Master Humphreys Clock | Page 5

a garden, and it was summer
weather, - I am sure of that, for one of the little girls had roses in her
sash. There were many lovely angels in this picture, and I remember
the fancy coming upon me to point out which of them represented each
child there, and that when I had gone through my companions, I
stopped and hesitated, wondering which was most like me. I remember
the children looking at each other, and my turning red and hot, and
their crowding round to kiss me, saying that they loved me all the same;
and then, and when the old sorrow came into my dear mother's mild
and tender look, the truth broke upon me for the first time, and I knew,
while watching my awkward and ungainly sports, how keenly she had
felt for her poor crippled boy.
I used frequently to dream of it afterwards, and now my heart aches for
that child as if I had never been he, when I think how often he awoke
from some fairy change to his own old form, and sobbed himself to
sleep again.
Well, well, - all these sorrows are past. My glancing at them may not
be without its use, for it may help in some measure to explain why I
have all my life been attached to the inanimate objects that people my
chamber, and how I have come to look upon them rather in the light of
old and constant friends, than as mere chairs and tables which a little
money could replace at will.
Chief and first among all these is my Clock, - my old, cheerful,
companionable Clock. How can I ever convey to others an idea of the
comfort and consolation that this old Clock has been for years to me!
It is associated with my earliest recollections. It stood upon the
staircase at home (I call it home still mechanically), nigh sixty years
ago. I like it for that; but it is not on that account, nor because it is a
quaint old thing in a huge oaken case curiously and richly carved, that I

prize it as I do. I incline to it as if it were alive, and could understand
and give me back the love I bear it.
And what other thing that has not life could cheer me as it does? what
other thing that has not life (I will not say how few things that have)
could have proved the same patient, true, untiring friend? How often
have I sat in the long winter evenings feeling such society in its
cricket-voice, that raising my eyes from my book and looking
gratefully towards it, the face reddened by the glow of the shining fire
has seemed to relax from its staid expression and to regard me kindly!
how often in the summer twilight, when my thoughts have wandered
back to a melancholy past, have its regular whisperings recalled them
to the calm and peaceful present! how often in the dead tranquillity of
night has its bell broken the oppressive silence, and seemed to give me
assurance that the old clock was still a faithful watcher at my
chamber-door! My easy-chair, my desk, my ancient furniture, my very
books, I can scarcely bring myself to love even these last like my old
clock.
It stands in a snug corner, midway between the fireside and a low
arched door leading to my bedroom. Its fame is diffused so extensively
throughout the neighbourhood, that I have often the satisfaction of
hearing the publican, or the baker, and sometimes even the parish-clerk,
petitioning my housekeeper (of whom I shall have much to say
by-and-by) to inform him the exact time by Master Humphrey's clock.
My barber, to whom I have referred, would sooner believe it than the
sun. Nor are these its only distinctions. It has acquired, I am happy to
say, another, inseparably connecting it not only with my enjoyments
and reflections, but with those of other men; as I shall now relate.
I lived alone here for a long time without any friend or acquaintance. In
the course of my wanderings by night and day, at all hours and seasons,
in city streets and quiet country parts, I came to be familiar with certain
faces, and to take it to heart as quite a heavy disappointment if they
failed to present themselves each at its accustomed spot. But these were
the only friends I knew, and beyond them I had none.
It happened, however, when I had gone on thus for a long time, that I
formed an acquaintance with a deaf gentleman, which ripened into
intimacy and close companionship. To this hour, I am ignorant of his
name. It is his humour to conceal it, or