the uncommercial traveller- 第27部分

turn　the　horse　loose　when　they　come　to　it；　and　boil　the　pot。　　Bless

the　place；　I　love　the　ashes　of　the　vagabond　fires　that　have

scorched　its　grass！　　What　tramp　children　do　I　see　here；　attired　in

a　handful　of　rags；　making　a　gymnasium　of　the　shafts　of　the　cart；

making　a　feather…bed　of　the　flints　and　brambles；　making　a　toy　of

the　hobbled　old　horse　who　is　not　much　more　like　a　horse　than　any

cheap　toy　would　be！　　Here；　do　I　encounter　the　cart　of　mats　and

brooms　and　baskets　…　with　all　thoughts　of　business　given　to　the

evening　wind　…　with　the　stew　made　and　being　served　out　…　with　Cheap

Jack　and　Dear　Jill　striking　soft　music　out　of　the　plates　that　are

rattled　like　warlike　cymbals　when　put　up　for　auction　at　fairs　and

markets　…　their　minds　so　influenced　（no　doubt）　by　the　melody　of　the

nightingales　as　they　begin　to　sing　in　the　woods　behind　them；　that

if　I　were　to　propose　to　deal；　they　would　sell　me　anything　at　cost

price。　　On　this　hallowed　ground　has　it　been　my　happy　privilege　（let

me　whisper　it）；　to　behold　the　White…haired　Lady　with　the　pink　eyes；

eating　meat…pie　with　the　Giant：　　while；　by　the　hedge…side；　on　the

box　of　blankets　which　I　knew　contained　the　snakes；　were　set　forth

the　cups　and　saucers　and　the　teapot。　　It　was　on　an　evening　in

August；　that　I　chanced　upon　this　ravishing　spectacle；　and　I　noticed

that；　whereas　the　Giant　reclined　half　concealed　beneath　the

overhanging　boughs　and　seemed　indifferent　to　Nature；　the　white　hair

of　the　gracious　Lady　streamed　free　in　the　breath　of　evening；　and

her　pink　eyes　found　pleasure　in　the　landscape。　　I　heard　only　a

single　sentence　of　her　uttering；　yet　it　bespoke　a　talent　for　modest

repartee。　　The　ill…mannered　Giant　…　accursed　be　his　evil　race！　…

had　interrupted　the　Lady　in　some　remark；　and；　as　I　passed　that

enchanted　corner　of　the　wood；　she　gently　reproved　him；　with　the

words；　'Now；　Cobby；'　…　Cobby！　so　short　a　name！　…　'ain't　one　fool

enough　to　talk　at　a　time？'



