Joseph Anstey; or, the Patron and the Protégé: a story of chequered experiences in life, from youth upwards

Front matter

GREENWICH I PRINTED BY W. H. CROCKFORD, BLACKHEATH ROAD. OR, THE PATRON AND THE PROTEGE: A STORY OF CHEQUERED EXPERIENCES IN LIFE, FROM YOUTH UPWARDS. BY D. S. HENRY. "THE SUCCESS OF MEDIOCRITY, BOTH IN PUBLIC AND. IN PRIVATE LIFE, AFFORDS A VALUABLE LESSON TO THE WORLD — A LESSON VhE MORE EXTENSIVELY USEFUL BECAUSE THE EXAMPLE IS CALCULATED Vo OPERATE UPON A FAR MORE ENLARGED SCALE THAN THE FEATS OF RARE ENDOWMENTS." \ LORD BROUGHAM. LONDON : PUBLISHED BY JOHN WILSON, 93, GREAT RUSSELL STREET, BLOOMSBURY.

Preface

. A gentleman who had but recently entered the employ of an eminent wine merchant, having obtained some advantageous orders from the proprietor of one of the celebrated city hotels, conceived that it behoved him to patronise the establishment by inviting a party to the house to take wine with him the same day. The landlord, who was a humorous wit, had a mode of pleasantry quite his own, with the nature of which our tra veller was entirely unacquainted. In the midst of the hilarity of the assembled party, the wine was set on the table, the landlord himself placing the first bottle before the chairman : at the same time lavishing many encomiums upon it in reference to delicacy of flavour, bouquet, dryness, age, with sufficient fruitiness ; while for quality its like was not to be obtained at double the price.

Then rubbing his hands most vigorously, he retired bowing, while the bottle was being passed round. The traveller — who was never known to question his own judgment in such matters — smelt, examined, and very daintily tasted his glass, as did also each gentleman in succession. AR looked doubtful, some offering one opinion, some another ; and although no decidedly severe censure passed, still all agreed that it was "not the thing." Out of respect, however, to their worthy entertainer, the gentlemen finished the wine, each saying the VI

PREFACE.

. least he could in its disparagement ; so he, relying on thereby securing the good custom of the house, ventured to request a fresh supply, but, if possible, of a better quality. As before, the landlord entering with the waiters, placed the first bottle before the chairman, but with such a bump of the decanter on the table, it was a miracle the glass withstood the blow. He thereon retired abruptly, looking particularly solemn. Again the wine passed, as before, through a like severe ordeal. Soon, however, a change came over every countenance, from twisted contorted appearances to gladsome looks, followed by vociferous plaudits, the company spontaneously declaring, that if such wine had been served at first every one must have felt thoroughly satisfied. When his friends had retired the perplexed traveller desired to see the landlord, whom he questioned with infinite bon homme.

" How is it, my good sir, that you served an indifferent wine, bestowing on it a world of praise ; while after wards, on setting before us a superior quality, you did so without even a passing comment ? " The host, with the utmost sang froid, replied : "The fact is, that the first quality did require a good deal of praise to make it pass handsomely; but as to the other, ah! sir, it could speak for itself." The author of "Joseph Anstey" feels himself somewhat similarly situated. Like the traveller, he is naturally desirous of conciliating all parties ; while at the same time, not unlike mine host with his wine — having offered the best he can pro duce, he would fain hope his book will amply speak for itself. He, therefore, restricts himself merely to observing that, although we are accustomed to speak of the world as a stage, and of life as a romance, no one has ever found the

PREFACE.

. converse of these axioms to be equally convincing ; for who considers the Stage the world, or a Romance true to life ? The latitude that is, by general consent, conceded to writers of fictitious narratives, is liable to run riot in the wildest fancies, without any assignable aim ; or, if affecting to have an object, without any visible approach to the promised goal. It is equally unfortunate, amounting to mere self-deception, to spread a single happy incident over a vast space, like those apparently wide rivers, or extensive lakes, consequent on swollen streams resulting from sudden showers, which, as rapidly subsiding, the sun quickly obliterates. What a painting is in pictorial art, a novel should be in literature — the product of intelligence, under the guidance of rules derived from nature herself, evincing the art of concealing art.

