The House on the Beach | Page 3

hermit
attached to a telescope.
"Where are you going, Lieutenant?" His frank reply to the question was,
"I am going to be killed;" and it grew notorious that this meant
Tinman's table. We get on together as well as we can. Perhaps if we
were an acutely calculating people we should find it preferable both for
trade and our physical prosperity to turn and kill Tinman, in contempt
of consequences. But we are not, and so he does the business gradually
for us. A generous people we must be, for Tinman was not detested.
The recollection of "next morning" caused him to be dimly feared.
Tinman, meanwhile, was awake only to the Circumstance that he made
no progress as an esquire, except on the envelopes of letters, and in his
own esteem. That broad region he began to occupy to the exclusion of
other inhabitants; and the result of such a state of princely isolation was
a plunge of his whole being into deep thoughts. From the hour of his
investiture as the town's chief man, thoughts which were long shots
took possession of him. He had his wits about him; he was alive to
ridicule; he knew he was not popular below, or on easy terms with
people above him, and he meditated a surpassing stroke as one of the
Band of Esq., that had nothing original about it to perplex and annoy
the native mind, yet was dazzling. Few members of the privileged Band
dare even imagine the thing.
It will hardly be believed, but it is historical fact, that in the act of
carrying fresh herrings home on his arm, he entertained the idea of a
visit to the First Person and Head of the realm, and was indulging in
pleasing visions of the charms of a personal acquaintance. Nay, he had
already consulted with brother jurats. For you must know that one of

the princesses had recently suffered betrothal in the newspapers, and
supposing her to deign to ratify the engagement, what so reasonable on
the part of a Cinque Port chieftain as to congratulate his liege mistress,
her illustrious mother? These are thoughts and these are deeds >which
give emotional warmth and colour to the ejecter members of a
population wretchedly befogged. They are our sunlight, and our
brighter theme of conversation. They are necessary to the climate and
the Saxon mind; and it would be foolish to put them away, as it is
foolish not to do our utmost to be intimate with terrestrial splendours
while we have them--as it may be said of wardens, mayors, and
bailiffs-at command. Tinman was quite of this opinion. They are there
to relieve our dulness. We have them in the place of heavenly; and he
would have argued that we have a right to bother them too. He had a
notion, up in the clouds, of a Sailors' Convalescent Hospital at
Crikswich to seduce a prince with, hand him the trowel, make him "lay
the stone," and then poor prince! refresh him at table. But that was a
matter for by and by.
His purchase of herrings completed, Mr. Tinman walked across the
mound of shingle to the house on the beach. He was rather a
fresh-faced man, of the Saxon colouring, and at a distance looking
good-humoured. That he should have been able to make such an
appearance while doing daily battle with his wine, was a proof of great
physical vigour. His pace was leisurely, as it must needs be over
pebbles, where half a step is subtracted from each whole one in passing;
and, besides, he was aware of a general breath at his departure that
betokened a censorious assembly. Why should he not market for
himself? He threw dignity into his retreating figure in response to the
internal interrogation. The moment >was one when conscious rectitude
=pliers man should have a tail for its just display. Philosophers have
drawn attention to the power of the human face to express pure virtue,
but no sooner has it passed on than the spirit erect within would seem
helpless. The breadth of our shoulders is apparently presented for our
critics to write on. Poor duty is done by the simple sense of moral
worth, to supplant that absence of feature in the plain flat back. We are
below the animals in this. How charged with language behind him is a
dog! Everybody has noticed it. Let a dog turn away from a hostile

circle, and his crisp and wary tail not merely defends him, it menaces;
it is a weapon. Man has no choice but to surge and boil, or stiffen
preposterously. Knowing the popular sentiment about his
marketing--for men can see behind their backs, though they may have
nothing to speak with--Tinman resembled those persons of principle