Chapter IV: Part 4

“Why, Jemmy, you will always be a child,” said he; “I thought you had drawn a garden chair at Mrs. Fenton’s; of course their harnessing was not complete! Blinkers are indispensably necessary to draught animals; they constrain us to look straight forward, and thus expedite our progress.”

“They look very ugly,” said I; “though I now recollect horses wear them.”

“Undoubtedly,” resumed Balaam. “Use has taught me to consider them a pleasant shade to the eye. But, my dear Jem, let me advise you to think a little before you speak:--here are six of us, and one man drives us; could he do so if our attention was diverted from side to side? if we were at liberty to look about us?--the thing would be impossible. No, we must plod on in the way you see, and as I cannot suggest a better fashion, nor hope to see it adopted if I could, pray learn like other Donkies to bear with blinkers.”

“I suppose I must,” sighed I: “but surely, Mr. Balaam, you cannot admire the language of our driver? For my part, I dont understand the man:--gee up! and waugh! what does he mean by such strange words?”

“You will understand him presently,” smiled Balaam; “nor is there any thing to complain of in the words themselves, their _accompaniment_ is sometimes rather painful. All you have to do, is to catch their meaning and avoid the blow to which your stupidity or obstinacy may expose you.”

“Mighty well,” I replied; “so these rationals expect us to understand _them_, though they seldom recognise our meaning.”

“There are good masters as well as good servants,” continued Balaam, “and our present employer is a very good man--I have served him before: but there is an enthusiasm in your nature, my dear Jem, which does not tend to make you happy. If we are subordinate to man, he is likewise under controul, and that to his own species too--a kind of subjection to which we are strangers. How would you like to be the servant of a rich, over-fed Donkey, that kept you at work early and late, fed you scantily, yet expected you to be humble and contented?”

“Oh, horrible!” said I; “say no more, my dear Balaam; blinkers are very pleasant things. I dare say our driver has the happiest way of imparting his meaning; I shall soon comprehend his gee ho’s! &c.” and using my feet rather adroitly, old Balaam could not refrain from laughing.

“Spare my old legs,” said he, “and take care that your friskiness does not displease the carter.”

I fell into a quiet pace, and was delighted to find my old Mentor was well disposed to bear with my vivacity. Nearly two months elapsed in the service of Mr. Maxwell, the bricklayer, when we returned to our old master.

One of Staples’s boys was ill of the ague, and the doctor advised change of air: after some deliberation they proposed sending him to Bromley, (likewise in Kent,) where they had a relation. I was saddled one Sunday morning, and, with the invalid on my back, set off for Bromley.

“Tom,” said my master as we were just departing, “tell cousin Smith, if he can get a chap for the Donkey he may sell him; I’ve no mind to the fellow since the race-day.”

Tom promised to tell his cousin and we proceeded. I did not dislike this intimation, yet I grieved to think I had not taken leave of Balaam, whose good sense had so entirely won my affections, it was really painful to me to think we might never meet again.--Our journey was rather tedious, poor Tom’s malady having weakened him so much as almost to incapacitate him for a guide;--it was past ten o’clock ere we reached Bromley. The night was cold and dark, and the reception of the invalid such as impressed me with no very favourable opinion of cousin Smith’s hospitality. I was turned to graze in a swampy field where an old horse was quietly reposing after the fatigues of the week. Excepting the short period in which I was the gipsies’ servant, I had never slept but under a shelter. Balaam had deplored this circumstance as unfitting me for the vicissitudes he believed to be inseparable from my fortunes as an Ass. Never having considered the matter in this point of view, how great was my restlessness on the night in question! I believe I should have wasted the hours in idle regrets, had not the calm fortitude of my neighbour awakened a more just train of reflection.

“This Animal,” sighed I, “is of a class peculiarly favoured by man; and perhaps, were I acquainted with his early history, I should find he too has tasted the luxuries of life, and in a degree superior to those I have enjoyed; he may have been a successful Racer.” As this idea took possession of my mind, something like a feeling of conscious inferiority checked my discontent, and I composed myself to sleep; where, I beg my readers will suffer me to rest for a few hours.

CHAP. XI.

_A Journey towards London._

The morning brought Mr. Smith to the field, who casting a careless eye over my figure led my companion away. The too perceptible anatomy of this poor Animal caused me to shudder, his bones seemed actually starting through his skin, his knees were broken, and two or three half-healed wounds on his shoulders, assured me the friction of his harness must be a constant source of pain. I saw nothing of my aguish friend during two days; on the third, he crept by the palings, and in a feeble voice explained his father’s wishes respecting me. Cousin Smith appeared disposed to depreciate my value; Tom would not allow this. After some altercation, Smith muttered that he would see what he could do, and I was left to myself. The air of Bromley did not suit my taste; the country was flat and after the pleasant hills of Tunbridge, appeared very uninteresting.

Just as I was beginning to hope a purchaser might not be found and that I should return to the society of old Balaam, a new master was introduced to me in the person of a sandman, whose business, according to his description, seemed to be extensive. He talked of “Lunnon, Fulham, Kensington,” &c. &c. But it was the first word only that had charms for me; I sighed to behold the metropolis of my native Isle, and in my desire to visit London, forgot the ignominious circumstances under which it was most probable I should make my _entrée_. The bargain was soon concluded, and I quitted Bromley for Lewisham.

