The record-union., 1893-01-14
WAKEMAN'S WANDERINGS.
Odd Incidents of Foreign Travel
and 0bservation---IIL.
An Unhappy Littlel Nobleman and His
Keeper-Inhospitabl Breton Lowly
Folk-A Wise London Raven and
Its Embarrassing Pointed Queries
ney by the Winsome Lakes of Kill
loT.
Especial Correspondence of the RECORD
UNION. Copyright, 1881

larney.
Especial Correspondence of the RECORD
UNION. Copyright, 1898.
LONDON, January 2, 1893.
| found him all alone at table in a
snug little restaurant of shadowy Mer
Gerry Lane at ancient Canterbury. He was
mite of a thing, but an old young lad,
seemingly already broken by all the sor-
rows of desolate old age. His attire was
rich, but his back was bumped, his legs
were crooked and spindled, his cheeks
were sunken and his eyes were crossed
and queer. Tears were silently trickling
down his face. l could not eat my food
until 1 had asked him if he was in
trouble.
"Oh, sir" he said in the sweetest tones
ever heard from boys lips, and as if
completely overcome by his situation and
unexpected human sympathy, II wish 1
was dead and buriedp' Pressing him for
further explanation with the hope of al
laying his childish troubles, he continued
in scared, hunted way; II am Lord
-, they tell me. But L never saw my
father. My mother is a beautiful lady,
but they only let me see her once a year,
and then she cries and 1 cry, and its
dreadful when she goes away.
Maybe you saw Nurse Digby? Nurse
Dlgby minds me, and they make me live
with her, and say she must keep me until
l am a great Lord. But she drinks and
and Pm sure she'll almost kill me. Oh,
sir, do take me to America, and let me be
plain and rough and happy like all the
boys l see! There she is, sir. Please,
please don't tell her, sir"
AS he plteously spoke huge mountain
OF flesh slid down a stairway and reeled
into the room. 1t was Nurse Dieby.
Her dress was disheveled. her wrappings
were upside down, her hat, tossing sea
OF feathers and flowers, was very much
awry. She was more than 'cheery."
She had passed the quarrelsome stage of
drink into the region of bland beatitude.
In moment we fortunately got the best
OF her native suspicion and cunning; she
embraced me as reward for supposi-
tious friendliness, and it was somehow
made clear that little MILFORD had been
brought down from London ostensibly
for 'houting" and to visit the cathe-
dral, but, in reality, that Nurse Digby
might revel, with such as she, in the brave
brews OF fair, hop-laden Kent.
"Shz'ares dearr' she blubbered, in
turn falling upon little MILFORD in imbecile
by dear agin' zworld. Sho sh'will,
me (hicD arling, m'lord! A sousan' shol-
diers couldn' part ush-not hummer SOU
san,' phretty (hic, dearp' Gen'rm shears
me mic swhear it!'' Then Nurse Digby
fell in mass upon her charge; the little
nobleman shrieked with fright and pain,
and his tormentor rolled into comforta-
bic ball beneath the table,
Casting all thought of my own visit to
the cathedral aside, l at once summoned a
carriage, got the deformed boy and Nurse
Digby into it, drove through the quaint
old city up the winding hill to the rail-
way station, and never left the ill-assort-
ed pair until l had seen them safely in
the carriage of a London bound train.
But 1 can never forget that poor lads
pleadings that | should rescue him from
the living death of his hopeless environ
ment, and his white, desperate face, as he
crouched in his seat like a scourged soul.
still appealing while watching the hui
man animal, his endless tormentor, as
she lay in temporary harmlessness upon
the compartment floor.
."Oh, sir, l shall remember you if I
live to be great lord" were his last
words that | heard as the train rolled
away. The hopeless tragedy it all re-
vealed has never left my heart; and ali
that sunny afternoon in old Canterbury
town, the brasses and effigies of the great
cathedral could only be half discerned
through the mists of ever-gathering tears.
If your travels ever bring you along
the highways and byways of Brittany,
you must never expect hospitality of the
peasant people. 1t is the only foreign
land in which 1 have wandered on foot
where the stranger, and especially the
American stranger, is not welcome
among lowly folk with unquestioning
cordiality and an almost affectionate re-
gard.
Call at roadside cottage in Brittany
and ask for food and nights shelter and
the whole family will crowd into the door
to obstruct your passage. Then they will
silently and sullenly look you over.
Whittier from? Whittier bound? If a
foreigner, they are even shrewd enough
to demand your passport. No vagabond,
deserter, nor ticket-of-ieave man will
they harbor. Finally assured you sare
none of these, they set about bargaining
for the last sou they can ring from you.
The food you are to get to the very color
of the coffee IS set powerfully against
your money. Their own poverty, their
bewildering number of children, the
lonely road to the nearest village inn,
the fact that at the next cottage they
would probably murder as we'll as take
you in; all and much is set forth to make
your bargain a hard one. So, too, the
toothless old peasant hag mother, while
eyeing you askance, croons to her hus-
band running fire of objections to the
arrangement, a few of which set you
down to your face as villainous spy;
some wretch that has cheated the gibbet;
and certainly no less than the thief of
Breton horses who was caught and
flogged at the last horse fair at La Fol-
guet.
They are shrewd and canny, these sim
pie folk, and they will make you very
miserable until the price is set and paid
down in hand, for they will not trust you
with the sum until morning, lest your
appearance belle your ability to pay; but
the lugubrious transaction once settled,
and few sous scattered among the chill
dren, which are Immediately snatched
away and hidden in the farmers
strong box, the atmosphere suddenly
changes. You are the guest now. All
the inn-keeping politeness, suavity and
attention of Paris itself are yours, and
until you leave every soul in the cottage
puts every other duty aside to minister
unto your wants and comfort