Susanna Moodie - "Life in the Backwoods"

Aristophanes et al - "The Eleven Comedies"

Robert Neilson Stephens - "The Mystery of Murray Davenport"

Thomas Wentworth Higginson - "Black Rebellion"

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Tales And Novels, Volume 1 by Maria Edgeworth

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




Henry saw his friend reach the last step of the ladder. As Forester
stooped to put the rope round the shoulders of the man, who lay
insensible at the bottom of the vat, a sudden air of idiocy came over his
animated countenance; his limbs seemed no longer to obey his will; his
arms dropped, and he fell insensible.

The spectators, who were looking down from above, were so much terrified,
that they could not decide to do any thing; some cried, "It's all over
with him! Why would he go down?" Others ran to procure a hook--others
called to him to take up the rope again, if he possibly could: but
Forester could not hear or understand them, Henry Campbell was the only
person who, in this scene of danger and confusion, had sufficient
presence of mind to be of service.

Near the large vat, into which Forester had descended, there was a
cistern of cold water. Henry seized a bucket, which was floating in the
cistern, filled it with water, and emptied the water into the vat,
dashing it against the sides, to disperse the water, and to displace the
mephitic air[4], He called to the people, who surrounded him, for
assistance; the water expelled the air; and, when it was safe to descend,
Henry instantly went down the ladder himself, and fastened the cord round
Forester, who was quite helpless.

[Footnote 4: Carbonic acid gas.]

"Draw him up!" said Henry, They drew him up. Henry fastened another cord
round the body of the other man, who lay at the bottom of the vessel, and
he was taken up in the same manner. Forester soon returned to his senses,
when he was carried into the air; it was with more difficulty that the
other man, whose animation had been longer suspended, was recovered; at
length, however, by proper application, his lungs played freely, he
stretched himself, looked round upon the people who were about him with
an air of astonishment, and was some time before he could recollect what
had happened to him. Forester, as soon as he had recovered the use of his
understanding, was in extreme anxiety to know whether the poor man, who
went down for his key, had been saved. His gratitude to Henry, when he
heard all that had passed, was expressed in the most enthusiastic manner.

"I acted like a madman, and you like a man of sense," said Forester. "You
always know how to do good: I do mischief, whenever I attempt to do good.
But now, don't expect, Henry, that I should give up any of my opinions to
you, because you have saved my life. I shall always argue with you just
as I did before. Remember, I despise _address_, I don't yield a single
point to you. Gratitude shall never make me a sycophant."



THE FLOWERPOT.


Eager to prove that he was not a sycophant, Forester, when he returned
home with his friend Henry, took every possible occasion to contradict
him, with even more than his customary rigidity; nay, he went further
still, to vindicate his sincerity.

Flora Campbell had never entirely recovered our hero's esteem, since she
had unwittingly expressed her love for Scotch reels; but she was happily
unconscious of the crime she had committed, and was wholly intent upon
pleasing her father and mother, her brother Henry, and herself. She had a
constant flow of good spirits, and the charming domestic talent of making
every trifle a source of amusement to herself and others: she was
sprightly, without being frivolous; and the uniform sweetness of her
temper showed, that she was not in the least in want of flattery, or
dissipation, to support her gaiety. But Forester, as the friend of her
brother, thought it incumbent upon him to discover faults in her which no
one else could discover, and to assist in her education, though she was
only one year younger than himself. She had amused herself, the morning
that Forester and her brother were at the brewery, with painting a
pasteboard covering for the flower-pot which held the poor little girl's
geranium. Flora had heard from her brother of his intention to place it
in the middle of the supper-table, at the ball; and she flattered
herself, that he would like to see it ornamented by her hands at his
return. She produced it after dinner. Henry thanked her, and her father
and mother were pleased to see her eagerness to oblige her brother. The
cynical Forester alone refused his sympathy. He looked at the flower-pot
with marked disdain. Archibald, who delighted to contrast himself with
the unpolished Forester, and who remarked that Flora and her brother were
both somewhat surprised at his unsociable silence, slyly said, "There's
something in this flower-pot Miss Campbell, which does not suit Mr.
Forester's correct taste; I wish he would allow us to profit by his
criticisms."

Forester vouchsafed not a reply.

"Don't you like it, Forester?" said Henry.

"No, he does not like it," said Flora, smiling; "don't force him to say
that he does."

