Our Little Life, Dream-fraught, Sleep-rounded. A Cue from Shakspeare. The House of Seven Chimneys. A Tale of Madrid. By William Harri- BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY. THE SUMMER TOUR OF SIGNOR TOMKINS. BY DUDLEY COSTELLO. I. WHY SIGNOR TOMKINS WENT Abroad. Ar an early hour one fine morning in the summer of 1862, several persons, evidently travellers, were assembled in front of the post-office of the town of Samaden, the little capital of the Upper Engadine, in the canton of the Grisons. Although the month was July, the air was as fresh as we in England are accustomed to find it towards the close of autumn; for this part of the valley of the Inn-the rapid river which gives its name to the regionis more than a thousand feet nearer to the sky than the top of Ben Nevis —being full a mile above the level of the sea-and it was quite as much from a sense of cold as from a feeling of impatience that the travellers kept stamping their feet, no ray of the morning sun reaching the spot where they stood. There was reason, then, for feeling cold, and reason also for being impatient, the hour having long past-according to the watches of every one present-when the diligence for which they were waiting should have made its appearance. There were, however, no signs of the expected vehicle, nor any of preparation for its arrival, and it was in vain that the least forbearing of the group battered at the post-office window-shutters in the hope of awaking the supine or sleeping inmates to a proper sense of their duties. At length, when all had got heartily tired of the situation, the door slowly opened, and there issued forth a young man of impassible countenance, who, for the greater solace of his slumbers-as it would seemhad in his mouth a long German pipe, which he was tranquilly smoking. He deigned no answer to the many questions put to him, but leisurely walked to an adjoining building, and threw open a pair of large foldingdoors, revealing the remise in which the diligence had been housed during the previous night. One or two helpers now came forward, and by their united efforts the carriage was dragged into the street, the process of loading it began, and when this feat was, at last, performed, the stolid official read the names of the passengers from the way bill before he permitted them to take their places. They were seven in all, but only three of them claim our particular attention just now, as the destined occupants of the diligence proper—the rest being relegated to what is known as the Bei-post, a vehicle of any sort, which, in German-Switzerland, is always supplied when the principal carriage chances to be full. How this came to pass with three persons only, arose from the fact that one of their number, resolving to have it all to himself, had taken and paid for the whole of the interior. This monopolist, who, in a melancholy dignified sort of way, had been standing aloof from the main body, responded, besides his name, for a good deal of heavy baggage, which he had shown great anxiety in seeing carefully stowed, and which was very conspicuously labelled, "Signor Tommaso Tomkins, Verona." The two who were to occupy the calèche behind the driver answered respectively to the names of "Wolfgang Kinkel" and "Richard Stubbs," and in the article of baggage were but slenderly provided. Herr Kinkel, an elderly, stiff-backed, blue-spectacled professor of botany of the University of Stettin, in Prussian Pomerania, claimed only-besides a tin case which he carried under his arm—a small, highly-glazed, brass-studded, black portmanteau; and Stubbs, who needed not aus London" to mark the place he came from, was simply the proprietor of a knapsack which he had carelessly thrown on the top of the diligence. As for the other four, all of whom had on wide, weatherstained, brown cloaks, leather gaiters, and hats very much the worse for wear, their impedimenta seemed to be nil,-and as they looked like Bergamasque shepherds, on their return to their native valleys, this in all probability was the case. With respect to the gentleman calling himself Signor Tomkins, it was not easy, at a glance, to say what country owned him, his dress, his manners, and his dialect all partaking of the hybrid character which marked his designation. His fashionably-cut garments were all of the same hue, a pale grey and pink check; his neck-tie was sky-blue; his hat a broad-brimmed Leghorn, having a green veil wreathed round it; and his boots-marvels of exquisite workmanship-were made of the finest buff prunella, with black velvet tips, and ornamented on the instep with a pattern worked in jet beads, the soles being thin as a wafer; he also wore lavender-coloured kid gloves, and his body was crossed by two patentleather belts, from one of which was suspended a courier's money-bag, and from the other a lorgnon case, the double glass belonging to it being in his hand. His complexion was extremely fair, his long flaxen hair dangled over his collar, his drooping whiskers had an orpiment tinge, and his eyes were what the Greeks called glaucous, but we may more aptly compare their hue to that of the unripe gooseberry. His age might be some five or six-and-twenty, and from the general languor of his air it seemed as if melancholy had marked him for her own. The travellers being now bestowed in the manner already indicated, the driver, a tall, ruddy, stalwart fellow, wearing the post-office uniform, mounted the box, and giving that grunt by which horses recognise the will of their master, the diligence was set in motion, its succursal following. Herr Kinkel must have crossed more than one difficult pass on his way to Samaden, but the "Gott bewahr!" to which he gave vent on beholding the steep street which led from the market-place to the river, showed that he was not yet accustomed to precipitous descents; and the loud scream which issued from the interior of the vehicle as plainly declared that Signor Tomkins was no less terrified than the learned professor, though he did not, like him, see the full extent of the possible danger. Of