P. G. Wodehouse - "Not George Washington"

Oliver Wendell Holmes - "Our Hundred Days in Europe"

Maria Edgeworth - "Tales and Novels, Vol. III"

Edna A. Brown - "The Spanish Chest"

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Tales And Novels, Volume 1 by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales And Novels, Volume 1




"I never wrote any letters at your age," said Howard.

"Oh, how happy you must have been! But then, if you never learned, how
comes it that you can write them now? How can you always find something
to say?"

"I never write but when I have something to say; and you know, when you
had something to say last post about Easter holidays, your pen, Oliver,
went scratch, scratch, scratch, as fast as any body's."

"So it did," cried Oliver; "but then the thing is, I'm forced to write
when I've nothing about the holidays to say."

"Forced?"

"Yes, because I'm afraid my uncle and cousins should be angry if I didn't
write."

"I'm sure I'm much obliged," said Howard, "to my dear aunt, who never
forced me to write: she always said, 'Never write, Charles, but when you
like it;' and I never did. When I had any thing to say, that is, any
thing to describe, or any reasons to give upon any subject, or any
questions to ask, which I very much wished to have answered, then, you
know, I could easily write, because I had nothing to do but to write down
just the words which I should have said, if I had been speaking."

"But I thought writing was quite a different thing from speaking,
because, in writing, there must be sentences, and long sentences, and
fine sentences, such as there are in books."

"In _some_ books," said Howard; "but not in all."

"Besides," continued Oliver, "one person's speaking is quite different
from another person's speaking. Now I believe I make use of a great
number of odd words, and vulgar expressions, and bad English, which I
learned from being with the servants, I believe, at home. You have never
talked to servants, Charles, I dare say, for you have not one of their
words."

"No," said Charles, "never; and my aunt took a great deal of pains to
prevent me from hearing any of their conversation; therefore it was
impossible that I should catch--"

Here the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of old Paul, the
gardener.

"So, Paul," cried little Oliver, "I've been doing your work for you this
morning; I've watered all the geraniums, and put the Indian corn in the
sun; what kept you so late in your bed this fine morning, Paul?--fie,
Paul!"

"You would not say fie, master," replied Paul, "if you knew how early I
had been out of my bed, this morning: I was abroad afore sunrise, so I
was, master."

"And why didn't you come to work then, Paul? You shall not have the
watering-pot till you tell me: don't look so grave about it; you know you
must smile when I please, Paul."

"I can't smile, just now, master," said old Paul; but he smiled, and then
told Oliver, that "the reason he could not smile was, that he was a
little sick at heart, with just coming from the sight of a poor soul who
had been sadly bruised by a fall from the top of the stage, which was
overturned last night. She was left all night at the _pike_, and as she
had no other friends, she sent for me by a return chay-boy, and I went
for her, and brought her home in my covered cart, to my good woman, which
she liked, with good reason, better ten to one than the stage. And she's
terribly black and blue, and does not seem quite right in her head, to my
fancy."

"I wish we could do something for her," said Howard. "As soon as Mr.
Russell is up, I'll ask him to go with us to see her. We will call as we
go by to school this morning."

"But, master," said the gardener, "I should warn ye beforehand, that
mayhap you mayn't pity her so much, for she's rather past her best days;
and bad must have been her best, for she's swarthy, and not like one of
this country: she comes from over the seas, and they call her a--a--not
quite a negro."

"A mulatto!--I like her the better," cried Oliver; "for my nurse was a
mulatto. I'll go and waken Mr. Russell this instant, for I'm sure he'll
not be angry." He ran away to Mr. Russell, who was not angry at being
awakened, but dressed himself _almost_ as expeditiously as Oliver wished,
and set out immediately with his pupils, delighted to be the companion of
their benevolent schemes, instead of being the object of their fear and
hatred. Tutors may inspire affection, even though they have the
misfortune to be obliged to teach Greek and Latin.[5]

[Footnote 5: Vide Dr. Johnson's assertions to the contrary, in Mrs.
Piozzi's Anecdotes.]