If artists may not paint compositions outraging nature as well as art, neither may the novelist with impunity pen mere caricatures of humanity, to pass for truthful delineations of what is being enacted on the world's wide stage. Influenced by such a spirit, then, has this story of chequered experiences in life from youth upwards been written, much in the manner of an autobiography ; but with what success as to style, matter, variety, novelty, and consequent interest, the million alone must decide, who, after all, are the only sure arbiters of the merit of any new venture in this walk of literature. London, April 8M, 1863.

Chapter I

Heav'n is the roof that canopies his head, The clouds his curtains, and the earth his bed ; The sunne his fire, the starres his candle-light, The moone his lampe that guides him in the night. Taylor, the Water Poet. On the grassy banks of the Thames, near Richmond, where a gentle bend in the river breaks on the view, shaded with noble lofty elms, is, or was situated fifty years ago, a sub stantial, handsome red-brick mansion, well known as Rose Villa. It was built after the Elizabethan style of architecture, presenting an extremely picturesque appearance, surrounded with gardens and pastures, commanding also a pleasant pros pect of the river and the adjacent country. It was there Mr. Laurence Forster resided, on retiring from the business of a wealthy mercantile firm in the City of London, with an ample independence.

He was remarkably unostentatious in his man ners; and his integrity in all his dealings, combined with many liberal benevolent acts, won for him the esteem of all who enjoyed the pleasure of his acquaintance. Bred to com mercial pursuits, his life had been one of unremitting assiduity, and his withdrawal from active life was the result of much forethought. It was not mere relief from the cares and anxieties of business, but a change of employment that he sought in his altered position ; for, to his taste, mere luxurious cushioned ease, by whatever elegancies surrounded, presented no fascinations. It had ever been his practice to be as much as possible a stranger to hours of idleness ; therefore, looking forward, he had stored his mind and projected a course of life B for that period in his career, which it was at length his good fortune to enjoy.

It, is not requisite, however, to expatiate further on his many excellences of character. It will suffice at present to mention that, among other munificent acts, he annually devoted a large sum to relieving the indigent; in which good work he was materially assisted by the curate of the parish, the Rev. Mr. Richardson, a relative on his wife's side, who was an intelligent, well-educated, and gentlemanly man. Out of the fund thus provided he proposed educating such deserving youths as might, from time to time, be brought under his notice. Now the first fruits of this excellent charity will appear in the present narrative. The circumstance which occasioned the introduction of Joseph Anstey to his future patron, with the simple story of his own previous history, may be related very succintly.

The worthy curate having occasion to visit Chelsea one day towards the close of the summer season, passing through Cheyne Walk — a street skirted on one side by the river, fringed with a row of gaunt old trees, the opposite side of the way being occupied with a range of ancient residences, once the retreat of fashion — he perceived a poor boy, apparently about fifteen years of age, elevated on a large block of stone, playing a common fife, to the infinite satisfaction of a gaping group of specta tors, before Don Salterq's Hotel. The little musician had just completed his performance as the reverend gentleman ap proached, to whom he extended his sleeveless arm in presenting a tattered hat for the smallest pittance. His black hair, uncombed and uncut, streamed over his neck, and all but con cealed a most intelligent countenance, which, with his dark bright eyes and slim proportionate figure, degraded by mean apparel, attracting the sensitive curate's attention, induced him, while supplying the wanderer's immediate necessities, to enquire into his circumstances; from which it appeared that he was parentless and without a friend.

He had walked from Coventry to the great metropolis — the City of Gold — earning a trifle on the road by his humble musical efforts, mostly pass ing his nights in barns, sheds, and not unfrequently under hayricks in the open fields. He hoped in London to find his lost parents, his mother having preceded him some months in search of her husband. Many weeks had elapsed in vain endeavours to trace their whereabouts ; still he was not with out hope that his efforts might eventually bo successful. The curate, who had taken him aside, listened attentively to the boy's unsophisticated tale, assuring the young wanderer of his wish to enable him at once to escape from his strolling, vagrant course of life ; at the same time arranging for his having a further interview with him the following day at Richmond.