Within　appropriate　distance　of　this　magic　ground；　though　not　so

near　it　as　that　the　song　trolled　from　tap　or　bench　at　door；　can

invade　its　woodland　silence；　is　a　little　hostelry　which　no　man

possessed　of　a　penny　was　ever　known　to　pass　in　warm　weather。

Before　its　entrance；　are　certain　pleasant；　trimmed　limes；　likewise；

a　cool　well；　with　so　musical　a　bucket…handle　that　its　fall　upon　the

bucket　rim　will　make　a　horse　prick　up　his　ears　and　neigh；　upon　the

droughty　road　half　a　mile　off。　　This　is　a　house　of　great　resort　for

haymaking　tramps　and　harvest　tramps；　insomuch　that　as　they　sit

within；　drinking　their　mugs　of　beer；　their　relinquished　scythes　and

reaping…hooks　glare　out　of　the　open　windows；　as　if　the　whole

establishment　were　a　family　war…coach　of　Ancient　Britons。　　Later　in

the　season；　the　whole　country…side；　for　miles　and　miles；　will　swarm

with　hopping　tramps。　　They　come　in　families；　men；　women；　and

children；　every　family　provided　with　a　bundle　of　bedding；　an　iron

pot；　a　number　of　babies；　and　too　often　with　some　poor　sick　creature

quite　unfit　for　the　rough　life；　for　whom　they　suppose　the　smell　of

the　fresh　hop　to　be　a　sovereign　remedy。　　Many　of　these　hoppers　are

Irish；　but　many　come　from　London。　　They　crowd　all　the　roads；　and

camp　under　all　the　hedges　and　on　all　the　scraps　of　common…land；　and

live　among　and　upon　the　hops　until　they　are　all　picked；　and　the

hop…gardens；　so　beautiful　through　the　summer；　look　as　if　they　had

been　laid　waste　by　an　invading　army。　　Then；　there　is　a　vast　exodus

of　tramps　out　of　the　country；　and　if　you　ride　or　drive　round　any

turn　of　any　road；　at　more　than　a　foot　pace；　you　will　be　bewildered

to　find　that　you　have　charged　into　the　bosom　of　fifty　families；　and

that　there　are　splashing　up　all　around　you；　in　the　utmost

prodigality　of　confusion；　bundles　of　bedding；　babies；　iron　pots；

and　a　good…humoured　multitude　of　both　sexes　and　all　ages；　equally

divided　between　perspiration　and　intoxication。







CHAPTER　XII　…　DULLBOROUGH　TOWN







It　lately　happened　that　I　found　myself　rambling　about　the　scenes

among　which　my　earliest　days　were　passed；　scenes　from　which　I

departed　when　I　was　a　child；　and　which　I　did　not　revisit　until　I

was　a　man。　　This　is　no　uncommon　chance；　but　one　that　befalls　some

of　us　any　day；　perhaps　it　may　not　be　quite　uninteresting　to　compare

notes　with　the　reader　respecting　an　experience　so　familiar　and　a

journey　so　uncommercial。



I　call　my　boyhood's　home　（and　I　feel　like　a　Tenor　in　an　English

Opera　when　I　mention　it）　Dullborough。　　Most　of　us　come　from

Dullborough　who　come　from　a　country　town。



As　I　left　Dullborough　in　the　days　when　there　were　no　railroads　in

the　land；　I　left　it　in　a　stage…coach。　　Through　all　the　years　that

have　since　passed；　have　I　ever　lost　the　smell　of　the　damp　straw　in

which　I　was　packed　…　like　game　…　and　forwarded；　carriage　paid；　to

the　Cross　Keys；　Wood…street；　Cheapside；　London？　　There　was　no　other

inside　passenger；　and　I　consumed　my　sandwiches　in　solitude　and

dreariness；　and　it　rained　hard　all　the　way；　and　I　thought　life

sloppier　than　I　had　expected　to　find　it。



With　this　tender　remembrance　upon　me；　I　was　cavalierly　shunted　back

into　Dullborough　the　other　day；　by　train。　　My　ticket　had　been

previously　collected；　like　my　taxes；　and　my　shining　new　portmanteau

had　had　a　great　plaster　stuck　upon　it；　and　I　had　been　defied　by　Act

of　Parliament　to　offer　an　objection　to　anything　that　was　done　to

it；　or　me；　under　a　penalty　of　not　less　than　forty　shillings　or　more

than　five　pounds；　compoundable　for　a　term　of　imprisonment。　　When　I

had　sent　my　disfigured　property　on　to　the　hotel；　I　began　to　look

about　me；　and　the　first　discovery　I　made；　was；　that　the　Station　had

swallowed　up　the　playing…field。



It　was　gone。　　The　two　beautiful　hawthorn…trees；　the　hedge；　the

turf；　and　all　those　buttercups　and　daisies；　had　given　place　to　the

stoniest　of　jolting　roads：　　while；　beyond　the　Station；　an　ugly　dark

monster　of　a　tunnel　kept　its　jaws　open；　as　if　it　had　swallowed　them

