Chapter III: Part 3

“To be sure Sir, but you did not think perhaps, that your cruel trick might have been the death of your sister.”

“Well but she is not hurt you see, so dont stand chattering about what _might_ have been; what shall I say to papa? Help me out of this scrape, for I know he will make such a row if he hears the truth.”

“Why I hope you dont intend to tell a story about it, Sir, and indeed, if I am asked, depend upon it I shall tell the whole truth.”

“You nasty, cross, ill-natured thing, get out, I want none of your assistance,” replied Hubert, pushing the conscientious Jane on one side, and hastening home.

I certainly regretted that any branch of Lord Hampton’s family should suffer through _me_, yet I put it to all, and every description of animals, not to impute it to a _criminal_ intention.--Against an _open_ attack, the most simple Ass might guard, but there is no saying how _any_ creature will conduct himself, who is _covertly_ assailed. I hope I shall stand acquitted to my readers, for I should blush to think that even a momentary resentment had led me into the error of ingratitude.

My little Mistress expressed her fears least her papa should be angry with Hubert.

“We cannot help it my dear if he is,” said Jane; “Master Hubert is so thoughtless and passionate, he must expect to suffer for it sometimes.”

Poor Lady Harriet could not understand the justice of this remark; her affectionate heart took alarm; I was dismissed, and I saw her sorrowfully approach the house.

Circumstances conspired to make me acquainted with the result of this accident. Master Hubert’s wound, though slight, left some traces on his cheek. In his hurry to avoid his father, he stole through the library window and unexpectedly encountered the Earl just issuing from his dressing-room.

“What has happened?” said my Lord, discovering that the linen of the young rebel was stained with blood.--

“I, I was playing--that is--I took hold of the Donkey’s tail, and he kicked me,” said Hubert, surprised into an acknowledgement of the truth.

“That is to say, you have been cruel Sir?” replied my Lord, “and the animal in his own defence has retaliated; it is very fair, I hope it will teach you humanity.”

Master Hubert discomfited, retreated to his chamber; and it is with conscious pride I add, this _involuntary_ avowal precluded the young gentleman from being admitted into the presence of Lord and Lady Hampton for three days.

“We must check this pernicious propensity,” said the Earl to his Lady, “or heaven knows where it will end. Cruelty to animals is a cowardly vice, almost indicating a bad heart;--indeed, I wholly doubt the existence of good feelings in any point, where this habit is suffered to take deep root.”

I have heard, that Lady Hampton shed tears upon this occasion, and while she lamented the misconduct of her son, wisely participated in the judgment of my Lord, and banished him from her presence for the prescribed term.--Had these excellent parents known the danger to which their little girl had been exposed by the mischievous Hubert, it is probable his punishment had been more severe.

The anger of this boy was now levelled at the servants, and during his disgrace, I heard them frequently lament, that however contrite Master Hubert might appear while he thought his papa and mama could hear him, he was, if possible, more passionate and overbearing than ever.

CHAP. VIII.

_An Excursion._

If one could reckon on prosperity as a certain possession, the envy of the malicious would prove shaftless; in fact there are dispositions to whom envy is a grateful incense. Now I will not allow this was my case, but it is certain that during my temporary splendour, I was an object of some consideration to the Asses of my acquaintance. Balaam would smile on me _en passant_, and if possible give me a word of advice, while Juba regarded me with a sort of jealous glance, that seemed to say a great deal. I knew he was an ill bred Donkey, but never having given him any personal offence, could not tamely submit to his scorn. When he sneered, I carried my head with more than donkey stateliness; and once, upon hearing him tauntingly say, “how proud I am!” could not forbear by replying “that I hoped I deserved my present good fortune.”

It could not gratify my feelings to see other Asses less comfortable than I was. No! I was beginning to understand the mutability of donkey happiness, and rather strove to enjoy the present moment, than trust myself to calculate on its durability.

Not any of the kindnesses the amiable lady Harriet bestowed on me, more sensibly gratified my taste, than those occasional feeds of corn I received from her pretty hands; and my appearance was so considerably improved by these indulgencies, I was actually proving plump, when I perceived by the activity of the domestics, that the family were upon the eve of quitting Tunbridge. My spirits drooped at the bare idea of separation, but when I heard my Lord desire Philip to take me home, I thought I should have fallen to the earth. Lady Harriet patted my sides, venting her regrets in so sweet a manner, I knew not how to make enough of her. “Good bye, poor fellow,” said she, “Philip, pray tell Mr. Staples he is such a good tempered Donkey, I hope he will always keep him, and if we come to Tunbridge next year, I am sure Papa will let me have him again.”

Philip promised to obey his young lady, but I saw him smile at her innocent zeal.

“You wont get into such snug quarters in a hurry,” rejoined he, as we pursued our way to my home. It is no less singular than true, that every domestic in Lord Hampton’s family had treated me with uniform kindness, nor can I account for this, but by supposing that the active and humane characters of the Earl and his Lady effected this laudable imitation.

They never spoke to their servants, but in the most obliging language; the consequence was, that a degree of willingness and order was observable in their household, which I never met with in any other family; yet there was no profusion, none of those mistaken indulgences which spoil servants, and expose their employers, to imposition.

Ah! happy days: I could grow eloquent in my regrets on this subject; but time presses, and my tale is to be told. Philip did not omit to give me due praise when consigning me to my master.

“It’s all very well,” said Mr. Staples, “but I’m glad the job’s over, for I could have made treble the money of him by day-work, only I didn’t like to offend his lordship.”