When the boys arrived at the gardener's, they found the poor mulatto
woman lying upon a bed, in a small close room, which was so full of
smoke, when they came in, that they could hardly breathe: the little
window, that let in but a glimmering light, could not, without
difficulty, be opened. The poor woman made but few complaints; she
appeared to be most concerned at the thoughts of being a burden to the
good old gardener and his wife. She said that she had not been long in
England; that she came to London in hopes of finding a family who had
been very kind to her in her youth; but that, after inquiry at the house
where they formerly lived, she could hear nothing of them. After a great
deal of trouble, she discovered that a West India gentleman, who had
known her abroad, was now at Bath; but she had spent the last farthing of
her money, and she was, therefore, unable to undertake the journey. She
had brought over with her, she said, some foreign seeds of flowers, which
her young mistress used to be fond of when she was a child, which she had
kept till hunger obliged her to offer them to a gardener for a loaf of
bread. The gardener to whom she offered them was old Paul, who took
compassion upon her distress, lodged her for a week, and at last paid for
an outside place for her upon the Bath coach. There was such an air of
truth and simplicity in this woman, that Mr. Russell, more experienced
than his pupils, believed her story, at once, as implicitly as they did.
"Oh," exclaimed little Oliver, "I have but this half-crown for her: I
wish Holloway had but paid me my half-guinea; I'll ask him for it again
to-day; and will you come with us here again, this evening, Mr. Russell,
that I may bring it then?"

Mr. Russell and Howard hired the room for a fortnight in which the
mulatto woman was now lying, and paid old Paul, the gardener, for it,
promising, at the same time, to supply her with food. The gardener's
wife, at the poor woman's earnest request, promised that, as soon as she
was able to sit up, she would get her some coarse plain work to do.

"But," said Oliver, "how can she see to work in this smoke? I'm sure it
makes my eyes water so that I can hardly bear it, though I have been in
it scarcely ten minutes."

"I wish," exclaimed Howard, turning to Mr. Russell, "that this chimney
could be cured of smoking."

"Oh, well-a-day," said the gardener, "we must put up with it as it is,
for I've had doctors to it, at one time or another, that have cost me a
power of money; but, after all, it's as bad as ever, and my good dame
never lights a fire in it this fine spring weather; howsomever, she
(pointing to the mulatto woman) is so chilly, coming from a country that,
by all accounts, is a hot-house, compared with ours, that she can't sleep
o' nights, or live o' days without a small matter of fire, which she's
welcome to, though, you see, it almost fills the house with smoke."

Howard, during the gardener's speech, had been trying to recollect where
it was that he had lately seen some essay upon smoky chimneys; and he
suddenly exclaimed, "It was in Dr. Franklin's works--was it not, Mr,
Russell?"

"What?" said Mr. Russell, smiling.

"That essay upon smoky chimneys which I said I would skip over, the other
day, because I had nothing to do with it, and I thought I should not
understand. Don't you remember telling me, sir, that I had better not
skip it, because it might, some time or other, be useful to me? I wish I
could get the book now; I would take pains to understand it, because,
perhaps, I might find out how this poor man's chimney might be cured of
smoking. As for his window, I know how that can be easily mended, because
I once watched a man who was hanging some windows for my aunt--I'll get
some sash line."

"Do you recollect what o'clock it is, my good friend?" said Mr. Russell,
holding out his watch to Howard. "We cannot wait till you are perfect
master of the theory of smoky chimneys, and the practice of hanging
windows; it is time that we should be gone." Mr. Russell spoke this with
an air of raillery, as he usually did, when he was particularly pleased.

As they were going away, Oliver earnestly repeated his request, that Mr.
Russell would come again in the evening, that he might have an
opportunity of giving the poor woman his half-guinea. Mr. Russell
promised him that he would; but he at the same time added, "All charity,
my dear Oliver, does not consist in giving money: it is easy for a man to
put his hand in his pocket, and take out a few shillings, to give any
person in distress."

"I wish," said Oliver, "I was able to do more! what can I do? I'll think
of something. Howard, will you think of something that I can do? But I
must see about my Latin lesson first, for I had not time to look it over
this morning, before I came out."

