A Strange Life; or, the life of a literary vagrant

Chapter I

Of all the men I have ever known, the strangest in every respect was the subject of the following brief sketch. He has been dead more than a quarter of a century, and few probably are now alive who knew him. Our hope is that his chequered career may serve as a warning to ethers. To many, no doubt, the picture will seem to be over drawn, but we can truly say it comes far short of the reality. Very much is left out vhich is not fit to appear. a STSAKGE LIFE; OE Ealph Monkland (a fictitious name is used) was the youngest son of a farmer who at one tim" was in rather affluent circumstances, but having engaged in the rearing of fine horses for the saddle and the hunting field, 1 i eventually lost his money and his farm. His son Ralph had been several years at college when he became bank rupt. A tutorship was secured for the young student in a highly respectable family, and he discharged its duties satisfactorily.

But even then, as it afterwards came out, lie had begun a course which ultimately ruined him. He had formed au intimacy with a son of one of the dignitaries of the University, and they were in the custom of frequenting 'avtrns, and sometimes drinking to excess. The power of habit gradually gained upon them, and clung to them for life. They both entered the Divinity Hall together, and continued tlieir old practices. Many of their fellow-students knew of the incon sistent life they were leading, but as yet there had bee n no violent outbreak. During THE LIFE OF A LITERARY VAGRANT. the second year, however, of thei* theologicil studies, whilst in a state of intoxication, the) excited a brawl and fought in the streets, and were dragged to the police office. The magistrate inflicted a pecuniary fine and dis missed them.

The disgraceful fact came to the ears of their Professor, and he privately admonished them, and warned them of con sequences; but the only effect of his advice was to make them, for a time, more careful of the places they frequented and the persons they associated with in their carousals. Occasion ally, thereafter, rumours spread abroad against them, and these rumours year after year became more frequent; but not the less they continued their studies, with the view of becoming licentiates of the national church. During the last year of their curriculum, they one night, being in liquor, attacked every one they met, and after fighting with se\ e T policemen,, they were eventually overpowered, and taken to the police office and locked up for the night. The magistrate on the bench next morning characterised their con duct as the most disgraceful which had ever come under his notice, and inflicted the heaviest penalty which the law allowed.

One of the newspapers noticed the case in detail, and sufficiently indicated who the parties were. This was the turning point of their lives. The excellent father of the associate of Monkland sent his son away to a distance to follow another profession,— but alas! he carried his habits along with him, and ere long he died.

Chapter II

Monkland was now cast almost penniless upon the world. He managed, however, to keep up a respectable appearance, for, being passionately fond of dress, he had several suits of clothes past him, which he had obtained chiefly on credit. He started private classes for Latin and Greek, and was so far successful. It was at this time that my acquaintance with him began. By a friend's recommendation. I went to him, LIFE op a litelaey vagrant. to revise and extend my knowledge of the Latin classics before entering the University. As I entered his room ana announced the occasion of my visit, he rose majestically from his chair, and in a deep voice requested me to be seated. He kept standing in a dignified attitude, and put a few questions as to my knowledge of Latin authors. Certainly I felt impressed, and indeed awed, in his presence, for he was a man of lofty stature, and splendidly formed.

His head and features, however, were comparatively small and dispropor tioned to the size of his body. The nose was specially unfortunate, and resembled somewhat an inverted arch. The eyes were less than the usual size, but were restless and gleamed like an eagle's. His whiskers were bushy, and the hair of his head was long and black, and tossed all over into elaborate confusion. He began to pace the room majestically as if on the stage, eulogizing the Latin language as one of the noblest monuments of human ingenuity, and worthy of the earnest study of the most exalted minds; "And I," he said, "am the acknowledged master of it, and know its hidden beauties and mysteries better than any professor m Christendom. My attainments," he con tinued, stretching Out his arms and chest, and looking upwards, ''are not yet known to the world, but they will shortly bo, or I shall perish in the attempt.

Away with your pedantic and drivelling pedagogues ! — they have not the soul of mice in them,. and they curb the genius of eery aspiring mind that comes under their influence." His loud speech and violent gestures alarmed me, and I felt as if I had got into the presence of a madman. Probably he observed this, or, at any rate, that he had forcibly impressed me, for he calmed down and took a seat, and said in a more familiar tone, " But, my dear sir, your stars a. happy conjunction, since you have fallen. upon me for I shall put you in possession of my deep andj peculiar views, not only of Latin, but of all other languages, for X LITERACY VAGRANT. have studied, to the bottom, the philosophy of speech and the art of delivery." He then began to point out the blemishes •of some of the great actors and preachers, and said he should revolutionise the whole system of a bastard oratory.