Philip had nothing further to say, and I was left to my fate. The ill-fitting saddle was again put on, and although the evening was rather advanced I took my stand on the hill. It was not many minutes ere a large fat woman singled me out, and with the assistance of a livery servant, mounted my back. It was in vain the man told her she had better wait till a side-saddle could be got.

“Dont talk to me John,” said she, “why I hasn’t the least fear in the world; I tell you I used to ride when I was quite a girl, and with nothing but a halter round the horse’s neck could go a smart trot: do you think I can’t manage a Ass?”

John smiled, and seemed to think that as she was not now a girl, but a fat, unwieldy old woman, it was not a case in point.

Perfectly, indifferent to this lady’s juvenile sports, I only felt I had a grievous load to carry, and exerted all my strength to get through my task with credit.

Greatly as I admired the scenery of Tunbridge, I found the soil peculiarly unfavourable to my progress. Its deep sandy roads added so considerably to my fatigue: I was forced to stop to take breath. My rider intent on shewing her skill, attributed this to obstinacy, and using her whip with energy, forgot the want of the pommel and fell from her seat. John was so cruel as to laugh, while I, yet held fast in her grasp by the reins, in struggling to get free, dragged her a few paces in the sand.

“You stupid booby, stop the Ass,” exclaimed the enraged lady; “I shall spoil my pelisse.”

“Let go the reins,” said John, half averting his risible features. She did so, and I very humbly stood still and looked on. John was in the act of wiping the dust from the soiled garb, when a lady and gentleman approached.

“Ha! is it you Mrs. Price,” said the gentleman half smiling, “I hope you are not hurt?”

“O no Sir George, I’m a famous horsewoman, but these Donkeys are such hopstropolous animals there’s no managing them.”

“What made you venture to ride without a proper saddle?” inquired the lady.

“O my lady, I has no fears, I never had when I was a girl.”

“But pray do not run such a hazard again,” resumed the lady, “it is very imprudent.”

They passed on, and I found that my offended rider was the cook of Sir George and Lady R----.

Civil and considerate as their manner had been it did not meet the approbation of Mrs. Price.

They seemed to treat her expedition as a foolish frolic, ill suited to her age; and like the tenacious Juba the allusion touched her vanity. I rather think she would have expressed her anger, had not some of the inferior servants of the family joined us.

“Dear me ma’am, was it you that tumbled off the Donkey?” said a pretty giggling girl, “why Mr. Thomas and I saw you from the mount, we little thought it was you.”

“Then you see it was me,” replied the old Lady in a surly tone,--“but look if I’ve spoiled my pelisse. I’ll give Staples a good scolding for saying this was a quiet Donkey--an ugly, obstinate beast;”--and she made an effort to strike me. John interfered, and declaring there was not a Donkey in Tunbridge strong enough to carry her safely, diverted her rage from poor me. John now grew obstinate, and by persisting in his opinion, so completely deranged the temper of Mrs. Price, that I really expected it would end seriously.

“You had better lead the Donkey home,” said Thomas, addressing John, “and if Mrs. Price will lean on my arm I shall be happy to assist her down the hill.”

The offer was accepted, they departed, and John now indulged in a hearty laugh at the appearance of the fat lady.--But the consequences of this evening proved injurious to me; Mrs. Price took occasion to villify me, and actually prevented my being admitted into the family of Sir George R----. My Master vexed at this proscription, seemed disposed to vent his disappointment on me, though he had so recently asserted that day-work was preferable to a job--But this is only another proof that the good within our reach is seldom as highly valued as that which eludes our grasp.

Balaam welcomed me most cordially to our shed. Juba yet kept aloof, though I could understand by his restlessness that he listened to my description of the Hampton family, with any thing rather than a friendly disposition.

“You are yet a fortunate Animal” said old Balaam; “I hope you will conduct yourself with temper, now you have returned to more common duties, always remembering that while no more will be expected from _you_, than _other_ Asses, that every body knows how far our abilities extend.”

“But the fat cook, my dear Sir,” said I, “was she not unreasonable in expecting me to carry her, under the disadvantages I have mentioned?”

“Undoubtedly,” resumed Balaam. “She, like my friend Juba, would submit to any indignity, provided her youth was not called in question.”--Here Juba was evidently agitated,--“but it wont do Jemmy,” continued Balaam, “freaks and frolic are natural in the young; while they disgrace the dignity of the more advanced in life.”

There was something so decisive in the language and manner of Balaam, I did not wonder that Juba should be awed to silence in his presence, but I certainly was surprised to find _myself_ so much the object of his dislike. He never could be civil to me; if chance led us the same road, he ran himself almost to death in order to get before me: and at the stand, if _I_ happened to be selected, he forgot the _certain_ fatigue to which I was exposed, in the vexation of seeing me preferred. Experience had taught me, that it was possible to live on terms of amity, even with horses; for the humble hacks of Tunbridge evinced none of that hauteur I had borne with from Martello and other highly educated animals of that species. And I felt it as a lamentable drawback on my little portion of happiness, that an inhabitant of the same dwelling should so ill understand my feelings.

Naturally of a social disposition, I was beginning to give this matter some serious consideration, when the recollection of Master Fancourt’s conduct towards his sister recurred to my mind.

“What can be expected from an Ass, when _rational_ beings so far commit themselves,” thought I. Again, the youth of Hubert Fancourt presented itself; but that was only another reason why the tendernesses and gentle feelings of childhood should have graced his manner.

