after Sir Waldron had placed her on her feet; but the baronet was so
absorbed in thought, at that moment, that he did not notice what she
said. He sat silent and motionless, with the child mutely gazing upon
him, for above a minute. He then started up, wrung his hands together,
stamped violently on the floor, and walked to the wall of the room,
against which he leant his forehead. Starting thence in a moment, he
returned to his seat, exclaiming, “Man! man! thou dost truly merit this
agony!”
Agnes now approached him, and familiarly, or rather, endearingly,
embracing his arm, said, “Are you very ill, papa?--My mamma tied this
bit of love-ribbon on the finger where married ladies wear their rings,
that I shouldn't forget to tell you she forgave you with her last
breath, and died happy!”
“May she be in heaven!” exclaimed Sir Waldron.
“Amen!” responded little Agnes.
“What to do--what to do, I know not,” said the baronet, rising from his
chair again.
“Won't you own me, papa?--pray do; or I don't know what I shall do,
after walking so far and all. I wore out my shoes and stockings--”
“Bless thy poor little feet--what a sight is this!”
“Won't you own me, papa?” repeated Agnes.
“I do--I do, child,” replied Sir Waldron, kissing her; “but I must send
you away,--how, I cannot tell.--You must not be known to be mine:--my
honour, my reputation;--the character I have maintained--s'death! it
drives me mad!”
“Mayn't I live with you, then?” said Agnes.
“It is absolutely impossible.”
“Oh, dear! Then I suppose I must find out a place where grapes grow in
a wood, and build a little house, as Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday
did, for I've nobody to help me but you,--and you won't, you say.”
“I said no such thing: you shall never want; but here you cannot
remain.”
“My mamma said I _was_ to;--but then, she told me too, that when she
was dead and gone, I was to obey you; and you say I must go,--so I don't
know what to do:--I'm very hungry.”
“Hungry! pull the bell--but stop--hold--my position is most perplexing.
To send the child here! It was cruel--but I merit it. I have brought
sorrow on myself, by my own villany.--It is miraculous how you could
have reached me.”
“I walked all the way!” said the child, with a sigh. “My little bones
ache so, you can't think.--My mamma, when she knew she was going to
die in a day or two, gave me some money, and told me to go to The White
Hart, with a little paper of directions she folded it up in, for the
coachman; and she said, that he would give me something to eat on the
road, and carry me within three miles of your house: but I wasn't to
tell him where I was going; and she told me to carry the paper and money
to him the day after she was buried. But,--do you know?--the people
where we lodged found the paper, and took the money out; and said, I
shouldn't go unless I told them who I was going to, and why, and all
about it But I wouldn't, because my mamma charged me to tell nobody
but Sir Waldron;--that's you,--my papa. So then, I said to myself I'd
walk,--for the place where the coachman was to leave me didn't seem very
far in my sampler:--but sometimes I thought I should never get here. And
I brought my sampler with me to find out the way; but it was all wrong,
bless you! there's no red line between Somersetshire and Devonshire,
like that I worked in the sampler; so I kept on asking my way.”
“My dear little cherub!” exclaimed Sir Waldron; “what thou must have
endured!--And where did you sleep?”
“Oh! the people was hay-making, and I lay down upon the nice little
hay-cocks;--its no night, hardly, now.--I liked it at first; but I'm
stung all over with flies, or something--”
“And did you beg for food?”
“Oh! no! I brought all my pretty money, and spent it in gingerbread and
apples;--not all,--for I've two Queen Anne shillings, and another bit of
money, I don't know what it is, left.” Agnes, in answer to several other
questions put to her by Sir Waldron, told him, that she often followed
the waggons, and, in a very early part of the journey, saw the names of
several places painted on the boot of a coach, before that one where the
coachman was directed, by her mother's paper, to set her down; that
she learnt them by heart, and inquired for each, successively: she also
related the manner of her meeting with the pedlar and his companions,
and stated, that a woman had told her, just before she saw them, that
there was a revel at the village, to which, she was inquiring the Way.
Sir Waldron was still undecided as to what he should do with Agnes, and
sat pondering, with the little girl seated on his knee, and warming her
feet with one of his hands, when the child suddenly started from him,
and exclaimed, “Oh, dear! I quite forgot the letter!”
“Letter! from your mother?”
