.*>' 
 
 NX 
 
FOREST AND GAME-LAW 
 TALES. 
 
 HARRIET MARTINEAU. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. 11. 
 
 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND THE BISHOP'S HERD. 
 
 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 LONDON : 
 EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET. 
 
 1845. 
 
WHiTfEFRfA R8. 
 
/M5 
 
 In compliance with current copyright 
 
 law, U. C. Library Bindery produced 
 
 this replacement volume on paper 
 
 that meets the ANSI Standard Z39.48- 
 
 1984 to replace the irreparably 
 
 deteriorated original. 
 
 1994 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I HAVE already intimated that there is substan- 
 tial truth at the foundation of all these Tales. But 
 it is right to say further, that the most important 
 part of the Tale, " Heathendom in Christendom/' 
 is strictly fact. I have given, with scarcely any 
 alteration but of names, the narrative of a murder 
 \vhich took place thirty years ago, as contained in 
 the published Report of the memorable trial for 
 that murder, in April 1816. 
 
 H. M, 
 
 AMBLES IDE, 
 
 Dec. Btfi, 1H45. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND THE BISHOP'S 
 HERD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 FOREST WAYS . .... 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 REMEDIES PREPARING 23 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A WALTHAM SQUIRE . . . . . . . .31 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TWO WALTHAM SQUIRES 48 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PRANK AND PANIC 64 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ALL UP ! 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
yi CONTENTS. 
 
 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PROVOKING ONE ANOTHER 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WISE IN CONCEIT 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MAN NOT BETTER THAN THE FOWLS ..... 114- 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE BEAM IN THE EYE .... 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 CUNNING AS FOXES 139 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HARMFUL AS KITES ' . 148 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FOLLOWING WAR WITH ALL MEN 161 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HATRED WITHOUT DISSIMULATION 175 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE HOUSE ON THE SAND ... ... 188 
 
CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 HENRY'S PROSPECTS 213 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 FIRST YKAR 229 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SECOND YEAR 261 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THIRD YEAR 278 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 FOURTH YEAR , 2.91 
 
THE 
 
 BISHOPS FLOCK AND THE BISHOPS 
 HERD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FOREST WAYS. 
 
 JTARMER RASBROOK was toiling in the heat 
 
 of a September day, throwing his sheaves up 
 into the harvest wain, when his daughter Polly, 
 who had been binding in the same field, came 
 running up to him, with a flush on her cheek and 
 a laugh in her eye. 
 
 " Father ! ". whispered she, " do you see yonder 
 gleaner?" 
 
 " What ! gleaning before the shocks are carried ! 
 Why, Pol, what are you about to let him glean ? 
 Run to him, and warn him off ! Turn him out." 
 
 " So I will, father, if you will observe him 
 while I do it. Look now ! No, he turns his 
 
 VOL. II. B 
 
2 THE BISHOP^ FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 back again. But just watch him while I speak 
 to him, that's all/' 
 
 " That's all! 'Tis much, I can tell you, to ask 
 me to look off my work now we have got fine 
 weather at last; and for the sake of one who 
 comes to glean before my corn is carried. Watch 
 you ! Not I ! 
 
 The farmer did, however, rest upon his fork, 
 and follow his daughter with his eye as she 
 tripped towards the gleaner. He chuckled when 
 he saw what a mighty air of haughtiness she put 
 on as she pointed to the gate, in ordering off the 
 intruder. But he did not know what to think 
 when he saw the gleaner make magnificent bows 
 in return, instead of sneaking away as gleaners 
 usually did when warned off. 
 
 "Why, 'tis Asher making fun, I do believe," 
 thought the farmer. " That boy and girl are the 
 drollest children man ever had. They make me 
 laugh every day of my life, when I am ever so 
 much vexed. It must be Asher, idle boy ! Why 
 no ! there's Asher as busy as any-body, bless the 
 boy ! How he does work ! " 
 
 The farmer was obliged to chuckle again when 
 he now saw Polly threatening the intruder with a 
 rake which she caught up. The gleaner threw in 
 her face the armful he had gleaned, and both 
 
FOREST WAYS. 3 
 
 began to run. Polly drove her antagonist with 
 the rake, making him take a course which would 
 bring him near her father ; to which indeed the 
 boy seemed to have no objection. 
 
 " Whew \" whistled the farmer as he came up ; 
 and he turned to his work again with affected 
 diligence, urging on his men as if it were they 
 who had rested on their forks while the sun was 
 shining, and the sheaves were waiting. The 
 gleaner meantime leaped the fence at a bound, 
 carrying nothing with him. 
 
 " I see, Pol," said the farmer, as his breathless 
 daughter came up, and looked meaningly in his 
 face. " The gipsies are early this season." 
 
 " But, father, did you ever see a gipsy so dark?" 
 
 " Why no. But they can please themselves, 
 you know, about that." 
 
 And he winked, and chuckled as if he had said 
 the wittiest thing in the world. When he had 
 composed himself, he asked, 
 
 " Did he tell you whereabouts the camp is ? " 
 
 " No. He told me nothing. He only inquired 
 what sort of crops we had this year, and whether 
 the deer had been mischievous." 
 
 " Rot the deer ! " cried the farmer, striking his 
 fork into the ground, with the passion he always 
 showed when the deer and his fields were men- 
 is 2 
 
tioned together. " To hear the brutes come on 
 in the night, crack, crack, snap, snap, through 
 the hedges, and know what mischief I shall see in 
 the morning ! " 
 
 " So I told him. That is, I said they had 
 come over the hedges ; and that we were plagued 
 with them still, and should have little rest till the 
 corn was all carried." 
 
 " Rot the deer ! " cried the chafed farmer, 
 wiping his brows. " Til complain to the Bishop, 
 I will ! I'll be off to Winchester, and complain 
 to the Bishop/' 
 
 " Well : next week, perhaps," said Polly. " We 
 are too busy, this harvest week." 
 
 " And when the corn is all carried, child, what 
 will be the use of complaining then? Why, 
 child, you're a fool, I think." 
 
 " We'll see about all that next week," said 
 Polly, decisively. " And now I'll go finish bind- 
 ing. They have just done there, you see. If we 
 try for it, we shall have the field cleared by dark; 
 and then, you know, the gleaners can come when 
 they please." 
 
 " Ay ! and we can begin on the five-acre field 
 to-morrow," said her father. 
 
 Off she went,; and presently she had set 
 agoing the reaping song, before which the growth 
 
FOREST WAYS. 5 
 
 of the last furrows of the field fell, rapidly and 
 cheerily. 
 
 This was the harvest of 1723; and in those 
 days, though every grown person in England had 
 meat once a week, and not more than one in six 
 had it less than twice a week that is, on Sun- 
 days and one week-day, the proportion was 
 large of those who had it but little oftener. Polly 
 had no meat to cook this night : and when the 
 supper of porridge, and bread, cheese and beer 
 was finished, she was going wearily to bed by 
 starlight, when she heard her father's voice under 
 the window calling her. She put her head out : 
 
 "Well, father." 
 
 " I say, Pol, listen over there. Do you hear 
 anything ? " 
 
 " Not I. I'm so sleepy, I can't stop yawning." 
 
 " Just come down. "Pis worth listening to. 
 Only it should have been every night through 
 the summer." 
 
 " Anything the gipsies are doing ?" asked Polly, 
 when she came forth, now wide awake. 
 
 "No; not the gipsies; the keepers. What 
 do you hear now ? " 
 
 " A halloo over yonder, in the direction of the 
 lodge ; but it is a long way off." 
 
6 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 " That is the keeper hallooing. And we shall 
 hear it now every night, about the time the deer 
 go out to feed : every night, I mean, as long as 
 some little bird of the wood tells the keepers that 
 my neighbours and I mean to complain to the 
 Bishop/' 
 
 " O ! he is calling the deer to feed, away from 
 our fields. It is full late to begin, when they 
 have got nearly all they can steal from us/' 
 
 " That's it, you see, child. While our corn is 
 in the field, they let the deer roam after what 
 they like best : and now the autumn is coming 
 on, they begin to try to keep them within bounds, 
 with mast spread in the proper walks, and ash 
 sprays to browze near the lodge. Ay ! that is all 
 very well ; but that halloo would not have been 
 heard till after harvest complete, if some little 
 bird had not perched, as I said, and told the 
 keeper about my going to Winchester, to complain 
 to the Bishop." 
 
 " And now," said Polly, yawning, " I suppose 
 you will not want to light the fires about the five- 
 acre field, if the deer are called elsewhere. I am 
 sure I am glad of it, if other people are as sleepy 
 as I am." 
 
 " Why, you are talking in your sleep, I think ; 
 or else you're a fool, as I often tell you." 
 
FOREST WAYS. 7 
 
 " Very often/' Polly agreed. 
 
 " As if/' said the farmer, " tlie brutes did not 
 want training to the halloo ! As if it did not 
 take a fortnight to make them come up to the 
 halloo ! But we'll teach them. We'll help the 
 keeper to make the brutes like their own walk 
 best. Asher has got such stinking stuff to throw 
 into the fires to-night that, if the smoke spreads 
 abroad properly, there is no stag or hind that will 
 endure to come within half a mile of the five-acre 
 field." 
 
 " Pah ! And how are we to go within half a 
 mile of it ?" exclaimed Polly. " We that have to 
 work there all to-morrow !" 
 
 " See that when to-morrow comes. I must save 
 my corn, now at the last. See about that to-mor- 
 row, child." 
 
 " Very well. I am sure I can see nothing more 
 to-night." 
 
 "To bed with you, little fool. Now I think of 
 it, I will have Asher go to bed, and light the fires 
 myself. The boy worked hard. He shall go to 
 bed." 
 
 Polly tried to listen for her brother's coming 
 in, and going to bed in the little room next to 
 hers. But she listened in vain for two minutes, 
 and then was lost in sleep. 
 
8 THE BISHOP^ FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 How long she had slept she knew not when she 
 started up, rubbed her eyes, but could see nothing 
 through the yet black night. She had been 
 dreaming for a long time, she thought, that some 
 gentry were hunting in the forest, as she often 
 saw them do; and that the Squire and Mr. Bob 
 would go on popping off their guns, without 
 giving her time to get out of the way. Almost 
 before she could recal this dream, she really heard 
 shots, somewhere near the house. After the 
 second there was a pause; then a third. She 
 now left her bed, and groped her way to the 
 partition which divided her brother's room from 
 hers. She knocked and called ; but there was no 
 answer. At last, she felt her way to the room. 
 The bed was cold, and had evidently not been 
 slept in. 
 
 Instead of being alarmed, as farmers' daughters 
 in our day, living away from a forest, would be, 
 Polly had a strong desire to follow Asher's ex- 
 ample, and see what was doing abroad : but by 
 the time she was beginning to dress, she heard 
 voices under the windows, and a loud laugh from 
 her father, which assured her that no family mis- 
 fortune had happened. So, as soon as the farmer 
 and Asher had come in, and bolted the kitchen 
 door with the usual noise, she was asleep again. 
 
FOREST WAYS. 9 
 
 She awoke at dawn : and when the sight of a 
 tinge of pink in the sky, and the thought of the 
 gipsy gleaner, the night fires and the shots in the 
 darkness, all occurred to her at once, she was 
 seized with a vehement desire for an early trip in 
 the forest, this being the only time she could 
 command that day. 
 
 Forth she went, before any one else was awake, 
 and a full hour before the cows would be think- 
 ing of her. First she crossed the paddock, and 
 then the five-acre field. There she looked about 
 her. The thick-standing corn was brown for the 
 sickle; and a finer crop Polly thought she had 
 never seen. 
 
 " And so it ought to be/' said she to herself, 
 " when it and the next field have cost us five 
 pounds in fires and watching against the deer, 
 besides all the trouble, and its making my father 
 so angry. But where is the bad smell, I wonder. 
 All is sweet enough here, Fm sure." 
 
 Little jets of smoke were still rising from the 
 blackened spots outside the hedge, where the fires 
 had been kindled: but no less agreeable scent 
 interfered with that of the sweetbriar which 
 floated in the air as the first sunbeam touched 
 the fences. 
 
 " Hum ! I wonder which way they came/' 
 
10 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HEED. 
 
 thought she, looking in the dewy grass for traces 
 of the deer. " My father said that now they had 
 got to make our fields their haunt, they would be 
 sure to come every night till the mast was ripe, 
 and our crops carried. I will find their track 
 before I go further ." 
 
 She soon found the track and something more. 
 In an angle of the next pasture, which was yes- 
 terday grass and now mire, she saw a quantity of 
 blood, here sprinkled, there in pools. This 
 spectacle told her what to look for next : and she 
 saw indeed, on examining the lower branches of 
 the hedgerow trees, that they had been used as 
 she had supposed. No doubt, deer had been 
 hung upon them, when their throats were cut, to 
 bleed. Near at hand, she found the tracks of 
 cart wheels, sunk so deep that there could be no 
 doubt that, if the carcases of deer had been 
 conveyed away that night, the load had not been 
 trifling. 
 
 Having satisfied herself thus far, Polly went 
 on, to learn further who were the poachers that 
 had been so friendly to her father's wheat-field. 
 
 She presently decided, by a glance at the turf, 
 which direction to take. She plunged into the 
 forest through a brake where there was no path, 
 but where she walked as confidently as on a 
 
FOREST WAYS. 11 
 
 beaten road. It seemed to be her delight to 
 rouse and startle all living things as she went. 
 If, in an open space, she found a herd of forest 
 ponies grazing, she dispersed them in various 
 directions by her clapping and halloo. If she 
 found a mild-eyed heifer browsing alone, she fixed 
 it with her eye, and actually attained once to 
 stroking and patting its hide before it wheeled 
 round and made off down a glade. The deer 
 calves were too old now to be tempted to draw 
 near and eat out of her steady hand, though she 
 could offer them tempting young acorns : but she 
 saw several of them from afar, as they were 
 retiring with4;he hinds to the coverts for the day. 
 They stood still among the golden ferns to gaze 
 at her as she passed ; and then she stood still, in 
 her turn ; and it was perhaps some seconds before 
 any accidental rustle in the thicket would send 
 them bounding into the recesses of the woodland, 
 there to hide till night. 
 
 Then there were the ringdoves, at this season 
 coming forth in a flock, and settling thick on a 
 clump of trees. How could she help cooing till 
 she caused a stir and flutter among them, and 
 was welcomed as one of their company? And 
 next, she came upon the handsome pheasant, 
 looking so glossy in the morning sun as he fed 
 
12 THE BISHOP^ FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 upon the berries of the brake till her approach 
 made him whirr away. Then the leveret slunk 
 across her path; and the squirrel attracted her 
 eye ; and the thrush flew out of the holly ; and 
 the rook was overhead, winging forth to the 
 downs till night should bring him back to his 
 roost in the woodland : and one raven there was, 
 following his directly opposite way of life. He 
 came from the cliffs of the Isle of Wight, a mere 
 morning flight, to see what carrion any con- 
 tention in the forest had provided for him. Then 
 there was the honey bee, hovering and settling 
 wherever a patch of heather lay open to the sun. 
 Polly went on but slowly, with all these diver- 
 sions occurring in her path. And when the 
 warmth of a stream of sunshine reminded her of 
 the harvest field, and that she ought to make 
 haste, it perversely happened that a reedy pool 
 lay dark in the shadow on her left hand, with a 
 single pencil of light just touching it from an 
 opening in the copse : and this awakening touch 
 was so surprising to the wild-fowl on the brink 
 that they were ducking and splashing as if a new 
 day were a totally new experience to them. What 
 more might have occurred to delay Polly there is 
 no saying ; but she now became aware that what 
 she sought was near at hand. A distant laugh 
 
FOREST WAYS. 13 
 
 and a slender column of smoke within view re- 
 vealed the neighbourhood of gipsies. 
 
 She was now entering upon one of the most 
 beautiful of forest views, a lawn, with only here 
 and there a shrub or clump dropped upon it, while 
 woody promontories stretched boldly forth into it, 
 their dark oaks and darker hollies and box, with 
 here and there a detached yew, contrasting 
 strongly with the bright dewy green of the open 
 ground. From behind one of these dark pro- 
 montories rose the blue smoke which directed 
 Polly's course. 
 
 She never thought of hesitating, though she 
 knew nothing of the numbers she was about to 
 encounter. If it was true, as her father declared, 
 that she could fix a forest bull with her eye, and 
 daunt the squire's friends, if she happened to 
 encounter them, in the early morning, reeling 
 home after a carouse, she had enough of the gipsy 
 in her to feel herself safe among gipsies : or indeed 
 anywhere ; for it is the cast of mind, or training 
 of character, which gives this command over 
 circumstances, much more than the fact of race. 
 In this case too, as was pretty well known to 
 all parties, government, magistrates, bishop, 
 country-people and poachers, there was no 
 gipsy blood involved in the matter at all. 
 
14 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 Instead of going round the promontory, Polly 
 thought she would cross it, and so look down upon 
 the camp before she was herself perceived. She 
 did so ; and great was her surprise when she saw 
 what a company waa collected. Instead of two or 
 three wagontilts, and a single fire, she looked down 
 upon a sleeping company of above a hundred men, 
 women, and children. Of these last there were 
 very few ; only half a dozen boys, for convenience, 
 for scouts, messengers, fetchers and carriers. 
 These boys were now on foot, looking and wander- 
 ing about ; while two or three tall, awkward-look- 
 ing women were about the fires, amusing them- 
 selves at intervals with examining the rifles, which 
 lay one beside each sleeper, while more' arms 
 might be seen laid away from the dew, under 
 the sailcloths which sheltered the heads of the 
 sleepers. 
 
 Polly skipped down from the woody slope, in 
 order to hold her discourse with the women before* 
 the rest of the company should awak.e. She was 
 for a moment startled at her reception by the one 
 she accosted, who moved certainly with nothing of 
 gipsy grace. She was greeted with a low bow. 
 
 "Let me see if I know you," said the quick- 
 witted girl. " Of all the gentlemen of my small 
 acquaintance, let me see if you be one." 
 
FOREST WAYS. 15 
 
 Her gaze was so earnest and sincere, that the 
 object of it burst out a laughing. That laugh 
 told all. 
 
 " Mr. Bob \' } cried Polly. O ! Mr. Bob !" 
 
 " What's the matter ?" cried he. 
 
 " You know very well. I am sorry to see you 
 here." 
 
 " That is unkind of you, Miss Polly. Nobody 
 relishes the forest better than you do, on a sweet 
 September morning: and you should not wish 
 any friend of yours to be cooped up in London, 
 studying law. Ah ! if you knew what it was to 
 study law in London, you would be ready enough 
 to run down into the country, now and then, for 
 the frolic of breaking that same law." 
 
 "Then I would go somewhere else, Mr. Bob, 
 and not close upon my own home." 
 
 " Why, that's the fun of it. There is my good 
 father sending word to the Bishop where the Walt- 
 ham Blacks are supposed to be : and there is my 
 dear mother writing me letter after letter full of 
 the horrors of the Waltham Blacks ; and when I 
 show myself among the lawyers in town, the morn- 
 ing after such a trip as this, they ask me whether 
 I think of going into Hampshire, and how I con- 
 ceive the new Act will work in putting down the 
 Waltham Blacks : and to feel how much wiser I 
 
16 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 am than all of them together about the Waltham 
 Blacks ! what fun like it could I find anywhere 
 else?" 
 
 B u t Mr. Bob don't go too far, that's all." 
 " I am going a good way to-day/' said he. 
 " The Bishop is to entertain a great party of clergy 
 on Thursday ; and we are off to-day, two or three 
 of us, to Winchester, to leave at the Bishop's the 
 finest buck we shot last night, just as he was 
 about to sup in your father's field, by the way. 
 We shall deliver him at the Palace gate, with the 
 best compliments of the Waltham Blacks to the 
 bishop, and we hope he will enjoy his own. Do 
 you see that fellow, the one asleep beside the 
 wine-hamper, next the snorer ? Well, he is in 
 luck to be in the church, for this frolic. He is to 
 be at the Bishop's dinner, by favour of an innocent 
 chaplain. He will tell us how the venison turns 
 out, and what they all say of the Waltham Blacks. 
 He is a daring fellow, that. He is almost as well 
 known in these parts as I am ; and yet, you see, 
 .he is not pestered as I am with cap and petticoats. 
 Anywhere else, it would be disguise enough to 
 leave off my periwig, and stain my face. But 
 here, the whole gentry were busy for so many 
 years in finding out whether I was most like my 
 father or my mother, that they know every feature 
 
FOREST WAYS. 17 
 
 of my poor face. Now, what are you laughing at, 
 Miss Polly ? 
 
 " At what you are thinking of." 
 
 " And what am I thinking of ?" 
 
 " Of your being pulled so cruelly two ways 
 about your frolics. If you took the north road 
 from London, as you know a certain person does 
 when the deer are out of season, you might have 
 a chance to get a name all over England as the 
 Handsome Highwayman : while now, to set against 
 the fun of curtseying to your father as he rides by, 
 and leaving the bishop's own venison at his own 
 door, you have to smother up yourself in woman's 
 clothes, and look so awkward ! How I did laugh 
 as I watched you from above there, to see how 
 awkward you were ! " 
 
 " You did ! you ..." 
 
 " Come now, no nonsense \" said Polly. " I 
 could beat you at a run, you know, before you 
 could get on a dozen steps : and I have no time 
 for nonsense. I want to know how much you did 
 last night, and whether you come our way again 
 to-night ; and how many you are, this time ; and 
 what I am to say and do, if the constables come, 
 or the soldiers : for some say the soldiers are to 
 be brought down." 
 
