MR. AND MRS. SPRINGWHEAT
'Lord Scamperdale's foxhounds meet on Monday at Larkhall Hill,'
&c. &c.--_County Paper_.
The Flat Hat Hunt had relapsed into its wonted quiet, and 'Larkhall Hill'
saw none but the regular attendants, men without the slightest particle of
curve in their hats--hats, indeed, that looked as if the owners sat upon
them when they hadn't them on their heads. There was Fyle, and Fossick, and
Blossomnose, and Sparks, and Joyce, and Capon, and Dribble, and a few
others, but neither Washball nor Puffington, nor any of the holiday birds.
[Illustration: HIS LORDSHIP HAS IT ALL TO HIMSELF]
Precisely at ten, my lord, and his hounds, and his huntsman, and his whips,
and his Jack, trotted round Farmer Springwheat's spacious back premises,
and appeared in due form before the green rails in front. 'Pride attends us
all,' as the poet says; and if his lordship had ridden into the yard, and
halloaed out for a glass of home-brewed, Springwheat would have trapped
every fox on his farm, and the blooming Mrs. Springwheat would have had an
interminable poultry-bill against the hunt; whereas, simply by 'making
things pleasant'--that is to say, coming to breakfast--Springwheat saw his
corn trampled on, nay, led the way over it himself, and Mrs. Springwheat
saw her Dorkings disappear without a murmur--unless, indeed, an inquiry
when his lordship would be coming could be considered in that light.
Larkhall Hill stood in the centre of a circle, on a gentle eminence,
commanding a view over a farm whose fertile fields and well-trimmed fences
sufficiently indicated its boundaries, and looked indeed as if all the good
of the country had come up to it. It was green and luxuriant even in
winter, while the strong cane-coloured stubbles showed what a crop there
had been. Turnips as big as cheeses swelled above the ground. In a little
narrow dell, whose existence was more plainly indicated from the house by
several healthy spindling larches shooting up from among the green gorse,
was the cover--an almost certain find, with the almost equal certainty of a
run from it. It occupied both sides of the sandy, rabbit-frequented dell,
through which ran a sparkling stream, and it possessed the great advantage
to foot-people of letting them see the fox found. Larkhall Hill was,
therefore, a favourite both with horse and foot. So much good--at all
events, so much well-farmed land would seem to justify a better or more
imposing-looking house, the present one consisting, exclusive of the
projecting garret ones in the Dutch tile roof, of the usual four windows
and a door, that so well tell their own tale; passage in the middle,
staircase in front, parlour on the right, best ditto on the left, with
rooms to correspond above. To be sure, there was a great depth of house to
the back; but this in no way contributed to the importance of the front,
from which point alone the Springwheats chose to have it contemplated. If
the back arrangements could have been divided, and added to the sides, they
would have made two very good wings to the old red brick rose-entwined
mansion. Having mentioned that its colour was red, it is almost superfluous
to add that the door and rails were green.
This was a busy morning at Larkhall Hill. It was the first day of the
season of my lord's hounds meeting there, and the handsome Mrs. Springwheat
had had as much trouble in overhauling the china and linen, and in dressing
the children, preparatory to breakfast, as Springwheat had had in
collecting knives and forks, and wine-glasses and tumblers for his
department of the entertainment, to say nothing of looking after his new
tops and cords. 'The Hill,' as the country people call it, was 'full fig';
and a bright, balmy winter's day softened the atmosphere, and felt as
though a summer's day had been shaken out of its place into winter. It is
not often that the English climate is accommodating enough to lend its aid
to set off a place to advantage.
Be that, however, as it may, things looked smiling both without and within.
Mrs. Springwheat, by dint of early rising and superintendence, had got
things into such a state of forwardness as to be able to adorn herself with
a little jaunty cap--curious in microscopic punctures and cherry-coloured
ribbon interlardments--placed so far back on her finely-shaped head as to
proclaim beyond all possibility of cavil that it was there for ornament,
and not for the purpose of concealing the liberties of time with her
well-kept, clearly parted, raven-black hair. Liberties of time, forsooth!
Mrs. Springwheat was in the heighday of womanhood; and though she had
presented Springwheat with twins three times in succession, besides an
eldest son, she was as young, fresh-looking, and finely figured as she was
the day she was married. She was now dressed in a very fine French grey
merino, with a very small crochet-work collar, and, of course, capacious
muslin sleeves. The high flounces to her dress set off her smart waist to
great advantage.
