But I should wrong thee, O best of fathers! if I suffered the reader to suppose that because thou didst seem so indifferent to my birth, and so careless as to my early teaching, therefore thou wert, at heart, indifferent to thy troublesome Neogilos. As I grew older, I became more sensibly aware that a fathers eye was upon me. I distinctly remember one incident, that seems to me, in looking back, a crisis in my infant life, as the first tangible link between my own heart and that calm great soul.
My father was seated on the lawn before the house, his straw hat over his eyes (it was summer), and his book on his lap. Suddenly a beautiful delf blue-and-white flower-pot, which had been set on the window-sill of an upper story, fell to the ground with a crash, and the fragments spluttered up round my fathers legs. Sublime in his studies as Archimedes in the siege, he continued to read,Impavidum ferient ruinae!
Dear, dear! cried my mother, who was at work in the porch, my poor flower-pot that I prized so much! Who could have done this? Primmins, Primmins!
Mrs. Primmins popped her head out of the fatal window, nodded to the summons, and came down in a trice, pale and breathless.
Oh! said my mother, Mournfully, I would rather have lost all the plants in the greenhouse in the great blight last May,I would rather the best tea-set were broken! The poor geranium I reared myself, and the dear, dear flower-pot which Mr. Caxton bought for me my last birthday! That naughty child must have done this!
Mrs. Primmins was dreadfully afraid of my father,why, I know not, except that very talkative social persons are usually afraid of very silent shy ones. She cast a hasty glance at her master, who was beginning to evince signs of attention, and cried promptly, No, maam, it was not the dear boy, bless his flesh, it was I!
You? How could you be so careless? and you knew how I prized them both. Oh, Primmins! Primmins began to sob.
Dont tell fibs, nursey, said a small, shrill voice; and Master Sisty, coming out of the house as bold as brass, continued rapidlydont scold Primmins, mamma: it was I who pushed out the flower-pot.
Hush! said nurse, more frightened than ever, and looking aghast towards my father, who had very deliberately taken off his hat, and was regarding the scene with serious eyes wide awake. Hush! And if he did break it, maam, it was quite an accident; he was standing so, and he never meant it. Did you, Master Sisty? Speak! this in a whisper, or Pa will be so angry.
Well, said my mother, I suppose it was an accident; take care in future, my child. You are sorry, I see, to have grieved me. Theres a kiss; dont fret.
No, mamma, you must not kiss me; I dont deserve it. I pushed out the flower-pot on purpose.
Ha! and why? said my father, walking up.
Mrs. Primmins trembled like a leaf.
For fun! said I, hanging my head,just to see how youd look, papa; and thats the truth of it. Now beat me, do beat me!
My father threw his book fifty yards off, stooped down, and caught me to his breast. Boy, he said, you have done wrong: you shall repair it by remembering all your life that your father blessed God for giving him a son who spoke truth in spite of fear! Oh! Mrs. Primmins, the next fable of this kind you try to teach him, and we part forever!
From that time I first date the hour when I felt that I loved my father, and knew that he loved me; from that time, too, he began to converse with me. He would no longer, if he met me in the garden, pass by with a smile and nod; he would stop, put his book in his pocket, and though his talk was often above my comprehension, still somehow I felt happier and better, and less of an infant, when I thought over it, and tried to puzzle out the meaning; for he had a way of suggesting, not teaching, putting things into my head, and then leaving them to work out their own problems. I remember a special instance with respect to that same flower-pot and geranium. Mr. Squills, who was a bachelor, and well-to-do in the world, often made me little presents. Not long after the event I have narrated, he gave me one far exceeding in value those usually bestowed on children,it was a beautiful large domino-box in cut ivory, painted and gilt. This domino-box was my delight. I was never weary of playing, at dominos with Mrs. Primmins, and I slept with the box under my pillow.
Ah! said my father one day, when he found me ranging the ivory parallelograms in the parlor, ah! you like that better than all your playthings, eh?
Oh, yes, papa!
You would be very sorry if your mamma were to throw that box out of the window and break it for fun. I looked beseechingly at my father, and made no answer.