 " We are a little abpve a hundred : but in two 
 
 VOL. II. C 
 
18 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 days, we shall be only a score or so. All belong- 
 ing to these parts that are supposed to be out 
 harvesting must be at home by Sunday ; and 
 we Londoners must show ourselves there by the 
 middle of the week." 
 
 " And will that time serve your turn ?" 
 " Why yes, though another week would have 
 been very well. Your neighbours will have a 
 pretty pocketful of harvest earnings to show. "We 
 sent off a rare cartload of venison to town this 
 morning, and promised another to-morrow. But 
 this Black Act is a plaguy check upon us. We 
 have to take such care of your country-people, 
 who have not wit to take care of themselves." 
 
 " O dear ! " said Polly, disappointed. " I thought 
 you said the business would go on faster than 
 ever." 
 
 " So I did ; and that is true. Many sprightly 
 young fellows join, and help the fun the more, the 
 more danger there is in it. And, you see, our 
 bands are larger and better armed, of course. But 
 we can't do without a good many natives, to show 
 us the way, and find the haunts of the deer, and 
 carry us wide of the keepers and such nuisances. 
 We can't do without these fellows j and they would 
 run themselves into worse scrapes without us, I 
 do believe; for neither law nor gospel can keep 
 
FOREST WAYS. 19 
 
 them off the track of the deer, when they have 
 once grown fond of the scent. You might as well 
 preach law and gospel to the bishop's hounds. 
 But, do what we will, it is desperate work for 
 them, since the Act passed. That is a spirited 
 little fellow, that brother of yours, Miss Polly., 
 that I saw last night. " 
 
 " He ought to have been in his bed." 
 
 " I wish he had : and I would give you a word 
 of advice, if I did not fear it was too late now. I 
 fear what he saw last night did the business. He 
 has tasted sport now." 
 
 " And why not ? You praise sport, and so does 
 everybody." 
 
 " Yes ; but it is rather serious work now intro- 
 ducing a boy into it, since that infernal Act. If 
 we saw a fine gay fellow hanged, it would spoil 
 the flavour of our sport somewhat." 
 
 " Why, yes, I think so. But before that day 
 comes, people will choose rather to sleep in their 
 beds, I suppose." 
 
 " No, they will not. Every one of yonder com- 
 pany that put a hand to the business last night, 
 might be hanged under the new Act, if the offence 
 could be proved upon them ; and ..." 
 
 " Hanged !" exclaimed Polly, white with horror. 
 
 Mr. Bob burst out a laughing again, with how 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 much sincerity Polly could not assure herself. 
 But he joked a little while, and then asked her if 
 she supposed the law could do any harm to such a 
 multitude as the Waltham Blacks : and when she 
 looked at the large gang here collected, and 
 thought how almost everybody she knew that 
 lived near the forest was accustomed to play pranks 
 with the deer, she dismissed her momentary panic, 
 and said that so great a number of people must be 
 safe from any severe punishment. It would take 
 all Winchester to imprison the Waltham Blacks ; 
 and unless all were taken, they would permit no 
 harm to happen to one or a few. Mr. Bob rallied 
 her about this terrible law having moved her a 
 little for a moment : on which she retorted that it 
 had moved him and his companions first. Instead 
 of the blackened faces of the last season, they 
 appeared now in a dark shade of gipsy brown. 
 
 " Very true ! " Mr. Bob replied. "It is safer, 
 in more ways than one. But you don't know in 
 how many shapes you may see me yet, before the 
 season is over. Where now, Miss Polly ?" 
 
 "Home," said she, seeing that some of the 
 band were waking up. "It is a busy day at 
 home. And I came partly to thank your com- 
 pany for saving our corn. But I did not think to 
 meet Mr. Bob here/' 
 
FOREST WAYS. 21 
 
 " I will go part of the way with you. And O ! 
 Miss Polly, will you do me a favour ? Will you 
 just go round by my father's, and deliver some 
 message that we can invent, that I may see my 
 mother in a sly way ? She will be gathering her 
 herbs and things in the garden by that time/' 
 And he looked at his watch, a singularly hand- 
 some watch for a gawky gipsy woman to acknow- 
 ledge. "Ah! yes, my mother will just be 
 down ; and I will look through the garden wicket 
 while you talk with her." 
 
 Polly fell in with this most merrily. She soon 
 devised some business for the occasion. One of 
 the good lady's medicinal possets required a weed 
 which was common enough, but which must be 
 gathered with the dew on, in the night of new 
 moon. The last night had been that of new 
 moon ; and the dew was still heavy on the weed 
 in shaded places. So Polly plucked some hand- 
 fuls of it ; and to make it look the more perfect, 
 dipped it afresh in the nearest stream before 
 ringing at the squire's gate. Mr. Bob lounged 
 on, a few yards behind her, stopping at the garden 
 wicket. 
 
 " Don't be afraid of the gipsy, my dear," said 
 the groom to her, as she cast a glance behind her 
 on entering the gate. " My master knows how 
 
22 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 to deal with them sort of people, according to the 
 vigour of the law . . ." 
 
 " The rigour of the law/' said the footman, who 
 was passing through the yard. 
 
 "Well, 'tis the same thing; it all means, 
 Miss Polly, that the gipsy woman shan't hurt 
 you. And you will find my mistress in the 
 kitchen garden ; and she '11 be glad to have you 
 help her with the snails." 
 
 "When shall I get home?" thought Polly. 
 " But I must not disappoint' Mr. Bob, after his 
 helping to save our corn." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 REMEDIES PREPARING. 
 
 "You have brought something for me, I see, 
 child," said Mrs. Weyford, as Polly approached, 
 curtseying. " Ah ! good, very good ! Now 
 carry them to Mrs. Betty, and tell her to put 
 them in .a brown jar on the shelf of my closet, 
 and cover them up, that the dew may not dry off 
 them before I come in. Do that, my dear, and 
 then I will speak to you." 
 
 As Polly returned, she managed to discover 
 that the snails were uncommonly plentiful upon 
 some espaliers near the wicket : and thither came 
 the good lady, tapping along the hard pebbled 
 walk in her high-heeled shoes. Polly began 
 collecting snails with great ostentation of haste, 
 intimating that she was wanted at home. 
 
 "I won't detain you, child. But you must 
 carry a message from me to your father. Tell 
 him there is an alarm of the Waltham Blacks 
 coming down upon the forest, just as bad as 
 last season." 
 
24 
 
 " Why," said Polly, innocently, " I heard say 
 that the squire said there was law against the 
 Blacks now." 
 
 " So there is : and the squire means that the 
 wretches shall have a pretty strong taste of the 
 law too. What I want you to tell your father 
 is ... Begone there ! Don't come about these 
 premises, or . . ." 
 
 Polly looked about her, as if scared. 
 
 " Don't be frightened, child. There is a gipsy 
 woman looking in at the gate. Really, we are so 
 infested with vagabonds . . . Begone, I say ! 
 There she is again ! I shaU tell Will to look 
 well after the fowls/' she whispered. 
 
 " Perhaps the squire had better send the gipsies 
 away," said Polly. " My father always wishes he 
 would." 
 
 " So do I, my dear : but, I don't know how it 
 is, he is tender-hearted with that sort of people, 
 and they always wheedle him over in the end." 
 
 " Perhaps it will be so about the Blacks." 
 
 "No: that is a very different affair, the 
 meddling with deer in the forest. And disguised 
 too!" 
 
 "Ah! that is the worst of it," said Polly. 
 " Somebody said that besides blacking their faces, 
 they dress in all manner of strange ways : some 
 
REMEDIES PREPARING. 25 
 
 like devils, with tails; and one like a donkey 
 going about on its hind legs ; and some . . ." 
 
 " Some dressed as women, we hear," said the 
 lady. " Horrid wretches ! v 
 
 "That is horrid!" cried Polly. " People that 
 shoot deer in the dark to dress like women ! " 
 
 " Well ; there will soon be an end of that, as I 
 want you to tell your father. People are coming 
 from London to catch the Blacks ; and all that 
 are caught will be hanged. We are to send word 
 to town, as soon as the wretches are known to be 
 out ; and then a sufficient force will be sent to 
 vindicate the law." 
 
 " How many Waltham Blacks are there, I 
 wonder," said Polly. " And where do they come 
 from?" 
 
 " Ah ! " said the lady, " that is the worst part 
 of it. It makes one tremble to think who they 
 may be. We are told that they certainly cannot 
 be strangers, or very few of them, they show 
 such knowledge of the forest ways, and the 
 retreats of the deer. I declare I never speak a 
 word to a neighbour now without wondering 
 whether his face has ever been blacked. There 
 is that gipsy peeping in again ! I must send Will 
 after her, I declare." 
 
 " I will tell Will, madam. I must be going now." 
 
26 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 " Well, tell your father that when the people 
 from London come, the squire will want some 
 trusty neighbours to serve as guides in the forest. 
 No man knows the forest better than your father ; 
 and I dare say he will be willing to help us." 
 
 " I will tell him, madam ; and if our harvest is 
 all done .'..." 
 
 " O ! no fear of that ! It will take two days 
 to send for the people, and get them down, after 
 we have certain news that the Blacks are here. 
 We expect some information about this additional 
 force from Mr. Isherwood, this evening. He is to 
 come home to-night. And indeed I shall be 
 glad when he is home ; the roads are in such 
 a state!" 
 
 " And yet there has not been much rain lately," 
 observed Polly. 
 
 " O ! I don't mean that, child. Mr. Isher- 
 wood comes on horseback ; and a little mire, 
 more or less, would not signify. I mean about 
 the highwaymen. They say it is a chance whether 
 any one passes at present without meeting the 
 gang. We begged him to come round by South- 
 ampton. But he laughed, and said he never 
 rides with anything that he values about him, 
 and that he is not aware that he has any personal 
 
REMEDIES PREPARING. 27 
 
 "Then he has nothing to do with the deer/' 
 observed Polly. 
 
 ( ' Very true, child. He is not a magistrate 
 yet : but we hope he soon will be. He is the 
 very man for a magistrate, unless he should 
 prove a little too easy and mild/-' 
 
 " He will have enemies soon enough then/' said 
 Polly. " Heaven guard him from the Blacks ! 
 And now I will send Mr. Will after that gipsy 
 woman, shall I, madam ?" 
 
 " Yes, impudent creature, to linger about in 
 this way ! We must have their camp looked out, 
 and rooted up : and if the squire won't do it, I 
 will speak to Mr. Isherwood to get another magis- 
 trate to be more firm. Thank you, child. I 
 have all I want now but the earthworms : and the 
 gardener has orders about them. All these snails 
 will be no more than we need ; for Rose Naylor 
 is turning as consumptive as her poor cousin ; and 
 the sooner she begins with her regimen the better. 
 Good morning, child: and wish your father a 
 merry harvest home from us." 
 
 WTien Mr. Will bustled out after the gipsy 
 woman, she was not in sight. Up and down the 
 road she was looked for in vain. She joined 
 Polly, however, from a gap in the hedge, about 
 half way between the squire's and the farm. 
 
28 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 " ! Mr. Bob," said Polly, " it is all going 
 wrong, you see, about the law. Do get back to 
 London, and make all those people of yours let 
 the deer alone. You heard what Mrs. Weyford 
 said ?" 
 
 " Every word of it. And I think it is extremely 
 consoling. You see it is not known yet that the 
 Blacks are out ; and when it is, we have still two 
 days' grace. We must make the most of our 
 time; and then the watch, or soldiers, or what- 
 ever these Londoners may be, may beat the forest 
 as they like, and find any game but what they 
 are looking for. By the way, we must make out 
 what this new force is to be. I see it I" he ex- 
 claimed, after musing a moment. " And now, 
 Miss Polly, you to your harvest work, and I to 
 Winchester ! But, before you go, tell me, does 
 not my mother grow handsomer and handsomer?" 
 
 " She is a comely lady indeed," replied Polly. 
 " And always kindly spoken." 
 
 " Bless her open heart ! She would make a 
 curious dispenser of the laws, for all the severe 
 things she dutifully says against offenders. I 
 admire her finding fault with my father for his 
 lenity with gipsies and such people; she who 
 would never get beyond inflicting a sermon, if 
 she were on the bench !" 
 
REMEDIES PREPARING. 29 
 
 " Don't be vexed, father," said Polly, laying 
 her hand somewhat authoritatively on farmer 
 Rasbrook's shoulder. " I am late ; but I have 
 been out to some purpose." 
 
 " And suppose everybody in the field did the 
 same, and said the same," grumbled the farmer, 
 " what would become of my reaping ?" 
 
 " That will never happen, father, any more 
 than all your people will be out with you, loading 
 a cart in the middle of the night. But O ! father, 
 how could you let Asher see . . . . " 
 
 " I did bid him go to bed ; but somehow, at 
 the time we wanted all the hands we could get ; 
 and he is such a handy one ! " 
 
 " And now, father, see if he ever settles, see 
 if he is ever satisfied with field-work again ! " 
 
 " Go you to your field-work, and don't talk to 
 me," said the uneasy farmer. 
 
 He determined, however, to see Asher in bed 
 this night before he went forth to his poaching 
 appointment. 
 
 This business he was obliged, before the time 
 came, to depute to his daughter. A mysterious 
 message summoned him forth as soon as the day's 
 labour was over, and before he had time to sup. 
 Polly and Asher stood out at the door in the 
 starlight, about the time when they might expect 
 to hear the keeper's halloo to the deer. Asher 
 
30 THE BISHOP^ FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 told her, in eager whispers, the whole story of the 
 preceding night, but was more discreet than she 
 liked about the plan for this night's expedition. 
 He did not conceal that another cart-load was to 
 be sent to London : but he would not tell where 
 the meeting was to be ; nor did it appear whether 
 he knew that any lawyer from town was of the 
 company, or indeed who any of his comrades had 
 been. 
 
 Polly spoke seriously to him of the severity of 
 the new law, and of the determination to enforce 
 it. At first, he laughed at the idea of any law 
 reaching such a body as he now knew the Wal- 
 tham Blacks to be. But his sister's earnest voice, 
 breathing cautiously at his ear in the dim star- 
 light, wrought upon him by degrees, and he had 
 become grave, when the distant halloo was heard, 
 bringing tidings that the deer were coming forth 
 to feed. It is probable that the image thus con- 
 jured up filled and transported the boy's mind, to 
 the exclusion of everything else ; for, when Polly 
 stepped back to the door from leaning over the 
 pales to listen, he was gone. She called and 
 sought him in vain. She lay down at last with some 
 experience of what it was to be without a light 
 heart ; and the truth was, ashamed as she would 
 have been to have it known, she shed a few 
 tears in the dark. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A WALTHAM SQUIRE. 
 
 MR. ISHERWOOD was riding homewards this 
 evening, very leisurely, for he had abundant 
 time to reach his house before supper, when 
 he fell into a mood of thought which made his 
 groom at length cough repeatedly, and at last 
 take the liberty of observing that there were 
 evil reports abroad about the road, and that 
 there was not moon enough yet to be of any use. 
 
 " No fear, John ! There is nothing to be had 
 from either of us, if they stopped us to search. 
 And I trust we have left such doings behind us." 
 
 To please John, however, he put his horse to 
 a trot. He would rather have continued to 
 observe at full leisure the charms of a soft and 
 quiet autumn evening ; but he could continue 
 his subject of thought. 
 
 " It is unreasonable/' was his meditation, " to 
 look for perfection in any home that a man can 
 make for himself. When I came down here to 
 
32 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 live, disgusted with the depravity which is the 
 fashion of the time in London, I did find it 
 provoking to have my hours of retreat and study 
 broken in upon by people who can talk of nothing 
 but their dogs and horses, and who cannot under- 
 stand how a man may like to be alone with his 
 books and in his rides. And our country dinners 
 are almost as bad as the raking frolics one cannot 
 get out of the way of in town. I almost doubted 
 whether I had done wisely in settling myself 
 here ; but all doubts of the kind vanish on every 
 such return as this. How could I ever be ruf- 
 fled by the interruption and the vexation of an 
 hour, when these everlasting woods wave daily 
 over my head ! The faces of the stupid and the 
 frivolous pass before me like a flitting dream, 
 while day and night, summer and winter, never 
 cease, and are ever young features of that calm, 
 loving, gazing face of Nature which should inspire 
 a tranquillity and joy not to be affected by tran- 
 sient irritations. 
 
 " The pond to-night, reflecting the stars, and 
 the green walk, just disclosed by them ! and to- 
 morrow, the nut coppice, and the beds of autumn 
 flowers ! These with time, and a book in hand, 
 and, I trust, my neighbours not aware till the 
 day after of my return, what a home these 
 
A WALTHAM SQUIRE. 33 
 
 make ! And if I do not to-morrow work out 
 the principle at least of the doctrine I promised . . . 
 John, what is the matter here ? Is this an accident 
 on the road ? an overturn ? " 
 
 " It looks like it, Sir. There seems to be a 
 crowd collected." He here rode up close to his 
 master, and whispered, " But, Sir, that horseman 
 that rode by us so close, just now, had crape on 
 his face. I 'm afraid it is .the Waltham Blacks 
 way-laying you, Sir." 
 
 " Ha ! Then courage, John, and ride on ! 
 They will not hurt you. And resistance is im- 
 possible. We can hardly be the people they 
 want ; but yet, it is not likely they should let us 
 go forward." 
 
 In another moment, both the horses fell, and 
 their riders were pulled off by many hands before 
 they could make an effort to recover themselves. 
 John disappeared from his master's view; but 
 his rational master had little fear that a mere 
 groom would suffer further than from the fright. 
 
 "A sweat ! A sweat ! " cried two or three voices. 
 
 "So that disgusting prank has found its way 
 from town to this quiet country," said Mr. 
 Isherwood, with a cool contempt which it was 
 rare for a party of the fashionable tormentors of 
 that day to encounter. 
 
 VOL. II. I) 
 
34 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 " You will oblige us with it, however/' said 
 one, who wore a crape over his face, as did most 
 of the crowd. As nothing could be seen of the 
 faces of the others, it was to be supposed that 
 they were in some way darkened. 
 
 "No, I shall not oblige you/' said Mr. 
 Isherwood. "I am not disposed to dance to- 
 night/' 
 
 By this time a circle was formed round the 
 prisoner ; and every man of the number pointed 
 his sword, or other sharp weapon, at him. 
 
 "Then tell us without compulsion, whatever 
 we ask," said one, who appeared to be the leader. 
 "We must have your news, or you must have 
 our compulsion." 
 
 " What is it that you want to know ? " 
 
 " Who are we that you have the honour to be 
 parleying with ? " 
 
 " The Waltham Blacks, I suppose, reserving 
 my opinion as to the honour." 
 
 " What information do you bring to the magis- 
 trates of this neighbourhood of the plans of 
 justice in regard to the Waltham Blacks ? " 
 
 " I decline answering that question." 
 
 "Then you must sweat for it." 
 
 " No, I will not do that either, in your sense 
 of the word." 
 
A WALTHAM SQUIKE. 35 
 
 And Mr. Isherwood folded his arms, and stood 
 in the circle, resolved to fall sooner than dance. 
 
 The intention was, as all acquainted with the 
 manners of those times are aware, to prick him 
 with the points of swords whichever way he turned, 
 so as to make him incessantly change his place, 
 or, as the tormentors termed it, dance till he 
 was sufficiently heated and exhausted to be glad 
 of release on any terms. In London, on meeting 
 a random party, seeking fun in the streets, Mr. 
 Isherwood would have yielded at once, and made 
 diversion for them with all speed, as the quickest 
 way of getting out of their hands. But this was 
 evidently a more serious matter. He was way- 
 laid as the bearer of tidings ; and this plot was 
 not for sport, but for the defeating of justice. He 
 therefore declined 7 with himself the ludicrous 
 view of the affair, and resolved to act with the 
 firmness becoming its real gravity. 
 
 He neither spoke nor moved, while his captors 
 danced round him, as he would not .dance to them. 
 Under the long succession of pricks from their 
 swords, knives or sickles, their victim at last 
 tottered from faintness. The leader then ex- 
 claimed 
 
 "There is no fun in this, nor any use. Let 
 him go." 
 
 D 2 
 
36 THE BISHOP^ FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 " Tip him with fire/' said a brutal voice. " I 
 warrant that will make him speak." 
 
 " No/' cried the leader. " He has proved him- 
 self staunch. And we can secure our own pur- 
 poses by preventing any magistrate getting access 
 to him till we have finished our sport. Come, 
 Squire Isherwood, let me help you to your horse. 
 We must blockade you for a day or two at home ; 
 but you are known to be happiest when alone with 
 your books." 
 
 " You seem well informed about me and my 
 affairs, whoever you may be. If you have learned 
 such a secret as that I have messages to the magis- 
 trates, perhaps you may know some other things 
 that are in my mind, such as the pity I feel for 
 you ; and my^strong indignation that such men as 
 you, for it is plain that you are a man of educa- 
 tion, and of London habits, should beguile my 
 simple neighbours into capital crimes." 
 
 " Come, lean on my shoulder, and let my 
 people put you on your horse." 
 
 " Stand off ! " said Mr. Isherwood. " My horse 
 shall sooner drag me in the road than I will owe 
 support to any of your company. One word more 
 with you, Mr. Leader. I can admire brave sport 
 as much as any man : but I see no bravery in your 
 practice of drawing numbers into your scrape, that 
 
A WALTHAM SQUIRE; 37 
 
 you may evade punishment by dint of numbers. 
 When the devil catches your hindmost, I would 
 rather be the poor fellow swinging on the gallows 
 than you who brought him here." 
 
