CHAPTER XXIX.

THE SQUIRE'S SPEECH.

"Friends and neighbours,--I thank you kindly for coming round me this

day, and for showing so much interest in me and mine. My cousin was not

born amongst you as I was, but you have known her from a child. It is a

familiar face, and one that never frowned, which you will miss at your

cottage doors, as I and mine will miss it long in the old hall--"

Here there was a sob from some of the women, and nothing was seen of

Mrs Dale but the white handkerchief. The Squire himself paused, and

brushed away a tear with the back of his hand. Then he resumed, with a

sudden change of voice that was electrical--

"For we none of us prize a blessing till we have lost it! Now, friends

and neighbours,--a little time ago, it seemed as if some ill-will had

crept into the village--ill-will between you and me, neighbours!--why,

that is not like Hazeldean!"

The audience hung their heads! You never saw people look so thoroughly

ashamed of themselves. The Squire proceeded--

"I don't say it was all your fault; perhaps it was mine."

"Noa--noa--noa," burst forth in a general chorus.

"Nay, friends," continued the Squire humbly, and in one of those

illustrative aphorisms which, if less subtle than Riccabocca's, were

more within reach of the popular comprehension; "nay--we are all human;

and every man has his hobby: sometimes he breaks in the hobby, and

sometimes the hobby, if it is very hard in the mouth, breaks in him.

One man's hobby has an ill habit of always stopping at the public

house! (Laughter.) Another man's hobby refuses to stir a peg beyond

the door where some buxom lass patted its neck the week before--a

hobby I rode pretty often when I went courting my good wife here!

(Much laughter and applause.) Others have a lazy hobby, that there's

no getting on;--others, a runaway hobby that there's no stopping: but

to cut the matter short, my favourite hobby, as you well know, is

always trotted out to any place on my property which seems to want

the eye and hand of the master. I hate (cried the Squire warming) to

see things neglected and decayed, and going to the dogs! This land we

live in is a good mother to us, and we can't do too much for her. It

is very true, neighbours, that I owe her a good many acres, and ought

to speak well of her; but what then? I live amongst you, and what I

take from the rent with one hand, I divide amongst you with the other,

(low, but assenting murmurs.) Now the more I improve my property,

the more mouths it feeds. My great-grandfather kept a Field-Book, in

which were entered, not only the names of all the farmers and the

quantity of land they held, but the average number of the labourers

each employed. My grandfather and father followed his example: I

have done the same. I find, neighbours, that our rents have doubled

since my great-grandfather began to make the book. Ay--but there are

more than four times the number of labourers employed on the estate,

and at much better wages too! Well, my men, that says a great deal

in favour of improving property, and not letting it go to the dogs.

(Applause.) And therefore, neighbours, you will kindly excuse my hobby:

it carries grist to your mill. (Reiterated applause.) Well--but you

will say, 'What's the Squire driving at?' Why this, my friends: There

was only one worn-out, dilapidated, tumble-down thing in the Parish of

Hazeldean, and it became an eyesore to me; so I saddled my hobby, and

rode at it. O ho! you know what I mean now! Yes, but neighbours, you

need not have taken it so to heart. That was a scurvy trick of some of

you to hang me in effigy, as they call it."

"It warn't you," cried a voice in the crowd, "it war Nick Stirn."

The Squire recognised the voice of the tinker; but though he now

guessed at the ringleader,--on that day of general amnesty, he had the

prudence and magnanimity not to say, "Stand forth, Sprott: thou art the

man." Yet his gallant English spirit would not suffer him to come off

at the expense of his servant.

"If it was Nick Stirn you meant," said he gravely, "more shame for

you. It showed some pluck to hang the master; but to hang the poor

servant, who only thought to do his duty, careless of what ill-will

it brought upon him, was a shabby trick--so little like the lads of

Hazeldean, that I suspect the man who taught it to them was never

born in the parish. But let bygones be bygones. One thing is clear,

you don't take kindly to my new Pair of Stocks! They have been a

stumbling-block and a grievance, and there's no denying that we went

on very pleasantly without them. I may also say that in spite of them

we have been coming together again lately. And I can't tell you what

good it did me to see your children playing again on the green, and

your honest faces, in spite of the Stocks, and those diabolical tracts

you've been reading lately, lighted up at the thought that something

pleasant was going on at the Hall. Do you know, neighbours, you put me

in mind of an old story which, besides applying to the Parish, all who

are married, and all who intend to marry, will do well to recollect. A

worthy couple, named John and Joan, had lived happily together many a

long year, till one unlucky day they bought a new bolster. Joan said

the bolster was too hard, and John that it was too soft. So, of course,

they quarrelled. After sulking all day, they agreed to put the bolster

between them at night." (Roars of laughter amongst the men; the women

did not know which way to look, except, indeed, Mrs Hazeldean, who,

though she was more than usually rosy, maintained her innocent genial

smile, as much as to say, "There is no harm in the Squire's jests.")

The orator resumed--"After they had thus lain apart for a little time,

very silent and sullen, John sneezed. 'God bless you!' says Joan over

the bolster. 'Did you say God bless me?' cries John;--'then here goes

the bolster!'"

Prolonged laughter and tumultuous applause.

"Friends and neighbours," said the Squire when silence was restored,

and lifting the horn of ale, "I have the pleasure to inform you that

I have ordered the Stocks to be taken down, and made into a bench for

the chimney nook of our old friend Gaffer Solomons yonder. But mind

me, lads, if ever you make the Parish regret the loss of the Stocks,

and the overseers come to me with long faces and say, 'the Stocks

must be rebuilded,' why--" Here from all the youth of the village

rose so deprecating a clamour, that the Squire would have been the

most bungling orator in the world if he had said a word further on

the subject. He elevated the horn over his head--"Why, that's my old

Hazeldean again! Health and long life to you all!"

The Tinker had sneaked out of the assembly, and did not show his face

in the village for the next six months. And as to those poisonous

tracts, in spite of their salubrious labels, "the Poor Man's Friend,"

or "the Rights of Labour," you could no more have found one of them

lurking in the drawers of the kitchen-dressers in Hazeldean, than you

would have found the deadly nightshade on the flower-stands in the

drawing-room of the Hall. As for the revolutionary beer-house, there

was no need to apply to the magistrates to shut it up; it shut itself

up before the week was out.

O young head of the great House of Hapsburg, what a Hazeldean you

might have made of Hungary!--What a "_Moriamur pro rege nostro_" would

have rang in your infant reign,--if you had made such a speech as the

Squire's!

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The Emperor Diocletian.

[2] The title of Excellency does not, in Italian, necessarily express

any exalted rank; but is often given by servants to their masters.

ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS FROM THE HISTORY OF JOHN BULL.--PART II.

CHAPTER V.

HOW MARTIN'S SON, AUGUSTINE, BEGAN TO IMITATE HIS UNCLE PETER.

It is now my duty, in a few words, to make you acquainted with the

state of Martin's family. Martin, as you know, had acted as chaplain

to Squire Bull ever since Peter was sent about his business, with the

exception of the short period during which red-nosed Noll the brewer

held forcible possession of the Squire's house. Noll had a mortal

hatred to Martin, (who, it must be allowed, reciprocated the sentiment

with extreme cordiality,) and wanted to dispossess him for ever of his

benefice and vicarage, in favour of any drunken serjeant who had a

taste for theology and ale. However, when the Squire came back to his

own estate, Martin returned with him, and has remained chaplain up to

the present day without any hindrance or molestation. At times some of

the household have grumbled because Martin has a place at the upper

servants' table; but the complaint was never made by any except such

pestilent rogues as wished in their hearts to see the Squire deprived

of his lawful authority, and the whole of Bullockshatch thrown into a

state of anarchy and confusion.

Martin was as excellent a man as ever stepped upon neat's leather.

He did his duty to the poor honourably and conscientiously, kept his

church in good repair, looked after the parish schools, and was, in

short, a comfort and a credit to all who knew him. He was also a

married man, a circumstance whereof Peter tried to make the most;

abusing him, forsooth, because he did not follow his own example

of getting the girls into a corner to tell him about their little

indiscretions and secret thoughts--a pastime to which that hoary old

sinner was especially addicted;--or of worming himself into some

private gentleman's family, and then frightening the lady of the house

into fits by threatening to put her into a brick-kiln or red-hot oven,

of which Peter pretended to keep the key, if she did not divulge to

him the whole of her husband's secrets, and hand over the children in

private to be stamped with Peter's mark. Many a once happy household

had the old villain brought to misery by those scandalous intrigues;

for the truth is, that he stuck at nothing which might tend to his

own advancement, however infamous were the means. Had Martin been a

reprobate like himself, he might possibly have endured him: as it was,

his good character and decent habits were so many arguments for Peter

to abuse him wherever he went.

Martin had a son, who in due time was appointed his curate, and had a

chapel to himself. This young, man, whose name was Augustine, was by

no means so discreet a person as his father. He was of a moping and

melancholy habit, very much addicted to the study of architecture,

which he carried to such an excess that you could not be five minutes

in his company without hearing him discourse about mullions, brackets,

architraves, and flying buttresses, in a way that would have bewildered

a stone mason. He got his chapel fitted up in such a style that it

exactly resembled one of Peter's; and this he did, as he openly avowed,

from a regard to the customs of antiquity. When Martin was told of

this, he shook his head, caught up his walking cane, and stepped over

to the chapel, where he found Augustine superintending the erection of

a new oriel window, the design of which was gorgeous enough to eclipse

the glories of the most brilliant butterfly of Brazil.

"What's here to do?" quoth Martin, walking up the chancel. "Mighty

handsome this, son Augustine, to be sure; but--don't it strike you that

the effect is a little too Peterish? Mind, I do not object in the least

to your making the chapel neat and tidy. I never thought, as brother

Jack used to do, (though he is now becoming more sensible on those

points,) that a church ought as nearly as possible to resemble a barn.

On the contrary, I like to see everything in its proper place. But

what's this?" continued he, tapping with his cane a kind of ornamented

basin with a slab. "I don't remember ever having seen any thing of this

kind before."

"Indeed, sir!" replied Augustine; "you surprise me very much. I thought

everyone must be acquainted with the Piscina and Finistella. Those, I

can assure you, are accurate copies from ancient drawings of the church

of Saint Ethelred, which was burned by the Danes about the beginning of

the tenth century."

