The Complete Prose Works of Martin Farquhar Tupper

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Onward he crept; and the line on the horizon grew broader and darker:
onward, still; he was exulting, he had conquered, he was bold and hard
as ever. He got nearer, now within some dozen miles; it was an
indistinct distance, but green at any rate; huzza--never mind
night-fall; he cannot wait, nor rest, with this Elysium before him: so
he toiled along through all the black night, and a friendly storm of
rain refreshed him, as his thirsty pores drank in the cooling stream.
Aha! by morning's dawn he should be standing on the edge of that green
paradise, fresh as a young lion, and no thanks to any one but his own
shrewd indomitable self.

Morning dawned--and through the vague twilight loomed some high and
tangled wall of green foliage, stretching seemingly across the very
world. Most sickening sight! a matted, thorny jungle, one of those
primeval woods again, but closer, thicker, darker than the park-like
one before; rank and prickly herbage in a rotting swamp, crowding up
about the stately trees. Must he battle his way through? Well, then, if
it must be so, he must and will; any thing rather than this hot and
blistering sand. If he is doomed by fate to starve, be it in the shade,
not in that fierce sun. So, he weakly plied his hatchet, flinging
himself with boldness on that league-thick hedge of thorns; his way was
choked with thorns; he struggled under tearing spines, and through
prickly underwood, and over tangled masses of briery plants, clinging to
him every where around, as with a thousand taloned claws; he is
exhausted, extrication is impossible; he beats the tough creepers with
his dulled hatchet, as a wounded man vainly; ha! one effort more--a
dying effort--must he be impaled upon these sharp aloes, and
strange-leafed prickly shrubs; they have caught him there, those thirsty
poisoned hooks, innumerable as his sins; his way, whichever way he
looks, is hedged up high with thorns--thick-set thorns--sturdy, tearing
thorns, that he cannot battle through them. Emaciated, bleeding, rent,
fainting, famished, he must perish in the merciless thicket into which
hard-heartedness had flung him!

Before he was well dead, those flapping carrion fowls had found him out;
they were famishing too, and half forgot their natural distaste for
living meat. He fought them vainly, as the dying fight; soon there were
other screams in that echoing solitude, besides the screeching falcons!
and when they reached his heart (if its matter aptly typified its
spirit), that heart should have been a very stone for hardness.

So let the selfish die! alone, in the waste howling wilderness; so let
him starve uncared-for, whose boast it was that he had never felt for
other than himself--who mocked God, and scorned man--whose motto
throughout life, one sensual, unsympathizing, harsh routine, was this:
"Take care of the belly, and the heart will take care of itself!"--who
never had a wish for other's good, a care for other's evil, a thought
beyond his own base carcase; who was a man--no man--a wretch, without a
heart. So let him perish miserably; and the white eagles pick his
skeleton clean in yonder tangled jungle!

CHAPTER XIX.

WHEREIN MATTERS ARE CONCLUDED.

Certain folks at Ballyriggan, near Belfast, observe to me, with not a
little Irish truth, that it is by no means easy to conclude a history
never intended to be finished. It so happens that my good friends the
clan Clements are still enjoying life and all it sweets, beneficent in
their generation; and as for their hearts' affections, that story
without an end will still be heard, ringing on its happy changes, in the
presence of God and of his immortal train, when every reader of these
records shall have been to this world dead. Out of the heart are the
issues of life, and within, it is life's well-spring. Death is but a
little narrow gate, in a dark rough pass among the mountains, where each
must go alone, one by one, in solemn silence, for the avalanches hanging
overhead; one by one, in breathless caution, for there is but barely a
footing; one by one, for none can help his brother on the track: the
steady eye of faith, the firm foot of righteousness, the staff of hope
to comfort and support--these be the only helps. And each one carries
with him, as his sole possession on that lonely journey, no heaps of
wealth--no trappings of honour; these burdens of the camel must all be
lifted off, ere he can struggle through that gully in the rocks--"The
Needle's Eye;" but the sole possession which every wayfarer must take
with him into those broad plains where only Spirit can be seen, and Sin
no longer can be hid, is the shrine of his affections, the casket of his
precious pearls in life--his Heart, unmantled and unmasked. And if in
time it had been a well of love, flowing towards God in penitence, and
irrigating this world's garden with charities and blessed works, that
little sparkling stream shall then burst forth from this rocky portal of
the grave, a river of joy and peace, to gladden even more the sunny
provinces of heaven. For the heart with its affections, never dieth:
they may, indeed, flow inward, and corrupt to selfishness; becoming
then, in lieu of fountains of waters, gushing forth to everlasting life,
a bottomless volcano of hot lava, tempestuous and involved, setting up
the creature as his own foul god, and living the perpetual death-bed of
the damned; or they may nobly burst the banks of self, and, rising
momentarily higher and higher, till every Nilometer is drowned, will
seek for ever, with expanding strength, to reach the unapproachable
level of that source in the Most Highest whence they originally sprung.
For this cause, the kindest fatherly word which ever reached man's ear,
the surest scheme for happiness that ever touched his reason, was one
from God's own heart--"My son, give me thy heart."