“Yes; the people of the house didn't find out that, when they took the
money that was in the paper of directions away from me. I brought it all
the way safe enough in my bosom, until this morning.”
“And where is it now?”
“That naughty constable took it from me. He opened it and read it.”
“D--t--n!” exclaimed Sir Waldron; “then all is known, and I shall be
every booby's jest.”
He had scarcely uttered these words, when the door of the room was
opened, and The Reverend Reginald Hackle entered, with an open note in
his hand. He was followed by the citizen: Reginald looked more grave
than usual; but Archibald seemed with difficulty to restrain himself
from laughing “Waldron,” said he, “we have just wormed a letter out of
Constable Quality.”
The baronet snatched it from Reginald's hand; looked first at the
superscription, which bore his name and address, and then hastily
perused the contents.
“The blockhead's excuse,” continued Archibald, “for not producing this,
which I consider, under correction, a document of importance as regards
the examination, is, that you cut Batter short in his statement of the
particulars of his searching the prisoners.”
“And is this rightly addressed to you, brother? Are you indeed the man?”
asked Reginald, in a tone of reproach.
“Well, she's a pretty child; a very pretty child, indeed, Waldron,” said
Archibald, taking the little girl in his arms. “Come, kiss your uncle,
my dear: I suppose I may call her yours, Waldron.”
“You may:--it's useless to dissimulate;--so preach, brother Reginald;
sneer, brother Archy; jest, joke, and do your worst, world;--she is
mine,--my dear, darling child!”
Shortly afterwards, Archibald returned to the prisoners, and, addressing
Darby Doherty, informed him that he and his two companions might go
about their business.
“And the child--” quoth Darby.
“She will remain with Sir Waldron,” replied Archibald.
“Thank your honour, kindly, for this, as well as for the cold meat,
which, of course, your honour is going to order us to get in the hall,”
said Doherty. “His worship has acted upon what, I've always been tould,
is the true principle of justice; so I can't complain:--he's taken the
oyster himself, and,” added Darby, bowing alternately to the pedlar and
the tinker as he spoke, “sent me packing with the shells.”
Sir Waldron soon became so doatingly fond of little Agnes, that, among
all his friends, she obtained the appellation of The Bachelor's Darling.
As she approached towards womanhood, the beauty of her person, and the
sweetness of her disposition, made a strong impression on the heart
of Archibald's son; and five years had scarcely elapsed after the
completion of his studies under his reverend uncle, when she became his
wife.
The three brothers lie, side by side, in the church-yard of their native
village; and the citizen's son, and Hannah Russell's child, are now Sir
Waldron and Lady Hackle.
[Illustration: 168]
THE LOVES OF HABAKKUK BULLWRINKLE, GENTLEMAN.
About six-and-twenty years ago, a middle-aged North-country attorney,
somewhat above five feet eight inches in height, but immeasurably
corpulent, with an old-fashioned calf, mottled eyes, and a handsome
nose, settled in a large and uncivilized village in the West of England.
The manners of the inhabitants were rude and outrageous; their names,
customs, frolics, and language, were such as Habakkuk Bull wrinkle had
never before been accustomed unto. They cracked many a heart-piercing
joke on his portly person; laughed at his ineffectual attempts to
compete with the veriest youngsters in the village, at wrestling, or
cudgel-playing; rejoiced heartily when he suffered a cracked pate, or
an unexpected back-fall; and never employed him in the way of his
profession. He could have borne all his misfortunes with decency but
the last;--_that_ irked him beyond measure; and he did not scruple to
upbraid those who deigned to drink out of his cup, with their folly
and villanous prejudice, in measuring a man's wit by his skill
at gymnastics, and exclusively patronizing a couple of rascally
pettifoggers in the vicinity, whose only merit consisted in their
hard pates, and dexterity in breaking the skulls of their clients. The
villagers waited with patience until Habakkuk's lecture and strong drink
were finished, promised to reform, heartily wished him success in his
trade, fell to loggerheads on their way home, and the next morning went
for redress to the aforesaid pettifoggers, who fleeced them to their
hearts' content for several lingering months, and then mutually advised
their employers to settle the matter over a goodly feast.
