The card-table was set out in the drawing-room at Hazeldean Hall; though
the little party were still lingering in the deep recess of the large
bay window--which (in itself of dimensions that would have swallowed up
a moderate-sized London parlor) held the great round tea-table with all
appliances and means to boot--for the beautiful summer moon shed on the
sward so silvery a lustre, and the trees cast so quiet a shadow, and the
flowers and new-mown hay sent up so grateful a perfume, that, to close
the windows, draw the curtains, and call for other lights than those of
heaven, would have been an abuse of the prose of life which even Captain
Barnabas, who regarded whist as the business of town and the holiday of
the country, shrank from suggesting. Without, the scene, beheld by the
clear moonlight, had the beauty peculiar to the garden ground round
those old-fashioned country residences which, though a little
modernized, still preserve their original character: the velvet lawn,
studded with large plots of flowers, shaded and scented here, to the
left, by lilacs, laburnums, and rich seringas--there, to the right,
giving glimpses, over low-clipped yews, of a green bowling alley, with
the white columns of a summer house built after the Dutch taste, in the
reign of William III.; and in front--stealing away under covert of
those still cedars, into the wilder landscape of the well-wooded,
undulating park. Within, viewed by the placid glimmer of the moon, the
scene was no less characteristic of the abodes of that race which has no
parallel in other lands, and which, alas, is somewhat losing its native
idiosyncracies in this--the stout country gentleman, not the fine
gentleman of the country--the country gentleman somewhat softened and
civilized from the mere sportsman or farmer, but still plain and homely,
relinquishing the old hall for the drawing-room, and with books not
three months' old on his table, instead of _Fox's Martyrs_ and _Baker's
Chronicle_--yet still retaining many a sacred old prejudice, that, like
the knots in his native oak, rather adds to the ornament of the grain
than takes from the strength of the tree. Opposite to the window, the
high chimney-piece rose to the heavy cornice of the ceiling, with dark
pannels glistening against the moonlight. The broad and rather clumsy
chintz sofas and settees of the reign of George III., contrasted at
intervals with the tall backed chairs of a far more distant generation,
when ladies in fardingales, and gentlemen in trunk-hose, seemed never to
have indulged in horizontal positions. The walls, of shining wainscot,
were thickly covered, chiefly with family pictures; though now and then
some Dutch fair, or battle-piece, showed that a former proprietor had
been less exclusive in his taste for the arts. The piano-forte stood
open near the fire-place; a long dwarf bookcase at the far end, added
its sober smile to the room. That bookcase contained what was called
"The Lady's Library," a collection commenced by the Squire's
grandmother, of pious memory, and completed by his mother, who had more
taste for the lighter letters, with but little addition from the
bibliomaniac tenderness of the present Mrs. Hazeldean--who, being no
great reader, contented herself with subscribing to the Book Club. In
this feminine Bodleian, the sermons collected by Mrs. Hazeldean, the
grandmother, stood cheek-by-jowl beside the novels purchased by Mrs.
Hazeldean, the mother.
"Mixtaque ridenti fundet colocasia acantho!"
But, to be sure, the novels, in spite of very inflammatory titles, such
as "Fatal Sensibility," "Errors of the Heart," &c., were so harmless
that I doubt if the sermons could have had much to say against their
next-door neighbors--and that is all that can be expected by the rest of
us.
A parrot dozing on his perch--some gold fish fast asleep in their glass
bowl--two or three dogs on the rug, and Flimsey, Miss Jemima's spaniel,
curled into a ball on the softest sofa--Mrs. Hazeldean's work-table,
rather in disorder, as if it had been lately used--the _St. James's
Chronicle_ dangling down from a little tripod near the Squire's
arm-chair--a high screen of gilt and stamped leather fencing off the
card table; all these, dispersed about a room large enough to hold them
all and not seem crowded, offered many a pleasant resting-place for the
eye, when it turned from the world of nature to the home of man.