"Force me to say I like what I don't like!" repeated Forester; "no, I
defy any body to do that."

"But why," said Dr. Campbell, laughing, "why such a waste of energy and
magnanimity about a trifle? If you were upon your trial for life or
death, Mr. Forester, you could not look more resolutely guarded--more as
if you had 'worked up each corporal agent' to the terrible feat!"

"Sir," said Forester, who bore the laugh that was raised against him with
the air of a martyr, "I can bear even your ridicule in the cause of
truth." The laugh continued at the solemnity with which he pronounced
these words. "I think," pursued Forester, "that those who do not respect
truth in trifles, will never respect it in matters of consequence."

Archibald Mackenzie laughed more loudly, and with affectation, at this
speech: Henry and Dr. Campbell's laughter instantly ceased.

"Do not mistake us," said Dr. Campbell; "we did not laugh at your
principles, we only laughed at your manner."

"And are not principles of rather more consequence than manners?"

"Of infinitely more consequence," said Dr. Campbell: "but why, to
excellent principles, may we not add agreeable manners? Why should not
truth be amiable, as well as respectable? You, who have such enlarged
views for the good of the whole human race, are, I make no doubt,
desirous that your fellow-creatures should love truth, as well as you
love it yourself."

"Certainly, I wish they did," said Forester.

"And have your observations upon the feelings of others, and upon your
own, led you to conclude, that we are most apt to like those things which
always give us pain? And do you, upon this principle, wish to make truth
as painful as possible, in order to increase our love for it?"

"I don't wish to make truth painful," said Forester; "but, at the same
time, it is not my fault if people can't bear pain. I think people who
can't bear pain, both of body and mind, cannot be good for any thing;
for, in the first place, they will always," said Forester, glancing his
eye at Flora and her flower-pot,--"they will always prefer flattery to
truth, as all weak people do."

At this sarcastic reflection, which seemed to be aimed at the sex, Lady
Catherine, Mrs. Campbell, and all the ladies present, except Flora, began
to speak at once in their own vindication.

As soon as there was any prospect of peace, Dr. Campbell resumed his
argument in the calmest voice imaginable.

"But, Mr. Forester, without troubling ourselves for the present with the
affairs of the ladies, or of weak people, may I ask what degree of
unnecessary pain you think it the duty of a strong person, a moral
Samson, to bear?"

"Unnecessary pain! I do not think it is any body's duty to bear
_unnecessary_ pain."

"Nor to make others bear it?"

"Nor to make others bear it."

"Then we need argue no further. I congratulate you, Mr. Forester, upon
your becoming so soon a proselyte to politeness."

"To politeness!" said Forester, starting back.

"Yes, my good sir; real politeness only teaches us to save others
from _unnecessary pain_; and _this_ you have just allowed to be your
wish.--And now for the grand affair of Flora's flower-pot. You are not
bound by politeness to tell any falsehoods; weak as she is, and a woman,
I hope she can bear to hear the painful truth upon such an important
occasion."

"Why," said Forester, who at last suffered his features to relax into a
smile, "the truth then is, that I don't know whether the flower-pot be
pretty or ugly, but I was determined not to say it was pretty."

"But why," said Henry, "did you look so heroically severe about the
matter?"

"The reason I looked grave," said Forester, "was, because I was afraid
your sister Flora would be spoiled by all the foolish compliments that
were paid to her and her flower-pot."

"You are very considerate; and Flora, I am sure, is much obliged to you,"
said Dr. Campbell, smiling, "for being so clear-sighted to the dangers of
female vanity. You would not then, with a safe conscience, trust the
completion of her education to her mother, or to myself?"

"I am sure, sir," said Forester, who now, for the first time, seemed
sensible that he had not spoken with perfect propriety, "I would not
interfere impertinently for the world. You are the best judges; only I
thought parents were apt to be partial. Henry has saved my life, and I am
interested for every thing that belongs to him. So I hope, if I said any
thing rude, you will attribute it to a good motive. I wish the flower-pot
had never made its appearance, for it has made me appear very
impertinent."

Flora laughed with so much good humour at this odd method of expressing
his contrition, that even Forester acknowledged the influence of engaging
manners and sweetness of temper. He lifted up the flower-pot, so as
completely to screen his face, and, whilst he appeared to be examining
it, he said, in a low voice, to Henry, "She is above the foibles of her
sex."

"Oh, Mr. Forester, take care!" cried Flora.

"Of what?" said Forester, starting.