 " I won't hear this, Sir .. I ..." 
 
 :< Yes, you will. It has entered your ear, and 
 nothing can put it out again. So, I have done." 
 
 The leader kept out of the rider's way ; but he 
 hovered around him, as looking to his safety. It 
 was he who rang at Mr. Isherwood's gate : it 
 was he who desired the pale housekeeper to see if 
 her master was wounded, and to take good care 
 of him : and it was he who swore that no harm 
 should happen to any living creature on the pre- 
 mises, if no one would attempt to leave them till 
 the guard were withdrawn. 
 
 John was unhurt, though still trembling with 
 fright. When he had put up his horses, he gave 
 his best help to bolt and bar doors and shutters, 
 and then became the glory of the servants' hall, 
 ^making the very most of a sufficiently wonder- 
 ful story. 
 
 The housekeeper could not possibly report her 
 master's wounds to be otherwise than very slight; 
 so she made a marvel of their number. As for 
 her master, the marvel to him was what she could 
 have done to them to make them smart so. But, 
 
38 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HEED. 
 
 as he always believed what people said, unless 
 there was strong reason to the contrary, he put 
 faith in her assurance that this smarting was for 
 his good; though his own natural opinion would 
 have been that sleep would have been better. 
 While unable to sleep, and awaiting the time for 
 his next move, many thoughts, some bitter, some 
 sad, some hopeful and calming, passed through his 
 mind. 
 
 " May Heaven preserve me," thought he, " from 
 the infidelity of despair about the depravity of the 
 age ! I would not deny it. I will never deny it ; 
 but rather search out its causes, and therein find 
 a sure prophecy of its end : not its extinction, 
 but its mutation into some other, and I trust, less 
 fearful form. It is truly enough to sink any heart 
 to meet the monkey face that society now presents 
 at every turn. The foppery of London, now 
 spread downwards through every rank, and not, 
 like social vices in general, pass^jig away as it 
 passes down, so as to afford good hope that it will 
 go out at the lower end ; this foppery, extinguish- 
 ing the manhood of noblemen, and poisoning the 
 purity of the tradesman's home, sickens the soul. 
 And there follows on it the ruin of women. It is 
 but a mask of womanhood that I see, from the 
 patched and painted lady of quality to her dis- 
 
A WALTHAM SQUIRE. 39 
 
 gusting copy, the once fresh and gay country 
 girl, become in a month the snuff-taking, furbe- 
 lowed associate of pranking footmen. Then there 
 is the diseased appetite for illegality, our very 
 lawyers and clergymen spending their wits and 
 precious hours in feats of upsetting coaches and 
 sweating foot passengers : our gentry amusing 
 themselves with highway robbery, and with any 
 wanton injury to their neighbours' peace that can 
 be devised. Of all fashions, this is the most sure 
 to spread. Besides its charms as a fashion, it falls 
 in with the desires of sinners and the needs of the 
 needy ; so that it is no wonder if robbery and vio- 
 lence overspread the land. And then comes in 
 the cruelty of sanguinary laws. When this fashion 
 of illegality has passed the point of amusing those' 
 whose first need in life is a laugh, when lower 
 classes have become involved in it as their business 
 and sole sport, when it alarms the journeys of 
 the comfortable classes, and strips their orchards, 
 and extirpates their deer, and fells their old oaks, 
 and hints at abduction of their daughters, then 
 ensues the blind fury of hate and terror which 
 creates monstrous laws. A stringent legality is 
 sought to be established in a moment ; and, as the 
 convenience of the law-making class cannot wait, 
 the sanction of terror is called in, and laws are 
 
40 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 made cruel, to compensate for their having been 
 ineffectual. 
 
 " But the object fails. People who have been 
 habituated to think illegality no crime, are pretty 
 sure to feel its penalties either sheer tyranny or 
 no punishment at all. So, when a cartload of 
 victims passes to the gallows, there is savage 
 rebellion in the hearts of witnesses who go and 
 act it out in new offences ; or the gay culprit bows 
 to the ladies all the way to Tyburn, making at 
 every step admirers of his levity and aspirants to 
 his fate. Should one despair, amidst a society 
 like this ? If the causes of these mischiefs were 
 permanent, yes : if not, no ! And it seems to 
 me that all this is childishness : gigantic childish- 
 ness, certainly; the childishness of hell, which 
 would better suit the scenery it lives in if our 
 ponds were fire, our forest-trees branching coal, 
 our sky adamant, our dew-drops sulphur. But 
 we have yet cool waters, and green glades, and 
 blue depths of space to gaze into ; and therefore I 
 look upon -this social state as one of foolish and 
 froward childishness, likely soon to pass into some 
 lesser petulance. Moreover, its causes seem appa- 
 rent to those who look for them. Perhaps it is 
 true of all the great blessings given by God to 
 man, that they are made subject to suspension, 
 
A WALTHAM SQUIRE. 41 
 
 in order, not only that they may be duly valued, 
 and their Giver recognised, but that their own 
 worth may be veritably renewed, their actual life 
 replenished. We are accustomed to perceive and 
 say this about most of our circumstances and 
 endowments ; and may it not be true of that un- 
 utterable and inestimable good, Routine, as well as 
 of others ? Routine is our celestial law, the one 
 essential condition of the integrity of our mortal 
 state. But we cannot, like the heavenly bodies, 
 have it pure ; and therefore do we not make music 
 in our courses, and therefore must we, now and 
 then, run into a sort of chaos. This lapse, indeed, 
 almost seems to be periodical, a sort of conse- 
 quence of intervals of comparative order. During 
 a war, for instance, the scene of which is abroad, 
 our people live with regularity, from being com- 
 pelled to stay within the island. It becomes a 
 matter of course to dwell at home, and almost a 
 grievance if business or health compels a journey. 
 Some narrow-mindedness accrues; but with it 
 such a train of blessings as may go far to counter- 
 balance the evils of war. Under this fixity, life 
 and Providence do their work well; and their 
 revelations pass before the eye and into the soul 
 of the growing mortal, as the constellations of the 
 sky before the gaze of the steadfast observer. If 
 
42 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 it is good for men to be earnest, intent and efficient 
 in their work of life, by this way must it come. 
 But peace ensues ; the continent is open. Anxious 
 parents become aware of the limitations of dwellers 
 at home ; and they forthwith carry their children 
 hither and thither, catching at advantages here 
 and there, and sacrificing the consummate advan- 
 tage of a fixed home, steady objects, and firm 
 habits. In deduction from the benefits of some- 
 what enlarged knowledge, some superior compre- 
 hensiveness of view, and amount of accomplish- 
 ment, the unhappy wanderers lose what can never 
 be regained; the natural health of home, in- 
 tentness of mind, earnestness of soul, devotion to 
 steady aims, and depth of insight into life and its 
 guidance. Life becomes to them a show-box, and 
 its most serious events, mere scenes. For them, 
 there is no real work, no genuine repose. So it 
 is with restless seekers after health of body, who 
 have left but one thing untried till they become 
 unable to try it, the medicinal influence of home, 
 home from which no wish or thought strays, 
 and where alone can objects be pursued to the 
 entire occupation of the faculties which elsewhere 
 are unbalanced, or corrode the frame. Thus it is 
 when reforms in religion break up old faiths, and 
 souls are made restless by those worst of doubts 
 
A WALTHAM SQUIRE. 43 
 
 which have eternal, though selfish, fears attached 
 to them. 
 
 " In all these cases, and many more, the in- 
 dividuals appear to lose irretrievably by the 
 disruption of Routine, the breaking up of that 
 fixedness to which men appear to be benignantly 
 made as naturally prone as to nightly sleep : and 
 heavy is the cost, whatever may be the need and 
 the gain. And it appears to me that of this 
 nature is the present disorder of our social state. 
 Reformations, revolutions, and foreign wars have 
 brought on crises of scepticism, of political doubt 
 and consequent profligacy, and of wandering dis- 
 order, which is like the suspension of Routine in 
 the life and mind of individuals. As to individuals, 
 their privilege of custom can never be restored, so 
 I fear can the blessing of social order never be 
 imparted to this generation of my countrymen. 
 But it would be ignorant and faithless to conclude 
 that it is therefore lost to the world or to this 
 island. For my life perhaps, I may be compelled 
 to see men taken to the gallows in droves for 
 doing what the law-makers did openly before the 
 Black Act was passed. For my life I may be 
 doomed to see gentlemen and their footmen fops 
 and gamblers in town, and mere sportsmen and 
 sots in the country; and women sunk in coquetry, 
 
44 
 
 gadding and frivolity; tradesmen turning foot- 
 pads, and farmers poachers; while the cruelty of 
 the law makes all law a hate and a mockery. But 
 Man's need and love of Routine,, his natural 
 craving for that indispensable blessing, are a 
 security that, sooner or later, men will again put 
 their hearts and minds into their business, sleep 
 at night, keep their hands from their neighbours' 
 throats and goods, see that law is every wise 
 man's friend, and take care that no perversion or 
 exasperation of it shall disgust men most with 
 that which they most need. There ought to be 
 more comfort in this assurance than in sleep : yet 
 I should have relished a nap, to fit me for my 
 enterprise ; a feat more strange to me than any 
 highway-prank to such a youth as the leader of 
 this band of Blacks to-night. I wonder who he 
 is : no forester he ; rather some London scape- 
 grace, I fancy. I almost thought I had somewhere 
 heard his voice : but that is what every victim 
 says of every highwayman, in these days, when 
 foot-pads are our men of fashion." 
 
 Precisely at the appointed hour, he heard the 
 housekeeper's tap at his dressing-room door. He 
 was soon dressed, and wrapt in a dark cloak. 
 
 " I do not like your going, Sir/' said the house- 
 keeper. "They say the Blacks keep so close a 
 
A WALTHAM SQUIRE. 45 
 
 watch, when they surround a house, that I am 
 sadly afraid you will fall into their hands ." 
 
 " I do not like it at all, I assure you/' replied 
 her master. "There is nothing pleasant in it; 
 but I must go. Now, remember, every person in 
 the house is to believe that I keep my room. If 
 you cannot avoid sending to me, direct your 
 message to Squire Weyford. A day or two will 
 set us all free. Hold your secret and the house 
 till then." 
 
 " I will, Sir : but, Sir, they will hear you in the 
 bushes, and fire. And if they catch you, they 
 will treat you worse than they did last night " 
 
 " We cannot help that ; so not another word ! 
 How many steps are there to these cellar-stairs ? 
 I cannot afford a fall to-night. I am as tottering 
 as an old man. Now, hold your tongue, Mrs. 
 Wilson, and put me through this door ; or hole, 
 as I should call it. If I do not come back in ten 
 minutes, secure it, and go to-bed." 
 
 The door was a mere grating to let in light and 
 air to the cellar. Mr. Isherwood crept through 
 it with no little pain and difficulty, and with some 
 amusement at the same thought that distressed 
 Mrs. Wilson extremely, that he should leave his 
 own house in such a manner. 
 
 He emerged behind some shrubs; and there 
 
46 
 
 he lay a few minutes) to recover breath and listen. 
 To judge by the variety of voices, and the laughter 
 here and there, the Blacks were in considerable 
 numbers about the house. It happened for- 
 tunately that they had a lantern, which went 
 round as tjiey wanted to light their pipes. 
 By means of uch a transaction, he saw how his 
 foes were placeo. one at each window and door, 
 and others in grc -ns on the lawn. When the 
 lantern had travelled to the other side of the 
 house, he lost no time, but crawled among the 
 shrubs, touching them as little as possible, and, 
 when clear of them, creeping along the lawn, 
 between two of the groups of watchers. He so 
 nearly hit one that a growling voice, suddenly 
 saying something about the squire, seemed speak- 
 ing into his very ear ; and he wondered how he 
 had missed grasping his enemy's foot or coat. He 
 rolled over, paused a minute, and then continued. 
 After twenty yards more of this crawling, he rose 
 to his feet, and stole on cautiously till he came to 
 the green walk, where he knew he was secure. 
 From thence, his garden key let him into the 
 paddock; and then he locked the gate, and 
 pocketed the key with great satisfaction. 
 
 He was so stiff with his many little wounds 
 that he was glad to reach the Weyfords' house. 
 
A WALTHAM SQUIRE. 47 
 
 He employed his utmost skill to rouse some one, 
 without causing a noisy alarm. The Squire was 
 the most difficult person in the world to wake ; 
 but his lady had a head full of anxious thoughts, 
 which allowed her but little sleep this night. She 
 and the butler, by joining their wits, soon dis- 
 covered who was the gentle applicant outside. 
 Mr. Isherwood was presently admitted; and, as 
 soon as the squire could be roused, his news was 
 told, and he was at liberty to go to sleep, which 
 he forthwith did. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TWO WALTHAM SQUIRES. 
 
 MR. ISHERWOOD slept long; and when he 
 awoke, was not permitted to leave his room till 
 dark, when the shutters were closed, and he was 
 safe from observation from without. 
 
 The squire was rather restless this evening. 
 He had the resolution, supported as he was by 
 his lady, to take no more wine than was necessary, 
 as he said, to give him his right head ; an effect 
 recognised only by himself, for to every one else 
 he appeared to be always wearing a very wrong 
 head. This was to be an important night, unless 
 the Blacks should have satisfied themselves with 
 the game they had taken, and have dispersed 
 before the force brought against them could close 
 in upon them. 
 
 " Dispersed, Sir ! " said the squire to his guest, 
 " Do you think they '11 be off while a hind or a calf 
 remains ? They '\Q stripped us, Sir, stripped us. 
 They 've left us nothing. They 've sent off him- 
 
TWO WALTHAM SQUIRES. 49 
 
 dreds of cart loads. Sir. Tlieir carts are all the 
 way from this to London, all bursting full of our 
 venison, and birds, and all sorts of things." 
 
 His wife and his guest were too familiar with 
 his style of computation to think it necessary to 
 question or qualify his statement about the carts. 
 
 "Is it possible," asked Mr. Isherwood, "that 
 neither your servants, nor the keepers, nor the 
 paid watchers have ever recognised one of these 
 poachers ? " 
 
 " Never, Sir, never. How should they ? Why, 
 Sir, their faces are blacked as black as night, so 
 that when our people look as close into their 
 faces as a lady's-maid into a looking-glass, they 
 can't see a feature, Sir, can't tell the chin from 
 the eyes, Sir." 
 
 "In that case," observed Mr. Isherwood, "my 
 method would be to take the fellow, and have his 
 face washed." 
 
 " Take him, Sir ! why, you couldn't. Should 
 not we have taken them all long ago, if they were 
 to be had ? But there is no getting within shot of 
 them. Nobody has ever been able to get within 
 a mile of them. I have tried hundreds of times, 
 and I could never hit one of them." 
 Mr. Isherwood smiled. 
 " Ay ! Sir, you may laugh ; but it is no laughing 
 
 VOL. II. E 
 
50 
 
 matter to a magistrate, Sir, to see the deer brought 
 to nothing in the forest. It is no laughing matter 
 to know that there are thousands of fellows with 
 black faces all round your house, popping away, 
 night and morning, and all times, at the deer and 
 the birds, and ready to pop at you, if you should 
 put your head out of cover." 
 
 " Indeed, I agree with you. It is no laughing 
 matter, but a very serious one." 
 
 " Then, what I ask, Sir, is, what I asked the 
 bishop, last week, why are not they all hanged ? 
 That is what I want to know." 
 " And what did the bishop say ? " 
 " O ! I don't know : some milk-sop sort of 
 thing, such as people always say when it is a 
 question of defending poachers." 
 
 " My dear," observed his lady, " I don't think 
 the bishop defends poachers, does -he? I heard 
 him blame them severely, the last time I saw 
 him." 
 
 " And where J s the use of blaming them L Will 
 any poacher stop poaching for being blamed? 
 Hanging is the only thing. You will do no good 
 short of that. And how are the fellows to know 
 that the bishop blames them ? " 
 
 " Why," said the lady, putting down her knit- 
 ting, " there is the most curious part of it. 'Tis 
 
TWO WALTHAM SQUIRES. 51 
 
 said that there was present, at that moment, one 
 person, and perhaps more, who could have told 
 the bishop all about the Waltham Blacks, and 
 who knew, from experience, how they black their 
 faces/' 
 
 " You see, Sir," said Mr. Isherwood, " these 
 people may have means of knowing that the bishop 
 blames poaching. And suppose you desire your 
 people to tell them, the next time they look close 
 in their faces, in the way you described." 
 
 " If I catch one, you may depend upon it I 
 will let him know of nothing short of the gallows." 
 
 " Then I hope you will not catch any ; for I 
 doubt the gallows doing any good in this case." 
 
 " You do ! Then I am glad you are not a 
 magistrate, which is a thing we did wish. I 
 hope you never will be a magistrate (though I 
 mean no disrespect to you) as long as you hold 
 such opinions." 
 
 " What opinions do you mean, neighbour ? " 
 
 "-Why, that poachers should not be punished, 
 and that sort of thing." 
 
 "You mistake me. I would punish poachers, 
 and all people who trespass and steal. But, as 
 to hanging being the punishment, I doubt whether 
 it does not make poaching worse than it was 
 before." 
 
 E 2 
 
52 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 "Then you must set to work again, Sir, and 
 hang the more." 
 
 " That is one way of bringing the affair to an 
 end, to be sure. You will finish either the deer 
 or the men, sooner or later. But I think it 
 would be wiser if we could find some way of 
 keeping both men and deer alive." 
 
 "You can't, Sir. The deer are so reduced 
 that the keepers say another such season will 
 finish them. It makes my blood boil to think 
 of it." 
 
 "The whole affair is melancholy enough, to 
 be sure: and now it seems to be desperate." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the lady, " things have gone on 
 from bad to worse so rapidly, that I wonder now 
 whether we shall ever live in peace and quiet 
 again. A few years ago, it was only hearing a 
 shot now and then at night, and news next day 
 that a warrant was wanted to search some house ; 
 and perhaps a man or two transported in the 
 course of a year. Then, for every one transported, 
 another set seemed to spring up. I don't know 
 how it was." 
 
 "I think it probable," said Mr. Isherwood, 
 " that there was such a demand for venison from 
 London that it became worth while for the 
 poachers to club together to get more, and to 
 
TWO WALTHAM SQUIRES. 53 
 
 defend each other. And then, the more the 
 deer were taken care of and increased in numbers, 
 the more injury they did to the farmers in the 
 neighbourhood ; and that, we must allow, is a 
 great provocation." 
 
 " Not at all, Sir," exclaimed the squire. " I 
 deny it. I deny that the farmers have any right 
 to complain of the deer. When they took their 
 farms, they knew there were deer in the forest. 
 And it is their business to keep them off their 
 lands." 
 
 "Well, my dear," said the lady, "so they do. 
 I know that this very season it has cost farmer 
 Rasbrook three pounds to keep the deer off five 
 acres of wheat, by fires and other means : and 
 he did not fully succeed either." 
 
 " And to me it seems," observed Mr. Isherwood, 
 " that justice requires that the owners of deer 
 should prevent their trespassing on farmers' 
 fields." 
 
 "You are wrong, Sir; you are wrong. In -no 
 book of justice can you find any such regulation, 
 as you will see when you come to be a magis- 
 trate. And besides, any man who is qualified 
 may shoot any game that is trespassing on his 
 own land ; except indeed these deer, which are, 
 as they ought to be, excepted. And then again, 
 
54 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 what are you to do with other game, birds, 
 for instance ? How are you to prevent pheasants 
 and partridges from getting into any farmer's 
 fields?" 
 
 " We were speaking of the deer/' replied Mr. 
 Isherwood. "If the deer are at large, and if 
 our neighbouring farmers are not qualified sports- 
 men, and if they could not shoot the bishop's 
 deer if they were, it can be no great wonder 
 that the deer are shot in the forest as they are." 
 
 " You see," said the squire, " it is such easy 
 work ! The poaching fellows know the walks of 
 the forest as well as the keepers ; and their scouts 
 can always secure them a safe range : and the 
 farmers round are friendly, for their own ends; 
 and there are plenty of venison butchers in 
 London ready to give a good price for all that 
 can be got. You see it is all as easy as can be : 
 and we can't help ourselves but by making the 
 law as severe as we can." 
 
 "And has that helped you? Has the Black 
 Act put down your Waltham gang ? " 
 
 "'Tis ten times worse, this year," sighed the 
 lady. 
 
 "There's the wickedness of the people ! " said 
 the squire. "They set themselves more and 
 more against the law, and do any violence rather 
 
TWO WALTHAM SQUIRES. 55 
 
 than let a poacher get into the hands of justice. 
 'Tis said, and I believe it, that they are now so 
 strong, and so determined, that they would pull 
 a magistrate's house down, sooner than let half- 
 a-dozen of their gang go to Winchester jail." 
 
 "I believe it too," replied Mr. Isherwood, 
 "and I don't wonder at it, if they know that 
 those half- dozen men will otherwise be hanged. 
 If those half-dozen men were to be fined, or 
 imprisoned as for trespass or other thefts of equal 
 value, I do not think there would be any fear 
 for magistrates' houses. As it is, I foretell that 
 this Black Act -will operate in this way, as far as 
 it concerns your forest : it will cause the destruc- 
 tion of the deer, after having fostered such ideas 
 and habits of lawlessness in the people, far and 
 near, as the district will suffer from for many a 
 year after the venison-question is at an end." 
 