Mrs. Springwheat had got everything ready, and herself too, by the time
Lord Scamperdale's second horseman rode into the yard and demanded a stall
for his horse. Knowing how soon the balloon follows the pilot, she
immediately ranged the Stunner-tartan-clad children in the breakfast-room;
and as the first whip's rate sounded as he rode round the corner, she sank
into an easy-chair by the fire, with a lace-fringed kerchief in the one
hand and the _Mark Lane Express_ in the other.
'Halloa! Springey!' followed by the heavy crack of a whip, announced the
arrival of his lordship before the green palings; and a loud view halloa
burst from Jack, as the object of inquiry was seen dancing about the
open-windowed room above, with his face all flushed with the exertion of
pulling on a very tight boot.
'Come in, my lord! pray, come in! The missis is below!' exclaimed
Springwheat, from the window; and just at the moment the pad-groom emerged
from the house, and ran to his lordship's horse's head.
His lordship and Jack then dismounted, and gave their hacks in charge of
the servant; while Wake, and Fyle, and Archer, who were also of the party,
scanned the countenances of the surrounding idlers, to see in whose hands
they had best confide their nags.
In Lord Scamperdale stamped, followed by his train-band bold, and Maria,
the maid, being duly stationed in the passage, threw open the parlour door
on the left, and discovered Mrs. Springwheat sitting in attitude.
'Well, my lady, and how are you?' exclaimed his lordship, advancing gaily,
and seizing both her pretty hands as she rose to receive him. 'I declare,
you look younger and prettier every time I see you.'
'Oh! my lord,' simpered Mrs. Springwheat, 'you gentlemen are always so
complimentary.'
'Not a bit of it!' exclaimed his lordship, eyeing her intently through his
silver spectacles, for he had been obliged to let Jack have the other pair
of tortoiseshell-rimmed ones. 'Not a bit of it,' repeated his lordship. 'I
always tell Jack you are the handsomest woman in Christendom; don't I,
Jack?' inquired his lordship, appealing to his factotum.
'Yes, my lord,' replied Jack, who always swore to whatever his lordship
said.
'By Jove!' continued his lordship, with a stamp of his foot, 'if I could
find such a woman I'd marry her to-morrow. Not such women as you to pick up
every day. And what a lot of pretty pups!' exclaimed his lordship, starting
back, pretending to be struck with the row of staring, black-haired,
black-eyed, half-frightened children. 'Now, that's what I call a good
entry,' continued his lordship, scrutinizing them attentively, and pointing
them out to Jack; 'all dogs--all boys I mean!' added he.
'No, my lord,' replied Mrs. Springwheat, laughing, 'these are girls,'
laying her hand on the heads of two of them, who were now full giggle at
the idea of being taken for boys.
'Well, they're devilish handsome, anyhow,' replied his lordship, thinking
he might as well be done with the inspection.
Springwheat himself now made his appearance, as fine a sample of a man as
his wife was of a woman. His face was flushed with the exertion of pulling
on his tight boots, and his lordship felt the creases the hooks had left as
he shook him by the hand.
'Well, Springey,' said he, 'I was just asking your wife after the new
babby.'
'Oh, thank you, my lord,' replied Springey, with a shake of his curly head;
'thank you, my lord; no new babbies, my lord, with wheat below forty, my
lord.'
'Well, but you've got a pair of new boots, at all events,' observed his
lordship, eyeing Springwheat's refractory calves bagging over the tops of
them.
''Deed have I!' replied Springwheat; 'and a pair of uncommon awkward tight
customers they are,' added he, trying to move his feet about in them.
'Ah! you should always have a chap to wear your boots a few times before
you put them on yourself,' observed his lordship. 'I never have a pair of
tight uns,' added he; 'Jack here always does the needful by mine.'
'That's all very well for lords,' replied Mr. Springwheat; 'but us farmers
wear out our boots fast enough ourselves, without anybody to help us.'
'Well, but I s'pose we may as well fall to,' observed his lordship, casting
his eye upon the well-garnished table. 'All these good things are meant to
eat, I s'pose,' added he: 'cakes, and sweets, and jellies without end: and
as to your sideboard,' said he, turning round and looking at it, 'it's a
match for any Lord Mayor's. A round of beef, a ham, a tongue, and is that a
goose or a turkey?'
'A turkey, my lord,' replied Springwheat; 'home-fed, my lord.'