They then parted. Poor Joseph was left in much perplexity — he sauntered by the river side, his fife under his arm, and scarce knowing whither he went. It was a great era in his young life, pinched as he had been by cold and hunger, where fore his thoughts were fully engaged with the strange occurrence of the day. He sat on a barge, listlessly watching the busy floating scene spread before him. He felt almost stupified — yet on one point he satisfied his mind, that the gentleman who had so generously relieved him was some very extraordinary personage ; while, at the same time, he longed for the morrow. But he felt ill, and wept, and knew not why. The moon's beams were already silvering the dark rippling waters, the air was moist, and Joseph set forth to find his way back to Chelsea. He soon arrived at a dimly-lighted passage leading to a long narrow court, removed from the main street, behind the stables of a large hotel.

The houses were lofty, old, dingy, and ricketty ; their fronts somewhat inclined forward, displaying from above, in mid air, fragmentary gar ments pendant from clothes' lines. There he was enabled to procure the unwonted luxury of a decent night's lodging under a christian roof. The Rev. Mr. Richardson had ridden briskly homeward the while, reaching his cheerful abode at his accustomed dinner hour. Extreme neatness prevailed throughout his establishment. He was in very easy circumstances, married to a lady of moderate fortune. They occupied a yellow-coloured, farm looking house, their own property, having a spacious garden, distinguished by a cluster of tall slender poplars. The shades of evening had not long set in, when the curate made a visit to Rose Villa. He there met Mr. Forster, who was a widower, his two daughters, Mary Ann and Hannah, with their grandmamma, at tea in the drawing-room.

A hand some chandalier lighted the apartment, while a bright fire diffused a genial warmth, and each united to display with peculiar effect the brilliancy of the gilding, mirrors, and furniture of the room, which had undergone a complete reb novation since his last visit : the young ladies were, therefore, particularly solicitous to obtain his superior artistic criticisms, which he as freely gave in terms of deserved commendation. The conversation of the ladies was further heightened by dis cussing the forthcoming winter fashions. Meanwhile Mr. Forster and the curate took occasion to consider the general aspect of political affairs, with various parish and educational matters, frequently adverting to Joseph Anstey, whose story was repeated for the especial edification of the ladies, who heartily commiserated the poor boy's forlorn condition.

On the following morning, Joseph — Ere the sun had climbed the eastern hills To gild the muttering bournes and pretty rills, Before the labouring bee had left the hive, And nimble fishes which in rivers dive Began to leap and catch the drowned fly, — Rose from rest, and with a light heart set out on his journey to seek the curate's rural mansion. From an eminence at a short distance he could see the curling of the blue smoke among the poplars, which a rustic had pointed out to him as indicating the hospitable roof for which he enquired ; giving him also intimation of the near approach of the time for opening its garden gate, which, in all human probability, would prove to be the true wicket leading to his future good fortune. That wished-for hour not only did arrive, but soon afterwards Joseph found himself led by a man-servant to Rose Villa.

Joseph appeared in a new leather cap, also a rather large pair of glossy shoes, given him by the curate, and with a small basket on his arm — causing him to be continually casting his eyes in admiring glances at his spruce outfit. Mr. Forster's interview with him was brief, for he soon found that, although his personal appearance was prepossessing, he was lamentably ignorant. It only remained to ascertain what were his abilities, and whether he was free from that cunning and deceit which too often distinguish youth left to obtain a pre carious existence, with the many degrading habits thev engender unless timely curbed by a watchful and tender parent's constant care. His immediate object was less to reform the vicious than to patronise and promote depressed worth. He spoke kindly to him, however, as was his wont whenever he addressed those who were stricken down by poverty, stating that Mr. Meadows, his gardener, would take charge of him until proper enquiries were instituted respecting both himself and his parents; after which, if satisfactory, a plan might be arranged for his future destination.

