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?