The petulance of Juba, appeared less extraordinary on comparison, for he enjoyed not the blessing of parental care, or the leisure of independence. Amongst other incidents that attracted my notice at this period, was a party to Penshurst, to view the venerable mansion of the Sidneys. A well filled barouche, two ponies, and your humble servant formed the cavalcade, and pleasure was to be the order of the day.

My task was easy in the outset, being appointed to carry a young gentleman of light weight. I should have premised that a basket of provisions had been packed in the barouche, under the idea of dining on the grass.

We had performed about half our journey, when a boy who rode a pony, slackened his pace to speak to my rider. “Are you hungry, Ned?” said he.

Ned answered in the negative.

“Poh, I know you are, only you are so modest; I have persuaded Fanny that she is, you will join us, and you shall see what a row I’ll make.”--Riding off before Edward could reply, he hailed the carriage; it was some minutes ere the coachman heard him. Miss Fanny, who rode the other pony, seemed pleased with the joke; my rider declared it was altogether wrong.

The loud shouts of Master Arthur, (as this young Pickle was called) alarmed the barouche party, and when we overtook them, they were all standing up.--“What has happened?--Is Fanny safe? I hope Edward’s Donkey has behaved well?” were the several questions put at once.

“O we are all well enough,” replied Arthur, “but almost famished, I cannot go a foot without something to eat, and Fanny is quite faint.”

“Dear me she does look pale,” said Arthur’s mother, “what can we do?”

“Do? Why open your store basket, and hand us out something good,” said the undaunted Arthur. “But it is under the seat my dear,” said a second Lady entreatingly, “and it would disturb us to unpack it now.”

“Very well Ma’am, if you choose us all to be made ill, rather than suffer a trifling inconvenience it is no matter.”

“What a strange boy you are,” resumed his mother; “I suppose we must try what can be done.”

“Sister, you do very wrong,” replied the elderly Lady, “the whims of Arthur ought not to be indulged, I will answer for his being no more hungry at this moment than I am.”

“Aunt Jemima is thinking of the pigeon pie,” laughed Arthur, “dont deny it, I see it in your face;” the barouche party smiled;--“but we will be content with a few sandwiches, so dont look so cross.”

“That boy’s spirits never flag,” cried a gentleman with more lenity than prudence, “it is impossible to be angry with him.”

“I differ from you,” rejoined Mrs. Jemima, “Arthur is not so much a lively as a mischievous boy, and I see nothing to approve in that sort of talent which can only be indulged at the expense of other people’s feelings.”

“He is young, sister,” cried the mother of Arthur, “you should make allowances.--Dear me what have we done?” she continued, addressing a young Lady, who was assisting in opening the basket,--“I am afraid we have broken a bottle, well it can’t be helped, there my loves,” handing a paper of sandwiches to her son, “you must make these do till we get to Penshurst.” Arthur received the package, and ordering the coachman to go on, immediately dismounted.

“I dare say neither of you want these things,” said he “so let us give our cattle a luncheon.” Edward laughed at the folly of his friend, while Miss Fanny declared it would be quite amusing to see a Donkey eat sandwiches.

We soon devoured these trifles, to the no small amusement of Arthur. But now a new whim seized his fancy. “He begged Edward would exchange and let him ride the Donkey.” I anticipated evil from this, but had nothing to do but obey.

He then proposed a race.--This was positively rejected by Edward, “who exclaimed against the danger that might ensue to Miss Fanny, and the injustice of putting a Donkey in competition with a Horse.”

“Then good bye, I’m off,” said Arthur, “you shall see I will soon be up with the carriage.”

Alas! what was sport to him, was unutterable pain to me. The utmost exertion on my part could not satisfy this impatient Jehu. His spurs goaded my sides, and the incessant lash of his whip wounded even to torture, panting, smarting beneath his thoughtless hand, I found it impossible to effect his wish of overtaking the barouche. My best efforts had proved successless; the only alternative left was, to dismount him as carefully as I could, and thus tire him of my services.

Never had I encountered a more arduous attempt; his agility and strength were really surprising, and the blows I received, ere I accomplished my object nearly exhausted me. I succeeded at last, a friendly dunghill received my proud Master, while I, alarmed for the consequences of my resentment, scrambled on my feet, and at a gentle pace pursued the route of the carriage. I heard him halloo, and the rattling of some pebbles at my heels convinced me he expected I would return, or await his arrival, but I was not quite such an Ass as to do either.

My readers may know what it is to suffer from a fall, or a wound, but they can have no idea of the anguish a beast of burthen is from thoughtlessness, or cruelty too often doomed to suffer.--The pulsation, or throbbing of a trifling wound, will disorder the frame of a rational being.--Then what must it be, when the whole body is in a state of irritation; when every nerve and fibre seems stretched to the utmost; and the continued exertion of the wretched animal is expected and enforced even in the moment of its greatest suffering?

Blush! blush! ye scratched Ladies, and whimpering little gentlemen; or if ye think ye “have felt persecution, learn mercy.”

I do not believe Master Arthur was more cruel than many other boys;--but what are called high spirited boys, and Pickles, are for the most part very thoughtless, inconsiderate beings; and where these foibles exist, a degree of selfishness is generally observable. It was purely for his own amusement, that Arthur incommoded his mother and her friends, and it was by the same laudable motive he was actuated when lashing me almost to a mummy. Did any other of the party derive additional pleasure from his folly? The sequel of my recital shall decide. Keeping the carriage in my eye, I trotted on, till seeing it stop at an inn, I hastened to the destined goal.