and　were　ravenous　for　more　destruction。　　The　coach　that　had　carried

me　away；　was　melodiously　called　Timpson's　Blue…Eyed　Maid；　and

belonged　to　Timpson；　at　the　coach…office　up…street；　the　locomotive

engine　that　had　brought　me　back；　was　called　severely　No。　97；　and

belonged　to　S。E。R。；　and　was　spitting　ashes　and　hot　water　over　the

blighted　ground。



When　I　had　been　let　out　at　the　platform…door；　like　a　prisoner　whom

his　turnkey　grudgingly　released；　I　looked　in　again　over　the　low

wall；　at　the　scene　of　departed　glories。　　Here；　in　the　haymaking

time；　had　I　been　delivered　from　the　dungeons　of　Seringapatam；　an

immense　pile　（of　haycock）；　by　my　own　countrymen；　the　victorious

British　（boy　next　door　and　his　two　cousins）；　and　had　been

recognised　with　ecstasy　by　my　affianced　one　（Miss　Green）；　who　had

come　all　the　way　from　England　（second　house　in　the　terrace）　to

ransom　me；　and　marry　me。　　Here；　had　I　first　heard　in　confidence；

from　one　whose　father　was　greatly　connected；　being　under

Government；　of　the　existence　of　a　terrible　banditti；　called　'The

Radicals；'　whose　principles　were；　that　the　Prince　Regent　wore

stays；　and　that　nobody　had　a　right　to　any　salary；　and　that　the　army

and　navy　ought　to　be　put　down　…　horrors　at　which　I　trembled　in　my

bed；　after　supplicating　that　the　Radicals　might　be　speedily　taken

and　hanged。　　Here；　too；　had　we；　the　small　boys　of　Boles's；　had　that

cricket　match　against　the　small　boys　of　Coles's；　when　Boles　and

Coles　had　actually　met　upon　the　ground；　and　when；　instead　of

instantly　hitting　out　at　one　another　with　the　utmost　fury；　as　we

had　all　hoped　and　expected；　those　sneaks　had　said　respectively；　'I

hope　Mrs。　Boles　is　well；'　and　'I　hope　Mrs。　Coles　and　the　baby　are

doing　charmingly。'　　Could　it　be　that；　after　all　this；　and　much

more；　the　Playing…field　was　a　Station；　and　No。　97　expectorated

boiling　water　and　redhot　cinders　on　it；　and　the　whole　belonged　by

Act　of　Parliament　to　S。E。R。？



As　it　could　be；　and　was；　I　left　the　place　with　a　heavy　heart　for　a

walk　all　over　the　town。　　And　first　of　Timpson's　up…street。　　When　I

departed　from　Dullborough　in　the　strawy　arms　of　Timpson's　Blue…Eyed

Maid；　Timpson's　was　a　moderate…sized　coach…office　（in　fact；　a

little　coach…office）；　with　an　oval　transparency　in　the　window；

which　looked　beautiful　by　night；　representing　one　of　Timpson's

coaches　in　the　act　of　passing　a　milestone　on　the　London　road　with

great　velocity；　completely　full　inside　and　out；　and　all　the

passengers　dressed　in　the　first　style　of　fashion；　and　enjoying

themselves　tremendously。　　I　found　no　such　place　as　Timpson's　now　…

no　such　bricks　and　rafters；　not　to　mention　the　name　…　no　such

edifice　on　the　teeming　earth。　　Pickford　had　come　and　knocked

Timpson's　down。　　Pickford　had　not　only　knocked　Timpson's　down；　but

had　knocked　two　or　three　houses　down　on　each　side　of　Timpson's；　and

then　had　knocked　the　whole　into　one　great　establishment　with　a　pair

of　big　gates；　in　and　out　of　which；　his　（Pickford's）　waggons　are；　in

these　days；　always　rattling；　with　their　drivers　sitting　up　so　high；

that　they　look　in　at　the　second…floor　windows　of　the　old…fashioned

houses　in　the　High…street　as　they　shake　the　town。　　I　have　not　the

honour　of　Pickford's　acquaintance；　but　I　felt　that　he　had　done　me

an　injury；　not　to　say　committed　an　act　of　boyslaughter；　in　running

over　my　Childhood　in　this　rough　manner；　and　if　ever　I　meet　Pickford

driving　one　of　his　own　monsters；　and　smoking　a　pipe　the　while

（which　is　the　custom　of　his　men）；　he　shall　know　by　the　expression

of　my　eye；　if　it　catches　his；　that　there　is　something　wrong　between

us。



Moreover；　I　felt　that　Pickford　had　no　right　to　come　rushing　into

Dullborough　and　deprive　the　town　of　a　public　picture。　　He　is　not

Napoleon　Bonaparte。　　When　he　took　down　the　transparent　stage…coach；

he　ought　to　have　given　the　town　a　transparent　van。　　With　a　gloomy

conviction　that　Pickford　is　wholly　utilitarian　and　unimaginative；　I

proceeded　on　my　way。



It　is　a　mercy　I　hav