They lived upon the blessing of that Word, our noble, kindly pair. To
enlarge upon the thought as respects a better world is well for those
who will: for if He that made the eye and framed the ear, by the
stronger argument Himself must see and hear, so he that fashioned
loveliness and moulded the affections, how well-deserving must that
Beautiful Spirit be of his rational creature's heart! Away with mawkish
cant and stale sentimentalities! let us think, and speak, and feel as
men, framed by nature's urgent law to the lovely and to hate the vile.
Oh, that the advocates for Him, the Good One, would oftener plead His
cause by the human affections--by generosity, by sympathy, by gentleness
and patience, by self-denying love, and soul absolving beauty; for these
are of the essence of God, and their spiritual influence on reason. A
child writes upon his heart that warmer code of morals, which the iron
tool of threatening availeth not to grave upon the rock, while the voice
of love can change that rock into a spring of water.

But we must descend from our altitudes, and speak of lower things; for
the time and space forbid much longer intrusion on your courtesy. A few
ravelling threads of this our desultory tale have yet to be gathered up,
as tidily as may be. Suffer, then, such mingling of my thoughts: the web
I weave has many threads, woven with divers colours. Human nature is
nothing if not inconsistent; and I have no more notion of irreverence in
turning from a high topic to a low one, than a bee may be fancied to
have of irrelevant idleness in flitting from the sweet violet to the
scented dahlia. We may gather honey out of every flower. Have you not
often noticed, that riches generally come to a man, when he least stands
in need of them? Directly a middle-aged heir succeeds to his
long-expected heritage, half-a-dozen aunts and second cousins are sure
to die off and leave him super-abounding legacies, any one of which
would have helped his poverty stricken youth, and made him of
independent mind throughout his servile manhood. The other day (the idea
remains the same, though the fact is to be questioned) the richest lord
in Europe dug up a chest of hoarded coins, many thousand pound's worth,
simply because he didn't want it: and, if such particularization were
not improper or invidious, you or I might name a brace of friends
a-piece, who, having once lacked bread in the career of life, suddenly
have found themselves monopolizing two or three great fortunes. As too
few things are certain, novel writers less like truth in their
descriptions, than where ample wealth falls upon the hero just in the
nick of time. Providence intends to teach by penury: yes, and by
prosperity too: and we almost never see the reward given, or the no less
reward withheld, just as the scholar has begun to spell his lesson, and
before he has had the chance of getting it by heart.

That another death should occur, in the progress of this tale, must be
counted for no fault of mine; especially as I am not about to introduce
another death-bed. One need not have the mummy always at our feasts.
Surely, too, these deaths have ever been on fit occasion: one broken
heart; one bereaved, yet comforted; and one which perished in its sin of
uttermost hard-heartedness. And here, if any insurance clerk, or other
interested person, will show cause why Mrs. Jane Mackenzie should not
die at the age of ninety-two, I would keep her alive if I could; but the
fact is, I cannot: she died. Henry Clements never saw her, any more that
I, nor dear Maria. But that was no earthly reason wherefore--

_First_, Maria should not bewail the dear old relative's loss with all
her heart and eyes, and children and household in mourning.

Nor, _secondly_, wherefore Mrs. Jane Mackenzie, aforesaid, of
Ballyriggan, province of Ulster, should not leave her estate of
Ballyriggan, aforesaid, and a vast heap of other property, to the only
surviving though distant scion of her family, Henry Clements.

Nor, _thirdly_, wherefore I should not record the fact, as duly bound in
my capacity of honest historian.

This accession of property was large, almost overwhelming, when added to
Maria's patrimony of three thousand a-year, the produce of St. Benet's
Sherehog: for besides and beyond a considerable breadth of Irish acres,
sundry houses in Belfast, and an accumulation of half-forgotten funds,
the Bank of England found itself necessitated (from particular
circumstances of ill-caution in its servants) to refund the whole of
that twelve thousand forty-three pounds bank annuities, which Jack
Dillaway and his ladies had already made away with.

Rich, however, as Clements had become, he felt himself only as a great
lord's steward to help a needy world; and I never heard that he spent a
sixpence more upon himself, his equipage, or his family, from being some
thousands a-year richer: though I certainly did hear that, owing to this
legacy, every tenant upon Ballyriggan, and a vast number of struggling
families in Spitalfields and round about St. Benet's, had ample cause
to bless Heaven and the good man of Finsbury square. As for dear Maria,
it rejoiced her generous heart to find that Henry (whose gentlemanly
pride had all along been reproaching him for pauperism) was now become
pretty well her equal in wealth; even as her humility long had known him
her superior in mind, good looks, and good family.

Another thread in my discourse, hanging loosely on the world, concerns
our lady-legatees. What became of Miss Julia, after the safe and
successful issue of that vengeful trial, I never heard: and, perhaps, it
may be wise not to inquire: if she changed her name, she did not change
her nature: and is probably still to be numbered among the sect of
Strand peripatetics.

But of Anna Bates I have pleasanter news to tell. With respect to
repentance, let us be charitable, and hope, even if we cannot be so
sanguine as firmly to believe; but at any rate we may rest assured of an
outward reformation, and an honest manner of life. The miracle happened
thus: After the trial and condemnation of Dillaway, poor Anna Bates felt
entirely disappointed that she had not the chance of better things
presented to her mind by transportation; the two approvers, to her
dismay--poor thing!--were graciously pardoned for their evidence; and,
whereas, the one of them returned to her old courses more devotedly than
ever, the other resolved to make one strong effort to extricate her
loathing self from the gulf in which she lay. Fortunately for her, our
Maria had the heart to pity and to help a frail and fallen sister; and
when the poor disconsolate woman, finding her to be the sister of that
evil paramour, came to Mrs. Clements in distress, revealing all her past
sins and sorrows, and pleading for some generous hand to lift her out of
that miserable state, she did not plead in vain. Maria spurned her not
away, nor coldly disbelieved her promise of amendment; but, taking
counsel of her husband, she gave the poor woman sufficient means of
setting up a milliner's shop at Hull, where, under her paternal name of
Stellingburne, our Fleet street lady-legatee still survives, earning a
decent livelihood, and little suspected amongst her kindly neighbours of
ever having been much worse than a strictly honest woman.

For another thread, if the reader, in his ample curiosity, wishes to be
informed how it became possible for me to learn the fate of Dillaway,
let him know, that up to the hour of escape, I derived it easily from
living witnesses; and thereafter, that certain settlers, having set out
to explore the country, found a human skeleton stretched upon a thicket
which, from the _debris_ of convicts' clothes, and the hatchet stamped
with his initials, was easily decided to be that bad man's. It always
had struck me, as a remarkable piece of retribution, that whereas John
made Austral shares a plea for ruining Henry Clements, a howling Austral
wilderness was made the means of starving him. Maria never heard what
became of her brother; but still looks for his return some day with
affectionate and earnest expectation.

Another little matter to be mentioned is the fact, that Henry Clements,
in his leisure from business, and freedom from care, resolved to attain
some literary glories; and first, he published his now-renowned tragedy
of '_Boadicea_,' with his name at length, giving a mint of proceeds to
that very proper charity the Theatrical Fund. Secondly, he followed up
his tragic triumph by a splendid '_Caractacus_,' by way of a companion
picture. Thirdly, he turned to his maligned law-treatise on _Defence_,
and boldly published a capital vindication thereof, flinging down his
gauntlet to the judges both of law and literature. It was strange, by
the way, and instructive also, to find with what a deferential air the
wealthy writer now was listened to; and how meekly both '_Watchman_' and
'_Corinthian_' kissed the smiling hand of the literary genius, who--gave
such sumptuous dinners; for Henry, of his mere kindness, (not
bribery--don't imagine him so weak,) now that he was known as a Maecenas
amongst authors, made no invidious distinctions between literary
magnates, but effectually overcame evil with good by his hearty
hospitality to '_Corinthian_' and '_Watchman_' editors, as well as to
other potent wielders of the pen of fame, who had erstwhile favoured
the productions of his genius.

