The Caxtons: A Family Picture — Volume 04Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
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The Caxtons: A Family Picture — Volume 04
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century; Families -- Fiction
"It is a pity somebody had not broken the rascally printer's, before he
had the impudence to disgrace us by having a family, uncle."
Captain Roland tried hard to frown, but he could not. "Pshaw!" said he,
stopping, and taking snuff. "The world of the dead is wide; why should
the ghosts jostle us?"
"We can never escape the ghosts, uncle. They haunt us always. We
cannot think or act, but the soul of some man, who has lived before,
points the way. The dead never die, especially since--"
"Since what, boy? You speak well."
"Since our great ancestor introduced printing," said I, majestically.
My uncle whistled "Malbrouk s'en va-t-en guerre."
I had not the heart to plague him further.
"Peace!" said I, creeping cautiously within the circle of the stick.
"No! I forewarn you--"
"Peace! and describe to me my little cousin, your pretty daughter,--for
pretty I am sure she is."
"Peace," said my uncle, smiling. "But you must come and judge for
yourself."
CHAPTER II.
Uncle Roland was gone. Before he went, he was closeted for an hour with
my father, who then accompanied him to the gate; and we all crowded
round him as he stepped into his chaise. When the Captain was gone, I
tried to sound my father as to the cause of so sudden a departure. But
my father was impenetrable in all that related to his brother's secrets.
Whether or not the Captain had ever confided to him the cause of his
displeasure with his son,--a mystery which much haunted me,--my father
was mute on that score both to my mother and myself. For two or three
days, however, Mr. Caxton was evidently unsettled. He did not even take
to his Great Work, but walked much alone, or accompanied only by the
duck, and without even a book in his hand. But by degrees the scholarly
habits returned to him; my mother mended his pens, and the work went on.
For my part, left much to myself, especially in the mornings, I began to
muse restlessly over the future. Ungrateful. that I was, the happiness
of home ceased to content me. I heard afar the roar of the great world,
and roved impatient by the shore.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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