But see, Captain Barnabas, fortified by his fourth cup of tea, has at
length summoned courage to whisper to Mrs. Hazeldean, "don't you think
the Parson will be impatient for his rubber?" Mrs. Hazeldean glanced at
the Parson, and smiled; but she gave the signal to the Captain, and the
bell was rung, lights were brought in, the curtains let down; in a few
moments more the group had collected round the card-tables. The best of
us are but human--that is not a new truth, I confess, but yet people
forget it every day of their lives--and I dare say there are many who
are charitably thinking at this very moment, that my Parson ought not to
be playing at whist. All I can say to these rigid disciplinarians is,
"Every man has his favorite sin: whist was Parson Dale's!--ladies and
gentlemen, what is yours?" In truth, I must not set up my poor parson,
nowadays, as a pattern parson--it is enough to have one pattern in a
village no bigger than Hazeldean, and we all know that Lenny Fairfield
has bespoken that place--and got the patronage of the stocks for his
emoluments! Parson Dale was ordained, not indeed so very long ago, but
still at a time when churchmen took it a great deal more easily than
they do now. The elderly parson of that day played his rubber as a
matter of course, the middle-aged parson was sometimes seen riding to
cover (I knew a schoolmaster, a doctor of divinity, and an excellent
man, whose pupils were chiefly taken from the highest families in
England, who hunted regularly three times a week during the season), and
the young parson would often sing a capital song--not composed by
David--and join in those rotary dances, which certainly David never
danced before the ark.
Does it need so long a prolegomenon to excuse thee, poor Parson Dale,
for turning up that ace of spades with so triumphant a smile at thy
partner? I must own that nothing that well could add to the Parson's
offense was wanting. In the first place he did not play charitably, and
merely to oblige other people. He delighted in the game--he rejoiced in
the game--his whole heart was in the game--neither was he indifferent to
the mammon of the thing, as a Christian pastor ought to have been. He
looked very sad when he took his shillings out of his purse, and
exceedingly pleased when he put the shillings that had just before
belonged to other people into it. Finally, by one of those arrangements
common with married people, who play at the same table, Mr. and Mrs.
Hazeldean were invariably partners, and no two people could play worse;
while Captain Barnabas, who had played at Graham's with honor and
profit, necessarily became partner to Parson Dale, who himself played a
good steady parsonic game. So that, in strict truth, it was hardly fair
play--it was almost swindling--the combination of those two great dons
against that innocent married couple! Mr. Dale, it is true, was aware of
this disproportion of force, and had often proposed either to change
partners or to give odds, propositions always scornfully scouted by the
Squire and his lady; so that the Parson was obliged to pocket his
conscience together with the ten points which made his average winnings.
The strangest thing in the world is the different way in which whist
affects the temper. It is no test of temper, as some pretend--not at
all! The best tempered people in the world grow snappish at whist; and I
have seen the most testy and peevish in the ordinary affairs of life
bear their losses with the stoicism of Epictetus. This was notably
manifested in the contrast between the present adversaries of the Hall
and the Rectory. The Squire who was esteemed as choleric a gentleman as
most in the county, was the best humored fellow you could imagine when
you set him down to whist opposite the sunny face of his wife. You never
heard one of these incorrigible blunderers scold each other; on the
contrary, they only laughed when they threw away the game, with four by
honors in their hands. The utmost that was ever said was a "Well, Harry,
that was the oddest trump of yours. Ho--ho--ho!" or a "Bless me,
Hazeldean--why, they made three tricks, and you had the ace in your hand
all the time! Ha--ha--ha!"
Upon which occasions Captain Barnabas, with great good humor, always
echoed both the Squire's ho--ho--ho! and Mrs. Hazeldean's ha--ha--ha!
Not so the Parson. He had so keen and sportsmanlike an interest in the
game, that even his adversaries' mistakes ruffled him. And you would
hear him, with elevated voice and agitated gestures, laying down the
law, quoting Hoyle, appealing to all the powers of memory and common
sense against the very delinquencies by which he was enriched--a waste
of eloquence that always heightened the hilarity of Mr. and Mrs.
