Farewell.
The last chapter of a book must always possess a special and melancholy
interest for the author. He gives his words reluctantly, almost
grudgingly, like one who is spending his last coins and will soon be left
penniless upon the world. Or like one who is passing his last moments at
the house of a friend whom he may see no more for ever. The author is
taking farewell of his characters and his readers, and therefore his
regret is twofold; added to which is the doubt as to whether, judged by
the severe standard of Public Opinion, he has been faithful to both.
Thought is large, and may fill the world, permeating every class and
every section of society; it may be circumscribed, and operate only upon
some infinitesimal proportion of mankind: but whether great or small, for
good or evil, it is published, and a corresponding responsibility
devolves upon the writer. I record my dream faithfully, and am therefore
exonerated, in my conscience, from responsibility in its effect.
How shall I describe the closing scene of this eventful story? I will
imagine nothing; I will exaggerate nothing; for, during the whole
progress of the story, it has been my constant care not to give the most
captious critic the opportunity of saying that I have exaggerated a
single incident. I will relate faithfully what I saw in my dream, and
that only; diminishing nothing, and adding nothing.
In my waking moments my wife said it was very wrong of Mr. Bumpkin, after
all that Mr. Prigg had done for him, to be so rude. I agreed that it
was: but said, great allowance must be made for Mr. Bumpkin's want of
education. Then said my wife, "Will not some shallow-minded persons say
that your story attacks the administration of justice?" To which I
replied that it did not matter what shallow-minded persons said, but that
in fact I had in no way attacked the administration of justice; nor had I
in the least degree reflected on the great body of respectable solicitors
who had in their hands the interests of the country, and faithfully
discharged their duties. And then I stood up, and putting forth my hand
in imitation of Pitt's statue in the corridor of the House of Commons, I
said, "Justice is Divine, not Human; and you cannot detract from anything
that is Divine, any more than you can lessen the brilliancy of the sun.
You may obscure its splendour to mortal eyes, but its effulgence is the
same. Man may so ostensibly assert his own dignity, or the dignity of a
perishable system, that it may temporarily veil the beauty of a Divine
attribute; but Justice must still remain the untarnished glory of Divine
wisdom. It is not the pomp of position or the majesty of office that
imparts dignity to Justice."
Here, exhausted with my effort, and with my wife's applause ringing in my
ears, I fell asleep again, and dreamed that I saw Bumpkin sadly wandering
about the old farm; his faithful wife following, and never for one moment
ceasing to cheer him up. It was a fine bright morning in October as they
wandered forth. There wasn't a living thing about the farm except the
birds, and even they seemed sad in their twittering. Could it be
possible that they knew of poor Bumpkin's miserable condition?
There was an old jackdaw that certainly did; for he hopped and hopped
along after the master with the saddest expression I ever saw bird wear.
But the master took no notice. On and on he wandered, seemingly
unconscious of the presence even of his wife.
"Tom!" she said, "Tom, where beest thee gwine?"
Bumpkin started; turned round, and said:
"Nancy! what, be it thee, lassie?"
"Ay, Tom, sure enough it be I. Let's cheer up, Tom. If the worst come
to the worst--we can but goo to Union."
"The wust have come to th' wust, Nancy; we be ruined! Look at this 'ere
farm--all be bare--all be lost, Nancy. Hark how silent it all be!"
"Never mind, Tom; never mind. I wish Joe wur here."
"Ah! Joe, yes. I wonder where Joe be; praps he be out here in th' six
akre."
"No, no, Tom, he be gwine for a sojer; but I've a mind he'll come back.
And who knows, we may be 'appy yet! We've worked hard, Tom, together
these five-and-thirty year, and sure we can trudge on t' th' end. Come,
let's goo in and ave some breakfast."
But Tom kept on walking and looking round the fields after his old
manner.
"I think we'll ave wuts here," said he.
"So ur will, Tom, but let's have breakfast fust. Come, lad."
