father and son-第4部分

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everely；　and　told　me　it　was　wicked。　From　that　time　forth　I　considered　that　to　invent　a　story　of　any　kind　was　a　sin。　But　the　desire　to　do　so　was　too　deeply　rooted　in　my　affections　to　be　resisted　in　my　own　strength　＇she　was　at　that　time　nine　years　of　age＇；　and　unfortunately　I　knew　neither　my　corruption　nor　my　weakness；　nor　did　I　know　where　to　gain　strength。　The　longing　to　invent　stories　grew　with　violence；　everything　I　heard　or　read　became　food　for　my　distemper。　The　simplicity　of　truth　was　not　sufficient　for　me；　I　must　needs　embroider　imagination　upon　it；　and　the　folly；　vanity　and　wickedness　which　disgraced　my　heart　are　snore　than　I　am　able　to　express。　Even　now　＇at　the　age　of　twenty…nine＇；　tho'　watched；　prayed　and　striven　against；　this　is　still　the　sin　that　most　easily　besets　me。　It　has　hindered　my　prayers　and　prevented　my　improvement；　and　therefore；　has　humbled　me　very　much。

This　is；　surely；　a　very　painful　instance　of　the　repression　of　an　instinct。　There　seems　to　have　been；　in　this　case；　a　vocation　such　as　is　rarely　heard；　and　still　less　often　wilfully　disregarded　and　silenced。　Was　my　Mother　intended　by　nature　to　be　a　novelist？　I　have　often　thought　so；　and　her　talents　and　vigour　of　purpose；　directed　along　the　line　which　was　ready　to　form　'the　chief　pleasure　of　her　life'；　could　hardly　have　failed　to　conduct　her　to　great　success。　She　was　a　little　younger　than　Bulwer　Lytton；　a　little　older　than　Mrs　Gaskellbut　these　are　vain　and　trivial　speculations！

My　own　state；　however；　was；　I　should　think；　almost　unique　among　the　children　of　cultivated　parents。　In　consequence　of　the　stern　ordinance　which　I　have　described；　not　a　single　fiction　was　read　or　told　to　me　during　my　infancy。　The　rapture　of　the　child　who　delays　the　process　of　going　to　bed　by　cajoling　'a　story'　out　of　his　mother　or　his　nurse；　as　he　sits　upon　her　knee；　well　tucked　up；　at　the　corner　of　the　nursery　fire　this　was　unknown　to　me。　Never　in　all　my　early　childhood　did　anyone　address　to　me　the　affecting　preamble；　'Once　upon　a　time！'　I　was　told　about　missionaries；　but　never　about　pirates；　I　was　familiar　with　hummingbirds；　but　I　had　never　heard　of　fairies　Jack　the　Giant…　Killer；　Rumpelstiltskin　and　Robin　Hood　were　not　of　my　acquaintance；　and　though　I　understood　about　wolves；　Little　Red　Ridinghood　was　a　stranger　even　by　name。　So　far　as　my　'dedication'　was　concerned；　I　can　but　think　that　my　parents　were　in　error　thus　to　exclude　the　imaginary　from　my　outlook　upon　facts。　They　desired　to　make　me　truthful；　the　tendency　was　to　make　me　positive　and　sceptical。　Had　they　wrapped　me　in　the　soft　folds　of　supernatural　fancy；　my　mind　might　have　been　longer　content　to　follow　their　traditions　in　an　unquestioning　spirit。

Having　easily　said　what；　in　those　early　years；　I　did　not　read；　I　have　great　difficulty　in　saying　what　I　did　read。　But　a　queer　variety　of　natural　history；　some　of　it　quite　indigestible　by　my　undeveloped　mind；　many　books　of　travels；　mainly　of　a　scientific　character；　among　them　voyages　of　discovery　in　the　South　Seas；　by　which　my　brain　was　dimly　filled　with　splendour；　some　geography　and　astronomy；　both　of　them　sincerely　enjoyed；　much　theology；　which　I　desired　to　appreciate　but　could　never　get　my　teeth　into　（if　I　may　venture　to　say　so）；　and　over　which　my　eye　and　tongue　learned　to　slip　without　penetrating；　so　that　I　would　read；　and　read　aloud；　and　with　great　propriety　of　emphasis；　page　after　page　without　having　formed　an　idea　or　retained　an　expression。　There　was；　for　instance；　a　writer　on　prophecy　called　Jukes；　of　whose　works　each　of　my　parents　was　inordinately　fond；　and　I　was　early　set　to　read　Jukes　aloud　to　them。　I　did　it　glibly；　like　a　machine；　but　the　sight　of　Jukes'　volumes　became　an　abomination　to　me；　and　I　never　formed　the　outline　of　a　notion　what　they　were　about。　Later　on；　a　publication　called　The　Penny　Cyclopaedia　became　my　daily；　and　for　a　long　time　almost　my　sole　study；　to　the　subject　of　this　remarkable　work　I　may　presently　return。