Hazeldean. While these four were thus engaged, Mrs. Dale, who had come
with her husband despite her headache, sate on the sofa beside Miss
Jemima, or rather beside Miss Jemima's Flimsey, which had already
secured the centre of the sofa, and snarled at the very idea of being
disturbed. And Master Frank--at a table by himself--was employed
sometimes in looking at his pumps, and sometimes at Gilray's
Caricatures, with which his mother had provided him for his intellectual
requirements. Mrs. Dale, in her heart, liked Miss Jemima better than
Mrs. Hazeldean, of whom she was rather in awe, notwithstanding they had
been little girls together, and occasionally still called each other
Harry and Carry. But those tender diminutives belonged to the "Dear"
genus, and were rarely employed by the ladies, except at those times
when--had they been little girls still, and the governess out of the
way--they would have slapped and pinched each other. Mrs. Dale was
still a very pretty woman, as Mrs. Hazeldean was still a very fine
woman. Mrs. Dale painted in water colors and sang, and made card-racks
and pen-holders, and was called an "elegant, accomplished woman." Mrs.
Hazeldean cast up the Squire's accounts, wrote the best part of his
letters, kept a large establishment in excellent order, and was called
"a clever, sensible woman." Mrs. Dale had headaches and nerves, Mrs.
Hazeldean had neither nerves nor headaches. Mrs. Dale said, "Harry had
no real harm in her, but was certainly very masculine." Mrs. Hazeldean
said, "Carry would be a good creature, but for her airs and graces."
Mrs. Dale said, "Mrs. Hazeldean was just made to be a country squire's
lady." Mrs. Hazeldean said, "Mrs. Dale was the last person in the world
who ought to have been a parson's wife." Carry, when she spoke of Harry
to a third person, said, "Dear Mrs. Hazeldean." Harry, when she referred
incidentally to Carry, said, "Poor Mrs. Dale." And now the reader knows
why Mrs. Hazeldean called Mrs. Dale "poor," at least as well as I do.
For, after all, the word belonged to that class in the female vocabulary
which may be called "obscure significants," resembling the Knox Ompax,
which hath so puzzled the inquirers into the Eleusinian Mysteries; the
application is rather to be illustrated than the meaning to be exactly
explained.
"That's really a sweet little dog of yours, Jemima," said Mrs. Dale, who
was embroidering the word CAROLINE on the border of a cambric
pocket-handkerchief, but edging a little farther off, as she added,
"he'll not bite, will he?" "Dear me, no!" said Miss Jemima; but (she
added, in a confidential whisper), "don't say _he_--'tis a lady dog."
"Oh," said Mrs. Dale, edging off still farther, as if that confession of
the creature's sex did not serve to allay her apprehensions--"oh, then,
you carry your aversion to the gentlemen even to lap-dogs--that is being
consistent indeed, Jemima!"
MISS JEMIMA.--"I had a gentleman dog once--a pug!--they are getting very
scarce now. I thought he was so fond of me--he snapped at every one
else; the battles I fought for him! Well, will you believe, I had been
staying with my friend Miss Smilecox at Cheltenham. Knowing that William
is so hasty, and his boots are so thick, I trembled to think what a kick
might do. So, on coming here, I left Buff--that was his name--with Miss
Smilecox." (A pause.)
MRS. DALE, looking up languidly.--"Well, my love."
MISS JEMIMA.--"Will you believe it, I say, when I returned to
Cheltenham, only three months afterward, Miss Smilecox had seduced his
affections from me, and the ungrateful creature did not even know me
again. A pug, too--yet people _say_ pugs are faithful!!! I am sure they
ought to be, nasty things. I have never had a gentleman dog since--they
are all alike, believe me--heartless, selfish creatures."
MRS. DALE.--"Pugs? I dare say they are!"
MISS JEMIMA, with spirit.--"MEN!--I told you it was a gentleman dog!"
