Chapter III: Part 3

“The accidents--we call them such every day--the accidents which fashion our lives, are always of our own devising, if we only were to take trouble enough to trace them. I have a theory on this head, but I ‘m keeping it over for a kind of a Bridgewater Treatise. It is enough now to remark that though my number at the dinner-table was 84, I exchanged with another gentleman, who could n’t bear a draught, for a place near the door, No. 122. Ah, me! little knew I then what that simple act was to bring with it. Bear in mind, Mr. Tramp, 122; for, as you may remember, Sancho Panza’s story of the goatherd stopped short, when his master forgot the number of the goats; and that great French novelist, M. de Balzac, always hangs the interest of his tale on some sum in arithmetic, in which his hero’s fortune is concerned: so my story bears upon this number. Yes, sir, the adjoining seat, No. 123, was vacant. There was a cover and a napkin, and there was a chair placed leaning against the table, to mark it out as the property of some one absent; and day by day was that vacant place the object of my conjectures. It was natural this should be the case. My left-hand neighbor was the first mate, one of those sea animals most detestable to a landsman. He had a sea appetite, a sea voice, sea jokes, and, worst of all, a sea laugh. I shall never forget that fellow. I never spoke to him that he did not reply in some slang of his abominable profession; and all the disagreeables of a floating existence were increased ten-fold by the everlasting reference to the hated theme,--a ship. What he on the right hand might prove, was therefore of some moment to me. Another _Coup de Mer_ like this would be unendurable. The crossest old maid, the testiest old bachelor, the most peppery nabob, the flattest ensign, the most boring of tourists, the most careful of mothers, would be a boon from heaven in comparison with a blue-jacket. Alas! Mr. Tramp, I was left very long to speculate on this subject. We were buffeted down the Channel, we were tossed along the coast of France, and blown about the Bay of Biscay before 123 ever turned up; when one day--it was a deliciously calm day (I shall not forget it soon)--we even could see the coast of Portugal, with its great mountains above Cintra. Over a long reach of sea, glassy as a mirror, the great ship clove her way,--the long foam-track in her wake, the only stain on that blue surface. Every one was on deck: the old asthmatic gentleman, whose cough was the curse of the after-cabin, sat with a boa round his neck, and thought he enjoyed himself. Ladies in twos and threes walked up and down together, chatting as pleasantly as though in Kensington Gardens. The tourist sent out by Mr. Colburn was taking notes of the whole party, and the four officers in the Bengal Light Horse had adjourned their daily brandy and water to a little awning beside the wheel. There were sketch-books and embroidery-frames and journals on all sides; there was even a guitar, with a blue ribbon round it; and amid all these remindings of shore life, a fat poodle waddled about, and snarled at every one. The calm, sir, was a kind of doomsday, which evoked the dead from their tombs; and up they came from indescribable corners and nooks, opening their eyes with amazement upon the strange world before them, and some almost feeling that even the ordeal of sea-sickness was not too heavy a penalty for an hour so bright, though so fleeting.

“‘Which is 123?’ thought I, as I elbowed my way along the crowded quarter-deck, now asking myself could it be the thin gentleman with the two capes, or the fat lady with the three chins? But there is a prescience which never fails in the greater moments of our destiny, and this told me it was none of these. We went down to dinner, and for the first time the chair was not placed against the table, but so as to permit a person to be seated on it.

“‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said the steward to me, ‘could you move a little this way? 123 is coming in to dinner, and she would like to have the air of the doorway.’

“‘She would,’ thought I; ‘oh, so this is a she, at all events;’ and scarce was the reflection made, when the rustle of a silk dress was heard brushing my chair. I turned, and what do you think, Mr. Tramp?--shall I endeavor to describe my emotions to you?”

This was said in a tone so completely questioning that I saw Mr. Yellowley waited for my answer.

“I am afraid, sir,” said I, looking at my watch, “if the emotions you speak of will occupy much time, we had better skip them, for it only wants a quarter to twelve.”

“We will omit them, then, Mr. Tramp; for, as you justly observe, they would require both time and space. Well, sir, to be brief, 123 was the angel of the railroad.”

“The lady you met at--”

“Yes, sir, if you prefer to call her the lady; for I shall persist in my previous designation. Oh, Mr. Tramp, that was the great moment of my life. You may have remarked that we pass from era to era of our existence, as though it were from one chamber to another. The gay, the sparkling, and the brilliant succeed to the dark and gloomy apartment, scarce illumined by a ray of hope, and we move on in our life’s journey, with new objects suggesting new actions, and the actions engendering new frames of thought, and we think ourselves wiser as our vicissitudes grow thicker; but I must not continue this theme. To me, this moment was the greatest transition of my life. Here was the ideal before me, which neither art had pictured, nor genius described,--the loveliest creature I ever beheld. She turned round on taking her place, and with a slight gesture of surprise recognized me at once as her former fellow-traveller. I have had proud moments in my life, Mr. Tramp. I shall never forget how the Commander of the Forces at Boulahcush said to me in full audience, in the presence of all the officials,--

“‘Yellowley, this is devilish hot,--hotter than we have it in Europe.’

“But here was a prouder moment still: that little graceful movement of recognition, that smile so transient as to be scarce detected, sent a thrill of happiness all through me. In former days, by doughty deeds and hazardous exploits men won their way to women’s hearts; our services in the present time have the advantage of being less hazardous; little attentions of the table, passing the salt, calling for the pepper, lifting a napkin, and inviting to wine, are the substitutes for mutilating giants and spitting dragons. I can’t say but I think the exchange is with the difference.