It　is　difficult　to　keep　anything　like　chronological　order　in　recording　fragments　of　early　recollection；　and　in　speaking　of　my　reading　I　have　been　led　too　far　ahead。　My　memory　does　not；　practically；　begin　till　we　returned　from　certain　visits；　made　with　a　zoological　purpose；　to　the　shores　of　Devon　and　Dorset；　and　settled；　early　in　my　fifth　year；　in　a　house　at　Islington；　in　the　north　of　London。　Our　circumstances　were　now　more　easy；　my　Father　had　regular　and　well…paid　literary　work；　and　the　house　was　larger　and　more　comfortable　than　ever　before；　though　still　very　simple　and　restricted。　My　memories；　some　of　which　are　exactly　dated　by　certain　facts；　now　become　clear　and　almost　abundant。　What　I　do　not　remember；　except　from　having　it　very　often　repeated　to　me；　is　what　may　be　considered　the　only　'clever'　thing　that　I　said　during　an　otherwise　unillustrious　childhood。　It　was　not　startlingly　'clever'；　but　it　may　pass。　A　ladywhen　I　was　just　fourrather　injudiciously　showed　me　a　large　print　of　a　human　skeleton；　saying；　'There！　you　don't　know　what　that　is；　do　you？'　Upon　which；　immediately　and　very　archly；　I　replied；　'Isn't　it　a　man　with　the　meat　off？'　This　was　thought　wonderful；　and；　as　it　is　supposed　that　I　had　never　had　the　phenomenon　explained　to　me；　it　certainly　displays　some　quickness　in　seizing　an　analogy。　I　had　often　watched　my　Father；　while　he　soaked　the　flesh　off　the　bones　of　fishes　and　small　mammals。　If　I　venture　to　repeat　this　trifle；　it　is　only　to　point　out　that　the　system　on　which　I　was　being　educated　deprived　all　things；　human　life　among　the　rest；　of　their　mystery。　The　'bare…grinning　skeleton　of　death'　was　to　me　merely　a　prepared　specimen　of　that　featherless　plantigrade　vertebrate；　'homo　sapiens'。

As　I　have　said　that　this　anecdote　was　thought　worth　repeating；　I　ought　to　proceed　to　say　that　there　was；　so　far　as　I　can　recollect；　none　of　that　flattery　of　childhood　which　is　so　often　merely　a　backhanded　way　of　indulging　the　vanity　of　parents。　My　Mother；　indeed；　would　hardly　have　been　human　if　she　had　not　occasionally　entertained　herself　with　the　delusion　that　her　solitary　duckling　was　a　cygnet。　This　my　Father　did　not　encourage；　remarking；　with　great　affection；　and　chucking　me　under　the　chin；　that　I　was　'a　nice　little　ordinary　boy'。　My　Mother；　stung　by　this　want　of　appreciation；　would　proceed　so　far　as　to　declare　that　she　believed　that　in　future　times　the　F。R。S；　would　be　chiefly　known　as　his　son's　father！　（This　is　a　pleasantry　frequent　in　professional　families。）

To　this　my　Father；　whether　convinced　or　not；　would　make　no　demur；　and　the　couple　would　begin　to　discuss；　in　my　presence；　the　direction　which　my　shining　talents　would　take。　In　consequence　of　my　dedication　to　'the　Lord's　Service'；　the　range　of　possibilities　was　much　restricted。　My　Father；　who　had　lived　long　in　the　Tropics；　and　who　nursed　a　perpetual　nostalgia　for　'the　little　lazy　isles　where　the　trumpet…orchids　blow'；　leaned　towards　the　field　of　missionary　labour。　My　Mother；　who　was　cold　about　foreign　missions；　preferred　to　believe　that　I　should　be　the　Charles　Wesley　of　my　age；　'or　perhaps'；　she　had　the　candour　to　admit；　'merely　the　George　Whitefield'。　I　cannot　recollect　the　time　when　I　did　not　understand　that　I　was　going　to　be　a　minister　of　the　Gospel。