"That may be," quoth Martin, "but I can't for the life of me see the

use of them now. And what may you call this?"

"That, sir? Why, that's the credence table. There is a splendid

specimen of that style of architecture in the cathedral remains of St

Ninian."

"And that carved wood-work up there near the gallery?"

"That, sir, is the rood-loft, constructed on mediæval principles, after

the designs of Hubert the Confessor."

"I'll tell you what it is, son Augustine," said Martin, "all this is

very pretty; and if you and your people wish to have it, there may be

no positive reason why I should interfere. Thank heaven, sound doctrine

does not depend upon stone and lime; and so long as your principles are

firm, it may not matter much that you are a little absurd or so about

this architectural hobby of yours. But, mark me well, my dear boy,"

continued the good gentleman, with tears in his eyes; "no trafficking

or colleaguing with Peter! That old miscreant has ever been a bitter

enemy of me and mine, and of the Squire to boot; and if it should come

to pass that my own flesh and blood were to desert me for that impious

rascal, I would be fain to carry my grey hairs in sorrow to the grave!

Think well of this, I beseech you, and on no account whatever have

anything to say to that arch-deceiver!"

You might reasonably suppose that Augustine was much moved by this

remonstrance. Not a whit of it. He was much too conceited to take

counsel from any one; and in his secret heart began to look upon his

father as no better than an uncharitable bigot.

"Holy Saint Pancras!" he would say, for he had a queer habit of

invoking the names of dead people, "what can it matter to any one

whether I bow to my uncle Peter or not? People tell me I am rather

like him in complexion; and I daresay, after all, there is a strong

family resemblance. What have I to do with old family feuds, which had

far better be forgotten? As to the nine-and-thirty points of doctrine

to which I have set my name, some of them may be good, and others

heterodox; but I presume I am not compelled to accept them in the

literal sense. Why should they be made a stumbling-block in the way of

a proper reconciliation between myself and my uncle, who no doubt has

fallen into questionable practices, though in the main he is quite as

like to be right as my father Martin?"

Augustine, however, did not venture to hold this kind of talk openly

for some time, knowing that, if it came to the ears of Martin, he would

inevitably be disinherited on the spot, and turned out of his cure.

In the discourses which he delivered from the pulpit, he was wont to

express great sorrow and anxiety for the backslidings of his "venerable

relative," as he now termed Peter, "towards whom his bowels yearned

with an almost unspeakable affection. It would ill become him to forget

what Peter had done for the family long ago, and indeed for the whole

of Bullockshatch; and although he was now, no doubt, cast out for his

sins, he, Augustine, could not prevail upon himself to speak harshly

of a gentleman who had such excellent grounds for styling himself the

head of the whole house." Then he would go on to insinuate that there

were two sides to every question--that his own father Martin might

possibly have behaved more roughly to Peter than there was any occasion

for--and that Peter had many good points about him for which he did not

receive sufficient credit. Having thus talked over his congregation,

who were willing enough to go along with him a certain length, he began

in public to wear a dress as nearly approaching to that of Peter's

retainers as he durst. He turned his back upon people, just as the

others did, and dressed up the charity-boys in white gowns, to look,

as he said, like acolytes. One, winter's morning, when the parishioners

arrived at church, they were petrified at seeing two huge candlesticks

placed upon the table, such articles of furniture having been for a

long time disused in the churches throughout Bullockshatch. Augustine,

however, had discovered from some old musty pamphlet that they were

not strictly forbidden; so he got a pair of new ones made, (after

the mediæval fashion, of course,) and preached a long sermon for the

purpose of demonstrating their advantages and mystical meaning. Three

Sundays afterwards, the weather being rather dark and hazy, they were

fitted with lighted wax-candles; and Augustine, having once got so far,

took care that this pious practice should not be discontinued even in

the height of summer. Another Sunday he would put himself at the head

of the charity-boys, and walk through the church in procession, bowing

and making genuflexions in evident imitation of Peter; and at last

the poor young man was so far left to himself, that he would not read

the service properly, but twanged it through his nose in a kind of

sing-song fashion, which he called intoning, but which had simply this

effect, that nobody was able to follow the meaning of the words.

These things were, as you may suppose, very annoying to Martin, who,

over and over again, entreated him to take care what he was doing. But,

in answer to every remonstrance, Augustine would whip out the musty

pamphlet aforesaid, lay it open before his father, and request him

to point out any special clause condemnatory of the practices which

he followed. "If such a clause exists," quoth he, "I knock under,

as in duty bound. If not, I apprehend that I am merely pursuing a

course which has been sanctioned from all antiquity." Martin tried to

convince him that a great many things might be wrong, or at all events

injudicious, which were not actually expressly set down as forbidden;

but no argument would avail with Augustine, who said he was determined

to stand by the rubric, and, moreover, to interpret that rubric

according to his own lights and inspiration.

This was bad enough. However, had it been all, no great mischief might

have ensued. But curious stories became current presently regarding

Augustine's walk and conversation. It was said that he was in the habit

of holding secret colloquies for hours with the Bishop of Timbuctoo and

others, notorious emissaries of Peter; that he wore hair cloth under

his shirt, kept vigils and fasts, and had an oratory fitted up in his

bedroom--with crucifixes and I wot not what, clean contrary to the

commands of Martin. This much is certain, that he framed a callendar of

his own out of some of the books from Peter's discarded library, and

never wrote to his broker to buy him some shares in a railway, or to

his grocer for a fresh supply of split-peas, without dating his note

"Festival of Saint Balderdash," or "Eve of Saint Rowena, V. and M.,"

instead of specifying the day of the month, like an ordinary orthodox

Christian. Then there were rumours current about private confessions,

to which the young ladies, among whom Augustine (being unmarried) was

always a favourite, were invited; of pilgrimages to holy wells; and of

other similar junketings--which made many people look upon Augustine as

no better than an innocent Peter. And they were perfectly right. He was

innocent of any bad design, and I really believe as virtuous a creature

as ever breathed. He was kind to the poor, and would any day have given

half his stipend for their assistance and relief. But he was weak in

intellect, puffed up with vanity, obstinate as a team of mules, and

credulous to the last degree.

Novelties, as we all know, have a prodigious attraction for many

people. In point of plain sense and doctrine, there was no manner of

comparison between Martin and his son. If you wished for nothing more

than devotional exercise, and an excellent sermon, you might search

the world over without finding the equal of Martin. But if your tastes

led you to indulge in qualified Peterisms, or to listen to revivals

of antiquated notions, Augustine was your man. A great many people,

and among others the Juggler, were vastly tickled by Augustine's

newfangled methods. They could not enough admire his ingenuity in

volunteering to fight Peter with his own weapons; and they were

ready, whenever he wished it, to contribute their money towards the

expenses of festivals, or anything else which Augustine might choose to

recommend. Even the Juggler, though fond of his cash, gave something

towards the continuance of these ceremonies--a fact which you will do

well to bear in mind when you come to read some of the later passages

of this history.

I am sorry, however, to say, that many of Augustine's original

congregation pursued a different course. The innuendos against Martin,

and the hints which they had received as to the possible comparative

innocence of Peter, had taken deep root in their minds. They became,

moreover, so used to a ceremonial, which differed little from that

patronised by Peter, except in being less gorgeous, that they acquired

a secret hankering for the entire undiluted ritual; and their nostrils

thirsted for a whiff of frankincense, which even Augustine, refused

to allow them. The consequence was that they began, in imitation of

their pastor, to hold interviews with Peter's emissaries, who, you may

suppose, were ready to meet them half-way; and from little to more,

matters grew to such a head, that many of Augustine's most sincere

disciples turned their back upon him, and went over bodily to Peter!

This was an awful blow and discomfiture to Augustine, who certainly

had meditated nothing of the sort; but it had not the effect of curing

him. He still went on maundering about his Uncle Peter, as if that

venerable individual had been as much sinned against as sinning; and,

in spite of all that Martin could say, he would not abate one jot of

his observances. Peter's emissaries, in the mean time, were as active

as ferrets in a rabbit warren. They never emerged from their holes

without fetching out a new victim, whom they paraded to the whole world

as a pattern of docility and virtue. They wrote long letters to Peter,

glorifying themselves on their success; and stating that the time had

now arrived when all Bullockshatch was prepared to throw itself at

his feet. But in this they reckoned entirely without their host. They

took it for granted that the proceedings in Augustine's chapel were

approved of by the whole tenantry on the estate; whereas the fact was,

that nine out of ten of them looked to Martin as their spiritual guide

and counsellor, and entertained an intense contempt for Augustine,

which they only refrained from expressing in broad set terms, by reason

of his relationship to their pastor. Peter, however, was very glad

to receive news of this kind; and swallowed it, without making too

minute an inquiry. Long experience had taught him that it was always

best to assume a victory, without being particular as to the details;

and, as those who were intrusted with the superintendence of Squire

Bull's estate, had latterly shown themselves exceedingly amenable to

his jurisdiction, and quite hostile to the pretensions of Martin, and

of poor Patrick, whom he longed in the first instance to subjugate,

he had some grounds for supposing that the present was by no means a

bad opportunity for reviving his old claim of dominion over the whole

territory of Bullockshatch. These letters from his emissaries had

reached him before his interview with Mat-o'-the-Mint--a circumstance

which perhaps may afford a clue to the nature of his conversation with

that singularly acute individual.

CHAPTER VI.

HOW PROTOCOL FELL FOUL OF SQUIRE OTHO; AND HOW HE WAS CALLED TO A

RECKONING IN CONSEQUENCE.

After Mat-o'-the-Mint's return to Bullockshatch, Protocol found himself

very much like a fish out of water. That honest gentleman laboured

under a constitutional infirmity, being subject to fits of hypochondria

whenever Squire Bull happened to be at peace and amity with his

neighbours. At such times it was not very safe to approach him. He was

sulky, petulant, and irritable; and in default of any more legitimate

occupation, usually took an opportunity of picking a quarrel with some

of his fellow-servants. You may therefore easily believe, that he was

no great favourite in the household. Gray and others would willingly

have got rid of him if they durst, but Protocol had been long in the

service, and knew so many of their secret ways and doings, that he had

them completely in his power. Therefore, whenever he began to exhibit

any of his pestilent humours, the household would gather round him,

protesting that he was the cleverest and most adroit fellow in the

universe, and indeed the only man alive who could properly manage a

lawsuit.