"It is too late now," said Flora.

And it was too late. Forester, in his awkward manner of lifting the
flower-pot and its painted case, had put his thumbs into the mould, with
which the flower-pot had been newly filled. It was quite soft and wet.
Flora, when she called to him, saw the two black thumbs just ready to
stamp themselves upon her work, and her warning only accelerated its
fate; for, the instant she spoke, the thumbs closed upon the painted
covering, and Forester was the last to perceive the mischief that he had
done.

There was no possibility of effacing the stains, nor was there time to
repair the damage, for the ball was to commence in a few hours, and Flora
was obliged to send her disfigured work, without having had the
satisfaction of hearing the ejaculation which Forester pronounced in her
praise behind the flower-pot.



THE BALL.


Henry seized the moment when Forester was softened by the mixed effect of
Dr. Campbell's raillery and Flora's good humour, to persuade him, that it
would be perfectly consistent with sound philosophy to dress himself for
a ball, nay, even to dance a country-dance. The word _reel_, to which
Forester had taken a dislike, Henry prudently forbore to mention; and
Flora, observing, and artfully imitating her brother's prudence,
substituted the word _hays_ instead of _reels_ in her conversation. When
all the party were ready to go to the ball, and the carriages at the
door, Forester was in Dr. Campbell's study, reading the natural history
of the elephant.

"Come," said Henry, who had been searching for him all over the house,
"we are waiting for you; I'm glad to see you dressed--come!"

"I wish you would leave me behind," said Forester, who seemed to have
relapsed into his former unsociable humour, from having been left half an
hour in his beloved solitude; nor would Henry probably have prevailed, if
he had not pointed to the print of the elephant[5]. "That mighty animal,
you see, is so docile, that he lets himself be guided by a young boy,"
said Henry; "and so must you."

[Footnote 5: Cabinet of Quadrupeds.]

As he spoke he pulled Forester gently, who thought he could not show less
docility than his favourite animal. When they entered the ball-room,
Archibald Mackenzie asked Flora to dance, whilst Forester was considering
where he should put his hat. "Are you going to dance without me? I
thought I had asked you to dance with me. I intended it all the time we
were coming in the coach."

Flora thanked him for his kind intentions; whilst Archibald, with a look
of triumph, hurried his partner away, and the dance began. Forester saw
this transaction in the most serious light, and it afforded him subject
for meditation till at least half a dozen country-dances had been
finished. In vain the Berwick Jockey, the Highland Laddie, and the
Flowers of Edinburgh, were played; "they suited not the gloomy habit" of
his soul. He fixed himself behind a pillar, proof against music, mirth,
and sympathy: he looked upon the dancers with a cynical eye. At length he
found an amusement that gratified his present splenetic humour; he
applied both his hands to his ears, effectually to stop out the sound of
the music, that he might enjoy the ridiculous spectacle of a number of
people capering about, without any apparent motive. Forester's attitude
caught the attention of some of the company; indeed, it was strikingly
awkward. His elbows stuck out from his ears, and his head was sunk
beneath his shoulders. Archibald Mackenzie was delighted beyond measure
at his figure, and pointed him out to his acquaintance with all possible
expedition. The laugh and the whisper circulated with rapidity. Henry,
who was dancing, did not perceive what was going on till his partner said
to him, "Pray, who is that strange mortal?"

"My friend," cried Henry: "will you excuse me for one instant?" And he
ran up to Forester, and roused him from his singular attitude. "He is,"
continued Henry, as he returned to his partner, "an excellent young man,
and he has superior abilities; we must not quarrel with him for trifles."

With what different eyes different people behold the same objects! Whilst
Forester had been stopping his ears, Dr. Campbell, who had more of the
nature of the laughing than of the weeping philosopher, had found much
benevolent pleasure in contemplating the festive scene. Not that any
folly or ridicule escaped his keen penetration; but he saw every thing
with an indulgent eye, and, if he laughed, laughed in such a manner, that
even those who were the objects of his pleasantry could scarcely have
forborne to sympathize in his mirth. Folly, he thought, could be as
effectually corrected by the tickling of a feather, as by the lash of the
satirist. When Lady Margaret M'Gregor, and Lady Mary Macintosh, for
instance, had almost forced their unhappy partners into a quarrel to
support their respective claims to precedency, Dr. Campbell, who was
appealed to as the relation of both the furious fair ones, decided the
difference expeditiously, and much to the amusement of the company, by
observing, that, as the pretensions of each of the ladies were
incontrovertible, and precisely balanced, there was but one possible
method of adjusting their precedency--by their age. He was convinced, he
said, that the youngest lady would with pleasure yield precedency to the
elder. The contest was now, which should stand the lowest, instead of
which should stand the highest, in the dance: and when the proofs of
seniority could not be settled, the fair ones drew lots for their places,
and submitted that to chance which could not be determined by prudence.