Our first journey was to Blackheath, where I was loaded most heavily, nor could the frequent stripes of my master teach me to consider my burden light, my knees would tremble in spite of my wish to give satisfaction. I rather think my master conceived my load was not equally balanced, for he thought proper to mount behind the bags and added so considerably to my fatigue, it was with the utmost difficulty I reached home. Two or three labourers had joked him on the road, and one man, whose language sounded new to my ears, declared, “It was a great big cruelty to load a dumb baste so unmercifully; and by St. Patrick, I’m glad it isn’t I, that’s your sarvant,” said he.

My Master growled something about “a Paddy,” and bid him mind his own business.

“And isn’t this my business, and every man’s business?” resumed the man. “Oh! shame on ye that can keep a sarvant and don’t know which way to trate him.”

My sides now bore full testimony to old Balaam’s assertion, “that the interference of the humane,” provokes if not increases the ferocity of the naturally brutal disposition.

However, as I have said, we reached home. I hoped my toil was over for this night; no such thing: two ragged children mounted my back, and proud of having something on which they could exercise their authority, galloped me up and down the village, to the no small amusement of their tattered acquaintance.

Many requests were made. That Bob, might have a little ride, and Dick try just how he should like riding the new Donkey. Thanks to the selfishness of my master’s family, these aspiring gentry were regularly refused. When I did retire for the night, I really thought I could have enjoyed one of those ablutions Miss Morden recommended as healthful; so completely had the dirty poverty of these people disgusted me.

Six weeks of toil so wasted my form and subdued my strength, that my master entertained fears for my life; his ill-humour increased; he had not had enough work out of me. What was to be done? Telling his grievance to a milk carrier, it was suggested that at Blackheath, there were always some invalids and I might do very well to carry a sick child. My master took the hint, and giving me two or three days of good feeding carried me thither. I suppose I might call this short interregnum “being at nurse,” for I was placed under the care of a laundress, who had a fine drying ground, allowed the full range of an adjoining field and left at my ease.

Fortune favoured me here; one of Mrs. Ellis’s customers saw, liked me, and made no demur at the price required. The money was instantly paid, and I heard the Lady say, she would send for me in an hour. I stole a sidelong glance at my mistress, saw she was well dressed and looked good-natured, and instantly felt a sort of renovation run through my whole frame. Yet, I must, in justice to the salubrity of Blackheath declare, I believe it to be a very eligible situation for sick Donkeys. You may suppose, I had my own reflections, or rather anticipations respecting my new home. At one moment I pictured to myself a noble mansion and extensive grounds--then, a romantic cottage, and luxuriant shrubberies--in short, I experienced all those sensations that a sanguine mind will feel under suspense. At the appointed time a man in a plain livery made his appearance and I was delivered over with due form.----

“Come along my old fellow,” said the man, as he ran by my side; there was something auspicious in this commencement, and I put my best leg forward in order to shew my tractability.

“Matthew,” says my companion to a groom who was rubbing down his horses, “is not this a handsome Donkey?” Matthew advanced. “Yes he is a monstrous fine Donkey,” he replied, “he doesn’t look over strong though,” and, as he relaxed his hold from me, he squeezed a spunge (which he was using to his horses) full in my face. Now this was an unexpected ablution; and unmindful of Balaam’s advice, I not only showed my teeth, but retreating a few paces brayed with all my might. The groom laughed heartily, and wished to repeat his joke, but my kind guide prevented him.

“You are as mischievous as a child Mat,” said he, “but there’s one good thing, if the young ladies see you play any tricks with the Donkey, you will get into a scrape, so I’d have you take care.”

This was joyful news to me. I was to serve ladies and they must be humane from what my conductor intimated.

They were humane, amiable in every respect; I think I see the sweet girls at this moment. But they deserve a regular introduction, and I must summon all my Donkey eloquence to do them justice.

The family consisted of a gentleman, lady, and three daughters--their ages eight, ten and eleven. Maria Turner, the eldest girl, was a very clever, intelligent child. I observed in her a kindness and consideration for her younger sisters that was truly delightful; indeed, there was more affection in this family than had ever previously fallen under my view.

Mr. Turner was a merchant, and rode to Town daily; the young ladies were employed in the house during the morning. At one o’clock I was regularly saddled (and let me tell you, it was a very complete thing, white leather reins, &c.) when our pastime began, and it was pastime to attend these children. Well then, we sallied forth on the heath, and they rode me by turns;--there was no wrangling, no pouting with--

“I am sure you have rode longer than I did,” or--“That is not fair Emma,” and “I am sure Charlotte ought to let me ride before her, because I am the eldest.”

No! all was harmony. I know their parents set them an excellent example, but I believe they were likewise much indebted to the care of a lady, who accompanied us in our rambles. Miss Howard (as this lady was called) used to relate very pleasant anecdotes during our rambles, and as we only went at a gentle pace, I had an opportunity of listening to them. I cannot omit one anecdote which took my fancy amazingly. The wind was rather high on the morning she related it, so that I did not exactly catch the name of the person, or the place in which it happened.