'Ah, home-fed, indeed!' ejaculated his lordship, with a shake of the head:
'home-fed: wish I could feed at home. The man who said that
E'en from the peasant to the lord,
The turkey smokes on every board,
told a big un, for I'm sure none ever smokes on mine.'
'Take a little here to-day, then,' observed Mr. Springwheat, cutting deep
into the white breast.
'I will,' replied his lordship, 'I will: and a slice of tongue, too,' added
he.
'There are some hot sausingers comin',' observed Mr. Springwheat.
'You _don't_ say so,' replied his lordship, apparently thunderstruck at the
announcement. 'Well, I must have all three. By Jove, Jack!' said he,
appealing to his friend, 'but you've lit on your legs coming here. Here's a
breakfast fit to set before the Queen--muffins, and crumpets, and cakes.
Let me advise you to make the best use of your time, for you have but
twenty minutes,' continued his lordship, looking at his watch, 'and muffins
and crumpets don't come in your way every day.'
''Deed they don't,' replied Jack, with a grin.
'Will your lordship take tea or coffee?' asked Mrs. Springwheat, who had
now taken her seat at the top of the table, behind a richly chased
equipage for the distribution of those beverages.
''Pon my word,' replied his lordship, apparently bewildered--''pon my word,
I don't know what to say. Tea or coffee? To tell you the truth, I was going
to take something out of my black friend yonder,' nodding to where a French
bottle like a tall bully was lifting its head above an encircling stand of
liqueur-glasses.
'Suppose you have a little of what we call laced tea, my lord--tea with a
dash of brandy in it?' suggested Mr. Springwheat.
'Laced tea,' repeated his lordship; 'laced tea: so I will,' said he.
'Deuced good idea--deuced good idea,' continued he, bringing the bottle and
seating himself on Mrs. Springwheat's right, while his host helped him to a
most plentiful plate of turkey and tongue. The table was now about full, as
was the room; the guests just rolling in as they would to a public-house,
and helping themselves to whatever they liked. Great was the noise of
eating.
As his lordship was in the full enjoyment of his plateful of meat, he
happened to look up, and, the space between him and the window being clear,
he saw something that caused him to drop his knife and fork and fall back
in his chair as if he was shot.
'My lord's ill!' exclaimed Mr. Springwheat, who, being the only man with
his nose up, was the first to perceive it.
'Clap him on the back!' shrieked Mrs. Springwheat, who considered that an
infallible recipe for the ailments of children.
'Oh, Mr. Spraggon!' exclaimed both, as they rushed to his assistance, 'what
is the matter with my lord?'
'Oh, that Mister something!' gasped his lordship, bending forward in his
chair, and venturing another glance through the window.
Sure enough, there was Sponge, in the act of dismounting from the piebald,
and resigning it with becoming dignity to his trusty groom, Mr. Leather,
who stood most respectfully--Parvo in hand--waiting to receive it.
Mr. Sponge, being of opinion that a red coat is a passport everywhere,
having stamped the mud sparks off his boots at the door, swaggered in with
the greatest coolness, exclaiming as he bobbed his head to the lady, and
looked round at the company:
'What, grubbing away! grubbing away, eh?'
'Won't you take a little refreshment?' asked Mr. Springwheat, in the hearty
way these hospitable fellows welcome everybody.
'Yes, I will,' replied Sponge, turning to the sideboard as though it were
an inn. 'That's a monstrous fine ham,' observed he; 'why doesn't somebody
cut it?'
'Let me help you to some, sir,' replied Mr. Springwheat, seizing the
buck-handled knife and fork, and diving deep into the rich red meat with
the knife.
Mr. Sponge having got two bountiful slices, with a knotch of home-made
brown bread, and some mustard on his plate, now made for the table, and
elbowed himself into a place between Mr. Fossick and Sparks, immediately
opposite Mr. Spraggon.
'Good morning,' said he to that worthy, as he saw the whites of his eyes
showing through his spectacles.
'Mornin',' muttered Jack, as if his mouth was either too full to
articulate, or he didn't want to have anything to say to Mr. Sponge.
'Here's a fine hunting morning, my lord,' observed Sponge, addressing
himself to his lordship, who sat on Jack's left.
'Here's a very fine hunting morning, my lord,' repeated Sponge, not getting
an answer to his first assertion.