"I have said it a thousand times on my knees," quoth the Juggler on

such occasions, "that our revered master, Squire Bull, never had so

acute a servant as the excellent Mr Protocol. Show me the man like

him for finding out points in which the honour of Bullockshatch is

concerned! I declare I am as proud of him as if he were my own father."

And then they would all join in a general chorus of flattery and

adulation, and request their esteemed friend and colleague, Protocol,

just to step into his closet and look over the county map, lest there

should be any case of a doubtful boundary which might be disputed,

or at all events to write a few letters to the neighbouring squires,

telling them what he, Protocol, thought of their general management. At

this, Protocol would begin to look less grim, and finally retire with

a wink, as much as to say--"Aha! my masters--wait here for a little,

and you shall see somewhat." And in half-an-hour he would return,

carrying a map all ruled over with red and blue lines, and a bundle of

old surveys, from which he would pledge his credit to establish the

fact in any court of Christendom, that Squire Bull had been swindled

out of at least three perches of unproductive land, in a division of

common lands which was made a hundred years before. The other members

of the household were but too happy to see him occupied again, without

caring whether he was right or wrong; and to work went Protocol, as

merry as a cricket, writing letters without end, docketing notes, and

making-believe as though he had the weight of the whole world on his

shoulders.

You may easily conceive that this kind of conduct, though it suited

the convenience of the Juggler and his friends, was exceedingly odious

to the neighbouring squires, who were not allowed to eat their meals

in comfort without being disturbed by Protocol. One day he sent a

messenger to Esquire Strutt, as if from Squire Bull, calling his

attention to certain arrangements in his household, which, he said,

ought to be modified; whereupon Strutt, who was proverbially as proud

as a peacock, flew into a violent passion, warned the messenger off

his estate, and sent back such an answer to Protocol as made his ears

tingle for a fortnight. Then, whenever any of the squires happened to

have a dispute among themselves, originating from a drinking-bout or

a cock-fight, Protocol would instantly write to them, tendering his

good offices and mediation, which offer they, warned by experience,

were usually wise enough to decline. In fact, these absurd doings of

Protocol brought Squire Bull at length into such discredit with his

neighbours, that there was nothing on earth which they dreaded so much

as his interference.

Protocol was in one of his worst humours when Mat-o'-the-Mint returned.

Everything had gone wrong with him in the south. Don Vesuvius had

settled his affairs, clean contrary to the wish of Protocol. Don

Ferdinando had got all he wanted, simply by acting in a manner

directly opposite to his advice. Signor Tureen, whom he favoured, had

been worsted in a lawsuit which he recommended, and was saddled with

enormous costs. Peter, with whom he was bent on currying favour, had

been kicked out of his patrimony, and Protocol had not even the dubious

credit of fetching him back, that having been accomplished by young

Nap. Altogether he had made a precious mess of it; and many people,

both in the upper and under-servants' hall at Bullockshatch, began

to insinuate that, after all, Master Protocol was no better than a

bungler. All this tended to exasperate him to the utmost.

"It is a devilish hard thing," he remarked to himself one day, as he

sat in the midst of his maps and correspondence--"It is a devilish

hard thing that I can't find any men of talent to carry my designs

into execution! There is scarcely a messenger in my whole department

who can bamboozle a toll-keeper, much less throw dust in the eyes of a

ground-steward. The Squire will no doubt make an hideous outcry about

this unconscionable bill of expenses which Mat-o'-the-Mint has run up;

and heaven only knows how far he may have compromised my credit. Catch

me allowing him to go out again on any errand of the kind! Never, since

I first nibbed a pen, were matters in such a mess! I really must do

something for the sake of my own character. But then the puzzle is with

whom to begin. I won't have anything more to do with Jonathan, that's

flat. I dare not meddle further in anything which concerns Esquire

North, for he is beginning to growl already, like a bear as he is,

and Copenhagen is under his protection. It would be a dangerous game

to have anything to say at present either to Colonel Martinet or Don

Ferdinando; and, as for the South, why, I have been already checkmated

there. Ha! an idea strikes me! Didn't I get several letters lately from

a relation of Moses, complaining that he had suffered some damage in a

street-row after dining with young Squire Otho? And, now I think of it,

Squire Otho owes us some five or six pounds of interest on a bond which

he granted to Bull, and he is behindhand with the arrears. And, as I

live, here's another letter, which I threw aside at the time, telling

me that Cheeks the marine, who is in John's pay, was taken up one night

to the watch-house by a constable of Otho's, on a charge of being drunk

and disorderly! Altogether, it is a capital case; and as those barges

which I sent along the canal to frighten Don Vesuvius are still lying

thereabouts, I'll even desire them to stop in front of Otho's house,

and demand immediate satisfaction."

This Otho was a young lad, who had been put in possession of his

property with the full consent and assistance of Squire Bull. It was

a little, rocky, dilapidated place, with more ruins upon it than

cottages, and for many years had been entirely overrun by gipsies.

Long ago, before the other estates in the country were brought into

proper cultivation, it was reckoned of some importance; and its

proprietors were said to have held their heads as high as O'Donoghue

of the Lakes, or Malachi of the golden collar. But all that was matter

of tradition. It was difficult to understand why Squire Bull should

have troubled himself about it, except it was for this reason, that he

had taken possession of one or two small islands in a lake adjoining

the property, which were well adapted for the culture of currants; and

which, when he broke them up, were understood to belong to nobody.

However, wishing to see the gipsies, who were a troublesome race,

expelled, he agreed to settle Otho in this unprofitable estate, and

lent the poor lad a trifle, just by way of keeping his head above water

at starting.

The villagers--for tenantry Otho had almost none--were, on the whole,

an inoffensive race. They were said to be infernal cheats and liars;

but as they only lied and cheated amongst themselves, that did not

much signify. They had a great respect for Bull, were very civil and

obsequious to any of his people who passed that way, and would as soon

have encountered a goblin in the churchyard, as have picked a quarrel

with any of them. Otho was, I suppose, by much the poorest squire in

all the country round. His rental, nominally small, was in reality next

to nothing; and it was supposed that he had a hard struggle to make

ends meet. Such was the victim whom Protocol selected, in order to

enhance his individual glory and renown.

Down came the barges across the lake in front of Otho's house, each of

them crammed full of watchmen, marines, and bargees, wearing Squire

Bull's livery. Upon this, Otho, supposing that the visit was made in

compliment to himself, and little dreaming that he had provoked the

enmity of so powerful a personage as Protocol, put on his best coat and

hat, and was just stepping down to the quay, when, to his amazement, a

writ was served upon him at the instance of Squire Bull.

"What's this?" he said, unfolding the document,--"'Account of

loss sustained by Mr Shylock, naturalised servant of Squire

Bull.--Magnificent furniture, L.90, 6s. 8d. Do. China, L.49, 3s.

8-1/4d. Inestimable jewellery, L.505. Disturbance of mind, L.70,

10s. Medical attendance for subsequent dysentery, L.13, 13s.' Good

heavens! is Esquire Bull mad? Shylock? Why, that's the fellow who has

been bothering me for a year past about some broken crockery, and a

fractured camp-stool! And what may this other paper be? 'Compensation

to Mr William Cheeks, marine, for unlawful detention of his person,

and injury to his character, he having been apprehended as drunk and

disorderly, L.300! Why, the man was discharged next morning with a

simple reprimand from the magistrate! But here's a third--'Amercement

for injury done to Dimitri Palikaros, and Odysseus Cosmokapeleion,

inhabitants of the currant islands, under the protection of John Bull,

Esquire, they having been disturbed in their indefeasible right of

sleeping in the open air, and forcibly conducted to the watch-house,

L.50.' Oh, it must be a joke! Squire Bull cannot be in earnest!"

But poor Otho was very soon made to understand that it was no joke at

all, but a devilish serious matter. He received a peremptory intimation

from Protocol's messenger, who was on board one of the barges, that

he must pay the whole of the demands made without demurring, within

four-and-twenty hours, otherwise he should be under the disagreeable

necessity of laying an execution on his house; and moreover, that,

until this was done, all the boats at the quay would be laid under

embargo. In vain did Otho remonstrate against this flagrant injustice,

and offer to submit the case to any squire in Christendom. Protocol's

man had special orders, and would not abate a jot. Not a soul was

allowed to go out and fish on the lake, though the livelihood of many

depended on it. Nay, he had the inhumanity to seize some cargoes of

fresh beef, vegetables, and other perishable articles which were

intended for the supply of the villagers, and to keep them rotting in

the sun, until Otho should pay the whole amount of the demand.

A more flagrant case was probably never known. In all human

probability, twenty shillings would have covered the whole extent of

the losses sustained by Shylock; and as for Bill Cheeks, and the two

other fellows with unpronounceable names, it was clear that the police

magistrate had only let them off too cheap. But there was more than

this. Otho was also told that the time had come for the settlement

of his arrears, and that he must, moreover, cede to Squire Bull two

islets, or rather rocks, in the lake, on which his fishermen were used

to dry their nets, these not being expressly marked as his in a map in

the possession of Protocol! You may easily conceive that the poor lad

was driven to his wit's end by these tyrannical proceedings.

"I never would have believed this of Squire Bull!" cried he. "I always

thought him to be a generous, frank, open-minded gentleman, with a

soul above pettifogging; and one who would not be hard upon a debtor.

Esquire North would not have behaved to me in this way--no, nor would

any other of my neighbours. And I won't believe, even yet, that it is

the wish of the Squire to deal so hardly with a poor lad, who has not

had time to set himself right with the world. It must be Protocol's,

doing; though why he should use me so, since I never gave him any

offence that I know of, passes my understanding. However, I'll write to

the Baboonery, and learn what young Nap thinks of the matter."

He could not have done a wiser thing. Nap thought, as every one

else did, that the proceedings of Protocol were not only shabby and

un-neighbour-like, but clearly Jewish and unprincipled. Accordingly, he

took up the cudgels for Otho, declaring that he could not see a poor

young fellow, who was rather out at the elbows, though from no fault

of his, treated in this abominable fashion; and the clerk to whom he

gave the charge of the correspondence, being a plain, straightforward,

knock-me-down sort of character, who had no patience for diplomatic

palaver, very soon convinced Protocol that he was like to have the

worst of it. After a good deal of correspondence, conducted in a way

which was the reverse of creditable to Squire Bull's establishment, a

compromise was effected; and Protocol seemed to think that he had at

last achieved a triumph. But the contrary was the case: for the people

of Bullockshatch, and the Squire himself, were mightily ashamed of the

use which had been made of his name in this disreputable transaction.

