CHAP. IX. Going Home.

It was expected that the fragments of the store basket, would prove sufficient to dine the servants in attendance; and it was in consequence of their resisting this proposal, that I became acquainted with the following particulars.

The party had viewed the house, and adjourned to the park, where the cloth was spread on the grass. The basket was produced, when behold! even as suspected, a bottle of red port had been cracked, in complying with the whim of Arthur; and nearly the whole of the provision was spoiled—at this moment perhaps there was no doubt of the junior parties being hungry. Arthur still continued to rally his aunt on the loss of the pigeon pie, with more boldness than justice, for Mrs. Jemima (as I heard the coachman say), was the only person in the family who was simple in her diet. It seems, that after cutting such things as were really eatable, Mrs. Cosway told the men to carry the remainder to the inn, and make the most of them. Joseph, an elderly, respectable servant, to whom this order had been given, pointed out the impossibility of doing so.

“I told my mistress,” said he, “that we would very willingly take a snack of bread and cheese, and wait till we got home; but she was in such a rage with me for saying so, I never saw her so angry.”

The coachman to whom Joseph addressed himself, was sitting on a stile cracking nuts, and occasionally throwing the husks at me; having been a sufferer in this pleasurable jaunt, it is natural to suppose I was interested in every thing connected with it.

“Well if we can get nothing better, I suppose we had best take our lunch at once,” cried coachman.

“To say truth, it is a shame to see such good victuals lost,” replied Joseph, “but look, here’s a mess!” presenting the basket, “to be sure the’ve picked out the best, but you see its impossible to eat any of this; the salt has got in amongst it, and the wine, and the pie-crust is soaked through and through.”

While yet they were examining the spoiled remnants, Master Edward approached.

“Joseph,” said he, “you must be hungry, and slipping a three shilling piece into his hand, he ran off before either of the men could thank him.”

“What a noble fellow that is!” exclaimed coachman, “I only wish he was in somebody’s place, I think we might look forward to a good Master.”

“He is an excellent boy no doubt, but our young one hasn’t a bad heart neither; no! he’s only giddy, and that is not so much his own fault; in poor Master’s time, he was a different creature: to be sure young Edward is ten to one more like his uncle than t’other is; but if that Mr. Powel doesn’t do more harm than good, my name’s not Joseph. He’s always ready to praise him and juggle the mother.”—Here, there is a chasm in my narration. The men repaired to the inn, and I was left to contemplate the stubble. Having some taste for antiquities, more especially those of my native isle, I was beginning to regret that I should in all probability quit Penshurst without gaining the most trivial information connected with its history; when glancing my eye towards an adjacent field, I saw an intelligent looking Ass, whom I resolved to address. After the usual compliments had passed,

“Pray Madam,” said I, “will you be so obliging as to tell me such particulars, as may have reached your ears, respecting yon ancient pile?”

“From what I can learn,” replied she, “it was built in the 16th century, I believe in the reign of Edward the Sixth. The Sydneys Earls of Leicester lived here in princely magnificience; here Monarchs were entertained, and here the good and glorious Sir Philip Sydney was born.”

“If I mistake not Madam,” said I, “our illustrious Queen Elizabeth visited her minister and favourite, Robert Earl of Leicester, at Penshurst.”

“She did,” replied my quondam friend, somewhat pettishly, “yes her majesty was no enemy to favouritism, though it seems, we were almost extinct during her reign.”⁠[2]⁠

Footnote:

“Indeed!” said I.

“It is true however, and had not the faculty discovered the medical qualities of our milk, it is probable we had been expatriated from this island for ever.”

“I cannot suppose her majesty had any personal enmity to us as a species,” I resumed; “I should rather imagine, that the less luxurious habits of that period caused our more useful properties to be overlooked, if not unknown.”

“I grant there was some difference in the style of living,” resumed my new friend, “but the Ass, Sir! yes the Ass, had indubitable claims on a princess who professed and practised the rights of the Christian Religion.”

The allusion was fair, inasmuch, as the most honourable record attached to our history, is connected with the history of the religion of Christ. But the warmth of my friend, convinced me, she was not equal to discussing this subject judiciously; I therefore endeavoured to divert the conversation, by observing, “that we were now made very generally serviceable.”

“But does it conduce to our happiness?” rejoined the lady, “the very contrary is the fact. Formerly the Ass had a distinct employment, and if her education was limited, it usually proved sufficient for her station; but, since we have been appointed to run in gigs, act as ponies, draw loads, we do neither well; and those frequent tastes of ease which chance throws in our way, but disqualify or impress us, with that disgust for common labours which exposes us to chastisement, at the very moment we most deserve compassion.”

Whatever justice there might be in these conclusions, I felt there would be danger in attending to them; my friend was evidently a discontented Ass, and as I had more than once indulged in gloomy reflections and vague repinings, I thought it best to retreat, ere I imbibed any additional taste for misery. We parted amicably, and as I stood gazing on the walls of Penshurst, I could not help fancying to myself, the British Queen and her gay courtiers, visiting this favoured spot.