“The first day passed over with scarce the interchange of a word between us. She arose almost immediately after dinner, and did not make her appearance during the remainder of the evening. The following morning she took her place at the breakfast-table, and to my inexpressible delight, as the weather still remained calm, ascended to the quarterdeck when the meal was over. The smile with which she met me now had assumed the token of acquaintance, and a very little address was necessary, on my part, to enable me to join her as she walked, and engage her in conversation. The fact of being so young and so perfectly alone--for except her French maid, she did not appear to know a single person on board--perhaps appeared to demand some explanation on her part, even to a perfect stranger like myself; for, after some passing observations on the scenery of the coast and the beauty of the weather, she told me that she looked forward with much hope to the benefit her health might derive from a warmer air and less trying climate than that of England.

“‘I already feel benefited by the sweet South,’ said she; and there was a smile of gratitude on her lip, as she spoke the words. Some little farther explanation she may have deemed necessary; for she took the occasion soon after to remark that her only brother would have been delighted with the voyage, if he could have obtained leave of absence from his regiment; but, unfortunately, he was in ‘the Blues,’ quartered at Windsor, and could not be spared.

“‘Poor dear creature!’ said I; ‘and so she has been obliged to travel thus alone, reared doubtless within the precincts of some happy home, from which the world, with its petty snares and selfishness, were excluded, surrounded by all the appliances of luxury, and the elegances that embellish existence--and now, to venture thus upon a journey without a friend, or even a companion.’

“There could scarcely be a more touching incident than to see one like her, so beautiful and so young, in the midst of that busy little world of soldiers and sailors and merchants, travellers to the uttermost bounds of the earth, and wearied spirits seeking for change wherever it might be found. Had I not myself been alone, a very ‘waif’ upon the shores of life, I should have felt attracted by the interest of her isolation; now there was a sympathy to attach us,--there was that similarity of position--that _idem nolle, et idem velle_--which, we are told, constitutes true friendship. She seemed to arrive at this conclusion exactly as I did myself, and received with the most captivating frankness all the little attentions it was in my power to bestow; and in fact to regard me, in some sort, as her companion. Thus, we walked the deck each morning it was fine, or, if stormy, played at chess or piquet in the cabin. Sometimes she worked while I read aloud for her; and such a treat as it was to hear her criticisms on the volume before us,--how just and true her appreciation of sound and correct principles,--how skilful the distinctions she would make between the false glitter of tinsel sentiment and the dull gold of real and sterling morality! Her mind, naturally a gifted one, had received every aid education could bestow. French and Italian literature were as familiar to her as was English, while in mere accomplishments she far excelled those who habitually make such acquirements the grand business of early life.

“You are, I presume, a man of the world, Mr. Tramp. You may, perhaps, deem it strange that several days rolled over before I ever even thought of inquiring her name; but such was the case. It no more entered into my conception to ask after it, than I should have dreamed of what might be the botanical designation of some lovely flower by whose beauty and fragrance I was captivated. Enough for me that the bright petals were tipped with azure and gold, and the fair stem was graceful in its slender elegance. I cared not where Jussieu might have arranged or Linnaeus classed it. But a chance revealed the matter even before it had occurred to me to think of it. A volume of Shelley’s poems contained on the titlepage, written in a hand of singular delicacy, the words, ‘Lady Blanche D’Esmonde.’ Whether the noble family she belonged to were English, Irish, or Scotch, I could not even guess. It were as well, Mr. Tramp, that I could not do so. I should only have felt a more unwarrantable attachment for that portion of the empire she came from. Yes, sir, I loved her. I loved her with an ardor that the Yellowleys have been remarkable for, during three hundred and eighty years. It was _my_ ancestor, Mr. Tramp,--Paul Yellowley,--who was put in the stocks at Charing Cross, for persecuting a maid of honor at Elizabeth’s court. That haughty Queen and cold-hearted woman had the base inscription written above his head, ‘The penaltie of a low scullion who lifteth his eyes too loftilie.’

“To proceed. When we reached Gibraltar, Lady Blanche and I visited the rocks, and went over the bomb-proofs and the casemates together,--far more dangerous places those little cells and dark passages to a man like me, than ever they could become in the hottest fury of a siege. She took such an interest in everything. There was not a mortar nor a piece of ordnance she could afford to miss; and she would peep out from the embrasures, and look down upon the harbor and the bay, with a fearlessness that left me puzzled to think whether I were more terrified by her intrepidity or charmed by the beauty of her instep. Again we went to sea; but how I trembled at each sight of land, lest she should leave the ship forever! At last, Malta came in view; and the same evening the boats were lowered, for all had a desire to go ashore. Of course Lady Blanche was most anxious; her health had latterly improved greatly, and she was able to incur considerable fatigue, without feeling the worse afterwards.

“It was a calm, mellow evening, with an already risen moon, as we landed to wander about the narrow streets and bastioned dwellings of old Valletta. She took my arm, and, followed by Mademoiselle Virginie, we went on exploring every strange and curious spot before us, and calling up before our mind’s eye the ancient glories of the place. I was rather strong in all these sort of things, Mr. Tramp; for in expectation of this little visit, I made myself up about the Knights of St. John and the Moslems, Fort St Elmo, Civita Vecchia, rocks, catacombs, prickly pears, and all. In fact, I was primed with the whole catalogue, which, written down in short memoranda, forms Chap. I. in a modern tour-book of the Mediterranean. The season was so genial, and the moon so bright, that we lingered till past midnight, and then returned to the ship the last of all the visitors. That was indeed a night, as, flickered by the column of silver light, we swept over the calm sea. Lady Blanche, wrapped in my large boat-cloak, her pale features statue-like in their unmoved beauty, sat in the stern; I sat at her side. Neither spoke a word. What her thoughts might have been I cannot guess; but the little French maid looked at me from time to time with an expression of diabolical intelligence I cannot forget; and as I handed her mistress up the gangway, Virginie said in a whisper,--