The upper servants, at a general meeting, voted it a dirty and

undignified transaction, and declared that they washed their hands,

henceforward, of all participation in the tricks and pantalooneries

of Protocol. This necessitated a call of the under-servants; when

the Juggler arose, and with real tears in his eyes, (for his wages

depended upon the issue of the vote,) declared that he believed from

the bottom of his heart, that a nobler or more disinterested individual

than his honourable friend Protocol never broke bread, &c. &c., and

that he, the Juggler, was ready to lay down the last drop of his blood

for the honour of Esquire Bull, &c.;--a sacrifice which was the more

creditable, as nobody thought of demanding it. By dint of promise of

advancement in the household, he persuaded divers of the servants,

especially one Caustic, to speak strongly in favour of Protocol; but

the odds are, that he never would have carried the vote but for the

dexterity of Protocol himself. That veteran sinner was worth, in point

of ability, the whole of his colleagues put together. He had a tongue

that could wile a bird off a tree; and the most extraordinary thing

about him, next to his fondness for getting into scrapes, was the

facility with which he got out of them. He favoured his audience with

a sketch of the services which he had rendered to Squire Bull, showing

that in everything he had done, he had the honour of Bullockshatch

at heart; and by cantering over some portions of his story where the

ground was rather dubious, sliding over others, and making a prodigious

prancing where his footing was tolerably firm, he managed to persuade

the majority of the servants that he really was a well-meaning

individual, and that they were bound at all events to overlook this

last escapade about Otho, which no one who had an atom of conscience

could pretend absolutely to justify.

Protocol was in high feather in consequence of this whitewashing; the

more so, that at one time it appeared very doubtful if even the under

servants could be induced to support him. He and some of his chums

had a dinner and drink afterwards at a servants' club to which they

belonged, where Proto. made another speech, boasting that so long as he

lived, no man born on Squire Bull's estate should be insulted by any

neighbouring proprietor, or be laid in the stocks, or be hustled in a

village, without receiving ample damages. All this sounded very well,

though it certainly looked like holding out a premium to poaching; but

it so happened, that a short time afterwards an old gentleman of the

name of Marshall, who was in Don Ferdinando's service, and who had

been mainly instrumental in reinstating him in his house, after it

was broken into by the rabble as I have already told you, came over

to Bullockshatch on a holiday jaunt. Marshall's policy through life

had always been to return a buffet for a blow; and, as the fellows

who created the uproar on Ferdinando's estate were no more to be

reasoned with than so many wild Indians, whom indeed they resembled

in their devilish practices of stabbing, tomahawking, ravishing, and

roasting alive, he was by no means scrupulous in his method of putting

them down. Some of the insurgents, who had fled to Bullockshatch,

had succeeded, by dint of unmitigated lying, in getting up a strong

feeling among the villagers against Marshall, whom they represented

as a man-eating tiger, with so debauched a digestion, that he could

not sleep at night unless he had previously supped upon a child. The

people of Bullockshatch were exceedingly credulous upon such points,

for it is on record that about a hundred years before, when poor

Donald, as kindly a creature as ever fasted on oatmeal, came down from

the hills, the children were sent into the coal-cellar, lest haply

the sight of a plump one might whet his uncivilised appetite. Be that

as it may, a general impression had gone abroad that Marshall was no

better than a cannibal; and during the short while he remained in

Bullockshatch, not a nursery-maid was allowed to take the usual airing

in the streets.

But he did not remain long. Spies were set upon him; and one day when

he took a fancy to look into a brewery, just by way of seeing how the

beer was made, he was assailed by a whole gang of ragamuffins, who

cursed, kicked, cuffed, and spat upon him, tore off his moustaches,

damned him for a persecuting foreigneering scoundrel, and would

probably have murdered him, had he not, by great good luck, escaped

into a pot-house hard by. Even then he was hardly safe, for the mob

tried to gut the premises. You may be sure that, after experiencing

this treatment, Marshall did not remain long in Bullockshatch; in fact,

he took himself off next morning, protesting that he would rather

sojourn among the Hottentots, than be exposed to such treatment at

the hands of a civilised community. So far as he was concerned, he

wished to take no farther notice of the matter; but the household of

Don Ferdinando, considering this a direct insult to themselves and

their master, desired the head-steward to write to Protocol, demanding

immediate satisfaction. This was an awkward thrust; for, if Protocol

was entitled to insist on compensation from Otho, for the injuries

done by his people to Bill Cheeks, Shylock, and Cosmokapeleion, it was

evident that, on the same principle, Ferdinando's steward had a right

to sue Squire Bull for the injury and damages inflicted upon Marshall.

Proto., however, refused pointblank to give any satisfaction, or to do

anything at all in the matter; whereupon Ferdinando's steward gave him

due notice, that in all time coming he should consider himself and his

master relieved from all responsibility, if any of Squire Bull's people

should happen to be tarred and feathered when straying beyond bounds.

What was even more unpleasant, Esquire North sent him notice to the

same effect; and North was not a man likely to be worse than his word.

I have thought it right to tell ye these things just now, in order that

you may understand Protocol's usual method of doing business. I must

now relate to you a circumstance which threw the whole of Bullockshatch

into a most awful quandary.

CHAPTER VII.

HOW PETER CLAIMED SUPREMACY IN BULLOCKSHATCH--AND HOW THE JUGGLER THREW

THE BLAME UPON AUGUSTINE.

One morning after breakfast, Squire Bull, who was then mightily taken

up with a glass warehouse, which some people had persuaded him to erect

in his park, for the purpose of showing off his neighbours' wares in

opposition to his own, called as usual for his newspaper.

"I half begin to think," quoth he, settling himself in his easy chair,

and airing the broadsheet at the fire, "that I have been bubbled in

this matter. What good this puffing and vaunting of other folk's

commodities is to do to my villagers, I do not exactly see; and, as for

the tenantry, they appear to be against it to a man. Besides, I have a

strong suspicion that in the long run I shall have to pay the piper.

However, let us see if anything is stirring abroad.--Eh! what's this? A

letter from that miscreant Peter! Am I in my right senses?"

And, sure enough, in the most conspicuous part of the newspaper there

appeared the following document:--

"WE, PETER, Lord Paramount of the whole world, and Supreme Suzerain

of the Squirearchy thereof, to all to whom these presents may come,

Greeting. KNOW YE, that We, out of Our infinite condescension and

mercy, and moved thereto by the love which We bear to Our subjects

of Bullockshatch, have determined from henceforth, and in all time

coming, to grant unto them such spiritual rights and privileges as

We have accorded to others of Our subjects elsewhere. Also, for

the end that Our loving subjects of Bullockshatch may the better

accommodate themselves to Our Will in this matter, and render to

us, through Our delegates, the homage which is justly Our due,

We have resolved to divide and erect, as We do hereby divide and

erect, the whole of Our territory of Bullockshatch into thirteen

separate parishes, appointing thereunto for each a Superintendent,

who shall henceforth, and in all time coming, derive his style

and title from the parish to which he is appointed by Us; and We

command, require, and enjoin Our said loving subjects to render

to Our said Superintendents all obedience and fealty, as they

shall answer to Us thereupon. And in order that all things may

be properly administered, We have appointed Our dearly beloved

Nicholas, formerly Superintendent of Hippopotamus, to be our

Arch-Superintendent on Our estate of Bullockshatch, with the

title and designation of Lord Arch-Superintendent of Smithfield,

granting to him all the rights of coal, fuel, faggot, turf,

twig, and combustibles which were formerly enjoyed by any of his

predecessors in office. And as a token of their gratitude for this

Our unparalleled condescension and mercy, We ordain and require

that Our loving subjects of Bullockshatch shall each and all of

them attend and assist at three solemn masses, to be performed for

the soul of the late Guido Fawkes, Esquire, of happy memory. And We

declare this to be a public and irrevocable decree.

(_Signed_) PETER."

Language is inadequate to express the paroxysm of wrath into which

Squire Bull was thrown by the perusal of this insolent document! He

foamed at the mouth, kicked over the breakfast table, dashed the

newspaper on the carpet, and tore down the bell-rope.

"He the Lord Paramount of Bullockshatch, the lying old villain that

he is! He pretend to jurisdiction within my estate! But I'll trounce

him! Ho, there! Who's without? Fetch me here the Juggler instantly!

Body of me, that it should ever have come to this! These are the thanks

I get from the ungrateful old he-goat for having taken some of his

people into my service, and persuaded my tenantry, sorely against their

will, to make an annual allowance for that school of his, which is no

better than a nest of Jesuits! If I don't make the viper feel--So, so!

Master Juggler, you are there, are you? Things have come to a pretty

pass, when I can't take up a newspaper, without finding myself openly

insulted, and my rights of property denied!"

Now, be it known to you that the Juggler was anything but comfortable

in his mind. He was fully conscious that he had been imposed on by

Peter; and, further, that he and his associates had done everything

in their power to back up Peter's pretensions. This they did less out

of hatred to Martin (though they bore him no great love) than from a

desire to ingratiate themselves with some of the under servants who

came from the farm over the pond, and were known adherents of Peter.

But from one thing to another, they had gone so far, as we have already

seen, relaxing and abolishing all the old regulations of the estate

against the interference of Peter, that it really seemed as though

he had only to step in and take possession. Further, the Juggler was

somewhat at a loss to know how he could satisfactorily explain the

nature of the mission upon which his relative, Mat-o'-the-Mint, had

been despatched; besides some other little circumstances which looked

confoundedly suspicious. For example, about a year before, one Dicky

Squeal, a notorious Peterite, had been detected tampering with the dies

from which Squire Bull's tokens were struck, and cutting out certain

letters which were understood to signify that Mr Bull held possession

of his estate altogether independent of Peter. Instead of punishing him

for this, the Juggler had just announced his intention of sending Dicky

Squeal on a second mission to Signor Macaroni's estate, where he might

be within earshot of Peter. Altogether, it is no wonder if the Juggler

felt the reverse of happy when summoned to appear before his master.

However, he was resolved to brazen it out as he best could.