When they got back, the business of the day, for some hours, suspended
all thoughts of the mulatto woman; but, in the first interval of leisure,
Oliver went in search of Mr. Holloway, to ask for his half-guinea.
Holloway had a crowd of his companions round him, whom he seemed to be
entertaining with some very diverting story, for they were laughing
violently when little Oliver first came up to them; but they no sooner
perceived him than all their merriment suddenly ceased. Holloway first
lowered his voice into a whisper, and then observing that Oliver still
stood his ground, he asked him, in his usual peremptory tone, what might
be his business? Oliver drew him aside, and asked him to pay him _the_
half-guinea. "_The_ half-guinea?" repeated Holloway: "man, you talk of
_the_ half-guinea as if there was but one half-guinea in the world: you
shall have _the_ half-guinea, for I hate to be dunned--Stay, I believe I
have no _half_-a-guinea about me: you can't give me two half-guineas for
a guinea, can ye?"

"Me!"

"Well, then, you must wait till I can get change."

"Must I wait? but I really want it for a particular reason, this evening:
I wish you could give it me now--you know you promised; but I don't like
putting people in mind of their promises, and I would not ask you about
the money, only that I really want it."

"Want it!--nonsense: what can you want money for, such a little chap as
you? I'll lay you any wager, your _particular_ reason, if the truth was
told, is, that you can't resist the tart-woman."

"I _can_ resist the tart-woman," cried Oliver proudly; "I have a much
better use for my money: but I don't want to boast, neither; only,
Holloway, do give me the half-guinea: shall I run and ask somebody to
give you two half-guineas for a guinea?"

"No, no, I'll not be dunned into paying you. If you had not asked me for
it, I should have given it you to-night: but since you could not trust to
my honour, you'll please to wait till to-morrow morning."

"But I did trust to your honour for a whole month."

"A month!--a great while, indeed; then trust to it a day longer; and if
you ask me for the money to-morrow, you shan't have it till the next day.
I'll teach you not to be such a little dun: nobody, that has any spirit,
can bear to be dunned, particularly for such small sums. I thought you
had been above such meanness, or, I promise you, I should never have
borrowed your half-guinea," added Holloway; and he left his unfortunate
creditor to reflect upon the new ideas of _meanness_ and _spirit_, which
had been thus artfully thrown out.

Oliver was roused from his reflections by his friend Howard. "Mr. Russell
is ready to go with us to the gardener's again," said Howard: "have you a
mind to come?"

"A great mind; but I am ashamed, for I've not got my half-guinea which I
lent." Here his newly acquired fear of meanness checked Oliver, and
without complaining of his creditor's want of punctuality, he added, "but
I should like to see the poor woman though, for all that."

They set out, but stopped in their way at a bookseller's, where Howard
inquired for that essay of Dr. Franklin on smoky chimneys, which he was
impatient to see. This bookseller was well acquainted with Mr. Russell.
Howard had promised to give the bookseller the translation of the little
French book which we formerly mentioned; and the bookseller, on his part,
was very obliging in furnishing Howard with any books he wanted.

Howard was deep in the essay on smoky chimneys, and examining the
references in the print belonging to it, whilst Mr. Russell was looking
over the prints in the Encyclopedia, with little Oliver. They were all so
intent upon what they were about, that they did not perceive the entrance
of Holloway and Mr. Supine. Mr. Supine called in merely to see what Mr.
Russell could be looking at, with so much appearance of interest. The
indolent are always curious, though they will not always exert
themselves, even to gratify their curiosity.

"Only the Encyclopaedia prints," said Supine, looking over Mr. Russell's
shoulder: "I thought you had got something new."

"Only smoky chimneys," exclaimed Holloway, looking over Howard's
shoulder: "what upon earth, Howard, can you find so entertaining in smoky
chimneys? Are you turned chimney-doctor, or chimney-sweeper? This will be
an excellent thing for Lord Rawson, won't it, Mr. Supine? We'll tell it
to him on Thursday; it will be a good joke for us, for half the day.
Pray, doctor Charles Howard," continued the wit, with mock solemnity, "do
you go up the chimneys yourself?"

