Chantry House. Yonge Charlotte Mary

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СКАЧАТЬ fear of the cockroach.  I am afraid the vengeance was more than proportioned to the offence!

      Even during my illness that brave mother struggled to teach my brothers’ daily lessons, and my father heard them a short bit of Latin grammar at his breakfast (five was thought in those days to be the fit age to begin it, and fathers the fit teachers thereof).  And he continued to give this morning lesson when, on our return from airing at Ramsgate after our recovery from the measles, my mother found she must submit to transfer us to a daily governess.

      Old Miss Newton’s attainments could not have been great, for her answers to my inquiries were decidedly funny, and prefaced sotto voce with, ‘What a child it is!’  But she was a good kindly lady, who had the faculty of teaching, and of forestalling rebellion; and her little thin corkscrew curls, touched with gray, her pale eyes, prim black silk apron, and sandalled shoes, rise before me full of happy associations of tender kindness and patience.  She was wise, too, in her own simple way.  When nurse would have forewarned her of Clarence’s failings in his own hearing, she cut the words short by declaring that she should like never to find out which was the naughty one.  And when habit was too strong, and he had denied the ink spot on the atlas, she persuasively wiled out a confession not only to her but to mamma, who hailed the avowal as the beginning of better things, and kissed instead of punishing.

      Clarence’s queries had been snubbed into reserve, and I doubt whether Miss Newton’s theoretic theology was very much more developed than that of Mrs. Gooch, but her practice and devotion were admirable, and she fostered religious sentiment among us, introducing little books which were welcome in the restricted range of Sunday reading.  Indeed, Mrs. Sherwood’s have some literary merit, and her Fairchild Family indulged in such delicious and eccentric acts of naughtiness as quite atoned for all the religious teaching, and fascinated Griff, though he was apt to be very impatient of certain little affectionate lectures to which Clarence listened meekly.  My father and mother were both of the old-fashioned orthodox school, with minds formed on Jeremy Taylor, Blair, South, and Secker, who thought it their duty to go diligently to church twice on Sunday, communicate four times a year (their only opportunities), after grave and serious preparation, read a sermon to their household on Sunday evenings, and watch over their children’s religious instruction, though in a reserved undemonstrative manner.  My father always read one daily chapter with us every morning, one Psalm at family prayers, and my mother made us repeat a few verses of Scripture before our other studies began; besides which there was special teaching on Sunday, and an abstinence from amusements, such as would now be called Sabbatarian, but a walk in the Park with papa was so much esteemed that it made the day a happy and honoured one to those who could walk.

      There was little going into society, comparatively, for people in our station,—solemn dinner-parties from time to time—two a year, did we give, and then the house was turned upside down,—and now and then my father dined out, or brought a friend home to dinner; and there were so-called morning calls in the afternoon, but no tea-drinking.  For the most part the heads of the family dined alone at six, and afterwards my father read aloud some book of biography or travels, while we children were expected to employ ourselves quietly, threading beads, drawing, or putting up puzzles, and listen or not as we chose, only not interrupt, as we sat at the big, central, round, mahogany table.  To this hour I remember portions of Belzoni’s Researches and Franklin’s terrible American adventures, and they bring back tones of my father’s voice.  As an authority ‘papa’ was seldom invoked, except on very serious occasions, such as Griffith’s audacity, Clarence’s falsehood, or my obstinacy; and then the affair was formidable, he was judicial and awful, and, though he would graciously forgive on signs of repentance, he never was sympathetic.  He had not married young, and there were forty years or more between him and his sons, so that he had left too far behind him the feelings of boyhood to make himself one with us, even if he had thought it right or dignified to do so,—yet I cannot describe the depth of the respect and loyalty he inspired in us nor the delight we felt in a word of commendation or a special attention from him.

      The early part of Miss Newton’s rule was unusually fertile in such pleasures, and much might have been spared, could Clarence have been longer under her influence; but Griff grew beyond her management, and was taunted by ‘fellows in the Square’ into assertions of manliness, such as kicking his heels, stealing her odd little fringed parasol, pitching his books into the area, keeping her in misery with his antics during their walks, and finally leading Clarence off after Punch into the Rookery of St. Giles’s, where she could not follow, because Emily was in her charge.

      This was the crisis.  She had to come home without the boys, and though they arrived long before any of the authorities knew of their absence, she owned with tears that she could not conscientiously be responsible any longer for Griffith,—who not only openly defied her authority, but had found out how little she knew, and laughed at her.  I have reason to believe also that my mother had discovered that she frequented the preachings of Rowland Hill and Baptist Noel; and had confiscated some unorthodox tracts presented to the servants, thus being alarmed lest she should implant the seeds of dissent.

      Parting with her after four years under her was a real grief.  Even Griff was fond of her; when once emancipated, he used to hug her and bring her remarkable presents, and she heartily loved her tormentor.  Everybody did.  It remained a great pleasure to get her to spend an evening with us while the elders were gone out to dinner; nor do I think she ever did us anything but good, though I am afraid we laughed at ‘Old Newton’ as we grew older and more conceited.  We never had another governess.  My mother read and enforced diligence on Emily and me, and we had masters for different studies; the two boys went to school; and when Martyn began to emerge from babyhood, Emily was his teacher.

      CHAPTER III

      WIN AND SLOW

      ‘The rude will shuffle through with ease enough:

      Great schools best suit the sturdy and the rough.’

Cowper.

      At school Griffith was very happy, and brilliantly successful, alike in study and sport, though sports were not made prominent in those days, and triumphs in them were regarded by the elders with doubtful pride, lest they should denote a lack of attention to matters of greater importance.  All his achievements were, however, poured forth by himself and Clarence to Emily and me, and we felt as proud of them as if they had been our own.

      Clarence was industrious, and did not fail in his school work, but when he came home for the holidays there was a cowed look about him, and private revelations were made over my sofa that made my flesh creep.  The scars were still visible, caused by having been compelled to grasp the bars of the grate bare-handed; and, what was worse, he had been suspended outside a third story window by the wrists, held by a schoolfellow of thirteen!

      ‘But what was Griff about?’ I demanded, with hot tears of indignation.

      ‘Oh, Win!—that’s what they call him, and me Slow—he said it would do me good.  But I don’t think it did, Eddy.  It only makes my heart beat fit to choke me whenever I go near the passage window.’

      I could only utter a vain wish that I had been there and able to fight for him, and I attacked Griff on the subject on the first opportunity.

      ‘Oh!’ was his answer, ‘it is only what all fellows have to bear if there’s no pluck in them.  They tried it on upon me, you know, but I soon showed them it would not do’—with the cock of the nose, the flash of the eyes, the clench of the fist, that were peculiarly Griff’s own; and when I pleaded that he might have protected Clarence, he laughed scornfully.  ‘As to Slow, wretched being, a fellow can’t help bullying him.  It comes as natural as to a cat with a mouse.’  On further and reiterated pleadings, Griff declared, first, that it was the only thing to do Slow any good, or make a man of him; and next, that he heartily wished that Winslow junior had been Miss Clara at once, as the fellows called him—it was really hard on him СКАЧАТЬ