The History of Johnny Quae Genus Part 9

Which of the Doctors did the deed, The one who starv'd or he who fed, Or whether Nature, nothing loth, Laugh'd at the counsels of them both, And, as they issued their commands, Her victim took from both their hands, I know not, but it seems to me, To be the work of all the three.

Here it would be but idle folly To call on fruitless melancholy, To talk of blisters that in vain Were spread to bring back life again; Or all the lancet's power explore To wake the breath that breath'd no more; The stroke was struck, no human art Could now withdraw the fatal dart.

Mutes marching on, in solemn pace, With gladden'd heart and sorrowing face, Who, clad in black attire, for pay Let out their sorrows by the day: The nodding plumes and 'scutcheon'd hea.r.s.e Would make a pretty show in verse; But 'tis enough, Sir _Jeffery_ dead, That his remains, enshrin'd in lead, And, cloth'd in all their sad array, To mingle with their native clay, Were safe convey'd to that same bourne From whence no travellers return.

--We must another track pursue, } Life's varying path we have in view,-- } Our way QUae GENUS is with you! }

CANTO V

As our enlighten'd reason ranges O'er man and all his various changes, What sober thoughts the scenes supply, To hamper our philosophy; To make the expanding bosom swell With the fine things the tongue can tell!

And it were well, that while we preach, We practice, what we're fain to teach.

O, here might many a line be lent, To teach the mind to learn content, And with a manly spirit bear The stroke of disappointing care; Awake a just disdain to smile On muckworm fortune base and vile, Look on its threatnings to betray, As darksome clouds that pa.s.s away, And call on cheering hope to see Some future, kind reality.

--All who Sir _Jeffery_ knew could tell Our Hero serv'd him pa.s.sing well; Nay to the care which he bestow'd } The Knight a lengthen'd period ow'd, } And such the thanks he oft avow'd. } QUae GENUS never lost his views Of duty and its faithful dues; His honour no one could suspect, Nor did he mark with cold neglect Those services which intervene } In a sick chamber's sickly scene: } His duty thought no office mean, } And to Sir _Jeffery's_ closing sigh All, all was warm fidelity.

Nay, thus the Knight would frequent own A grateful sense of service done; And oft, in words like these, he said, That duty shall be well repaid.

"QUae GENUS, know me for your friend, I to your welfare shall attend; Your friend while I retain my breath, And when that's gone, your friend in death."

That death he felt as a disaster, For, to speak truth, he lov'd his master, Nor did he doubt that a reward Would prove that master's firm regard.

'Tis nature, in life's worst vexation, To look at least for consolation; And he, 'tis true, had turn'd his eye To a consoling legacy, That might, at least, make some amends, For losing this his best of friends; But his ill luck we must not smother; He lost the one, nor found the other.

The will was full of good intent, And a warm legacy was meant To poor QUae GENUS, there's no doubt, But shuffling Fortune left it out; 'Twas she cut short the kind bequest, Which was thus fatally express'd.

"To this my last and solemn Will I add by way of Codicil, My true and faithful servant's name, Who to my care has every claim: --To JOHN QUae GENUS I bequeath One month posterior to my death, The sum of Here a blank ensued Which has not yet been understood, Or why the figures were delay'd That would a sterling gift have made.

Whether a sudden twitch of gout Caus'd him to leave the figures out; Or visit of a chatt'ring friend That did th' important words suspend, And thus r.e.t.a.r.d the kind design, Until the 'morrow's sun should shine, That 'morrow with its ha's and hums, Which, often promis'd, never comes: Howe'er the enquiring mind may guess It cannot find the wish'd success: In short, whatever cause prevail'd, Too true, the gen'rous purpose fail'd.

In the Knight's mind the boon was will'd, But still the blank was never fill'd, And no more the said will engages Than mourning suit and one year's wages, Which all his household should inherit Whate'er their station or their merit: Here no distinction was display'd 'Tween high and low, 'tween man and maid, And though QUae GENUS was the first, He had his portion with the worst.

