CHAPTER XXXI.

THE MILL ON THE FLOSS.

I HAD never read 'The Mill on the Floss' till in the last stage of this work I felt it a positive duty to compare my impressions of the place and people with the author's. It is really unpardonable in any Englishman of the period not to have read George Eliot's tales, and nothing remains but to explain how one could be guilty of so great an omission and so gratuitous a loss. I cannot conceal that I had a constitutional weakness on the point. A very clever novel has always been to me vultus nimium lubricus aspici. I have dreaded its fascinating and absorbing power. What if it should carry me off my legs altogether, so that I could never recover footing and be my own master again? It was like my old fear of laughing-gas. In 1828 I was set upon by some clever literary ladies, who were shocked at my not having read 'Pelham.' I hope I was not prevailed upon to promise that I would, for I have not read it. In the course of my long life I cannot have read more than a dozen novels. Newman devoured them; so did Whately; so did Christie; so, I think, did all who would be worth mention in my time; but I did not. This was especially the case during the whole period in which George Eliot's tales were coming out; I was then more than ever engaged, dis

tracted, and under continual obligation to husband. my strength and my time.

However, I have now read every page of the book before me, in the very pretty cabinet edition published for the express benefit of poor monocular and purblind creatures like myself. I am sorry to find that there is a great gulf, I know not what or how, between the new creation and my old memories. Of course, I have to bear in mind that I left Gainsborough in 1815, when not yet nine, and have only paid short passing visits, at long intervals, since-the last of them thirty-three years ago. I have to confess, too, that I never put my foot on the side of the river opposite the town, and am, therefore, not in a condition to deny the existence of picturesque scenery, hills, 'deeps,' fir trees, stone quarries, and lovers' walks. But I have all my life been under the impression there was just nothing there, nothing that a high tide might not leave several feet under water.

In my recollection there was no tributary of the Trent near Gainsborough, for the river there was much more apt to give than to receive. The Idle and the Don, both of them long ago canalised, fall into the Trent miles below Gainsborough. So the 'Ripple' with its water mill, its water rights, and its own system of irrigation is utterly incompatible with my recollections. Unless I am very much at fault, there could not be any pretence of such litigation. There was, indeed, a controversy, not so much practical as curious and scientific, on the possible effect of the great warping operations between Gainsborough and Trent Falls upon the volume of tidal water. This was

owners.

a question between the shipowners and the landIn my time there was no mill for grinding corn at all within sight of the bridge; the only mills for this purpose being windmills, upon higher ground.

Then I must add that, if my ears tell me right, the dialect of the secondary personages in the story is not that of Lincolnshire, as I know to my cost. For many years after quitting Gainsborough for Derby, I suffered much tribulation by retaining the Lincolnshire accent and pronunciation, and by exchanging it for Derbyshire just in time to carry both, mixed up with some peculiarities of my own, to Charterhouse, where they were not appreciated. Moreover, I can remember no such people, no such ways, and no such talk.

I must conclude that the author had but a slight and casual knowledge of Gainsborough, and that she has made a very peculiar Lincolnshire town the scene of characters, manners, and customs more likely to be found in the midland counties. It is no unusual thing for a writer, compelled, as he must be, to draw his knowledge of human nature from the people about him, and his incidents and circumstances from his own experience, to select some locality a long way off in order to baffle attempts at identification, or for some even slighter reason. Washington Irving had reasons of his own for not placing his 'rainy day' and his 'stout gentleman' at Lichfield, where he actually found them, and he accordingly planted them at Derby just to get out of a little difficulty, and not being much concerned for the reputation of the Derby climate or manners.

FROM GAINSBOROUGH TO DERBY.

185

CHAPTER XXXII.

A MIGRATION.

THE 'christening' at Gainsborough was the last appearance of our family there after a sojourn of seventy or eighty years. On the previous Christmas Day, my godfather, Mr. Rudsdall, and his wife had dined with us, as I believe they had done for some years on that day. When we were all in the drawingroom-youngers as well as elders-my father said: 'I've something to tell you that I know will grieve you.' It was his intention to move to Derby. Our guests could hardly believe my father serious. We children had been told the news at nine that morning, as I bore in mind at the same day and hour the following year. I remember my surprise, and how impalpable and unformed the idea of a removal was to me. It was going into space; the loss and negation of everything I knew and loved of a material and local character.

Gradually did we become familiarised with the idea. Our new governess had never taken to Gainsborough very warmly. I remember being disappointed at the silence with which she received my praises of the church-one of Gibbs's-and the organ, and the river. She looked forward to Derby. We were all anxious to learn what we could of our adopted home. Gainsborough was becoming more

and more outside everything; Derby was the very centre. There had already been social currents between the two places, lying on the same natural water-course. Whenever there was a sudden flood at Derby, the people there wrote to warn their Gainsborough friends, who had time for cautionary measures. We had seven months of preparation. Long before the time came, my father's chief employés had gone to Derby before us, and had sent back reports, like those returned by the spies. The people were very big; they could lift and carry enormous loads; and they ate and drank in proportion. They even devoured their meat raw. That they ate bacon raw I can answer for, for I have seen it done in the shops frequently. Their speech and manners were very rough, and they had to be gently treated. At Gainsborough there was a great number of old people going about, doing such work as they could. A population in the high tide of youth and strength loomed before us at Derby.

As much as three months before our migration I find myself writing to a brother at school on the marvels and curiosities of Derby. These had been reported to us by my father after one of his flying visits. Among them was the once famous Kedleston water, that used to be brought into the town every morning fresh from the spring. I suspect it has now gone the way of most English mineral waters. Then there was the 'Infirmary, planned and built by Mr. Strutt.' He certainly had the credit of its plan and arrangements. When I became a subscriber and occasional visitor many years after, I arrived at the