Who Wins? Being the autobiography of Samuel Basil Carlingford, M.D

Chapter I. My Parentage

— FAMILY — BIRTH AND NAME. My father was a country squire, of small means, but unencumbered estate, of the name of William Carlingford, in the county of "Westmoreland. He traced his origin to a certain Knight, who came over with the Conqueror, as he scrupled not to call him ; accounting the previous independence of Britons to be in no ways affected by the will of Edward the Confessor, but that his own good sword had given him a right to possession. Whether any honour might accrue to his family by being in such company or not, it is certain his name and estate were down in the Doomsday Book, and had descended by entail from father to son, during a period of eight hundred years. B MY PARENTAGE. The Carlingfords had, at different periods, distinguished themselves both in church and state; but it was a generally received opinion that no Carling ford had a head for business; and any unfortunate member of the family who engaged in this pursuit, generally lost all he had, and returned penniless to the ancient domain ; or, ashamed of his ill success, passed his life as a lone bachelor in some obscure and unknown retreat.

The consequence was, that the family estate having various drains upon it, had not been increased as time went on. Its honour, however, was not counted by its wealth ; and many distinguished families, at various periods of time, had felt it no degradation to mix their blood with the lovely daughters of our house. My father had married in early life the only daughter of a distant relative, who died young, covered with the laurels of military glory, and be queathed his widow and infant child (my mother) to the care of my grandfather. The fruit of this marriage was a numerous off spring of delicate children. Three Williams were lost in succession; the first, it was said, from a mis take of the nurse in administering its medicine. My father had been called away on urgent business about the time of my mother being taken ill.

He was detained in the south longer than he expected. On his return, using all possible haste, in those days of dilatory posts and travelling, he preceded his letters by one post each day. When he reached FAMILY. 3 home, he found his first-born already laid in its last earthly resting place. The second child died from convulsions in teeth ing ; and the third, in infancy, from the whooping cough. Another fine boy was lost when about five years old from an attack of croup. But, notwithstanding all these trials, my parents reared beyond the age of childhood three sons and three daughters, of whom I must give a slight sketch, and then pro ceed to my own entrance into life, which event happened some years after that of my brothers and sisters. My three brothers who grew up were called Robert, Richard, and Henry, after grandfathers and grand-uncles, time out of mind.

My three sisters were called Elizabeth, Mary, and Anne, on the same principle ; all good English names, as they were then esteemed. My sister Elizabeth died about the age of seven teen, from a violent cold caught at an evening party, after being heated with dancing. Though the most prompt measures were immediately used to subdue the inflammation, she never rallied; and sunk, as my poor mother often said, from not being able to bear the remedies. Her delicate constitution never revived after the application of bleeding and other approved treatment, and she was laid in one week beside her infant brothers, beneath a large four-sided monument, in the churchyard of Grasmere. My second sister was afflicted as an infant with an affection on the skin, which my mother was very r: 1 1 : i ( i desirous to have cured.

An outward application was made use of, and the face and skin apparently resumed the natural state. But as the child lay in the cradle, my mother perceived a. deep red appearance about one eye, the inflammation from which increased till the eye was entirely «rone, and she remained with a clear skin, without any hope of the recovery of her sight Thu other eye became ex tremely -wp.uk, and she was subject to violent pain and continual headaches. For thin, she endured the frequent application lioth r>f Misters and leeches, but her general health seemed to drdhp more and more, and she found no permanent relief from these remedies. After the death of her sister she gradually faded away, and was followed by my last sister la decided consumption not very lout: afterwards. All these events happened while I was so youne that I scarcely recollect any of them personally ; hut on my poor mother they produced a deep and lasting effect, and made her most painfully solicitous about, her yet remaining children.

There was an interval of ut least ten years between my youngest brother and mo. Having duly kept up the names of their forefathers iu those given to my brothers, and having never expected another son to carry down those honours to posterity, my mother was indulged in the privilege, then very rare, of Choosing 'a fancy name for me ; and an extraordinary fancy bar choice was considered in those <3avs. when there was pfjm frf th-iv kindred' Mho w - :i sailed i iv rfmi u*rni: AND NAME. Samuel, then, was her first choice, because it was a Scripture name ; and she regarded the early his tory of the illustrious judge of Israel as a perfect model of childlike obedience and faith, which she trusted to see exemplified in the child who bore his name. My second name — an unusual thing also in those days, for one was considered an abundantly sufficient designation — was Basil.

