New national era. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1870-1874, 1872-11-28
UNDER THE BEAM.
From All the Year Round.l

this day, at the age OF SlXty-thrce, OF tramp
ing about from place to place as when first
began to feel my legs, and when certain
independence gave me the freedom to use
them as pleased. Not as mere pedestrian
do 1 take my walks abroad, (though have
done my thirty-five miles in day when ne
cessary,) bnt because / have been Of an
inquiring turn of mind, liking to see for my
self as much as possible, at home and abroad,
the ways of men and cities. Not as mere
superficial observer either Gf may say it
myself have l trampcd these many years up
and down the world. have always watched
with as much interest the workings Of social,
commercial, and political Institutions as l
have the outer aspect of people, things, and
places; making thorough acquaintance with
the varied conditions of my kind, as circum-
stances or the country's laws may beget
them.
Thus churches, museums, picture galleries,
and the rest of the hackneyed sights Of a
capital or district, never quite satisfy my in
quisitive disposition. /, forsoOth, must push
my personal experiences into courts of JUS
tice, national assemblies, parliaments, and
so forth; the interior of dockyards, manufac-
tories, prisons, lunatic asylums, hospitals,
warehouses;, institutions for the blind, deaf,
and dumb-in n word, like the oft-quoted
French sapeur, nothing to me was sacred.
Equally attractive, too, have ever been the
beauties ofnaturc. These, under every phase
and aspect, have employed as fair share of
my attention and enthusiasm as have the
abodes of men. The solitudes Of mountains,
forests, or the seashOre have had equal
charms, in their turn, with the hum and bus
tie Of commercial centres and 1 believe I
have appreciated, with the enthusiasm of o
painter, all the glories of form and color
which nature displays, with such prodigal
hands, to those who have the eye to appre-
ciate and the heart to feel them.
But must stay my pen; 1t is not, fOrtu-
nately for the reader, to give an account of
my personal predictions that have taken
it up; only this much about myself it has
been necessary to say, for the understanding
of what is to follow. Naturally some amount
of adventure must have resulted from such
life some episodes, serious and comic, that
may be more or less worth the telling. To
tell of the most serious, however, of all that
ever befell me, is the purpose of this present
writing-so serious, indeed, that there was
well-nigh chance of its having brought my
nomadic existence to a premature and igno-
BILE close. Very horrible was that time, and
1 shall never cease to look back at it with
shudder, though nearly thirty years have
passed since then.
Well, it was the merry month of July, and
upon gorse and bramble-covered eminence
Overhanging q certain retired little fishing
town on our southwestern coast, sat an
artist, hard at work at his easel. Sheltered
by his white umbrella from the rays of the
fierce but declining sun, absorbed in the
portrayal of the lovely landscape before him,
he failed to observe the nOiseless approach of
a strOlling pedestrian. This latter, however,
did not (as he at first felt inclined) 60 up and
boldly examine the sketch, but flung himself
down at little distance, end thence cOntem-
plated, as his strong eyesight enabled him to
do, the aspect of the painter himself; for
there was something peculiar about him, at
once fascinating and disagreeable fascinat-
ing, because he was young, good-looking,
wild, and enthusiastic; dsagreeable, because
his appearance conjured up some unpleasant
and at the same time untraceable remnis-
ccnce. Where had seen him before?
This was the question that interested me, so
soon as came close enough to see his face,
and to its solution devoted myself unsuc-
cessfully for nearly quarter of an hour, as
lay there watching him. He did not notice
me all that while, but at last, rising from his
camp-stool, and stepping back to take more
distant view of his work, he glanced in my
direction, and apparently annoyed at the I'M
expected presence of stranger, scOwled
fOrbiddingly, and in resettling to his work so
readjusted his umbrella as to shield himself
from further observation. Taking the hint,
I Immediately rose, and departed towards
the town, where / was staying. He, too,
was evidently staying at the same place, for,
after this first evening" IS meeting, constantly
came across him in the neighborhood. Twas
there, as am anywhere during my wander
ings, for my own behoof and pleasure;
sketching, boating, botanizing-what not ?
But whenever l met this young fellow,
somehow seemed to wish were somewhere
else, for associated with him was always the
same vague, unpleasant reminiscence, which
I could not account for.
One day, reluctantly on his part, determine
edly on mine, We got into conversation. I
had been sketching down on the shore. He
arrived there, apparatus in hand, and seemed
casting about in doubt as to where he should
settle himself for q sketch. Very civilly l
ventured suggestion as to position. He
thanked me CURLY in a grating voice, and
advantage of this introduction to see if 1 |
could, by little talk with him, discover the
cause ofthe curious effect his presence always
had upon me, and find an answer to the for |
ever unduly recurring question, Where have
l seen him before
am mere amateur, you know )" 1 went
on to say, but 1 am very fond of art; |
have seen a good deal Of it, and know very |
many artists. 1 can't help thinking must |
nave met you AT some Time or Otncr, but Tor /
the life of me / cannot remember where"
ut may bc,' he replied, abstractedly, as |
he gazed round at sea and sky, cliff and rock. |
II don't remember you; on that ledge, there |
is a good subject ?" he added, pointing to a |
spot had indicated.
"Yes. will show you exactly where 1 |
think it comes best; have been trying to do |
a little daub of il; it may give you an idea of
the lines as they arrange themselves" And |
took up the sketch from my folio while |
speaking.
lie gave but the merest glance at it, look
ing with his fierce, piercing eyes in another |
direction the next instant, reminding me of I
the eyer-shifting, far-off gaze observable in |
birds or beasts of prey. We moved toward |
the ledge of rock. l continued: "YOu have |
been doing good deal Of work here, |
Imagine ?"
No answer. 1 repeated my inquiry.
II beg your pardon what did you say?
Oh, yes, yes" he quickly added, "a great
deal, great deal there is fine stuff about
here just what like; ;" but as soon as we
began to walk, he bent his gaze on the ground
and became very absent.
was garrulous, however. as IS nv wont
for having thoroughly got over, from long cx,
periencc, the exclusiveness of the Briton with