Howard took this raillery with so much good-humour, that Holloway
looked quite disappointed; and Mr. Supine, in a careless tone, cried, "I
take it, reading such things as these will scarcely improve your style,
sir--will they, think ye, Mr. Russell?"

"I am not sure," replied Mr. Russell, "that Mr. Howard's _first_ object
in reading is to improve his style; but," added he, turning to the
title-page, and pointing to Franklin's name, "you, perhaps, did not
know--"

"Oh, Dr. Franklin's works," interrupted Supine: "I did not see the name
before--to be sure I must bow down to _that_."

Having thus easily satisfied Mr. Supine's critical scruples by the
authority of a name, Mr. Russell rose to depart, as he perceived that
there was no chance of getting rid of the idlers.

"What are you going to do with yourself, Russell?" said Mr. Supine;
"we'll walk with you, if you are for walking, this fine evening; only
don't let's walk like penny postmen."

"But he's in a hurry," said Oliver; "he's going to see a poor woman."

"A _poor_ woman!" said Supine; "down this close lane too!"

"Oh, let's see all that's to be seen," whispered Holloway; "ten to one we
shall get some diversion out of it: Russell's a quiz worth studying, and
Howard's his ditto."

They came to the gardener's house. Holloway's high spirits suddenly
subsided when he beheld the figure of the mulatto woman.

"What's the matter?" said Oliver, observing that he started; "why did you
start so?"

"Tell Howard I want to speak one word with him, this instant, in the
street; bid him come out to me," whispered Holloway; and he hastily
retreated before the poor woman saw his face.

"Howard," cried Holloway, "I sent for you to tell you a great secret."

"I'm sorry for it," said Charles; "for I hate secrets."

"But you can keep a secret, man, can't you?"

"If it were necessary, I hope I could; but I'd rather not hear--"

"Pooh, nonsense," interrupted Holloway, "you must hear it; I'll trust to
your honour; and, besides, I have not a moment to stand shilly shally:
I've got a promise from my father to let me go down, this Easter, with
Lord Rawson, to Marryborough, in his dog-cart, _randem-tandem_, you
know."

"I did not know it, indeed," said Charles; "but what then?"

"Why, then, you see, I must be upon my good behaviour; and you would not
do such an ill-natured trick as to betray me?"

"Betray you! I don't know what you mean," said Howard, astonished.

Holloway now briefly told him his stage-coach adventure, and concluded by
saying, he was afraid that the mulatto woman should recollect either his
face or voice, and should _blow him_.

"And what," said Howard, shocked at the selfishness which Holloway
showed--"and what do you want me to do? why do you tell me all this?"

"Because," said Holloway, "I thought if you heard what the woman said,
when she saw me, you would have got it all out of her to be sure;
therefore I thought it best to trust you with my secret, and so put you
upon honour with me. All I ask of you is, to hold your tongue about
my--my--my--frolic, and just make some excuse for my not going into the
room again where the mulatto woman is: you may tell Supine, if he asks
what's become of me, that I'm gone to the music-shop, to get some new
music for him: that will keep him quiet. Good by."

When Howard returned to the room where the mulatto woman lay, he expected
to be questioned by Mr. Supine about Holloway's sudden departure; but
this gentleman was not in the habit of paying great attention to his
pupil's motions. He took it for granted that Holloway had escaped,
because he did not wish to be called upon for a charitable subscription.
From the same fear, Mr. Supine affected unusual absence of mind whilst
Mr. Russell talked to the mulatto woman, and at length, professing
himself unable to endure any longer the smell of smoke, he pushed his way
into the street. "Mr. Holloway, I suppose," said he, "has taken himself
home, very wisely, and I shall follow him: we make it a rule, I think, to
miss one another; but to keep a young man in leading-strings would be a
great bore. We're upon the best footing in the world together: as to the
rest--"

New difficulties awaited Holloway. He got home some time before Mr.
Supine, and found his friend, the stage-coachman, waiting for him with a
rueful face.