But perhaps you would be very glad, he resumed, if suddenly one of those good fairies you read of could change the domino-box into a beautiful geranium in a beautiful blue-and-white flower-pot, and you could have the pleasure of putting it on your mammas window-sill.
Indeed I would! said I, half-crying.
My dear boy, I believe you; but good wishes dont mend bad actions: good actions mend bad actions.
So saying, he shut the door and went out. I cannot tell you how puzzled I was to make out what my father meant by his aphorism. But I know that I played at dominos no more that day. The next morning my father found me seated by myself under a tree in the garden; he paused, and looked at me with his grave bright eyes very steadily.
My boy, said he, I am going to walk to , a town about two miles off: will you come? And, by the by, fetch your domino-box. I should like to show it to a person there. I ran in for the box, and, not a little proud of walking with my father upon the high-road, we set out.
Papa, said I by the way, there are no fairies now.
What then, my child?
Why, how then can my domino-box be changed into a geranium and a blue-and-white flower-pot?
My dear, said my father, leaning his hand on my shoulder, everybody who is in earnest to be good, carries two fairies about with him,one here, and he touched my heart, and one here, and he touched my forehead.
I dont understand, papa.
I can wait till you do, Pisistratus. What a name!
My father stopped at a nursery gardeners, and after looking over the flowers, paused before a large double geranium. Ah! this is finer than that which your mamma was so fond of. What is the cost, sir?
Only 7s. 6d., said the gardener.
My father buttoned up his pocket. I cant afford it to-day, said he, gently, and we walked out.
On entering the town, we stopped again at a china warehouse. Have you a flower-pot like that I bought some months ago? Ah! here is one, marked 3s. 6d. Yes, that is the price. Well; when your mammas birthday comes again, we must buy her another. That is some months to wait. And we can wait, Master Sisty. For truth, that blooms all the year round, is better than a poor geranium; and a word that is never broken, is better than a piece of delf.
My head, which had drooped before, rose again; but the rush of joy at my heart almost stifled me.
I have called to pay your little bill, said my father, entering the shop of one of those fancy stationers common in country towns, and who sell all kinds of pretty toys and knick-knacks. And by the way, he added, as the smiling shopman looked over his books for the entry, I think my little boy here can show you a much handsomer specimen of French workmanship than that work-box which you enticed Mrs. Caxton into raffling for, last winter. Show your domino-box, my dear.
My head, which had drooped before, rose again; but the rush of joy at my heart almost stifled me.
I have called to pay your little bill, said my father, entering the shop of one of those fancy stationers common in country towns, and who sell all kinds of pretty toys and knick-knacks. And by the way, he added, as the smiling shopman looked over his books for the entry, I think my little boy here can show you a much handsomer specimen of French workmanship than that work-box which you enticed Mrs. Caxton into raffling for, last winter. Show your domino-box, my dear.
I produced my treasure, and the shopman was liberal in his commendations. It is always well, my boy, to know what a thing is worth, in case one wishes to part with it. If my young gentleman gets tired of his plaything, what will you give him for it?
Why, sir, said the shopman, I fear we could not afford to give more than eighteen shillings for it, unless the young gentleman took some of these pretty things in exchange.
Eighteen shillings! said my father; you would give that sum! Well, my boy, whenever you do grow tired of your box, you have my leave to sell it.
My father paid his bill and went out. I lingered behind a few moments, and joined him at the end of the street.
Papa, papa, I cried, clapping my hands, we can buy the geranium; we can buy the flower-pot. And I pulled a handful of silver from my pockets.
Did I not say right? said my father, passing his handkerchief over his eyes. You have found the two fairies!
Oh! how proud, how overjoyed I was when, after placing vase and flower on the window-sill, I plucked my mother by the gown and made her follow me to the spot.
It is his doing and his money! said my father; good actions have mended the bad.
What! cried my mother, when she had learned all; and your poor domino-box that you were so fond of! We will go back to-morrow and buy it back, if it costs us double.
Shall we buy it back, Pisistratus? asked my father.
Oh, nonono! It would spoil all, I cried, burying my face on my fathers breast.
