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    956 THE LEADER [Saturday

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    LETTERS ©F A VAGABOND. XVII. Seven Hill ...

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    "Mr G Arnet Caster. Age? Fifty-Four. Avh...

    I would have sold my uncle—O , damn !—juck ! juck ! Me cuss ! Well , dat ' s bad . I ' m always forgetting his Maker ! " Had we a god on the Gold Coast ? Well , not a god ' xactly . We ' specks something stronger than ourselves , but don't know for certain . Neber thought much of him . When him weather long-dry and hot , hot , make a kind of prayers to him for rain . —Answer us ? No ; neber answer us , that we know : but 'specks that ' s , the way with him . Been a Christian twenty years , and prayed thousand times—neber he ' erd me once !—juck i juck ! Parson says lie hears me his own way . Like him hear me my way sometimes .

    How long a slave ? Nine year in Jamaica ; dey make a flunkey ob me , and I hab fine livery . At last , master come to B—— in England . Calculates I—I'll bolt . Came to IN ——; saw—not saw but heerd—50 J . Coster ! So calculates I—fact I became a militiaman—juck ! juck 1 Guess he no catch me den . Catch me—militiaman ? No ; king ' s servant—servant to de country . Catch Coster—juck ! Him go home to Jamaica , minus Coster—juck I " My brother ?—never heerd o ' m to this day . Isn't it awful ? Often think what my uncle sell me for ; but all white man ' s fault ; no white man buy , no black man sell . ¦

    *'• Better in N than on Gold coast ? Well , not sure ; parson saya nothing can compare with de blessed light . Now , parson say , too , him ' s judged by his priveledges ; now , priveledges no a damn on de Gold Coastjuck 1 juck I What liim be judged by ? Isn't it awful ? Here hab ebery privilege , and no use ; and he judge by what be ob no use ! Isn't it awful ? I lib alone , and often think of this ; I say to myself , * Coster , make use ob de priviledges . ' Den sit down and smoke all alone , and say to myself , * Coster , you hab a black skin , and a black eye , and black hair ; you hab a black heart , too '—see it in the blessed light . Den I smoke , forget it all , and sleep : and rise , and get a job , and its old Coster wid de black heart

    right-on . Isn ' t it awful ? " When I hear of Saviour ? In the militia ; dere I swear in by him . Often swore by God in Jamaica—wonder what God mean . Master swear by God . —' Goddamn ! ' I think it be English language . No hab idea of Maker in it , till in the militia . Was baptized in de militia . I now no serve my Maker half—not half ! Isn't it awful ? Trying always , too , when I think of it . Gf-uess we'll all come to de scratch someday—no shirking it ! Dere will be Massa Brown from Jamaica — dere my uncle — dere my brother — dere the parson—dere me — dere you . Isn't . it awful ? All at de scratch , punctual by be great clock !—juck ! juck ! 'Specks it won't do to say , * Please , Sir , I overslept myself !! ! ' Isn't it awful ?

    " What I think of de white man ? Well , hard's to say . Maker show partiality to white man . Often say to myself , ' Coster , what for de Maker tell de joyful tidings to de white man , and not a word to de black ? Why de loud voice in Europe , and not a whisper on de Gold Coast ? Often think that no fair . Parson—I ask de parson—parson say , « dis is de inscrutable way , '—says , am de vain , presumptible nigger , with de black heart ; and say , * what for him pry where dere be no light V " But what I think of de white man ? Like him—look nicer than de nigger—but him hab de worse nature . Know dere be in . N uncles would sell dere friends—anything for money . Isn't it awful ? Dey lie , dey steal , dey cheat , dey sing , dey precach , dey pray , dey make de slave , dey go in him passion , dey lie in de name of dere Maker , dey screw the poor , and kill him rich ; dey break de houses # pen , dey make de wars—all for de money ! Den '— Here Coster had to leave on an errand , and the conversation dropped . *

    "Mr G Arnet Caster. Age? Fifty-Four. Avh...

    * Tlict fnrn ( iin is a n > i > ort of un actual convorjtutioii hold with a Nc ^ ro , nnd tho co rroqioiidcul to whom wo « ro indebted for it guuruutuos it us n faithful report . —Kv .

    956 The Leader [Saturday

    956 THE LEADER [ Saturday

    Letters ©F A Vagabond. Xvii. Seven Hill ...

    LETTERS © F A VAGABOND . XVII . Seven Hill a , April 27 th , ] 8 G 3 . MMNCE I lust wrote , my dear friends , we have had abso-!! w 1 lutcly no cvcnts > an < * tllG object of our coming- down here (?| 2 m > appears to have been at last attained . At least , so far as tfMS { t c : m *> o in England . But here , where tlio machinery of life exceeds , in the attention of the living HJb itself , repose seems absolutely impossible . Of us all , there are but two , perhaps , that repose— -Walter and Margaret ; the two whoso condition most nearly approaches to what it might he in Valperduta .- For what

    is there to harass Walter ' s mind ho . vmul tl »<* tWA + i 1 ; , ™ i , ; ,. i , ,. ™« is there to harass Walters mind beyond the two things which completely fill it—art and love ; what to divert Margaret from that settled purpose which is to be soon in all . she docs , although sho never alludes to it ? To them the day breaks to a round of labour , ami of loving leisure , and sinks to a twilight of thought and converse ,, and a uiglit of repose ; each hour satisfied with itself . This is true life . Sho ^ is rapidly recovering her full health , and , with the rounded outline of a Cybelo , sho dovelopos a voice as deep and full as her own eyes .