 "The bishop can always re-stock, you know. 
 But I am wrong : you know nothing about the 
 matter, Isherwood. You don't care a damn for 
 gentlemen's rights. You are all on the side of 
 the poachers." 
 
 " It is rather difficult, I believe," replied Mr. 
 Isherwood, "to say on which side the sporting 
 gentlemen are. Some believe that there are more in 
 the Waltham gang than our neighbourhood could 
 
56 , 
 
 yield. But I know your meaning, squire : and I 
 assure you you are mistaken. I saw that magni- 
 ficent eagle that, you remember, was afterwards 
 shot, the noblest of the forest poachers." 
 
 The squire stared. 
 
 "I saw that eagle one day, floating high over 
 the forest ; and now sinking and sinking towards 
 the open parts, and . . . . " 
 
 "Ay! he kept clear of the woody parts," in- 
 terrupted the squire. " They would becalm him 
 when he wanted to rise." 
 
 "I saw him," continued Mr. Isherwood, "pounce 
 on a leveret which was crossing a glade, and soar 
 away with it to the southern rocks. And another 
 day I came up when the keeper had just missed 
 him, after he had killed a hind. When I saw the 
 swoop the first time, and the soaring away the 
 second, I could not but understand the kingly 
 bird's delight in his forest sport. He came from 
 dreary and desolate places, and heartily must he 
 have enjoyed himself in this green and sunny 
 region, all abounding with game, and satisfying 
 to his instinct of sport. And this showed me 
 what must have been the raptures of our kings 
 in the chase. They came from a dreary and 
 desolate life, from cares and quarrels, and dis- 
 appointments, and irksome labours, to make 
 
TWO WALTHAM SQUIRES. > 57 
 
 holiday in the free and joyous woods ; and I can 
 well understand how their hearts leaped up when 
 the old trees waved, and the stag burst out from 
 the covert, and the horse panted and bounded 
 under them, and the woodland rang with the 
 sounds of the chase, and ..." 
 
 "And what would you say," cried the squire, 
 who had started from his seat, "what would you 
 say to a set of poachers that had rooted out your 
 king's deer ? " 
 
 " I should have said that there must be some- 
 thing wrong, where men would band together in 
 such enmity to a particular kind of pleasure of the 
 king's. And I should have been for looking into 
 the matter, to find the true reason of it, instead of 
 putting out poachers' eyes, and cutting off" their 
 hands and feet, as was done by those kings." 
 
 The lady shuddered. 
 
 " May I ask," resumed Mr. Isherwood, " why 
 we shudder at the mention of these mutilations, 
 when we now hang for similar offences ? Is it 
 less to take away a man's life than the members 
 of his body?" 
 
 As no answer was forthcoming, he went on. 
 
 " As I can understand the king's pleasure of 
 old, so I can enter into the pleasures of sporting 
 gentlemen now. In themselves, they are cheering 
 
58 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 to look upon, cheering to think of, here by the 
 autumn fireside. But if, from some cause, offences 
 always follow in their train, if they occasion, by 
 any means, the death of men upon the gallows, I 
 should still be for looking further into the matter, 
 and seeing what the fatality is that pursues this 
 kind of pleasure." 
 
 " Fatality!'' exclaimed the squire. "Why, 
 Isherwood, I thought you had been a religious 
 man/' 
 
 " My dear," remonstrated his lady, " who ever 
 doubted it ? I am sure Mr. Isherwood is one who 
 fears God and honours the king. You see he 
 honours the king's pleasures." 
 
 "And I so fear God," replied Mr. Isherwood, 
 very gravely, " that I tremble to see men, created 
 by Him, maimed or killed for some radical dis- 
 agreement between the laws made by us and 
 an instinct conferred by Him. When our laws 
 and His clash, we can have no doubt which is 
 wrong. I, as a religious man, take my stand on 
 His." 
 
 The lady put down her knitting. The squire 
 looked utterly confounded ; for he had conducted 
 all his magisterial proceedings in the name of 
 religion as well as law. 
 
 "Well!" declared the lady, "I always said it 
 
TWO WALTHAM SQUIRES. 59 
 
 was like an instinct, or a fatality, or something, 
 that men were so given to run after game. Men 
 who would no more think of coveting our sheep 
 or fowls than of stealing my silk gowns or my 
 purse are out after hares and pheasants, every year 
 of their lives ; and I am afraid after deer too, 
 when they can join a company. And the more 
 convictions there are, the more unable they seem 
 to refrain." 
 
 " I always tell the poachers that come before 
 me," said the squire, " how much worse it is to 
 take game than sheep and fowls ; and how the 
 law shows it to be the worst of the two." 
 
 " And how do they answer you ?" 
 
 " Answer me ! That is a pretty idea ! They 
 are there to hear what I have to say, and not to 
 lecture me." 
 
 "Yet," said Mr. Isherwood, "one would like 
 to know what they have to say." 
 
 "I have often thought so," said the lady. 
 " They tell me, when they talk privately with me, 
 that there is the difference between sheep and 
 hares, and between poultry and pheasants,, that 
 the game are wild and the others not. A man now 
 in the jail at Winchester told me he was so vexed 
 with the injury done to his little field by the wild 
 animals that he thought it no wrong to kill them 
 
60 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 wherever he met them, night or day. He said 
 that if our cows got into his field, or our hens into 
 his garden/ he could complain, and desire that we 
 would keep our beasts and fowls at home ; and 
 he could get reparation for the trespass and mis- 
 chief. But when the hares came and made lanes 
 through his corn, and the pheasants fed on his 
 seed-corn, he had no redress ; he could not tell to 
 whom they belonged. He could neither keep 
 them out, nor compel any one else to keep them 
 at home." 
 
 " I should like to know who could keep hares . 
 at home, or pheasants either, any more than 
 wood-pigeons/' exclaimed the squire. 
 
 " Just so, my dear. That was what the poor 
 fellow said. And he said if God made these 
 creatures to rove and fly, so that no man could 
 keep them at home, it must be fair that any 
 man should have them on whose lands they were 
 doing any injury. And moreover, that men 
 should have the free use of them wherever they 
 fell in with them, because they are always mis- 
 chievous to farmers, and because G-od made them 
 as free to all men as rats and weasels, and pigeons 
 and crows. I cannot help wishing that every 
 man who has a field or a garden might have 
 liberty to take whatever he finds injuring his 
 
TWO WALTHAM SQUIRES. 61 
 
 crops. I trust the law will do this much for him, 
 sooner or later " 
 
 " What ! for unqualified men ! My dear, you 
 should not talk of what you don't understand. 
 How should an unqualified man, like that fellow 
 you speak of, kill game ? " 
 
 "I think that time may come," said Mr. 
 Isherwood ; " a time for larger liberty to all 
 parties, when an owner of land may shoot as 
 well as take pheasants, partridges and moor game 
 on his own estate, which he cannot legally do 
 now . . . . " 
 
 " But we do, Sir ; we do it every day of our 
 lives, in the season, that is," said the squire. 
 
 " I know it : but you break the law in so 
 doing, as certainly as the poachers you send to 
 jail. If you look closely into the law, you will 
 find it is so. In time, this absurd restriction 
 Avill be taken off, no doubt ; and so, I trust, will 
 be others which now afflict and injure the farmer 
 and cottager ; but, in those days, men will think 
 and feel, as they do at present, that animals and 
 birds which cannot be kept at home, and which 
 cannot be identified, have none of the sacredness 
 of property, and they will help themselves freely 
 to such creatures, just as they do now, all laws 
 notwithstanding. If we could look into the world 
 
62 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 again in the middle of the nineteenth century, 
 we should find farmers still complaining, the poor 
 still poaching, magistrates still filling the jails 
 with offenders against the game laws, and the 
 sympathy of the most numerous classes still with 
 the victims rather than the owners of the game." 
 
 " The law must be upheld, however/' declared 
 the squire. 
 
 " I would have law inviolate, and custom 
 revered," observed Mr. Isherwood, " and there- 
 fore I would have only laws that are practicable, 
 and customs that are just. No law will be found 
 practicable which endeavours to preserve such 
 mischievous animals as the Waltham deer in 
 an uninclosed forest, in an age when the sur- 
 rounding country is under tillage. You might 
 as well attempt to continue the race of lions and 
 bears in a country full of villages. In a little 
 while, not a lion or bear would be left, -under 
 any laws you could make ; though lion and bear 
 hunts were very fine things in their day; and 
 are so still, in their proper places." 
 
 " It would be very hard upon us sportsmen," 
 said the squire, " if you had your way." 
 
 " Time . and change are hard upon the sports- 
 man," replied Mr. Isherwood : " and they will 
 go on to be harder and harder till that order of 
 
TWO WALTHAM SQUIRES. 63 
 
 gentlemen find themselves obliged to seek their 
 sport only in places where it and its objects 
 injure nobody. Meantime, it is as well to remem- 
 ber that other people have their hardships too ; 
 as, for instance, the farmers here whose crops 
 help to feed the Waltham deer." 
 
 "What is the matter?" exclaimed the lady, 
 as the butler entered the room in a way very 
 unlike his usual quiet and decorous manner. 
 
 " If you would please to look out, Sir, from 
 the back door," said he to his master, " there is 
 a large fire somewhere not far off. I have sent 
 Joe to see and bring us word." 
 
 " A fire ! " sighed the lady. " God have mercy ! 
 Where will this end?" 
 
 The squire returned in an instant, all aghast. 
 The fire was in the direction of Mr. Isherwood's, 
 and certainly no further off. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 PRANK AND PANIC. 
 
 POLLY was this evening salting her new butter, 
 thinking the while somewhat soberly of the 
 strange disorder which had entered their house- 
 hold. She was persuaded that her father was 
 uneasy under it. He had spoken sharply to 
 Asher about his wildness, though the lad had 
 done nothing wild till his father led the way; 
 and the farmer had told her, three times over, 
 without the subject being in any way led to, 
 that in a few days he should have received 
 compensation for the expense he had been put 
 to by the deer, and then they must settle down, 
 and have no more irregular doings this winter. 
 Polly well knew that this expected money was 
 from the sale of the venison which had now for 
 three nights been sent off in large quantities to 
 London : and she hoped, full as earnestly as her 
 father, that the Blacks would now soon disband 
 for this time, and leave the district in peace. 
 
PRANK AND PANIC. 65 
 
 This night's poaching, she believed, was to be 
 the last; and there seemed some doubt whether 
 they would not to-night be met by some force 
 which would render it advisable for them to close 
 their enterprise. She wished that morning was 
 come. While so thinking, the door opened, and 
 she started. 
 
 " Don't be frightened, Miss Polly/' said the 
 man who entered, turning up the black crape 
 which covered Ins face. 
 
 " O ! Mr. Bob ! what brings you here?" 
 
 " Only that I am pretty well tired of my post, 
 and thought I should be better amused here. 
 Your quiet neighbour gives us no sport at all, 
 never tries to let fly so much as a little bird with 
 his message to my dad and the rest. Not a thing 
 have we seen more amusing than an old butler, or 
 a frightened housemaid, peeping out of an attic 
 window, to learn whether we were still there. 
 However, all is safe ; and we are likely to have 
 our night's sport undisturbed." 
 
 " I wish you would give it up," said Polly. 1 " I 
 am sure you have done and got quite enough for 
 this time." 
 
 " Why, how now, Miss Polly ? Who would 
 have looked for such a craven speech from you?" 
 
 " I have had enough of these doings, Mr. Bob, 
 
 VOL. II. F 
 
66 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 if you have not. I declare it quite tries my 
 spirits." And Polly's voice trembled. 
 
 "'Ah I now/' said Mr. Bob/ " this is what it is 
 to look on in any ticklish sport, instead of taking 
 part in it. I could cure you, Polly, in a minute 
 or two, of this odd new complaint of yours, 
 these blue devils; and I will, as soon as you 
 please." 
 
 r< I wish you would," said Polly ; " for I don't 
 like them at all." 
 
 " I wish I had you in the middle of the forest, 
 and you and I would poach at a nice rate." 
 
 "I! I poach!" 
 
 " Yes. I'll tell you. We would watch for a 
 fine fellow of a buck, coming out of a covert ; 
 coming out slowly, you know, and looking warily 
 about him as he goes. Then you should play on 
 your shepherd's pipe . . . Now, your laughing 
 shows how little you know about the matter. 
 There is nothing that fixes a deer so well as music. 
 You should play a soft note or two on your pipe ; 
 and he would stop, and listen a moment, and then 
 turn his large, soft, bright eye upon our covert : 
 and, the instant before he saw us, I should have 
 let fly, and there we should have him ! " 
 
 (f Oi cruel!" cried Polly. "To beguile him 
 with music, that you might take aim! Do you 
 
PRANK AND ^ANIC. . -6.7 
 
 think I would play the pipe in such a tricksy way 
 as that?" 
 
 "Well, then, we would change parts. You 
 should fire, and I would Avhistle. A whistle, if it 
 is soft and low, would do almost as well as a pipe. 
 Only you must promise not to make me laugh, 
 just at the critical moment. What hand are you 
 at a rifle, Miss Polly?" 
 
 " How can I tell till I try?" 
 " Come, then, let us try." 
 
 And Mr. Bob loaded his rifle, and called her 
 out to the front of the house. 
 
 "Stay; let me look out first," said Polly. 
 " Your gipsy brown is not enough without either 
 your cap or your crape. Suppose you put on my 
 cloak and bonnet." 
 
 " No, no. There is nobody in the way : and if 
 there were, two women rifle-shooting would bring 
 them up when they would think nothing of seeing 
 a man practising, at a time when the Blacks are 
 known to be out." 
 
 There was nobody at hand; and forth they 
 went. 
 
 " It is rather dark, to be sure," observed Mr. 
 
 Bob : " but give me a piece of white paper, two 
 
 inches square, and I will prick it up against yonder 
 
 elm, for a mark, There now ! That's right! 
 
 F 2 
 
68 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 You will do, I see. Don't be afraid ! The beauty 
 of a rifle for a woman's shooting is that it does not 
 bounce. Now for it I" 
 
 Polly hit the mark : and she was pleased ; for 
 she liked to try her hand at everything, and to do 
 everything well that she tried. She was conscious 
 of just so much accident about the matter, how- 
 ever, that she declined a second attempt, lest she 
 should lose her credit. 
 
 Mr. Bob was really about to propose her search- 
 ing for some kind of whistle or pipe, and going 
 out deer shooting with him, as a little snug private 
 venture, which might be made a joke of in case of 
 their being overtaken by any keeper who might 
 have courage to follow up the shot, when the atten- 
 tion of both was caught by the appearance of fire, 
 not very far off. 
 
 Mr. Bob muttered an oath, ran into the house, 
 put on his crape and his hat, and was gone. 
 
 Polly could not stay long behind. The fire 
 presently flared less; but it became a redder and 
 steadier burning. Where to seek her father and 
 brother she knew not : and there was not a neigh- 
 bour to whom she dared own this, except such as 
 she had reason" to suppose were with the Blacks. 
 The suspense was soon unendurable. She locked 
 the door, and ran at full speed, guided by the 
 
PRANK AND PANIC. 69 
 
 light of the fire, and soon by the shouts of a 
 crowd, mingled with the roar of flames. 
 
 " O ! thank God ! it is only the furze !" Cried 
 she, stopping at the turn of the lane, and laying 
 both hands on her throbbing heart. 
 
 It was a beautiful sight to her, relieved in mind 
 as she now was. The flames seemed to flit and 
 dance, like spirits, over the space of common in 
 front of her ; to flit and then alight, and shoot 
 up, and crackle and spread, and then make an- 
 other leap. Polly's heart leaped with them, and 
 she could not help calling out to an acquaintance 
 who was running past, 
 
 "A pretty fright I have had; and you too, I 
 dare say; and all because some silly boy has set 
 the furze on fire. I might have guessed what it 
 was. Well ! I shall not be so easily scared next 
 time." 
 
 "Why, come on, mistress!" cried the man, 
 beckoning as he ran. " It's catching Squire Isher- 
 wood's house, they say." 
 
 Again Polly flew, at her utmost speed. She 
 found enough to be alarmed at when she came in 
 full view of the scene. 
 
 The spread of the fire was terrible, leaping as it 
 did from the furze on the common to the fence of 
 Mr. Isherwood's kitchen garden ; from the fence 
 
70 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 to the wood pile ; from the wood pile to the doors 
 and roofs of the offices ; and thence to point after 
 point of the main building, till it was clear that 
 the whole must go. It was also fearful to see 
 how the country people came rushing down to the 
 scene of the fire, while the Waltham Blacks were 
 still in considerable numbers on the spot, though 
 many had stolen away, more careful of their own 
 safety than of Mr. Isherwood's property. It was 
 fearful to see her father, wholly forgetting his 
 blackened face and the risks he ran, toiling away 
 to put out the fire, and get his neighbours to help 
 him. He made them form a line from the pond 
 to the fire, and pass from hand to hand such 
 buckets as they had been able to obtain : and 
 there he stood, a Waltham Black confessed, in 
 the row of his yellow-faced neighbours, as the fire 
 shone equally upon them all. Yet more fearful 
 was it to see, through smoke and the darkness of 
 the night, fitfully lighted up by the fire, rank 
 beyond rank of horsemen approaching rapidly. 
 
 Polly did not stop for a second glance. She 
 rushed down among the crowd, and forced her 
 way with the strength of vehemence to where her 
 father stood. He either would not attend to her 
 prayers that he would come home, or go some- 
 where out of sight, or he could not hear her amidst 
 
PRANK AND PANIC. 71 
 
 the hubbub, the din of shouts, screams and roar- 
 ing of flames. But she distinctly heard him say, 
 as he pointed to the house-key which she still held 
 in her hand, 
 
 " Go you home, child ! You are wanted there. 
 Mr. Bob is hurt, and gone there. Go you home, 
 
 T *\r }} 
 JL od\ 
 
 She saw there was nothing else to be done; 
 and half frantic, home she ran. 
 
 When she burst into the house, she found it 
 already entered from the back. Mr. Bob was 
 lying along the settle by the hearth, and a la- 
 bourer's wife whom Asher had brought in from the 
 neighbourhood, had taken off his coat, and was 
 cutting open his waistcoat and shirt, to save him 
 pain. A falling beam had struck him on the 
 shoulder, and bruised him severely ; but it did not 
 appear that any bones were broken, though the 
 patient declared his belief that they all were. 
 Asher gave no help, till reproached by his sister 
 for his standing in a corner, as if asleep. When 
 he came .forward to the light, such was his ex- 
 pression of countenance, and his paleness, that his 
 sister left her patient for a moment, threw her 
 arms about his neck, and gave him a kiss which 
 brought him to salutary tears. 
 
 " Come, Asher," said the neighbour's wife, 
 
72 THE BISHOP'S PLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 "this is no time for crying. Do you go to the 
 squire's, and ask my lady for some medicine for a 
 sore bruise : and saj', you know ..." 
 
 Asher was snatching up his cap, eager to be 
 gone, when his sister said, 
 
 "Nonsense, Goody, to talk of sending to the 
 Squire's to-night ! I won't have anybody go. I 
 know very well what to do with this shoulder. We 
 will get it washed, and put the the the stranger 
 to-bed: and by that time you can go home to your 
 children, and my father will be in from the fire. 
 Will you please to tell us your name, stranger?" 
 
 " John Joker," groaned Mr. Bob, as if it was a 
 most melancholy piece of intelligence. 
 
 "I never heard the name in these parts," ob- 
 served the neighbour. " I suppose you be from a 
 distance." 
 
 " O yes ; from a place much nearer the sun than 
 this. Don't you see how brown my face is ?" 
 
 " Yes, just your face is brown, to be sure." 
 
 "Now, be quiet, and finish," said Polly, 
 peremptorily. 
 
 She was veiy glad to be rid of the neighbour 
 when Mr. Bob had been helped to bed. She 
 begged her patient to compose himself to sleep, if 
 possible. And eager she was that he should 
 sleep, that she might go down, and learn from 
 
PRANK AND PANIC. 73 
 
 Aslier how these disasters had happened. She 
 stood by the window, looking out, but as still as a 
 mouse, when the impatient breathings and mut- 
 terings of Mr. Bob became aggravated to a loud 
 groan. 
 
 " I am afraid you are very bad/' she observed. 
 
 " Bad indeed ! I am growing as stiff" as a church 
 steeple. And I have got a wedge in my shoulder- 
 joint. And, Miss Polly, I am afraid we are all 
 ruined." 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Bob, that is your worst pain, I 
 fancy. But don't think about that now, when 
 you can do no good." 
 
 " I don't think it is the worst pain : I cannot 
 admit that," said he with another groan. " I 
 would bear a good many more sins on this 
 shoulder, to have it in condition to bear anything. 
 Now it will bear nothing ; and it is more than I 
 can do to bear it." 
 
 " And I dare say," said Polly, " you could very- 
 well bear to have a few more Waltham men in 
 the scrape about the deer, if you were out of it, 
 and safe in London. That is the way with gentle- 
 men who like their pleasure, I know." 
 
 " Before you lay so much upon me, Miss Polly, 
 ask Asher who got us into this scrape about the 
 fire." 
 
74 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 The tone in which he said this made Polly rush 
 to the bed-side, and say, sinking on her knees, 
 
 " You do not mean to say it was Asher." 
 
 " It was Asher. He did not mean to fire the 
 house : but he is such a pranky imp ! He might 
 have known the house must catch, with the wind 
 in that quarter." 
 
