Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone

I had learnt that Mr H – , like many of the Australian wool growers, after having made his fortune in the colonies, had returned to his native land – intending to end his days in London.

I had also learnt that Vane – after that occasion on which he accompanied Cannon and myself, had often revisited the family on the Yarra Yarra; and had become a professed candidate for the hand of Jessie.

In the colony he had received but little encouragement to continue his advances, either from her father or mother. Since their arrival in London, however, Vane had come into possession of some property; and Mr H – had not only listened with favour to his proposals, but was strongly urging his daughter to do the same.

A matrimonial alliance with Vane would have been considered advantageous by most people in the social position of the H – family; and Jessie, like many other young ladies, was likely to be married to a man, who held but a second place in her affections.

Thousands do this, without surrendering themselves to a life of misery; and Jessie H – could scarce be expected to differ from others of her age and sex. In fact, as I soon afterwards learnt, she had yielded to her father’s solicitations, rather than to the suit of the wooer; and had given a reluctant consent to the marriage. It was to take place in about ten days from that time.

I also learnt that Vane and Cannon had quarrelled, before leaving Melbourne. I did not ascertain the exact cause. It was no business of mine; and I did not care to be made acquainted with it. With the conduct of the latter I had some reason to be dissatisfied. He had endeavoured to make use of me, as a means of obtaining revenge against his enemy – Vane.

I could not think of any other object he might have, in bringing me once more into the presence of Jessie.

To a certain extent he had succeeded in his design. Without vanity I could not shut my eyes to the fact of Jessie’s aversion to her marriage with Vane; and I was convinced that, after seeing me, it became stronger.

I was by no means pleased at the idea of being made a cat’s paw for the gratification of Cannon’s revenge; and, next day, when his name was announced at my lodgings, I resolved that that meeting should be our last.

“Mr Cannon,” said I, before he had even seated himself, “will you tell me why you took me to see Jessie H – , when you had reason to believe that neither of us desired to meet the other again?”

“I had no reason for thinking anything of the kind,” replied he. “On the contrary, there was much to make me believe differently. I have a great respect for Mr H – and his family; and I don’t mean to flatter, when I tell you, I have the same for yourself. What harm was there in bringing together those whom I respect? and desire to see friends? But you want some explanation. You shall have it. It is this: – you have seen Vane, and know something about him. I know more of him, than you. He is a conceited, trifling fellow, without the slightest truth or principle in him. True, his society was amusing. I overlooked his faults; and bore with him for a long time. When I saw that he was trying to take advantage of the introduction I had given him to the daughter of my friend – a young lady of whom he is in no sense worthy – I then became his enemy. I acknowledge having taken you to see her in a somewhat surreptitious fashion; and, moreover, that I did it with a design: that of thwarting the intentions of Vane. But I deny having done it as you suppose, because he is my enemy. It was not that; but my friendship to Mr H – , and his family, that induced me to act as I did. While we were on the Yarra Yarra, I could not fail to notice that you were not wholly indifferent to the beauty of Miss H – ; and also, that she had the discernment to see, that you were worthy of her esteem. Where was the harm, then, in my bringing you once more together? You are mistaken in thinking, that I was using you to give annoyance to an enemy. On the contrary, I claim to have been only guilty of studying the happiness of my friends.”

To Cannon’s explanation I could make no answer. He was better in an argument than I; and what he had said, left me without any reason to believe, that he knew either of Jessie’s being engaged to Vane, or that their marriage was shortly to take place. From his point of view, I could not much blame him for what he had done.

I had received Cannon with the resolve to have nothing more to do with him, after our interview should end; but he had given me a fair explanation of his conduct, and we parted without any ill-will.

I had promised to call again upon Jessie. It was after my last visit to her, that I had learnt of her approaching marriage with Vane; and, on receiving this intelligence, I regretted having made the promise. I had two reasons for regretting it. To see her again could only add to her unhappiness; and perhaps to me might be a cause of self-reproach.

