THE NEW JUSTICE OF THE PEACE.
Sir Christopher Blunt was seated in his library, on the same evening
which saw the interview between Cæsar and Jeffreys; and his countenance
was animated with a glow of indescribable delight as he glanced his eyes
over several letters which he opened one after another.
He was dressed in a very elegant manner; though he had somewhat punished
his corns by persisting to wear tight boots in order to make his feet
look small, and he might have felt a trifle or so easier at the waist if
he had not tied his waistcoat strings so tight. But if Sir Christopher
Blunt chose to enhance the fascinations of his appearance by converting
himself into a voluntary victim of that all-powerful Inquisition called
"Fashion,"—if Sir Christopher Blunt, like a great many other silly, old
gentlemen of this age, smiled at his self-martyrdom with the equanimity
of a saint broiling on a gridiron,—it is no business of any body save
the Sir Christopher Blunt aforesaid.
In spite of the pinching boots end the excruciating tightness of the
figured silk waistcoat, the worthy knight was in a most glorious humour.
It was not because fortune had favoured him with great wealth: he was so
accustomed to riches by this time that a little poverty might have
proved an agreeable variation, if only for the excitement of the thing.
Neither was it the pleasing fact that his dear spouse had been in such a
hurry to present him with a son and heir, that she could not wait longer
than three months after their marriage;—for Sir Christopher was already
accustomed to the cries of the child, and somehow or another was growing
less and less proud of his paternal honours every day, the reasoning of
Dr. Wagtail relative to the premature birth appearing more and more
illogical each time he sate himself down to reflect upon it. "Then, what
_was_ the cause of the worthy knight's joyousness and good humour on the
evening in question?" demands the impatient reader: to which query we
hasten to reply—"Sir Christopher Blunt had just been placed in the
commission of the peace, and congratulatory letters from his friends
were pouring in on all sides!"
"Well, upon my word, this is very pleasant," said Sir Christopher to
himself: "I should not have thought that I was so beloved! Not a man in
England has such a host of dear, disinterested friends as I seem to
possess. Scarcely does my name appear in the _Gazette_, when—whisk! in
come the letters, by twopenny post and general—by hand and by
conveyance! And some too are from people that really had no particular
cause to be so devoted to me—people that I never spoke to six times in
my life! But let's see—what have we here? A sheet of foolscap completely
covered—and crossed in some parts. God bless me! what a letter. Why, it
must have taken the man an hour to write it; and I am sure it will take
me two to read it. But who does it come from? _Henry Atkins!_ Henry
Atkins—who the deuce is he? Oh! I remember—the gentleman who allowed me
a seat in his pew at Hackney, when I went to lodge there four years ago
for the benefit of my health. Well, it's very kind of him to write me
this long letter of congratulation—for I never exchanged ten words with
him in my life. But let's see what he says. '_My dear Blunt._' Very
friendly indeed! '_It was with indescribable delight and supreme
satisfaction that I heard of your appointment to a position which no man
in Europe can fill with more suitable dignity than yourself._' Well,
come—that's a good beginning. '_Your business habits, your high standing
in society, your great name, your unblemished character, your brilliant
talents, and your immense benevolence, render you most eligible to fill
that office, and most competent to discharge its functions._' Upon my
honour, it's very prettily worded—quite sonorous! It reads admirably.
And this sincere and heart-felt congratulation is from a man whom I
scarcely know. But he seems to know me well enough, however. '_In these
times of agricultural distress and commercial embarrassment—in this age
when England's heaven is overcast with lowering clouds, and the storms
of anarchy and discontent menace us imminently—it is delightful to
reflect that authority is so judiciously entrusted as in your case._'
That's the best rounded period I ever met with in my life. What a
clever, far-seeing, shrewd man this Atkins must be: and what an idiot I
have been not to cultivate the acquaintance of such a sincere friend!
'_But it is chiefly your_ _benevolence—it is principally your boundless
charity, which is the theme of all praise, which is chanted by all
tongues, and which is hymned beneath every roof throughout the length
and breadth of the land._' Well, I could not have believed that I was so
famous—particularly on that score. However, it must be so, since Atkins
says it is. '_Yes, my dear Blunt_,'—very friendly indeed!—'_it is your
boundless charity, your anxiety to do good to deserving persons, that
will hand your name down to posterity, and send it floating like an
eternal bark, over the waves of Time._' Egad! that's splendid. Milton
never wrote any thing finer. I have never read Milton, it is true; but I
am sure Atkins can beat him. Let us see how it goes on. '_It is under
these impressions, and acting in obedience to these convictions, that I
have ventured to address you._' And I am very glad he has: I'll write to
him presently and tell him I shall always be delighted to hear from him.