“A great man (I believe it was in European Turkey,) was riding out one morning, when he observed three Asses, heavily laden, standing at the door of a house in which their masters were regaling. He pursued his journey, and on his return three hours afterwards, beheld the poor animals at the same spot. Calling for their owners, he ordered the Asses to be unladen, and their burthens placed upon the backs of their masters for the same space of time, saying, ‘it was the fittest punishment for such thoughtless cruelty.’”

My readers may think little of this fact, but to me it was a most amusing anecdote; I fancied to myself the mortification of these gentlemen,--nay, so completely did I enter into the spirit of the thing, I felt my sides shake with laughter, and was only fearful least my mirth should incommode the lovely little Charlotte, then seated on my back. Nor did I fear that the Donkeys could suffer for the degradation their owners had sustained; for, as an occurrence of this sort could only happen in a despotic government, where the vigilance of the powerful is ever suspiciously alert, it is most probable these Turkish Donkies submitted to their punishment without daring to think of revenge.

Excuse me, but I cannot resist a smile, even at this moment. It is true, you will not enter into my feelings on this occasion, yet, as often as I have related this story to the Asses of my acquaintance, (and I confess that is little less than a hundred times,) we have been inconceivably amused. I regret old Balaam never heard it, it was exactly the thing to please him. Poor Balaam! alas! he--but I am wandering. Let me see, we were riding on the heath:--well, though the weather was cold and Christmas near at hand, we seized every fine afternoon to ambulate about this pleasant spot. It was delightful to see these children meet their father, as we frequently did; their questions were so pertinent and sensible, and his manner of explaining them so pleasant, I used to call these my intellectual rambles. I remember Miss Maria one day was very anxious to know, why Asses were called Donkies. Miss Howard had declared, she could not tell how the appellation originated, as it bore no reference to any living language. My ears were stretched to the utmost to catch all the information I could on this subject; indeed, it was one which had often engaged my thoughts.

While yet the young ladies were talking, Mr. Turner arrived, and they immediately appealed to him.

“My information will not be perfectly satisfactory, Maria,” said he; “and for this reason--it is not derived from an authority to which I would yield implicit credit. Like you, I was curious to know why Asses were called Donkies, and after some search, I found a definition which I will give you verbatim:--

“‘Donkey, or Donkey Dick, a male Ass; called Donkey, perhaps, from the Spanish or Don-like gravity of that animal: also entitled, the King of Spain’s Trumpeter.’”

The party smiled at this explanation; for myself, I rather liked the gravity ascribed to us,--it implied dignity; but the allusion to the trumpeter was a satire upon our harmonic powers. I looked timidly around expecting every moment to hear some remark that should make me feel uncomfortable.

I did my young ladies injustice. They laughed at the oddness of the derivation, or application of the term; and while Miss Maria declared she could look at me till she fancied she really saw a great deal of solemnity in the character of my countenance, Miss Emma said, I was a very handsome good-natured creature, and little Charlotte observed, I was never tired.

Tired! no, my dear, kind mistresses, it was not in your natures to injure a worm!

I ingenuously confess, that for this once, I rather turned to the living page of existing goodness, than sought to treasure up what might be further quoted by Mr. Turner; so, throwing aside the gravity ascribed to us, I set off at the most lively trot imaginable,--my young rider delighting to show her skill, and calling to her papa to see how well she could manage me. Between ourselves, this was a little mistake--my care in choosing the smoothest paths went more than half way towards making her equal to guiding me. Pardon this egotism, gentle reader, and think how seldom _our_ merits are fairly estimated.

A few days before Christmas, I heard some talk of the family’s going to town for the holidays. Maria and Emma were overjoyed at the idea; Charlotte regretted it, “because she could not ride a Donkey in London.”

“O fie, Charlotte,” said Emma, “you forget that your brother George will come home; besides, you know papa says, the days are so short he cannot come to us every day, and you would not like to go to bed without kissing him, would you?”

“No to be sure I would not; but cannot we take the poor Donkey with us?” asked Charlotte.

“Why you would be laughed at if you rode a Donkey in London, and where could we keep the poor creature? Evans will take care of him here, and when we come back he will be quite glad to see little Charlotte,” said Emma.

I was discouraged by Emma’s mention of London as a place in which persons riding a Donkey would be a matter for laughter. Foolish Ass that I was, I thought vulgar prejudices must be confined to those whose limited intercourse with what is called the world, might in a degree justify their ignorance: alas! I had no Balaam to set me right, and I secretly wished I could make my appearance on this great theatre, if but to clear up the mistake of my young friend. On the evening previous to the removal of the family, Mr. Turner came home rather earlier than usual, and, with his daughters, took a turn in the meadow in which I was grazing:--“Ah, there’s your Spanish Trumpeter,” said he; “girls, you remember your poor pensioner, Mrs. Arnot;”--the young ladies replied in the affirmative.

“She is in great trouble,” he continued; “her old horse died yesterday morning, and as she cannot afford to buy another, the poor woman is quite disconsolate.”

“Dear me, papa,” said Maria, “we will all join our pocket-money; how much will a horse cost?”

“More than you possess, my dear girls,” he resumed; “but I was thinking, with your mutual consent, it would be an act of charity to present your Donkey to her, and I will buy you another, or perhaps a pony will suit you better, when we return to the Heath.”

“But indeed, papa, her cart is too large to be drawn by a Donkey,” rejoined Maria.