MRS. DALE, apologetically.--"True, my love, but the whole thing was so
mixed up!"
MISS JEMIMA.--"You saw that cold-blooded case of Breach of Promise of
Marriage in the papers--an old wretch, too, of sixty-four. No age makes
them a bit better. And when one thinks that the end of all flesh is
approaching, and that--"
MRS. DALE, quickly, for she prefers Miss Jemima's other hobby to that
black one upon which she is preparing to precede the bier of the
universe.--"Yes, my love, we'll avoid that subject, if you please. Mr.
Dale has his own opinions, and it becomes me, you know, as a parson's
wife," (said smilingly; Mrs. Dale has as pretty a dimple as any of Miss
Jemima's, and makes more of that one than Miss Jemima of three), "to
agree with him--that is, in theology."
MISS JEMIMA, earnestly.--"But the thing is so clear, if you would but
look into--"
MRS. DALE, putting her hand on Miss Jemima's lips playfully.--"Not a
word more. Pray, what do you think of the Squire's tenant at the Casino,
Signor Riccabocca? An interesting creature, is not he?"
MISS JEMIMA.--"Interesting! Not to me. Interesting! Why is he
interesting?"
Mrs. Dale is silent, and turns her handkerchief in her pretty little
white hands, appearing to contemplate the R. in Caroline.
MISS JEMIMA, half pettishly, half coaxingly.--"Why is he interesting? I
scarcely ever looked at him; they say he smokes, and never eats. Ugly,
too!"
MRS. DALE.--"Ugly--no. A fine head--very like Dante's--but what is
beauty?"
MISS JEMIMA.--"Very true; what is it indeed? Yes, as you say, I think
there _is_ something interesting about him; he looks melancholy, but
that may be because he is poor."
MRS. DALE.--"It is astonishing how little one feels poverty when one
loves. Charles and I were very poor once--before the Squire--." Mrs.
Dale paused, looked toward the Squire, and murmured a blessing, the
warmth of which brought tears into her eyes. "Yes," she added, after a
pause, "we were very poor, but we were happy even then, more thanks to
Charles than to me," and tears from a new source again dimmed those
quick, lively eyes, as the little woman gazed fondly on her husband,
whose brows were knit into a black frown over a bad hand.
MISS JEMIMA.--"It is only those horrid men who think of money as a
source of happiness. I should be the last person to esteem a gentleman
less because he was poor."
MRS. DALE.--"I wonder the Squire does not ask Signor Riccabocca here
more often. Such an acquisition _we_ find him!"
The Squire's voice from the card table.--"Whom ought I to ask more
often, Mrs. Dale?"
Parson's voice impatiently.--"Come--come--come, Squire; play to my queen
of diamonds--do!"
SQUIRE.--"There, I trump it--pick up the trick, Mrs. H."
PARSON.--"Stop! stop! trump my diamond?"
The Captain, solemnly.--"Trick turned--play on, Squire."
SQUIRE.--"The king of diamonds."
MRS. HAZELDEAN.--"Lord! Hazeldean--why, that's the most barefaced
revoke--ha--ha--ha! trump the queen of diamonds and play out the king!
well I never--ha--ha--ha!"
CAPTAIN BARNABAS, in tenor.--"Ha, ha, ha!"
SQUIRE.--"And so I have, bless my soul--ho, ho, ho!"
CAPTAIN BARNABAS, in bass.--"Ho--ho--ho."
Parson's voice raised, but drowned by the laughter of his adversaries
and the firm clear tone of Captain Barnabas: "Three to our
score!--game!"
SQUIRE, wiping his eyes.--"No help for it, Harry--deal for me! Whom
ought I to ask, Mrs. Dale? (waxing angry). First time I ever heard the
hospitality of Hazeldean called in question!"
MRS. DALE.--"My dear sir, I beg a thousand pardons, but listeners--you
know the proverb."
SQUIRE, growling like a bear.--"I hear nothing but proverbs ever since
we have had that Mounseer among us. Please to speak plainly, marm."