This naturally gave rise, to what amongst rationals, is called an association of ideas. Armours and helmets rose to my “mind’s eye”—then our strength and stature: nor could all my self-love, reconcile me to the belief that we could have been made useful as beasts of burthen in those days. I do not speak of inanimate weight. Imagine to yourself, gentle reader, a man in armour, seated on a full grown donkey! The thing is too absurd to dwell upon.—Well then, if the nutritive property of Asses’ milk, had escaped the observation of medical men, (as I believe was the case,) I think the Asses of the present day will allow, that the Queen of England may be forgiven the sin of omitting to support the assinine race; since the human race were so highly benefited by the wisdom of her councils, the example of her government, and the never-fading lessons of magnanimity she has bequeathed to posterity. I recollected hearing Doctor Manton and his son, discussing the characters of some discontented Englishmen one evening; but I remember they were displeased with the present times, and found something to applaud in all that was gone past.

I cannot enter into the merits of this matter, but like other Asses, I have my opinion; and must think those who vent their chagrin on the departed dead, are infinitely less excusable than the caviler who fights with the hour in hand. It is seeking misery, while it exhibits the very worst species of resentment. My new acquaintance would not suffer me to leave Penshurst, without displaying further proofs of her unhappy temper.

“You have not fared too well here,” said she, thrusting her nose over the fence that divided us, “but it is no wonder, the owner of this field thinks himself a great agriculturist; he knows nothing of farming, or these acres would have been sown with turnips.”

I merely smiled, fearful of venturing any remark before so great an adept.

“Turn which way you will,” she resumed, “there is nothing but hops, as if the sight of these plantations was to satisfy the appetite.”

“Oh, oh, madam!” thinks I, “I understand you now, the old fable of ‘the fox and the grapes’ applies here, as I believe it does in a thousand instances which escape our observation.” So anxious was I to avoid the contagion of this lady’s example, I actually forgot the short allowance to which I had for some hours been doomed; and only longed for the moment of departure. It was nearly five o’clock, when seeing the horses putting too, I bade adieu to my testy friend, and approached the gate. Chance brought Mr. Edward to the spot.

“Why Joseph,” said he! “if this poor animal has had nothing given to him, he must be almost starved; he could not pick a mouthful from this field.”

“Not much to be sure Sir,” laughed Joseph.

“Get me some corn,” rejoined Edward.—Conceive my joy as these words reached my ears; and imagine the glee with which I fed from the sieve my kind young friend brought to me.

O ye! who eat from habit, for whom many hands provide, and who are regularly summoned to your meals, you know not what it is to be forgotten; to hear the joyous gaiety attendant on a pleasant dinner, nay perhaps smell the tempting viands, while one’s empty stomach is yawning to partake of the feast. If I thought amplification on this head, would have the effect of procuring a single comfort to my contemporaries, I would venture to be diffuse; but, I doubt my powers in this line. You all think you know how an Ass should be treated or maltreated, and my zeal might chance to expose him to more obvious neglect.

We quitted Penshurst, observing the same arrangement in our cavalcade, as when we left home. Mrs. Cosway had gently hinted, that she would prefer her son’s taking a seat in the barouche, but Arthur, was too used to command, to listen where his own wishes were concerned; we therefore set off at a pleasant trot. Miss Fanny Cosway soon took occasion to express her disappointment in their excursion.

“It has been so stupid!” said she; “for my part, I see nothing wonderful in old houses, and old furniture, with all the long stories about the Sydneys; our own house in Warwickshire is much handsomer.”

“Edward is laughing at you Miss Fan,” replied Arthur; “he was quite at home, while old Powel displayed what he knew, or thought he knew, still I think it is a fine place; but pray Ned, how do you manage to recollect names and dates? Aunt Jemima was in raptures with her dear boy; I could have forgiven her that, if she had not rowed me, because I forgot there ever was such a person as Edward the Sixth.”

“You affected ignorance in order to teaze your Aunt,” said Edward, “if I know any thing of English history, I owe it to her instruction; and as you have had more of her society than I ever enjoyed, it must be your own fault, if she did not give you the same advantage.”

“Why, to be sure! I recollect she was well disposed to teach, if I had chosen to listen; but I never could bear to be taught by a woman. They think themselves so clever, and gabble so much—dont you tell the old Lady what I say, Miss Fan: I know you have a trick of blabbing.”

“I’m sure Arthur you are very unkind,” pouted Miss Fanny, “but this is always the way, when you are vexed with yourself.”

“I never was better pleased with myself than at this time,” said Arthur, “for if there has been any fun to-day, it may fairly be attributed to me.”

“It certainly has not been the most pleasant of your whimsical attempts,” resumed Edward; “at least, I judge so from Mrs. Cosway’s being so low spirited.”