Now my mother was very sentimental and very poetical. She was regarded, among the sober house wives of her day, as a very remarkable woman ; and it was considered a wonder that, with all her strange fancies, her house and her children were managed so well. It was in the early days of what were then called ' The Lake Poets,' — and a strange, incomprehensible set of beings they were thought to be. Their poetry was regarded as yet more strange and incomprehensible than themselves ; and those few who attempted to read it could seldom ' make much out from it.' The subjects were so extraordinary, the metre so difficult ; and altogether they ' did not think there was much in them.' How different from the simplicity of those flowing verses, which anybody could understand: ' My banks, they are furnished with bees,' &c, &c. Or the plain and interesting narrative : ' Him portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans, blest ; The young who labour, and the old who rest.' SAMUEL BASIL.

This last, by the way, was long a puzzler to me ; as while I read the easy cadence, which, so musical in its flow, I am ashamed to say never caught my attention enough to divine the meaning — it left me in a state of perplexity as to Avhether the excellent man of Ross portioned the maids and apprentices himself, or was portioned by them ; the 'portioning' being an act, the meaning of which, I never looked into at all. Forgive my digression. My gentle mother, how ever, took extreme delight in the incomprehensible productions of these strange aforenamed ' Lake Poets.' Of Southey especially she never wearied. Her earnest desire to have a son bearing the name of the good bishop, he commemorates in one of his ' rhapsodies,' was fulfilled in me ; and I was chris tened 'Samuel Basil.'

Chapter II. My Early Years And My Mother's Death

And so, up to the age of ten years, I was my mother's darling. I use the expression as a simple fact ; I do not wish to infer any deduction from it. My brothers were all pursuing their education away from home ; my gentle sisters were taken from the family circle; and all the fondness of a mother's ten der heart was, during this period, chiefly centered in me. I was her constant companion ; my childish amusements were carried on by her side; she liked having me with her continually, to divert her mind from recent sorrows. As my mind and years gradually advanced, she herself superintended my early education ; and with unswerving patience enabled me to acquire the difficult art of reading, in addition to the simpler power of writing and arithmetic. She carefully instructed me also in grammar, by familiar illustrations making me thoroughly comprehend the various parts of speech.

After this, she taught me, with the greatest accuracy, the rudiments of Latin, never permitting the slightest mistake to be passed over ; and making attentive care in the learning and repeating of my lessons so absolute a point to attain MY EARLY YEARS. her approbation, that it necessarily became a habit. She never gave me long lessons ; but all I did was to be done well and thoroughly. My poetry, geogra phy, history, all acquired a charm under her teach ing ; and habits of application were early implanted in my mind, while the hours given to them were far from being prolonged, so as to cause fatigue and inattention. ' Now go and play.' How her words still sound in my ears, when my morning tasks were duly com pleted. And these words were with me as imperative as — 'Do not bring me your book till you can say your lesson perfectly.' Prompt obedience, perfect truthfulness, and entire trustworthiness, were qualities from which my mother never permitted the slightest deviation.

Any disregard of her injunctions, I knew perfectly well would be followed by punishment. ' I love you too much to permit you to be naughty, Basil.' And often was the fault confessed to her, with the certainty in my own mind of the punishment that would follow it ; when, but for my own confession, it would never have been known. My mother never swerved from her word ; there was no caprice, no uncertainty in her conduct to wards me. When dismissed after my morning duties, I was allowed to play as might best suit my inclina tion, within the prescribed limitations. I always loved the open air, and was permitted the indulgence 'POOR BASIL.' 9 of several pets to amuse me, for I was for several years a lone child. Often when thus engaged with my little mute companions, my father passed by where I was playing, and I heard the words ' Poor Basil/ escape from him. 'Poor Basil,' thought I, 'and why poor Basil!

I am very happy ! ' It was many years afterwards, before this exclama tion received its solution in my mind; but it was one from which my father rarely deviated, when he spoke of me, as long as I can remember. He had made up his mind that I ought to have been a girl, to comfort them for the loss of their daughters. He could not take me himself from my mother's care and tuition, for he hated teaching, and felt he could not deprive her of so great a solace, as her care of me had proved. He thought anxiously of the future; how with his small means he could educate another boy. He was persuaded that my mother would spoil me, and that I should grow up 'a good for nothing' — never be fit to rough it, or come to any good. Every trait in my character, which my mother repeated to him, only evoked a sigh at her fond partiality, and confirmed him yet further in the belief that I must be spoiled.

