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Updated: June 28, 2025
That is the latent factor at the root of my problem. The innate rottenness, the cardiac villainy of James Orlebar Cloyster. In a measure it was my own hand that laid the train which eventually blew James' hidden smoulder of fire into the blazing beacon of wickedness, in which my friend's Satanic soul is visible in all its lurid nakedness.
"Mother," I said, "we want to tell you something." "The fact is, Mrs. Goodwin " "We are engaged." My mother liked James. "Margie," she once said to me, "there is good in Mr. Cloyster. He is not for ever offering to pass me things." Time had not caused her to modify this opinion. She received our news calmly, and inquired into James's means and prospects. James had forty pounds and some odd silver.
After I had given him a suitable version of Margaret's visit, he told me he was engaged to Eva. That was an astounding thing; but what was more astounding was that James had somehow got wind of the real spirit of my interview with Margaret. I have called James Orlebar Cloyster a fool; I have called him a villain. I will never cease to call him a genius.
The abbess and her companion having dressed themselves in riding habits, went at the above-mentioned hour to the gate where they expected the man and horses were attending their coming; but there was not the least appearance of any. the abbess, emboldened by her impatience and despair, would needs venture out some paces beyond the gate, to listen if she could hear any sound of what she wanted, but had not long continued in that posture, before she discovered by the twinkling light of the stars, two men on horseback, galloping directly to the place where she stood: impossible was it for her to discern what sort of persons they were, but easy to know, as there were two men, and no more than two horses, that they were not those she looked for; on which she ran with all the haste she could back into the garden, and clapping the gate after her, in her fright stopped not till she was almost at the entrance of the cloyster: both she and her companion were out of breath; but when they had a little recovered it, the latter took the liberty of railying her on the terror she had been in, at the sight of two persons, who were, doubtless, only pursuing their own affairs, without any thought or notice of them: the abbess acknowledged the pleasantry was just, and returned again to the gate, which having opened, they found two horses tied to a tree, at a little distance from it, without any person to look after them.
The discipline was not neglected: "we have enjoined the religious students," Leyton wrote to Cromwell, "that none of them, for no manner of cause, shall come within any tavern, inn, or alehouse, or any other house, whatsoever it be, within the town and suburbs. [Each offender] once so taken, to be sent home to his cloyster. Without doubt, this act is greatly lamented of all honest women of the town; and especially of their laundresses, that may not now once enter within the gates, much less within the chambers, whereunto they were right well accustomed. I doubt not, but for this thing, only the honest matrons will sue to you for redress." These were sharp measures; we lose our breath at their rapidity and violence. The saddest vicissitude was that which befell the famous Duns Duns Scotus, the greatest of the Schoolmen, the constructor of the memoria technica of ignorance, the ancient text-book of
I have given up my rooms in Rupert Street. I sleep in a bed. I do Sandow exercises. I am always down to breakfast at eight-thirty sharp. I smoke less. I am the happiest man on earth. Narrative Resumed by James Orlebar Cloyster O perfidy of woman! O feminine inconstancy! That is the only allusion I shall permit to escape me on the subject of Eva Eversleigh's engagement to that scoundrel Julian.
"Well, we've come of our own accord, and we've come to talk business." Then turning to Blake and me he added, "May I state our case?" "Most certainly, sir," I answered. And Blake gave a nod. "Briefly, then," said the Reverend, "our mission is this: that we three want our contracts revised." "What contracts?" said Mr. Cloyster. "Our contracts connected with your manuscripts."
To write the agony with which he throatily confessed it! to be swept into the maelstrom of literary journalism, to be en rapport with the unslumbering forces of Fleet Street those were the real objectives of James Orlebar Cloyster. "Of course, I mean," he said, "I suppose it would be a bit of a struggle at first, if you see what I mean. What I mean to say is, rejected manuscripts, and so on.
Keep your papers, if you must bring 'em here, in your locker downstairs." One of them did say, I fancy, something about its "not being quite up to my usual." They didn't know it was my maiden effort at original composition, and I couldn't tell them. It was galling, you'll admit. However, I quickly forgot my own troubles in wondering what Mr. Cloyster was doing.
One winter's night, Davy Ramsey, with several gentlemen, myself, and Scott, entered the cloysters; we played the hazel-rod round about the cloyster; upon the west-side of the cloysters the rods turned one over another, an argument that the treasure was there.
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