will be her mother over again, that’s sartain. Suppose you go and see your old teacher, and leave me to look a’ter a customer. I begin to feel as if handling the sculls a little would be of sarvice to me. We all think idleness be a very pleasant thing when we’re obliged to work but when we are idle, then we feel that a little work be just as agreeable—that’s human natur’.”
I thought that Mary was very likely to forget all her good resolutions, from her love of , and I was to go and break up the conference. I, therefore, left the boat to Stapleton, and hastened to the house. I did not like to play the part of an , and was quite undecided how I should act; whether to go in at once or not, when, as I passed under the window, which was open, I heard very plainly the conversation that was going on. I stopped in the street, and listened to the Dominie in continuation—“But, fair , omnia vincit amor—here am I, Dominie Dobbs, who have long passed the grand climacteric, and can already three score years—who have authority over seventy boys, being Magister Princeps et Dux of Brentford Grammar School—who have affectioned only the sciences, and communed only with the classics—who have ever turned a deaf ear to the of thy sex, and ever hardened my heart to thy fascination—here am I, even I, Dominie Dobbs, suing at the feet of a maiden who had barely into womanhood, who knoweth not to read or write, and whose father earns his bread by manual labour. I feel it all—I feel that I am too old—that thou art too young—that I am departing from the ways of wisdom, and am regardless of my worldly . Still, omnia vincit amor, and I bow to the all-powerful god, doing him through thee, Mary. Vainly have I resisted—vainly have I, as I have lain in bed, tried to drive thee from my thoughts, and tear thine image from my heart. Have I not felt thy presence everywhere? Do not I astonish my coadjutor, Mistress Bately, the matron, by calling her by the name of Mary, when I had always before addressed her by her baptismal name of Deborah? , have not the boys in the classes discovered my weakness, and do they not shout out Mary in the hours of play? periculosum et turbidum hast thou been to me. I sleep not—I eat not—and every sign of love which hath been adduced by Ovidius Naso, whom I have , do I find in mine own person. Speak, then, maiden. I have given to my feelings, do thou the same, that I may return, and leave not my flock without their shepherd. Speak, maiden.”
“I will, sir, if you will get up,” replied Mary, who paused, and then continued. “I think, sir, that I am young and foolish, and you are old and—and—”
“Foolish, thou wouldst say.”
“I had rather you said it, sir, than I; it is not for me to use such an expression towards one so learned as you are. I think, sir, that I am too young to marry; and that perhaps you are—too old. I think, sir, that you are too clever—and that I am very ignorant; that it would not suit you in your situation to marry; and that it would not suit me to marry you—equally obliged to you all the same.”
“Perhaps thou hast in thy reply proved the wiser of the two,” answered the Dominie; “but why, maiden, didst thou raise those feelings, those hopes in my breast, only to cause me pain, and make me drink deep of the cup of disappointment? didst thou appear to cling to me in fondness, if thou felt not a towards me?”
“But are there no other sorts of love besides the one you would require, sir? May I not love you because you are so clever, and so learned in Latin. May I not love you as I do my father?”
“True, true, child; it is all my own , and I must my steps in sorrow. I have been deceived—but I have been deceived on............