CHAP. XVII. An Asylum.

I should have told you, Juba’s home being contiguous to the fair, he did not sleep at West-end. This circumstance proved fortuitous to me. It was now broad day-light, and I was impatient to snatch a hasty interview with dear Balaam and return to Mr. Ford. I had peeped into many enclosures, and regarded the figure of half a dozen Donkeys without tracing any likeness to my friend, when Juba made his appearance:—he absolutely started when he saw me.

“In the name of prudence, have you wandered hither to see Balaam?” asked he.

I answered in the affirmative, entreating him to lead me to the old gentleman.

“I cannot do that,” he replied; “my master has just called me to be harnessed; but if you cross the road behind that villa,” pointing with his chin, “behind that villa you will find Balaam: he is in good care, and I really think looks better this morning, though I had but a slight glimpse of him from my field. I fear you will suffer for this, Jemmy,” he continued; “beware of the pound; and if possible retrace your path before you are missed.”

He scampered off—while I, with similar speed, approached the white villa. How my heart palpitated when I caught a glance of his long ears! His figure seemed emaciated—but it was the wreck of a handsome Donkey, graceful even in its decline. Putting my lips to the palings, I gently repeated his name—he listened for a moment—“My dearest Mr. Balaam!” said I—he was before me in an instant.

“Dear Jem, is it you!” he exclaimed; and we rubbed our noses together with unrestrained affection.

“I know your situation,” he added; “Juba gave me a brief account of your meeting yesterday; but, much as I value your friendship, my dear fellow, I tremble for the consequences of your present truancy.”

“I shall have time to get back,” I replied. “Oh! let me enjoy the delight of beholding you once more! How often I have thought of you I cannot describe.”

My old friend was visibly affected by my manner, tears filled his eyes, and for a few seconds we were silent. Just then, a tall, elegant-looking man crossed the field, and bounding over a gate, alighted close at my side. I must think that the finest perception of a Donkey lies in his nose; mine was so sensibly affected on this occasion, I scarcely knew how to express myself—every nerve was in agitation—I felt it was my dear young master, Mr. George Manton—and forgetting that deference Asses owe to man, ran after him, pursuing his footsteps so steadily as to excite his notice; he turned, and I beheld it was he; he looked at me kindly, and then proceeded. It was not self-interest, gentle reader; there were a thousand reasons against a man’s retaining any recollection of an Ass:—but no time or distance could obliterate from my memory, the amiable conduct of this young man.

I continued to follow him. Touched, as I suppose, by the singularity of my attentions, he leaned against a tree regarding me steadfastly. I ventured to approach nearer—walked round him—and at last rubbed my head against his sleeve. “This is very extraordinary,” said he, musingly; “poor Caroline, if I thought this really was, or could be, your old favourite, I would purchase him at any price.”

These words transfixed me. Whether the expression of my countenance confirmed his suspicion, or the strong dark line which extended the whole length of my back, and had occasioned Miss Marden to say I was marked like a zebra—to which of these his reflections were given, I will not determine. Suffice it to say, I was highly gratified by his manner; convinced, that a man of his dispositions would not only be pleased with the attachment of a dumb animal, but take delight in cherishing his fidelity. Determined on putting my sagacity to the test, he climbed a bank and was lost to my view: I instantly set off at a canter, braying most sonorously. He re-appeared at a considerable distance, and I hastened to him with all imaginable speed.

“Poor fellow,” said he, opening a gate, “I must think you know me: come along.” I continued by his side until we reached a meadow belonging to the beautiful white cottage: here he left me for a while, and to my inexpressible delight, I found Balaam was my neighbour—only separated from me by an elegant wire fence. I related my adventure—he listened with profound attention.

“It promises well,” said he, “but you are the servant of another—who is most probably seeking you at this moment.”

I sighed; and dreading lest Balaam should enforce the propriety of my immediate departure, began making a few desultory inquiries respecting the owners of the villa. He knew little of them—they were customers of his master’s (who was a baker)—and he believed Mr. Manton to be a relation of the family, as he often saw him playing with the children. White bridles and smart saddles no longer engaged my vanity; but if I could attain a service amongst children, (provided they were humane,) it seemed the only station in which my shattered limbs could make me moderately useful.

It would be impossible to describe my feelings during the absence of Mr. Manton; every sound made my heart flutter.

At length he returned, accompanied by a lady and three children, two girls and a boy.

“Now observe him, Charlotte,” said Mr. George, addressing the lady, and walking across the field: I pursued him.

The lady laughed—declared it was extraordinary, but she united in thinking I was the identical animal he described.

“I must go town,” continued my dear young master, “but the Donkey must remain here; if any owner arrives, offer what you think fair—at all events buy him: you see his legs are not sound, but he will do for the children.”

“Thank you, cousin George,” said the children in a breath; “how nice it will be to ride about the fields on a Donkey!”

Mr. Manton kissed them and departed.