They wandered still through the quiet fields, and the old man's mind
seemed giving way. But I saw that Mrs. Bumpkin kept up with him and
cheered him whenever she could put in a word of comfort, cold and
hopeless as it was. And so the day was spent, and the night came, and
they entered their home for the last time. It was a terribly sad night;
but the Vicar came and sat up late with the old people, and talked to
them and read and cried with them, until at last Tom said:
"I zee it, sir, thee hast showed I; thank God for thy words. Yes, yes,
we maun leave t' morrer, and we'll call on thee, and maybe thou'lt goo to
th' Squire wi' us and explaain to un how we can't pay our rent, and may
be th' Squire'll let I work un out. If we could only work un out, I'd be
'appy."
"Ay, Tom," said Mrs. Bumpkin, "an I'll work too; thee knows that."
"Thee wast allays a good wife, Nancy; and I'll allays say't, come what
wooll."
"Yes," said the Vicar, "to-morrow we will go--"
"I don't want un to forgive I th' rent," said Tom; "only to gie us time,
and Nancy and I'll work un out." And so it was arranged that the next
morning the old home was to be left for ever. It was no longer home, for
every article of furniture, every tool, every scrap that was of any value
had been ruthlessly seized by the heartless money-lender whom the Law
permitted to rob under the name of a bill of sale. The man was in
possession to take away their bed and the few other articles that were
left for their accommodation till the morrow.
And on the morrow I saw the last of poor Bumpkin that I shall ever see.
In the beautiful sunshine of that October morning, just by the old oak,
he was leaning over the gate looking his last at the dear old fields and
the old farm-house where so many happy years had been spent. By his side
was his wife, with her hand shading her eyes; the old dog was between
them, looking into the face now of Tom and then of his wife. Mr.
Bumpkin's arms were resting on the gate, and his old ash stick that he
used to walk with over the fields was in his hand. They stood there for
a long, long time as though they could never leave it. And I saw the
tears trickle down the old man's face as Mrs. Bumpkin, letting fall the
corner of her apron, which she had held to her eyes, and placing her arm
through his, said in a faltering voice:--
"Come, Tom, we must goo."
* * * * *
THE END.
THE LAWSUIT.
Tom Bumpkin was a thriving man,
As all the world could see;
In forty years he'd raised himself
From direst poverty.
And now he rented from the Squir
Some acres, near a score;
Some people said 'twas twenty-five,
And some that it was more.
He had a sow of rare brave breed,
And nine good pigs had he;
A cow and calf, a rick of hay,
And horses he had three.
And Mrs. Bumpkin had a bull,
The finest creature out;
"And, like a Christian," so she said,
"It follered her about."
So Bumpkin was a thriving man,
As all the world could see;
A self-made man, but yet not made
Of scholarship was he.
With neighbour Snooks he dealings had
About his latest farrow;
Snooks said he'd bought a pig, and so,
To prove it, brought his barrow.
Tom said, "It wur to be two crowns;"
Snooks said, "Twur nine-and-six;"
Then Tom observed, "You doan't 'ave me
Wi none o' them there tricks."
So there was battle; Lawyer Prigg
Was told this tale of woe;
The Lawyer rubbed his bony hands
And said, "I see; quite so!"
"A case of trespass,"--"Ay zo 't be!"
Said Bumpkin, feeling big;
"Now mak un pay vor't, mak un pay;
It beant so much th' pig."
"No, no, it's not so much the pig,
That were a matter small;
Indeed, good Bumpkin, we may say
It's not the pig at all!
"It's more the _principle_ involved,
The rights of man, you see"--
"Ay, ay," quoth Tom; "the devil's in't
'F I beant as good as he."
There never was a man more prompt
Or swift to strike a blow:
Give but the word, and Charger Prigg
Was down upon the foe.
The LETTER, WRIT, and STATEMENT went
Like lightning, thunder, rain;
INSPECTION and DISCOVERY rode
Like Uhlans o'er the plain!
Then INTERROGATORIES flew
Without procrastination:
As when the ambushed outposts give
A deadly salutation.
Now Snooks's lawyer was a man
To wrong would never pander;
And like a high-souled Pleader drew
A COUNTERCLAIM for slander;
And then with cautious skill behind
The legal outworks clambers;
Until dislodged, he held his own
Entrenched in Judges' Chambers.
At length came battle hot and fierce,
And points reserved as though
The case must be economized,
Not murdered at a blow.
Then came appeals upon the points,
New trials on the facts;
More points, more learned arguments,
More precedents and Acts.