Mrs. Jemima, who first discovered me, looked horror struck, till the gentleman declared, it was impossible any serious accident could happen through a Donkey’s throwing his rider.

“How I rejoice Arthur did not ride the odious beast,” said the mother of my late tormentor.

“I hope poor Ned is safe,” replied Mrs. Jemima, “dear boy, I shall not know a moment of ease till I see him.”

“Dear me sister, how silly; dont you hear Mr. Powel says there’s nothing to fear? And Edward is so over cautious, so monstrous prudent, I should not wonder to find he had sent the Donkey on out of pure humanity.”

“Edward’s intentions are always good, always amiable,” replied Mrs. Jemima with calm displeasure.

This altercation as may be imagined, gave me no satisfaction, I rather apprehended further oppression when it should be known that I had presumed to escape from the brutality of Arthur.

The party alighted, and a footman was sent in pursuit of the stragglers. Had I been perfectly free from apprehension on my own account, it is certain I might have found amusement in the desultory conversation that ensued; for as every body was anxious respecting the absentees, not one would enter the inn, but kept lounging near the door.

“I’m sure I hear Arthur’s voice,” said his mother, and in the next moment a boy driving some pigs made his appearance.

“I dare say it was those nasty animals frightened the stupid Donkey,” she added.

“Have you overtaken two young gentlemen and a lady?” said Mrs. Jemima, addressing the pig-driver,--“one of the boys must be on foot,--have you seen them?”

“I only comed from yon field,” said the boy, pointing across the road,--“I’se seen nobody, not I.”

Mr. Powel had walked to some distance.

“Mr. Powel is waving his hankerchief,” said the young Lady, “I will run and inquire what it means.”

She returned in a few minutes,--“all is well Ma’am, Edward is with Mr. Powel, they will be here directly.”

“I trust you are not hurt my dear boy,” cried Mrs. Jemima, taking the hand of her favourite.

“It was not I who was thrown, but Arthur,” he replied,--“but make yourself easy Ma’am,” turning to the frightened mother,--“The Donkey only laid him on a dunghill and took french leave.”

“Why I thought you rode the Donkey Edward?” she resumed.

“I did, till Arthur entreated me to exchange, and conceiving he would really be less liable to accident, I instantly complied.”

“But you see, you did wrong,” pouted the discontented mother, “for the Donkey proved vicious.--I expected more prudence from you, Sir.”

“I am sorry I have disappointed you Ma’am,” added Edward, “but I am seldom so happy as to meet your approbation;” and turning away, he retraced the road a few paces.

“Sister! Sister!” said Mrs. Jemima, “this is unpardonable; if he had refused the request of Arthur, you would have upbraided him; but it is no matter, I do not forget that Edward is my nephew, though you do.”

“Why, indeed! I must say, Master Edward does not appear to blame in this matter,” said Mr. Powel, with great deference; “the charming spirits of my young friend Arthur are beyond a doubt very delightful, but my dear Mrs. Cosway, we must at times fear, least that which is really charming in his character should lead him into danger.” Miss Mowbray, who ventured no opinion in the hearing of her fretful friend, whispered Mrs. Jemima, “that, it seemed to escape the recollection of Mrs. Cosway, that her Pickle was infinitely more exposed to hazard with a half-bred Pony, than the poor Donkey; but, indeed I am astonished altogether!” she added, “not a word is said about Fanny, and it is she only that engages my thoughts.”

“Fanny rides remarkably well, my dear!” rejoined Mrs. Jemima, “though with you I regret to perceive my sister’s too evident partiality.”

By this time the equestrians made their appearance, and every thing and every body was forgotten in Mrs. Cosway’s joy at meeting her darling. Edward was assisting his cousin Fanny in alighting, when Mrs. Jemima turning to Arthur, inquired how it happened that “_he_ again rode the Pony.”

“Ned made me mount him, because he said, my mother would take fright if she saw me walking; but has he not explained his plan? Then I will: he is a capital manager, he walked on first to tell you I had taken a roll on a dunghill, and prevent any false alarms.”

“Then it appears my nephew’s _prudence_ did not forsake him,” retorted Mrs. Jemima, glancing reproachfully at her sister; “he was only so unfortunate as to be arraigned, before he was heard.”

“Come we are all safe and well now,” said Mrs. Cosway, “let us make the most of our time.” They entered the demesne of Penshurst, and I was turned into a field of stubble, where it was as impossible to make a meal, as to be reconciled to the idea that this was a day of pleasure. I must reserve what occurred in our journey home, and the _enjoyment_ of the _rational_ part of our company for a new chapter.

CHAP. IX.

_Going Home._

It was expected that the fragments of the store basket, would prove sufficient to dine the servants in attendance; and it was in consequence of their resisting this proposal, that I became acquainted with the following particulars.

The party had viewed the house, and adjourned to the park, where the cloth was spread on the grass. The basket was produced, when behold! even as suspected, a bottle of red port had been cracked, in complying with the whim of Arthur; and nearly the whole of the provision was spoiled--at this moment perhaps there was no doubt of the junior parties being hungry. Arthur still continued to rally his aunt on the loss of the pigeon pie, with more boldness than justice, for Mrs. Jemima (as I heard the coachman say), was the only person in the family who was simple in her diet. It seems, that after cutting such things as were really eatable, Mrs. Cosway told the men to carry the remainder to the inn, and make the most of them. Joseph, an elderly, respectable servant, to whom this order had been given, pointed out the impossibility of doing so.