My wife, said my father, solemnly, this is my first lesson to our child,the sanctity and the happiness of self-sacrifice; undo not what it should teach to his dying day.
CHAPTER V
When I was between my seventh and my eighth year, a change came over me, which may perhaps be familiar to the notice of those parents who boast the anxious blessing of an only child. The ordinary vivacity of childhood forsook me; I became quiet, sedate, and thoughtful. The absence of play-fellows of my own age, the companionship of mature minds, alternated only by complete solitude, gave something precocious, whether to my imagination or my reason. The wild fables muttered to me by the old nurse in the summer twilight or over the winters hearth,the effort made by my struggling intellect to comprehend the grave, sweet wisdom of my fathers suggested lessons,tended to feed a passion for revery, in which all my faculties strained and struggled, as in the dreams that come when sleep is nearest waking. I had learned to read with ease, and to write with some fluency, and I already began to imitate, to reproduce. Strange tales akin to those I had gleaned from fairy-land, rude songs modelled from such verse-books as fell into my hands, began to mar the contents of marble-covered pages designed for the less ambitious purposes of round text and multiplication. My mind was yet more disturbed by the intensity of my home affections. My love for both my parents had in it something morbid and painful. I often wept to think how little I could do for those I loved so well. My fondest fancies built up imaginary difficulties for them, which my arm was to smooth. These feelings, thus cherished, made my nerves over-susceptible and acute. Nature began to affect me powerfully; and, from that affection rose a restless curiosity to analyze the charms that so mysteriously moved me to joy or awe, to smiles or tears. I got my father to explain to me the elements of astronomy; I extracted from Squills, who was an ardent botanist, some of the mysteries in the life of flowers. But music became my darling passion. My mother (though the daughter of a great scholar,a scholar at whose name my father raised his hat if it happened to be on his head) possessed, I must own it fairly, less book-learning than many a humble tradesmans daughter can boast in this more enlightened generation; but she had some natural gifts which had ripened, Heaven knows how! into womanly accomplishments. She drew with some elegance, and painted flowers to exquisite perfection. She played on more than one instrument with more than boarding-school skill; and though she sang in no language but her own, few could hear her sweet voice without being deeply touched. Her music, her songs, had a wondrous effect on me. Thus, altogether, a kind of dreamy yet delightful melancholy seized upon my whole being; and this was the more remarkable because contrary to my early temperament, which was bold, active, and hilarious. The change in my character began to act upon my form. From a robust and vigorous infant, I grew into a pale and slender boy. I began to ail and mope. Mr. Squills was called in.
Tonics! said Mr. Squills; and dont let him sit over his book. Send him out in the air; make him play. Come here, my boy: these organs are growing too large; and Mr. Squills, who was a phrenologist, placed his hand on my forehead. Gad, sir, heres an ideality for you; and, bless my soul, what a constructiveness!
My father pushed aside his papers, and walked to and fro the room with his hands behind him; but he did not say a word till Mr. Squills was gone.
My dear, then said he to my mother, on whose breast I was leaning my aching idealitymy dear, Pisistratus must go to school in good earnest.
Bless me, Austin!at his age?
He is nearly eight years old.
But he is so forward.
It is for that reason he must go to school.
I dont quite understand you, my love. I know he is getting past me; but you who are so clever
My father took my mothers hand: We can teach him nothing now, Kitty. We send him to school to be taught
By some schoolmaster who knows much less than you do
By little schoolboys, who will make him a boy again, said my father, almost sadly. My dear, you remember that when our Kentish gardener planted those filbert-trees, and when they were in their third year, and you began to calculate on what they would bring in, you went out one morning, and found he had cut them down to the ground. You were vexed, and asked why. What did the gardener say? To prevent their bearing too soon. There is no want of fruitfulness here: put back the hour of produce, that the plant may last.
Let me go to school, said I, lifting my languid head and smiling on my father. I understood him at once, and it was as if the voice of my life itself answered him.
CHAPTER VI
A year after the resolution thus come to, I was at home for the holidays.
I hope, said my mother, that they are doing Sisty justice. I do think he is not nearly so quick a child as he was before he went to school. I wish you would examine him, Austin.