"Insulted, did you say, sir; and your rights of property denied? The

thing is clean impossible! Nobody dares insult my noble master--the

most excellent, kind, hospitable, beneficent landlord that ever kept

open house! O sir, if you but knew the depth of my affection--the

almost overwhelming load, as I may say, of love and regard--"

"Come, come, Master Juggler! quoth the Squire sharply, "I've heard

all that palaver before, and mayhap once too often. You ask who has

insulted me--I'll tell you in four words--that unmitigated rascal,

Peter!

"Peter! alackaday!" replied the Juggler, with an affected whine of

consternation. "Is it possible that he can have been left so far to his

own devices! Surely, surely, my dear master, there must be some mistake

in this."

"No mistake at all!" roared the Squire; "and, what is more, there shall

be no mistake about it. Look here--" continued he, pointing out the

paragraph. "Have you read that?"

The Juggler had done so, every word of it, that blessed morning; but

as he wished to gain time, he adjusted his glasses, and began to con

it over with an appearance of intense interest. Meanwhile the Squire

occupied himself in tying knots on a new lash for his hunting-whip.

"Well, what do you say to that now?" quoth he, when the Juggler had

concluded the perusal.

"I think--that is--I am strongly of opinion," faltered the other, "that

the whole thing is a mere misconception."

"A what?" roared the Squire.

"A misconception," quavered the Juggler. "As I read this document,

which I confess is not so well worded as it might have been, I conclude

that Peter merely wishes to provide for the spiritual wants of his own

people, not that he in the least degree intends to question your lawful

authority. And further--"

"Hark-ye!" interrupted the Squire, his eye kindling like a coal, "I am

not going to stand any of your nonsense. I, John Bull, stand here as

the sole proprietor of Bullockshatch, and no man alive shall presume to

question my title with impunity. Look to it, Master Juggler, for I know

you better than you think. I may be at times too easy and careless, but

I have an eye in my head notwithstanding, and I know what your friends

Gray and Claretson have been doing. Mind this--you as head-steward are

responsible to me, and if I find you playing false in this matter, by

the Lord Harry you shall answer for it!"

"Me!" cried the Juggler, in the shrill tones of injured innocence. "How

could such an idea enter into your blessed brain? I protest that never

man served master with more entire devotion. May my next tragedy be

worse than my first, if it does not bring tears into my eyes, to hear

you talking in this way of your affectionate Juggling Johnny!" Here he

went through a little bit of pantomime similar to that performed by Mr

T. P. Cooke when bidding farewell to Shewsan, immediately before his

execution. "As for Gray and Claretson, or any other of them, if they

have been doing anything contrary to the rules of the household, it is

wholly unbeknownst to me. O! if your honour only knew the trouble they

give me sometimes, and the watch I am obliged to keep over them to see

that they do their duty! I really think that the labour is telling upon

my precious health. If it be your pleasure that they should be packed

about their business, I'll do it--only don't break my heart by doubting

my devotion in your service."

"Well, well!" quoth the Squire, who was always easily mollified, "let's

say no more about that at present. The main thing is to put down that

insolent varlet, Peter. And, as you say you are determined to uphold

my authority, it will be just as well that you should tell that to the

household. So just step into my closet--you will find paper and ink on

the table--and write me a handsome letter to Martin, expressive of your

indignation at Peter, and your determination to give him a ribroasting

at the earliest opportunity."

At this the Juggler hemmed and coughed, said something about a whitlow

in his finger, and would fain have postponed writing for the present.

But the Squire was peremptory, and would listen to no excuse; so

_nolens volens_, Johnny was obliged to walk into the closet and do his

master's bidding.

Having secured the door, he first of all took out of his waistcoat

pocket a thimble and peas, and began trying to cheat himself, as was

his wont whenever he found himself in a scrape. After his ideas were

clarified by that ingenious process, he broke out into the following

soliloquy:--

"Am I done for, or am I not? Gadzooks! I must say that it looks

extremely like it. That old blockhead Bull is in a thorough passion,

and I need never expect to talk him round. What an ass that fellow

Peter is! If he had only waited a little, we could have managed the

whole matter quite easily, but now he has put his foot in it, and

must even take the consequences. But how am I to manage with Gray and

Claretson? They are both committed as deeply as can be to Peter, and I

suspect that he can prove it by their own letters. I wonder if I could

persuade them to quit the Squire's service without making any noise

about it! No--that they won't do; and the mischief is that they know a

thing or two more than is convenient. Then what am I to write to that

old pantaloon Martin, whom I have not spoken to for many a day? If I

commit myself against Peter, Gray and Claretson will be down upon me

to a dead certainty, and I shall have to account for all Mat-o'-the

Mint's blunders, which would puzzle any conjurer living. If I don't,

the whole household will suppose that I have been in regular league

with Peter, and then I lose my place. They suspect me already; for no

later than yesterday that stupid errand-boy of mine, Hips, came down

with a tester towards buying a new hat for Hippopotamus; and, to say

the truth, I have a letter from that same individual at this moment in

my pocket. Couldn't I manage to temporise about Peter, and throw the

blame on somebody else? Not a bad idea! There's that noodle Augustine

with a back providentially fitted for the burden! If I can make him

the scapegoat, I may still contrive to throw dust in the eyes of the

Squire!"

So saying, Johnny pocketed his thimble and peas, and straightway

indited this doughty epistle to Martin.

"REVEREND AND DEAR SIR,--I have this moment learned with great

astonishment and surprise, the insidious attempt which has been

made by Peter to extend his authority in Bullockshatch. This gives

me the greater surprise, because I consider myself ill used by

Peter, having on previous occasions behaved with marked civility to

his people, and having moreover shown myself anything but hostile

to his exercising his functions here, moderately and discreetly,

and within due limits. However, you may rely upon it, that the

matter shall be thoroughly sifted, and such steps adopted as may

vindicate the proper position of my honoured master, not forgetting

your own. What these steps may be, I cannot yet say, because it

will be necessary in a matter of this importance to consult an

attorney. However, you may keep your mind at ease. What Peter shall

or shall not have, will be determined in proper time; till when, it

would be premature to enter into further explanations.

"Having thus explicitly stated my sentiments with regard to this

unusual matter, it would be wrong in me to conceal from you

that I regard your son Augustine as a dangerous enemy to the

tranquillity of Bullockshatch. I write this with unfeigned sorrow,

but my natural candour renders it impossible for me to maintain

any disguise. The Peterizing tendency of the practices adopted

by Mr Augustine have long been the subject of serious remark in

the household, and have doubtless contributed very much to the

difficulties which have now arisen. To be plain with you, I regard

your son as being actually more culpable than Peter.

"You will farther pardon me, Reverend Sir, for remarking that your

own conduct is not altogether without reproach, seeing that you

might have used your authority more decidedly in cautioning your

son against imitating the mummeries of Peter.--I am, Reverend and

Dear Sir, your best adviser and friend,

(_Signed_) "J. JUGGLER."

"For Dr Martin, These."

"If that letter does not succeed," quoth the Juggler after he had

read it over for the second time, "I surrender all faith in human

gullibility. It shall appear to-morrow morning in the newspapers; and

as to what may follow after, why--we shall just leave that to the

chapter of accidents."

CHAPTER VIII.

HOW AUGUSTINE RETORTED ON THE JUGGLER; AND HOW HIPPOPOTAMUS CAME OVER

TO BULLOCKSHATCH.

Next morning, the letter appeared in print, and was circulated all

over Bullockshatch. You have no idea what a commotion it created.

Some people who knew the Juggler well from old experience, pronounced

it at once to be a mere tub thrown out to catch a whale, and argued

that in reality it meant nothing. But others, who detested Peter from

the bottom of their hearts, and yet felt a sort of sneaking kindness

for the Juggler, were loud in their commendation and praise of his

spirited, straightforward conduct; and declared their firm conviction

that he would go on, and give Peter such a trouncing for his insolence,

as he had not received for many a day. Those who were of the Gray

and Claretson faction, looked exceedingly glum; swore that they had

always considered the Juggler as little better than a time-serving

fellow; and that, notwithstanding his braggadocio, he durst not take

a single step against Peter. "If we are in for it," said they, "so is

he. Let him clear up those doings of Mat-o'-the-Mint as he best can."

Peter's friends, of course, were furious; at least the majority of

them, who did not comprehend the truth of the axiom, that the main

use of language is to conceal ideas. Others, who were more learned in

Jesuitry, winked and hinted at a dispensation.

But the man, of all others, who was the most astounded--and no

wonder--was poor Augustine. You must know that, for several years, the

Juggler had been on extremely cool terms with Dr Martin, and seldom, if

ever, set foot within his church. But, as it had always been considered

a point of etiquette that the Squire's head-steward should attend

some place of worship, the Juggler, who could do nothing like other

people, compromised the matter by joining two congregations at once.

Of a Sunday forenoon he was a regular attendant on the ministrations

of Augustine; in the afternoon, he went to a meeting-house where the

minister was a relative of Jack's. He had helped Augustine to set up

his nick-nackeries; assisted at the most suspicious of his ceremonies;

and never made the slightest objection to the practices, which he now

thought fit to denounce to Martin! Augustine, at the first sight of the

letter, doubted the evidence of his eyesight.

"Bones of Saint Thomas-à-Beckett!" said he, "is it possible that he can

have written this? Supposing that I was to blame--which I am not--is

it for him to turn against me at the last hour, after all that he has

said and done, and throw the whole blame of Peter's delinquencies at

my door? But I won't stand it--that's flat. I'll write him a tickler

that shall touch him to the quick, if he has any spark of conscience

remaining; and, now that I think on't, I'll just step over to the

vestry, where I shall be less disturbed."

I don't know what kind of disturbance Augustine contemplated at home,

but it must have been slight indeed compared with that which he was

doomed to meet at the chapel. All the ragamuffins in the neighbourhood,

who took their cue from the Juggler, were congregated around the door;

and no sooner did Augustine appear, than he was saluted with yells of

"No candles! no sham Peters! down with the humbug!" and so forth; so

that the poor gentleman had much difficulty in elbowing his way to the

vestry, where he locked himself in, not altogether, as you may easily

believe, in a comfortable frame of mind. When he attempted to perform

service, matters grew worse and worse. There was shouting, braying,

and hissing, both inside and outside the door, so that a large posse

of constables was required to keep the mob in order; and, at last, the

chapel was shut up.

