The Christmas Books of Mr. M.A. Titmarsh Part 12

The hurraying brought out the old Doctor himself, who put his hand up to his spectacles and started when he saw the old pupil. Each blushed when he recognized the other; for seven years ago they had parted not good friends.

"What--Davison?" the Doctor said, with a tremulous voice. "G.o.d bless you, my dear fellow!"--and they shook hands. "A half holiday, of course, boys," he added, and there was another hurray: there was to be no end to the cheering that day.

"How's--how's the family, sir?" Captain Davison asked.

"Come in and see. Rosa's grown quite a lady. Dine with us, of course.

Champion Major, come to dinner at five. Mr. t.i.tmarsh, the pleasure of your company?" The Doctor swung open the garden gate: the old master and pupil entered the house reconciled.

I thought I would first peep into Miss Raby's room, and tell her of this event. She was working away at her linen there, as usual quiet and cheerful.

"You should put up," I said with a smile; "the Doctor has given us a half-holiday."

"I never have holidays," Miss Raby replied.

Then I told her of the scene I had just witnessed, of the arrival of the old pupil, the purchase of the tarts, the proclamation of the holiday, and the shouts of the boys of "Hurray, Davison!"

"WHO is it?" cried out Miss Raby, starting and turning as white as a sheet.

I told her it was Captain Davison from India; and described the appearance and behavior of the Captain. When I had finished speaking, she asked me to go and get her a gla.s.s of water; she felt unwell. But she was gone when I came back with the water.

I know all now. After sitting for a quarter of an hour with the Doctor, who attributed his guest's uneasiness no doubt to his desire to see Miss Rosa Birch, Davison started up and said he wanted to see Miss Raby. "You remember, sir, how kind she was to my little brother, sir?" he said.

Whereupon the Doctor, with a look of surprise, that anybody should want to see Miss Raby, said she was in the little school-room; whither the Captain went, knowing the way from old times.

A few minutes afterwards, Miss B. and Miss Z. returned from a drive with Plantagenet Gaunt in their one-horse fly, and being informed of Davison's arrival, and that he was closeted with Miss Raby in the little school-room, of course made for that apartment at once. I was coming into it from the other door. I wanted to know whether she had drunk the water.

This is what both parties saw. The two were in this very att.i.tude.

"Well, upon my word!" cries out Miss Zoe; but Davison did not let go his hold; and Miss Raby's head only sank down on his hand.

"You must get another governess, sir, for the little boys," Frank Davison said to the Doctor. "Anny Raby has promised to come with me."

You may suppose I shut to the door on my side. And when I returned to the little school-room, it was black and empty. Everybody was gone. I could hear the boys shouting at play in the green outside. The gla.s.s of water was on the table where I had placed it. I took it and drank it myself, to the health of Anny Raby and her husband. It was rather a choker.

But of course I wasn't going to stop on at Birch's. When his young friends rea.s.semble on the 1st of February next, they will have two new masters. Prince resigned too, and is at present living with me at my old lodgings at Mrs. Cammysole's. If any n.o.bleman or gentleman wants a private tutor for his son, a note to the Rev. F. Prince will find him there.

Miss Clapperclaw says we are both a couple of old fools; and that she knew when I set off last year to Rodwell Regis, after meeting the two young ladies at a party at General Champion's house in our street, that I was going on a goose's errand. I shall dine there on Christmas-day; and so I wish a merry Christmas to all young and old boys.

EPILOGUE.

The play is done; the curtain drops, Slow falling, to the prompter's bell: A moment yet the actor stops, And looks around, to say farewell.

It is an irksome word and task; And when he's laughed and said his say, He shows, as he removes the mask, A face that's anything but gay.

One word, ere yet the evening ends, Let's close it with a parting rhyme, And pledge a hand to all young friends, As fits the merry Christmas time.

On life's wide scene you, too, have parts, That Fate ere long shall bid you play; Good night! with honest gentle hearts A kindly greeting go alway!