Nothing but sorrow could spring from our again seeing one another – a sorrow that might be mutual – and, in spite of the promise I had given, I determined we should meet no more.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Six.

Mrs Nagger

My brother William had rented a house in Brompton, engaged two female servants, and commenced house-keeping after the manner of most Londoners.

In his house I was permitted to occupy two apartments – a parlour, and bed-room.

The servant, who attended to these rooms, possessed a character, marked by some peculiarities that were rather amusing. She was over fifty years of age; and carried about the house a face that most people would have considered unpleasant.

I did not. I only believed that Mrs Nagger – such was her name – might have experienced several disappointments in her life; and that the expression, caused by the latest and last of them, had become so indelibly stamped upon her features, as not to be removed by any hope of future happiness.

Like a good many of her sex, Mrs Nagger’s tongue was seldom at rest, though the words she uttered were but few, and generally limited to the exclamatory phrase, “More’s the pity!” followed by the confession, “That’s all I can say.”

I had, sometimes, cause to complain of the coffee, which the old housekeeper used to set before me – fancying it inferior to any, I had met elsewhere.

“Mrs Nagger,” I would say – laying an emphasis on the Mrs, of which she seemed no little vain – “I do not think this is coffee at all. What do you suppose it to be?”

“Indeed I don’t know, sir; and more’s the pity!”

“And this milk,” I would continue, “I fancy it must have been taken from an iron-tailed cow.”

“Yes, sir; and more’s the pity! That’s all I can say.”

I soon learnt that the old creature was quite right in her simple confession. “More’s the pity” was about all she could say; and I was not sorry that it was so.

One day I was honoured by a visit from Cannon, who, being some years older than myself, and having rather an elevated opinion of his own wisdom, volunteered to offer me a little advice.

“Stone,” said he, “why don’t you settle down, and live happily like your brother? If I had your opportunity of doing so, I wouldn’t put up with the miserable life I am leading, a week longer.”

“What opportunity do you speak of?”

“Why that of marrying Jessie H – . Do not think me meddlesome, or impertinent. I take it for granted that you and I are sufficiently acquainted for me to take the liberty I am doing. The girl likes you; I know it, and it is a deuced shame to see a fine girl like her thrown away on such a puppy as Vane. Why don’t you save her? She is everything a man could wish for – although she is a little different from most of the young ladies of London. In my opinion, she’s all the better for that.”

In thus addressing me, Cannon acted in a more ungentlemanly manner than I had ever known him to do, for he was not a man to intrude advice upon his friends – especially on matters of so serious a nature, as the one he had introduced.

Believing him to have some friendship for myself, more for the H – family, and a great antipathy to Vane, I listened to him without feeling offended.

“I am not insensible to the attractions of Miss H – ,” said I, “but the happiness, you speak of, can never be mine.”

“Oh! I understand you,” rejoined he. “You have been disappointed in love by some one else? So was I, once on a time – madly in love with a girl who married another, whom I suppose she liked better than me. At first I thought of committing suicide; but was prevented – I suppose, by fear. I was afflicted with very unpleasant thoughts, springing from this disappointment. They stuck to me for nearly three years. I got over them last, and I’ll tell you how. I accidentally met the object of my affections. She was the mother of two rosy, apple-cheeked children; and presented a personal appearance that immediately disenchanted me. She was nearly as broad as she was long. I wondered how the deuce I could ever have been such a fool as to love the woman – more especially to have made myself so miserable about her. If you have been disappointed in the same manner, take my advice, and seek the remedy that restored me.”

Absurd as Cannon’s proposition might appear, I could not help thinking that there was some philosophy in it; and, without telling him of my intention, I determined on giving it further consideration.

To change the conversation, I rang the bell. I knew that Cannon was fond of a glass of Scotch whiskey; and, when Mrs Nagger made her appearance, I requested her to bring a bottle of Glenlivet into the room – along with some hot water and sugar. The “materials” were produced; and we proceeded to mixing the “toddy.”

