TRIUMPHAL DEPARTURE—NO SEASON LIKE YOUTH—EXTREME OLD AGE—BEAUTIFUL ENGLAND—THE RATCATCHER—A MISADVENTURE I departed from the inn much in the same fashion as I had come to it, mounted on a splendid horse indifferently well caparisoned, with the small valise attached to my crupper, in which, besides the few things I had brought with me, was a small book of roads with a map, which had been presented to me by the landlord. I must not forget to state that I did not ride out of the yard, but that my horse was brought to me at the front door by old Bill, who insisted upon doing so, and who refused a five-shilling piece which I offered him; and it will be as well to let the reader know that the landlord shook me by the hand as I mounted, and that the people attached to the inn, male and female—my friend the postillion at the head—assembled before the house to see me off, and gave me three cheers as I rode away. Perhaps no person ever departed from an inn with more Éclat or better wishes; nobody looked at me askance, except two stage-coachmen who were loitering about, one of whom said to his companion, ‘I say, Jim! twig his portmanteau! a regular Newmarket turn out by ---!’ It was in the cool of the evening of a bright day—all the days of that summer were bright—that I departed. I felt at first rather melancholy at finding myself again launched into the wide world, and leaving the friends Early on the following morning I proceeded on my journey, but fearing to gall the horse, I no longer rode him, but led him by the bridle, until I came to a town at the distance of about ten miles from the place where I had passed the night. Here I stayed during the heat of the day, more on the horse’s account than my own, and towards evening resumed my journey, leading the animal by the bridle as before; and in this manner I proceeded for several days, travelling on an average from twenty to twenty-five miles a day, always leading the animal, except perhaps now and then of an evening, when, if I saw a good piece of road before me, I would mount and put the horse into a trot, which the creature seemed to enjoy as much as myself, showing his satisfaction by snorting and neighing, whilst I gave utterance to my own exhilaration by shouts, or by ‘the chi she is kaulo she soves prÉ lakie dumo,’ On the whole, I journeyed along very pleasantly, certainly quite as pleasantly as I do at present, now that I am become a gentleman, and weigh sixteen stone, though some people would say that my present manner of travelling is much the most preferable, riding as I now do, instead of leading my horse; receiving the homage of ostlers instead of their familiar nods; sitting down to dinner in the parlour of the best inn I can find, instead of passing the brightest part of the day in the kitchen of a Ah! there is nothing like youth—not that after-life is valueless. Even in extreme old age one may get on very well, provided we will but accept of the bounties of God. I met the other day an old man, who asked me to drink. ‘I am not thirsty,’ said I, ‘and will not drink with you.’ ‘Yes, you will,’ said the old man, ‘for I am this day one hundred years old; and you will never again have an opportunity of drinking the health of a man on his hundredth birthday.’ So I broke my word, and drank. ‘Yours is a wonderful age,’ said I. ‘It’s a long time to look back to the beginning of it,’ said the old man: ‘yet, upon the whole, I am not sorry to have lived it all.’ ‘How have you passed your time?’ said I. ‘As well as I could,’ said the old man; ‘always enjoying a good thing when it came honestly within my reach; not forgetting to praise God for putting it there.’ ‘I suppose you were fond of a glass of good ale when you were young?’ ‘Yes,’ said the old man, ‘I was; and so, thank God, I am still.’ And he drank off a glass of ale. On I went in my journey, traversing England from west to east—ascending and descending hills—crossing rivers After traversing two or three counties, I reached the confines of Lincolnshire. During one particularly hot day I put up at a public-house, to which, in the evening, came a party of harvesters to make merry, who, finding me wandering about the house a stranger, invited me to partake of their ale; so I drank with the harvesters, who sang me songs about rural life, such as—
In requital for which I treated them with a song, not of Romanvile, but the song of ‘Sivord and the horse Grayman.’ I remained with them till it was dark, having, after sunset, entered into deep discourse with a celebrated ratcatcher, who communicated to me the secrets of his trade, saying, amongst other things, ‘When you see the rats pouring out of their holes, and running up my hands and arms, it’s not after me they comes, but after the oils I carries about me they comes;’ and who subsequently spoke in the most enthusiastic manner of his trade, saying that it was the best trade in the world, and most diverting, and that it was likely to last for ever; for whereas all other kinds of vermin were fast disappearing from England, rats were every day becoming more abundant. I had quitted this good company, and having mounted my horse, was making my way towards a town at about six miles’ distance, at a swinging trot, my thoughts deeply engaged on what I had gathered from the ratcatcher, when all on |