There was something very startling to Joseph's simple mind in the grand and magisterial appearance of the examination to which he had been submitted, and of every circumstance that passed at the Hall. The solemnity and grandeur of the whole scene had a terribly freezing effect on the young blood that had but one short hour before been flowing so glibly. He could not take it in or comprehend it, and was, therefore, delighted in being dismissed. Following the servant along the smooth gravel walks, his eyes glanced wistfully at the kitchen win dow, through which he could observe a large blazing fire, glistening tin ware, and snowy white drapery. Arrived at the gardener's cottage, the servant handed Joseph over to the care of Mrs. Meadows, who was in the midst of her domestic arrangements, running hither and thither, without having time to do more than place Joseph in an arm-chair, under the strict injunction to sit still.

As dinner-time approached he felt the appetising effect of the savoury vapours from a large stew-pan chained over the fire, which he was required to watch that it did not boil over. At length Mr. Meadows arrived, who, with his wife, children, and Joseph, seated themselves, as best they could, round a small table covered with a coarse cloth. Mrs. Meadows served each with a goodly portion of the gardener's favourite stew, Joseph having to help himself with a large wooden spoon, which ladled up such quantities as almost scalded his mouth. A second time his plate was filled, and still, not quite satisfied, he would not have rejected a third replenishing; but, to his disappointment, the gardener just then helped himself to the whole remaining portion, first looking round, as if politely intimating — "Will no one have any more ? then I may as well make a finish !

" Mrs. Meadows felicitated herself on the excellence of the repast, cheerfully observing to her youthful charge — " This is what I likes to see — satisfied stomachs and empty platters." So Joseph, giving a sort of sickly smile, rubbed his nose, as if sensible of the entire justness of the remark, himself being excepted. Mr. Meadows was a contented-looking, round featured, burly-bodied man, with a very white forehead, florid complexion, and iron-grey hair. Being plethoretic and taci turn, it was only after dinner that he began to comtemplate Joseph's features. He asked a number of questions past Joseph's answering, on which account he denounced him as a very stupid lad. He was blessed with two boys and two girls, all in service except the youngest boy, who was despatched to call in Samuel Skane, the village tailor.

The gardener, at such intervals as his pipe and a mug of ale permitted, informed Joseph of the vast importance it was to a man's success in life that " he should carry sufficient ballast, so as always to find his equilibrium : " which saying was so often reiterated that he could repeat the words to himself, yet he could not make out their application. He also acquainted Joseph with the bright prospect before him, provided he implicitly followed his advice, so as to enable him conscientiously to use his utmost influence with the Squire in his favour; "for," added he, "the Squire is not of a bad sort where he takes." Joseph's joy on hearing these pleasant tidings knew no bounds ; he ran out on the green with his basket, calling Master Thomas Meadows, with his playmates, to enjoy a scramble for the nuts and gingerbread which rolled from his basket as he sent it spinning along, to the great entertainment of his newly acquired friends.

Samuel Skane shortly after made his appearance. He stalked into the cottage, laid his broad-brimmed hat on a chest of drawers, and took his seat as though he were one of the family. He muttered some complimentary phrases, rubbed his right hand repeatedly over his face, and finished by taking a huge pinch of snuff. He was a very important man — at least in his own estimation. As he rarely smiled, the villagers formed many strange opinions respecting him, and strange stories were afloat of his having been seen standing on his head looking at the stars. That he had dealings with the Black Art, if not something worse, was strongly suspected. He wore spectacles, having large round glasses set in a black horn frame ; while his dress was a sort of perpetual black, for it seemed to change as little in shade as in fashion, being in an out-of-date court style.

Mr. Meadows informed him, with becoming dignity, that the Squire wished to provide the young stranger before him with a plain suit, adding, in an undertone, — " And if you can throw me in a pair of short gaiters, you know, Skane — eh ? " The tailor, nodding signifi cantly, began to eye his new customer rather inquisitively, being somewhat of an astrologer as well as versed in palmistry. Removing his owl-like spectacles, he polished the glasses in the extreme corner of the long lappels of his coat, and then proceeded to a closer scrutiny of the youth's features ; also requesting to see his hand, the palm of which he examined as an antiquarian might attempt to decipher a newly-unrolled papyrus from Herculaneum, yet making such contortions of his features as greatly alarmed Joseph ; then, humming some thing or other to himself, he proceeded to take the boy's measure.