Habakkuk Bullwrinkle inwardly moaned at the luck of his fellow-priests
of the syren, but lost none of his flesh. His affairs, at length, grew
desperate. He had been skipping over the land, after the fickle jade
Fortune, for many a weary year; but the coy creature continually evaded
his eager clutch. What was to be done?--His finances were drooping, his
spirits jaded, his temper soured, and his appetite for the good things
of this world, as keen and clamorous as ever. He had tried every plan
his imagination could devise to win over the rustics, but without effect
He was just about to decamp clandestinely, and in despair, when, all
at once, he recollected that he was a bachelor! His hopes rose at the
thought “How strange it is!” said he, unconsciously snapping his
fingers with delight, “that the idea of marrying one of these charming
rosy-skinned lasses, who are continually flitting about me, should
never have entered my caput before! The whole village is one immense
family,--a batch of uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces, cousins, and
relations of every intermediate degree, from one to a hundred. If I
can but weave myself into this web of consanguinity, my future ease and
fortune are certain. They will stand by one of their own kin, let him
he ever so distantly related, to the very last. By the laws! it's an
excellent project!--I've a warm heart, a winning way, and great choice;
so I'll even cast my eye about for a convenient helpmate; eat, drink,
and be merry again.”
Reader, these were my thoughts, at the latter end of the year 1803; for
I am the identical Habakkuk Bull wrinkle above-mentioned. Pursuant to my
resolution, I began to wheedle myself into the good graces of the girls.
I often met with a very tolerable reception, considering all things, and
had many times nearly compassed the object of my hopes, when the
demon disappointment, in the semblance of a clod-hopper, 'yclept Andrew
Skelpie,--walked in to dash the cup of happiness from my lips. I never
attempted to kiss a lass behind a hay-mow, or an old tree, but what this
fellow would thrust his ugly phiz between me and the sweet pair of
lips I was longing to salute! If ever I made an appointment to meet a
farmer's daughter, and prattle away an hour or two with her, unseen
by all, Skelpie and she were generally linked lovingly, arm in arm
together, on my arrival.
The first time I ever beheld this destroyer of my peace, was at a
village revel. I shall never forget the manner in which he rose from the
grass on which he had been drowsily lolloping, and looked out through
his half-closed eyelids, at the efforts of the backsword players on the
sward. He was called upon to enter the ring with a fellow about his own
height, but more fleshy and comely-looking by half,--being precisely
what middle-aged good-wives term “a portly figure of a man,” and very
much to my liking. Skelpie got up from the cool turf, one joint at a
time, and made his way into the circle, by one of the most extravagant
and ludicrous paces I ever beheld: it was between the ungainly toddle of
an ox, and the loose-jointed motion of a drunken, staggering stripling.
The portly fellow was a stranger from a neighbouring county, who valued
himself on his prowess at single-stick; he had already peeled the bark
off a brace of noses, and the greyheaded rustics, who encompassed the
scene of action and glory, trembled for the honour of their native
village. An immense shout of applause greeted Skelpie's appearance; for,
in him, it was well known, the champion of Wedmore himself would find
a redoubtable opponent. He surveyed his adversary with a confident and
most provoking glance, accompanied with an upturning of the higher
lip, and a smack of his horny fingers, that sounded like the crack of
a waggoner's whip. He coolly selected a stick, screwed it into his
hand-guard, padded his elbows, gave one stentorian 'hem!' and then--I
never beheld such a mutation in my life!--his eyes flew open, his lips
clenched, every muscle in his body was instantly awakened, every limb
was in active and most turbulent motion: he hit at his opponent's head,
with a velocity that, to me, seemed supernatural; I heard a continual
and most merry peal of blows rattling about the sconce of the portly
stranger, but I could scarcely detect a single motion of the stick. The
skin was tough--particularly tough? and, for some time, defied Skelpie's
sturdy thwacks. At the close of the vigorous bout he looked amazed,
muttered a curse on his ineffective weapon, and was just about to begin
again, when, observing something suspicious about the closed mouth of
his adversary, he put forth his hand, and parted the swollen lips of
the stranger, from whose mouth a stream of blood immediately gushed. The
comely man afterwards acknowledged, that he had received a cut under
his lip at the beginning of the play, but had sedulously sucked in the
blood, and swallowed it, hoping to crack Skelpie's pate before it would
be discovered. At this fine old English sport, he who draws from his
adversary's head sufficient blood to stain muslin, is proclaimed
the victor. Skelpie afterwards threw half-a-dozen sturdy fellows at
wrestling, and bore off the prizes at the village games, as he had
frequently done on previous occasions. He was by no means handsome in
face, fairly spoken, well-made, or merry;--the simple wenches idolized
the dog for his prowess. He was capricious and false, but they seemed to
like him the better. Each, in her turn, hoped to fix the rover, excite
the envy of her predecessors in his affections, and bear off the palm,
where they had ingloriously failed. He took no trouble to gain their
love, and they unanimously doated on him. I often longed to see him get
a good thrashing, and many times felt strongly impelled to fall on him
myself; but a whole flood of fears and forebodings, invariably drowned
the few sparks of courage and vigour in my breast, and I laudably
forebore.