“I told my mistress,” said he, “that we would very willingly take a snack of bread and cheese, and wait till we got home; but she was in such a rage with me for saying so, I never saw her so angry.”

The coachman to whom Joseph addressed himself, was sitting on a stile cracking nuts, and occasionally throwing the husks at me; having been a sufferer in this _pleasurable_ jaunt, it is natural to suppose I was interested in every thing connected with it.

“Well if we can get nothing better, I suppose we had best take our lunch at once,” cried coachman.

“To say truth, it is a shame to see such good victuals lost,” replied Joseph, “but look, here’s a mess!” presenting the basket, “to be sure the’ve picked out the best, but you see its impossible to eat any of this; the salt has got in amongst it, and the wine, and the pie-crust is soaked through and through.”

While yet they were examining the spoiled remnants, Master Edward approached.

“Joseph,” said he, “you must be hungry, and slipping a three shilling piece into his hand, he ran off before either of the men could thank him.”

“What a noble fellow that is!” exclaimed coachman, “I only wish he was in somebody’s place, I think we might look forward to a good Master.”

“He is an excellent boy no doubt, but our young one hasn’t a bad heart neither; no! he’s only giddy, and that is not so much his own fault; in poor Master’s time, he was a different creature: to be sure young Edward is ten to one more like his uncle than t’other is; but if that Mr. Powel doesn’t do more harm than good, my name’s not Joseph. He’s always ready to praise him and juggle the mother.”--Here, there is a chasm in my narration. The men repaired to the inn, and I was left to _contemplate_ the stubble. Having some taste for antiquities, more especially those of my native isle, I was beginning to regret that I should in all probability quit Penshurst without gaining the most trivial information connected with its history; when glancing my eye towards an adjacent field, I saw an intelligent looking Ass, whom I resolved to address. After the usual compliments had passed,

“Pray Madam,” said I, “will you be so obliging as to tell me such particulars, as may have reached your ears, respecting yon ancient pile?”

“From what I can learn,” replied she, “it was built in the 16th century, I believe in the reign of Edward the Sixth. The Sydneys Earls of Leicester lived here in princely magnificience; _here_ Monarchs were entertained, and here the good and glorious Sir Philip Sydney was born.”

“If I mistake not Madam,” said I, “our illustrious Queen Elizabeth visited her minister and favourite, Robert Earl of Leicester, at Penshurst.”

“She did,” replied my quondam friend, somewhat pettishly, “yes her majesty was no enemy to favouritism, though it seems, _we_ were almost extinct during her reign.”[2]

[2] This is a fact.

“Indeed!” said I.

“It is true however, and had not the faculty discovered the medical qualities of our milk, it is probable we had been expatriated from this island for ever.”

“I cannot suppose her majesty had any personal enmity to us as a species,” I resumed; “I should rather imagine, that the less luxurious habits of that period caused our more useful properties to be overlooked, if not unknown.”

“I grant there was some difference in the style of living,” resumed my new friend, “but the Ass, Sir! yes the Ass, had indubitable claims on a princess who professed and practised the rights of the Christian Religion.”

The allusion was fair, inasmuch, as the most honourable record attached to _our_ history, is connected with the history of the religion of Christ. But the warmth of my friend, convinced me, she was not equal to discussing this subject judiciously; I therefore endeavoured to divert the conversation, by observing, “that we were now made very generally serviceable.”

“But does it conduce to our happiness?” rejoined the lady, “the very contrary is the fact. Formerly the Ass had a distinct employment, and if her education was limited, it usually proved sufficient for her station; but, since we have been appointed to run in gigs, act as ponies, draw loads, we do neither well; and those frequent tastes of ease which chance throws in our way, but disqualify or impress us, with that disgust for _common_ labours which exposes us to chastisement, at the very moment we most deserve compassion.”

Whatever justice there might be in these conclusions, I felt there would be danger in attending to them; my friend was evidently a discontented Ass, and as _I_ had more than once indulged in gloomy reflections and vague repinings, I thought it best to retreat, ere I imbibed any additional taste for misery. We parted amicably, and as I stood gazing on the walls of Penshurst, I could not help fancying to myself, the British Queen and her gay courtiers, visiting this favoured spot.

This naturally gave rise, to what amongst rationals, is called an association of ideas. Armours and helmets rose to my “mind’s eye”--then _our_ strength and stature: nor could all my self-love, reconcile me to the belief that _we_ could have been made useful as beasts of burthen in those days. I do not speak of inanimate weight. Imagine to yourself, gentle reader, a man in armour, seated on a full grown donkey! The thing is too absurd to dwell upon.--Well then, if the nutritive property of Asses’ milk, had escaped the observation of medical men, (as I believe was the case,) I think the Asses of the present day will allow, that the Queen of England may be forgiven the sin of omitting to support the assinine race; since the human race were so highly benefited by the wisdom of her councils, the example of her government, and the never-fading lessons of magnanimity she has bequeathed to posterity. I recollected hearing Doctor Manton and his son, discussing the characters of some discontented Englishmen one evening; but I remember _they_ were displeased with the present times, and found something to applaud in all that was gone past.

I cannot enter into the merits of this matter, but like other Asses, I have my opinion; and must think those who vent their chagrin on the departed dead, are infinitely less excusable than the caviler who fights with the hour in hand. It is _seeking_ misery, while it exhibits the very worst species of resentment. My new acquaintance would not suffer me to leave Penshurst, without displaying further proofs of her unhappy temper.