And now, after an hour had elapsed, he rose and said — " We shall meet thrice-a-week ; on Monday, "Wednesday and Friday, at four o'clock — bring your Horace and Virgil with you." u

Chapter III

I felt relieved when I got into the street, for the powerful man, and his strange vehement manner, had filled me with dread. Was he sane, or was he only exorbitantly vain, and desirous to imbue me with a sense of his wonderful attainments ? Should I go back to him ? Was it quite safe ? If safe, what good should I get from him if he wasted the time in lauding himself? I had almost resolved not to return, and yet I OR, felt curious to see something more of him. The result was, that I went back on the day and at the hour he had appointed. When I entered his room, he was stripped to the shirt and fencing furiously with a supposed enemy. He noticed my entrance, but went on, explaining the different feints and thrusts he made, and pointing out some infallible manoeuvres he had discovered, which would result in the certain death of the most adroit swordsman.

My fears were redoubled, and I resolved, if I got out with ■ise, he should never see my face again. Wearied at last, and streaming with perspiratior, he laid his sword aside, and then began a descant on the classical and gentlemanly accomplishment of sword man ship, and the necessity of being prepared for any emergency that might arise; "And besides," he said, " it has minor advantages, as it exercises the lungs,, expands the chest, strengthens the muscles, quickens the eye, and gives grace to the whole deportment; and, best of all, it gives the mind a finer perception of the beautiful and sublime. My VAGEANT. imagination, which is my cardinal faculty, always soars higher after a bout like this. I shall initiate you into its mysteries by-and bye. We shall look into Virgil now." I read a few lines at his request. ' Your pro nunciation is jejune," he said; "'ore rotundo,' ' ore rotundo,' sir, is my maxim — thus !" — and he re-read the passage in a deep round tone, which sounded very well, but favoured strongly of affectation.

I tried to imitate him, but he smiled and said — " It is unreasonable to expect that you should reach perfection at a bound." Full ten minutes had gone ere this part of the lesson was over. His criticism of my translation of the passage occupied at least other five minutes, when he intimated that. he had begim a translation of the Ænpid which would throw Dryden's into the shade. At the end of the hour only ten lines had been taken up. " Now," he said, " we begin slowly but thoroughly, and in the course of six weeks we shall manage half a canto at a sitting." OS, CHAPTER TV. Again I hesitated whether I should go back, but the enthusiasm and the wild eccen tricity of the man induced me to return. The fear of him left me, and curiosity took its place, and I began to think it was worth while to study such a strange character.

I studied hard privately, and by-and-bye I began to get considerable good from his rambling instructions. One day when I went in he was lying stretched upon his back on a long extem porised settee with a leathern strop around his head. " Have you a severe hpadache, air?" I asked. "Not at all!— look and listen! This is an ingenious invention of my own to rectify a slight mistake of nature. My taste in all matters is almost morbidly acute. Æstheti cally I am not quite satisfied with the conclusion of my nose. I wish It depressed a point or two, and the bridge raised. la happy moment I conceived this plan, and it promises to be entirely successful. After a bit, I shall patent my invention, and make my fortune by it; take care you do not mention it till T am legally secured. You see this belt attached to the one round my temples, and continued to the foot of the couch ! — look at the bottom, and you will see a pound weight at the end of it.

That weight, you observe, presses the leather against the tip of my nose and keeps it down and proportionally raises the fine curve between the brow and it, I take an hour of it every day, and though it is only a fortnight since I began the experiment, I already notice a marked difference in the feature. A few months more will bring it to perfection. It is true that few would perceive any room for improvement, but as cultivation goes on anu taste refines, it becomes fastidious, and sometimes hypercritical." He rose and undid the band, and carefully put away the novel apparatus. " Does it not hurt you ?" I inquired. "Hurt! — what is pain or labour to persection!" he exclaimed, indignantly; "martyr dom and sacrifice are the mothers of the arts, and to a rightly constituted mind, pain becomes pleasure in a civilizing and righteous cause.

That is my doctrine, and I act upon it." It is needless to add that the great in tion came to nothing. The nose asserted and kept its natural rights, although he always maintained that he had greatly im proved it. Every visit I paid him was marked, more or less, by some peculiarity of speech, sentiment, or action. I noticed also from his feverish, nervous look that he indulged in occasional debauches. One day I was surprised to find an Irish labourer in his room. As I entered, they were both laughing heartily. He forma'' . ' rroduced me to his friend. The Irishman mado a low bow, and said, with a quejr twinkle in his eye: "I am proud to meet your riverence's scholar, and by St. Patrick you'll make a man of him; hell lick the Uni varsity to smithereens." "That he will, Phil, or my name's not Monkland.