Our Hero thought it wond'rous hard Thus to be foil'd of his reward, That which, in ev'ry point of view, He felt to be his honest due; And both his master and his friend Did to his services intend; Which, as the sun at noontide clear, Does by the codicil appear: But when he ask'd Sir _Jeffery's_ heir } (Who did so large a fortune share) } The blank hiatus to repair, } Which he with truth could represent As an untoward accident, The wealthy merchant shook his head And bade him go and ask the dead.

QUae GENUS ventur'd to reply While his breast heav'd a painful sigh, "The dead, you know, Sir, cannot speak, But could the grave its silence break, I humbly ask your gen'rous heart, Would not its language take my part, Would it not utter, 'O fulfil The purpose of the codicil?'

Would it not tell you to supply The blank with a due legacy?"

The rich man, turning on his heel, Did not the rising taunt conceal.

"All that the grave may please to say, I promise, friend, I will obey."

What could be done with this high Cit, But to look sad and to submit; For it could answer no good end Though indispos'd to be a friend, That kind of discontent to show Which might convert him to a foe.

But ere we altogether leave Sir _Jeffery's_ grateful friends to grieve, We mean all those which to the sight Were clearly writ, in black and white, Within the bound'ries of the will, Nor left to _blundering Codicil_, It may not be amiss to draw The picture of the _Heir at Law_.

When on the 'Change he took his rounds, He walk'd an hundred thousand pounds: Not less was his acknowledg'd worth When ev'ry morn he sallied forth, With expectation grave, to meet Fortune's fresh smiles in Lombard-Street.

Upright in all his worldly dealing:-- But that high sense of n.o.ble feeling, The humane impulse to relieve, To wipe the eye of those who grieve, The wish of goodness to impart The bounties of a gen'rous heart, These were not his; and though the scroll That may the charities enroll Of gilded pride, upon the wall In some conspicuous hospital, Might his known name and t.i.tle bear, 'Twas vanity that plac'd it there.

But though, perhaps, a plum or more Was added to his former store, If, by sad chance, with haggard mien, An humble suppliant should be seen, A mother sick, a father dead, And children, left forlorn, unfed, His hand ne'er ventur'd on his purse To give relief, and, what was worse, He would alarm the wretches' fears With beadles fierce and overseers, Or talk of laws for vagrants made, Which call the scourge-man to their aid.

Thus nought was look'd for at his hands, But justice strict to just demands: No smiling, generous overflow Of fair reward would he bestow; No bounty did his thoughts prepare For duty's overweening care; While service, by affection wrought, Was, in his reck'ning, set at nought.

QUae GENUS gave in his account; Its justness own'd, the full amount Was duly paid, but I'll forgive The mind refusing to believe, That, when the rich man should discover That he had paid some nine-pence over, He did, without a look of shame, That pittance as a balance claim: It may appear full pa.s.sing strange, But 'tis a fact, he took the change, And did the jingling half-pence greet, Like fish-women in open street.

E'en the worn wardrobe of the Knight, Which is esteem'd the valet's right, The gen'ral heir-loom of his place, Was seiz'd by the curmudgeon base, And borne away, a paltry gain, To his own Store in Mincing-Lane: But when, among the other dues, Were order'd off the _Gouty Shoes_, QUae GENUS, with contempt inflam'd, Thus, in a hearty tone, exclaim'd, "Away, to the mean merchant bear 'em!

Heaven grant he may be forc'd to wear 'em!"

--Thus things went on;--then came the time, (The truth e'en shames my humble rhyme) When the Executor and Heir, For one did both the t.i.tles share, Appear'd to pay, in legal guise, The wages and the legacies.

QUae GENUS, who had lately been A favour'd actor in the scene, Could not have guess'd at such disaster From such a friend and such a master: And though he strove, he scarce could hide The feelings of an honest pride, When, from Sir _Jeffery's_ error, he And those who wore a livery, Nay even house and kitchen-maid Were in the same proportions paid,-- When his allotted mourning bore The same coa.r.s.e stuff the coachman wore.

But how his heart began to beat When he was charg'd for the _receipt_!