Augustine, however, wrote his letter, which was a stinger, though

rather too long, and published it. It is just possible that he may have

received an answer; but if so, I have not seen it, nor can I therefore

undertake to clear up the mystery which envelopes this remarkable

episode. This much is certain, that if Augustine's statement was true,

the Juggler gave ample proof, if proof was necessary, that he was still

eminently qualified to exhibit feats of dexterity at any booth in

Bartholomew Fair, and could turn his back upon himself with any man in

the kingdom.

It is my opinion that the Juggler, after having written his famous

letter to Martin, would very willingly have held his tongue, until he

was compelled to address the household. But it is not easy, when a fire

is once kindled, to put it out. Not that the kindling was the work of

Johnny, for Peter's insolent proclamation was of itself enough to raise

a conflagration in Bullockshatch; but now that the head-steward had

declared himself--or was supposed to have done so--it was necessary

that he should go through with it. It so happened, that a day or two

afterwards he was engaged, along with others of the Squire's servants,

to eat custard with one of the village magistrates; and the good man,

in proposing his health, could not help alluding to the very noble,

magnificent, and satisfactory letter which had been written by the

honourable head-steward on the subject of Peter's unwarrantable attack

on the liberties of the Squire. At this the whole company rose and

cheered, so that the Juggler could not very well forbear touching on

the topic, though he handled it with as much caution as he would have

used towards a heated poker. He talked about his determination to

uphold the just rights of Esquire Bull, and so forth; but what those

rights were, he did not specify, neither did he drop any hint as to the

nature of the steps which he proposed to adopt. But you may conceive

his disgust, when he heard two of the servants whom he had brought

along with him, fall foul of Peter in the most unqualified terms! The

first of these, one Kewpaw, so named after his habitual pronunciation

of his birthplace in the North farm, had the exquisite taste to say

that he, being a Justice of the Peace, would be but too happy and

proud to preside at the trial either of Peter, or of his delegate

Hippopotamus, for the insult offered to Squire Bull, and would give

them a practical insight into the nature of a _mittimus_; while the

other, who had been wild in his youth, but now sat at the head of the

upper servants' table, declared his intention of dancing a fandango

on the hat of Hippopotamus on the first convenient opportunity. These

dignified speeches were of course enthusiastically cheered, though

they were as bitter as wormwood to the Juggler, who felt himself every

hour more and more compromised before he had made up his mind to any

definite course of action.

Meanwhile Martin, who knew from old experience how little dependence

could be placed in the Juggler at any time, bestirred himself to

take the sense of the people of Bullockshatch as to Peter's arrogant

pretensions. He was fully conscious that a general demonstration on

their part would not only be highly gratifying to the Squire, but

extremely useful in influencing the views of the servants. Meetings

were accordingly held in every corner of the estate, at which both

tenantry and villagers signified their readiness to stand by Squire

Bull to the last, and voted him addresses to that effect. It was true

that Obadiah, though he durst not declare openly for Peter, took

every occasion of carping at the proceedings of Martin--insinuating,

in his sneaking way, that this access of zeal might be traced to a

wholesome regard to the maintenance of his tithes, "wherein," quoth

Obadiah, "I, though a humble labourer in the vineyard, have neither

part nor portion." But Martin, who knew the man, and valued his remarks

accordingly, proceeded in the performance of his duty; being well aware

that even an angel of light would have been subjected to the malignant

criticisms of Obadiah.

A day was presently fixed when Squire Bull was to receive the addresses

of the tenantry at the manor-house. Nobody doubted that the answers

would have been bluff, hearty, and decided, as was the Squire's usual

manner; and that Peter would receive more than a hint of the probable

reward of his impertinence. And, most assuredly, had the matter

depended alone upon the disposition of the Squire, they would have been

abundantly gratified. But there was an old rule of the estate, that,

on such occasions, the answer to the addresses should be written by

the head-steward, not by the Squire, who was seldom allowed to look at

the paper before he was required to read it. When the day came, there

was an immense concourse of deputations, from all parts of the estate,

gathered in the lobbies, and each was successively ushered into the

drawing-room, where the Squire was seated, with the Juggler standing at

his elbow. When the first address was finished, the Juggler slipped a

sheet of paper into the hand of the Squire, who forthwith began to read

it as follows:--

"Gentlemen, I feel very much obliged to you for the trouble you have

taken in this matter, which, let me observe, is personal to myself.

You may rely upon it, I can maintain my own position, and will try to

do so, provided that position is tenable. I am resolved to maintain

Martin in his rights whenever these rights are ascertained; and to

do to Peter exactly what shall seem most proper under the present

perplexing circumstances. In the mean time, you had better return to

your families, and look after their education; and I have the honour to

wish you a good morning."

This, with a little variation, was the answer given to all the

addresses; and I wish you had seen the faces of the deputations when

they found themselves thus soused over, as it were, with a bucket of

cold water! The most extraordinary circumstance of all was, that the

Juggler seemed to think that he had done a very clever thing, and

produced a masterpiece; for he stood the whole while the answer was

being read with his finger at his mouth, and a leer upon his face,

prying into the countenances of the honest people, like a magpie

scrutinising a marrow-bone. This was all the satisfaction which

the men of Bullockshatch received at that time in return for their

trouble; and had they not known perfectly well who was at the bottom

of the answers, it is highly probable that few more addresses would

have found their way to the mansion-house. Indeed, many folks are of

opinion that the Juggler would have liked nothing better than a total

stoppage of these addresses, and that the answers were purposely framed

to put an end to them. In the midst of all this commotion, who should

appear in Bullockshatch but our old friend Hippopotamus, whom Peter

had appointed arch-superintendent of Smithfield. Little he cared for

the Squire, or for any one else in the world, except his master Peter;

and as to the Juggler, he considered that he had him entirely under

his thumb, on account of certain transactions which had previously

taken place between them. So he too set himself down to write and

publish a letter, which was exceedingly humble and vain-glorious, (the

two qualities being more nearly allied than many people suppose,)

but withal sarcastical; and you may be sure that he did not spare

either the Juggler or Mat-o'-the-Mint, whom he flatly accused of

being privy to the designs of Peter. By this time a perfect mania for

writing letters had seized the whole population of Bullockshatch. The

newspapers contained nothing else but long columns of epistles; and

even Mat-o'-the-Mint could not resist trying his hand at composition.

It seems that some gentleman had thought it worth his while to inquire

whether there was really any truth in the reports which were currently

circulated, and Matthew replied as follows:--

"SIR,--If I were at liberty to tell you what I could tell you, you

would know more than you do at present. But it is unnecessary to

remark that confidential communications are to be considered as

things strictly private until they are divulged; and in a matter

connected with the interests of Esquire Bull, I must be permitted

to maintain that reserve which is not incongruous with an explicit

declaration of the truth. Further, I would suggest that the

fallibility of Peter having been impugned, renders the point at

issue still more dubious. Hoping that this explanation will prove

satisfactory, I remain, &c.

(_Signed_) "MAT-O'-THE-MINT."

And this was absolutely published in the papers as an entire

vindication of Matthew!

Hippopotamus, however, did not care a rush either for addresses or

epistles. He was perfectly convinced in his mind that so long as the

Squire's household remained without change, he had nothing earthly

to fear; and, accordingly, he snapped his fingers and laughed at the

whole opposition. He had brought over with him from foreign parts

such a collection of tapestry, brocades, images, pyxes, censers, and

gilded sheep-hooks, as utterly eclipsed the glory of poor Augustine's

paraphernalia, and these he took occasion to display with all the

pride and satisfaction possible. Then he issued addresses to the

people of Bullockshatch, congratulating them on their emancipation

from the thraldom of Martin, and comparing them to a brood of goslings

shadowed by the infallible pinions of Peter. He kept altogether out of

sight hair-shirts, flagellations, incremations, holocausts, and such

other spiritual stimulants; but promised them any amount of pardons,

indulgences, and whitewashing. Some of his friends and followers went

even further. Among these was a certain Father Ignition, who had taken

a fancy to dress himself in serge with a rope round his waist, and to

walk barefooted about the streets. This cleanly creature devised and

promulgated a plan, by means of which he engaged, under the penalty of

washing himself in the case of failure, to bring round every mother's

son in Bullockshatch to Peter's fold and obedience. He proposed that a

stout strapping country wench, of approved principles, from the farm on

the other side of the pond, should be smuggled into each family on the

Squire's estate, as laundry maid, scullion, or to take charge of the

nursery. These hussies were to act as general spies, reporting all that

passed in the household to him, Father Ignition; and were, moreover, to

pervert the children, conveying them secretly to Peter's schools, and

stuffing them with Roman toffy; and to get as intimate as possible with

the young gentlemen, especially such as might have been inclined to

Augustine's persuasion. In this way, the morality of which he held to

be unquestionable, Father Ignition volunteered to raise a large crop of

converts, to be ready, like asparagus, in the spring.

In this position stood matters in Bullockshatch towards the expiry

of the holidays, during which no business was ever transacted in the

household. You shall learn anon what took place after the servants were

re-assembled; and I promise you, that you will hear something fit to

make your hair stand on end. But these things are too important to be

narrated at the end of a chapter.

HARRY BOLTON'S CURACY.

One of the greatest enjoyments which are likely to fall to the lot

of a man in middle life, is to spend a week or so with the old

school-and-college companion whom he has not seen since the graver page

of life has turned over for both parties. It is as unlike any ordinary

visit-making as possible. It is one of the very few instances in which

the complimentary dialogue between the guest and his entertainer comes

to have a real force and meaning. One has to unlearn, for this special

occasion, the art so necessary in ordinary society, of interpreting

terms by their contraries. And in fact it is difficult, at first, for

one who has been used for some years to a social atmosphere, whose

warmth is mainly artificial, to breathe freely in the natural sunshine

of an old friend's company; just as a native Londoner is said sometimes

to pine away, when removed into the fresh air of the country. We are so

used to consider the shake of the hand, and the "Very glad to see you,"

of the hundred and one people who ask us to dinner, as merely a polite

and poetical form of expressing, "You certainly are a bore; but as you

are here, I must make the best of you"--that it costs us an effort to

comprehend that "How are you, old fellow?" does, in the present case,

imply a _bonâ fide_ hope that we are as sound in health and heart, if

not as young, as formerly. And especially when a man's pursuits have

led him a good deal into the world, and many of his warmer feelings

have been, insensibly perhaps, chilled by the contact, the heartiness

of his reception by some old college friend who has led a simple

life, the squire of his paternal acres, or the occupant of a country

parsonage, and has gained and lost less by the polishing process of

society, will come upon him with a strangeness almost reproachful.