I'll send them out by the hundred, and they'll sweep all before them." "Faix, and your riverence will do that same — and when you die — but may you live till you are as ould as Ould M'Shane himself — the moul' above you will give out virtue to the living." "Thank you, Phil, and may the porridge and the potteen never fail you." "And does your riverence ever take oatmeal porritch ?" "I do, Phil." "And what kind of porritch does your riverence like? I hope it isn't them that play fliff-floff in the pot, but them that say sorr-a-sutt." We both laughed at his graphic descrip tion, and he rose and left the room, wishing "his riverence long life and the protection of the blessed Vargin." "Do you see that man ?" said Monkland; "he has more discernment in him than most of your doctors of divinity. cultivate his acquaintance, and that of others of his class, that I may know human nature in all its phases, in order to aid me in a gieat work which I have in view, ano which, I may safely say, will astonish the world.

That man, sir, always says what he thinks, ~nd has the readiness and wit of a dczen of your pauuchy bailies and starched-up pundits. I met him the other morning, and he touched his cap and said, ' Good morning, your riverence ! I would like to give your riverence a taste of the right stuff in Mike M'Nolan's over the waj% only I have not the needful about me, but perhaps your riverence has!' What could I do, although it was against my principle — but treat the clever dog to a glass. He swilled it off and said, 'That will knock the spiders' webs out of me any how.' The rascal is polite in his owfi way, and I am making a study of him." The lesson of the day was not once referred to. He went on talking of men, and dogs and horses, and of horses, pointing out their beauties md blemishes, and the proper mode of breaking them in, and of improving their paces, and how best to acquire the art of skilful and gentlemanly horsemanship, — an art, he said, which ought to be classed among the fine arts, and which he would one day prove to the satisfaction of the elite of the nation.

"Mark the difference," he said, bestriding a chair, "between the vulgar and artistic rider." He illustrated the former first, and certainly made it very ridiculous, but threw a highly theatrical air into the other, which was equally amusing from the enthusiasm and exaggeration which accompanied it. When he had finished, he said, "I am reminded of a fox hunt I was at a few years ago. All the nobility of the district were present. I was mounted on my own darling Black Bess. I had reared her from a colt, and trained her to my methods, ind she loved me and almost anticipated my wishes. Cover was broken, and off we set Bess was desirous to go a-head, but, for a time, I restrained her. When the ; OR, 18 chase got hot, I whispered in Bess's ear, 'Non, darling!' and away she went like an arrow, and in a twinkling I was at the front. ' Who the d is that fellow V T heard Lord exclaim, as I passed.

On Bess went, leaving them farther and farther behind — but as bad fate would have it, an old quarry, half full of water, came in the way. Bess's blood was up ; she plunged sheer down into it ; we sank at least twenty feet, but I kept her head steady till she struck the bottom — then up we went with a rebound. ' Bessie, darling ! ' I cried, and she swam like a seal and leapt out of tho water. Ah my beauty!' I cried, and clapped her on the neck — and what do you think! — she turned round and held out her mouth to kiss me. I leant forward to indulge her, and off again she was at redoubled speed; leeway was soon made up, and again she .truck in front at the heels of the hounus, and we were first in at the death — you may stare! ■but these are facts — only understated." Many years afterwards I heaV him tell the same story to others with little or no variation, and in the same dramatic way.

He evidently came to believe everjj word of it himself, especially the plunge and Bess's salute, for these were always portrayed with select pictorial appliances. I may as well mention here what I learned at a later date. It was quite true that he was an accomplished equestrian. His father had trained him to it from boyhood, and horses and riding became a passion with him. His love of horses was extreme, and he could not bear to see any of them ill-used. One day, as I was told, though not by himself, he was passing along a quay, when he saw a burly carter strike his horse over the head with a rack-pin. Immediately he ran towards him and knocked him down. The carter rose, evidently with the intention of giving battle, but when he looked at Monkland ready to receive him, he slunk away mumb ling and cursing.

"Served him right!" — cried a knot of men who had witnessed the trans action — "he is a brute!" They invited Monk land to take a glass with them, which he ■2(> A STEANGE LIFE; OR, did, and amused them for an hour with his wonderful stories, and among the number was Black Bess and the fox-hunt, which elicited great applause.

