The Press.
London, England, 1858-10-16 00:00:00

THE PRESS, OCTOBER 16, 1858

" going first, but you will follow, and we shall
" meet again; and won't I flap my old wings as I
" see you a-coming through those gates of pearl."
When four years had glided past from his ordi-
nation, Mr. Polehampton discovered that it was
not good for man to be alone, and was fortunate
in finding a help every way meet for him. Three
more years, however, elapsed before prudential
motives permitted him to be united in holy wed.
lock to Emily, youngest daughter of C. B. All-
natt, Esq., of Shrewsbury, and even then he was
only able to do so by accepting a chaplaincy in
the Bengal Presidency. Before starting for the
far East he took his young bride with him on a
pilgrimage to the scenes of his early boyhood,
and " showed Emmie the register-book with one
"of our births on every other page." The letter
in which lie describes his impressions on visiting
the old familiar spots is so beautifully simple and
natural that we cannot deny ourselves the plea-
sure of making an extract :

Sayer pointed out the window which my father made, or
rather began, with a pickaxe. Ile wanted the poor, who
sat under the gallery, to have more light. The church-
wardens said there was enough. My father answered, there
was not. They said there should not be another window;
he said there should. They got peremptory; "upon
which," said Sayer, " Mr. Poleiiampton says, says he,
' Brown, bring me the peck;' and he hits it into the wall,
and picks out four or five great stones ; and says he,
There, now, my boys, I've made a beginning ; you goon;
never mind what anybody says, and do you make a finish
of it.' " So there the window is, and the poor of tireenford
can see to read their Bibles

When we got to the rectory, we found that Mr. Middle-
ton was away, and that his locum Meats was a Mr. Ward,
who had been an East Indian Chaplain for twenty-five years,
and Archdeacon of Bombay. He said he had never had a
headache in twenty-five years' life in India. He gave me
many useful hints, as his wife did Emmie. They let us
ramble all over the house; I had never been up-stairs since
I left the house when I was nine years old, but I knew
every room and every cupboard. It was very interesting to
me ; I could hardly help crying over and over again.
There was the room next to my father's, where we used to
sleep, and through which I remember, first, tuy mother
rushing to Miss Angell on the morning of my father's
death ; and then Alias A. rushing back with her in her grey
dressing-gown. And the school-room, where you would
not let me eat any breakfast that morning; and I, whose
appetite was much as usual, felt rebuked by yon, and
thought that I too ought to feel as you did. The bed in
my mother's room stood in the same place in which I
always remembered it; and it was upon one side of it, in
that place, that I remember kneeling on the bed, and looking
down on my dead father's face. I remember a thousand
things connected with every room; and I would have given
anything to have stopped there hours by myself, but that
could not be. We went into the garden, which was looking
very nice; but I should have liked to stop there too, and
get behind the bushes, where we used to play and make
houses among them, when we were children.
There is here the ring of the genuine metal, and
no sickly attempt at fine writing and sentimen-
talism. After " doing" his native village, he
returned to Eton, and " lionized college, cham-
" ber, the schools, and everything," tiring
"Emmie dreadfully, though she was much in-
" terested." In the evening he met an old ac-
quaintance, and asked him to breakfast the fol-
lowing morning ; and how truly English is the
next remark—" He came and was most agreeable.
"He and Emmie got on capitally together, and
" he would come to Slough with us, and see us
" off by the train." A Frenchmen would have
been frightfully jealous and made a scene out of
this, but the healthy-minded Englishman was
proud to see that his friend appreciated his young
wife and was appreciated by her. His departure
from England was now near at hand, but there
was yet time to pull in a scratch-match at Ox-
ford and to win a pint pewter pot, " the last
" vessel which touched his dying lips." Still
more gratifying was the token of affection and
gratitude he received from his parishioners at St.
Chad's, who presented him with a purse, contain-
ing eighty guineas, and a silver teapot. On the
4th of January, 1855, he took leave for ever of
his native land, and set out on the way to his
new sphere of duties. The commencement of
the voyage was unpropitious. It was the Pera's
first trip, and everything went wrong. One of
the engines broke down entirely, and, the ship
being new, the seams opened through her heavy
rolling in the Bay of Biscay, and for some time
serious apprehension was entertained even by the
experienced captain. However, we may not
pause to quote from Mr. Polehampton's graphic
and interesting letters to his mother, relating the
incidents of the voyage and the impressions
made upon his mind by the strange objects and
novel scenes which daily passed before his eyes.
Suffice it to say that these letters appear a very