“You have not fared too well here,” said she, thrusting her nose over the fence that divided us, “but it is no wonder, the owner of this field thinks himself a great agriculturist; he knows nothing of farming, or these acres would have been sown with turnips.”

I merely smiled, fearful of venturing any remark before so great an adept.

“Turn which way you will,” she resumed, “there is nothing but hops, as if the _sight_ of these plantations was to satisfy the appetite.”

“Oh, oh, madam!” thinks I, “I understand you now, the old fable of ‘the fox and the grapes’ applies here, as I believe it does in a thousand instances which escape our observation.” So anxious was I to avoid the contagion of this lady’s example, I actually forgot the short allowance to which I had for some hours been doomed; and only longed for the moment of departure. It was nearly five o’clock, when seeing the horses putting too, I bade adieu to my testy friend, and approached the gate. Chance brought Mr. Edward to the spot.

“Why Joseph,” said he! “if this poor animal has had nothing given to him, he must be almost starved; he could not pick a mouthful from this field.”

“Not much to be sure Sir,” laughed Joseph.

“Get me some corn,” rejoined Edward.--Conceive my joy as these words reached my ears; and imagine the glee with which I fed from the sieve my kind young friend brought to me.

O ye! who eat from habit, for whom many hands provide, and who are regularly _summoned_ to your meals, you know not what it is to be forgotten; to hear the joyous gaiety attendant on a pleasant dinner, nay perhaps _smell_ the tempting viands, while one’s empty stomach is yawning to partake of the feast. If I thought amplification on this head, would have the effect of procuring a single comfort to my contemporaries, I would venture to be diffuse; but, I doubt my powers in this line. You _all think_ you know how an _Ass_ should be treated or _maltreated_, and my zeal might chance to expose him to more obvious neglect.

We quitted Penshurst, observing the same arrangement in our cavalcade, as when we left home. Mrs. Cosway had gently hinted, that she would prefer her son’s taking a seat in the barouche, but Arthur, was too used to command, to listen where his own wishes were concerned; we therefore set off at a pleasant trot. Miss Fanny Cosway soon took occasion to express her disappointment in their excursion.

“It has been so stupid!” said she; “for my part, I see nothing wonderful in old houses, and old furniture, with all the long stories about the Sydneys; our own house in Warwickshire is much handsomer.”

“Edward is laughing at you Miss Fan,” replied Arthur; “he was quite at home, while old Powel displayed what he knew, or thought he knew, still I think it is a fine place; but pray Ned, how do you manage to recollect names and dates? Aunt Jemima was in raptures with her dear boy; I could have forgiven her that, if she had not rowed me, because I forgot there ever was such a person as Edward the Sixth.”

“You affected ignorance in order to teaze your Aunt,” said Edward, “if I know any thing of English history, I owe it to her instruction; and as you have had more of her society than I ever enjoyed, it must be your own fault, if she did not give you the same advantage.”

“Why, to be sure! I recollect she was well disposed to teach, if I had chosen to listen; but I never could bear to be taught by a woman. They think themselves so clever, and gabble so much--dont _you_ tell the old Lady what I say, Miss Fan: I know you have a trick of blabbing.”

“I’m sure Arthur you are very unkind,” pouted Miss Fanny, “but this is always the way, when you are vexed with yourself.”

“I never was better pleased with myself than at this time,” said Arthur, “for if there has been any fun to-day, it may fairly be attributed to me.”

“It certainly has not been the most pleasant of your whimsical attempts,” resumed Edward; “at least, I judge so from Mrs. Cosway’s being so low spirited.”

“O! my mother is subject to such fits:” said Arthur, with the utmost coolness, “but as you say, she must be flat indeed, for even old Powel’s flattery of me, could not make her smile:--I hate that old quiz.”

“I neither like nor hate him Arthur, and only wonder to see him made of consequence any where.”

“Edward you ought not to set Arthur against Mr. Powel, he is our guardian you know,” said Miss Fanny, “and I’m sure he’s very good natured, and makes us very handsome presents whenever he comes to stay with us.”

“It was your brother said he hated Mr. Powel,” rejoined Edward; “I hope you do not believe him Fanny, and I likewise hope _you_ have a better motive for _liking_ your guardian than that of the useless presents he brings you.”

“Dear me, you are so good Edward, there’s no saying a word before you.”

“He is very right for all that,” cried Arthur, “I only wish you and I thought like him in all respects.”

This justness of sentiment in Master Pickle, claimed my unqualified approbation; it was clear to me, he wanted only the guidance of firm and judicious friends to make him a respectable member of society; whether these advantages ever fell to the lot of the young gentleman in question, I cannot say.

It soon became evident to me, that the seniors in this _pleasurable_ excursion, were equally disappointed in its result. As the carriage was ascending a little steep, Mrs. Cosway inquired of her son, “how far he thought we were from home.” The question was put, and answered by every one according to their ideas of distance, till the coachman set us all right by saying, we had about four miles to go.

“Four miles!” exclaimed Mrs. Cosway, “why it will be dark. Sister, I said it would have been better to set off directly after breakfast, but you said there would be sufficient daylight for our purpose.”

“It was impossible to foresee the delays to which we have been subjected,” said Mrs. Jemima calmly.

“Poor Arthur,” sneered Mrs. Cosway, “well he will soon return to school, and spare his aunt the pain of seeing him happy.”