“I have thought of that, Maria, and if you all agree, it would be a good plan to let her sell the old cart and I will buy her one suited to the strength of your favourite.”

“Then we all agree I’m sure,” said Emma. “Yes, papa, we are quite willing Mrs. Arnot should have the Donkey, because she will use him well.”

“What a nice Christmas present it will be!” said Charlotte; “but I hope Mrs. Arnot will sometimes bring her cart into the Square, that we may see the poor fellow:”--and rubbing her little hands across my forehead, she looked as though she had rather not part with me.

The ease with which this transfer was arranged, very powerfully affected my sensibility. I had considered myself a favourite servant, and really hoped I had found a permanent home. It is true, the motives by which my owners were actuated were at once liberal and humane. But, with all my respect for the Turner family, there was blended that sense of humiliation, that feeling conviction of our insignificance as a class, which rendered me truly miserable.

In the warmth of my heart, I could not help questioning their right to dispose of one, who had faithfully fulfilled the duties of his station, But here memory helped me to be just. I had heard more than one rational being lament the caprice of their employers. I recollected that a clean, healthy-looking young woman, with grief, declared, she had thought herself fixed in a good service, when a visitor procured her dismissal, by remarking a defect in one of her eyes, which the lady said, “was really awful, and made her quite nervous whenever she met her.” And a labouring man had worked more than a fortnight for a stone mason, who, discovering he was an Irishman, instantly paid and sent him off.--These facts stood me in good need. If change was the inevitable lot of my fraternity, I, certainly, had no right to complain; for I should not only quit my employers with a good character, but carrying with me the regrets of some of the family. That personal vanity in which I had too often indulged, was now gradually declining. It is true, I sometimes heard civil things said of my figure, &c. but no lasting advantages attended these compliments: on the contrary, they had, in my more youthful days, subjected me to those humiliations the conceited more or less experience. Latterly, I learned to consider such encomiums as reproofs--they seemed to throw a slur upon my mental capabilities. “I want those agremens,” would I say, “which give a sterling character to beauty.” Yet the question is, “Should I have been happier, should I have learned the art of being content, under my chequered fortunes?”--if so, what a faulty Ass have I been. But who will look for superior endowments in a Donkey, whose best services have procured him no higher honour than that of drawing a London cart?

CHAP. XII.

_A Glance at the Metropolis._

It was finally arranged that I should go to Town with the groom, who had orders to set off early next morning. An unusual melancholy took possession of me, as I reflected, that this was, perhaps, my last appearance in genteel life. I was less sanguine respecting London and its wonders; and indeed, as my fate was already carved out, there was nothing like incident or adventure attached to my migration, a circumstance peculiarly disappointing to an Ass of a romantic turn of mind. Matthew, who was a good-humoured, giddy young man, cheerfully undertook the charge of me, and it was on our way towards Deptford, I learned something of my destined mistress.

“So you are off I see,” said a man in livery, addressing my conductor; “but what will you do with the Donkey in Town?”

“Master intends giving him to a pensioner of his,” replied Matthew.

“Well, that’s good, but I do think there isn’t a better man than your master.”

“It is a good family altogether,” continued Matthew. “I wouldn’t change,--no, not to live with the Prince Regent!--Yes, and not only the Donkey, but a new cart is to be got for the poor old woman; and all the children are as pleased at it, as if they had the finest present given to themselves.”

“Well, such people deserve money, I say,” resumed the man; “I only hope they may never meet a bad return, for that sometimes makes even the best hard-hearted.”

“They are not likely to be imposed on, because they go about and seek into things,” said Matthew. “Why the old woman that’s to have this Donkey, goes about London with garden-stuff: well, she fell down just opposite our door in Russel Square--one of the children saw her, and sent out somebody to assist her: it was in the hard frost last winter--the poor creature was almost froze--we had her in, and the maids rubbed her ancle. Mistress came down to inquire into her story--ordered her to have some victuals--gave her a pound note, and advised her to go home for that day at least. Well, next morning mistress walks to Somer’s Town, where this woman lives--hears a good character of her--that she brought up a nephew that had been her ruin, and forced her to take to her present business. So then she gave her our custom, which is something--sent her in some coals, and almost kept her all the winter; and master brought home word last night, that her horse is dead--so she is to have this Donkey and a new cart.”

This recital met the entire approbation of our detainer; who, wishing the Turner family a hundred guineas for every one they now possessed, suffered us to depart. You may be sure I did justice to these really good friends, and though I might not actually fall in love with the occupation of my appointed mistress, I hoped every thing from her gratitude. We trotted along the road, and, to my great disappointment, each step that brought me nearer to the metropolis, increased the unpleasantness of my feelings. You will ask,--what I could expect, at such a season of the year, but dirt and fog? Now a fog was a luxury to which I had hitherto been a stranger; consequently its effects rather surprised me. My breath seemed impeded by this extraordinary quality of the atmosphere, and I began to think that blinkers must be a superfluous appendage in London, where it seemed almost impossible to find one’s way in broad day-light. As we crossed Blackfriars-bridge, the sun cast a partial gleam, and exhibited a view I was well disposed to admire. I shall never forget the delight with which the Thames inspired me as an object. _We_, as I have before observed, are epicures in water; and though as an element we have our fears and prejudices when in too close contact with it, so much of our comfort depends upon the pure state in which we get this beverage, that I trust I shall be pardoned for the warmth with which I express myself on this subject.

