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Being overtaken by a shower
in Kensington Gardens, I sought shelter in one of the alcoves near the
palace. I was scarce seated, when the storm burst with all its fury; and I
observed an old fellow, who had stood loitering till the hurricane
whistled round his ears, making towards me, as rapidly as his apparently
palsied limbs would permit. Upon his near approach, he appeared rather to
have suffered from infirmity than years. He wore a brownish-black coat, or
rather shell, which, from its dimensions, had never been intended for the
wearer; and his inexpressibles were truly inexpressible. "So," said I, as
he seated himself on the bench, and shook the rain from his old
broad-brimmed hat, "you see, old boy, ‘Procrastination is the
thief of time;’ the clouds gave you a hint of what was coming, but you
seemed not to take it." "It is," replied he, eagerly. "Doctor Young is in
the right. Procrastination has been my curse since I was in
leading-strings. It has grown with my growth, and strengthened with my
strength. It has ever been my besetting sin—my companion in prosperity and
adversity; and I have slept upon it, like Samson on the lap of Delilah,
till it has shorn my locks and deprived me of my strength. It has been to
me a witch, a manslayer, and a murderer; and when I would have shaken it
off in wrath and disgust, I found I was no longer master of my own actions
and my own house. It had brought around me a host of its
blood-relations—its sisters and its cousins-german—to fatten on my
weakness, and haunt me to the grave; so that when I tore myself from the
embrace of one, it was only to be intercepted by another. You are young,
Sir, and a stranger to me, but its effects upon me, and my history—the
history of a poor paralytic shoemaker—if you have patience to hear, may
serve as a beacon to you in your voyage through life."
Upon expressing my assent
to his proposal—for the fluency and fervency of his manner had at once
rivetted my attention, and excited curiosity—he continued:—"I was born
without a fortune, as many people are. When about five years of age, I was
sent to a parish school in Roxburghshire, and procrastination went with
me. Being possessed of a tolerable memory, I was not more deficient than
my schoolfellows; but the task which they had studied the previous
evening, was by me seldom looked at till the following morning; and, my
seat was the last to be occupied of any other on the form. My lessons were
committed to memory by a few hurried glances, and repeated with faltering
rapidity, which not unfrequently puzzled the ear of the teacher to follow
me. But what was thus hastily learned, was as suddenly forgotten. They
were mere surface impressions, each obliterated by the succeeding. And
though I had run over a tolerable general education, I left school but
little wiser than when I entered it.
"My parents—peace to their
memory!"—here the old fellow looked most feelingly, and a tear of filial
recollection glistened in his eyes; it added a dignity to the recital of
his weakness, and I almost reverenced him—"My parents," continued he, "had
no ambition to see me rise higher in society than an honest tradesman;
and, at thirteen, I was bound apprentice to a shoemaker. Yes, Sir, I was—I
am a shoemaker, and but for my curse—my malady—had been an ornament to my
profession. I have measured the foot of a princess, Sir; I have made
slippers to his Majesty!"
Here his tongue acquired
new vigour from the idea of his own importance. "Yes, Sir, I have made
slippers to his Majesty—yet I am an unlucky—I am a bewitched—I am a ruined
man. But to proceed with my history. During the first year of my
apprenticeship, I acted in the capacity of errand-boy; and, as such, had
to run upon many an unpleasant message—sometimes to ask money, frequently
to borrow it. Now, Sir, I am also a bashful man, and, as I was
saying, Bashfulness is one of the blood-relations which
procrastination has fastened upon me. While acting in my last-mentioned
capacity, I have gone to the house—gazed at every window—passed it and
repassed it—placed my hand upon the rapper—withdrawn it—passed it and
repassed it again—stood hesitating and consulting with myself—then
resolved to defer it till the next day, and finally return to my master,
not with a direct lie, but a broad equivocation; and this was
another of the cousins-german which procrastination introduced to my
acquaintance.
"In the third year of my
servitude, I became fond of reading; was esteemed a quick workman; and,
having no desire for money beyond what was necessary to supply my wants, I
gave unrestricted indulgence to my new passion. We had each an allotted
quantity of work to perform weekly. Conscious of being able to complete it
in half the time, and having yielded myself solely to my ruinous
propensity to delay, I seldom did anything before the Thursday; and the
remaining days were spent in hurry, bustle, and confusion. Occasionally I
overrated my abilities—my task was unfinished, and I was compelled to
count a dead horse. Week after week this grew upon me, till I was
so firmly saddled, that, until the expiration of my apprenticeship, I was
never completely freed from it. This was another of my curse’s
handmaidens."