On leaving, as he turned towards the door, he whispered to old Meadows, his parchment-skin face assuming a grim smile, his finger on his lips — " Take my word for it, that's no common urchin." The gardener, gruffly assenting, dropped his pipe and fell asleep. This conjuncture was seized by his bustling spouse to give Joseph a thorough scouring in the wash-house ; which painful ceremony being completed, he was next temporarily attired in her son Thomas's cast-off clothes, a matter of no small difficulty, but, when completed, the good lady declared that, " as she was a living woman, they might have been painted on him, they fit so well without showing a wrinkle !" which was the fact. The sleeves of his jacket were half way up his arms, while his nether garments of well-washed striped calico shrunk nearly to his knees, exhibiting with whimsical effect the greater portion of his black worsted stockings.

He contentedly took his seat on a small stool by the fireside, much exhausted by the shampoo ing process and dressing difficulties of his toilette, feeling a strange bewilderment consequent on the attention he excited, as well as considerable satisfaction when comparing his im proved with his former neglected condition. At a later hour the family formed round the fire, on which was piled a large blazing log of wood. The gardener's wife plied her needle, while her good man fumigated the apartment with tobacco smoke. She suggested, during the temporary absence of Joseph, that, " If the Squire would pay handsome for Joseph's board, and send him for a year or two with Tommy to the grammar school, to make a schollard of him, and when of age provide him with a hundred pounds, he would make no contemptible husband for Polly."

As Mr. Meadows only smoked more vigorously, as men are wont to do when engaged mentally in some knotty discussion in which they feel themselves coming off with flying colours, she added, " Now what think you of that, my dear? does'nt think I'm. a good contriver?" The gardener, like one who has taken a step too many in ascending a flight of stairs, said, with a kind of jerk of his whole person, " Whoever heard of cats eating cucumbers?" But, as suddenly finding that that was not the point at issue, he amended his observation by saying, in his loftiest manner, "Whoever has Polly must be a man with enough ballast to maintain his equilibrium." Having delivered himself of these sapient remarks, he fell asleep ; for not only did he rarely say much, but as seldom did he express his opinions hastily.

A few days sufficed to prepare Joseph's outfit, for which he had waited with intense anxiety. The same day he was to accompany Mr. Meadows to Rose Villa, attired, as was said, " in his Sunday gear." He was soon dressed, and sure enough his metamorphosis was complete — he was a walking pattern card of the most stylish fashion — and was not only the object of envy among the children, but a lively source of astonishment to himself. Mr. Meadows' own preparations for so august a ceremony were of no trifling order : his corduroys were spread over a chair back before the fire — his light-blue coat and his tulip-figured waistcoat were dislodged from the old carved oak clothes-press — his long leather gaiters and his laced boots were scrupulously cleaned. Then he was in such a pudder about his linen, its ruffles, and the tie of an old silk neckerchief, that his better-half rather pettishly enquired whether "he were goin' a courtin'."

He, however, patient and plethoretic, was too engrossed with his vast preparations to allow minor matters to disturb his equanimity of temper. While other preparations were in progress — airing, ironing, and mending — the gardener, in the fullness of his heart, had resolved on a mode of tutoring Joseph with a view to his acquitting himself handsomely before the Squire. For the better carrying out of his design, he took Joseph into the front bedroom, which being small, space had to be obtained by piling chairs and boxes on the bed. Joseph was then placed in one corner to personify the Squire, Mr. Meadows taking on himself to enact the part of Joseph, and went through his part for the instruction of his wondering pupil. They then changed sides, and the master became the spectator, while Joseph rehearsed his share in the performance.

The fact was, that Mr. Meadows, having moved about high society, as well as been several times in the pit of a theatre, felt himself competent to drill Joseph in the art of practising the most graceful congees; and it must be confessed that Joseph had actually become almost a proficient in balancing himself on his left leg, while with the other, cap in hand, he swept the floor so as to describe a semi-circle. The execution of this feat wholly occupied his mind, giving him a most exalted opinion of the gardener's polite attainments ; while the master, delighted with his own success, proceeded with all speed to complete his morning's dressing. His spouse followed the two to the door ; nor did she retire until they were well on their way, not a little congratulating herself as the more-than-likely-to-be mother of the no-doubt future Peggy Anstey.