“‘Ah, Monsieur Yellowley, _vous êtes un homme dangereux!_’

“Would you believe it, Mr. Tramp, that little phrase filled every chamber of my heart with hope; there could be but one interpretation of it, and what a meaning had that,--dangerous to the peace of mind, to the heart’s happiness of her I actually adored! I lay down in my berth and tried to sleep; but the nearest approach of slumber was a dreamy condition, in which the words _vous êtes un homme dangereux_ kept ever ringing. I thought I saw Lady Blanche dressed in white, with a veil covering her, a chaplet of orange flowers on her brow, and weeping as though inconsolably; and there was a grim, mischievous little face that nodded at me with a menacing expression, as though to say, ‘This is your work, Simon Yellowley;’ and then I saw her lay aside the veil and encircle herself with a sad-colored garment, while her tears fell even faster than before; and then the little vixen from the window exclaimed, ‘Here’s more of it, Simon Yellowley.’ Lord, how I reproached myself,--I saw I was bringing her to the grave; yes, sir, there is no concealing it. I _felt_ she loved me. I arose and put on my dressing-gown; my mind was made up. I slipped noiselessly up the cabin-stairs, and with much difficulty made my way to that part of the ship inhabited by the servants. I will not recount here the insolent allusions I encountered, nor the rude jests and jibes of the sailors when I asked for Mademoiselle Virginie; nor was it without trouble and considerable delay that I succeeded in obtaining an interview with her.

“‘Mademoiselle,’ said I, ‘I know the levity of your nation; no man is more conscious than I of--of the frailty of your moral principles. Don’t be angry, but hear me out. You said a few minutes ago that I was a “dangerous man;” tell me now, sincerely, truthfully, and candidly,’--here I put rather a heavy purse into her hands,--‘the exact meaning you attached to these words.’

“‘Ah, Monsieur,’ said she, with a stage shudder, ‘_je suis une pauvre fille, ne me perdez pas_.’

“I looked at the little wizened devil, and never felt stronger in my virtue.

“‘Don’t be afraid, Virginie, I’m an archbishop in principles; but I thought that when you said these words they bore an allusion to another--’

“‘_Ah! c’est ça,_’ said she, with perfect _naïveté_,--‘so you are, a dangerous man, a very dangerous man; so much so, indeed, that I shall use all my influence to persuade one, of whom you are aware, to escape as quickly as may be from the hazard of your fascinating society.’

“I repeat these words, Mr. Tramp, which may appear to you now too flattering; but the French language, in which Virginie spoke, permits expressions even stronger than these, as mere conventionalities.

“‘Don’t do it,’ said I, ‘don’t do it, Virginie.’

“‘I must, and I will,’ reiterated she; ‘there’s such a change in my poor dear Lady Blanche since she met you; I never knew her give way to fits of laughing before,--she’s so capricious and whimsical,--she was an angel formerly.’

“‘She is an angel still,’ said I, with a frown, for I would not suffer so much of aspersion against her.

“‘_Sans doute_,’ chimed in Virginie, with a shrug of her shoulders, ‘we are all angels, after a fashion;’ and I endeavored to smile a concurrence with this sentiment, in which I only half assented.

“By wonderful skill and cross-questioning, I at last obtained the following information: Lady Blanche was on a voyage of health, intending to visit the remarkable places in the Mediterranean, and then winter at some chosen spot upon its shores. Why she journeyed thus unprotected, was a secret there was no fathoming by indirect inquiry, and any other would have been an act of indelicacy.

“‘We will pass the winter at Naples, or Palermo, or Jerusalem, or some other watering-place,’ said Virginie, for her geography was, after all, only a lady’s-maid’s accomplishment.

“‘You must persuade her to visit Egypt, Virginie,’ said I,--‘Egypt, Virginie,--the land of the Pyramids. Induce her to do this, and to behold the wonders of the strangest country in the universe. Even now,’ said I, ‘Arab life--’

“‘Ah, _oui_. I have seen the Arabs at the Vaudeville; they have magnificent beards.’

“‘The handsomest men in the world.’

“‘_Pas mal_,’ said she, with a sententious nod there’s no converting into words.

“‘Well, Virginie, think of Cairo, think of Bagdad. You have read the Arabian Nights--have n’t you?’

“‘Yes,’ said she, with a yawn, ‘they are _passées_; now, what would you have us do in this droll old place?’

“‘I would have you to visit Mehemet Ali, and be received at his court!’ --for I saw at once the class of fascination she would yield to. ‘Drink sherbet, eat sweetmeats, receive presents, magnificent presents, cashmeres, diamond bracelets. Ah! think of that.’

“‘Ah! there is something in what you say,’ said she, after a pause; ‘but we have not come prepared for such an expensive journey. I am purse-bearer, for Lady Blanche knows nothing about expense, and we shall not receive remittances until we settle somewhere for the winter.’

“These words made my heart leap; in five minutes more I explained to Virginie that I was provided with a free transit through the East, in which, by her aid, her mistress might participate, without ever knowing it. ‘You have only to pretend, Virginie, that Egypt is so cheap; tell her a camel only costs a penny a league, and that one is actually paid for crossing the Great Desert; you can hint that old Mehemet wants to bring the thing into fashion, and that he would give his beard to see English ladies travelling that route.’

“‘I knew it well,’ said Virginie, with a malicious smile,--‘I knew it well; you are “a dangerous man.”’