Let's see—where was I? Oh!—'_ventured to address you for the purpose of
soliciting your aid under very peculiar circumstances_.' Hem! I don't
like that sentence so much as the others. '_I am a man possessing a
large family and very limited means; and business having been lately
indifferent, I have fallen into sad arrears with my landlord._' The
style gets worse—that's clear! '_At this present moment I have an
execution in my house for forty pounds; and when I look around me, I
behold a distracted wife on one side, and a grim bailiff in possession
on the other._' This is the least interesting part of his letter: that
period was not at all well turned. Milton beats him hollow there.—'_If,
then, my dear Blunt_,'——damned familiar, though, with his '_dear
Blunt_,' upon my honour!——'_If, then, my dear Blunt, you would favour me
with the loan of fifty pounds for three months_,'——Confound his
impudence!" ejaculated the knight, throwing the letter into the
waste-paper basket. "A man I know nothing of—who knows nothing of me—who
never saw me ten times in his life—to ask me for fifty pounds! It is
absurd—preposterous!"
And the knight's countenance underwent a complete change, which lasted
for several minutes, until its joyous expression was gradually recalled
by the perusal of letters which contained congratulations only, without
soliciting favours.
Presently a servant entered the room, and stated that a gentleman named
Lykspittal requested an interview with Sir Christopher Blunt.
"Show him up—show him up immediately!" exclaimed the knight. "I have
been expecting the gentleman this last half-hour," he added, looking at
his watch. "It is now nine—and he was to have been here soon after
eight."
The domestic withdrew, and speedily returned, ushering in a thin, pale,
elderly, sneaking-looking man, dressed in a suit of black which would
not bear too close an inspection in the day-time, but passed off well
enough by candle-light.
"Sit down, Mr. Lykspittal—pray sit down," said the knight, looking, in
contrast with the visitor, just like a wax figure recently added to
Madame Tussaud's exhibition, so bright was the red of his animated
cheeks, so glossy his coat and trowsers, and so stiff and starch his
attitude. "You have been well recommended to me, Mr. Lykspittal, by a
friend to whom your literary labours have given complete satisfaction,
and who speaks highly of you as a man in whom implicit confidence may be
placed."
"I am very much obliged to you, Sir Christopher, for the kind opinion
you have formed of me," answered the visitor in a tone of the deepest
veneration and respect, and appearing by his manner as if he did not
dare to say that his soul was his own. "Allow me to congratulate you,
Sir Christopher, on your appointment as one of his Majesty's Justices of
the Peace. I am convinced a worthier selection could not have been
made."
"Well, you're very kind, Mr. Lykspittal," returned the knight. "All my
friends seem to agree that the Lord Chancellor acted in a wise and
prudent manner in placing my name before his most gracious Majesty for
the purpose: and it will be my endeavour, Mr. Lykspittal," added Sir
Christopher, pompously, "to discharge the duties of my office with
credit to myself and benefit to my country."
"It is not every one who possesses your advantages, Sir Christopher,"
observed his visitor, in a cringing tone and with a sycophantic manner
which would have disgusted any person endowed with good sense and proper
feeling; but which were particularly pleasing to the shallow-pated,
self-sufficient old beau.
"At the same time," said Sir Christopher, "whatever advantages I may
possess—whatever be those merits which have placed me in this—this——"
"Enviable and responsible," suggested Mr. Lykspittal, meekly.
"Enviable and responsible position," continued the knight, adopting the
epithets as coolly and quietly as if they were prompted by his own
imagination;—"at the same time," he said, "it will not be amiss if
certain measures be adopted to—to——"
"Enhance the popularity of your name," observed Mr. Lykspittal, in the
same low, cringing, and meek tone as before.
"Just so," exclaimed the knight. "In fact, I mean to take a high stand
in the county—to put myself more forward than I have hitherto done—to
attend public meetings and——"
"Public dinners," suggested Mr. Lykspittal.
"Exactly," said Sir Christopher: "in a word, I want to—to——"
"Become a public man," added the ready-witted gentleman, whose business
it was to furnish ideas to those who furnished him with cash in return.
"You understand me as well as I understand myself, Mr. Lykspittal,"
observed the knight.
"It's my business, sir," was the answer. "Besides, you are so
enlightened and enlightening a man, Sir Christopher, that you may be
regarded as a lamp constantly diffusing its lustre even upon the darkest
and most chaotic ideas. Pardon me, Sir Christopher, for being so bold as
to express my opinion: but it is the truth—and I never flatter."
"I am convinced you speak with sincerity, my dear sir," said the new
Justice of the Peace, playing with his eye-glass. "Well, then, Mr.
Lykspittal—to go back to our original subject—the subject of this
interview—I think you fully comprehend me: indeed, I know that you do.
It is my object and my determination to take a high position in the
county—so that I may in a short time reckon upon the honour of being one
of its representatives in Parliament."
"Very easily managed, Sir Christopher," said Mr. Lykspittal. "The
electors would be proud of such a man as yourself:—pardon me for making
the observation—but I never flatter. In the first instance, however, it
is necessary that they should know you well."
"Now we are coming to the point, my dear sir," exclaimed the knight.
"Will you permit me to offer my suggestions?" asked Mr. Lykspittal, in a
tone of insinuating meekness.
"Certainly—by all means. Proceed."
