POPULARITY.
The storm is lulled: the billows of temptation have ebbed away
from shore, and the clouds of adversity have flown to other skies.
"The winter is past; the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear upon
the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of
the turtle is heard in our land: the fig-tree putteth forth his green
figs, and the blossoms of the vine smell sweetly. Arise, and come away."
Yesterday's trial, and its unlooked-for issue, have raised Roger Acton
to the rank of hero. The town's excitement is intense: and the little
inn, where he and Grace had spent the night in gratitude and prayerful
praise, is besieged by carriages full of lords and gentlemen, eager to
see and speak with Roger.
Humbly and reverently, yet preserving an air of quiet self-possession,
the labourer received their courteous kindnesses; and acquitted himself
of what may well be called the honours of that levee, with a dignity
native to the true-born Briton, from the time of Caractacus at Rome to
our own.
But if Roger was a demi-god, Grace was at the least a goddess; she
charmed all hearts with her modest beauty. Back with the shades of
night, and the prison-funeral of Jennings, fled envy, hatred, malice,
and all uncharitableness; the elderly sisterhood of Hurstley, not to be
out of a fashion set by titled dames, hastened to acknowledge her
perfections; Calumny was shamed, and hid his face; the uncles, aunts,
and cousins of the hill-top yonder, were glad to hold their tongues, and
bite their nails in peace: Farmer Floyd and his Mrs. positively came
with peace-offerings--some sausage-meat, elder-wine, jam, and other
dainties, which were to them the choicest sweets of life: and as for
Jonathan, he never felt so proud of Grace in all his life before; the
handsome fellow stood at least a couple of inches taller.
Honest Ben Burke, too, that most important witness--whose coming was as
Blucher's at Waterloo, and secured the well-earned conquest of the
day--though it must be confessed that his appearance was something of
the satyr, still had he been Phoebus Apollo in person, he would
scarcely have excited sincerer admiration. More than one fair creature
sketched his unkempt head, and loudly wished that its owner was a
bandit; more than one bright eye discovered beauty in his open
countenance--though a little soap and water might have made it more
distinguishable. Well--well--honest Ben--they looked, and wisely looked,
at the frank and friendly mind hidden under that rough carcase, and
little wonder that they loved it.
Now, to all this stream of hearty English sympathy, the kind and proper
feeling of young Sir John resolved to give a right direction. His
fashionable friends were gone, except Silliphant and Poynter, both good
fellows in the main, and all the better for the absence (among others)
of that padded old debauchee, Sir Richard Hunt, knight of the order of
St. Sapphira--that frivolous inanity, Lord George Pypp--and that
professed gentleman of gallantry, Mr. Harry Mynton. The follies and the
vices had decamped--had scummed off, so to speak--leaving the more
rectified spirits behind them, to recover at leisure, as best they
might, from all that ferment of dissipation. So, then, there was now
neither ridicule, nor interest, to stand in the way of a young and
wealthy heir's well-timed schemes of generosity.
Well-timed they were, and Sir John knew it, though calculation seldom
had a footing in his warm and heedless heart; but he could not shut his
eyes to the fact, that the state of feeling among his hereditary
labourers was any thing but pleasant. In truth, owing to the desperate
malpractices of Quarles and Jennings, perhaps no property in the kingdom
had got so ill a name as Hurstley: discontent reigned paramount;
incendiary fires had more than once occurred; threatening notices, very
ill-spelt, and signed by one _soi-disant_ Captain Blood, had been
dropped, in dead of winter, at the door-sills of the principal farmers;
and all the other fruits of long-continued penury, extortion, and
mis-government, were hanging ripe upon the bough--a foul and fatal
harvest.
Therefore, did the kind young landlord, who had come to live among his
own peasantry, resolve, not more nobly than wisely, to seize an
opportunity so good as this, for restoring, by a stroke of generous
policy, peace and content on his domain. No doubt, the baronet rejoiced,
as well he might, at the honourable acquittal of innocence, and the
mysteries of murder now cleared up; he made small secret of his
satisfaction at the doom of Jennings; and, as for Bridget Quarles, by
all he could learn of her from tenants' wives, and other female
dependants, he had no mind to wish her back again, or to think her fate
ill-timed: nevertheless, he was even more glad of an occasion to
vindicate his own good feelings; and prove to the world that bailiff
Simon Jennings was a very opposite character to landlord Sir John
Devereux Vincent.
To carry out his plan, he determined to redress all wrongs within one
day, and to commence by bringing "honest Roger" in triumph home again to
Hurstley; following the suggestion of Baron Parker, to make some social
compensation for his wrongs. With this view, Sir John took counsel of
the county-town authorities, and it was agreed unanimously, excepting
only one dissenting vote--a rich and radical Quaker, one Isaac Sneak,
grocer, and of the body corporate, who refused to lose one day's service
of his shopmen, and thereby (I rejoice to add) succeeded in getting rid
of fifteen good annual customers--it was agreed, then, and arranged that
the morrow should be a public holiday. All Sir John's own tenantry, as
well as Squire Ryle's, and some of other neighbouring magnates, were to
have a day's wages without work, on the easy conditions of attending the
procession in their smartest trim, and of banqueting at Hurstley
afterwards. So, then, the town-band was ordered to be in attendance next
morning by eleven at the Swan, a lot of old election colours were shaken
from their dust and cobwebs, the bell-ringers engaged, vasty
preparations of ale and beef made at Hurstley Hall--an ox to be roasted
whole upon the terrace, and a plum-pudding already in the cauldron of
two good yards in circumference--and all that every body hoped for that
night, was a fine May-day to-morrow.