“All the obstacles and impediments she could suggest, I answered with much skill and address, not unaided, I own, by certain potent persuasives, in the shape of bank paper,--she was a most mercenary little devil; and as day was breaking, Virginie had fully agreed in all my plans, and determined that her mistress should go beyond ‘the second cataract,’ if I wished it. I need not say that she fully understood my motives; she was a Frenchwoman, Mr. Tramp; the Russian loves train oil, the Yankee prefers whittling, but a Frenchwoman, without an intrigue of her own, or some one’s else, on hand, is the most miserable object in existence.

“‘I see where it all will end,’ cried she, as I turned to leave her; ‘I see it already. Before six weeks are over, you will not ask _my_ aid to influence my mistress.’

“‘Do you think so, Virginie?’ said I, grasping at the suggestion.

“‘Of course I do,’ said she, with a look of undisguised truth; ‘_ah, que vous êtes un homme dangereux!_’

“It is a strange thing, Mr. Tramp, but I felt that title a prouder one than if I had been called the Governor of Bombay. Varied and numerous as the incidents of my life had been, I never knew till then that I was a dangerous man; nor, indeed, do I believe that, in the previous constitution of my mind, I should have relished the epithet; but I hugged it now as the symbol of my happiness. The whole of the following day was spent by me in company with Lady Blanche. I expatiated on the glories of the East, and discussed everybody who had been there, from Abraham down to Abercromby. What a multiplicity of learning, sacred and profane, did I not pour forth,--I perfectly astounded her with the extent of my information, for, as I told you before, I was strong on Egypt, filling up every interstice with a quotation from Byron, or a bit of Lalla Rookh, or a stray verse from the Palm Leaves, which I invariably introduced as a little thing of my own; then I quoted Herodotus, Denon, and Lamartine, without end--till before the dinner was served, I had given her such a journey in mere description, that she said with a sigh,--

“‘Really, Mr. Yellowley, you have been so eloquent that I actually feel as much fatigued as if I had spent a day on a camel.’

“I gave her a grateful look, Mr. Tramp, and she smiled in return; from that hour, sir, we understood each other. I pursued my Egyptian studies nearly the entire of that night, and the next day came on deck, with four chapters of Irby and Mangles off by heart. My head swam round with ideas of things Oriental,--patriarchs and pyramids, Turks, dragomans, catacombs, and crocodiles, danced an infernal quadrille in my excited brain, and I convulsed the whole cabin at breakfast, by replying to the captain’s offer of some tea, with a profound salaam, and an exclamation of ‘_Bish millah, allah il allah_.’

“‘You have infatuated me with your love of the East, Mr. Yellowley,’ said Lady Blanche, one morning, as she met me. ‘I have been thinking over poor Princess Shezarade and Noureddin, and the little tailor of Bagdad, and the wicked Cadi, and all the rest of them.’

“‘Have I,’ cried I, joyfully; ‘have I indeed!’

“‘I feel I must see the Pyramids,’ said she. ‘I cannot resist an impulse on which my thoughts are concentrated, and yours be all the blame of this wilful exploit.’

“’ Yes,’ said I.

“’ T is hard at some appointed place
To check your course and turn your prow,
And objects for themselves retrace
You past with added hope just now.’

“‘Yours,’ said she, smilingly.

“‘A poor thing,’ said I, ‘I did for one of the Keepsakes.’

“Ah, Mr. Tramp, it is very hard to distinguish one’s own little verse from the minor poets. All my life I have been under the delusion that I wrote ‘O’Connor’s Child,’ and the ‘Battle of the Baltic;’ and, now I think of it, those lines are Monckton Milnes’s.

“We reached Alexandria a few days after, and at once joined the great concourse of passengers bound for the East.

“I perceive you are looking at your watch, Mr. Tramp.”

“I must indeed ask your pardon. I sail for Calais at the next ebb.”

“I shall not be tedious now, sir. We began ‘the overland,’--the angel travelling as Lady Blanche Yellowley, to avoid any possible inquiry or impertinence from the official people. This was arranged between Virginie and myself, without her knowledge. Then, indeed, began my Arabian nights. Ah, Mr. Tramp, you never can know the happiness enjoyed by him who, travelling for fourteen long hours over the hot sand, and beneath the scorching sun of the desert, comes at last to stretch his wearied limbs upon his carpet at evening, and gazes on celestial beauty as he sips his mocha. Mahomet had a strong case, depend upon it, when he furnished his paradise with a houri and a hubble-bubble; and such nights were these, as we sat and chatted over the once glories of that great land, while in the lone khan of the desert would be heard the silvery sounds of a fair woman’s voice, as she sung some little barcarole, or light Venetian canzonette. Ah, Mr. Tramp, do you wonder if I loved--do you wonder if I confessed my love? I did both, sir,--ay, sir, both.

“I told her my heart’s secret in an impassioned moment, and, with the enthusiasm of true affection, explained my position and my passion.

“‘I am your slave,’ said I, with trembling adoration,--‘_your_ slave, and the Secretary at Santancantantarabad. _You_ own my heart. _I_ possess nothing but a Government situation and three thousand per annum. I shall never cease to love you, and my widow must have a pension from the Company.’

“She covered her face with her handkerchief as I spoke, and her sobs--they must have been sobs--actually penetrated my bosom.

“‘You must speak of this no more, dear Mr. Yellowley,’ said she, wiping her eyes; ‘you really must not, at least until I arrive at Calcutta.’

“‘So you consent to go that far,’ cried I, in ecstasy.