"Master," said he, "here's a sad job: there was a parcel lost last night,
in the confusion of the overturn of the coach; and I must make it good;
for it's booked, and it's booked to the value of five guineas, for it was
a gold muslin gown that a lady was very particular about; and, master, I
won't peach if you'll pay: but as for losing my place, or making up five
guineas afore Saturday, it's what I can't take upon me to do."

Holloway was much dismayed at this news; he now began to think he should
pay too dear for his frolic. The coachman persisted in his demand. Mr.
Supine appeared at the corner of the street; and his pupil was forced to
get rid immediately of the coachman, by a promise, that the money should
be ready on Saturday. When Holloway made this promise, he was not master
of two guineas in the world; how to procure the whole sum was now the
question. Alderman Holloway, with the hope of exciting in his son's mind
a love for literature, made it a practice to reward him with solid gold,
whenever he brought home any certificate of his scholarship. Holloway had
lately received five guineas from his father, for an approved copy of
Latin verses; and the alderman had promised to give him five guineas more
if he brought home the medal which was to be the reward for the best
essay in the periodical paper, which the Westminster boys were now
writing. Holloway, though he could write elegant Latin verses, had not
any great facility in English composition; he, consequently, according to
the usual practice of little minds, undervalued a talent which he did not
possess. He had ridiculed the scheme of writing an English essay, and had
loudly declared, that he did not think it worth his while to write
English. His opinion was, however, somewhat changed by his father's
promised reward; and the stage-coachman's impatience for his money now
impelled Holloway to exertion. He began to write his essay late on Friday
evening--the medal was to be given on Saturday morning--so that there
could not be much time for revisal and corrections. Corrections he
affected to disdain, and piqued himself upon the rapidity with which he
wrote. "Howard," said he, when they met to deliver in their compositions,
"you have been three weeks writing your essay; I ran mine off in three
hours and a quarter."

Mr. Holloway had not considered, that what is written with ease is not
always read with ease. His essay was written with such a careless
superfluity of words, and such a lack of ideas appeared in the
performance, that the judges unanimously threw it aside, as unworthy of
their notice. "Gentlemen," cried Dr. B., coming forward among the anxious
crowd of expectants, "which of you owns this motto?--

"'Hear it, ye Senates, hear this truth sublime,
He who allows oppression shares the crime[6].'"

[Footnote 6: Botanic Garden, vol. ii.]

"It's his!--it's his!--it's his!" exclaimed little Oliver, clapping his
hands--"it's Howard's, sir."

Dr. B., pleased with this grateful little boy's honest joy, put the medal
into his hands, without speaking, and Oliver ran with it to his friend.
"Only," said he, "only let me be by, when you show it to your aunt."

How much the pleasure of success is increased by the sympathy of our
friends! The triumph of a school-boy over his competitors is sometimes
despicable; but Howard's joy was not of this selfish and puerile sort.
All the good passions had stimulated him to exertion, and he was rewarded
by his own generous feelings. He would not have exchanged the delight
which he saw in his little friend Oliver's face, the approving smile of
his aunt, and the proud satisfaction Mr. Russell expressed at the sight
of his medal, for all the solid gold which Alderman Holloway deemed the
highest reward of literature.

Alderman Holloway was filled with indignation when he heard from Mr.
Supine that his son's essay had been rejected with contempt. The young
gentleman was also much surprised at the decision of the judges; and his
tutor, by way of pleasing his pupil's friends, hesitated not to hint,
that there "certainly was great injustice done to Mr. Augustus Holloway's
talents." The subject was canvassed at a turtle dinner at the alderman's.
"There shall not be injustice done to my Augustus," said the irritated
father, wisely encouraging his Augustus in all his mean feelings. "Never
mind 'em all, my boy; you have a father, you may thank Heaven, who _can_
judge for himself, and _will_: you shall not be the loser by Dr. B.'s or
doctor any body's injustice; I'll make it up to you, my boy; in the
meantime, join us in a bumper of port. Here's to Dr. B.'s better
judgment; wishing him health and happiness these Easter holidays, and _a
new pair of spectacles_,--hey, Mr. Supine?"

