CHAPTER III.

I own that I am envious of the pleasure you will have in finding yourself

more learned than other boys,--even those who are older than yourself.

What honour this will do you! What distinctions, what applauses will

follow wherever you go!

--LORD CHESTERFIELD: Letters to his Son.

Example, my boy,--example is worth a thousand precepts.

--MAXIMILIAN SOLEMN.

Tarpeia was crushed beneath the weight of ornaments. The language of the

vulgar is a sort of Tarpeia. We have therefore relieved it of as many

gems as we were able, and in the foregoing scene presented it to the

gaze of our readers simplex munditiis. Nevertheless, we could timidly

imagine some gentler beings of the softer sex rather displeased with the

tone of the dialogue we have given, did we not recollect how delighted

they are with the provincial barbarities of the sister kingdom, whenever

they meet them poured over the pages of some Scottish story-teller. As,

unhappily for mankind, broad Scotch is not yet the universal language of

Europe, we suppose our countrywomen will not be much more unacquainted

with the dialect of their own lower orders than with that which breathes

nasal melodies over the paradise of the North.

It was the next day, at the hour of twilight, when Mrs. Margery Lobkins,

after a satisfactory tete-a-tete with Mr. MacGrawler, had the happiness

of thinking that she had provided a tutor for little Paul. The critic

having recited to her a considerable portion of Propria qum Maribus, the

good lady had no longer a doubt of his capacities for teaching; and

on the other hand, when Mrs. Lobkins entered on the subject of

remuneration, the Scotsman professed himself perfectly willing to teach

any and every thing that the most exacting guardian could require. It

was finally settled that Paul should attend Mr. MacGrawler two hours a

day; that Mr. MacGrawler should be entitled to such animal comforts of

meat and drink as the Mug afforded, and, moreover, to the weekly stipend

of two shillings and sixpence,--the shillings for instruction in the

classics, and the sixpence for all other humanities; or, as Mrs. Lobkins

expressed it, “two bobs for the Latin, and a site for the vartue.”

Let not thy mind, gentle reader, censure us for a deviation from

probability in making so excellent and learned a gentleman as Mr. Peter

MacGrawler the familiar guest of the lady of the Mug. First, thou must

know that our story is cast in a period antecedent to the present, and

one in which the old jokes against the circumstances of author and of

critic had their foundation in truth; secondly, thou must know that

by some curious concatenation of circumstances neither bailiff nor

bailiff's man was ever seen within the four walls continent of Mrs.

Margery Lobkins; thirdly, the Mug was nearer than any other house

of public resort to the abode of the critic; fourthly, it afforded

excellent porter; and fifthly, O reader, thou dost Mrs. Margery Lobkins

a grievous wrong if thou supposest that her door was only open to those

mercurial gentry who are afflicted with the morbid curiosity to pry into

the mysteries of their neighbours' pockets,--other visitors, of fair

repute, were not unoften partakers of the good matron's hospitality;

although it must be owned that they generally occupied the private room

in preference to the public one. And sixthly, sweet reader (we grieve to

be so prolix), we would just hint to thee that Mr. MacGrawler was one

of those vast-minded sages who, occupied in contemplating morals in the

great scale, do not fritter down their intellects by a base attention

to minute details. So that if a descendant of Langfanger did sometimes

cross the venerable Scot in his visit to the Mug, the apparition did not

revolt that benevolent moralist so much as, were it not for the above

hint, thy ignorance might lead thee to imagine.

It is said that Athenodorus the Stoic contributed greatly by his

conversation to amend the faults of Augustus, and to effect the change

visible in that fortunate man after his accession to the Roman empire.

If this be true, it may throw a new light on the character of Augustus,

and instead of being the hypocrite, he was possibly the convert. Certain

it is that there are few vices which cannot be conquered by wisdom; and

yet, melancholy to relate, the instructions of Peter MacGrawler produced

but slender amelioration in the habits of the youthful Paul. That

ingenious stripling had, we have already seen, under the tuition of

Ranting Bob, mastered the art of reading,--nay, he could even construct

and link together certain curious pot-hooks, which himself and Mrs.