“She seemed somewhat confused at her own confession, for she blushed and turned away; then said, in a voice of some hesitation,--

“‘Will you compel me to relinquish the charm of your too agreeable society, or will you make me the promise I ask?’

“‘Anything--everything,’ exclaimed I; and from that hour, Mr. Tramp, I only _looked_ my love, at least, save when sighs and interjections contributed their insignificant aid.

I gave no expression to my consuming flame. Not the less progress, perhaps, did I make for that. You can educate a feature, sir, to do the work of four,--I could after a week or ten days look fifty different things, and she knew them,--ay, that she did, as though it were a book open before her.

“I could have strained my eyes to see through the canvas of a tent, Mr. Tramp, if she were inside of it. And she, had you but seen _her_ looks! what archness and what softness,--how piquant, yet how playful,--what witchcraft and what simplicity! I must hasten on. We arrived within a day of our journey’s end. The next morning showed us the tall outline of Fort William against the sky. The hour was approaching in which I might declare my love, and declare it with some hope of a return!”

“Mr. Tramp,” said a waiter, hurriedly, interrupting Mr. Yellowley at this crisis of his tale, “Captain Smithet, of the ‘Hornet,’ says he has the steam up and will start in ten minutes.”

“Bless my heart,” cried I; “this is a hasty summons;” while snatching up my light travelling portmanteau, I threw my cloak over my shoulders at once.

“You ‘ll not go before I conclude my story,” cried Mr. Yellowley, with a voice of indignant displeasure.

“I regret it deeply, sir,” said I, “from my very heart; but I am the bearer of government despatches for Vienna; they are of the greatest consequence,--delay would be a ruinous matter.”

“I ‘ll go down with you to the quay,” cried Yellowley, seizing my arm; and we turned into the street together. It was still blowing a gale of wind, and a heavy sleet was drifting in our faces, so that he was compelled to raise his voice to a shout, to become audible.

“‘We are near Calcutta, dearest Lady Blanche,’ said I; ‘in a moment more we shall be no longer bound by your pledge’--do you hear me, Mr. Tramp?”

“Perfectly; but let us push along faster.”

“She was in tears, sir,--weeping. She is mine, thought I. What a night, to be sure! We drove into the grand Cassawaddy; and the door of our conveyance was wrenched open by a handsome-looking fellow, all gold and moustaches.

“‘Blanche--my dearest Blanche!’ said he.

“‘My own Charles!’ exclaimed she.”

“Her brother, I suppose, Mr. Yellowley?”

“No, sir,” screamed he, “her husband!!!”

“The artful, deceitful, designing woman had a husband!” screamed Yellowley, above the storm and the hurricane. “They had been married privately, Mr. Tramp, the day he sailed for India, and she only waited for the next ‘overland’ to follow him out; and I, sir, the miserable dupe, stood there, the witness of their joys.

“‘Don’t forget this dear old creature, Charles,’ said she: ‘he was invaluable to me on the journey!’ But I rushed from the spot, anguish-torn and almost desperate.”

“Come quickly, sir; we must catch the ebb-tide,” cried a sailor, pushing me along towards the jetty as he spoke.

“My misfortunes were rife,” screamed Yellowley, in my ear. “The Rajah to whose court I was appointed had offended Lord Ellenborough, and it was only the week before I arrived that his territory bad been added to ‘British India,’ as they call it, and the late ruler accommodated with private apartments in Calcutta, and three hundred a year for life; so that I had nothing to do but come home again. Good-bye,--good-bye, sir.”

“Go on,” cried the captain from the paddle-box; and away we splashed, in a manner far more picturesque to those on land than pleasant to us on board, while high above the howling wind and rattling cordage came Yellowley voice,--“Don’t forget it, Mr. Tramp, don’t forget it! Asleep or awake, never trust them!”

THE ROAD VERSUS THE RAILS

Although the steam-engine itself is more naturalized amongst us than with any other nation of Europe, railroad travelling has unquestionably outraged more of the associations we once cherished and were proud of, than it could possibly effect in countries of less rural and picturesque beauty than England. “La Belle France” is but a great cornfield,--in winter a dreary waste of yellow soil, in autumn a desert of dried stubble; Belgium is only a huge cabbage-garden,--flat and fetid; Prussia, a sandy plain, dotted with sentry-boxes. To traverse these, speed is the grand requisite; there is little to remark, less to admire. The sole object is to push forward; and when one remembers the lumbering diligence and its eight buffaloes, the rail is a glorious alternative.

In England, however, rural scenery is eminently characterized. The cottage of the peasant enshrined in honeysuckle, the green glade, the rich and swelling champaign, the quaint old avenues leading to some ancient hall, the dark glen, the shining river, follow each other in endless succession, suggesting so many memories of our people, and teeming with such information of their habits, tastes, and feelings. There was something distinctive, too, in that well-appointed coach, with its four blood bays, tossing their heads with impatience, as they stood before the village inn, waiting for the passengers to breakfast. I loved every jingle of the brass housings; the flap of the traces, and the bang of the swingle-bar, were music to my ears; and what a character was he who wrapped his great drab coat around his legs, and gathered up the reins with that careless indolence that seemed to say, “The beasts have no need of guidance,--they know what they are about!” The very leer of his merry eye to the buxom figure within the bar was a novel in three volumes; and mark how lazily he takes the whip from the fellow that stands on the wheel, proud of such a service; and hear him, as he cries, “All right, Bill, let ‘em go!”--and then mark the graceful curls of the long lash, as it plays around the leaders’ flanks, and makes the skittish devils bound ere they are touched. And now we go careering along the mountain-side, where the breeze is fresh and the air bracing, with a wide-spread country all beneath us, across which the shadows are moving like waves. Again, we move along some narrow road, overhung with trees, rich in perfumed blossoms, which fall in showers over us as we pass; the wheels are crushing the ripe apples as they lie uncared for; and now we are in a deep glen, dark and shady, where only a straggling sunbeam comes; and see, where the road opens, how the rabbits play, nor are scared at our approach! Ha, merry England! there are sights and sounds about you to warm a man’s heart, and make him think of home.

