SIR JOHN'S PARTING SPEECH.
THEN Sir John, standing up in the barouche at his own
hall-door, addressed the assembled multitude:
"Friends, we are gathered here to-day, in the cause of common justice
and brotherly kindness. There are many of you whom I see around me, my
tenants, neighbours, or dependants, who have met with wrongs and
extortions heretofore, but you all shall be righted in your turn; trust
me, men, the old hard times are gone, your landlord lives among you, and
his first care shall be to redress your many grievances, paying back the
gains of your oppressor."
"God bless you, sir, God bless you!" was the echo from many a gladdened
heart.
"But before I hear your several claims in turn, which shall be done
to-morrow, our chief duty this day is to recompense an honest man for
all that he has innocently suffered. It is five-and-thirty years, as I
find by my books, on this very first of May, since Roger Acton first
began to work at Hurstley; till within this now past evil month, he has
always been the honest steady fellow that you knew him from his youth:
what say you, men, to having as a bailiff one of yourselves; a kind and
humble man, a good man, the best hand in the parish in all the works of
your vocation--a steady mind, an honest heart--what say ye all to Roger
Acton?"
There was a whirlwind of tumultuous applause.
"Moreover, men, though you all, each according to his measure and my
means, shall meet with liberal justice for your lesser ills, yet we must
all remember that Bailiff Acton here had nearly died a felon's death,
through that bad man Jennings and the unlucky crock of gold; in
addition, extortion has gone greater lengths with him, than with any
other on the property; I find that for the last twenty years, Roger
Acton has regularly paid to that monster of oppression who is now dead,
a double rent--four guineas instead of forty shillings. I desire, as a
good master, to make amends for the crimes of my wicked servant;
therefore in this bag, Bailiff Acton, is returned to you all the rent
you ever paid;" [Roger could not speak for tears;]--"and your cottage
repaired and fitted, with an acre round it, is yours and your
children's, rent-free for ever."
"Huzzah, huzzah!" roared Ben from the dickey, in a gush of disinterested
joy; and then, like an experienced toast-master, he marshalled in due
hip, hip, hip order, the shouts of acclamation that rent the air. In an
interval of silence, Sir John added,
"As for you, good-hearted fellow, if you will only mend your speech,
I'll make you one of my keepers; you shall call yourself licensed
poacher, if you choose."
"Blessings on your honour! you've made an honest man o' me."
"And now, Jonathan Floyd, I have one word to say to you, sir. I hear you
are to marry our Roger's pretty Grace." Jonathan appeared like a sheep
in livery.
"You must quit my service." Jonathan was quite alarmed. "Do you suppose,
Master Jonathan, that I can house at Hurstley, before a Lady Vincent
comes amongst us to keep the gossips quiet, such a charming little wife
as that, and all her ruddy children?"
It was Grace's turn to feel confused, so she "looked like a rose in
June," and blushed all over, as Charles Lamb's Astræa did, down to the
ankle.
"Yes, Jonathan, you and I must part, but we part good friends: you have
been a noble lover: may you make the girl a good and happy husband!
Jennings has been robbing me and those about me for years: it is
impossible to separate specially my rights from his extortions: but all,
as I have said, shall be satisfied: meanwhile, his hoards are mine. I
appropriate one half of them for other claimants; the remaining half I
give to Grace Floyd as dower. Don't be a fool, Jonathan, and blubber;
look to your Grace there, she's fainting--you can set up landlord for
yourself, do you hear?--for I make yours honestly, as much as Roger
found in his now lucky Crock of Gold."
Poor Roger, quite unmanned, could only wave his hat, and--the curtain
falls amid thunders of applause.
[Footnote A: It has been stated as a fact, that a certain Lady L----
S----, in her last interview with a young man, condemned to death for
the brutal murder of his sweetheart, presented him with a white
camellia, as a token of eternal peace, which the gallant gentleman
actually wore at the gallows in his button-hole.]