My love-suits were innumerable; but although they usually began and went
on auspiciously, Skelpie never failed to beat me off the field in the
end. The dog seemed to be unconscious of the mischief he made, and that
irritated my spirit in a tenfold degree. He seemed to bear no malice
against me, and many times rendered me an essential piece of service.
I shall never forget the night when he clutched me by the cheek, and
pulled me out of a flood-swollen brook, when I was at my last gasp, and
then abused and threatened to bethwack me for being such a fool, and
giving him the trouble of wading chin-deep to save me. My intellect, on
this occasion, was befogged with the fumes of stout October, and I knew
not where I went.
It would be tedious to narrate the whole of my adventures during the
year which I spent in seeking out a wife; I shall content myself with
particularizing what befel me in the pursuit of the four last objects
of my love. And, first, let me introduce Ruth,--Ruth Grobstock, the
daughter of a rough miller, who resided on a hill about a mile to the
left of the village. I secretly wooed her about a month, undisturbed by
any mortal; I thought I was sure of her, and began to concert measures
for obtaining a dignified introduction to her daddy, the miller.
One evening, after having ruminated for many hours on Ruth's
attractions, I determined to roam up to the mill, which I had never
before visited,--having hitherto carried on my love-suit with Ruth away
from her home, at meetings which were too frequent to be altogether
accidental. While I loitered about the mill, pondering on the best mode
of drawing out Ruth,--for she had no reason to expect me,--the moon
suddenly gleamed full upon me, through an opening in the oak tree which
stretched its huge boughs over the white cottage in which the miller
dwelt; and methought there was something similar to the malicious smile
of an arch woman, when intent upon a prank, gleaming on her sparkling
face; her unnecessary glances, as she seemed to peep through the tree,
for the express purpose of betraying me to observation, threw me into
a panic. I had heard of old Grobstock's moods and manners, and I feared
him. I felt sure of a kind and endearing reception from Ruth, although 1
came altogether uninvited and unawares; but I fancied for a moment that
I heard her father's flails whistling about my ears, and felt the teeth
of his tykes rioting in my fat My pulse throbbed audibly; and I was
on the point of again making my way into the wood that clothed the
hill-side, when a multitude of clouds, which had been gradually hemming
in the light of the moon, suddenly stretched over her face, and relieved
my terrors by screening me from her afflicting glances. I rejoiced, and
waxed courageous and young in heart again. The curtains of the best
room in the little cottage were negligently drawn, and I had the
satisfaction, after sundry leaps, of getting a glimpse of Ruth's little
and exquisite foot, as it danced up and down before the blaze of a
chirruping fire, which sparkled on the broad hearth. A gentle tap at
the window set her on her legs in a moment, and before I could reach the
door, she was there with an outstretched hand, and a pair of warm, ripe,
ruddy lips, pouting forth to greet me. This was delicious!--The friendly
clouds were still sheltering me from the moon's eye; Ruth stepped forth,
and we stood close at the foot of the old oak, in the most impervious
and delightful darkness imaginable. I was mute with delight, but my
happy-hearted, loving little damsel's speech, after a few moments of
silence, gradually began to thaw, and at length, overwhelmed me with a
torrent of words:--“Oh! I am so glad you are come,” quoth she; “if you
had not, we should not have had a moment's talk together for the week.
