What Will He Do with It? — Volume 03Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
What Will He Do with It? — Volume 03
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
"Is it your father's ground, then? Sir, I beg you a thousand pardons."
The apology was made in the Comedian's grandest style: it imposed greatly
on the young scholar. Waife might have been a duke in disguise; but I
will do the angler the justice to say that such discovery of rank would
have impressed him little more in the vagrant's favour. It had been that
impromptu "grace"--that thanksgiving which the scholar felt was for
something more than the carnal food--which had first commanded his
respect and wakened his interest. Then that innocent careless talk--part
uttered to dog and child, part soliloquized, part thrown out to the ears
of the lively teeming Nature--had touched a somewhat kindred chord in the
angler's soul; for he was somewhat of a poet and much of a soliloquist,
and could confer with Nature, nor feel that impediment in speech which
obstructed his intercourse with men. Having thus far indicated that oral
defect in our new acquaintance, the reader will cheerfully excuse me for
not enforcing it over much. Let it be among the things /subaudita/, as
the sense of it gave to a gifted and aspiring nature, thwarted in the
sublime career of Preacher, an exquisite mournful pain. And I no more
like to raise a laugh at his infirmity behind his back, than I should
before his pale, powerful, melancholy face; therefore I suppress the
infirmity in giving the reply.
OXONIAN.--" On the other side the lane, where the garden slopes downward,
is my father's house. This ground is his property certainly, but he puts
it to its best use, in lending it to those who so piously acknowledge
that Father from whom all good comes. Your child, I presume, sir?"
"My grandchild."
"She seems delicate: I hope you have not far to go?"
"Not very far, thank you, sir. But my little girl looks more delicate
than she is. You are not tired, darling?"
"Oh, not at all!" There was no mistaking the looks of real love
interchanged between the old man and the child; the scholar felt much
interested and somewhat puzzled.
"Who and what could they be? so unlike foot wayfarers!" On the other
hand, too, Waife took a liking to the courteous young man, and conceived
a sincere pity for his physical affliction. But he did not for those
reasons depart from the discreet caution he had prescribed to himself in
seeking new fortunes and shunning old perils, so he turned the subject.
"You are an angler, sir? I suppose the trout in the stream run small?"
"Not very: a little higher up I have caught them at four pounds weight."
WAIFE.--"There goes a fine fish yonder,--see! balancing himself between
those weeds."
OXONIAN.--"Poor fellow, let him be safe to-day. After all, it is a cruel
sport, and I should break myself of it. But it is strange that whatever
our love for Nature we always seek some excuse for trusting ourselves
alone to her. A gun, a rod, a sketch-book, a geologist's hammer, an
entomologist's net, a something."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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