All his distinction now was lost, And he who long had rul'd the roast, Had, since Sir _Jeffery_ went to rest, Been of his station dispossest; Nay, not a common smile remain'd Of all the favour he had gain'd, While beggarly mistrust took place, Which he must feel as foul disgrace: For ev'ry key had been demanded; One instant made him empty-handed Dismiss'd from his late envied station Without a nod of approbation, He was preparing to depart With downcast look and heavy heart; Nor could e'en Molly's tender smile Of one sad thought that heart beguile

HIS FAREWELL SPEECH.

"And now, I say, adieu, my friends, For here our fellow-service ends.

You need not put on sorrowing faces; You will soon meet with ready places; 'Tis me whose disappointing care, Of cheering prospects, bids despair.

--You all, I'm sure can well believe, I have most ample cause to grieve That cruel Fortune thus should frown, When I thought her fond smiles my own.

--Sir _Jeffery_ now is laid in dust, But when alive, how good, how just!

And all who knew him well must know He never wish'd to use me so.

Had he believ'd his end so nigh, I should have had the legacy, Which would have made me full amends For loss of fortune, loss of friends.

Another day had he surviv'd, To the next morning had he liv'd, It might, perhaps, have been my fate To know an independent state, As he had told me, o'er and o'er, I ne'er should go to service more.

When I did on his wants attend He spoke as a familiar friend: How often too we might be seen Chatting within the Indian screen!

Whenever we were left alone, We seem'd not two, but were as one.

I knew each t.i.t-bit that he lov'd; He always what I gave approv'd; And as I stood beside his chair, Attending with respectful air, He oft would bid me sit and dine, Fill up his gla.s.s and pour out mine.

--When thumb and finger he applied To the gold snuff box by his side, I shar'd the pinch, and he ne'er ceas'd To say, 'G.o.d bless you,' when I sneez'd; Nay, when my snortings I repeated, He thus my awkward flurry greeted, 'My friend, familiarize your nose To this exhilarating dose, For sure as we together dine This box, QUae GENUS, shall be thine!'

But that kind friend, alas! is dead, And box and snuff and all are fled.

Nay, had I now a hope on earth, And could engage in trifling mirth, I here might my complainings close With disappointments of my nose.

--His common purse I could command, 'Twas daily open to my hand; You all well know I paid his bills, And when, to ease his various ills, Sir _Midriff_ came, I us'd to squeeze Into his palm the welcome fees.

Whene'er I showed my weekly book, He never gave the page a look; And when I urg'd it the good Knight Would smile and say, 'I'm sure 'tis right.'

Nay, I can say, in ev'ry sense, I ne'er abus'd his confidence: No, no, I never did purloin An atom of the lowest coin, And what I have to Heaven is known, In honest truth, to be my own, Then wonder not, I feel it hard, To be depriv'd of my reward, And, by such a chance, be hurl'd Again to struggle with the world.

Reasons, besides, I must not tell, Why the Knight treated me so well; But I play'd no delusive part, And they did honour to his heart: Of that heart, had he left a share, } As well as fortune to his heir, } I need not now indulge despair." }

"Mr. QUae GENUS, never fear,"

The Coachman said, "your spirits cheer!

Dame Fortune has look'd down 'tis plain, But the jade may look up again: 'Tis true that dev'lish oyster-pie Fell souse upon the legacy: E'en so it was, I cannot doubt it, But I would think no more about it.

You so well know your P's and Q's, That you have but to pick and chuse.

I speak the truth, there are but few Mr. QUae GENUS, such as you: And though the merchant will not give The bounty which you should receive, What though he would not spare a farthing To save a soul of us from starving, Good names he'll give us, as he ought, For they we know will cost him nought; 'Twere better therefore to be civil, And hold the candle to the Devil, For we as servants cannot stir Without a show of character.

--As you perceive, I'm not a chick, And know enough to make one sick: Nay, somewhat my experience lends, To guess at this world's odds and ends.

I've been in many curious places; I've serv'd my Lords,--and serv'd their Graces; And, which gives work of more ado, I've even serv'd my Ladies too: I knew to shut or ope my eyes, To see strange things, nor look surprise.

Sometimes good-luck has given a lift, And sometimes, I've been turn'd adrift; But should I live to Judgement-day, No, I will never fail to say, That I ne'er so much comfort knew, As since this house was rul'd by you.