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model of familiar epistolary confidences, written
without art, but bearing the imprint of consider-
able powers of observation, a sound judgment, a
warm, genial disposition, and an inflexible recti-
tude of purpose.
Calcutta was finally reached in safety, and fur-
nished materials for an amusing and vivacious
letter to his brother. The journey to Lucknow
and the novelty of his position also gave rise to
much pleasant narrative, and, indeed, to as good
a description of Indian life, as it appears to a
new-comer, as we remember ever to have met
with. Before leaving Calcutta he had " a tre -
mendous pull," which he chronicles with eviden t
satisfaction, although he was " nowhere." He
had started from Bishop's College for the railway
station—but he must tell his own tale :
Dr. Kay had allowed us ample time to get there with the
tide ; but, just as we started it turned, and it does run on
the Hoogley ! We were in a sort of house-boat, like the
Lord Mayor's barge on a very small scale, rowed by eight
men—Hindoos. Well, they made very little way, and I
saw we must be late, unless I worked also. So I took
stroke, and pulled nearly the whsle way to the station—
four miles : tremendous work it was, and such oars! All
our luggage was in the boat, so you may imagine what
work it was. We got to the station to the moment; but
they world not wait for us to have our luggage put in, and
we had to stay in Calcutta for another week. It was a
great bore after my tremendous pull, and coaching the
niggers up to the work as I did.

A padre sahib " coaching niggers" is really very
"shocking " to contemplate ; and that he should
speak of his coloured brethren as " niggers "
Straightlaced readers will, perhaps, sigh or
shudder over this evidence of the natural man,
but the fact is that the epithet " nigger," as
applied to the natives of India, is no more oppro-
bnous than many lavished by parents upon their
own children, and is in some degree analogous to
that of "young monkey," which is current -in
many families in reference to "the boys." But
far other work was in store for the chaplain of
Lucknow, who, by the way, selected that station
in preference to three others, and was congratu-
lated on his good luck. So much for human
prescience ! The present, however, found ample
employment for both mind and body, and nobly
did he exert himself to meet the incessant calls
upon his time. Early and late he was in harness,
and toiled on cheerfully, though terribly over-
weighted. Then the cholera broke out among
the men of her Majesty's 52nd Regiment, and
added to his labours more than even his strong
frame was able to endure. The consequence was
a severe and dangerous illness, during a part of
which he was delirious, and fancied himself dead.
This, his "first real illness," he regarded as
" the most important and the most blessed event "
of his life. It certainly gave rise to some very
beautiful and touching letters, from which we
can make no more than one characteristic ex-
tract :

What babies we are when we are recovering from sick -
ness ! I used to delight so in flowers. Dear Emmie used
to bring two beautiful passion flowers, all wet with dew ,
and put them on a pillow for me to look at every morning,
when I was so weak that I could scarcely lift my bead. She
used to send me passion flowers from the Crescent, before
we were married; so her doing so here had the charm of
bringing back old memories, and so added beauty to the
flowers. Passion flowers are almost the same here as
in England. I used to like to get all the jewellery I could
on the bed, and Emmie's gold bracelet. Anything with
colour in it I delighted in. I fancy it is so
.with all sick
people.
For actual pathos, however, English literature
can produce but few examples to compare with
the letter in which Mr. Polehampton tells of the
birth and death of his first-born, and the un-
speakable anguish of the mother:—
As I walked slowly home by moonlight, I was thinking
how happy I was to have a son, and was saying to myself,
" I have a son," in all the languages I know. On my
arrival at home I found tLe nurse looking very blank ; she
told me the baby had just had a convulsion fit. . . . .
Not liking the nurse's account, and fearing the result of
another fit, if one came on, I baptized the child, calling
him Henry Allnatt. We thought it better not to tell
Emmie of his illness, until the doctor came again. When
he did come, he told me for the first time that the child
had been very delicate from his birth, and that, though be
certainly might get well and live, he thought it very likely
he would not. So, by his advice, I then told Emmie ha
was unwell. She took alarm at once, and was very much
distressed, but soon recovered and became quite composed.
He was in his mother's bed nearly all the
time. I nursed him myself for about an hour by the fire.
I went to sleep, and when I awoke I found our little darling
much quieter, and I thought better; but Emmie did not
think so The nurse took him away from her,
and held him near the tire, and then, after gasping for
breath a little while, he died ! Poor little boy ! I prayed
very earnestly that he might be spared, but it was not to be.
Mrs. Pender carried our little dead lamb back to his ma