Good night! I'd say the griefs, the joys, Just hinted in this mimic page, The triumphs and defeats of boys, Are but repeated in our age.

I'd say, your woes were not less keen, Your hopes more vain, than those of men, Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen, At forty-five played o'er again.

I'd say, we suffer and we strive Not less nor more as men than boys; With grizzled beards at forty-five, As erst at twelve, in corduroys.

And if, in time of sacred youth, We learned at home to love and pray, Pray heaven, that early love and truth May never wholly pa.s.s away.

And in the world, as in the school, I'd say, how fate may change and shift; The prize be sometimes with the fool, The race not always to the swift.

The strong may yield, the good may fall, The great man be a vulgar clown, The knave be lifted over all, The kind cast pitilessly down.

Who knows the inscrutable design?

Blessed be He who took and gave: Why should your mother, Charles, not mine, Be weeping at her darling's grave?*

We bow to heaven that will'd it so, That darkly rules the fate of all, That sends the respite or the blow, That's free to give or to recall.

This crowns his feast with wine and wit: Who brought him to that mirth and state?

His betters, see, below him sit, Or hunger hopeless at the gate.

Who bade the mud from Dives' Wheel To spurn the rags of Lazarus?

Come, brother, in that dust we'll kneel, Confessing heaven that ruled it thus.

So each shall mourn in life's advance, Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed; Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance, A longing pa.s.sion unfulfilled.

Amen: whatever Fate be sent,--Pray G.o.d the heart may kindly glow, Although the head with cares be bent, And whitened with the winter snow.

Come wealth or want, come good or ill, Let young and old accept their part, And bow before the Awful Will, And bear it with an honest heart.

Who misses, or who wins the prize?

Go, lose or conquer as you can.

But if you fail, or if you rise, Be each, pray G.o.d, a gentleman,

A gentleman, or old or young: (Bear kindly with my humble lays,) The sacred chorus first was sung Upon the first of Christmas days.

The shepherds heard it overhead--The joyful angels raised it then: Glory to heaven on high, it said, And peace on earth to gentle men.

My song, save this, is little worth; I lay the weary pen aside, And wish you health, and love, and mirth, As fits the solemn Christmas tide.

As fits the holy Christmas birth, Be this, good friends, our carol still--Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, To men of gentle will.

* C. B., ob. Dec. 1843, aet. 42.

THE KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE.

BY MR. M. A. t.i.tMARSH

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION:

BEING AN ESSAY ON THUNDER AND SMALL BEER.

Any reader who may have a fancy to purchase a copy of this present edition of the "History of the Kickleburys Abroad," had best be warned in time, that the Times newspaper does not approve of the work, and has but a bad opinion both of the author and his readers. Nothing can be fairer than this statement: if you happen to take up the poor little volume at a railroad station, and read this sentence, lay the book down, and buy something else. You are warned. What more can the author say? If after this you WILL buy,--amen! pay your money, take your book, and fall to. Between ourselves, honest reader, it is no very strong potation which the present purveyor offers to you. It will not trouble your head much in the drinking. It was intended for that sort of negus which is offered at Christmas parties and of which ladies and children may partake with refreshment and cheerfulness. Last year I tried a brew which was old, bitter, and strong; and scarce any one would drink it.

This year we send round a milder tap, and it is liked by customers: though the critics (who like strong ale, the rogues!) turn up their noses. In heaven's name, Mr. Smith, serve round the liquor to the gentle-folks. Pray, dear madam, another gla.s.s; it is Christmas time, it will do you no harm. It is not intended to keep long, this sort of drink. (Come, froth up, Mr. Publisher, and pa.s.s quickly round!) And as for the professional gentlemen, we must get a stronger sort for THEM some day.

The Times' gentleman (a very difficult gent to please) is the loudest and noisiest of all, and has made more hideous faces over the refreshment offered to him than any other critic. There is no use shirking this statement! when a man has been abused in the Times, he can't hide it, any more than he could hide the knowledge of his having been committed to prison by Mr. Henry, or publicly caned in Pall Mall.