Such Is Life Joseph Furphy (ebook reader screen .TXT) 📖

honest, and capable⁠—the best thing he can do, if he gets the chance, is to settle down thankfully into the innocent occupation so earnestly desired by Henry the Sixth of the play, and so thriftily pursued by the alleged father of any amateur elocutionist whose name is Norval on the Grampian Hills.

Of such reduced “gentlemen” it is often said that their education becomes their curse. Here is another little subterfuge. This is one of those taking expressions which are repeated from parrot to magpie till they seem to acquire axiomatic force. It is such men’s ignorance⁠—their technical ignorance⁠—that is their curse. Education of any kind never was, and never can be, a curse to its possessor; it is a curse only to the person whose interest lies in exploiting its possessor. Erudition, even in the humblest sphere of life, is the sweetest solace, the unfailing refuge, of the restless mind; but if the bearer thereof be not able to do something well enough to make a living by it, his education is simply outclassed, overborne, and crushed by his own superior ignorance.

To be sure, there are men of social culture who gallantly and conspicuously maintain an all-round superiority in the society to which I myself hereditarily belong, namely, the Lower Orders; but their appearances are like angels’ visits⁠—in the obvious, as well as in the conventional but remoter sense. I can count no less than three men of this stamp among my ten thousand acquaintances. When the twofold excellence of such ambidexters is not stultified by selfishness, you have in them a realised ideal upon which their Creator might pronounce the judgment that it is very good. Move heaven and earth, then, to multiply that ideal by the number of the population. The thing is, at least, theoretically possible; for it is in no way necessary that the manual worker should be rude and illiterate; shut out from his rightful heirship of all the ages. Nor is it any more necessary that the social aristocrat⁠—ostentatiously useless, as he generally is⁠—should hold virtual monopoly of the elegancies of life.

But the commonplace “gentleman” of fiction, who, without extraneous advantage, and by mere virtue of caste-consciousness, and caste-eminence, and caste-exclusiveness, doth bestride this narrow world like a colossus⁠—

“I am sorry to break in upon your meditations, Collins,” said Willoughby deprecatingly, turning towards me on his elbow, “but you know, Necessitas non habet leges. I find myself without the requisite for my normal bedtime solace; and I am unusually wakeful. Could you spare me a pipeful of tobacco?”

“Certainly! Why didn’t you mention it before? I had no idea you were a smoker. I feel really vexed at your reticence.”

“Well, Mr. Thompson kindly lent me a supply this morning; but, unfortunately, I had a hole in my pocket that I was not aware of, and⁠—Thanks. I’ll just take a pipeful⁠—”

“No, no; shove it in your pocket. I’ve got more in my swag. Been long in these colonies, Willoughby?”

“About a year. I spent two months in Melbourne, and nearly four in Sydney. For the last six months I have been⁠—er⁠—travelling in search of employment.”

“You find the colonies pretty rough?”

“I do, Collins; to speak frankly, I do. Even in your cities I observe a feverish excitement, and a demnable race for what the Scriptures aptly call ‘filthy lucre’; and the pastoral regions are⁠—well⁠—rough indeed. Your colonies are too young. In time to come, no doubt, the amenities of life will appear⁠—for you have some magnificent private fortunes; but in the meantime one hears of nothing but work⁠—business⁠—and so forth. Cultivated leisure is a thing practically unknown. However, the country is merely passing through a necessary phase of development. In the near future, each of these shabby home⁠—stations will be replaced by a noble mansion, with its spacious park; and these bare plains will reward the toil of an industrious and contented tenantry⁠—”

“Like (sheol)!” sneered Mosey from his resting-place⁠—a little crestfallen notwithstanding.

“Irrigation, my dear Mosey, will meet the difficulty which very naturally arises in your mind. A scientific system of irrigation would increase the letting value of this land more than a hundredfold. Now, if the State would carry out such a system⁠—by Heaven! Collins, you would soon have a class of country magnates second to none in the world. You are a native of the colonies, I presume?”

“Yes; I come from the Cabbage Garden.”

“Victoria, I know, is called the Cabbage Garden,” rejoined Willoughby. “But⁠—pardon me⁠—if you are a native of Victoria, you can form no conception of what England is. Among the upper middle classes⁠—to which I belonged⁠—the moneymaking proclivity is held in very low esteem, I assure you. Our solicitude is to make ourselves mutually agreeable; and the natural result is a grace and refinement which⁠—”

“But what the (adj. sheol) good does that do the likes o’ us (fellows)?” demanded Mosey impertinently⁠—or perhaps I should say, pertinently.

“⁠—a grace and refinement which⁠—if you will pardon me for saying so⁠—you can form no conception of. Inherited wealth is the secret of it.”

“Beg parding,” interposed Cooper apologetically⁠—“I was goin’ to say to Collins, before I forgit, that he can easy git over bein’ a Port Philliper. Friend o’ mine, out on the Macquarie, name o’ Mick Shanahan, he’s one too; an’ when anybody calls him a Port Philliper, or a Vic., or a ’Sucker, he comes out straight: ‘You’re a (adj.) liar,’ says he; ‘I’m a Cornstalk, born in New South Wales.’ An’ he proves it too. Born before the Separation, in the District of Port Phillip, Colony of New South Wales. That’s his argyment, an’ there’s no gittin’ over it. Good idear, ain’t it?”

“It is a good idea,” I replied. “I’m glad you laid me on to it. But, Willoughby, I can’t help thinking you must feel the change very acutely.”

“I do. But what is the use of grumbling? Ver non semper viret. No doubt you are surprised to see me in my present position. It is owing, in the first place, to a curious