My uncle, who never went
to church, used on Sundays to read chapters out of the Bible; and Iron
John, the woman from the lodge, and myself, were his congregation. It
seemed to be all one to him what he read, so long as it was something
from the Bible: sometimes, therefore, it would be the Song of Solomon;
and this withered anatomy would read about being "stayed with flagons
and comforted with apples, for he was sick of love." Sometimes he would
hobble, with spectacle on nose, through whole chapters of hard Hebrew
names in Deuteronomy; at which the poor woman would sigh and groan as
if wonderfully moved. His favorite book, however, was "The Pilgrim's
Progress;" and when he came to that part which treats of Doubting
Castle and Giant Despair, I thought invariably of him and his desolate
old country seat. So much did the idea amuse me, that I took to
scribbling about it under the trees in the park; and in a few days had
made some progress in a poem, in which I had given a description of the
place, under the name of Doubting Castle, and personified my uncle as
Giant Despair.
I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and I soon suspected that my
uncle had found it; as he harshly intimated to me that I could return
home, and that I need not come and see him again until he should send
for me.
Just about this time my mother died. - I cannot dwell upon this
circumstance; my heart, careless and wayworn as it is, gushes with the
recollection. Her death was an event that perhaps gave a turn to all my
after fortunes. With her died all that made home attractive, for my
father was harsh, as I have before said, and had never treated me with
kindness. Not that he exerted any unusual severity towards me, but it
was his way. I do not complain of him. In fact, I have never been of a
complaining disposition. I seem born to be buffeted by friends and
fortune, and nature has made me a careless endurer of buffetings.
I now, however, began to grow very impatient of remaining at school, to
be flogged for things that I did not like. I longed for variety,
especially now that I had not my uncle's to resort to, by way of
diversifying the dullness of school with the dreariness of his country
seat. I was now turned of sixteen; tall for my age, and full of idle
fancies. I had a roving, inextinguishable desire to see different kinds
of life, and different orders of society; and this vagrant humor had
been fostered in me by Tom Dribble, the prime wag and great genius of
the school, who had all the rambling propensities of a poet.
I used to set at my desk in the school, on a fine summer's day, and
instead of studying the book which lay open before me, my eye was
gazing through the window on the green fields and blue hills. How I
envied the happy groups seated on the tops of stage-coaches, chatting,
and joking, and laughing, as they were whirled by the school-house, on
their way to the metropolis. Even the wagoners trudging along beside
their ponderous teams, and traversing the kingdom, from one end to the
other, were objects of envy to me. I fancied to myself what adventures
they must experience, and what odd scenes of life they must witness.
All this was doubtless the poetical temperament working within me, and
tempting me forth into a world of its own creation, which I mistook for
the world of real life.
While my mother lived, this strange propensity to roam was counteracted
by the stronger attractions of home, and by the powerful ties of
affection, which drew me to her side; but now that she was gone, the
attractions had ceased; the ties were severed. I had no longer an
anchorage ground for my heart; but was at the mercy of every vagrant
impulse. Nothing but the narrow allowance on which my father kept me,
and the consequent penury of my purse, prevented me from mounting the
top of a stage-coach and launching myself adrift on the great ocean of
life.
Just about this time the village was agitated for a day or two, by the
passing through of several caravans, containing wild beasts, and other
spectacles for a great fair annually held at a neighboring town.
I had never seen a fair of any consequence, and my curiosity was
Powerfully awakened by this bustle of preparation. I gazed with respect
and wonder at the vagrant personages who accompanied these caravans. I
loitered about the village inn, listening with curiosity and delight to
the slang talk and cant jokes of the showmen and their followers; and I
felt an eager desire to witness this fair, which my fancy decked out as
something wonderfully fine.
A holyday afternoon presented, when I could be absent from the school
from noon until evening. A wagon was going from the village to the
fair. I could not resist the temptation, nor the eloquence of Tom
Dribble, who was a truant to the very heart's core. We hired seats, and
set off full of boyish expectation. I promised myself that I would but
take a peep at the land of promise, and hasten back again before my
absence should be noticed.
Heavens! how happy I was on arriving at the fair! How I was enchanted
with the world of fun and pageantry around me! The humors of Punch; the
feats of the equestrians; the magical tricks of the conjurors!