Daddy's gone out; but to-morrow evening, and the next, he means to stop
at home, and get drunk; and, although his over-night's promises in other
affairs melt like mists in the morning sun, and are quite forgotten by
mid-day, yet, when he says he shall get drunk, he always backs it wi' an
oath, and then makes it a matter of conscience religiously to keep his
word; so that, you see, my dear Skelpie--”
I was struck all of a heap!--The purport of her subsequent discourse
palpably proved, that she had mistaken me, in the dark, for the eternal
and never-failing Skelpie. Her lips once more approached mine; I was
foaming with rage and disappointment; my hand had shrunk from her grasp,
as from the touch of an adder, the instant the detested name of Skelpie
escaped from her lips; I had already taken in a mighty draught of
breath, intending to shower a whole volley of curses on her and Skelpie,
together,--when I suddenly experienced a shock, that deprived me of all
sort of sensation in an instant. How long I lay in a death-like state I
cannot conceive; but I remember well enough, that when I awoke from my
lethargy, trance, fit, or whatever it was, I found myself most painfully
compressed in an aperture of the oak tree, through which the children
were wont to enter into its hollow trunk. The moon was out in all her
glory again, and her light fell upon the white brow of Ruth, and the
grey jacket of the lean, and, by me, abhorred Skelpie. Yes, there he
was, twining endearingly round the sylph-like form of the false maid,
who seemed to feel a pleasure in his embraces, which, to me, appeared
altogether unaccountable. It was plain, from their talk, that they did
not conceive I was within hearing. I would fain have persuaded myself
that I was dreaming, but my endeavours were ineffectual; the rugged
edges of the aperture insinuated themselves into my sides, and pained me
dreadfully. Did Skelpie strike me? thought I; and does he imagine that
I rolled down the declivity, from the force of the blow, and am now
weltering in the ditch at its foot?--Truly, it was a most tremendous
assault; and his conclusion of the effect, judging from the force of
the cause, would be far from unreasonable. My case was forlorn in the
extreme: my head, and one of my arms, were in the trunk of the tree;
I was fixed in a most uneasy, slanting position; and my feet were so
placed on the outside, that the moon threatened every minute to reveal
them. I would have given the world to be even floundering in the mire
of the ditch, or anywhere else, out of the reach of Skelpie's fist I was
almost suffocated, and did not dare to breathe louder than a listening
roe: a sigh or groan would in some degree have eased my pangs; but the
sight of Skelpie, prevented me from indulging in the consolation of the
most wretched.
At length, a loud halloo announced the approach of old Grobstock.
Skelpie instantly intimated his intention of decamping, but the vile
maid desired him to clamber up the oak, and hide amongst its branches,
until her daddy went to bed. Here was a terrific request!--“I won't go
into the hollow,” quoth he; “'cause the zuzpicious ould jakes do always
pry into there, avore a' do goa to bed.” I took the cuff of my coat
between my teeth, and resolutely prepared for the worst;--but Skelpie
ascended the other side of the tree. He had scarcely broken off the
prolonged salute of the kissing Ruth, when old Roger Grobstock, drunk,
and growling, staggered up to the door. “Eh! what, lassie--wench! out
and abroad at this time of night!” cried he, as Ruth tripped up towards
him. “Ahey! what, vlaunting and trapesing about the whoam-stead wi' some
vellow, I'll warrant! Odd! I'll verret un out; only bide a bit, I'll be
about un. I be downcast vor want of a frolic to-night; so, ecod!
lass, I'll duck the lad avore I goes to bed, just vor a bit of a joke
like,--all in good vellowship,--but, icod! I'll duck un, if he's a
friend; and if he is a stranger,--dost hear, wench?--I'll drash un wi'
the flail, just like a whate-sheaf.”
Every word of his speech was equal to a blow: I struggled to get free
with all my might; I had succeeded so far as to raise myself upright,
when the miller, who had entered the house at the conclusion of his
threat, re-appeared at the door with a flaming brand from the hearth in
one hand, and a tremendous dung-fork in the other. He staggered directly
close up to the tree; but the sight of my out-jutting stomach, and
alarmed visage, made him retreat a few paces. He thrust out the burning
stick so near my face, that it scorched my cheek; and after surveying my
disconsolate and rueful deportment for a minute or more, he grounded
his weapon, and accosted me in these words: “Why, thee bee'st a purty
vellur, beesen't?--And where did'st come vrom--and who bee'st? Art thee
a thief, or--but, noa, it can't be,--thee bee'st never come to court our
Ruth, bee'st?--speak, twoad, or I'll vork tha!”