Lobkins were wont graciously to term “writing.” So far, then, the way of

MacGrawler was smoothed and prepared.

But, unhappily, all experienced teachers allow that the main difficulty

is not to learn, but to unlearn; and the mind of Paul was already

occupied by a vast number of heterogeneous miscellanies which stoutly

resisted the ingress either of Latin or of virtue. Nothing could wean

him from an ominous affection for the history of Richard Turpin; it

was to him what, it has been said, the Greek authors should be to the

Academician,--a study by day, and a dream by night. He was docile enough

during lessons, and sometimes even too quick in conception for the

stately march of Mr. MacGrawler's intellect. But it not unfrequently

happened that when that gentleman attempted to rise, he found himself,

like the Lady in “Comus,” adhering to--

“A venomed seat Smeared with gums of glutinous heat;”

or his legs had been secretly united under the table, and the tie was

not to be broken without overthrow to the superior powers. These, and

various other little sportive machinations wherewith Paul was wont to

relieve the monotony of literature, went far to disgust the learned

critic with his undertaking. But “the tape” and the treasury of Mrs.

Lobkins re-smoothed, as it were, the irritated bristles of his mind, and

he continued his labours with this philosophical reflection: “Why fret

myself? If a pupil turns out well, it is clearly to the credit of his

master; if not, to the disadvantage of himself.” Of course, a similar

suggestion never forced itself into the mind of Dr. Keate [A celebrated

principal of Eton]. At Eton the very soul of the honest headmaster is

consumed by his zeal for the welfare of the little gentlemen in stiff

cravats.

But to Paul, who was predestined to enjoy a certain quantum of

knowledge, circumstances happened, in the commencement of the second

year of his pupilage, which prodigiously accelerated the progress of his

scholastic career.

At the apartment of MacGrawler, Paul one morning encountered Mr.

Augustus Tomlinson, a young man of great promise, who pursued the

peaceful occupation of chronicling in a leading newspaper “Horrid

Murders,” “Enormous Melons,” and “Remarkable Circumstances.” This

gentleman, having the advantage of some years' seniority over Paul,

was slow in unbending his dignity; but observing at last the eager

and respectful attention with which the stripling listened to a most

veracious detail of five men being inhumanly murdered in Canterbury

Cathedral by the Reverend Zedekiah Fooks Barnacle, he was touched by the

impression he had created, and shaking Paul graciously by the hand, he

told him there was a deal of natural shrewdness in his countenance, and

that Mr. Augustus Tomlinson did not doubt but that he (Paul) might have

the honour to be murdered himself one of these days. “You understand

me,” continued Mr. Augustus,--“I mean murdered in effigy,--assassinated

in type,--while you yourself, unconscious of the circumstance, are

quietly enjoying what you imagine to be your existence. We never kill

common persons,--to say truth, our chief spite is against the Church; we

destroy bishops by wholesale. Sometimes, indeed, we knock off a leading

barrister or so, and express the anguish of the junior counsel at a loss

so destructive to their interests. But that is only a stray hit, and the

slain barrister often lives to become Attorney-General, renounce Whig

principles, and prosecute the very Press that destroyed him. Bishops are

our proper food; we send them to heaven on a sort of flying griffin,

of which the back is an apoplexy, and the wings are puffs. The Bishop

of---, whom we despatched in this manner the other day, being rather

a facetious personage, wrote to remonstrate with us thereon, observing

that though heaven was a very good translation for a bishop, yet that in

such cases he preferred 'the original to the translation.' As we murder

bishop, so is there another class of persons whom we only afflict with

lethiferous diseases. This latter tribe consists of his Majesty and his

Majesty's ministers. Whenever we cannot abuse their measures, we always

fall foul on their health. Does the king pass any popular law, we

immediately insinuate that his constitution is on its last legs. Does

the minister act like a man of sense, we instantly observe, with great

regret, that his complexion is remarkably pale. There is one manifest

advantage in diseasing people, instead of absolutely destroying them:

the public may flatly contradict us in one case, but it never can in the

other; it is easy to prove that a man is alive, but utterly impossible

to prove that he is in health. What if some opposing newspaper take up

the cudgels in his behalf, and assert that the victim of all Pandora's

complaints, whom we send tottering to the grave, passes one half the day

in knocking up a 'distinguished company' at a shooting-party, and the

other half in outdoing the same 'distinguished company' after dinner?