Forester stood beside Dr. Campbell whilst all this passed, and wasted a
considerable portion of virtuous indignation upon the occasion. "And look
at that absurd creature!" exclaimed Forester, pointing out to Dr.
Campbell a girl who was footing and pounding for fame at a prodigious
rate. Dr. Campbell turned from the pounding lady to observe his own
daughter Flora, and a smile of delight came over his countenance: for
"_parents are apt to be partial_"--especially those who have such
daughters as Flora. Her light figure and graceful agility attracted the
attention even of many impartial spectators; but she was not intent upon
admiration: she seemed to be dancing in the gaiety of her heart; and that
was a species of gaiety in which every one sympathized, because it was
natural, and of which every one approved, because it was innocent. There
was a certain delicacy mixed with her sportive humour, which seemed to
govern, without restraining, the tide of her spirits. Her father's eye
was following her as she danced to a lively Scotch tune, when Forester
pulled Dr. Campbell's cane, on which he was leaning, and exclaimed,
"Doctor, I've just thought of an excellent plan for a tragedy!"

"A tragedy!" repeated Dr. Campbell, with unfeigned surprise; "are you
sure you don't mean a comedy?"

Forester persisted that he meant a tragedy, and was proceeding to open
the plot. "Don't force me to your tragedy now," said Dr. Campbell, "or it
will infallibly be condemned. I cannot say that I have my _buskin_ on!
and I advise you to take yours off. Look, is that the tragic muse?"

Forester was astonished to find, that so great a man as Dr. Campbell had
so little the power of abstraction; and he retired to muse upon the
opening of his tragedy in a recess under the music gallery. But here he
was not suffered long to remain undisturbed; for, near this spot, Sir
Philip Gosling presently stationed himself; Archibald Mackenzie, who
left off dancing as soon as Sir Philip entered the room, came to the
half-intoxicated baronet; and they, with some other young men, worthy of
their acquaintance, began so loud a contest concerning the number of
bottles of claret which a man might, could, or should drink at a sitting,
that even Forester's powers of abstraction failed, and his tragic muse
took her flight.

"Supper! Supper! thank God!" exclaimed Sir Philip, as supper was now
announced. "I'd never set my foot in a ballroom," added he, with several
suitable oaths, "if it were not for the supper."

"Is that a rational being?" cried Forester to Dr. Campbell, after Sir
Philip had passed them.

"Speak a little lower," said Dr. Campbell, "or he will infallibly prove
his title to rationality by shooting you, or by making you shoot him,
through the head."

"But, sir," said Forester, holding Dr. Campbell fast, whilst all the rest
of the company were going down to supper, "how can you bear such a number
of foolish, disagreeable people with patience?"

"What would you have me do?" said Dr. Campbell. "Would you have me
get up and preach in the middle of a ball-room? Is it not as well, since
we are here, to amuse ourselves with whatever can afford us any
amusement, and to keep in good humour with all the world, especially with
ourselves?--and had we not better follow the crowd to supper?"

Forester went down-stairs; but, as he crossed an antechamber, which led
to the supper-room, he exclaimed, "If I were a legislator, I would
prohibit balls."

"And if you were a legislator," said Dr. Campbell, pointing to a
tea-kettle, which was on the fire in the antechamber, and from the spout
of which a grey cloud of vapour issued--"if you were a legislator, would
not you have stoppers wedged tight into the spouts of all tea-kettles in
your dominions?"

"No, sir," said Forester; "they would burst."

"And do you think that folly would not burst, and do more mischief than a
tea-kettle in the explosion, if you confined it so tight?"

Forester would willingly have stayed in the antechamber, to begin a
critical dissection of this allusion; but Dr. Campbell carried him
forwards into the supper-room. Flora had kept a seat for her father; and
Henry met them at the door.

"I was just coming to see for you, sir," said he to his father. "Flora
began to think you were lost."

