The Caxtons | Page 5

it
was given with not more humility than wisdom. In the common affairs
of life he seemed incapable of acting for himself; he left all to my
mother; or, if taken unawares, was pretty sure to be the dupe. But in
those very affairs, if another consulted him, his eye brightened, his
brow cleared, the desire of serving made him a new being,--cautious,
profound, practical. Too lazy or too languid where only his own
interests were at stake, touch his benevolence, and all the wheels of the
clock-work felt the impetus of the master-spring. No wonder that, to
others, the nut of such a character was hard to crack! But in the eyes of
my poor mother, Augustine (familiarly Austin) Caxton was the best
and the greatest of human beings; and she ought to have known him
well, for she studied him with her whole heart, knew every trick of his
face, and, nine times out of ten, divined what he was going to say
before he opened his lips. Yet certainly there were deeps in his nature
which the plummet of her tender woman's wit had never sounded; and
certainly it sometimes happened that, even in his most domestic
colloquialisms, my mother was in doubt whether he was the simple,
straightforward person he was mostly taken for. There was, indeed, a
kind of suppressed, subtle irony about him, too unsubstantial to be
popularly called humor, but dimly implying some sort of jest, which he
kept all to himself; and this was only noticeable when he said
something that sounded very grave, or appeared to the grave very silly
and irrational.
That I did not go to school--at least to what Mr. Squills understood by
the word "school"--quite so soon as intended, I need scarcely observe.

In fact, my mother managed so well--my nursery, by means of double
doors, was so placed out of hearing--that my father, for the most part,
was privileged, if he pleased, to forget my existence. He was once
vaguely recalled to it on the occasion of my christening. Now, my
father was a shy man, and he particularly hated all ceremonies and
public spectacles. He became uneasily aware that a great ceremony, in
which he might be called upon to play a prominent part, was at hand.
Abstracted as he was, and conveniently deaf at times, he had heard
such significant whispers about "taking advantage of the bishop's being
in the neighborhood," and "twelve new jelly-glasses being absolutely
wanted," as to assure him that some deadly festivity was in the wind.
And when the question of godmother and godfather was fairly put to
hire, coupled with the remark that this was a fine opportunity to return
the civilities of the neighborhood, he felt that a strong effort at escape
was the only thing left. Accordingly, having, seemingly without
listening, heard the clay fixed and seen, as they thought, without
observing, the chintz chairs in the best drawing-room uncovered (my
dear mother was the tidiest woman in the world), my father suddenly
discovered that there was to be a great book-sale, twenty miles off,
which would last four days, and attend it he must. My mother sighed;
but she never contradicted my father, even when he was wrong, as he
certainly was in this case. She only dropped a timid intimation that she
feared "it would look odd, and the world might misconstrue my father's
absence,--had not she better put off the christening?"
"My dear," answered my father, "it will be my duty, by and by, to
christen the boy,--a duty not done in a day. At present, I have no doubt
that the bishop will do very well without me. Let the day stand, or if
you put it off, upon my word and honor I believe that the wicked
auctioneer will put off the book-sale also. Of one thing I am quite sure,
that the sale and the christening will take place at the same time." There
was no getting over this; but I am certain my dear mother had much
less heart than before in uncovering the chintz chairs in the best
drawing-room. Five years later this would not have happened. My
mother would have kissed my father and said, "Stay," and he would
have stayed. But she was then very young and timid; and he, wild man,
not of the woods, but the cloisters, not yet civilized into the

tractabilities of home. In short, the post-chaise was ordered and the
carpetbag packed.
"My love," said my mother, the night before this Hegira, looking up
from her work, "my love, there is one thing you have quite forgot to
settle,- -I beg pardon for disturbing you, but it is important!--baby's
name: sha' n't we call him Augustine?"
"Augustine," said my father, dreamily,--"why that name's mine."