Lost Lenore Part 65

A few hours after, I entered, for the first time, within the limits of the world's metropolis.

Volume Three, Chapter XXIII.

LIFE IN LONDON.

After staying one night at a hotel, we went into private lodgings at Brompton.

For several days after our arrival, my brother was employed in the pleasant duty of escorting his wife and mother-in-law--on a round of visits to their numerous old acquaintances, while I was left to wander alone through the streets of the stupendous city. I had antic.i.p.ated some little pleasure in visiting the far-famed metropolis; but in this I was disappointed; and soon began to feel regret for having left behind me the free life I had been pursuing on the gold-fields.

I had some business, however, to transact, even in London. The gold I had obtained in California--along with that bequeathed to me by poor old Stormy Jack--had been forwarded to the Bank of England; and about a week after my arrival, I went down to the city, to draw out the money deposit that was due to me. On presenting myself to the cashier, I was told that it would be necessary for me to bring some responsible person, to say that my name was Rowland Stone. This individual must be known to the authorities of the Bank.

This requirement placed me in a little dilemma. Where was I to find a sponsor? I was a perfect stranger in London. So were my travelling companions. I knew not a soul belonging to the great city--much less one who should be known to the magnates of the Bank.

To whom should I apply?

When I had mentally repeated this question, for the twentieth time, I bethought me of Captain Nowell. He should be the very man.

I at once hailed a cab; and drove to the address he had given me.

Fortunately he had arrived from Portsmouth; and was at home.

Without a moment's hesitation, he accompanied me to the Bank, where everything was satisfactorily arranged. Instead of drawing out the deposit, I added to it, by paying in an additional sum--consisting of the gold I had gathered in Australia. My only object in troubling myself about it at the time, was to make sure that the gold I had forwarded from California had arrived safely, and was otherwise "all right."

Before parting with Captain Nowell, he requested to know why I had not gone to his house to see him sooner.

"Your coming to-day," he said, "was not a visit; and I shan't take it as such. You only came to trouble me on business for which you needed me, or probably I should not have seen you at all. You must pay me a regular visit. Come to-morrow; or any time that best suits your convenience. You know my style at sea? You'll find me just the same ash.o.r.e. Don't forget that I've something to show you--something you had better have a look at, before you choose elsewhere."

I gave the kind-hearted Captain my promise to call upon him--though not from any inclination to be a.s.sisted by him in the way he seemed to wish.

The finding a wife was a thing that was far--very far from my thoughts.

Several days had elapsed after my interview with Captain Nowell; and each day I was becoming more discontented, with the life I was leading in London. My brother, his wife, and Mrs Morell, were very kind to me; and strove to make me as happy as possible. But much of their time was taken up in paying visits, or spent in amus.e.m.e.nts, in which I could feel no interest. I soon found that to be contented, it would be necessary for me, either to take an active part in the busy scenes of life, or be in possession of great domestic happiness. The latter I could never expect to attain; and London appeared to present no employment so well suited to my disposition and habits, as that I had followed upon the gold-fields.

I might have pa.s.sed some of my time very pleasantly in the company of Captain Nowell; but I was prevented from availing myself of that pleasure--even of paying my promised visit to him--by the very thing that might otherwise have attracted me. I had no desire to form the acquaintance of the young lady, he had spoken of; and for me to call at his house might give occasion for him, as well as others, to think differently.

I admit that I may have been over-scrupulous in this matter: since Captain Nowell and I had become fast, and intimate friends. But from what he had already said, I could not visit the young lady, and remain indifferent to her, without the conclusion being come to, that I thought her unworthy of my regard, and that, after seeing, I had formed an unfavourable opinion of her. It may have been silliness on my part; allowing such a thought to prevent my visiting a friend; but, as I had not come to London wife-hunting, I did not desire others to think that I had. To me, matrimony was no more a pleasant subject for contemplation--especially when it referred to myself--and the few words, spoken to me by the captain on that theme, had been sufficient to defeat the only object he probably had any particular wish to attain: that I should call upon him and partake of his hospitality.

About a month after our arrival in London, I inquired at the General Post Office for letters from Australia; and had the pleasure of receiving two. One was from Olliphant, the other from my sister.

Martha's was a true woman's letter: that could be read once by the recipient, and then easily forgotten. It was full of kind words for all of us in London; but the only information to be obtained from it was, that she thought well of everybody, and was herself exceedingly happy.

Perhaps I was more gratified with the contents of Olliphant's letter, from which I select the following extract:--

"On our return to Sydney, I learnt that my father had just got back from a visit to England--which he had long before determined on making. I was very anxious to see him, in the hope that we might become friends again; but, knowing that the first advances towards a reconciliation must come from himself, I would not go to him. I could not think of acknowledging myself sorry, for having done that which I knew to be right. The only step I could make, towards the accomplishment of my wishes, was to put myself in communication with a mutual friend; and let him know that I had returned to Sydney. I did not omit to add, that I had returned from the diggings with a full purse: for I knew that this would also be communicated to my father, and might have some effect upon him of a favourable character.

"It appeared as if I had not been mistaken. Three days after, the governor called at the hotel where I was staying; and met me as a father should meet a son, whom he has not seen for more than three years. I was no little surprised at the turn things had taken: for, knowing the old gentleman's obstinate disposition, I did not expect a settlement either so prompt, or satisfactory. I presumed it would take some time and trouble, to get on good terms with him again.

"He seemed greatly pleased with Martha's appearance; and they became fast friends all at once.