“This is the right brand,” said Cannon, taking up the bottle, and scrutinising its label, “the very sort to my taste.”

I could see the lips of Mrs Nagger slightly moving; and I knew that she was muttering the words, “more’s the pity!” I have no doubt that she suffered a little at being deprived of the opportunity of giving her one idea a more audible manifestation.

Cannon did not suffer from any disappointment as to the quality of the liquor. At all events, he appeared to find it to his liking: for he became so exhilarated over it, that he did not leave until sunset; and not then, till he had prevailed upon me to accompany him – with the understanding, that we should spend the evening together.

“What’s the use of your living in London,” he asked, “if you stay all the time within doors? You appear even less inclined to see a little life, than when I met you in Melbourne. Why is it, Stone?”

“Because I came here to rest myself. A life spent in labour, has given me but few opportunities of acquiring that knowledge, that may be obtained from books; and now that I have a little leisure given me, I wish to make a good use of it.”

“That’s a very sensible design, no doubt,” said Cannon, “but you must not follow it to-night. Come along with me; and I’ll show you something of London.”

I consented to accompany Cannon – on the condition of his taking me to some place where I could be amused in a quiet, simple manner – any spectacle suitable to a sailor, or gold-digger, and at which there might be no disgrace in being present.

“Take me to some place,” said I, “that is neither too high nor too low. Let me see, or hear something I can understand – something that is popular with the majority of Londoners; so that I may be able to form an idea of their tastes and habits.”

“All right,” answered Cannon, “I’ll take you to several places of the sort; and you can judge for yourself. You wish to witness the amusements most popular among, what might be called, the middle classes? Well, we shall first visit a concert hall, or music room. The Londoners profess to be a musical people; and it must be admitted that much, both of their time and money, is expended in listening to vocal and instrumental performances. It is in the theatres and music halls, that one may best meet the people of London – not the very lowest class of them; but those who profess, and fancy themselves up to a high standard of civilisation. Come on!”

Yielding myself to the guidance of my sage companion, I followed him into the street.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Seven.

London Concert Singers

It was about nine o’clock in the evening, when we entered, what Cannon called, one of the most “respectable music halls” in London.

I discovered the “entertainment” to consist of one or more persons standing upon a stage, before a large assemblage of people, and screaming in such a manner, that not a word could be understood of the subject, about which they were supposed to be singing!

To make secure, against any chance of a sensible sound reaching the ears of the audience, several instruments of music were being played at the same time; and the combined effect of the screams, yells, moans, groans, and other agonising noises proceeding from both singers and musicians, nearly drove me distracted.

When an act of this “entertainment,” was over; and the creatures producing it were on the point of retiring, the entire audience commenced clapping their hands, stamping their feet on the floor, and making other ridiculous demonstrations. In my simplicity, I fancied that this fracas arose from their satisfaction at getting rid of the hideous screaching that had come from the stage. I was told, however, that I was mistaken in this; and I afterwards learnt, that the clapping of hands and stamping of feet were intended to express the pleasure of the audience at what had been causing me positive pain!

I could see that these people had really been amused, or pretended that such had been the case; and I fervently prayed, that I should never be afflicted with the “refinement” that could cause me to take an interest in the exhibition which appeared to have amused them.

While the storm of applause was raging, a man would spring up, and announce the name of the next performer, or performers – though not a word of what he said could be heard. During this “intellectual” entertainment, the audience were urged to give orders for refreshments, which were served to them by men moving about in “hammer-claw coats” and white “chokers.”

For the “refreshments” partaken of, an exorbitant price was charged; and then something had to be paid to the ghoul-like creatures who placed them before you.

So enlightened are the people of the world’s metropolis, that a man is expected to fee the waiter who sets his dinner before him.

An unenlightened people, who live far away from London, are such fools, as to think that when a dinner is ordered, the proprietor of the place is under some obligation to have it set on the table; but Londoners have reached a pitch of refinement – in the art of extortion and begging – that has conducted them to a different belief.