Joseph having arrived at Rose Villa with his temporary guardian, the latter sought the butler, who, leaving Joseph on a seat in the hall, proceeded with the gardener to his own cozy pantry. Joseph sat so long in breathless anxiety, in a chill atmosphere, that all his ardour oozed out sensibly at every pore, insomuch that he felt strongly inclined to escape through the folding glass doors back again to the comfortable cottage and the agreeable society it harboured. The approach of footsteps, however, was heard just in time to restrain him from his con templated enterprise. The butler, taking his hand, led him through several passages ; then, stopping at a particular door, he announced his presence by gently knocking. On entering, he presented Joseph and quickly retired. There was Mr. Forster, a venerable, hale, portly, elderly gentleman, seated in an arm-chair, in his morning gown, his back towards a large bay window overlooking the garden.

He had been reading a newspaper, sitting by his table strewed over with letters and writing materials. The walls of the apartment were hid from the floor to the ceiling with splendidly bound books, for it was the library, and fortunately rather spacious. Joseph lost no time in balancing himself on one leg ready to perform the evolutions of the morning's drill, in which he was inter rupted by Mr. Forster, who had advanced towards him. Al though as much puzzled as the youth, he could only imagine he was about to repeat some trick he had acquired in the service of strolling players; wherefore he eyed him keenly for some time from over the top of his gold spectacles, a mode of inspection always ominous of mistrust. He was pleased, how ever, to find on enquiry, that he had no knowledge of such employments.

He noted down all he could gather from Joseph respecting his parents, with their and his own course of life. As he then appeared, he was a comely interesting youth, of a remarkably good figure, with a pleasing, intelligent, serious cast of countenance, and keen, dark blue eyes, but almost denuded of his raven locks by the ruthless shears of the gardener's officious wife. Mr. Forster found him an attentive listener to a long and excellent discourse, divided under several heads, which he as patiently delivered to him. On being dismissed, he was again about to pirouette ; but, fortunately, the butler, just then entering, caught him in his arms. The little fellow, however, slipped away, greatly abashed ; nor was he again completely happy until once more at rjlay on the green with his newly-acquired comrades.

Joseph had not been many days established in his pleasant quarters before a new scene opened to him. It was his first Sunday at Richmond, when he was also gaily equipped in his new attire. He had no recollection of ever having been in any other place of worship than a small meeting-house, which served as a school-room on week days. He accompanied the family to the parish church, an antiquated but carefully re paired gothic structure, embossed with ivy and embowered in trees. Mr. and Mrs. Meadows walked arm-in-arm, followed by a son and daughter in company with Joseph. It was a pleasant walk of two miles through cultivated fields, by hedgerows, over stiles, and through green lanes. As they entered the church and walked along the aisles, Joseph was delighted with the novel effect of the sun-lit stained glass windows, the gilt organ, the bright carved oak, the gothic pillars, the large brass chandelier pendant from the roof by chains of great length, and by the general aspect of the solemn edifice — the silence of which was only now and then broken by the gentle footsteps of each arrival, of sometimes richly dressed parties, at others of persons quite as humble-looking as himself, until every seat seemed to be occupied.

But when the bells ceased ringing and the organ sent forth its thrilling notes, he felt perfectly paralysed, looking enquiringly at his companions, as if to ascertain how they comported themselves. lie was particularly amazed to observe in the features of the clergyman the veritable Samaritan who had befriended him at Chelsea. When the service was concluded, Joseph left in great admiration of all he had seen, rather than of anything he had heard, unless it might be the music and singing. On JOSEPH ANSTET. 1 1 the way homeward, looking archly at Mr. Meadows, he re marked, in reference to the curate, that "he would have nodded to him, only he could not catch his eye ;" an observa tion which, for its extreme wickedness, exceedingly shocked the gardener's wife, who severely rebuked him, in a voluble harangue, to show that he would certainly mar all his future prospects in life unless he strictly adhered to what she and her husband recommended ; urging him, whenever he was at a loss how to act in any matter of difficulty, at once to seek their advice ; informing him that she had not been five years house keeper to Alderman Cornwallis, or her husband so many years with the Squire, without having their eyes about them, and being up to all the style of quality folk.