MRS. DALE, sliding into a little temper at being thus roughly
accosted.--"It was of Mounseer, as you call him, that I spoke, Mr.
Hazeldean."
SQUIRE.--"What! Rickeybockey?"
MRS. DALE, attempting the pure Italian accentuation.--"Signor
Riccabocca."
PARSON, slapping his cards on the table in despair: "Are we playing at
whist, or are we not?"
The Squire, who is fourth player drops the king to Captain
Higginbotham's lead of the ace of hearts. Now the Captain has left
queen, knave, and two other hearts--four trumps to the queen and nothing
to win a trick with in the two other suits. This hand is therefore
precisely one of those in which, especially after the fall of that king
of hearts in the adversary's hand, it becomes a matter of reasonable
doubt whether to lead trumps or not. The Captain hesitates, and not
liking to play out his good hearts with the certainty of their being
trumped by the Squire, nor, on the other hand, liking to open the other
suits in which he has not a card that can assist his partner, resolves,
as becomes a military man, in such a dilemma, to make a bold push and
lead out trumps, in the chance of finding his partner strong, and so
bringing in his long suit.
SQUIRE, taking advantage of the much meditating pause made
by the Captain.--"Mrs. Dale, it is not my fault. I have asked
Rickeybockey--time out of mind. But I suppose I am not fine enough for
those foreign chaps--he won't come--that's all I know!"
PARSON, aghast at seeing the Captain play out trumps, of which he, Mr.
Dale, has only two, wherewith he expects to ruff the suit of spades of
which he has only one (the cards all falling in suits) while he has not
a single other chance of a trick in his hand: "Really, Squire, we had
better give up playing if you put out my partner in this extraordinary
way--jabber--jabber--jabber!"
SQUIRE.--"Well, we must be good children, Harry. What!--trumps, Barney?
Thank ye for that!" And the Squire might well be grateful, for the
unfortunate adversary has led up to ace, king, knave--with two other
trumps. Squire takes the Parson's ten with his knave, and plays out ace,
king; then, having cleared all the trumps except the Captain's queen and
his own remaining two, leads off tierce major in that very suit of
spades of which the Parson has only one--and the Captain, indeed, but
two--forces out the Captain's queen, and wins the game in a canter.
PARSON, with a look at the Captain which might have become the awful
brows of Jove, when about to thunder: "That, I suppose, is the new
fashioned London play! In my time the rule was 'First save the game,
then try to win it.'"
CAPTAIN.--"Could not save it, sir."
PARSON, exploding.--"Not save it!--two ruffs in my own hand--two tricks
certain till you took them out! Monstrous! The rashest trump."--Seizes
the cards--spreads them on the table, lip quivering, hands
trembling--tries to show how five tricks could have been gained--(N.B.
it is _short_ whist, which Captain Barnabas had introduced at the Hall)
can't make out more than four--Captain smiles triumphantly--Parson in a
passion, and not at all convinced, mixes all the cards together again,
and falling back in his chair, groans, with tears in his voice: "The
cruelest trump! the most wanton cruelty!"
The Hazeldeans in chorus. "Ho--ho--ho! Ha--ha--ha!"
The Captain, who does not laugh this time, and whose turn it is to deal,
shuffles the cards for the conquering game of the rubber with as much
caution and prolixity as Fabius might have employed in posting his men.
The Squire gets up to stretch his legs, and the insinuation against his
hospitality recurring to his thoughts, calls out to his wife--"Write to
Rickeybockey to-morrow yourself, Harry, and ask him to come and spend
two or three days here. There, Mrs Dale, you hear me?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Dale, putting her hands to her ears in implied rebuke
at the loudness of the Squire's tone. "My dear sir, do remember that I'm
a sad nervous creature."
