JOURNEYS--FIND A HOME AND A
FOSTER FATHER--AND TALK LEARNEDLY OF TRIANGLES
AND ARCHBISHOPS.
What is to be done with the child? It is a fearful question, and has been
often asked under every degree of suffering. Of all possible articles, a
child is the most difficult to dispose of; a wife may be dispensed with
without much heart-breaking--even a friend and rubbish may be shot
out of the way, and the bosom remain tranquil; but a helpless, new-born
infant!--O there is a pleading eloquence in its feeble wail that goes to
the heart and ear of the stranger--and must act like living fire in the
bowels of the mother.
The whole household were immediately sent in quest of a wet-nurse. At
length one was found in the very pretty wife of a reprobate sawyer, of
the name of Brandon. He had seen many vicissitudes of life--had been a
soldier, a gentleman's servant, had been to sea, and was a shrewd,
vicious, and hard man, with a most unquenchable passion for strong
beer, and a steady addiction to skittles. His wife was a little gentle
being, of an extremely compact and prepossessing figure; her face was
ruddy with health, and, as said before, extremely pretty; for, had it not
been for an air of what fear must call vulgarity, for want of a more
gentle term, she would have merited the term of beautiful. Brandon was
a top-sawyer, but, as three out of the six working days of the week he
was to be found with a pot of porter by his side, pipe in mouth, and the
skittle-ball in his hand, it is not surprising that there was much misery
in his home, which he often heightened by his brutality. Yet was he a
very pleasant fellow when he had money to spend, and actually a witty
as well as a jovial dog when spending it. His wife had not long given
birth to a fine girl, and the mother's bosom bled over the destitution
with which her husband's recklessness had now made her so long
familiar.
All this time your humble servant was squalling, and none were found
who, under all the strange circumstances would take upon them the
charge of an infant, about to be immediately forsaken by its mother. At
length, one of the maid-servants at the inn remembered to have heard
Mrs Brandon say, that rather than live on among all her squalidness and
penury, she would endeavour to suckle another child besides her own;
and, as she was then in redundant health, and had two fine breasts of
milk,--for a fine breast of milk would not have served my turn, or,
rather, Mary and I must have taken it by turns,--she was accordingly
sent for. Yet, when she understood that I was to be placed that moment
under her care, that no references could be given, and no address left in
the case of accident, all her wishes to better herself and babe were not
sufficiently strong to make her run the risk. A guinea-and-a-half a week
was offered, and the first quarter tendered in advance, but in vain; at
length, an additional ten-pound note gave her sufficient courage, and
flannel being in request, I was thus launched to struggle with the world.
The frantic kiss of the distracted mother was impressed on my lips, the
agonised blessing was called down upon me from the God that she then
thought not of interceding with for herself, and the solemn objurgation
given to my foster-mother to have a religious and motherly care of me,
by the love she bore her own child; and then, lest the distress of this
scene should become fatal to her who bore me, I and my nurse were
hurried away before the day of my birth had fully dawned.
This day happened to be one in which the top-sawyer had been
graciously pleased to toss his arms up and down over the pit--not of
destruction, but of preservation. He had started early, and, whilst he
was setting the teeth on edge of all within hearing, by setting an edge to
his saw, some very officious friend ran to him, to tell him that his wife
was increasing his family, without even his permission having been
asked. Instead, therefore, of making a dust in his own pit, he flung
down his file, took up his lanthorn, and hurried along to kick up a dust
at home. The brute! may he have to sharpen saws with bad files for half
an eternity! He swore--how awfully the fellow swore!--that I should be
turned from his inhospitable roof immediately--and my gentle nurse,
adding her tears to my squalls, through that dismal, sleety morning,
which was then breaking mistily upon so much wretchedness, was
compelled to carry
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