It was but a few days since I was seated in one of the cheap carriages of a southern line, when this theme was brought forcibly to my mind by overhearing a dialogue between a wagoner and his wife. The man, in all the pride and worldliness of his nature, would see but the advantages of rapid transit, where the poor woman saw many a change for the worse,--all the little incidents and adventures of a pleasant journey being now superseded by the clock-work precision of the rail, the hissing engine, and the lumbering train.

Long after they had left the carriage, I continued to dwell upon the words they had spoken; and as I fell asleep, they fashioned themselves into rude measure, which I remembered on awaking, and have called it--

THE SONG OF THE THIRD-CLASS TRAIN.

WAGONER.
Time was when with the dreary load
We slowly journeyed on,
And measured every mile of road
Until the day was gone;
Along the worn and rutted way,
When morn was but a gleam,
And with the last faint glimpse of day
Still went the dreary team.
But no more now to earth we bow!
Our insect life is past;
With furnace gleam, and hissing steam,
Our speed is like the blast

WIFE.
I mind it well,--I loved it too,
Full many a happy hour,
When o’er our heads the blossoms grew
That made the road a bower.
With song of birds, and pleasant sound
Of voices o’er the lea,
And perfume rising from the ground
Fresh turned by labor free.
And when the night, star-lit and bright,
Closed in on all around,
Nestling to rest, upon my breast
My boy was sleeping sonnd.
His mouth was moved, as tho’ it provtd
That even in his dream
He grasped the whip--his tiny lip
Would try to guide the team.
Oh, were not these the days to please!
Were we not happy so?
The woman said. He hung his head,
And still he muttered low:
But no more now to earth we bow,
Our insect life is past;
With furnace gleam, and hissing steam,
Our speed is like the blast.”

“I wish I had a hundred pounds to argue the question on either side,” as Lord Plunkett said of a Chancery case; for if we have lost much of the romance of the road, as it once existed, we have certainly gained something in the strange and curious views of life presented by railroad travelling; and although there was more of poetry in the pastoral, the broad comedy of a journey is always amusing. The caliph who once sat on the bridge of Bagdad, to observe mankind, and choose his dinner-party from the passers-by, would unquestionably have enjoyed a far wider scope for his investigation, had he lived in our day, and taken out a subscription ticket for the Great Western or the Grand Junction. A peep into the several carriages of a train is like obtaining a section of society; for, like the view of a house, when the front wall is removed, we can see the whole economy of the dwelling, from the kitchen to the garret; and while the grand leveller, steam, is tugging all the same road, at the same pace, subjecting the peer to every shock it gives the peasant, individual peculiarities and class observances relieve the uniformity of the scene, and afford ample opportunity for him who would read while he runs. Short of royalty, there is no one nowadays may not be met with “on the rail;” and from the Duke to Daniel O’Connell--a pretty long interval--your _vis-à-vis_ may be any illustrious character in politics, literature, or art. I intend, in some of these tales, to make mention of some of the most interesting characters it has been my fortune to encounter; meanwhile let me make a note of the most singular railroad traveller of whom I have ever heard, and to the knowledge of whom I accidentally came when travelling abroad. The sketch I shall call--

THE EARLY TRAIN TO VERSAILLES.

“Droll people one meets travelling,--strange characters!” was the exclamation of my next neighbor in the Versailles train, as an oddly attired figure, with an enormous beard, and a tall Polish cap, got out at Sèvres; and this, of all the railroads in Europe, perhaps, presents the most motley array of travellers. The “militaire,” the shopkeeper, the actor of a minor theatre, the economist Englishman residing at Versailles for cheapness, the “modiste,” the newspaper writer, are all to be met with, hastening to and from this favorite resort of the Parisians; and among a people so communicative, and so well disposed to social intercourse, it is rare that even in this short journey the conversation does not take a character of amusement, if not of actual interest.

“The last time I went down in this train it was in company with M. Thiers; and, I assure you, no one could be more agreeable and affable,” said one.

“Horace Vernet was my companion last week,” remarked another; “indeed I never guessed who it was, until a chance observation of mine about one of his own pictures, when he avowed his name.”

“I had a more singular travelling-companion still,” exclaimed a third; “no less a personage than Aboul Djerick, the Arab chief, whom the Marshal Bugeaud took prisoner.”

“_Ma foi!_ gentlemen,” said a dry old lady from the corner of the carriage, “these were not very remarkable characters, after all. I remember coming down here with--what do you think?--for my fellow-traveller. Only guess. But it is no use; you would never hit upon it,--he was a baboon!”

“A baboon!” exclaimed all the party, in a breath.

“_Sacrebleu!_ Madame, you must be jesting.”

“No, gentlemen, nothing of the kind. He was a tall fellow, as big as M. le Capitaine yonder; and he had a tail--_mon Dieu!_ what a tail! When the conductor showed him into the carriage, it took nearly a minute to adjust that enormous tail.”

A very general roar of laughter met this speech, excited probably more by the serious manner of the old lady as she mentioned this occurrence than by anything even in the event itself, though all were unquestionably astonished to account for the incident.

“Was he quiet, Madame?” said one of the passengers.

“Perfectly so,” replied she,--“_bien poli_.”

Another little outbreak of laughter at so singular a phrase, with reference to the manners of an ape, disturbed the party.