'Is it?' blurted his lordship, pretending to be desperately busy with the
contents of his plate, though in reality his appetite was gone.
A dead pause now ensued, interrupted only by the clattering of knives and
forks, and the occasional exclamations of parties in want of some
particular article of food. A chill had come over the scene--a chill whose
cause was apparent to every one, except the worthy host and hostess, who
had not heard of Mr. Sponge's descent upon the country. They attributed it
to his lordship's indisposition, and Mr. Springwheat endeavoured to cheer
him up with the prospect of sport.
'There's a brace, if not a leash, of foxes in cover, my lord,' observed he,
seeing his lordship was only playing with the contents of his plate.
'Is there?' exclaimed his lordship, brightening up: 'let's be at 'em!'
added he, jumping up and diving under the side-table for his flat hat and
heavy iron hammer-headed whip. 'Good morning, my dear Mrs. Springwheat,'
exclaimed he, putting on his hat and seizing both her soft fat-fingered
hands and squeezing them ardently. 'Good morning, my dear Mrs.
Springwheat,' repeated he, adding, 'By Jove! if ever there was an angel in
petticoats, you're her; I'd give a hundred pounds for such a wife as you!
I'd give a thousand pounds for such a wife as you! By the powers! I'd give
five thousand pounds for such a wife as you!' With which asseverations his
lordship stamped away in his great clumsy boots, amidst the ill-suppressed
laughter of the party.
'No hurry, gentlemen--no hurry,' observed Mr. Springwheat, as some of the
keen ones were preparing to follow, and began sorting their hats, and
making the mistakes incident to their being all the same shape. 'No hurry,
sir--no hurry, sir,' repeated Springwheat, addressing Mr. Sponge
specifically; 'his lordship will have a talk to his hounds yet, and his
horse is still in the stable.'
With this assurance Mr. Sponge resumed his seat at the table, where several
of the hungry ones were plying their knives and forks as if they were
indeed breaking their fasts.
'Well, old boy, and how are you?' asked Sponge, as the whites of Jack's
eyes again settled upon him, on the latter's looking up from his plateful
of sausages.
'Nicely. How are you?' asked Jack.
'Nicely too,' replied Sponge, in the laconic way men speak who have been
engaged in some common enterprise--getting drunk, pelting people with
rotten eggs, or anything of that sort.
'Jaw and the ladies well?' asked Jack, in the same strain.
'Oh, nicely,' said Sponge.
'Take a glass of cherry-brandy,' exclaimed the hospitable Mr. Springwheat:
'nothing like a drop of something for steadying the nerves.'
'Presently,' replied Sponge, 'presently; meanwhile I'll trouble the missis
for a cup of coffee. Coffee without sugar,' said Sponge, addressing the
lady.
'With pleasure,' replied Mrs. Springwheat, glad to get a little custom for
her goods. Most of the gentlemen had been at the bottles and sideboard.
Springwheat, seeing Mr. Sponge, the only person who, as a stranger, there
was any occasion for him to attend to, in the care of his wife, now slipped
out of the room, and mounting his five-year-old horse, whose tail stuck out
like the long horn of a coach, as his ploughman groom said, rode off to
join the hunt.
'By the powers, but those are capital sarsingers!' observed Jack, smacking
his lips and eating away for hard life. 'Just look if my lord's on his
horse yet,' added he to one of the children, who had begun to hover round
the table and dive their fingers into the sweets.
'No,' replied the child; 'he's still on foot, playing with the dogs.'
'Here goes, then,' said Jack, 'for another plate,' suiting the action to
the word, and running with his plate to the sausage-dish.
'Have a hot one,' exclaimed Mrs. Springwheat, adding, 'it will be done in a
minute.'
'No, thank ye,' replied Jack, with a shake of the head, adding, 'I might be
done in a minute too.'
'He'll wait for you, I suppose?' observed Sponge, addressing Jack.
'Not so clear about that,' replied Jack, gobbling away; 'time and my lord
wait for no man. But it's hardly the half-hour yet,' added he, looking at
his watch.
He then fell to with the voracity of a hound after hunting. Sponge, too,
made the most of his time, as did two or three others who still remained.
'Now for the jumping-powder!' at length exclaimed Sponge, looking round for
the bottle. 'What shall it be, cherry or neat?' continued he, pointing to
the two. 'Cherry for me,' replied Jack, squinting and eating away without
looking up.
'I say _neat_,' rejoined Sponge, helping himself out of the French bottle.
