He lived on the bank of a mighty river, broad and deep, which was always silently rolling on to a vast un discovered ocean. It had rolled on, ever since the world began. It had changed its course sometimes, and turned into new channels? leaving its old ways dry and barren but it had ever been upon the flow, and ever was to flow until Time should be no more. Against its strong, un fathomable stream, nothing made head. No living crea ture, no flower, no leaf, no particle of animate or inani mate existence, ever strayed back from the undiscovered ocean. The tide of the river set resistlessly towards it; and the tide never stopped, any more than the earth stops in its circling round the sun.
He lived in a busy place, and he worked very hard to live. He had no hope of ever being rich enough to live month without hard work, but he was quite content, God knows, to labour with a cheerful will. He was one of an immense family, all of whose sons and daughters gained their daily bread by daily work, prolonged from their rising up betimes until their lying down at night. Beyond this destiny he had no prospect, and he sought none.
There was overâ€much drumming, trumpeting, and speechmaking, in the neighbouihood where he dwelt; but he had nothing to do with that. Such clash and uproar came from the Bigwig family, at the unaccountable pro ceedings of which race, he marvelled much. They set up the strangest statues, in iron, marble, bronze, and brass, before his door.
The Bigwig family (composed of all the stateliest people thereabouts, and all the noisiest) had undertaken to save him the trouble of thinking for himself, and to man age him and his affairs. “Why truly,” said he. “I have little time upon my hands; and if you will be so good as take care of me, in return for the money I pay over”—for the Bigwig family were not above his money—“I shall be relieved and much obliged, considering that you know best.”
But, when he looked among the images in iron, mar ble, bronze, and brass, he failed to find a rather meritori ous countryman of his, once the son of a Warwickshire woolâ€dealer, or any single countryman whomsoever of that kind. Whereas, he did find others whom he knew no good of, and even others whom he knew much ill of.
Continue reading the main story
Advertisement
Continue reading the main story
“Humph !” said he. “I don't quite understand it.” So, he went home, and sat down by his fireside to get it out of his mind.
Now, his fireside was a bare one, all hemmed in by blackened streets; but it was a precious place to him. The hands of his wife were hardened with toil, and she was old before her time; but she was dear to him. His children, stunted in their growth, bore traces of unwholesome nur ture; but they had beauty in his sight. Above all other things, it was an earnest desire of this man's soul that hii children should be taught. “If I am sometimes misled,” said he, “for want of knowledge, at least let them know better, and avoid my mistakes. If it is hard to me to reap the harvest of pleasure and instruction that is stored books, let it be easier to them.”
But, the Bigwig family broke out into violent family quarrels concerning what it was lawful to teach to this man's children. Meanwhile, this man, in his short evening snatches at his fireside, saw the demon Ignorance arise there, and take his children to itself. He saw his daughter perverted into a heavy slatternly drudge; he saw his son
go moping down the ways of low sensuality, to brutality and crime; he saw the dawning light of intelligence in the eyes of his babies so changing into cunning and suspicion, that he could have rather wished them idiots.
“I don't understand this any the better,” said he; “but I think it cannot be right. Nay, by the clouded Heaven above me, I protest against this as my wrong!”
* * *
Becoming peaceable again (for his passion was usu ally shortâ€lived, and his nature kind), he looked about him on his Sundays and holidays, and he saw how much mo notony and weariness there was, and thence how drunken ness arose with all its train of ruin. Then he appealed the Bigwig family, and said, “We are a labouring people. See what we fall into, when we rest without mental re freshment and recreation. Come l Amuse me harmlessly, show me something, give me an escape l”
But, here the Bigwig family fell into a state of uproar absolutely deafening. When some few voices were faintly heard, proposing to show him the wonders of the world, the greatness of creation, the mighty changes of time, the workings of nature and the beauties of art, there arose
lence had appeared among the labourers, and was slaying them by thousands. The robust and the weak, old age and infancy, the father and the mother, all were stricken down alike.
What means of flight had he? He remained there, where he was, and saw those who were dearest to him die. A kind preacher came to him, and would have said some prayers to soften his heart in his gloom, but he replied
“O what avails it, missionary, to come to me, a man condemned to residence in this foetid place, where every. sense bestowed upon me for my delight becomes a torment, and where every minute of my numbered days is new mire’ added to the heal) under which I lie oppressed) But, give me my first glimpse of Heaven, through a little of its light and air; give me pure water; help, me to be clean; lighten this heavy atmosphere and heavy life, in which our spirits sink, and we become the indifferent and callous creatures, you too often see us.”
He was at his work again, solitary and sad,. when his Master came and stood near to him dressed in black. He, also, had suffered heavily. His young wife, his beautiful and good young wife, was dead; so, too, his only child.
“Master, ‘tis hard to bear—I know it—but be corn forted. I would’ give you comfort, if I could”
* * *
The Master thanked him from his heart but, said he “O you labouring men! The calamity began among you, If you had but lived more healthily ‘and decently, I should not be the widowed and bereft mourner that I am this day.”
“Master,” returned the other, shaking his head, “I have begun to understand a little that most calamities will come from us, as this one did, and that none. will stop at our poor doors, until we are united with that great squab bling family yonder, to do the things that are right. We cannot live healthily and decently, unless they who under took to manage us provide the means: We cannot be in structed, unless they will teach us.”
But the Master said, “O you labouring men! How seldom do we ever hear of you, except in connection with some trouble !”
“Master,” he replied, “I am NObody, and little likely to be heard of, (nor yet much wanted to be heard of, per haps) except when there is some trouble. But it nevei be gins with me, and it. never can end with me. As sure Death, it comes down to me, and it goes up from me.”
There was, so much reason in what he, said, that, the Bigwig family, getting wind of it, and being horribly frightened by the late desolation, resolved to unite with him to do the things that were right—at all events, so far as the said things were associated with the direct preven tion, humanly speaking, of another pestilence. But, as their fear wore off, which it soon began to do, they re sumed their falling out among themselves, and did noth ing. Consequently the scourge appeared again—low down as before—and spread avengingly upward as before: But not a man among them ever admitted, if in the least degree he ever perceived that he had anything to do with it.
So Nobody lved and died in the old, old, old way; and this, in the main, is the whole of Nobody's story.
Had he no name, you ask? Perhaps it was Legion. matters little what his name was. Let us call him Legion.
If you were ever in the Belgian villages near the field of Waterloo, you will have seen, in some quiet little church, a monument erected by faithful companions in arms to the memory of Colonel A, Major. B, Captains
D and E, Lieutenants F and G, Ensigns H, I and J, seven. nonâ€commissioned officers, and one hundred and thirty rank and file, who fell in the discharge of their duty on the memorable day. The story of Nobody is the story of the rank, and file of the earth. They bear their shire of the battle; they have their part in the victory; they fall; they leave no name but in the mass. The march of the proudest of us, leads to the dusty way by which they go. O! Let us think of them this year at the Christmas fire, and not forget them when it is burnt out.