“He had probably made his escape from the Jardin des Plantes,” cried a thin old gentleman opposite.

“No, Monsieur; he lived in the Rue St. Denis.”

“_Diable!_” exclaimed a lieutenant; “he was a good citizen of Paris. Was he in the Garde Nationale, Madame?”

“I am not sure,” said the old lady, with a most provoking coolness.

“And where was he going, may I ask?” cried another.

“To Versailles, Monsieur,--poor fellow, he wept very bitterly.”

“Detestable beast!” exclaimed the old gentleman; “they make a horrid mockery of humanity.”

“Ah! very true, Monsieur; there is a strong resemblance between the two species.” There was an unlucky applicability in this speech to the hook-nose, yellow-skinned, wrinkled little fellow it was addressed to, that once more brought a smile upon the party.

“Was there no one with him, then? Who took care of him, Madame?”

“He was alone, Monsieur. The poor fellow was a ‘_garçon_;’ he told me so himself.”

“Told you so!--the ape told you!--the baboon said that!” exclaimed each in turn of the party, while an outburst of laughter filled the carriage.

“‘T is quite true,--just as I have the honor to tell you,” said the old lady, with the utmost gravity; “and although I was as much surprised as you now are, when he first addressed me, he was so well-mannered, spoke such good French, and had so much agreeability that I forgot my fears, and enjoyed his society very much.”

It was not without a great effort that the party controlled themselves sufficiently to hear the old lady’s explanation. The very truthfulness of her voice and accent added indescribably to the absurdity; for while she designated her singular companion always as M. le Singe, she spoke of him as if he had been a naturalized Frenchman, born to enjoy all the inestimable privileges of “La Belle France.” Her story was this--but it is better, as far as may be, to give it in her own words:--

“My husband, gentlemen, is greffier of the Correctional Court of Paris; and although obliged, during the session, to be every day at the Tribunal, we reside at Versailles, for cheapness, using the railroad to bring us to and from Paris. Now, it chanced that I set out from Paris, where I had spent the night at a friend’s house, by the early train, which, you know, starts at five o’clock. Very few people travel by that train; indeed, I believe the only use of it is to go down to Versailles to bring up people from thence. It was a fine cheery morning--cold, but bright--in the month of March, as I took my place alone in one of the carriages of the train. After the usual delay (they are never prompt with this train), the word ‘En route’ was given, and we started; but before the pace was accelerated to a rapid rate, the door was wrenched open by the ‘conducteur’--a large full-grown baboon, with his tail over his arm, stepped in--the door closed, and away we went. Ah! gentlemen, I never shall forget that moment. The beast sat opposite me, just like Monsieur there, with his old parchment face, his round brown eyes, and his long-clawed paws, which he clasped exactly like a human being. _Mon Dieu!_ what agony was mine! I had seen these creatures in the Jardin des Plantes, and knew them to be so vicious; but I thought the best thing to do was to cultivate the monster’s good graces, and so I put my hand in my reticule and drew forth a morsel of cake, which I presented to him.

“‘_Merci, Madame_,’ said he, with a polite bow, ‘I am not hungry.’

“Ah! when I heard him say this, I thought I should have died. The beast spoke it as plain as I am speaking to you; and he bowed his yellow face, and made a gesture of his hand, if I may call it a hand, just this way. Whether he remarked my astonishment, or perceived that I looked ill, I can’t say; but he observed in a very gentle tone,--

“‘Madame is fatigued.’

“‘Ah! Monsieur,’ said I, ‘I never knew that you spoke French.’

“‘_Oui, parbleu!_’ said he, ‘I was born in the Pyrenees, and am only half a Spaniard.’

“‘Monsieur’s father, then,’ said I, ‘was he a Frenchman?’

“‘_Pauvre bête_,’ said he; ‘he was from the Basque Provinces. He was a wild fellow.’

“‘I have no doubt of it,’ said I; ‘but it seems they caught him at last.’

“‘You are right, Madame. Strange enough you should have guessed it. He was taken in Estremadura, where he joined a party of brigands. They knew my father by his queue; for, amid all his difficulties, nothing could induce him to cut it off.’

“‘I don’t wonder,’ said I; ‘it would have been very painful.’

“‘It would have made his heart bleed, Madame, to touch a hair of it. He was proud of that old queue; and he might well be,--it was the best-looking tail in the North of Spain.’

“‘Bless my heart,’ thought I, ‘these creatures have their vanities too.’

“‘Ah, Madame, we had more freedom in those days. My father used to tell me of the nights he has passed on the mountains, under the shade, or sometimes in the branches of the cork-trees, with pleasant companions, fellows of his own stamp. We were not hunted down then, as we are now; there was liberty then.’

“‘Well, for my part,’ said I, ‘I should not dislike the Jardin des Plantes, if I was like one of you. It ain’t so bad to have one’s meals at regular times, and a comfortable bed, and a good dry house.’

“‘I don’t know what you mean by the Jardin des Plantes. I live in the Rue St. Denis, and I for one feel the chain about my ankles, under this vile _régime_ we live in at present.’

“He had managed to slip it off this time, anyhow; for I saw the creature’s legs were free.

“‘Ah, Madame,’ exclaimed Le Singe, slapping his forehead with his paw, ‘men are but rogues, cheats, and swindlers.’

“‘Are apes better?’ said I, modestly.

“‘I protest I think they are,’ said he. ‘Except a propensity to petty pilfering, they are honest beasts.’

“‘They are most affectionate,’ said I, wishing to flatter him; but he took no notice of the observation.