'You'll be hard to hold after that,' observed Jack, as he eyed Sponge
tossing it off.
'I hope my horse won't,' replied Sponge, remembering he was going to ride
the resolute chestnut.
[Illustration]
'You'll show us the way, I dare say,' observed Jack.
'Shouldn't wonder,' replied Sponge, helping himself to a second glass.
'What! at it again!' exclaimed Jack, adding, 'Take care you don't ride over
my lord.'
'I'll take care of the old file,' said Sponge; 'it wouldn't do to kill the
goose that lays the golden what-do-ye-call-'ems, you know--he, he, he!'
'No,' chuckled Jack;' 'deed it wouldn't--must make the most of him.'
'What sort of a humour is he in to-day?' asked Sponge.
'Middlin',' replied Jack, 'middlin'; he'll abuse you most likely, but that
you mustn't mind.'
'Not I,' replied Sponge, who was used to that sort of thing.
'You mustn't mind me either,' observed Jack, sweeping the last piece of
sausage into his mouth with his knife, and jumping up from the table. 'When
his lordship rows I row,' added he, diving under the side-table for his
flat hat.
'Hark! there's the horn!' exclaimed Sponge, rushing to the window.
'So there is,' responded Jack, standing transfixed on one leg to the spot.
'By the powers, they're away!' exclaimed Sponge, as his lordship was seen
hat in hand careering over the meadow, beyond the cover, with the tail
hounds straining to overtake their flying comrades. Twang--twang--twang
went Frostyface's horn; crack--crack--crack went the ponderous thongs of
the whips; shouts, and yells, and yelps, and whoops, and halloas,
proclaimed the usual wild excitement of this privileged period of the
chase. All was joy save among the gourmands assembled at the door--they
looked blank indeed.
'What a sell!' exclaimed Sponge, in disgust, who, with Jack, saw the
hopelessness of the case.
'Yonder he goes!' exclaimed a lad, who had run up from the cover to see the
hunt from the rising ground.
'Where?' exclaimed Sponge, straining his eyeballs.
'There!' said the lad, pointing due south. 'D'ye see Tommy Claychop's
pasture? Now he's through the hedge and into Mrs. Starveland's turnip
field, making right for Bramblebrake Wood on the hill.'
'So he is,' said Sponge, who now caught sight of the fox emerging from the
turnips on to a grass field beyond.
Jack stood staring through his great spectacles, without deigning a word.
'What shall we do?' asked Sponge.
'Do?' replied Jack, with his chin still up; 'go home, I should think.'
'There's a man down!' exclaimed a groom, who formed one of the group, as a
dark-coated rider and horse measured their length on a pasture.
'It's Mr. Sparks,' said another, adding, 'he's always rolling about.'
'Lor', look at the parson!' exclaimed a third, as Blossomnose was seen
gathering his horse and setting up his shoulders preparatory to riding at a
gate.
'Well done, old 'un!' roared a fourth, as the horse flew over it,
apparently without an effort.
'Now for Tom!' cried several, as the second whip went galloping up on the
line of the gate.
'Ah! he won't have it!' was the cry, as the horse suddenly stopped short,
nearly shooting Tom over his head. 'Try him again--try him again--take a
good run--that's him--there, he's over!' was the cry, as Tom flourished his
arm in the air on landing.
'Look! there's old Tommy Baker, the rat-ketcher!' cried another, as a man
went working his arms and legs on an old white pony across a fallow.
'Ah, Tommy! Tommy! you'd better shut up,' observed another: 'a pig could go
as fast as that.'
And so they criticized the laggers.
'How did my lord get his horse?' asked Spraggon of the groom who had
brought them on, who now joined the eye-straining group at the door.
'It was taken down to him at the cover,' replied the man. 'My lord went in
on foot, and the horse went round the back way. The horse wasn't there half
a minute before he was wanted; for no sooner were the hounds in at one end
than out popped the fox at t'other. Sich a whopper!--biggest fox that ever
was seen.'
'They are all the biggest foxes that ever were seen,' snapped Mr. Sponge.
'I'll be bound he was not a bit bigger than common.'
'I'll be bound not, either,' growled Mr. Spraggon, squinting frightfully at
the man, adding, 'go, get me my hack, and don't be talking nonsense there.'
Our friends then remounted their hacks and parted company in very moderate
humours, feeling fully satisfied that his lordship had done it on purpose.