This eBook was produced by Pat Castevens
and David Widger
Saint Chrysostom, in his work on "The Priesthood," defends deceit, iffor a good purpose, by many Scriptural examples; ends his first book byasserting that it is often necessary, and that much benefit may arisefrom it; and begins his second book by saying that it ought not to becalled "deceit," but "good management." (1)
"Good management," then, let me call the innocent arts by which I nowsought to insinuate my project into favor and assent with myunsuspecting family. At first I began with Roland. I easily inducedhim to read some of the books, full of the charm of Australian life,which Trevanion had sent me; and so happily did those descriptions suithis own erratic tastes, and the free, half-savage man that lay rough andlarge within that soldierly nature, that he himself, as it were, seemedto suggest my own ardent desire, sighed, as the careworn Trevanion haddone, that "he was not my age," and blew the flame that consumed me,with his own willing breath. So that when at last—wandering one dayover the wild moors—I said, knowing his hatred of law and lawyers:"Alas, uncle, that nothing should be left for me but the Bar!" CaptainRoland struck his cane into the peat and exclaimed, "Zounds,sir! the Bar and lying, with truth and a world fresh from God beforeyou!"
"Your hand, uncle,—we understand each other. Now help me with thosetwo quiet hearts at home!"
"Plague on my tongue! what have I done?" said the Captain, lookingaghast. Then, after musing a little time, he turned his dark eye on meand growled out, "I suspect, young sir, you have been laying a trap forme; and I have fallen into it, like an old fool as I am."
"Oh, sir, I? you prefer the Bar!—"
"Rogue!"
"Or, indeed, I might perhaps get a clerkship in a merchant's office?"
"If you do, I will scratch you out of the pedigree!"
"Huzza, then, for Australasia!"
"Well, well, well!" said my uncle,—
"With a smile on his lip, and a tear in his eye,"—
"the old sea-king's blood will force its way,—a soldier or a rover,there is no other choice for you. We shall mourn and miss you; but whocan chain the young eagles to the eyrie?"
I had a harder task with my father, who at first seemed to listen to meas if I had been talking of an excursion to the moon. But I threw in adexterous dose of the old Greek Cleruchioe cited by Trevanion, which sethim off full trot on his hobby, till after a short excursion to Euboeaand the Chersonese, he was fairly lost amidst the Ionian colonies ofAsia Minor. I then gradually and artfully decoyed him into his favoritescience of Ethnology; and while he was speculating on the origin of theAmerican savages, and considering the rival claims of Cimmerians,Israelites, and Scandinavians, I said quietly: "And you, sir, who thinkthat all human improvement depends on the mixture of races; you, whosewhole theory is an absolute sermon upon emigration, and thetransplanting and interpolity of our species,—you, sir, should be thelast man to chain your son, your elder son, to the soil, while youryounger is the very missionary of rovers."
"Pisistratus