"Beg pardon," muttered Mr. Hazeldean, turning to his son, who, having
got tired of the caricatures, had fished out for himself the great folio
County History, which was the only book in the library that the Squire
much valued, and which he usually kept under lock and key, in his study,
together with the field-books and steward's accounts, but which he had
reluctantly taken into the drawing-room that day, in order to oblige
Captain Higginbotham. For the Higginbothams--an old Saxon family, as the
name evidently denotes--had once possessed lands in that very county.
And the Captain--during his visits to Hazeldean Hall--was regularly in
the habit of asking to look into the County History, for the purpose of
refreshing his eyes, and renovating his sense of ancestral dignity with
the following paragraph therein: "To the left of the village of Dunder,
and pleasantly situated in a hollow, lies Botham Hall, the residence of
the ancient family of Higginbotham, as it is now commonly called. Yet it
appears by the county rolls, and sundry old deeds, that the family
formerly styled itself Higges, till, the Manor House lying in Botham,
they gradually assumed the appellation of Higges-in-botham, and in
process of time, yielding to the corruptions of the vulgar,
Higginbotham."
"What, Frank! my County History!" cried the Squire. "Mrs. H., he has got
my County History!"
"Well, Hazeldean, it is time he should know something about the County."
"Ay, and History too," said Mrs. Dale, malevolently--for the little
temper was by no means blown over.
FRANK.--"I'll not hurt it, I assure you, sir. But I'm very much
interested just at present."
The CAPTAIN, putting down the cards to cut.--"You've got hold of that
passage about Botham Hall, page 706, eh?"
FRANK.--"No; I was trying to make out how far it is to Mr. Leslie's
place, Rood Hall. Do you know, mother?"
MRS. HAZELDEAN.--"I can't say I do. The Leslies don't mix with the
county; and Rood lies very much out of the way."
FRANK.--"Why don't they mix with the county?"
MRS. HAZELDEAN.--"I believe they are poor, and therefore I suppose they
are proud: they are an old family."
PARSON, thrumming on the table with great impatience: "Old
fiddledee!--talking of old families when the cards have been shuffled
this half hour."
CAPTAIN BARNABAS.--"Will you cut for your partner, ma'am?"
SQUIRE, who has been listening to Frank's inquiries with a musing air:
"Why do you want to know the distance to Rood Hall?"
FRANK, rather hesitatingly.--"Because Randal Leslie is there for the
holidays, sir."
PARSON.--"Your wife has cut for you, Mr. Hazeldean. I don't think it was
quite fair; and my partner has turned up a deuce--deuce of hearts.
Please to come and play, if you _mean_ to play."
The Squire returns to the table, and in a few minutes the game is
decided, by a dexterous finesse of the Captain, against the Hazeldeans.
The clock strikes ten: the servants enter with a tray; the Squire counts
up his and his wife's losings; and the Captain and Parson divide sixteen
shillings between them.
SQUIRE.--"There, Parson, I hope now you'll be in a better humor. You win
enough out of us to set up a coach and four."
"Tut," muttered the parson; "at the end of the year, I'm not a penny the
richer for it all."
And, indeed, monstrous as that assertion seemed, it was perfectly true,
for the Parson portioned out his gains into three divisions. One-third
he gave to Mrs. Dale, for her own special pocket-money; what became of
the second third he never owned, even to his better half--but certain it
was, that every time the Parson won seven-and-sixpence, half-a-crown
which nobody could account for found its way to the poor-box; while the
remaining third, the Parson, it is true, openly and avowedly retained:
but I have no manner of doubt that, at the year's end, it got to the
poor quite as safely as if it had been put into the box.
The party had now gathered round the tray, and were helping themselves
to wine and water, or wine without water--except Frank, who still
remained poring over the map in the County History, with his head
leaning on his hands, and his fingers plunged in his hair.
"Frank," said Mrs. Hazeldean, "I never saw you so studious before."
Frank started up, and colored, as if ashamed of being accused of too
much study in any thing.
The SQUIRE, with a little embarrassment in his voice: "Pray, Frank, what
do you know of Randal Leslie?"
"Why, sir, he is at Eton."
"What sort of a boy is he?" asked Mrs. Hazeldean.
