The dullest dog that ever wrote a novel (and, _entre nous_, reader--but
let it go no farther--we have a good many dogs among the fraternity that
are not Munitos),[18] might have seen with half an eye that the Parson's
discourse had produced a very genial and humanizing effect upon his
audience. When all was over, and the congregation stood up to let Mr.
Hazeldean and his family walk first down the aisle, (for that was the
custom at Hazeldean,) moistened eyes glanced at the Squire's sun-burned,
manly face with a kindness that bespoke revived memory of many a
generous benefit and ready service. The head might be wrong now and
then--the heart was in the right place, after all. And the lady, leaning
on his arm, came in for a large share of that gracious good feeling.
True, she now and then gave a little offense when the cottages were not
so clean as she fancied they ought to be--and poor folks don't like a
liberty taken with their houses any more than the rich do; true, that
she was not quite so popular with the women as the Squire was, for, if
the husband went too often to the alehouse, she always laid the fault on
the wife, and said, "No man would go out of doors for his comforts, if
he had a smiling face and a clean hearth at his home;" whereas the
Squire maintained the more gallant opinion, that "if Gill was a shrew,
it was because Jack did not, as in duty bound, stop her mouth with a
kiss!" Still, notwithstanding these more obnoxious notions on her part,
and a certain awe inspired by the stiff silk gown and the handsome
aquiline nose, it was impossible, especially in the softened tempers of
that Sunday afternoon, not to associate the honest, comely, beaming
countenance of Mrs. Hazeldean with comfortable recollections of soups,
jellies, and wine in sickness, loaves and blankets in winter, cheering
words and ready visits in every little distress, and pretexts afforded
by improvement in the grounds and gardens (improvements which, as the
Squire, who preferred productive labor, justly complained, "would never
finish") for little timely jobs of work to some veteran grandsire, who
still liked to earn a penny, or some ruddy urchin in a family that "came
too fast." Nor was Frank, as he walked a little behind, in the whitest
of trowsers and the stiffest of neckcloths--with a look of suppressed
roguery in his bright hazel eye, that contrasted his assumed stateliness
of mien--without his portion of the silent blessing. Not that he had
done any thing yet to deserve it; but we all give youth so large a
credit in the future. As for Miss Jemima, her trifling foibles only rose
from too soft and feminine a susceptibility, too ivy-like a yearning for
some masculine oak, whereon to entwine her tendrils; and so little
confined to self was the natural lovingness of her disposition, that she
had helped many a village lass to find a husband, by the bribe of a
marriage gift from her own privy purse; notwithstanding the assurances
with which she accompanied the marriage gift,--viz., that "the
bridegroom would turn out like the rest of his ungrateful sex; but that
it was a comfort to think that it would be all one in the approaching
crash." So that she had her warm partisans, especially among the young;
while the slim Captain, on whose arm she rested her forefinger, was at
least a civil-spoken gentleman, who had never done any harm, and who
would doubtless do a deal of good if he belonged to the parish. Nay,
even the fat footman, who came last with the family Prayer-book, had his
due share in the general association of neighborly kindness between hall
and hamlet. Few were there present to whom he had not extended the
right-hand of fellowship, with a full horn of October in the clasp of
it: and he was a Hazeldean man, too, born and bred, as two-thirds of the
Squire's household (now letting themselves out from their large pew
under the gallery) were.
[Footnote 18: Munito was the name of a dog famous for his learning
(a Porson of a dog) at the date of my childhood. There are no such
dogs nowadays.]
On his part, too, you could see that the Squire was 'moved withal,' and
a little humbled moreover. Instead of walking erect, and taking bow and
courtesy as matter of course, and of no meaning, he hung his head
somewhat, and there was a slight blush on his cheek; and as he glanced
upward and round him--shyly, as it were--and his eye met those friendly
looks, it returned them with an earnestness that had in it something
touching as well as cordial--an eye that said, as well as eye could say,
"I don't quite deserve it, I fear, neighbors; but I thank you for your
good-will with my whole heart." And so readily was that glance of the
eye understood that I think, if that scene had taken place out of doors
instead of in the church, there would have been an hurrah as the Squire
passed out of sight.
Scarcely had Mr. Hazeldean got well out of the church-yard, ere Mr.
Stirn was whispering in his ear. As Stirn whispered the Squire's face
grew long, and his color changed. The congregation, now flocking out of
the church, exchanged looks with each other; that ominous conjunction
between Squire and man chilled back all the effects of the Parson's
sermon. The Squire struck his cane violently into the ground. "I would
rather you had told me Black Bess had got the glanders. A young
gentleman, coming to visit my son, struck and insulted in Hazeldean; a
young gentleman--'sdeath, sir, a relation--his grandmother was a
Hazeldean. I do believe Jemima's right, and the world's coming to an
end! But Leonard Fairfield in the Stocks! What will the Parson say? and
after such a sermon! 'Rich man, respect the poor!' And the good widow
too; and poor Mark, who almost died in my arms. Stirn, you have a heart
of stone! You confounded, lawless, merciless miscreant, who the deuce
gave you the right to imprison man or boy in my parish of Hazeldean
without trial, sentence, or warrant? Run and let the boy out before any
one sees him: run, or I shall."--The Squire elevated the cane, and his
eyes shot fire. Mr. Stirn did not run, but he walked off very fast. The
Squire drew back a few paces, and again took his wife's arm. "Just wait
a bit for the Parson, while I talk to the congregation. I want to stop
'em all if I can, from going into the village; but how?"
Frank heard, and replied readily--
"Give 'em some beer, sir."
"Beer! on a Sunday! For shame, Frank!" cried Mrs. Hazeldean.
"Hold your tongue, Harry. Thank you, Frank," said the Squire, and his
brow grew as clear as the blue sky above him. I doubt if Riccabocca
could have got him out of his dilemma with the same ease as Frank had
done.
"Halt there, my men--lads and lasses too--there, halt a bit. Mrs.
Fairfield, do you hear?--halt! I think his reverence has given us a
capital sermon. Go up to the Great House all of you, and drink a glass
to his health. Frank, go with them; and tell Spruce to tap one of the
casks kept for the haymakers. Harry, [this in a whisper] catch the
Parson, and tell him to come to me instantly."
"My dear Hazeldean, what has happened? you are mad."
"Don't bother--do what I tell you."
"But where is the Parson to find you?"
"Where, gad zooks, Mrs. H., at the Stocks to be sure!"