What a revolution in my favour had a few hours produced!—My spirits were in a state of intoxication—it was a happiness too perfect to appear real! “Am I really at home?” said I, mentally,—“may I range this field, drink from that clear pond, and see my dear master daily?—Oh! this is too much!” And taking a roll on the grass, I endeavoured to tranquillize my feelings. The equitable arrangement Mr. Manton had made respecting my purchase, entirely quieted my conscience with regard to Mr. Ford. He would act for my real owner, Mrs. Dawes, and I had that opinion of Ford, that he would deal fairly by all parties. Balaam and I had a long chat in the afternoon: it was only then I discovered the immense ravages time had effected in the person of my friend. His intellects were as acute as ever—but his debility was a depressing contemplation to one who loved him as I did. “And is this venerable animal doomed to labour!” sighed I; “ah! what a fortunate Donkey am I!”

Mr. George returned in the evening, bringing in his gig a complete saddle and bridle for your humble servant: alas! with what distinct feelings did I view these once desired ornaments! No Ass of common delicacy but must be pleased to find himself decently dressed—but it was no longer the decorations of a handsome Donkey:—in fact, I believe I should at the moment have been better pleased, had my liberal master selected a less conspicuous garb for me. But I found I was in error, and checked my presumptuous folly.

The distinction was a compliment to the children of his cousin, and I was vainly ascribing it to myself.

I was soon in a state of requisition. My duties were pleasant—for kindness and good-humour graced the little Herberts—they were truly amiable; forcibly reminding me of the Turner family. Towards evening, Mrs. Herbert and Mr. George walked into the field, when my master related a circumstance which claimed my entire attention.

“I saw an enemy of this poor animal’s to-day,” said he, “but I did not know how far he had betrayed the confidence my father reposed in him till this morning.” He then proceeded to state, that he had been to see Jenkins, an old servant of the doctor’s, who was under sentence of transportation. “Like most guilty men, checked in their career of vice,” continued Mr. George, “he reverts to his lesser crimes with the strongest compunction; no doubt, as being the foundation of his later turpitude, they may be considered as the primary causes of his ruin: yet, I am apt to think, conscience suggests this sort of compromise, as the least fearful contemplation to a guilty heart.”

“This is rather in favour of the actually penitent,” replied Mrs. Herbert; “the being who confesses his less glaring crimes, is doubtless well acquainted with himself; and when the law (as in this man’s case,) does not affect his life, we may forgive him if he refrains from criminating himself too scrupulously, provided he is resolved to turn from his evil ways, and offer his contrition where it may and will (if he is sincere) be accepted.”

“I suppose I thought as you do at the time,” replied Mr. George, with a benevolent smile; “I hope the wretched man will find some comforts provided for his voyage; I have seen the captain of the ship and given him directions to supply him with a certain sum on his arrival at their destined port, provided he conducts himself properly during the voyage. He was greatly affected on seeing me; related many impositions he had practised under our roof; and amongst others, said, he found poor Caroline’s Donkey in the possession of a gipsy, from whom he took it, and afterwards gave him in compensation to a man to whom he lost money at cards. He really seemed to deplore his injustice towards my father more than any other errors of his life.”

“No wonder,” replied Mrs. Herbert; “my uncle’s character is so uniformly amiable, that none but the most dissolute of beings could injure him, without feeling remorse at some future period.”

Here the conversation was suspended; but I, who had witnessed Jenkins’s cruelty to my dear mistress, was at a loss to account for his silence on this subject. Surely his want of duty, his unfeeling avarice towards her, were crimes of the deepest dye! I checked this effervescence of my zeal, and recollecting how leniently Mrs. Herbert had judged the wretched culprit, retracted my hasty censure; not less convinced it was presumptuous in an Ass to arraign a rational animal, than that a rational animal must pay the forfeit of his errors even though our verdict is withheld.

In less than a week from this epoch, my excellent Mr. George, through the medium of an advertisement, had settled my transfer with Mr. Ford; and I now felt secure and happy. I might say, it was only now I tasted real happiness.—My feelings were calmed; none of those chimeras which had mislead me in the season of health and beauty, now ruffled my temper: nay, that very sameness in my duties, that had formerly appeared tedious, from being suited to my present infirmities, excited that active gratitude in my bosom which I have every reason to believe was daily appreciated by my owners. In fact I know it was, and you shall know my reasons for this self-assurance ere I take my leave.

It used to grieve me to see Balaam go out to work: it is true his business was not laborious, but to my idea, he was not in a state of convalescence when called to resume his duties; and I trembled least a relapse should ensue. How flattering it was to my feelings, to hear the dear old Donkey declare, my lively chit chat kept him alive. Many a moonlight night have we loitered over our palings, each unwilling to bid adieu. Juba, would sometimes join us, and his society was agreeable, but as he could only give us this pleasure by stealth, (having two or three fields to cross and the chance of finding Balaam’s gate fastened) we were never quite sure of his company, a circumstance that Balaam used laughingly to say gave a greater zest to his visits.

I understood the old gentleman, but had too much value for his opinions to question their justice; he alluded to that love of adventure, which had certainly had too much influence on my actions.

However, thinking it impossible he could again have occasion to reprove me in this particular, I rather encouraged his cheerful sallies as indications of improving health.