But LAW, thou art a tender plant
That needs must droop and die;
And bear no fruit unless thy root
Be watered constantly:
And Bumpkin with a generous hand
Had given thee good supply;
He drained the well, and yet withal
The noble Prigg was dry.
With plaintive look would move a stone,
Tom gazed on Lawyer Prigg:
Who rubbed his hands and said, "You see,
It's not so much the pig."
"Noa, noa, it be th' horses moore,
The calf and sheep and kine,
Where be th' hay-rick and the straw?
And where thic bull o' mine?"
The Lawyer said, "Quite so, quite so!"
Looked wise, and wisely grinned;
For Tom was like a ship becalmed,
He stopped for want of wind.
"You see," said Prigg with gravity
Would almost make you laugh,
"Our leading Counsel had the Cow,
The junior had the Calf.
"The hay and straw _Rules nisi_ got,
Made _Absolute_ with corn,
The pigs made _Interrogat'ries_,
Most beautifully drawn.
"The Bacon--ah, dear Bumpkin, few
In Law suits ever save it;
It made together with the sow,
A splendid _Affidavit_.
"The cocks and hens the _Pleadings_ did
Most exquisitely utter;
And some few pans of cream there were,
Which made the _Surre-butter_."
"Why, Surrey butter! I'd a tub
The best in this ere nation"--
"Quite so!" said Prigg; "but you forget,
'Twas used in _Consultation_."
"Well, well, of all the hungry mouths,
There's nothing like the Law's;
No wonder they can talk if that
Be how they iles their jaws.
"Now just look ere; I'd twenty cheese,
The finest of old Cheshires,"--
"Quite so, quite so!" said Prigg; "but they
Just furnished the _Refreshers_.
"The Ass for the _Opinion_ went;
The Horses, _Costs_ between us;
And all the Ducks and Drakes, my boy,
Were turned into SUBPOENAS."
"I zee it all; the road to Ruin,
Straight as any furrer:
That Bull o' mine"--"Excuse me, Sir,
Went up upon DEMURRER."
"Then beant there nothing left for I,
In all this ere undoin?
Nay, Nance, our fireside be gone,
It's emptiness and ruin.
"I wish we'd fought un out ourselves
Wi' fists instead o' law;
Since Samson fit, there never was
Good fightin wi the jaw."
So _now_ Tom's not a thriving man,
He owns not cow or pig;
And evermore he'll be in debt
To Honest Lawyer Prigg.
BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
Footnotes
{0a} Since the First Edition, "a bulky volume" of new rules has
appeared. No independent existence at present, and therefore anatomy
uncertain. I have peeped at it, and think if it reaches maturity it will
help the rich litigant very much; and, if it abolishes trial by jury, as
it threatens, we shall be, in time to come, a Judge-ridden people, which
God forbid. I am not afraid of a Judge now, but I should be then. The
choice in the future _might_ be between servility and a prison; and I
sincerely believe that if trial by jury should be abolished, this country
would not be safe to live in. Much _mending_, therefore, and
consequently the more holes. I wonder what the Liberalism of the future
will say when it learns that the Liberalism of Mr. Gladstone's Government
struck the first blow at _Trial by Jury_? Truly "the axe to laid to the
root of the tree," and, reversing the Divine order, "every tree that
_bringeth forth good fruit is_" in danger of being "hewn down."
R. H.
{22} This inscription, with the exception of the names, is a literal
copy.
{52} Modern pleaders would say the Court would take judicial notice of
the existence of Egypt: I am aware of this, but at the time I write of
the Courts were too young to take notice.
{138} The correctness of Mr. O'Rapley's views may be vouched for by a
newspaper report in the _Evening Standard_ of April 17th, 1883, which was
as follows:--"Mr. Justice Day in charging the Grand Jury at the
Manchester Spring Assizes yesterday, expressed his disagreement with the
opinion of other Judges in favour of the Commission being so altered that
the Judge would have to 'deliver all the prisoners detained in gaol,' and
regarded it as a waste of the Judge's time that he should have to try a
case in which a woman was indicted for stealing a shawl worth
three-and-ninepence, or a prisoner charged with stealing two mutton pies
and two ounces of bacon."