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 parlour) 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 modernised, 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 summerhouse
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 idiosyncrasies in this--the
stout country gentleman, not the fine gentleman of the country--the
country gentleman somewhat softened and civilised 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
panels 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, seem 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 pianoforte
stood open near the fireplace; 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 tendencies 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 neighbours--and that is all that can be expected by the best
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 those rigid
disciplinarians is, "Every man has his favourite sin: whist was Parson
Dale's!--ladies and gentlemen, what is yours?" In truth, I must not set
up my poor parson, now-a-days, 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
offence 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
honour 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
these 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-humoured 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 honours 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 humour, 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 colours 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 Konx 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 afterwards, 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 towards 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 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
newfashioned 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
cruellest 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 own 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 humour. 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 coloured, as if ashamed of being accused of too
much study in anything.
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, colouring 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 get 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 honour 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 skilfully 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
masters find 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 honour 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 cruellest 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 _détour_ 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."