"`I like the look of you,' said he to her, `and am willing to believe that you are worthy of Alex; and that is saying a good deal for you.

Ah, my son,' continued he, addressing himself to me, `had you brought home your London cousin for a wife--as I commanded you to do--should certainly have horsewhipped you on your return. When I came to see her in London, I soon changed my mind about her. She is nothing but an ugly silly fool; and too conceited to know it. I admire your spirit for disobeying orders, and marrying a girl, whom I am not ashamed to acknowledge as my daughter.'

"We shall leave town to-morrow for my father's station; and the only thing we require now to make us perfectly happy, is the company of yourself, William and his wife, I hope that after you have tried the `Old Country' for a few weeks, you will believe, as I do, that it is only a place for flunkeys and sn.o.bs; and that every young man of enterprise and energy should come out here, where life can be spent to some purpose--worthy of the toil that all ought to endure. I shall expect to see you in Sydney within the next year."

There was a strong suspicion in my mind, that "The Elephant" was right, in believing I would soon return to the colonies. Why should I remain in London? I could be nothing there. It was different with my brother.

He might now be happy anywhere. He only wanted a spot, where he might tranquilly await his final departure from the world, while I was a Rolling Stone that must roll on--or be miserable.

The more consideration I gave to the circ.u.mstance, the more determined did I become to part from London: and go to some land, where youth and health were worth possessing. I could feel that the blessings, Nature had bestowed on me were not worth much in London, where men are enslaved by customs and laws that subject the million to the dominion of the few.

I determined, therefore, on going, where I should be regarded as the equal of those around me, where there was room for me to move, without the danger of being crushed by a crowd of self-sufficient creatures-- most of whom were in reality more insignificant than myself. I should join "The Elephant" in New South Wales; and perhaps become a man of some influence in a land where the sun is to be seen every day.

I at this time regretted, that I had ever been a Rolling Stone. I believed that a man may be happier who has never wandered from home to learn lessons of discontent, and become the slave of desires, that in one place can never be gratified. Each spot of earth has its peculiar advantages, and is in some respects superior to all others. By wandering in many lands, and partaking of their respective pleasures, we become imbued with many desires to which we look back with regret when they can no longer be gratified. After residing in a tropical climate, who can encounter the chilling blasts of a northern winter, without longing:

"For green verandahs hung with flowers, For marble founts, and orange bowers?"

And when nearly cooked by the scorching sun--when tortured at every turn by reptiles, and maddened by the worry of winged insects--we sigh for the bracing breezes of a northern clime, and the social joys of the homes which are there found--a happiness such as my brother might now be permitted to enjoy, but which was for ever denied to me.

With such reflections constantly pa.s.sing through my mind, I felt that London, large as it was, could not contain me much longer; and I only waited, until some slight turning of Fortune's wheel would bestir me to make a fresh start for the Antipodes.

Volume Three, Chapter XXIV.

OLD ACQUAINTANCES.

One day, while riding inside a "bus" along the Strand, and gazing out through the slides, I amused myself by looking at the "fares" seated upon the "knife-board," or rather their images, reflected in the plate-gla.s.s windows of the shops in front of which we were pa.s.sing.

While thus engaged, my attention became more especially fixed upon one of my fellow pa.s.sengers so reflected; and, on continuing my second-hand scrutiny, I became convinced that an old acquaintance was directly over my head. I requested the conductor to stop the "bus," and, upon his doing so, I got out, and climbed to the top of it. On raising my eyes to a level with the roof, I saw that I had not been mistaken. Cannon, whom I had last seen in Melbourne, was one of the row of individuals that occupied the knife-board.

We got off the "bus" at Charing Cross, stepped into Morley's Hotel, and ordered "dinner for two."

"Cannon," said I, "how came you to be here? I left you in Melbourne, without any money. How did you get a pa.s.sage home?"

"Well," replied Cannon, with a peculiar grin, "it's easily explained.

My well-wishing friends here sent me a little money, which came to hand, shortly after I saw you. I knew why they did it. They were afraid, that I might get hard up out there, and, someway or other find my way home. They weren't so cunning as they thought themselves. On receiving their cheque, I did with it, just what they didn't intend I should do.

I paid my pa.s.sage home with the money, for fear I mightn't have the chance again; and I'll take precious good care, they don't send me out of England a second time--not if I can help it."

"What has become of Vane?" I asked.

"Vane! the d.a.m.ned insidious viper! I don't like to say anything about him. He had some money left him here; and got back to England, before I did. He's here now."

"And how are our friends up the Yarra Yarra. Have you heard anything of them, since we were there together?"

"Yes; and seen them, too--several times. They were well the last time I saw them. I mean well in bodily health; but I think a little wrong in the mind. They became great friends with that fellow Vane."

I noticed that Cannon, although he had said that he did not like to say anything about Vane, kept continually alluding to him during the two or three hours that we were together; and always spoke of him with some show of animosity.

I could see that the two men were friends no longer. I was not inquisitive as to the cause of their misunderstanding--probably for the reason, that I took very little interest in the affairs of either.

"Are you in any business here?" asked Cannon, when we were about to separate.

"No," I replied, "I don't desire to go into business in London; and, as I can find but little to amuse me, I am thinking of returning to Australia."

"Ah! that's strange," rejoined Cannon. "Perhaps the reason why you are not amused, is because you are a stranger here, and have but little society. Come along with me, and I will introduce you to some of my friends, who can show you some London life. Will you promise to meet me here to-morrow, at half-past ten o'clock?"