I was not so silly as to expect to find London paved with gold, but I certainly thought it would be whole--complete in every part. Great, therefore, was my vexation, when I found myself less equal to preserve my paces, according to _my_ ideas of grace, than in many mean villages through which I had passed. Matthew had frequent occasion to pull my reins, in order to save me from falling. It is true, the thick mud which filled up the interstices between the stones, might help to retard my progress; but I really think, if abstemiousness were not an acknowledged property of the Ass, any person who had seen me stagger into London, would have called me a most immoral Donkey.

Our route lay through a part of Fleet Street, Chancery Lane, across Holborn to Russel Square. What a scene it was altogether! What bustle and noise! The splendour of gay carriages contrasted by loaded carts, waggons! &c. &c. and, to add to my astonishment, _men_ carried loads that appeared to require the strength of a horse. I was beginning to think _we_ really were a proscribed animal in this world of business, when a strange sensation in my nose, something like what _you_ would call sneezing, occasioned me to look about for the cause that could produce such a nouvelle effect on my olfactory nerves. I soon discovered a miserably fragile-looking Donkey, dragging a small railed cart laden with bags of soot. I have since learned, that any sudden surprise checks the emotion called sneezing with your genus. Such a specific was at hand. Hear it, O ye neglected, uncombed Donkeys! a human being--yes, a man--drove this cart, whose black face and hands were only rivalled by his sable garb! They call this description of person a chimney-sweeper; but as it never has proved to me, that these people have an antipathy to water, I cannot reconcile myself to the idea of their invariably dirty appearance. My poor fellow-donkey excited my compassion: his drooping frame seemed little able to drag his load, yet he was young. Two lines I had heard Mr. George Manton repeat, occurred to my mind:--

“And most unlike the nature of things young.
That earthwards still thy moveless head is hung.”

Under such circumstances, I really thought shame would have bowed my head.

How super-eminently fortunate did my lot appear! There was something invigorating in the idea of carrying fresh garden plants! and I was actually calculating the chance of a few stray cabbage leaves occasionally falling to my share, when a completely trimmed vegetable cart, drawn by a Donkey, obstructed our path. It was in vain I strove to inhale the freshness of its contents; every thing looked dry and impoverished, so unlike all I had ever seen, that I knew not how to believe such trash could meet purchasers. The wretched Donkey was nearly knee-deep in mud. I shuddered at these specimens of the estimation in which _we_ were held in London, and scarcely raising my eyes least I should encounter some new object to pain my sensibility, we reached Russel Square.

“Would I had been born at Grand Cairo!” sighed I, as I saw Matthew cleanse his horses after their journey. What though I partook of the shelter of an elegant stable in a spacious mews; the weight of my limbs seemed insupportable! and on the instant that I might be called an inhabitant of the great metropolis, I would have given worlds to have been transported to the fields of Tunbridge, or any other fields in which I could have indulged in a roll on the grass. You will think me a dissatisfied Ass, and perhaps wonder that at such a time my mind could be occupied by such seeming trifles. Cleanliness is a half virtue, and it had ever been my habit to practice it to the utmost of my power. I cannot describe all I thought and felt on this important day.--Ignorant as I was respecting London habits, I waited, with great anxiety, the arrival of the family, fully expecting they would visit me in my new abode. But the carriage was put up, night closed in, and my hopes were disappointed.

On the ensuing morning brought master Turner to the mews:--he was a fine boy, full of vivacity, but perfectly conciliating in his manner. He did me the honour of mounting my back, and expressed himself highly pleased with me:--only regretting that Donkeys were not rode in London, or he should have enjoyed an airing in the New Road.

On the subsequent morning a light, compact cart was brought to the stables, and my harness being fitted, I was led forth by Matthew, who had orders to take me into the Square, that the young ladies might see me before I departed. I saw them all standing at the drawing-room windows; they looked pleased, but by no means gay: I rather think I was honoured by their mutual regrets at this moment; for as Matthew received his final directions, the sash was gently raised, and the words,--“Good bye, poor fellow!” “I declare he looks very nicely,” and “Pray Matthew tell Mrs. Arnot he is remarkably good-natured, and seldom requires the whip,” were pronounced. These compassionate sentences fell on my ears with a sweet but melancholy sound: I scarcely dared raise my eyes to take a parting glance, so powerfully did the certainty of my separation affect my spirits.

I was soon called to witness a more pleasing scene:--on our arrival at a small house, rather agreeably situated in a lane leading out from the road called Somer’s Town, Matthew (who was highly pleased with his errand) stopped, and rapping with his whip, Mrs. Arnot answered the summons.

“Well, old lady, how are ye?” said Matthew. The poor woman replied to his question by stating her recent loss.

“I know your good young ladies will pity me,” said she; “indeed master was quite grieved when I told him Dobbin was dead; it is, as I may say, losing the very bread out of one’s mouth.”

“Why so it would be,” replied Matthew, “if there wasn’t good people in the world, to help them that can’t help themselves: but what say you to going partners with me?” laughing. “I think this cart is big enough for us, in all conscience.”