But once fairly fixed within the hospitable walls, the natural tone

is recognised, and proves contagious; the formal incrustations of

years melt in the first hour of after-dinner chat, and the heart is

opened to feelings and language which it had persuaded itself were

long forgotten. And when the end of your three weeks' holiday arrives

at last, which you cannot persuade yourself has been more than three

days, (though you seem to have lived over again the best half of your

life in the time,) you have so far forgotten the conventional rules of

good-breeding, that when your friend says to you on the last evening,

"Must you really go? Can't you stay till Monday?" you actually take him

at his word, and begin to cast about in your mind for some possible

excuse for stealing another couple of days or so, though you have heard

the same expression from the master of every house where you have

happened to visit, and never dreamt of understanding it in any other

than its civilised (_i. e._, _non-natural_) sense--as a hint to fix a

day for going, and stick to it, that your entertainer may "know the

worst."

I was heartily glad, therefore, when at last I found that there was

nothing to prevent me from paying a visit (long promised, and long

looked forward to, but against which, I began to think, gods and men

had conspired) to my old and true friend Lumley. I dare say he has

a Christian name; indeed, I have no reason to doubt it, and, on the

strength of an initial not very decipherable, prefixed to the L in his

signature, I have never hesitated to address him, "J. Lumley, Esq.;"

but I know him as Long Lumley, and so does every man who, like myself,

remembers him at Oxford; and as Long Lumley do all his cotemporaries

know him best, and esteem him accordingly; and he must excuse me if I

immortalise him to the public, in spite of godfathers and godmothers,

by that more familiar appellation. A cousin was with him at college, a

miserable, sneaking fellow, who was known as "Little Lumley;" and if,

as I suspect, they were both Johns or Jameses, it is quite desirable

to distinguish them unmistakably; for though the other _has_ the best

shooting in the country, I would not be suspected of spending even the

first week of September inside such a fellow's gates.

But Long Lumley was and is of a very different stamp; six feet three,

and every inch a gentleman. I wish he was not, of late years, quite so

fond of farming: a man who can shoot, ride, and translate an ode of

Horace as he can, ought to have a soul above turnips. It is almost the

only point on which we are diametrically opposed in tastes and habits.

We nearly fell out about it the very first morning after my arrival.

Breakfast was over--a somewhat late one in honour of the supposed

fatigues of yesterday's journey, and it became necessary to arrange

proceedings for the day. What a false politeness it is, which makes

a host responsible for his guests' amusement! and how often, in

consequence, are they compelled to do, with grimaces of forced

satisfaction, the very thing they would not! However, Lumley and myself

were too old friends to have any scruples of delicacy on that point.

I had been eyeing him for some minutes while he was fastening on a

pair of formidable high-lows, and was not taken by surprise when the

proposal came out, "Now, old fellow, will you come and have a look at

my farm?"

"Can't I see it from the window?"

"Stuff! come, I must show you my sheep: I assure you they are

considered about the best in this neighbourhood."

"Well, then, I'll taste the mutton any day you like, and give you my

honest opinion."

"Don't be an ass now, but get your hat and come along; it's going to be

a lovely day; and we'll just take a turn over the farm--there's a new

thrashing machine I want to show you, too, and then back here to lunch."

"Seriously then, Lumley, I won't do anything of the kind. I do you the

justice to believe, that you asked me here to enjoy myself; and that

I am quite ready to do in any fairly rational manner; and I flatter

myself I am in nowise particular; but as to going bogging myself among

turnips, or staring into the faces and poking the ribs of short-horns

and south-downs--why, as an old friend, you'll excuse me."

"Hem! there's no accounting for tastes," said Lumley, in a

half-disappointed tone.

"No," said I, "there certainly is not."

"Well, then," said he--he never lost his good humour--"what shall we

do? I'll tell you--you remember Harry Bolton? rather your junior, but

you must have known him well, because he was quite in our set from the

first--to be sure, didn't you spill him out of a tandem at Abingdon

corner? Well, he is living now about nine miles from here, and we'll

drive over and see him. I meant to write to ask him to dine here, and

this will save the trouble."

"With all my heart," said I; "I never saw him since I left Oxford. I

fancied I heard of his getting into some mess--involved in some way,

was he not?"

"Not involved exactly; but he certainly did make himself scarce from a

very nice house and curacy which he had when he first left Oxford, and

buried himself alive for I don't know how long, and all for the very

queerest reason, or rather without any reason at all. Did you never

hear of it?"

"No; only some vague rumour, as I said just now."

"You never heard, then, how he came into this neighbourhood? Have the

dog-cart round in ten minutes, Sam, and we dine at seven. Now, get

yourself in marching order, and I'll tell you the whole story as we go

along."

He did so, but it was so interrupted by continual expostulations with

his horse, and remarks upon the country through which we were driving,

that it will be at least as intelligible if I tell it in my own words;

especially as I had many of the most graphic passages from Bolton's own

lips afterwards.

It was before he left Oxford, I think, that Bolton lost his father,

and was thrown pretty much upon his own resources. A physician with a

large family, however good his practice, seldom leaves much behind him;

and poor Harry found himself, after spending a handsome allowance and

something more, left to begin life on his own account, with a degree,

a good many bills, and a few hundreds, quite insufficient to pay

them. However, he was not the sort of man to look upon the dark side

of things; and no heir, long expectant, and just stepping into his

thousands per annum, carried away from the university a lighter heart

and a merrier face than Harry Bolton. He got ordained in due course;

and though not exactly the material out of which one would prefer to

cut a country curate, still he threw off, with his sporting coats

and many-coloured waistcoats, most of the habits thereto belonging,

and less suited to his profession. To live upon a curate's stipend

he found more difficult; and being a fair scholar, and having plenty

of friends and connections, he announced his intention of "driving,"

as he called it, a pair of pupils, whom he might train up in so much

Latin and Greek, and other elements of general knowledge, (including,

perhaps, a little shooting and gig-driving,) as they might require for

their matriculations. The desired youths were soon found; and Harry

entered upon this new employment with considerable ardour, and a very

honest intention of doing his best. How the Latin and Greek prospered

is a point in some degree obscure to present historians; but all the

pupils were unanimous in declaring the wine to be unexceptionable, and

their preceptor's dogs and shooting first-rate; in fact, he sustained,

with them, as with the public generally, the reputation of being one

of the heartiest and best fellows in the world. From the poorest among

his parishioners, to whom he was charitable above his means, but who

felt almost more than his gifts the manner of his giving, to the squire

ten miles off, who met his pleasant face and smile once a-year at a

dinner party, all spoke well of Harry Bolton. No wonder that his pupils

looked upon him as the very paragon of tutors, and found their path of

learning strewed with unexpected flowers. How many scholars he made

is still unknown; but he made many friends: with the uncalculating

gratitude of youth, all remembered the pleasant companion when they

might have forgotten the hard-working instructor: and frequent were the

tokens of such remembrance, varying with the tastes of the senders,

which reached the little parsonage by the Oxford coach, from those

who successively assumed the _toga virilis_, and became (university)

_men_. Collars of brawn and cases of claret were indeed but perishable

memorials; but there came also whips extravagantly mounted, and tomes

of orthodox divinity in the soberest bindings, all bearing inscriptions

more or less classical, from his "_quondam alumni_." The first named

delicacies were duly passed on, with Harry's compliments, to grace

more fittingly the tables of some of his hospitable entertainers; and,

in an equally unselfish spirit, he seldom sat down alone to any of

his literary dainties, but kept them in honourable state on his most

conspicuous bookshelf, for the use and behoof of any friend who might

wish to enjoy them.

But here I am anticipating. For some time the pupilising went on pretty

smoothly. Two or three couple of youths were fairly launched upon the

university, and nothing particularly untoward had occurred to ruffle

the curate's good-humour or injure his reputation. There had been no

attempt at elopement with the cook or housemaid--(Bolton's precaution

had secured ugly ones;) no poaching on Sir Thomas's favourite preserve,

though close at hand, and sportsmen of eighteen are not overnice in

their distinctions: a tall Irishman had been with him, summer vacations

and all, for nearly two years, and had _not_ made love to either of the

squire's undeniably pretty daughters. In short, the pupils were less of

a bore than Harry had supposed it possible, and, in some cases, very

agreeable companions to enliven the occasional dulness of a country

parish.

But somehow or other, in one chief point which he had aimed at, he

found himself disappointed. In counting so many additional hundreds

to his scanty income, Harry Bolton had fancied he was going to make

himself a rich man. He was not avaricious, or even selfish--far from

it; but he wanted to be independent; there were visions, perhaps,

flitting indistinctly before him, of a time when he might tire of a

solitary home, and resign into some fair and gentle hand the reins

of the liberty he was so fond of boasting as a bachelor. He did not

grudge his time or labour; he had cast off much of his old habit

of idleness, and took a real interest in his pupils; still he had

expected some of the results to himself would take the tangible

shape of pounds shillings and pence. But though the cheques came

duly in at midsummer and Christmas, the balance at his banker's

increased but very slowly; in short, he found that the additional

expenses, necessary and unnecessary, entailed upon him by the change

in his establishment, nearly counterbalanced the additional income.

Not to speak of such ordinary matters as butchers' and bakers' and

wine-merchants' bills--for his table was always most liberal, now

that he had to entertain others, as it had been simple and economical

while alone--indeed the hospitality of the neighbourhood had then made

his housekeeping almost a sinecure; but independently of this, Harry

had been led to extend his expenses--he said unavoidably--in other

directions. A rough pony had hitherto contented him to gallop into

the neighbouring town for letters, and to carry him and his valise to

the dinner-parties even of his most aristocratic entertainers. But

now, inasmuch as sometimes an hospitable invitation extended itself to

"the young men," he had felt in duty bound, for his and their joint

accommodation, to replace the pony by a showy-looking mare, and to

invest the legal sum of nineteen pounds nineteen shillings and sixpence

in the purchase of a dog-cart. As an almost necessary consequence,

the boy "Jim" gave way to a grown-up groom, who did, rather less work

for considerably more wages, hissing and whistling over the said mare

and dog-cart in the most knowing manner, and condescending, though

with some scruples of conscience, to clean boots and knives. Harry's

reminiscences of his more sporting days were yet fresh enough for him

to make a point of seeing his turn-out "look as it ought to do." Jim

and the pony, and all their accoutrements, were rough, and useful,

and cheap, and made no pretensions to be otherwise. Now, things were

changed, and saddlery and harness of the best (there was no economy,

as Harry observed, in buying a poor article) found their place among

the bills at Christmas. In short, he was led into a maze of new wants,

individually trifling, but collectively sufficient to tell upon his

yearly expenditure; and he was beginning gravely to attempt to solve

that universal problem--the asses' bridge, which the wisest domestic

economists stick fast at year after year--"where the deuce all the

money goes to?"--when circumstances occurred which put all such useless

inquiries out of his head, and indeed put his debtor and creditor

transactions on a much more primitive footing.