“‘Madame,’ exclaimed he, after a pause, and with a voice of unusual energy, ‘I was so near being caught in a trap this very morning.’

“‘Dear me,’ said I, ‘and they laid a trap for you?’

“‘An infernal trap,’ said he. ‘A mistake might have cost me my liberty for life. Do you know M. Laborde, the director of the Gymnase?’

“‘Ihave heard of him, but no more.’

“‘What a “fripon” he is! There is not such a scoundrel living; but I ‘ll have him yet. Let him not think to escape me! Pardon, Madame, does my tail inconvenience you?’

“‘Not at all, sir. Pray don’t stir.’

“I must say that, in his excitement, the beast whisked the appendage to and fro with his paw in a very furious manner.

“‘Only conceive, Madame, I have passed the night in the open air; hunted, chased, pursued,--all on account of the accursed M. Laborde. I that was reared in a warm climate, brought up in every comfort, and habituated to the most tender care,--exposed, during six hours, to the damp dews of a night in the Bois de Boulogne. I know it will fall on my chest, or I shall have an attack of rheumatism. Ah, _mon Dieu!_ if I shouldn’t be able to climb and jump, it would be better for me to be dead.’

“‘No, no,’ said I, trying to soothe him, ‘don’t say that. Here am I, very happy and contented, and could n’t spring over a street gutter if you gave me the Tuileries for doing it.’

“‘“What has that to say to it?’ cried he, fiercely. ‘Our instincts and pursuits are very different.’

“‘Yes, thank God,’ muttered I, below my breath, ‘I trust they are.’

“‘You live at Versailles,’ said he, suddenly. ‘Do you happen to know Antoine Geoffroy, greffier of the Tribunal?’

“‘Yes, _parbleu!_’ said I; ‘he is my husband.’

“‘Oh, Madame! what good fortune! He is the only man in France can assist me. I want him to catch M. Laborde. When can I see him?’

“‘He will be down in the ten o’clock train,’ said I. ‘You can see him then, Rue du Petit Lait.’

“‘Ah, but where shall I lie concealed till then? If they should overtake me and catch me,--if they found me out, I should be ruined.’

“‘Come with me, then. I ‘ll hide you safe enough.’

“The beast fell on its knees, and kissed my hand like a Christian, and muttered his gratitude till we reached the station.

“Early as it was--only six o’clock--I confess I did not half like the notion of taking the creature’s arm, which he offered me, as we got out; but I was so fearful of provoking him, knowing their vindictive nature, that I assented with as good a grace as I was able; and away we went, he holding his tail festooned over his wrist, and carrying my carpet-bag in the other hand. So full was he of his anger against M. Laborde, and his gratitude to me, that he could talk of nothing else as we went along, nor did he pay the slightest attention to the laughter and jesting our appearance excited from the workmen who passed by.

“‘Madame has good taste in a cavalier,’ cried one.

“‘There ‘ll be a reward for that fellow to-morrow or next day,’ cried another.

“‘Yes, yes,--he is the biggest in the whole Jardin des Plantes,’ said a third.

“Such were the pleasant commentaries that met my ears, even at that quiet hour.

“When we reached the Rue du Petit Lait, however, a very considerable crowd followed us, consisting of laborers and people on their way to work; and I assure you I repented me sorely of the good nature that had exposed me to such consequences; for the mob pressed us closely, many being curious to examine the creature near, and some even going so far as to pat him with their hands, and take up the tip of his tail in their fingers. The beast, however, with admirable tact, never spoke a word, but endured the annoyance without any signs of impatience,--hoping, of course, that the house would soon screen him from their view; but only think of the bad luck. When we arrived at the door, we rung and rung, again and again, but no one came. In fact, the servant, not expecting me home before noon, had spent the night at a friend’s house; and there we were, in the open street, with a crowd increasing every moment around us.

“‘What is to be done?’ said I, in utter despair; but before I had even uttered the words, the beast disengaged himself from me, and, springing to the ‘jalousies,’ scrambled his way up to the top of them. In a moment more he was in the window of the second story, and then, again ascending in the same way, reached the third, the mob hailing him with cries of ‘Bravo, Singe!--well done, ape!--mind your tail, old fellow!--that’s it, monkey!’--and so on, until with a bound he sprung in through an open window, and then, popping out his head, and with a gesture of little politeness, made by his outstretched fingers on his nose, he cried out, ‘Messieurs, j’ai l’honneur de vous saluer.’

“If every beast in the Jardin des Plantes, from the giraffe down to the chimpanzee, had spoken, the astonishment could not have been more general; at first the mob were struck mute with amazement, but, after a moment, burst forth into a roar of laughter.

“‘Ah! I know that fellow,--I have paid twenty sons to see him before now,’ cried one.

“‘So have I,’ said another; ‘and it’s rare fun to look at him cracking nuts, and swinging himself on the branch of a tree by his tail.’

“At this moment the door opened, and I slipped in without hearing farther of the commentaries of the crowd. In a little time the servant returned, and prepared the breakfast; and although, as you may suppose, I was very ignorant what was exactly the kind of entertainment to set before my guest, I got a great dish of apples and a plate of chestnuts, and down we sat to our meal.

“‘That was a ring at the door, I think,’ said he; and as he spoke, my husband entered the room.

“‘Ah! you here?’ cried he, addressing M. le Singe.

‘_Parbleu!_ there’s a pretty work in Paris about you,--it is all over the city this morning that you are off.’

“‘And the Director?’ said the ape.

“‘The old bear, he is off too.’

“‘So, thought I to myself,--’ ‘it would appear the other beasts have made their escape too.’

“‘Then, I suppose,’ said the ape, ‘there will be no catching him.’