Paul Clifford — Complete
metaphorical Ned.
“Come, we are melancholy,” said Tomlinson, tossing off a bumper.
“Methinks we are really growing old, we shall repent soon, and the next
step will be-hanging!”
“'Fore Gad!” said Ned, helping himself, “don't be so croaking. There are
two classes of maligned gentry, who should always be particular to avoid
certain colours in dressing; I hate to see a true boy in black, or a
devil in blue. But here's my last glass to-night! I am confoundedly
sleepy, and we rise early to-morrow.”
“Right, Ned,” said Tomlinson; “give us a song before you retire, and let
it be that one which Lovett composed the last time we were here.”
Ned, always pleased with an opportunity of displaying himself, cleared
his voice and complied.
A DITTY FROM SHERWOOD.
I.
Laugh with us at the prince and the palace,
In the wild wood-life there is better cheer;
Would you board your mirth from your neighbour's malice,
Gather it up in our garners here.
Some kings their wealth from their subjects wring,
While by their foes they the poorer wax;
Free go the men of the wise wood-king,
And it is only our foes we tax.
Leave the cheats of trade to the shrewd gude-wife
Let the old be knaves at ease;
Away with the tide of that dashing life
Which is stirred by a constant breeze!
II.
Laugh with us when you hear deceiving
And solemn rogues tell you what knaves we be
Commerce and law have a method of thieving
Worse than a stand at the outlaw's tree.
Say, will the maiden we love despise
Gallants at least to each other true?
I grant that we trample on legal ties,
But I have heard that Love scorns them too,
Courage, then,--courage, ye jolly boys,
Whom the fool with the knavish rates
Oh! who that is loved by the world enjoys
Half as much as the man it hates?
“Bravissimo, Ned!” cried Tomlinson, rapping the table; “bravissimo! Your
voice is superb to-night, and your song admirable. Really, Lovett, it
does your poetical genius great credit; quite philosophical, upon my
honour.”
“Bravissimo!” said MacGrawler, nodding his head awfully. “Mr. Pepper's
voice is as sweet as a bagpipe! Ah! such a song would have been
invaluable to 'The Asinaeum,' when I had the honour to--”
“Be Vicar of Bray to that establishment,” interrupted Tomlinson. “Pray,
MacGrawler, why do they call Edinburgh the Modern Athens?”
“Because of the learned and great men it produces,” returned MacGrawler,
with conscious pride.
“Pooh! pooh!--you are thinking of ancient Athens. Your city is called
the modern Athens because you are all so like the modern Athenians,--the
greatest scoundrels imaginable, unless travellers belie them.”
“Nay,” interrupted Ned, who was softened by the applause of the critic,
“Mac is a good fellow, spare him. Gentlemen, your health. I am going to
bed, and I suppose you will not tarry long behind me.”
“Trust us for that,” answered Tomlinson; “the captain and I will consult
on the business of the morrow, and join you in the twinkling of a
bedpost, as it has been shrewdly expressed.”
Ned yawned his last “good-night,” and disappeared within the dormitory.
MacGrawler, yawning also, but with a graver yawn, as became his wisdom,
betook himself to the duty of removing the supper paraphernalia: after
bustling soberly about for some minutes, he let down a press-bed in the
corner of the cave (for he did not sleep in the robbers' apartment), and
undressing himself, soon appeared buried in the bosom of Morpheus. But
the chief and Tomlinson, drawing their seats nearer to the dying embers,
defied the slothful god, and entered with low tones into a close and
anxious commune.
“So, then,” said Augustus, “now that you have realized sufficient funds
for your purpose, you will really desert us? Have you well weighed the
pros and cons? Remember that nothing is so dangerous to our state
as reform; the moment a man grows honest, the gang forsake him; the
magistrate misses his fee; the informer peaches; and the recusant
hangs.”
“I have well weighed all this,” answered Clifford, “and have decided on
my course. I have only tarried till my means could assist my will. With
my share of our present and late booty, I shall betake myself to the
Continent. Prussia gives easy trust and ready promotion to all who will
enlist in her service. But this language, my dear friend, seems strange
from your lips. Surely you will join me in my separation from the corps?
What! you shake your head! Are you not the same Tomlinson who at Bath
agreed with me that we were in danger from the envy of our comrades, and
that retreat had become necessary to our safety? Nay, was not this your
main argument for our matrimonial expedition?”
“Why, look you, dear Lovett,” said Augustus, “we are all blocks of
matter, formed from the atoms of custom; in other words, we are a
mechanism, to which habit is the spring. What could I do in an honest
career? I am many years older than you. I have lived as a rogue till I
have no other nature than roguery. I doubt if I should not be a coward
were I to turn soldier. I am sure I should be the most consummate of
rascals were I to affect to be honest. No: I mistook myself when I
talked of separation. I must e'en jog on with my old comrades, and in
my old ways; till I jog into the noose hempen or--melancholy
alternative!--the noose matrimonial.”
“This is mere folly,” said Clifford, from whose nervous and masculine
mind habits were easily shaken. “We have not for so many years discarded
all the servile laws of others, to be the abject slaves of our own
weaknesses. Come, my dear fellow, rouse yourself. Heaven knows, were I
to succumb to the feebleness of my own heart, I should be lost indeed.