Chapter V

Many amusing things occurred during the course of my lessons, which I pass over.. Monkland gradually grew more familiar, but not less discursive. " The mind of the young student," he would often say, " required to be stripped of its swaddling bands. My method is to set the intellect free, and give it strong nutriment to wean it from its mother's milk and condiments." To do him justice, the nutriment he administered was not liable to objection on the score of weakness. Latin was left very much in the background, and more particularly after he began to read to me some of the literary productions he had in hand. The drama was his special favourite. He had two tragedies on the stocks, which he THE LIKE OF A LITERARY VAGRANT. asserted would make Europe believe that Shakespeare had risen from his grave.

The reading or rather acting of these occupied many of my lesson hours, and his own laudatory criticisms upon them as many more. He shocked me one day by reading a blank verse diatribe against the city magistrates. It was so full of vindictive and fiendish denunciation, and recited with such fierceness, that I felt my blood run cold. I ventured to say it was an extraordinary production, and that he had delivered it as if he felt it. " Feel it ! — I feel it, sir, from the bottom of my soul, and if I had the power — as I yet may have — I would carry out these imprecations to the letter, and a deal more — pompous, canting blackguards!" I tried to soothe him, but in vain. This wa<? a terrible feature in his character which I was not prepared for, and it sunk him prodigiously in my estimation. At the time I had not met the awful curse of the Doge of Venice by Byron.

When I did come across it, I was not disposed to regard it OR, 22 as an exaggeration. Subsequently I learned the cause of Monkland's unjust feelings of revenge. The time came for entering the University, and I ' asked Monkland to tell me what his charges were. "Never mind," he said; "I shall get it by-and-bye. You have been a most attentive pupil, and I flatter myself I have instilled into you what will be of use to you during life. I have broken the shell of your genius, and it will now develop and mature itself. Your professors are humbugs, and do not know how to treat the human mind. How can they ? — their own minds, originally puny, are swathed about like mummies ; but mark me, the time is coining when all that will be exploded." Again I pressed him to accept a few pounds, but he stood up in one of his theatrical attitudes and said, " Sir ! do you think I ever break my word, or alter my purpose ?"

I could not account for his conduct for I had learned he was in debt and in difficulties. " It came to my knowledge, years afterwards, that he thought I could ill spare the money, and therefore he franked me. I took occasion, of course, to present him at different times with books Avhich I knew he would prize, for his library was but scantily furnished. Still his kind intentions towards me bound me in gratitude to the man. What a strange compound of violent contrasts he was. My later and more matured estimate of him was something like this. Constitutionally his mind had a dash of insanity in it, which his dissipated habits greatly aggravated; and his powerful animal system, uncurbed by principle, gave an intensity to all his passions. He was quick in perception, and possessed cor iderable imaginative power, but the reasoning faculty was very defective, and there was a general want of balance in the powers of his mind, which was constantly leading him into the most foolish indiscre tions, and no amount of painful experiences ever led to improvement.

How true it is what an old country minister once said, — 0£, 24 "If a man want learning, he may get it; if lie want wealth, he may get it; and even if he want grace, he may get it; but if he want common sense, he'll ne'er set it'

Chapter VI

During the session of College, Monkland paid me an occasional visit, but as he lived in the outskirts of the city, I seldom managed to call on him. If a student happened to be with me when he dropt in, he invariably assumed the same grandiose manner with which he had first received me. It was amusing to notice the effect he produced. Most of them were cowed as I had been, and looked on the huge man with amazement. When he saw he had deeply impressed them, he would launch out on the muscular power of his arms and limbs, and the discipline to which he had subjected them in running, leaping, riding, boxing, and fencing, and then he would recount some of the great feats he had accomplished. One day, however, a sturdy Highlander rather challenged one of his statements. Monkland took no notice of his insinuation, but went on to speak of tho jf self-defence, which, he said, he had brought to perfection.

" For example," said he, taking hold of the Highland student by the arm, and forcing him to stand up, " I'll shew you some of my improvements in the art. Don't be afraid, sir ; only stand still L Pugilists say, stand thus ! — it is a gross. mistake ; this is the right attitude. Imitate me, sir ! — (au awkward imitation followed). — now watch the eyes of your antagonist, that you may see where he means to strike. When you see his intention, give it him right and left ere he knows where he is — thus 1 and thus !" — and as he spoke he hit hard the poor Highlander on each shoulder, who ran round the room and his tormentor after him, explaining his improvements and illustrating them on his victim, who at last got to ihe door and effected his escape. I began to remonstrate with Monkland, but A STEANGE LIFE; OR, 26 he burst into a loud fit of laughter and exclaimed, "I'U teach the Celtic dog to know his betters, and not again to question the word of a gentleman."