After staying in the “music hall” about an hour – and becoming thoroughly disgusted both with actors and audience – I succeeded in persuading my friend to take me away.

Our next visit was to a “tavern,” where we were shown into a large parlour, full of people, though it was some time before I became certain of this fact, by the tobacco smoke that filled the apartment.

In this place also, part of the entertainment consisted of singing, though none of the singers were engaged professionally. A majority of those present, seemed to be acquainted with one another; and those who could sing, either volunteered, or sung at the request of the “company.” A man sitting at the head of a long table, officiated as “chairman,” and by knocking on the table with a small ivory hammer, gave notice when a song was to commence, at the same time commanding silence.

In this place, we actually heard songs sung in good taste, and with much feeling, for it was possible to understand both the words and the music. On leaving this tavern we repaired to another; and gained admission into the “parlour.” We found it filled with linen draper’s assistants, and other “counter jumpers.”

Their principal amusement appeared to be, that of trying which could use the greatest quantity of slang and obscene language. It had been raining, as we entered the house; and a young man – too elaborately dressed to be a gentleman – who came in after us, reported to the rest of the company, that it was “raining like old boots.”

Another well-dressed young man entertained the company with the important intelligence, that as soon as it should cease raining, he intended to “be off like a shot.”

The individuals assembled in this tavern parlour, had a truly snobbish appearance. Their conversation was too obscene to be repeated, yet every sentence of ribaldry was received by the company with shouts of laughter!

My companion and I stayed but a few minutes among them. On going out from this place, we resolved to separate for the night, as I was quite satisfied with what I had seen of metropolitan amusements.

There are many disagreeable peculiarities about London life. It is the only place visited by me in all my wanderings, in which I had seen women insulted in the streets, and where I had been almost every day disgusted by listening to low language.

London, for all this, offers many advantages as a home. The latest and earliest news, from all parts of the world, is there to be obtained, as well as almost everything else – even good bread and coffee – if one will only take the trouble to search for them.

My brother had made London his home. It was the wish of his wife – backed by that of her mother – that he should do so. This resolution on his part, produced in my mind some unmanly envy; and perhaps a little discontent.

Why could fortune not have been equally kind to me, and linked my fate with Lenore. I had wandered widely over the world, and wished to wander no more. Had fate been kind, I might have found a happy home, even in London. But it was not to be; and I might seek for such in vain – in London, as elsewhere.

Might I not be mistaken? Might I not follow the counsel of Cannon with profit? By once more looking upon Lenore, might I not see something to lessen my misery?

The experiment was worth the trial. It was necessary for me to do something to vary the monotony of existence. Why not pay a visit to Lenore?

Why not once more look upon her; and, perhaps as Cannon had said, “get disenchanted.” By so doing, I might still save Jessie, and along with her myself.

Why was the presence of Jessie less attractive than the memory of Lenore? She was not less beautiful. She was, perhaps, even more gentle and truthful; and I believed no one could love me more. Why then should I not follow Cannon’s advice? Ah! such struggles of thought availed me nothing. They could not affect my resolution of returning to Australia. The more I reasoned, the more did I become convinced, that I loved only one – only Lenore!

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Eight.

A “Blessed Baby.”

I am afflicted by a mental peculiarity, which seems to be hereditary in my family. It is my fate to form attachments, that will not yield to circumstances, and cannot be subdued by any act of volition; attachments, in short, that are terminated only by death. Among the individuals of our family, this peculiarity has sometimes proved a blessing – at other times a misfortune. Such an infatuation for Mr Leary existed in the mind of my mother. It had been cured only by her death. My sister and brother had experienced a similar regard for the respective objects of their affection. In the case of both it appeared to have led to a blessing. I had been less fortunate than they; and perhaps not more so than my departed mother: for the memories of a young girl, met in early life, had blighted all my hopes, and chilled the aspirations of my youthful manhood.