 " But what did he do ? Who told you ? You 
 were not there." 
 
 " Plenty of the gang told me. They all know 
 it. It oozed out somehow from the house that 
 Squire Isherwood was not within. And it was 
 agreed that he could only just have got out, as 
 certainly not a mouse had left by daylight. Asher 
 and the other boys had got merry ; and they said 
 they would raise Squire Isherwood, if he was 
 hidden near. And Asher fired the furze." 
 
 Polly ran down stairs. Asher was again stand- 
 ing by the wall, now leaning his head on his arm. 
 
 "Asher, did you fire the furze?" asked his 
 sister, in a low and calm voice. 
 , " Yes : but I never thought of mischief to the 
 house." 
 
 "You must go, you must fly, now, this 
 moment, before people .return from the fire. I 
 will put up a few clothes, and I have a little 
 money by me." 
 
PRANK AND PANIC. 75 
 
 " I had rather stay, and meet everything." 
 
 " Had you ? If they would but remember how 
 young you are ! " said she, looking with tearful 
 eyes in his face. " But, Asher, they may hang 
 you at Winchester." 
 
 " Let them ! said he. 
 
 " No, no : better go away for a while. You 
 may come back, some day, and help father as he 
 grows old . . ." 
 
 A deadly doubt whether her father would grow 
 old by her side choked her voice. When she 
 could speak, she said in an imploring tone, 
 
 " O ! Asher, go ! that I may have you to look to 
 hereafter. I must have you out of danger." 
 
 "And where can I go? I do not know any 
 place, or any person away from here." 
 
 "You can but try. O ! I see. Try the person 
 in London who buys the venison. Tell him you 
 are one of those in a scrape about the venison. 
 For his own sake he will not give you up. For 
 his own sake he will be more likely to help you. 
 Mr. Bob will tell us where he lives in London." 
 
 Mr. Bob made an effort to scrawl a note to the 
 person in question ; and with this, a small bundle, 
 and a little money, Asher set off. 
 
 " Go round through the fields," said his sister, 
 " and do not strike the London road within three 
 
76 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 or four miles. And do not look so miserable when 
 daylight comes, or everybody you meet will see 
 there is something the matter. And O ! Asher, 
 do not get into lawless courses in London. We 
 were so happy . . " 
 
 She could not say more. 
 
 " It was the deer, and then Mr. Bob and his 
 company/' said Asher. 
 
 " Well ! there are no deer in London streets ; 
 and Mr. Bob, I suppose, will attend to his business, 
 when he goes up again. But there are always 
 lawless courses for those who have once begun; 
 and the London people, they say, are very ready 
 for mischievous pranks when they see such gen- 
 tlemen as Mr. Bob lead the way. Now go, 
 before my father comes home. Now go, dear 
 dear Asher ! " 
 
 Their father did not come home. The restless 
 and wretched daughter watched for him till day- 
 light, with too sure a foreboding that he would 
 never come home again. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ALL UP ! 
 
 POLLY was making some herb tea the next 
 morning, for her patient's breakfast, when the 
 Squire's lady entered, followed by Mrs. Betty with 
 a basket, covered with a white cloth. Polly's 
 heart sank at the sight. 
 
 " Bless me, child ! how you look ! " cried the 
 lady. " Is your sick guest dead ?" 
 
 " dear no, ma'am," said Polly, forcing a 
 laugh; "nor like to die. It is nothing." 
 
 Then, seeing that the lady was still looking 
 at her red eyes and pale face, she said she had 
 got her eyes full of smoke at the fire last night ; 
 and then had to sit up for her father; and very 
 tired she now was. 
 
 " And what time did your father get home, my 
 deai- ? " asked the lady. 
 
 Polly looked aside as she answered that she had 
 not exactly observed what the hour was. The 
 next moment, she met the eye of Mrs. Betty, so 
 fixed upon her as to make her cheeks more red 
 
78 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 than they had been pale before. Mrs. Betty then 
 kindly looked out of the window. 
 
 " It is the worst fire that has happened in this 
 district within the memory of this generation," 
 observed the lady. " Everything is gone, stacks, 
 stables, cow and horses, honse, library, furniture, 
 plate . . . . " 
 
 " Is Squire Isherwood ruined ? " asked Polly 
 faintly. 
 
 " No, child ; of course not. The county must 
 pay the damage. But he has lost what nothing 
 can pay him for; his old plate, and beautiful 
 pictures : and I, for my part, cannot help think- 
 ing of his mother's rare old china. But what he 
 feels most is the loss of his library. And yet, I 
 should not say that : for I am sure what he feels 
 most is that he should have enemies who could 
 wish to burn him in his own house." 
 
 " O, ma'am !" cried Polly, in unaffected horror. 
 " How can anybody say such a dreadful thing ? 
 Such a kind good gentleman as Squire Isherwood 
 is!" 
 
 " True, my dear. But what else can anybody 
 say or think ? He was a prisoner in his own 
 house, caught, and shut up there by the Waltham 
 Blacks : and there he was, to the best of their 
 belief, when they set fire to his house." 
 
ALL UP ! . 7$ 
 
 "And one man/' added Mrs. Betty, "was set 
 with a pitchfork in his hand, to pitch him back 
 into the flames, if he should try to escape/' 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it," said Polly. 
 " It is all bad enough, without people saying such 
 things. And Squire Isherwood did escape ?" 
 
 " In a providential way that they knew nothing 
 about," said the lady, nodding mysteriously. 
 
 " They knew it, depend upon it," protested 
 Polly. " It will all turn out an accident, you will 
 see : and bad enough it is, that way. They knew 
 Squire Isherwood was safe, depend upon it." 
 
 " One would think you knew it," observed Mrs. 
 Betty, who did not like being baulked of a tale of 
 atrocity. 
 
 " Not I ! " said Polly. " I did not know till 
 you came what had become of Squire Isherwood 
 at all." 
 
 " Well now, I wonder you did not ask your 
 father that, the first thing when he came in." 
 
 " My father would be sure to tell me, first 
 thing, if a hair of Squire Isherwood's head was 
 hurt," retorted Polly. 
 
 "Come, Betty, we must not lose time," said 
 her mistress. "We have our hands full to-day. 
 I will just step up, and see John Joker, Polly. If 
 it is really only a bruise, I have something here 
 
80 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 that will be sure to set him up. And then I will 
 look to your eyes." 
 
 After a few hasty attempts at fibbing, which 
 had no chance against the pertinacity of the lady, 
 Polly saw that she could do nothing but give her 
 patient warning who was coming. She therefore 
 ran up, to see, as she said, whether he was awake 
 yet ; and before she could get out her news, the 
 tap of the high heels was heard upon the stairs. 
 
 " I must leave him to his own wits," thought 
 Polly, as she re-entered the kitchen, having passed 
 the lady and her maid on the stairs. te I must 
 leave him to his own wits now. I am sure he has 
 driven us to the end of ours. I have none left to 
 help him with." 
 
 " John Joker," said the lady, drawing near the 
 bed, " I hear you are badly bruised." 
 
 Mr. Bob had, at the expense of a terrible 
 twinge, thrust his head into his gipsy woman's 
 cap, on hearing that his mother was coming to 
 see him. It was now too late to take it off again, 
 stiff as he was. 
 
 " O dear ! " said the lady, drawing back. 
 " This is not the person. Betty, this is somebody 
 else. Look into the next room, and see if John 
 Joker is there." 
 
 " There is nobody else, ma'am," said Betty, 
 
ALL UP ! 81 
 
 returning. " I think, ma'am, this is the person ; 
 perhaps with a wound on the head, ma'am, and a 
 woman's cap to keep the dressings on better/' 
 
 " Are you hurt on the head, John Joker ? " 
 
 " Yes, stand away ; don't come near me, I 
 can't bear a touch," whined the patient fretfully. 
 
 " In that case, I must see your tongue," ob- 
 served the lady. "It will not hurt you to put 
 out your tongue." 
 
 Her quick and decided hand turned down the 
 bed-clothes from the face in a moment. 
 
 She staggered a step back, and then sat down 
 suddenly on the bed. The next moment she said, 
 
 "You may leave the basket, Betty, and go 
 down stairs. And ah ! yes, you can step to 
 Daddy Green's, and hear how the old man's leg 
 is to-day." 
 
 " Why, ma'am," said Betty, " I was afraid you 
 had tripped against something that hurt you, 
 you popped down . . . . " 
 
 " Nonsense, Betty, go." 
 
 Almost before the door was closed, the lady 
 clasped the bed-post, and leaned her head and her 
 heaving bosom against it. Neither of the wretched 
 pair spoke for some moments. Bob broke the 
 silence. 
 
 " Mother, you take this too seriously." 
 
 VOL. II. G 
 
82 
 
 No reply but a smothered sob. 
 
 " Mother, I wish you would not take it so seri- 
 ously. I am very little hurt. That was all 
 nonsense about a wound in the head. I am 
 only bruised. And as for the rest, you know it is 
 the way, in these days, for young men to run down 
 into the country, now and then, for a little fun." 
 
 His mother turned her convulsed face towards 
 him, and he instantly hid his in the bed-clothes. 
 
 " Bob, tell me," said she, " are you one of the 
 Waltham Blacks ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother, I am." 
 
 There was another pause, when he said, 
 
 " I know all you would say. I .... " 
 
 " Not you ! " said his mother. " If you knew 
 a hundredth part of it, you would never have 
 brought us, or our wretched neighbours, to this 
 pass. You, who should know the law, you who 
 should know our neighbours, their ignorance, 
 their temptations, the horrible jeopardy the new 
 law places them in ; you . . . . " 
 
 " Stop, mother . . Stop O ! mother 
 
 He appeared to be choking. She hastened to 
 him, as a bird flits at the plaint of its young. She 
 raised his head. He turned his face upon her 
 bosom, and wept till her muslin handkerchief was 
 wet through and through with his tears. 
 
ALL UP ! 33 
 
 " My poor son ! You did not think to have 
 ever been so unhappy. What a light-hearted 
 boy you were ! " 
 
 " Mother, I wish I was dead." 
 
 " That is a cowardly wish. Pray that you may 
 be well and strong soon, and endeavour your 
 utmost to be so, that you may try whether any- 
 thing can be done for your poor companions who 
 lie under peril of death." 
 
 " Alas ! what can I or any one do ? The law 
 is clear ; the Act was passed to meet this very 
 case. I myself am in the greatest peril of all, if 
 the facts were known." 
 
 He felt his mother's whole frame shudder as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " Knowing this, how could you ....?" 
 
 " Why, mother, there is something in the law- 
 lessness of the present time, something to 
 account for my madness. Every young man I 
 know, and many an one who is not young, is for 
 ever looking about for occasions of frolic : and 
 this fashion of frolic is the hardest in the world 
 for one to resist. And then, there never was a 
 time, I suppose, when men full of spirits and 
 sport could abstain from the pursuit of wild 
 animals. From the king to the peasant boy, the 
 propensity is so strong, that everything has been 
 G 2 
 
84 
 
 sacrificed to it. And it is not likely that such a 
 propensity should now, in our lawless times, be for 
 the first time governable." 
 
 " With this dreadful Black Act staring all men 
 in the face ! " sighed his mother. 
 
 " If it had not been so dreadful, it would have 
 been more regarded. I, a law-student, could 
 never till this moment practically feel and know 
 that men would be hanged for shooting deer in 
 an open place, with their faces blacked, or wear- 
 ing women's clothes. I could not for a moment 
 feel that such a fate could overtake me for such 
 an offence : and if I could not, how should the 
 country-people stop to be wise, with the deer 
 before their eyes, feeding upon their corn ? ! 
 mother, it may be, and it is, a sin for us 
 to go out against the deer : but it is, I am 
 sure, a far deeper sin to legislate so murderously 
 against such a propensity, while the deer are left 
 roaming abroad and mischievous, so as to make 
 obedience too hard to the people against whom 
 the law is aimed. I say nothing for myself. I 
 shall never forgive myself; nor ask any but God 
 to forgive me. But I will ever say that every 
 Waltham man, who suffers for this business, is 
 murdered by act of Parliament." 
 
 " Then, my son, your duty is clear. Preserve 
 
ALL UP ! 85 
 
 X 
 
 yourself by care and self-command, to see if any- 
 thing can be done for the rescue of these poor 
 culprits. I will go, and try my small powers of 
 persuasion with those who know more, and can 
 reason better than 1" 
 
 " Do ! bless you, mother, go, and speak from 
 the very depth of your kind heart." 
 
 " I shall be glad to have something useful to 
 do while I must not be with you. For your 
 safety, Bob, it is absolutely necessary that I 
 should come here no more than if you were a sick 
 stranger ; if, indeed, it is safe to come at all. O ! 
 that you were in London ! Is there no way ? " 
 
 " Plan some way of having me carried there, 
 mother. I shall never get better here, with you 
 so near, but separated from me ; and my father, 
 I fear, so harsh. . . ." 
 
 " Ah ! that is hopeless," sighed the lady. 
 te Your father thinks it his duty to pursue these 
 people to the gallows. But Mr. Isherwood. . " 
 
 " Though he has lost everything he cared for," 
 said Bob, with an agonised countenance. "But 
 he is generous." 
 
 " He is more than generous ; he is just," said 
 the lady. " And I know he condemns the Black 
 Act, as far as it relates to the Waltham deer. But, 
 as to the firing of his house. . . ." 
 
 " That was accident, mother." 
 
86 THE BISHOP'S FLOCK AND HERD. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " It was, I assure you. An idle boy of the 
 gang fired the furze, never thinking of the wind, 
 nor of any dwelling. If you would bring Mr. 
 Isherwood here, I would convince him of it." 
 
 " I dare not, Bob. I will bring nobody here. 
 But I will see Mr. Isherwood, and then go to the 
 bishop." 
 
 " Do, mother. Lose not a moment." 
 
 She had risen to go. 
 
 " Never mind me ! " said Bob, earnestly. " Do 
 not upset yourself with saying another word to 
 me. And do not come again, mother. Let us 
 not meet again till till O ! I know not when ! " 
 
 She gave him a glance which he felt no time 
 or events would efface from his heart, and left 
 the room. 
 
 Polly stood at the foot of the stairs, pale and 
 shrunken as by a month's illness. She looked 
 wistfully at the lady, and merely whispered 
 
 " My father and your son. . . ." 
 
 " Is your father in danger ? " 
 
 (e Carried to Winchester jail, Mrs. Betty says. 
 ..." She could utter no more. 
 
 " Now, God help us, for two wretched beings as 
 ever lived on his earth ! " wept the lady. " Polly, 
 I will strain every nerve for your father. . . ." 
 
ALL UP ! 87 
 
 " You will? Then thank God ! " cried Polly. 
 
 " I will, I will indeed : but O ! Polly, guard 
 my poor boy ! Never leave the house ! Never 
 unbar this door ! Never let neighbour, or the 
 dearest friend you have in the world, know that 
 you have any one in the house. Cannot you 
 shut up the house, as if you were gone away ? " 
 
 "I will, this minute. But the beasts the 
 cows and the pigs. . . ." 
 
 "Leave that to me. Shut up the house, and 
 answer to no knock whatever till I send in the 
 night, (I cannot yet say what night ) to have 
 my son carried to London. Then you must come 
 to my house, Polly." 
 
 They arranged the signal by which the lady's 
 messenger might be known ; and then the lady 
 caught up Betty's basket, and hastened out lest 
 Mrs. Betty herself should appear. 
 
 Once more, however, the harassed mother 
 turned back, to empty her purse upon the table. 
 Then, she cast her arm round Polly's neck, and 
 strained her to her bosom, saying 
 
 " Save him hide him and save him now, and 
 I will take care of you and cherish you, as long 
 as you live ! " 
 
 " I will do all I can," said Polly ; " but I don't 
 care what becomes of me." 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 MR. BOB was conveyed away, in the course of 
 two or three nights, in safety, but at a cost of 
 anxiety and terror which turned his mother's hair 
 white, and furrowed her face, so as to excite the 
 wonder of her neighbours, and cause mysterious 
 whispers at a time when every one had enough of 
 news to tell aloud to all he met. Mr. Bob became 
 a capital lawyer ; but he lost all his fine spirits, 
 and turned out by no means the genial character 
 which everybody had expected from the sprightli- 
 ness of his youth. His father stood in great awe 
 of him, and grew less severe in his magisterial 
 decisions, and less peremptory in the manner of 
 giving them, even in game cases, and when his 
 son was not at his elbow, than he had ever been 
 before Mr. Bob was a lawyer. 
 
 Mr. Bob escaped. But all else connected with 
 the transactions of our story was as black and 
 dreary as the law which ordered the catastrophe. 
 Legal vengeance had full play, in retribution 
 
CONCLUSION. 89 
 
 for the deeds of that brief season. It was the 
 extreme severity of the law which caused the 
 organization of so formidable a band : it was the 
 extent and force of this band and its organization 
 which caused the magistrates to be passive, and 
 the officers of justice supine in their function. 
 And now that the band was broken up, the re- 
 action was violent, and a cruel law was enforced 
 in a vindictive spirit. Every magistrate who 
 delighted in game was eager to see poachers 
 punished. Every constable who had seen pass 
 him in the streets culprits against whom he had 
 warrants in his pocket which he dared not exe- 
 cute, was consoled when he saw them and their 
 comrades in irons or at the bar. The Waltham 
 Blacks were a fallen foe, or at first supposed to 
 be so; and those of them who were caught had 
 no mercy to expect. As they passed through the 
 streets of Winchester in companies, passed from 
 the jail to the gallows, they could only hope 
 that their comrades yet at large would take 
 warning, and let the game alone. 
 
 It might have been thought that the warning 
 was abundant ; for the law was sufficiently 
 preached and expounded by the spectacle of 
 the hangings. It was pretty well known hence- 
 forward that " to appear armed in any inclosed 
 
90 
 
 forest or place where deer are usually kept, or 
 in any warren for hares and conies, or in any high 
 road, open heath, common or down, by day or 
 night, with faces blacked or otherwise disguised, 
 or (being so disguised) to hunt, wound, kill or 
 steal any deer, to rob a warren, or to steal fish, 
 or to procure by gift or promise of reward any 
 person to join them in such unlawful act, is felony 
 without benefit of clergy." That such was the 
 law, all were reminded who passed farmer Ras- 
 brook's place, during the years that it stood 
 vacant, and who sighed to think that that man, 
 though not wise, should have died on the gallows, 
 that his spirited boy should have disappeared, 
 and his gay daughter Polly should never have 
 been seen to smile since the night of the fire at 
 Mr. Isherwood's. Instead of the merry laugh 
 which might formerly be heard from the farm at 
 any hour of the day, there was now only the 
 ominous cry of the owl from the roof- tree. Instead 
 of busy figures which used to trip from kitchen to 
 dairy, and from dairy to poults-yard, there was 
 now a blank solitude, unless those told the truth 
 who said that farmer Rasbrook's ghost trailed 
 about the premises at night, groaning bitter 
 groans, and appearing to be searching for his 
 children.. These things were enough to prevent 
 
CONCLUSION. 91 
 
 any one taking the farm ; and one would have 
 thought they would be sufficient to deter men 
 from following the deer : but they were not. The 
 poaching in the forest went on till there were no 
 deer left to make it worth while. 
 
 Some of the neighbouring gentry were, on their 
 part, no less slow to learn. When Bishop Hoadley 
 was translated to . Winchester, he was urged to 
 restock the forest. 
 
 " No/' said he, " I think we have had mischief 
 enough already from the Waltham deer." 
 
HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PROVOKING ONE ANOTHER. 
 
 As the mail-coach drew up before the Rampant 
 Horse, in a village in the West of England, some 
 nine years before the first English railway was 
 opened, the guard called out to the awaiting porter, 
 
 " Is Homer here?" 
 
 (< Just come." 
 
 C( All right. Here I stop, then. FnTnot well. 
 I'm going to stop. I mind my own business, as 
 I say : and let other people mind theirs." 
 
 When the other guard had taken his place, 
 and the mail was out of sight, the porter said to 
 the stout and jolly invalid, 
 
 "What ails ye now?" 
 
 " I I have not been very prudent, you see. I 
 
96 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 took a bottle of porter upon something else it 
 had no business with, and I feel like bursting. 
 Curse me if 'tis not like a July day, quite un- 
 seasonable/' said he, wiping his face and forehead. 
 " But come now, to business ! I mind my 
 own business, as I say; and let others look to 
 theirs. I want to see Tom Tippet. Do you go 
 after him ; and meantime I'll speak to Lane here." 
 
 " O ay ! I see," said the porter, with a nod. 
 And off he went, to find Tom Tippet, while the 
 guard plunged immediately into close consulta- 
 tion with Lane, the landlord of the Rampant 
 Horse. 
 
 When little Tom Tippet came up the street, as 
 fast as his very short legs would bring him, the 
 guard and landlord separated with nods of intelli- 
 gence, and Tippet was desired to follow the guard 
 into a private room. 
 
 There, while the guard puffed and groaned, 
 and unbuttoned coat and waistcoat, on account of 
 what he called the extreme heat, which was im- 
 perceptible to everybody else, Tippet stood await- 
 ing his communications, with a look as bright as 
 that of a schoolboy expecting the announcement 
 of a holiday. 
 
 " So you have orders for us/' he said, rubbing 
 his hands. " Let us hear." 
 
PROVOKING ONE ANOTHER. 97 
 
 " Yes/' said the guard, seating himself. " Plenty 
 of orders, as far as that goes. You know the 
 Lord Mayor's day is coming on, and the gentry 
 are getting back to town. Ludlam does not 
 know which way to turn himself for game ; and 
 he says every other poulterer in London complains 
 the same." 
 
 Where 'a the difficulty?" said Tippet. " Here 
 is a set of brave fellows of us, the same as last 
 year." 
 
 " Why, man, 'tis the law ; the new law. It is 
 seven years' transportation now for men to go after 
 game at night in any way whatever. And there 
 is not a gentleman's steward or butler in London 
 that is not as peremptory as the king with the 
 poulterers about having game, threatening to 
 buy nothing if they cannot depend on game for 
 the table, for the season." 
 
 "Well, I don't know," said Tippet. " We are 
 a set of brave fellows here, you know, and game 
 as plentiful as ever. I don't see that we need 
 trouble our heads to do any differently from what 
 Ave have alwaj r s done. I'll ask farmer Rush." 
 
 <e As you please about that. I mind my own 
 business, as I say; and my business is to see 
 what game can be got for Lord Mayor's Day. 
 Let others mind theirs. That's what I say." 
 
 VOL. II. H 
 
98 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 " I will bring Rush, and another or two, shall 
 I ? . What are the prices offered ? " 
 
 "O, very good. I have got them all in my 
 head, to tell the right folks at the right time.''' 
 
 Tippet moved off, somewhat offended at not 
 being treated as a principal in an affair in which 
 he was always a brisk and eager mover. 
 
 When he returned in the evening with farmer 
 Rush, Noyse the joiner, and farmer Wells's sons 
 Tim and Solomon, the guard was just yawning 
 and stretching himself after a heavy sleep, which 
 he complained had not cooled him much. So he 
 called for some cold rum and milk before proceed- 
 ing to business. 
 
 He was rather annoyed to find that the rest of 
 the company differed from Tippet in dwelling 
 more on the great aggravation of the law than 011 
 the largeness of the order he brought, and the 
 goodness of the prices offered. 
 
 " It is taking too much out of us altogether/' 
 declared Solomon Wells. " We lost fifty-pounds 
 worth of our crops this very season, in the two 
 fields next the Colonel's and Miss Fermor's 
 covers ; and . . . . " 
 
 " And the vetches were lost/' his brother put 
 in. " Father says one hundred and twenty pounds 
 would not cover our losses from the game this 
 
PROVOKING ONE ANOTHER. 99 
 
 season. And if the colonel's steward and the 
 lady's will not take a word of notice of our com- 
 plaints, they can hardly wonder if we make up 
 what we can out of the game that we have fed. 
 I say that, in reason, it is more our game than 
 theirs. We feed it ; and it does little more with 
 them than roost upon their trees, and couch in 
 their covers.-" 
 
 " The law was too severe before/' said farmer 
 Rush : " and now transportation is more than 
 men will bear to hear of. No man is more pleased 
 than I am to see gentlemen enjoy themselves in 
 sport when they do not encroach too much upon 
 their neighbours. But to see a woman like 
 Henrietta Fermor keeping up such a head of 
 game as she does, damaging every field and gar- 
 den round, for her gamekeepers and a strange 
 gentleman or two to shoot, is what I never liked 
 to see. It was but a small comfort that we took 
 a handful now and then, a trifle not worth men- 
 tioning in comparison of what we had fed . . . . " 
 
 "Fed," declared Tim Wells, " just the same, 
 my father says, as if her pheasants and hares had 
 supped on our crown pieces." 
 
 "It was a small comfort/' resumed Rush, "to get 
 back a trifle of our vetches and wheat in the shape 
 of Henrietta Fermor's pheasants and hares. And 
 H 2 
 
100 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 now, the law makes that a matter for transporta- 
 tion ! It won't and it shan't be borne." 
 
 " I mind my own business/' said the guard ; 
 " and, as I say, other people must mind theirs. 
 I have nothing to do with the law. But what am 
 I to say to Ludlam ? That is my business." 
 
 " O ! he shall have the game, of course/' said 
 Rush. "Be quiet, Tippet. It is no such merry 
 matter, I can tell you. If you get transported, 
 what is to become of your old mother ? " 
 
 " O" said Tippet, lightly, " I might as well say 
 if you get transported, what is to become of your 
 old father ? and your wife and children into the 
 bargain ? You know it will never come to that." 
 
 " I know it never shall come to that, in these 
 parts, if we in these parts declare our minds like 
 men." 
 
 " How ? " asked more than one voice. 
 
 " That is what we have to consider." 
 
 And Rush rested his head on his hands. 
 
 No one could suggest any method of declaring 
 his mind which could be entertained for a 
 moment. The tenants of Colonel North and 
 Miss Fermor were sure of being turned out of 
 their farms if they opened their lips against game 
 and game laws. Rush was in the same predica- 
 ment ; and his living would be probably forfeited 
 
PROVOKING ONE ANOTHER. 101 
 
 by any freedom of opinion on his part about this 
 or any other new Act obtained by country gentle- 
 men. The others present were tradesmen, partly 
 dependent on the patronage of the two great 
 houses in the neighbourhood. 
 
 " Well, I don't see/' said the guard, " as to 
 this "speaking your minds, how you are to 
 manage it : but, as I say, I mind my own 
 business . . . . " 
 
 " And this is your business, if it is anybody's/' 
 declared Tim Wells. " How are you to get your 
 fees from Ludlam and other poulterers in town, 
 if the law works to prevent game being got ? " 
 
 " Don't think I need to be told that, Tim. I 
 know my own business. Never tell me there will 
 be no game. Eh ! Rush ? " 
 
 " There will always be game," Rush declared. 
 " While it is wanted and paid for, it will always 
 be got, one way or another. The laws make no 
 difference as to that. The gentry keep their 
 game no better for any laws like this new one ; 
 and we will not be the worse for such." 
 
 " How will you manage that ? " 
 
 " If they will not give us opportunity to speak 
 out like men, and we have none to speak for us 
 where the law-makers are all on one side, we must 
 speak the only way we can. We must frighten 
 these gentry." 
 
102 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 " And the lady ?" asked Tippet. 
 
 No one answered; for every man of them 
 felt that there was something not very manly in 
 threatening a woman ; and one who could have 
 no more to do with law-making than themselves. 
 
 Rush probably divined what was in the minds 
 of his companions ; for he observed, in an under- 
 tone, that Miss Fermor had more influence in 
 sending the colonel to Parliament than almost 
 any other person. It did not signify whether she 
 had a vote or not. And as for this matter, she 
 would come to no harm, and need not think of 
 harm, if she did not set to work to send her 
 neighbours to Botany Bay. 
 
 After much consultation, a measure was agreed 
 on. The bell was rung, paper, pen and ink 
 brought, and Rush, being the best penman pre- 
 sent, began to write. Some one proposed to let 
 lawyer Bunney into the secret, for the advantage 
 of a better style. But, though Rush believed 
 Bunney would be sufficiently safe, he saw no par- 
 ticular occasion for referring to him now. They 
 had sense enough among them to draw up a 
 handbill. 
 
 te As I say," observed the guard, yawning, 
 when a folded paper was held out to him by 
 Rush, " people must mind their own business, 
 
PROVOKING ONE ANOTHER. 103 
 
 as I mind mine. I have told you the law, as it 
 was told to me , . . . " 
 
 " I knew it before/' said Rush. 
 
 " And you best know your own risks/' pursued 
 the guard. " I mind my own business ; and that 
 is to give the orders for the game/' 
 
 " And to get our handbill printed/' said 
 Solomon Wells. " You know a safe fellow that 
 will print it, do you ? " 
 
 " That is my business, trust me. You shall 
 have it before this time on Thursday, depend 
 upon it. Only do one of you be waiting when 
 the mail comes up on Thursday, and see if I don't 
 know how to get the business done." 
 
 "Address the parcel to me/' said Rush. 
 
 " Or to me/' interposed Tippet. " I am in slack 
 work now, and I can undertake it." 
 
 " Ay, Tippet : you are the fellow to distribute 
 it," said Rush. " You can get into all manner of 
 places where a bigger man couldn't." 
 
 Tippet was not well pleased at this last remark : 
 but Tim Wells set all right by observing that 
 Tippet was so clever, he would keep out of scrapes 
 where another man couldn't. 
 
 Rush nodded all round, and went out and the 
 rest dropped off, leaving the guard to hope that 
 he had done his business pretty well, for this day. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 WISE IN CONCEIT. 
 
 ON the next Friday morning, Colonel North 
 entered his breakfast room at the Hall, reading a 
 handbill, which he threw down before the Rev. 
 Mr. Dancaster, one of the party of guests now 
 dispersed about the apartment, some of whom 
 were breakfasting, some reading the newspapers, 
 some watching the weather. 
 
 " You see," observed the colonel to the 
 clergyman. 
 
 " This is horrible ! " exclaimed the clergyman. 
 
 " Nothing more than is expected from that 
 sort of people by those who know them as well as 
 I do," said the colonel, beginning his breakfast. 
 
 Some few of the guests cast a look of inquiry 
 towards the handbill. It circulated through the 
 company. One had seen it yesterday : another 
 had heard of it. After glancing at it, most 
 returned to their newspaper or their breakfast. 
 
 The handbill was as follows : 
 
 ".TAKE NOTICE. We have lately heard and 
 
WISE IN CONCEIT. 105 
 
 seen that there is an Act passed, that whatever 
 poacher is caught destroying the Game., is to be 
 transported for Seven Years. 
 
 This is English liberty. 
 
 Now do we swear to each other, that the first 
 of our company that this law is inflicted on, that 
 there shall not one gentleman's seat in our 
 country escape the rage of fire. We are nine in 
 number; and we will burn every gentleman's 
 house of note. The first that impeaches shall be 
 shot. We have sworn not to impeach. You may 
 think it a threat, but they will find it reality. 
 The Game Laws were too severe before. The 
 Lord of all men sent these animals for the peasant 
 as well as the prince/' 
 
 " This is horrible ! " again exclaimed Mr. 
 Dancaster. " What a state of society are we in \" 
 
 "You see/' observed the colonel, "what notions 
 of property exist among our neighbours. If we 
 were to give way on one point, about any one 
 kind of property, you see how safe any other 
 would be. The moment we effectually assert our 
 right to our game, these fellows talk of burning 
 our houses." 
 
 Some one wondered whether they would really 
 do it. Two or three said that fellows desperate 
 
106 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 enough to poach, and to send about such a 
 hand-bill, would make no great difficulty of setting 
 fire to a house. The colonel saw in some faces a 
 desire to know what he meant to do. He helped 
 himself to some cold pheasant at a side-table, rang 
 the bell, and resumed his seat. 
 
 (f I shall meet them with vigorous measures, of 
 course/' he said, " as every man of property is 
 bound to do in such cases. Not that I think 
 any house will be burned. But it must not be 
 my fault " 
 
 Here the butler appeared, and was desired to 
 send for the head gamekeeper immediately : when 
 the colonel proceeded. 
 
 f( It must not be my fault if any mischief is 
 done, if a partridge is shot through the insubor- 
 dination of my neighbours. I shall meet them 
 with vigorous measures/'' 
 
 " I think you are right there/' said Lord A. 
 " This is not a time to yield anything/' 
 
 " I have no idea of yielding at any time/' said 
 the colonel. "There is nothing that we are called 
 upon to yield. The law is clear, and must be 
 upheld : for nobody would think, I suppose, of 
 allowing the poor to choose what laws they will 
 have and obey, and what shall be done away with 
 at their desire." 
 
WISE IN CONCEIT. 107 
 
 " And if these nine men had their own way 
 with the game/' observed Lord A., " they might 
 find themselves the worse. Besides the right 
 that gentlemen have to their own sports and 
 pleasures, supported by their own money, these 
 pleasures are, in this instance, a great privilege to 
 their poor neighbours/" 
 
 " Why yes," observed Squire Dixon : " we 
 should all find ourselves rather dull, down to 
 the village children, if there was an end to 
 sporting here. I agree with the colonel in enjoy- 
 ing the merry faces we meet when we are out 
 coursing, and the pleased zeal of the farmers 
 when they welcome us to our pheasant-shooting 
 in their fields. On a brisk December day, out 
 they come, smiling and proud, with their pork 
 pies and strong ale ; I always feel that kind of 
 mutual understanding very pleasant, and ex- 
 tremely good for the people." 
 
 " One of the prettiest sights," said Captain 
 Collet, "is when the colonel drops a hare at a 
 cottage door. One likes to think of the treat it 
 is to the poor souls, a hare smoking on their 
 table." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Lord A., " these peasants do not 
 know their own interest when they set themselves 
 against sporting arrangements." 
 
108 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 " Why, as to the hare on the table," observed 
 Mr. Sprechen, a lawyer of the neighbourhood 
 who had come up to breakfast, " I doubt whether 
 you would make much way with that argument, 
 or get much gratitude for the gift. The question 
 is whether the cottager waits for the savoury hare 
 till the colonel drops one at his door. If he sees 
 twenty hares sitting in the next field at sundown, 
 or finds three or four taking a bite at his own 
 little garden produce when he comes out in the 
 morning, it is hardly likely that he will wait for 
 a hare dinner till the colonel gives it him." 
 
 "Why, indeed," said the clergyman, "we can 
 hardly wonder at his eating up that which he 
 finds eating up him. But I hope .... I should 
 think " 
 
 "That," said the colonel, "is an incidental 
 matter. We have to wink at a few trifles of that 
 sort, when we cannot prevent them. If there 
 were nothing worse than that, no one would care. 
 But every transgression leads on to something 
 worse. Every man that has committed one such 
 act of poaching as even that which you allude to 
 is led on in guilt, till it comes to this," 
 pointing to the handbill. "Wo be to them, if 
 they begin with snaring hares in their own gar- 
 dens, and end with disgusting gentlemen with 
 
WISE IN CONCEIT. 109 
 
 living in the country ! They would repent too 
 late then/' 
 
 " The continent being open now/' observed the 
 young captain, " and Paris and Vienna so attrac- 
 tive, these people would be wise to offer every 
 inducement to their country gentlemen to live on 
 their own estates/' 
 
 "Poor wretches/' said Lord A, "what should 
 they know about Paris and Vienna?" 
 
 " They know perhaps that there is a world out- 
 side of their village ; and it might occur to them 
 that their great neighbours will stay away and 
 amuse themselves, if there is not game enough to 
 leave them anything to do at home." 
 
 " It would be a pity/' observed the colonel, " if 
 they were to find this out first by seeing the house 
 shut up, and the stables and kennels empty. It 
 is very likely that they may not be able to value 
 the advantage of the residence of the gentry till 
 they lose it. But it is our business to take better 
 care of them than they can take of themselves, 
 and to stop the beginnings of mischief. On this 
 ground, the smallest poaching offences ought to 
 be strictly dealt with, for the culprit's own sake, 
 and that of his neighbours." 
 
 "And as for such an outbreak as this," said 
 Mr. Dancaster, " you will, I hope, put forth all 
 
110 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 your energy, Colonel North ; meet boldly such a 
 demonstration." 
 
 "Of course I shall. .. And it will be no very 
 difficult matter. These nine, or any ninety-nine 
 poachers ma^ ^ ve us trouble and annoyance ; but 
 they can be no match for us." 
 
 "I hope we shall find it so/' observed Mr. 
 Sprechen ; " but I was in a place last week where 
 they have given such extreme trouble that they 
 now carry matters pretty much their own way." 
 
 " That is scandalous !" exclaimed Mr. Dancas- 
 ter. " There is an end of all security, of all uses 
 of law and property, where such violations of 
 both are permitted." 
 
 " It could only happen," said the colonel, finish- 
 ing his breakfast, " where the gentry and magis- 
 trates are not up to their duty." 
 
 " Are the magistrates supine, Mr. Sprechen, in 
 the place you speak of?" inquired Mr. Dancaster. 
 
 " Why, I cannot say they are. They appear to 
 be extremely anxious on the subject : but they do 
 not know what course to take/' 
 
 " Ah ! that is the way," pronounced the colonel. 
 " Supineness is bad enough ; but there is some- 
 thing worse; and that is the weak and offensive 
 compassion, or timidity, or whatever you like to 
 call it, which treats tenderly this species of theft 
 
WISE IN CONCEIT. Ill 
 
 and trespass, and so allures men on to thoughts of 
 burning down our houses. We discountenance 
 here all such supineness and timidity." 
 
 " It is a singular fact," observed Mr. Sprechen, 
 " that it is here, and not under a supine magis- 
 tracy, that this handbill has come out." 
 
 " I do not see that," replied the colonel. "Under 
 a supine magistracy, the poachers know they have 
 not to dread the execution of the law. They can 
 get what they want without threats." 
 
 The arrival of the head gamekeeper being 
 announced, the colonel desired his guests to 
 arrange the pleasures of the morning as they liked, 
 telling them when and where' he was going to 
 ride, that any who pleased might accompany him. 
 He took up the handbill, and went to speak to 
 that trusty personage, Graham, the head of the 
 game department. 
 
 As the colonel and his party were returning 
 from their ride, they met Miss Fermor driving her 
 pony phaeton, accompanied by her friend and 
 domestic companion, Miss Wright. Miss Fermor 
 eagerly greeted the party, and stopped to ask the 
 colonel whether he had seen the handbill. 
 
 " Graham tells me," said the colonel, " that it 
 was found this morning under every knocker in 
 
112 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 the village and neighbourhood ; and passed under 
 every door which had no knocker. The wretches 
 are determined to give us full notice. No less 
 than four of the bills were left oh my premises." 
 
 " What ought one to do ?" asked Miss Fermor. 
 
 " If you mean to ask what I have done/' replied 
 the colonel, " I have taken good care that nobody 
 can come up to fire my house, barns or stacks. I 
 have ordered Graham to set spring-guns again. 
 He is to have the notice boards repainted, and set 
 up before to-morrow night." 
 
 " I did that once, by your advice, you know," 
 said Miss Fermor, " and the boards all disappeared 
 the first night." 
 
 " That is easily provided against," said the colo- 
 nel. " Set your guns to guard your notice-boards, 
 as well as your game, and they will not be touched. 
 The fact spreads. Before night, every body will 
 know how your boards are protected; and they 
 will not be touched. At least, that is what I am 
 doing." 
 
 " And indeed," said Mr. Dancaster to the lady, 
 " it seems to me quite right, high time. . I was 
 really never aware till this morning, it seems to 
 have burst upon me, how necessary it is to use 
 vigorous measures, how wrong it is to be supine 
 in such a state of things." 
 
WISE IN CONCEIT. 113 
 
 " Then," said Miss Fermor to the colonel, " I 
 suppose I had better desire my people to act in 
 concert with yours." 
 
 " By all means, if you think proper." 
 
 " I will desire Mitchelson to consult with 
 Graham,, shall I? and do whatever Graham 
 does." 
 
 The matter was settled. The lady touched her 
 ponies with the lash, received the gentlemen's 
 bows, and drove on. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 MAN NOT BETTER THAN THE FOWLS. 
 
 " WHAT has happened to Jem, I wonder/' said 
 Harriet Hayward to her sister Anne, on the after- 
 noon of this day. f( He has been whistling, these 
 two hours, just as if he was merry/' 
 
 " And he told me to get some candles/' said 
 Anne, " because he would be wanting to work in 
 the shed after dark. Perhaps he has got a good 
 job." 
 
 " Why, that seems unlikely, at this season. I 
 am afraid he is going to waste his paint and his 
 time on another fancy signboard." 
 
 "What a pity that is!" observed Anne. "I 
 wish we could find something about the house 
 that wants painting. I'll look about, if you will 
 give him a peep in the shed. There goes his 
 whistle again ! " 
 
 Harriet soon came running back with news that 
 their brother had reason for his merry whistle. 
 The colonel's head-keeper had given him a good 
 
MAN NOT- BETTER THAN THE FOWLS. 115 
 
 job. He was to repaint the notice boards about 
 the spring-guns. He would have to sit up all 
 night, unless he called in the help of his rival over 
 the way, which he was resolved not to do. The 
 boards must be up, or as many as possible of them, 
 by daylight to-morrow, weather permitting. 
 
 " Now, I wish it may rain hard all to-morrow/' 
 cried Anne; "such rain as that nobody would 
 think of putting fresh paint out of doors. Jem 
 will wear himself out with the work, and sink as 
 low as ever afterwards." 
 
 As there was every prospect of a fine day to- 
 morrow, however, the sisters prevailed on their 
 brother to let them try to help him. He admitted 
 them to the shed when the whole village was gone 
 to rest; and he owned that they gave him no 
 small assistance. Yet he turned them out in 
 haste when Noyse the joiner called on him very 
 early in the morning : though Noyse, who was 
 soon to be married to Anne, would not have 
 admired his betrothed the less for seeing her 
 helping her brother. So thought the sisters; 
 but Noyse himself seemed to have no objection 
 to their being dismissed. 
 
 It was not long before they heard Tippet's voice 
 and laugh in the shed; and then the three men 
 went out together. 
 
 i 2 
 
116 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 " I am glad/' said Harriet, " that they have got 
 Jem out for a mouthful of fresh air. I'll just step 
 into the shed, and finish what I was about, while 
 he is away." 
 
 But in this she was baffled. She could not find 
 the large paint-pot, out of which she wanted some 
 black paint. It had stood there, quite full, an 
 hour ago ; and now she could nowhere see it. 
 
 Jem Hayward was soon in higher spirits still; 
 for, by breakfast-time he had received an order 
 from Miss Fermor's gamekeepers for a large set 
 of boards with " MANTRAPS AND SPRING GUNS 
 SET HERE," upon them. Between the putting up 
 of the colonel's, and the preparation of Miss Fer- 
 mor's boards, the village was busy all this day. 
 Orders had been given that many hands should be 
 employed, not only because the great proprietors 
 were anxious to have the thing done, but because 
 they wished every person in the district to know 
 that they were in earnest, that spring-guns were 
 actually to be set, and, among other places, so as 
 to protect the notice boards. 
 
 Everybody in the neighbourhood did know 
 these facts. Nevertheless, just after midnight, 
 this very first night, the boards were in course of 
 being rendered useless. A noose of small cord was 
 easily cast from the safe side of the hedge over the 
 
MAN NOT BETTER THAN THE FOWLS. 117 
 
 top of the post, or branch of the tree, on which 
 the board was fixed ; and this drew after it a stout 
 rope, on which was tied a sack ; the sack con- 
 taining a boy, with a paint-pot and large brush. 
 A handy little fellow had been selected, who could 
 do what was wanted very quietly by starlight. J3y 
 feeling the edges of the boards, he could paint 
 well enough to deface ; and he enjoyed the fun of 
 smearing the black paint over the letters which 
 had been carefully described by Jem Hayward in 
 the morning. His employers, hidden in the hedge, 
 and still as mice, held him steady till he jerked 
 the rope, and then let him down gently, and went 
 on to another. 
 
 While thus holding him aloft, his comrades saw 
 a little man come tripping along the causeway ; a 
 man so very little that they knew, even by that 
 dim light, that it could be 110 other than Tippet. 
 One of them therefore ventured on a very low 
 whistle, just as Tippet was passing. Tippet visibly 
 started, and then inquired who was there. When 
 he found it was only the inferior men, only Gill 
 and Barton, labourers, employed in the drudgery 
 of poaching, and that none of the leaders were 
 present, he carried himself high ; somewhat higher 
 than the men liked: and they told him plainly 
 that if, as they knew, he had been about the 
 
118 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 country, leaving the handbill under doors and 
 knockers, they would have him understand that 
 they considered their work as good as his, and 
 his, indeed, more of a drudgery than theirs. 
 
 Tippet dispensed his " Pooh ! Poohs I" with 
 great liberality, and was moving on, when the 
 little painter aloft gave the sign to be pulled back 
 into the hedge. Tippet could not refrain from 
 watching the descent. 
 
 " A clever contrivance that," said he. " It is 
 just like my invention, that I named to Rush. 
 Very clever ! " 
 
 "Yes; you see," said Barton, "it carries the 
 boy over the heads of the guns, as one may say ; 
 so that no harm can happen to him. You see, 
 nothing can go amiss with him." 
 
 Yet, at this very moment, the rope caught or 
 stuck, or somehow went wrong, so that the sack 
 would not slide, and the boy called out, rather 
 louder than was safe, that he should fall out of the 
 sack, that he was spilling the paint, that it was 
 all over him, and would suffocate him. 
 
 Barton and Gill pulled in vain. Tippet was 
 making his way through the hedge, when they 
 earnestly called him "back, saying that there were 
 guns to guard this very board. He knew it, he 
 said. He had particularly marked and traced the 
 
MAN NOT BETTER THAN THE POWLS. 119 
 
 wires, and lie could find his way safe over every 
 inch of this nook of the field. And he did safely 
 make his way to the post, turn the boy head 
 uppermost, loosen the rope, and cause him to be 
 landed, in a terrible mess, in the road. 
 
 " You be a bright one, after all/' said Gill. " If 
 you hadn't corned, the lad might have smothered; 
 for we shouldn't have put foot on the other side of 
 the hedge till daylight came." 
 
 " O, you may trust my knowledge of the 
 ground/' said Tippet. " But be off ! We have 
 made too much noise. Never mind me ! I'm 
 coming." 
 
 The men hastened on, when, the next moment, 
 they heard a shot, close at hand. By one impulse, 
 they and the boy ran back to the gap they had 
 just made. They heard a groan, too surely, they 
 feared, from Tippet. They whispered first, then 
 called to him, more and more loudly ; but obtained 
 no reply. What to do next, they could not decide, 
 till the approach of some keepers settled the matter 
 for them. They could then only make their way 
 home and to bed, as fast as possible, before the 
 alarm should otherwise reach the village. 
 
 These men did not carry any weight on their 
 minds, further than the sorrow which they felt, in 
 
120 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 common with the whole neighbourhood, for Tip- 
 pet's death. They had not asked him to cross the 
 hedge, and had dissuaded him from doing so, and 
 desired him to take care of himself. It was cer- 
 tainly some relief to them that no inquiry was 
 made after them. Tippet, being found dead be- 
 tween the hedge and the smeared notice-board 
 was supposed to be the agent in defacing the 
 board. Of course, it was suggested that some- 
 body must have carried away the vessel which had 
 held the paint : but the paint-pot stood in its pro- 
 per place in Hayward's shed before the news had 
 got abroad; and the little boy had by that time 
 left the village in the carrier's cart, on a visit to 
 his uncle, twenty miles off. So Barton and Gill 
 went to their work with minds no more uneasy, 
 and faces no more shy than on many a morning 
 after having relieved the neighbouring covers of 
 some of their charge of game. 
 
 The shriek of the mother when the gamekeepers 
 brought home the body of her only son, the only 
 relation she had in the world, made their very 
 hearts flinch, though they had borne coolly enough 
 the groans and hootings they had encountered as 
 they passed down the village street. 
 
 " How shocking it is that men will do such 
 things!'' observed Woodruife to Graham; 
 
MAN NOT, BETTER THAN THE FOWLS. 121 
 
 " breaking hedges at night, and getting their 
 deaths when they have a mother to maintain I" 
 
 " Cany him upstairs," said Graham, " and take 
 care not to uncover his face again. 'Twas that 
 that made the old woman shriek. Carry him up, 
 and let us get away." 
 
 They were not long in getting away from the 
 house; but they were haunted by what they had 
 seen, and their ears rang with the sounds they 
 had heard. Woodruffe's wife observed that he did 
 not take to his breakfast this morning; and he 
 replied by the remark how shocking it was that 
 men would do such things as go out at night and 
 break hedges, when they had a mother at home to 
 maintain. His wife stared; and he then added, 
 that when he did such things he knew no better ; 
 and that though there was talk of spring-guns in 
 those days, he very well knew there were none 
 really set. 
 
 When the head-keeper was again summoned to 
 the Hall, he supposed, and perhaps rather hoped, 
 that it was to receive orders to set the guns no 
 more. But he was mistaken. His master told 
 him that this event proved that every possible 
 defence of gentlemen's rights was more than ever 
 necessary ; that he, and the other keepers, ought 
 to be glad and thankful to be saved the fatigue 
 
122 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 and clanger of incessant watchfulness over every 
 part of the property ; and that there was little fear 
 of mischief at present, as the village had received 
 a pretty severe hint to let the game and the notice- 
 boards alone. 
 
 " How is the fellow's mother left, do you 
 know?" 
 
 " She had only him to depend on, sir. But 
 they say she will be well taken care of." 
 
 " Ah ! there is a sort of understanding among 
 those people," said the colonel, " a point of honour 
 to compensate one another for accidents. If you 
 see anything that can be done for her, Graham, 
 let me know." 
 
 " Yes, sir : but they say it is settled already. 
 She is to be housekeeper, or something, to the 
 Tyrrels at Lowridge farm." 
 
 "What, Tyrrel the tax collector?" 
 
 ' ( Yes, sir ; he that rents Lowridge farm under 
 Miss Fermor. I don't know what Miss Fermor 
 will say to it." 
 
 " O ! she will not object. It is very natural that 
 there should be a good feeling about the poor old 
 woman : and she has done no harm that I know 
 of. She has suffered enough for having a vicious 
 son. I should not object, if Tyrrel was my tenant; 
 and I cannot conceive that Miss Fermor will." 
 
MAN NOT BETTER THAN THE FOWLS. 123 
 
 On the day of the funeral, the colonel and his 
 friends were out riding where the toll of the 
 church bell could not reach their ears. But the 
 clergyman could not so escape. He saw it all : 
 the cessation of business throughout the village ; 
 the universal condolence with the mother; the 
 presence of Farmer Tyrrel as a mourner, his 
 being the arm which supported the old woman ; 
 the concourse which filled the churchyard; the 
 rush to the grave, to catch the last sight of the 
 coffin; the quietude of the children, generally 
 noisy on such occasions, but now kept in awe by 
 the numbers present : all these things he saw. 
 He went through the service with unusual solem- 
 nity ; and then, needing to utter his feelings, and 
 knowing that the colonel's party were not at home, 
 he went to Miss Fermor's. 
 
 "I have just been interring the poor fellow 
 who was shot the other night/' said he, as he 
 took his seat beside the lady's work-table. 
 
 " Ah ! shot by that unhappy spring-gun. We 
 were shocked to hear of it. They tell me there is 
 an old mother left ; and my housekeeper speaks 
 of her as a very respectable person. If I can be 
 of any use, Mr. Dancaster . . . . " 
 
 And she took her purse out of her reticule. 
 
 "I do not think anything of that kind is 
 
124 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 wanted. I believe, indeed I am assured, the 
 poor woman is provided for ; but . ..." 
 
 " O well ! But if not, you will of course come 
 to me. You know I depend on you for such calls. 
 I rely upon you, in these cases." 
 
 " Thank you ! I will certainly. But, Miss 
 Fermor, I cannot tell you how impressed I have 
 been by the scene of this morning." 
 
 Miss Wright looked up from her work; and 
 Mr. Dancaster was induced, by her countenance, 
 to address himself to her. 
 
 " I certainly never before conceived of the state 
 of society we are in. To see what I have seen 
 this morning ; the bereaved mother, a man let 
 down into the grave in the prime of life, and 
 the sort of feeling that I am confident exists 
 among the people, and all this about the 
 game ! " 
 
 " But the man was trespassing, was he not ? " 
 asked Miss Fermor. 
 
 " To be sure he was ; but what a penalty for a 
 trespass ! It strikes me that there is no regular 
 tribunal where a man would be doomed to death 
 for a trespass." 
 
 " But this is according to law, is it not ? " 
 asked Miss Fermor. "The colonel advised me 
 to set spring- guns ; and I am sure he would not 
 
MAN NOT BETTER THAN THE FOWLS. 125 
 
 do that if it was not all regular and right, all 
 according to law/" 
 
 " To a compendious law, then," observed Miss 
 Wright, " which saves the trouble of a regular 
 tribunal, and makes Colonel North judge, jury 
 and executioner at once." 
 
 " Just so ! " cried Mr. Dancaster, eagerly. 
 
 " You two will agree well," said Miss Fermor. 
 " Miss Wright is always uneasy about my spring- 
 guns. But I feel I cannot do wrong in following 
 the colonel's lead about such things. And you 
 remember, Mr. Dancaster, how emphatically you 
 supported what he said about its being my duty 
 to set spring- guns." 
 
 f( It is very true. I cannot deny it. I was 
 impressed that morning by what I heard of the 
 extent of poaching, and the prevalent vice of the 
 people in breaking the laws, and violating the 
 rights of their superiors. It seemed to me then 
 that the first point, the first duty of everybody, 
 was to uphold the laws : and . . . . " 
 
 "Well, surely, you must be right in that, 
 Mr. Dancaster." 
 
 " Perhaps so : but I confess, after what I have 
 seen this morning, I feel that the colonel must 
 have more courage than I could boast of, if he 
 keeps his spring-guns set and charged." 
 
126 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 " Is it quite certain/' asked Miss Wright, " tliat 
 to do so is lawful ? " 
 
 e( My dear ! " exclaimed Miss Fermor, " can 
 you suppose the colonel would do anything un- 
 lawful ? You know he is in Parliament/' 
 
 " Colonel North would hardly risk men's liyes 
 without making sure of his legal grounds/' Mr. 
 Dancaster declared. "But, as I said, I own I 
 should not have courage, in his place, to run the 
 risk of shooting another man in the same way." 
 
 " Or/' said Miss Wright, " a woman stealing a 
 pennyworth of sticks ; or a child that has lost its 
 way, gathering blackberries." 
 
 " My dear, how shocking ! " exclaimed Miss 
 Fermor. " But, Mr. Dancaster, do not you put 
 spikes, or broken glass, or something, along the 
 top of your walls, at the parsonage ? " 
 
 " Yes : and this morning I did think of re- 
 moving everything of that sort. But I don't see. 
 how anybody could possibly be fatally injured by 
 either broken glass or those small spikes." 
 
 " And," said Miss Wright, " nobody could meet 
 with any accident, on the top of your walls. Any 
 one who came there must want to steal your 
 orchard fruit, or garden vegetables, or fowls. And 
 such a trespasser would have no right to com- 
 plain if he cut his hands, or tore his clothes, or 
 
MAN NOT BETTER THAN THE FOWLS. 127 
 
 his flesh. But these dreadful spring-guns are 
 sure to shoot a person for a comparatively small 
 offence, if they go off at all: and there are 
 many chances that they may shoot an innocent 
 person." 
 
 " I remember now, I did hear when I Avas a 
 child/' said Miss Ferrnor, " that one of Sir 
 Charles Wilson's gamekeepers was shot dead by a 
 spring-gun, in his own walk, by tripping, and so 
 falling over the wire, or something of that sort. 
 I will have all mine taken up, shall I ? I will 
 speak to Mitchelson about it to-day, shall I, 
 Mr. Dancaster ? " 
 
 " In your place I should certainly not be easy 
 till it was done," replied Mr. Dancaster. " After 
 what I have seen this morning . . . . " 
 
 " Shall I ring ? " asked Miss Wright, with her 
 hand on the bell. " Mitchelson may not be 
 immediately within call ; and the days are now so 
 short . . .. " 
 
 "Thank you!" said Miss Fermor ; "I will 
 speak to Mitchelson directly. And if the colonel 
 should be surprised to find my spring-guns all 
 taken up, I can tell him, you know, that I really 
 have not courage to run any risks with them. 
 And want of courage may be excused in a woman; 
 may it not, Mr. Dancaster ? " 
 
CHAPTER. IV. 
 
 THE BEAM IN THE EYE. 
 
 " MITCHELSON," said Miss Fermor/as her head- 
 gamekeeper entered the breakfast-room, soon 
 after Mr. Dancaster's departure, " I want to 
 speak to you about a very important thing. And 
 therefore I speak to you myself, instead of 
 through Mr. Blake/' 
 
 Mitchelson bowed. 
 
 "I must have all our spring-guns taken up 
 directly. I really cannot run the risk of having 
 anybody shot on my grounds." 
 
 a Very well, madam." 
 
 "You can have them all up to-night, can you?" 
 
 " There will be no difficulty about that, madam. 
 They are not set for the night yet : and it is only 
 not to set them, that's all." 
 
 " Well : make all safe, so that there may be no 
 danger to anybody. I will never have any spring- 
 guns set in my grounds again." 
 
 "And what would you wish done about the 
 
THE BEAM IN THE EYE. 129 
 
 boards, madam, the Notice boards ? They were 
 all put up yesterday." 
 
 " Why, I had not thought of that. I should 
 think they may as well stay where they are. They 
 may prevent people coming to trespass : and that 
 would be very well. What do you think ? " she 
 inquired of Miss Wright. 
 
 " Why, as it is not true that . . . ." 
 
 " But it was true, as everybody knows, when 
 the boards were put up." 
 
 " Yes : but I think some one might venture in, 
 as poor Tippet did, in spite of the notice ; and 
 when once it is found that no guns are there, I 
 should be afraid that the people might be led not 
 to believe any such notices, and so might get shot 
 on Colonel North's, or some other estate, where 
 guns really are set." 
 
 " O ! that would never do," declared Miss 
 Fermor. "We must have the notices all taken 
 down, Mitchelson." 
 
 " Very well, madam." 
 
 His mistress having apparently finished her 
 orders, the gamekeeper glanced behind him, to 
 make sure that the door was shut, drew some- 
 what nearer to the work-table, and said that he 
 had a little matter of business to speak about. 
 
 " Let us hear," said Miss Fermor. 
 
 VOL. II. K 
 
130 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 " Shall I go away ? " asked Miss Wright. 
 
 Mitchelson looked as if he hoped she would ; 
 but Miss Fermor said 
 
 "By no means, my dear. There can be no 
 business of mine that need be any secret from 
 you. And besides, I may want your opinion." 
 
 " It is about Ludlam, the poulterer, madam." 
 
 "The London poulterer," Miss Fermor ex- 
 plained to Miss Wright, " who supplies us with 
 fish when we are here, and with poultry and fish 
 when we are in town ; and with game at a pinch, 
 you know." 
 
 " Ludlam says, by the mail guard, madam, that 
 he has a pressing want of game for Lord Mayor's 
 day; and that he shall want plenty all the 
 season." 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 "And he thinks, madam, we might perhaps 
 come to some agreement about it." 
 
 " O ! I remember something of the sort hap- 
 pening before." 
 
 " Yes, madam : it is a very common thing." 
 
 ".What is a common thing?" asked Miss 
 Wright.. 
 
 " Why, ma'am, for gentlemen that have more 
 game than they want to agree with the London 
 poulterers for their mutual advantage :- to let the 
 
THE BEAM IN THE EYE. 131 
 
 poulterers have so much game, and take it out in 
 fish and poultry, and whatever they want." 
 
 <( It is very convenient," observed Miss Fermor : 
 " only that really the poulterers do take their ad- 
 vantage so shamelessly ! They charge so high for 
 everything ! That is the worst of it." 
 
 " But," said Miss Wright, " I thought it was 
 against the law to sell game." 
 
 " It is not selling game, ray dear. We exchange 
 for mutual advantage, that is all." 
 
 Miss Wright was silent. 
 
 " It is not exactly according to law," the game- 
 keeper admitted. " But that cannot be helped, 
 you see. Gentlemen must have game at their 
 tables ; and what is Avanted must be had." 
 
 " What does the colonel think of it, Mitchelson, 
 do you know ?" asked his lady. 
 
 " Colonel North knows as well as I do, madam, 
 that it is a thing constantly done." 
 
 " By gentlemen in this neighbourhood?" 
 
 " O yes ! There was Squire Venn, the other 
 day, to my knowledge. He made a bargain with 
 the carrier for the season, about disposing of his 
 game, and then went straight into court to try 
 Will Bennet for poaching." 
 
 " That is very curious," observed Miss Fermor. 
 
 " Very," agreed Miss Wright ; " a magistrate 
 K 2 
 
132 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 going from breaking the law to punish an unedu- 
 cated man for law breaking ! " 
 
 " The law goes but a little way," observed the 
 keeper, "when people must have game, when 
 Lord Mayor's Day is coming on, and such times. 
 And if we are to have no guns, we may as well 
 make some advantage of our game as lose it. The 
 poachers are beginning hard, this year." 
 
 ee How do you mean ?" 
 
 " They have got into the habit ; and it is very 
 profitable to them, with the London dealers. And 
 their spirit is up, the more the colonel's is up. I 
 doubt whether they don't beat us in numbers 
 now." 
 
 " What, my people and the colonel's together ?" 
 
 " They beat us and the colonel's together, and 
 the help we have to depend on too. At least, so 
 I believe it will turn out. And we may test that 
 almost any night now. There will be many a 
 scuffing night this winter, we all expect." 
 
 " In that case," said his mistress, "we may as 
 well have the advantage of our own game as have 
 it stolen. So you may make the best bargain you 
 can with this London man What is his name?" 
 
 " Ludlam, madam." 
 
 The lady set down the name in her tablets, and 
 continued, 
 
THE BEAM IN THE EYE. 133 
 
 " I shall expect to be supplied -with fish till I 
 go up to town after Christmas ; and then with fish 
 and poultry; and with game, when I am disap- 
 pointed of any from home. You understand." 
 
 " That is well," observed the lady complacently, 
 as Mitchelson went out. " My game is such a 
 trouble and anxiety and expense, it is well to have 
 an opportunity of turning it to some purpose. It 
 is more trouble and expense than it is worth, as I 
 often say." 
 
 " I am quite of your opinion," said Miss Wright. 
 
 " Are you, my dear ? I am delighted to hear 
 you say so. You seemed to have taken a silent 
 fit; and I was afraid you did not agree with us." 
 
 " I was thinking what a pity it is to have to 
 keep up such a head of game, when it costs you so 
 much anxiety and expense, and tempts you to 
 break the law to make the only use you can 
 of it." 
 
 " ! I don't think much of that when it is 
 what everybody does. And London poulterers 
 must have game, you know ; and if we don't sup- 
 ply them, the poachers will : so it is in fact help- 
 ing to keep the law, to supply them. But, my 
 dear, I have no choice about preserving my game. 
 What would my nephew say, when he comes into 
 the estate, if he found the game all let down?" 
 
134 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 " Could he not restock it, if he wished it?" 
 
 " It would be an ungracious thing to make him 
 do so. And besides, it is the only inducement I 
 have to offer him to come down, when he has a 
 leave. And it would be ungracious to my neigh- 
 bours to give up my preserves, while my game can 
 afford them any pleasure. And what would Mit- 
 chelson and the other keepers do, if their places 
 were taken from them ? And then, as the colonel 
 says, the most natural way of holding poachers in 
 awe is for them to see qualified persons sporting 
 in all proper places. And my estate is a proper 
 place." 
 
 " How is it that your nephew is qualified ? I 
 forget, or never heard." 
 