“You mistake me sister, I am anxious when he is from home,” rejoined Mrs. Jemima, “because I know his foibles, and he never visits us, that I do not discover additional cause for uneasiness.”

Arthur laughed, distorted his features, and shewed every mark of silent derision; fortunately the road became level, and we were left a little behind.

“The old lady is seriously offended,” said he, “yet it is ridiculous in my mother to squabble with _her_ because a day in September is not like a day in June.”

“When you recollect what influences your mother to this opposition, I think at least _you_ should not arraign her conduct,” said Edward.

This rebuke offended the young gentleman, who I suppose, aware, that he dared not resent it as his feelings at the moment prompted, found an opportunity of revenge in teasing me.

“Ah Mr. long ears, I owe you a thrashing,” said he, at the same time giving me a few lashes with his whip. Edward remonstrated to no purpose.

“It is but a hired Donkey,” said Arthur, “you are over squeamish Sir, if you dont like his capering, exchange, and I’ll be bound to work him so, he shan’t throw me again.”

“He shall not be left to your mercy Arthur,” rejoined Edward, and clapping his spurs, I understood his wishes, and triumphantly bore my burthen off at a smart canter. It had escaped my rider’s notice, that a shoe of the Pony Arthur rode, was so loose, as to impede his progress. I however had seen it, and more confident in myself from this discovery, entertained no fear of being able to distance my tormentor. We did so, and arrived at the dwelling of Mrs. Cosway, without further adventure. I just heard Mr. Edward give orders for tea being made ready, for the expected travelers, and was quietly led home by a boy, whom my considerate young friend paid handsomely for his errand.

“And this” thinks I, “is what they call a day of pleasure: if _I_ had experienced disappointment in being ill treated by one of the party, it is certain, as far as happiness consists in cheerful spirits, a _desire_ to be pleased, a wish to accommodate oneself to the _circumstances_ of situation; not one of these rationals has known what it is to-day.” Balaam laughed immoderately at my description of this trip; but, he astonished me by saying, “that if I could hear the party _themselves_ describe their pleasure, it would wear a very different character.”

“Impossible,” said I; “excepting Master Edward, there was nothing but cross purposes, from the time we left Tunbridge till we returned.”

“And for this very reason it would be as I say,” replied Balaam, “each knows, how far their own petulance contributed to make it uncomfortable, it is therefore their interest to _combine_ in thinking or saying, it was otherwise; unless they are all seriously determined on correcting their tempers.”

I cannot say _I_ was convinced by the reasoning of my old Mentor, but I had learned to respect him so far, as to be silent though unconvinced. Balaam certainly was a most discerning Donkey: I trust my readers have discovered this long since, for myself I may truly say, even his pleasantries were lessons in disguise; and though I ought to blush for the many ignorances these memoirs contain, I must acknowledge, that had he not given me habits of thinking, and taught me to arrange my ideas, “The Adventures of a Donkey,” had never glided into the press,--a loss which the juvenile world, will, I trust, duly consider; and while they do justice to the character of my old friend, make every allowance for the deficiencies of his grateful pupil: for you all know, that the wisest teachers do not always succeed in making their scholars wise.

CHAP. X.

_New Services and a Removal._

It would prove an endless task, were I to attempt an illustration of the various characters I met at Tunbridge. I must however acknowledge, there was a diversity in my employment, that exactly suited my disposition.

If I was one day the slave of the froward and intemperate, the next perhaps introduced me to those gentler spirits, to whom even a Donkey is disposed to do justice. But I must not omit to mention the races which took place during my sojourn in Kent.

The first day passed without any thing memorable or essential to my history, excepting that a sort of emulative ambition swelled my ass-like bosom, on seeing a really _ordinary_ Donkey receive many marks of favour in consequence of his success as a racer. I rather imagine, that my carriage and manner betrayed a desire for this distinction; for Mr. Staples, on the ensuing morning, held a consultation in my presence, which seemed to imply that he thought me _capable_ of an attempt of the kind, with some regret for his remissness in not proposing me as a candidate for a saddle, to be won that day. As ill fortune would have it, the destined competitor for this prize was missing at the appointed hour; every search was made, but without success; and at a few minutes’ warning, a perfect stranger to my jockey, and wholly untrained, I was called upon to exhibit myself on the Donkey course. Conceive the delicacy of my situation when led through a crowd of spectators, I took my place between two professed racers! I saw them sneer contemptuously, and felt how complete their triumph would be if I suffered myself to be frightened into inertness: and though the object of a new saddle was to me a most desirable prize, (whose back was already sore from the friction of my present accoutrements,) I would gladly have borne with “the ill I knew,” rather than venture on an attempt which might expose me to derision.