Frank hesitated, as if reflecting, and then answered: "They say he is
the cleverest boy in the school. But then he saps."
"In other words," said Mr. Dale with proper parsonic gravity, "he
understands that he was sent to school to learn his lessons, and he
learns them. You call that sapping--I call it doing his duty. But pray,
who and what is this Randal Leslie, that you look so discomposed,
Squire?"
"Who and what is he?" repeated the Squire, in a low growl. "Why, you
know, Mr. Audley Egerton married Miss Leslie the great heiress, and this
boy is a relation of hers. I may say," added the Squire, "that he is as
near a relation of mine, for his grandmother was a Hazeldean. But all I
know about the Leslies is, that Mr. Egerton, as I am told, having no
children of his own, took up young Randal, (when his wife died, poor
woman), pays for his schooling, and has, I suppose, adopted the boy as
his heir. Quite welcome. Frank and I want nothing from Mr. Audley
Egerton, thank heaven."
"I can well believe in your brother's generosity to his wife's kindred,"
said the Parson, sturdily, "for I am sure Mr. Egerton is a man of strong
feeling."
"What the deuce do you know about Mr. Egerton? I don't suppose you could
ever have even spoken to him."
"Yes," said the Parson, coloring up and looking confused, "I had some
conversation with him once;" and observing the Squire's surprise, he
added--"when I was curate at Lansmere--and about a painful business
connected with the family of one of my parishioners."
"Oh! one of your parishioners at Lansmere--one of the constituents Mr.
Audley Egerton threw over, after all the pains I had taken to give him
his seat. Rather odd you should never have mentioned this before, Mr.
Dale!"
"My dear sir," said the Parson, sinking his voice, and in a mild tone of
conciliatory expostulation, "you are so irritable whenever Mr. Egerton's
name is mentioned at all."
"Irritable!" exclaimed the Squire, whose wrath had been long simmering,
and now fairly boiled over. "Irritable, sir! I should think so; a man
for whom I stood godfather at the hustings, Mr. Dale! a man for whose
sake I was called a 'prize ox,' Mr. Dale! a man for whom I was hissed in
a market-place, Mr. Dale! a man for whom I was shot at, in cold blood,
by an officer in his Majesty's service, who lodged a ball in my right
shoulder, Mr. Dale! a man who had the ingratitude, after all this, to
turn his back on the landed interest--to deny that there was any
agricultural distress in a year which broke three of the best farmers I
ever had, Mr. Dale!--a man, sir, who made a speech on the Currency which
was complimented by Ricardo, a Jew! Good heavens! a pretty parson you
are, to stand up for a fellow complimented by a Jew! Nice ideas you must
have of Christianity. Irritable, sir!" now fairly roared the Squire,
adding to the thunder of his voice the cloud of a brow, which evinced a
menacing ferocity that might have done honor to Bussy D'Amboise or
Fighting Fitzgerald. "Sir, if that man had not been my own half-brother,
I'd have called him out. I have stood my ground before now. I have had a
ball in my right shoulder. Sir, I'd have called him out."
"Mr. Hazeldean! Mr. Hazeldean! I'm shocked at you," cried the Parson;
and, putting his lips close to the Squire's ear, he went on in a
whisper: "What an example to your son! You'll have him fighting duels
one of these days, and nobody to blame but yourself."
This warning cooled Mr. Hazeldean; and muttering, "Why the deuce did you
set me off?" he fell back into his chair, and began to fan himself with
his pocket-handkerchief.
The Parson skillfully and remorselessly pursued the advantage he had
gained. "And now, that you may have it in your power, to show civility
and kindness to a boy whom Mr. Egerton has taken up, out of respect to
his wife's memory--a kinsman you say of your own--and who has never
offended you--a boy whose diligence in his studies proves him to be an
excellent companion to your son. Frank," (here the Parson raised his
voice), "I suppose you wanted to call on young Leslie, as you were
studying the county map so attentively?"
