This eBook was produced by Pat Castevens
and David Widger
Saith Dr. Luther, "When I saw Dr. Gode begin to tell his puddingshanging in the chimney, I told him he would not live long!"
I wish I had copied that passage from "The Table Talk" in large roundhand, and set it before my father at breakfast, the morn preceding thatfatal eve in which Uncle Jack persuaded him to tell his puddings.
Yet, now I think of it, Uncle Jack hung the puddings in the chimney, buthe did not persuade my father to tell them.
Beyond a vague surmise that half the suspended "tomacula" would furnisha breakfast to Uncle Jack, and that the youthful appetite of Pisistratuswould despatch the rest, my father did not give a thought to thenutritious properties of the puddings,—in other words, to the twothousand pounds which, thanks to Mr. Tibbets, dangled down the chimney.So far as the Great Work was concerned, my father only cared for itspublication, not its profits. I will not say that he might not hungerfor praise, but I am quite sure that he did not care a button forpudding. Nevertheless, it was an infaust and sinister augury for AustinCaxton, the very appearance, the very suspension and danglement of anypuddings whatsoever, right over his ingle-nook, when those puddings weremade by the sleek hands of Uncle Jack! None of the puddings which he,poor man, had all his life been stringing, whether from his own chimneysor the chimneys of other people, had turned out to be real puddings,—they had always been the eidola, the erscheinungen, the phantoms andsemblances of puddings.
I question if Uncle Jack knew much about Democritus of Abdera. But hewas certainly tainted with the philosophy of that fanciful sage. Hepeopled the air with images of colossal stature which impressed all hisdreams and divinations, and from whose influences came his verysensations and thoughts. His whole being, asleep or waking, was thusbut the reflection of great phantom puddings!
As soon as Mr. Tibbets had possessed himself of the two volumes of the"History of Human Error," he had necessarily established that hold uponmy father which hitherto those lubricate hands of his had failed toeffect. He had found what he had so long sighed for in vain,—his pointd'appui, wherein to fix the Archimedean screw. He fixed it tight in the"History of Human Error," and moved the Caxtonian world.
A day or two after the conversation recorded in my last chapter, I sawUncle Jack coming out of the mahogany doors of my father's banker; andfrom that time there seemed no reason why Mr. Tibbets should not visithis relations on weekdays as well as Sundays. Not a day, indeed, passedbut what he held long conversations with my father. He had much toreport of his interviews with the publishers. In these conversations henaturally recurred to that grand idea of the "Literary Times," which hadso dazzled my poor father's imagination; and, having heated the iron,Uncle Jack was too knowing a man not to strike while it was hot.
When I think of the simplicity my wise father exhibited in this crisisof his life, I must own that I am less moved by pity than admiration forthat poor great-hearted student. We have seen that out of the learnedindolence of twenty years, the ambition which is the instinct of a manof genius had emerged; the serious preparation of the Great Book for theperusal of the world had insensibly restored the claims of that noisyworld on the silent individual. And therewith came a noble remorse thathe had hitherto done so little for hi