“O! my mother is subject to such fits:” said Arthur, with the utmost coolness, “but as you say, she must be flat indeed, for even old Powel’s flattery of me, could not make her smile:—I hate that old quiz.”

“I neither like nor hate him Arthur, and only wonder to see him made of consequence any where.”

“Edward you ought not to set Arthur against Mr. Powel, he is our guardian you know,” said Miss Fanny, “and I’m sure he’s very good natured, and makes us very handsome presents whenever he comes to stay with us.”

“It was your brother said he hated Mr. Powel,” rejoined Edward; “I hope you do not believe him Fanny, and I likewise hope you have a better motive for liking your guardian than that of the useless presents he brings you.”

“Dear me, you are so good Edward, there’s no saying a word before you.”

“He is very right for all that,” cried Arthur, “I only wish you and I thought like him in all respects.”

This justness of sentiment in Master Pickle, claimed my unqualified approbation; it was clear to me, he wanted only the guidance of firm and judicious friends to make him a respectable member of society; whether these advantages ever fell to the lot of the young gentleman in question, I cannot say.

It soon became evident to me, that the seniors in this pleasurable excursion, were equally disappointed in its result. As the carriage was ascending a little steep, Mrs. Cosway inquired of her son, “how far he thought we were from home.” The question was put, and answered by every one according to their ideas of distance, till the coachman set us all right by saying, we had about four miles to go.

“Four miles!” exclaimed Mrs. Cosway, “why it will be dark. Sister, I said it would have been better to set off directly after breakfast, but you said there would be sufficient daylight for our purpose.”

“It was impossible to foresee the delays to which we have been subjected,” said Mrs. Jemima calmly.

“Poor Arthur,” sneered Mrs. Cosway, “well he will soon return to school, and spare his aunt the pain of seeing him happy.”

“You mistake me sister, I am anxious when he is from home,” rejoined Mrs. Jemima, “because I know his foibles, and he never visits us, that I do not discover additional cause for uneasiness.”

Arthur laughed, distorted his features, and shewed every mark of silent derision; fortunately the road became level, and we were left a little behind.

“The old lady is seriously offended,” said he, “yet it is ridiculous in my mother to squabble with her because a day in September is not like a day in June.”

“When you recollect what influences your mother to this opposition, I think at least you should not arraign her conduct,” said Edward.

This rebuke offended the young gentleman, who I suppose, aware, that he dared not resent it as his feelings at the moment prompted, found an opportunity of revenge in teasing me.

“Ah Mr. long ears, I owe you a thrashing,” said he, at the same time giving me a few lashes with his whip. Edward remonstrated to no purpose.

“It is but a hired Donkey,” said Arthur, “you are over squeamish Sir, if you dont like his capering, exchange, and I’ll be bound to work him so, he shan’t throw me again.”

“He shall not be left to your mercy Arthur,” rejoined Edward, and clapping his spurs, I understood his wishes, and triumphantly bore my burthen off at a smart canter. It had escaped my rider’s notice, that a shoe of the Pony Arthur rode, was so loose, as to impede his progress. I however had seen it, and more confident in myself from this discovery, entertained no fear of being able to distance my tormentor. We did so, and arrived at the dwelling of Mrs. Cosway, without further adventure. I just heard Mr. Edward give orders for tea being made ready, for the expected travelers, and was quietly led home by a boy, whom my considerate young friend paid handsomely for his errand.

“And this” thinks I, “is what they call a day of pleasure: if I had experienced disappointment in being ill treated by one of the party, it is certain, as far as happiness consists in cheerful spirits, a desire to be pleased, a wish to accommodate oneself to the circumstances of situation; not one of these rationals has known what it is to-day.” Balaam laughed immoderately at my description of this trip; but, he astonished me by saying, “that if I could hear the party themselves describe their pleasure, it would wear a very different character.”

“Impossible,” said I; “excepting Master Edward, there was nothing but cross purposes, from the time we left Tunbridge till we returned.”

“And for this very reason it would be as I say,” replied Balaam, “each knows, how far their own petulance contributed to make it uncomfortable, it is therefore their interest to combine in thinking or saying, it was otherwise; unless they are all seriously determined on correcting their tempers.”

I cannot say I was convinced by the reasoning of my old Mentor, but I had learned to respect him so far, as to be silent though unconvinced. Balaam certainly was a most discerning Donkey: I trust my readers have discovered this long since, for myself I may truly say, even his pleasantries were lessons in disguise; and though I ought to blush for the many ignorances these memoirs contain, I must acknowledge, that had he not given me habits of thinking, and taught me to arrange my ideas, “The Adventures of a Donkey,” had never glided into the press,—a loss which the juvenile world, will, I trust, duly consider; and while they do justice to the character of my old friend, make every allowance for the deficiencies of his grateful pupil: for you all know, that the wisest teachers do not always succeed in making their scholars wise.