The last dinner he gave, I, an old friend of the family, was present;
and when the ladies went up-stairs, I had, as usual, the honour of
enacting vice. It was according to Finsbury taste and custom, to produce
toasts and speeches; whether cold high-breeding would have sanctioned
this or not, little matters: it was warm and cordial, and we all liked
it; moreover, finding ourselves at Rome, we unanimously did as other
Romans do: and this I take to be politeness. Among the speeches, that
which proposed the health of the host and hostess caused the chiefest
roar of clamorous joy: it was a happy-looking friend who spoke, and what
he said was much as follows:

"Clements, my dear fellow, you are the happiest man I know--except
myself; at least, in one thing I am happier--for I can call you friend,
whereas you can only return the compliment with such a sorry substitute
as I am."

[This ingenious flattery was much ridiculed afterwards; but I pledge my
word the man intended what he said; moreover, he went on, utterly
regardless of surrounding critics, in all the seeming egotism of a warm
and open heart.]

"Clements--I cannot help telling you how heartily I love you;" (Hear,
hear!) "and I wish I had known you thirty years instead of three, to
have said so with the unction of my earliest recollections: but we
cannot help antiquity, you know. Let us all the rather make up now by
heartiness for all lost time. I think, nay, am sure, that I speak the
language of all present in telling you I love you:" (an enormous
hear-hearing, which rose above the drawing-room floor; Harry Clements
singularly distinguished himself, in proving how he loved his father; a
fine young fellow he grows too, and I wish, between ourselves, to catch
him for a son-in-law some day;)--"Yes, Clements, I do love you, and your
children, and your wife, for there is the charm of heart about you all:
in yourself, in your Maria, in that fine frank youth, and those dear
warm girls up stairs" (every word was bravoed to the echo), "in every
one of you, all the charities and amenities, all the kindnesses and the
cheerfulness of life appear to be embodied; you love both God and man;
the rich and the poor alike may bless you, Clements, and your admirable
Maria; whilst, as for yourselves, you may both well thank God, whose
mercy made you what you are."

Clements hid his face, and Harry sobbed with joyfulness.

"Friends! a toast and sentiment, with all the honours: 'This happy
family! and may all who know them now, or come to hear of them in
future, cultivate as they do all the home affections, and acknowledge
that there is no wealth of man's, which may compare with riches of the
heart.'"

THE END OF HEART.

* * * * *

AN AUTHOR'S MIND;

THE BOOK OF TITLE-PAGES:

"A BOOKFUL OF BOOKS," OR "THIRTY BOOKS IN ONE."

EDITED BY

M.F. TUPPER, ESQ., M. A.

"En un mot, mes amis, je n'ai entrepris de vous contenter tous en
general; ainsi, une et autres en particulier; et par special,
moymeme."--PASQUIER.

* * * * *

SUBJECTS.
PAGE.

The Author's Mind; a ramble 331

Nero, a tragedy 353

Opium, a history 361

Charlotte Clopton, a novel 364

The Marvellous, a hand-book 371

Psychotherion, an argument 376

The Confessional, a tale 377

The Prior of Marrick, an autobiography 379

The Seven Churches, a dissertation 384

Revision, an essay 386

Homely Expositions, a compilation 386

Lay Sermons, a contribution 386

Scriptural Physics, a treatise 387

Heathenism, an apology 387

Biblical Similes, an investigation 389

Home, an epic 390

Grecian Sayings, a series 398

Heptalogia, a collection 400

Alfred, an oratorio 403

Alfred's Life, a translation 406

National Memorials, a proposal 408

Politics, a manual 411

Woman, a subject 414

False Steps, a pamphlet 415

King's Evidence, a satire 417

Poetics, a melange 422

Humoristics, a medley 423

Journals, a decade 426

Lay Hints, an appeal 427

Anti-Xurion, a crusade 431

The Squire, a portraiture 434

The Author's Tribunal, an oration 437

Zoilomastrix, a title 443

Epilogue, a conclusion 443

Appendix, an after-thought 445

ANNOUNCEMENT.