--Now, when you get an upper place, Which soon, I'm sure, must be the case, If then your favour will contrive, I should my Lord or Lady drive, For I the reins can handle true Of pairs, of fours, and sixes too, I promise, nay, my word engages To give you poundage from my wages.

--I know you're gen'rous, kind and free, But here you will accord with me, That interest has a powerful weight Both with the little and the great: You see it well by what is past, Since your fine plan is overcast.

I do not wish to give offence, But interest is common sense, And he who does not look to that, Mr. QUae GENUS, is a FLAT."

The blunt, rough _Coachman_, said no more: When _Molly's_ fine black eyes ran o'er: The _Cook_ look'd grave, and _Betty_ sigh'd, } The _Kitchen-maid_ sat still and cried, } While _Thomas_ not a word replied.-- } QUae GENUS, not to be remiss, Gave to each maid a friendly kiss, And when he whisper'd his adieu To charming _Molly_, he gave two: Perhaps, if they were counted o'er, Her sweet lips might acknowledge more: Then told her softly not to fear, And kindly whisper'd in her ear, "What e'er my lot, I will be true To fond affection and to you."

Our gloomy Hero now departed, And left the mansion heavy-hearted, Where in such comfort he had liv'd, Nor, till dismiss'd it, ever griev'd, And, with a tardy step, retir'd To a snug lodging he had hir'd.

Thus once again by Fortune thrown On the wide world, and all alone, Without th' appearance of a friend On whose kind aid he could depend, QUae GENUS pac'd his lonely floor All to and fro and o'er and o'er, Thinking what efforts might be made, What stroke be struck, what game be play'd, To place him in some active state That promis'd to be fortunate.

One consolation he possest, } Which, though it did not charm to rest } The rising troubles of his breast, } Yet still, whatever might confound him, Gave him full time to look around him, And, on whatever project bent, To weigh its views, and wait th' event.

For, though his purse might not run o'er, He had a snug, sufficient store, To keep his anxious spirits free From any dread of penury, And guard him amidst toils and strife, Against the insidious smiles of life, That do so often tempt the mind To cast discretion far behind, Or make it fearful hazards try, Impell'd by dire necessity.

--He had not yet unripp'd his coat, } In which conceal'd lay every note } Which he from _Gripe-all's_ clutches got: } A h.o.a.rd on which he might depend, When he look'd round nor saw a friend.

Besides, he had no trifle gain'd, While with Sir _Jeffery_ he remain'd; For though, as has been lately said, He never play'd a trick of trade; Nor had he even thought it right To take a valet's perquisite, Nor e'er allow'd his hands to seize The household steward's common fees, But of the strict and rigid law Of duty ever stood in awe.

--All this the Knight full well believ'd, Nor could he think himself deceiv'd, When once he answer'd to a friend, Who did the young man's cares commend.

"That same QUae GENUS is so just In all committed to his trust, To his right notions such a slave, He would not with a razor shave, Nor use a strap, nor ply a hone, He had not purchas'd as his own."-- Thus, as most worthy of his charge, Sir _Jeffery's_ annual pay was large, And when th' allotted quarter came, Something was added to his claim, Which with such gen'rous grace was given, It seem'd like Manna sent from Heaven!-- Besides, his wages, being high, Encreas'd the gen'ral legacy, Which he with all the household shar'd; The last, and now his sole reward.

Thus so far independence brought A'gleam of comfort on his thought; He was not left on ruin's brink To sit and sigh, and swear and think.

_Two_ points alone he had in view, He thought it hard they were but _two_; Nor could he call his fortune kind When they alone employ'd his mind: These were the DOCTORS, won by fees To make most bounteous promises; And though these GALENS might deny 'em, He was at least resolv'd to try 'em; And, if Sir MIDRIFF should decline, He would apply to ANODYNE.

--The _former_, if he pleas'd, could well, And with strict truth, his value tell: For none with such experience knew That he was active, honest, true, And to his patient, well or ill, Did ev'ry duteous care fulfil.

Nay, that it was the Knight's good pleasure To speak of him as of a treasure.