Sons of fire, Vol. III.Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
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Sons of fire, Vol. III.
Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
English fiction -- 19th century
"Male humanity is divided into two classes--the men who dress for
dinner, and the men who don't. I have always belonged to the latter
half. We are the freemen; our shoulders have never bent under the
yoke. I ran away from every school I was ever sent to. I played
Hell and Tommy at my private tutor's Berkshire parsonage--set fire
to his study when he locked me in, with an order to construe five
tough pages of 'Thicksides,' for insubordination. I set fire to his
waste-paper basket, lads, and his missus's muslin curtains. I knew
I could put the fire out with his garden-hose, when I had given him
a good scare; and after that little bit of arson, he was uncommonly
glad to get rid of me. The old Herod had insisted on my dressing
for dinner every night--putting on a claw-hammer coat and a white
tie to eat barley-broth and boiled mutton. I wasn't going to stop
in such a _bouge_ as that. Then came the university. I was always
able to scramble through an exam., so I matriculated with flying
colours--passed my Little Go with a flourish of trumpets; and my people
hoped I had turned over a new leaf. So I had, boys--a new leaf in a new
book. I had begun to read the story of African travel--Livingstone,
Burton, Baker, du Chaillu, Stanley. And from that hour I knew what
manner of life I was meant for. I got my kind old dad to give me a
biggish cheque--compounded with him, before my second term at Trinity
was over, for the fifteen hundred my university career would have cost
him--and sailed for the Cape; and from that day to this, except when I
read a paper one night in Savile Row, I have never worn the garment of
the white slave. I have never thrust these hairy arms of mine into the
silk-lined sleeves of a swallow-tail coat."
* * * * *
For the eldest traveller those days before the coming of the Masika
left nothing to be desired. The long coasting voyages on the great
fresh-water sea, the canoes following the romantic shores or threading
the southern archipelago where the river Lofu pours its broad stream
into the lake, were enough for exercise, excitement, variety.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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