My jockey was certainly very encouraging, but I recollected, that on the preceding day a most marked difference was observable in the manners of the multitude when the horses ran and when the Donkies displayed their agility. On the former occasion, a sort of interested attention was visible, and in their applause was mixed some of those expressions which implied sympathy for the animals that contributed to their amusement. But when the Donkies started, nothing but laughter ensued--loud, boisterous, unrestrained laughter! Now to me, this was particularly offensive; I always had a dread of this species of mirth. Whether I am really more nervous than the generality of my class, I know not, but I confess the effect of this emotion has frequently incapacitated me for exertion. As I could not hope to escape this mark of distinction, I endeavoured to collect my harassed spirits; and listening attentively to the opinion and expectations of my appointed rider, hoped that I had acquired some portion of fortitude. We started!--and the shouts of the spectators as instantly commenced. I lost my self-possession, suddenly stopped, nor could the whip or spurs of my rider move me until my competitors had reached their goal. I never could (even to myself) satisfactorily account for this failure; if I said the voices of _rational_ beings frightened me into cowardice, you would call me an impertinent Ass:--yet, I have sometimes thought the event would have been different, had my efforts been received with more politeness. I know it _was_ insinuated that I took fright at the sound of a penny trumpet blown by a little boy at the moment I was passing; and some of my enemies went so far as to say, that my ears were laid back;--in short, that I exhibited every symptom of pusillanimity of which my species can be accused. But I positively deny these slanders. Might not modesty, _genuine_ timidity be supposed to have some influence on an Ass thus _suddenly_ brought into public notice? Admitting that I had sighed to be distinguished, I only wished to share the honours of my brethren; it never entered my imagination that my master would elevate me to the highest post, without allowing me to acquire some knowledge of the part I was to perform! Nor can I to this day think I deserved the sarcasms that succeeded my defeat.

I can imagine the smiles of my readers at this epoch of my memoirs. You will recollect my little vanities, and perhaps think I deserved to be humbled. But I appeal to your _dispassionate_ judgments, ye gentle judges! and would ask, if there is not some difference between the animal that obtrudes his accomplishments upon the public, and one that is involuntarily thrust into notice? You will say, my _secret_ wishes stand in force against me.

I presume to controvert this position, and will obstinately maintain, that a Donkey must be acquitted of all tendency to vain presumption on this head, until something more near perfection is discoverable in _your species_.

I am not such an Ass as to believe that vain wishes are not a general foibles. I have seen too much of the world to be deceived in this respect: and while my natural candour leads me to avow my own defalcations, I would entreat my juvenile readers to be lenient in their censure.

But to return. My master, who witnessed my disgrace, and whose awful voice had too often been the harbinger of suffering to lose any of its potency on this occasion, no sooner saw my failure than he rushed forward and seizing the whip of my discomfited rider, beat me most unmercifully. To what extremes his revenge might have been carried it is impossible to say, had not a gentleman interposed, and, in an authoritative tone, ordered him to desist.

“Inhuman man!” said the gentleman, “is it thus you abuse the faculties with which your Maker has endowed you? Which is the greater brute--this dumb animal, that fear or want of training has made unmanageable, or you, who thus wantonly display the brutality of your heart?”

“He cou’d ha’ won it well enough if he’d chose,” replied my master, “but he’s obstinate; and as he’s my own, I shall do as I please with him.”

The whip was again raised, when my benevolent champion darted into the crowd, and snatching the arm of Staples, wrested the weapon from his hand.

“Master Staples,” said a countryman, in a low voice, “have a care what you’re about, the gemmen’s a magistrate, and may commit you.”

“Oh!” thinks I to myself, “what a happy thing it is when such good men are entrusted with power!” This was said in the simplicity of my heart. I thought it impossible but my master would feel ashamed of the conduct which had exposed him to the reproofs of the humane justice. I may be mistaken; perhaps he was ashamed, and my ignorance of the way in which this feeling exhibits itself in _your_ genus led me into error. I will only add, that though his passion was restrained while we were in public, he did not forget to give me a thrashing when we got home.

Balaam, who witnessed the inhuman revenge of my master, sympathized most truly in my suffering.

“What a savage is man!” said he, when we were left to ourselves. “I heard of your disgrace,” he continued, “if that can be called disgrace in which we are machines and not free agents. But you were pleased with the humane man who interfered between you and our master, Jemmy?”

“Yes,” said I, “I wish he were my master.”

“Aye, that would be well. Yet, rely upon it, you owe your second drubbing to his kindness.”

I stared in astonishment.

“Ha! ha!” resumed Balaam, “you may prick up your ears, Jemmy, and look surprised, but mark me: the more brutal a man is, the more will he dread exposure: had Staples been allowed to give you the thrashing he thought you deserved, it is probable his passion had soon subsided; the reproof of the magistrate drew the eyes of the multitude upon him. He dared not answer a man whose authority was so well known, and you in consequence suffered for that which was really intended to do you a service.”

Though my sides were actually smarting under this second proof of Staple’s ferocity, there was something so incongruous in the reasoning of Balaam, that I could not bring myself to believe him:--feigning fatigue I betook myself to my old corner, and retraced the events of the day.

“What then,” said I, mentally, “does virtue cease to be virtue when exerted in behalf of an inferior species?--it cannot be!” And reverting to the many anecdotes I had heard Mr. George Manton read to Miss Caroline, (where the active humanity of man, as directed towards dumb animals, was most feelingly panegyrised,) I felt clearly, that Balaam was wrong, and for this once, took credit to myself for superior discernment.

At length the Tunbridge season closed, and our master, whose love of gain was insatiable, let us out to a bricklayer, who lived about a mile distant. Behold your humble servant, Balaam and Juba, with three neighbouring Donkies, harnessed in team! It is true, our feeding was more regular, nor could we complain of its quantity, but you may imagine my displeasure, when a pair of blinkers were affixed to my head!--it seemed to impugn my character. Was I an impertinent, staring Ass? Did they think I knew so little of good breeding that I could not conduct myself without these screens? Balaam happened to be my partner on the morning I made my _debût_ in the bricklayer’s employ. Whispering my dislike to these things, the old gentleman, as usual, laughed at me.