THE EVENTFUL LIFE OF A SOLDIER.CHAPTER I.
THE EVENTFUL LIFE OF A SOLDIER.
I was born in Glasgow: my father held a situation in a mercantile house, that enabled him to keep his family respectable. I was the only surviving child, and no expense would have been spared on my education, had I been wise enough to appreciate the value of it; but, unfortunately for me, that was not the case. I had early learned to read; but novels, romances, and fairy tales, were my favourite books, and soon superseded all other kinds of reading. By this means, my ideas of life were warped from reality, and the world I had pictured in my imagination was very unlike the one in which I lived. The sober realities of life became tiresome and tasteless. Still panting after something unattainable, I became displeased with my situation in life, and neglected my education—not because I disliked it; on the contrary, I was fond of learning, and used to form very feasible plans of study, wherein I omitted nothing that was necessary to form the accomplished gentleman. I could pleasingly, in imagination, skim over the whole course of literature, and contemplate my future fame and wealth as the result; but when I considered how many years of arduous application would be required, I was too impatient to put it into practice. I had required too great a facility in raising castles in the air, and embellishing them with my fancy, to submit to the drudgery of building on a more stable foundation. Thus, straining at shadows, I lost substantial good.
Amongst other books which fell into my hands, when very young, was Robinson Crusoe. It was a great favourite; and at that time, I believe I would willingly have suffered shipwreck, to be cast on anisland like his. An island to one’s self, I thought, what a happiness! and I have dreamed for hours together, on what I would do in such a situation. I have often played truant to wander into the fields, and read my favourite books; and, when I was not reading, my mind was perfectly bewildered with the romantic notions I had formed. Often have I travelled eagerly to the summit of some neighbouring hill, where the clouds seemed to mark the limits of the world I lived in, my mind filled with an indescribable expectation that I would there meet with something to realise my wild ideas, some enchanted scene or other; and when I reached its summit, and found those expectations disappointed, still the next similar place had the same attraction. The sky, with the ever-varying figures of the clouds, was an inexhaustible field for my imagination to work in; and the sea, particularly those views of it where the land could not be seen from the shore, raised indescribable feelings in my breast. The vessels leaving the coast, thought I, must contain happy souls; for they are going far away,—all my fancied happy worlds were there. Oh, I thought, if I could once pass that blue line that separates the ocean and the sky!—then should I be content; for it seems the only barrier between me and happiness.
I was often beat for being absent from school, and urged to tell the cause. The reason I felt, but could not describe; and, the same fault recurring again and again, I was at last set down as incorrigible. What most surprised my friends was, that I never had any companions in my rambles; but a companion would have spoiled all my visions. Never did I enjoy so pure unmixed delight, as in those excursions: I feel not now, as I then did, the novelty of life and nature; but memory cherishes with fondness her first-born feelings, and I regret that those happy days are gone for ever.
So ill exchanged for riper times,To feel the follies and the crimes,Of others or my own.
So ill exchanged for riper times,To feel the follies and the crimes,Of others or my own.
So ill exchanged for riper times,To feel the follies and the crimes,Of others or my own.
So ill exchanged for riper times,
To feel the follies and the crimes,
Of others or my own.
In some old romances which I had read, the life of a shepherd was described in colours so glowing, that I became quite enamoured of it, and would not give my parents rest until they procured such a situation for me. It was in vain that they assured me I would find every thing different in that life from what I imagined. I could not believe it. They made some agreement with a farmer, from whom they got their milk and butter, to take me out with him to his farm, that I might learn the truth by experience. I set off with him on his buttermilk cart, my mind filled with the most extravagant anticipations of my new employment, and arrived at the farmer’s house at night. Next morning I was called up at four o’clock to my new avocation, and an old man was sent out with me to show me my charge. I was left by him on a bleak hill, with four-score sheep, and told that my breakfast and dinner would be brought out to me. I sat down to contemplate the scene; there were no sylvan groves, no purling streams, no shepherds piping in the dale,—nothing but peat-bog was to be seen for miles around; the few scathed hills which reared their heads above the blackened soil were covered with heather, which still retained its winter suit; the shepherds had none of the appendages attributed to them in poetry or romance, they had neither pipe nor crook, and shepherdesses there were none. I tried to transform the female servant, who was in my master’s house, into a shepherdess; but it would not do. It was a horrible caricature; she was a strong masculine looking Highland girl, any thing but lovely or romantic. Surely, thought I, there must be some mistake here. I never spent a day so lonely and tiresome. My flock seemed to think they had got a fool to deal with, for they ran in every direction but the right one. It is true I had a dog, but he did not understand my language. We had not been long enough acquainted; and, by the time night came, I was pretty well convinced that the life of a shepherd was not what I had imagined it. Day after day passed, without realising any of myexpectations. My feet got sore running through the rough heather, and I returned to my parents about a month after, completely cured of my predilection for a shepherd’s life. One would think that this disappointment would have rendered me more cautious in forming opinions from the same source—but no! Indeed, it was ever my misfortune to pay dearly for my experience, and to profit little by that of others.