"Why, yes," answered Frank, rather timidly. "If my father did not object
to it. Leslie has been very kind to me, though he is in the sixth form,
and, indeed, almost the head of the school."
"Ah," said Mrs. Hazeldean, "one studious boy has a fellow-feeling for
another; and though you enjoy your holidays, Frank, I am sure you read
hard at school."
Mrs. Dale opened her eyes very wide, and stared in astonishment.
MRS. HAZELDEAN retorted that look with great animation. "Yes, Carry,"
said she, tossing her head, "though _you_ may not think Frank clever,
his master finds him so. He got a prize last half. That beautiful book,
Frank--hold up your head, my love--what did you get it for?"
FRANK, reluctantly.--"Verses, ma'am."
MRS. HAZELDEAN, with triumph.--"Verses!--there, Carry, verses!"
FRANK, in a hurried tone.--"Yes, but Leslie wrote them for me."
MRS. HAZELDEAN, recoiling.--"O Frank! a prize for what another did for
you--that was mean."
FRANK, ingenuously.--"You can't be more ashamed, mother, than I was when
they gave me the prize."
MRS. DALE, though previously provoked at being snubbed by Harry, now
showing the triumph of generosity over temper: "I beg your pardon,
Frank. Your mother must be as proud of that shame as she was of the
prize."
Mrs. Hazeldean puts her arm round Frank's neck, smiles beamingly on Mrs.
Dale, and converses with her son in a low tone about Randal Leslie. Miss
Jemima now approached Carry, and said in an "aside,"--"But we are
forgetting poor Mr. Riccabocca. Mrs. Hazeldean, though the dearest
creature in the world, has such a blunt way of inviting people--don't
you think if you were to say a word to him, Carry?"
MRS. DALE kindly, as she wraps her shawl round her: "Suppose you write
the note yourself. Meanwhile I shall see him, no doubt."
PARSON, putting his hand on the Squire's shoulder: "You forgive my
impertinence, my kind friend. We parsons, you know, are apt to take
strange liberties, when we honor and love folks, as I do you."
"Pish!" said the Squire, but his hearty smile came to his lips in spite
of himself: "You always get your own way, and I suppose Frank must ride
over and see this pet of my--"
"_Brother's_," quoth the Parson, concluding the sentence in a tone which
gave to the sweet word so sweet a sound that the Squire would not
correct the Parson, as he had been about to correct himself.
Mr. Dale moved on; but as he passed Captain Barnabas, the benignant
character of his countenance changed sadly.
"The cruelest trump, Captain Higginbotham!" said he sternly, and stalked
by--majestic.
The night was so fine that the Parson and his wife, as they walked home,
made a little _detour_ through the shrubbery.
MRS. DALE.--"I think I have done a good piece of work to-night."
PARSON, rousing himself from a reverie.--"Have you, Carry?--it will be a
very pretty handkerchief."
MRS. DALE.--"Handkerchief--nonsense, dear. Don't you think it would be a
very happy thing for both, if Jemima and Signor Riccabocca could be
brought together?"
PARSON.--"Brought together!"
MRS. DALE.--"You do snap one up so, my dear--I mean if I could make a
match of it."
PARSON.--"I think Riccabocca is a match already, not only for Jemima,
but yourself into the bargain."
MRS. DALE, smiling loftily.--"Well, we shall see. Was not Jemima's
fortune about £4000?"
PARSON dreamily, for he is relapsing fast into his interrupted reverie:
"Ay--ay--I daresay."
MRS. DALE.--"And she must have saved! I dare say it is nearly £6000 by
this time; eh! Charles dear, you really are so--good gracious, what's
that!"
As Mrs. Dale made this exclamation they had just emerged from the
shrubbery, into the village green.
PARSON.--"What's what?"
MRS. DALE, pinching her husband's arm very nippingly.--"That
thing--there--there."
PARSON.--"Only the new stocks, Carry; I don't wonder they frighten you,
for you are a very sensible woman. I only wish they would frighten the
Squire."