The Foolish Lovers | Page 3

city of Bagdad or the still more ancient city of
Damascus, wherein anything might happen to a man who kept his eyes
open or, for the matter of that, shut. He never tired of reading Mr.
Andrew Lang's Historical Mysteries, and he liked to think of himself
suddenly being accosted in the street by some dark stranger demanding
to know whether he had a taste for adventure. Uncle Matthew was not
quite certain what he would do if such a thing were to happen to him:
whether to proclaim himself as eager for anything that was odd and
queer or to threaten the stranger with the police. "You might think a
man was going to lead you to a hidden place, mebbe, where there'd be a
lovely woman waiting to receive you, and you blindfolded 'til you were
shown into the room where she was ... and mebbe you'd be queerly
disappointed, for it mightn't be that sort of a thing at all, but only some
lad trying to steal your watch and chain!"
He had heard very unpleasant stories of what he called the Confidence
Trick, whereby innocent persons were beguiled by seemingly amiable
men into parting with all their possessions!...
"Of course," he would admit, "you'd never have no adventures at all, if

you never ran no risks, and mebbe in the end, you do well to chance
things. It's a queer pity a man never has any adventures in this place.
Many's and many's a time I've walked the roads, thinking mebbe I'd
meet someone with a turn that way, but I never in all my born days met
anything queer or unusual, and I don't suppose I ever will now!"
Uncle Matthew had spoken so sadly and so longingly that John had
deeply pitied him. "Did you never fall in love with no one, Uncle
Matthew?" he asked.
"Och, indeed I did, John!" Uncle Matthew replied. "Many's and many's
the time! Your Uncle William used to make fun of me and sing
_'Shilly-shally with the wee girls, ha, ha, ha!'_ at me when I was a wee
lad because I was always running after the young girls and
sweethearting with them. He never ran after any himself: he was
always looking for birds' nests or tormenting people with his tricks. He
was a daft wee fellow for devilment, was your Uncle William, and yet
he's sobered down remarkably. Sometimes, I think he got more
romance out of his tormenting and nesting than I got out of my courting,
though love's a grand thing, John, when you can get it. I was always
falling in love, but sure what was the good? I never could be content
with the way the girls talked about furniture and us setting up house
together, when all the time I was wanting hard to be rescuing them
from something. No wonder they wouldn't have me in the end, for, of
course, it's very important to get good furniture and to set up a house
somewhere nice and snug ... but I never was one for scringing and
scrounging ... my money always melted away from the minute I got it ...
and I couldn't bear the look of the furniture-men when you asked them
how much it would cost to furnish a house on the hire-system!"
He paused for a moment, reflecting perhaps on the pleasures that had
been missed by him because of his inability to save money and his
dislike of practical concerns. Then in a brisker tone, as if he were
consoling himself for his losses, he said, "Oh, well, there's consolation
for everyone somewhere if they'll only take the trouble to look for it,
and after all I've had a queer good time reading books!"
"Mebbe, Uncle Matthew," John suggested, "if you'd left Ballyards and

gone to London, you'd have had a whole lot of adventures!"
"Mebbe I would," Uncle Matthew replied. "Though sometimes I think
I'm not the sort that has adventures, for there's men in the world would
find something romantic wherever they went, and I daresay if Lord
Byron were living here in Ballyards, he'd have the women crying their
eyes out for him. That was a terrible romantic man, John! Lord Byron!
A terrible man for falling in love, God bless him!..."
It was Uncle Matthew who urged John to read Shakespeare--"a very
plain-spoken, knowledgable man, Shakespeare!"--and Lord Byron--"a
terrible bad lord, John, but a fine courter of girls and a grand
poet!"--and Herrick--"a queer sort of minister, that man Herrick, but a
good poet all the same!"--and Dickens. Dickens was the incomparable
one who filled dull streets with vital figures: Sam Weller and Mr.
Pickwick and Mr. Micawber and Mrs. Nickleby and Mr. Mantalini and
Steerforth and David Copperfield and Barkis; and terrible figures: