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diff --git a/30551-0.txt b/30551-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..94780d9 --- /dev/null +++ b/30551-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12786 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Humourous Story of Farmer Bumpkin's +Lawsuit, by Richard Harris + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Humourous Story of Farmer Bumpkin's Lawsuit + + +Author: Richard Harris + + + +Release Date: November 27, 2009 [eBook #30551] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUMOUROUS STORY OF FARMER +BUMPKIN'S LAWSUIT*** + + +Transcribed from the 1883 Stevens and Sons edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + THE + HUMOUROUS STORY + OF + FARMER BUMPKIN’S LAWSUIT: + + + BY + RICHARD HARRIS, + + BARRISTER-AT-LAW, + AUTHOR OF “HINTS ON ADVOCACY,” ETC., ETC. + + SECOND EDITION. + + * * * * * + + LONDON: + STEVENS AND SONS, 119, CHANCERY LANE, + Law Publishers and Booksellers. + 1883. + + LONDON: + BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. + + + + +PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. + + +Considering the enormous interest which the Public have in “a more +efficient and speedy administration of justice,” I am not surprised that +a Second Edition of “Mr. Bumpkin’s Lawsuit” should be called for so soon +after the publication of the first. If any proof were wanting that I had +not overstated the evils attendant on the present system, it would be +found in the case of _Smitherman_ v. _The South Eastern Railway Company_, +which came before the House of Lords recently; and judgment in which was +delivered on the 16th of July, 1883. The facts of the case were +extremely simple, and were as follow:—A man of the name of Smitherman was +killed on a level crossing of the South Eastern Railway Company at East +Farleigh, in December, 1878. His widow, on behalf of herself and four +children, brought an action against the Company on the ground of +negligence on the part of the defendants. The case in due course was +tried at the Maidstone Assizes, and the plaintiff obtained a verdict for +£400 for herself and £125 for each of the children. A rule for a new +trial was granted by the Divisional Court: the rule for the new trial was +discharged by the Court of Appeal. The Lords reversed the decision of +the Court of Appeal, and ordered a new trial. New trial took place at +Guildhall, City of London, before Mr. Baron Pollock; jury again found for +the plaintiff, with £700 _agreed_ damages: Company thereby saving £200. +Once more rule for new trial granted by Divisional Court: once more rule +discharged by Court of Appeal: once more House of Lords reverse decision +of Court of Appeal, and order _second new trial_. So that after more +than four years of harassing litigation, this poor widow and her children +are left in the same position that they were in immediately after the +accident—except that they are so much the worse as being liable for an +amount of costs which need not be calculated. The case was tried by +competent judges and special juries; and yet, by the subtleties of the +doctrine of contributory negligence, questions of such extreme nicety are +raised that a third jury are required to give an opinion _upon the same +state of facts_ upon which two juries have already decided in favour of +the plaintiff and her children. + +Such is the power placed by our complicated, bewildering, and inartistic +mode of procedure, in the hands of a rich Company. + +No one can call in question the wisdom or the learning of the House of +Lords: it is above criticism, and beyond censure; but the House of Lords +itself works upon the basis of our system of Procedure, and as that is +neither beyond criticism nor censure, I unhesitatingly ask, _Can Old +Fogeyism and Pettifoggism further go_? + + RICHARD HARRIS. + +LAMB BUILDING, TEMPLE, + _October_, 1883. + + + + +PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. + + +When Old Fogeyism is being lowered to his last resting place, +Pettifoggism, being his chief mourner, will be so overwhelmed with grief +that he will tumble into the same grave. How then to hasten the demise +of this venerable Humbug is the question. Some are for letting him die a +natural death, others for reducing him gradually by a system of slow +starvation: for myself, I confess, I am for knocking him on the head at +once. Until this event, so long wished for by all the friends of +Enlightenment and Progress, shall have happened, there will be no +possibility of a Reform which will lessen the needless expense and +shorten the unjustifiable delay which our present system of legal +procedure occasions; a system which gives to the rich immeasurable +advantages over poor litigants; and amounts in many cases not only to a +perversion of justice but to a denial of it altogether. + +Old Fogeyism only tinkers at reform, and is so nervous and incompetent +that in attempting to mend one hole he almost invariably makes two. The +Public, doubtless, will, before long, undertake the much needed reform +and abolish some of the unnecessary business of “judges’ chambers,” where +the ingenuity of the Pettifogging Pleader is so marvellously displayed. +How many righteous claims are smothered in their infancy at this stage of +their existence! + +I have endeavoured to bring the evils of our system before the Public in +the story of Mr. Bumpkin. The solicitors, equally with their clients, as +a body, would welcome a change which would enable actions to be carried +to a legitimate conclusion instead of being stifled by the “Priggs” and +“Locusts” who will crawl into an honorable profession. It is impossible +to keep them out, but it is not impossible to prevent their using the +profession to the injury of their clients. All respectable solicitors +would be glad to see the powers of these unscrupulous gentlemen +curtailed. + +The verses at the end of the story have been so often favourably received +at the Circuit Mess, that I thought an amplified version of them in prose +would not be unacceptable to the general reader, and might ultimately +awaken in the public mind a desire for the long-needed reform of our +legal procedure. + + RICHARD HARRIS. + +LAMB BUILDING, TEMPLE, + _July_, 1883. + + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + + +On the 4th of December, 1882, Our Gracious Queen, on the occasion of the +opening of the Royal Courts of Justice, said:— + + “I trust that the uniting together in one place of the various + branches of Judicature in this my Supreme Court, will conduce to the + _more efficient_ and _speedy_ administration of justice to my + subjects.” + +On April 20th, 1883, in the House of Commons, Mr. H. H. Fowler asked the +Attorney-General whether he was aware of the large number of causes +waiting for trial in the Chancery Division of the High Court, and in the +Court of Appeal; and whether the Government proposed to take any steps to +remedy the delay and increased cost occasioned to the suitors by the +present administration of the Judicature Acts. + +The Attorney-General said the number of cases of all descriptions then +waiting for trial in the Chancery Division was 848, and in the Court of +Appeal 270. The House would be aware that a committee of Judges had been +engaged for some time in framing rules in the hope of getting rid of some +of the delay that now existed in the hearing of cases; and until those +rules were prepared, which would be shortly, the Government were not +desirous of interfering with a matter over which the Judges had +jurisdiction. The Government were now considering the introduction of a +short Judicature Act for the purpose of lessening the delay.—_Morning +Post_. + +[No rules or short Judicature Act at present!] {0a} + +On the 13th April, 1883, Mr. Glasse, Q.C., thus referred to a statement +made by Mr. Justice Pearson of the Chancery Division: “The citizens of +this great country, of which your Lordship is one of the representatives, +will look at the statement you have made with respectful amazement.” The +statement appears to have been, that his Lordship had intended to +continue the business of the Court in exactly the same way in which it +had been conducted by Mr. Justice Fry; but he had been informed that he +would have to take the interlocutory business of Mr. Justice Kay’s Court +whilst his Lordship _was on Circuit_; and, as it was requisite that he +should take his own interlocutory business _before the causes set down +for hearing_, “ALL THE CAUSES IN THE TWO COURTS MUST GO TO THE WALL”!!! +His Lordship added, that it would be necessary for him to rise at 3 +o’clock every day (not at 3 o’clock in the _morning_, gentle reader), +because he understood he should have to conduct the business of Mr. +Justice Kay’s Chambers as well as his own.—_Morning Post_. + +On the 16th April, 1883, Mr. Justice Day, in charging the Grand Jury at +the Manchester Spring Assizes, expressed his disagreement with the +opinion of the other Judges in favour of the Commission being so altered +that the Judge would have to “_deliver all the prisoners detained in +gaol_,” and regarded it as “a waste of the Judge’s time that he should +have to try a case in which a woman was indicted for _stealing a shawl +worth_ 3_s._ 9_d._; or a prisoner charged with stealing _two mutton pies_ +and _two ounces of bacon_.”—_Evening Standard_. + +CONTENTS. + + CHAPTER I. +Shows the Beauty of a Farm Yard on a Sabbath-Day, and what a 1 +difference a single letter will sometimes make in the legal +signification of a Sentence + CHAPTER II. +The Simplicity and Enjoyments of a Country life depicted 11 + CHAPTER III. +Showing how true it is that it takes at least Two to make a 17 +Bargain or a Quarrel + CHAPTER IV. +On the extreme Simplicity of Going to Law 27 + CHAPTER V. +In which it appears that the Sting of Slander is not always 35 +in the Head + CHAPTER VI. +Showing how the greatest Wisdom of Parliament may be thrown 45 +away on Ungrateful People + CHAPTER VII. +Showing that Appropriateness of Time and Place should be 55 +studied in our Pastimes + CHAPTER VIII. +The Pleasure of a Country Drive on a Summer Evening described 63 +as enhanced by a Pious Mind + CHAPTER IX. +A Farm-house Winter Fire-side—A morning Drive and a mutual 71 +interchange of Ideas between Town and Country, showing how we +may all learn something from one another + CHAPTER X. +The last Night before the first London Expedition, which 87 +gives occasion to recall pleasant reminiscences + CHAPTER XI. +Commencement of London Life and Adventures 97 + CHAPTER XII. +How the great Don O’Rapley became an Usher of the Court of 105 +Queen’s Bench, and explained the Ingenious Invention of the +Round Square—How Mr. Bumpkin took the water and studied +Character from a Penny Steamboat + CHAPTER XIII. +An interesting Gentleman—showing how true it is that one half 111 +the World does not know how the other half lives + CHAPTER XIV. +The Old Bailey—Advantages of the New System illustrated 119 + CHAPTER XV. +Mr. Bumpkin’s Experience of London Life enlarged 133 + CHAPTER XVI. +The coarse mode of Procedure in Ahab _versus_ Naboth 143 +ruthlessly exposed and carefully contrasted with the humane +and enlightened form of the Present Day + CHAPTER XVII. +Showing that Lay Tribunals are not exactly Punch and Judy 151 +Shows where the Puppet is moved by the Man underneath + CHAPTER XVIII. +A comfortable Evening at the “Goose” 165 + CHAPTER XIX. +The Subject continued 175 + CHAPTER XX. +Mr. Bumpkin sings a good old Song—The Sergeant becomes quite 179 +a convivial Companion and plays Dominoes + CHAPTER XXI. +Joe electrifies the Company and surprises the Reader 191 + CHAPTER XXII. +The Sergeant makes a loyal Speech and sings a Song, both of 203 +which are well received by the Company + CHAPTER XXIII. +The famous Don O’Rapley and Mr. Bumpkin spend a social 213 +Evening at the “Goose” + CHAPTER XXIV. +Don O’Rapley expresses his views of the Policy of the 221 +Legislature in not permitting Dominoes to be played in +Public-houses + CHAPTER XXV. +In spite of all warnings, Joe takes his own part, not to be 227 +persuaded on one side or the other—Affecting Scene between +Mr. Bumpkin and his old Servant + CHAPTER XXVI. +Morning Reflections—Mrs. Oldtimes proves herself to be a 239 +great Philosopher—The Departure of the Recruits to be sworn +in + CHAPTER XXVII. +A Letter from Home 245 + CHAPTER XXVIII. +Mr. Bumpkin determines to maintain a discreet silence about 255 +his Case at the Old Bailey—Mr. Prigg confers with him thereon + CHAPTER XXIX. +The Trial at the Old Bailey of Mr. Simple Simonman for 261 +Highway Robbery with violence—Mr. Alibi introduces himself to +Mr. Bumpkin + CHAPTER XXX. +Mr. Alibi is stricken with a Thunderbolt—Interview with 283 +Horatio and Mr. Prigg + CHAPTER XXXI. +Mr. Bumpkin at Home again 295 + CHAPTER XXXII. +Joe’s Return to Southwood—An Invitation from the Vicar—What 303 +the Old Oak saw + CHAPTER XXXIII. +A Consultation as to new Lodgings—Also a Consultation with 317 +Counsel + CHAPTER XXXIV. +Mr. Bumpkin receives Compliments from distinguished Persons 325 + CHAPTER XXXV. +The Trial 335 + CHAPTER XXXVI. +Motion for Rule _Nisi_, in which is displayed much Learning, 351 +Ancient and Modern + CHAPTER XXXVII. +Mr. Bumpkin is congratulated by his Neighbours and Friends in 359 +the Market Place and sells his Corn + CHAPTER XXXVIII. +Farewell 375 +THE LAWSUIT 381 + + “_He never suffered his private partiality to intrude into the + conduct of publick business_. _Nor in appointing to employments did + he permit solicitation to supply the place of merit_; _wisely + sensible_, _that a proper choice of officers is almost the whole of + Government_.”—BURKE. + +_Extract from Notice of the Work in_ THE SATURDAY REVIEW, _September_ +15_th_, 1883:— + + “He was obviously quite as eager for a good battle in Court as ever + was Dandy Dinmont.” + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +The beauty of a farm yard on a Sabbath day, and what a difference a +single letter will sometimes make in the legal signification of a +sentence. + +It was during the Long Vacation—that period which is Paradise to the Rich +and Purgatory to the Poor Lawyer—to say nothing of the client, who simply +exists as a necessary evil in the economy of our enlightened system of +Legal Procedure: it was during this delightful or dismal period that I +returned one day to my old Farm-house in Devonshire, from a long and +interesting ramble. My excellent thirst and appetite having been +temperately appeased, I seated myself cosily by the huge chimney, where +the log was always burning; and, having lighted my pipe, surrendered my +whole being to the luxurious enjoyment of so charming a situation. I had +scarcely finished smoking, when I fell into a sound and delicious sleep. +And behold! I dreamed a dream; and methought: + +It was a beautiful Sabbath morning, in the early part of May, 18--, when +two men might have been seen leaning over a pigstye. The pigstye was +situated in a farm-yard in the lovely village of Yokelton, in the county +of Somerset. Both men had evidently passed what is called the “prime of +life,” as was manifest from their white hair, wrinkled brows, and +stooping shoulders. It was obvious that they were contemplating some +object with great interest and thoughtful attention. + +And I perceived that in quiet and respectful conversation with them was a +fine, well-formed, well-educated sow of the Chichester breed. It was +plain from the number of her rings that she was a sow of great +distinction, and, indeed, as I afterwards learned, was the most famous +for miles around: her progeny (all of whom I suppose were honourables) +were esteemed and sought by squire and farmer. How that sow was bred up +to become so polite a creature, was a mystery to all; because there were +gentlemen’s homesteads all around, where no such thoroughbred could be +found. But I suppose it’s the same with pigs as it is with men: a +well-bred gentleman may work in the fields for his living, and a cad may +occupy the manor-house or the nobleman’s hall. + +The Chichester sow looked up with an air of easy nonchalance into the +faces of the two men who smoked their short pipes, and uttered ever and +anon some short ejaculation, such as, “Hem!” “Ah!” “Zounds!” and so +forth, while the sow exhibited a familiarity with her superiors only to +be acquired by mixing in the best society. There was a respectful +deference which, while it betrayed no sign of servility, was in pleasing +contrast with the boisterous and somewhat unbecoming levity of the other +inhabitants of the stye. These people were the last progeny of this +illustrious Chichester, and numbered in all eleven—seven sons and four +daughters—honourables all. It was impossible not to admire the high +spirit of this well-descended family. That they had as yet received no +education was due to the fact that their existence dated only from the +21st of January last. Hence their somewhat erratic conduct, such as +jumping, running, diving into the straw, boring their heads into one +another’s sides, and other unceremonious proceedings in the presence of +the two gentlemen whom it is necessary now more particularly to describe. + +Mr. Thomas Bumpkin, the elder of the two, was a man of about seventy +summers, as tall and stalwart a specimen of Anglo-Saxon peasantry as you +could wish to behold. And while I use the word “peasantry” let it be +clearly understood that I do so in no sense as expressing Mr. Bumpkin’s +present condition. He had risen from the English peasantry, and was what +is usually termed a “self-made man.” He was born in a little hut +consisting of “wattle and dab,” and as soon as he could make himself +heard was sent into the fields to “mind the birds.” Early in the +November mornings, immediately after the winter sowings, he would be seen +with his little bag of brown bread round his neck, trudging along with a +merry whistle, as happy as if he had been going home to a bright fire and +a plentiful breakfast of ham, eggs, and coffee. By degrees he had raised +himself to the position of ploughman, and never ploughman drove a +straighter or leveller furrow. He had won prizes at the annual ploughing +and harrowing matches: and upon the strength of ten and sixpence a week +had married Nancy Tugby, to whom he had been engaged off and on for +eleven years. Nancy was a frugal housewife, and worked hard, morning, +noon and night. She was quite a treasure to Bumpkin; and, what with +taking in a little washing, and what with going out to do a little +charing, and what with Tom’s skill in mending cart-harness (nearly all +the cart-harness in the neighbourhood was in a perpetual state of +“mendin’”), they had managed to put together in a year or two enough +money to buy a sow. This, Tom always said, was “his first start.” And +mighty proud they both were as they stood together of a Sunday morning +looking at this wonderful treasure. The sow soon had pigs, and the pigs +got on and were sold, and then the money was expended in other things, +which in their turn proved equally remunerative. Then Tom got a piece of +land, and next a pet ewe-lamb, and so on, until little by little wealth +accumulated, and he rented at last, after a long course of laborious +years, from the Squire, a small homestead called “Southwood Farm,” +consisting of some fifty acres. Let it not be supposed that the +accession of an extra head of live stock was a small matter. Everything +is great or little by relation. I believe the statesman himself knows no +greater pleasure when he first obtains admission to the Cabinet, than Tom +did when he took possession of his little farm. And he certainly +experienced as great a joy when he got a fresh pig as any young barrister +does when he secures a new client. + +Southwood Farm was a lovely homestead, situated near a very pretty river, +and in the midst of the most picturesque scenery. The little rivulet +(for it was scarcely more) twisted about in the quaintest conceivable +manner, almost encircling the cosy farm; while on the further side rose +abruptly from the water’s edge high embankments studded thickly with oak, +ash, and an undergrowth of saplings of almost every variety. The old +house was spacious for the size of the farm, and consisted of a large +living-room, ceiled with massive oak beams and oak boards, which were +duly whitewashed, and looked as white as the sugar on a wedding cake. +The fireplace was a huge space with seats on either side cut in the wall; +while from one corner rose a rude ladder leading to a bacon loft. +Dog-irons of at least a century old graced the brick hearth, while the +chimney-back was adorned with a huge slab of iron wrought with divers +quaint designs, and supposed to have been in some way or other connected +with the Roman invasion, as it had been dug up somewhere in the +neighbourhood, by whom or when no one ever knew. There was an inner +chamber besides the one we are now in, which was used as a kitchen; while +on the opposite side was a little parlour with red-tiled floor and a +comparatively modern grate. This was the reception room, used chiefly +when any of the ladies from “t’Squoire’s” did Mrs. Bumpkin the honour to +call and taste her tea-cakes or her gooseberry wine. The thatched roof +was gabled, and the four low-ceiled bedrooms had each of them a window in +a gable. The house stood in a well-stocked garden, beyond which was a +lovely green meadow sloping to the river side. In front was the little +farm-yard, with its double-bayed barn, its lean-to cow-houses, its +stables for five horses, and its cosy loft. Then there were the pigstyes +and the henhouses: all forming together a very convenient and compact +homestead. Adjoining the home meadow was a pretty orchard, full of +apple, pear, cherry and plum trees; and if any one could imagine that Mr. +and Mrs. Bumpkin had no eye or taste for the beautiful, I would have +advised that ill-conditioned person to visit those good people of a +Sunday morning after “brakfast” when the orchard was in full blossom. +This beautiful picture it was not only Mr. and Mrs. Bumpkin’s special joy +to behold, but their great and proud delight to show; and if they had +painted the blossoms themselves they could not have felt more intense +enjoyment and satisfaction. + +There was one other feature about the little farm which I must mention, +because it is one of the grandest and most beautiful things in nature, +and that is the magnificent “Old Oak” that stood in the corner of one of +the home fields, and marked the boundary of the farm in that direction. +If the measure of its girth would be interesting to the reader to know, +it was just twenty-seven feet: not the largest in England certainly, +notwithstanding which the tree was one of the grandest and most +beautiful. It towered high into the air and spread its stalwart branches +like giant trees in all directions. It was said to be a thousand years +old, and to be inhabited by owls and ghosts. Whether the ghosts lived +there or not I am unable to say, but from generation to generation the +tradition was handed down and believed to be true. Such was Mr. +Bumpkin’s home, in my dream: the home of Peace and Plenty, Happiness and +Love. + +The man who was contemplating Mr. Bumpkin’s pigs on this same Sunday +morning was also a “self-made man,” whose name was Josiah SNOOKS. He was +not made so well as Bumpkin, I should say, by a great deal, but +nevertheless was a man who, as things go, was tolerably well put +together. He was the village coal-merchant, not a Cockerell by any +means, but a merchant who would have a couple of trucks of “Derby +Brights” down at a time, and sell them round the village by the +hundredweight. No doubt he was a very thrifty man, and to the extent, so +some people said, of nipping the poor in their weight. And once he +nearly lost the contract for supplying the coal-gifts at Christmas on +that account. But he made it a rule to attend church very regularly as +the season came round, and so did Mrs. Josiah Snooks; and it will require +a great deal of “nipping” to get over that in a country village, I +promise you. I did not think Snooks a nice looking man, by any means; +for he had a low forehead, a scowling brow, a nobbly fat nose, small +eyes, one of which had a cast, a large mouth always awry and distorted +with a sneer, straight hair that hung over his forehead, and a large scar +on his right cheek. His teeth were large and yellow, and the top ones +protruded more, I thought, than was at all necessary. Nor was he +generally beliked. In fact, so unpopular was this man with the poor, +that it was a common thing for mothers to say to their children when they +could not get them in of a summer’s evening, “You, Betsy,” or “You, Jane, +come in directly, or old Snooks will have you!” A warning which always +produced the desired effect. + +No one could actually tell whether Snooks had made money or merely +pretended to possess it. Some said they knew he had, for he lived so +niggardly; others said the coal trade was not what it was; and there were +not wanting people who hinted that old Betty Bodger’s house and +garden—which had been given to her years ago by the old squire, what for, +nobody knew—had been first mortgaged to Josiah and then sold to him and +“taken out in coals.” A very cunning man was Snooks; kept his own +counsel—I don’t mean a barrister in wig and gown on his premises—but in +the sense of never divulging what was in his sagacious mind. He was +known as a universal buyer of everything that he could turn a penny out +of; and he sold everybody whenever he got the chance. Such was the +character of old Snooks. + +How then came our good guileless friend Bumpkin to be associated with +such a man on this beautiful Sunday morning? I can only answer: there +are things in this world which admit of no explanation. This, so far as +I am concerned, was one. + +“They be pooty pork,” said Mr. Bumpkin. + +“Middlin’,” rejoined the artful Snooks. + +“They be a mighty dale more an middlin’, if you come to thic,” said the +farmer. + +“I’ve seen a good deal better,” remarked Snooks. This was always his +line of bargaining. + +“Well, I aint,” returned Bumpkin, emphatically. “Look at that un—why, he +be fit for anything—a regler pictur.” + +“What’s he worth?” said Snooks. “Three arf crowns?” That was Snooks’ +way of dealing. + +“Whisht!” exclaimed Bumpkin; “and four arf-crowns wouldn’t buy un.” That +was Bumpkin’s way. + +Snooks expectorated and gave a roar, which he intended for a laugh, but +which made every pig jump off its feet and dive into the straw. + +“I tell ’ee what, maister Bumpkin, I doant want un”—that was his way +again; “but I doant mind giving o’ thee nine shillings for that un.” + +“Thee wunt ’ave un—not a farden less nor ten if I knows it; ye doant ’ave +we loike that, nuther—ye beant sellin’ coals, maister Snooks—no, nor +buyin’ pigs if I knows un.” + +How far this conversation would have proceeded, and whether any serious +altercation would have arisen, I know not; but at this moment a +combination of circumstances occurred to interrupt the would-be +contracting parties. First, Mrs. Bumpkin, who had been preparing the +Sunday dinner, came across the yard with her apron full of cabbage-leaves +and potato-peelings, followed by an immense number of chickens, while the +ducks in the pond clapped their wings, and flew and ran with as much +eagerness as though they were so many lawyers seeking some judicial +appointment, and Mrs. Bumpkin were Lord High Chancellor of Great Britain; +and they made as much row as a flock of Chancery Barristers arguing about +costs. Then came along, with many a grunt and squeak, a pig or two, who +seemed to be enjoying a Sunday holiday in their best clothes, for they +had just come out of a puddle of mud; then came slouching along, a young +man whose name was Joe (or, more correctly speaking, Joseph Wurzel), a +young man of about seventeen, well built, tall and straight, with a +pleasant country farm-house face, a roguish black eye, even teeth, and a +head of brown straight hair, that looked as if the only attention it ever +received was an occasional trimming with a reap-hook, and a brush with a +bush-harrow. + +It was just feeding time; that was why Joe came up at this moment; and in +addition to all these circumstances, there came faintly booming through +the trees the ding of the old church bell, reminding Mr. Bumpkin that he +must “goo and smarten oop a bit” for church. He already had on his +purple cord trousers, and, as Joe termed it, his hell-fire waistcoat with +the flames coming out of it in all directions; but he had to put on his +drab “cooat” and white smock-frock, and then walk half a mile before +service commenced. He always liked to be there before the Squire, and +see him and his daughters, Miss Judith and Miss Mary, come in. + +So he had to leave the question of the “walley” of the pig and attend to +the more important interests of his immortal soul. But now as he was +going comes the point to which the reader’s special attention is +directed. He had got about six yards from the stye, or it may have been +a little more, when Snooks cried out: + +“I’ve bought un for nine and six.” + +To which Mr. Bumpkin replied, without so much as turning his head— + +“’Ave ur.” + +Now this expression, according to Chitty on Contracts, would mean, “Have +you, indeed? Mr. Snooks.” But the extreme cunning of Josiah converted it +into “’Ave un,” which, by the same learned authority would signify, “Very +well, Mr. Snooks, you can have him.” + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +The simplicity and enjoyments of a country life depicted. + +A quiet day was Sunday on Southwood Farm. Joe used to slumber in the +meadows among the buttercups, or in the loft, or near the kitchen-fire, +as the season and weather invited. That is to say, until such time as, +coming out of Sunday School (for to Sunday School he sometimes went) he +saw one of the fairest creatures he had ever read about either in the +Bible or elsewhere! It was a very strange thing she should be so +different from everybody else: not even the clergyman’s daughters—no, nor +the Squire’s daughters, for the matter of that—looked half so nice as +pretty Polly Sweetlove, the housemaid at the Vicar’s. + +“Now look at that,” said Joe, as he went along the lane on that Sunday +when he first beheld this divine creature. “I’m danged if she beant +about the smartest lookin o’ any on ’em. Miss Mary beant nothing to her: +it’s a dandelion to a toolup.” + +So ever since that time Joe had slept less frequently in the hay-loft on +a Sunday afternoon; and, be it said to his credit, had attended his +church with greater punctuality. The vicar took great notice of the +lad’s religious tendencies, and had him to his night-school at the +vicarage, in consequence; and certainly no vicar ever knew a boy more +regular in his attendance. He was there waiting to go in ever so long +before the school began, and was always the very last to leave the +premises. + +Often he would peep over the quick-set hedge into the kitchen-window, +just to catch a glance of this lovely angel. And yet, so far as he could +tell, she had never looked at him. When she opened the door, Joe always +felt a thrill run through him as if some extraordinary thing had +happened. It was a kind of jump; and yet he had jumped many times before +that: “it wasn’t the sort of jump,” he said, “as a chap gits either from +bein’ frit or bein’ pleased.” And what to make of it he didn’t know. +Then Polly’s cap was about the loveliest thing, next to Polly herself, he +had ever seen. It was more like a May blossom than anything else, or a +beautiful butterfly on the top of a water-lily. In fact, all the rural +images of a rude but not inartistic mind came and went as this country +boy thought of his beautiful Polly. As he ploughed the field, if he saw +a May-blossom in the hedgerow, it reminded him of Polly’s cap; and even +the little gentle daisy was like Polly herself. Pretty Polly was +everywhere! + +Mr. and Mrs. Bumpkin, on a fine Sabbath afternoon, would take their +pastime in the open air. First Mr. Bumpkin would take down his long +churchwarden pipe from its rack on the ceiling, where it lay in close +companionship with an ancient flint-gun; then he would fill it tightly, +so as to make it last the longer, with tobacco from his leaden jar; and +then, having lighted it, he and his wife would go out of the back door, +through the garden and the orchard, and along by the side of the quiet +river. By their side, as a matter of course, came Tim the Collie (named +after Mrs. Bumpkin’s grandfather Timothy), who knew as well as possible +every word that was being said. If Mrs. Bumpkin only asked, “Where is +Betsy?” (that was the head Alderney cow) Tim would bark and fly across to +the meadow where she was; and then, having said to her and to the five +other Alderney cows and four heifers, “Why, here’s master and missus +coming round to look at you, why on earth don’t you come and see them?” +up the whole herd would come, straggling one after the other, to the +meadow where Mr. and Mrs. Bumpkin were waiting for them; and all would +look over the hedge, as much as to say, “How d’ye do, master, and how +d’ye do, missus; what a nice day, isn’t it?” exactly in the same manner +as men and women greet one another as often as they meet. And then there +was the old donkey, Jack, whom Tim would chaff no matter when or where he +saw him. I believe if Tim had got him in church, he would have chaffed +him. It was very amusing to see Jack duck his head and describe a circle +as Tim swept round him, barking with all his might, and yet only laughing +all the while. Sometimes Jack, miscalculating distances—he wasn’t very +great at mathematics—and having no eye for situations, would kick out +vigorously with his hind legs, thinking Tim was in close proximity to his +heels; whereas the sagacious and jocular Tim was leaning on his +outstretched fore-feet immediately in front of Jack’s head. + +Then there was another sight, not the least interesting on these +afternoon rambles: in the far meadow, right under “the lids,” as they +were called, lived the famous Bull of Southwood Farm. He was Mrs. +Bumpkin’s pet. She had had him from a baby, and used to feed him in his +infant days from a bottle by the kitchen fire. And so docile was he +that, although few strangers would be safe in intruding into his +presence, he would follow Mrs. Bumpkin about, as she said, “just like a +Christian.” The merits of this bull were the theme, on all appropriate +occasions, of Mrs. Bumpkin’s unqualified praise. If the Vicar’s wife +called, as she sometimes did, to see how Mrs. Bumpkin was getting on, +Mrs. Bumpkin’s “baby” (that is the bull) was sure to be brought up—I +don’t mean by the nurse, but in conversation. No matter how long she +waited her opportunity, Mrs. Goodheart never left without hearing +something of the exploits of this remarkable bull. In truth, he was a +handsome, well-bred fellow. He had come from the Squire’s—so you may be +sure his breed was gentlemanly in the extreme; and his grandmother, on +the maternal side, had belonged to the Bishop of Winchester; so you have +a sufficient guarantee, I hope, for his moral character and orthodox +principles. Indeed, it had been said that no dissenter dared pass +through the meadow where he was, in consequence of his connection with +the Establishment. Now, on the occasions when Mr. and Mrs. Bumpkin took +their walks abroad through the meadows to see their lambkins and their +bull skip, this is what would invariably happen. First, Mrs. Bumpkin +would go through the little cosy-looking gate in the corner of the +meadow, right down by the side of the old boat-house; then Mr. Bumpkin +would follow, holding his long pipe in one hand and his ash-stick in the +other. Then, away in the long distance, at the far end of the meadow (he +was always up there on these occasions), stood “Sampson” (that was the +bull), with his head turned right round towards his master and mistress, +as if he were having his photograph taken. Thus he stood for a moment; +then down went his huge forehead to the ground; up went his tail to the +sky; then he sent a bellow along the earth which would have frightened +anybody but his “mother,” and started off towards his master and mistress +like a ship in a heavy sea; sometimes with his keel up in the air, and +sometimes with his prow under water: it not only was playful, it was +magnificent, and anybody unaccustomed to oxen might have been a little +terrified by the furious glare of his eyes and the terrible snort of his +nostrils as he approached. + +Not so Mrs. Bumpkin, who held out her hand, and ejaculated, + +“My pretty baby; my sweet pet; good Sampson!” and many other expressions +of an endearing character. + +“Good Sampson” looked, snorted, danced, plunged and careered; and then +came up and let Mrs. Bumpkin stroke and pat him; while Bumpkin looked on, +smoking his pipe peacefully, and thinking what a fine fellow he, the +bull, was, and what a great man he, Bumpkin, must be to be the possessor +of “sich!” + +Thus the peaceful afternoon would glide quietly and sweetly away, and so +would the bull, after the interesting interview was over. + +They always returned in time for tea, and then Mrs. Bumpkin would go to +evening service, while Mr. Bumpkin would wait for her on the little piece +of green near the church, where neighbours used to meet and chat of a +Sunday evening; such as old Mr. Gosling, the market gardener, and old +Master Mott, the head gardener to the Squire, and Master Cole, the +farmer, and various others, the original inhabitants of Yokelton; +discussing the weather and the crops, the probability of Mr. Tomson +getting in again at the vestry as waywarden; what kind of a highway rate +there would be for the coming year; how that horse got on that Mr. Sooby +bought at the fair; and various other matters of importance to a village +community. They would also pass remarks upon any striking personage who +passed them on his way to church. Mr. Prigg, for instance, the village +lawyer, who, they said, was a remarkably upright and down-straight sort +of man; although his wife, they thought, was “a little bit stuck up like” +and gave herself airs a little different from Mrs. Goodheart, who would +“always talk to ’em jist the same as if she was one o’ th’ people.” So +that, on the whole, they entertained themselves very amicably until such +time as the “organ played the people out of church.” Then every one +looked for his wife or daughter, as the case might be, and wished one +another good night: most of them having been to church in the morning, +they did not think it necessary to repeat the performance in the evening. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Showing how true it is that it takes at least two to make a bargain or a +quarrel. + +The day after the events which I have recorded, while the good farmer and +his wife were at breakfast, which was about seven o’clock, Joe presented +himself in the sitting-room, and said: + +“Plase, maister, here be t’ money for t’ pig.” + +“Money for t’ pig,” exclaimed Mr. Bumpkin; “what’s thee mean, lad? what +pig?” + +“Maister Snooks!” said Joe, “there ur be, gwine wi’ t’ pig in t’ barrer.” + +Nothing shall induce me to repeat the language of Mr. Bumpkin, as he +jumped up from the table, and without hat or cap rushed out of the room, +followed by Joe, and watched by Mrs. Bumpkin from the door. Just as he +got to the farmyard by one gate, there was Snooks leaving it by another +with Mr. Bumpkin’s pig in a sack in the box barrow which he was wheeling. + +“Hulloa!” shouted the farmer; “hulloa here! Thee put un down—dang thee, +what be this? I said thee shouldn’t ave un, no more thee sha’n’t. I +beant gwine to breed Chichster pigs for such as thee at thy own price, +nuther.” Snooks grinned and went on his way, saying; + +“I bought un and I’ll ’ave un.” + +“An I’ll ’ave thee, dang’d if I doant, afore jussices; t’ Squoire’ll tell +thee.” + +“I doant keer for t’ Squire no more nor I do for thee, old Bumpkin; thee +be a cunnin’ man, but thee sold I t’ pig and I’ll ’ave un, and I got un +too: haw! haw! haw! an thee got t’ money—nine-and-six—haw! haw! haw!” + +Mr. Bumpkin by this time came up to him, but was so much out of breath, +or “winded,” that he was unable to carry on the conversation, so he just +tapped the bag with his stick as if to be certain the pig was there, and +sure enough it was, if you might judge by the extraordinary wriggling +that went on inside the bag. + +The indomitable Snooks, however, with the largest and most hideous grin I +ever saw, pushed on with his barrow, and Mr. Bumpkin having now +sufficiently recovered his breath, said, + +“Thee see ur tak un, didn’t thee, Joe?” + +“Sure did ur,” answered the lad. “I seed un took un clane out o’ the +stye, and put un in the sack, and wheeled un away.” + +“Ha! so ur did, Joe; stick to that, lad—stick to un.” + +“And thee seed I pay th’ money for un, Joe, didn’t thee?” laughed Snooks. +“Seed I put un on t’ poast, and thee took un oop—haw! haw! haw! I got t’ +pig and thee got t’ money—haw! haw! haw! Thee thowt thee’d done I, and I +done thee—haw! haw! haw!” + +And away went Snooks and away went pig; but Snooks’ laugh remained, and +every now and then Snooks turned his head and showed his large yellow +teeth and roared again. + +The rage of Mr. Bumpkin knew no bounds. There are some things in life +which are utterly unendurable; and one is the having your pig taken from +you against your will and without your consent—an act which would be +described legally as _the rape of the pig_. This offence, in Mr. +Bumpkin’s judgment, Snooks was guilty of; and therefore he resolved to do +that which is considered usually a wise thing, namely, to consult a +solicitor. + +Now, if I were giving advice—which I do not presume to do—I should say +that in all matters of difficulty a man should consult his wife, his +priest, or his solicitor, and in the order in which I have named them. +In the event of consulting a solicitor the next important question +arises, “What solicitor?” I could write a book on this subject. There +are numerous solicitors, within my acquaintance, to whom I would entrust +my life and my character; there are some, not of my acquaintance, but of +my knowledge, into whose hands, if I had one spark of Christian feeling +left, I would not see my enemy delivered. There is little difference +between one class of men and another as to natural disposition; and +whether you take one or another, you must find the shady character. But +where the opportunities for mischief are so great as they are in the +practice of the Law, it is necessary that the utmost care should be +exercised in committing one’s interests to the keeping of another. Had +Mr. Bumpkin been a man of the world he would have suspected that under +the most ostentatious piety very often lurked the most subtle fraud. +Good easy man, had he been going to buy a hay-stack, he would not have +judged by the outside but have put his “iron” into it; he could not put +his iron into Mr. Prigg, I know, but he need not have taken him by his +appearance alone. I may observe that if Mr. Bumpkin had consulted his +sensible and affectionate spouse, or a really respectable solicitor, this +book would not have been written. If he had consulted the Vicar, +possibly another book might have been written; but, as it was, he +resolved to consult Mr. Prigg in the first instance. Now Mrs. Bumpkin, +except as the mother of the illustrious Bull, has very little to do with +this story. Mr. Prigg is one of its leading characters; but in my +description of that gentleman I am obliged to be concise: I must minimize +Prigg, great as he is, and I trust that in doing so I shall prospectively +minimize all future Priggs that may ever appear on the world’s stage. I +do not attempt to pulverize him, that would require the crushing pestle +of the legislature; but merely to make him as little as I can, with due +consideration for the requirements of my story. + +I should be thought premature in mentioning Prigg, but that he was a +gentleman of great pretensions in the little village of Yokelton. +Gentleman by Act of Parliament, and in his own estimation, you may be +sure he was respected by all around him. That was not many, it is true, +for his house was the last of the straggling village. He was a man of +great piety and an extremely white neck-cloth; attended the parish church +regularly, and kept his white hair well brushed upwards—as though, like +the church steeple, it was to point the way at all times. He was the +most amiable of persons in regard to the distribution of the parish +gifts; and, being a lawyer it was not considered by the churchwardens, a +blacksmith and a builder, safe to refuse his kind and generous +assistance. He involved the parish in a law-suit once, in a question +relating to the duty to repair the parish pump; and since that time +everyone knew better than to ignore Mr. Prigg. I have heard that the +money spent in that action would have repaired all the parish pumps in +England for a century, but have no means of ascertaining the truth of +this statement. + +Mr. Prigg was a man whose merits were not appreciated by the local +gentry, who never asked him to dinner. Virtue is thus sometimes +ill-rewarded in this world. And Mrs. Prigg’s virtue had also been +equally ignored when she had sought, almost with tears, to obtain tickets +for the County Ball. + +Mr. Prigg was about sixty years old, methodical in his habits, +punctilious in his dress, polite in his demeanour, and precise in his +language. He wore a high collar of such remarkable stiffness that his +shoulders had to turn with his head whenever it was necessary to alter +his position. This gave an appearance of respectability to the head, not +to be acquired by any other means. It was, indeed, the most respectable +head I ever saw either in the flesh or in marble. + +Mr. Prigg had descended from the well-known family of Prigg, and he +prided himself on the circumstance. How often was he seen in the little +churchyard of Yokelton of a Sunday morning, both before and after +service, pointing with family pride to the tombstone of a relative which +bore this beautiful and touching inscription:— + + HERE + LIE THE ASHES OF + MR. JOHN PRIGG, + OF SMITH STREET, BRISTOL, + ORIGINALLY OF DUCK GREEN, YOKELTON, + WHO UNDER PECULIAR DISADVANTAGES + WHICH TO COMMON MINDS + WOULD HAVE BEEN A BAR TO ANY EXERTIONS + RAISED HIMSELF FROM ALL OBSCURE SITUATIONS + OF BIRTH AND FORTUNE + BY HIS OWN INDUSTRY AND FRUGALITY + TO THE ENJOYMENT OF A _MODERATE COMPETENCY_. + HE ATTAINED A PECULIAR EXCELLENCE + IN PENMANSHIP AND DRAWING + WITHOUT THE INSTRUCTIONS OF A MASTER, + AND TO EMINENCE IN ARITHMETIC, + THE USEFUL AND THE HIGHER BRANCHES OF + THE MATHEMATICS, + BY GOING TO SCHOOL ONLY A YEAR AND EIGHT MONTHS. + + * * * * * + + HE + DIED A BACHELOR + ON THE 24TH DAY OF OCTOBER, 1807, + IN THE 55TH YEAR OF HIS AGE; + AND WITHOUT FORGETTING + RELATIONS FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES + BEQUEATHED ONE FIFTH OF HIS PROPERTY + TO PUBLIC CHARITY. + + READER + THE WORLD IS OPEN TO THEE. + “GO THOU AND DO LIKEWISE.” {22} + +It was generally supposed that this beautiful composition was from the +pen of Mr. Prigg himself, who, sitting as he did so high on his branch of +the Family Tree, + + COULD LOOK + WITH PRIDE AND SYMPATHY + ON + THE MANLY STRUGGLES + OF A HUMBLER MEMBER + LOWER DOWN! + +High Birth, like Great Wealth, can afford to condescend! + +Mrs. Prigg was worthy of her illustrious consort. She was of the noble +family of the Snobs, and in every way did honour to her progenitors. As +the reader is aware, there is what is known as a “cultivated voice,” the +result of education—it is absolutely without affectation: there is also +the voice which, in imitation of the well-trained one, is little more +than a burlesque, and is affected in the highest degree: this was the +only fault in Mrs. Prigg’s voice. + +Mr. Prigg’s home was charmingly small, but had all the pretensions of a +stately country house—its conservatory, its drawing-room, its study, and +a dining-room which told you as plainly as any dining-room could speak, +“I am related to Donkey Hall, where the Squire lives: I belong to the +same aristocratic family.” + +Then there was the great heavy-headed clock in the passage. He did not +appear at all to know that he had come down in the world through being +sold by auction for two pounds ten. He said with great plausibility, “My +worth is not to be measured by the amount of money I can command; I am +the same personage as before.” And I thought it a very true observation, +but the philosophy thereof was a little discounted by his haughty +demeanour, which had certainly gone up as he himself had come down; and +that is a reason why I don’t as a rule like people who have come down in +the world—they are sure to be so stuck up. But I do like a person who +has come down in the world and doesn’t at all mind it—much better than +any man who has got up in the world from the half-crown, and does mind it +upon all occasions. + +Mrs. Prigg, apart from her high descent, was a very aristocratic person: +as the presence of the grand piano in the drawing-room would testify. +She could no more live without a grand piano than ordinary people could +exist without food: the grand piano, albeit a very dilapidated one, was a +necessity of her well-descended condition. It was no matter that it +displaced more useful furniture; in that it only imitated a good many +other persons, and it told you whenever you entered the room: “You see me +here in a comparatively small way, but understand, I have been in far +different circumstances: I have been courted by the great, and listened +to by the aristocracy of England. I follow Mrs. Prigg wherever she goes: +she is a lady; her connections are high, and she never yet associated +with any but the best families. You could not diminish from her very +high breeding: put her in the workhouse, and with me to accompany her, it +would be transformed into a palace.” + +Mr. Prigg was by no means a rich man as the world counts richness. No +one ever heard of his having a “_practice_,” although it was believed he +did a great deal in the way of “lending his name” _and profession_ to +impecunious and uneducated men; who could turn many a six-and-eightpence +under its prestige. So great is the moral “power of attorney,” as +contradistinguished from the legal “power of attorney.” + +But Prigg, as I have hinted, was not only respectable, he was _good_: he +was more than that even, he was _notoriously_ good: so much so, that he +was called, in contradistinction to all other lawyers, “_Honest Lawyer +Prigg_”; and he had further acquired, almost as a universal title, the +sobriquet of “Nice.” Everybody said, “What a very nice man Mr. Prigg +is!” Then, in addition to all this, he was considered _clever_—why, I do +not know; but I have often observed that men can obtain the reputation of +being clever at very little cost, and without the least foundation. The +cheapest of all ways is to abuse men who really are clever, and if your +abuse be pungently and not too coarsely worded, it will be accepted by +the ignorant as _criticism_. Nothing goes down with shallow minds like +criticism, and the severest criticism is generally based on envy and +jealousy. + +Mr. Prigg, then, was clever, respectable, good, and nice, remarkably +potent qualities for success in this world. + +So I saw in my dream that Mr. Bumpkin, whose feelings were duly aroused, +turned his eye upon Honest Lawyer Prigg, and resolved to consult him upon +the grievous outrage to which he had been subjected at the hands of the +cunning Snooks: and without more ado he resolved to call on that very +worthy and extremely nice gentleman. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +On the extreme simplicity of going to law. + +With his right leg resting on his left, with his two thumbs nicely +adjusted, and with the four points of his right fingers in delicate +contact with the fingers of his left hand, sat Honest Lawyer Prigg, +listening to the tale of unutterable woe, as recounted by Farmer Bumpkin. + +Sometimes the good man’s eyes looked keenly at the farmer, and sometimes +they scanned vacantly the ceiling, where a wandering fly seemed, like Mr. +Bumpkin, in search of consolation or redress. Sometimes Mr. Prigg nodded +his respectable head and shoulders in token of his comprehension of Mr. +Bumpkin’s lucid statement: then he nodded two or three times in +succession, implying that the Court was with Mr. Bumpkin, and +occasionally he would utter with a soft soothing voice, + +“Quite so!” + +When he said “quite so,” he parted his fingers, and reunited them with +great precision; then he softly tapped them together, closed his eyes, +and seemed lost in profound meditation. + +Here Mr. Bumpkin paused and stared. Was Mr. Prigg listening? + +“Pray proceed,” said the lawyer, “I quite follow you;—never mind about +what anybody else had offered you for the pig—the question really is +whether you actually sold this pig to Snooks or not—whether the bargain +was complete or inchoate.” + +Mr. Bumpkin stared again. “I beant much of a scollard, sir,” he +observed; “but I’ll take my oath I never sold un t’pig.” + +“That is the question,” remarked the lawyer. “You say you did not? +Quite so; had this Joe of yours any authority to receive money on your +behalf?” + +“Devil a bit,” answered Bumpkin. + +“Excuse me,” said Mr. Prigg, “I have to put these questions: it is +necessary that I should understand where we are: of course, if you did +not sell the pig, he had no right whatever to come and take it out of the +sty—it was a trespass?” + +“That’s what I says,” said Bumpkin; and down went his fist on Mr. Prigg’s +table with such vehemence that the solicitor started as though aroused by +a shock of dynamite. + +“Let us be calm,” said the lawyer, taking some paper from his desk, and +carefully examining the nib of a quill pen, “Let me see, I think you said +your name was Thomas?” + +“That’s it, sir; and so was my father’s afore me.” + +“Thomas Bumpkin?” + +“I beant ashamed on him.” + +And then Mr. Prigg wrote out a document and read it aloud; and Mr. +Bumpkin agreeing with it, scratched his name at the bottom—very badly +scratched it was, but well enough for Mr. Prigg. This was simply to +retain Mr. Prigg as his solicitor in the cause of _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_. + +“Quite so, quite so; now let me see; be calm, Mr. Bumpkin, be calm; in +all these matters we must never lose our self-possession. You see, I am +not excited.” + +“Noa,” said Bumpkin; “but then ur dint tak thy pig.” + +“Quite true, I can appreciate the position, it was no doubt a gross +outrage. Now tell me—this Snooks, as I understand, is the coal-merchant +down the village?” + +“That’s ur,” said Bumpkin. + +“I suppose he’s a man of some property, eh?” + +Mr. Bumpkin looked for a few moments without speaking, and then said: + +“He wur allays a close-fisted un, and I should reckon have a goodish bit +o’ property.” + +“Because you know,” remarked the solicitor, “it is highly important, when +one wins a case and obtains damages, that the defendant should be in a +position to pay them.” + +This was the first time that ever the flavour of damages had got into +Bumpkin’s mouth; and a very nice flavour it was. To beat Snooks was one +thing, a satisfaction; to make him pay was another, a luxury. + +“Yes, sir,” he repeated; “I bleeve he ave, I bleeve he ave.” + +“What makes you think so?” + +“Wull, fust and foremust, I knows he lent a party a matter of a hundred +pound, for I witnessed un.” + +“Then he hasn’t got that,” said the lawyer. + +“Yes ur ave, sir, or how so be as good; for it wur a morgage like, and +since then he’ve got the house.” + +Mr. Prigg made a note, and asked where the house was. + +“It be widder Jackson’s.” + +“Indeed; very well.” + +“An then there be the bisness.” + +“Exactly,” said the lawyer, “horses and carts, weighing machines, and so +on?” + +“And the house he live in,” said Bumpkin, “I know as ow that longs to +him.” + +“Very well; I think that will be enough to start with.” Now, Mr. Prigg +knew pretty well the position of the respective parties himself; so it +was not so much for his own information that he made these inquiries as +to infuse into Bumpkin’s mind a notion of the importance of the case. + +“Now,” said he, throwing down the pen, “this is a very serious matter, +Mr. Bumpkin.” + +This was a comfort, and Bumpkin looked agreeably surprised and vastly +important. + +“A very serious case,” and again the tips of the fingers were brought in +contact. + +“I spoase we can’t bring un afore jusseses, sir?” + +“Well, you see the criminal law is dangerous; you can’t get damages, and +you may get an action for malicious prosecution.” + +“I think we ought to mak un pay for ’t.” + +“That is precisely my own view, but I am totally at a loss to understand +the reason of such outrageous conduct on the part of this Snooks. Now +don’t be offended, Mr. Bumpkin, if I put a question to you. You know, we +lawyers like to search to the bottom of things. I can understand, if you +had owed him any money—” + +“Owe un money!” exclaimed Bumpkin contemptuously; “why I could buy un out +and out.” + +“Ah, quite so, quite so; so I should have supposed from what I know of +you, Mr. Bumpkin.” + +“Lookee ere, sir,” said the farmer; “I bin a ard workin man all my life, +paid my way, twenty shillins in the pound, and doant owe a penny as fur +as I knows.” + +“And if you did, Mr. Bumpkin,” said the lawyer with a good-natured laugh, +“I dare say you could pay.” + +“Wull, I bleeve there’s no man can axe me for nothing; and thank God, +what I’ve got’s my own; and there aint many as got pootier stock nor +mine—all good bred uns, Mr. Prigg.” + +“Yes, I’ve often heard your cattle praised.” + +“He be a blagard if ur says I owed un money.” + +“O, dear, Mr. Bumpkin, pray don’t misunderstand me; he did not, that I am +aware, allege that he took the pig because you owed him money; and even +if you did, he could not legally have done so. Now this is not a mere +matter of debt; it’s a very serious case of trespass.” + +“Ay; zo ’t be sir; that was my bleef, might jist as wull a tooked baacon +out o’ baacon loft.” + +“Just the same. Quite so—quite so!” + +“And I want thee, Mr. Prigg, to mak un pay for’t—mak un pay, sir; it +beant so much th’ pig.” + +“Quite so: quite so: that were a very trifling affair, and might be +settled in the County Court; but, in fact, it’s not the pig at all, it’s +trespass, and you want to make him answerable in damages.” + +“That’s it, sir; you’ve got un.” + +“I suppose an apology and a return of the pig would not be enough.” + +“I’ll make un know he beant everybody,” said Bumpkin. + +“Quite so; now what shall we lay the damages at?” + +“Wull, sir, as for that, I doant rightly know; if so be he’d pay down, +that’s one thing, but it’s my bleef as you might jist as wull try to dror +blood out of a stoane as git thic feller to do what’s right.” + +“Shall we say a hundred pounds and costs?” + +Never did man look more astonished than Bumpkin. A hundred pounds! What +a capital thing going to law must be! But, as the reader knows, he was a +remarkably discreet man, and never in the course of his dealing committed +himself till the final moment. Whenever anybody made him a “bid,” he +invariably met the offer with one form of refusal. “Nay, nay; it beant +good enough: I bin offered moore.” And this had answered so well, that +it came natural to Bumpkin to refuse on all occasions the first offer. +It was not to be wondered at then that the question should be regarded in +the light of an offer from Snooks himself. Now he could hardly say “I +bin _bid moore_ money,” because the case wasn’t in the market; but he +could and did say the next best thing to it, namely:— + +“I wunt let un goo for that—’t be wuth moore!” + +“Very well,” observed Prigg; “so long as we know: we can lay our damages +at what we please.” + +Now there was great consolation in that. The plaintiff paused and rubbed +his chin. “What do thee think, sir?” + +“I think if he pays something handsome, and gives us an apology, and pays +the costs, I should advise you to take it.” + +“As you please, sir; I leaves it to you; I beant a hard man, I hope.” + +“Very good; we will see what can be done. I shall bring this action in +the Chancery Division.” + +“Hem! I’ve eerd tell, sir, that if ever a case gets into that ere Coourt +he niver comes out agin.” + +“O, that’s all nonsense; there used to be a good deal of truth in that; +but the procedure is now so altered that you can do pretty much what you +like: this is an age of despatch; you bring your action, and your writ is +almost like a cheque payable on demand!” + +“Wull, I beant no lawyer, never had nothing to do wi un in my life; but I +should like to axe, sir, why thee’ll bring this ere case in Chancery?” + +“Good; well, come now, I like to be frank; we shall get more costs?” + +Mr. Bumpkin again rubbed his chin. “And do I get em?” he asked. + +“Well, they go towards expenses; the other side always pays.” + +This was a stroke of reasoning not to be gainsaid. But Mr. Prigg had a +further observation to make on the subject, and it was this: + +“After the case has gone on up to being ready for trial, and the Judges +find that it is a case more fitting to be tried in the Common Law Courts, +then an order is made transferring it, that is, sending it out of +Chancery to be tried by one of the other Judges.” + +“Can’t see un,” said Bumpkin, “I beant much of a scollard, but I tak it +thee knows best.” + +Mr. Prigg smiled: a beneficent, sympathizing smile. + +“I dare say,” he said, “it looks a little mysterious, but we lawyers +understand it; so, if you don’t mind, I shall bring it in the Chancery +Division in the first instance; and nice and wild the other side will be. +I fancy I see the countenance of Snooks’ lawyer.” + +This was a good argument, and perfectly satisfactory to the +unsophisticated mind of Bumpkin. + +“And when,” he asked, “will ur come on, think’ee?” + +“O, in due time; everything is done very quickly now—not like it used to +be—you’d be surprised, we used to have to wait years—yes, years, sir, +before an action could be tried; and now, why bless my soul, you get +judgment before you know where you are.” + +How true this turned out to be may hereafter appear; but in a dream you +never anticipate. + +“I shall write at once,” said “Honest Prigg,” “for compensation and an +apology; I think I would have an apology.” + +“Make un pay—I doant so much keer for the t’other thing; that beant much +quonsequence.” + +“Quite so—quite so.” And with this observation Mr. Prigg escorted his +client to the door. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +In which it appears that the sting of slander is not always in the head. + +Mr. Prigg lost no time in addressing a letter to the ill-advised Josiah +Snooks with the familiar and affectionate commencement of “Dear Sir,’” +asking for compensation for the “gross outrage” he had committed upon +“his client;” and an apology to be printed in such papers as he, the +client, should select. + +The “Dear Sir” replied, not in writing, for he was too artful for that, +but by returning, as became his vulgar nature, Mr. Prigg’s letter in a +very torn and disgusting condition. + +To a gentleman of cultivated mind and sensitive nature, this was +intolerable; and Mr. Prigg knew that even the golden bridge of compromise +was now destroyed. He no longer felt as a mere lawyer, anxious in the +interests of his client, which was a sufficient number of horse-power for +anything, but like an outraged and insulted gentleman, which was more +after the force of hydraulic pressure than any calculable amount of +horse-power. It was clear to his upright and sensitive mind that Snooks +was a low creature. Consequently all professional courtesies were at an +end: the writ was issued and duly served upon the uncompromising Snooks. +Now a writ is not a matter to grin at and to treat with contempt or +levity. Mr. Snooks could not return that document to Mr. Prigg, so he +had to consider. And first he consulted his wife: this consultation led +to a domestic brawl and then to his kicking one of his horses in the +stomach. Then he threw a shovel at his dog, and next the thought +occurred to him that he had better go and see Mr. Locust. This gentleman +was a solicitor who practised at petty sessions. He did not practise +much, but that was, perhaps, his misfortune rather than his fault. He +was a small, fiery haired man, with a close cut tuft of beard; small +eyes, and a pimply nose, which showed an ostentatious disdain for +everything beneath it. + +Mr. Locust was not at home, but would return about nine. At nine, +therefore, the impatient Snooks appeared. + +“Yes,” said Mr. Locust, as he looked at the writ, “I see this writ is +issued by Mr. Prigg.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Did he not write to you before issuing it?—dear me, this is very sharp +practice—very sharp practice: the sharpest thing I ever heard of in all +my life.” + +“Wull, he did write, but I giv un as good as he sent.” + +“Dear me!” exclaimed Mr. Locust; “I am afraid you have committed +yourself.” + +“No I beant, sir,” said the cunning Snooks, with a grin, “no I beant.” + +“You should never write without consulting a solicitor—bear that in mind, +Mr. Snooks; it will be an invaluable lesson—hem!” + +“I never writ, sir—I ony sent un his letter back.” + +“Ah!” said Locust, “come now, that is better; but still you should have +consulted me. I see this claim is for three hundred and fifty +pounds—it’s for trespass. Now sit down quietly and calmly, and tell me +the facts.” And then he took pen and paper and placed himself in +position to take his retainer and instructions. + +“Wull, sir, it is as this: a Sunday mornin—no, a Sunday mornin week—I +won’t tell no lie if I knows it—a Sunday mornin week—” + +“Sunday morning week,” writes Locust. + +“I buyd a pig off this ere man for nine and six: well, o’ the Monday +mornin I goes with my barrer and a sack and I fetches the pig and gies +the money to his man Joe Wurzel; leastways I puts it on the poast and he +takes it up. Then out comes Bumpkin and swears I never bought un at all, +gets in a rage and hits the bag wi’ a stick—” + +“Now stop,” said the Lawyer; “are you quite sure he did not strike _you_? +That’s the point.” + +“Well, sir, he would a’ done if I adn’t a bobbed.” + +“Good: that’s an assault in law. You are sure he would have struck you +if you hadn’t ducked or bobbed your head?” + +“In course it would, else why should I bob?” + +“Just so—just so. Now then, we’ve got him there—we’ve got him nicely.” + +Snooks’ eyes gleamed. + +“Next I want to know: I suppose you didn’t owe him anything?” + +“No, nor no other man,” said Snooks, with an air of triumph. “I worked +hard for what I got, and no man can’t ax me for a farden. I allays paid +twenty shillings in the pound.” + +The reader will observe how virtuous both parties were on this point. + +“So!” said Locust. “Now you haven’t told me all that took place.” + +“That be about all, sir.” + +“Yes, yes; but I suppose there was something said between you—did you +have any words—was he angry—did he call you any names or say anything in +an angry way?” + +“Well, not partickler—” + +“Not particular: I will judge of that. Just tell me what was said.” + +“When, sir?” + +“Well, begin on the Sunday morning. What was first said?” + +Then Snooks told the Solicitor all that took place, with sundry additions +which his imagination supplied when his memory failed. + +“And I member the price wull, becos he said ‘You beant sellin coals, +recollect, so you doant ave me.” + +“Ho! ho!” exclaimed Locust rubbing his hands, “You are sure he said +that?” writing down the words carefully. + +“I be.” + +“That will do, we’ve got him: we’ve got him nicely. Was anybody present +when he said this?” + +“Yes, sir. Joe were there, and t’ best o’ my belief, Mrs. Bumpkin.” + +“Never mind Mrs. Bumpkin. I don’t suppose she was there, if you come to +recollect; it’s quite enough if Joe was present and could hear what was +said. I suppose he could hear it?” + +“Stood cloase by.” + +“Very well—that is slander—and slander of a very gross kind. We’ve got +him.” + +“Be it?” said Snooks. + +“I’ll show you,” said Locust; “in law a man slanders you if he insinuates +that you are dishonest; now what does this Bumpkin do? he says ‘you don’t +have me,’ meaning thereby that you don’t trick him out of his pig; and, +‘you are not selling coals,’ meaning that when you do sell coals you do +trick people. Do you see?—that you cheat them, in fact rob them.” + +Snooks thought Mr. Locust the most wonderful man he had ever come across. +This was quite a new way of putting it. + +“But ur didn’t say as much,” he said, wondering whether that made any +difference. + +“Perfectly immaterial in law,” said Mr. Locust: “it isn’t what a man +says, it’s what he _means_: you put that in by an innuendo—” + +“A what, sir? begging pardon—” + +“It’s what we lawyers call an innuendo: that is to say, making out that a +man says so and so when he doesn’t.” + +“I zee,” said the artful Snooks, quick at apprehending every point. +“Then if he called a chap a devilish honest man and the innu—what d’ye +call it, meant he were a thief, you got him?” + +“Well,” said Mr. Locust, smiling, “that is going rather far, Mr. Snooks, +but I see you understand what I mean.” + +“I thinks so, sir. I thinks I has your meanin.” + +“It’s a very gross slander,” observed Mr. Locust, “and especially upon a +tradesman in your position. I suppose now you have lived in the +neighbourhood a considerable time?” + +“All my life, sir.” + +“Ah! just so, just so—now let me see; and, if I remember rightly, you +have a vote for the County.” + +“I ave, sir, and allus votes blue, and that’s moore.” + +“Then you’re on our side. I’m very glad indeed to hear that; a vote’s a +vote, you know, now-a-days.” + +Any one would have thought, to hear Mr. Locust, that votes were scarce +commodities, whereas we know that they are among the most plentiful +articles of commerce as well as the cheapest. + +“And you have, I think, a family, Mr. Snooks.” + +“Four on em, sir.” + +“Ah! how very nice, how laudable to make a little provision for them: as +I often say, if a man can only leave his children a few hundreds apiece, +it’s something.” + +The solicitor watched his client’s face as he uttered this profound +truism, and the face being as open and genuine as was Snooks’ character, +it said plainly enough “Yes, I have a few hundreds.” + +“Well then,” continued Mr. Locust, “having been in business all these +years, and being, as times go, tolerably successful, being a careful man, +and having got together by honest industry a nice little independency—” + +Here the learned gentleman paused, and here, unfortunately, Snooks’ open +and candid heart revealed itself through his open and candid countenance. + +“I _believe_,” said Mr. Locust, “I am right?” + +“You’re about right, sir.” + +“Very charming, very gratifying to one’s feelings,” continued Mr. Locust; +“and then, just as you are beginning to get comfortable and getting your +family placed in the world, here comes this what shall I call him, I +never like to use strong language, this intolerable blackguard, and calls +you a thief—a detestable thief.” + +“Well, he didn’t use that air word, sir—I wool say that,” said Mr. +Snooks. + +“In law he did, my good man—he meant it and said it—he insinuated that +you cheated the poor—you serve a good many of the poor, I think?” + +“I do, sir.” + +“Well, he insinuated that you cheated them by giving short weight and bad +coals—that is worse than being a thief, to my mind—such a man deserves +hanging.” + +“Damn him,” said Snooks, “that’s it, is it?” + +“That’s it, my dear sir, smooth it over as you will. I don’t want to +make more of it than necessary, but we must look at it fairly and study +the consequences. Now I want to ask you particularly, because we must +claim special damage for this, if possible—have you lost any customers +through this outrageous slander?” + +“Can’t say I have, rightly, sir.” + +“No, but you will—mark my words, as soon as people hear of this they will +cease to deal with you. They can’t deal with you.” + +“I hope not, sir.” + +“So do I; but let me tell Mr. Bumpkin” (here the learned man shook his +forefinger as though it had been the often quoted finger of scorn) “that +for every customer you lose we’ll make him answerable in damages. He’ll +repeat this slander: take my advice and get some one to look out, and +make a note of it—be on your guard!” + +Snooks wiped the perspiration from his forehead and then threw his large +coloured handkerchief into his hat, which he held by both hands between +his knees, + +“It be a bad case then, sir?” + +“A very bad case for Bumpkin!” replied Mr. Locust; “let me have a list of +your customers as soon as you can, and we shall see who leaves you in +consequence of this slander. Does my friend, Mr. Overrighteous, deal +with you? I think he does?” + +“He do, sir, and have for five or six years—and a good customer he be.” + +“Ah! now, there’s a man! Whatever you do don’t let Mr. Overrighteous +know of it: he would leave you directly: a more particular man than that +can’t be. Then again, there is my friend Flythekite, does he deal with +you? Of course he does!” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“And you’ll lose him—sure to lose him.” + +Judging from Mr. Snooks’ countenance it would have been small damage if +he did. + +“Ve-ry well,” continued Locust, after a pause, “ve-ry well—just so.” +Then he looked at the copy of the writ and perceived that it was dated +eighteen hundred and ninety something instead of eighteen hundred and +seventy something. So he said that the writ was wrong and they ought not +to appear; “by which means,” said he, “we shall let them in at the start +for a lot of costs—we shall let them in.” + +“And will that stash the action?” asked Snooks. + +“It will not stash ours,” said Locust. “I suppose you mean to go on +whether he does or not? Your claim is for assault and slander.” + +“As you please, sir.” + +“No, no, as you please. I have not been called a thief—they haven’t said +that I sell short weight and cheat and defraud the poor: _my_ business +will not be ruined—_my_ character is not at stake.” + +“Let un have it, sir; he be a bad un,” and here he rose to depart. Mr. +Locust gave him a professional shake of the hand and wished him good day. +But as the door was just about to be closed on his client, he remembered +something which he desired to ask, so he called, “Mr. Snooks!” + +“Sir,” said the client. + +“Is there any truth in the statement that this Bumpkin beats his wife?” + +“I doant rightly know,” said Snooks, in a hesitating voice; “it may be +true. I shouldn’t wonder—he’s just the sort o’ man.” + +“Just enquire about that, will you?” + +“I wool, sir,” said Snooks; and thus his interview with his Solicitor +terminated. + +Now the result of the enquiries as to the domestic happiness of Bumpkin +was this; first, the question floated about in a vague sort of form, +“_Does Bumpkin beat his wife_?” then it grew into “_Have you heard that +Bumpkin beats his wife_?” and lastly, it was affirmed that Bumpkin +“_really did beat his wife_.” And the scandal spread so rapidly that it +soon reached the ears of plaintiff himself, who would have treated it +with the contempt it deserved, knowing the quarter whence it came, but +that it was so gross a calumny that he determined to give the lying +Snooks no quarter, and to press his action with all the energy at his +command. + +After this there could be no compromise. + +“I wish,” said Snooks to himself, as he smoked his pipe that evening, “I +could a worked one o’ them there innerenders in my trade—I could a made +summut on him.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +Showing how the greatest wisdom of Parliament may be thrown away on +ungrateful people. + +The first skirmish between the two doughty champions of the hostile +forces took place over the misdated writ. Judgment was signed for want +of appearance; and then came a summons to set it aside. The Judge set it +aside, and the Divisional Court set aside the Judge, and the Court of +Appeal set aside the Divisional Court upon the terms of the defendant +paying the costs, and the writ being amended, &c. &c. And I saw that +when the Judge in Chambers had hesitatingly and “not without grave doubt” +set aside the judgment, Mr. Prigg said to Mr. Locust, “What a very nice +point!” And Mr. Locust replied: + +“A very nice point, indeed! Of course you’ll appeal?” And Mr. Quibbler, +Mr. Locust’s pleader, said, “A very neat point!” + +“Oh dear, yes,” answered Mr. Prigg. + +And then Mr. Prigg’s clerk said to Mr. Locust’s clerk—“What a very nice +point!” And Mr. Locust’s clerk rejoined that it was indeed a very nice +point! And then Mr. Locust’s boy in the office said to Mr. Prigg’s boy +in the office, “What a very nice point!” And Mr. Prigg’s boy, a pale +tall lad of about five feet six, and of remarkably quiet demeanour, +replied— + +“A dam nice point!” + +Next came letters from the respective Solicitors, suggesting a compromise +in such terms that compromise became impossible; each affirming that he +was so averse from litigation that almost any amicable arrangement that +could be come to would be most welcome. Each required a sum of two +hundred pounds and an apology in six morning papers. And I saw at the +foot of one of Mr. Prigg’s letters, when the hope of compromise was +nearly at an end, these touching words: + +“Bumpkin’s blood’s up!” + +And at the end of the answer thereto, this very expressive retort: + +“You say Bumpkin’s blood is up; so is Snooks’—do your worst!” + +As I desire to inform the lay reader as to the interesting course an +action may take under the present expeditious mode of procedure, I must +now state what I saw in my dream. The course is sinuosity itself in +appearance, but that only renders it the more beautiful. The reader will +be able to judge for himself of the simple method by which we try actions +nowadays, and how very delightful the procedure is. The first skirmish +cost Snooks seventeen pounds six shillings and eight-pence. It cost +Bumpkin only three pounds seventeen shillings, or _one heifer_. Now +commenced that wonderful process called “Pleading,” which has been the +delight and the pride of so many ages; developing gradually century by +century, until at last it has perfected itself into the most beautiful +system of evasion and duplicity that the world has ever seen. It ranks +as one of the fine Arts with Poetry and Painting. A great Pleader is +truly a great Artist, and more imaginative than any other. The number of +summonses at Chambers is only limited by his capacity to invent them. +Ask any respectable solicitor how many honest claims are stifled by +proceedings at Chambers. And if I may digress in all sincerity for the +purpose of usefulness, I may state that while recording my dream for the +Press, Solicitors have begged of me to bring this matter forward, so that +the Public may know how their interests are played with, and their rights +stifled by the iniquitous system of proceedings at Chambers. + +The Victorian age will be surely known as the Age of Pleading, Poetry, +and Painting. + +First, the Statement of Claim. Summons at Chambers to plead and demur; +summons to strike out; summons to let in; summons to answer, summons not +to answer; summonses for all sorts of conceivable and inconceivable +objects; summonses for no objects at all except costs. And let me here +say Mr. Prigg and Mr. Locust are not alone blameable for this: Mr. +Quibbler, Mr. Locust’s Pleader, had more to do with this than the +Solicitor himself. And so had Mr. Wrangler, the Pleader of Mr. Prigg. +But without repeating what I saw, let the reader take this as the line of +proceeding throughout, repeated in at least a dozen instances:— + + The Judge at Chambers reversed the Master; + + The Divisional Court reversed the Judge; + + And the Court of Appeal reversed the Divisional Court. + +And let this be the chorus:— + + “What a very nice point!” said Prigg; + + “What a very nice point!” said Locust; + + “What a very nice point!” said Gride (Prigg’s clerk); + + “What a d--- nice point!” said Horatio! (the pale boy). + + Summons for particulars.—Chorus. + + Further and better particulars.—Chorus. + + Interrogatories—Summons to strike out.—Chorus. + + Summons for further and better answers.—Chorus. + + More summonses for more, further, better, and all sorts of + things.—Chorus. + +All this repeated by the other side, of course; because each has his +proper innings. There is great fairness and impartiality in the game. +Something was always going up from the foot of this Jacob’s ladder called +“the Master” to the higher regions called the Court of Appeal. The +simplest possible matter, which any old laundress of the Temple ought to +have been competent to decide by giving both the parties a box on the +ear, was taken before the Master, from the Master to the Judge, from the +Judge to the Divisional Court, and from the Divisional Court to the Court +of Appeal, at the expense of the unfortunate litigants; while Judges, who +ought to have been engaged in disposing of the business of the country, +were occupied in deciding legal quibbles and miserable technicalities. +All this I saw in my dream. Up and down this ladder Bumpkin and Snooks +were driven—one going up the front while the other was coming down the +back. And I heard Bumpkin ask if he wasn’t entitled to the costs which +the Court gave when he won. But the answer of Mr. Prigg was, “No, my +dear sir, the labourer is worthy of his hire.” And I saw a great many +more ups and downs on the ladder which I should weary the reader by +repeating: they are all alike equally useless and equally contemptible. +Then I thought that poor Bumpkin went up the ladder with a great bundle +on his back; and his face seemed quite changed, so that I hardly knew +him, and I said to Horatio, the pale boy— + +“Who is that going up now? It looks like Christian in the Pilgrim’s +Progress.” + +“Oh, no,” said Horatio, “that’s old Bumpkin—it’s a regler sweater for +him, ain’t it?” + +I said, “Whatever can it be? will he ever reach the top?” + +Here Bumpkin seemed to slip, and it almost took my breath away; whereat +the pale boy laughed, stooping down as he laughed, and thrusting his +hands into his breeches pockets, + +“By George!” he exclaimed, “what a jolly lark!” + +“I hope he won’t fall,” I exclaimed. “What has he got on his back?” + +“A DEMURRER,” said Horatio, laughing. “Look at him! That there ladder’s +the Judicatur Act: don’t it reach a height? There’s as many rounds in +that there ladder as would take a man a lifetime to go up if it was all +spread out; it’s just like them fire escapes in reaching up, but nobody +ever escapes by it.” + +“It will break the poor man’s back,” said I, as he was a few feet from +the top. And then in my dream I thought he fell; and the fright was so +great that I awoke, and found I was sitting in my easy chair by the fire, +and the pipe I had been smoking had fallen out of my hand. + + * * * * * + +“You’ve been dreaming,” said my wife; “and I fear have had a nightmare.” +When I was thoroughly aroused, and had refilled my pipe, I told her all +my dream. + +Then cried she, “I hope good Mr. Bumpkin will get up safely with that +great bundle.” + +“It doesn’t matter,” said I, “whether he do or not; he will have to bear +its burden, whether he take it up or bring it back. He will have to +bring it down again after showing it to the gentlemen at the top.” + +“What do they want to see it for?” cried she. + +“They have no wish to see it,” I replied; “on the contrary, they would +rather not. They will simply say he is a very foolish man for his pains +to clamber up so high with so useless a burden.” + +“But why don’t they check him?” + +“Because they have no power; they look and wonder at the folly of +mankind, who can devise no better scheme of amusement for getting rid of +their money.” + +“But the lawyers are wise people, and they should know better.” + +“The lawyers,” said I, “do know better; and all respectable lawyers +detest the complicated system which brings them more abuse than fees. +They see men, permitted by the law, without character and conscience, +bring disgrace on an honourable body of practitioners.” + +“But do they not remonstrate?” + +“They do, but with little effect; no one knows who is responsible for the +mischief or how to cure it.” + +“That is strange.” + +“Yes, but the time will come when the people will insist on a cheaper and +more expeditious system. Half-a-dozen solicitors and members of the +junior bar could devise such a system in a week.” + +“Then why are they not permitted to take it in hand?” + +“Because,” said I, “Old Fogeyism has, at present, only got the gout in +one leg; wait till he has it in both, and then Common Sense will rise to +the occasion.” + +“But what,” quoth she, “is this fine art you spoke of?” + +“Pleading!” + +“Yes; in what consists its great art?” + +“In artfulness,” quoth I. + +Then there was a pause, and at length I said, “I will endeavour to give +you an illustration of the process of pleading from ancient history: you +have heard, I doubt not, of Joseph and his Brethren.” + +“O, to be sure,” cried she; “did they not put him in the pit?” + +“Well, I believe they put him in the pit, but I am not referring to that. +The corn in Egypt is what I mean.” + +“When they found all their money in their sacks’ mouths?” + +“Exactly. Now if Joseph had prosecuted those men for stealing the money, +they would simply have pleaded not guilty, and the case would have been +tried without any bother, and the defendants have been acquitted or +convicted according to the wisdom of the judge, the skill of the counsel, +and the common sense of the jury. But now suppose instead thereof, +Joseph had brought an action for the price of the corn.” + +“Would it not have been as simple?” + +“You shall see. The facts would have been stated with some accuracy and +a good deal of inaccuracy, and a good many things which were not facts +would have been introduced. Then the defendants in their statement of +defence would have denied that there was any such place as Egypt as +alleged; {52} denied that Pharaoh was King thereof; denied that he had +any corn to sell; denied that the said Joseph had any authority to sell; +denied that they or any of them went into Egypt; denied that they ever +saw the said Joseph or had any communication with him whatever, either by +means of an interpreter or otherwise; denied, in fact, everything except +their own existence; but in the alternative they would go on to say, if +it should be proved that there was a place called Egypt, a man called +Pharaoh, an agent of his called Joseph, and that the defendants actually +did go to Egypt, all of which they one and all absolutely deny (as +becomes men of honour), then they say, that being large corn-merchants +and well known to the said Joseph, the factor of the said Pharaoh, as +purchasers only of corn for domestic purposes, and requiring therefore a +good sound merchantable article, the said Joseph, by falsely and +fraudulently representing that certain corn of which he, the said Joseph, +was possessed, was at that time of a good sound and merchantable quality +and fit for seed and domestic purposes, by the said false and fraudulent +representations he, the said Joseph, induced the defendants to purchase a +large quantity thereof, to wit, five thousand sacks; whereas the said +corn was not of a good sound and merchantable quality and fit for seed +and domestic purposes, but was maggoty from damp, and infected with smut +and altogether worthless, as he, the said Joseph, well knew at the time +he made the said false representations. The defendants would also +further allege that, relying on the said Joseph’s word, they took away +the said corn, but having occasion at the inn to look into the said +sacks, they found that the said wheat was worthless, and immediately +communicated with the said Joseph by sending their younger brother Simeon +down to demand a return of the price of the said corn. But when the said +Simeon came to the said Joseph the said Joseph caught him, and kicked +him, and beat him with a great stick, and had him to prison, and would +not restore him to his brethren, the defendants. Whereupon the +defendants sent other messengers, and at length, after being detained a +long time at the said inn, the said Joseph came down, and on being shown +the said corn, admitted that it was in bad condition. Whereupon the +defendants, fearing to trust the said Joseph with the said sacks until +they had got a return of their said money, demanded that he, the said +Joseph, should put the full tale of every man’s money in the sack of the +said man; which thing the said Joseph agreed to, and placed every man’s +money in the mouth of his said sack. And when the said man was about to +reach forth his hand to take his said money, the said Joseph seized the +said hand and held him fast—.” + +“Stop, stop!” cried my wife; “the said Joseph had not ten hands. You +must surely draw the line somewhere.” + +“No, no,” said I, “that is good pleading; if the other side should omit +to deny it, it will be taken by the rules of pleading to be admitted.” + +“But surely you can’t admit impossibilities!” + +“Can’t you, though!” cried I. “You can do almost anything in pleading.” + +“Except, it seems to me, tell the truth.” + +“You mustn’t be too hard upon us poor juniors,” cried I. “I haven’t come +to the Counterclaim yet.” + +“O don’t let us have Counterclaims,” quoth she; “they can have no claim +against Joseph?” + +“What, not for selling them smutty wheat?” + +“Nonsense.” + +“I say yes; and he’ll have to call a number of witnesses to prove the +contrary—nor do I think he will be able to do it.” + +“I fail now,” said my wife, “to see how this pleading is a fine art. +Really, without joking, what is the art?” + +“The art of pleading,” said I, “consists in denying what is, and inducing +your adversary to admit what isn’t.” + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +Showing that appropriateness of time and place should be studied in our +pastimes. + +The next night, sitting over the cheerful fire and comfortably resting +after the labours of the day, I dreamed again, and I saw that Horatio +Snigger was “the Office Boy” of Mr. Prigg. He had been in the employment +of that gentleman about two years. He was tall for his money, standing, +in his shoes, at least five feet six, and receiving for his services, +five shillings and sixpence a week, (that is, a shilling for every foot +and a penny for every odd inch), his last rise (I mean in money,) having +taken place about a month ago. + +Horatio was a lad of as much spirit as any boy I ever saw. I do not +believe he had any liking for the profession, but had entered it simply +as his first step in life, utterly in the dark as to whither it would +lead him. It was, I believe, some disappointment to his father that on +no occasion when he interrogated him as to his “getting on,” could he +elicit any more cheering reply than “very well.” And yet Horatio, during +the time he had been with Mr. Prigg, had had opportunities of studying +character in its ever-varying phases as presented by Courts of Justice +and kindred places. + +“Kindred places!” Yes, I mean “Judges’ Chambers,” where any boy may +speedily be impressed with the dignity and simplicity of the practice of +the Law, especially since the passing of the Judicature Act. To my lay +readers who may wish to know what “Judges’ Chambers” means, I may observe +that it is a place where innumerable proceedings may be taken for +lengthening a case, embarrassing the clients, and spending money. It is, +to put it in another form, a sort of Grands Mulets in the Mont Blanc of +litigation, whence, if by the time you get there you are not thoroughly +“pumped out,” you may go on farther and in due time reach the top, +whence, I am told, there is a most magnificent view. + +But even the beauty of the proceedings at Judges’ Chambers failed to +impress Horatio with the dignity of the profession. He lounged among the +crowds of chattering boys and youths who “cheeked” one another before +that august personage “the Master,” declaring that “Master” couldn’t do +this and “Master” couldn’t do that; that the other side was too late or +too soon; that his particulars were too meagre or too full; or his +answers to interrogatories too evasive or not sufficiently diffuse, and +went on generally as if the whole object of the law were to raise as many +difficulties as possible in the way of its application. As if, in fact, +it had fenced itself in with such an undergrowth of brambles that no +amount of ability and perseverance could arrive at it. + +From what I perceived of the character of Horatio, I should say that he +was a scoffer. He was a mild, good-tempered, well-behaved boy enough, +but ridiculed many proceedings which he ought to have reverenced. He was +a great favourite with Mr. Prigg, because, if anything in the world +attracted the boy’s admiration, it was that gentleman’s pious demeanour +and profound knowledge. But the exuberance of the lad’s spirits when +away from his employer was in exact proportion to the moral pressure +brought to bear upon him while in that gentleman’s presence. As an +illustration of this remark and proof of the twofold character of +Horatio, I will relate what I saw after the “Master” had determined that +the tail of the 9 was a very nice point, but that there was nothing in +it. They had all waited a long time at Judge’s Chambers, and their +spirits were, no doubt, somewhat elated by at last getting the matter +disposed of. + +Horatio heard Mr. Prigg say to Mr. Locust, “What a very nice point!” and +had heard Mr. Locust reply, “A very nice point, indeed!” And Mr. Gride, +the clerk, say, “What, a very nice point!” and somebody else’s clerk say, +“What a very nice point!” And Horatio felt, as a humble member of the +profession, he must chime in with the rest of the firm. So, having said +to Locust’s boy, “What a dam nice point!” he went back to his lonely den +in Bedford Row and then, as he termed it, “let himself out.” He +accomplished this proceeding by first taking off his coat and throwing it +on to a chair; he next threw but his arms, with his fists firmly +clenched, as though he had hardly yet to its fullest extent realized the +“_niceness_” of the point which the Master had determined. The next step +which Horatio took was what is called “The double shuffle,” which, I may +inform my readers, is the step usually practised by the gentleman who +imitates the sailor in the hornpipe on the stage. Being a slim and agile +youth, Horatio’s performance was by no means contemptible, except that it +was no part of his professional duty to dance a Hornpipe. Then I saw +that this young gentleman in the exuberance of his youthful spirits +prepared for another exhibition of his talent. He cleared his throat, +once more threw out his arms, stamped his right foot loudly on the floor, +after the manner of the Ethiopian dancer with the long shoe, and then to +my astonishment poured forth the following words in a very agreeable, +and, as it seemed to me, melodious voice,— + + “What a very nice point, said Prigg.” + +Then came what I suppose would be called a few bars of the hornpipe; then +he gave another line,— + + “What a very nice point, said Gride.” + +(Another part of the hornpipe.) Then he sang the third and fourth lines, +dancing vigorously the while: + + “It will take a dozen lawyers with their everlasting jaw: + It will take a dozen judges with their ever changing law”— + +(Vigorous dancing for some moments), and then a pause, during which +Horatio, slightly stooping, placed two fingers of his left hand to the +side of his nose, and turning his eyes to the right, sang— + + “And”— + +Paused again, and finished vehemently as follows: + + “Twenty golden guineas to decide!” + +Then came the most enthusiastic hornpipe that ever was seen, and Horatio +was in the seventh Heaven of delight, when the door suddenly opened, and +Mr. Prigg entered! + +It was unfortunate for Horatio that his back being towards the door he +could not see his master enter; and it need scarcely be said that the +noise produced by the dance prevented him from hearing his approach. + +Mr. Prigg looked astounded at the sight that presented itself. The whole +verse was repeated, and the whole dance gone through again in the sight +and hearing of that gentleman. Was the boy mad? Had the strain of +business been too much for him? + +As if by instinct Horatio at last became aware of his master’s presence. +A change more rapid, transformation more complete I never saw. The lad +hung his head, and wandered to the chair where his coat was lying. It +took him some time to put it on, for the sleeves seemed somehow to be +twisted; at length, once more arrayed, and apparently in his right mind, +he stood with three-quarter face towards his astonished master. + +Mr. Prigg did not turn his head even on this occasion. He preserved a +dignified silence for some time, and then spoke in a deep tragic tone: + +“Horatio!” + +Horatio did hot answer. + +“What is the meaning of this exhibition, Horatio?” + +“I was only having a little fun, sir,” said the youthful clerk. + +“I am not averse to youth enjoying itself,” said Mr. Prigg; “but it must +be at proper seasons, and in appropriate places; there is also to be +exercised a certain discretion in the choice of those amusements in which +youth should indulge. I am not aware what category of recreation your +present exhibition may belong to, but I may inform you that in my humble +judgment—I may be mistaken, and you may know far better than I—but as at +present advised, I do not see that your late performance is consistent +with the duties of a solicitor’s clerk.” And then he muttered to +himself, “Quite so.” + +After this magnificent rebuke, Mr. Prigg drew out his cambric +handkerchief, and most gently applied it to his stately nose. + +“Again,” said Mr. Prigg, “I heard language, or thought I heard language, +which I should construe as decidedly derogatory to the Profession which +you serve and to which I have the honour to belong.” + +“I was only in fun, sir,” said Horatio, gathering confidence as Mr. Prigg +proceeded. + +“Quite so, quite so; that may be, I sincerely hope you were; but never +make fun of that by which you live; you derive what I may call a very +competent, not to say handsome, salary from the proceedings which you +make fun of. This is sad, and manifests a spirit of levity.” + +“I didn’t mean it like that, sir.” + +“Very well,” said the good man, “I am glad to perceive that you are +brought to a proper sense of the impropriety of your conduct. I will not +discharge you on this occasion, for the sake of your father, whom I have +known for so many years: but never let this occur again. Dancing is at +all times, to my mind, a very questionable amusement; but when it is +accompanied, as I perceived it was on this occasion, with gestures which +I cannot characterize by any other term than disgusting; and when further +you take the liberty of using my name in what I presume you intended for +a comic song, I must confess that I can hardly repress my feelings of +indignation. I hope you are penitent.” + +Horatio hung down his head, and said he was very sorry Mr. Prigg had +heard it, for he only intended it for his own amusement. + +“I shall take care,” said Mr. Prigg, “that you have less opportunity for +such exercises as I have unfortunately witnessed.” And having thus +admonished the repentant youth, Mr. Prigg left him to his reflections. I +am glad Mr. Prigg did not return while the pale boy was reflecting. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +The pleasure of a country drive on a summer evening described as enhanced +by a pious mind. + +It is only fair to the very able solicitors on both sides in the +memorable case of _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_ to state that the greatest +possible despatch was exercised on all occasions. Scarcely a day passed +without something being done, as Prigg expressed it, “to expedite +matters.” Month after month may have passed away without any apparent +advance; but this in reality was not the case. Many appeals on what +seemed trifling matters had been heard; so many indeed that _Bumpkin_ v. +_Snooks_ had become a household word with the Court of Appeal, and a +bye-word among the innumerable loafers about Judge’s Chambers. + +“What! _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_ again!” the President would say. “What is +it now? It’s a pity the parties to this case can’t agree: it seems a +very trifling matter.” + +“Not so, my lord, as your lordship will quickly apprehend when the new +point is brought before your notice. A question of principle is here +which may form a precedent for the guidance of future Judges, as did the +famous case of _Perryman_ v. _Lister_, which went to the House of Lords +about prosecuting a man for stealing a gun. This is about a pig, my +lord—a little pig, no doubt, and although there is not much in the pig, +there is a good deal outside it.” + +And often did Prigg say to Locust: + +“I say, Locust, whenever _shall_ we be ready to set this case down for +trial?” + +“Really, my dear Prigg,” Locust would reply, “it seems interminable—come +and dine with me.” So the gentle and innocent reader will at once +perceive that there was great impatience on all sides to get this case +ready for trial. Meanwhile it may not be uninteresting to describe +shortly some of the many changes that had taken place in the few short +months since the action commenced. + +First it was clearly observable by the inhabitants of Yokelton that Mr. +Prigg’s position had considerably improved. I say nothing of his new +hat; that was a small matter, but not so his style of living—so great an +advance had that made that it attracted the attention of the neighbours, +who often remarked that Mr. Prigg seemed to be getting a large practice. +He was often seen with his lady on a summer afternoon taking the air in a +nice open carriage—hired, it is true, for the occasion. And everybody +remarked how uncommonly ladylike Mrs. Prigg lay back in the vehicle, and +how very gracefully she held her new æsthetic parasol. And what a proud +moment it was for Bumpkin, when he saw this good and respectable +gentleman pass with the ladylike creature beside him; and Mr. Bumpkin +would say to his neighbours, lifting his hat at the same moment, + +“That be my loryer, that air be!” + +And then Mr. Prigg would gracefully raise his hat, and Mrs. Prigg would +lie back perfectly motionless as became a very languid lady of her +exalted position. And when Mr. Prigg said to Mrs. Prigg, “My dear, that +is our new client;” Mrs. Prigg would elevate her arched eyebrows and +expand her delicate nostrils as she answered,— + +“Really, my love, what a very vulgar-looking creechar!” + +“Not nearly so vulgar as Locust’s client,” rejoined her husband. “You +should see him.” + +“Thank you, my love, it is quite enough to catch a glimpse of the +superior person of the two.” + +Mr. Prigg seemed to think it a qualifying circumstance that Snooks was a +more vulgar-looking man than Bumpkin, whereas a moment’s consideration +showed Mrs. Prigg how illogical that was. It is the intrinsic and +personal value that one has to measure things by. This value could not +be heightened by contrast. Mrs. Prigg’s curiosity, however, naturally +led her to inquire who the other creechar was? As if she had never heard +of _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_, although she had actually got the case on four +wheels and was riding in it at that very moment; as if in fact she was +not practically all Bumpkin, as a silkworm may be said to be all mulberry +leaves. As if she knew nothing of her husband’s business! Her ideas +were not of this world. Give her a church to build, she’d harass people +for subscriptions; or let it be a meeting to clothe the naked savage, +Mrs. Prigg would be there. She knew nothing of clothing Bumpkin! But +she did interest herself sufficiently in her husband’s conversation to +ask, in answer to his reference to Locust’s disreputable client, + +“And who is he, pray?” + +“My darling,” said Prigg, “you must have heard of Snooks?” + +“Oh,” drawled Mrs. Prigg, “do you mean the creechar who sells coals?” + +“The same, my dear.” + +“And are you engaged against _that_ man? How very dreadful!” + +“My darling,” observed Mr. Prigg, “it is not for us to choose our +opponents; nor indeed, for the matter of that, our clients.” + +“I can quite perceive that,” returned the lady, “or you would never have +chosen such men—dear me!” + +“We are like physicians,” returned Mr. Prigg, “called in in case of +need.” + +“And the healing virtues of your profession must not be confined to rich +patients,” said Mrs. Prigg, in her jocular manner. + +“By no means,” was the good man’s reply; “justice is as much the right of +the poor as the rich—so is the air we breathe—so is everything.” And he +put his fingers together again, as was his wont whenever he uttered a +philosophical or moral platitude. + +So I saw in my dream that the good man and his ladylike wife rode through +the beautiful lanes, and over the breezy common on that lovely summer +afternoon, and as they drew up on the summit of a hill which gave a view +of the distant landscape, there was a serenity in the scene which could +only be compared to the serenity of Mr. Prigg’s benevolent countenance; +and there was a calm, deeply, sweetly impressive, which could only be +appreciated by a mind at peace with itself in particular, and with the +world in general. Then came from a neighbouring wood the clear voice of +the cuckoo. It seemed to sing purposely in honour of the good man; and I +fancied I could see a ravenous hawk upon a tree, abashed at Mr. Prigg’s +presence and superior ability; and a fluttering timid lark seemed to +shriek, “Wicked bird, live and let live;” but it was the last word the +silly lark uttered, for the hawk was upon him in a moment, and the little +innocent songster was crushed in its ravenous beak. Still the cuckoo +sang on in praise of Mr. Prigg, with now and then a little note for Mrs. +Prigg; for the cuckoo is a very gallant little bird, and Mrs. Prigg was +such a heavenly creature that no cuckoo could be conscious of her +presence without hymning her praise. + +“Listen,” said Mrs. Prigg, “isn’t it beautiful? I wonder where cuckoos +go to?” + +“Ah, my dear!” said Prigg, enraptured with the clear notes and the +beautiful scene; but neither of them seemed to wonder where hawks go to. + +“Do you hear the echo, love? Isn’t it beautiful?” + +O, yes, it was beautiful! Nature does indeed lift the soul on a quiet +evening from the grovelling occupations of earth to bask in the genial +sunshine of a more spiritual existence. What was Bumpkin? What was +Snooks to a scene like this? Suddenly the cuckoo ceased. Wonderful +bird! I don’t know whether it was the presence of the hawk that hushed +its voice or the sight of Mr. Prigg as he stood up in the carriage to +take a more extended view of the prospect; but the familiar note was +hushed, and the evening hymn in praise of the Priggs was over. + +So the journey was continued by the beautiful wood of oaks and chestnuts, +along by the hillside from which you could perceive in the far distance +the little stream as it wound along by meadow and wood and then lost +itself beneath the hill that rose abruptly on the left. + +The stream was the symbol of life—probably Bumpkin’s life; all nature +presents similes to a religious mind. And so the evening journey was +continued with ever awakening feelings of delight and gratitude until +they once more entered their peaceful home. And this brings me to +another consideration which ought not to be passed over with +indifference. + +I saw in my dream that a great change had taken place in the home of the +Priggs. The furniture had undergone a metamorphosis almost so striking +that I thought Mr. Prigg must be a wizard. The gentle reader knows all +about Cinderella; but here was a transformation more surprising. I saw +that one of Mr. Bumpkin’s pigs had been turned into a very pretty +walnut-wood whatnot, and stood in the drawing-room, and on it stood +several of the ducks and geese that used to swim in the pond of Southwood +farm. They were not ducks and geese now, but pretty silent ornaments. +An old rough-looking stack of oats had been turned into a very nice +Turkey carpet for the dining-room. Poor old Jack the donkey had been +changed into a musical box that stood on a little table made out of a +calf. One day Mr. Bumpkin called to see how his case was going on, and +by mistake got into this room among his cows and pigs; but not one of +them did the farmer know, and when the maid invited him to sit down he +was afraid of spoiling something. + +Now summonses at Chambers, and appeals, and demurrers, are not at all bad +conjuring wands, if you only know how to use them. Two clever men like +Prigg and Locust, not only surprise the profession, but alarm the public, +since no one knows what will take place next, and Justice herself is +startled from her propriety. Let no clamorous law reformer say that +interrogatories or any other multitudinous proceedings at Judge’s +Chambers are useless. It is astonishing how many changes you can ring +upon them with a little ingenuity, and a very little scrupulosity. Mr. +Prigg turned two sides of bacon into an Indian vase, and performed many +other feats truly astonishing to persons who look on as mere spectators, +and wonder how it is done. Wave your magic wand, good Prigg, and you +shall see a hayrick turn into a chestnut mare; and a four-wheeled waggon +into a Victoria. + +But the greatest change he had effected was in Mr. Bumpkin himself, who +loved to hear his wife read the interrogatories and answers. The almanac +was nothing to this. He had no idea law was so interesting. I dare say +there were two guiding influences working within him, in addition to the +many influences working without; one being that inherent British pluck, +which once aroused, “doesn’t care, sir, if it costs me a thousand pound, +I’ll have it out wi’ un;” the other was the delicious thought that all +his present outlay would be repaid by the cunning and covetous Snooks. +So much was Bumpkin’s heart in the work of crushing his opponent, that +expense was treated with ridicule. I heard him one day say jocularly to +Mr. Prigg, who had come for an affidavit: + +“Be it a pig, sir, or a heifer?” + +“O,” said the worthy Prigg, “we want a pretty good one; I think it must +be a heifer.” + +All this was very pleasant, and made the business, dull and prosaic in +itself, a cheerful recreation. + +Then, again, there was a feeling of self-importance whenever these +affidavits came to be sworn. Mr. Bumpkin would put down his ash-stick by +the side of the fireplace, and bidding his visitor be seated, would +compose himself with satisfaction to listen to the oft-repeated words: + +“I, Thomas Bumpkin, make oath, and say—” + +Fancy, “_I_, _Bumpkin_!” Just let the reader pause over that for a +moment! What must “I, Bumpkin,” be whose statement is required on oath +before my Lord Judge? + +Always, at these words, he would shout. “That be it—now then, sir, would +you please begin that agin?”—while, if Mrs. Bumpkin were not too busy, he +would call her in to hear them too. + +So there was no wonder that the action went merrily along. Once get up +enthusiasm in a cause, and it is half won. Without enthusiasm, few +causes can succeed against opposition. Then, again, the affidavit +described Bumpkin as a Yeoman. What, I wonder, would Snooks the +coal-merchant think of that? + +So everything proceeded satisfactorily, and the months rolled away; the +seasons came in their turn, so did the crops, so did the farrows of pigs, +so did the spring chickens, and young ducks (prettiest little golden +things in the world, on the water); so did Mr. Prigg, and so did a +gentleman (hereafter to be called “the man,”) with whom a very convenient +arrangement was made, by which Mr. Bumpkin preserved the whole of his +remaining stock intact; had not in fact to advance a single penny piece +more; all advances necessary for the prosecution of the action being made +by the strange gentleman (whose name I did not catch) under that most +convenient of all legal forms, “a Bill of Sale.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +A farmhouse winter fireside—a morning drive and a mutual interchange of +ideas between town and country: showing how we may all learn something +from one another. + +I never saw the home of Farmer Bumpkin without thinking what a happy and +comfortable home it was. The old elm tree that waved over the thatched +roof, seemed to bless and protect it. On a winter’s evening, when +Bumpkin was sitting in one corner smoking his long pipe, Mrs. Bumpkin +darning her stockings, and Joe on the other side looking into the blazing +fire, while the old Collie stretched himself in a snug corner beside his +master, it represented a scene of comfort almost as perfect as rustic +human nature was capable of enjoying. And when the wind blew through the +branches of the elm over the roof, it was like music, played on purpose +to heighten the enjoyment. Comfort, thou art at the evening fireside of +a farm-house, if anywhere! + +You should have seen Tim, when an unusual sound disturbed the harmony of +this peaceful fireside. He growled first as he lay with his head resting +between his paws, and just turned up his eyes to his master for approval. +Then, if that warning was not sufficient, he rose and barked +vociferously. Possessed, I believe, of more insight than Bumpkin, he got +into the most tremendous state of excitement whensoever anyone came from +Prigg’s, and he cordially hated Prigg. But most of all was he angry when +“the man” came. There was no keeping him quiet. I wonder if dogs know +more about Bills of Sale than farmers. I am aware that some farmers know +a good deal about them; and when they read this story, many of them will +accuse me of being too personal; but Tim was a dog of strong prejudices, +and I am sure he had a prejudice against money-lenders. + +As the persons I have mentioned were thus sitting on this dreary evening +in the month of November, suddenly, Tim sprang from his recumbent +position, and barked furiously. + +“Down, Tim! down, Tim!” said the farmer; “what be this, I wonder!” + +“Tim, Tim,” said Mrs. Bumpkin, “down, Tim! hold thee noise, I tell ee.” + +“Good Tim!” said Joe; he also had an instinct. + +“I’ll goo and see what it be,” said Mrs. Bumpkin; “whoever can come here +at this time o’ night! it be summat, Tom.” And she put down her +stockings, and lighting a candle went to the front door, whereat there +was a loud knocking. Tim jumped and flew and thrust his nose down to the +bottom of the door long before Mrs. Bumpkin could get there. + +“Quiet, Tim! I tell thee; who be there?” + +“From Mr. Prigg’s,” answered a voice. + +This was enough for Tim; the name of Prigg made him furious. + +“Somebody from Mr. Prigg, Tom.” + +“Wull, let un in, Nance; bless thee soul, let un in; may be the case be +settled. I hope they ain’t took less nor a hundred pound. I told un not +to.” The door was unbolted and unbarred, and a long time it took, and +then stood before Mrs. Bumpkin a tall pale youth. + +“I’ve come from Mr. Prigg.” + +“Will er plase to walk in, sir?” said Mrs. Bumpkin. + +By this time the master had got up from his seat, and advancing towards +the youth said:— + +“How do, sir; how do, sir; wark in, wark in, tak a seat, I be glad to see +thee.” + +“I come from Mr. Prigg,” said the youth, “and we want another affidavit.” + +“Hem!” said Bumpkin, “be it a pig or a eifer, sir?” He couldn’t forget +the old joke. + +“We want an affidavit of documents,” said the youth. + +“And what be the manin o’ that?—affiday o’ what?” + +“Documents, sir,” said the mild youth; “here it is.” + +“Oh,” said Bumpkin, “I got to swear un, I spoase, that’s all.” + +“That’s it, sir,” said Horatio. + +“Well, thee can’t take oaths, I spoase.” + +“No, sir, not exactly.” + +“Wull then I spoase I must goo to --- in the marnin. And thee’ll stop +here the night and mak thyself comfortable. We can gie un a bed, can’t +us, Nancy?” + +“Two, if ur wishes it,” answered Mrs. Bumpkin. + +“Devil’s in it, ur doan’t want two beds, I’ll warrant? Now then, sir, +sitten doon and mak theeself comfortable. What’ll thee drink?” + +“I’m too young to drink,” said Horatio, with a smile. + +Bumpkin smiled too. “I’ll warrant thee be.” + +“I’m always too young,” said Horatio, “for every thing that’s nice. Mr. +Prigg says I’m too young to enjoy myself; but if you don’t mind, sir, I’m +not too young to be hungry. I’ve walked a long distance.” + +“Have ur now?” said Mrs. Bumpkin. “We ain’t got anything wery grand, +sir; but there be a nice piece o’ pickle pork and pease-puddin, if thee +doan’t mind thic.” + +“Bring un out,” said Bumpkin; and accordingly a nice clean cloth was soon +spread, and the table was groaning (as the saying is), with a large leg +of pork and pease-pudding and home-made bread; to which Horatio did ample +justice. + +“Bain’t bad pooark,” said Bumpkin. + +“Best I ever tasted,” replied Horatio; “we don’t get this sort of pork in +London—pork there doesn’t seem like pork.” + +“Now look at that,” said Joe; “I fed that air pig.” + +“So ur did, Joe,” said the farmer; “I’ll gie thee credit, Joe, thee fed +un well.” + +“Ah!” said Joe; “and that air pig knowed I as well as I knows thee.” + +When Horatio had supped, and the things were removed, Mr. Bumpkin assured +the youth that a little drop of gin-and-water would not hurt him after +his journey; and accordingly mixed him a tumbler. “Thee doan’t smoke, I +spoase?” he said; to which Mrs. Bumpkin added that she “spoased he wur +too young like.” + +“I’ll try,” answered the courageous youth, nothing daunted by his +youngness. + +“So thee shall—dang if thee shan’t,” rejoined Mr. Bumpkin; and produced a +long churchwarden pipe, and a big leaden jar of tobacco of a very dark +character, called “shag.” + +Horatio filled his pipe, and puffed away as if he had been a veteran +smoker; cloud after cloud came forth, and when Mr. and Mrs. Bumpkin and +Joe looked, expecting that the boy should be ill, there was not the least +sign; so Joe observed with great sagacity: + +“Look at that now, maister; I bleeve he’ve smoked afoore.” + +“Have ur, sir?” asked Mr. Bumpkin. + +“A little,” said Horatio. + +“Why, I never smoked afoore I wur turned twenty,” said the farmer. + +“I believe the right time now is fourteen,” observed the youth; “it used +to be twenty, I have heard father say; but everything has been altered by +the Judicature Act.” + +“Look at that air,” said Joe, “he’ve eeard father say. You knows a thing +or two, I’ll warrant, Mr. —.” + +Here Joe was baffled, and coming so abruptly to an end of his address, +Mr. Bumpkin took the matter up, and asked, if he might make so bold, what +the youth’s name might be. + +“Horatio Snigger,” answered that gentleman. + +“When will this ere case be on, think’ee, sir?” inquired Mr. Bumpkin. + +“We expect it to be in the paper every day now,” said the youth; “they’ve +tried to dodge us a good deal, but they can’t dodge us much longer—we’re +a little too downy for em.” + +“It have been a mighty long time about, surely,” said Mr. Bumpkin. + +“O, that’s nothing,” said Horatio; “time’s nothing in Law! Why, a suit +to administer a Will sometimes takes ’ears; and Bankruptcy, O my eye, +ain’t there dodging about that, and jockeying too, eh! Crikey!” + +Mr. Bumpkin here winked at his wife, as much as to say, “Now you hold +your tongue, and see me dror un out. I’ll have un.” + +“Will ee tak a little more gin-and-water, sir?” + +“No, thankee,” said the youth. + +“A little more won’t hurt ee—it’ll do thee good.” And again he filled +the tumbler; while the pale boy refilled his pipe. + +“Now, who’s my counsellor gwine to be?” asked the farmer. + +“Oh,” said Horatio, “a regular cruncher—Mr. Catapult.” + +“He be a cruncher, be he?” + +“I believe you; he turned a man inside out the other day; a money-lender +he was.” + +“Did ur now?” + +“Look at that,” said Joe. + +“And we’re going to have Mr. Dynamite for junior; my eye, don’t he make a +row!” + +“Two an em!” exclaimed Bumpkin. + +“Must have two for the plaintiff,” said Horatio; “that’s the law. Why, a +Queen’s Counsel ain’t allowed to open a case without a junior starts +him—it’s jist like the engine-driver and the guard. You have the junior +to shove the leader.” + +“Look at that,” said Joe; expectorating into the fire. + +Mr. Bumpkin looked again at Nancy, and gave another wink that you might +have heard. + +“And the tother side?” he asked. + +“Ah! I don’t know about them,” said the boy. “They’re artful dodgers, +they are.” + +“Is ’em now? but artfulness don’t allays win, do ur?” + +“No,” said Horatio; “but it goes a long way, and sometimes when it’s gone +a long way it beats itself.” + +“Look at that,” said Joe; “that’s like that ere—” + +“Be quiet, Joe,” said Bumpkin; “let I talk, will ur? You said it beats +itself, sir?” + +“If the judge gets ’old of him, it’s sure to,” said Horatio. “There +ain’t no judge on the Bench as will let artfulness win if he knows it. +I’ve sin em watchin like a cat watches a mouse; and directly it comes out +o’ the ’ole, down he is on em—like that:” and he slapped his hand on the +table with startling effect. + +“Good!” said Bumpkin. + +“And don’t they know who the solicitor is, eh—that’s all! My word, if +he’s a shady one—the judge is down on the case like winkin.” + +“And be this ere Locust a shady un?” (Another wink at Mrs. Bumpkin.) + +“Ah! I’m too young to know.” + +“Thee beest too old, thee meanest,” said Mrs. Bumpkin, laughing. + +“Now hold thee tongue, Nancy; I wur gwine to say that myself—dang if I +warnt!” + +“Now look at thic,” said Joe; “maister were gwine to say thic.” + +“So I wur,” repeated Bumpkin. “Jist got the word o’ th’ tip o’ th’ +tongue.” + +“And be these Queen’s Counsellors,” he asked, “summat grand?” + +“I believe you,” said Horatio; “they wears silk gowns.” + +“Do em?” said Mrs. Bumpkin, laughing. “Silk gowns—and what kind o’ +petticoats?” + +“Shut up,” said Bumpkin; “thee be as igorant as a donkey; these Queen’s +Counsellors be made for their larnin and cleverness, beant em, sir?” + +“Well,” said Horatio, “nobody ever could make out—some of em are pretty +good, and some of em ain’t much—not near so good as the others.” + +“But this ere Mr. Catapult be a good un, bean’t he—a regler crunsher?” + +“O, I believe you, my boy: his look’s enough for some of em.” + +“I spoase he be dear?” (Another wink at Mrs. Bumpkin.) + +“They’re all dear,” said Horatio; “some of em are dear because their fees +are high; and some of em would be dear at a gift, but I’m too young to +know much about it.” + +“Now hark at that,” said Joe; “like that air old horse o’ Morris’.” + +“Hold thee tongue, Joe, I tell ee, putten thy spoke in; does thee think +the Queen ’as old ’orses in her stable? It’s merit, I tell ee—ain’t it, +Mr. Jigger?” + +“Merit, sir; I believe it’s merit.” And thus in pleasant conversation +the evening passed merrily away, until the clock striking nine warned the +company that it was time to retire. + +A bright, brisk frosty morning succeeded, and a substantial breakfast of +bacon, eggs, fresh butter, and home-made bread, at seven o’clock, +somewhat astonished and delighted the youthful Horatio; and then the old +horse, with plenty of hair about his heels, was brought round with the +gig. And Mr. Bumpkin and his guest got up and took their seats. The old +Market Town was about seven miles off, and the road lay through the most +picturesque scenery of the county. To ride on such a pleasant morning +through such a country almost made one think that swearing affidavits was +the most pleasing occupation of life. It was the first time Horatio had +ever ridden in a gig: the horse went a good old market pace, and the +beautiful sunshine, lovely scenery, and crisp air produced in his +youthful bosom a peculiarly charming and delightful sense of +exhilaration. He praised the country and the weather and the horse, and +asked if it was what they called a thoroughbred. + +“Chit!” said Bumpkin, “thoroughbred! So be I thoroughbred—did thee ever +see thoroughbred wi’ ’air on his ’eels?’ + +“Well, he goes well,” said Horatio. + +“Gooes well enough for I,” said Bumpkin. + +This answer somewhat abashed Horatio, who was unlearned in horses; for +some time he remained silent. Then it became Mr. Bumpkin’s turn to renew +the conversation: + +“I spoase,” said he, “thee be gwine to be a loryer?” + +“Not if I know it,” answered Horatio. + +“Why not, then?” + +“Don’t care for it; I like the country.” + +“What wouldst thee like to be then, a farmer?” + +“I should—that’s the life for me!” + +“Thee likes plenty o’ fresh air?” said the farmer. + +“Yes,” answered Horatio, “and fresh butter and fresh eggs.” + +“I’ll go to ---, if thee doen’t know what’s good for thee, anyhow. +Thee’d ha’ to work ’ard to keep straaight, I can tell thee; thee’d had to +plough, and danged if I believe thee could hold plough! What’s thee say +to that, lad?” + +“I think I could.” + +“Devil a bit! now spoase thee’st got plough-handles under thy arms, and +the cord in the ’ands, and thee wanted to keep t’colter from jibbin into +t’ soil, wouldst thee press down wi’ might and main, or how?” + +“Press down with might and main,” said Horatio. + +“Right!” exclaimed Bumpkin; “danged if I doant think thee’d make a +ploughman now. Dost know what th’ manin o’ mither woiy be?” + +This was rather a startling question for the unsophisticated London +youth. He had never heard such an expression in his life; and although +he might have puzzled his agricultural interrogator by a good many +questions in return, yet that possibility was no answer to “mither woiy.” + +“I don’t know that, Mr. Bumpkin,” he ingenuously replied. + +“No? well, there ain’t a commoner word down ere nor ‘mither woiy,’ and +there ain’t a boy arf your age as doan’t know the manin o’t, so thee see +thee got summat to larn. Now it mane this—spoase thee got a team o’ +horses at dung cart or gravel cart, and thee wants em to come to ee; thee +jest holds whip up over to the ed o’ th’ leadin orse like this ere, and +says ‘mither woiy,’ and round er comes as natteral as possible.” + +“O, that’s it!” said Horatio; “I see.” + +“Ah!” said Bumpkin, “I can teach ee summat, can’t I, though thee comes +from town, and I be only a country clown farmer?” + +“I should just like to come down a month on trial, that’s all, when I +have my holiday,” said the youth; “I think it would do me good: ‘mither +woiy,’” he said, mimicking his instructor. + +“Thee shall come if thee likes,” replied the good-natured Bumpkin; +“Nancy’ll be proud to see thee—thee’s got ‘mither woiy’ to rights.” + +“What a very nice public-house!” exclaimed Horatio, as they approached a +village green where an old Inn that had flourished in the coaching days +still stood, the decaying monument of a past age, and an almost forgotten +style of locomotion. + +“Be a good house. I often pulls up there on way from market.” + +“Did you ever try rum and milk for your cough?” inquired the pale youth. + +“Never had no cough,” said Bumpkin. + +“What a good thing! But it’s capital, they say, in case you should have +one; they say there’s nothing beats rum and milk.” + +“Hem!” muttered Bumpkin, giving his horse a tremendous jerk with the +reins. “I spoase thee’d like a glass, Mr. Jigger.” + +“I don’t care about it for myself,” answered the youth; “but if you like +to have one I’ll join you with pleasure.” + +“So us wool then;” and up they pulled at the sign of the “Merry-go-round” +on Addlehead Green. + +“Bain’t bad tackle!” said Mr. Bumpkin, tossing off his glass. + +“No,” responded Horatio, “I’ve tasted worse medicine. I quite enjoy my +ride, Mr. Bumpkin; I wish we had a dozen more affidavits to swear.” + +“I doan’t,” said the client; “I sworn a goodish many on em as it be. I +doan’t think that air Snooks can bate un.” + +“I don’t think he can,” said Horatio, as they once more climbed into the +old-fashioned gig; “but talk about paper, you should see your brief: +that’s a caution and no mistake!” + +“Is ur now? In what way, sir?” + +“Lor, how I should like a cigar, Mr. Bumpkin, if I’d only got my case +with me, but unfortunately—” + +“Would ur—then thee shall ’ave one; here, Mr. Ostler, jest goo and fetch +one o’ them there what d’ye call ems.” + +“O, do they sell them down here? Cigars—cigars,” said Horatio, “I wasn’t +aware of that.” + +“Now then, sir; what about this ere what d’ye call un—beef?” + +Mr. Bumpkin, being a very artful man, was inwardly chuckling at the +successful manœuvring by which he was drawing out this pale +unsophisticated London youth, and hoped by dint of a little strategy to +learn a good deal before they parted company. + +“Brief! brief!” said Horatio, laughing. + +“Ah! so it wur; thee said he wur a hell of a big un.” + +“Yes, and I wrote him myself.” + +“Did ur now; then thee knows all about un?” + +“From beginning to end—he is a clipper, I can tell you; a regular +whacker.” + +“I hope he’ll whack thic Snooks then.” + +“He’s a beauty!” rejoined Horatio, much to his companion’s surprise; for +here was this young man speaking of a brief in the same terms that he +(Bumpkin) would use with reference to a prize wurzel or swede. A brief +being a _beauty_ sounded somewhat strange in the ears of a farmer who +could associate the term with nothing that didn’t grow on the farm. + +“I dare say you’ve heard of Macaulay’s England?” asked the lad. + +“Whose England?” + +“Macaulay’s.” + +“I’ve eerd o’ England, if you mean this ere country, sartainly.” + +“You’ve heard of Macaulay’s History, I mean?” + +“Can’t say as ever I eerd tell on un.” + +“Well, there’s as much in your brief as there is in that book, and that’s +saying something, ain’t it?” + +“Zo’t be; but what th’ devil be ’t all about?” + +“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Horatio, holding out his hands and putting +the point of his right forefinger on to the point of the forefinger of +his left hand. “First: biography of the plaintiff.” + +“There now,” said Bumpkin, shaking the reins; “thee med jist as well talk +Greek—it’s the same wally (value) to me, for I doan’t understan’ a +word—bography, indade!” + +“Well then, Mr. Bumpkin, there is first a history of your life.” + +“Good lord, what be that for?” + +“I’ll tell you presently—then there’s the history of Mrs. Bumpkin from +the cradle.” (Mr. Bumpkin uttered an exclamation which nothing shall +induce me to put on paper.) “Then”—and here the young man had reached +the third finger of the left hand—“then comes a history of the defendant +Snooks.” + +“Ah!” said Bumpkin, as though they were getting nearer the mark; “that be +summut like—that’ll do un—have you put in about the gal?” + +“What’s that?” asked the youth. + +“Oh! didn’t thee ’ear? Why, thee ’st left out the best part o’ Snooks’ +life; he were keepin company wi’ a gal and left her in t’ lurch: but I +’ope thee ’st shown up ur carater well in other ways—he be the worst man +as ever lived in this ’ere country.” + +“Well,” said Horatio, travelling towards his little finger; “then there’s +the history of the pig.” + +“Zounds!” laughed the farmer, “if ever I eerd tell o’ such a thing in my +bornd days. What the devil be the good o’ thic?” + +“O, a good deal; the longer you make the brief the more money you get—you +are paid by the yard. They don’t pay lawyers accordin’ to the value of +their services, but the length of ’em.” + +“Well, look ee ’ere, if I sells a pig it ain’t wallied by its length, but +by its weight.” + +“It ain’t so with lawyers then,” rejoined Horatio; “the taxing master +takes the length of the pig, and his tail counts, and the longer the tail +the better the taxing master likes it; then comes,”—(as the young lad had +only four fingers he was obliged to have recourse to his thumb, placing +his forefinger thereon)—“then comes about ten pages on the immortality of +the soul.” + +“That be the tail, I spoase.” + +“You got it,” said Horatio, laughing. “O, he’s a stunner on the +immortality of the soul.” + +“Who be?—Snooks?” + +“No—Prigg—he goes into it like winkin’.” + +“But what be it to do with thic case?” + +“Well, if you only put in a brief what had got to do with the case it +would be a poor thing.” + +And I saw in my dream that the young man was speaking truthfully: it was +a beautifully drawn essay on the immortality of the soul, especially +Bumpkin’s. + +“By George!” continued the youth, “it’ll cost something—that brief.” + +Mr. Bumpkin twitched as if he had touched with ice a nerve of his hollow +tooth. + +“If I had the money that case’ll cost I wouldn’t do any more work,” said +the youth. + +“What would’st thee be then?” + +“Well, I should try and get an Associate’s place in one of the Courts.” + +“Hem! but this ere Snooks ull have to pay, won’t he?” + +“Ah!” said Horatio, breathing deeply and indignantly, “I hope so; he’s a +mean cuss—what d’ye think? never give Locust’s boy so much as a +half-sovereign! Now don’t such a feller deserve to lose? And do you +think Locust’s boy will interest himself in his behalf?” + +Bumpkin looked slily out of the corners of his eyes at the young man, but +the young man was impassive as stone, and pale as if made of the best +Carrara marble. + +“But tell I, sir—for here we be at the plaace of Mr. Commissioner to take +oaths—what need be there o’ this ere thing I be gwine to swear, for I’ll +be danged if I understand a word of un, so I tell ee.” + +“Costs, my dear sir, costs!” + + * * * * * + +And I heard Bumpkin mutter to himself that “he’d he danged if this ’ere +feller wur so young as he made out—his ’ead wur a mighty dale older nor +his body.” + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +The last night before the first London expedition, which gives occasion +to recall pleasant reminiscences. + +“I, Bumpkin, make oath and say,” having been duly presented, and the +Commissioner having duly placed the Testament in Mr. Bumpkin’s hands, and +said to him that to the best of his knowledge and belief the contents of +the “I Bumpkin” paper were true, the matter was over, and Mr. Snigger, +with the valuable document in his possession, might have returned to +London by the next train. But as Horatio afterwards observed to a +friend, he “was not quite so green.” It was market day; Mr. Bumpkin was +a genial companion, and had asked him to partake of the Market Ordinary. +So thither at one o’clock they repaired, and a very fine dinner the pale +youth disposed of. It seemed in proportion to the wonderful brief whose +merits they had previously discussed. More and more did Horatio think +that a farmer’s life was the life for him. He had never seen such +“feeding;” more and more would he like that month on trial in the +country; more and more inclined was he to throw up the whole blessed law +at once and for ever. This partly-formed resolution he communicated to +Mr. Bumpkin, and assured him that, but for the case of _Bumpkin_ v. +_Snooks_, he would do so on that very afternoon, and wash his hands of +it. + +“I don’t want,” said he, “to leave you in the lurch, Mr. Bumpkin, or else +I’d cut it at once, and throw this affidavit into the fire.” + +“Come, come,” said the farmer, “thee beest a young man, don’t do nowt +that be wrong—stick to thy employer like a man, and when thee leaves, +leave like a man.” + +“As soon as your case is over, I shall hook it, Mr. Bumpkin. And now let +me see—you’ll have to come to London in a week or two, for I am pretty +nigh sure we shall be in the paper by that time. I shall see you when +you come up—where shall you stay?” + +“Danged if I know; I be a straanger in Lunnun.” + +“Well, now, look ’ere, Mr. Bumpkin, I can tell you of a very nice quiet +public-house in Westminster where you’ll be at home; the woman, I +believe, comes from your part of the country, and so does the landlord.” + +“What be the naame o’ the public ’ouse?” asked Mr. Bumpkin. + +“It’s the sign of the ‘Goose,’ and stands just a little way off from the +water-side.” + +“The Goose” sounded countryfied and homelike, and being near the water +would be pleasant, and the landlord and landlady being Somersetshire +people would also be pleasant. + +“Be it a dear plaace?” he inquired. + +“Oh, no; dirt cheap.” + +“Ah, that air _dirt_ cheap I doan’t like—I likes it a bit clean like.” + +“Oh, yes, clean as a smelt—clean as ever it can be; and I’ll bespeak your +lodgings for you if you like, and all.” + +“Well, thankee, sir, thankee,” said the farmer, shaking hands with the +youth, and giving him a half-sovereign. “I be proud to know thee.” And +thus they parted: Horatio returning to his office, and Mr. Bumpkin +driving home at what is called a “shig-shog” pace, reflecting upon all +the events that had transpired during that memorable day. + +Pretty much the same as ever went on the things at the farm, and the +weeks passed by, and the autumn was over, and Christmas Day came and +went, and the Assizes came and went, and _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_ alone in +all the world seemed to stand still. One day in the autumn a friend of +Mr. Prigg’s came and asked the favour of a day’s fishing, which was +granted with Mr. Bumpkin’s usual cordiality. He was not only to fish on +that day, but to come whenever he liked, and make the house his “hoame, +like.” So he came and fished, and partook of the hospitality of the +homely but plentiful table, and enjoyed himself as often as he pleased. +He was a most agreeable man, and knew how to talk. Understood a good +deal about agriculture and sheep breeding, and quite enjoyed a walk with +Mr. Bumpkin round the farm. This happened five or six times during the +autumn. He was reticent when Mr. Bumpkin mentioned the lawsuit, because +he knew so little about legal proceedings. Nor could Mr. Bumpkin “draw +him out” on any point. Nothing could be ascertained concerning him +except that he had a place in Yorkshire, and was in London on a visit; +that he had known Mr. Prigg for a good many years, and always “found him +the same.” At last, the month of February came, and the long expected +letter from Mr. Prigg. Bumpkin and Joe were to be in London on the +following day, for it was expected they would be in the paper. What a +flutter of preparation there was at the farm! Bumpkin was eager, Mrs. +Bumpkin anxious. She had never liked the lawsuit, but had never once +murmured; now she seemed to have a presentiment which she was too wise to +express. And she went about her preparations for her husband’s leaving +with all the courage she could command. It was, however, impossible +entirely to repress her feelings, and now and again as she was packing +the flannels and worsted stockings, a tear would force its way in spite +of all she could do. + +Night came, and the fireside was as cosy as ever. But there was a sense +of sadness nevertheless. Tim seemed to understand that something was not +quite as it should be, for he was restless, and looked up plaintively in +his master’s face, and went to Joe and put his head in his lap; then +turned away and stretched himself out on the hearth, winking his eyes at +the fire. + +It is always a melancholy effort to “keep up the spirits” when the moment +of separation is at hand. One longs for the last shake of the hand and +the final good-bye. This was the case at Southwood Farm on this +memorable evening. Nothing in the room looked as usual. The pewter +plates on the shelf shone indeed, but it was like the smile of a winter +sun; it lacked the usual cheery warmth. Even the old clock seemed to +feel sad as he ticked out with melancholy monotony the parting moments; +and the wind, as it came in heavy gusts and howled round the old chimney, +seemed more melancholy than need be under the circumstances. + +“Thee must be careful, Tom,” said Mrs. Bumpkin; “that Lunnun, as I hear, +be a terrible plaace.” + +“How be un a terrible plaace?” said Bumpkin, sarcastically. “I bean’t a +child, Nancy.” + +“No, thee bean’t a child, Tom; but thee bean’t up to Lunnun ways: there +be thieves and murderers, and what not.” + +“Thieves and murderers!” + +“And Joe, doan’t ee git out o’ nights; if anything ’appened to thee, thy +old mother ’ud brak her ’art.” + +“Look ee ’ere,” said Joe, “I bean’t got nuthin’ to lose, so I bean’t +afeared o’ thieves.” + +“No, but thee might git into trouble, thee might be led away.” + +“So might thic bull,” said Joe; “but I’d like to zee what ’ud become o’ +the chap as led un.” + +“Chap as led un!” said Mrs. Bumpkin, laughing. + +“I’d gie un a crack o’ the canister,” said Joe. + +“Don’t thee git knockin’ down, Joe, unless thee be ’bliged,” said Mrs. +Bumpkin; “keep out o’ bad company, and don’t stay out o’ nights.” + +“And lookee ’ere, Joe,” said Bumpkin, “when thee comes afore th’ +Counsellor wi’ wig on, hold up thee head; look un straight in t’ face and +spak oop. Thee needn’t be afeared t’ spak t’ truth.” + +“I bean’t afeard,” said Joe; “I mind me when old Morris wur at plough, +and I was leadin’ th’ ’orses, Morris says, says he, ‘Now then, cock, +let’s see if we can’t git a eend this time;’ so on we goes, and jist +afore I gits the ’orses to eend o’ t’ field, Dobbin turns, and then, dash +my bootons, the tother turns after un, and me tryin’ to keep em oop, +Dobbin gits his legs over the trace. Well, Morris wur that wild, he +says, says he, ‘Damme, if yer doan’t look sharp, I’ll gie thee a crack o’ +t’ canister wi’ this ’ere whippense presny’” (presently). + +“Crack o’ the canister!” laughed Mrs. Bumpkin, “and that’s what Morris +called thy head, eh?” + +This was a capital hit on Joe’s part, for it set them thinking of the +events of old times, and Joe, seeing the effect of it, ventured upon +another anecdote relating to the old carter. + +“Thee recollect, master, when that there Mr. Gearns come down to shoot; +lor, lor, what a queer un he wur, surely!” + +“Couldn’t shoot a hit,” said Bumpkin. + +“Not he. Wall, we was carrying wheat, and Morris wur loadin, and jest as +we gits the last pitch on t’ load, right through th’ ’orses legs runds a +rat. Gearns wi’out more ado oops wi’ his loaded gun and bangs her off +right under t’ ’orses legs; up jumps th’ ’orse, and Morris wur wery nigh +tossed head fust into th’ yard. Wall, he makes no moore ado, for he +didn’t keer, gemman or no gemman—didn’t Morris—” + +“No more ur didn’t, Joe,” said Mrs. Bumpkin. + +“He makes no moore ado, but he up and said, ‘damme,’ he says, ‘sir, you +might as well a said you was gwine to shoot; you might a had me off and +broked my neck.’” + +“Haw! haw! haw!” laughed Mr. Bumpkin, and “Well done, Morris,” said Mrs. +Bumpkin. + +“Wall,” said Joe, “this ere gemman says, ‘It wouldn’t er bin much loss,’ +he says, ‘if he had!’ ‘Damme,’ roars Morris, ‘it had a bin as much wally +to me as yourn, anyhow.’” + +They all remembered the story, and even Tim seemed to remember it too, +for when they laughed he wagged his tail and laughed with them. + +And thus the evening dragged along and bed time came. + +In the morning all was in readiness, and the plaintiff with his witness +drove away in the gig to the station, where Morris waited to bring the +old horse back. + +And as the train came into the little country station I awoke. + + * * * * * + +“I hope,” cried my wife, “that Mr. Prigg is a respectable man.” + +“Respectable,” I answered, “I know he is; but whether he is honest is +another matter.” + +“But don’t you know?” + +“I only know what I dream.” + +“I have no opinion of him,” said she; “nor of that Locust; I believe they +are a couple of rogues.” + +“I should be very sorry to suggest such a thing as that,” I answered, +“without some proof. Everybody should give credit for the best of +motives.” + +“But what are all these summonses you speak of?” + +“O, they are summonses in the action. You may have as many of them as +you can invent occasion for. You may go up to the Court of Appeal about +twenty times before you try the action, which means about eighty +different hearings before Master and Judges.” + +“But how can a poor man endure that? It’s a great shame.” + +“He can’t—he may have a perfectly good cause of action against a rich man +or a rich company, and they can utterly ruin him before ever his case can +come into Court.” + +“But will no solicitor take it up for the poor man?” + +“Yes, some will, and the only reward they usually get for their pains is +to be stigmatized as having brought a speculative action—accused of doing +it for the sake of costs; although I have known the most honourable men +do it out of pure sympathy for the poor man.” + +“And so they ought,” cried she. + +“And I trust,” said I, “that hereafter it will be considered honourable +to do so. It is quite as honourable, in my judgment, to bring an action +when you may never be paid as to bring it when you know you will be.” + +“Who was the person referred to as ‘the man?’” + +“I don’t know,” said I, “but I strongly suspect he is, in reality, a +nominee of Prigg’s.” + +“That is exactly my opinion,” said my wife. “And if so, between them, +they will ruin that poor man.” + +“I can’t tell,” said I, lighting my pipe. “I know no more about the +future of my dream than you do; maybe when I sleep again something else +will transpire.” + +“But can no one do anything to alter this state of things? I plainly +perceive that they are all against this poor Bumpkin.” + +“Well, you see, in a tinkering sort of way, a good many try their hands +at reforming the law; but it’s to no one’s interest, that I can see, to +reform it.” + +“I hope you’ll write this dream and publish it, so that someone’s eyes +may be opened.” + +“It may make me enemies.” + +“Not among honest people; they will all be on your side, and the +dishonest ones, who seem to me to be the only persons benefited by such a +dilatory and shocking mode of procedure, are the very persons whose +enmity you need not fear. But can the Judges do nothing?” + +“No; their duty is merely to administer the law, not to change it. But +if the people would only give them full power and fair play, Old Fogeyism +would be buried to-morrow. They struggle might and main to break through +the fetters, but to no purpose while they are hampered by musty old +precedents, ridiculous forms and bad statutes. They are not masters of +the situation. I wish they were for the sake of suitors. I would only +make one condition with regard to them. If they were to set about the +task of reform, I would not let the Equity Judges reform the Common Law +nor the Common Law Judges the Equity.” + +“I thought they were fused.” + +“No, only transposed.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +Commencement of London life and adventures. + +And I dreamt again, and methought there were three things with reference +to London that Joe had learnt at school. First, that there was a Bridge, +chiefly remarkable for the fact that Captain Cook, the Navigator, shot +his servant because he said he was under London Bridge when he was in the +South Pacific Ocean; secondly, that there was a famous Tower, where the +Queen’s Crown was kept; thirdly, that there was a Monument built to show +where the Great Fire began, and intimately connected in its cause with +Guy Faux, whom Joe had helped to carry on the Fifth of November. Now +when the young man woke in the morning at “The Goose,” in Millbank +Street, Westminster, his attention was immediately attracted by these +three historic objects; and it was not till after he had made inquiries +that he found that it was not London Bridge that crossed the water in a +line with the Horseferry Road, but a very inferior structure called +Lambeth Suspension Bridge. Nor was the Tower on the left the Tower of +London, but the Lollards’ tower of Lambeth Palace; while the supposed +Monument was only the handsome column of Messrs. Doulton’s Pottery. + +But they were all interesting objects nevertheless; and so were the huge +cranes that were at work opposite the house lifting the most tremendous +loads of goods from the lighters to the wharves. The “Shipping,” too, +with its black and copper-coloured sails, gave some idea of the extent of +England’s mercantile marine. At all events, it excited the country lad’s +wonder and astonishment. But there was another matter that gave quite an +agricultural and countrified look to the busy scene, and that was the +prodigious quantity of straw that was being unloaded from the barges +alongside. While Mr. Bumpkin went to see his solicitor at Westminster +Hall, Joe wandered about the wharves looking at the boats and barges, the +cranes and busy workmen who drove their barrows from barge to wharf, and +ran along with loads on their backs over narrow planks, in the most +lively manner. But looking on, even at sights like these, day by day, +becomes a wearisome task, and Joe, being by no means an idle lad, +occasionally “lent a hand” where he saw an opportunity. London, no +doubt, was a very interesting place, but when he had seen Page Street, +and Wood Street, and Church Street, and Abingdon Street, and Millbank +Prison, and the other interesting objects referred to, his curiosity was +gratified, and he began to grow tired of the sameness of the place. +Occasionally he saw a soldier or two and the military sight fired his +rustic imagination. Not that Joe had the remotest intention of entering +the army; it was the last thing he would ever dream of; but, in common +with all mankind he liked to look at the smart bearing and brilliant +uniform of the sergeant, who seemed to have little else to do than walk +about with his cane under his arm, or tap the stone parapet with it as he +looked carelessly at some interesting object on the river. + +The evenings in the taproom at “The Goose” were among the most enjoyable +periods of the lad’s London existence. A select party usually gathered +there, consisting chiefly of a young man who never apparently had had +anything to do in his life. His name was Harry Highlow, a clever sort of +wild young scapegrace who played well at “shove-ha’penny,” and sang a +good comic song. Another of the party was a youth who earned a +precarious livelihood by carrying two boards on his shoulders advertising +a great pickle, or a great singer, as the case might be. Another of the +company was a young man who was either a discharged or a retired groom; I +should presume the former, as he complained bitterly that the authorities +at Scotland Yard would not grant him a licence to drive a cab. He +appeared to be a striking instance of how every kind of patronage in this +country is distributed by favouritism. There were several others, all +equally candidates for remunerative situations, but equally unfortunate +in obtaining them: proving conclusively that life is indeed a lottery in +which there may be a few prizes, usually going, by the caprice of +Fortune, to the undeserving, while the blanks went indiscriminately to +all the rest. + +Bound together by the sympathy which a common misfortune engenders, these +young men were happy in the pursuit of their innocent amusements at “The +Goose.” And while, at first, they were a little inclined to chaff the +rustic youth on account of his apparent simplicity, they soon learned to +respect him on account of his exceedingly good temper and his willingness +to fall in with the general views of the company on all occasions. They +learnt all about Joe’s business in London, and it was a common greeting +when they met in the evening to ask “how the pig was?” And they would +enquire what the Lord Chancellor thought about the case, and whether it +wouldn’t be as well to grease the pig’s tail and have a pig-hunt. To all +which jocular observations Joe would reply with excellent temper and +sometimes with no inappropriate wit. And then they said they would like +to see Joe tackle Mr. Orkins, and believed he would shut him up. But +chaff never roused his temper, and he laughed at the case as much as any +man there. Fine tales he would have to tell when he got back to +Yokelton; and pleasant, no doubt, would be in after-life, his +recollections of the evenings at “The Goose.” + +As a great general surveys the field where the intended action is to be +fought, so Mr. Bumpkin was conducted by Horatio to Westminster Hall, and +shown the various Courts of Justice, and some of the judges. + +“Be this Chancery?” he enquired. + +“O my eye, no!” said Horatio; “the cause has been transferred from +Chancery to these ’ere Common Law Courts. It was only brought in +Chancery because the costs there are upon a higher scale; we didn’t mean +to try her there.” + +“Where will she be tried then?” + +“In one of these Courts.” + +“Who be the judge?” whispered Bumpkin. + +At this moment there was a loud shout of “Silence!” and although Mr. +Bumpkin was making no noise whatever, a gentleman approached him, looking +very angry, and enquired if Mr. Bumpkin desired to be committed for +contempt of Court. + +Mr. Bumpkin thought the most prudent answer was silence; so he remained +speechless, looking the gentleman full in the face; while the gentleman +looked him full in the face for at least a minute and a half, as if he +were wondering whether he should take him off to prison there and then, +or give him another chance, as the judge sometimes does a prisoner when +he sentences him to two years imprisonment with hard labour. + +Now the gentleman was a very amiable man of about forty, with large brown +mutton-chop whiskers, and a very well trained moustache; good-looking +and, I should think, with some humour, that is for a person connected +with the Courts. He was something about the Court, but in what capacity +he held up his official head, I am unable to say. He was evidently +regarded with great respect by the crowd of visitors. It was some time +before he took his gaze off Mr. Bumpkin; even when he had taken his eyes +off, he seemed looking at him as if he feared that the moment he went +away Bumpkin would do it again. + +And then methought I heard someone whisper near me: “His lordship is +going to give judgment in the case of _Starling_ v. _Nightingale_,” and +all at once there was a great peace. I lost sight of Bumpkin, I lost +sight of the gentleman, I lost sight of the crowd; an indefinable +sensation of delight overpowered my senses. Where was I? I had but a +moment before been in a Court of Justice, with crowds of gaping idlers; +with prosaic-looking gentlemen in horsehair wigs; with gentlemen in a pew +with papers before them ready to take down the proceedings. Now it +seemed as if I must be far away in the distant country, where all was +calm and heavenly peace. + +Surely I must be among the water-lilies! What a lullaby sound as of +rippling waters and of distant music in the evening air; of the eddying +and swirl of the mingling currents; of the chime of bells on the evening +breeze; of the zephyrs through fir-tops; of woodland whispers; of the +cadence of the cathedral organ; of the soft sweet melody of the maiden’s +laugh; of her gentlest accents in her sweetest mood; of—but similitudes +fail me. In this delicious retreat, which may be compared to the Garden +of Eden before the tempter entered, are the choicest flowers of rhetoric. +I hear a voice as from the far-off past, and I wonder will that be the +voice which will utter the “last syllable of recorded time?” + +Then methought the scene changed, and I heard the question— + +“Do you move, Mr. Jones?” + +O the prosaic Jones!—“don’t you move?” + +Yes, he does; he partly rises, ducks his head, and elevates the hinder +portion of his person, and his movement ceases. And the question is +repeated to Mr. Quick. “Do you move, Mr. Quick?” + +Then I saw Mr. Bumpkin again, just as Mr. Quick ducked his head and +elevated his back. + +And then some gentleman actually moved in real earnest upon these +interesting facts:—A farmer’s bull—just the very case for Mr. Bumpkin—had +strayed from the road and gone into another man’s yard, and upset a tub +of meal; was then driven into a shed and locked up. The owner of the +bull came up and demanded that the animal should be released. “Not +without paying two pounds,” said the meal-owner. The bull owner paid it +under protest, and summoned the meal-owner to the County Court for one +pound seventeen shillings and sixpence, the difference between the damage +done (which was really about twopence) and the money paid to redeem the +bull. Judgment for the plaintiff. Motion for new trial, or to enter +verdict for the defendant, on the ground that the meal man could charge +what he liked. + +One of the learned Judges asked: + +“Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Smiles, that if a man has a bull, and that +bull goes into a yard and eats some meal out of a meal-tub, and the +damage amounts to twopence, and the owner of the bull says ‘here’s your +twopence,’ that the owner of the meal can say, “No, I want a hundred +pounds, and shall take your bull damage feasant,” and then takes him and +locks him up, and the owner of the bull pays the hundred pounds, he +cannot afterwards get the money back?” + +“That is so,” says the learned counsel, “such is the law.” And then he +cited cases innumerable to prove that it was the law. + +“Well,” said the Judge, “unless you show me a case of a bull and a +meal-tub, I shall not pay attention to any case—must be a meal-tub.” + +Second Judge: “It is extortion, and done for the purpose of extortion; +and I should say he could be indicted for obtaining money by false +pretences.” + +“I am not sure he could not, my lord,” said the counsel; “but he can’t +recover the money back.” + +“Then,” said the Judge, “if he obtains money by an indictable fraud +cannot he get it back?” + +“Well,” said Bumpkin, “that be rum law; if it had bin my bull, he’d a gin +’em summat afore they runned him in.” + +It was interesting to see how the judges struggled against this +ridiculous law; and it was manifest even to the unlettered Bumpkin, that +a good deal of old law is very much like old clothes, the worse for wear, +and totally inapplicable to the present day. A struggle against old +authorities is often a struggle of Judges to free themselves from the +fetters of antiquated dicta and decisions no longer appropriate to or +necessary for the modern requirements of civilisation. + +In this case precedents running over _one hundred and eight years_ were +quoted, and so far from impressing the Court with respect, they simply +evoked a smile of contempt. + +The learned Judges, after patiently listening to the arguments, decided +that extortion and fraud give no title, and thus were the mists and +vapours that arose from the accumulated mudbanks of centuries dispelled +by the clear shining of common sense. In spite of arguments by the hour, +and the pettifogging of one hundred and eight years, justice prevailed, +and the amazed appellant was far more damaged by his legal proceedings +than he was by the bull. The moral surely is, that however wise ancient +judges were in their day, their wisdom ought not to be allowed to work +injustice. He may be a wise Judge who makes a precedent, but he is often +a much wiser who sweeps it away. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +How the great Don O’Rapley became an usher of the Court of Queen’s Bench +and explained the ingenious invention of the round square—how Mr. Bumpkin +took the water and studied character from a penny steamboat. + +Some years ago there lived in a little village near Bridgewater a young +man who was the bowler of his village eleven—one of the first roundhand +bowlers in point of time, and by no means the last in point of merit. +Indeed, so great was the local fame of this young man that it produced a +sensation for miles around when it was announced that Don O’Rapley (such +was his name) was going to bowl. All the boys of the village where the +match was to take place were in a state of the utmost excitement to see +the Don. At times it was even suggested that he was unfairly “smugged +in” to play for a village to which he had no pretensions to belong. In +process of time the youth became a man, and by virtue of his cricket +reputation he obtained a post in the Court of Queen’s Bench. The +gentleman whom I have referred to as looking with such austerity at Mr. +Bumpkin is that very Don O’Rapley; the requirements of a large family +necessitated his abandonment of a profession which, although more to his +taste, was not sufficiently remunerative to admit of his indulging it +after the birth of his sixth child. But it was certain that he never +lost his love for the relinquished pursuit, as was manifest from his +habit when alone of frequently going through a kind of dumb motion with +his arm as if he were delivering one of his celebrated “twisters.” He +had even been seen in a quiet corner of the Court to go through the same +performance in a somewhat modified form. He was once caught by the Judge +in the very act of delivering a ball, but found a ready apology in the +explanation that he had a touch of “rheumatiz” in his right shoulder. + +Now I saw in my dream that Don O’Rapley was in earnest conversation with +Horatio, and it was clear Mr. Bumpkin was the subject of it, from the +very marked manner in which the Don and the youth turned occasionally to +look at him. It may be stated that Horatio was the nephew of Don +O’Rapley, and, perhaps, it was partly in consequence of this +relationship, and partly in consequence of what Horatio told him, that +the latter gentleman rose from his seat under the witness-box and came +towards Mr. Bumpkin, shouting as he did so in a very solemn and prolonged +tone, “Si-lence!” + +Mr. Bumpkin saw him, and, conscious that he was innocent this time of any +offence for which he could be committed, stood his ground with a bold +front, and firmly held his white beaver with both hands. O’Rapley +contemplated him for a few minutes with an almost affectionate interest. +Bumpkin felt much as a pigeon would under the gaze of an admiring owl. + +At last O’Rapley spoke:— + +“Why, it’s never Mr. Bumpkin, is it?” + +“It be a good imitation, sir,” said Bumpkin, “and I bean’t asheamed of +un.” + +“Silence!” cried the Don. “You don’t remember me, I s’pose?” + +“Wall, not rightly, I doan’t.” + +“I dissay you recollect Don O’Rapley, the demon bowler of Bridgewater?” + +“I’ve ’eered tell on ’im,” said Bumpkin. + +“I’m that man!” said the Don, “and this is my nephew, Mr. Snigger. He +tells me you’ve got a case comin’ on?” + +“I be.” + +“Just step outside,” said the Don, “we mustn’t talk ’ere.” So they went +into Westminster Hall, and the good-natured O’Rapley asked if Mr. Bumpkin +would like to look round, and if so he said he would be happy to show +him, for he was very pleased to see anyone from the scene of his youthful +exploits. + +“Thankee, sir—thankee, sir,” answered Bumpkin, delighted to find another +“native” among “furriners.” “And this ’ere genleman be thy nevvy, sir?” + +“He is, and very proud of him I am; he’s my sister’s son.” + +“Seems a nice quiet boy,” said Mr. Bumpkin. “Now how old might he be?” + +“Old,” said Mr. O’Rapley, looking deedily at the floor and pressing his +hand to his forehead, “why he’ll be seventeen come March.” + +“Hem! his ’ed be a good deal older nor thic: his ’ed be forty—it’s my way +o’ thinkin’.” + +The Don laughed. + +“Yes, he has his head screwed on the right way, I think.” + +“Why that air lad,” said Bumpkin, “might make a judge.” + +O’Rapley laughed and shook his head. + +“In old times,” said he, “he might ha’ made a Lord Chancellor; a man as +was clever had a chance then, but lor’ blesh you, Mr. Bumpkin, now-a-days +it’s so very different; the raw material is that plentiful in the law +that you can find fifty men as would make rattlin good Lord Chancellors +for one as you could pick out to make a rattlin’ good bowler. But come, +we’ll have a look round.” + +So round they looked again, and Mr. Bumpkin was duly impressed with the +array of wigs and the number of books and the solemnity of the judges and +the arguments of counsel, not one word of which was intelligible to him. +Mr. O’Rapley explained everything and pointed out where a judge and jury +tried a case, and then took him into another court where two judges tried +the judge and jury, and very often set them both aside and gave new +trials and altered verdicts and judgments or refused to do so +notwithstanding the elaborate arguments of the most eloquent and +long-winded of learned counsel. + +Then the Don asked if Mr. Bumpkin would like to see the Chancery +Judges—to which Mr. Bumpkin answered that “he hadn’t much opinion o’ +Chancery from all he’d ’eeard, and that when a man got into them there +Cooarts maybe he’d never coome out agin, but he shouldn’t mind seein’ a +Chancery Judge.” + +“Well, then,” said the distinguished bowler, “now-a-days we needn’t go to +Chancery, for they’ve invented the ‘Round Square.’” + +Mr. Bumpkin stared. Could so great a man as the O’Rapley be joking? No; +the Don seldom laughed. He was a great admirer of everything relating to +the law, but had a marked prejudice against the new system; and when he +spoke of the “Round Square” he meant, as he afterwards explained, that +confusion of Law and Equity which consists in putting Chancery Judges to +try common law cases and Common Law Judges to unravel the nice twistings +of the elaborate system of Equity; “as though,” said he, “you should fuse +the butcher and the baker by getting the former to make bread and the +latter to dress a calf.” + +Mr. Bumpkin could only stare by way of reply. + +“If you want to see Chancery Judges,” added the Don, “come to the Old +Bailey!” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +An interesting gentleman—showing how true it is that one half the world +does not know how the other half lives. + +“The Old Bailey,” said Mr. Bumpkin, as they crossed Palace Yard on their +way to the steamboat pier, “bean’t that where all these ’ere chaps be +tried for ship stealin’?” (sheep stealing). + +“I don’t know about ship stealing,” said O’Rapley, “but it’s a place +where they can cure all sorts of diseases.” + +“Zounds!” exclaimed Bumpkin, “I’ve ’eeard tell of un. A horsepital you +means—dooan’t want to goo there.” + +“Horse or donkey, it don’t matter what,” said Don O’Rapley. “They’ve got +a stuff that’s so strong a single drop will cure any disease you’ve got.” + +“I wonder if it ’ud cure my old ’ooman’s roomatiz. It ’ud be wuth +tryin’, maybe.” + +“I’ll warrant it,” replied the Don. “She’d never feel ’em after takin’ +one drop,” and he drew his hand across his mouth and coughed. + +“I’d like to try un,” said the farmer, “for she be a terrible suffrer in +these ’ere east winds. ’As ’em like all up the grine.” + +“Ah,” said the Don, “it don’t matter where she ’as ’em, it will cure +her.” + +“How do ’em sell it—in bottles?” + +“No, it isn’t in bottles—you take it by the foot; about nine feet’s +considered a goodish dose.” + +Mr. Bumpkin looked straight before him, somewhat puzzled at this +extraordinary description of a medicine. At length he got a glimmering +of the Don’s meaning, and, looking towards, but not quite at him, said:— + +“I be up to ’ee, sir!” and the Don laughed, and asked whether his +description wasn’t right? + +“That be right enough. Zounds! it be right enough. Haw! haw! haw!” + +“You never want a second dose,” said the Don, “do you?” + +“No, sir—never wants moore ’an one dose; but ’ow comes it, if you please, +sir, that these ’ere Chancery chaps have changed their tack; be it +they’ve tried ’onest men so long that they be gwine to ’ave a slap at the +thieves for a change?” + +“Look ’ere,” said the worthy O’Rapley, “you will certainly see the inside +of a jail before you set eyes on the outside of a haystack, if you go on +like that. It’s contempt of court to speak of Her Majesty’s Judges as +‘chaps’.” + +“Beg pardon, sir,” said Bumpkin, “but we must all ’ave a larnin’. I +didn’t mane no disruspect to the Lord Judge; but I wur only a axin’ jist +the same as you might ax me about anythink on my farm.” + +And I saw that they proceeded thus in edifying conversation until they +came to the Thames embankment. It was somewhat difficult to preserve his +presence of mind as Mr. Bumpkin descended the gangway and stepped on +board the boat, which was belching forth its volumes of black smoke and +rocking under the influence of the wash of a steamer that had just left +the pier. + +“I doant much like these ’ere booats,” said he. “Doant mind my old punt, +but dang these ’ere ships.” + +“There’s no danger,” said the O’Rapley, springing on board as though he +had been a pilot: and then making a motion with his arm as if he was +delivering a regular “length ball,” his fist unfortunately came down on +Mr. Bumpkin’s white hat, in consequence of a sudden jerk of the vessel; a +rocking boat not being the best of places for the delivery of length +balls. + +Mr. Bumpkin looked round quite in the wrong direction for ascertaining +what was the cause of the sudden shock to his nervous system and his hat. + +“Zounds!” said he, “what were thic?” + +“What was what?” asked O’Rapley. + +“Summut gie me a crack o’ the top o’ my ’ead like a thunderbolt.” + +“I didn’t see anything fall,” said the Don. + +“Noa; but I felt un, which I allows wur more’n seein’—lookee ’ere.” + +And taking off his huge beaver he showed the dent of Mr. O’Rapley’s fist. + +“Bless me,” said the roundhand bowler, “it’s like a crack with a cricket +ball.” + +But there was no time for further examination of the extraordinary +circumstance, for the crowd of passengers poured along and pushed this +way and that, so that the two friends were fairly driven to the fore part +of the boat, where they took their seats. It was quite a new world to +Mr. Bumpkin, and more like a dream than a reality. As he stared at the +different buildings he was too much amazed even to enquire what was this +or what was that. But when they passed under the Suspension Bridge, and +the chimney ducked her head and the smoke came out of the “stump,” as Mr. +Bumpkin termed it, he thought she had struck and broken short off. Mr. +O’Rapley explained this phenomenon, as he did many others on their route; +and when they came to Cleopatra’s Needle he gave such information as he +possessed concerning that ancient work. Mr. Bumpkin looked as though he +were not to be taken in. + +“I be up to ’ee, sir,” said he. “I s’pose that air thing the t’other +side were the needle-case?” + +The O’Rapley informed him that it was a shot tower where they made shot. + +Mr. Bumpkin laughed heartily at this; he was not to be taken in by any +manner of means; was far too sharp for that. + +“And I spoase,” said he, “they makes the guns—” + +“In Gunnersbury,” said Mr. O’Rapley; it was no use to be serious. + +“I thought thee were gwine to say in a gun pit, but I don’t mind thy +chaff, Master Rapley, and shall be mighty proud to see thee down at +Southood for a day’s shoot-in’: and mind thee bring some o’ these ere +shot with thee that be made at yon tower, haw! haw! haw! Thee’ll kill a +white-tailed crow then, I shouldn’t wonder; thee knows a white-tailed +crow, doan’t thee, Master Rapley, when thee sees un—and danged if I +doan’t gie thee a quart bottle o’ pigeon’s milk to tak’ wi’ thee; haw! +haw! haw!” + +The O’Rapley laughed heartily at these witty sallies, for Bumpkin was so +jolly, and took everything in such good part, that he could not but enjoy +his somewhat misplaced sarcasms. + +“Now you’ve heard of Waterloo, I dare say,” said Mr. O’Rapley. + +“Yes, I’ve ’eeard tell on un, and furder, my grand-feather wur out +theer.” + +“Well, this that we are coming to is Waterloo Bridge.” + +“Yes,” said Bumpkin, “it be a bridge, but it bean’t Worterloo more ’an I +be my grandfearther—what de think o’ that—haw! haw! haw!” + +“Good,” said O’Rapley; “that’s quite right, but this is the bridge named +after the battle.” + +“Zo’t be neamed artur un because it worn’t named afore un, haw! haw! haw! +Good agin, Maister Rapley, thee got it.” + +Mr. O’Rapley found that any attempt to convey instruction was useless, so +he said:— + +“Joking apart, Mr. Bumpkin, you see that man sitting over there with the +wideawake hat?” + +“D’ye mane near the noase o’ the ship?” + +“Well, the nose if you like.” + +“I zee un—chap wi’ red faace, blue ’ankercher, and white spots?” + +“That’s the man. Well, now, you’d never guess who he is?” + +Mr. Bumpkin certainly would have been a sharp man if he could. + +“Well,” continued the Don, “that man gets his living by bringing actions. +No matter who it is or what, out comes the writ and down he comes for +damages.” + +“Hem! that be rum, too, bean’t it?” + +“Yes, he’s always looking out for accidents; if he hears o’ one, down he +comes with his pocket-book, gets ’old o’ some chap that’s injured, or +thinks he is, and out comes the writ.” + +“What be he then?” + +“A scamp—works in the name of some broken-down attorney, and pays him for +the use of it.” + +“So he can work the lor like wirout being a loryer?” + +“That’s it—and, lor’ bless you, he’s got such a way with him that if he +was to come and talk to you for five minutes, he’d have a writ out +against you in the morning.” + +“Ain’t it rayther cold at this eend o’ the booat,” asked Mr. Bumpkin, “I +feel a little chilly loike.” + +“No,” said the Don, “we just caught the wind at that corner, that was +all.” + +But Mr. Bumpkin kept his eye on the artful man, with a full determination +to “have no truck wi’ un.” + +“As I was saying, this Ananias never misses a chance: he’s on the +look-out at this moment; if they was to push that gangway against his +toe, down he’d go and be laid up with an injured spine and concussion of +the brain, till he got damages from the company.” + +“Must be a reg’ler rogue, I allows; I should like to push un overboard.” + +“Just what he would like; he isn’t born to be drowned, that man; he’d +soon have a writ out against you. There was a railway accident once +miles away in the country; ever so many people were injured and some of +’em killed. Well, down he goes to see if he could get hold of +anybody—no, nobody would have him—so what does he do but bring an action +himself.” + +“What for?” + +“Why, just the same as if he’d been in the accident.” + +“Ought to be hanged.” + +“Well, the doctors were very pleased to find that no bones were broken, +and, although there were no bruises, they discovered that there were +internal injuries: the spine was wrong, and there was concussion of the +brain, and so on.” + +“If ever I ’eerd tell o’ sich a thing in my borned days.” + +“No, but it’s true. Well, he was laid up a long time under medical +treatment, and it was months before he could get about, and then he +brings his action: but before it came on he prosecutes his servant for +stealing some trumpery thing or other—a very pretty girl she was too—and +the trial came on at Quarter Sessions.” + +“Where Squoire Stooky sits.” + +“I never laughed so in all my life; there was the railway company with +the red light, and there was Fireaway, the counsel for the girl, and then +in hobbled the prosecutor, with a great white bandage round his head. He +was so feeble through the injuries he had received that he could hardly +walk. ‘Now then,’ says the counsel, ‘is he sworn?’ ‘Yes,’ says the +crier. + +“‘He must be sworn on the Koran,’ says Fireaway; ‘he’s a Mommadon.’ + +“‘Where’s the Jorum?’ says the crier. ‘Must be swore on the Jorum.’ + +“O dear, dear, you should ha’ heard ’em laugh—it was more like a theayter +than a court. It was not only roars, but continnerus roars for several +minutes. And all the time the larfter was going on there was this man +throwin’ out his arms over the witness-box at the counsel like a madman; +and the more he raved the more they laughed. He was changed from a +hobblin’ invalid, as the counsel said, into a hathletic pugilist.” + +“I ’ope she got off.” + +“Got off with flying colours—we’re magnanimous said the jury, ‘not +guilty.’” + +“Well, I likes upright and down-straight,” said Bumpkin, “it’ll goo +furdest in th’ long run.” + +“Yes,” said O’Rapley, “and the longer the run the furder it’ll go.” + +“So ’t wool; but if you doan’t mind, sir, I’d like to get nearer that +’ere fireplace.” + +“The funnel—very well.” And as they moved Mr. O’Rapley, in the +exuberance of his spirits, delivered another ball at the chimney, which +apparently took the middle stump, for the chimney again broke in half. + +“Got him!” said he. “I quite agree, and I’ll tell you for why. You can +play a straight ball if you mind what you are about—just take your bat +so, and bring your left elbow well round so, and keep your bat, as you +say, upright and down-straight, so—and there you are. And there, indeed, +Mr. Bumpkin was, on his back, for the boat at that moment bumped so +violently against the side of the pier that many persons were staggering +about as if they were in a storm. + +“Zounds!” said the farmer, as he was being picked up—“these ’ere booats, +I doan’t like ’em—gie me the ole-fashioned uns.” + +Now came the usual hullabaloo, “Stand back!—pass on!—out of the way! now, +then, look sharp there!” and the pushing of the gangway against people’s +shins as though they were so many skittles to be knocked over, and then +came the slow process of “passing out.” + +“There’s one thing,” whispered O’Rapley, “if you do break your leg the +company’s liable—that’s one comfort.” + +“Thankee, sir,” answered Bumpkin, “but I bean’t a gwine to break my leg +for the sake o’ a haction—and mebbee ha’ to pay the costs.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +THE OLD BAILEY—ADVANTAGES OF THE NEW SYSTEM ILLUSTRATED. + +And I saw in my dream that Don O’Rapley and worthy Master Bumpkin +proceeded together until they came to the Old Bailey; that delightful +place which will ever impress me with the belief that the Satanic +Personage is not a homeless wanderer. As they journeyed together +O’Rapley asked whether there was any particular kind of case which he +would prefer—much the same as he would enquire what he would like for +lunch. + +“Well, thankee, sir,” said Bumpkin, “what he there?”—just the same as a +hungry guest would ask the waiter for the bill of fare. + +“Well,” said Mr. O’Rapley, “there’s no murder to-day, but there’s sure to +be highway robberies, burglaries, rapes, and so on.” + +“Wall, I thinks one o’ them air as good as anything,” said Bumpkin. “I +wur on the jury once when a chap were tried.” + +“Did he get off?” + +“Got off as clane as a whusle. Not guilty, we all said: sarved her +right.” + +“It’s rather early in the morning, p’r’aps,” said O’Rapley; “but there’s +sure to be something interesting before lunch—crimes are very pop’lar, +and for my own part, I think they’re as nice as anything: divorces, +p’r’aps, are as good, and the female intellect prefers ’em as a more +digestable food for their minds.” + +“As a what, sir!” + +“Well, since they did away with _crim. cons_, there’s nothing left for +females but murders and divorces, worth speaking of.” + +“Why, how’s that, then?” + +“O, they’re not considered sufficiently moral, that’s all. You see, +Master Bumpkin, we’re getting to be a very moral and good people. +They’re doin’ away with all that’s naughty, such as music and dancing, +peep-shows and country fairs. This is a religious age. No pictur +galleries on a Sunday, but as many public-houses as you like; it’s wicked +to look at picturs on a Sunday. And now I’ll tell you another thing, +Master Bumpkin, although p’r’aps I ought to keep my mouth closed; but +’ere you’ll see a Chancery Judge as knows everything about land and +titles to property, and all that, and never had any training in Criminal +Courts, and may be never been inside of one before, you’ll see ’im down +’ere tryin’ burglaries and robberies, and down at the Assizes you’ll see +’im tryin’ men and women for stealing mutton pies and a couple of ounces +of bacon; that’s the way the Round Square’s worked, Master Bumpkin; and +very well it acts. There’s a moral atmosphere, too, about the Courts +which is very curious. It seems to make every crime look bigger than it +really is. But as I say, where’s the human natur of a Chancery +barrister? How can you get it in Chancery? They only sees human natur +in a haffidavit, and although I don’t say you can’t put a lot of it into +a haffidavit, such as perjury and such like, yet it’s so done up by the +skill of the profession that you can hardly see it. Learning from +haffidavits isn’t like learning from the witness-box, mark my words, Mr. +Bumpkin; and so you’ll find when you come to hear a case or two.” + +Having thus eloquently delivered himself, Mr. O’Rapley paused to see its +effect: but there was no answer. There was no doubt the Don could talk +a-bit, and took especial pride in expressing his views on law reform, +which, to his idea, would best be effected by returning to the “old +style.” + +And I saw that they pushed their way through a crowd of people of all +sorts and degrees of unwashedness and crime, and proceeded up a winding +stair, through other crowds of the most evil-looking indictable persons +you could meet with out of the Bottomless Pit. + +And amongst them were pushing, with eager, hungry, dirty faces, men who +called themselves clerks, evil-disposed persons who traded under such +names as their owners could use no longer on their own account. These +prowlers amongst thieves, under the protection of the Law, were permitted +to extort what they could from the friends of miserable prisoners under +pretence of engaging counsel to defend them. Counsel they would engage +after a fashion—sometimes: but not unfrequently they cheated counsel, +client and the law at the same time, which is rather better than killing +two birds with one stone. + +And the two friends, after threading their way through the obnoxious +crowd, came to the principal Court of the Old Bailey, called the “Old +Court,” and a very evil-looking place it was. All the ghosts of past +criminals seemed floating in the dingy atmosphere. Crowds of men, women +and children were heaped together in all directions, except on the bench +and in a kind of pew which was reserved for such ladies as desired to +witness the last degradation of human nature. + +Presently came in, announced with a loud cry of “Silence!” and “Be +uncovered in Court!” a gorgeous array of stout and berobed gentlemen, +with massive chains and purple faces. These, I learned, were the noble +Aldermen of the Corporation. What a contrast to the meagre wretches who +composed the crowd! Here was a picture of what well-fed honesty and +virtue could accomplish for human nature on the one part, as opposed to +what hungry crime could effect, on the other. Blessings, say I, on good +victuals! It is a great promoter of innocence. And I thought how many +of the poor, half-starved, cadaverous wretches who crowded into the dock +in all their emaciated wretchedness and rags would, under other +conditions, have become as portly and rubicund and as moral as the row of +worthy aldermen who sat looking at them with contempt from their exalted +position. + +The rich man doesn’t steal a loaf of bread; he has no temptation to do +so: the uneducated thief doesn’t get up sham companies, because _he_ has +no temptation to do so. Temptation and Opportunity have much to answer +for in the destinies of men. Honesty is the best policy, but it is not +always the most expedient or practicable. + +Now there was much arraignment of prisoners, and much swearing of +jurymen, and proclamations about “informing my Lords Justices and the +Queen’s Attorney-General of any crimes, misdemeanours, felonies, &c., +committed by any of the prisoners,” and “if anybody could so inform my +Lords Justices,” &c, he was to come forward and do so, and he would be +heard. And then the crowd of prisoners, except the one about to be +tried, were told to stand down. And down they all swarmed, some laughing +and some crying, to the depths below. And the stout warders took their +stand beside the remaining prisoner. + +“Now,” said Mr. O’Rapley, “this Judge is quite fresh to the work, and +I’ll warrant he’ll take a moral view of the law, which is about the worst +view a Judge _can_ take.” + +The man left in the dock was a singular specimen of humanity: he was a +thin, wizen-looking man of about seventy, with a wooden leg: and as he +stood up to plead, leant on two crutches, while his head shook a good +deal, as if he had got the palsy. A smile went round the bar, and in +some places broke out into a laugh: the situation was, indeed, +ridiculous; and before any but a Chancery Judge, methought, there must be +an acquittal on the view. However, I saw that the man pleaded not +guilty, and then Mr. Makebelieve opened the case for the Crown. He put +it very clearly, and, as he said, fairly before the jury; and then called +a tall, large-boned woman of about forty into the witness-box. This was +the “afflicted widow,” as Makebelieve had called her; and the way she +gave her evidence made a visible impression on the mind of the learned +Judge. His Lordship looked up occasionally from his note-book and fixed +his eyes on the prisoner, whose appearance was that of one trembling with +a consciousness of guilt—that is, to one not versed in human nature +outside an affidavit. + +Mr. Nimble, the prisoner’s counsel, asked if the prisoner might sit down +as he was very “infirm.” + +“Have you an affidavit of that fact, Mr. Nimble?” asked the Judge. + +“No, my lord; it is not usual on such an application to have an +affidavit.” + +“It is not usual,” said his lordship, “to take notice of any fact not +upon affidavit; but in this case the prisoner may sit down.” + +The prosecutrix gave her evidence very flippantly, and did not seem in +the least concerned that her virtue had had so narrow an escape. + +“Now,” asked Mr. Nimble, “what are you?” + +The learned Judge said he could not see what that had to do with the +question. Could Mr. Nimble resist the facts? + +“Yes, my lord,” answered the learned counsel; “and I intend, in the first +place, to resist them by showing that this woman is entirely unworthy of +credit.” + +“Are you really going to suggest perjury, Mr. Nimble?” + +“Assuredly, my lord! I am going to show that there is not a word of +truth in this woman’s statement. I have a right to cross-examine as to +her credit. If your lordship will allow me, I will—” + +“Cross-examination, Mr. Nimble, cannot be allowed, in order to make a +witness contradict all that she has said in her examination-in-chief; it +would be a strange state of the law, if it could.” + +Mr. Nimble looked about the desk, and then under it, and felt in his bag, +and at last exclaimed in a somewhat petulant tone: + +“Where’s my Taylor?” + +“What do you want your tailor for?” asked the Judge. + +“I wish to point out to your lordship that my proposition is correct, and +that I can cross-examine to the credit of a witness.” + +Here the clerk of arraigns, who sat just under the learned Judge, and was +always consulted on matters of practice when there was any difficulty, +was seen whispering to his lordship: after which his lordship looked very +blank and red. + +“We always consult him, my lord,” said Mr. Nimble, with a smile, “in +suits at Common Law.” + +Everybody tried not to laugh, and everybody failed. Even the Judge, +being a very good-tempered man, laughed too, and said: + +“O yes, Taylor on Evidence, Mr. Nimble.” + +At last the book, about the size of a London Directory, was handed up by +a tall man who was Mr. Nimble’s clerk. + +“Now, my lord, at page nineteen hundred and seventy-two your lordship +will find that when the credibility of a witness is attacked—” + +Judge: “That will be near the end of the book.” + +Mr. Nimble: “No, my lord, near the beginning.” + +“I shall not stop you,” said the learned Judge; “your question may be put +for what it is worth: but now, suppose in answer to your question she +says she is an ironer, what then?” + +“That’s what I am, my lordship,” said the woman, with an obsequious +curtsey. + +“There, now you have it,” said the Judge, “she is an ironer; stop, let me +take that down, ‘I am an ironer.’” + +The cross-examination continued, somewhat in an angry tone no doubt, and +amid frequent interruptions; but Mr. Nimble always thumped down the +ponderous Taylor upon any objection of the learned Judge, and crushed it +as though it were a butterfly. + +Next the policeman gave his evidence, and was duly cross-examined. Mr. +Nimble called no witnesses; there were none to call: but addressed the +jury in a forcible and eloquent speech, stigmatizing the charge as an +utterly preposterous one, and dealing with every fact in a +straightforward and manly manner. After he had finished, the jury would +undoubtedly have acquitted; but the learned Judge had to sum up, which in +this, as in many cases at Quarter Sessions, was no more a summing up than +counting ten on your fingers is a summing up. It was a desultory speech, +and if made by the counsel for the prosecution, would have been a most +unfair one for the Crown: totally ignoring the fact that human nature was +subject to frailties, and testimony liable to be tainted with perjury. +It made so great an impression upon me in my dream that I transcribed it +when I awoke; and this is the manner in which it dealt with the main +points:— + +“GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY, + +“This is a case of a very serious character (the nature of the offence +was then read from Roscoe), and I am bound to tell you that the evidence +is all one way: namely, on the side of the prosecution. There is not a +single affidavit to the contrary. Now what are the facts?” + +Mr. Nimble: “Would your lordship pardon me—whether they are facts or not +is for the jury.” + +“I am coming to that, Mr. Nimble; unless contradicted they are facts, or, +at least, if you believe them, gentlemen. If the evidence is +uncontradicted, what is the inference? The inference is for you, not for +me; I have simply to state the law: it is for you to find the facts. You +must exercise your common sense: if the prisoner could have contradicted +this evidence, is it reasonable to suppose he would not have done so with +so serious a charge hanging over his head?” + +“My lord, may I ask how could the prisoner have called evidence? there +was no one present.” + +“Mr. Nimble,” said his Lordship solemnly, “he might have shown he was +elsewhere.” + +“Yes, my lord; but the prisoner admits being present: he doesn’t set up +an _alibi_.” + +“Gentlemen, you hear what the learned counsel says: he admits that the +prisoner was present; that is corroborative of the story told by the +prosecutrix. Now, if you find a witness speaking truthfully about one +part of a transaction, what are you to infer with regard to the rest? +Gentlemen, the case is for you, and not for me: happily I have not to +find the facts: they are for you—and what are they? This woman, who is +an ironer, was going along a lonely lane, proceeding to her home, as she +states—and again I say there is no contradiction—and she meets this man; +he accosts her, and then, according to her account, assaults her, and in +a manner which I think leaves no doubt of his intention—but that is for +you. I say he assaults her, if you believe her story: of course, if you +do not believe her story, then in the absence of corroboration there +would be an end of the case. But is there an absence of corroboration? +What do we find, gentlemen? Now let me read to you the evidence of +Police Constable Swearhard. What does he say? ‘I was coming along the +Lover’s Lane at nine twenty-five, and I saw two persons, whom I +afterwards found to be the prosecutrix and the prisoner.’ ‘You will +mark that, gentlemen, the prisoner himself does not suggest an _alibi_, +that is to say, that he was elsewhere, when this event occurred. Then he +was upon the spot: and the policeman tells you—it is for you to say +whether you believe the policeman or not; there is no suggestion that he +is not a witness of truth—and he says that he heard a scream, and caught +the defendant in the act. Now, from whom did that scream proceed? Not +from the prisoner, for it was the scream of a woman. From whom then +could it proceed but from the prosecutrix? Now, in all cases of this +kind, one very material point has always been relied on by the Judges, +and that point is this: What was the conduct of the woman? Did she go +about her ordinary business as usual, or did she make a complaint? If +she made no complaint, or made it a long time after, it is some +evidence—not conclusive by any means—but it is some evidence against the +truth of her story. Let us test this case by that theory. What is the +evidence of the policeman? I will read his words: ‘The moment I got up,’ +he says, now mark that, gentlemen, ‘the woman complained of the conduct +of the prisoner: she screamed and threw herself in my arms and then +nearly fainted.’ Gentlemen, what does all that mean? You will say by +your verdict.” + +“Consider your verdict,” said the Clerk of Arraigns, and almost +immediately the Jury said: “Guilty of attempt.” + +“Call upon him,” said the Judge: and he was called upon accordingly, but +only said “the prosecutrix was a well-known bad woman.” + +Then the Judge said very solemnly:— + +“Prisoner at the bar, you have been convicted upon the clearest possible +evidence of this crime: what you say about the character of the +prosecutrix the more convinces me that you are a very bad man. You not +only assail the virtue of this woman, but, happily prevented in your +design, you endeavour to destroy it afterwards in this Court. No one who +has heard this case can doubt that you have been guilty of this very +grave offence; and in my judgment that offence is aggravated by the fact +that you committed it against her will and without her consent. The +sentence is that you be sent to prison for eighteen calendar months.” + +“Rather warm,” said Mr. O’Rapley. + +“Never heeard such a thing in my life,” said Master Bumpkin, “she wur a +consentin’ party if ever there wur one.” + +“But that makes no difference now-a-days,” said Mr. O’Rapley. “Chancery +Judges studies the equity of the thing more. But perhaps, Mr. Bumpkin, +you don’t know what that means?” + +“No,” said Bumpkin, “I doan’t.” + +“You must be quiet,” said Mr. O’Rapley; “recollect you are in a Court of +Justice.” + +“Be I! It ’ud take moore un thic case to make I believe it; but lookee +here: I be hanged if there ain’t that Snooks feller down along there.” + +“Who?” enquired O’Rapley. + +“That there feller,” said Bumpkin, “be sure to find his way where there’s +anything gooin on o’ this ere natur.” + +Next an undefended prisoner was placed on trial, and as he was supposed +to know all the law of England, he was treated as if he did. + +“You can’t put that question, you know,” said the learned Judge; “and now +you are making a statement; it is not time to make your statement yet; +you will have ample opportunity by-and-by in your speech to the jury.” +And afterwards, when the Judge was summing up, the unhappy prisoner +called his lordship’s attention to a mistake; but he was told that he had +had his turn and had made his speech to the jury, and must not now +interrupt the Court. So he had to be quite silent until he was +convicted. Then the two companions went into another court, where a very +stern-looking Common Law Judge was trying a ferocious-looking prisoner. +And Mr. O’Rapley was delighted to explain that now his friend would see +the difference. They had entered the court just as the learned Judge had +begun to address the jury; and very careful his lordship was to explain +(not in technical language), but in homely, common-place and common-sense +English, the nature of the crime with which the prisoner was charged. He +was very careful in explaining this, for fear the jury should improperly +come to the conclusion that, because they might believe the prisoner had +in fact committed the act, he must necessarily be guilty. And they were +told that the act was in that case only one element of the crime, and +that they must ascertain whether there was the guilty intent or no. Now +this old Mr. Justice Common Sense, I thought, was very well worth +listening to, and I heartily wished Mr. Justice Technical from the Old +Court had been there to take a lesson; and I take the liberty of setting +down what I heard in my dream for the benefit of future Justices +Technical. + +His lordship directed the jury’s attention to the evidence, which he +carefully avoided calling facts: not to the verbatim report of it on his +note-book as some Recorders do, and think when they are reading it over +they are summing it up; but pointing out statements which, if believed, +become facts and if facts, lead to certain _inferences_ of guilt or +innocence. + +It was while the learned Mr. Justice Common Sense was thus engaged, that +the warder in the dock suddenly checked the prisoner with these words: + +“You mustn’t interrupt.” + +“Why may he not interrupt?” asks Mr. Justice Common Sense. “What do you +want to say, prisoner?” + +“My lord,” answered the prisoner, “I wanted to say as how that there +witness as your lordship speaks on didn’t say as he seen me there.” + +“O, didn’t he?” said the Judge. “I thought he did—now let us see,” +turning over his notes. “No, you are quite right, prisoner, he did not +see you at the spot but immediately after.” + +Then his lordship proceeded until there was another interruption of the +same character, and the foolish warder again told the prisoner to be +quiet. This brought down Mr. Justice Common Sense with a vengeance: + +“Warder! how dare you stop the prisoner? he is on his trial and is +undefended. Who is to check me if I am misstating the evidence if he +does not? If you dare to speak like that to him again I will commit you. +Prisoner, interrupt me as often as you think I am not correctly stating +the evidence.” + +“Thankee, my lord.” + +“That be the sort o’ Judge for me,” said Bumpkin; “but I’ve ’ad enough on +it, Maister O’Rapley, so if you please, I’ll get back t’ the ‘Goose.’ +Why didn’t that air Judge try t’other case, I wonder?” + +“Because,” replied the Don, “the new system is to work the ‘Round +Square’.” + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +Mr. Bumpkin’s experience of London life, enlarged. + +On leaving the Old Bailey the two friends proceeded to a neighbouring +public-house and partook of some light refreshment at the counter. Now +Mr. Bumpkin had never yet examined the viands displayed on a counter. +His idea of refreshment, when from home, had always been a huge round of +beef smoking at one end of the table and a large leg of mutton smoking at +the other, with sundry dishes of similar pretensions between, and an +immense quantity of vegetables. When, therefore he saw some +stale-looking sandwiches under the ordinary glass cover, he exclaimed: +“Wittals must be mighty scarce to clap ’em under a glass case.” + +“It’s to keep the flies off;” said his companion. + +“They need well keep un off, for there bean’t enough for a couple if they +was ony wise ongry like.” + +However, our friends made the best of what there was, and Mr. O’Rapley, +wishing success to his companion, enquired who was to be his counsel. + +“I doan’t rightly know, but I’ll warrant Mr. Prigg’ll have a good un—he +knows what he be about; and all I hopes is, he’ll rattle it into that +there Snooks, for if ever there wur a bad un it be him.” + +“He looks a bad un,” replied O’Rapley. “When do you think the case is +likely to come on?” + +“Well, it is supposed as it ull be on to-morrer; but I bleeve there’s no +sartinty about thic. Now then, just give us a little moore, will ’ee +sir?” (this to the waiter). + +“I’ll pay for the next,” said O’Rapley, feeling in his pocket. + +“Noa, noa, I’ll pay; and thankee, sir, for comin’.” + +And then O’Rapley drank his friend’s health again, and wished further +success to the case, and hoped Mr. Bumpkin would be sure to come to him +when he was at Westminster; and expressed himself desirous to assist his +friend in every way that lay in his power—declaring that he really must +be going for he didn’t know what would happen if the Judge should find he +was away; and was not at all certain it would not lead to some officious +member of the House of Commons asking a question of the Prime Minister +about it. + +Mr. Bumpkin drank his good health, again and again, declaring he was +“mighty proud to have met with un;” and that when the case was over and +he had returned to his farm, he should be pleased if Mr. O’Rapley would +come down and spend a few days with him. “Nancy,” he said, “’ll be rare +and pleased to see thee. I got as nice a little farm as any in the +county, and as pooty pigs as thee ever clapped eyes on.” + +Mr. O’Rapley, without being too condescending, expressed himself highly +gratified with making Mr. Bumpkin’s acquaintance, and observed that the +finest pigs ever he saw were those of the Lord Chief Justice. + +“Dade, sir, now what sort be they?” Mr. O’Rapley was not learned in +pigs, and not knowing the name of any breed whatever, was at a loss how +to describe them. Mr. Bumpkin came to his assistance. + +“Be they smooth like and slim?” + +“Yes,” said the Don. + +“Hardly any hair?” + +“Scarce a bit.” + +“They be Chichesters then—the werry best breed as a man ever had in his +stye.” + +“I never see anything so pretty,” replied Mr. O’Rapley. + +“Ah! and they be the smallest-boned pigs as ever could be—they bean’t got +a bone bigger nor your little finger.” + +“Ha!” said the Don, finishing his glass, “the smaller the bone the more +the meat, that’s what I always say; and the Lord Chief Justice don’t care +for bone, he likes meat.” + +“An’ so do I—the Lud Judge be right, and if he tries my case he’ll know +the difference betwixt thic pig as Snooks tooked away and one o’ them +there—” + +“Jackass-looking pigs,” said O’Rapley, seeing that his friend paused. “I +hate them jackass pigs.” + +“So do I—they never puts on fat.” + +“I must go, really,” said O’Rapley. “What do you make the right time?” + +Master Bumpkin pulled out his watch with great effort, and said it was +just a quarter past four by Yokelton time. + +“Here’s your good health again, Mr. Bumpkin.” + +“And yours, sir; and now I think on it, if it’s a fair question Mr. +O’Rapley, and I med ax un wirout contempt, when do you think this ’ere +case o’ mine be likely to come on, for you ought to know summut about +un?” + +“Ha!” said the Don, partially closing one eye, and looking profoundly +into the glass as though he were divining the future, “law, sir, is a +mystery and judges is a mystery; masters is a mystery and ’sociates is a +mystery; ushers is a mystery and counsel is a mystery;—the whole of life +(here he tipped the contents of the glass down his throat) is a mystery.” + +“So it be,” said Mr. Bumpkin, drawing the back of his hand across his +mouth. “So it be sir, but do ’ee think—” + +“Well, really,” answered the Don, “I should say in about a couple of +years if you ask me.” + +“How the h—” + +“Excuse me, Master Bumpkin, but contempt follers us like a shadder: if +you had said that to a Judge it would have been a year at least: it’s +three months as it is if I liked to go on with the case; but I’m not a +wicious man, I hope.” + +“I didn’t mean no offence,” said the farmer. + +“No, no, I dare say not; but still there is a way of doing things. Now +if you had said to me, ‘Mr. O’Rapley, you are a gentleman moving in +judicial circles, and are probably acquainted with the windings of the,’ +&c. &c. &c. ‘Can you inform me why my case is being so unduly +prolonged?’ Now if you had put your question in that form I should in +all probability have answered: ‘I do not see that it is unduly prolonged, +Master Bumpkin—you must have patience. Judges are but human and it’s a +wonder to me they are as much as that, seein’ what they have to go +through.’” + +“But if there be a Court why can’t us get in and try un, Mr. Rapley?” + +“Ah, now that is putting it pointedly;” and O’Rapley closed one eye and +looked into his tumbler with the other before he answered: + +“You see this is how it goes under the continerous sittings—off and on we +sits continerously at Nisy Prisy in London three months in the year. Now +that ain’t bad for London: but it’s nothing near so much time as they +gives to places like Aylesbury, Bedford, and many others.” + +Mr. Bumpkin looked like a terrier dog watching a hole out of which he +expected a rat: at present he saw no sign of one. + +“Take Aylesbury; well now, if a Judge went there once in seven years he’d +find about every other assize enough work to last him till lunch. But in +course two Judges must go to Aylesbury four times a year, to do nothing +but admire the building where the Courts are held; otherwise you’d soon +have Aylesbury marching on to London to know the reason why. P’r’aps the +Judges have left five hundred cases untried in London to go to this +Aylesbury.” + +“Be it a big plaace, sir?” + +“Not so big as a good-sized hotel,” said the Don. “Then,” he continued, +“there’s Bedford ditto again—septennel would do for that; then comes +Northampton—they don’t want no law there at all.” (I leave the obvious +pun to anyone who likes to make it). “Then Okeham again—did you ever +hear of anyone who came from Okeham? I never did.” + +The Don paused, as though on the answer to this question depended his +future course. + +“Noa,” said Bumpkin, “can’t rightly say as ever I did.” + +“And nobody ever did come from there except the Judges. Well, to Okeham +they go four times a year, whereas if they was to go about once in every +hundred years it wouldn’t pay. Why raly, Mr. Bumpkin, the Judges goes +round like travellers arfter orders, and can’t get none. I’m not +talkin’, as you are aware, about great centres like Liverpool, where if +they had about fifty-two assizes in the year it wouldn’t be one too many; +but I’m talking about circumfrences on the confines of civilization.” + +“Oh dear!” sighed Bumpkin. The hole seemed to him too choked up with +“larnin’” for the rat ever to come out—he could glean nothing from this +highly wrought and highly polished enthusiasm. + +“And, notwithstanding and accordingly,” continued the Don, “they do say, +goodness knows how true it is, that they’re going to have two more +assizes in the year. All that I can say is, Mr. Bumpkin—and, mark my +words, there’ll be no stopping in London at all, but it will be just a +reg’ler Judge’s merry-go-round.” {138} + +Mr. Bumpkin dropped a look into his glass, and the two companions came +out of the door and proceeded along under the archway until they came to +the corner of Bridge Street, Blackfriars. Exactly at that point a young +woman with a baby in her arms came in contact with Mr. Bumpkin, and in a +very angry tone said,— + +“I tell you what it is, don’t you take them liberties with me or I’ll +give you in charge.” + +And the young woman passed on with her baby. Just at that moment, and +while Master Bumpkin was meditating on this strange conduct of the young +female, he felt a smart tug at his watch, and, looking down, saw the +broken chain hanging from his pocket. + +“Zounds!” he exclaimed, “I never zeed anything claner than thic; did thee +zee thic feller?” + +“There he goes,” said O’Rapley. + +“There ur gooes,” said Mr. Bumpkin, and, as fast as he could, pursued the +thief. + +“Stop un!” he cried. “Stop thic there thief; he got my watch.” + +But it was a long time before Master Bumpkin’s mandate was obeyed; the +value of a policeman, like that of every other commodity, depends upon +his rarity. There was no policeman to be found. There was a fire escape +in the middle of the street, but that was of no use to Master Bumpkin. +Away went thief, and away went Bumpkin, who could “foot it,” as he said, +“pooty well, old as he wur.” Nor did either the thief or himself stop +until they got nearly to the bridge, when, to Bumpkin’s great +astonishment, up came the thief, walking coolly towards him. This was +another mystery, in addition to those mentioned by Mr. O’Rapley. But the +fact was, that the hue and cry was now raised, and although Master +Bumpkin did not perceive it, about a hundred people, men, women, and +boys, were in full chase; and when that gentleman was, as Bumpkin +thought, coolly coming towards him, he was simply at bay, run down, +without hope of escape; and fully determined to face the matter out with +all the coolness he could command. + +“Take un,” said Bumpkin; “take un oop; thee dam scoundrel!” + +“Take care what you’re saying,” said the thief. “I’m a respectable man, +and there’s law in the land.” + +“Yes, and thee shall have un, too, thee willin; thee stole my watch, thee +knows that.” + +“You’re a liar,” said the captive. + +“Why thee’s got un on, dang if thee bean’t, and a wearin’ on un. Well, +this bates all; take un oop, pleeceman.” + +At this moment, which is always the nick of time chosen by the force, +that is to say, when everything is done except the handcuffs, a policeman +with a great deal of authority in his appearance came up, and plunged his +hands under his heavy coat-tails, as though he were about to deliver them +of the bower anchor of a ship. + +“Do you give him in charge?” + +“Sure enough do ur,” said Mr. Bumpkin. + +So the handcuffs were put on, and the stalwart policeman, like a hero +with the captive of his bow and spear, marched him along at a great rate, +Bumpkin striding out manfully at the side, amid a great crowd of small +boys, with all their heads turned towards the prisoner as they ran, in +the highest state of delight and excitement. Even Bumpkin looked as if +he had made a good thing of it, and seemed as pleased as the boys. + +As they came again to the corner of Ludgate Hill, there stood Mr. +O’Rapley, looking very pompous and dignified, as became so great a man. + +“You’ve got him then,” said he. + +“Ay; come on, Master Rapley, come on.” + +“One moment,” said the official; “I must here leave you for the present, +Mr. Bumpkin; we are not allowed to give evidence in Criminal Courts any +more than Her Majesty’s Judges themselves; we are a part of the Court. +But, besides all that, I did not see what happened; what was it?” + +“Well,” said Mr. Bumpkin, “that be rum too, sir; thee see thic feller +steal my watch, surely.” + +“Indeed, Mr. Bumpkin, it was so quickly done that I really did _not_ see +it, if you ask me.” + +“Why, he dragged un out o’ thic pocket.” + +“No doubt, Master Bumpkin; but it does not follow that I see it.” + +“Thee can come and say I wur with thee, anyhow.” + +“I can’t give evidence, Mr. Bumpkin, as I told you before; and, besides, +I must not appear in this matter at all. You know I was absent to oblige +you, and it’s possible I may be of some further service to you yet; but +please don’t mention me in this matter. I assure you it will do harm, +and perhaps I should lose my place.” + +“Well, Master Rapley,” said Bumpkin, taking his hand, “I won’t do thee no +harm if I knows it, and there be plenty of evidence.” + +“Evidence! You say you found the watch upon him?” + +“Sartinly.” + +“The case then is clear. You don’t want any evidence besides that.” + +“Well, sir, you’re a man o’ larnin’. I bean’t much of a scollard, I’ll +tak’ thy advice; but I must get along; they be waitin’ for I.” + +“I will see you at Westminster to-morrow, Mr. Bumpkin.” + +“All right, zir, all right.” + +And with that Mr. O’Rapley proceeded on his way down Fleet Street, and +Mr. Bumpkin proceeded on his up Ludgate Hill in the midst of an excited +crowd. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +The coarse mode of procedure in Ahab _v._ Naboth ruthlessly exposed and +carefully contrasted with the humane and enlightened form of the present +day. + +Here I awoke, and my wife said unto me, “Dear, you have been dreaming and +talking in your sleep.” + +Now fearing for what I may have said, although of a tolerably clear +conscience, I enquired if she could tell me what words I had uttered. +She replied that I had mentioned the names of many eminent men: such as +Mr. Justice Common Sense. + +“Indeed,” quoth I; and then I told my dream. Upon which she observed, +that it seemed there must be much exaggeration. To this I made answer +that dreams do generally magnify events, and impress them more vividly +upon the senses, inasmuch as the imagination was like a microscope: it +enabled you to see many things which would escape the naked eye. + +“But,” said my partner, “if they are distorted?” + +“If they are distorted, they are not reliable; but a clear imagination, +like a good lens, faithfully presents its objects, although in a larger +form, in order that those who have no time for scientific observation, +may see what the scientist desires to direct their attention to. There +are creatures almost invisible to the naked eye, which, nevertheless, +cause great irritation to the nerves. So, also, there are matters +affecting the body corporate of these kingdoms which the public are blind +to and suffer from, but which, if thoroughly exposed, they may be +inclined to take a hand in removing.” + +“I don’t believe that Mr. O’Rapley,” said she: “he seems a cantankerous, +conceited fellow.” + +“Why so he is; but cantankerous and conceited fellows sometimes speak the +truth. They’re like those cobwebbed, unwholesome-looking bottles which +have lain a long time in cellars. You would hardly like to come in +contact with them, and yet they often contain a clear and beautiful wine. +This Mr. O’Rapley is a worthy man who knows a great deal, and although a +bit of a toady to his superiors, expresses his opinions pretty freely +behind their backs.” + +“And what of this Master Bumpkin—this worthy Master Bumpkin I hear you +speak of so often?” + +“A very shrewd man in some respects and a silly one in others.” + +“Not an unusual combination.” + +“By no means.” + +And then I told her what I have already related; to which she observed it +was a pity some friend had not interposed and stopped the business. I +answered, that friends were no doubt useful, but friends or no friends we +must have law, and whether for sixpence or a shilling it ought to be +readily attainable: that no one would be satisfied with having no other +authority than that of friendship to settle our disputes; and besides +that, friends themselves sometimes fell out and were generally the most +hard to reconcile without an appeal to our tribunals. + +“Well, it does seem a pity,” said she, “that judges cannot sit as they +did in Moses’ time at all seasons so as to decide expeditiously and +promptly between the claims of parties.” + +“Why so they do sit ‘continuously,’” quoth I, “but the whole difficulty +consists in getting at them. What is called procedure is so circuitous +and perplexing, that long before you get to your journey’s end you may +faint by the way.” + +“Is there no one with good sense who will take this matter up and help +this poor man to come by his rights. It must be very expensive for him +to be kept away from his business so long, and his poor wife left all +alone to manage the farm.” + +“Why, so it is, but then going to law, which means seeking to maintain +your rights, is a very expensive thing: a luxury fit only for rich men.” + +“Why then do people in moderate circumstances indulge in it?” + +“Because they are obliged to defend themselves against oppressive and +unjust demands; although I think, under the present system, if a man had +a small estate, say a few acres, and a rich man laid claim to it, it +would be far better for the small man to give up the land without any +bother.” + +“But no man of spirit would do that?” + +“No, that is exactly where it is, it’s the spirit of resistance that +comes in.” + +“Resistance! a man would be a coward to yield without a fight.” + +“Why so he would, and that is what makes law such a beautiful science, +and its administration so costly. Men will fight to the last rather than +give in. If Naboth had lived in these times there would have been no +need of his death in order to oust him from his vineyard. Ahab could +have done a much more sensible thing and walked in by process of law.” + +“In what way?” + +“In the first place he could have laid claim to a right of way, or +easement as it is called, of some sort: or could have alleged that Naboth +had encroached on his land by means of a fence or drain or ditch.” + +“Well, but if he hadn’t?” + +“If he hadn’t, so much the better for the Plaintiff, and so much the +worse for Naboth.” + +“I don’t understand; if Naboth had done no wrong, surely it would be far +better for him than if he had.” + +“Not in the long run, my dear: and for this reason, if he had encroached +it would have taken very little trouble to ascertain the fact, and Naboth +being a just and honest man, would only require to have it pointed out to +him to remedy the evil. Maps and plans of the estate would doubtless +have shown him his mistake, and, like a wise man, he would have avoided +going to law.” + +“I see clearly that the good man would have said, ‘Neighbour Ahab, we +have been on neighbourly terms for a long lime, and I do not wish in any +way to alter that excellent feeling which has always subsisted between +us. I see clearly by these maps and plans which worthy Master Metefield +hath shown me that my hedge hath encroached some six inches upon thy +domain, wherefore, Neighbour Ahab, take, I pray thee, as much of the land +as belongeth unto thee, according to just admeasurement.” + +“Why certainly, so would the honest Naboth have communed with Ahab, and +there would have been an end of the business.” + +“But show me, darling, how being in the wrong was better for good Naboth +than being in the right in this business?” + +“Most willingly,” said I; “you see, my dear, there was quickly an end of +the matter by Naboth yielding to the just demands of neighbour Ahab. But +now let us suppose honest Naboth in the right concerning his vineyard, +and neighbour Ahab to be making an unjust demand. You have already most +justly observed that in that case it would be cowardly on the part of +Naboth to yield without a struggle?” + +“Assuredly.” + +“Well then, that means a lawsuit.” + +“But surely,” said my wife, “it ought to be soon seen who is in the +wrong. Where is Master Metefield who you said just now was so accurate a +surveyor, and where are those plans you spoke of which showed the +situation of the estates?” + +“Ah, my dear, I see you know very little of the intricacies of the law; +that good Master Metefield, instead of being a kind of judge to determine +quickly as he did for Master Naboth what were the boundaries of the +vineyard, hath not now so easy a task of it, because Ahab being in the +wrong he is not accepted by him as his judge.” + +“But if the plans are correct, how can he alter them?” + +“He cannot alter them, but the question of correctness of boundary as +shown, is matter of disputation, and will have to be discussed by +surveyors on both sides, and supported and disputed by witnesses +innumerable on both sides: old men coming up with ancient memories, +hedgers and ditchers, farmers and bailiffs and people of all sorts and +conditions, to prove and disprove where the boundary line really divides +Neighbour Naboth’s vineyard from Neighbour Ahab’s park.” + +“But surely Naboth will win?” + +“All that depends upon a variety of things, such as, first, the +witnesses; secondly, the counsel; thirdly, the judge; fourthly, the +jury,” + +“O,” said my wife, “pray don’t go on to a fifthly—it seems to me poor +Naboth is like to have a sorry time of it before he establish his +boundary line.” + +“Ay, if he ever do so: but he first is got into the hands of his Lawyers, +next into the hands of his Counsel, thirdly, into Chancery, fourthly, +into debt—” + +“Pray, do not let us have a fifthly here either; I like not these +thirdlys and fourthlys, for they seem to bring poor Naboth into bad case; +but what said you about debt?” + +“I say that Naboth, not being a wealthy man, but, as I take it, somewhat +in the position of neighbour Bumpkin, will soon be forced to part with a +good deal of his little property in order to carry on the action.” + +“But will not the action be tried in a reasonable time, say a week or +two?” + +“I perceive,” cried I, “that you are yet in the very springtide and +babyhood of innocence in these matters. There must be summonses for time +and for further time; there must be particulars and interrogatories and +discoveries and inspections and strikings out and puttings in and appeals +and demurrers and references and—” + +“O, please don’t. I perceive that poor Naboth is already ruined a long +way back. I think when you came to the interrogatories he was in want of +funds to carry on the action.” + +“A Chancery action sometimes takes years,” said I. + +“Years! then shame to our Parliament.” + +“I pray you do not take on so,” said I. “Naboth, according to the decree +of Fate, is to be ruined. Jezebel did it in a wicked, clumsy and brutal +manner. Anyone could see she was wrong, and her name has been handed +down to us with infamy and execration. I now desire to show how Ahab +could have accomplished his purpose in a gentle, manly and scientific +manner and saved his wife’s reputation. Naboth’s action, carried as it +would be from Court to Court upon every possible point upon which an +appeal can go, under our present system, would effectually ruin him ages +before the boundary line could be settled. It would be all swallowed up +in costs.” + +“Poor Naboth!” said my wife. + +“And,” continued I, “the law reports would hand down the _cause celebre_ +of _Ahab_ v. _Naboth_ as a most interesting leading case upon the subject +of goodness knows what: perhaps as to whether a man, under certain +circumstances, may not alter his neighbour’s landmark in spite of the +statute law of Moses.” + +“And so you think poor Naboth would be sold up?” + +“That were about the only certain event in his case, except that Ahab +would take possession and so put an end for ever to the question as to +where the boundary line should run.” + +Here again I dozed. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +Shewing that lay tribunals are not exactly Punch and Judy shows where the +puppet is moved by the man underneath. + +It was particularly fortunate for Mr. Bumpkin that his case was not in +the list of causes to be tried on the following day. It may seem a +curious circumstance to the general reader that a great case like +_Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_, involving so much expense of time, trouble, and +money should be in the list one day and out the next; should be sometimes +in the list of one Court and sometimes in the list of another; flying +about like a butterfly from flower to flower and caught by no one on the +look-out for it. But this is not a phenomenon in our method of +procedure, which startles you from time to time with its miraculous +effects. You can calculate upon nothing in the system but its +uncertainty. Most gentle and innocent reader, I saw that there was no +Nisi Prius Court to sit on the following day, so _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_ +could not be taken, list or no list. The lucky Plaintiff therefore found +himself at liberty to appear before that August Tribunal which sits at +the Mansion House in the City of London. A palatial and imposing +building it was on the outside, but within, so far as was apparent to me, +it was a narrow ill ventilated den, full of all unclean people and +unpleasant smells. I say full of unclean people, but I allude merely to +that portion of it which was appropriated to the British Public; for, +exalted on a high bench and in a huge and ponderous chair or throne sat +the Prince of Citizens and the King of the Corporation, proud in his +dignity, grand in his commercial position, and highly esteemed in the +opinion of the world. There he sat, the representative of the Criminal +Law, and impartial, as all will allow, in its administration. Wonderful +being is my Lord Mayor, thought I, he must have the Law at his fingers’ +ends. Yes, there it is sitting under him in the shape and person of his +truly respectable clerk. The Common Law resides in the breasts of the +Judges, but it is here at my Lord Mayor’s fingers’ ends. He has to deal +with gigantic commercial frauds; with petty swindlers, common thieves; +mighty combinations of conspirators; with extradition laws; with +elaborate bankruptcy delinquencies; with the niceties of the criminal law +in every form and shape. Surely, thought I, he should be one of those +tremendous geniuses who can learn the criminal law before breakfast, or +at least before dinner! So he was. His lordship seemed to have learned +it one morning before he was awake. But it is not for me to criticise +tribunals or men: I have the simple duty to perform of relating the story +of the renowned Mr. Bumpkin. + +After the night charges are disposed of up comes the man through the +floor, not Mr. Bumpkin, but Mr. Bumpkin’s prisoner. He comes up through +the floor like the imp in the pantomime: and then the two tall warders +prevent his going any farther. + +He was a pale, intelligent looking creature, fairly dressed in frock +coat, dark waistcoat and grey trousers, with a glove on his left hand and +another in his right; looked meekly and modestly round, and then politely +bowed to the Lord Mayor. The charge was then read to him and with a +smile he indignantly repudiated the idea of theft. + +And I saw in my dream that he was represented by a learned Counsel, who +at this moment entered the Court, shook hands with the Lord Mayor, and +saying, “I appear, my lord, for the prisoner,” took his seat upon the +bench, and entered for a minute or so into some private and apparently +jocular conversation with his Lordship. + +The name of the learned Counsel was Mr. Nimble, whom we have before seen. +He was a very goodly-shaped man, with a thin face and brown hair. His +eyes were bright, and always seemed to look into a witness rather than at +him. His manner was jaunty, good-natured, easy, and gay; not remarkable +for courtesy, but at the same time, not unpleasantly rude. I thought the +learned Counsel could be disagreeable if he liked, but might be a very +pleasant, sociable fellow to spend an hour with—not in the witness-box. + +He was certainly a skilful and far-seeing Counsel, if I may make so bold +as to judge from this case. And methought that nothing he did or said +was said or done without a purpose. Nor could I help thinking that a +good many Counsel, young and old, if their minds were free from +prejudice, might learn many lessons from this case. It is with this +object that, in my waking moments, I record the impressions of this +dream. I do not say Mr. Nimble was an example to follow on all points, +for he had that common failing of humanity, a want of absolute +perfection. But he was as near to perfection in defending a prisoner as +any man I ever saw, and the proceedings in this very case, if carefully +analysed, will go a long way towards proving that assertion. + +After the interchange of courtesies between his Lordship and Mr. Nimble, +the learned Counsel looked down from the Bench on to the top of Mr. +Keepimstraight’s bald head and nodded as if he were patting it. Mr. +Keepimstraight was the Lord Mayor’s Clerk. He was very stout and seemed +puffed up with law: had an immense regard for himself and consequently +very little for anybody else: but that, so far as I have been able to +ascertain, is a somewhat common failing among official personages. He +ordered everybody about except the Lord Mayor, and him he seemed to push +about as though he were wheeling him in a legal Bath-chair. His Lordship +was indeed a great invalid in respect to matters of law; I think he had +overdone it, if I may use the expression; his study must have been +tremendous to have acquired a knowledge of the laws of England in so +short a time. But being somewhat feeble, and in his modesty much +misdoubting his own judgment, he did nothing and said nothing, except it +was prescribed by his physician, Dr. Keepimstraight. Even the solicitors +stood in awe of Dr. Keepimstraight. + +And now we are all going to begin—Walk up! + +The intelligent and decent-looking prisoner having been told what the +charge against him was, namely, Highway Robbery with violence, declares +that he is as “innercent as the unborn babe, your lordship:” and then Mr. +Keepimstraight asks, where the Prosecutor is—“Prosecutor!” shout a dozen +voices at once—all round, everywhere is the cry of “Prosecutor!” There +was no answer, but in the midst of the unsavoury crowd there was seen to +be a severe scuffle—whether it was a fight or a man in a fit could not be +ascertained for some time; at length Mr. Bumpkin was observed struggling +and tearing to escape from the throng. + +“Why don’t you come when you are called?” asks the Junior Clerk, handing +him the Testament, as Mr. Bumpkin stood revealed in the witness-box. + +And I saw that he was dressed in a light frock, not unlike a pinafore, +which was tastefully wrought with divers patterns of needlework on the +front and back thereof; at the openings thus embroidered could be seen a +waistcoat of many stripes, that crossed and recrossed one another at +various angles and were formed of several colours. He wore a high calico +shirt collar, which on either side came close under the ear; and round +his neck a red handkerchief with yellow ends. His linen certainly did +credit to Mrs. Bumpkin’s love of “tidiness,” and altogether the +prosecutor wore a clean and respectable appearance. His face was broad, +round and red, indicating a jovial disposition and a temperament not +easily disturbed, except when “whate” was down too low to sell and he +wanted to buy stock or pay the rent: a state of circumstances which I +believe has sometimes happened of late years. A white short-clipped +beard covered his chin, while his cheeks were closely shaven. He had +twinkling oval eyes, which I should say, he invariably half-closed when +he was making a bargain. If you offered less than his price the first +refusal would come from them. His nose was inexpressive and appeared to +have been a dormant feature for many a year. It said nothing for or +against any thing or any body, and from its tip sprouted a few white +hairs. His mouth, without utterance, said plainly enough that he owed +“nobody nothink” and was a thousand pound man every morning he rose. It +was a mouth of good bore, and not by any means intended for a silver +spoon. + +Such was the Prosecutor as he stood in the witness-box at the Mansion +House on this memorable occasion; and no one could doubt that truth and +justice would prevail. + +“Name?” said Mr. Keepimstraight. + +“Bumpkin.” + +Down it goes. + +“Where?” + +After a pause, which Mr. Nimble makes a note of. + +“Where?” repeats Keepimstraight. + +“Westminister.” + +“Where there?” + +“‘Goose’ publichouse.” + +Down it goes. + +“Yes?” says Keepimstraight. + +Bumpkin stares. + +“Yes, go on,” says the clerk. + +“Go on,” says the crier; “go on,” say half-a-dozen voices all round. + +“Can’t you go on?” says the clerk. + +“Tell your story,” says his Lordship, putting his arms on the elbows of +the huge chair. “Tell it in your own way, my man.” + +“I wur gwine down thic place when—” “my man” began. + +“What time was this?” asks the clerk. + +“Arf arter four, as near as I can tell.” + +“How do you know?” asks the clerk. + +“I heard—” + +“I object,” says the Counsel—“can’t tell us what he heard.” + +Then I perceived that the Lord Mayor leant forward towards Mr. +Keepimstraight, and the latter gentleman turned his head and leaned +towards the Lord Mayor, so that his Lordship could obtain a full view of +Mr. Keepimstraight’s eyes. + +Then I perceived that Mr. Keepimstraight winked his left eye and +immediately turned to his work again, and his Lordship said: + +“I don’t think what you heard, witness, is evidence.” + +“Can’t have that,” said Mr. Keepimstraight, as though he took his +instructions and the Law from his Lordship. + +“You said it was half-past four.” + +“Heard the clock strike th’ arf hour.” + +Here his Lordship leant again forward and Mr. Keepimstraight turned round +so as to bring his eyes into the same position as heretofore. And I +perceived that Mr. Keepimstraight winked his right eye, upon which his +Lordship said: + +“I think that’s evidence.” + +Clerk whispered, behind his hand, “Can hardly exclude that.” + +“Can hardly exclude that,” repeats his Lordship; then—turning to the +Learned Counsel—“Can’t shut that out, Mr. Nimble.” + +“You seldom can shut a church clock out, my Lord,” replies the Counsel. + +At this answer his Lordship smiled and the Court was convulsed with +laughter for several minutes. + +“Now, then,” said Mr. Keepimstraight, “we must have order in Court.” + +“We must have order in Court,” says his Lordship. + +“Order in Court,” says the Junior Clerk, and “Order!” shouts the +Policeman on duty. + +Then Mr. Bumpkin stated in clear and intelligible language how the man +came up and took his watch and ran away. Foolishly enough he said +nothing about the woman with the baby, and wisely enough Mr. Nimble asked +nothing about it. But what an opportunity this would have been for an +unskilful Counsel to lay the foundation for a conviction. Knowing, as he +probably would from the prisoner but from no other possible source about +the circumstance, he might have shown by a question or two that it was a +conspiracy between the prisoner and the young woman. Not so Mr. Nimble, +he knew how to make an investment of this circumstance for future profit: +indeed Mr. Bumpkin had invested it for him by not mentioning it. +Beautiful is Advocacy if you do not mar it by unskilful handling. + +When, after describing the robbery, the prosecutor continued: + +“I ses to my companion, ses I—” + +“I object,” says Mr. Nimble. + +And I perceived that his Lordship leant forward once more towards Mr. +Keepimstraight, and Mr. Keepimstraight turned as aforetime towards the +Lord Mayor, but not quite, I thought, so fully round as heretofore; the +motion seemed to be performed with less exactness than usual, and that +probably was why the operation miscarried. Mr. Keepimstraight having +given the correct signal, as he thought, and the Enginedriver on the +Bench having misunderstood it, an accident naturally would have taken +place but for the extreme caution and care of his Lordship, who, if he +had been a young Enginedriver, would in all probability have dashed on +neck or nothing through every obstacle. Not so his Lordship. Not being +sure whether he was on the up or down line, he pulled up. + +Mr. Keepimstraight sat pen in hand looking at his paper, and waiting for +the judicial voice which should convey to his ear the announcement that +“I ses, ses I,” is evidence or no evidence. Judge then of Mr. +Keepimstraight’s disappointment when, after waiting in breathless silence +for some five minutes, he at last looks up and sees his Lordship in deep +anxiety to catch his eye without the public observing it. His Lordship +leant forward, blushing with innocence, and whispered something behind +his hand to Mr. Keepimstraight. And in my dream I heard his Lordship +ask: + +“_Which eye_?” + +To which Mr. Keepimstraight as coolly as if nothing had happened, +whispered behind his hand: + +“_Left_!” and then coughed. + +“O then,” exclaimed his Lordship, “it is clearly not evidence.” + +“It’s not evidence,” repeated the clerk; and then to the discomfiture of +Mr. Nimble, he went on, “You say you had a companion.” + +This was more than the learned Counsel wanted, seeing as he did that +there was another investment to be made if he could only manage it. + +Mr. Bumpkin blushed now, but said nothing. + +“Would you excuse me,” said Mr. Nimble; “I shall not cross-examine this +witness.” + +“O, very good,” says Keepimstraight, thinking probably it was to be a +plea of guilty hereafter; “very good. Then I think that is all—is that +the watch?” + +“It be,” said the witness; “I ken swear to un.” + +It certainly would be from no want of metal if Mr. Bumpkin could not +identify the timepiece, for it was a ponderous-looking watch, nearly as +large as a tea-saucer. + +Then said Mr. Nimble: + +“You say that is your watch, do you?” + +“It spakes for itself.” + +“I don’t think that’s evidence,” says Mr. Keepimstraight, with a smile. + +“That’s clearly not evidence,” says the Lord Mayor, gravely. Whereupon +there was another burst of laughter, in which the clerk seemed to take +the lead. The remarkable fact, however, was, that his Lordship was +perfectly at a loss to comprehend the joke. He was “as grave as a +Judge.” + +After the laughter had subsided, the learned Keepimstraight leaned +backward, and the learned Lord Mayor leaned forward, and it seemed to me +they were conversing together about the cause of the laughter; for +suddenly a smile illuminated the rubicund face of the cheery Lord Mayor, +and at last he had a laugh to himself—a solo, after the band had ceased. +And then his Lordship spoke: + +“What your watch may say is not evidence, because it has not been sworn.” + +Then the band struck up again to a lively tune, his Lordship playing the +first Fiddle; and the whole scene terminated in the most humorous and +satisfactory manner for all parties—_except_, perhaps, the prisoner—who +was duly committed for trial to the next sittings of the Central Criminal +Court, which were to take place in a fortnight. + +Mr. Bumpkin naturally asked for his watch, but that request was smilingly +refused. + +“Bin in our famly forty years,” exclaimed the prisoner. + +“Will you be quiet?” said Mr. Nimble petulantly, for it was a foolish +observation for the prisoner to make, inasmuch as, if Mr. Bumpkin had +been represented by professional skill, the remark would surely be met at +the trial with abundant evidence to disprove it. Mr. Bumpkin at present, +however, has no professional skill. + + * * * * * + +Here something disturbed me, and I awoke. While preparing to enjoy my +pipe as was my custom in these intervals, my wife remarked: + +“I do not approve of that Master O’Rapley by any means, with his +cynicisms and sarcasms and round squares. Did ever anyone hear of such a +contradiction?” + +“Have patience,” quoth I, “and we shall see how worthy Master O’Rapley +makes it out. I conjecture that he means the same thing that we hear of +under the term, ‘putting the round peg into the square hole.’” + +“But why should such a thing be done when it is easy surely to find a +square peg that would fit?” + +“Granted; but the master-hand may be under obligations to the round peg; +or the round peg may be a disagreeable peg, or a hundred things: one +doesn’t know. I am but a humble observer of human nature, and like not +these ungracious cavillings at Master O’Rapley. Let us calmly follow +this dream, and endeavour to profit by its lessons without finding fault +with its actors.” + +“But I would like to have a better explanation of that Round Square, +nevertheless,” muttered my wife as she went on with her knitting. So to +appease her I discoursed as follows:— + +“The round square,” said I, “means the inappropriate combination of +opposites.” + +“Now, not too long words,” said she, “and not too much philosophy.” + +“Very well, my dear,” I continued; “Don O’Rapley is right, not in his +particular instance, but in the general application of his meaning. Look +around upon the world, or so much of it as is comprised within our own +limited vision, and what do you find?” + +“I find everything,” said my wife, “beautifully ordered and arranged, +from the Archbishop of Canterbury to the Parish Beadle.” + +“What do you find?” I repeated. “Mark the O’Rapley’s knowledge of human +nature, you not only find Waterloos won in the Cricket-field of Eton, but +Bishopricks and Secretaryships and many other glorious victories; so that +you might—” + +“Don’t be foolish; Trafalgar was not won in the Cricket-field.” + +“No, but it was fought on the Isis or the Cam, I forget which. But carry +the O’Rapley’s theory into daily life, and test it by common observation, +what do you find? Why, that this round square is by no means a modern +invention. It has been worked in all periods of our history. Here is a +Vicar with a rich benefice, intended by nature for a Jockey or a +Whipper-in—” + +“What, the benefice?” + +“No, the Vicar! Here is a barrister who ought to have been a curate, and +become enthusiastic over worked slippers: there is another thrust into a +Government appointment, not out of respect to him, the Minister doesn’t +know him, but to serve a political friend, or to place an investment in +the hands of a political rival, who will return it with interest on a +future day. The gentleman thus provided for at the country’s expense +would, if left to himself, have probably become an excellent +billiard-marker or pigeon-shooter. Here is another, who, although a +member of Parliament, was elected by no constituency under Heaven or +above it; and it is clear he was intended by Nature for a position where +obsequiousness and servility meet with their appropriate reward. Another +fills the post of some awful Commissioner of something, drawing an +immense salary, and doing an immense amount of mischief for it, intended +naturally for a secretary to an Autocratic Nobleman, who would trample +the rights of the people under foot. Here is another—” + +“O pray, my dear, do not let us have another—” + +“Only one more,” said I; “here is another, thrust into the Cabinet for +being so disagreeable a fellow, who ought to have been engaged in making +fireworks for Crystal Palace fêtes.” + +“But this is only an opinion of yours; how do you know these gentlemen +are not fitted for the posts they occupy? surely if they do the work—” + +“The public would have no right to grumble.” + +“And as for obsequiousness and servility, I am afraid those are epithets +too often unjustly applied to those gentlemen whose courteous demeanour +wins them the respect of their superiors.” + +“Quite so,” said I; “and I don’t see that it matters what is the +distinguishing epithet you apply to them: this courteous demeanour or +obsequiousness is no doubt the very best gift Nature can bestow upon an +individual as an outfit for the voyage of life.” + +“Dear me, you were complaining but just now of its placing men in +positions for which they were not qualified.” + +“Not complaining, my love; only remarking. I go in for obsequiousness, +and trust I shall never be found wanting in that courteous demeanour +towards my superiors which shall lead to my future profit.” + +“But would you have men only courteous?” + +“By no means, I would have them talented also.” + +“But in what proportion would you have the one to the other?” + +“I would have the same proportion maintained that exists between the +rudder and the ship: you want just enough tact to steer your +obsequiousness.” + +Here again I dozed. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +A comfortable evening at the Goose + +When Mr. Bumpkin left the Mansion House, he was in a state of great +triumph not to say ecstasy: for it seemed to him that he had had +everything his own way. He was not cross-examined; no witnesses were +called, and it had only been stated by the prisoner himself, not proved, +although he said he should prove it at the trial, that the watch had been +in the family for upwards of forty years. + +“The biggest lie,” muttered Master Bumpkin, “that ever wur told.” And +then he reasoned in this wise: “how could it a bin in his family forty +year when he, Bumpkin, only lost it the day afore in the most barefaced +manner? He was a pooty feller as couldn’t tell a better story than +thic.” + +And then methought in my dream, “Ah, Bumpkin, thou may’st triumph now, +but little dreamest thou what is in store for thee at the trial. Wait +till all those little insignificant points, hardly visible at present, +shall rise, like spear-heads against thee at the Old Bailey and thrust +thee through and through and make thee curse the advocate’s skill and the +thief’s impudence and the inertness of the so-called Public Prosecutor: +and mayhap, I know not yet, show thee how wrong and robbery may triumph +over right and innocence. Thou hast raised thyself, good Bumpkin, from +the humblest poverty to comparative wealth and a lawsuit: but boast not +overmuch lest thou find Law a taskmaster instead of a Protector! + +Thus, moralizing in my dream I perceived that Mr. Bumpkin after talking +to some men betook himself to a Bus and proceeded on his way to the +“Goose” at Westminster, whither he arrived in due time and in high +spirits. + +The Goose was a nice cosy public-house, situated, as I before observed, +near the river side and commanded a beautiful view of the neighbouring +wharves and the passing craft. It was a favourite resort of waterside +men, carters, carriers, labourers on the wharf and men out of work. The +Military also patronized it:—And many were the jovial tales told around +the taproom hearth by members of Her Majesty’s troops to admiring and +astonished Ignorance. + +It was a particularly cold and bleak day, this ninth of March one +thousand eight hundred and something. The wind was due East and +accompanied ever and anon with mighty thick clouds of sleet and snow. +The fireside therefore was particularly comfortable, and the cheery faces +around the hearth were pleasant to behold. + +Now Mr. Bumpkin, as the reader knows, was not alone in his expedition. +He had his witness, named Joseph Wurzel: called in the village “Cocky,” +inasmuch as it was generally considered that he set much by his wisdom: +and was possessed of considerable attainments. For instance, he could +snare a hare as well as any man in the county: or whistle down pheasants +to partake of a Buckwheat refection which he was in the habit of +spreading for their repast. + +A good many fellows who were envious of Joe’s abilities avowed that “he +was a regler cunnin’ feller, as ud some day find out his mistake;” +meaning thereby that Joe would inevitably be sent to prison. Others +affirmed that he was a good deal too cunning for that; that he was a +regular artful dodger, and knew how to get round the vicar and all in +authority under him. The reader knows that he was a regular attendant at +Church, and by that means was in high favour. Nor was his mother behind +hand in this respect, especially in the weeks before Christmas; and truly +her religion brought its reward even in this world in the shape of Parish +Gifts. + +No doubt Joe was fond of the chase, but in this respect he but imitated +his superiors, except that I believe he occasionally went beyond them in +the means he employed. + +Assembled in this common room at the Goose on the night in question, were +a number of persons of various callings and some of no calling in +particular. Most of them were acquainted, and apparently regular +customers. One man in particular became a great favourite with Joe, and +that was Jacob Wideawake the Birdcatcher; and it was interesting to +listen to his conversation on the means of catching and transforming the +London Sparrow into an article of Commerce. + +Joe’s dress no doubt attracted the attention of his companions when he +first made his appearance, for it was something out of the ordinary +style: and certainly one might say that great care had been bestowed upon +him to render his personal appearance attractive in the witness-box. He +wore a wideawake hat thrown back on his head, thus displaying his brown +country-looking face to full advantage. His coat was a kind of dark +velveteen which had probably seen better days in the Squire’s family; so +had the long drab waistcoat. His corduroy trousers, of a light green +colour, were hitched up at the knees with a couple of straps as though he +wore his garters outside. His neckerchief was a bright red, tied round +his neck in a careless but not unpicturesque manner. Take him for all in +all he was as fine a specimen of a country lad as one could wish to +meet,—tall, well built, healthy looking, and even handsome. + +Now Mr. Bumpkin, being what is called “a close man,” and prone to keep +his own counsel on all occasions when it was not absolutely necessary to +reveal it, had said nothing about his case before the Lord Mayor; not +even Mrs. Oldtimes had he taken into his confidence. It is difficult to +understand his motive for such secrecy, as it is impossible to trace in +nine instances out of ten any particular line of human conduct to its +source. + +Acting probably on some vague information that he had received, Mr. +Bumpkin looked into the room, and told Joe that he thought they should be +“on” to-morrow. He had learned the use of that legal term from frequent +intercourse with Mr. Prigg. He thought they should be on but “wur not +sartin.” + +“Well,” said Joe, “the sooner the better. I hates this ere hangin’ +about.” At this Jack Outofwork, Tom Lazyman, and Bill Saunter laughed; +while Dick Devilmecare said, “He hated hanging about too; it was wus than +work.” + +“And that’s bad enough, Heaven knows,” said Lazyman. + +Then I saw that at this moment entered a fine tall handsome soldier, who +I afterwards learned was Sergeant Goodtale of the One Hundred and +twenty-fourth Hussars. A smarter or more compact looking fellow it would +be impossible to find: and he came in with such a genial, good-natured +smile, that to look at him would almost make you believe there was no +happiness or glory on this side the grave except in Her Majesty’s +service—especially the Hussars! + +I also perceived that fluttering from the side of Sergeant Goodtale’s +cap, placed carelessly and jauntily on the side of his head, was a bunch +of streamers of the most fascinating red white and blue you ever could +behold. Altogether, Sergeant Goodtale was a splendid sight. Down went +his cane on the table with a crack, as much as to say “The Queen!” and he +marched up to the fire and rubbed his hands: apparently taking no heed of +any human being in the room. + +Mr. Bumpkin’s heart leaped when he saw the military sight: his eyes +opened as if he were waking from a dream out of which he had been +disturbed by a cry of “fire:” and giving Joe a wink and an obviously +made-up look, beckoned him out of the room. As they went out they met a +young man, shabbily clad and apparently poorly fed. He had an +intelligent face, though somewhat emaciated. He might be, and probably +was, a clerk out of employment, and he threw himself on the seat in a +listless manner that plainly said he was tired of everything. + +This was Harry Highlow. He had been brought up with ideas beyond his +means. It was through no fault of his that he had not been taught a +decent trade: those responsible for his training having been possessed of +the notion that manual labour lowers one’s respectability: an error and a +wickedness which has been responsible for the ruin of many a promising +youth before to-day. + +Harry was an intelligent, fairly educated youth, and nothing more. What +is to be done with raw material so plentiful as that? The cheapest +marketable commodity is an average education, especially in a country +where even our Universities can supply you with candidates for employment +at a cheaper rate than you can obtain the services of a first-class cook. +This young man had tried everything that was genteel: he had even aspired +to literature: sought employment on the Press, on the Stage, everywhere +in fact where gentility seemed to reign. Nor do I think he lacked +ability for any of these walks; it was not ability but opportunity that +failed him. + +“Lookee ere, Joe,” said Mr. Bumpkin; “harken to me. Don’t thee ’ave nowt +to say to that there soger.” + +“All right, maister,” said Joe, laughing; “thee thinks I be gwine for a +soger. Now lookee ere, maister, I beant a fool.” + +“No, thee beant, Joe. I knowed thee a good while, and thee beant no +fool.” + +Joe laughed. It was a big laugh was Joe’s, for his mouth was somewhat +large, and a grin always seemed to twist it. On this occasion, so great +was his surprise that his master should think he would be fool enough to +enlist for a “soger,” that his mouth assumed the most irregular shape I +ever saw, and bore a striking resemblance to a hole such as might be made +in the head of a drum by the heel of a boot. + +“I be up to un, maister.” + +“Have no truck wi’ un, I tell ee; don’t speak to un. Thee be my head +witness, and doant dare goo away; no, no more un if—” + +“No fear,” said Joe. “’Taint likely I be gwine to listen to ee. I knows +what he wants; he’s arter listin chaps.” + +“Look ee ere, Joe, if ur speaks to thee, jist say I beant sich a fool as +I looks; that’ll ave un.” + +“Right,” says Joe; “I beant sich a fool as I looks; that’ll ave un +straight.” + +“Now, take heed; I’m gwine into the parlour wi’ Landlord.” + +Accordingly, into the little quiet snuggery of Mr. Oldtimes, Mr. Bumpkin +betook himself. And many and many an agreeable evening was passed with +Mr. and Mrs. Oldtimes during the period when Mr. Bumpkin was waiting for +his trial. For Mr. and Mrs. Oldtimes being Somersetshire people knew +many inhabitants of the old days in the village of Yokelton, where Mr. +Bumpkin “were bred and born’d.” + +Meanwhile the “head witness” had returned to the cheerful scene in the +taproom, and sat leering out of the corners of his eyes upon the +Sergeant, as though he expected every moment that officer would make a +spring at him and have him upon the floor. But the Sergeant was not a +bullying, blustering sort of man at all; his demeanour was quiet in the +extreme. He scarcely looked at anyone. Simply engaged in warming his +hands at the cheerful fire, no one had cause to apprehend anything from +him. + +But a man, Sergeant or no Sergeant, must, out of common civility, +exchange a word now and then, if only about the weather; and so he said, +carelessly,— + +“Sharp weather, lads!” + +Now, not even Joe could disagree with this; it was true, and was assented +to by all; Joe silently acquiescing. After the Sergeant had warmed his +hands and rubbed them sufficiently, he took off his cap and placed it on +a little shelf or rack; and then took out a meerschaum pipe, which he +exhibited without appearing to do so to the whole company. Then he +filled it from his pouch, and rang the bell; and when the buxom young +waitress appeared, he said,— + +“My dear, I think I’ll have a nice rump steak and some onions, if you +please.” + +“Yes, sir,” said the maid. + +Now I observed that two or three matters were noteworthy at this point. +First, Joe’s mouth so watered that he actually went to the fireplace and +expectorated. Secondly, he was utterly amazed at the familiar manner in +which the Sergeant was permitted to address this beautiful young person, +who seemed to be quite a lady of quality. Thirdly, he was duly impressed +and astounded with the luxurious appetite of this Sergeant of Hussars! + +Then the young woman came back and said,—“Would you like to have it in +the parlour, sir?” + +“O no, my dear,” said the Sergeant; “I would rather have it here. I hate +being alone.” + +As he said this, he slightly glanced at Dick Devilmecare. Dick, +flattering himself that the observation was addressed particularly to +him, observed that he also hated being alone. + +Then the Sergeant lighted his pipe; and I suppose there was not one in +the company who did not think that tobacco particularly nice. + +Next, the Sergeant rang again, and once more the pretty maid appeared. + +“Lucy,” said he, “while my steak is getting ready, I think I’ll have +three of whiskey hot, with a little lemon in it.” + +At this there was an involuntary smacking of lips all round, although no +one was conscious he had exhibited any emotion. The Sergeant was +perfectly easy and indifferent to everything. He smoked, looked at the +fire, sipped his grog, spread out his legs, folded his arms; then rose +and turned his back to the fire, everyone thinking how thoroughly he +enjoyed himself. + +“That smells very nice, Sergeant,” said Harry. + +“Yes, it’s very good,” said the Sergeant; “it’s some I got down at +Yokelton, Somersetshire.” + +Here Joe looked up; he hadn’t been home for a week, and began to feel +some interest in the old place, and everything belonging to it. + +“I comes from that ere place, Mr. Sergeant,” said he. + +“Indeed, sir,” said the Sergeant, in an off-hand manner. + +“Did thee buy un at a shop by the Pond, sir?” + +“That’s it,” replied the Sergeant, pointing with his pipe, “to the +right.” + +“The seame plaace,” exclaimed Joe. “Why my sister lives there sarvant wi +that ooman as keeps the shop.” + +“Indeed!” said Sergeant Goodtale; “how very curious!” + +And Jack said, “What a rum thing!” + +And Bill said, “That is a rum thing!” + +And Harry said it was a strange coincidence. In short, they all agreed +that it was the most remarkable circumstance that ever was. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +The subject continued. + +As soon as the conversation on the remarkable circumstance recorded in +the last chapter had drifted into another subject no less remarkable, and +the Sergeant had finished his pipe, the beautiful being appeared with the +rump steak and onions, a snowy white cloth having been previously spread +at the end of one of the tables. When all was ready, it looked as nice +and appetizing as could well be conceived. The most indifferent man +there seemed the Sergeant himself, who, instead of rushing to the chair +provided for him, walked as coolly up to the table as though he were +going into action. Then he took the knife, and seeing it had not quite +so sharp an edge as he liked, gave it a touch or two on the stone hearth. + +The smell of that tobacco from Yokelton had been sweet; so had the +perfume from the whiskey toddy and the lemon; but of all the delicious +and soul-refreshing odours that ever titilated human nostrils, nothing +surely could equal that which proceeded from the rump steak and onions. +The fragrance of new mown hay, which Cowper has so beautifully mentioned, +had palled on Joe’s senses; but when would the fragrance of that dish +pall on the hungry soul? + +The Sergeant took no notice of the hungry looks of the company; he was a +soldier, and concentrated his mind upon the duties of the moment. +Sentimentality was no part of his nature. He was a man, and must eat; he +was a soldier, and must perform the work as a duty irrespective of +consequences. + +“Do you mind my smoke?” asked Harry. + +“Oh dear, no,” said the Sergeant; “I like it.” + +Joe stared and watched every bit as the Sergeant cut it. He looked +admiringly on the soldier and so lovingly at the steak, that it almost +seemed as if he wished he could be cut into such delicious morsels and +eaten by so happy a man. What thoughts passed through his mind no one +but a dreamer could tell; and this is what I saw passing through the mind +of Wurzel. + +“O, what a life! what grub! what jollyness! no turmut oeing; no +dung-cart; no edgin and ditchin; no five o’clock in the mornin; no +master; no bein sweared at; no up afore the magistrates; no ungriness; +rump steaks and inguns; whiskey and water and bacca; if I didn’t like +that air Polly Sweetlove, danged if I wouldn’t go for a soger to-morrer!” + +Then said Joe, very deferentially and as if he were afraid of being up +afore the magistrate, “If you please, sir, med I have a bit o’ that there +bacca?” + +“Of course,” said the Sergeant, tossing his pouch; “certainly; help +yourself.” + +Joe’s heart was softened more and more towards the military, which he had +hitherto regarded, from all he could hear, as a devil’s own trap to catch +Sabbath breakers and disobedient to parents. + +And methought, in my dream, I never saw men who were not partakers of a +feast enjoy it more than the onlookers of that military repast. + +Then said Harry,— + +“Well, Sergeant, I’m well-nigh tired of my life, and I’ve come here to +enlist.” + +“Just wait a bit,” said the Sergeant; “I’m not a man to do things in a +hurry. I never allow a man to enlist, if I know it, in Her Majesty’s +service, honourable and jolly as it is, without asking him to think about +it.” + +“Hear, hear!” said Lazyman; “that’s good, I likes that; don’t be in a +hurry, lad.” + +“Hear, hear!” says Outofwork, “don’t jump into a job too soon, yer medn’t +like it.” + +“Hear, hear!” says the Boardman, “walk round a-bit.” + +“But,” said Harry, “I have considered it. I’ve just had education enough +to prevent my getting a living, and not enough to make a man of me: I’ve +tried everything and nobody wants me.” + +“Then,” said Sergeant Goodtale, “do you think the Queen only wants them +that nobody else’ll have. I can tell you that ain’t the Queen of +England’s way. It might do for Rooshia or Germany, or them countries, +but not for Old England. It’s a free country. I think, lads, I’m +right—” + +Here there was tremendous hammering on the table by way of assent and +applause; amidst which Joe could be observed thumping his hard fist with +as much vehemence as if he had got a County Magistrate’s head under it. + +“This is a free country, sir,” said the Sergeant, “no man here is +kidnapped into the Army, which is a profession for men, not slaves.” + +“I’m going to join,” said Harry, “say what you like.” + +“Wait till the morning;” said the Sergeant, “and meanwhile we’ll have a +song.” + +At this moment Mr. Bumpkin put in an appearance; for although he had been +enjoying himself with Mr. and Mrs. Oldtimes, he thought it prudent to +have a peep and see how “thic Joe wur gettin on.” + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +Mr. Bumpkin sings a good old song—the Sergeant becomes quite a convivial +companion and plays dominoes. + +The Sergeant, having finished his repast, again had recourse to his pipe, +and was proceeding to light it when Mr. Bumpkin appeared in the room. + +“We be gwine to have a song, maister,” said Joe. + +“Give us a song, governor,” said half-a-dozen voices. + +“Ay, do, maister,” says Joe; “thee sings a good un, I knows, for I ha +eerd thee often enough at arvest oames: gie us a song, maister.” + +Now if there was one thing Mr. Bumpkin thought he was really great at +besides ploughing the straightest and levellest furrow, it was singing +the longest and levellest song. He had been known to sing one, which, +with its choruses, had lasted a full half hour, and then had broken down +for lack of memory. + +On the present occasion he would have exhibited no reluctance, having had +a glass or two in the Bar Parlour had he not possessed those misgivings +about the Sergeant. He looked furtively at that officer as though it +were better to give him no chance. Seeing, however, that he was smoking +quietly, and almost in a forlorn manner by himself, his apprehensions +became less oppressive. + +Invitations were repeated again and again, and with such friendly +vehemence that resistance at last was out of the question. + +“I aint sung for a good while,” said he, “but I wunt be disagreeable +like, so here goes.” + +But before he could start there was such a thundering on the tables that +several minutes elapsed. At length there was sufficient silence to +enable him to be heard. + +“This is Church and Crown, lads.” + + “Gie me the man as loves the Squire, + The Parson, and the Beak; + And labours twelve good hours a day + For thirteen bob a week!” + +“Hooroar! hooroar! hooroar!” shouted Lazyman. “What d’ye think ’o that?” + +“O, my eye,” said Outofwork, “aint it jolly?” + +“Well done! bravo!” shrieked the Boardman. “I’ll carry that ere man +through the streets on my shoulders instead o’ the boards, that I will. +Bravo! he ought to be advertized—this style thirteen bob a week!” + +“Thirteen bob a week!” laughed Harry; “who’d go for a soldier with such a +prospect. Can you give us a job, governor?” + +“Wait a bit, lads,” said Mr. Bumpkin, “there be another werse and then a +chorus.” + +“Hooray!” they shouted, “a chorus! let’s have the chorus—there ought to +be a chorus—thirteen bob a week!” + +“Now, gentlemen, the chorus if you please,” said Harry; “give it mouth, +sir!” + +Then sang Bumpkin— + + “O ’edgin, ditchin, that’s the geaam, + All in the open air; + The poor man’s health is all his wealth, + But wealth without a care! + + CHORUS. + + Then shout hurrah for Church and State + Though ’eretics may scoff, + The devil is our head Constable, + To take the willins off. + + Give me the man that’s poor and strong, + Hard working and content; + Who looks on onger as his lot, + In Heaven’s wise purpose sent. + Who looks on riches as a snare + To ketch the worldly wise; + And good roast mutton as a dodge, + To blind rich people’s eyes. + + CHORUS. + + Give me the man that labours hard + From mornin’ until night, + And looks at errins as a treat + And bacon a delight. + O ’edgin, ditchin, diggin drains, + And emptyin pool and dyke, + It beats your galloppin to ’ounds, + Your ball-rooms and the like. + + CHORUS. + + Gi’ me the man that loves the Squire + With all his might and main; + And with the taxes and the rates + As never racks his brain. + Who loves the Parson and the Beak + As Heaven born’d and sent, + And revels in that blessed balm + A hongry sweet content. + + CHORUS. + + Gie me the good Shaksperan man + As wants no other books, + But them as he no need to spell, + The ever runnin brooks: + As feeds the pigs and minds the flocks, + And rubs the orses down; + And like a regler lyal man, + Sticks up for Church and Crown.” + + CHORUS. + +At the termination of this pastoral song there was such a hullabaloo of +laughter, such a yelling, thumping, and, I grieve to say, swearing, that +Mr. Bumpkin wondered what on earth was the occasion of it. At the Rent +dinner at the Squire’s he had always sung it with great success; and the +Squire himself had done him the honour to say it was the best song he had +ever heard, while the Clergyman had assured him that the sentiments were +so good that it ought to be played upon the organ when the people were +coming out of church. And Farmer Grinddown, who was the largest +gentleman farmer for miles around, had declared that if men would only +act up to that it would be a happy country, and we should soon be able to +defy America itself. + +Mr. Bumpkin, hearing such shouts of laughter, thought perhaps he might +have a patch of black on his face, and put his hand up to feel. Then he +looked about him to see if his dress was disarranged; but finding nothing +amiss, he candidly told them he “couldn’t zee what there wur to laugh at +thic fashion.” + +They all said it was a capital song, and wondered if he had any more of +the same sort, and hoped he’d leave them a lock of his hair—and otherwise +manifested tokens of enthusiastic approbation. + +Mr. Bumpkin, however, could not quite see their mirth in the same light, +so he turned on his heel and, beckoning to Joe, left the room in high +dudgeon, not to say disdain. + +“Mind Joe—no truck wi un.” + +“Why, maister, he knows my sister.” + +“Damn thee sister, Joe; it be a lie.” + +“Be it? here’s some o’ the bacca he brought up from Okleton, I tell ee.” + +“I tell thee, have nowt to do wi un; we shall be on t’morrer, we be tenth +in the list.” + +“Ay,” said Joe, “we bin igher in list un thic, we bin as near as eight; I +shall be mighty glad when it be over.” + +“An get back to pigs, aye, Joe?” + +“Aye, maister.” + +“Nothin like oame, Joe, be there?” and Mr. Bumpkin turned away. + +“No,” said Joe; “no, maister, if so be” (and this was spoken to himself) +“if so be you got a oame.” + +Then I saw that Joe rejoined his companions, amongst whom a conversation +was going on as to the merits of the song. Some said one thing and some +another, but all condemned it as a regular toading to the Parson and the +Squire: and as for the Beak, how any man could praise him whose only duty +was to punish the common people, no one could see. The company were +getting very comfortable. The Sergeant had called for another glass of +that delectable grog whose very perfume seemed to inspire everyone with +goodfellowship, and they all appeared to enjoy the Sergeant’s liquor +without tasting it. + +“What do you say to a game of dominoes?” said Harry. + +“They won’t allow em ere,” said Lazyman. + +“Won’t they,” answered Outofwork. “I’ll warrant if the Sergeant likes to +play there’s no landlord’ll stop him, ay, Sergeant?” + +“Well, I believe,” said the Sergeant, “as one of the Queen’s servants, I +have the privilege of playing when I like.” + +“Good,” said Harry, “and I’ll be a Queen’s man too, so out with the +shilling, Sergeant.” + +“Wait till the morning,” said the Sergeant. + +“No,” said Harry. “I’ve had enough waiting. I’m on, give me the +shilling.” + +The Sergeant said, “Well, let me see, what height are you?” and he stood +up beside him. + +“Ah!” he said, “I think I can get you in,” saying which he gave him a +shilling; such a bright coin, that it seemed to have come fresh from the +Queen’s hand. + +Then the Sergeant took out some beautiful bright ribbons which he was +understood to say (but did _not_ say) the Queen had given him that +morning. Then he rang the bell, and the buxom waitress appearing he +asked for the favour of a needle and thread, which, the radiant damsel +producing, with her own fair fingers she sewed the ribbons on to Harry’s +cap, smiling with admiration all the while. Even this little incident +was not without its effect on the observant “head witness,” and he felt +an unaccountable fascination to have the same office performed by the +same fair hands on his own hat. + +Then, without saying more, a box of dominoes was produced, and Joe soon +found himself, he did not know how, the Sergeant’s partner, while Lazyman +and Outofwork were opposed to them. + +“Is it pooty good livin in your trade, Mr. Sergeant?” asked Joe. + +“Not bad,” said the Sergeant; “that is five-one, I think”—referring to +the play. + +“Rump steaks and ingons aint bad living,” said Outofwork. + +“No,” said the Sergeant, “and there’s nothing I like better than a good +thick mutton chop for breakfast—let me see, what’s the game?” + +“Ah!” said Joe, smacking his lips, “mutton chops is the best thing out; I +aint had one in my mouth, though, for a doocid long time; I likes em with +plenty o’ fat an gravy loike.” + +“You see,” said the Sergeant, “when you’ve been out for a two or three +mile ride before breakfast in the fresh country air, a chap wants +something good for breakfast, and a mutton chop’s none too much for him.” + +“No,” answered Joe, “I could tackle three.” + +“Yes,” said Sergeant Goodtale, “but some are much larger than others.” + +“So em be,” agreed Joe. + +“What’s the game,” enquired the Sergeant. + +“Two-one,” said Joe. + +“One’s all,” said the soldier. + +“I tell ee what,” remarked Joe, “if I was going to list, there’s no man +as I’d liefer list wi than you, Mr. Sergeant.” + +“Domino!” said the Sergeant, “that’s one to us, partner!” + +Then they shuffled the dominoes and commenced again. But at this moment +the full figure of Mr. Bumpkin again stood in the doorway. + +“Joe!” he exclaimed angrily, “I want thee, come ere thirecly, I tell ee!” + +“Yes, maister; I be comin.” + +“You stoopid fool!” said Mr. Bumpkin in a whisper, as Joe went up to him, +“thee be playin with thic feller.” + +“Well, maister, if I be; what then?” Joe said this somewhat angrily, and +Mr. Bumpkin replied:— + +“He’ll ha thee, Joe—he’ll ha thee!” + +“Nay, nay, maister; I be too old in the tooth for he; but it beant thy +business, maister.” + +“No,” said Bumpkin, as he turned away, “it beant.” + +Then Joe resumed his play. Now it happened that as the Sergeant smacked +his lips when he took his occasional sip of the fragrant grog, expressive +of the highest relish, it awakened a great curiosity in Wurzel’s mind as +to its particular flavour. The glass was never far from his nose and he +had long enjoyed the extremely tempting odour. At last, as he was not +invited to drink by Sergeant Goodtale, he could contain himself no +longer, but made so bold as to say:— + +“Pardner, med I jist taste this ere? I never did taste sich a thing.” + +“Certainly, partner,” said the Sergeant, pushing the tumbler, which was +about three-parts full. “What’s the game now?” + +“Ten-one,” said Outofwork. + +“One’s all, then,” said the Sergeant. + +Joe took the tumbler, and after looking into it for a second or two as +though he were mentally apostrophizing it, placed the glass to his lips. + +“Don’t be afraid,” said the Sergeant. + +No one seemed more courageous than Wurzel, in respect of the act with +which he was engaged, and before he took the glass from his lips its +contents had disappeared. + +“I’m mighty glad thee spoke, Maister Sergeant, for if thee hadn’t I +should a drunk un all wirout thy leave. I never tasted sich tackle in my +life; it’s enough to make a man gie up everything for sogering.” + +“Domino!” said the Sergeant. “I think that’s the game!” + + * * * * * + +“My dear,” said my wife, “you have been talking again in your sleep.” + +“Really,” said I, “I hope I have not compromised myself.” + +“I do not understand you,” cried she. + +“No more do I, for I am hardly awake.” + +“You have been talking of Joe Wurzel again.” + +“O, to be sure. What about him?” + +“Then you mentioned Mr. Outofwork and Mr. Lazyman and Mr. Devilmecare, +and another whose name I did not catch.” + +“Ah,” I asked, “did they go for soldiers?” + +“At present, no, except Harry, for whom I was heartily sorry, he seemed +such a nice disappointed lad. But pray who is this Sergeant Goodtale?” + +“He is on recruiting service, a very fine, persuasive fellow.” + +“But he didn’t seem to press these people or use any arts to entice them: +I like him for that. He rather seemed to me to discourage them from +enlisting. He might have been sure poor Harry meant it, because, as I +take it, he was half-starved, and yet he desired him to wait till the +morning.” + +“I think,” said I, “his conduct was artful if you examine it with +reference to its effect on the others; but he is an extraordinary man, +this Sergeant Goodtale—was never known to persuade any one to enlist, I +believe.” + +“But he seemed to get along very well.” + +“Very; I thought he got along very comfortably.” + +“Then there was one Lucy Prettyface!” + +“Ah, I don’t remember her,” cried I, alarmed lest I might have said +anything in my dream for which I was not responsible. + +“Why she was the girl who sewed the colours on and somebody called ‘my +dear.’” + +“I assure you,” I said, “it was not I: it must have been the Sergeant; +but I have no recollection—O yes, to be sure, she was the waitress.” + +“You remember her now?” + +“Well,” said I, determined not to yield if I could possibly help it, “I +can’t say that I do. I know there was a person who sewed colours on and +whom the Sergeant called ‘my dear,’ but further than that I should not +like to pledge myself. Yes—yes—to be sure,” and here I went on talking, +as it were, to myself, for I find it is much better to talk to yourself +if you find it difficult to carry on a conversation with other persons. + +“She was pretty, wasn’t she?” said my wife with an arch look. + +I gave her a look just as arch, as I replied, + +“Really I hardly looked at her; but I should say _not_.” I make a point +of never saying any one is pretty. + +“Joe thought her so.” + +“Did he? Well she may have been, but I never went in for Beauty myself.” + +“You shocking man,” said my wife, “do you perceive what you are saying?” + +“Why, of course; but you take me up so sharply: if you had not cut me off +in the flower of my speech you would have been gratified at the finish of +my sentence. I was going to say, I never went in for Beauty, but once. +That, I think, gives the sentence a pretty turn.” + +“Well, now, I think these dreams and this talking in your sleep indicate +that you require a change; what do you say to Bournemouth?” + +“You think I shall sleep better there?” + +“I think it will do you good.” + +“Then we’ll go to Bournemouth,” cried I, “for I understand it’s a very +dreamy place.” + +“But I should like to know what becomes of this action of Mr. Bumpkin, +and how all his people get on? You may depend upon it that Sergeant will +enlist those other men.” + +“I do not know,” I remarked, “what is in the future.” + +“But surely you know what you intend. You can make your characters do +anything.” + +“Indeed not,” I said. “They will have their own way whether I write +their history or any one else.” + +“That Sergeant Goodtale will have every one of them, my dear; you mark my +words. He’s the most artful man I ever heard of.” + +Of course I could offer no contradiction to this statement as I was not +in the secrets of the future. How the matter will work out depends upon +a variety of circumstances over which I have not the least control. For +instance, if Bill were to take the shilling, I believe Dick would follow: +and if the Sergeant were to sing a good song he might catch the rest. +But who can tell? + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +Joe electrifies the company and surprises the reader. + +“Suppose we have another song,” said Sergeant Goodtale. + +“And spoase we has some moore o’ that there stuff,” answered Joe. + +“Aye,” said Harry, “we will too. I’ll spend my shilling like a man.” + +Saying which he rang the bell and ordered a glass for himself and one for +Joe. + +“Now, then,” said the latter, “I can’t sing, but I’ll gie thee summut as +I larned.” + +“Hooray!” said Harry, “summut as he larned!” + +“Bravo!” said the Boardman, “summut as he larned?” + +“Here’s at un,” said Joe. + +And then with a mighty provincialism he repeated without a break:— + + + +DR. BRIMSTONE’S SERMON, +AS PUT INTO VERSE BY GAFFER DITCHER. + + + I bin to Church, I ha’, my boy, + And now conwarted be; + The last time I wur ever there + War eighteen farty-three! + + And ’ow I knows it is as this, + I didn’t goo to pray, + Nor ’ear the Word, but went becorse + It wur my weddin day! + + Zounds! wot a blessed sarmon twur + I ’eeard the Sabbath morn; + ’Ow I a woful sinner wur + Or ever I wur born. + + You sees them wilful igorant pigs + In mud a wollorin; + Well, like them pigs, but ten times wus, + We wollers in our sin. + + We’re coated o’er wi’ sinful mud,— + A dreadful sight we be; + And yet we doant despise ourselves— + For why?—We doant zee! + + I thinks I had yer there, my boy, + For all your sniggerin’ jeers; + Thee’re in t’ mud, I tell ’ee, lad, + Rightoover ’ed an’ ears. + + Zounds! what a orful thing it be + That love should blind us so! + Why, them there bloomin rosy cheeks + Be ony masks o’ woe! + + The reddest on ’em thee could kiss + Aint ’ardly wuth the pains; + At best it’s but the husk o’ bliss, + It’s nuther wuts nor banes. + + There aint a pleasure you can name, + From coourtin down to skittles, + But wot there’s mischief in the same, + Like pisen in your wittles. + + The Reverend Brimstone says, “Beloved, + Be allays meek an umble; + A saint should never ax for moor, + An never larn to grumble.” + + We ain’t to tork o’ polleticks + An’ things as don’t consarn us, + And wot we wornts to know o’ lor + The madgistret will larn us. + + We ain’t to drink wi’ Methodists, + No, not a friendly soop; + We ain’t to tork o’ genteel folks + Onless to praise un oop. + + We ain’t to ’ear a blessed word + Agin our betters said; + We’re got to lay the butter thick + Becorse they’re sich ’igh bred! + + We got to say “Ha! look at he! + A gemman tooth and nail!” + You morn’t say, “What a harse he’d be + If he’d a got a tail!” + + For why? becorse these monied gents + Ha’ got sich birth an’ breedin’; + An’ down we got to ’old our ’eads, + Like cattle, when they’re feedin’. + + The parson put it kindly like— + He sed, says he, as ’ow + We’re bean’t so good as them there grubs + We turns up wi’ the plow. + + There’s nowt more wretcheder an we, + Or worthier an the rich, + I praises ’em for bein’ born, + An’ ’eaven for makin’ sich. + + So wile we be, I daily stares + That earthquakes doan’t fall, + An’ swaller up this unconwinced + Owdashus earthly ball! + + An’ wen I thinks of all our sins— + Lay down, says I, my boys, + We’re fittin’ only for manoor, + So don’t let’s make a noise. + + Let’s spred us out upon the ground + An’ make the turmuts grow, + It’s all we’re good for in this world + O’ wickedness an’ woe! + + And yet we’re ’llow’d to brethe the air + The same as gents from town; + And ’llow’d to black their ’appy boots, + And rub their ’orses down! + + To think o’ blessins sich as these, + Is like ongrateful lust; + It stuffs us oop wi’ worldly pride, + As if our ’arts would bust! + + But no, we’re ’umble got to be, + Though privileged so ’igh: + Why doan’t we feed on grass or grains, + Or leastways ’umbly die! + + We got to keep our wicked tongue + From disrespeckful speakin’, + We han’t a got to eat too much, + Nor yet goo pleasure seekin’. + + Nor kitch a rabbit or a aire, + Nor call the Bobby names, + Nor stand about, but goo to church, + And play no idle games: + + To love paroshial orficers, + The squire, and all that’s his, + And never goo wi’ idle chaps + As wants their wages riz. + + So now conwarted I ha’ bin + From igorance and wice; + It’s only ’appiness that’s sin, + And norty things that’s nice! + + Whereas I called them upstart gents + The wust o’ low bred snobs, + Wi’ contrite ’art I hollers out + “My heye, wot bloomin’ nobs!” + + I sees the error o’ my ways, + So, lads, this warnin’ take, + The Poor Man’s path, the parson says, + Winds round the Burnin’ Lake. + + They’ve changed it since the days o’ yore, + Them Gospel preachers, drat un; + They used to preach it to the poor, + An’ now they preach it _at_ un. + +Every one was amazed at the astonishing memory of this country lad: and +the applause that greeted the reciter might well be calculated to awaken +his latent vanity. It was like being called before the curtain after the +first act by a young actor on his first appearance. And I believe every +one understood the meaning of the verses, which seemed to imply that the +hungry prodigal, famishing for food, was fed with husks instead of grain. +Contentment with wretchedness is not good preaching, and this was one +lesson of Dr. Brimstone’s sermon. As soon as Harry could make himself +heard amidst the general hubbub, which usually follows a great +performance, he said:— + +“Now, look here, lads, it’s all very well to be converted with such +preaching as that; but it’s my belie it’s more calculated to make +hypocrites than Christians.” + +“Hear! hear!” said Lazyman. “That _is_ right.” Anything but conversion +for Lazyman. + +“Now,” continued Harry, “I’ve heard that kind of preaching a hundred +times: it’s a regular old-fashioned country sermon; and, as for the poor +being so near hell, I put it in these four lines.” + +“Hear, hear!” cried the company; “order!” + +And they prepared themselves for what was to come with as great eagerness +as, I venture to say, would always be shown to catch the text, if it came +at the end, instead of the beginning, of a sermon. + +“Shut up,” says Lazyman; “let’s ’ear this ’ere. I knows it’s summut good +by the look an him.” + +“Don’t make a row,” retorts the Boardman; “who can hear anything while +you keeps on like that?” + +And there they stood, actually suspending the operation of smoking as +they waited the summing up of this remarkably orthodox “preaching of the +word.” The sergeant only was a spectator of the scene, and much amused +did he seem at the faces that prepared for a grin or a sneer as the +forthcoming utterance should demand. Then said Harry solemnly and +dramatically:— + + “In WANT full many a vice is born, + And Virtue in a DINNER; + A well-spread board makes many a SAINT, + And HUNGER many a sinner.” + +From the explosion which followed this antidote to Mr. Brimstone’s +sermon, I should judge that the more part of the company believed that +Poverty was almost as ample a virtue as Charity itself. They shook their +heads in token of assent; they thumped the table in recognition of the +soundness of the teaching; and several uttered an exclamation not to be +committed to paper, as an earnest of their admiration for the ability of +Mr. Highlow, who, instead of being a private soldier, ought, in their +judgment, to be Lord Mayor of London. After this recital every one said +he thought Mr. Highlow might oblige them. + +“Well, I’m no singer,” said Harry. + +“Try, Harry!” exclaimed Lazyman: he was a rare one to advise other people +to try. + +“Trying to sing when you can’t,” answered Harry, “I should think is a rum +sort of business; but I’ll tell you what I’ll do if you like. When I was +down at Hearne Bay I heard an old fisherman tell a story which—” + +“That’s it!” thumped out Joe, “a story. I likes a good story, specially +if there be a goast in it.” + +“I don’t know what there is in it,” said Harry, “I’ll leave you to make +that out; but I tell you what I did when I heard it, I made a ballad of +it, and so if you like I’ll try and recollect it.” + +“Bravo!” they said, and Harry gave them the following + + + +SONG OF THE WAVES. + + + Far away on the pebbly beach + That echoes the sound of the surge; + As if they were gifted with speech, + The breakers will sing you a dirge. + + The fishermen list to it oft, + And love the sweet charm of its spell, + For sometimes it wispers so soft, + It seems but the voice of the shell. + + It tells of a beautiful child + That used to come down there and play, + And shout to the surges so wild + That burst on the brink of the bay. + + She was but a child of the poor, + Whose father had perished at sea; + ’Twas strange, that sweet psalm of the shore, + Whatever the story might be! + + Yes, strange, but so true in its tone + That no one could listen and doubt; + The heart must be calm and alone + To search its deep mystery out. + + She came with a smaller than she + That toddled along at her side; + Now ran to and fled from the sea, + Now paddled its feet in the tide. + + Afar o’er the waters so wild, + Grazed Effie with wondering eye; + What mystery grew on the child + In all that bright circle of sky? + + Her father—how sweet was the thought! + Was linked with this childish delight; + ’Twas strange what a vision it brought— + As though he still lingered in sight. + + Was it Heaven so near, so remote, + Across the blue line of the wave? + ’Twas thither he sailed in his boat, + ’Twas there he went down in his grave! + + So the days and the hours flew along, + Like swallows that skim o’er the flood; + Like the sound of a beautiful song, + That echoes and dies in the wood! + + One day as they strayed on the strand, + And played with the shingle and shell, + A boat that just touched on the land + Was playfully rocked by the swell. + + O childhood, what joy in a ride! + What eagerness beams in their eyes! + What bliss as they climb o’er the side + And shout as they tumble and rise! + + O sea, with thy pitiful dirge, + Thou need’st to be mournful and moan! + The wrath of thy terrible surge + Omnipotence curbs it alone! + + The boat bore away from the shore, + The laughter of childhood so glad! + And the breakers bring back ever more + The dirge with its echo so sad! + + A widow sits mute on the beach, + And ever the tides as they flow, + As if they were gifted with speech, + Repeat the sad tale of her woe! + +“That’s werry good,” said the Boardman. “I’m afraid them there children +was washed away—it’s a terrible dangerous coast that ere Ern Bay. I’ve +’eeard my father speak on it.” + +“Them there werses is rippin’!” said Joe. + +“Stunnin’!” exclaimed Bob. + +And so they all agreed that it was a pretty song and “well put together.” + +“Capital,” said the sergeant, “I never heard anything better, and as for +Mr. Wurzel, a man with his memory ought to do something better than feed +pigs.” + +“Ay, aye,” said the company to a man. + +“Why don’t you follow my example?” said Harry; “it’s the finest life in +the world for a young fellow.” + +“Well,” said the sergeant, “that all depends; its very good for some, for +others not so good—although there are very few who are not pleased when +they once join, especially in such a regiment as ours!” + +“And would you mind telling me, sir,” asked Outofwork, “what sort of +chaps it don’t suit?” + +“Well, you see, chaps that have been brought up in the country and tied +to their mothers’ apron strings all their life: they have such soft +hearts, they are almost sure to cry—and a crying soldier is a poor +affair. I wouldn’t enlist a chap of that sort, no, not if he gave me ten +pounds. Now, for instance, if Mr. Wurzel was to ask my advice about +being a soldier I should say ‘don’t!’” + +“Why not, sir?” asked Joe; “how’s that there, then? D’ye think I be +afeard?” + +“I should say, go home first, my boy, and ask your mother!” + +“I be d---d if I be sich a molly-coddle as that, nuther; and I’ll prove +un, Mr. Sergeant; gie me thic bright shillin’ and I be your man.” + +“No,” said the sergeant, “think it over, and come to me in a month’s +time, if your mother will let you. I don’t want men that will let their +masters buy them off the next day.” + +“No; an lookee here, Maister Sergeant; I bean’t to be bought off like +thic, nuther. If I goes, I goes for good an’ all.” + +“Well, then,” said the sergeant, shaking him by the hand, and pressing +into it the bright shilling, “if you insist on joining, you shall not say +I prevented you: my business is not to prevent men from entering Her +Majesty’s service.” + +Then the ribbons were brought out, and Joe asked if the young woman might +sew them on as she had done Harry’s; and when she came in, Joe looked at +her, and tried to put on a military bearing, in imitation of his great +prototype; and actually went so far as to address her as “My dear,” for +which liberty he almost expected a slap in the face. But Lucy only +smiled graciously, and said: “Bravo, Mr. Wurzel! Bravo, sir; I’ve seen +many a man inlisted, and sewed the Queen’s colours on for him, but never +for a smarter or a finer fellow, there!” and she skipped from the room. + +“Well done!” said several voices. And the sergeant said: + +“What do you think of that, Mr. Wurzel? I’ll back she’s never said that +to a soldier before.” + +Joe turned his hat about and drew the ribbons through his fingers, as +pleased as a child with a new toy, and as proud as if he had helped to +win a great battle. + +Here I awoke. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +The Sergeant makes a loyal speech and sings a song, both of which are +well received by the company. + +And when I got to Bournemouth I dreamed again; and a singular thing +during this history was, that always in my dream I began where I had left +off on the previous night. So I saw that there, in the room at “The +Goose,” were Sergeant Goodtale, and Harry, and Joe, and the rest, just as +I had left them when I last awoke. But methought there was an air of +swagger on the part of the head witness which I had not observed +previously. His hat was placed on one side, in imitation of the +sergeant’s natty cap, and he seemed already to hold up his head in a +highly military manner; and when he stooped down to get a light he tried +to stoop in the same graceful and military style as the sergeant himself; +and after blowing it out, threw down the spill in the most off-hand +manner possible, as though he said, “That’s how we chaps do it in the +Hussars!” Everyone noticed the difference in the manner and bearing of +the young recruit. There was a certain swagger and boldness of demeanour +that only comes after you have enlisted. Nor was this change confined to +outward appearance alone. What now were pigs in the mind of Joe? Merely +the producers of pork chops for breakfast. What was Dobbin that slowly +dragged the plough compared to the charger that Joe was destined to +bestride? And what about Polly Sweetlove and her saucy looks? Perhaps +she’d be rather sorry now that she did not receive with more favour his +many attentions. Such were the thoughts that passed through the lad’s +mind as he gradually awakened to a sense of his new position. One +thought, however, strange to say, did not occur to him, and that was as +to what his poor old mother would think. Dutiful son as Joe had always +been, (though wild in some respects), he had not given her a single +thought. But his reflections, no doubt, were transient and confused amid +the companions by whom he was surrounded. + +“You’ll make a fine soldier,” said the Boardman, as he saw him swagger +across to his seat. + +“Yes,” said the sergeant, “any man that has got it in him, and is steady, +and doesn’t eat too much and drink too much, may get on in the army. It +isn’t like it used to be.” + +“I believe that,” said Bob Lazyman. + +“The only thing,” continued the sergeant, “is, there is really so little +to do—there’s not work enough.” + +“That ud suit me,” said Bob. + +“Ah! but stop,” added the sergeant, “the temptations are great—what with +the girls—.” + +“Hooray!” exclaimed Dick; “that beats all—I likes them better than mutton +chops.” + +“Yes,” replied the sergeant; “they are all very well in their way; but +you know, if a man wants to rise in the army, he must be steady.” + +“Steady, boys! stea—dy!” shouted Dick + +I don’t know how far the sergeant was justified, morally, in thus holding +out the prospect of riotous living to these hungry men, but I think, all +things considered, it was an improvement on the old system of the +pressgang, which forced men into the navy. These lads were not bound to +believe the recruiting sergeant, and were not obliged to enter into a +contract with Her Majesty. At the same time, the alluring prospects were +such that if they had been represented as facts in the commercial +transactions of life, such is the purity of the law that they would have +given rise to much pleading, multifarious points reserved, innumerable +summonses at Chambers, and, at least, one new trial. + +“Now,” said Jack Outofwork, “I tell yer what it is—I don’t take no +Queen’s shilling, for why? it ain’t the Queen’s—it belongs to the +people—I’m for a republic.” + +‘“Well,” said the sergeant, “I always like to meet a chap that calls +himself a republican, and I’ll tell you why. This country is a republic, +say what you like, and is presided over by our gracious Queen. And I +should like to ask any man in this country—now, just listen, lads, for +this is the real question, whether—” + +“Now, order,” said Lazyman, “I never ’eerd nothing put better.” + +“Let’s have order, gentlemen,” said Harry; “chair! chair!” + +“All ’tention, sergeant,” said Dick. + +“I say,” continued the sergeant; “let us suppose we got a republic +to-morrow; well, we should want a head, or as they say, a president.” + +“That’s good,” said half-a-dozen voices. + +“Well, what then?” said the sergeant; “Who would you choose? Why, the +Queen, to be sure.” + +Everybody said “The Queen!” And there was such a thumping on the table +that all further discourse was prevented for several minutes. At last +everyone said it was good, and the sergeant had put it straight. + +“Well, look’ee ’ere, lads—I was born among the poor and I don’t owe +nothing to the upper classes, not even a grudge!” + +“Hear! hear! Bravo, Mr. Sergeant!” cried all. + +“Well, then; I’ve got on so far as well as I can, and I’m satisfied; but +I’ll tell you what I believe our Queen to be—a thorough woman, and loves +her people, especially the poor, so much that d---d if I wouldn’t die for +her any day—now what d’ye think o’ that?” + +Everybody thought he was a capital fellow. + +“Look, here,” he continued, “it isn’t because she wears a gold crown, or +anything of that sort, nor because a word of her’s could make me a field +marshal, or a duke, or anything o’ that sort, nor because she’s rich, but +I’ll tell you why it is—and it’s this—when we’re fighting we don’t fight +for her except as the Queen, and the Queen means the country.” + +“Hear! hear! hear! hear!” + +“Well, we fight for the country—but she loves the soldiers as though they +were not the country’s but her own flesh and blood, and comes to see ’em +in the hospital like a mother, and talks to ’em the same as I do to you, +and comforts ’em, and prays for ’em, and acts like the real mother of her +people—that’s why I’d die for her, and not because she’s the Queen of +England only.” + +“Bravo!” said Joe. “Hope I shall soon see her in th’ ’orsepittal. It be +out ’ere: beant it St. Thomas’s.” + +“I hope you won’t, my brave lad,” said the sergeant; “but don’t tell me +about republicanism when we’ve got such a good Queen; it’s a shame and a +disgrace to mention it.” + +“So it be,” said Joe; “I’m darned if I wouldn’t knock a feller into the +middle o’ next week as talked like thic. Hooroar for the Queen!” + +“And now I’m going to say another thing,” continued the sergeant, who +really waxed warm with his subject, and struck admiration into his +audience by his manner of delivery: may I say that to my mind he was even +eloquent, and ought to have been a sergeant-at-law, only that the country +would have been the loser by it: and the country, to my mind, has the +first right to the services of every citizen. “Just look,” said the +sergeant, “at the kindness of that—what shall I call her? blessed!—yes, +blessed Princess of Wales! Was there ever such a woman? Talk about Jael +in the Bible being blessed above women—why I don’t set no value upon her; +she put a spike through a feller it’s true, but it was precious cowardly; +but the Princess, she goes here and goes there visiting the sick and poor +and homeless, not like a princess, but like a real woman, and that’s why +the people love her. No man despises a toady more than I do—I’d give him +up to the tender mercies of that wife of Heber the Keenite any day; but +if the Princess was to say to me, ‘Look ’ere, Sergeant, I feel a little +low, and should like some nice little excitement just to keep up my +spirits and cheer me up a bit’” (several of them thought this style of +conversation was a familiar habit with the Princess and Sergeant +Goodtale, and that he must be immensely popular with the Royal Family), +“well, if she was to say, ‘Look here, Sergeant Goodtale, here’s a +precipice, it ud do me good to see you leap off that,’ I should just take +off my coat and tuck up my shirt sleeves, and away I should go.” + +At such unheard of heroism and loyalty there was a general exclamation of +enthusiasm, and no one in that company could tell whom he at that moment +most admired, the Princess or the Sergeant. + +“That’s a stunner!” said Joe. + +“Princess by name and Princess by nature,” replied the sergeant; “and now +look’ee here, in proof of what I say, I’m going to give you a toast.” + +“Hear, hear,” said everybody. + +“But stop a minute,” said the sergeant, “I’m not a man of words without +deeds. Have we got anything to drink to the toast?” + +All looked in their respective cups and every one said, “No, not a drop!” + +Then said the sergeant “We’ll have one all rounded for the last. You’ll +find me as good as my word. What’s it to be before we part?” + +“Can’t beat this ’ere,” said Joe, looking into the sergeant’s empty +glass. + +“So say all of us,” exclaimed Harry. + +“That’s it,” said all. + +“And a song from the sergeant,” added Devilmecare. + +“Ay, lads, I’ll give you a song.” + +Then came in the pretty maid whom Joe leered at, and the sergeant winked +at; and then came in tumblers of the military beverage, and then the +sergeant said: + +“In all companies this is drunk upstanding, and with hats off, except +soldiers, whose privilege it is to keep them on. You need not take yours +off, Mr. Wurzel; you are one of Her Majesty’s Hussars. Now then all say +after me: ‘Our gracious Queen; long may she live and blessed be her +reign—the mother and friend of her people!’” + +The enthusiasm was loud and general, and the toast was drunk with as +hearty a relish as ever it was at Lord Mayor’s Banquet. + +“And now,” said the sergeant, “once more before we part—” + +“Ah! but the song?” said the Boardman. + +“Oh yes, I keep my word. A man, unless he’s a man of his word, ought +never to wear Her Majesty’s uniform!” And then he said: + +“The Prince and Princess of Wales and the rest of the Royal Family.” + +This also was responded to in the same unequivocal manner; and then amid +calls of “the sergeant,” that officer, after getting his voice in tune, +sang the following song: + + + +GOD BLESS OUR DEAR PRINCESS. + + + There’s not a grief the heart can bear + But love can soothe its pain; + There’s not a sorrow or a care + It smiles upon in vain. + And _She_ sends forth its brightest rays + Where darkest woes depress, + Where long wept Suffering silent prays— + God save our dear Princess! + + CHORUS. + + She soothes the breaking heart, + She comforts in distress; + She acts true woman’s noblest part. + God save our dear Princess + She bringeth hope to weary lives + So worn by hopeless toil; + E’en Sorrow’s drooping form revives + Beneath her loving smile. + Where helpless Age reluctant seeks + Its refuge from distress, + E’en there _Her_ name the prayer bespeaks + God save our dear Princess! + + It’s not in rank or princely show + True _Manhood’s_ heart to win; + ’Tis Love’s sweet sympathetic glow + That makes all hearts akin. + Though frequent storms the State must stir + While Freedom we possess, + Our hearts may all beat true to Her, + Our own beloved Princess. + + The violet gives its sweet perfume + Unconscious of its worth; + So Love unfolds her sacred bloom + And hallows sinful earth; + May God her gentle life prolong + And all her pathway bless; + Be this the nation’s fervent song— + God save our dear Princess! + +Although the language of a song may not always be intelligible to the +unlettered hearer, the spirit and sentiment are; especially when it +appeals to the emotions through the charms of music. The sergeant had a +musical voice capable of deep pathos; and as the note of a bird or the +cry of an animal in distress is always distinguishable from every other +sound, so the pathos of poetry finds its way where its words are not +always accurately understood. It was very observable, and much I thought +to the sergeant’s great power as a singer, that the first chorus was sung +with a tone which seemed to imply that the audience was feeling its way: +the second was given with more enthusiasm and vehemence: the third was +thumped upon the table as though a drum were required to give full effect +to the feelings of the company; while the fourth was shouted with such +heartiness that mere singing seemed useless, and it developed into loud +hurrahs, repeated again and again; and emphasized by the twirling of +hats, the clapping of hands, and stamping of feet. + +“What d’ye think o’ that?” says the Boardman. + +“I’m on,” said Lazyman; “give me the shilling, sergeant, if you please?” + +“So’m I,” said Saunter. + +“Hooroar!” shouted the stentorian voice that had erstwhile charmed the +audience with Brimstone’s sermon. + +“Bravo!” said Harry. + +“Look’ee here,” said Jack Outofwork, “we’ve had a werry pleasant evenin’ +together, and I ain’t goin’ to part like this ’ere; no more walkin’ about +looking arter jobs for me, I’m your man, sergeant.” + +“Well,” said the sergeant, eyeing his company, “I didn’t expect this; a +pluckier lot o’ chaps I never see; and I’m sure when the Queen sees you +it’ll be the proudest moment of her life. Why, how tall do you stand, +Mr. Lazyman?” + +“Six foot one,” said he. + +“Ha,” said the Sergeant, “I thought so. And you, Mr. Outofwork?” + +“I don’t rightly know,” said Jack. + +“Well,” said the sergeant, “just stand up by the side of me—ha, that will +do,” he added, pretending to take an accurate survey, “I think I can +squeeze you in—it will be a tight fit though.” + +“I hope you can, Mr. Sergeant,” said he. + +“Look ’ere,” laughed Joe; “We’ll kitch ’old of his legs and give him a +stretch, won’t us, Sergeant?” + +And so the bright shillings were given, and the pretty maid’s services +were again called in; and she said “she never see sich a lot o’ plucky +fellows in her born days;” and all were about to depart when, as the +sergeant was shaking hands with Dick Devilmecare in the most pathetic and +friendly manner, as though he were parting from a brother whom he had not +met for years, Devilmecare’s eyes filled with tears, and he exclaimed, + +“Danged if I’ll be left out of it, sergeant; give me the shillin’?” + +At this moment the portly figure of Mr. Bumpkin again appeared in the +doorway! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +The famous Don O’Rapley and Mr. Bumpkin spend a social evening at the +“Goose.” + +When Mr. Bumpkin, on this memorable evening, went into Mrs. Oldtimes’ +parlour to console himself after the fatigues and troubles of the day +there were a cheerful fire and a comfortable meal prepared for him. Mr. +O’Rapley had promised to spend the evening with him, so that they might +talk over the business of the day and the prospects of the coming trial. +It was a very singular coincidence, and one that tended to cement the +friendship of these two gentlemen, that their tastes both inclined to +gin-and-water. And this very house, as appeared from a notice on the +outside, was the “noted house for Foolman’s celebrated gin.” + +But as yet Mr. O’Rapley had not arrived; so after his meal Mr. Bumpkin +looked into the other room to see how Joe was getting on, for he was +extremely anxious to keep his “head witness” straight. “Joe was his +mainstay.” + +I have already related what took place, and the song that Bumpkin sang. +The statement of the head witness that he was all right, and that he was +up to Mr. Sergeant, to a great extent reassured Mr. Bumpkin: although he +felt, keen man that he was, that that soldier was there for the purpose +of “ketchin what young men he could to make sogers on ’em; he had ’eerd +o’ sich things afore:” such were his thoughts as Mr. O’Rapley entered the +apartment. + +“Dear me, Mr. Bumpkin,” said that official, “how very cold it is! how are +you, Mrs. Oldtimes? I haven’t seen you for an age.” + +The Don always made that observation when strangers were present. + +“Hope you’re quite well, sir,” said the landlady, with much humility. + +“What’ll thee please to take, sir?” asked Bumpkin. + +“Well, now, I daresay you’ll think me remarkable strange, Mr. Bumpkin, +but I’m going to say something which I very very seldom indulge in, but +it’s good, I believe, for indigestion. I will take a little—just a very +small quantity—of gin, with some hot water, and a large lump of sugar, to +destroy the alcohol.” + +“Ha!” said the knowing Bumpkin; “that’s wot we call gin-and-water in our +part of the country. So’ll I, Mrs. Oldtimes, but not too much hot water +for I. What’ll thee smoke, sir?” + +“Thank you, one of those cheroots that my lord praised so much the last +time we was ’ere.” + +“If you please, sir,” said the landlady, with a very good-natured smile. + +“Well,” said the O’Rapley, in his patronizing manner; “and how have we +got on to-day? let us hear all about it. Come, your good health, Mr. +Bumkin, and success to our lawsuit. I call it _ours_ now, for I really +feel as interested in it as you do yourself; by-the-bye, what’s it all +about, Mr. Bumpkin?” + +“Well, sir, you see,” replied the astute man, “I hardly knows; it beginnd +about a pig, but what it’s about now, be more un I can tell thee. I +think it be salt and trespass.” + +“You have not enquired?” + +“No, I beant; I left un all in the hands o’ my lawyer, and I believe he’s +a goodun, bean’t he?” + +“Let me see; O dear, yes, a capital man—a very good man indeed, a close +shaver.” + +“Is ur? and that’s what I want. I wants thic feller shaved as close to +his chin as may be.” + +“Ah!” said O’Rapley, “and Prigg will shave him, and no mistake. Well, +and how did we get on at the Mansion House? First of all, who was +against you?—Mrs. Oldtimes, I _think_ I’ll just take a very small +quantity more, it has quite removed my indigestion—who was against you, +sir?” + +“Mr. Nimble; but, lor, he worn’t nowhere; I had un to rights,—jest gi’e +me a leetle more, missus,—he couldn’t axe I a question I couldn’t answer; +and I believe he said as good, for I zeed un talking to the Lord Mayor; +it worn’t no use to question I.” + +“You didn’t say anything about me?” + +“No,” answered Bumpkin, in a loud whisper; “I din’t; but I did say afore +I could stop the word from comin’ out o’ my mouth as I had a _companion_, +but they didn’t ketch it, except that the gentleman under the lord mayor +were gwine to ax about thee, and blowed if the counsellor didn’t stop un; +so that be all right.” + +“Capital!” exclaimed the great bowler, waving his arm as if in the act of +delivery; then, in a whisper, “Did they ask about the woman?” + +“Noa—they doan’t know nowt about thic—not a word; I was mighty plased at +un, for although, as thee be aware, it be the biggest lie as ever wur +heard, I wouldn’t have my wife hear o’ sich to save my life. She be a +good wife to I an’ allays have a bin; but there I thee could clear me in +a minute, if need be, sir.” + +“Yes, but you see,” said the artful Don, “if I was to appear, it would +make a sensational case of it in a minute and fill all the papers.” + +“Would ur now? Morn’t do that nuther; but, wot d’ye think, sir? As I +wur leavin’ the Cooart, a gemman comes up and he says, says he, ‘I +spoase, sir, you don’t want this thing put in the papers?’ How the dooce +he knowed that, I can’t make out, onless that I wouldn’t say where I +lived, for the sake o’ Nancy; no, nor thee couldn’t ha’ dragged un out o’ +me wi’ horses.” + +“Yes?” said the Don, interrogatively. + +“‘Well,’ says I, ‘no, I don’t partickler want it in.’ I thought I’d say +that, don’t thee zee (with a wink), ’cos he shouldn’t think I were eager +like.” + +“Exactly,” + +“Well, this ’ere gemman says, says he, ‘It don’t matter to me, sir, +whether it’s in or not, but if thee don’t want it in, I’ll keep it out, +that’s all. It will pay I better p’raps to put un in.’ + +“‘And who med thee be, sir?’ I axed. + +“‘Only the _Times_’, said the gemman, ‘that’s all.’ Then, turning to his +friend, he said, ‘Come on, Jack, the gemman wants it in, so we’ll have it +in, every word, and where he comes from too, and all about the gal; we +know all about it, don’t us, Jack?’” + +“Ha!” said the O’Rapley, blowing out a large cloud, and fixing his eye on +the middle stump. + +“Well,” continued Bumpkin, “thee could ha’ knocked I down wi’ a feather. +How the doose they knowed where I comed from I can’t make out; but here +wur I as cloase to the man as writes the _Times_ as I be to thee.” + +The O’Rapley nodded his head knowingly several times. + +“‘Well, and how much do thee charge to keep un out?’ seys I. ‘Don’t be +too hard upon me, I be only a poor man.’ + +“‘We have only one charge,’ says the _Times_, ‘and that is half a +guinea.’ + +“‘Spoase we say seven and six,’ sess I. + +“‘That,’ seys the _Times_, ‘wouldn’t keep your name out, and I suppose +you don’t want that in?’ ‘Very well,’ I sess, takin’ out my leather bag +and handin’ him the money; ‘this’ll keep un out, wool ur?’ + +“‘Sartainly,’ says he; and then his friend Jack says, ‘My fee be five +shillings, sir.’ ‘And who be thee?’ says I. ‘I’m the _Telegrarf_,’ seys +he. ‘The devil thee be?’ I sess, ‘I’ve eerd tell on ee.’ ‘Largest +calculation in the world,’ he says; ‘and, if thee like,’ he says, ‘I can +take the _Daily Noos_ and _Stanard_ money, for I don’t see ’em here jist +now; it’ll be five shillings apiece.’ + +“‘Well,’ I sess, ‘this be rum business, this; if I takes a quantity like +this, can’t it be done a little cheaper?’ + +“‘No,’ he says; ‘we stands too high for anything o’ that sort. Thee can +’ave it or leave it.’ + +“‘Very well,’ I sess; ‘then, if there’s no option, there’s the money.’ +And with that I handed un the fifteen shillings. + +“‘Then,’ says the _Times_, ‘we’d better look sharp, Jack, or else we +shan’t be in time to keep it out.’ And wi’ that they hurried off as fast +as they could. I will say’t they didn’t let the grass grow under their +feet.” + +“And why,” enquired the Don, with an amused smile, “were you so anxious +to keep it out of the _Times_? Mrs. Bumpkin doesn’t read the _Times_, +does she?” + +“Why, no; but then the Squoire tak it in, and when eve done wi un he +lends un to the Doctor, Mr. Gossip; and when he gets hold o’ anything, +away it goes to the Parish Clerk, Mr. Jeerum, and then thee med as well +hire the town crier at once.” + +“I see; but if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Bumpkin, I will give you a bit of +information that may be of service.” + +“Thankee, sir; will thee jist tak a little more to wet the tother eye +like.” + +“Well, really,” replied O’Rapley, “it is long past my hour of nocturnal +repose.” + +“What, sir? I doant ondustand.” + +“I mean to say that I generally hook it off to bed before this.” + +“Zackly; but we’ll ’ave another. Your leave, sir, thee was going to tell +I zummat.” + +“O yes,” said Mr. O’Rapley, with a wave of the hand in imitation of the +Lord Chief Justice. “I was going to say that those two men were a couple +of rogues.” + +Mr. Bumpkin paused in the act of passing the tumbler to his lips, like +one who feels he has been artfully taken in. + +“You’ve been done, sir!” said Mr. O’Rapley emphatically, “that man who +said he was the _Times_ was no more the _Times_ than you’re _Punch_.” + +“Nor thic _Telegrarf_ feller!” + +“No. And you could prosecute them. And I’ll tell you what you could +prosecute them for.” Mr. Bumpkin looked almost stupified. + +“I’ll tell you what these villains have been guilty of; they’ve been +guilty of obtaining money by false pretences, and conspiring to obtain +money by false pretences.” + +“Have um?” said Bumpkin. + +“And you can prosecute them. You’ve only got to go and put the matter in +the hands of the police, and then go to some first-rate solicitor who +attends police courts; now I can recommend you one that will do you +justice. I should like to see these rascals well punished.” + +“And will this fust-rate attorney do un for nothin’?” + +“Why, hardly; any more than you would sell him a pig for nothing.” + +“Then I shan’t prosekit,” said Mr. Bumpkin; “the devil’s in’t, I be no +sooner out o’ one thing than I be into another—why I beant out o’ thic +watch job yet, for I got to ’pear at the Old Bailey on the +twenty-fourth.” + +“O, committed for trial, was he?” exclaimed the Don. + +“Sure wur ur,” said Mr. Bumpkin triumphantly—“guilty!” + +Now I perceived that the wily Mr. O’Rapley did not recommend Bumpkin to +obtain the services of a solicitor to conduct his prosecution in this +case; and I apprehend for this reason, that the said solicitor being +conscientious, would unquestionably recommend and insist that Mr. +Bumpkin’s evidence at the Old Bailey should be supported by that of the +Don himself. So Mr. Bumpkin was left to the tender mercies of the Public +Prosecutor or a criminal tout, or the most inexperienced of “soup” +instructed counsel, as the case might be, but of which matters at present +I have no knowledge as I have no dreams of the future. + +Then Mr. Bumpkin said, “By thy leave, worthy Mr. O’Rapley, I will just +see what my head witness be about: he be a sharp lad enow, but wants a +dale o’ lookin arter.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +Don O’Rapley expresses his views of the policy of the legislature in not +permitting dominoes to be played in public houses. + +When Mr. Bumpkin returned to the cosy parlour, his face was red and his +teeth were set. He was so much agitated indeed, that instead of +addressing Mr. O’Rapley, he spoke to Mrs. Oldtimes, as though in her +female tenderness he might find a more sincere and sympathetic adviser. + +Mr. Bumpkin was never what you would call an eloquent or fluent speaker: +his Somersetshire brogue was at times difficult of comprehension. He +certainly was not fluent when he said to Mrs. Oldtimes: “Why +thic—there—damn un Mrs. Oldtimes if he beant gwine and never zeed zich a +thing in my bornd days—” + +“Why what ever in the name of goodness gracious is the matter?” asked the +landlady. + +“Why thic there head witness o’ mine: a silly-brained—Gor forgive me that +iver I should spake so o’ un, for he wor allays a good chap; and I do +b’leeve he’ve got moore sense than do any thing o’ that kind.” + +“What’s the matter? what’s the matter?” again enquired Mrs. Oldtimes. + +“Why he be playin’ dominoes wi thic Sergeant.” + +“O,” said the landlady, “I was afraid something had happened. We’re not +allowed to know anything about dominoes or card-playing in our house—the +Law forbids our knowing it, Mr. Bumpkin; so, if you please, we will not +talk about it—I wish to conduct my house as it always has been for the +last five-and-twenty years, in peace and quietness and respectability, +Mr. Bumpkin, which nobody can never say to the contrairy. It was only +the last licensing day Mr. Twiddletwaddle, the chairman of the Bench, +said as it were the best conducted house in Westminster.” + +Now whether it was that the report of this domino playing was made in the +presence of so high a dignitary of the law as Mr. O’Rapley, or from any +other cause, I cannot say, but Mrs. Oldtimes was really indignant, and +positively refused to accept any statement which involved the character +of her establishment. + +“I think,” she continued, addressing Mr. O’Rapley, “you have known this +house for some time, sir.” + +“I have,” said O’Rapley. “I have passed it every evening for the last +ten years.” + +“Ah now, to be sure—you hear that, Mr. Bumpkin. What do you think of +that?” + +“Never saw anything wrong, I will say that.” + +“Never a game in my house, if I knows it; and what’s more, I won’t +believe it until I sees it.” + +“Ockelar demonstration, that’s the law,” said the Don. + +Mr. Bumpkin’s excitement was absolutely merged in that of the landlady, +whom he had so innocently provoked. He stared as the parties continued +their wordy justification of this well-ruled household like one dreaming +with his eyes open. No woman could have made more ado about her own +character than Mrs. Oldtimes did respecting that of her house. But then, +the one could be estimated in money, while the other possessed but an +abstract value. + +“I believe,” she repeated, “that cards or dominoes has never been played +in my house since here I’ve been, or since the law has been what it is.” + +“I be wery sorry,” said the penitent Bumpkin; “I warn’t aweare I wur +doing anythin’ wrong.” + +“It’s unlawful, you see, to play,” said the Don; “and consequently they +dursn’t play. Now, why is it unlawful? Because Public Houses is for +drinking, not for amusement. Now, sir, Drink is the largest tax-payer +we’ve got—therefore Drink’s an important Industry. Set people to work +drinking and you get a good Rewenue, which keeps up the Army and Navy—the +Navy swims in liquor, sir—but let these here Perducers of the Rewenue +pause for the sake o’ playing dominoes, or what not, and what’s the +consequence? You check this important industry—therefore don’t by any +manner of means interrupt drinking. It’s an agreeable ockepation and a +paying one.” + +“Well done, sir,” said Oldtimes, from the corner of the fireplace, where +he was doing his best with only one mouth and one constitution to keep up +the Army and Navy. A patriotic man was Oldtimes. + +“Drink,” continued O’Rapley, “is the most powerful horgsilery the +Government has.” + +“Ah!” said Mr. Bumpkin, not knowing what a horgsilery was; “now thee’ve +gone a-head o’ me, sir. Thee’re a larned man, Mr. O’Rapley, and I beant +much of a schollard; will thee please to tell I what a horgs—what wur +it?” + +“Horgsilery,” said Mr. O’Rapley. + +“Horsgilly—ah! so twur. Well, by thy leave, worthy sir, will thee be so +kind as to tell I be it anything like a hogshead?” + +“Well,” said Mr. O’Rapley, “its more like a corkscrew: the taxes of the +country would be bottled up as tight as champagne and you couldn’t get +’em out without this corkscrew.” + +“But I worn’t spakin’ about taxes when I spak of dominoes; what I wur +alludin’ to wur thic Joe been drawed in to goo for a soger.” + +“Lor, bless you,” said Mrs. Oldtimes, “many a man as good as Joe have +listed before now and will again.” + +“Mayhap,” said Bumpkin; “but he wurn’t my ’ead witness and didn’t work +for I. Joe be my right hand man, although I keeps un down and tells un +he beant fit for nothin’.” + +“Ha,” said the Don, “he’s not likely to go for a soldier, I think, if +it’s that good-looking young chap I saw with the kicking-straps on.” + +“Kickin’-straps,” said Bumpkin; “haw! haw! haw! That be a good un. Well +he told I he wur up to un and I think ur be: he’ll be a clever feller if +ur gets our Joe. Why Nancy ud goo amost out o’ her mind. And now, sir, +will thee ’ave any moore?” + +Mr. O’Rapley, in the most decisive but polite manner, refused. He had +quite gone out of his way as it was in the hope of serving Mr. Bumpkin. +He was sure that the thief would be convicted, and as he rose to depart +seized his friend’s hand in the most affectionate manner. Anything he +could do for him he was sure he would do cheerfully, at any amount of +self-sacrifice—he would get up in the night to serve him. + +“Thankee,” said Bumpkin; but he had hardly spoken when he was startled by +the most uproarious cheers from the taproom. And then he began again +about the folly of young men getting into the company of recruiting +sergeants. + +“Look here,” said the Don, confidentially, “take my advice—say nothing—a +still tongue makes a wise head; to persuade a man not to enter the army +is tantamount to advising him to desert. If you don’t mind, you may lay +yourself open to a prosecution.” + +“Zounds!” exclaimed Mr. Bumpkin, “it seem to me a man in Lunnon be every +minit liable to a prosecution for zummat. I hope sayin’ that beant +contempt o’ Coourt, sir.” + +Mr. O’Rapley was silent—his head drooped towards Mr. Bumpkin in a +semi-conscious manner, and he nodded three consecutive times: called for +another “seroot,” lit it after many efforts, and again assuring Mr. +Bumpkin that he would do all he could towards facilitating his triumph +over Snooks, was about to depart, when his friend asked him, +confidentially, whether he had not better be at the Old Bailey when the +trial came on, in case of its being necessary to call him. + +“Shurel not!” hiccupped the Don. Then he pointed his finger, and leering +at Bumpkin, repeated, “Shurel not;—jus swell cll Ch. Jussiself”—which +being interpreted meant, “Certainly not, you might just as well call the +Chief Justice himself.” + +“Pr’aps he’ll try un?” said Bumpkin. + +“Noer won’t—noer won’t: Chansy Juge mos likel Massr Rolls.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +In spite of all warnings, Joe takes his own part, not to be persuaded on +one side or the other—affecting scene between Mr. Bumpkin and his old +servant. + +“Whatever can that there shoutin’ be for, Mrs. Oldtimes—they be terrible +noisy.” + +“O,” said the landlady, “somebody else has listed.” + +“I hope it beant that silly Joe. I warned un two or three times agin +thic feller.” + +“There have been several to-night,” said the landlady, who had scarcely +yet recovered from the insinuations against the character of her house. + +“How does thee know thic, my dear lady?” + +“O, because Miss Prettyface have been in and out sewin’ the colours on +all the evening, that’s all. Sergeant Goodtale be the best recrootin’ +sergeant ever come into a town—he’d list his own father!” + +“Would ur, now?” said Bumpkin. “Beant thee afeard o’ thy husband bein’ +took?” + +Mrs. Oldtimes shrieked with laughter, and said she wished he would list +Tom, for he wasn’t any good except to sit in the chimney corner and smoke +and drink from morning to night. + +“And keep up th’ Army,” growled the husband + +“Ha, keep up the Army, indeed,” said Mrs. Oldtimes; “you do your share in +that way, I grant.” + +Now it was quite manifest that that last cheer from the taproom was the +herald of the company’s departure. There was a great scuffling and +stamping of feet as of a general clearing out, and many “good nights.” +Then the big manly voice of the Sergeant said: “Nine o’clock, lads; nine +o’clock; don’t oversleep yourselves; we shall have chops at eight. What +d’ye say to that, Mrs. Oldtimes?” + +“As you please, Sergeant; but there’s a nice piece of ham, if any would +like that.” + +“Ha!” said the Sergeant; “now, how many would like ham?” + +“I’se for a chop,” said Joe, working his mouth as if he would get it in +training. + +“Right,” said the Sergeant, “we’ll see about breakfast in the morning. +But you know, Mrs. Oldtimes, we like to start with a good foundation.” + +And with three cheers for the Sergeant the recruits left the house: all +except Joe, who occupied his old room. + +After they were gone, and while Mr. Bumpkin was confidentially conversing +with the landlord in the chimney corner, he was suddenly aroused by the +indomitable Joe bursting into the room and performing a kind of dance or +jig, the streamers, meanwhile, in his hat, flowing and flaunting in the +most audaciously military manner. + +“Halloa! halloa! zounds! What be th’ meaning o’ all this? Why, Joe! +Joe! thee’s never done it, lad! O dear! dear!” + +There were the colours as plain as possible in Joe’s hat, and there was a +wild unmeaning look in his eyes. It seemed already as if the old +intimacy between him and his master were at an end. His memory was more +a thing of the future than the past: he recollected the mutton chops that +were to come. And I verily believe it was brightened by the dawn of new +hopes and aspirations. There was an awakening sense of individuality. +Hitherto he had been the property of another: he had now exercised the +right of ownership over himself; and although that act had transferred +him to another master, it had seemed to give him temporary freedom, and +to have conferred upon him a new existence. + +Man is, I suppose, what his mind is, and Joe’s mind was as completely +changed as if he had been born into a different sphere. The moth comes +out of the grub, the gay Hussar out of the dull ploughman. + +“Why, Joe, Joe,” said his old master. “Thee’s never gone an’ listed, has +thee, Joe?” + +“Lookee ’ere, maister,” said the recruit, taking off his hat and +spreading out the colours—“Thee sees these here, maister?” + +“Thee beant such a fool, Joe, I knows thee beant—thee’s been well brought +oop—and I knows thee beant gwine to leave I and goo for a soger!” + +“I be listed, maister.” + +“Never!” exclaimed Mr. Bumpkin. “I wunt b’lieve it, Joe.” + +“Then thee must do tother thing, maister. I tellee I be listed; now, +what’s thee think o’ that?” + +“That thee be a fool,” said Mr. Bumpkin, angrily; “thee be a +silly-brained—.” + +“Stop a bit, maister, no moore o’ that. I beant thy sarvant now. I be a +Queen’s man—I be in the Queen’s sarvice.” + +“A pooty Queen’s man thee be, surely. Why look at thic hair all down +over thy face, and thee be as red as a poppy.” + +Now I perceived that although neither master nor man was in such a state +as could be described as “intoxicated,” yet both were in that +semi-beatific condition which may be called sentimental. + +“Lookee ’ere, maister,” continued Joe. + +“And lookee here,” said Mr. Bumpkin, “didn’t I come out to thee two or +three times, and call thee out and tell ’ee to tak’ heed to thic soger +feller, for he wur up to no good? Did I Joe, or did I not?” + +“Thee did, maister.” + +“Well, an’ now look where thee be; he’ve regler took thee in, thee silly +fool.” + +“No, he beant; for he wouldn’t ’ave I at fust, and told I to goo and ax +my mither. No ses I, I’ll goo to the divil afore I be gwine to ax +mither. I beant a child, I ses.” + +“But thee’s fond o’ thy poor old mither, Joe; I knows thee be, and sends +her a shillin’ a week out o’ thy wages; don’t thee, Joe?” + +This was an awkward thrust, and pricked the lad in his most sensitive +part. His under-lip drooped, his mouth twitched, and his eyes glistened. +He was silent. + +“Where’ll thy poor old mither get a shilling a week from noo, Joe? +That’s what I wants to know.” + +Joe drew his sleeve over his face, but bore up bravely withal. _He_ +wasn’t going to cry, not he. + +“Thee beest a silly feller to leave a good ooame and nine shillin’ a week +to goo a sogerin; and when thee was out o’ work, there were allays a +place for thee, Joe, at the fireside: now, warnt there, Joe?” + +“Lookee ’ere, maister, I be for betterin’ myself.” + +“Betterin’ thyself? who put that into thy silly pate? thic sergeant, I +bleeve.” + +“So ur did; not by anything ur said, but to see un wi beef steaks and +ingons for supper, while I doan’t ’ave a mouthful o’ mate once a week, +and work like a oarse.” + +“Poor silly feller—O dear, dear! whatever wool I tell Nancy and thy poor +mither. What redgimen be thee in, Joe?” + +“Hooroars!” + +“Hooroars! hoo-devils!” and I perceived that Mr. Bumpkin’s eyes began to +glisten as he more and more realized the fact that Joe was no more to +him—“thee manest the oosors, thee silly feller; a pooty oosor thee’ll +make!” + +“I tellee what,” said Joe, whose pride was now touched, “Maister Sergeant +said I wur the finest made chap he ever see.” + +“That’s ow ur gulled thee, Joe.” + +“Noa didn’t; I went o’ my own free will. No man should persuade I—trust +Joe for thic: couldn’t persuade I to goo, nor yet not to goo.” + +“That’s right,” chimed in Miss Prettyface, with her sweet little voice. + +“And thee sewed the colours on; didn’t thee, Miss?” + +“I did,” answered the young lady. + +“Joe,” said Mr. Bumpkin, “I be mortal sorry for thee; what’ll I do wirout +thy evidence? Lawyer Prigg say thee’s the most wallible witness for I.” + +“Lookee ’ere, maister, ere we bin ’anging about for weeks and weeks and +no forrerder so far as I can see. When thy case’ll come on I don’t +bleeve no man can tell; but whensomdever thee wants Joe, all thee’ve got +to do is to write to the Queen, and she’ll gie I leave.” + +“O thee silly, igerant ass!” said Mr. Bumpkin; “I can’t help saying it, +Joe—the Queen doan’t gie leave, it be the kernel. I know zummut o’ +sogerin, thee see; I were in th’ militia farty year agoo: but spoase thee +be away—abraird? How be I to get at thee then?” + +“Ha! if I be away in furren parts, and thy case be in the list, I doant +zee—” + +“Thee silly feller, thee’ll ha to goo fightin’ may be.” + +“Well,” said Joe, “I loikes fightin’.” + +“Thee loikes fightin’! what’s thee know about fightin’? never fit +anything in thy life but thic boar-pig, when he got I down in the yard. +O, Joe, I can’t bear the thought o thee goin’.” + +“Noa, but Maister Sergeant says thee jist snicks off the ’eads of the +enemy like snickin’ off the tops o’ beans.” + +“Yes, but ow if thee gets thine snicked off?” + +“Well, if mine be snicked off, it wunt be no use to I, and I doan’t care +who has un when I ha’ done wi un: anybody’s welcome as thinks he can do +better with un than I, or ’as moore right to un.” + +“Joe, Joe, whatever’ll them there pigs do wirout thee, and thic there +bull ’ll goo out of his mind—he wur mighty fond o’ thee, Joe—thee couldst +do anything wi un: couldn’t ur, Joe?” + +“Ha!” said the recruit; “that there bull ud foller I about anywhere, and +so ur would Missis.” + +“Then there be Polly!” + +“Ha, that there Polly, she cocked her noase at I, maister, becos she +thought I worn’t good enough; but wait till she sees me in my cloase; she +wunt cock her noase at I then, I’ll warrant.” + +“Well, Joe, as thee maks thy bed so thee must lie on un, lad. I wish +thee well, Joe.” + +“Never wronged thee, did I, maister?” + +“Never; no, never.” And at this point master and man shook hands +affectionately. + +“Gie my love to thic bull,” said Joe. “I shall come down as soon as evir +I can: I wish they’d let me bring my oarse.” + +“Joe, thee ha’ had too much to drink, I know thee has; and didn’t I warn +thee, Joe? Thee can’t say I didn’t warn thee.” + +“Thee did, maister, I’ll allays say it; thee warned I well—but lor that +there stuff as the Sergeant had, it jist shoots through thee and livins +thee oop for all the world as if thee got a young ooman in thee arms in a +dancin’ booth at the fair.” + +“Ha, Joe, it were drink done it.” + +“Noa, noa, never!—good-night, maister, and God bless thee—thee been a +good maister, and I been a good sarvant. I shall allays think o’ thee +and Missis, too.” + +Here I saw that Mr. Bumpkin, what with his feelings and what with his +gin-and-water, was well nigh overcome with emotion. Nor was it to be +wondered at; he was in London a stranger, waiting for a trial with a +neighbour, with whom for years he had been on friendly terms; his hard +savings were fast disappearing; his stock and furniture were mortgaged; +some of it had been sold, and his principal witness and faithful servant +was now gone for a soldier. In addition to all this, poor Mr. Bumpkin +could not help recalling the happiness of his past life, his early +struggles, his rigid self-denial, his pleasure as the modest savings +accumulated—not so much occasioned by the sordid desire of wealth, as the +nobler wish to be independent. Then there was Mrs. Bumpkin, who +naturally crossed his mind at this miserable moment in his existence—at +home by herself—faithful, hardworking woman, who believed not only in her +husband’s wisdom, but in his luck. She had never liked this going to +law, and would much rather have given Snooks the pig than it should have +come about; yet she could not help believing that her husband must be +right come what may. What would she think of Joe’s leaving them in this +way? All this passed through the shallow mind of the farmer as he +prepared for bed. And there was no getting away from his thoughts, try +as he would. As he lay on his bed there passed before his mind the old +farm-house, with its elm tree; and the barnyard, newly littered down with +the sweet smelling fodder; the orchard blossoms smiling in the morning +sunshine; the pigs routing through the straw; the excited ducks and the +swifter fowls rushing towards Mrs. Bumpkin as she came out to shake the +tablecloth; the sleek and shining cows; the meadows dotted all over with +yellow buttercups; the stately bull feeding in the distance by himself; +the lazy stream that pursued its even course without a quarrel or a +lawsuit; all these, and a thousand other remembrances of home, passed +before the excited and somewhat distempered vision of the farmer on this +unhappy night. Had he been a criminal waiting his trial he could not +have been more wretched. At length he endeavoured to console himself by +thinking of Snooks: tried to believe that victory over that ill-disposed +person would repay the trouble and anxiety it cost him to achieve. But +no, not even revenge was sweet under his present circumstances. It is +always an apple of ashes at the best; but, weighed now against the +comforts and happiness of a peaceful life, it was worse than ashes—it was +poison. + + * * * * * + +Here I awoke. + +“Now,” said my wife, “is it not just as I told you? I knew that artful +Sergeant would enlist poor stupid Joe?” + +“O,” quoth I, “have I been talking again?” + +“More than ever; and I am very sorry Joe has deserted his kind master. I +am afraid now he will lose his case.” + +“I am not concerned about that at present; my work is but to dream, not +to prophesy events. I hope Mr. Bumpkin will win, but nothing is so +uncertain as the Law.” + +“And why should that be? Law should be as certain as the Multiplication +Table.” + +“Ah,” sighed I, “but—” + +“A man who brings an action must be right or wrong,” interrupted my wife. + +“Yes,” said I, “and sometimes he’s both; and one judge will take one view +of his case—his conduct out of Court, and his demeanour in—while another +judge will take another; why, I have known a man lose his case through +having a wart upon his nose.” + +“Gracious!” exclaimed my wife, “is it possible?” + +“Yes,” quoth I; “and another through having a twitch in his eye. Then +you may have a foolish jury, who take a prejudice against a man. For +instance, if a lawyer brings an action, he can seldom get justice before +a common jury; and so if he be sued. A blue ribbon man on the jury will +be almost sure to carry his extreme virtue to the border of injustice +against a publican. Masters decide against workmen, and so on.” + +“Well, Mr. Bumpkin is not a lawyer, or a publican, or a blue ribbon man, +so I hope he’ll win.” + +“I don’t hope anything about it,” I replied. “I shall note down what +takes place; I don’t care who wins.” + +“When will his case at the Old Bailey come on? I think that’s the term +you use.” + +“It will be tried next week.” + +“He is sure to punish that wicked thief who stole his watch.” + +“One would think so: much will depend upon the way Mr. Bumpkin gives his +evidence; much on the way in which the thief is defended; a good deal on +the ability of the Counsel for the Prosecution; and very much on the +class of man they get in the jury box.” + +“But the case is so clear.” + +“Yes, to us who know all about it; but you have to make it clear to the +jury.” + +“There’s the watch found upon the man. Why, dear me, what can be clearer +or plainer than that?” + +“True; that’s Mr. Bumpkin’s evidence.” + +“And Mr. Bumpkin saw him take it.” + +“That’s Bumpkin again.” + +“Then Mr. O’Rapley was with him.” + +“Did you not hear that he is not to be called; the Don doesn’t want to be +seen in the affair.” + +“Well, I feel certain he will win. I shall not believe in trial by jury +if they let that man off.” + +“You don’t know what a trial at the Old Bailey or Quarter Sessions is. I +don’t mean at the Old Bailey before a real Common Law judge, but a +Chancery judge. I once heard a counsel, who was prosecuting a man for +passing bad money, interrupt a recorder in his summing up, and ask him to +tell the jury there was evidence of seven bad florins having been found +in the prisoner’s boot. As guilty knowledge was the gist of the offence, +this seemed somewhat important. The learned young judge, turning to the +jury, said, in a hesitating manner, ‘Well, really, gentlemen, I don’t +know whether that will affect your judgment in any way; there is the +evidence, and you may consider it if you please.’” + +“One more thing I should like to ask.” + +“By all means.” + +“Why can’t they get Mr. Bumpkin’s case tried?” + +“Because there is no system. In the County Court, where a judge tries +three times as many cases in a day as any Superior judge, cases are tried +nearly always on the day they are set down for. At the Criminal Courts, +where every case is at least as important as any Civil case, everyone +gets tried without unnecessary delay. In the Common Law Courts it’s very +much like hunt the slipper—you hardly ever know which Court the case is +in for five minutes together. Then they sit one day and not another, to +the incalculable expense of the suitors, who may come up from Devonshire +to-night, and, after waiting a week, go back and return again to town at +the end of the following month.” + +“But, now that O’Rapley has taken the matter up, is there not some hope?” + +“Well, he seems to have as much power as anyone.” + +“Then I hope he’ll exert it; for it’s a shame that this poor man should +be kept waiting about so long. I quite feel for him: there really ought +not to be so much delay in the administration of justice.” + +“A dilatory administration of justice amounts too often to a denial of it +altogether. It always increases the expense, and often results in +absolute ruin.” + +“I wonder men don’t appoint someone when they fell out to arbitrate +between them.” + +“They often do, and too frequently, after all the expense of getting +ready for trial has been incurred, the case is at last sent to the still +more costly tribunal called a reference. Many matters cannot be tried by +a jury, but many can be that are not; one side clamouring for a reference +in order to postpone the inevitable result; the other often obliged to +submit and be defeated by mere lapse of time.” + +“It seems an endless sort of business.” + +“Not quite; the measure of it is too frequently the length of the purse +on the one side or the other. A Railway Company, who has been cast in +damages for £1,000, can soon wear out a poor plaintiff. One of the +greatest evils of modern litigation is the frequency with which new +trials are granted.” + +“Lawyers,” said my wife, “are not apparently good men of business.” + +“They are not organizers.” + +“It wants such a man as General Wolseley.” + +“Precisely.” And here I felt the usual drowsiness which the subject +invariably produces. So I dreamed again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +Morning reflections—Mrs. Oldtimes proves herself to be a great +philosopher—the departure of the recruits to be sworn in. + +And as I dreamed, methought what a strange paradox is human nature. How +often the night’s convivialities are followed by despondent morning +reflections! In the evening we grow valiant over the inspiriting +converse and the inspiring glass; in the morning we are tame and +calculating. The artificial gaslight disappears, and the sober, grey +morning breaks in upon our reason. If the sunshine only ripened one-half +the good resolves and high purposes formed at night over the social +glass, what a harvest of good deeds there would be! Yes, and if the +evening dissipations did not obliterate the good resolves of the morning, +which we so often form as a protection against sin and sorrow, what happy +creatures we should be! + +Methought I looked into a piece of three-cornered glass, which was +resting on a ledge of the old wall in the room where Joe was sleeping, +and that I read therein the innermost thoughts of this country lad. And +I saw that he awoke to a very dreadful sense of the realities of his new +position; that, one after another, visions of other days passed before +his mind’s eye as he lay gazing at the dormer window of his narrow +chamber. What a profound stillness there was! How different from the +roystering glee of the previous night! It was a stillness that seemed to +whisper of home; of his poor old mother; of the green sward lane that led +to the old farm; of the old oak tree, where the owls lived, and ghosts +were said to take up their quarters; of the stile where, of a Sunday +morning, he used to smoke his pipe with Jack, and Ned, and Charley; where +he had often stood to see Polly go by to church; and he knew that, +notwithstanding she would not so much as look at him, he loved her down +to the very sole of her boot; and would stand and contemplate the print +of her foot after she had passed; he didn’t know why, for there was +nothing in it, after all. No, Joe, nothing in it—it was in you; that +makes all the difference. And the voice whispered to him of sunny days +in the bright fields, when he held the plough, and the sly old rook would +come bobbing and pecking behind him; and the little field-mouse would +flit away from its turned up nest, frightened to death, as if it were +smitten with an earthquake; and the skylark would dart up over his head, +letting fall a song upon him, as though it were Heaven’s blessing. Then +the voice spoke of the noontide meal under the hedge in the warm +sunshine, or in the shade of the cool spreading tree; of the horses +feeding close up alongside the hedge; of the going home in the evening, +and the warm fireside, and the rustic song, and of the thousand and one +beloved associations that he was leaving and casting behind him for ever. +But then, again, he thought of “bettering his condition,” of getting on +in the world, of the smart figure he should look in the eyes of Polly, +who would be sure now to like him better than she liked the baker. He +never could see what there was in the baker that any girl should care +for; and he thought of what the Sergeant had said about asking his +mother’s leave. And then he pondered on the beef steaks and onions and +mutton chops, and other glories of a soldier’s life; so he got up with a +brave, resolute heart to face the world like a man, although it was +plainly visible that sorrow struggled in his eyes. + +There was just one tear for old times, the one tear that showed how very +human Joe was beneath all the rough incrustations with which ignorance +and poverty had enveloped him. + +As he was sousing his head and neck in a pail of cold water in the little +backyard of the Inn, the thought occurred to him,— + +“I wonder whether or no we ’gins these ’ere mutton chops for brakfast +to-day or arter we’re sweared in. I expects not till arter we’re sweared +in.” + +Then his head went into the pail with a dash, as if that was part of the +swearing-in process. As it came out he was conscious of a twofold +sensation, which it may not be out of place to describe: the sensation +produced by the water, which was refreshing in the highest degree, and +the sensation produced by what is called wind, which was also deliciously +refreshing; and it was in this wise. Borne along upon the current of air +which passed through the kitchen, there was the most odoriferous savour +of fried bacon that the most luxurious appetite could enjoy. It was so +beautifully and voluptuously fragrant that Joe actually stopped while in +the act of soaping his face that he might enjoy it. No one, I think, +will deny that it must have been an agreeable odour that kept a man +waiting with his eyes fall of soap for half a minute. + +“That beant amiss,” thought Joe; “I wonder whether it be for I.” + +The problem was soon solved, for as he entered the kitchen with a face as +bright and ruddy almost as the sun when he comes up through a mist, he +saw the table was laid out for five, and all the other recruits had +already assembled. There was not one who did not look well up to his +resolution, and I must say a better looking lot of recruits were never +seen: they were tall, well made, healthy, good-looking fellows. + +Now Mrs. Oldtimes was busy at the kitchen fire; the frying-pan was doing +its best to show what could be done for Her Majesty’s recruits. He was +hissing bravely, and seemed every now and then to give a louder and +heartier welcome to the company. As Joe came in I believe it fairly gave +a shout of enthusiasm, a kind of hooray. In addition to the rashers that +were frying, there was a large dish heaped up in front of the fire, so +that it was quite clear there would be no lack, however hungry the +company might be. + +Then they sat down and every one was helped. Mrs. Oldtimes was a woman +of the world; let me also state she had a deep insight into human nature. +She knew the feelings of her guests at this supreme moment, and how +cheaply they could be bought off at their present state of soldiering. +She was also aware that courage, fortitude, firmness, and the higher +qualities of the soul depend so much upon a contented stomach, that she +gave every one of her guests some nice gravy from the pan. + +It was a treat to see them eat. The Boardman was terrific, so was Jack. +Harry seemed to have a little more on his mind than the others, but this +did not interfere with his appetite; it simply affected his manner of +appeasing it. He seemed to be in love, for his manner was somewhat +reserved. At length the Sergeant came in, looking so cheerful and +radiant that one could hardly see him and not wish to be a soldier. Then +his cheery “Well, lads; good morning, lads,” was so home-like that you +almost fancied soldiering consisted in sitting by a blazing kitchen fire +on a frosty morning and eating fried bacon. What a spirit his presence +infused into the company! He detected at a glance the down-heartedness +of Harry, and began a story about his own enlistment years ago, when the +chances for a young man of education were nothing to what they are now. +The story seemed exactly to fit the circumstances of the case and cheered +Harry up wonderfully. Breakfast was nearly finished when the Sergeant, +after filling his pipe, said: + +“Comrades, what do you say; shall I wait till you’ve quite finished?” + +“No, no, Sergeant; no, no,” said all. + +Oh! the fragrance of that pipe! And the multiplied fragrance of all the +pipes! Then came smiling Miss Prettyface to see if their ribbons were +all right; and the longing look of all the recruits was quite an +affecting sight; and the genial motherly good-natured best wishes of Mrs. +Oldtimes were very welcome. All these things were pleasant, and proved +Mrs. Oldtimes’ philosophy to be correct—if you want to develop the higher +virtues in a man, feed him. + +Then came the word of command in the tone of an invitation to a pleasure +party: “Now, lads, what do you say?” And off went Harry, upright as if +he had been drilled; off went Bill, trying to shake off the deal boards +in which he had been sandwiched for a year and a half; off went Bob as +though he had found an agreeable occupation at last; off went Devilmecare +as though the war was only just the other side of the road; off went Jack +as though it mattered nothing to him whether it was the Army or the +Church; and, just as Mr. Bumpkin looked out of the parlour window, off +went his “head witness,” swaggering along in imitation of the Sergeant, +with the colours streaming from his hat as though any honest employment +was better than hanging about London for a case to “come on.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +A letter from home. + +“I wonder,” said Mrs. Oldtimes, “who this letter be for; it have been +’ere now nigh upon a week, and I’m tired o’ seein’ it.” + +Miss Prettyface took the letter in her hand and began, as best she could, +for the twentieth time to endeavour to decipher the address. It was very +much blotted and besmeared, and presented a very remarkable specimen of +caligraphy. The most legible word on it seemed “Gouse.” + +“There’s nobody here of that name,” said the young lady. “Do you know +anybody, Mr. Bumpkin, of the name of Gouse?” + +“Devil a bit,” said he, taking the letter in his hands, and turning it +over as if it had been a skittle-ball. + +“The postman said it belonged here,” said Mrs. Oldtimes, “but I can’t +make un out.” + +“I can’t read the postmark,” said Miss Prettyface. + +Mr. Bumpkin put on a large pair of glasses and examined the envelope with +great care. + +“I think you’ve got un upside down,” said Mrs. Oldtimes. + +“Ah! so ur be,” replied the farmer, turning it over several times. +“Why,” he continued, “here be a _b_—and a _u_, beant it? See if that +beant a _u_, Miss, your eyes be better un mine; they be younger.” + +“O yes, that’s a _u_,” said Miss Prettyface, “and an _m_.” + +“And that spell _bum_.” + +“But stop,” said Miss Prettyface, “here’s a _p_.” + +“That’s _bump_,” said Mrs. Oldtimes; “we shall get at something +presently.” + +“Why,” exclaimed Bumpkin, “I be danged if I doant think it be my old +’ooman’s writin’: but I beant sure. That be the way ur twists the tail +of ur _y_’s and _g_’s, I’ll swear; and lookee ’ere, beant this _k i n_?” + +“I think it is,” said the maid. + +“Ah, then, thee med be sure that be Bumpkin, and the letter be for I.” + +“Yes,” said the young lady, “and that other word which looks more like +Grouse is meant for Goose, the sign of the house.” + +“Sure be un,” exclaimed Mr. Bumpkin, “and Nancy ha put Bumpkin and Goose +all in one line, when ur ought to ha made two lines ov un. Now look at +that, that letter might ha been partickler.” + +“So it may be as it is,” said Mrs. Oldtimes; “it’s from Mrs. Bumpkin, no +doubt. Aren’t you going to open it?” + +“I think I wool,” said Bumpkin, turning the letter round and round, and +over and over, as though there was some special private entrance which +could only be discovered by the closest search. At length Mrs. Oldtimes’ +curiosity was gratified, for he found a way in, and drew out the many +folded letter of the most difficult penmanship that ever was subjected to +mortal gaze. It was not that the writing was illegible, but that the +spelling was so extraordinary, and the terms of expression so varied. +Had I to interpret this letter without the aid of a dream I should have a +long and difficult task before me. But it is the privilege of dreamers +to see things clearly and in a moment: to live a lifetime in a few +seconds, and to traverse oceans in the space of a single respiration. +So, in the present instance, that which took Mr. Bumpkin, with the help +of Mrs. Oldtimes and the occasional assistance of Lucy an hour to +decipher, flashed before me in a single second. I ought perhaps to +translate it into a more civilized language, but that would be impossible +without spoiling the effect and disturbing the continuity of character +which is so essential in a work made up of various actors. Mr. Bumpkin +himself in his ordinary costume would be no more out of place in my Lord +Mayor’s state carriage than Mrs. Bumpkin wielding the Queen’s English in +its statelier and more fashionable adornment. So I give it as it was +written. It began in a bold but irregular hand, and clearly indicated a +certain agitation of mind not altogether in keeping with the even +temperament of the writer’s daily life. + +“Deer Tom” (the letter began), “I ope thee be well for it be a long time +agoo since thee left ere I cant mak un out wot be all this bother about +a pig but Tom thee’ll be glad to ear as I be doin weel the lamin be over +and we got semteen as pooty lams as ever thee clapped eyes on The weet +be lookin well and so be the barly an wuts thee’ll be glad Tom to ear wot +good luck I been avin wi sellin Mister Prigg have the kolt for twenty +pun a pun more an the Squoire ofered Sam broked er in and ur do look +well in Mrs. Prigg faten I met un the tother day Mr. Prigg wur drivin un +an he tooked off his at jist th’ sam as if I’d been a lady Missis Prigg +din’t see me as her edd wur turned th’ tother way I be glad to tell ee +we sold the wuts ten quorter these was bort by Mister Prigg and so wur +the stror ten load as clane and brite as ever thee seed Mr. Prigg be a +rale good custumer an a nice man I wish there was moore like im it ud be +the makin o’ th’ Parish we shal ave a nice lot o monie to dror from un at +Miklemes he be the best customer we ever ad an I toold th’ Squoire wen ur +corled about the wuts as Mister Prigg ad orfered ten shillin a quorter +for un more un ee Ur dint seem to like un an rod away but we dooant o un +anythink Tom so I dont mind we must sell ware we ken mak moast monie I +spose Sampson be stronger an grander than ever it’s my belief an I thinks +we shal do well wi un this Spring tell t’ Joe not to stop out o’ nites or +keep bad kumpany and to read evere nite wat the Wicker told un the fust +sarm an do thee read un Tom for its my bleef ur cant ’urt thee nuther.” + +“Humph!” said Bumpkin, “fust sarms indade. I got a lot o’ time for +sarms, an’ as for thic Joe—lor, lor, Nancy, whatever will thee say, I +wonder, when thee knows he’s gone for a soger—a sarm beant much good to +un now; he be done for.” + +And then Mr. Bumpkin went and looked out of the window, and thought over +all the good news of Mrs. Bumpkin’s letter, and mentally calculated that +even up to this time Mr. Prigg’s account would come to enough to pay the +year’s rent. + +Going to law seemed truly a most advantageous business. Here he had got +two shillings a quarter more for the oats than the Squire had offered, +and a pound more for the colt. Prigg was a famous customer, and no doubt +would buy the hay. And, strange to say, just as Mr. Bumpkin thought +this, he happened to turn over the last page of the letter, and there he +saw what was really a Postscript. + +“Halloo!” says he, “my dear, here be moore on’t; lookee ’ere.” + +“So there is,” answered Lucy; “let’s have a look.” And thus she read:— + +“The klover cut out well it made six lode the little rik an four pun +nineteen The Squoire ony offered four pun ten so in corse I let Mister +Prigg ave un.” + +“Well done, Nancy, thee be famous. Now, thic big rik’ll fetch moore’n +thic.” + +Such cheering intelligence put Mr. Bumpkin in good heart in spite of his +witness’s desertion. Joe was a good deal, but he wasn’t money, and if he +liked to go for a soger, he must go; but, in Mr. Bumpkin’s judgment, he +would very soon be tired of it, and wish himself back at his fireside. + +“Now, you must write to Mrs. Bumpkin,” said Lucy. + +“Thee’ll write for I, my dear; won’t thee?” + +“If you like,” said Lucy. And so, after dinner, when she had changed her +dress, she proceeded to write an epistle for Mrs. Bumpkin’s edification. +She had _carte blanche_ to put in what she liked, except that the main +facts were to be that Joe had gone for a horse soger; that he expected +“the case would come on every day;” and that he had the highest opinion +of the unquestioned ability of honest Lawyer Prigg. + +And now another surprise awaited the patient Bumpkin. As he sat, later +in the day, smoking his pipe, in company with Mrs. Oldtimes, two men, +somewhat shabbily dressed, walked into the parlour and ordered +refreshment. + +“A fine day, sir,” said the elder of the two, a man about thirty-five. +This observation was addressed to Mr. Bumpkin. + +“It be,” said the farmer. + +The other individual had seated himself near the fire, and was apparently +immersed in the study of the _Daily Telegraph_. Suddenly he observed to +his companion, as though he had never seen it before,— + +“Hallo! Ned, have you seen this?” + +“What’s that?” asked the gentleman called Ned. + +“Never read such a thing in my life. Just listen.” + + “‘A YOUNG MAN FROM THE COUNTRY.’ + “EXTRAORDINARY STORY. + + “A man, apparently about sixty-eight, who gave the name of Bumpkin, + appeared as the prosecutor in a case under the following + extraordinary circumstances. He said he was from the country, but + declined to give any more particular address, and had been taken by a + friend to see the Old Bailey and to hear the trials at that Court. + After leaving the Central Criminal Court, he deposed, that, walking + with his friend, he was accosted in the Street in the open daylight + and robbed of his watch; that he pursued the thief, and when near + Blackfriars Bridge met a man coming towards him; that he seized the + supposed thief, and found him wearing the watch which he affirmed had + been stolen. The manner and appearance of ‘the young man from the + country’ excited great laughter in Court, and the Lord Mayor, in the + absence of any evidence to the contrary, thought there was a _primâ + facie_ case under the circumstances, and committed the accused for + trial to the Central Criminal Court. The prisoner, who was + respectably dressed, and against whom nothing appeared to be known, + was most ably defended by Mr. Nimble, who declined to put any + questions in cross-examination, and did not address his Lordship. + The case created great sensation, and it is expected that at the + trial some remarkable and astounding disclosures will be made. ‘The + young man from the country’ was very remarkably dressed: he twirled + in his hand a large old-fashioned white-beaver hat with a black band + round it; wore a very peculiar frock, elaborately ornamented with + needlework in front and behind, while a yellow kerchief with red ends + was twisted round his neck. The countryman declined to give his town + address; but a remarkable incident occurred during the hearing, which + did not seem to strike either the Lord Mayor or the counsel for the + defence, and that was that no appearance of the countryman’s + companion was put in. Who he is and to what region he belongs will + probably transpire at the ensuing trial, which is expected to be + taken on the second day of the next Sessions. It is obvious that + while the case is _sub judice_ no comments can properly be made + thereon, but we are not prevented from saying that the evidence of + this extraordinary ‘young man from the country’ will be subjected to + the most searching cross-examination of one of the ablest counsel of + the English Bar.” + +The two men looked at Mr. Bumpkin; while the latter coloured until his +complexion resembled beetroot. Miss Prettyface giggled; and Mrs. +Oldtimes winked at Mr. Bumpkin, and shook her head in the most +significant manner. + +“That’s a rum case, sir,” said Ned. + +Silence. + +“I don’t believe a word of the story,” said his companion. + +Silence. + +“Do you believe,” he continued, “that that man could have been wearing +that watch if he’d stole it?” + +“Not I.” + +“Lor! won’t Jemmy Nimble make mincemeat of ’im!” + +Mrs. Oldtimes looked frequently towards Mr. Bumpkin as she continued her +sewing, making the most unmistakeable signals that under no circumstances +was he to answer. It was apparent to everyone, from Mr. Bumpkin’s +manner, that the paragraph referred to him. + +“The best thing that chap can do,” said Ned, “is not to appear at the +trial. He can easily keep away.” + +“He won’t, you’re sure,” answered the other man; “he knows a trick worth +two of that. They say the old chap deserted his poor old wife, after +beating her black and blue, and leaving her for dead.” + +“It be a lie!” exclaimed Bumpkin, thumping his fist on the table. + +“Oh!” said Ned, “do you know anything about it, sir? It’s no odds to me, +only a man can’t shut his ears.” + +“P’r’aps I do and p’r’aps I doant; but it beant no bi’niss o’ thine.” + +“I didn’t mean no offence, but anybody can read the paper, surely; it’s a +free country. P’r’aps you’re the man himself; I didn’t think o’ that.” + +“P’r’aps I be, and p’r’aps I beant.” + +“And p’r’aps your name is Bumpkin?” + +“And p’r’aps it beant, and what then?” + +“Why, you’ve nothing to do with it, that’s all; and I don’t see why you +should interfere.” + +“I can’t have no quarrelling in my house,” said the landlady. “This +gentleman’s nothing to do with it; he knows nothing at all about it; so, +if you please, gentlemen, we needn’t say any more.” + +“Oh! I don’t want to talk about it,” said Ned. + +“No more do I,” chimed in his companion; “but it’s a pity that he should +take up our conversation when he hasn’t anything to do with it, and his +name isn’t Bumpkin, and he hasn’t lost his watch. It’s no odds to me; I +don’t care, do you, Ned?” + +“Not I,” said Ned; “let’s be off; I don’t want no row; anybody mustn’t +open his mouth now. Good day, sir.” + +And the two young men went away. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +Mr. Bumpkin determines to maintain a discreet silence about his case at +the Old Bailey—Mr. Prigg confers with him thereon. + +And I saw that Mr. Bumpkin’s case did not come on. Day by day passed +away, and still it was not in the paper. The reason, however, is simple, +and need not be told to any except those of my readers who are under the +impression that the expeditious administration of justice is of any +consequence. It was obvious to the most simple-minded that the case +could not be taken for a day or two, because there was a block in every +one of the three Courts devoted to the trial of Nisi Prius actions. And +you know as well as anyone, Mr. Bumpkin, that when you get a load of +turnips, or what not, in the market town blocked by innumerable other +turnip carts, you must wait. Patience, therefore, good Bumpkin. Justice +may be slow-footed, but she is sure handed; she may be blind and deaf, +but she is not dumb; as you shall see if you look into one of the +“blocked Courts” where a trial has been going on for the last sixteen +days. A case involving a dispute of no consequence to any person in the +world, and in which there is absolutely nothing except—O rare +phenomenon!—plenty of money. It was interesting only on account of the +bickerings between the learned counsel, and the occasionally friendly +altercations between the Bench and the Bar. But the papers had written +it into a _cause célèbre_, and made it a dramatic entertainment for the +beauty and the chivalry of England. So Mr. Bumpkin had still to wait; +but it enabled him to attend comfortably the February sittings of the Old +Bailey, where his other case was to be tried. + +When Mr. Prigg read the account of the proceedings before the Lord Mayor, +he was very much concerned, not to say annoyed, because he was under the +impression that he ought to have been consulted. Not knowing what to do +under the circumstances, he resolved, after due consideration, to get +into a hansom and drive down to the “Goose.” Mr. Prigg, as I have before +observed, was swift in decision and prompt in action. He had no sooner +resolved to see Bumpkin than to Bumpkin he went. But his client was out; +it was uncertain when he would be in. Judge of Mr. Prigg’s +disappointment! He left word that he would call again; he did call +again, and, after much dodging on the part of the wily Bumpkin, he was +obliged to surrender himself a captive to honest Prigg. + +“My dear Mr. Bumpkin,” exclaimed he, taking both the hands of his client +into his own and yielding him a double measure of friendship; “is it +possible—have you been robbed? Is it you in the paper this morning in +this _very_ extraordinary case?” + +Bumpkin looked and blushed. He was not a liar, but truth is not always +the most convenient thing, say what you will. + +“I see,” said Mr. Prigg; “quite so—quite so! Now _how_ did this happen?” + +Bumpkin still looked and blushed. + +“Ah!” said Mr. Prigg; “just so. But who was this companion?” + +Bumpkin muttered “A friend!” + +“O! O! O!” said Mr. Prigg, drawing a long face and placing the +fore-finger of his left hand perpendicularly from the tip of his nose to +the top of his forehead. + +“Noa,” said Bumpkin, “’taint none o’ that nuther; I beant a man o’ that +sort.” + +“Well, well,” said Mr. Prigg, “I only thought I’d call, you know, in case +there should be anything which might in any way affect our action.” + +Mr. Bumpkin, conscious of his moral rectitude, like all good men, was +fearless: he knew that nothing which he had done would affect the merits +of his case, and, therefore, instead of replying to the subtle question +of his adviser, he merely enquired of that gentleman when he thought the +case would be on. The usual question. + +Mr. Prigg rubbed his hands and glanced his eyes as though just under his +left elbow was a very deep well, at the bottom of which lay that +inestimable jewel, truth. “Really,” Mr. Bumpkin, “I expect every hour to +see us in the paper. It’s very extraordinary; they have no less than +three Courts sitting, as I daresay you are aware. No less than—let me +see, my mind’s so full of business, I have seven cases ready to come on. +Where was I? O, I know; I say there are no less than three Courts, under +the continuous sittings system, and yet we seem to make no progress in +the diminution of the tremendous and overwhelming mass of business that +pours in upon us.” + +Mr. Bumpkin said “Hem!” + +“You see,” continued Mr. Prigg, “there’s one thing, we shall not last +long when we do come on.” + +“Shan’t ur?” + +“You see there’s only one witness, besides yourself, on our side.” + +“And ’eve gone for a soger,” said Mr. Bumpkin. + +“A soldier!” exclaimed Prigg. “A soldier, my dear Bumpkin. No—no—you +don’t say so, really!” + +“Ay, sure ’ave ur; and wot the devil I be to do agin that there Snooks, +as ’ll lie through a brick wall, I beant able to say. I be pooty nigh +off my chump wot wi’ one thing and another.” + +“Off what, sir?” enquired Mr. Prigg. + +“Chump,” shouted Bumpkin. + +“O, indeed, yes; dear me, you don’t say so. Well, now I’m glad I called. +I must see about this. What regiment did you say he’d joined?” + +“Hoosors!” + +“Ha! dear me, has he, indeed?” said Mr. Prigg, noting it down in his +pocket-book. “What a pity for a young man like that to throw himself +away—such an intelligent young fellow, too, and might have done so well; +dear me!” + +“Ha,” answered Bumpkin, “there worn’t a better feller at plough nor thic +there; and he could mend a barrer or a ’arrer, and turn his ’and to pooty +nigh anything about t’ farm.” + +“And is there any reason that can be assigned for this extraordinary +conduct? Wasn’t in debt, I suppose?” + +Mr. Bumpkin laughed one of his old big fireside laughs such as he had not +indulged in lately. + +“Debt! why they wouldn’t trust un a shoe-string. Where the devil wur +such a chap as thic to get money to get into debt wi’?” + +“My dear sir, we don’t want money to get into debt with; we get into debt +when we have none.” + +“Do ur, sir. Then if I hadn’t ’ad any money I’d like to know ’ow fur +thee’d ha’ trusted I.” + +“Dear me,” said Mr. Prigg, “what a very curious way of putting it! But, +however, soldier or no soldier, we must have his evidence. I must see +about it: I must go to the dépôt. Now, with regard to your case at the +Old Bailey.” + +“Well,” said Mr. Bumpkin, rather testily; “I be bound over to proserkit, +and that be all I knows about un. I got to give seam evidence as I guv +afore the Lord Mayor, and the Lord Mayor said as the case wur clear, and +away it went for trial.” + +“Indeed! dear me!” + +“And I got to tak no trouble at all about un, but to keep my mouth shut +till the case comes on, that’s what the pleeceman told I. I bean’t to +talk about un, or to tak any money not to proserkit.” + +“O dear, no,” said Mr. Prigg. “O dear, dear, no; you would be +compounding a felony.” (Here Mr. Prigg made a note in his diary to this +effect:—“Attending you at ‘The Goose’ at Westminster, when you informed +me that you were the prosecutor in a case at the Old Bailey, and in which +I advised you not, under any circumstances, to accept a compromise or +money for the purpose of withdrawing from the prosecution, and strongly +impressed upon you that such conduct would amount in law to a +misdemeanor. Long conference with you thereon, when you promised to +abide by my advice, £1 6_s._ 0_d._”). + +“Now,” said Bumpkin, “it seem to me that turn which way I wool, there be +too much law, too many pitfalls; I be gettin’ sick on’t.” + +“Well,” said Mr. Prigg, “we have only to do our duty in that station of +life in which we are called, and we have no cause to fear. Now you know +you would _not_ have liked that unprincipled man, Snooks, to have the +laugh of you, would you now?” + +Mr. Bumpkin clenched his fist as he said, “Noa, I’d sooner lose every +penny I got than thic there feller should ha’ the grin o’ me.” + +“Quite so,” said the straightforward moralist. “Quite so! dear me! +Well, well, I must wish you good morning, for really I am so overwhelmed +with work that I hardly know which way to turn—bye, bye. I will take +care to keep you posted up in—.” Here Mr. Prigg’s cab drove off, and I +could not ascertain whether the posting up was to be in the state of the +list or in the lawyer’s ledger. + +“What a nice man!” said the landlady. + +Yes, that was Mr. Prigg’s character, go where he would: “A nice man!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +The trial at the Old Bailey of Mr. Simple Simonman for highway robbery +with violence—Mr. Alibi introduces himself to Mr. Bumpkin. + +I next saw Mr. Bumpkin wandering about the precincts of that Grand +Institution, the Old Bailey, on a drizzly morning about the middle of +February, 187—, waiting to go before the Grand Jury. As the famous +prison in Scotland was called the “Heart of Midlothian” so the Old Bailey +may be considered the Heart of Civilization. Its commanding situation, +in the very centre of a commercial population, entitles it to this +distinction; for nothing is supposed to have so civilizing an influence +as Commerce. I was always impressed with its beautiful and picturesque +appearance, especially on a fine summer morning, during its sittings, +when the sun was pouring its brightest beams on its lively portals. What +a charming picture was presented to your view, when the gates being open, +the range of sheds on the left met the eye, especially the centre one +where the gallows is kept packed up for future use. The gallows on the +one side might be seen and the stately carriages of my Lord Mayor and +Sheriffs on the other! Gorgeous coachmen and footmen in resplendent +liveries; magnificent civic dignitaries in elaborate liveries too, rich +with gold and bright with colour, stepping forth from their carriages, +amid loud cries of “Make way!” holding in their white-gloved hands large +bouquets of the loveliest flowers, emblems of—what? + +Crime truly has its magnificent accompaniments, and if it does not dress +itself, as of old, in the rich costumes of a Turpin or a Duval, it is not +without its beautiful surroundings. Here, where the channels and gutters +of crime converge, is built, in the centre of the greatest commercial +city in the world, the Bailey. Mr. Bumpkin wandered about for hours +through a reeking unsavoury crowd of thieves and thieves’ companions, +idlers of every type of blackguardism, ruffians of every degree of +criminality; boys and girls receiving their finishing lessons in crime +under the dock, as they used to do only a few years ago under the +gallows. The public street is given over to the enemies of Society; and +Civilisation looks on without a shudder or regret, as though crime were a +necessity, and the Old Bailey, in the heart of London, no disgrace. + +And a little dirty, greasy hatted, black whiskered man, after pushing +hither and thither through this pestiferous crowd as though he had +business with everybody, but did not exactly know what it was, at length +approached Mr. Bumpkin; and after standing a few minutes by his side +eyeing him with keen hungry looks, began that interesting conversation +about the weather which seems always so universally acceptable. Mr. +Bumpkin was tired. He had been wandering for hours in the street, and +was wondering when he should be called before the Grand Jury. Mr. Alibi, +that was the dark gentleman’s name, knew all about Mr. Bumpkin’s case, +his condition of mind, and his impatience; and he said deferentially: + +“You are waiting to go before the Grand Jury, I suppose, sir?” + +“I be,” answered Bumpkin. + +“Where’s your policeman?” enquired Alibi. + +“I doant know,” said Bumpkin. + +“What’s his number?” + +“Sev’n hunderd and sev’nty.” + +“O, I know,” said Alibi; “why not let me get you before the Grand Jury at +once, instead of waiting about here all day, and perhaps to-morrow and +the next day, and the day after that; besides, the sooner you go before +the Grand Jury, the sooner your case will come on; that stands to common +sense, I think.” + +“So ur do,” answered the farmer. + +“You will be here a month if you don’t look out. Have you got any +counsel or solicitor?” + +“Noa, I beant; my case be that plaain, it spaks for itself.” + +“Ah!” said Mr. Alibi; “they won’t always let a case speak for itself—they +very often stop it—but if you can get a counsel for nothing, why not have +one; that stands to reason, I think?” + +“For nothing? well that be the fust time I ever eeard o’ a loryer as +chape as thic.” + +How it could pay was the wonder to Mr. Bumpkin. And what a strange +delusion it must seem to the mind of the general reader! But wait, +gentle peruser of this history, you shall see this strange sight. + +“If you like to have a counsel and a lawyer to conduct your case, sir, it +shall not cost you a farthing, I give you my word of honour! What do you +think of that?” + +What could Mr. Bumpkin think of that? What a pity that he had not met +this gentleman before! Probably he would have brought several actions if +he had; for if you could work the machinery of the law for nothing, you +would always stand to win. + +“O,” said Mr. Alibi, “here is seven hundred and seventy! This gentleman +wants a counsel, and I’ve been telling him he can have one, and it won’t +cost him anything.” + +“That’s right enough,” said the Policeman; “but it ain’t nothin’ to do +with me!” + +“Just step this way, sir, we’ll soon have this case on,” said Alibi; and +he led the way to the back room of a public-house, which seemed to be +used as a “hedge” lawyer’s office. + +“Med I mak so bold, sir; be thee a loryer?” + +“No,” answered Alibi, “I am clerk to Mr. Deadandgone.” + +“And don’t Mr. Deadandam charge nothin’?” + +“O dear, no!” + +What a very nice man Mr. Deadandam must be! + +“You see,” said Alibi, “the Crown pays us!” + +“The Crown!” + +And here Mr. Alibi slipped a crown-piece into the artfully extended palm +of the policeman, who said: + +“It ain’t nothin’ to do wi’ me; but the gentleman’s quite right, the +Crown pays.” And he dropped the money into his leather purse, which he +rolled up carefully and placed in his pocket. + +“You see,” said Alibi, “I act as the Public Prosecutor, who can’t be +expected to do everything—you can’t grind all the wheat in the country in +one mill, that stands to common sense.” + +“That be right, that’s werry good,” + +“And,” continued Mr. Alibi, “the Government allows two guineas for +counsel, a guinea for the solicitor, and so on, and the witnesses, don’t +you see?” + +“Zactly!” said Bumpkin. + +“And that’s quite enough,” continued Alibi; “we don’t want anything from +the prosecutor—that’s right, policeman!” + +“It ain’t nothink to do wi’ me,” said the policeman; “but what this ’ere +gentleman says is the law.” + +“There,” said Alibi, “I told you so.” + +“I spose,” said the policeman, “you don’t want me, gentlemen; it ain’t +nothink to do with me?” + +“Oh, no, Leary,” replied Alibi; “we don’t want you; the case is pretty +straight, I suppose.” + +“Oh, yes, sir; I expects it’ll be a plea of guilty. There ain’t no +defence, not as I’m aware of.” + +“Oh,” said Alibi, “that’s all right—keep your witnesses together, +Leary—don’t be out of the way.” + +“No, sir,” says Leary; “I thinks I knows my dooty.” + +And with this he slouched out of the room, and went and refreshed himself +at the bar. + +In two or three minutes the policeman returned, and was in the act of +drawing the back of his hand across his mouth, when Alibi said: + +“Yes?” + +“Beg pardin, sir; but there’s another gentleman wants to see you—I thinks +he wants you to defend ---; but it ain’t nothink to do wi’ me, sir.” + +“Very good,” answered Alibi, “very good; now let me see—” + +“You got the Baker’s case?” said Leary. + +“Yes,” said Alibi; “O, yes—embezzlement.” + +Everything was thus far satisfactorily settled, and Mr. Bumpkin’s +interests duly represented by Mr. Deadandgone, an eminent practitioner. +No doubt the services of competent counsel would be procured, and the +case fully presented to the consideration of an intelligent jury. + +Who shall say after this that the Old Bailey is _not_ the Heart of +Civilization? + +I pass over the preliminary canter of Mr. Bumpkin before the Grand Jury; +the decision of that judicial body, the finding of the true bill, the +return of the said bill in Court, the bringing up of the prisoner for +arraignment, and the fixing of the case to be taken first on Thursday in +deference to the wishes of Mr. Nimble. I pass by all those preliminary +proceedings which I have before attempted to describe, and which, if I +might employ a racing simile, might be compared to the saddling of Mr. +Bumpkin in the paddock, where, unquestionably, he was first favourite for +the coming race, to be ridden by that excellent jockey, Alibi; and come +at once to the great and memorable trial of Regina on the prosecution of +Thomas Bumpkin against Simon Simpleman for highway robbery with violence. + +As the prisoner entered the dock there was a look of unaffected innocence +in his appearance that seemed to make an impression on the learned Judge, +Mr. Justice Technical, a recently appointed Chancery barrister. I may be +allowed to mention that his Lordship had never had any experience in +Criminal Courts whatever: so he brought to the discharge of his important +duty a thoroughly unprejudiced and impartial mind. He did not suspect +that a man was guilty because he was charged: and the respectable and +harmless manner of the accused was not interpreted by his Lordship as a +piece of consummate acting, as it would be by some Judges who have seen +much of the world as it is exhibited in Criminal Courts. + +Many ladies of rank were ushered in by the Sheriff, all looking as +smiling and happy as if they were about to witness the performance of +some celebrated actress for the first time; they had fans and +opera-glasses, and as they took their places in the boxes allotted to +rank and fashion, there was quite a pleasant sensation produced in Court, +and they attracted more notice for the time being than the prisoners +themselves. + +Now these ladies were not there to witness the first piece, the mere +trial of Simpleman for highway robbery, although the sentence might +include the necessary brutality of flogging. The afterpiece was what +they had come to see—namely, a fearful tragedy, in which two men at least +were sure of being sentenced to death. This is the nearest approach to +shedding human blood which ladies can now witness in this country; for I +do not regard pigeon slaughtering, brutal and bloodthirsty as it is, as +comparable to the sentencing of a fellow-creature to be strangled. And +no one can blame ladies of rank if they slake their thirst for horrors in +the only way the law now leaves open to them. The Beauty of Spain is +better provided for. What a blessed thing is humanity! + +It is due to Mr. Newboy, the counsel for the prosecution in the great +case of _Regina_ v. _Simpleman_, to say that he had only lately been +called to the Bar, and only “_instructed_,” as the prisoner was placed in +the dock. Consequently, he had not had time to read his brief. I do not +know that that was a disadvantage, inasmuch as the brief consisted in +what purported to be a copy of the depositions so illegibly scrawled that +it would have required the most intense study to make out the meaning of +a single line. + +Mr. Newboy was by no means devoid of ability; but no amount of ability +would give a man a knowledge of the facts of a case which were never +communicated to him. In its simplicity the prosecution was beautifully +commonplace, and five minutes’ consideration would have been sufficient +to enable counsel to master the details and be prepared to meet the +defence. Alas, for the lack of those five minutes! The more Mr. Newboy +looked at the writing (?) the more confused he got. All he could make +out was his own name, and _Reg._ v. _Somebody_ on the back. + +Now it happened that Mr. Alibi saw the difficulty in which Mr. Newboy +was, and knowing that his, Alibi’s, clerk, was not remarkable for +penmanship, handed to the learned counsel at the last moment, when the +last juryman was being bawled at with the “well and truly try,” a copy of +the depositions. + +The first name at the top of the first page which caught the eye of the +learned counsel, was that of the prisoner; for the depositions commence +in such a way as to show the name of the prisoner in close proximity to, +if not among the names of witnesses. + +So Mr. Newboy, in his confusion, taking the name of the prisoner as his +first witness, shouted out in a bold voice, to give himself courage, +“_Simon Simpleman_.” + +“’Ere!” answered the prisoner. + +The learned Judge was a little astonished; and, although, he had got his +criminal law up with remarkable rapidity, his lordship knew well enough +that you cannot call the prisoner as a witness either for or against +himself. Mr. Newboy perceived his mistake and apologised. The laugh, of +course, went round against him; and when it got to Mr. Nimble, that merry +gentleman slid it into the jury-box with a turn of his eyes and a twist +of his mouth. The counsel for the prosecution being by this time pretty +considerably confused, and not being able to make out the name of a +single witness on the depositions (there were only two) called out, “The +Prosecutor.” + +“Here, I be,” said a voice from the crowd in a tone which provoked more +laughter, all of which was turned into the jury-box by Mr. Nimble. “Here +I be” struggled manfully with all his might and main to push through the +miscellaneous crowd of all sorts and conditions that hemmed him in. All +the arrangements at the Old Bailey, like the arrangements at most Courts, +are expressly devised for the inconvenience of those who have business +there. + +All eyes were turned towards “_Here I be_,” as, after much pushing and +struggling as though he were in a football match, he was thrust headlong +forward by three policemen and the crier into the body of the Court. +There he stood utterly confounded by the treatment he had undergone and +the sight that presented itself to his astonished gaze. Opera-glasses +were turned on him from the boxes, the gentlemen on the grand tier +strained their necks in order to catch a glimpse of him; the pit, filled +for the most part with young barristers, was in suppressed ecstasies; +while the gallery, packed to the utmost limit of its capacity, broke out +into unrestrained laughter. I say, unrestrained; but as the Press truly +observed in the evening papers, “it was immediately suppressed by the +Usher.” + +Mr. Bumpkin climbed into the witness-box (as though he were going up a +rick), which was situated between the Judge and the jury. His appearance +again provoked a titter through the Court; but it was not loud enough to +call for any further measure of suppression than the usual “Si—lence!” +loudly articulated in two widely separated syllables by the crier, who +had no sooner pronounced it than he turned his face from the learned +Judge and pressed his hand tightly against his mouth, straining his eyes +as if he had swallowed a crown-piece. Mr. Bumpkin wore his long drab +frock overcoat, with the waist high up and its large flaps; his hell-fire +waistcoat, his trousers of corduroy, and his shirt-collar, got up +expressly for the occasion as though he had been a prime minister. The +ends of his neckerchief bore no inconsiderable likeness to two well-grown +carrots. In his two hands he carefully nursed his large-brimmed +well-shaped white beaver hat; a useful article to hold in one’s hands +when there is any danger of nervousness, for nothing is so hard to get +rid of as one’s hands. I am not sure that Mr. Bumpkin was nervous. He +was a brave self-contained man, who had fought the world and conquered. +His maxim was, “right is right,” and “wrong is no man’s right.” He was +of the upright and down-straight character, and didn’t care “for all the +counsellors in the kingdom.” And why should he? His cause was good, his +conscience clear, and the story he had to tell plain and +“straightforrard” as himself. No wonder then that his face beamed with a +good old country smile, such as he would wear at an exhibition where he +could show the largest “turmut as ever wur growed.” That was the sort of +smile he turned upon the audience. And as the audience looked at the +“turmut,” it felt that it was indeed the most extraordinary specimen of +field culture it had ever beheld, and worthy of the first prize. + +“What is your name?” inquired Mr. Newboy; “I mustn’t lead.” + +“Bumpkin, and I bearned asheamed on ’im,” answered the bold farmer. + +“Never mind whether you are ashamed or not,” interposed Mr. Nimble; “just +answer the question.” + +“You must answer,” remarked the learned Judge, “not make a speech.” + +“Zackly, sir,” said Bumpkin, pulling at his hair. + +Another titter. The jury titter and hold down their heads. Evidently +there’s fun in the case. + +Then Mr. Newboy questioned him about the occurrence; asked him if he +recollected such a day, and where he had been, and where he was going, +and a variety of other questions; the answer to every one of which +provoked fresh laughter; until, after much floundering on the part of +both himself and Mr. Newboy, as though they were engaged in a wrestling +match, he was asked by the learned Judge “to tell them exactly what +happened. Let him tell his own story,” said the Judge. + +“Ha!” said everybody; “now we shall hear something!” + +“I wur a gwine,” began Bumpkin, “hoame—” + +“That’s not evidence,” said Mr. Nimble. + +“How so?” asks the Judge. + +“It doesn’t matter where he was going to, my lord, but where he was!” + +“Well, that is so,” says the Judge; “you mustn’t tell us, Mr. Bumpkin, +whither you were going, but where you were!” + +Bumpkin scratched his head; there were too many where’s for him. + +“Can’t yon tell us,” says Mr. Newboy, “where you were?” + +“Where I were?” says Bumpkin. + +A roar of laughter greeted this statement. Mr. Nimble turning it into +the jury-box like a flood. + +“I wur in Lunnun—” + +“Yes—yes,” says his counsel; “but what locality?” + +You might just as well have put him under a mangle, as to try to get +evidence out of him like that. + +“Look,” says the Judge, “attend to me; if you go on like that, you will +not be allowed your expenses.” + +“What took place?” asks his counsel; “can’t you tell us, man?” + +“Why the thief cotch—” + +“I object,” says Mr. Nimble; “you mustn’t call him a thief; it is for the +jury, my lord, to determine that.” + +“That is so,” says my lord; “you mustn’t call him a thief, Mr. Bumpkin.” + +“Beg pardon, your lord; but ur stole my watch.” + +“No—no,” says Mr. Newboy; “took your watch.” + +“An if ur took un, ur stole un, I allows,” says Bumpkin; “for I never gin +it to un.” + +There was so much laughter that for some time nothing further was said; +but every audience knows better than to check the source of merriment by +a continued uproar; so it waited for another supply. + +“You must confine yourself,” says the Judge, “to telling us what took +place.” + +“I’ll spak truth and sheam t’ devil,” says Bumpkin. + +“Now go on,” says Newboy. + +“The thief stole my watch, and that be t’ plain English on ’t.” + +“I shall have to commit you to prison,” says the Judge, “if you go on +like that; remember you are upon your oath, and it’s a very serious +thing—serious for you and serious for the young man at the bar.” + +At these touching words, the young man at the bar burst out crying, said +“he was a respectable man, and it was all got up against him;” whereupon +Mr. Nimble said “he must be quiet, and that his lordship and the +gentlemen in the box would take care of him and not allow him to be +trampled on.” + +“You are liable,” said the Judge, “to be prosecuted for perjury if you do +not tell the truth.” + +“Well, then, your lord, if a man maun goo to prison for losin’ his watch, +I’ll goo that’s all; but that ere man stole un.” + +Mr. Newboy: “He took it, did he?” + +“I object,” said Mr. Nimble; “that is a leading question.” + +“Yes,” said the Judge; “I think that is rather leading,” Mr. Newboy; “you +may vary the form though, and ask him whether the prisoner stole it.” + +“Really, my lord,” said Mr. Nimble, “that, with very great respect, is as +leading as the other form.” + +“Not quite, I think, Mr. Nimble. You see in the other form, you make a +positive assertion that he did steal it; in this, you merely ask the +question.” + +And I saw that this was a very keen and subtle distinction, such as could +only be drawn by a Chancery Judge. + +“Would it not be better, my lord, if he told us what took place?” + +“That is what he is doing,” said the Judge; “go on, witness.” + +“I say as ’ow thic feller comed out and hugged up aginst I and took ’t +watch and runned away. I arter’d him, and met him coomin’ along wi’ it +in ’s pocket; what can be plaainer an thic?” + +There was great laughter as Mr. Bumpkin shook his head at the learned +counsel for the defence, and thumped one hand upon the ledge in front of +him. + +“That will do,” said Mr. Newboy, sitting down triumphantly. + +Then the counsel for the defence arose, and a titter again went round the +Court, and there was a very audible adjustment of persons in preparation +for the treat that was to come. + +“May the prisoner have a seat, my lord?” + +“Oh, certainly,” said his lordship; “let an easy-chair be brought +immediately.” + +“Now then, Mr. Bumpkin, or whatever your name is, don’t lounge on the +desk like that, but just stand up and attend to me. Stand up, sir, and +answer my questions,” says Mr. Nimble. + +“I be standin’ oop,” said Bumpkin, “and I can answer thee; ax away.” + +“Just attend,” said the Judge. “You must not go on like that. You are +here to answer questions and not to make speeches. If you wish those +gentlemen to believe you, you must conduct yourself in a proper manner. +Remember this is a serious charge, and you are upon your oath.” + +Poor Bumpkin! Never was there a more friendless position than that of +Ignorance in the witness-box. + +“Just attend!” repeated Mr. Nimble; this was a favourite expression of +his. + +“How may aliases have you?” + +“Ow many who?” asked Bumpkin. (Roars of laughter.) + +“How many different names?” + +“Naames! why I s’pose I got two, like moast people.” + +“How many more?” + +“None as iver I knowed of.” + +“Wait a bit, we shall see. Now, sir, will you swear you have never gone +by the name of Pumpkin?” + +Loud laughter, in which the learned judge tried not to join. + +“Never!” + +“Do you swear it?” + +“I do.” + +“My lord, would you kindly let me see the depositions. Now look here, +sir, is that your signature?” + +“I ain’t much of a scollard.” + +“No; but you can make a cross, I suppose.” + +“Ay, I can make a cross, or zummut in imitation as well as any man.” + +“Look at that, is that your cross?” + +“It look like un.” + +“Now then, sir; when you were before the Lord Mayor, I ask you, upon your +oath, did you not give the name of Pumpkin?” + +“Noa, I din’t!” + +“Was this read over to you, and were you asked if it was correct?” + +“It med be.” + +“Med be; but wasn’t it? You know it was, or, don’t you?” + +Bumpkin seemed spiked, so silent; seemed on fire, so red. + +“Well, we know it was so. Now, my lord, I call your lordship’s attention +to this remarkable fact; here in the depositions he calls himself +Pumpkin.” + +His lordship looks carefully at the depositions and says that certainly +is so. + +Mr. Newboy rises and says he understands that it may be a mistake of the +clerk’s. + +Judge: “How can you say that, Mr. Newboy, when it’s in his affidavit?” + +(Clerk of Arraigns whispers to his lordship.) “I mean in his +depositions, as I am told they are called in this Court; these are read +over to him by the clerk, and he is asked if they are correct.” Shakes +his head. + +(So they began to try the prisoner, not so much on the merits of the case +as on the merits of the magistrate’s clerk.) + +“You certainly said your name was Pumpkin,” said the Judge, “and what is +more you swore to it.” + +(“They’ve got the round square at work,” muttered a voice in the +gallery.) + +Mr. Nimble: “Now just attend; have you ever gone so far as to say that +this case did not refer to you because your name was not Bumpkin?” + +The witness hesitates, then says “he b’leeves not.” + +“Let those two gentlemen, Mr. Crackcrib and Mr. Centrebit, step forward.” + +There was a bustle in Court, and then, with grinning faces, up stepped +the two men who had visited Mr. Bumpkin at the “Goose” some days before. + +“Have you ever seen these gentlemen before?” asks the learned counsel. + +The gentlemen alluded to looked up as if they had practised it together, +and both grinned. How can Mr. Bumpkin’s confusion be described? His +under jaw fell, and his head drooped; he was like one caught in a net +looking at the fowler. + +The question was repeated, and Mr. Bumpkin wiped his face and returned +his handkerchief into the depths of his hat, into which he would have +liked to plunge also. + +Question repeated in a tone that conveyed the impression that witness was +one of the biggest scoundrels in the Heart of Civilization. + +“You must really answer,” says the Judge. + +“They be put on, your lordship.” + +“No, no,” says the counsel, “you mustn’t say that, I’ll have an answer. +Have you seen them before?” + +“Yes,” muttered the prosecutor. + +“Let them go out of Court. Now then,” says the counsel, extending his +right hand and his forefinger and leaning towards the witness, +“have—you—not—told—them—that—this case was nothing to do with you as your +name wasn’t Bumpkin?” + +“My lord,” says the witness. + +“No, no; you must answer.” + +The witness stood confounded. + +“You decline to answer,” says the counsel. “Very well; now then, let me +see if you will decline to answer this. When you were robbed, as you +say, was anybody with you?” + +“Be I obligated to answer, my lord?” + +“I think you must answer,” said his lordship. + +“There wur.” + +“Who was it?” + +“A companion, I s’poase.” + +“Yes, but who was he? what was his name?” + +No answer. + +“You’d rather not answer; very well. Where does he live?” + +“I doant know. Westmunster, I believe.” + +“Is he here?” + +“Not as I knows on.” + +(“What a lark this is,” chuckled the Don, as he sat in the corner of the +gallery peeping from behind the front row.) + +“Did he see the watch taken?” + +“He did, leastways I s’poase so.” + +“And has never appeared as a witness?” + +“How is that?” asks his lordship. + +“He axed me, m’lud, not to say as ’ow he wur in it.” + +Judge shakes his head. Counsel for the prisoner shakes his head at the +jury, and the jury shake their heads at one another. + +Now in the front row of the gallery sat five young men in the undress +uniform of the hussars: they were Joe and his brother recruits come to +hear the famous trial. At this moment Mr. Bumpkin in sheer despair +lifted his eyes in the direction of the gallery and immediately caught +sight of his old servant. He gave a nod of recognition as if he were the +only friend left in the wide world of that Court of Justice. + +“Never mind your friends in the gallery,” said Mr. Nimble; “I dare say +you have plenty of them about; now attend to this question:”—Yes, and a +nice question it was, considering the tone and manner with which it was +asked. “At the moment when you were being robbed, as you say, did a +young woman with a baby in her arms come up?” + +The witness’s attention was again distracted, but this time by no such +pleasing object as on the former occasion. He was dumbfoundered; a +sparrow facing an owl could hardly be in a greater state of nervousness +and discomfiture: for down in the well of the Court, a place where he had +never once cast his eyes till now, with a broad grin on his coarse +features, and a look of malignant triumph, sat the _fiendlike Snooks_! +His mouth was wide open, and Bumpkin found himself looking down into it +as though it had been a saw-pit. By his side sat Locust taking notes of +the cross-examination. + +“What are you looking at, Mr. Bumpkin?” inquired the learned counsel. + +Mr. Bumpkin started. + +“What are you looking at?” + +“I wur lookin’ doun thic there hole in thic feller’s head,” answered +Bumpkin. + +Such a roar of laughter followed this speech as is seldom heard even in a +breach of promise case, where the most touching pathos often causes the +greatest amusement to the audience. + +“What a lark!” said Harry. + +“As good as a play,” responded Dick. + +“I be sorry for the old chap,” said Joe; “they be givin’ it to un pooty +stiff.” + +“Now attend,” said the counsel, “and never mind the hole. Did a young +woman with a baby come up?” + +“To the best o’ my b’leef.” + +“Don’t say to the best of your belief; did she or not?” + +“He can only speak to the best of his belief,” said the Judge. + +(“There’s the round square,” whispered O’Rapley.) + +“Did she come up then to the best of your belief?” + +“Yes.” + +“And—did—she—accuse—you—to the best of your belief of assaulting her?” + +“I be a married man,” answered the witness. (Great laughter.) + +“Yes, we know all about you; we’ll see who you are presently. Did she +accuse you, and did you run away?” + +“I runned arter thic feller.” + +“No, no; did she accuse you?” + +“She might.” + +The learned counsel then sat down with the quickest motion imaginable, +and then the policeman gave his evidence as to taking the man into +custody; and produced the huge watch. Mr. Bumpkin was recalled and asked +how long he had had it, and where he bought it; the only answers to which +were that he had had it five years, and bought it of a man in the market; +did not know who he was or where he came from; all which answers looked +very black against Mr. Bumpkin. Then the policeman was asked to answer +this question—yes or no. “Did he know the prisoner?” He said “No.” + +Mr. Nimble said to the jury, “Here was a man dressing himself up as an +old man from the country (laughter) prowling about the streets of London +in company with an associate whose name he dared not mention, and who +probably was well-known to the police; here was this countryman actually +accused of committing an assault in the public streets on a young woman +with a baby in her arms: he runs away as hard as his legs will carry him +and meets a man who is actually wearing the watch that this Bumpkin or +Pumpkin charges him with stealing. He, the learned counsel, would call +witness after witness to speak to the character of his client, who was an +engraver (I believe he was an engraver of bank notes); he would call +witness after witness who would tell them how long they had known him, +and how long he had had the watch; and, curiously enough, such curious +things did sometimes almost providentially take place in a Court of +Justice, he would call the very man that poor Mr. Simpleman had purchased +it of five years ago, when he was almost, as you might say, in the first +happy blush of boyhood (that ‘blush of boyhood’ went down with many of +the jury who were fond of pathos); let the jury only fancy! but really +would it be safe—really would it be safe, let him ask them upon their +consciences, which in after life, perhaps years to come, when their heads +were on their pillows, and their hands upon their hearts, (here several +of the jury audibly sniffed), would those consciences upbraid, or would +those consciences approve them for their work to-day? would it be safe to +convict after the exhibition the prosecutor had made of himself in that +box, where, he ventured to say, Bumpkin stood self-condemned before that +intelligent jury.” + +Here the intelligent jury turned towards one another, and after a moment +or two announced, through their foreman (who was a general-dealer in old +metal, in a dark street over the water), that if they heard a witness or +two to the young man’s character that would be enough for them. + +Witnesses, therefore, were called to character, and the young man was +promptly acquitted, the jury appending to their verdict that he left the +Court without a stain upon his character. + +“Bean’t I ’lowed to call witnesses to charickter?” asks the Prosecutor. + +“Oh, no,” replied Mr. Nimble; “we know your character pretty well.” + +“What’s that?” inquired the Judge. + +“He wants to know, my lord,” says Mr. Nimble, laughing, “if he may call +witnesses to character!” + +“Oh dear, no,” says the Judge; “you were not being tried.” + +Now many persons might have been of a different opinion from his lordship +on this point. Snooks for one, I think; for he gave a great loud vulgar +haw! haw! haw! and said, “I could ha’ gien him a charakter.” + +“Si-lence!” said the Usher. + +“May the prisoner have his watch, my lord?” asks Mr. Nimble. + +“O, yes,” said his lordship, “to be sure. Give the prisoner his watch.” + +“_His_ watch,” groaned a voice. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +Mr. Alibi is stricken with a thunderbolt—interview with Horatio and Mr. +Prigg. + +The “round square,” as the facetious Don called the new style of putting +the round judicial pegs into the square judicial holes, had indeed been +applied with great effect on this occasion; for I perceived that Mr. +Alibi, remarkable man, was not only engaged on the part of the Crown to +prosecute, but also on that of the prisoner to defend. And this fact +came to my knowledge in the manner following: + +When Mr. Bumpkin got into the lower part of that magnificent pile of +buildings which we have agreed to call the Heart of Civilisation, he soon +became the centre of a dirty mob of undersized beings who were anxious to +obtain a sight of him; and many of whom were waiting to congratulate +their friend, the engraver. Amidst the crowd was Mr. Alibi. That +gentleman had no intention of meeting Mr. Bumpkin any more, for certain +expenses were due to him as a witness, and it had long been a custom at +the Old Bailey, that if the representative of the Crown did not see the +witnesses the expenses due to them would fall into the Consolidated Fund, +so that it was a clear gain to the State if its representative officers +did not meet the witnesses. On this occasion, however, Mr. Alibi ran +against his client accidentally, and being a courteous gentleman, could +not forbear condoling with him on the unsuccessful termination of his +case. + +“You, see,” began Mr. Alibi, “I was instructed so late—really, the wonder +is, when gentlemen don’t employ a solicitor till the last moment, how we +ever lay hold of the facts at all. Now look at your case, sir. Yes, +yes, I’m coming—bother my clerks, how they worry—I’ll be there directly.” + +“But thic feller,” said Mr. Bumpkin, “who had my case din’t know nowt +about it. I could ha’ done un better mysel.” + +“Ah, sir; so we are all apt to think. He’s a most clever man, that—a +very rising man, sir.” + +“Be he?” said Bumpkin. + +“Why, do you know, sir,” continued Mr. Alibi, “he was very great at his +University.” + +“That bean’t everything, though, by a long way.” + +“No, sir, granted, granted. But he was Number Four in his boat; and the +papers all said his feathering was beautiful.” + +“A good boatman, wur he?” + +“Magnificent, sir; magnificent!” + +“Then he’d better keep a ferry; bean’t no good at law.” + +“Ah! I am afraid you are a little prejudiced. He’s a very learned man.” + +“I wish he’d larned to open his mouth. Why, I got a duck can quack a +devilish sight better un thic feller can talk.” + +“Ha, how d’ye do, Mr. Swindle?” said a shabby-looking gentleman, who came +up at this moment. + +“Excuse me, sir; but you have the advantage of me,” said Alibi, winking. + +“Dear me, how very strange, I thought you were Mr. Wideawake’s +representative.” + +“Ah!” said Mr. Alibi, laughing, “we are often taken for brothers—and yet, +would you believe me, there is no relationship.” + +“No?” said the gentleman. + +“None, whatever. I think you’ll find him in the Second Court, if not, +he’ll be there in a short time. I saw him only just now.” + +That is how I learned that Mr. Alibi represented the Crown and Mr. +Deadandgone for the prosecutor; also the prisoner, and Mr. Wideawake for +the defence. Clever man! + +“Now,” said Mr. Bumpkin, “Can’t un get a new trial?” + +“I fear not,” said Alibi; “but I should not be in the least surprised if +that Wideawake, who represented the prisoner, brought an action against +you for false imprisonment and malicious prosecution.” + +“What, thic thief?” + +“Ah, sir—law is a very deep pit—it’s depth is not to be measured by any +moral plummet.” + +“Doan’t ’zacly zee’t.” + +“Well, it’s this,” said Mr. Alibi. “Whether you’re right or whether +you’re wrong, if he brings an action you must defend it—it’s not your +being in the right will save you.” + +“Then, what wool?” asked Mr. Bumpkin. + +Mr. Alibi did not know, unless it was instructing him in due time and not +leaving it to the last moment. That seemed the only safe course. + +Mr. Bumpkin took off his hat, drew out his handkerchief, and wiped the +perspiration from his forehead. Then he breathed heavily. Now at this +moment a strange phenomenon occurred, not to be passed over in this +truthful history. Past Mr. Bumpkin’s ear something shot, in appearance +like a human fist, in velocity like a thunderbolt, and unfortunately it +alighted full on the nose and eye of the great Mr. Alibi, causing that +gentleman to reel back into the arms of the faithful thieves around. I +cannot tell from what quarter it proceeded, it was so sudden, but I saw +that in the neighbourhood whence it came stood five tall hussars, and I +heard a voice say: + +“Now, look at that. Come on, Maister, don’t let us git into no row.” + +Mr. Bumpkin, with the politeness of his nature, said: + +“Good marnin’, sir,” and retired. + +And thus thought the unfortunate prosecutor: “This ’ere country be all +law, actions grows out o’ actions, like that ’ere cooch that runs all +over everywhere’s.” And then he saw the five recruits strutting along +with their caps at the side of their heads, the straps across their +chins, their riding-whips under their arms, and walking with such a +swagger that one would have thought they had just put down a rebellion, +or set up a throne. + +It was some time before, in the confusion of his mind, the disappointed +Bumpkin could realize the fact that there was any connection between him +and the military. But as he looked, with half-closed eyes, suddenly the +thought crossed his mind: “Why, that be like our Joe—that middle un.” + +And so it was: they were walking at a fastish pace, and as they strutted +along Joe seemed to be marching away with the whole farm and with all the +pleasures of his past life. Even Mrs. Bumpkin herself, in some +extraordinary manner, seemed to be eloping with him. Why was it? And +now, despondent, disappointed and humiliated, with his blood once more +up, poor old Bumpkin bethought himself seriously of his position. For +weeks he had been waiting for his case to “come on”; weeks more might +pass idly away unless he made a stir. So he would call at the office of +Mr. Prigg. And being an artful man, he had a reason for calling without +further delay. It was this: his desire to see Prigg before that +gentleman should hear of his defeat. Prigg would certainly blame him for +not employing a solicitor, or going to the Public Prosecutor. So to +Prigg’s he went about three o’clock on that Thursday afternoon. I do not +undertake to describe furniture, so I say nothing of Prigg’s dingy +office, except this, that if Prigg had been a spider, it was just the +sort of corner in which I should have expected him to spin his web. +Being a man of enormous practice, and in all probability having some +fifty to sixty representatives of county families to confer with, two +hours elapsed before Mr. Bumpkin could be introduced. The place, small +as it was, was filled with tin boxes bearing, no doubt, eminent names. +Horatio was busy copying drafts of marriage settlements, conveyances, and +other matters of great importance. He had little time for gossip because +his work seemed urgent, and although he was particularly glad to see Mr. +Bumpkin, yet being a lad of strict adherence to duty, he always replied +courteously, but in the smallest number of words to that gentleman’s +questions. + +“Will ur be long?” asked the client; “I don’t think so,” said Horatio. + +Then in a whisper, asked Mr. Bumpkin, “How does thee think, sir, we shall +get on: win, shan’t us?” + +Horatio just raised his face from the paper and winked, as though he were +conveying a valuable secret. + +“Have ur heard anythink, sir?” + +Another artful wink. + +“Thee know’s zummat, I knows thee do.” + +Another artful wink. + +“Thee can tell I, surely? I wunt let un goo no furder.” + +Horatio winked once more, and made a face at the door where the great +Prigg was supposed to be. + +“Ain’t give in, ave ur?” + +Horatio put his finger in his mouth and made a popping noise as he pulled +it out. + +“What the devil does thee mean, lad? there be zummat up, I’ll swear.” + +“Hush! hush!” + +“Now, look here,” said Bumpkin, taking out his purse; “thee beest a good +chap, and writ out thic brief, didn’t thee? I got zummat for thee;” and +hereupon he handed Horatio half-a-crown. + +The youth took the money, spun it into the air, caught it in the palm of +his hand, spat on it for good luck, and put it in his pocket + +“I’ll have a spree with that,” said he, “if I never do again.” + +“Be careful, lad,” said Bumpkin, “don’t fool un away.” + +“Not I,” said Horatio; “I’m on for the Argille tonight, please the pigs.” + +“Be thic a place o’ wusship” said Bumpkin, laughing. + +“Not exactly,” answered Horatio; “it’s a place where you can just do the +gentleman on the cheap, shoulder it with noblemen’s sons, and some of the +highest. Would you like to go now, just for a lark? I’m sure you’d like +it.” + +“Not I,” said the client; “this ’ere Lunnun life doan’t do for I.’.’ + +“Yes; but this is a nice quiet sort of place.” + +“Gals, I spoase.” + +“Rather; I believe you my boy; stunners too.” + +“Thee be too young, it’s my thinking.” + +“Well, that’s what the Governor says; everybody says I’m too young; but I +hope to mend that fault, Master Bumpkin, if I don’t get the better of any +other.” + +“I wish I wur as old in the ’ead; but tell I, lad, hast thee ’eard +anything? Thee might just as well tell I; it wunt goo no furder.” + +Horatio put his finger to his nose and made a number of dumb signs, +expressive of more than mere words could convey. + +“Danged if I can mak’ thee out,” said Bumpkin. + +“You recollect that ride we had in the gig.” + +“Ha, now it’s coming,” thought he; “I shall have un now,” so he answered: +“Well, it wur nice, wurn’t ur?” + +“Never enjoyed myself more in my life,” rejoined Horatio; “what a nice +morning it was!” + +“Beautiful!” + +“And do you recollect the rum and milk?” + +Mr. Bumpkin remembered it. + +“Well, I believe that rum and milk was the luckiest investment you ever +made. Hallo! there’s the bell—hush, _mither woy_!” + +“Dang thee!” said Bumpkin, “thee’s got un;” and he followed the youthful +clerk into Mr. Prigg’s room. + +There sat that distinguished lawyer with his respectable head, in his +easy chair, much worn, both himself and the chair, by constant use. +There sat the good creature ready to offer himself up on the altar of +Benevolence for the good of the first comer. His collar was still +unruffled, so was his temper, notwithstanding the severe strain of the +county families. There was his clear complexion indicating the continued +health resulting from a well-spent life. His almost angelic features +were beautiful rather in the amiability of their expression than in their +loveliness of form. Anyone looking at him for the first time must +exclaim, “Dear me, what a _nice_ man!” + +“Well, Mr. Bumpkin,” said he, extending his left hand lazily as though it +were the last effort of exhausted humanity, “how are we now?”—always +identifying himself with Bumpkin, as though he should say “We are in the +same boat, brother; come what may, we sink or swim together—how are we +now?” + +“Bean’t wery well,” answered Mr. Bumpkin, “I can tell ’ee.” + +“What’s the matter? dear me, why, what’s the matter? We must be cool, +you know. Nothing like coolness, if we are to win our battle.” + +“Lookee ’ere,” said Bumpkin; “lookee ’ere, sir; I bin here dordlin’ about +off an’ on six weeks, and this ’ere dam trial—” + +“Sh—sh!” remonstrated Mr. Prigg with the softest voice, and just lifting +his left hand on a level with his forehead. “Let us learn resignation, +good Mr. Bumpkin. Let us learn it at the feet of disappointment and +losses and crosses.” + +“Yes, yes,” said Bumpkin; “but thic larnin’ be spensive, I be payin’ for +it.” + +“Mr. Bumpkin,” said the good man sternly, “the dispensations of +Providence are not to be denounced in this way. You are a man, Bumpkin; +let us act, then, the man’s part. You see these boxes, these names: they +represent men who have gone through the furnace; let us be patient.” + +“But I be sick on it. I wish I’d never know’d what law wur.” + +“Ah, sir, most of us would like to exist in that state of wild and +uncultured freedom which only savages and beasts are permitted to enjoy; +but life has higher aims, Mr. Bumpkin; grander pursuits; more sublime +duties.” + +“Well, sir, I bean’t no schollard and so can’t argify; but if thee plase +to tell I, sir, when this case o’ mine be likely to come on—” + +“I was just that minute going to write to you, Mr. Bumpkin, as your name +was announced, to say that it would not be taken until next term.” + +Mr. Bumpkin uttered an exclamation which is not for print, and which +caused the good Prigg to clap his hands to his ears and press them +tightly for five minutes. Then he took them away and rubbed them +together (I mean his hands), as though he were washing them from the +contaminating influence of Mr. Bumpkin’s language. + +“Quite so,” he said, mechanically; “dear me!” + +“What be quite so,” asked Mr. Bumpkin. + +“Yes—yes—you see,” said Prigg, “Her Majesty’s Judges have to go circuit; +or, as it is technically called, jail delivery.” + +“They be allays gwine suckitt.” + +“Quite so. That is precisely what the profession is always observing. +No sooner do they return from one circuit than they start off on another. +Are you aware, Mr. Bumpkin, that we pay a judge five thousand a-year to +try a pickpocket?” + +“Hem!” said Bumpkin, “I bean’t aware on it. Never used t’ have so many +o’ these ’ere—what d’ye call ’ems?” + +“Circuits. No—but you see, here now is an instance. There’s a prisoner +away somewhere, I think down at Bodmin, hundreds of miles off, and I +believe he has sent to say that they must come down and try him at once, +for he can’t wait.” + +“I’d mak’ un wait. Why should honest men wait for sich as he? I bin +waitin’ long enough.” + +“Quite so. And the consequence is that the Lord Chief Justice of England +is going down to try him, a common pickpocket, I believe, and his +Lordship is the very head of the Judicial Body.” + +“Hem!” said Mr. Bumpkin; “then I may as well goo hoame?” + +“Quite so,” answered the amiable Prigg; “in fact, better—much better.” + +“An’ we shan’t come on now, sir; bean’t there no chance?” + +“Not the least, my dear sir; but you see we have not been idle; we have +been advancing, in fact, during the whole time that has seemed to you so +long. Now, just look, my dear sir; we have fought no less than ten +appeals, right up, mind you, to the Court of Appeal itself; we have +fought two demurrers; we have compelled them three times to give better +answers to our interrogatories, and we have had fourteen other summonses +at Chambers on which they have not thought proper to appeal beyond the +Judge. Now, Mr. Bumpkin, after that, I _think_ you ought to be +satisfied; but really that is one of the most disparaging things in the +profession, the most disparaging, I may say; we find it so difficult to +show our clients that we have done enough for them.” + +“An’ thee think, sir, as we shall win un?” said Bumpkin. + +“Well,” said Mr. Prigg, “I never like to prophesy; but if ever a case +looked like winning it’s _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_. And I may tell you this, +Mr. Bumpkin, only pray don’t say that I told you.” + +“What be thic, sir?” asked the eager client, with his eyes open as widely +as ever client’s can be. + +“The other side are in a tre-_men_-dous way!” + +“What, funkin’, be um? I said so. That there Snooks be a rank bad +un—now, then, we’ll at un like steam.” + +“All in good time, Bumpkin,” said the worthy Prigg, affectionately taking +his client’s hand. “All in good time. My kind regards to Mrs. Bumpkin. +I suppose you return to-night?” + +“Ay, sir, I be off by the fust train. Good day t’ ye, sir; good day and +thankee.” + +Thus comforted and thus grateful did the confiding client take leave of +his legal adviser, who immediately took down his costs-book and booked a +long conference, including the two hours that Mr. Bumpkin was kept in the +“outer office.” This followed immediately after another “long conference +with you when you thought we should be in the paper to-morrow from what a +certain Mr. O’Rapley had told you, and I thought we should not.” + +As he passed through the “outer office” he shook. Horatio by the hand. +“Good-bye, sir. I knows what it wur now—bean’t comin’ on.” + +“Don’t say I told you,” said the pale boy, as though he were afraid of +communicating some tremendous secret. + +“Noa, thee bean’t told I. Now, lookee ’ere, Mr. Jigger, come down when +thee like; I shall be rare and prood to see thee, and so’ll Missus.” + +“Thanks,” said Horatio; “I’ll be sure and come. _Mither woy_!” + +“Ha! mither woy, lad! that’s ur; thee got un. Good-bye.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +Mr. Bumpkin at home again. + +How peaceful the farm seemed after all the turmoil and worry that Farmer +Bumpkin had been subjected to in London! What a haven of rest is a +peaceful Home! How the ducks seemed to quack!—louder, as Mr. Bumpkin +thought, than they ever did before. The little flock of sheep looked up +as he went, with his old ash stick under his arm, to look round the farm. +They seemed to say to one another, “Why, here’s Master; I told you he’d +come back.” And the cows turned their heads and bellowed a loud welcome. +They knew nothing of his troubles, and only expressed their extreme +pleasure at seeing him again. They left off eating the whole time he was +with them; for they were very well bred Shorthorns and Alderneys. It was +quite pleasant to see how well behaved they all were. And Mrs. Bumpkin +pointed out which ones had calved and which were expected to calve in the +course of a few months. And then the majestic bull looked up with an +expression of immense delight; came up to Mr. Bumpkin and put his nose in +his master’s hand, and gazed as only a bull would gaze on a farmer who +had spent several weeks in London. It was astonishing with what +admiration the bull regarded him; and he seemed quite delighted as Mrs. +Bumpkin told her husband of the bull’s good conduct in his absence; how +he had never broken bounds once, and had behaved himself as an exemplary +bull on all occasions. + +“But,” said Mrs. Bumpkin, “I be ’bliged to say, Tom, that there Mrs. +Snooks have belied him shamefully. She haven’t got a good word to say +for un; nor, for the matter o’ that, for anything on the farm.” + +“Never mind,” said Mr. Bumpkin; “he bean’t the only one as ’ave been +slandered hereabouts.” + +“No, Tom, sure enough; but we bean’t ’bliged to heed un.” + +“No, nor wun’t. And now here come Tim.” + +To see Tim run and bound and leap and put his paws round Mr. Bumpkin’s +neck and lick him, was a sight which must have made up for a great deal +of the unkindness which he had experienced of late. Nor could any dog +say more plainly than Tim did, how he had had a row with that ill-natured +cur of Snooks’, called Towser, and how he had driven him off the farm and +forbade him ever setting foot on it again. Tim told all about the +snarling of Towser, and said he would not have minded his taking Snooks’ +part in the action, if he had confined himself to that; but when he went +on and barked at Mr. Bumpkin’s sheep and pigs, against whom he ought to +have shown no ill-feeling, it was more than Tim could stand; so he flew +at him and thoroughly well punished him for his malignant disposition. + +But in the midst of all this welcoming, there was an unpleasant +experience, and that was, that all the pigs were gone but two. The rare +old Chichester sow was no more. + +“There be only two affidavys left, Nancy!” + +“No, Tom—only two; the man fetched two yesterday.” + +“I hope they sold well. Have he sent any money yet?” + +“Not a farthing,” said Mrs. Bumpkin; “nor yet for the sheep. He have had +six sheep.” + +“Zo I zee; and where be th’ heifers? we had six.” + +“They be all sold, Tom.” + +“And how much did ’em fetch?” + +“The man ain’t brought in the account yet, Tom; but I spect we shall have +un soon.” + +“Why,” said Mr. Bumpkin, looking at the stackyard, “another rick be +gone!” + +“Yes, Tom, it be gone, and fine good hay it wur; it cut out as well as +any hay I ever zeed.” + +“Sure did ur!” answered Tom; “it were the six ak’r o’ clover, and were +got up wirout a drop o’ rain on un; it wur prime hay, thic. Why, I wur +offered six pun’ a looad for un.” + +“I don’ow what ur fetched, Tom; but I be mighty troubled about this ’ere +lawsuit. I wish we’d never ’a had un.” + +“Doan’t say thic, Nancy; we be bound to bring un. As Laryer Prigg say, +it bean’t so much t’ pig—” + +“No, Tom, thee said un fust.” + +“Well, s’poase I did—so ur did, and it worn’t so much t’ pig, it wur thic +feller’s cheek.” + +“Well, I don’t know nothing about un; I dissay you be right, because +you’ve allays been right, Tom; and we’ve allays got on well togither +these five and thirty year: but, some’ow, Tom—down, Tim!—down, Tim!” + +“Poor old Tim!” said Tom. “Good boy! I wish men wur as good as dogs +be.” + +“Some’ow,” continued Mrs. Bumpkin, “I doan’t like that ’aire Prigg; he +seem to shake his head too much for I; and ’olds his ’at up to his face +too long in church when ur goes in; and then ur shakes his head so much +when ur prays. I don’t like un, Tom.” + +“Now, Nancy, thee knows nothing about un. I can tell ’ee he be a rare +good man, and sich a clever lawyer, he’ll knock that ’aire Snooks out o’ +time. But, come on, let’s goo in and ’ave some ta.” + +So they went in. And a very comfortable tea there was set out on the old +oak table in front of the large fireplace where the dog-irons were. And +a bright, blazing log there was on the hearth; for a cold east wind was +blowing, notwithstanding that the sun had shone out bravely in the day. +Ah! how glad Tom was to see the bright pewter plates and dishes ranged in +rows all round the homely kitchen! They seemed to smile a welcome on the +master; and one very large family sort of dish seemed to go out of his +way to give him welcome. I believe he tumbled down in his enthusiasm at +Tom’s return, although it was accounted for by saying that Tim had done +it by the excessive “waggling” of his tail. I believe that dish fell +down in the name of all the plates and dishes on the shelves, for the +purpose of congratulating the master; else why should all their faces +brighten up so suddenly with smiles as he did so? It’s ridiculous to +suppose plates and dishes have no feelings; they’ve a great deal more +than some people. And then, how the great, big, bright copper kettle, +suspended on his hook, which was in the centre of the huge fireplace, how +he did sing! Why the nightingale couldn’t throw more feeling into a song +than did that old kettle! And then the home-made bread and rashers of +bacon, such as you never see out of a farmhouse; and tea, such as can’t +be made anywhere else! And then the long pipe was brought out of his +corner, where he had been just as Tom had left it before going to town. +And the bowl of that pipe gave off circular clouds of the bluest smoke, +expressive of its joy at the master’s return: it wasn’t very expressive, +perhaps, but it was all that a pipe could do; and when one does his best +in this world, it is all that mortal man can expect of him. + +And then said Mrs. Bumpkin,—still dubious as to the policy of the +proceedings, but too loving to combat her husband upon them,—“When be +thee gwine agin, Tom?” + +“I doan’t rightly know,” said Bumpkin. “Mr. Prigg will let I know; +sometime in May, I reckon.” + +“Dear, dear!” said Mrs. Bumpkin; “it may be on, then, just as th’ +haymakin’s about.” + +“Lor, lor! no, dearie; it’ll be over long enough afore.” + +“Doan’t be too sure, Tom; it be a long time now since it begun.” + +“Ah!” said Tom, “a long time enough; but it’ll be in th’ paper afore long +now; an’ we got one o’ the cleverest counsel in Lunnun?” + +“What be his name?” + +“Danged if I know, but it be one o’ the stunninest men o’ the day; two on +’em, by Golly; we got two, Nancy.” + +“Who be th’ tother? p’r’aps thee med mind his name?” + +“Noa, I doan’t mind his name nuther. Now, what d’ye think o’ thic?” + +Mrs. Bumpkin laughed, and said, “I think it be a rum thing that thee ’as +counsellors and doan’t mind their names.” + +And then the conversation turned upon Joe, whose place was vacant in the +old chimney corner. + +The tears ran down Mrs. Bumpkin’s rosy cheeks as she said for the +twentieth time since Mr. Bumpkin’s return,— + +“Poor Joe! why did ur goo for a soger?” + +“He wur a fool!” said Bumpkin, “and I told un so. So as I warned un +about thic Sergeant; the artfullest man as ever lived, Nancy.” + +Mrs. Bumpkin wiped her eyes. “He wur a good boy, wur Joe, goo where ur +wool; but, Tom, couldn’t thee ’a’ kept thine eye on un when thee see thic +Sergeant hoverin’ roun’ like a ’awk arter a sparrer?” + +“I did keep eye on un, I tell ’ee; but what be the good o’ thic; as well +keep thee eye on th’ sparrer when th’ hawk be at un. I tell ’ee I +’suaded un and warned un, and begged on un to look out.” + +“An’ what did ur say?” + +“Say, why said ur wur up to un.” + +“Up to un,” repeated Mrs. Bumpkin. “Can’t think ’ow ur got ’old on un.” + +“No, and thee mark I, no more can nobody else—in Lunnon thee’re ’ad afore +thee knows where thee be.” + +And now Mr. Bumpkin had his “little drop of warm gin and water before +going to bed”: and Mrs. Bumpkin had a mug of elder wine, for the +Christmas elder wine was not quite gone: and after that Mrs. Bumpkin, who +as the reader knows, was the better scholar of the two, took down from a +shelf on which the family documents and books were kept, a large old +bible covered with green baize. Then she wiped her glasses, and after +turning over the old brown leaves until she came to the place where she +had read last before Tom went away, commenced her evening task, while her +husband smoked on and listened. + +Was it the old tone with which she spelt her way through the sacred +words? Hardly: here it could be perceived that in her secret heart there +was doubt and mistrust. Do what she would her eyes frequently became so +dim that it was necessary to pause and wipe her glasses; and when she had +finished and closed the book, she took Tom’s hand and said: + +“O, Tom, I hope all ’ll turn out well, but sure enough I ha’ misgivings.” + +“What be it, my dear? Mr. Prigg say we shall win—how can ur do better +’an thic?” + +“Shall we get back the pigs and sheep, Tom?” + +“Why not?” + +Mrs. Bumpkin looked into her lap, and folding her apron very smooth with +both hands, answered: + +“I doan’t think, Tom, that man looks like bringing anything back. He be +very chuffy and masterful, and looks all round as he goo away, as though +he wur lookin’ to see what ur would take next. I think he’ll have un +all, Tom.” + +“Stuff!” said Mr. Bumpkin, “he be sellin’ for I, take what ur may.” + +“He be sellin’ THEE, Tom, I think, and I’d stop un from takin’ more.” + +They rose to go to bed, and as Mrs. Bumpkin looked at the cosy old +hearth, and put up the embers of the log to make it safe for the night, +it seemed as if the prosperity of their old home had burnt down at last +to dull ashes, and she looked sadly at the vacant place where Joe had +used to sit. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +Joe’s return to Southwood—an invitation from the Vicar—what the old oak +saw. + +It was a long time after the circumstances mentioned in the last chapter. +The jails had been “delivered” of their prisoners, and prodigious events +had taken place in the world; great battles had been fought and won, +great laws made for the future interpretation of judges, and for the +vexation of unfortunate suitors. It seemed an age to Mr. Bumpkin since +his case commenced; and Joe had been in foreign parts and won his share +of the glory and renown that falls to the lot of privates who have helped +to achieve victory for the honour and glory of their General and the +happiness of their country. It was a very long time, measured by events, +since Mr. Bumpkin’s return from town, when on a bright morning towards +the end of June, a fine sunburnt soldier of Her Majesty’s regiment of the +--- Hussars knocked with the butt-end of his riding whip at the old oak +door in the old porch of Southwood farm-house. + +“Well, I never! if that there bean’t our Joe!” exclaimed Mrs. Bumpkin, +looking out of the window; and throwing down the rolling-pin which she +had just been using in rolling-out the dough for a dumpling—(Mr. Bumpkin +was “uncommon fond o’ dumplins”)—“well, I never!” repeated Mrs. Bumpkin, +as she opened the door; “who ever would ha’ thought it? Why, how be’est +thee, Joe? And bless the lad, ’ow thee’ve growed! My ’art alive, come +along! The master’ll be mighty glad to see thee, and so be I, sure a +ly.” + +And here Mrs. Bumpkin paused to look round him, sticking her knuckles in +her sides and her elbows in the air as though Joe were a piece of +handiwork—a dumpling, say—which she herself had turned out, clothes and +all. And then she put the corner of her apron to her eye. + +“Why, Joe, I thought,” said she, “I should never see thee agin! Dear, +dear, this ’ere lawsuit be the ruin on us, mark my words! But lor, don’t +say as I said so to the master for the world, for he be that wropped up +in un that nothing goes down night and morning, morning and night, but +affidavys, and summonses, and counsellors, and jussices, and what not.” + +“Well,” said the soldier, slapping his whip on his leg as was his custom, +“you might be sure I should come and see yer if they left me a leg to hop +with, and I should ’a wrote, but what wi’ the smoke and what with the +cannon balls flying about, you haven’t got much time to think about +anything; but I did think this, that if ever I got back to Old England, +if it was twenty year to come, I’d go and see the old master and missus +and ’ear ’ow that lawsuit wur going on.” + +“And that be right, Joe—I knowed ’ee would; I said as much to master. +But ’ow do thee think it’ll end? shall us win or lose?” + +Now this was the first time he had ever been called upon to give a legal +opinion, or rather, an opinion upon a legal matter, so he was naturally +somewhat put about; and looking at the rolling-pin and the dough and then +at Mrs. Bumpkin, said: + +“Well, it’s like this: a man med win or a man med lose, there’s no +telling about the case; but I be dang’d well sure o’ this, missus, he’ll +lose his money: I wish master had chucked her up long agoo.” + +This opinion was not encouraging; and perceiving that the subject +troubled Mrs. Bumpkin more than she liked to confess, he asked a question +which was of more immediate importance to himself, and that was in +reference to Polly Sweetlove. + +“Why, thee’ll make her look at thee now, I’ll warrant; thy clothes fit +thee as though they growed on thee.” + +“Do she walk with the baker?” inquired Joe, with trembling accents. + +“I never heeard so, an’ it’s my belief she never looked at un wi’ any +meaning. I’ve seen her many a time comin’ down the Green Lane by herself +and peepin’ over th’ gate.” + +“Now look at that!” said Joe; “and when I was here I couldn’t get Polly +to come near the farm—allays some excuse—did you ever speak to her about +me, missus?” + +“I ain’t going to tell tales out of school, Joe, so there.” + +“Now look at that,” said Joe; “here’s a chap comes all this way and you +won’t tell him anything.” + +Mrs. Bumpkin laughed, and went on rolling the dough, and told him what a +nice dumpling she was making, and how he would like it, and asked how +long he was going to stop, and hoped it would be a month, and was telling +him all about the sheep and the cows and the good behaviour of the bull, +when suddenly she said: + +“Here he be, Joe! lor, lor, how glad he’ll be to see thee!” + +But it wasn’t the Bull that stepped into the room; it was Mr. Bumpkin, +rosy, stalwart, jolly, and artful as ever. Now Mrs. Bumpkin was very +anxious to be the bearer of such good intelligence as Joe’s arrival, so, +notwithstanding the fact that Mr. Bumpkin and he were face to face, the +eager woman exclaimed: + +“Here be our Joe, Tom, hearty and well. And bean’t he a smart fine +feller? What’ll Polly think of un now?” + +“Shut up thic chatter,” said Mr. Bumpkin, laughing. “Halloa! why, Joe, +egad thee looks like a gineral. I’d take thee for a kernel at the wery +least. Why, when did thee come, lad?” + +“Just now, master.” + +“That be right, an’ I be glad to see thee. I’ll warrant Nancy ain’t axed +thee t’ have nothun.” + +“Why, thee be welcome to the ’ouse if thee can eat un, thee knows thic,” +answered Nancy; “but dinner’ll be ready at twelve, and thee best not +spoil un.” + +“A quart o’ ale wun’t spile un, will un, Joe?” + +“Now look at that,” said the soldier. “Thankee, master, but not a +quart.” + +“Well, thee hasn’t got thee head snicked off yet, Joe?” + +“No, master, if my head had been snicked off I couldn’t ha’ bin here.” +And he laughed a loud ha! ha! ha! + +And Mr. Bumpkin laughed a loud haw! haw! haw! at this tremendous +witticism. It was not much of a witticism, perhaps, after all, when duly +considered, but it answered the purpose as well as the very best, and +produced as much pleasure as the most brilliant _repartee_, in the most +fashionable circles. We must take people as they are. + +So Joe stayed chattering away till dinner-time, and then, referring to +the pudding, said he had never tasted anything like it in his life; and +went on telling the old people all the wonders of the campaign: how their +regiment just mowed down the enemy as he used to cut corn in the +harvest-field, and how nothing could stand aginst a charge of cavalry; +and how they liked their officers; and how their General, who warn’t +above up to Joe’s shoulder, were a genleman, every inch on him, an’ as +brave as any lion you could pick out. And so he went on, until Mr. +Bumpkin said: + +“An’ if I had my time over agin I’d goo for a soger too, Joe,” which made +Mrs. Bumpkin laugh and ask what would become of her. + +“Ha! ha! ha! look at that!” said Joe; “she’s got you there, master.” + +“No she bean’t, she’d a married thic feller that wur so sweet on her +afore I had ur.” + +“What, Jem?” said Mrs. Bumpkin, “why I wouldn’t ha’ had un, Tom, if every +’air had been hung wi’ dimonds.” + +“Now look at that,” laughed Joe. + +And so they went on until it was time to take a turn round the farm. +Everything seemed startled at Joe’s fine clothes, especially the bull, +who snorted and pawed the earth and put out his tail, and placed his head +to the ground, until Joe called him by name, and then, as he told his +comrades afterwards in barracks, the bull said: + +“Why danged if it bean’t our Joe!” + +I must confess I did not hear this observation in my dream, but I was +some distance off, and if Mr. Ricochet, Q.C., in cross-examination had +said, “Will you swear, sir, upon your oath that the bull did not use +those words?” I must have been bound to answer, “I will not.” + +But presently they met old Tim, the Collie, and there was no need for Joe +to speak to him. Up he came with a bound and caressed his old mate in +the most loving manner. + +The Queen’s uniform was no disguise to him. + +The next day it was quite a treat to see Joe go through the village. +Such a swagger he put on that you would have thought he was the whole +regiment. And when he went by the Vicarage, where Polly was housemaid, +it was remarkable to see the air of indifference which he assumed. Whack +went his riding-whip on his leg: you could hear it a hundred yards off. +He didn’t seem to care a bit whether she was staring at him out of the +study window as hard as she could stare or not. Two or three times he +struck the same leg, and marched on perfectly indifferent to all around. + +At length came Sunday, as Sunday only comes in a country village. No +such peace, no such Sabbath anywhere. You have only got to look at +anything you like to know that it is Sunday. Bill’s shirt collar; the +milkman; even his bright milk-can has a Sunday shine about it. The cows +standing in the shallow brook have a reverent air about them. They never +look like that on any other day. Why the very sunshine is Sabbath +sunshine, and seems to bring more peace and more pleasantness than on any +other day of the week. And all the trees seem to whisper together, “It’s +Sunday morning.” + +Presently you see the people straggling up to the little church, whose +donging bell keeps on as much as to say, “I know I’m not much of a peal, +but in my humble way I do my duty to the best of my ability; it’s not the +sound but the spirit of the thing that is required; and if I’m not very +musical, and can’t give you many changes, I’m sincere in what I say.” +And this was an emblem of the sincerity and the simplicity of the +clergyman inside. He kept on hammering away at the old truths and +performing his part in God’s great work to the best of his ability; and I +know with very great success. So in they all came to church; and Joe, +who had been a very good Sunday-school pupil (notwithstanding his love of +poaching) and was a favourite with the vicar, as the reader knows, took +his old place in the free seats, not very far from the pew where the +vicar’s servants sat. Who can tell what his feelings were as he wondered +whether Polly would be there that morning? + +The other servants came in. Ah, dear! Polly can’t come, now look at +that! Just as he was thinking this in she came. Such a flutter in her +heart as she saw the bright uniform and the brighter face, bronzed with a +foreign clime and looking as handsome as ever a face could look. O what +a flutter too in Joe’s heart! But he was determined not to care for her. +So he wouldn’t look, and that was a very good way; and he certainly would +have kept his word if he could. + +I think if I had to choose where and how I would be admired, if ever such +a luxury could come to me, I would be Joe Wurzel under present +circumstances. A young hero, handsome, tall, in the uniform of the +Hussars, with a loved one near and all the village girls fixing their +eyes on me! That for once only, and my utmost ambition would be +gratified. Life could have no greater pride for me. I don’t know +whether the sermon made much impression that day, but of the two, I +verily believe Joe made the most; and as they streamed out of the little +church all the young faces of the congregation were turned to him: and +everywhere when they got outside it was, “Halloa, Joe!” “Why, Joe, my +lad, what cheer?” “Dang’d if here bean’t Joe!” and other exclamations of +welcome and surprise. And then, how all the pinafored boys flocked round +and gazed with wondering eyes at this conquering hero; chattering to one +another and contradicting one another about what this part of his uniform +was and what that part was, and so on; but all agreeing that Joe was +about the finest sight that had come into Yokelton since ever it was a +place. + +And then the old clergyman sent for him and was as kind as ever he could +be; and Joe was on the enchanted ground where the fairy Polly flitted +about as noiselessly as a butterfly. Ah, and what’s this? Now let not +the reader be over-anxious; for a few lines I must keep you, gentle one, +in suspense; a great surprise must be duly prepared. If I told you at +once what I saw, you would not think so much of it as if I kept you a +little while in a state of wondering curiosity. What do you think +happened in the Vicarage? + +Now’s the moment to tell it in a fresh paragraph. Why in came the fairy +with a little tray of cake and wine! Now pause on that before I say any +more. What about their eyes? Did they swim? What about their hearts; +did they flutter? Did Polly blush? Did Joe’s bronzed face shine? Ah, +it all took place, and much more than I could tell in a whole volume. +The vicar did not perceive it, for luckily he was looking out of the +window. It only took a moment to place the tray on the table, and the +fairy disappeared. But that moment, not then considered as of so much +importance, exciting as it was, stamped the whole lives of two beings, +and who can tell whether or no such a moment leaves its impress on +Eternity? + +All good and all kind was the old vicar; and how attentively he listened +with Mrs. Goodheart to the eye-witness of England’s great deeds! And +then—no, he did not give Joe a claptrap maudlin sermon, but treated him +as a man subject to human frailties, and, only hoped in all his career he +would remember some of the things he had been taught at the Sunday +School. + +“Ay,” said Joe, “ay, sir, and the best lesson I ever larned, and what +have done me most good, be the kindness I always had from you.” + +So they parted, and a day or two after, strangely enough, just as Joe was +walking along by the old Oak that is haunted, and which the owls and the +ghosts occupy between them, who should come down the lane in the opposite +direction but Polly Sweetlove! Where she came from was the greatest +mystery in the world! And it was so extraordinary that Joe should meet +her: and he said so, as soon as he could speak. + +“Now look at that! Whoever would have thought of meeting anybody here?” + +Polly hung down her head and blushed. Neither of them knew what to say +for a long time; for Joe was not a spokesman to any extent. At last +Polly Sweetlove broke silence and murmured in the softest voice, and I +should think the very sweetest ever heard in this world: + +“Are you going away soon, Joe?” + +“Friday,” answered the young Hussar. + +Ah me! This was Wednesday already; to-morrow would be Thursday, and the +next day Friday! I did not hear this, but I give you my word it took +place. + +“Are you coming to see the Vicar again?” asked the sweet voice. + +“No,” said Joe. + +They both looked down at the gnarled roots of the old tree—the roots did +stick out a long way, and I suppose attracted their attention—and then +Polly just touched the big root with her tiny toe. And the point of that +tiny toe touched Joe’s heart too, which seemed to have got into that root +somehow, and sent a thrill as of an electric shock, only much pleasanter, +right through his whole body, and even into the roots of his hair. + +“When are you coming again?” whispered the sweet lips. + +“Don’t know,” said the young soldier; “perhaps never.” + +“But you’ll come and see—your mother?” + +“O yes,” answered Joe, “I shall come and see mother; but what’s it matter +to thee, lassie?” + +The lassie blushed, and Joe thought it a good opportunity to take hold of +her hand. I don’t know why, but he did; and he was greatly surprised +that the hand did not run away. + +“I think the Vicar likes you, Joe?” + +“Do he?” and he kept drawing nearer and nearer, little by little, until +his other hand went clean round Polly Sweetlove’s waist, and—well an owl +flew out of the tree at that moment, and drew off my attention; but +afterwards I saw that they both kept looking at the root of the tree, and +then Joe said; + +“But you love th’ baker, Polly?” + +“No,” whispered Polly; “no, no, never!” + +“Now, look at that!” said Joe, recovering himself a little; “I always +thought you liked the baker.” + +“Never, Joe.” + +“Well then, why didn’t you look at me?” + +Polly blushed. + +“Joe, they said you was so wild.” + +“Now, look at that,” said Joe; “did you ever see me wild, Polly?” + +“Never, Joe—I will say that.” + +“No, and you can ask my mother or Mrs. Bumpkin, or the Vicar, or anybody +else you like, Polly—.” + +“I shall go and see your mother,” said Polly. + +“Will you come to-morrow night?” asked Joe. + +“If I can get away I will; but I must go now—good-bye—good-bye—good——” + +“Are you in a hurry, Polly.” + +“I must go, Joe—good—; but I will come to-morrow, as soon as dinner is +over—good—good—good-bye.” + +“And then——,” but the Old Oak kept his counsel. Here I awoke. + + * * * * * + +“Well,” cried my wife, “you have broken off abruptly.” + +“One can’t help it,” quoth I, rubbing my eyes. “I cannot help waking any +more than I can help going to sleep.” + +“Well, this would be a very pretty little courtship if true.” + +“Ah,” I said, “if I have described all that I saw in my dream, you may +depend upon it it is true. But when I go to Southwood I will ask the Old +Oak, for we are the greatest friends imaginable, and he tells me +everything. He has known me ever since I was a child, and never sees me +but he enters into conversation.” + +“What about?” + +“The past, present, and future—a very fruitful subject of conversation, I +assure you.” + +“Wide enough, certainly.” + +“None too wide for a tree of his standing.” + +“Ask him, dear, if Joe will marry this Polly Sweetlove.” + +“He will not tell me that; he makes a special reservation in favour of +lovers’ secrets. They would not confide their loves to his keeping so +often as they do if he betrayed them. No, he’s a staunch old fellow in +that respect, and the consequence is, that for centuries lovers have +breathed their vows under his protecting branches.” + +“I’m sorry for that—I mean I am sorry he will not tell you about this +young couple, for I should like to know if they will marry. Indeed, you +must find out somehow, for everyone who reads your book will be curious +on this subject.” + +“What, as to whether ploughman Joe will marry Polly the housemaid. Had +he been the eldest son of the Squire now, and she the Vicar’s daughter, +instead of the maid—” + +“It would not have been a whit more interesting, for love is love, and +human nature the same in high and low degree. But, perhaps, this old +tree doesn’t know anything about future events?” + +“He knows from his long experience of the past what will happen if +certain conditions are given; he knows, for instance, the secret +whispers, and the silent tokens exchanged beneath his boughs, and from +them he knows what will assuredly result if things take their ordinary +course.” + +“So does anyone, prophet or no prophet.” + +“But his process of reasoning, based upon the experience of a thousand +years, is unerring; he saw William the Conqueror, and listened to a +council of war held under his branches; he knew what would happen if +William’s projects were successful: whether they would be successful was +not within his knowledge. He was intimately acquainted with Herne’s Oak +at Windsor, and they frequently visited.” + +“Visited! how was that possible?” + +“Quite possible; trees visit one another just the same as human +beings—they hold intercourse by means of the wind. For instance, when +the wind blows from the north-east, Southwood Oak visits at Windsor Park, +and when the wind is in the opposite direction a return visit is paid. +There isn’t a tree of any position in England but the Old Oak of +Southwood knows. He is in himself the History of England, only he is +unlike all other histories, for he speaks the truth.” + +“He must have witnessed many love scenes!” + +“Thousands!” + +“Tell me some?” + +“Not now—besides, I must ask leave.” + +“Does he ever tell you anything about yourself?” + +“A great deal—it is our principal topic of conversation; but he always +begins it, lest my modesty should prevent any intercourse on the +subject.” + +“What has he said?” + +“A great deal: he has inspired me with hope, even instilled into me some +ambition: he has tried to impart to me an admiration of all that is true, +and to awaken a detestation of all that is mean and pettifogging. I +never look at him but I see the symbol of all that is noble, grand and +brave: he is the emblem of stability, friendship and affection; a +monument of courage, honesty, and fidelity; he is the type of manly +independence and self-reliance. I am glad, therefore, that under his +beautiful branches, and within his protecting presence, two young hearts +have again met and pledged, as I believe they have, their troth, honestly +resolving to battle together against the storms of life, rooted in +stedfast love, and rejoicing in the sunshine of the Creator’s smiles!” + +After these observations, which were received with marked approval, I +again gave myself up to the soft influence of a dreamy repose. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +A consultation as to new lodgings.—Also a consultation with counsel. + +It was a subject of grave discussion between the Bumpkins and Joe, as to +where would be the best place for the plaintiff to lodge on his next +visit to London. If he had moved in the upper ranks of life, in all +probability he would have taken Mrs. Bumpkin to his town house: but being +only a plain man and a farmer, it was necessary to decide upon the most +convenient, and at the same time, inexpensive locality. + +Mrs. Bumpkin, who, of course, knew all about her husband’s adventures, +was strongly opposed to his returning to the Goose. Never had created +thing lost so much in her estimation by mere association as this domestic +bird. Joe was a fine soldier, no doubt, but it was the Goose that had +taken him in. + +Curiously enough, as they were discussing this important question, who +should come in but honest Lawyer Prigg himself. + +What a blessing that man seemed to be, go where he would! Why, he spread +an air of hope and cheerfulness over this simple household the moment he +entered it! But the greatest virtue he dispensed was resignation; he had +a large stock of this on hand. He always preached it: “resignation to +the will of Providence;” resignation to him, Prigg! + +So when he came in with his respectable head, professional collar, and +virtuous necktie, Mr. and Mrs. Bumpkin could not choose but rise. Mr. +Bumpkin meekly pulled his hair, and humbly bowed obeisance as to his +benefactor. Mrs. Bumpkin curtseyed as to a superior power, whom she +could not recognize as a benefactor. Joe stood up, and looked as if he +couldn’t quite make out what Mr. Prigg was. He knew he worked the Law +somehow, and “summut like as a man works a steam-threshing machine, but +how or by what means, was a mystery unrevealed to the mind of the simple +soldier.” + +“Good morning! good morning!” said Mr. Prigg, after the manner of a +patriarch conferring a blessing. “Well, Joe, so you are returned, are +you? Come, now, let me shake hands with one of our brave heroes!” + +What condescension! and his tone was the tone of a man reaching down from +a giddy height to the world beneath him. + +“So you were in the thick of the fight, were you—dear me! what a charge +that was!” Ah, but, dear reader, you should see Prigg’s charges! + +“I wur someur about, sir,” said Joe. “I dunnow where now though.” + +“Quite so,” said Mr. Prigg, “it was a great victory; I’m told the enemy +ran away directly they heard our troops were coming.” + +“Now look at that,” said Joe; “what a lot of lies do get about sure-ly!” + +“Dear me!” said Mr. Prigg; “but you beat them, did you not? we won the +battle?” + +“That’s right enough,” said Joe; “but if they’d run away we couldn’t a +beat un—’tain’t much of a fight when there’s no enemy.” + +“Haw, haw, haw!” laughed Bumpkin. “That be good, Mr. Prigg, that be +good!” + +“Very good, very good, indeed,” said Mr. Prigg; “I don’t wonder at your +winning if you could make such sallies as that.” + +And that was good for Mr. Prigg. + +“And now,” said he, “to business—business, eh?” + +“We be jist gwine to ’ave a nice piece o’ pork and greens, Mr. Prigg, +would ee please to tak some,” said Mr. Bumpkin. + +“Dear me!” answered Prigg; “how very strange, my favourite dish—if ever +Mrs. Prigg is in doubt about—” + +“It be wery plain,” said Bumpkin. + +“The plainer the better, my dear sir; as I always say to my servants, if +you—” + +“I’m sure,” said Mrs. Bumpkin; “I be ’ardly fit to wait on a gennleman +like you. I ain’t ’ad time this morning to change my gown and tidy up +myself.” + +“Really, my dear madam—don’t, now; I adjure you; make no apologies—it is +not the dress—or the—or the —, anything in fact, that makes us what we +are;—don’t, if you please.” + +And here his profound sentiments died away again and were lost to the +world; and the worthy man, not long after, was discussing his favourite +dish with greedy relish. + +“An when’ll this ’ere thing be on, Mr. Prigg, does thee think? It be a +hell of a long time.” + +“Tom! Tom!” exclaimed Mrs. Bumpkin. But Mr. Prigg was too well bred and +too much occupied with his pork and greens to hear the very wayward +epithet of the Farmer Bumpkin. + +“Quite so,” said the lawyer; “quite so, it is so difficult to tell when a +case will come on. You’re in the list to-day and gone to-morrow; a man +the other day was just worried as you have been; but mark this; at the +trial, Mr. Bumpkin, the jury gave that man a verdict for a thousand +pounds!” + +“Look at that, Nancy,” exclaimed Mr. Bumpkin; “Will ’ee tak a little more +pork, sir?” + +“Thank you,” said Mr. Prigg, “it’s uncommonly good; some of your own +feeding, I suppose?” + +“Ay,” said Mr. Bumpkin. + +“Were that a pig case, Mr. Prigg, where the man got the thousand pounds?” +asked Mrs. Bumpkin. + +“Let me see,” answered Prigg, “_was_ it a pig case?” Here he put his +finger to the side of his nose. “I really, at this moment, quite forget +whether it was or was not a pig case. I’ll trouble you, Mrs. Bumpkin, +for a little more greens, if you please.” + +“Now, I wur saying,” said Bumpkin, “jist as thee comed in, where be I to +lodge when I gooes to Lunnon agin?” + +“Ah, now, quite so—yes; and you must go in a day or two. I expect we +shall be on shortly. Now, let me see, you don’t like ‘The Goose’? A +nice respectable hostelry, too!” + +“I wunt ’ave un goo there, Mr. Prigg,” said Mrs. Bumpkin. + +“Quite so—quite so. Now what I was thinking was, suppose you took +lodgings at some nice suburban place, say—” + +“What pleace, sir?” inquired Bumpkin. + +“Let us say Camden Town, for instance—nice healthy neighbourhood and +remarkably quiet. You could come every morning by ’bus, or if you +preferred it, by rail; and if by rail, you could take a season ticket, +which would be much cheaper; a six months’ ticket, again, being cheaper +than a three months’ ticket.” + +“In the name o’ Heaven, sir,” exclaimed Mrs. Bumpkin, “be this ’ere thing +gwine on for ever?” + +Mr. Prigg smiled benignly, as much as to say, “You ladies are so +impatient, so innocent of the business of life.” + +“It seems to me, Mr. Prigg, one need live to be as old as thic there +Mackthusaler to bring a law-suit now-a-days.” + +“Now, look at that!” broke in Joe, “it’s made master look forty year +older aready.” + +“So it have, Joe,” rejoined the mistress; “I wish it could be chucked up +altogether.” + +Mr. Prigg benignantly shook his head. + +“D’ye think I be gwine to give in to thic sniggerin’ Snooks feller?” +asked Mr. Bumpkin. “Not if I knows it. Why thic feller goo sniggerin’ +along th’ street as though he’d won; and he ’ave told lots o’ people how +he’ll laugh I out o’ Coourt—his counsel be gwine to laugh I out o’ Coourt +becors I be a country farmer.” + +“Right can’t be laughed out of Court, sir,” said the excellent Prigg, +solemnly. + +“Noa, noa, right bean’t asheamed, goo where ur wool. Upright and +down-straight wur allays my motto. I be a plain man, but I allays tried +to act straight-forrerd, and bean’t asheamed o’ no man.” + +This speech was a complete success: it was unanswerable. It fixed the +lodgings at Camden Town. It stopped Mrs. Bumpkin’s impatience; +diminished her apprehensions; and apparently, lulled her misgivings. She +was a gentle, hard-working, loving wife. + +And so all was settled. It was the month of April, and it was +confidently expected that by the end of July all would be comfortably +finished in time to get in the harvest. The crops looked well; the +meadows and clover-field promised a fair crop, and the wheat and barley +never looked better. + +The following week found Mr. Bumpkin in his new lodgings at Camden Town; +and I verily believe, as Mr. Prigg very sagaciously observed, if it had +not been for the Judges going circuit, _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_ would have +been in the paper six weeks earlier than it really was. But even +lawsuits must come on at last, be they never so tardy: and one day, in +bustling haste, Mr. Prigg’s young man informed Mr. Bumpkin that a +consultation was actually fixed at his leader’s chambers, Garden Court, +Temple, at seven o’clock punctually the next day. + +Bumpkin was delighted: he was to be present at the express wish of the +leading counsel. So to Garden Court he went at seven, with Mr. Prigg; +and there sure enough was Mr. Dynamite, his junior counsel. Mr. +Catapult, Q.C., had not yet arrived. So while they waited, Mr. Bumpkin +had an opportunity of looking about him; never in his life had he seen so +many books. There they were all over the walls; shelves upon shelves. +The chambers seemed built with books, and Mr. Bumpkin raised his eyes +with awe to the ceiling, expecting to see books there. + +“What be all these ’ere books, sir?” he whispered to Prigg. + +“These are law books,” answered the intelligent Prigg; “but these are +only a few.” + +“Must be a good dale o’ law,” said Bumpkin. + +“A good deal too much,” observed Mr. Dynamite, with a smile; “if we were +to burn nine-tenths of the law books we should have better law, eh, Mr. +Prigg?” + +Mr. Prigg never contradicted counsel; and if Mr. Dynamite had said it’s a +great pity that our libraries have so few authorities, Prigg would have +made the same answer, “I quite agree, quite so! quite so!” + +“Mr. Cats-’is-name don’t seem to come,” observed Bumpkin, after an hour +and a half had passed. + +“Mr. _Catapult_, Mr. _Catapult_,” said Mr. Prigg; “no, he doesn’t seem to +come.” And then he rang for the clerk, and the clerk came. + +“Do you think Mr. Catapult will return to-night?” inquired Prigg. + +“I don’t think he will,” said the clerk, looking at his watch; “I am +afraid not.” + +“Beant much good to stop then,” said Mr. Bumpkin. + +“I fear not,” observed the clerk, “he has so many engagements. Shall we +fix another consultation, Mr. Prigg?” + +“If you please,” said that gentleman. + +“Say half-past seven to-morrow, then. The case, I find, is not in the +paper to-morrow.” + +“Quite so, quite so,” returned Prigg, “half-past seven to-morrow.” + +And thus the consultation was at an end and the parties went their +several ways. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + +Mr. Bumpkin receives compliments from distinguished persons. + +One evening as Mr. Bumpkin was sitting in his little parlour, ruminating, +or as he termed it, “rummaging” in his mind over many things, and +especially wondering when the trial would come on, Horatio, in breathless +impatience, entered the room. His excited and cheerful appearance +indicated that something of an unusually pleasant nature had occurred. A +strong intimacy had long been established between this boy and Mr. +Bumpkin, who regarded Horatio as a kind of legal prodigy; his very hopes +seemed centered in and inspired by this lad. He seemed to be the guiding +spirit and the flywheel of the whole proceedings. Was Snooks to be +pulverized? it must be under Horatio’s heel! + +This legal stripling brought almost as much comfort as Mr. Prigg himself; +and it was quite a pleasure to hear the familiar terms in which he spoke +of the bigwigs of the profession. He would say of McCannister, the +Queen’s Counsel, “I like Mac’s style of putting a question, it’s so soft +like—it goes down like a Pick-me-up.” Then he would allude to Mr. +Heavytop, Q.C., as Jack; to Mr. Bigpot as old Kettledrum; to Mr. Swagger, +Q.C., as Pat; to B. C. Windbag, Q.C., M.P., as B. C.—all which indicated +to the mind of Mr. Bumpkin the particularly intimate terms upon which +Horatio was with these celebrities. Nor did his intimacy cease there: +instead of speaking of the highest legal official of the land in terms of +respectful deference, as “my Lord High Chancellor,” or “my Lord +Allworthy,”—he would say, in the most indifferent manner “Old Allworthy” +this, and “Old Allworthy,” that; sometimes even, he ventured to call some +of Her Majesty’s Judges by nick-names; an example which, I trust, will +not be followed by the Horatios of the future. But I believe the pale +boy, like his great namesake, was fearless. It was a comfort to hear him +denounce the law’s delay, and the terrible “cumbersomeness” of legal +proceedings: not that he did it in soothing language or in happy +phraseology: it was rather in a manner that led Mr. Bumpkin to believe +the young champion was standing up for his particular rights; as if he +had said to the authorities, whoever they might be, “Look here! I’ll +have no more of this: it’s a shame and disgrace to this country that a +simple dispute between a couple of neighbours can’t be tried without +months of quarrelling in Judges’ Chambers and elsewhere; if you don’t try +this case before long I’ll see what can be done.” Then there was further +consolation in the fact that Horatio declared that, in his opinion, Tommy +_Catpup_, Q.C., would knock Snooks into a cocked hat, and that Snooks +already looked very down in the mouth. + +On the evening at which I have arrived in my dream, when the pale boy +came in, Mr. Bumpkin inquired what was the matter: was the case settled? +Had Snooks paid the damages? Nothing of the kind. Horatio’s visit was +of a common-place nature. He had simply come to inform Mr. Bumpkin that +the Archbishop of Canterbury had kindly sent him a couple of tickets for +the reserved seats at Canterbury Hall. + +Mr. Bumpkin was disappointed. He cared nothing for Archbishops. He was +in hopes it had been something better. + +“I wunt goo,” said he. + +“We ought to go, I think,” said Horatio; “it was very kind of old Archy +to send em, and he wouldn’t like it if we didn’t go: besides, he and the +Rolls are great chums.” + +“Rolls!” said Bumpkin. + +“The Master of the Rolls. I shouldn’t wonder if he aint got Archy to +send em—don’t you be a fool. And another thing, Paganani’s going to play +the farmyard on the fiddle to-night. Gemminey, ain’t that good! You +hear the pigs squeak, and the bull roar, and the old cock crow, and the +sow grunt, and the horse kick—” + +“How the devil can thee hear a horse kick, unless he kicks zummat?” + +“Well, he does,” said Horatio; “that’s just what he does do. Let’s go, I +am sure you will like it.” + +“It beant one o’ these ere playhouse pleaces, be it?” + +“Lor bless you,” said Horatio, “there’s pews just the same as if you was +in Church: and the singing’s beautiful.” + +“No sarmon, I s’pooase.” + +“Not on week nights, but I’ll tell you what there is instead: a chap +climbs up to the top of a high pole and stands on his head for ten +minutes.” + +Mr. Bumpkin, although a man who never went out of an evening, could not +resist the persuasions of his pale young friend. He had never been to +any place of amusement, except the Old Bailey, since he had been in +London; although he had promised himself a treat to the Cattle Show, +provided that came on, which was very likely, as it only wanted five +months to it, before his case. + +So they got on the top of a ’Bus and proceeded on their way to Lambeth +Palace; for the Canterbury Hall, as everyone knows, is in that ancient +pile. And truly, when they arrived everything was astonishingly +beautiful and pleasing. Mr. Bumpkin was taken through the Picture +Gallery, which he enjoyed, although he would have liked to see one or two +like the Squire had got in his Hall, such as “Clinker,” the prize bull; +and “Father Tommy,” the celebrated ram. But the Archbishop probably had +never taken a prize: not much of a breeder maybe. + +Now they entered the Hall amid strains of sweet, soft, enchanting music. +Never before had the soul of Bumpkin been so enthralled: it was as if the +region of fairyland had suddenly burst upon his astonished view. In +presence of all this beauty, and this delicious cadence of sweet sounds, +what a common-place thing _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_ seemed! + +Theirs was a very nice pew, commanding a full view of the stage and all +the angelic looking beings. And evidently our friends were considered +fashionable people, for many of the audience looked round at them as they +entered. So awed was Mr. Bumpkin when he first sat down, that he +wondered whether he ought to look into his hat as the Squire did in +Church; but, resolving to be guided by Horatio, and seeing that the pale +youth did not even take his billycock off, but spread his elbows out on +the front ledge and clapped his hands with terrific vehemence, and +shouted “Anchore” as loudly as he could, Mr. Bumpkin, in imitation, +clapped his hands and said “Hooroar!” + +It was glorious. The waiter came and exchanged winks with the pale boy, +and brought some soda-and-brandy and a cigar. Mr. Bumpkin wondered more +and more. It was the strangest place he had ever heard of. It seemed so +strange to have smoking and drinking. But then he knew there were things +occurring every day that the cleverest men could not account for: not +even Mr. Slater, the schoolmaster at Yokelton, could account for them. + +Just in front of the two friends was another pew, a very nice one that +was, and for some little time it was unoccupied. Presently with a great +rustling of silks and a great smell of Jockey Club, and preceded by one +of the servants of the establishment, entered two beautiful and +fashionably dressed ladies of extremely quiet (except the Jockey Club) +and retiring demeanour. They could not but attract Mr. Bumpkin’s +attention: they so reminded him of the Squire’s daughters, only they +dressed much better. How he would like Nancy to see them: she was very +fond of beautiful gowns, was Nancy. + +“I wonder who they be?” whispered Bumpkin. + +“I don’t know,” answered Horatio; “I’ll ask as soon as I get a chance. +It’s the Archbishop’s pew; I believe they are his daughters.” + +“Wouldn’t ur ha come wi em?” said Bumpkin. + +“He generally does, but I suppose he can’t get away to-night.” + +At this moment a waiter, or as Bumpkin called him a pew opener, was +passing, and Horatio whispered something in his ear, his companion +looking at him the while from the corner of his eyes. + +“The one on the right,” whispered the waiter, untwisting the wire of a +bottle of sodawater, “is the Countess Squeezem, and the other is Lady +Flora, her sister.” + +Bumpkin nodded his head as much as to say, “Just see that: high life, +that, if you like!” + +And really the Countess and Lady Flora were as quiet and unassuming as if +they had been the commonest bred people in the world. + +Now came forward on the stage a sweet young lady dressed in yellow satin, +with lovely red roses all down the front and one on the left shoulder, +greeted by a thunder of applause. Her voice was thrilling: now it was at +the back of the stage; now it was just behind your ear; now in the +ceiling. You didn’t know where to have it. After she had done, Horatio +said: + +“What do you think of Nilsson?” + +“Wery good! wery good!” + +“Hallo,” says Horatio, “here’s Sims Reeves. Bravo Sims! bravo Reeves!” + +“I’ve eered tell o’ he,” says Bumpkin; “he be wery young, bean’t he?” + +“O,” says Horatio, “they paint up so; but ain’t he got a tenor—O gemminey +crikery!” + +“A tenner?” says Bumpkin, “what’s thee mean, ten pun a week?” + +“O my eye!” says the youth, “he gets more than that.” + +“It be good wages.” + +“Yes, but it’s nothing to what some of em get,” says Horatio; “why if a +man can play the fool well he can get as much as the Prime Minister.” + +“Ah, and thic Prime Minister can play the fool well at times; it seem to +me—they tooked the dooty of whate and made un too chape.” + +“Who’s this?” asks Horatio of the waiter. + +“Patti,” says the waiter, “at the express wish of the Queen.” + +Bumpkin nods again, as though there was no end to the grandeur of the +company. + +Then comes another no less celebrated, if Horatio was correct. + +“Hullo,” says he, “here’s Trebelli!” + +Now this was too much for the absorbing powers of even a Bumpkin. +Horatio had carried it too far. Not that his friend had ever heard of +the great vocalist, but if you are inclined for fun pray use names that +will go down. Mr. Bumpkin looked hard at Horatio’s face, on which was +just the faintest trace of a smile. And then he said: + +“What a name, _Bellie_! danged if I doan’t think thee be stickin it into +I,” and then he laughed and repeated, “thee be stickin it into I.” + +“Now for Pagannini!” says Horatio; “now you’ll hear something. By Jove, +he’ll show you!” + +“Why I’ve eerd tell o’ thic Piganiny when I were a boy,” says Bumpkin, +“used to play on one leg.” + +“That’s the man,” says Horatio. + +“But this ere man got two legs, how can he be Piganiny?” + +“I don’t know anything about that,” says Horatio; “what’s it matter how +many legs he’s got, just listen to that!” + +“Why danged if that bean’t as much like thic Cochin Chiner cock o’ mine +as ever I eered in my life.” + +“Told you so,” says Horatio; “but keep quiet, you’ll hear something +presently.” + +And sure enough he did: pig in the straw; sow in the stye; bull in the +meadow; sheep in the fold; everything was perfect. + +Never before had Mr. Bumpkin been so overpowered. He never before knew +what music was. Truly Piganiny was a deserving man, and a clever one +too. Mr. Bumpkin’s enthusiasm had carried him thus far, when to his +great satisfaction the Lady Flora looked round. It was very nice of her, +because it was as if she wished to know if Mr. Bumpkin and his friend +felt the same rapturous delight as she and her sister. What a nice face +Lady Flora’s was! It wasn’t unlike the Squire’s eldest daughter’s. +Between that, perhaps, and the Vicar’s youngest daughter’s. + +Then the Countess slightly turned round, her face wearing a smile of +great complaisance, and Mr. Bumpkin could have seen at once that she was +a person of great distinction even if he had not been informed of her +rank. Well, taken for all in all, it was a night he would never forget, +and his only feeling of regret was that Mrs. Bumpkin was not present to +share his pleasure—the roar of that bull would have just pleased her; it +was so like Sampson. + +And now the scene shifters were preparing for another performance, and +were adjusting ropes and fixing poles, and what not, when, as Mr. Bumpkin +was lost in profound meditation, up rose from her seat the beautiful Lady +Flora, and turning round with a bewitching face, and assuming an air of +inexpressible simplicity, she exclaimed to Mr. Bumpkin in the sweetest of +voices: “O you duck!” + +Mr. Bumpkin started as if a cannon had exploded in his face instead of a +beautiful young lady. He blushed to the deepest crimson, and then the +lady Flora poured into him a volley of her sweetiest prettiest laughter. +Attacked thus so suddenly and so effectively, what could he do? He felt +there must be some mistake, and that he ought to apologize. But the Lady +Flora gave him no time; leaning forward, she held out her hand— + +“Beg pardon, m’lady—thic—I—I.” + +Then the Countess rose and smiled upon Mr. Bumpkin, and said she hoped he +wouldn’t mind; her sister was of such a playful disposition. + +The playful one here just touched Mr. Bumpkin under the chin with her +forefinger, and again said he was a “_perfect duck_!” + +“What be the manin’ o’ this?” said he. “I be off; come on, sir. This be +quite enough for I.” + +“Don’t go like that,” said Lady Flora. “Oh, dear, dear, what a cruel +man!” + +“Not a glass of wine,” said the Countess. + +“Not one, Mr. Bumpkin!” urged Lady Flora. + +Mr. Bumpkin had risen, and was angry: he was startled at his name being +known: he looked to Horatio, hoping some explanation might come; but the +pale youth had his back to him, and was preparing to leave the Hall. +There were many curious eyes looking at them, and there was much +laughter. Mr. Bumpkin’s appearance would alone have been sufficient to +cause this: but his mind was to be farther enlightened as to the meaning +of this extraordinary scene; and it happened in this wise. As he was +proceeding between the rows of people, followed closely by those +illustrious members of the aristocracy, the Countess and Lady Flora; +while the waiters grinned and the people laughed, his eye caught sight of +an object away over the front seat, which formed a right angle with the +one he had been occupying; it was an object unattractive in itself but +which, under the circumstances, fixed and riveted his attention; that +object was Snooks, in the corner of the third row, with his sawpit mouth +on the broadest grin. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + +The trial. + +Who shall describe the feelings of joy which animated the breast of Mr. +Bumpkin when at last, with the suddenness of lightning, Mr. Prigg’s clerk +flashed into his little parlour the intelligence, “Case in paper; be at +Court by ten o’clock; Bail Court.” Such was the telegram which Mr. +Bumpkin got his landlady to read on that pleasant evening towards the end +of July. The far-seeing Prigg was right. It would come on about the end +of July. That is what he had predicted. But it would not have been safe +for Mr. Bumpkin to be away from town for a single day. It might have +been in the paper at any moment; and here it was, just as he was +beginning to get tired of “Camden Town and the whole thing.” + +Mr. Bumpkin put on a clean shirt, with a good stiff high collar, which he +had reserved from Mrs. Bumpkin’s wash; for, in his opinion, there was no +stiffening in the London starch, and no getting up like Mrs. Bumpkin’s. +He put on his best neckerchief, and a bran new waistcoat which he had +bought for Sundays six years ago at the market town. He put on his drab +coat with the long tails, which he had worn on the day of his marriage, +and had kept for his best ever since; he put on his velvety looking +corduroy trowsers and his best lace-up watertight boots; and then, after +a good breakfast, put on his white beaver hat, took his ash-stick, and +got into a Westminster ‘Bus. What a beautiful morning it was! Just the +morning for a law suit! Down he got at Palace Yard, walked towards the +spacious door of the old hall, entered its shadowy precincts, and then, +in my dream, I lost sight of him as he mingled with the crowd. But I saw +some few moments after in the Bail Court enter, amidst profound silence +and with impressive dignity, Mr. Justice Stedfast. Let me here inform +the reader that if by any chance, say by settlement, postponement or +otherwise, the first case in the list “goes off,” as it is called (from +its bearing a striking resemblance to the unexpected going off of a gun), +and the parties in the next case, taken by surprise, are not there at the +moment, that case goes off by being struck out; and very often the next +and the next, and so on to the end of the list. Parties therefore should +be ready, so as to prevent a waste of time. The time of the Court is not +to be wasted by parties not being ready. Now, strangely enough, this is +what happened in the case of _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_. Being number eight, +no one thought it would be reached; and the leading counsel, and also the +junior counsel being engaged elsewhere; and Mr. Prigg and Mr. Prigg’s +clerk not having arrived; and Mr. Bumpkin not knowing his way; at five +minutes after the sitting of the Court, so expeditious are our legal +proceedings, the celebrated case was actually reached, and this is what +took place: + +“Are the parties ready?” inquired his Lordship. + +Mr. Ricochet, Q.C., who appeared with Mr. Weasel for the defendant, said +he was ready for the defendant. + +“Call the plaintiff!” said a voice. + +Loud cries for Bumpkin, who was just pushing his way down the passage +outside. + +“Does anyone answer?” asked his lordship; “do you know if any gentleman +is instructed, Mr. Ricochet?” + +“I am not aware, my lud.” + +“Stand up and be sworn, gentlemen,” says the associate. Up stood the +jury; and in less than half a minute they found a verdict for the +defendant, counterclaim being abandoned, just as Mr. Bumpkin had pushed +into Court. And judgment is given. + +The business having been thus got through, the Court rose and went away. +And then came in both counsel and Mr. Prigg and Horatio; and great +complaints were made of everybody except the Judge, who couldn’t help it. + +But our administration of justice is not so inelastic that it cannot +adapt itself to a set of circumstances such as these. It was only to +make a few more affidavits, and to appear before his lordship by counsel, +and state the facts in a calm and respectful manner, to obtain the +necessary rectification of the matter. All was explained and all +forgiven. _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_ was to be restored to the paper upon +payment of the costs of the day—a trifling matter, amounting only to +about eighteen pounds seventeen shillings. But a severe admonition from +the Bench accompanied this act of grace: “The Court cannot be kept +waiting,” said his lordship; “and it is necessary that all suitors should +know that if they are not here when their cases are called on they will +be struck out, or the party to the cause who is here will be entitled to +a verdict, if the defendant; or to try his case in the other’s absence, +if he be the plaintiff. It was idle to suppose that parties could not be +there in time: it was their business to be there.” + +At this every junior barrister nodded approvingly, and the usher called +silence. + +Of course, the cause could not be in the paper again for some time: they +must suit Mr. Ricochet’s convenience now: and accordingly another period +of waiting had to be endured. Mr. Bumpkin was almost distracted, but his +peace of mind was restored by the worthy Prigg, who persuaded him that a +most laudable piece of good fortune had been brought about by his +intervention; and that was the preventing the wily Snooks from keeping +the verdict he had snatched. + +What a small thing will sometimes comfort us! + +Mr. Bumpkin was, indeed, a lucky man; for if his case had not been in the +paper when at last it was, it would have “gone over the Long Vacation.” + +At length I saw Mr. Justice Pangloss, the eminent Chancery Judge, take +his seat in the Bail Court. He was an immense case lawyer. He knew +cases that had been tried in the reigns of the Edwards and Henries. A +pig case could not, therefore, come amiss. + +A case lawyer is like Moses and Sons; he can fit anybody, from Chang down +to a midget. But there is sometimes an inconvenience in trying to fit an +old precedent on to new circumstances: and I am not unfrequently reminded +of the boy whose corduroy trousers were of the exact length, and looked +tolerable in front; but if you went round they stuck out a good deal on +the other side. He might grow to them, no doubt, but it is a clumsy mode +of tailoring after all. + +Now Mr. Bumpkin, of course, could not be sure that his case was “coming +on.” All he knew was, that he must avoid Snooks’ snatching another +verdict. He had been to great expense, and a commission had actually +been issued to take Joe’s evidence while his regiment was detained at +Malta. Mr. Prigg had taken the plaintiff into a crowd, and there had +left him early in the morning. + +Mr. Bumpkin’s appearance even in the densest crowd was attractive, to say +the least: and many and various were the observations from time to time +made by the vulgar roughs around as to his personal appearance. His +shirtcollar was greatly praised, so was the beauty of his waistcoat: +while I heard one gentleman make an enquiry which showed he was desirous +of ascertaining what was the name of the distinguished firm which had the +honour of supplying him with hats. One said it was Heath, he could tell +by the brim; another that it was Cole, he went by the polish; and the +particular curl of the brim, which no other hatter had ever succeeded in +producing. While another gentleman with one eye and half a nose +protested that it was one of Lincoln and Bennett’s patent dynamite +resisters on an entirely new principle. + +The subject of all these remarks listened as one in doubt as to whether +they were levelled at him or in any other direction. He glanced at the +many eyes turned upon him, and heard the laughter that succeeded every +new witticism. His uncertainty as to whether he was “the party eamed +at,” heightened the amusement of the wits. + +Now came a bolder and less mistakable allusion to his personal +appearance: + +“I should like Gladstone to see that, Jem; talk about a collar! the Grand +Old Man’s nowhere—he’d better take to turndowns after this.” + +“Yes,” replied the gentleman addressed; “I think this would settle him—is +he liberal or tory, I wonder?” + +“Tory, you’re sure—wotes for the Squoire, I’ll warrant. A small loaf and +a big jail.” + +Mr. Bumpkin turned his eyes first towards one speaker and then towards +another without moving his head, as he thought: + +“Danged if I doan’t bleeve thee means I.” But he wisely said nothing. + +“I say,” said another, “I wonder if pigeon’s milk is good for the +complexion.” + +“No,” said Jem, “it makes your nose red, and makes the hair sprout out of +the top of it.” + +Here was a laugh all round, which made the Usher call out silence; and +the Judge said he would have the Court cleared if order was not +preserved. Then there was a loud shouting all over the Court for “Thomas +Bumpkin!” + +“Here I be!” said Bumpkin, amid more laughter—and especially of the wits +around him. Then a great bustling and hustling, and pushing and +struggling took place. + +“Danged if that beant my case,” said Mr. Bumpkin; “but it ain’t my +counsellor.” + +“Make way for the plaintiff,” shouted the Usher; “stand on one side—don’t +crowd up this passage. This way, sir, make haste; the Court’s waiting +for you, why do you keep the Court waiting in this way?” + +“I was just going to strike your case out,” said the Judge, “the public +time can’t be wasted in this way.” + +Bumpkin scrambled along through the crowd, and was hustled into the +witness-box. The Judge put up his eye-glass, and looked at the plaintiff +as though he was hardly fit to bring an action in a Superior Court. Up +went the book into his hand. “Take the book in your right hand. Kiss +the book; now attend and speak up—speak up so that those gentlemen may +hear.” + +“Why weren’t you here before?” asked the Judge. + +“I wur, my lord?” + +“Didn’t you hear your learned counsel opening your case?” + +“I didn’t know it wur my case,” said Bumpkin, amid roars of laughter. + +“I don’t wonder at that,” said Mr. Ricochet, looking at the jury. + +“Now then,” said the Judge. + +“And now, then,” said Mr. Silverspoon; for neither of his own counsel was +able to be present. + +“You are a farmer, I believe?” + +“I be.” + +“On the 29th of May, 18--; did the defendant come to your farm?” + +“Ur did.” + +“Did he buy a pig?” + +“Ur did not; but ur said he’d be d---d if ur wouldn’t ’ave un.” + +“And did he come and take it away?” + +“Ur did; pulled un slick out of the sty; and when I tried to stop un in +the Lane, took un by main force?” + +Mr. Silverspoon sat down. + +“What was the age of this pig, Mr. Bumpkin,” enquired the Judge. + +“He wur ten weeks old, your lord.” + +“Isn’t there a calf case, Mr. Ricochet, very similar to this?” + +“Yes, my lord.” + +“I think,” said Mr. Justice Pangloss, “it was tried in the reign of James +the First.” + +Mr. Ricochet, who knew nothing of the calf case, except what his Lordship +had told him, said he believed it was. + +“If this was anything,” continued Mr. Ricochet, “upon the plaintiff’s own +showing it was a felony, and the plaintiff should have prosecuted the +defendant criminally before having recourse to his civil remedy; that is +laid down in the sheep case reported in Walker’s Trumpery Cases.” + +“What volume of the Trumpery Cases is that, Mr. Ricochet?” + +“Six hundred and fifty, my lud.” + +His Lordship writes it down. “Page?” says his lordship. + +“Nineteen hundred and ninety-five, my lud; about the middle of the book.” + +Judge calls to the Usher to bring the six hundred and fiftieth volume of +Walker’s Trumpery Cases. + +“But there’s a case before that,” said his lordship. “There’s a case, if +I recollect rightly, about the time of Julius Cæsar—the donkey case.” + +“It’s on all fours with this,” said Mr. Ricochet. + +“What do you say, Mr. Silverspoon?” + +Then Mr. Silverspoon proceeded to show that none of those cases was on +all fours with the present case; and a long and interesting argument +followed between the Bench and the Bar. And it was said by those who +were most competent to judge, that Mr. Silverspoon quite distinguished +himself for the wonderful erudition he displayed in his knowledge of the +donkey case, and several other cases of four-footed beasts that were +called to his attention by Mr. Justice Pangloss. A perfect menagerie was +“adduced.” Mr. Bumpkin meanwhile wondering where he was, and what on +earth they had all got to do with the plain fact of Snooks taking his pig +without paying for it. + +At length, after four hours had been consumed in these learned +disquisitions, Mr. Justice Pangloss, reviewing the judgments of the +various eminent lawyers who had presided over the respective cases in the +several reigns, and after quoting many observations of those eminent +jurists, said that in order to save time he would hold, for the purposes +of to-day, that Mr. Bumpkin was entitled to bring his action: but, of +course, he would reserve the point; he was by no means clear; he +considered himself bound by authority; and as the point was extremely +important, and left undecided after no less than twelve hundred years of +argument on the one side and the other, he thought it ought to be +solemnly settled. An unsettled state of the law was a very bad thing in +his lordship’s opinion; especially in these modern times, when it +appeared to him that the public were clamouring for further reform, and a +still further simplification of legal procedure. + +This suited Mr. Ricochet exactly; he could not be said now to have lost +his case, even if the jury should find against him. But he had yet to +cut up Bumpkin in cross-examination. The old trial was brought up +against the plaintiff; and every thing that could tend to discredit him +was asked. Mr. Ricochet, indeed, seemed to think that the art of +cross-examination consisted in bullying a witness, and asking all sorts +of questions tending to cast reflections upon his character. He was +especially great in insinuating perjury; knowing that that is always open +to a counsel who has no other defence. + +“Will you swear that?” was asked at almost every answer; sometimes +prefaced by the warning, “Be careful, sir—be careful.” If he could get +hold of anything against a witness’s character, be it ever so small, and +at ever so remote a distance in the man’s life, he brought it out; and +being a Queen’s Counsel he did not always receive the reproofs that would +have crushed a stuff gownsman into respectable behaviour. + +“Were you charged with assaulting a female in the public streets, sir?” + +“No, I worn’t.” + +“Be careful, sir—she may be in Court.” + +“Let her come forward then,” said the courageous Silverspoon, who was by +no means wanting in tact. + +“Will you be quiet, sir,” retorted Ricochet. “Now Mr. Bumpkin, or +whatever your name is, will you swear she did not accuse you of +assaulting her?” + +“She coomed oop, and it’s my belief she wur in the robbery.” + +“Bravo Bumpkin!” said one of the men who had chaffed him. And the jury +looked at one another in a manner that showed approval. + +“Will you swear, sir, you have never been in trouble?” + +“I donnow what thee means.” + +“Be careful, sir; you know what I mean perfectly well.” + +Then Locust whispers to him, and he says: + +“O, you frequent Music Halls, don’t you?” + +“Donnow what thee means,” says Bumpkin. + +“O, you don’t, don’t you; will you swear that?” + +“I wool.” + +“Be careful, sir. Were you at the Canterbury Hall with two women, who +passed as the Countess and Lady Flora?” + +“It be a lie!” + +And thus every form of torture was ruthlessly employed, till Mr. Bumpkin +broke down under it, and cried like a child in the witness-box. This +awakened sympathy for him. There had been much humour and much laughter; +and Mr. Ricochet having no knowledge of human nature, was not aware how +closely allied are laughter and tears; that in proportion as the jury had +laughed at the expense of Mr. Bumpkin they would sympathize with his +unhappy position. + +“I’ve worked hard,” said he, “for sixty year, and let any man come +forrard and say I’ve wronged man, ooman, or child!” + +That was a point for Bumpkin. Every one said, “Poor old man!” and even +his Lordship, who was supposed to have no feeling, was quite sympathetic. +Only Mr. Ricochet was obtuse. He had no heart, and very little skill, or +he would have managed his case more adroitly. “Badgering” is not much +use if you have no better mode of winning your case. + +“Stand down, Mr. Bumpkin,” said his counsel, as Mr. Ricochet resumed his +seat amid the suppressed hisses of the gallery. + +“Joseph Wurzel,” said Mr. Silverspoon. + +Joe appeared in the uniform of the Hussars. And he wore a medal too. +Mr. Ricochet had no sympathy with heroes any more than he had with men of +letters, artists, or any other class of talent. He was a dry, +uncompromising, blunt, unfeeling lawyer, looking at justice as a +thimblerig looks at his pea; lift which thimble you may, he will take +care the pea shall not be found if he can help it. He smiled a grim, +inhuman smile at Bumpkin’s tears, and muttered that he was an “unmanly +milksop.” + +Joe gave his evidence briefly and without hesitation. Everyone could see +he was speaking the truth; everybody but Mr. Ricochet, who commenced his +cross-examination by telling him to be careful, and that he was upon his +oath. + +“Be careful, sir;” he repeated. + +Joe looked. + +“You are on your oath, sir.” Joe faced him. + +“You deserted your master, did you?” + +“No,” said Joe; “I aint no deserter?” + +“But you enlisted.” + +“I don’t know as that’s desertion,” said Joe; “and I’m here to speak for +him now; and I give my evidence at Malta, too.” + +“Do you swear that, sir?” enquired Mr. Ricochet. “Were you not with your +master when the young woman accused him of assaulting her?” + +“I was not.” + +“Why did you enlist, then?” enquired Mr. Ricochet. + +“Cause I choose to,” said Joe. + +“Now, sir, upon your oath; I ask you, did you not enlist because of this +charge?” + +“No; I never heard on it till arter I was listed.” + +“When did you hear of it?” + +“At the trial at the Old Bailey.” + +“O,” said the learned Q.C.; “wait a minute, you were there, were you? +Were you there as a witness?” + +“No.” + +“Why not?” + +“Because I warnt.” + +“Will you swear that?” asked Ricochet, amid roars of laughter. + +“What were you there for?” + +“To hear the trial!” + +“And you were not called?” + +“No.” + +“And do you mean on your oath, sir, to say that you had enlisted at that +time.” + +“Now look at that,” said Joe; “the Sergeant there enlisted me, and he +knows.” + +“I suppose you had seen your master’s watch many times?” + +“I’d seen it,” said Joe. + +“And did not give evidence!” + +“No; I warnt called, and know’d nothing about it.” + +“You’ve been paid for coming here, I suppose?” + +“Not a farden, and wouldn’t take un; he bin a good maister to me as ever +lived.” + +“And you left him. Now then, sir, be careful; do you swear you heard +Bumpkin say Snooks should not have the pig?” + +“I do.” + +“Have you been speaking to anyone about this case before to-day?” + +Joe thought a bit. + +“Be careful, sir, I warn you,” says Ricochet. + +“Yes,” said Joe; “I have.” + +“I thought so. When? To whom?” + +And here an air of triumph lit up the features of Mr. Ricochet. + +“Afore I comed here.” + +“When! let’s have it?” + +“Outside the Court.” + +“To Bumpkin?” + +“No; to that there Locust; he axed un—” + +“Never mind what he axed you;” said Ricochet, whose idea of humour +consisted in the repetition of an illiterate observation; and he sat +down—as well he might—after such an exhibition of the art of advocacy. + +But on re-examination, it turned out that Mr. Locust had put several +questions to Joe with a view of securing his evidence himself at a +reasonable remuneration, and of contradicting Mr. Bumpkin. + +This caused the jury to look at one another with grave faces and shake +their heads. + +Mr. Ricochet began and continued his speech in the same common-place +style as his cross-examination; abusing everyone on the other side, +especially that respectable solicitor, Mr. Prigg; and endeavouring to +undo his own bad performance with the witness by a worse speech to the +jury. What he was going to show, and what he was going to prove, was +wonderful; everybody who had been called was guilty of perjury; everybody +he was going to call would be a paragon of all the virtues. He +expatiated upon the great common sense of the jury (as though they were +fools), relied on their sound judgment and denounced the conduct of Mr. +Bumpkin in the witness-box as a piece of artful acting, intended to +appeal to the weakness of the jury. But all was useless. Snooks made a +sorry figure in the box. He was too emphatic, too positive, too abusive. +Mr. Ricochet could not get over his own cross-examination. The +ridiculous counterclaim with its pettifogging innuendoes vanished before +that common sense of the jury to which Mr. Ricochet so dryly appealed. +The edifice erected by the modern pleader’s subtle craftiness was +unsubstantial as the icy patterns on the window-pane, which a single +breath can dissipate. And yet these ingenious contrivances were +sufficient to give an unimportant case an appearance of substantiality +which it otherwise would not have possessed. + +The jury, after a most elaborate charge from Mr. Justice Pangloss, who +went through the cases of the last 900 years in the most careful manner, +returned a verdict for the plaintiff with twenty-five pounds damages. +The learned Judge did not give judgment, inasmuch as there were points of +law to be argued. Mr. Bumpkin, although he had won his case so far as +the verdict was concerned, did not look by any means triumphant. He had +undergone so much anxiety and misery, that he felt more like a man who +had escaped a great danger than one who had accomplished a great +achievement. + +Snooks’ mouth, during the badgering of the witnesses, which was intended +for cross-examination was quite a study for an artist or a physiologist. +When he thought a witness was going to be caught, the orifice took the +form of a gothic window in a ruinous condition. When he imagined the +witness had slipped out of the trap laid for him, it stretched +horizontally, and resembled a baker’s oven. He was of too coarse a +nature to suspect that his own counsel had damaged his case, and believed +the result of the trial to have been due to the plaintiff’s “snivelling.” +He left the Court with a melancholy downcast look, and his only chance of +happiness hereafter in this life seemed now to be in proportion to his +power of making Mr. Bumpkin miserable. Mr. Locust was not behind in his +advice on their future course; and, after joining his client in the hall, +at once pointed out the utterly absurd conclusion at which the jury had +arrived; declared that there must be friends of the plaintiff among them, +and that Mr. Ricochet would take the earliest opportunity of moving for a +new trial; a piece of information which quite lit up the coarse features +of his client, as a breath of air will bring a passing glow to the +mouldering embers of an ash-heap on a dark night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + +Motion for rule nisi, in which is displayed much learning, ancient and +modern. + +On the following day there was a great array of judicial talent and +judicial dignity sitting in what is called “Banco,” not to be in any way +confounded with “Sancho;” the two words are totally distinct both as to +their meaning and etymology. In the centre of the Bench sat Mr. Justice +Doughty, one of the clearest heads perhaps that ever enveloped itself in +horsehair. On his right was Mr. Justice Pangloss, and on his left Mr. +Justice Technical. + +Then arose from the Queen’s Counsel row, Mr. Ricochet to apply for a rule +_nisi_ for a new trial in the cause of _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_ which was +tried yesterday before Mr. Justice Pangloss. + +“Before me?” says Mr. Justice Pangloss. + +“Yes, my lud,” says Mr. Ricochet. + +“Are you sure?” enquired the learned Judge, turning over his notes. + +“O, quite, my lud.” + +“Ah!” says his lordship: “what do you say the name of the case was?” + +“_Bumpkin_ against _Snooks_, my lud,” says Mr. Ricochet, Q.C. + +“Coots; what was it,—a Bill of Exchange?” asks his lordship. + +“Snooks, my lud, Snooks;” says Mr. Ricochet, “with the greatest +deference, my lud, his name is spelt with an S.” + +Judge, still turning over his book from end to end calls to his clerk, +and addressing Mr. Ricochet, says: “When do you say it was tried, Mr. +Ricochet?” + +“Yesterday, my lud; with great submission, my lud, I overheard your +ludship say Coots. Snooks, my lud.” + +Then all the Judges cried “Snooks!” as if it had been a puzzle or a +conundrum at a family Christmas party, and they had all guessed it at +once. + +“Bring me the book for this term,” said the Judge sharply to his clerk. + +“What was the name of the plaintiff?” enquired Mr. Justice Doughty. + +“Bumpkin, my lud,” said Mr. Ricochet, “with great deference.” + +“Ah, Pumpkin, so it was,” said the presiding Judge. + +“With great submission, my lud, Bumpkin!” + +“Eh?” + +“Bumpkin, my lud;” and then all the Judges’ cried “Bumpkin!” as pleased +as the followers of Columbus when they discovered America. + +“Ah, here it is,” said Mr. Justice Pangloss, passing his forefinger +slowly along the page; “the name of the case you refer to, Mr. Ricochet, +is _Bumpkin_ v. _Snooks_, not _Coots_ v. _Pumpkin_, and it was tried +before me and a special jury on the twenty-eighth of July of the present +year.” + +“Yes, my lud, with all submission.” + +“Why, that was yesterday,” said Mr. Justice Pangloss. “Why did you not +say so; I was referring to last year’s book.” + +“With all deference, my lud—” + +“Never mind, never mind, Mr. Ricochet; let us get on.” + +“What do you move for?” asked Mr. Justice Doughty. + +“A new trial, my lud.” + +“A new trial—yes—? Which way was the verdict, Mr. Ricochet?” + +“Verdict for the plaintiff, my lud.” + +“And whom do you appear for?” + +“I am for the defendant, my lud.” + +“O! you’re for the defendant. Stop—let me have my note correct. I find +it always of great assistance when the rule comes on to be argued. I +don’t say you’re going to have a rule. I must know a little more of the +case before we grant a rule.” + +“If your ludship pleases.” + +I did not gather what his lordship intended to say when he made the +observations recorded, and can only regret that his lordship should have +broken off so abruptly. + +“What ground do you move upon, Mr. Ricochet.” + +Mr. Ricochet said, “The usual grounds, my lud; that is to say, that the +verdict was against the weight of evidence.” + +“Stop a minute,” said Mr. Justice Doughty; “let me have my note correct, +‘against the weight of evidence,’ Mr. Ricochet.” + +“Misdirection, my lud—with all respect to Mr. Justice Pangloss—and +wrongful admission of evidence.” + +“What was the action for?” + +Now this was a question that no man living had been able to answer yet. +What was in the pleadings, that is, the pattern of the lawyer’s net, was +visible enough; but as regards merits, I predict with the greatest +confidence, that no man will ever be able to discover what the action of +_Bumpkin_ versus _Snooks_ was about. But it speaks wonders for the +elasticity of our system of jurisprudence and the ingenuity of our +lawyers that such a case could be _invented_. + +“Trespass,” said Ricochet, “was one paragraph; then there was assault and +battery; breach of contract in not accepting a pig at the price agreed; +trespass in seizing the pig without paying for it; and then, my lud, +there were the usual money counts, as they used to be called, to which +the defendant pleaded, among other pleas, a right of way; an easement; +leave and license; a right to take the pig; that the pig was the property +of the defendant, and various other matters. Then, my lud, there was a +counter-claim for slander, for assault and battery; for loss of profit +which would have been made if the pig had been delivered according to +contract; breach of contract for the non-delivery of the pig.” + +Mr. Justice Doughty: “This was pig-iron, I suppose?” + +The two other Judges fell back, shaking their sides with laughter; and +then forcibly thrust their hands against their hips which made their +tippets stick out very much, and gave them a dignified and imposing +appearance. Then, seeing the Judges laugh, all the bar laughed, and all +the ushers laughed, and all the public laughed. The mistake, however, +was a very easy one to fall into, and when Mr. Justice Doughty, who was +an exceedingly good-tempered man, saw the mistake he had made, he laughed +as much as any man, and even caused greater laughter still by +good-humouredly and wittily observing that he supposed somebody must be a +pigheaded man. To which Mr. Ricochet laughingly replied, that he +believed the plaintiff was a very pigheaded man. + +“Now,” said Mr. Justice Pangloss, “have you considered what Vinnius in +his ‘Commentary on Urban Servitudes’ says.” + +Mr. Ricochet said, “Hem!” and that was the very best answer he could make +to the learned Pangloss, and if he only continues to answer in that +manner he’ll get any rule he likes to apply for—(no, not the Rule of +Three, perhaps). + +So Mr. Justice Pangloss went on: + +“There are, as Gale says, ‘two classes of easements distinctly recognised +by the Civil Law—’” + +“Hem!” said Ricochet. + +“‘Under the head of “Urban Servitudes—’” + +Ricochet: “Hem!” + +“‘That a man,’ (continued Mr. Justice Pangloss), ‘shall receive upon his +house or land the _flumen_ or _stillicidium_ of his neighbour—’” + +“Hem!” coughed Mr. Ricochet, in a very high key; I verily believe in +imitation of that wonderful comedian, J. C. Clarke. + +Then Mr. Justice Pangloss proceeded, to the admiration of the whole Bar: + +“‘The difference,’ says Vinnius, in his Commentary on this passage, +between the _flumen_ and the _stillicidium_ is this—the latter is the +rain falling from the roof by drops (_guttatim et stillatim_).’” + +“Hem!” from the whole Bar. + +“‘The _flumen_’—” + +“I think,” said Mr. Justice Doughty, “you are entitled to a rule on that +point, Mr. Ricochet.” + +Then Mr. Justice Technical whispered, and I heard Mr. Justice Doughty say +the principle was the same, although there might be some difference of +opinion about the facts, which could be argued hereafter. “But what is +the misreception of evidence, Mr. Ricochet? I don’t quite see that.” + +“With all submission, my lud, evidence was admitted of what the solicitor +for the defendant said to the plaintiff.” + +“Wait a minute, let me see how that stands,” said Mr. Justice Doughty; +“the solicitor for the defendant said something to the plaintiff, I don’t +quite follow that.” + +Mr. Justice Technical observed that it was quite clear that what is said +by the solicitor of one party to the solicitor of another party is not +evidence. + +“O,” said the learned Pangloss, “so far back as the time of Justinian it +was laid down—” + +“And that being so,” said the eminent Chancery Judge, Mr. Justice +Technical, “I should go so far as to say, that what the solicitor of one +party says to the client stands upon the same footing.” + +“Precisely,” said Mr. Ricochet + +“I think you are entitled to a rule on that point,” remarked Mr. Justice +Doughty, “although my brother Pangloss seems to entertain some doubt as +to whether there was any such evidence.” + +“O, my lud, with all submission, with the greatest possible deference and +respect to the learned Judge, I assure your ludship that it was so, for I +have a note of it.” + +“I was about to say,” continued Mr. Justice Doughty, “as my brother +Pangloss says, it may have been given while he was considering a point in +Justinian. What is the misdirection?” + +“O, my lud, the misdirection was, I venture respectfully and +deferentially to submit, and with the utmost deference to the learned +Judge, in his lordship’s telling the jury that if they found that the +right of way which the defendant set up in his answer to the trespass, or +easement—but perhaps, my lud, I had better read from the short-hand +writer’s notes of his ludship’s summing-up. This is it, my lud, his +ludship said: ‘In an action for stopping of his _ancient_ lights —.” + +“What!” said Mr. Justice Doughty, “_did he black the plaintiff’s eyes_, +then?” + +“No, my lud,” said Mr. Ricochet, “that was never alleged or suggested.” + +“I only used it by way of illustration,” said Mr. Justice Pangloss. + +Then their lordships consulted together, and after about three-quarters +of an hour’s conversation the learned Mr. Justice Doughty said: + +“You can take a rule, Mr. Ricochet.” + +“On all points, my lud, if your ludships please.” + +“It will be more satisfactory,” said his lordship, “and then we shall see +what there is in it. At present, I must confess, I don’t understand +anything about it.” + +And I saw that what there was really in it was very much like what there +is in a kaleidoscope, odds and ends, which form all sorts of combinations +when you twist and turn them about in the dark tube of a “legal +argument.” And so poor Bumpkin was deprived of the fruit of his victory. +Truly the law is very expeditious. Before Bumpkin had got home with the +cheerful intelligence that he had won, the wind had changed and was +setting in fearfully from the north-east. Juries may find as many facts +as they like, but the Court applies the law to them; and law is like +gunpowder in its operation upon them,—twists them out of all recognisable +shape. It is very difficult in a Court of law to get over “_guttatims_” +and “_stillatims_,” even in an action for the price of a pig. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + +Mr. Bumpkin is congratulated by his neighbours and friends in the market +place and sells his corn. + +What a lovely peace there was again over the farm! It was true Mr. +Bumpkin had not obtained as large a measure of damages as his solicitor +had led him to anticipate, but he was triumphant, and that over a man +like Snooks was something. So the damages were forgotten beneath that +peaceful August sky. How bright the corn looked! There was not a +particle of “smut” in the whole field. And it was a good breadth of +wheat this year for Southwood Farm. The barley too, was evidently fit +for malting, and would be sure to fetch a decent price: especially as +they seemed to say there was not much barley this year that was quite up +to the mark for malting. The swedes, too, were coming on apace, and a +little rain by and by would make them swell considerably. So everything +looked exceedingly prosperous, except perhaps the stock. There certainly +were not so many pigs. Out of a stye of eleven there was only one left. +The sow was nowhere to be seen. She had been sold, it appeared, so no +more were to be expected from that quarter. When Mr. Bumpkin asked where +“old Jack” was (that was the donkey), he was informed that “the man” had +fetched it. “The man” it appeared was always fetching something. +Yesterday it was pigs; the day before it was ducks; the day before that +it was geese; and about a week ago it was a stack of this year’s hay: a +stack of very prime clover indeed. Then “the man” took a fancy to some +cheeses which Mrs. Bumpkin had in the dairy, some of her very finest +make. She remonstrated, but “the man” was peremptory. But what most +surprised Mr. Bumpkin, and drew tears from Mrs. Bumpkin’s eyes, was when +the successful litigant enquired how the bull was. + +Mrs. Bumpkin had invented many plans with a view to “breaking this out” +to her husband: and now that the time had come every plan was a failure. +The tears betrayed her. + +“What, be he dead?” enquired Mr. Bumpkin. + +“O, no, Tom—no, no—” + +“Well, what then?” + +“The man!” + +“The man! The devil’s in thic man, who be he? Where do ur come from? +I’ll bring an action agin him as sure’s he’s alive or shoot un dead wi my +gun;” here Mr. Bumpkin, in a great rage, got up and went to the beam +which ran across the kitchen ceiling, and formed what is called the +roof-tree of the house, by the side of which the gun was suspended by two +loops. + +“No, no, Tom, don’t—don’t—we have never wronged any one yet, and +don’t—don’t now.” + +“But I wool,” said Bumpkin; “what! be I to be stripped naaked and not +fight for th’ cloathes—who be thic feller as took the bull?” + +Mrs. Bumpkin was holding her apron to her eyes, and for a long while +could say nothing. + +“Who be he, Nancy?” + +“I don’t know, Tom—but he held a paper in his hand writ all over as close +as the stubble-rows in the field, and he said thee had signed un.” + +“Lord! lord!” exclaimed Mr. Bumpkin, and then sat down on the settle and +looked at the fire as though it threw a light over his past actions. He +couldn’t speak for a long time, not till Mrs. Bumpkin went up to him and +laid her hand upon his shoulder, and said: + +“Tom! Tom! thee ha winned the case.” + +“Aye, aye,” said Bumpkin, starting up as from a reverie. “I ha winned, +Nancy. I ha beat thic there Snooks; ur wont snigger now when ur gooes +by—lor, lor,—our counsellor put it into un straight, Nancy.” + +“Did ur, Tom?—well, I be proud.” + +“Ah!” said Bumpkin, “and what d’ye think?—it wornt our counsellor, that +is the Queen’s Counsellor nuther; he wornt there although I paid un, but +I spoase he’ll gie up the money, Nancy?” + +“Were it much, Tom?” + +“Farty guineas!” + +“Farty guineas, Tom! Why, it wur enough to set up housekeepin wi—and +thee only winned twenty-five, Tom; why thic winnin were a heavy loss I +think.” + +“Now, lookee ere,” said Bumpkin; “I oughter had five undered, as Laryer +Prigg said, our case were that good, but lor it baint sartain: gie I a +little gin and water, Nancy—thee ain’t asked I to have a drap since I bin +oame.” + +“Lor, Tom, thee knows I be all for thee, and that all be thine.” + +“It beant much, it strikes me; lor, lor, whatever shall us do wirout pigs +and sheep, and wirout thic bull. I be fit to cry, Nancy, although I +winned the case.” + +Tom had his gin and water and smoked his pipe, and went to bed and +dreamed of all that had taken place. He rose with the lark and went into +the fields and enjoyed once again the fresh morning air, and the sweet +scent of the new hayrick in the yard; and, without regarding it, the song +of the lark as it shot heavenward and poured down its stream of glad +music: but there was amidst all a sadness of spirit and a feeling of +desolation. It was not like the old times when everything seemed to +welcome him about the farm wherever he went. The work of “the man” was +everywhere. But the harvest was got in, and a plentiful harvest it was: +the corn was threshed, and one day Mr. Bumpkin went to market with his +little bags of samples of the newly-housed grain. Everybody was glad to +see him, for he was known everywhere as a regular upright and +down-straight man. Every farmer and every corn-dealer and cattle-dealer +congratulated him in his homely way on his success. They looked at his +samples and acknowledged they were very bright and weighty. “I never +liked that Snooks feller,” was the general cry, and at the farmers’ +ordinary, which was held every market day at the “Plough,” every one who +knew Bumpkin shook hands and wished him well, and after dinner, before +they broke up, Farmer Gosling proposed his health, and said how proud he +“were that his old neighbour had in the beautiful words o’ the National +Anthem, ‘confounded their politicks’: and he hoped that the backbone o’ +old England, which were the farmers, wornt gwine to be broked jist yet +awhile. Farmin might be bad, but yet wi little cheaper rents and a good +deal cheaper rates and taxes, there’d be good farmin and good farmers in +England yit.” + +Now this speech, I saw in my dream, brought down the house. Everyone +said it was more to the point than the half-mile speeches which took up +so much of the newspapers to the exclusion of murders, burglaries and +divorces. And in truth, now I come to look at it in my waking moments, I +respectfully commend it to our legislators, or what is better, to their +constituencies, as embodying on this subject both the principles of true +conservatism and true liberalism: and I don’t see what the most exacting +of politicians can require more than that. + +Mr. Bumpkin made a suitable reply—that is to say, “he wur mighty proud o’ +their neighbourliness—he wur a plaain man, as had made his own way in the +world, or leastwise tried to do un by ard work and uprightedness and +downstraightedness; tried to be straight forrerd, and nobody as he knowed +of could ax un for a shillin’. But,” he added: “I be praisin oop myself, +neighbours, I be afeard, and I doant wish to do thic, only to put I +straaight afore thee. I beant dead yit, and I hope we shall all be +friends and neighbours, and meet many moore times at this ornary +together.” + +And so, delighted with one another, after a glass or two, and a song or +two, the party broke up, all going to their several farms. Mr. Bumpkin +was particularly well pleased, for he had sold twenty quarters of wheat +at forty-nine shillings a quarter; which, as times went, was a very +considerable increase, showing the excellent quality of the samples. + +Sooner or later, however, it must be told, that when Bumpkin reached his +quiet farm, a strange and sad scene presented itself. Evidences of “_the +man_” were in all directions. He had been at work while Mr. Bumpkin in +his convivial moments was protesting that he did not owe anyone a +shilling. Alas! how little the best of as know how much we owe! + +Mrs. Bumpkin, who had borne up like a true woman through all the troubles +that had come upon her home,—borne up for his sake, hoping for better +days, and knowing nothing of the terrible net that had been spread around +them by the wily fowler, at length gave way, as she saw “the man” loading +his cart with her husband’s wheat; the wheat he had gone that day to +sell. Bitterly she wrung her hands, and begged him to spare her husband +that last infliction. Was there anything that she could do or give to +save him this blow? No, no; the man was obstinate in the performance of +his duty; “right was right, and wrong was no man’s right!” + +So when Mr. Bumpkin returned, the greater part of his wheat was gone, and +the rest was being loaded. The beautiful rick of hay too, which had not +yet ceased to give out the fresh scent that a new rick yields, were being +cut and bound into trusses. + +Poor Tom was fairly beside himself, but Mrs. Bumpkin had taken the +precaution to hide the gun and the powder-flask, for she could not tell +what her husband might do in his distraction. Possibly she was right. +Tom’s rage knew no bounds. Youth itself seemed to be restored in the +strength of his fury. He saw dimly the men standing around looking on; +he saw, as in a dream, the man cutting on the rick, and he uttered +incoherent sentences which those only understood who were accustomed to +his provincial accent. + +“Tom, Tom,” said Mrs. Bumpkin, “don’t be in a rage.” + +“Who be thic feller on my rick?” + +“I beant any more a feller nor thee, Maister Boompkin; it aint thy rick +nuther.” + +“Then in the name of h—, whose be it?” + +“It be Maister Skinalive’s; thee can’t have t’ cake an eat un; thee +sowled it to un.” + +“It be a lie, a --- lie; come down!” + +“Noa, noa, I beant coomin doon till I coot all t’ hay; it be good hay an +all, as sweet as a noot.” + +“Where is thy master?” enquired Mrs. Bumpkin. + +“I dooant rightly knoo, missus, where ur be; but I think if thee could +see un, he’d poot it right if thee wanted time loike, and so on, for he +be a kind-hearted man enoo.” + +“Can we find un, do ur think?” asked Mrs. Bumpkin. + +“If thee do, missus, it wur moor un I bin able to do for the last three +moonths.” + +“I’ll find some un,” said Mr. Bumpkin; “here, goo and fetch a pleeceman.” + +This was said to a small boy who did the bird-minding, and was now +looking on with his mouth wide open, and his eyes actually shedding +tears. + +“Ah, fetch a pleeceman an all,” said the man, thrusting the big hay-knife +down into the centre of the rick; “but take a soop o’ cyder, maister; I +dessay thee feels a bit out o’ sorts loike.” + +“Thee darn thief; it be my cyder, too, I’ve a notion.” + +“How can it be thine, maister, when thee ha’ sowled un?” said the man +with his unanswerable logic: “haw! haw! haw!” + +Mrs. Bumpkin held her husband’s hand, and tried her hardest to keep him +from using violence towards the man. She felt the convulsive twitches of +his strong muscles, and the inward struggle that was shaking his stalwart +frame. “Come away, Tom; come away; let un do as they like, we’ll have +them as will see us righted yet. There’s law for un, surely.” + +“It beant no use to kick, maister,” said the man, again ramming the knife +down into the rick as though he were cutting Mr. Bumpkin himself in half, +and were talking to him the while; “it beant no use to kick, maister. +Here thee be; thee owes the man the money, and can’t pay, so ur does this +out of kindness to prevent thee being sowled oop loike.” + +“Here be the pleeceman,” said Mrs. Bumpkin. + +Mr. Bumpkin turned suddenly, and shouted, “Tak thic thief into custody.” + +The policeman, albeit a country constable, was a very sensible man; and +seeing how matters stood, he very wisely set himself to the better task +of taking Mr. Bumpkin into custody without appearing to do so, and +without Mr. Bumpkin knowing it. + +“Now,” said he, “if so be as you will come indoors, Mr. Bumpkin, I think +we can put our heads together and see what can be done in this ’ere case; +if it’s stealing let him steal, and I’ll have him nicely; but if it ain’t +stealing, then I woant have him at all.” (A pause.) + +“For why?” (A pause.) + +“Because the law gives you other remedies.” + +“That be right, pleeceman,” said Bumpkin; “I’ll goo wi’ thee. Now then, +Nancy, let’s goo; and look ’ere, thee thief, I’ll ha’ thee in th’ jail +yet.” + +The man grinned with a mouth that seemed to have been cut with his own +hay-knife, so large was it, and went on with his work, merely saying: “I +dooant charge thee nothin for cootin’ nor yet for bindin, maister; I does +it all free graatis, loike.” + +“Thee d--- thief, thee’ll be paid.” + +So they went in, and the policeman was quite a comforter to the poor old +man. He talked to him about what the law was on this point and that +point, and how a trespass was one thing, and a breach of the peace +another; and how he mustn’t take a man up for felony just because +somebody charged him: otherwise, the man on the rick might have charged +Mr. Bumpkin, and so on; till he got the old man into quite a discussion +on legal points. But meanwhile he had given him another piece of advice, +which was also much to his credit, and that was to send to his solicitor, +Mr. Prigg. Mr. Prigg was accordingly sent for; but, like most good men, +was very scarce. Nowhere could Mr. Prigg be found. But it was well +known, for it was advertised everywhere on large bills, that the +excellent gentleman would take the chair at a meeting, to be held in the +schoolroom in the evening, for the propagation of Christianity among the +Jews. The policeman would be on duty at that meeting, and he would be +sure to see Mr. Prigg, and tell him Mr. Bumpkin was very desirous to see +him as early as possible on the following day. Mr. Bumpkin was thankful, +and to some extent pacified. As the policeman wished them goodnight, +Mrs. Bumpkin accompanied him to the door, and begged, if he wouldn’t +mind, that he would look in to-morrow, for he seemed a kind of protection +for them. + +It was about three in the afternoon of the following day when good Mr. +Prigg drove up to Mr. Bumpkin’s door; he drove up with the mare that had +been Mr. Bumpkin’s cow. + +“Here he be,” said Mrs. Bumpkin; and if Mr. Prigg had been an angel from +heaven, his presence could not have been more welcome. Oh, what sunshine +he seemed to bring! Was it a rainbow round his face, or was it only his +genial Christian smile? His collar was perfect, so was his tie; his head +immoveable, so were his principles. “Dear, dear!” said Mrs. Bumpkin, “I +be so glad thee be come, Mr. Prigg—here be master takin’ on so as never +was; I never see’d anything like it.” + +“What’s the matter, my dear lady?” inquired the good man. + +“Be that loryer Prigg?” shouted a voice from the inner room. + +“Aye, aye, Tom, it be Mr. Prigg.” + +“Come in, zur,” said the voice, “come in; I be mighty glad to see thee. +Why dam—” + +“Hush!” remonstrated the diffuser of Christianity among the Jews; “hush!” +and his hands were softly raised in gentle protest—albeit his head never +turned so much as a hair’s breadth. “Let us be calm, my dear sir, let us +be calm. We win by being calm.” + +“Ah, we winned the lawsuit; didn’t us, sir?” + +“Ah, that thee did, Tom!” exclaimed Mrs. Bumpkin, delighted at this +momentary gleam of gladness in her husband’s broken heart. + +“Of course we won,” said Mr. Prigg. “Did I ever entertain a doubt from +the first about the merits of that case?” + +“Thee did not, sir,” said Tom; “but lookee ’ere, sir,” he continued, in +almost a whisper, “I dreamt last night as we lost un; and I see thic +Snooks a sniggering as plaain as ever I see’d anybody in my life.” + +“My dear sir, what matters your dream? We won, sir. And as for Snooks’ +sniggering, I am sorry to say he is sold up.” + +“Sold oop!” exclaimed Bumpkin. “Sorry! why beest thee sorry for un—beant +thee sorry for I?” + +“Sorry you’ve won, Mr. Bumpkin? No; but, I’m sorry for Snooks, because +we lose our costs. Oh, that Locust is the greatest dodger I ever met.” + +“I don’t understand thee, sir,” said Bumpkin. “What d’ye mean by not +getting costs—won’t ur pay?” + +“I fear not,” said Mr. Prigg, rubbing his hands. “I am surprised, too, +that he should not have waited until the rule for a new trial was +argued.” + +“What the devil be the meaning o’ all this?” exclaimed Bumpkin. + +“Really, really,” said the pious diffuser of Christianity, “we must +exercise patience; we may get more damages if there should be another +trial.” + +“This be trial enough,” said Mr. Bumpkin; “and after all it were a +trumpery case about a pig.” + +“Quite so, quite so,” said the lawyer, rubbing his hands; “but you see, +my dear sir, it’s not so much the pig.” + +“No, no,” said Mr. Bumpkin, “it beant so much th’ pig; it be the hoarses +moore, and the hayricks, and the whate, and—where be all my fowls and +dooks?” + +“The fowls—quite so! Let me see,” said the meditative man, pressing the +head of his gold pencil-case against his forehead, “the fowls—let me +see—oh, I know, they did the pleadings—so they did.” + +“And thic sow o’ mine?” + +“Yes, yes; I think she made an affidavit, if I remember rightly. Yes, +yes—and the bacon,” said he, elevating his left hand, “six flitches I +think there were; they used to be in this very room—” + +“Ay, sure did ur,” said Mr. Bumpkin. + +“Well I remember; they made a very splendid affidavit too: I have a note +of all of them in my memory.” + +“What coomed o’ the cows?” + +“Cows? Yes—I have it—our leading counsel had them; and the calf, if I +remember rightly, went to the junior.” + +‘“Who had the cheeses?” inquired Mr. Bumpkin. + +“Cheeses!” said the good man. “Oh, yes, the cheeses; they went in +refreshers.” + +“And the poor old donkey?” asked Mrs. Bumpkin. + +“Ah, where be Jock?” said Mr. Bumpkin. + +“Went for the opinion,” answered the lawyer. + +“Where be thic bull o’ mine?” said Tom. “He wur the finest bull in all +thic county, woren’t he, Nancy?” + +“Ay,” answered Mrs. Bumpkin, “and ur follered I about, Tom, jist like a +Christian.” + +“So ur did, Nancy. Dost thee mind, when ur got through thic gap into +Squire Stucky’s meadow, ’mong the cows?” + +“Ay, Tom; and thee went and whistled un; but ur wouldn’t come for thy +whistlin; and Joe, poor Joe! went and got a great stick.” + +“There I mind un,” said Bumpkin; “what coomed of un, Master Prigg?” + +“Quite so,” said Mr. Prigg; “quite so; let me see.” And again the gold +pencil-case was pressed against his respectable forehead in placid +cogitation. “Yes, that bull argued the appeal.” + +“Hem!” said Mr. Bumpkin; “argied appeal, did ur? Well, I tell ee what, +Master Prigg, if that air bull ’ad knowed what I knows now, he’d a gi’en +them jusseses a bit o’ his mind, and thee too.” + +“Dear me,” said Mr. Prigg; “you entirely mis-apprehend—” + +“Well, lookee ’ere,” said Tom, “it beant no use to mince matters wi’ ee. +What I wants to know is as this; I winned my case—” + +“Quite so,” said Prigg. + +“And ’ow be it then that all my sheep and things be took off the farm?” + +“Dear me!” said Mr. Prigg, in the tone of an injured man; “I think, of +all men, clients are the most ungrateful. I have worked night and day to +serve you; I have sacrificed my pleasures, which I do not reckon—my home +comforts—” + +“But who be thic feller that steals my corn an’ hay, and pigs?” + +“Really, Mr. Bumpkin, this is language which I did not expect from you.” + +“But ’ow comes my farm stripped, Maister Prigg? tell I thic.” + +“I suppose you have given a bill of sale, Mr. Bumpkin. You are aware +that a lawsuit cannot be carried on without means, and you should have +calculated the cost before going to war. I think there is Scripture +authority for that.” + +“Then have this Skinalive feller the right to take un?” + +“I presume so,” said Prigg; “I know he’s a most respectable man.” + +“A friend o’ thine, I s’poase?” + +“Well,” said Prigg, hesitating, “I may even go so far as to say that.” + +“Then I be gwine so fur as to say thee be a damned rogue!” said Mr. +Bumpkin, rising, and thumping the table with great vehemence. + +You might have knocked Mr. Prigg down with a feather, certainly with a +bludgeon; such a shock he had never received at the hands of a client in +the whole course of his professional experience. He rose and drew from +his pocket an envelope, a very large official-looking envelope, such as +no man twice in his life would like to see, even if he could be said to +enjoy the prospect once. + +It is not usual for respectable solicitors to carry about their bills of +costs in their pockets, and why Mr. Prigg should have done so on this +occasion I am not aware. I merely saw in my dream that he did so. There +was not a change in his countenance; his piety was intact; there was not +even a suffusion of colour. Placid, sweet-tempered, and urbane, as a +Christian should be, he looked pityingly towards the hot and irascible +Bumpkin, as though he should say, “You have smitten me on this cheek, now +smite me on that!” and placed the great envelope on the table before the +ungrateful man. + +“What be thic?” inquired Mr. Bumpkin. + +“A list of my services, sir,” said Prigg, meekly: “You will see there, +ungrateful man, the sacrifices I have made on your behalf; the +journeyings oft; the hunger, and, I may say, thirst; the perils of +robbers, the perils amongst false friends, the—” + +“I doant understand, sir,” said Bumpkin. + +“Because darkness hath blinded your eyes,” said the pious lawyer; “but I +leave you, Mr. Bumpkin, and I will ask you, since you no longer repose +confidence in my judgment and integrity, to obtain the services of some +other professional gentleman, who will conduct your case with more zeal +and fidelity than you think I have shown; I who have carried your cause +to a triumphant issue; and may be said to have established the grand +principle that an Englishman’s house is his castle.” + +And with this the good man, evidently affected by deep emotion, shook +hands silently with Mrs. Bumpkin, and disappeared for ever from my view. + +Never in any dream have I beheld that man again. Never, surely, under +any form of humanity have so many virtues been concealed. I have looked +for him in daily life, about the Courts of Justice and in the political +arena, but his equal for simplicity of character, for unaffected piety, +and purity of motive, have I never discovered, although I have seen many, +who, without his talents, have vainly endeavoured to emulate his virtues. + +Mrs. Bumpkin examined the document he had left, and found a most +righteous statement of the services rendered by this great and good man; +which, after giving credit to Mr. Bumpkin for cash received from Mr. +Skinalive, Mr. Prigg’s friend, of seven hundred and twenty-two pounds, +six shillings and eightpence-half-penny, left a balance due to Honest +Lawyer Prigg of three hundred and twenty-eight pounds, seven shillings +and threepence,—subject, of course, to be reduced on taxation. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + + +Farewell. + +The last chapter of a book must always possess a special and melancholy +interest for the author. He gives his words reluctantly, almost +grudgingly, like one who is spending his last coins and will soon be left +penniless upon the world. Or like one who is passing his last moments at +the house of a friend whom he may see no more for ever. The author is +taking farewell of his characters and his readers, and therefore his +regret is twofold; added to which is the doubt as to whether, judged by +the severe standard of Public Opinion, he has been faithful to both. +Thought is large, and may fill the world, permeating every class and +every section of society; it may be circumscribed, and operate only upon +some infinitesimal proportion of mankind: but whether great or small, for +good or evil, it is published, and a corresponding responsibility +devolves upon the writer. I record my dream faithfully, and am therefore +exonerated, in my conscience, from responsibility in its effect. + +How shall I describe the closing scene of this eventful story? I will +imagine nothing; I will exaggerate nothing; for, during the whole +progress of the story, it has been my constant care not to give the most +captious critic the opportunity of saying that I have exaggerated a +single incident. I will relate faithfully what I saw in my dream, and +that only; diminishing nothing, and adding nothing. + +In my waking moments my wife said it was very wrong of Mr. Bumpkin, after +all that Mr. Prigg had done for him, to be so rude. I agreed that it +was: but said, great allowance must be made for Mr. Bumpkin’s want of +education. Then said my wife, “Will not some shallow-minded persons say +that your story attacks the administration of justice?” To which I +replied that it did not matter what shallow-minded persons said, but that +in fact I had in no way attacked the administration of justice; nor had I +in the least degree reflected on the great body of respectable solicitors +who had in their hands the interests of the country, and faithfully +discharged their duties. And then I stood up, and putting forth my hand +in imitation of Pitt’s statue in the corridor of the House of Commons, I +said, “Justice is Divine, not Human; and you cannot detract from anything +that is Divine, any more than you can lessen the brilliancy of the sun. +You may obscure its splendour to mortal eyes, but its effulgence is the +same. Man may so ostensibly assert his own dignity, or the dignity of a +perishable system, that it may temporarily veil the beauty of a Divine +attribute; but Justice must still remain the untarnished glory of Divine +wisdom. It is not the pomp of position or the majesty of office that +imparts dignity to Justice.” + +Here, exhausted with my effort, and with my wife’s applause ringing in my +ears, I fell asleep again, and dreamed that I saw Bumpkin sadly wandering +about the old farm; his faithful wife following, and never for one moment +ceasing to cheer him up. It was a fine bright morning in October as they +wandered forth. There wasn’t a living thing about the farm except the +birds, and even they seemed sad in their twittering. Could it be +possible that they knew of poor Bumpkin’s miserable condition? + +There was an old jackdaw that certainly did; for he hopped and hopped +along after the master with the saddest expression I ever saw bird wear. +But the master took no notice. On and on he wandered, seemingly +unconscious of the presence even of his wife. + +“Tom!” she said, “Tom, where beest thee gwine?” + +Bumpkin started; turned round, and said: + +“Nancy! what, be it thee, lassie?” + +“Ay, Tom, sure enough it be I. Let’s cheer up, Tom. If the worst come +to the worst—we can but goo to Union.” + +“The wust have come to th’ wust, Nancy; we be ruined! Look at this ’ere +farm—all be bare—all be lost, Nancy. Hark how silent it all be!” + +“Never mind, Tom; never mind. I wish Joe wur here.” + +“Ah! Joe, yes. I wonder where Joe be; praps he be out here in th’ six +akre.” + +“No, no, Tom, he be gwine for a sojer; but I’ve a mind he’ll come back. +And who knows, we may be ’appy yet! We’ve worked hard, Tom, together +these five-and-thirty year, and sure we can trudge on t’ th’ end. Come, +let’s goo in and ave some breakfast.” + +But Tom kept on walking and looking round the fields after his old +manner. + +“I think we’ll ave wuts here,” said he. + +“So ur will, Tom, but let’s have breakfast fust. Come, lad.” + +They wandered still through the quiet fields, and the old man’s mind +seemed giving way. But I saw that Mrs. Bumpkin kept up with him and +cheered him whenever she could put in a word of comfort, cold and +hopeless as it was. And so the day was spent, and the night came, and +they entered their home for the last time. It was a terribly sad night; +but the Vicar came and sat up late with the old people, and talked to +them and read and cried with them, until at last Tom said: + +“I zee it, sir, thee hast showed I; thank God for thy words. Yes, yes, +we maun leave t’ morrer, and we’ll call on thee, and maybe thou’lt goo to +th’ Squire wi’ us and explaain to un how we can’t pay our rent, and may +be th’ Squire’ll let I work un out. If we could only work un out, I’d be +’appy.” + +“Ay, Tom,” said Mrs. Bumpkin, “an I’ll work too; thee knows that.” + +“Thee wast allays a good wife, Nancy; and I’ll allays say’t, come what +wooll.” + +“Yes,” said the Vicar, “to-morrow we will go—” + +“I don’t want un to forgive I th’ rent,” said Tom; “only to gie us time, +and Nancy and I’ll work un out.” And so it was arranged that the next +morning the old home was to be left for ever. It was no longer home, for +every article of furniture, every tool, every scrap that was of any value +had been ruthlessly seized by the heartless money-lender whom the Law +permitted to rob under the name of a bill of sale. The man was in +possession to take away their bed and the few other articles that were +left for their accommodation till the morrow. + +And on the morrow I saw the last of poor Bumpkin that I shall ever see. +In the beautiful sunshine of that October morning, just by the old oak, +he was leaning over the gate looking his last at the dear old fields and +the old farm-house where so many happy years had been spent. By his side +was his wife, with her hand shading her eyes; the old dog was between +them, looking into the face now of Tom and then of his wife. Mr. +Bumpkin’s arms were resting on the gate, and his old ash stick that he +used to walk with over the fields was in his hand. They stood there for +a long, long time as though they could never leave it. And I saw the +tears trickle down the old man’s face as Mrs. Bumpkin, letting fall the +corner of her apron, which she had held to her eyes, and placing her arm +through his, said in a faltering voice:— + +“Come, Tom, we must goo.” + + * * * * * + + THE END. + + + + +THE LAWSUIT. + + + Tom Bumpkin was a thriving man, + As all the world could see; + In forty years he’d raised himself + From direst poverty. + + And now he rented from the Squir + Some acres, near a score; + Some people said ’twas twenty-five, + And some that it was more. + + He had a sow of rare brave breed, + And nine good pigs had he; + A cow and calf, a rick of hay, + And horses he had three. + + And Mrs. Bumpkin had a bull, + The finest creature out; + “And, like a Christian,” so she said, + “It follered her about.” + + So Bumpkin was a thriving man, + As all the world could see; + A self-made man, but yet not made + Of scholarship was he. + + With neighbour Snooks he dealings had + About his latest farrow; + Snooks said he’d bought a pig, and so, + To prove it, brought his barrow. + + Tom said, “It wur to be two crowns;” + Snooks said, “Twur nine-and-six;” + Then Tom observed, “You doan’t ’ave me + Wi none o’ them there tricks.” + + So there was battle; Lawyer Prigg + Was told this tale of woe; + The Lawyer rubbed his bony hands + And said, “I see; quite so!” + + “A case of trespass,”—“Ay zo ’t be!” + Said Bumpkin, feeling big; + “Now mak un pay vor’t, mak un pay; + It beant so much th’ pig.” + + “No, no, it’s not so much the pig, + That were a matter small; + Indeed, good Bumpkin, we may say + It’s not the pig at all! + + “It’s more the _principle_ involved, + The rights of man, you see”— + “Ay, ay,” quoth Tom; “the devil’s in’t + ’F I beant as good as he.” + + There never was a man more prompt + Or swift to strike a blow: + Give but the word, and Charger Prigg + Was down upon the foe. + + The LETTER, WRIT, and STATEMENT went + Like lightning, thunder, rain; + INSPECTION and DISCOVERY rode + Like Uhlans o’er the plain! + + Then INTERROGATORIES flew + Without procrastination: + As when the ambushed outposts give + A deadly salutation. + + Now Snooks’s lawyer was a man + To wrong would never pander; + And like a high-souled Pleader drew + A COUNTERCLAIM for slander; + + And then with cautious skill behind + The legal outworks clambers; + Until dislodged, he held his own + Entrenched in Judges’ Chambers. + + At length came battle hot and fierce, + And points reserved as though + The case must be economized, + Not murdered at a blow. + + Then came appeals upon the points, + New trials on the facts; + More points, more learned arguments, + More precedents and Acts. + + But LAW, thou art a tender plant + That needs must droop and die; + And bear no fruit unless thy root + Be watered constantly: + + And Bumpkin with a generous hand + Had given thee good supply; + He drained the well, and yet withal + The noble Prigg was dry. + + With plaintive look would move a stone, + Tom gazed on Lawyer Prigg: + Who rubbed his hands and said, “You see, + It’s not so much the pig.” + + “Noa, noa, it be th’ horses moore, + The calf and sheep and kine, + Where be th’ hay-rick and the straw? + And where thic bull o’ mine?” + + The Lawyer said, “Quite so, quite so!” + Looked wise, and wisely grinned; + For Tom was like a ship becalmed, + He stopped for want of wind. + + “You see,” said Prigg with gravity + Would almost make you laugh, + “Our leading Counsel had the Cow, + The junior had the Calf. + + “The hay and straw _Rules nisi_ got, + Made _Absolute_ with corn, + The pigs made _Interrogat’ries_, + Most beautifully drawn. + + “The Bacon—ah, dear Bumpkin, few + In Law suits ever save it; + It made together with the sow, + A splendid _Affidavit_. + + “The cocks and hens the _Pleadings_ did + Most exquisitely utter; + And some few pans of cream there were, + Which made the _Surre-butter_.” + + “Why, Surrey butter! I’d a tub + The best in this ere nation”— + “Quite so!” said Prigg; “but you forget, + ’Twas used in _Consultation_.” + + “Well, well, of all the hungry mouths, + There’s nothing like the Law’s; + No wonder they can talk if that + Be how they iles their jaws. + + “Now just look ere; I’d twenty cheese, + The finest of old Cheshires,”— + “Quite so, quite so!” said Prigg; “but they + Just furnished the _Refreshers_. + + “The Ass for the _Opinion_ went; + The Horses, _Costs_ between us; + And all the Ducks and Drakes, my boy, + Were turned into SUBPŒNAS.” + + “I zee it all; the road to Ruin, + Straight as any furrer: + That Bull o’ mine”—“Excuse me, Sir, + Went up upon DEMURRER.” + + “Then beant there nothing left for I, + In all this ere undoin? + Nay, Nance, our fireside be gone, + It’s emptiness and ruin. + + “I wish we’d fought un out ourselves + Wi’ fists instead o’ law; + Since Samson fit, there never was + Good fightin wi the jaw.” + + So _now_ Tom’s not a thriving man, + He owns not cow or pig; + And evermore he’ll be in debt + To Honest Lawyer Prigg. + + BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. + + + + +Footnotes + + +{0a} Since the First Edition, “a bulky volume” of new rules has +appeared. No independent existence at present, and therefore anatomy +uncertain. I have peeped at it, and think if it reaches maturity it will +help the rich litigant very much; and, if it abolishes trial by jury, as +it threatens, we shall be, in time to come, a Judge-ridden people, which +God forbid. I am not afraid of a Judge now, but I should be then. The +choice in the future _might_ be between servility and a prison; and I +sincerely believe that if trial by jury should be abolished, this country +would not be safe to live in. Much _mending_, therefore, and +consequently the more holes. I wonder what the Liberalism of the future +will say when it learns that the Liberalism of Mr. Gladstone’s Government +struck the first blow at _Trial by Jury_? Truly “the axe to laid to the +root of the tree,” and, reversing the Divine order, “every tree that +_bringeth forth good fruit is_” in danger of being “hewn down.” + + R. H. + +{22} This inscription, with the exception of the names, is a literal +copy. + +{52} Modern pleaders would say the Court would take judicial notice of +the existence of Egypt: I am aware of this, but at the time I write of +the Courts were too young to take notice. + +{138} The correctness of Mr. O’Rapley’s views may be vouched for by a +newspaper report in the _Evening Standard_ of April 17th, 1883, which was +as follows:—“Mr. Justice Day in charging the Grand Jury at the Manchester +Spring Assizes yesterday, expressed his disagreement with the opinion of +other Judges in favour of the Commission being so altered that the Judge +would have to ‘deliver all the prisoners detained in gaol,’ and regarded +it as a waste of the Judge’s time that he should have to try a case in +which a woman was indicted for stealing a shawl worth +three-and-ninepence, or a prisoner charged with stealing two mutton pies +and two ounces of bacon.” + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUMOUROUS STORY OF FARMER +BUMPKIN'S LAWSUIT*** + + +******* This file should be named 30551-0.txt or 30551-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/0/5/5/30551 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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