    Ed ward es and Con way both typify the great unrest of Krwland " the transition state , " as they call it , when they desire to excuse their acquiescence in tin worth , and their own wild fancies . Ywoiilt is resting with a suspended mind—I can seo in her eye the postponed question . The great Markham plots his Napoleonic schemes of trade in the intervals of talk ; and Julie rests as the light rests on water . For my own part , I shall not again know roposc until I am once more in Valperduta .

    It is not that trouble keeps mo in unrest—for trouble , dear friends I have known—and you . But I reniomber when last wo I > eat out the corn from the car in tho orange-house—with the primitive tools which would so arnuso our now English philosophic farmers ; 1 remember luisHing that fourth one , wlio used to do a larger share of duty than any of uh ¦ I remember in tho heat of the day lying down to vv . nt

    where the creeping sun seized me by the feet as I lay still , half remem bering , half listening to the intense , brazen fervour of the inset atmosphere , conscious how the sun was scorching my bare ancles i too drowsy to move—remembering , suffering life , yet . absolutely re posing . ^ There is no such rest here—Markham would be enterprisin or casting up his accounts ; Edwardes would rise to ascertain t \ F species of mantis that" had strayed into his hair ; Con way would h ° reconciling his convictions and his conduct ; Yseult her divine sen ° which seeks truth by the direct path , with her experiences and h ^ suspicions . Yet , I say , there would be repose , for-Walter ' has-to * much of the great spirit of art in him to supersede life by labour- ^ which is execution without inception ; and with Margaret repose is absolute as action . s

    Still we have had at least physical rest—suspense of compelled action . We have been able to watch the passing day , and to be wit nesses of the daily duty of the plants which toil not , neither do thev spin . ¦ . ' J " Nor yet , " said Markham , "do they pay poor-rates ; " for I had attempted to silence his obtrusive commerce by holding up to him the example of a young acacia , which did its mission most perfectly without spoiling its digestion by thoughts of business . " But you are mistaken , " said Edwardes , " if you suppose that the tree itself is absolutely quiescent at any time—at least not at this season . To say nothing of the circulation of the sap , the leaves —"

    " And doesn ' t your sap circulate , Mr . Edwardes / ' asked Julie " without your telling it , or taking thought for it ? " ' What is it , Elena , which makes us men know so much pleasure in witnessing the exercise of power in women , especially when it is conscious ? I could draw you a useful contrast between the three women of our party , or between them and you , and show you the same truth in all its forms , never failing of the test . Here is Julie—is she lovely , or is she not ? I cannot f . pll . At .. all pvptits Kri ^ lit OD o c ^« :. ~ . ' or is she not ? I cannot tell . At all eventsbriht as spring

    , , g a morn and to all of us seen in a different light . As a brother , I am proud to see how her pretty audacity compels a willing submission . Edwardes doats upon all she does in an undisguised , disinterested admiration ; Markham is as proud of his own slavery as if it were his most unmixed success , and often leaves her " quiproquos" unretorted , through sheer , gaping delight . To Walter she is but a " subject , " and yet he shows for her that affection which the true artist always feels for a perfect type . Were she , indeed , tyrannical or unkind , she would abate her

    power ; but her caprices are seized as opportunities which her servants delight to enjoy . Margaret—as different from Julie as the purple grapola hanging darkly under its broad leaf from the bright , light , white-and-red cherry dancing in a gusty sunlight—who so seldom speaks , speaks the more seldom because each one of us anticipates the wish of her very eye . This I understand . There is something so perfectly simple in all she does , that it is as a final truth . Whether it is her love for Walter , her love , deep and reverential almost , yet so strangely protecting towards Yseult : or her frank friendship for the rest of us , her motives , her acts , her language , her aspect , are as plain and direct as the movements of the elements . When she speaks , I believe they all feel , as I do , that although her words do not labour out her intent , there is no more than that which sho . desires to

    understand—no reservation , no after-thought . As for Yseult , I can speak less critically . There is none of Julie ' s unstudied coquetry about her—not a trace ; far less of Margaret ' s grave self-possession ; infinitely more of emotion , wlaeh will not be concealed , although it tries to disguise itself . Perhaps , universally , a respect is shown to'her more solicitous , more tender , than to cither of tho other two . How anarchical must ho tho state of society which places perplexity athwart the path of such a woman I It is thoughts such as these that keop me from repose , and in ono way or other they corao out . Depraved by long absence from Valperduta , I have fallen into the incessant critical habit of " thinking " men in this unhappy land .

    "It is , ' said Con way , " not tho fault of society that we aro in tho disturbed condition of our transition state , but tho impatience of reformers . They tear open tho rosebud , and it will not bloom for tliem . " " They cut tho flower from its stalk , " I said , " to put it in bouquets and jars , and it withers . "

    " bay rather , " said Edwardes , "that they do not study tho scionco of culture—< lo not calculate the laws , or live upon system . " " As tho flowers do J" < 51 . j 0 ( l Jnlio . " As tho ilowors do , " retorted Edwardes , doggedly . .. "How well he knows 1 Ho . speaks with all tho sa' -c oxporieuco of a cabbage ! " . * ° l

    Mlwardcfl is right , * « aid Con way ; " wo must study the laws ami ivo by system ; and till we do wo Khali never attain to happy lift- ' " And m tho nioanwhilo T I asked . "In the ineanwhijo , I supposo / ' said Stanhope , "lifo is to ho suspended . " I fear so , " said Conway , with that melancholy that never failed to mloct othors . " Why then , " cried Julie , « we had bettor not bo , until Mr . Couway and tho gentlemen of snapomlecl animation have settled tho laws upon Which we are to live . 1 declino to exist upon those tonne of annihilation . " *¦

• Citation
  • Leader (1850-1860), Oct. 1, 1853, page 20, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse-os.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/cld_01101853/page/20/