“You are always merry; but it’s fit you should be, you are young. That’s a convenient little cart, sure enough, Mr. Matthew, but I hope you’re not going to leave your place; I should be sorry to hear that.”

“I hope I’m settled for some time,” resumed Matthew: “but I forgot, I have a bit of paper for you, which will explain my errand;” and presenting a note to Mrs. Arnot, he waited the effect of her surprise.

“I’m in such a tremble--and I don’t know where I’ve laid my spectacles,” said she; “your eyes are younger than mine, Matthew, read it for me.”

“Matthew took the note, and read as follows:--

“MRS. ARNOT,

“We were very sorry to hear of your loss in the poor old horse;
we hope, however, that the cart and Donkey which Matthew has the
pleasure of conveying to you, will answer your purpose, and prevent
your feeling any serious inconvenience. Papa and mama think a lighter
cart will be better for your health and strength. You will call for
orders as usual; and if you find any difficulty in disposing of the
old cart, papa bids us say, he will speak to a person with whom he
has lately had some dealing, and who perhaps may be desirous to
oblige him. Wishing you every success, we are your sincere friends,

“MARIA TURNER,

“EMMA TURNER,

“CHARLOTTE TURNER.”

“Sincere friends!” exclaimed Mrs. Arnot, “they are angels! O, what children! Mr. Matthew. But let me not forget their dear parents;--it is they that have trained them up to goodness, and God will reward them:--they are rewarded, for their children are humble and dutiful, and will live to repay them for all their cares.” The poor woman seemed oppressed while paying this tribute to my late patrons. Matthew kindly drew her attention to her new property, and as he unharnessed me, and led me to a respectable patch of pasture at the back of the house, I was gratified by the unfeigned approbation Mrs. Arnot bestowed upon me.

“It will indeed be better suited to my strength,” said she, following us; “yes master was quite right; if Dobbin had lived, I should ha’ gone on in the old way. Make my duty to the dear young ladies--you know what to say as well as I do--tell them I’ve no eyes for writing, or I would answer their pretty letter, but I’ll keep it as long as I live. You wont forget, Matthew, to tell ’em how happy they’ve made me. And about the old cart--pr’aps as master will take the trouble, he would make a better hand of it than I should. And be sure and say, I will call in Russel Square the first thing to-morrow. I shall be off to market early in the morning.”

“Master George guessed as much,” smiled Matthew, taking a bit of paper from his pocket; “so, as he had no share in the young ladies’ present, he sent you this one pound note to go to market with.”

My mistress actually shed tears at this proof of Master Turner’s liberality, and I have no doubt I should have joined her, had she remained any longer.

She retired with Matthew, and I fell to and made a very tolerable meal considering the season of the year, and the extent of Mrs. Arnot’s demesne.

It may argue little in favour of my gentility, when I add, that I really preferred Somer’s Town to Russel Square. Vaulted stables, and neatly paved mews, could not reconcile me to the want of herbage; there is something refreshing to the eye (putting the taste out of the question) in that universal colour with which providence has clothed the earth. I was absurdly going to say, that no other colour could prove so acceptable to the senses, when the very circumstance of its being a provision of nature makes the fact incontrovertible. We want neither the sanction of the Poet, nor any conviction but our own unbiassed judgment to convince us, that in nature’s plan,

“Whatever is, is right.”

The next morning initiated me into the bustle of a market; I have heard that many Asses have made their debût in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, but I really think few if any were ever better received than I was on my first appearance.

A little audience was collected around me, and though their applause, was not uniformly expressed in a language to which my ears were accustomed, Donkeys as well as other animals, can discern what is intended as compliment, and _vice versâ_.

A very singular looking old lady, who was sitting on an inverted basket, with a tube in her mouth from which she whiffed a gale by no means aromatic; this extraordinary personage certainly excited my surprise, and in retreating a few steps, in order to avoid suffocation, I forgot an appendage the cart, and coming in contact with a passenger, had nearly done mischief, when the old lady started from her seat a flame issuing from her mouth, an seizing my bridle exclaimed,

“Can’t ye be asy now! Sure y’re a great big blockhead, that ye can’t see y’re killing the craters behind ye.”

It would seem that her reproof sounded equally ludicrous to the by-standers as myself, laughter ensued, but the good humour of my reprover did not forsake her; she resumed her seat, until a man summoned her to carry a load, which it astonished me to see a woman able to bear. She however went off cheerfully, and I felt something like a twinge of conscience when I recollected how frequently I had made a difficulty of trifles; though I could not bring myself to think of the fair sex, while recurring to the features and person of this portress. It was sufficient she was a woman, and I grieved at the necessity which placed her in such a situation.

My mistress was evidently superior to most of the persons assembled in this place; every body seemed willing to serve her. But though she received their civilities gratefully, I perceived she was by no means familiar;--regulating my conduct by her’s, I kept a respectful distance, not making the least approach to acquaintanceship with any of the Donkeys in waiting.

Indeed, they were for the most part, of the very lowest order of Donkeys:--you will ask how I ascertained this? Rest assured gentle readers, that, as in your species there are orders and degrees in society, so amongst us, there are well-bred Donkeys, vulgar Donkeys, and Donkeys that neither ease nor indulgences could render elegant. But I will never lend a foot (the scribbling member in all Assinine literature,) to publish what could not edify the public. Indeed, I am of opinion, that were we indifferent to the failings of our immediate class, there is danger in delineating vices too faithfully;--in setting forth the consequences of error, an Author may hope to do some good, and even should he fail, he retains the consolation of knowing his own moral taste cannot be questioned.