On meeting the student next day, he asked, "What rampagious d in human flesh was yon? I got no sleep all night with my shoulders— if I had had my ' skien "■■ -but 111 let him know yet that the plood of the M'Tavishes is in my veins— the scoundrel." llq became somewhat pacified when I explained to him the character of the man, ' he laughed and clapped his hands, when I rehearsed to him as well as I could in Monkland's manner the narrative of Black Bess and the fox-hunt. "Well, well!" he cried, "he keeps his skin whole— the mighty rascal ! — the M'Tavishes can forgive." Not a day did I meet him for weeks afterwards but he made inquiries about Monldand. " Perhaps you would like to cultivate his acquaintance ?" I asked. VACEANT. 27 " Well, I've been thinking I would like to see the fellow again ; it will be something to speak about when I go home.

Do you think it would be safe 1" " Yes ; I believe he wanted simply to make .re that you would not forget him." " Not likely — at least my shoulders won't." Shortly afterwards I did introduce him, and to my surprise and delight, Monkland rose and said, "I am delighted to see you, Mr M'Tavish ; cold morning, sir ; please be seated." Not the slightest allusion was made to their previous meeting, and he proceeded to eulogize the magnificent scenery of the Highlands, and the picturesque and sublime poetry of Ossian. M'Tavish was entirely propitiated, and began to expatiate on the unrivalled excellence of the Gaelic language. " You excite my curiosity, sir ; that is a tongue which I have not yet studied. Will you oblige me by giving me a lesson in it once a week — Saturdays, say at 3 o'clock afternoon; and I shall either give A ' BANGE LIFE; OB, 28 vou money, or lessons in return as you wish ? ' M'Tavish was flattered, and at once agreed to the proposal.

" How is Monkland getting on with the Gaelic ?" I inquired, after a few weeks had elapsed M'Tavish laughed and said, ■*• He has learned to sing two Gaelic songs." "Songs?" I rer' .tted. " Yes ; he says songs are the first things that should be learned in acquiring a language, as they give you the popular rs and idioms at once." "What has he been teaching you?" " He has been giving me boxing and fenci -bowing me how to ride." " Is that all ?" " No ; he sometimes reads passages from plays he is writing and runs down the professors, and shews me how to speak, and how I should let my imagination out of its cage to fly away up among the eagles and the clouds. The strangest man I ever met; I don't know what to make of him. Some- YAGRANT. 29 thing wrong here, but I can't make out what it is." "Still, he has abilities which, if rightly directed, might be of use to himself and to others." "He has, but you can never tell what he will do next."

Chapter VII

We pass over a couple of years, during which Monkland did many foolish and even disreputable things. He gave up t .-aching of languages, or rather his pupils gave him up, and his next move was to ope i an evening class for elocution iu a cent id part of the city. He started with eight of a class, including myself. Matters went on pretty well for a few weeks, when one ni^ht he came in rather intoxicated, and said, "Gentlemen, this work is cramping my genius, and I owe it to posterity lo husband my powers. Forthwith I shall ive public lectures with illustrations on OR, the divine art of oratory, and you shall have free admission to them all, which will more than repay you for the want of your remaining lessons here. I shall bid you good night, gentlemen — and fortune smile upon you all." There was a dead silence for a few minutes after he left, and then a peal of laughter followed.

In the course of a few months a flaming bill came out, couched in the most extraordinary terms, and interlarded with newly coined polysyllabic words and Latin quota tions, announcing a new era in the domain of eloquence by Ralph Monkland, gentleman. It was amusing to stand by and observe the puzzled looks, and to hear the remarks of groups of persons who had gathered around the large posters. " What is't about ava' ?" one would ask. "I really don't know; something about eloquence, but I cannot make out the long words — never saw th* m before." " Who is he, this Monkland ?" "Can't say; some foreigner, I suppose." VAGRANT. 31 " It seems to me he has a michty opinion o' himsel'," remarked another. "There's nae doubt o' that; but if he speaks as he prints, wha'll mak' him out ?" " I'll risk a saxpence on a back seat at ony rate," observed one of the number.

"My opinion is that he's a bombastic idiot, thinking to confound folk wi' lang nebbed words. What's the use o' language, as Paul says, if it's no' understood ?" I have yet in my possession one or .two of his bills — not those which appeared at that time — and really I must say that the above remarks were perfectly just. Such a mass of high-sounding, unintelligible terms were, perhaps, never before, nor since published. He told me afterwards that his bills had exactly the effect he anticipated and desired. " The public, he said, " requires to have its ear tickled and its curiosity stimulated. That bill will draw hundreds to hear me, who otherwise would not come, were they to get tickets for nothing. My object is, to pique and confound them, and set them ; OB, a talking, and that will do more good than a hundred advertisements."