What if the afflicted individual himself write us word that he never

was better in his life? We have only mysteriously to shake our heads

and observe that to contradict is not to prove, that it is little likely

that our authority should have been mistaken, and (we are very fond

of an historical comparison), beg our readers to remember that when

Cardinal Richelieu was dying, nothing enraged him so much as hinting

that he was ill. In short, if Horace is right, we are the very princes

of poets; for I dare say, Mr. MacGrawler, that you--and you, too, my

little gentleman, perfectly remember the words of the wise old Roman,--

“'Ille per extentum funem mihi posse videtur

Ire poeta, meum qui pectus inaniter angit,

Irritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet.'”

[“He appears to me to be, to the fullest extent, a poet who

airily torments my breast, irritates, soothes, fills it with

unreal terrors.”]

Having uttered this quotation with considerable self-complacency,

and thereby entirely completed his conquest over Paul, Mr. Augustus

Tomlinson, turning to MacGrawler, concluded his business with that

gentleman,--which was of a literary nature, namely, a joint composition

against a man who, being under five-and-twenty, and too poor to give

dinners, had had the impudence to write a sacred poem. The critics were

exceedingly bitter at this; and having very little to say against the

poem, the Court journals called the author a “coxcomb,” and the liberal

ones “the son of a pantaloon!”

There was an ease, a spirit, a life about Mr. Augustus Tomlinson, which

captivated the senses of our young hero; then, too, he was exceedingly

smartly attired,--wore red heels and a bag,--had what seemed to Paul

quite the air of a “man of fashion;” and, above all, he spouted the

Latin with a remarkable grace!

Some days afterwards, MacGrawler sent our hero to Mr. Tomlinson's

lodgings, with his share of the joint abuse upon the poet.

Doubly was Paul's reverence for Mr. Augustus Tomlinson increased by a

sight of his abode. He found him settled in a polite part of the town,

in a very spruce parlour, the contents of which manifested the universal

genius of the inhabitant. It hath been objected unto us, by a most

discerning critic, that we are addicted to the drawing of “universal

geniuses.” We plead Not Guilty in former instances; we allow the

soft impeachment in the instance of Mr. Augustus Tomlinson. Over his

fireplace were arranged boxing-gloves and fencing foils; on his table

lay a cremona and a flageolet. On one side of the wall were shelves

containing the Covent Garden Magazine, Burn's Justice, a pocket Horace,

a Prayer-Book, Excerpta ex Tacito, a volume of plays, Philosophy made

Easy, and a Key to all Knowledge. Furthermore, there were on another

table a riding-whip and a driving-whip and a pair of spurs, and three

guineas, with a little mountain of loose silver. Mr. Augustus was a

tall, fair young man, with a freckled complexion, green eyes and red

eyelids, a smiling mouth, rather under-jawed, a sharp nose, and

a prodigiously large pair of ears. He was robed in a green damask

dressing-gown; and he received the tender Paul most graciously.

There was something very engaging about our hero. He was not only

good-looking, and frank in aspect, but he had that appearance of

briskness and intellect which belongs to an embryo rogue. Mr. Augustus

Tomlinson professed the greatest regard for him,--asked him if he could

box, made him put on a pair of gloves, and very condescendingly knocked

him down three times successively. Next he played him, both upon his

flageolet and his cremona, some of the most modish airs. Moreover, he

sang him a little song of his own composing. He then, taking up the

driving-whip, flanked a fly from the opposite wall, and throwing himself

(naturally fatigued with his numerous exertions) on his sofa, observed,

in a careless tone, that he and his friend Lord Dunshunner were

universally esteemed the best whips in the metropolis. “I,” quoth Mr.