And perhaps, wrestle I ever so stoutly, I do not wrestle away that which
clings within me, and will kill me, though by inches. But let us not be
cravens, and suffer fate to drown us rather than swim. In a word, fly
with me ere it be too late. A smuggler's vessel waits me off the coast
of Dorset: in three days from this I sail. Be my companion. We can both
rein a fiery horse, and wield a good sword. As long as men make war one
against another, those accomplishments will prevent their owner from
starving, or--”
“If employed in the field, not the road,” interrupted Tomlinson, with a
smile,--“from hanging. But it cannot be! I wish you all joy, all success
in your career. You are young, bold, and able; and you always had a
loftier spirit than I have. Knave I am, and knave I must be to the end
of the chapter!”
“As you will,” said Clifford, who was not a man of many words, but he
spoke with reluctance: “if so, I must seek my fortune alone.”
“When do you leave us?” asked Tomlinson.
“To-morrow, before noon. I shall visit London for a few hours, and then
start at once for the coast.”
“London!” exclaimed Tomlinson; “what, the very den of danger? Pooh! you
do not know what you say: or do you think it filial to caress Mother
Lobkins before you depart?”
“Not that,” answered Clifford. “I have already ascertained that she is
above the reach of all want; and her days, poor soul! cannot, I fear, be
many. In all probability she would scarcely recognize me; for her habits
cannot much have improved her memory. Would I could say as much for her
neighbours! Were I to be seen in the purlieus of low thievery, you know,
as well as I do, that some stealer of kerchiefs would turn informer
against the notorious Captain Lovett.”
“What, then, takes you to town? Ah! you turn away your face. I guess!
Well, Love has ruined many a hero before; may you not be the worse for
his godship!”
Clifford did not answer, and the conversation made a sudden and long
pause; Tomlinson broke it.
“Do you know, Lovett,” said he, “though I have as little heart as most
men, yet I feel for you more than I could have thought it possible.
I would fain join you; there is devilish good tobacco in Germany, I
believe; and, after all, there is not so much difference between the
life of a thief and of a soldier.”
“Do profit by so sensible a remark,” said Clifford. “Reflect! how
certain of destruction is the path you now tread; the gallows and the
hulks are the only goals!”
“The prospects are not pleasing, I allow,” said Tomlinson; “nor is it
desirable to be preserved for another century in the immortality of a
glass case in Surgeons' Hall, grinning from ear to ear, as if one had
made the merriest finale imaginable. Well! I will sleep on it, and you
shall have my answer tomorrow; but poor Ned?”
“Would he not join us?”
“Certainly not; his neck is made for a rope, and his mind for the Old
Bailey. There is no hope for him; yet he is an excellent fellow. We must
not even tell him of our meditated desertion.”
“By no means. I shall leave a letter to our London chief; it will
explain all. And now to bed. I look to your companionship as settled.”
“Humph!” said Augustus Tomlinson.
So ended the conference of the robbers. About an hour after it had
ceased, and when no sound save the heavy breath of Long Ned broke the
stillness of the night, the intelligent countenance of Peter MacGrawler
slowly elevated itself from the lonely pillow on which it had reclined.
By degrees the back of the sage stiffened into perpendicularity, and
he sat for a few moments erect on his seat of honour, apparently in
listening deliberation. Satisfied with the deep silence that, save the
solitary interruption we have specified, reigned around, the learned
disciple of Vatel rose gently from the bed, hurried on his clothes,
stole on tiptoe to the door, unbarred it with a noiseless hand, and
vanished. Sweet reader! while thou art wondering at his absence, suppose
we account for his appearance.
One evening Clifford and his companion Augustus had been enjoying the
rational amusement at Ranelagh, and were just leaving that celebrated
place when they were arrested by a crowd at the entrance. That crowd was
assembled round a pickpocket; and that pickpocket--O virtue, O wisdom,
O Asinaeum!--was Peter MacGrawler! We have before said that Clifford was
possessed of a good mien and an imposing manner, and these advantages
were at that time especially effectual in preserving our Orbilius from
the pump. No sooner did Clifford recognize the magisterial face of
the sapient Scot, than he boldly thrust himself into the middle of
the crowd, and collaring the enterprising citizen who had collared
MacGrawler, declared himself ready to vouch for the honesty of the
very respectable person whose identity had evidently been so grossly
mistaken. Augustus, probably foreseeing some ingenious ruse, of his
companion, instantly seconded the defence. The mob, who never descry any
difference between impudence and truth, gave way; a constable came up,
took part with the friend of two gentlemen so unexceptionally dressed;
our friends walked off; the crowd repented of their precipitation, and
by way of amends ducked the gentleman whose pockets had been picked. It
was in vain for him to defend himself, for he had an impediment in his
speech; and Messieurs the mob, having ducked him once for his guilt,
ducked him a second time for his embarrassment.
In the interim Clifford had withdrawn his quondam Mentor to the asylum
of a coffee-house; and while MacGrawler's soul expanded itself by wine,
he narrated the causes of his dilemma. It seems that that incomparable
journal “The Asinaeum,” despite a series of most popular articles upon
the writings of “Aulus Prudentius,” to which were added an exquisite