He knew not hoiu my lessons were conducted; but when he saw me at play, with liberty to amuse myself for nearly one half of the day, he believed I learned nothing; he thought my time was wasted; he was convinced I should never turn out well. And instead BE A MAN. of all this, I was really growing up a fine healthy lad, with plenty of intelligence and common sense. I learnt a great deal from my pets, though they often came to unfortunate ends, as is proverbial with domestic animals in such cases. I shall not dwell here on the various calamities from which they suffered ; but when some unforeseen accident had occurred, or some illness had rapidly carried off one of my favourites, my heart, like all affectionate children's hearts, in such cases, was filled with very deep grief. 'Dry your tears, Basil, it cannot be helped,' said my mother. 'If I allow you to keep pets, you must expect such accidents as these.

Bear it like a man.' And like a man, I determined I would bear it; aye, and every other event that, in this world of changes and chances, could not be helped. Up to this period, I had had but very little intercourse with my brothers. The disparity in our ages was too great to render companionship of a boy's kind possible; and when at home, they were happiest engaged in long rambles among our beautiful mountains, too far for me to accompany them, or in such sports as were far beyond my age and powers to unite in. They all adopted my father's view of my capabili ties and prospects; and 'poor little Basil' was their general expression about me. I felt inclined to rebel against this designation; but the conviction that my mother must be obeyed in those things in which MY MOTHER'S DEATH. 11 she restrained me, prevented my giving a spirited demonstration, that I was more of a man than they thought me, and could climb the hills, or wield a bat with as much energy, if not equal power, as them selves.

These restraints were, I have no doubt, forced upon my mother's mind, by the conviction that her children were not endowed by nature with strong constitutions, and must be carefully nurtured in their earliest years. However it might be, Provi dence did not leave me much longer to the watchful guidance of this most excellent mother. When I was ten years old, she was taken from me, after a long and gradual decline, which was scarcely known, except to herself, and perhaps to me. 'Basil, when I am gone, you must be a good boy, and remember all I have taught you, and not forget your prayers/ And another time she would say, — ' When I am gone, you must not cry much, for we cannot always be together here, and we ought not to cry over what cannot be helped.' I scarcely under stood or heeded her words when spoken, but they were too soon recalled to my mind by the fulfilment of her expectations, and then I did not forget them.

Gentle mother — have not her early teaching and her admonitions been ever engraved on my heart — may they never be effaced ! After her death, my eldest brother, Robert, who had taken a respectable degree at Cambridge, went to learn practical farming in Scotland. My second brother, Richard, through great interest, procured a MY COUSIN SYLVIA. secretaryship to one of our ambassadors in a foreign court ; and my third brother, Henry, remained at college, intending to ' go into the church.' For me — I had lost my mother and my teacher, and for some time was left without instruction. My father then sent me to learn whatever the curate at Amble side could teach me, and though the distance was considerable, I still found time to play with my cousin Sylvia. Sylvia ! but for her I must commence a new chapter.

Chapter III. My Cousin Sylvia

My cousin Sylvia was one of the loveliest and sweetest little beings ever clothed in mortal flesh. She was a sunbeam that brightened and gladdened every spot where she appeared, and no common heart could be insensible to the winning charm of her gentle voice, her soft smile, and joyous laugh, even from her earliest childhood. And this bright little being was my cousin, my playfellow, my com panion, through the most important period of my early and maturer youth. We were but distantly related; still there was the tie of kindred, and to us it was all-sufficient. We were cousins. It formed the first bond between us. But the ties of affection were yet stronger ; she was my cousin, my sister, my friend. She was all in all to me, especially after the death of my beloved mother. Our mothers had been great friends before us, and so had our grandmothers ; indeed, the families of Carlingford and Kennicott had always been upon the most friendly terms with each other, even when not united by the ties of relationship through ISVUOJJE FANCIES marriage; though from time to time, 'luring many generations, the buuds of friendship had been thus drawn closer between them.

My grandmother and the great-grandmother of Sylvia, whose Christian names respectively were abbreviated into Betsey and Nancy, had for many years, according to the fanciful custom of those earlier days, corresponded under the names of Amanda and Delia. Amanda in her younget days had been apostrophised under that name by a poet whose verses never reached a second edition. And Delia used to find the missives of her faithful swain tied with true lovers' knots in her garden, concealed where attention was most sure to be provoked by •.•lie so fond uf flowers, beneath a roae bush, or among the lilies. Here, on her first morning entrance into her garden, she would discover them, glowing wilh devotion, and wet with dew. Our mothers lived in an age when iiwse fancies were discarded, and Avhat was deemed 'common £3O8&-' was all pre dominant, — an 'age of reason.' Yet was not their friendship one bit less real, less warm.