Here he turned to me with a
look of seriousness, and said—"Beware, young man, how you trust to your
own strength and your own talents; for, however noble it may be to do so,
let it be in the open field, before you are driven into a corner, where
your arms may come in contact with the thorns and the angles of the
hedges.
"About this time, too, I
fell in love—yes, fell in love— for I just beheld the fair object,
and I was a dead man, or a new man, or anything you will. Frequently as I
have looked and acted like a fool, I believe I never did so so strikingly
as at that moment. She was a beautiful girl—a very angel of light--about
five feet three inches high, and my own age. Heaven knows how I ever had
courage to declare my passion; for I put it off day after day, and week
after week, always preparing a new speech against the next time of meeting
her, until three or four rivals stepped forward before me. At length, I
did speak, and never was love more clumsily declared. I told her in three
words; then looked to the ground, and again in her face most pitifully.
She received my addresses just as saucily as a pretty girl could do. But
it were useless to go over our courtship—it was the only happy period of
my existence, and every succeeding day has been misery. Matters were
eventually brought to a bearing, and the fatal day of final felicity
appointed. I was yet young, and my love possessed all the madness of a
first passion. She not only occupied my heart, but my whole thoughts; I
could think of nothing else—speak of nothing else—and, what was worse, do
nothing else; it burned up the very capabilities of action, and rendered
my native indolence yet more indolent. However, the day came (and a bitter
stormy day it was); the ceremony was concluded; and the honeymoon seemed
to pass away in a forthight.
"About twelve months after
our marriage, Heaven (as authors say) blest our loves with a son and—I had
almost said heir. Deplorable patrimony!—heir of his mother’s features—the
sacrifice of his father’s weakness." Kean could not have touched this last
burst. The father—the miserable man—parental
affection—agony—remorse—repentance—were expressed in a moment.
A tear was hurrying down
his withered cheek as he dashed it away with his dripping sleeve. "I am a
weak old fool," said he, endeavouring to smile; for there was a volatile
gaiety in his disposition, which his sorrows had subdued, but not
extinguished. "Yet my boy! my poor dear Willie!—I shall never—no, I shall
never see him again!" Here he again wept; and had nature not denied me
that luxury, I should have wept too, for the sake of company. After a
pause, he again proceeded:— "After the birth of my child, came the
baptism. I had no conscientious objection to the tenets of the established
church of my country; but I belonged to no religious community. I had
never thought of it as an obligation beyond that of custom; and deferred
it from year to year till I felt ashamed to ‘go forward’ on account of my
age. My wife was a Cameronian; and to them, though I knew nothing of their
principles, I had an aversion; but for her to hold up the child, while I
was in the place, was worse than heathenism—was unheard of in the parish.
The nearest Episcopal chapel was at Kelso, a distance of ten miles. The
child still remained unbaptized. ‘It hasna a name yet,’ said the ignorant
meddlers, who had no higher idea of the ordinance. It was a source of much
uneasiness to my wife, and gave rise to some family quarrelling. Months
succeeded weeks, and eventually the child was carried to the Episcopal
church. This choked up all the slander of the town, and directed it into
one channel upon my devoted head. Some said I ‘wasna sound,’ and all
agreed I ‘was nae better than I should be;’ while the zealous clergyman
came to my father, expressing his fears that ‘his son was in a bad way.’
For this, too, am I indebted to procrastination. I thus became a martyr to
supposed opinions, of which I was ignorant: and such was the unchristian
bigotry of my neighbours, that, deeming it sinful to employ one whom they
considered little other than a pagan, about five years after my marriage,
I was compelled to remove with my family to London.