"Well, Sir Christopher, in the first place I should propose that a
pamphlet be written on some taking subject, and addressed to your
worship," continued Mr. Lykspittal. "Suppose we say the _Corn Laws_—or
_Prison Discipline_—or _Catholic Emancipation_—or _Church Extension_—or
_Parliamentary Reform_—or _Labour in Factories_——"
"All good subjects, Mr. Lykspittal—all good subjects," observed the
knight. "But I do not mind telling you in private, that I know nothing
about any one of them."
"Of course not, Sir Christopher," exclaimed Mr. Lykspittal. "It is not
to be expected that a man of your standing will trouble himself about
the details of such trivial matters. But which side will you take—the
Liberal or the Tory?"
"Oh! the Tory, by all means!" cried Sir Christopher.
"Very good, my dear sir," said Mr. Lykspittal. "It is all the same to
me—I can write on one side as well as on the other. Suppose, then, we
take up the subject of _Catholic Emancipation_, which begins to make a
great noise.[40] A pamphlet must be got up, supposed to be written by
'_A Friend to the Established Church_,' and it must be in the shape of a
letter addressed to yourself. I should begin by saying,—'SIR,—_The
interest which you are known to take in this great and important
question—the perseverance you have manifested in making yourself
acquainted with all the bearings of the case, its certain results and
its inevitable influences—the stanch and long-tried ardour which you
have evinced in maintaining and upholding the institutions of the
Established Church—the numerous proofs which you have given of your
attachment to the Protestant Faith—and the fact that the eyes of the
whole country are upon you as a man resolved, at any personal sacrifice,
and at all individual risks, to oppose all dangerous innovations and
resist all perilous changes,—these motives, sir, have induced me to
address the following pages to you._'"
"Nothing can be better, Mr. Lykspittal!" exclaimed the knight. "I
should, however, be glad if you will, in the course of the pamphlet,
allude especially—and more than once, too—to the fact that I have been
the artificer of my own fortune—that I raised myself from nothing—and
that the greatest mistake the livery-men of Portsoken ever made was to
reject me as a candidate for the aldermanic gown of that ward."
"I shall not forget, Sir Christopher," observed Mr. Lykspittal.
"And you may add, my dear sir," continued the knight, pompously, "that
you are well aware that circumstances have since occurred to make me
rejoice at that rejection."
"I will declare it to be a well known fact amongst all your friends,"
said the accommodating literary gentleman.
"And you may touch upon the zeal—the ability—and the efficiency with
which I performed the duties of the shrievalty—the very arduous duties
of that office," observed the new Justice of the Peace.
"I shall certainly do so, Sir Christopher," replied Mr. Lykspittal; "and
it will only be telling the exact truth."
"You may likewise touch upon the reward which it graciously pleased the
illustrious Prince to confer upon me," continued the magistrate: "I
mean—the honour of knighthood."
"As a matter of course, my dear sir; and never was that title bestowed
upon a gentleman better calculated to wear it worthily."
"I thank you, Mr. Lykspittal," returned Sir Christopher, "for your very
flattering opinion of me. When can the pamphlet be got ready?"
"I shall set about it immediately, sir," was the answer. "The moment it
is published, you must seize upon some point, which I shall purposely
leave open for discussion, and write a letter to a morning newspaper,
declaring that you agree with the general tenour of the work, but that
you totally dissent from that particular doctrine."
"Decidedly," said Sir Christopher. "You will then write a reply, through
the same channel, and signed '_A Friend of the Established Church_.'"
"That is my intention. We shall thus excite an interest relative to the
pamphlet, and your name, Sir Christopher, will be kept before the
public. The discussion may lead to a second pamphlet——"
"Stay!" exclaimed the knight, smiling with the brightness of the idea
which had just struck him: "we will manage better than all that! You
shall write a pamphlet which you must address to me in the terms just
now specified by you; but the work must contain throughout opinions
totally opposed to mine, and the object of the pamphlet must seem to be
my conversion to your particular way of thinking. Then I must write
another pamphlet in answer—or rather, you must write it for me; and you
must cut up, hip and thigh, and completely refute all the doctrines set
forth in the first pamphlet. In fact, you must start a theory in that
first pamphlet, and knock it down altogether in the second, which must
be supposed to come from me."
"A very ingenious idea, my dear sir," said Mr. Lykspittal, "and just
such an one as I should have expected from a man of your enlightened
mind. I admire the plan amazingly; and will set to work at once."
"Very good," exclaimed Sir Christopher. "I will write you a cheque for
thirty guineas on account. You will of course make all the necessary
arrangements with the printer and stationer, and you may apply to me for
money as you require it. I shall do the thing handsomely, and spend
fifty pounds at least in advertising each pamphlet."
Mr. Lykspittal coincided altogether in the propriety of these
intentions—indeed, he never was known to differ from a patron in the
whole course of his life; and, having received the cheque, he took his
leave, walking backwards to the door in homage to the great man who had
just been placed in the commission of the peace.
Almost immediately after the departure of Mr. Lykspitttal, a servant
entered, announcing Captain O'Blunderbuss.
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Footnote 40:
The reader will observe that this was said in the year 1827, _before_
the emancipation of the Catholics took place.
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