Each in iheir generation Lad esteemed themselves cousins — relut i ves — fia ends. Sylvias mother had come from a distance, what in those days was accounted a great distance ; and was the daughter of a merchant in a large town, lie had made a good fortune, and was anxious to make himself a good family. His own son now lived in a princely mansion; his daughters each had [ijrrtious of ui>"i,tt tun Uuui&aod AND PREJUDICES. 15 So small a sum was deemed unworthy of settle ment in the marriage preliminaries. Mr. Kennicott was an honourable man and a gentleman, living on his own inherited estate. He never spent beyond his' income ; he had no needy relations. The sum was accounted as secure in his hands without settle ment as with it, and so it was left. This lady, whose mind had been highly cultivated for the age in which she lived, had died some years before my mother, at the birth of her first child, my Sylvia, who was at least five years younger than myself. < Encouraged by my mother's example she had, previous to her death, chosen a fancy name for her child, should it be a girl.

She loved the fair hills and woods, the lakes and streams of the country, into which she had come but a short time before as a youthful and happy bride. She loved the poetry, too, of those fair regions ; and discarding the sensible names, by which all her family had hitherto been distinguished, she struck out into the erratic path my mother had already chosen; and in compliance with her wishes, in spite of great opposition, and extreme dissatisfaction among her own friends, her husband faithfully ad hered to her request ; and as my mother held the unconscious infant in her arms at the font, Sylvia, and Sylvia only, was the name she gave. Sylvia: — now my dear reader, can you believe it possible in days so little removed from our own, — from these enlightened times, when prejudice on MR. KENNICOTT. any subject, and especially on the subject of names, is a thing entirely unknown, — can you, I say, believe it possible, that from the simple fact of her name, because it was neither after mother nor grandmother, aunt nor great aunt — but especially because it was not after her mother's mother — this poor child was deprived of all interest from these wealthy relatives, and almost forgotten by them as to her very exist ence.

She lived far away, she was not 'called after any of them ; ' ' they were not good enough for her to bear their name/ 'What had they to do with her ! ' And so very little indeed they had to do with her. And the family not being congenial to her father, who was too proud to seek their favour towards his child, that little became less, until all intercourse with his wife's relations ceased entirely. For some time after the first year of his widower hood ' everybody ' expected Mr. Kennicott would marry again. He was young, handsome, and agreeable ; but though it was frequently said, he was going to marry this 'or that lady, years went on, and he still remained the same. He was a literary man; wrote in the periodicals of the day; loved the country; loved quiet; loved his infant child, almost to idolatry; had an aunt of his own, to superintend his household; and remained a widower, till everybody said, that 'Mr. Kennicott never would marry again.' My mother loved the infant Sylvia most tenderly, though Mrs. Kennicott had been many years younger MISS KENNICOTT. 17 than herself, it had not prevented the most entire friendship and sympathy between them.

After her decease, the child having been already commended to her care, by her departing parent, my mother took the most lively interest and watchful charge over this precious infant ; whom she felt doubly bound to her love by the affection she had had for her mother, and also from her own loss of fostering maternal tenderness. Miss Kennicott was an excellent woman, who looked after all her nephew's concerns with faithful care, and understood well all she undertook. She allowed my mother, however, to look after Sylvia as much as she pleased, and often frankly confessed she understood nothing about children. The consequence naturally was that Sylvia was continually at our house. The properties, though separated by a mountain and a lake, adjoined ; and these were but trifles, far from being impassable, even in our early years.

I had a donkey, the descended favourite of all her children. Often and often did I canter along the winding road, nearly two miles distance, which led from our house to Mrs. Kennicott's, to bring Sylvia over to pass the afternoon with us. I was not, indeed, trusted at this time without a servant on such expeditions. I felt, notwithstanding, almost an equal amount of independence and protective care towards my little cousin, as I could truthfully feel I had been to fetch her. To my care ap. parently was she entrusted by her good aunt, with c KNITTING AND KNOTTING. injunctions often repeated, rarely or never dis obeyed, to be sure ' and bring her home before dark.' After my mother's death I was a more frequent visitor to Sylvia than she was to me. But by degrees we fell into our usual habits again, and as our years increased, though Sylvia was, as I said, several years my junior, we were permitted to wander together as we pleased, with little restraint upon our movements, provided we were always punctual at meal times ; and so our mornings being mutually devoted to our lessons, and strict attention required while about them, the afternoons were generally at our own disposal, except one hour for needlework, on which Miss Kennicott always insisted for Sylvia ; and rather than be parted from her, if this hour was not over when I arrived, I confess, without shame, that I learnt from Miss Kennicott to knit, to net, and to knot, nay, even to sew, to make nightcaps in ' the shepherd's purse-stitch,' — the modern crochet, — and was regarded by her as a very good boy, who might be trusted with Sylvia, and who never got into mischief.