Upon the honour of a Donkey, who is most solicitous of being considered an ingenuous Ass, I am literally surprised to find myself thus wandering from Covent-garden market, to Authorship and its moral effects.--

Jemmy’s--“himself again.”

Our marketing turned out well; a great proportion of this morning’s purchase was left in Russel Square, where I looked anxiously for my good friends--they were out in the carriage, and I saw nothing of them that day. To dwell on this period of my history would be tedious, suffice it to say, my days were uniformly quiet and comfortable, no more labour being required of me than what I could with ease perform. The Turner family continued to be our best customers, and the sale of the old cart producing a tolerable sum, my mistress looked forward to the approach of spring with a satisfaction to which she had for some years been a stranger. I cannot omit one remark respecting my feeding, if but to do honour to my mistress: considering me as a sort of partner in her toils, she never forgot to place fresh water in an old tub set aside for my use; and many a stale cabbage, aye, and many a fresh leaf fell to my share when in our journeys she thought I had fasted too long. Excellent, woman! you deserved a better----What was I going to say? My gratitude had nearly led me to anticipate what you will find in the next Chapter.

CHAP. XIII.

_An old Enemy, with a new Face._

In the month of April we received frequent visits from the Miss Turners, who having persuaded my mistress to put a little fruit in her windows, took this opportunity of further befriending her; they however left town the first week in May. Mrs. Arnot soon after took cold, in consequence of getting wet in returning from market. Her complaint ended in the Rheumatism, which prevented our accustomed little journeys. A neighbour, who sometimes chatted over the palings which enclosed our house, advised her letting her cart by the day, and give up going to market. My mistress hesitated more than a week, at length she assented, and my life was now totally altered.

One day, I fetched and carried linen for a laundress; on the next, a pair of panniers dangled at my sides; and accompanied by a man whose voice almost deafened me, I was the bearer of a weight such as I had never before sustained.

On these days I always observed, that in proportion as my load lessened, I experienced his favour or anger, and though I could not possibly have any influence on the public taste, it seemed that my driver thought otherwise, and revenged his ill fortune on my poor sides. Yet I was compelled to smile sometimes, when he would recommend his asparagus, &c. &c. as fresh from the gardens, when the truth was, they were the refuse of those large green-grocers who must daily be supplied with fresh vegetables. At last to complete my degradation, I was deemed to work one whole day for a chimney-sweeper. This arrangement was made by the neighbour of my mistress, who unmindful of my feelings, only stipulated for the black gentleman’s providing his own harness.

I rather wondered Mrs. Arnot should assent to my being thus employed; and while a sort of trappings were manufactured of old ropes, I looked anxiously in at the windows, hoping her humanity might yet save me from this odious appointment. She was not visible, and I set off somewhat out of humour I confess. O! what a tedious day did it seem! My nerves were in a state of irritation truly pitiable. I suppose I must not say we sneeze; as an emotion indicative of extreme sensibility you may not choose us to share it in common, but I declare, I think, I sneezed on this unfortunate day. My head was in constant action--a sort of tremor agitated my tongue, accompanied by a noise not unlike the snorting of a horse.

After perambulating through half the streets of London, I was, late at night, conveyed to my humble home. Alas! my mistress’s kind care was wanting, my tub was dry; no cheering good-night met my ears; all was gloom; and spiritless and disappointed I endeavoured to compose myself to sleep.

Mrs. Corsan the good neighbour of my mistress, paid me a visit in the morning, bringing a pail of water in her hand. “Poor fellow,” said she, “I’m afraid your kind mistress will never give you another herself.” I stared her in the face, but must have remained ignorant of her meaning had not a man stopped to inquire after Mrs. Arnot.

“She’s very bad,” said. Mrs. Corsan, “hasn’t closed her eyes all night; you see that fellow’s coming has made her worse; poor soul, it’s hard she can’t live at peace after meeting with such good friends.”

“I wish the family was in town,” replied the man, “I’d let ’em know, that I would. She has no right to be made a beggar for such an idle rogue as that!”

“So I told her,” continued Mrs. Corsan, “but it’s no use advising her; she says he is her own brother’s child, and if helping him will save him from wicked ways, she must do it while she has a shilling.”

“And he will take her last shilling: he has no more heart than a stone. He got money of her last night, and I saw him at an ale-house directly after.”

“Well, I’m determined I wont leave the house to-day,” resumed Mrs. Corsan; “and if he does come, I’ll tell him my mind.”

“Do so,” said the man: “I could find in my heart to write to some of Mr. Turner’s servants. But if she isn’t better by Sunday, I shall be at leisure then, and will go to Blackheath--it is but a pleasant walk.”