"We were at this period
what tradesmen terni miserably hard up. Having sold off our little
stock of furniture, after discharging a few debts which were unavoidably
contracted, a balance of rather less than two pounds remained; and upon
this, my wife, my child, and myself, were to travel a distance of three
hundred and fifty miles. I will not go over the journey; we performed it
on foot in twenty days; and, including lodging, our daily expense amounted
to one shilling and eightpenee; so that, on entering the metropolis, all
we possessed was five shillings and a few pence. It was the dead of
winter, and nearly dark, when we were passing down St. John Street,
Clerkenwell. I was benumbed— my wife was fainting—and our poor child was
blue and speechless. We entered a public-house near Smithfield, where two
pints of warm porter and ginger, with a crust of bread and cheese,
operated as partial restoratives. The noisy scene of butchers, drovers,
and coal-heavers, was new to me. My child was afraid, my wife
uncomfortable, and I, a gaping observer, forgetful of my own situation. My
boy pulled my coat, and said, ‘Come, father;’—my wife jogged my elbow, and
reminded me of a lodging; but my old reply, ‘Stop a little,’
was my ninety and nine times repeated answer. Frequently the landlord made
a long neck over the table, gauging the contents of our tardily emptied
pint; and, as the watchman was calling ‘Past eleven,’ finally took it
away, and bade us ‘bundle off.’ Now I arose, feeling at once the pride of
my spirit and the poorness of my purse—vowing never to darken his door
again, should I remain in London a hundred years.
"On reaching the street, I
inquired at a half-grown boy where we might obtain a lodging, and after
causing me to inquire twice or thrice—‘I no ken, Sawney—haud awa’ north,’
said the brat, sarcastically imitating my accent. I next inquired of a
watchman, who said there was no place upon his beat—but beat was
Gaelic to me; and I repeated my inquiry to another, who directed me
towards the hells of Saffron-hill. At a third, I requested to be informed
the way, who, after abusing me for seeking lodgings at such an hour, said
he had seen me in the town six hours before, and bade us go to the devil.
A fourth inquired if we had any money—took us to the bar of a
public-house-—called for a quartern of gin—drank our healths—asked if we
could obtain a bed—which being answered in the negative, he hurried to the
door, bawling ‘Half-past eleven,’ and left me to pay for the liquor. On
reaching Saffron-hill, it was in an Irish uproar; policemen, thieves,
prostitutes, Israelites, were brawling in a satanic mass of iniquity;
blood and murder was the order of the night. My child screamed; my wife
clung to my arm; she would not, she durst not, sleep in such a place. To
be brief: we had to wander in the streets till the morning; and I believe
that night, aided by a broken heart, was the forerunner of her death. It
was the first time I had been compelled to walk trembling for a night
without shelter, or to sit frozen on a threshold; and this, too, I owe to
procrastination.
"For a time we rented a
miserable garret, without furniture or fixture, at a shilling weekly,
which was paid in advance. I had delayed making application for employment
till our last sixpence was spent. We had passed a day without food; my
child appeared dying; my wife said nothing, but she gazed upon her dear
boy, and shook her head with an expression that wrung me to the soul. I
rushed out almost in madness, and, in a state of unconsciousness, hurried
from shop to shop in agitation and in misery. It was vain—appearances were
against me. I was broken down and dejected, and my state of mind and
manner appeared a compound of the maniac and the black guard. At night I
was compelled to return to the suffering victims of my propensity,
penniless and unsuccessful. It was a dreadful and sleepless night with us
all; or, if I did slumber upon the hard floor for a moment (for we had
neither seat nor covering), it was to startle at the cries of my child
wailing for hunger, or the smothered sighs of my unhappy partner. Again
and again, I almost thought them the voice of the Judge, saying, ‘Depart
from me, ye cursed.’
"I again hurried out with
daybreak, for I was wretched, and resumed my inquiries; but night came,
and I again returned equally unsuccessful. The yearnings of my child were
now terrible, and the streaming eyes of his fond mother, as she pressed
his head with her cold hand upon her lap, alone distinguished her from
death. The pains of hunger in myself were becoming insupportable; my teeth
gnashed against each other, and worms seemed gnawing my heartstrings. At
this moment, my dear wife looked me in the face, and, stretching her hand
to me, said, ‘Farewell, my love--in a few hours I and our dear child shall
be at rest! Oh! hunger, hunger!’ I could stand no more. Reason forsook me.
I could have died for them; but I could not beg. We had nothing to pledge.
Our united wearing apparel would not have brought a shilling. My wife had
a pair of pocket Bibles (I had once given them in a present); my eyes fell
upon them—I snatched them up unobserved—rushed from the house, and—O
Heaven; let the cause forgive the end—pawned them for eighteenpence. It
saved our lives. I obtained employment, and, for a few weeks, appeared to
have overcome my curse.