these exclamations the case-hardened charioteer took not the slightest notice, while Stubbs contented himself by telling Herr Kinkel, with a smile, that it was "all right," though whether he conveyed that impression or not is a matter of doubt. The apprehensions of both the Professor and the Signor were luckily, however, of brief duration, as in a few moments the horses had galloped over the bridge, and were pursuing a more leisurely pace along the level road which now stretched before them. No part of Switzerland offers more magnificent scenery than that which greets the traveller who, leaving Samaden, ascends the valley of the Bernina, the beauties of which were quite appreciated by those in the calèche, Stubbs being of opinion, and loudly proclaiming it, that the soaring peaks and glorious glaciers within sight were one and all “tremendously jolly," and the Pomeranian professor making large mouthfuls every moment of such words as "wunderschön" and "ungeheuer," to which he gave the fullest expression of which they were capable. If Signor Tomkins, in the interior of the diligence, did not give way to similar demonstrations of delight, the circumstance may be ascribed to the fact that he was sitting with his eyes closed-absorbed in a deep reverie, or— it might be fast asleep. At length, after threading the long narrow street of the picturesque village of Pontresina, at that hour of the morning buried beneath the dark shadow of the Piz Languard, the outline of which could be distinctly traced on the mountain slopes on the opposite side of the valley-after passing in succession the Rosegg and the Morterasch glaciers, and skirting the torrent of the Flatzbach near enough to be wet by the spray of its roaring water-amid a wild chaos of fallen rocks and shivered pines, the ascent of the Bernina Pass began. Here the horses, as a matter of course, relaxed their pace to a stumbling walk-varied occasionally by coming to a decided stand-still-and the driver (to whom the beauties of the scenery were quite indifferent, seeing that he crossed the pass one way or the other every day of his life throughout the year) got off his box, and, lighting a long cigar made of the rank tobacco grown in the Valtelline, in shape resembling the leg of a stool, and the vapour from which marked his track with the most villanous odour, sauntered behind the diligence, thinking at perfect leisure, if such a thing as thought ever entered his brain, and now and then mechanically cracking his whip to keep his beasts up to the mark, and prevent them from actually going to sleep as they sluggishly toiled along. Herr Kinkel and Stubbs also descended from their perch, the former eagerly botanising by the roadside, and the latter stepping out with a will to warm his half-frozen limbs. After a brisk walk of nearly an hour, the English traveller reached the sunshine, and there sat down on the gnarled root of a Wetter-tanner to wait the arrival of the crawling diligence-revolving in his mind what manner of man this Signor Tomkins could be, who thus fantastically attired should give himself the airs of a grand seigneur, and with his own person occupy the whole interior of a public conveyance. "I must make him out," said Stubbs, at the close of his meditation"here comes the dilly at last!" Though the steepest part of the ascent had been overcome, the road for some distance farther was still against the collar, and this gave Stubbs the opportunity of reconnoitring the far niente Signor, whose pale face he now saw at the open window as the diligence drew near. It was the habit of Stubbs when on the continent, albeit the effort generally cost him dear, to address every one he met in the French language, or that which, with him, did duty for French, and he, therefore, used it on the present occasion. "Bo tom, Musseer," he began, enforcing his words by action, and pointing to the bright blue sky. Signor Tomkins gaped and stared, but said nothing in reply; but Stubbs, nothing daunted, cheerfully went on : "Bo pay-magnifick-ness par !" Signor Tomkins made a gesture which Stubbs might have been forgiven for associating with one of the consequences attendant on the motion of a seagoing steamer. "Mallard, Musseer?" he sympathisingly inquired. Signor Tomkins cast his eyes upwards till nothing was seen but the whites of them, and faintly replied: "Wee, Mossoo!" "Quaw avvy voo?" urged Stubbs, alarmed at the expression of the other's countenance. The Signor cast a piteous look at his interrogator, and with his right hand smote himself horizontally across his person. Stubbs put his own interpretation on the act. "Belly-ache," he soliloquised. "No wonder, with such stuff as you get to drink out here; they gave me some wine yesterday which they called Inferno,' and well they might! Yes, belly-ache, no doubt!"* Then, taking out a pocket-flask-" Voolly voo," he said aloud, "un poo de this-say real whisky!". "No, thank you," was the reply, in a low but sufficiently distinct voice. "What! Do you speak English?" exclaimed Stubbs, greatly surprised. "I am an Englishman!" returned Signor Tomkins, sighing heavily. "The deuce you are!" cried Stubbs. "And I've been talking French to you all this time!" In arriving at this conclusion, Stubbs took, as we have seen, a rather liberal view of his own lingual acquirements; but it did not much signify perhaps Signor Tomkins had done the same. "Well!" continued Stubbs, "now I've found out that you're a countryman"-another liberal tribute to his own penetration-" tell me what's the matter. You won't try any of this, you say? I don't know what else I can do for you!" "You," said Signor Tomkins, with a ghastly smile, "can do nothing. It is not what you suppose." "Not belly-ache, or anything of that sort?" Signor Tomkins visibly shuddered. "My ailment," he said, "is not physical." "I thought you gave yourself a dig there," returned Stubbs, pointing to the part which, he conceived, had been implicated. * With all deference to Mr. Stubbs, the “Vino d'Inferno" of the Valtelline is a red wine of very good quality, and deserves its reputation. |