Chapter IV. Youthful Anxieties In The Art Of Healing

When my brothers were at home, they now took much more notice of me than formerly. My brother Henry took me with him in boating, bathing, and fishing expeditions. My eldest brother, Robert, let me accompany him in long rambles over our beauti ful mountains, and often in severe scrambles up craggy rocks, where my dear mother would have trembled to think of me. But I had a steady head, a stout heart, a firm foot, and full confidence in my guide. I was sure that wherever he thought right to take me it was proper for me to go, and no un certainty or doubt ever assailed my mind in follow ing him. He frequently took me with him also to visit a dairy farm, which my father had in the neighbourhood of Kendal ; and at these times the variety of the drive, and all I saw at the farm, was a source of great delight to me.

Amongst my rustic acquaintances, I had a great friend, an old mole catcher, whom I consulted on various matters, to me of great importance. He knew much about herbs and roots ; also, of the habits and complaints of many animals. He was A MOLE CATCHER counted a good doctor for all domestic animals, for many miles round. I told this old man of my trouble when my rabbits were ill, and asked what could be done. 'You must give them a branch of holly/ said he, ' with the bark on, cut from the tree, and they will soon be well/ On my return home from Ambleside that day, I ran to the garden, and with my stick-knife soon cut some small branches among the thick holly trees. In the morning when I went to see them, having given them the holly the preceding evening, I found every branch stripped entirely of the bark as though a carpenter's tool had been upon it.

I gave them this holly for a few days and they became quite well, always clearing the boughs of every particle of the bark. I sometimes wondered in later years if what cured a rabbit could cure a man. My friend the mole catcher assisted me often in catching wild rabbits in the woods. I also often went long expeditions with him in search of wild pigeons' eggs, — which I gave to my doves to hatch, — and found in him a valuable helper in many other early tastes. One day when I was returning from a long ramble with him in search of wild pigeons' eggs, which I had carefully placed in a net of my own making, I met our family doctor on the Windermere road, returning from visiting a patient. ' You are far from home to-day,' said he, kindly. ' What have you been after all this long way ? Get OR A DOCTOR. 21 Up into my carriage, and I will take you as far as Ambleside/ I thanked him, but hesitated, so fearful was I of breaking my hardly acquired treasures. ' Come, give me your bag, my boy/ said he, kindly stretching out his hand, ' and you will be up in a moment.' When seated beside him he made various enquiries after my pastimes. ' And pray what do you intend to be by and by V said he. ' To be ! ' I replied, doubtfully. ' Yes, when you are as old as your brothers, what line of life will you like to follow ?' ' Oh !

Sir,' I said, eagerly, ' I should like best either to be a mole catcher or a doctor !' The good doctor laughed heartily. ' Very well, my young friend,' he said, ' then when you find the mole catching business does not answer come to me, and we'll see what doctoring can do.' ' But I have never been at school yet,' said I, doubtfully. ' Have you not,' he said, ' have you not found plenty of school masters in the woods ?' I did not then quite comprehend his meaning, and was silent. We were now at Ambleside; I heartily thanked him, and trudged home bearing my precious burden, unconscious of fatigue. THE LAME DONKEY From this time the idea of doctoring the sick took possession of my mind, though unknown to any one else. When any death occurred among my little dependents, I made a careful post-mortem examina tion, and made what were to me real discoveries about their natural structure, and the causes of their death.

I confess, so far, to little book learning ; my observations were chiefly from nature. At this time my poor donkey fell lame, and was turned out for some time unfit to use. He had been my companion from my earliest years, a foal my father had brought up. He was an affectionate, excellent, creature, required neither whip nor spur, would canter like a pony, and always looked for a morsel of bread and a caress, when Sylvia or I approached him. His name was Prince, and a prince among donkeys he certainly was. We were both very fond of him, and had long been trusted to play with him without saddle in the fields, when the reins were arranged by me, and we felt the delights of independence. A few days after his lameness was known, my father said to me, at breakfast — ' Basil, your donkey is incurably lame.