It　is　so　generally　taken　for　granted　that　a　life　strictly　dedicated　to　religion　is　stiff　and　dreary；　that　I　may　have　some　difficulty　in　persuading　my　readers　that；　as　a　matter　of　fact；　in　these　early　days　of　my　childhood；　before　disease　and　death　had　penetrated　to　our　slender　society；　we　were　always　cheerful　and　often　gay。　My　parents　were　playful　with　one　another；　and　there　were　certain　stock　family　jests　which　seldom　failed　to　enliven　the　breakfast　table。　My　Father　and　Mother　lived　so　completely　in　the　atmosphere　of　faith；　and　were　so　utterly　convinced　of　their　intercourse　with　God；　that；　so　long　as　that　intercourse　was　not　clouded　by　sin；　to　which　they　were　delicately　sensitive；　they　could　afford　to　take　the　passing　hour　very　lightly。　They　would　even；　to　a　certain　extent；　treat　the　surroundings　of　their　religion　as　a　subject　of　jest；　joking　very　mildly　and　gently　about　such　things　as　an　attitude　at　prayer　or　the　nature　of　a　supplication。　They　were　absolutely　indifferent　to　forms。　They　prayed；　seated　in　their　chairs；　as　willingly　as；　reversed；　upon　their　knees；　no　ritual　having　any　significance　for　them。　My　Mother　was　sometimes　extremely　gay；　laughing　with　a　soft；　merry　sound。　What　I　have　since　been　told　of　the　guileless　mirth　of　nuns　in　a　convent　has　reminded　me　of　the　gaiety　of　my　parents　during　my　early　childhood。

So　long　as　I　was　a　mere　part　of　them；　without　individual　existence；　and　swept　on；　a　satellite；　in　their　atmosphere；　I　was　mirthful　when　they　were　mirthful；　and　grave　when　they　were　grave。　The　mere　fact　that　I　had　no　young　companions；　no　storybooks；　no　outdoor　amusements；　none　of　the　thousand　and　one　employments　provided　for　other　children　in　more　conventional　surroundings；　did　not　make　me　discontented　or　fretful；　because　I　did　not　know　of　the　existence　of　such　entertainments。　In　exchange；　I　became　keenly　attentive　to　the　limited　circle　of　interests　open　to　me。　Oddly　enough；　I　have　no　recollection　of　any　curiosity　about　other　children；　nor　of　any　desire　to　speak　to　them　or　play　with　them。　They　did　not　enter　into　my　dreams；　which　were　occupied　entirely　with　grown…up　people　and　animals。　I　had　three　dolls；　to　whom　my　attitude　was　not　very　intelligible。　Two　of　these　were　female；　one　with　a　shapeless　face　of　rags；　the　other　in　wax。　But；　in　my　fifth　year；　when　the　Crimean　War　broke　out；　I　was　given　a　third　doll；　a　soldier；　dressed　very　smartly　in　a　scarlet　cloth　tunic。　I　used　to　put　the　dolls　on　three　chairs；　and　harangue　them　aloud；　but　my　sentiment　to　them　was　never　confidential；　until　our　maid…servant　one　day；　intruding　on　my　audience；　and　misunderstanding　the　occasion　of　it；　said：　'What？　a　boy；　and　playing　with　a　soldier　when　he's　got　two　lady…dolls　to　play　with？'　I　had　never　thought　of　my　dolls　as　confidants　before；　but　from　that　time　forth　I　paid　a　special　attention　to　the　soldier；　in　order　to　make　up　to　him　for　Lizzie's　unwarrantable　insult。

The　declaration　of　war　with　Russia　brought　the　first　breath　of　outside　life　into　our　Calvinist　cloister。　My　parents　took　in　a　daily　newspaper；　which　they　had　never　done　before；　and　events　in