It may seem strange that a young man who had seen something of the world – and gathered gold enough to enable him to meet the demands of every day life – should find any difficulty in choosing a wife. Perhaps I may be understood, when I state that I was unable to act as most men would have done in a similar situation. The idea of my being united to any other than Lenore, seemed to me something like sacrilege – a crime, I could neither contemplate nor commit.

This condition of mind was, in all probability, mere foolishness on my part; but I could neither help, nor control it. A man may have something to do in the shaping of his thoughts; but in general they are free from any act of volition; and my inability to conquer the affection I had formed for Lenore Hyland – from whatever source it proceeded – had been proved by long years of unsuccessful trying. My will had been powerless to effect this object.

I had once been astonished at the conduct of my mother. Her long-felt affection for Mr Leary had appeared to me the climax of human folly. After all, was it any greater than my own? I was a young man, possessing many advantages for a life of happiness. Thousands might have envied my chances. Yet I was not happy; and never likely to be. I was afflicted with an attachment that produced only misery – as hopelessly afflicted, as ever my poor mother had been; and that, too, for one whom it was wrong in me to love, since she was now the wife of another.

In one thing, it might be supposed, that I had the advantage of my unfortunate mother. I had the satisfaction of knowing, that my love had been bestowed upon a worthy object. For all this, my happiness was as effectually ruined – as had been my mother’s, by an affection for the most worthless of men!

I believed myself to have been very unfortunate in life. The reader may not think so; but I can assure him, that the person who imagines himself unhappy, really is so – whether there be a true cause for it, or not. Call it by what name you will, folly, or misfortune – neither or both – my greatest pleasure was in permitting my thoughts to stray back to the happy hours I once spent in the society of Lenore; and my greatest sorrow was to reflect, that she was lost to me for ever!

My determination to return to Australia became fixed at length; and there seemed nothing to prevent me from at once carrying it into effect. Something whispered me, however, that before going to the other side of the world, I should once again look upon Lenore.

I knew not what prompted me to this resolve, for it soon became such. Cannon’s counsel might have had something to do with it; but it was not altogether that. I was influenced by a higher motive.

I had heard that after her marriage, her husband had taken her to reside in London. I presumed, therefore, that she was in London at that moment; but, for any chance that there would be of my finding her, she might as well have been in the centre of the Saharan desert. I had no clue to her address – not the slightest. I did not even know the name of the man she had married. The steward, who at Sydney had told me the news, did not give the name; and at the time I was too terribly affected to think of asking it. It is true that I might have found her by advertising in the papers; but the circumstances were such, as to forbid my resorting to such means as that. I only desired to see her – not to speak to her. Nothing could have tempted me to exchange a word with her. I wished but to gaze once more upon her incomparable beauty – before betaking myself to a place where the opportunity could never occur again.

I thought of Cannon’s conversation – of his plan for becoming disenchanted; but I had not the slightest idea, that, in my case, it would prove successful.

While reflecting, on how I might find Lenore, a happy idea came to my aid. She had lived in Liverpool – she had been married there. I was acquainted with some of Mrs Hyland’s friends, who must still be in Liverpool. Surely they would know the name and address of the young lady, who was once Lenore Hyland? It would only cost me a journey to Liverpool – with some disagreeable souvenirs, to spring up in my mind while there – but my reward would be to gaze once again upon the beauty of Lenore.

I had seen in the papers, that Captain Nowell’s vessel was to sail for Melbourne in a few days. I was pleased at this information: for I intended to take passage with him; and might anticipate a more pleasant voyage, than if I went with a stranger.

Before setting out for Liverpool, I wrote a note to Captain Nowell – informing him of my intention to go out in his ship; and requesting him to keep for me one of the best berths of his cabin. This business settled, I took the train for the metropolis of Lancashire. I was not over satisfied with myself while starting on this journey. I was troubled with a suspicion, that I was doing a very foolish thing. My conscience, however, became quieted by the reflection that it was of very little consequence, either to myself, or any one else, whether I went to Liverpool, or stayed in London. I was alone in the world – a rolling stone – and why should I not follow the guidance of my destiny?