Augustus, “am the best on the road; but my lord is a devil at turning a

corner.”

Paul, who had hitherto lived too unsophisticated a life to be aware of

the importance of which a lord would naturally be in the eyes of Mr.

Augustus Tomlinson, was not so much struck with the grandeur of the

connection as the murderer of the journals had expected. He merely

observed, by way of compliment, that Mr. Augustus and his companion

seemed to be “rolling kiddies.”

A little displeased with this metaphorical remark,--for it may be

observed that “rolling kiddy” is, among the learned in such lore, the

customary expression for “a smart thief,”--the universal Augustus took

that liberty to which by his age and station, so much superior to those

of Paul, he imagined himself entitled, and gently reproved our hero for

his indiscriminate use of flash phrases.

“A lad of your parts,” said he,--“for I see you are clever, by your

eye,--ought to be ashamed of using such vulgar expressions. Have a

nobler spirit, a loftier emulation, Paul, than that which distinguishes

the little ragamuffins of the street. Know that in this country genius

and learning carry everything before them; and if you behave yourself

properly, you may, one day or another, be as high in the world as

myself.”

At this speech Paul looked wistfully round the spruce parlour, and

thought what a fine thing it would be to be lord of such a domain,

together with the appliances of flageolet and cremona, boxing-gloves,

books, fly-flanking flagellum, three guineas, with the little mountain

of silver, and the reputation--shared only with Lord Dunshunner--of

being the best whip in London.

“Yes,” continued Tomlinson, with conscious pride, “I owe my rise to

myself. Learning is better than house and land. 'Doctrina sed vim,' etc.

You know what old Horace says? Why, sir, you would not believe it; but

I was the man who killed his Majesty the King of Sardinia in our

yesterday's paper. Nothing is too arduous for genius. Fag hard, my

boy, and you may rival (for the thing, though difficult, may not be

impossible) Augustus Tomlinson!”

At the conclusion of this harangue, a knock at the door being heard,

Paul took his departure, and met in the hall a fine-looking person

dressed in the height of the fashion, and wearing a pair of prodigiously

large buckles in his shoes. Paul looked, and his heart swelled. “I may

rival,” thought he,--“those were his very words,--I may rival (for

the thing, though difficult, is not impossible) Augustus Tomlinson!”

Absorbed in meditation, he went silently home. The next day the memoirs

of the great Turpin were committed to the flames, and it was noticeable

that henceforth Paul observed a choicer propriety of words, that he

assumed a more refined air of dignity, and that he paid considerably

more attention than heretofore to the lessons of Mr. Peter MacGrawler.

Although it must be allowed that our young hero's progress in the

learned languages was not astonishing, yet an early passion for reading,

growing stronger and stronger by application, repaid him at last with a

tolerable knowledge of the mother-tongue. We must, however, add that his

more favourite and cherished studies were scarcely of that nature which

a prudent preceptor would have greatly commended. They lay chiefly among

novels, plays, and poetry,--which last he affected to that degree

that he became somewhat of a poet himself. Nevertheless these literary

avocations, profitless as they seemed, gave a certain refinement to his

tastes which they were not likely otherwise to have acquired at the Mug;

and while they aroused his ambition to see something of the gay life

they depicted, they imparted to his temper a tone of enterprise and of

thoughtless generosity which perhaps contributed greatly to counteract

those evil influences towards petty vice to which the examples

around him must have exposed his tender youth. But, alas! a great

disappointment to Paul's hope of assistance and companionship in his

literary labours befell him. Mr. Augustus Tomlinson, one bright morning,

disappeared, leaving word with his numerous friends that he was going

to accept a lucrative situation in the North of England. Notwithstanding

the shock this occasioned to the affectionate heart and aspiring temper

of our friend Paul, it abated not his ardour in that field of science

which it seemed that the distinguished absentee had so successfully

cultivated. By little and little, he possessed himself (in addition to

the literary stores we have alluded to) of all it was in the power of

the wise and profound Peter MacGrawler to impart unto him; and at the

age of sixteen he began (oh the presumption of youth!) to fancy himself

more learned than his master.