Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone

  Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

  Lost LenoreThe Adventures of a Rolling StoneBy Charles Beach, edited Mayne ReidPublished by Charles J. Skeet, 10 King William Street, London.This edition dated 1864.

  Volume One, Chapter I.

  FAMILY AFFAIRS.

  The first important event of my life transpired on the 22nd May, 1831.On that day I was born.

  Six weeks after, another event occurred which no doubt exerted aninfluence over my destiny: I was christened Rowland Stone.

  From what I have read of ancient history--principally as given by theJews--I have reason to think, that I am descended from an old andillustrious family. No one can refute the evidence I have for believingthat some of my ancestors were in existence many hundred years ago.

  The simple fact that I am in existence now is sufficient proof that myfamily is of a descent, ancient and noble, as that of any other onearth.

  Perhaps there is no family, in its wanderings and struggles towardsremotest posterity, that has not experienced every vicissitude offortune; sometimes standing in the ranks of the great; and in the lapseof ages descending to the lower strata of the social scale, and therebecoming historically lost.

  I have not yet found it recorded, that any individual of the family towhich I belong ever held a very high position--not, in fact, since oneof them named Noah constructed a peculiar kind of sailing craft, ofwhich he was full owner, and captain.

  It was my misfortune to be brought into existence at a period of theworld's history, when my father would be thought by many to be a man in"humble circumstances of life." He used to earn an honest living byhard work.

  He was a saddle and harness-maker in an obscure street in the city ofDublin, and his name was William Stone.

  When memory dwells on my father, pride swells up in my soul: for he wasan honest, temperate, and industrious man, and was very kind to mymother and his children. I should be an unworthy son, not to feel prideat the remembrance of such a father!

  There was nothing very remarkable in the character of my mother. I usedto think different once, but that was before I had arrived at the age ofreason. I used to think that she delighted to thwart my childishinclinations--more than was necessary for her own happiness or mine.But this was probably a fault of my wayward fancy. I am willing tothink so now.

  I was a little wilful, and no doubt caused her much trouble. I aminclined to believe, now that she treated me kindly enough--perhapsbetter than I deserved.

  I remember, that, up to the time I was eight years of age, it was thework of two women to put a clean shirt on my back, and the operation wasnever performed by them without a long and violent struggle. Thisremembrance, along with several others of a like nature, produces uponme the impression, that my parents must have humoured my whims--toomuch, either for my good or their own.

  When I was yet very young, they thought that I was distinguished fromother children by a _penchant_ for suddenly and secretly absentingmyself from those, whose duty it was to be acquainted with mywhereabouts. I often ran away from home to find playmates; and ran awayfrom school to avoid the trouble of learning my lessons. At this timeof life, so strong was my propensity for escaping from any scene I didnot like, and betaking myself to such as I deemed more congenial to mytastes, that I obtained the soubriquet of _The Rolling Stone_.

  Whenever I would be missing from home, the inquiry would be made, "Whereis that Rolling Stone?" and this inquiry being often put in the school Iattended, the phrase was also applied to me there. In short it becamemy "nickname."

  Perhaps I was a little vain of the appellation: for I certainly did nottry to win another, but, on the contrary, did much to convinceeverybody, that the title thus extended to me was perfectly appropriate.

  My father's family consisted of my parents, a brother, one year and ahalf younger than myself, and a sister, about two years younger still.

  We were not an unhappy family. The little domestic cares, such as allmust share, only strengthened the desire for existence--in order thatthey might be overcome.

  My father was a man without many friends, and with fewer enemies, for hewas a person who attended to his own business, and said but little toany one. He had a talent for silence; and had the good sense not toneglect the exercise of it--as many do the best gifts Nature hasbestowed upon them.

  He died when I was about thirteen years old; and, as soon as he was gonefrom us, sorrow and misfortune began for the first time to showthemselves in our house.

  There are many families to whom the loss of a parent may be no greatcalamity; but ours was not one of them; and, young as I was at the time,I had the sense to know that thenceforward I should have to war with theworld alone. I had no confidence in my mother's ability to provide forher children, and saw that, by the death of my father, I was at onceelevated from the condition of a child to that of a man.

  After his decease, the work in the shop was carried on by a young mannamed Leary--a journeyman saddler, who had worked with my father formore than a year previous to his death.

  I was taken from school, and put to work with Mr Leary who undertook toinstruct me in the trade of a harness-maker. I may say that the mandisplayed considerable patience in trying to teach me.

  He also assisted my mother with his counsel--which seemed guided by agenuine regard for our interests. He managed the business in the shop,in what appeared to be the best manner possible; and the profits of hislabour were punctually handed over to my mother.

  For several weeks after my father's death, everything was conducted in amanner much more pleasant than we had any reason to expect; and the losswe had sustained seemed not so serious to our future existence, as I hadat first anticipated.

  All of our acquaintances thought we were exceedingly fortunate in havingsuch a person as Mr Leary, to assist us in carrying on the business.Most of the neighbours used to speak of him in the highest terms ofpraise; and many times have I heard my mother affirm that she knew notwhat would become of us, if deprived of his assistance.

  Up to this time Mr Leary had uniformly treated me with kindness. Iknew of no cause for disliking him; and yet I did!

  My conscience often rebuked me with this unexplained antipathy, for Ibelieved it to be wrong; but for all that, I could not help it. I didnot even like his appearance; but, on the contrary, thought him the mosthideous person I had ever beheld. Other people had a different opinion;and I tried to believe that I was guided by prejudice in forming myjudgment of him. I knew he was not to blame for his personalappearance, nor for any other of my fancies; but none of theseconsiderations could prevent me from hating Matthew Leary, and in truthI _did_ hate him.

  I could not conceal my dislike--even from him; and I will do him thejustice to state that he appeared to strive hard to overcome it withkindness. All his efforts to accomplish this were in vain; and onlyresulted in increasing my antipathy.

  Time passed. Mr Leary daily acquired a greater control of the affairsof our family; and in proportion as his influence over my motherincreased, so did my hostility towards him.

  My mother strove to conquer it, by reminding me of his kindness to allthe family--the interest he took in our common welfare--the trouble heunderwent in teaching me the business my father had followed--and hisundoubted morality and good habits.

  I could not deny that there was reason in her arguments; but my disliketo Mr Leary was independent of reason: it had sprung from instinct.

  It soon became evident to me that Mr Leary would, at no distant period,become one of the family. In the belief of my mother, younger brother,and sister, he seemed necessary to our existence.

&nb
sp; My mother was about thirty-three years of age; and did not appear oldfor her years. She was not a bad looking woman--besides, she wasmistress of a house and a business. Mr Leary possessed neither. Hewas but a journeyman saddler; but it was soon very evident that heintended to avail himself of the opportunity of marrying my mother andher business, and becoming the master of both.

  It was equally evident that no efforts of mine could prevent him fromdoing so, for, in the opinion of my mother, he was every thing requiredfor supplying the loss of her first husband.

  I tried to reason with her, but must admit, that the only arguments Icould adduce were my prejudices, and I was too young to use even them tothe best advantage. But had they been ever so just, they would havebeen thrown away on my father's widow.

  The many seeming good traits in the character of Mr Leary, and hisability for carrying on the work in the shop, were stronger argumentsthan any I could urge in answer to them.

  My opposition to their marriage--now openly talked about--onlyengendered ill-will in the mind of my mother; and created a coldness, onher part,