BY THE EDITOR.

The writer of this strange book (a particular friend of mine) came to me
a few mornings ago with a very happy face and a very blotty manuscript.
"Congratulate me," he began, "on having dispersed an armada of
head-aches hitherto invincible, on having exorcised my brain of its
legionary spectres, and brushed away the swarming thoughts that used to
persecute my solitude; I can now lie down as calmly as the lamb, and
rise as gayly as the lark; instead of a writhing Laocoon, my just-found
Harlequin's wand has changed me into infant Hercules brandishing his
strangled snakes; I have mowed, for the nonce, the docks, mallows,
hogweed, and wild-parsley of my rank field, and its smooth green carpet
looks like a rich meadow; I am free, happy, well at ease: argal, an thou
lovest me, congratulate."

Wider and wider still stared out my wonder, to hear my usually sober
friend so voluble in words and so profuse of images: I saw at once it
was a set speech, prepared for an impromptu occasion; nevertheless, as
he was clearly in an enviable state of disenthraldom from
thoughtfulness, I graciously accorded him a sympathetic smile. And then
this more than Gregorian cure for the head-ache! here was an anodyne
infinitely precious to one so brain-feverish as I: had all this pleasure
and comfort arisen from such common-place remedials as a dear young
lover's courtesy or a deceased old miser's codicil, I should long ago
have heard all about it; for, between ourselves, my friend was never
known to keep a secret. There was evidently more than this in the
discovery; and when my curiosity, provoked by his laughing silence, was
naturally enough exhibiting itself in a "What on earth----?" he broke
out with the abruptness of an Abernethy, "Read my book."

Well, I did read it; and, in candid disparagement, as amicably bound,
can readily believe what I was told afterwards, that, to except a very
small portion of older material, it had been at chance intervals rapidly
thrown off in a couple of months, (the old current-quill style,) chiefly
with the view of relieving a too prolific brain: it appeared to me a
mere idle overflowing of the brimful mind; an honest, indeed, but often
useless exposure of multifarious fancies--some good, some bad, and not a
few indifferent; an incautious uncalled-for confession of a thousand
thoughts, little worth the printing, if the very writing were not indeed
superfluous. Nevertheless, with all its faults, I thought the book a
novelty, and liked it not the less for its off-hand fashion; it had
something of the free, fresh, frank air of an old-school squire at
Christmas-tide, suggestive as his misletoe, cheerful as his face, and
careless as his hospitality. Knowing then that my friend had been more
than once an author--indeed, he tells us so himself--and perceiving,
from innumerable symptoms, that he meditated putting also this before
the world, I thought kindly to anticipate his wishes by proposing its
publication: but I was rather curtly answered with a "Did I suppose
these gnats were intended to be shrined in amber? these mere minnows to
be treated with the high consideration due only to potted char and white
bait? these fleeting thoughts fixed in stone before that Gorgon-head,
the public? these ephemeral fancies dropped into the true elixir of
immortality, printer's-ink? these----" I stopped him, for this other
mighty mouthful of images betrayed the hypocrite--"Yes, I did." An
involuntary smile assured me he did too, and the cause proceeded thus:
first, a promise not to burn the book; then a Bentley to the rescue,
with accessory considerations; and then, the due administration of a
little wholesome flattery: by this time we had obtained permission,
after modest reluctance pretty well enacted, to transform the deformity
of manuscript into the well-proportioned elegance of print. But, this
much gained, our author would not yield to any argument we could urge
upon the next point, viz: leave to produce the volume, duly fathered
with his name. "Not he indeed; he loved quiet too well; he might, it was
true, secretly like the bantling, but cared not to acknowledge it before
a populous reading-world, every individual whereof esteems himself and
herself competent to criticize!" Mr. Publisher, deeply disinterested, of
course, bristled up at the notion of any thing anonymous; and the only
alternative remaining was the stale expedient of an editor; that editor,
in brief, to be none other than myself, a very palpable-obscure: and let
this excuse my name upon the title-page.