You will scarcely believe it gentle readers, but so it happened, I did transgress again; and having announced myself a Donkey of veracity, I suppose I must relate the fact, nor will you wonder at my prolixity in its detail, when you learn what serious reasons I have for remembering this my last juvenile frolic.

From the moment of my being established at Hampstead, I resolved on writing my memoirs; but such was the deference I felt for Balaam’s judgment, I wanted courage to apprize him of my intention; yet I was determined to arrange my plan, trusting to some fortunate moment for asking his advice and assistance, if possible. About this period, a very elegant lady Ass, used to ramble down our lane every morning. Balaam had spoken of her talents with much respect. “She has seen the world,” said he one morning after she departed; “I don’t know, that I ever met a more intelligent Ass.”—Now I had observed rational beings to pay great respect to elderly females, seeming to consider their opinions valuable, “Ah!” thinks I, “if this sensible Ass would condescend to encourage my attempt, it might prove a passport to the countenance of Balaam; at least there could be no harm in sounding her on the subject.” The next evening proved auspicious to my design. Balaam greatly fatigued retired early; one of the Miss Herberts had left the gate open, and I sallied forth in quest of Mrs. Scamper, (for so she was called.) Well, I wandered from enclosure to enclosure, the night was getting dark and no Mrs. Scamper to be seen; when just as I was preparing to return home, I thought I heard her mellifluous bray,—I paused, stood in mute attention; but the sound died away, or if it was repeated the sullen church clock had drowned the enchanting harmony. How authorship affects other Animals, I know not; with me, it was beginning to be an imperious feeling, it was my daily thoughts and my nightly dream,—thus a confidant was absolutely necessary to my repose, either to patronise my undertaking or repress my ambition. With these feelings I resolved to absent myself from home this one night,—daylight would facilitate my return, and as I was assured the musical bray I had heard could issue from none other than the amiable Mrs. Scamper, I determined to remain near the spot till morning. A public road, however, is no secure place for an unoccupied Donkey. I therefore turned down a lane making my supper en passant. It was nearly midnight, when stealing near some palings that enclosed a neat modern cottage, a small gate gave way, and afforded me ingress into the fore court. I walked leisurely over the lawn, approached the house, when the night breeze wafted a fresh and most grateful odour under my nose. I raised my head, and found a well-loaded Vine whose fruit tempted my palate. I fear I was somewhat voracious in my attack; making as free with the branches as the fruit. I had eaten half way round the house, when I heard a whispering within. Thinks I, “it is time to decamp;” and treading as lightly as possible, still keeping close to the house, my ears touched a wire which communicated from a trellis work door-frame to the house;—a bell, immediately tinkled—I took to my heels—but ere I reached the outer gate, a gun was fired from a window above,—it grazed my tail. I scarcely knew whether I was wounded or not, so great was my alarm! “Thieves and Murder,” were the words which followed this warlike defence; but I had paid too dearly for my dessert, to wait further chastisement. I ran as though the enemy had actually been at my heels; nor stopped till I reached the cow-house of Mrs. Herbert. Here, I found time to reflect on my folly; but, neither the fright I had endured, nor the injury my tail had sustained, was to be compared to my shame at having such a tale to relate to Balaam.—“He will think me incorrigible,” sighed I, and I wept as I anticipated our next meeting. While I was thus the victim of self-accusation, the cowherd approached, and unlocking the door was entering, when I thrust by him, well knowing if I could make my way through the shed, I should gain my own meadow. Alas! in my haste, I perceived not a bar which crossed the interior door; the good fellow knew me, and was throwing open the door when the bar fell on my back, and I sunk on the ground.

It was some minutes ere I could rise, and when I did, was but too sensible I had received an incurable injury. Hobbling to my immediate residence I threw myself on the grass, the kind cowherd following and pitying me, in accents of the most compassionate interest. I was soon surrounded by the dear children, whose artless expressions, and tender caresses, at once filled me with gratitude and touched me with remorse.

“Silly Ass that I was,” said I mentally, “to be seeking patronage, when I possessed the friendship of such disinterested beings as these!” Yet, as my pain in some measure subsided, the excess to which my desire of fame had exposed me, seemed an additional motive for giving publicity to my follies. “It may warn the thoughtless Donkey,” thought I, “and teach him to curb those aberrations of the imagination that have made me a cripple for life.” As these reflections occupied my mind, Balaam peeped over my fence.

“What has happened?” said he, the liveliest sympathy agitating his aged frame.—I explained myself ad libitum, not omitting my authorship propensity. Balaam looked surprised, and I really believed entertained some doubts of my sanity; but with his usual consideration, started no objections, simply saying, “it was not a time to talk of mental exertion, when my bodily weakness claimed every attention that friendship could bestow.” Dear old Donkey, yes! yours were not professions: how would he watch my gait, and comfort me with the hope, that time (by reconciling me to the awkwardness of my carriage, and the slow pace I was compelled to use,) would teach me to be grateful, that no more serious consequences had attended my inauspicious search after patronage!