CHAPTER XXX
TRIUMPHAL DEPARTURE--NO SEASON LIKE YOUTH--EXTREME OLD AGE--BEAUTIFULENGLAND--THE RATCATCHER--A MISADVENTURE
I departed from the inn much in the same fashion as I had come to it,mounted on a splendid horse indifferently well caparisoned, with thesmall valise attached to my crupper, in which, besides the few things Ihad brought with me, was a small book of roads with a map, which had beenpresented to me by the landlord. I must not forget to state that I didnot ride out of the yard, but that my horse was brought to me at thefront door by old Bill, who insisted upon doing so, and who refused afive-shilling piece which I offered him; and it will be as well to letthe reader know that the landlord shook me by the hand as I mounted, andthat the people attached to the inn, male and female--my friend thepostillion at the head--assembled before the house to see me off, andgave me three cheers as I rode away. Perhaps no person ever departedfrom an inn with more eclat or better wishes; nobody looked at measkance, except two stage-coachmen who were loitering about, one of whomsaid to his companion, 'I say, Jim! twig his portmanteau! a regularNewmarket turn out by ---!'
It was in the cool of the evening of a bright day--all the days of thatsummer were bright--that I departed. I felt at first rather melancholyat finding myself again launched into the wide world, and leaving thefriends whom I had lately made behind me; but by occasionally trottingthe horse, and occasionally singing a song of Romanvile, {182a} I haddispelled the feeling of melancholy by the time I had proceeded threemiles down the main road. It was at the end of these three miles, justopposite a milestone, that I struck into a cross road. After ridingabout seven miles, threading what are called, in postillion parlance,cross-country roads, I reached another high road, tending to the east,along which I proceeded for a mile or two, when coming to a small inn,about nine o'clock, I halted and put up for the night.
Early on the following morning I proceeded on my journey, but fearing togall the horse, I no longer rode him, but led him by the bridle, until Icame to a town at the distance of about ten miles from the place where Ihad passed the night. Here I stayed during the heat of the day, more onthe horse's account than my own, and towards evening resumed my journey,leading the animal by the bridle as before; and in this manner Iproceeded for several days, travelling on an average from twenty totwenty-five miles a day, always leading the animal, except perhaps nowand then of an evening, when, if I saw a good piece of road before me, Iwould mount and put the horse into a trot, which the creature seemed toenjoy as much as myself, showing his satisfaction by snorting andneighing, whilst I gave utterance to my own exhilaration by shouts, or by'the chi she is kaulo she soves pre lakie dumo,' {182b} or by somethingelse of the same kind in Romanvile.
On the whole, I journeyed along very pleasantly, certainly quite aspleasantly as I do at present, now that I am become a gentleman, andweigh sixteen stone, though some people would say that my present mannerof travelling is much the most preferable, riding as I now do, instead ofleading my horse; receiving the homage of ostlers instead of theirfamiliar nods; sitting down to dinner in the parlour of the best inn Ican find, instead of passing the brightest part of the day in the kitchenof a village alehouse; carrying on my argument after dinner on thesubject of the corn-laws, with the best commercial gentlemen on the road,instead of being glad, whilst sipping a pint of beer, to get intoconversation with blind trampers, or maimed Abraham sailors, {183}regaling themselves on half-pints at the said village hostelries. Manypeople will doubtless say that things have altered wonderfully with mefor the better, and they would say right, provided I possessed now what Ithen carried about with me in my journeys--the spirit of youth. Youth isthe only season for enjoyment, and the first twenty-five years of one'slife are worth all the rest of the longest life of man, even though thosefive-and-twenty be spent in penury and contempt, and the rest in thepossession of wealth, honours, respectability, ay, and many of them instrength and health, such as will enable one to ride forty miles beforedinner, and over one's pint of port--for the best gentleman in the landshould not drink a bottle--carry on one's argument, with gravity anddecorum, with any commercial gentleman who, responsive to one'schallenge, takes the part of common sense and humanity against'protection' and the lord of land.
Ah! there is nothing like youth--not that after-life is valueless. Evenin extreme old age one may get on very well, provided we will but acceptof the bounties of God. I met the other day an old man, who asked me todrink. 'I am not thirsty,' said I, 'and will not drink with you.' 'Yes,you will,' said the old man, 'for I am this day one hundred years old;and you will never again have an opportunity of drinking the health of aman on his hundredth birthday.' So I broke my word, and drank. 'Yoursis a wonderful age,' said I. 'It's a long time to look back to thebeginning of it,' said the old man: 'yet, upon the whole, I am not sorryto have lived it all.' 'How have you passed your time?' said I. 'Aswell as I could,' said the old man; 'always enjoying a good thing when itcame honestly within my reach; not forgetting to praise God for puttingit there.' 'I suppose you were fond of a glass of good ale when you wereyoung?' 'Yes,' said the old man, 'I was; and so, thank God, I am still.'And he drank off a glass of ale.
On I went in my journey, traversing England from west to east--ascendingand descending hills--crossing rivers by bridge and ferry--and passingover extensive plains. What a beautiful country is England! People runabroad to see beautiful countries, and leave their own behind unknown,unnoticed--their own the most beautiful! And then, again, what a countryfor adventures! especially to those who travel it on foot, or onhorseback. People run abroad in quest of adventures, and traverse Spainand Portugal on mule or on horseback; whereas there are ten times moreadventures to be met with in England than in Spain, Portugal, or stupidGermany to boot. Witness the number of adventures narrated in thepresent book--a book entirely devoted to England. Why, there is not achapter in the present book which is not full of adventures, with theexception of the present one, and this is not yet terminated.
After traversing two or three counties, I reached the confines ofLincolnshire. During one particularly hot day I put up at apublic-house, to which, in the evening, came a party of harvesters tomake merry, who, finding me wandering about the house a stranger, invitedme to partake of their ale; so I drank with the harvesters, who sang mesongs about rural life, such as--
'Sitting in the swale; and listening to the swindle of the flail, as it sounds dub-a-dub on the corn, from the neighbouring barn.'
In requital for which I treated them with a song, not of Romanvile, butthe song of 'Sivord and the horse Grayman.' I remained with them till itwas dark, having, after sunset, entered into deep discourse with acelebrated ratcatcher, who communicated to me the secrets of his trade,saying, amongst other things, 'When you see the rats pouring out of theirholes, and running up my hands and arms, it's not after me they comes,but after the oils I carries about me they comes;' and who subsequentlyspoke in the most enthusiastic manner of his trade, saying that it wasthe best trade in the world, and most diverting, and that it was likelyto last for ever; for whereas all other kinds of vermin were fastdisappearing from England, rats were every day becoming more abundant. Ihad quitted this good company, and having mounted my horse, was making myway towards a town at about six miles' distance, at a swinging trot, mythoughts deeply engaged on what I had gathered from the ratcatcher, whenall on a sudden a light glared upon the horse's face, who purled round ingreat terror, and flung me out of the saddle, as from a sling, or with asmuch violence as the horse Grayman, in the ballad, flings Sivord theSnareswayne. I fell upon the ground--felt a kind of crashing about myneck--and forthwith became senseless.
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