This well-chosen toast was drunk with much applause and laughter by the
company. The alderman insisted upon having his Augustus's essay produced
in the evening. Holloway had now ample satisfaction, for the whole
company were unanimous in their plaudits, after Mr. Supine had read two
or three sentences: the alderman, to confirm his own critical judgment,
drew out his purse, and counting out ten bright guineas, presented them,
with a look of high self-satisfaction, to his son. "Here, Augustus, my
boy," said he; "I promised you five guineas if you brought me home the
prize medal; but I now present you with ten, to make you the amends you
so richly deserve, for not having got their medal. Thank God, I am able
to afford it; and I hope," added the alderman, looking round, and
laughing, "I hope I'm as good a patron of the _belles lettres_ as the
head doctor of Westminster himself."

Holloway's eyes sparkled with joy at the sight of the glittering bribe.
He began some speech in reply, in which he compared his father to
Maecenas; but being entangled in a sentence, in which the nominative case
had been too long separated from the verb, he was compelled to pause
abruptly. Nevertheless, the alderman rubbed his hands with exultation;
and "Hear him! hear him!--hear your member!" was vociferated by all the
friends of the young orator. "Well, really," concluded his mother to the
ladies, who were complimenting her upon her son's performance, "it was
not a bad speech, considering he had nothing to say!"

Lord Rawson, who was one of the company, now congratulated his friend in
a whisper--"You've made a good job of it to-day, Augustus," said he:
"solid pudding's better than empty praise. We're going," continued his
lordship to the alderman, "to try my new horses this evening;" and he
pulled Augustus with him out of the room.

"There they go," said the prudent father, delighted with his own son's
being the chosen friend of a nobleman--"there they go, arm in arm, a
couple of rare ones: we shall have fine work with them, I foresee, when
Augustus gets to college--but young men of spirit must not be curbed like
common boys--we must make allowances--I have been young myself,--hey, Mr.
Supine?"

"Certainly, sir," said the obsequious tutor; "and you still have all the
sprightliness of youth; and my ideas of education square completely with
yours."

If you think books have dumbed down …
Alison Flood: Today we can take our laptops on the road, but could we use them to produce On The Road?

Kerouac's On the Road manuscript travels to the Midlands

John Crace swallows a very thirsty volume

Documentary to lay bare 'Narnia Code'

He wrote it in just three weeks, furiously and loudly tap-tap-tapping away on his typewriter on 12ft long reels of paper so that he did not have to stop, just writing writing writing fuelled only, he said, by coffee…

It became one of the most important American novels of the last century and yesterday the original manuscript - a scroll taped together with eight reels of paper - of Jack Kerouac's On The Road was unfurled in the UK for the first time.
Fifty years after the novel which more or less defined the Beat generation, was published in Britain, the Barber Institute in Birmingham is showing what is now one of the most valuable literary manuscripts in existence as part of its exhibition Jack Kerouac: Back On the Road.

The exhibition's curator Professor Dick Ellis said there had been a lot of competition to get the scroll which is itself spending a lot of time on the move, having toured a string of US cities and hitting the road to Rome once this show is over. "We're very excited indeed," he said. "This is an iconic manuscript. It is a record of the huge effort Kerouac put into composing it. It was 20 days of typing 6,500 words a day, flat out, in spontaneous composition. He wanted to record things with the most possible accuracy using the spontaneous technique. His typewriter became a compositional instrument.

"Truman Capote once accused Kerouac of typing rather than writing, I would say he was learning the ability of using the typewriter like a jazz instrument, like a saxophone. He also had an incredible memory. And he had great speed at typing, he became a lightning typist. He came to be able to use a typewriter in a way that has not been seen before or since. Kerouac said he wrote fast because the road was fast."

About 22 of the scroll's 120ft will be on display in a specially built cabinet and while visitors will have to slightly tilt their heads, Ellis believes they will get a much deeper knowledge of what Kerouac was all about. It comes to Birmingham courtesy of Jim Irsay, owner of the Indianapolis Colts, who bought it for $2.4m (£1.6m) in 2001 before agreeing to a tour. Of course, in the published novel, there are paragraph breaks but in the scroll, there are none. Kerouac did not have the time. The exhibition runs until January 28.

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