"I am afraid I grow tedious
with particulars, Sir, it is an old man’s fault--though I am not old
either; I am scarce fifty-five. After being three years in London, I was
appointed foreman of an extensive establishment in the Strand. I remained
in this situation about four years. It was one of respectability and
trust; demanding, hourly, a vigilant and undivided attention. To another,
it might have been attended with honour and profit; but to me, it
terminated in disgrace. Amongst other duties, I had the payment of the
journeymen, and the giving out of the work. They being numerous, and their
demands frequent, it would have required a clerk for the proper discharge
of that duty alone. I delayed entering at the moment in my books the
materials and cash given to each, until they multiplying upon my hands,
end begetting a consequent confusion, it became impossible for me to make
their entry with certainty or correctness. The workmen were not slow in
discovering this, and not a few of the more profligate improved upon it to
their advantage. Thus, I frequently found it impossible to make both ends
of my account meet; and, in repeated instances, where the week’s
expenditure exceeded the general average, though satisfied in my own mind
of its accuracy, from my inability to state the particulars, in order to
conceal my infirmity, I have accounted for the overplus from my own
pocket. Matters went on in this way for a considerable time. You will
admit I was rendered feelingly sensible of my error, and I resolved to
correct it. But my resolutions were always made of paper; they were like a
complaisant debtor—full of promises, praying for grace, and dexteriously
evading performance. Thus, day after day, I deferred the adaption of my
new system to a future period. For, Sir, you must be aware there is a
pleasure in procrastination, of a nature the most alluring and
destructive; but it is a pleasure purchased by the sacrifice of judgment;
in its nature and results it resembles the happiness of the drunkard; for,
in exact ratio as our spirits are raised above their proper level, in the
same proportion, when the ardent effects have evaporated, they sink
beneath that level.
"I was now too proud to
work as a mere journeyman, and I commenced business for myself; but I
began without capital, and a gourd of sorrow hung over me, while I stood
upon sand. I had some credit; but, as my bills became payable, I ever
found I had put off, till the very day they became due, the means of
liquidating them; then had I to run and borrow five pounds from one, and
five shillings from another, urged by despair, from a hundred quarters. My
creditors grew clamorous—my wife upbraided me—I flew to the bottle—to the
bottle!" he repeated; "and my ruin was complete—my family, business,
everything, was neglected. Bills of Middlesex were served on me,
declarations filed—I surrendered myself, and was locked up in Whitecross
Street. It is a horrid place—the Fleet is a palace to it—the Bench,
paradise! But, Sir, I will draw my painful story to a close. During my
imprisonment, my wife died—died, not by my hands, but from the work of
them! She was laid in a strange grave, and strangers laid her head in the
dust, while I lay a prisoner in the city where she was buried. My boy—my
poor Willie—who had been always neglected, was left without father and
without mother!—Sir! Sir! my boy was left without food! He forsook
visiting me in the prison—I heard he had turned the associate of thieves;
and, from that period, five years have passed, and I have obtained no
trace of him. But it is my doing—my poor Willie!"
Here the victim of
procrastination finished his narrative. The storm had passed away, and the
sun again shone out. The man had interested me, and we left the gardens
together. I mentioned that I had to go into the city; he said he had
business there also, and asked to accompany me. I could not refuse him.
From the door by which we left the gardens, our route lay by way of Oxford
Street. As we proceeded down Holborn, the church bell of St. Sepulchre’s
began to toll; and the crowd, collected round the top of Newgate Street,
indicated an execution. As we approached the place, the criminal was
brought forth. He was a young man about nineteen years of age, and had
been found guilty of an aggravated case of housebreaking. As the unhappy
being turned round to look upon the spectators, my companion gave a
convulsive shriek, and, springing from my side, exclaimed—"Righteous
Heaven! my Willie! my murdered Willie!"—He had proceeded but a few paces,
when he fell with his face upon the ground. In the wretched criminal he
discovered his lost, his only son. The miserable old man was conveyed, in
a state of insensibility, to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, where I visited
him the next day; he seemed to suffer much, and, in a few hours, he died
with a shudder, and the word Procrastination on his tongue |