In the final settlement of the accounts of one of his pupils, who was

leaving him for the university, some misunderstanding arose between

himself and the father. The sum in question was but a few pounds; but

the objection was put forward in a manner which Bolton considered as

reflecting upon his own straightforward and liberal dealing; and it

so happened that the young man had, from circumstances, been indebted

in an unusual degree to his kindness. He therefore, I have no doubt,

took the matter up warmly; for those who remember him as I do, can well

imagine how his blood would boil at anything he considered mean or

unhandsome. It ended in his insisting on the whole amount--a hundred or

so--respecting which the difference had arisen, being paid in to the

treasurer of the county hospital instead of to himself; and he vowed

silently, but determinedly, to renounce pupilising thenceforth for

ever. In vain did some of his best friends persuade him to change his

resolution; he kept two who were with him at the time for a few months,

when they also were to enter college; but he steadily refused any other

offers: he sold off at once all his superfluous luxuries, and, as soon

as practicable, gave up his curacy, and quitted the neighbourhood, to

the general regret of all who knew him, and to the astonishment of all

but the very few who were in the secret.

When Bolton's friends next heard of him, he was living in a remote

district of H---- shire, on an income necessarily very small; for

it could have been scarcely more than the proceeds of his curacy;

and curacies in that part of the country were then but a wretched

provision for any man--especially for one accustomed as he had been

to good living and good society. However, he was not much troubled

with the latter in his present position; not to speak of the fact that

his nearest conversible neighbour lived seven miles off. Wherever

parsons are mostly poor, and many of them ill-educated, they are not

thought much of, either by farmers or gentlemen. And as it did not

suit Harry's tastes to enjoy his pipe and pot in the society of the

first, as his predecessor had done with much contentment, nor yet to

wait for the arrival of the one landed proprietor in the parish before

he commenced the morning service, he was voted by the overseers and

churchwardens to be "mighty set up," and by the squire to be "a d----

d unmannerly fellow." Both indeed soon found out that they were wrong;

and the farmers had the grace to confess it, and came, in course of

time, to believe it possible for a curate to be a gentleman without

being proud, and that it was at least as well for him to be visiting

the sick and poor, and overlooking the parish school, and able to give

a little good advice to themselves in matters of difficulty, as to be

boozing in their company at the Crown and Thistle. And, in course of

time, those rough but honest people came to respect him almost as much

perhaps, in their way, as his more enlightened neighbours had done in

his former position. It must have been a great change, however, to a

man like Bolton, used to good society, fond of it, and readily welcomed

in it, as he had always been. No doubt he felt it; yet he declared

that, after the first few weeks, he never was happier in his life.

His gun was given up, as an indulgence too expensive, but there was

excellent trout fishing for miles on both sides of his cottage; and,

though a sport to which he had no great liking in his earlier days, he

now took to it vigorously as the only amusement at hand, and became no

unworthy disciple of honest Isaac. The worst effect of this new life

of isolation was, that he became somewhat negligent in his habits;

took to smoking a great deal, and made his tobacconist's account a

good deal longer than his tailor's. He had still many old friends and

connections at a distance, with whom he might have spent half the year

if he had pleased; but, in his first pique with the world in general,

he had fixed himself purposely as far out of their reach as possible;

travelling was expensive (railways as yet were not); assistance in his

clerical duties was not easily obtained; and so, partly from choice,

and partly from necessity, his new life became one of almost utter

isolation.

Of course there were occasions when he found it necessary to visit

the neighbouring market-town--if it could be called neighbouring when

it was twelve miles off. The main road lay about a mile from Harry's

little cottage, and a coach, passing daily, would usually deposit him

safely in the High Street in the course of the forenoon--allowing an

hour for waiting for it at the crossing, (it was always after its

time,) and about two more, if the roads were not unusually heavy,

for getting over the distance. It was not a very luxurious style

of travelling; and Harry often preferred to walk in one day, and

return the next. It was on one of these rare visits that a soaking

rain discouraged him from setting out for home on foot, and gave

the Regulator the unusually full complement of one inside and one

outside passenger. On the box was our friend Harry, inside a rather

precise-looking personage, whose costume, as far as a large cloak

allowed it to be seen, looked somewhat more clerical than the Curate's,

the latter being clad in a smart upper benjamin of the landlord's

of the Swan, finished round the throat with a very gay shawl of his

daughter's, both forced upon him in consideration of the weather; for

Harry, though by no means a frequent, was a highly favoured guest, and

they would sooner have kept him in No. 1 for a week gratis, than have

allowed him to turn out in the rain without due protection.

Slower than usual that day was the Regulator's progress through the mud

and against the wind, and briefer than usual its driver's replies to

Harry's good-humoured attempts at conversation.

"Who have we inside, do you know, Haines?"

"Well, I reckon it's what you'd call a hopposition coach like," grunted

out Joe Haines.

"Eh? I don't exactly understand."

"Why, I mean a Methodist bishop, or summat o' that sort. You see there

was a great opening of the Independent College here o' Tuesday, and

there was a lot o' them gentry about the town, looking too good to

live. I druv' five on 'em down yesterday, and they gev' me a shilling

and a fourpenny amongst the whole lot. Oh! I loves them sort, don't

I just?" and Joe gave his near wheeler a cut, illustrative of his

affection. It was a longer speech than he had made all the way, and he

relapsed into a gloomy silence.

The wind was driving right into their teeth, and the evening closing

fast, and they were passing the last mile-stone to the turning without

any farther attempt at conversation, when there came first an ominous

crack from under their feet, then a jolt, an unsteady wavering motion

for a few seconds, when, with scarcely time for an exclamation, the

coach toppled over on one side, and Bolton found himself reclining on

the portly person of Mr Joseph Haines, who, in his turn, was saved

from contusions by a friendly heap of mud by the road-side. Beyond

a broken axle, however, no damage was done. The horses were glad of

any opportunity to stand still. Bolton got up, shook himself, and

laughed. Joe Haines was proceeding to philosophise rather strongly on

the accident, not exactly after the manner of Job or Seneca, when the

inside passenger, putting his head out of the only practicable window,

begged him to spare his oaths, and help him out of his prison.

The stranger was soon extricated, and the horses taken out; and the

driver, requesting his passengers to await his return, set off to seek

assistance at the nearest cottage. As to the coach itself proceeding

farther until partially repaired, that was evidently out of the

question; and so Harry observed to his companion, who did not appear

very knowing in such matters.

"And how far may we be from S----, sir?" inquired he, upon receiving

this not very agreeable intelligence.

"Fifteen miles at least," replied Bolton.

"Indeed, so far! and is there no place near where I could procure a

conveyance of any kind? I have an engagement there I particularly

wished to keep to-morrow."

"Really, I fear not; this is quite an out-of-the-way place: the driver

can tell you better than I can, but I know the neighbourhood pretty

well, and think you would have to send back to the Swan at B---- for

horses."

"It is very unfortunate, and it is past nine already; what is the

nearest place, sir, where I could get decent accommodation for the

night?"

"Why, the nearest place," said Harry, hesitatingly, "is the 'Crown

and Thistle,' about three miles off, but I can't say much for the

accommodation. Wo-ho,"--one of the horses, tired at last of standing

in the drizzling rain, was showing symptoms of an immediate return to

his stable. The stranger merely gave vent to a dissatisfied "Humph!"

and they stood silently awaiting the approach of a light along the

road, which betokened Joe's return with assistance. The coach was soon

righted, and set up against the side of a bank; and Mr Haines, having

given charge to one of his aids-extraordinary to keep watch by it till

dawn with a light, both to prevent accidents and abstraction of the

luggage, announced his intention of returning with the horses to B----,

offering to his inside passenger the choice of a ride back, or taking

a nap in the coach till morning. "_You_ won't be long getting home, Mr

Bolton, anyhow,"--and the pronoun was emphasised, to show that even

this sympathy was little extended to his fellow-traveller.

"No, Joe, I must say you have been pretty considerate: as you _were_ to

break down, you could hardly have arranged it more handily for me. Just

look me out my little carpet-bag, and I suppose you'll expect an extra

shilling for your performance to-night, eh?"

Joe gave a hoarse laugh, and proceeded to rummage the boot; and Harry

took advantage of the opportunity to whisper a few inquiries about his

fellow-passenger.

"Well, I be pretty sure, sir, it's a Dr Bates, as preached at the

opening on Tuesday. There was two or three black coats came with him to

the yard afore we started; he's quite a top-sawyer among 'em, and can

hold on for two hours good, best pace, they tell me. He's giv' out to

preach over at S---- to-morrow morning. I see'd the printed bills stuck

all over town to-day."

To-morrow was Sunday; and Bolton thought of a certain manuscript, not

quite finished, lying on his desk at home. He glanced again at the

stranger, and possibly, in the orthodoxy of his heart, did not feel

particularly grieved at the disappointment probably in store for the

itching ears of the S---- non-conformists.

"Well, good night, Haines," said he. But seeing his late companion

still standing in the road, looking rather helpless, and hesitating

to leave him altogether to the tender mercies of the coachmen, "I am

walking in the direction of the village inn," he continued, "and if I

can show you the way, I shall be very glad to do so. I dare say I can

also find some one to fetch your luggage."

"Thank you, sir," said the other, "I cannot do better than follow your

example;" and he at once selected and shouldered, with some activity

for a man obviously on the wrong side of forty, a carpet-bag of more

cumbersome dimensions than Bolton's; and they strode down the road

together, nearly in darkness, and with the rain still falling.

They had nearly reached the curate's humble cottage, without much

further conversation, when the stranger repeated his inquiries as to

the distance to the inn, and the probability of his obtaining there any

tolerable accommodation. "A _clean_ bed," he said, "would content him;

was he likely to find one?"