"No," said Dr. Campbell, "I was only detained by a would-be Cato, who
wanted me to quarrel with the whole world, instead of eating my supper.
What would you advise me to eat, Flora?" said he, seating himself beside
her.

"Some of this trifle, papa;" and as she lightly removed the flowers with
which it was ornamented, her father said, "Yes, give me some trifle,
Flora. Some characters are like that trifle--flowers and light froth at
the top, and solid, good sweetmeat, beneath."

Forester immediately stretched out his plate for some trifle. "But I
don't see any use in the flowers, sir," said he.

"Nor any beauty," said Dr. Campbell.

Forester picked the _troublesome_ flowers out of his trifle, and ate a
quantity of it sufficient for a Stoic. Towards the end of the supper, he
took some notice of Henry, who had made several ineffectual efforts to
amuse him by such slight strokes of wit as seemed to suit the time and
place. Time and place were never taken into Forester's consideration: he
was secretly displeased with his friend Henry for having danced all the
evening instead of sitting still; and he looked at Henry's partner with a
scrutinizing eye. "So," said he, at last, "I observe I have not been
thought worthy of your conversation to-night: this is what _gentlemen,
polite gentlemen_, who dance _reels_, call friendship!"

"If I had thought that you would have taken it ill I should dance reels,"
said Henry, laughing, "I would have made the sacrifice of a reel at the
altar of friendship; but we don't come to a ball to make sacrifices to
friendship, but to divert ourselves."

"If we can," said Forester, sarcastically: here he was prevented from
reproaching his friend any longer, for a party of gentlemen began to sing
catches, at the desire of the rest of the company.

Forester was now intent upon criticising the nonsensical words that were
sung; and he was composing an essay upon the power of the ancient bards,
and the effect of national music, when Flora's voice interrupted him:
"Brother," said she, "I have won my wager." The wager was, that Forester
would not during supper observe the geranium that was placed in the
middle of the table.

As soon as the company were satisfied, both with their supper and their
songs, Henry, whose mind was always _present_, seized the moment when
there was silence to turn the attention of the company towards the object
upon which his own thoughts were intent. The lady-patroness, the mistress
of the canary-bird, had performed her promise: she had spoken to several
of her acquaintance concerning the tyrannical schoolmistress; and now,
fixing the attention of the company upon the geranium, she appealed to
Henry Campbell, and begged him to explain its history. A number of eager
eyes turned upon him instantly; and Forester felt, that if he had been
called upon in such a manner he could not have uttered a syllable. He now
felt the great advantage of being able to speak, without hesitation or
embarrassment, before numbers. When Henry related the poor little girl's
story, his language and manner were so unaffected and agreeable, that he
interested every one who heard him in his cause. A subscription was
immediately raised; every body was eager to contribute something to
the child, who had been so ready, for her old grandmother's sake, to
part with her favourite geranium. The lady who superintended the
charity-school agreed to breakfast the next morning at Dr. Campbell's,
and to go from his house to the school precisely at the hour when the
schoolmistress usually set her unfortunate scholars to their extra task
of spinning.

Forester was astonished at all this; he did not consider that
negligence and inhumanity are widely different. The lady-patronesses had,
perhaps, been rather negligent in contenting themselves with seeing the
charity-children _show well_ in procession to Church, and they had not
sufficiently inquired into the conduct of the schoolmistress; but, as
soon as the facts were properly stated, the ladies were eager to exert
themselves, and candidly acknowledged that they had been to blame in
trusting so much to the reports of the superficial visitors, who had
always declared that the school was going on perfectly well.

"More people who are in the wrong," said Dr. Campbell to Forester, "would
be corrected, if some people who are in the right had a little candour
and patience joined to their other virtues."

As the company rose from the supper-table, several young ladies gathered
round the geranium to admire Flora's pretty flower-pot. The black stains,
however, struck every eye. Forester was standing by rather embarrassed.
Flora, with her usual good-nature, refrained from all explanation, though
the exclamations of "How was that done?"--"Who could have done that?"
were frequently repeated.

"It was an accident," said Flora; and, to change the conversation, she
praised the beauty of the geranium; she gathered one of the fragrant
leaves, but, as she was going to put it amongst the flowers in her bosom,
she observed she had dropped her moss-rose. It was a rarity at this time
of year: it was a rose which Henry Camphell had raised in a conservatory
of his own construction.

"Oh, my brother's beautiful rose!" exclaimed Flora.

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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