The kind-hearted Corsan blessed this honest creature, while I watched his departure--fancying the tranquillity such a man must feel within himself. The indisposition of my mistress gave me serious uneasiness. I wandered round the house, peeping in at the windows, in the hope of seeing her: fortunately, this proved a day of bodily rest;--I say fortunately, for in the afternoon, as I was strolling: by the door, I heard a faint voice say,

“Ah! poor fellow; are you looking for me?” It was my dear mistress--I hastened to greet her--the day was warm and the sash thrown up. She patted my head, and seemed truly glad to see me, inquiring of her friend, if she had thought of giving me water. Mrs. Corsan’s attentions claimed my gratitude, which I evinced by rubbing my head against her arm, in token of recognisance. While I was thus basking in the presence of my good friends, the garden gate was opened--I turned intuitively, and beheld Jenkins.

My mistress looked agitated, he approached the window, and leaning on the sill exclaimed,

“Why old lady, you look a hundred per cent. better than you did yesterday; you wont die this time.”

“I hope not,” said Mrs. Corsan, stepping forward, “and while I’m her nurse, I’ll take care she shall be kept quiet.”

“That’s what I say,” retorted Jenkins, “and I advise her to sell her cart and Donkey and enjoy herself while she can, and I know a man who wou’d be glad to buy ’um.”

“No indeed, that must not be,” said Mrs. Corsan; “she can let ’um out while she is sick; besides, she must not offend the family that gave them to her.”

“A gift’s a gift!” sneered Jenkins; “I should like to hear any body tell me what I was to do with my own property.”

“Then leave me to do as I please with mine,” said my mistress, feebly.

“She’ll do,” laughed Jenkins; and taking me by the mane, he said, I was “a fine Donkey, a very fine Donkey, worth three guineas of any body’s money.”

Admire my self-possession;--no turn or look of mine betrayed that I had ever seen him. And indeed, had not his peculiar voice been an indisputable proof of his identity, his strangely-altered person might have led me to discredit the accuracy of my visual perception. He was no longer the stout, healthy-looking man I remembered at Penrose:--his face was florid, but it was the flush of intemperance; while his almost skeleton figure bespoke any thing but health.

Mrs. Arnot really seemed afraid of him: and when he asked for something to eat, I thought she trembled. He entered the house, and as his voice grew elevated, I heard Mrs. Corsan arguing with him to be moderate. The Turner family were named, and the word Blackheath; but I could not attach any thing certain to what I overheard. He went away early in the evening, and for two days we saw no more of him. On the third, he again made his appearance. Mrs. Corsan forbade him admission, declaring his aunt was in bed, and had been getting worse ever since his last visit. Jenkins ridiculed this--said, he must see his aunt, he had a message for her from the Miss Turners, who had sent her some wine that was to cure her.

“Why you haven’t been there?” exclaimed Corsan.

“To be sure I have though,” replied Jenkins; I took care what I was about, and didn’t say I was her nephew; I knew better than that: they took me for a neighbour, and gave me a good dinner for my trouble.”

“She will break her heart if she hears this, you cruel man; haven’t you once been her ruin? She might have had a comfortable house over her head, and lived like a lady if it hadn’t been for you.”

Jenkins grew abusive, forced his way into the house, and I was left to conjecture the consequences of this unfeeling outrage.

Alas! before Sunday arrived, my poor mistress was no more: her feeble frame sunk under the conflict of disease heightened by the brutality of her nephew. Jenkins kept possession of the house--a violence his relationship to the deceased seemed to sanction. He was her heir, and such had been the correctness of her worldly dealings, the little furniture, the cart, and myself remained unincumbered by any claim whatever.

Mrs. Corsan, whose zealous indignation knew no bounds, threatened to apprize the Turner family of Jenkins’s imposition. He took fright at this, and ere my mistress was buried, called in a broker, had the goods valued, and actually sold the cart and your humble servant to a dealer in crockery-ware. I was to quit Somer’s Town next morning; but so secretly had he conducted his villany, Mrs. Corsan knew nothing of my destination.

As I stood gazing at our humble dwelling, and thinking of the calm pleasures I had enjoyed in the service of my respected mistress, my old friend Matthew alighted from a horse and entered the garden. The poor fellow started back as he saw the closed windows. Mrs. Corsan, (who would not quit the house till the last duties were performed,) led him into the garden, and, with great tenderness, told her little tale. Matthew was too much affected to speak for some minutes;--then, resting his arm across me, he sighed.

“Well, I’m sure our people will be truly sorry,” said he, “she was such a good old woman: I little expected to find things as they are. I came on an ugly errand. Pray can you tell me where the man lives that brought us word Mrs. Arnot was ill?”

“Not I,” replied Mrs. Corsan; “it was her wicked nephew; he deceived you, and, God forgive me, but I shall always lay her death to him; he flurried her, and she was too weak to bear it.”

“And as sure as the world, he robbed us,” rejoined Matthew. “We missed two silver forks and a table spoon soon after he was gone, and the butler had somehow a suspicion about him; so I said, I would come and inquire what sort of character he bore.”

“He has no character that’s good. Why he has sold every stick to a broker, and got the money, or a part of it. I’ve seen nothing of him to-day, and if he’s done as you suspect, he’ll take care to keep out of the way.”

“And what will he do with the cart and Donkey?” asked Matthew, kindly regarding me.

“It’s impossible to say: perhaps that’s sold too. He’s afraid of me, because I fetched my husband to prevent his having a parcel of people in here to drink with him.”

“Well, as I dont know how master would act, if he knew this rogue was poor Mrs. Arnot’s nephew, I can say nothing, only I think hanging is too good for him.”