 " Ah ! that is a curious case. He is of a poor 
 family; and yet he is qualified. My poor sister, 
 you know, married a good deal below our ideas. 
 But Frank's father is a squire, though his estate 
 falls a little below 100 a year; and he, of course, 
 is not qualified. But Frank himself is qualified, 
 as the eldest son of a squire." 
 
 " Ah ! I remember. And I might have remem- 
 bered by the oddity of the fact." 
 
 " It would be odd if I forgot any circumstance 
 in the whole affair," observed Miss Fermor. " I 
 have enough to make me remember it, Fm sure. 
 
. THE BEAM IN THE EYE. 135 
 
 Every pheasant brought in costs me a guinea. 
 And I have no peace in the shooting season, for 
 fear -of accidents. I am obliged to keep my house 
 to myself, for a week or two now and then, as I 
 am doing now, to recover my nerves. And it 
 seems as if I was to have no rest, if we really 
 are to suffer from poachers, night and day, this 
 winter." 
 
 " It seems an expensive luxury indeed, in every 
 way, the keeping up a large head of game." 
 
 " And that is not all : but the rest I turn over 
 to Blake. I tell him there is no use in my having 
 a steward if I am to be troubled with the com- 
 plaints of the tenants. When I open my letters, 
 if I find any complaining of the injury to the 
 tenants' crops from my game, I hand them over 
 to Blake, and tell him he must see whether it is 
 true and if it is, he must make proper allowance 
 in the rents." 
 
 "And he does so?" 
 
 " O ! I suppose so. Of course, if such are my 
 orders." 
 
 " And so as to satisfy the tenants ?" 
 
 <e My dear, you know little of tenants if you 
 think they are ever satisfied. They are grumblers, 
 born and bred; and especially about the game. 
 They cannot have so little reason to be satisfied 
 
136 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 as I have ; for I am terribly out of pocket in my 
 rents." 
 
 " And without satisfaction to anybody." 
 
 "Except, my dear, the satisfaction we ought 
 never to lose sight of, the satisfaction of doing 
 one's duty. As a landed proprietor, one owes 
 duties to societj' ; and I hope I shall never repine 
 in the discharge of mine. My dear," after a 
 pause, " how silent you are ! What are you think- 
 ing of?" 
 
 " I was thinking whether it is not a duty to 
 society for the rich to observe the law, and espe- 
 cially in those matters in which they most insist on 
 the poor doing so. I know that when the poacher 
 sells your pheasants, he has first stolen them, and 
 then illegally sells them : but really, I do not see 
 how he can be called to account with any grace, 
 if you and the magistrate have both broken the 
 law by selling game. You know, in the eye of the 
 law, it does not matter whether Ludlam pays you 
 in gold and silver or in fish and poultry." 
 
 " You think I am not doing my duty to society 
 in making this bargain with Ludlam ? Dear 
 me ! one never knows what to do. I hate to 
 trouble the colonel so often ; but I think I must 
 consult him, just this once. What do you think 
 he will say?" 
 
THE BEAM IN THE EYE. 137 
 
 " I can have no doubt about that/' 
 
 " You think he would not make such a bargain 
 as mine with Ludlam ? " 
 
 " I am confident that nothing would induce 
 Colonel North to sell a single head of game." 
 
 " I will write him a note, and tell him every- 
 thing ; and then I shall know what to do." 
 
 " And I will stop Mitchelson's proceedings till 
 you have made up your mind, shall I?" said 
 Miss Wright, with her hand on the bell. 
 
 " Wait a little, my dear : do not let us be 
 hasty. Let me write my note first, and then we 
 will see." 
 
 In a few moments, Miss Wright said, " I dis- 
 like troubling you, Miss Fermor, as much as you 
 hate troubling Colonel North; but it occurs to 
 me, is it quite prudent to commit to paper your 
 plan of doing what is illegal? Accidents may 
 happen; and it will be as well not to let such a 
 purpose stand in black and white. And without 
 need of such risk ; for I am confident the matter 
 will end in your not selling your game/' 
 
 " How perplexing it is ! " cried Miss Fermor, 
 putting down her silver pen. " One does not 
 know which way to turn one's self." 
 
 " Colonel North is always ready to give you his 
 best advice," said Miss Wright. " If we could 
 
138 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 / 
 
 meet him on his return from his ride, a few words 
 might settle it all, before Mitchelson has taken 
 any steps." 
 
 "Then we will order the pony phaeton, my 
 dear, and not come home till we have seen the 
 colonel." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 CUNNING AS FOXES. 
 
 THERE was abundance of game at the Lord 
 Mayor's dinner, this year, as every year. Though 
 the law was absolute, in those days, against the 
 selling of game on any pretence whatever, and 
 though the killing of game was a narrowly re- 
 stricted power, there was always game to be 
 bought; and the killers in fact were an army 
 compared with the killers by law. The violation 
 of the law had become so extensive, so almost 
 universal, that nobody thought of enforcing it 
 on society in general. The stewards and butlers 
 of London gentlemen procured game from poul- 
 terers by the very stringent compulsion which was 
 in their power, withdrawing their custom from 
 poulterers who hesitated about supplying game. 
 Mail-guards carried orders into the country ; 
 higglers made wholesale bargains in village public 
 houses ; carriers conveyed waggon loads of game 
 to town ; poulterers sold it, the best to gentle- 
 
140 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 men's servants ; the damaged or the stale to street 
 hawkers. Members of parliament, lords and ladies 
 of manor s, and needy squires, here and there, 
 made private contracts for the sale of their hares 
 and partridges: and there were gamekeepers here 
 and there who robbed their masters of property 
 which they knew would never be missed. Amidst 
 a system of such extensive law-breaking, it was 
 not to be expected that the ignorant and the poor 
 should refrain from grasping at their share of the 
 profitable transgression : or wondered at that this 
 should be done by some who were not poor or 
 ignorant, but who felt themselves injured in purse 
 and rights by the game which seemed given over 
 to be a common prey. It is true, the village 
 poacher added to the sin of theft committed by 
 the dishonest gamekeeper, that of trespass : but 
 then, he pleaded to himself that he had sore 
 grievances which the other parties had not : and 
 these grievances were easily erected into a? justifi- 
 cation, by himself and his neighbours, in relation 
 to laws which were in other respects broken by 
 everybody. The farmer whose wheat and green 
 crops fed the squire's game, and the cottager 
 whose garden produce was eaten up by them, 
 were in no moral condition to resist the solicita- 
 tions of London poulterers, the facilities of the 
 
CUNNING AS FOXES. 141 
 
 carrier's cart, and the prices which glittered in 
 the hand of mail guard or higgler. 
 
 Amidst all this demand and irregular supply, 
 what resource of regular supply was there ? 
 
 None whatever but gifts from qualified killers 
 of game. And these qualified men were only 
 such as had a landed inheritance amounting to 
 one hundred pounds a year ; or a life interest in 
 land to the amount of one hundred and fifty 
 pounds a year : eldest sons of men of rank, 
 down to esquires inclusive ; and persons (game- 
 keepers and others) authorised to kill game 
 under the hand and seal of a lord or lady of a 
 manor yielding not less than one hundred pounds 
 a year. By the hands of such only could that 
 game be now legally provided, ( and it must be 
 gratuitously, ) which had become indispensable 
 at all feasts in the season, in city or country. 
 And while such were the necessity, the tempta- 
 tions, the provocations, and the general prevalence 
 of illegality, the only parties punished were the 
 rural poachers, unless it were some tattered 
 Irish hawker in town, disposing to the poor of 
 birds too much mangled for gentlemen's tables, 
 or hares which would not keep another day. This 
 partial administration of the law did not mend 
 the tempers and morals of the subjects of its 
 
142 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 discipline. Seeing and feeling, like most other 
 people, that poaching was inevitable^ they put 
 their energies into it, and carried their trans- 
 gressions to such a point throughout the kingdom 
 that the game interest, then, as ever, powerful 
 in Parliament, procured in 1816, that Act by 
 which the penalty of transportation for not less 
 than seven years was imposed on all who should 
 be found trespassing, armed or unarmed, on any 
 ground, open or inclosed, with the means or 
 intent to destroy game : any and all persons 
 whatsoever being empowered by the Act to seize 
 such trespassers. 
 
 This Act caused so much exasperation in some, 
 and such disapprobation in the general public, 
 that it was repealed in the following year, to be, 
 however, re-enacted with the single difference 
 that the being armed with an offensive weapon 
 should be a condition of the penalty. It was in 
 the interval between the passing of these two Acts 
 that the feelings of one gang of poachers were 
 expressed in the handbill which threatened to 
 burn down gentlemen's houses : and, in that 
 season poaching generally assumed a character 
 of . daring and violence which alarmed moderate 
 men, .whether personally interested or not in the 
 preservation of game. By such, some abortive 
 
CUNNING AS FOXES. 143 
 
 attempts were made, in ensuing sessions of Par- 
 liament, to procure a partial legalisation of the 
 sale of game. But even this concession was 
 refused, as long as possible, by the country gen- 
 tlemen who held game-law making in their hands: 
 and it was not till 1831 that the buying and sell- 
 ing of game was permitted by law. 
 
 The table at Guildhall was rich in game this 
 year, as we have said : and so were all the tables 
 for which Ludlam was caterer. Colonel North 
 did his utmost in defence of his rights, and in- 
 duced Miss Fermor and Lord A. to emulate much 
 that he did. They both declined the responsibility 
 of setting spring-guns, and any man-traps but 
 those called humane : but they doubled their staff 
 of gamekeepers, and had frequent watch kept by 
 hired assistants. But all was in vain. Not a 
 man was shot, after poor Tippet ; nor so much as 
 a leg caught in any trap, humane or inhuman. 
 The poachers seemed to go harmless and invisible. 
 Now and then they were heard, afar off; and the 
 game disappeared to such an extent as to prove' 
 their activity : but their impunity indicated that 
 there was a strong local sentiment in their favor, 
 reconnoitring the spring-guns, removing the man- 
 traps, and misleading the keepers. Even very 
 
144 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 respectable men were supine, as the colonel called 
 it. Tyrrel, the tax-collector, who held a good 
 farm under Miss Fermor, could not be roused 
 this winter to give any aid. He was not a man 
 to whom hire could be offered for reinforcing the 
 keepers in their watch. The colonel hoped that 
 his own presence in the woods with his men would 
 induce Tyrrel, who was young and strong, to offer 
 his services for a night; now and then : but it did 
 not. Tyrrel spoke of nothing but business when 
 they met ; and when once fairly asked to join the 
 adventure for a night, declined, saying that he 
 wished everybody would bide at home at night, 
 as he did, and then things would go better in 
 the day. 
 
 Early one Sunday morning, when Gill, who 
 worked for Tyrrel, was foddering the cattle, his 
 master came up to him, and asked whether he 
 was going to church that day. 
 
 " Yes, sure/' replied Gill. <c I always does." 
 
 " Then you can do something for us. You can 
 have a chat with some of our people. You know 
 what I mean. I will speak to the Wells lads 
 and Rush. You can tell the two Crofts and 
 Noyse." 
 
 " And Barton, you know, sir, and Hayward." 
 
CUNNING AS FOXES. 145 
 
 " "What is Black about, do you know ? " 
 
 " Why; I know he does not half like the way 
 his affairs are going. The colonel's pay for 
 watching does not make up to him for what he 
 loses in his tailoring. Since he went to watch 
 with the keepers, a wonderful number of the 
 wives hereabouts have found that they can make 
 and mend at home. And then, he sees new 
 Sunday coats all through the place, come from a 
 distance, this winter. And he fancies young 
 Mr. Sprechen looks cold upon him; and the 
 doctor has not given him a job, he doesn't know 
 when." 
 
 " He had better come over to us/' 
 
 Gill nodded, and said that day might come. 
 
 ' ' Well ; get what men yon can. We think of 
 a night at the colonel's or Miss Fermor's." 
 
 "What night, sir?" 
 
 " Ahem ! " repli ed Tyrrel ; and at the moment, 
 Gill's step-son, Jack Foote, appeared at the gate, 
 and nothing more could be said. Jack was only 
 seventeen. He was not very wise ; but he was a 
 simple-minded, well-disposed lad ; and Gill loved 
 him much; chiefly perhaps for his mother's 
 sake : but also for his own. Tyrrel was conside- 
 rate enough not to involve the lad in the know- 
 ledge of the enterprise. 
 
 VOL. II. L 
 
146 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 That afternoon, Gill, on meeting his employer, 
 gave him a nod which told that his errand was 
 done. From that time till the next Thursday, he 
 never had an opportunity of speaking further to 
 him, or of learning what night was fixed for the 
 adventure. Jack Foote was always in the way, 
 or Jack's crony, Ben Lacy. Tyrrel might have 
 made plenty of opportunities, but Gill could 
 not. Tyrrel spoke to him only when his step-son 
 was within ear shot. 
 
 As tax-collector, Mr. Tyrrel had to ride over 
 the country a good deal ; and he was particular 
 about his horse. He let no one meddle with his 
 stable but Gill, Jack and himself. On the next 
 Thursday, about three in the afternoon, he ordered 
 Gill to saddle his horse ; and presently, he came 
 to the stable to mount. 
 
 " You will be ready for to-night," he said to Gill. 
 
 " For to-night ! " exclaimed Gill ; and then he 
 looked out at the door, in the fear that he had 
 spoken too loud. 
 
 " There is nobody near," said Tyrrel. " I have 
 sent Jack and Ben an errand across the country 
 which will keep them, as I told them, till 
 morning." 
 
 "Thank you, Sir; but those lads are fond of 
 moonlight to come home by." 
 
CUNNING AS FOXES. 147 
 
 " They cannot walk there and back by lock-up 
 time. Do you come up about nine; and just 
 walk in quietly/'' 
 
 " Shall I give notice to Noyse, or any of them?" 
 
 "They all know You have only to come at 
 nine." 
 
 " He might have trusted me a little further," 
 thought 'Gill, as Tyrrel rode away. " They seem 
 to have settled it all without letting me be in it, 
 even to sending round word of the night and 
 the hour. 'Tis not altogether handsome, after I 
 worked seven years for the old man, and now 
 some time for his son. However, I have only to 
 come when I'm bid, and follow the rest, and be 
 glad of my money, when I get it. And it is 
 thoughtful of him to send Jack out of the way of 
 mischief." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HARMFUL AS KITES. 
 
 GILL was the first who entered the kitchen at 
 TyrreFs. At the best end of it were Mrs. Tyrrel, 
 with her baby in her arms, and Mrs. Tippet, who 
 was knitting in silence. Gill sat down on the 
 settle near the fire, as he was told. But nobody 
 spoke; and Mrs. Tippet sighed, almost every 
 minute ; and Mrs. Tyrrel had such an anxious 
 countenance that Gill did not like to look that 
 way. When the clock struck nine, he started so 
 that he was ashamed of himself; and then, unable 
 to bear the constraint any longer, he said lie 
 would go and see who was coming. 
 
 In the fore-court, he met Jack Foote, who asked 
 him whether Tyrrel was home yet. 
 
 "No," said Gill. "Is that Ben with you? 
 How come you back ? " 
 
 " Yes. I 'm Ben. We got a cast all the way 
 back." 
 
 " Then you two go down, there 's good lads, to 
 the Hampant Horse, and tell Lane that the two 
 
> HARMFUL AS KITES. 149 
 
 sucking pigs master promised him will be sent on 
 
 Saturday." 
 
 "What, down to the Rampant Horse at this 
 
 time of night ! We are tired and hungry." 
 
 " I dare say : but Fll tell you all about it when 
 you come back. Be off, there 's good lads I" 
 And off they went. 
 
 Then Gill ran down to warn the two Crofts not 
 to say a word to Jack or Ben of this expedition, 
 if they should chance to meet. The Crofts were 
 out. He returned to TyrreFs kitchen : and there 
 he now found Tim and Solomon Wells, each 
 having a gun. Next arrived Barton and Noyse, 
 each with a gun. Then Hayward, with a bludgeon. 
 Hayward related that he had seen Jack and 
 Ben within sight of the house ; and that he had 
 therefore gone on past the farm, and then re- 
 turned ; and that this had made him late. Gill 
 said that he had disposed of the lads for a good 
 three-quarters of an hour, if Mr. Tyrrel would 
 but make haste, and let them get off. 
 
 It was not Mr. Tyrrel who next appeared ; but 
 three whose entrance caused a partial surprise : 
 Mrs. Tyrrel, however, evidently expected them. 
 They were lawyer Bunney, the doctor, and young 
 Mr. Sprechen, the son and future partner of the 
 colonel's friend. 
 
150 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 The clock struck ten. Soon after, some thought 
 they heard a horse down at the stable. Gill was 
 hastening to see, when in the doorway he met his 
 master. 
 
 " How d'ye do, gentlemen ? " said Tyrrel to the 
 whole company, as he approached the table, on 
 which he laid some powder and shot. Mrs. Tippet 
 looked, through her spectacles, at what was laid 
 down ; and then her hands trembled so that she 
 could not knit. She rose, and walked feebly to a 
 door near her seat. Tyrrel's eye followed her as 
 she went out. 
 
 " Here are about sixty charges, gentlemen/' 
 said he. 
 
 " Have you brought any flints ? " asked Noyse, 
 advancing to the table. 
 
 " Yes ; I can accommodate you with some/' 
 And he took a supply of flints from his pocket, 
 and laid them beside the powder and shot. 
 
 Lawyer Bunney held out his hand for Noyse's 
 gun, and fitted it with a flint. All who had guns 
 then came and took flints, and supplied themselves 
 with powder and shot. Meantime Gill was 
 anxious about Jack, and had gone out to see if 
 the lads, were anywhere about. In the orchard, 
 he met with farmer Rush and the two Crofts, and 
 sent them in. When he followed, he found that 
 
HARMFUL AS KITES. 151 
 
 four more men had arrived, and that one of 
 the Crofts had so blacked his upper lip and 
 whiskers as to make everybody laugh at his fierce 
 aspect. 
 
 "That is a good disguise, though," observed 
 the doctor. 
 
 " And easily got rid of," said young Sprechen. 
 
 " Come, Fll make you a set of fierce fellows," 
 cried lawyer Bunney. " Tyrrel, give me a cork 
 or two, will you ? " 
 
 Tyrrel took up a candle, and went into the 
 parlour, to look for a cork in the cupboard. 
 Bunney followed him, and called in the men, one 
 by one, to be whiskered. A peal of laughter fol- 
 lowed each feat : and the whole party were now 
 in the parlour, except Mrs. Tyrrel. 
 
 "So much for the black ! now for the white," 
 said Bunney. " You must be whitened somewhere, 
 that you may know friends from foes." 
 
 "The keepers," said farmer Rush, "have a 
 white tape or handkerchief tied round the left 
 arm." 
 
 "Then," said Barton, "if we does the likes, 
 they wun't shoot no one on us." 
 
 " But you'll be shooting one another, Barton ; 
 and that will never do. No, Pll chalk your 
 hats. I'll give you smart hats, fit for a play." 
 
152 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 <c Mine 's an old un enough," said Barton, 
 sheepishly. 
 
 "All right ! Men wear their worst on winter 
 nights. Give it me ! Here 'a a bit of chalk. 
 Now see ! " 
 
 And Bunney chalked a star in the front of the 
 old hat, with C. N. on each side, for Colonel 
 North. All handed in their hats to be chalked. 
 Tyrrers was the last. 
 
 " I '11 put something grander on yours, Tyrrel ; 
 something that will show you are the leader." 
 
 And he chalked a king's crown on the front of 
 TyrreFs hat. 
 
 " Now," said Tyrrel, ' ' here is a double-barrelled 
 gun. The best shot of this company shall have it" 
 
 All agreed that Solomon Wells was the best 
 shot. The gun was handed to him. He received 
 it with a mock bow, and gave his own over to Gill. 
 
 " Come gentlemen," said Tyrrel, " it is time we 
 were off." 
 
 " I think so," said Gill, as the clock now struck 
 eleven. 
 
 ' e My opinion is," observed Hayward, " that we 
 ought to take an oath, before we leave this place, 
 not to peach on each other." 
 
 " No, no," cried Gill, Let 'a be off. There 's 
 nobody thinking of peaching." 
 
HARMFUL AS KITES. 153 
 
 The general opinion however was in favour of 
 such an oath being taken. 
 
 " One of these lawyer gentlemen must swear 
 us," said Rush, looking from Bunney to Sprechen. 
 
 "I'll swear you, three at a time/' declared 
 Bunney, looking round. " It won't take five 
 minutes, Gill." 
 
 He ran into the kitchen, which Mrs. Tyrrel 
 was just leaving. He asked her to hold her 
 candle to him for a moment, while he found a 
 Testament. 
 
 "'The Young Man's Best Companion/" he 
 muttered to himself. "That will do, not to 
 waste time." 
 
 "That is an account-book, Mr. Bunney," said 
 Mrs. Tyrrel. 
 
 " The very book I want," cried he, running off 
 with it. 
 
 On returning to the parlour, he held out the 
 book by one corner, making three of the party 
 hold by the other corners, and kiss the book when 
 he had said the words, 
 
 " You '11 not peach upon each other, so help 
 you God ! " 
 
 The fourteen were sworn in five batches ; and 
 it was done in seven minutes. 
 
 "Now, then !" said Tyrrel. 
 
154 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 The first man that put his head out drew back, 
 saying that Jack Foote and Ben Lacy were there. 
 
 " I knew it would end so/' said Gill. 
 
 " It must end in their going with us/' decided 
 Tyrrel. "They have seen enough to put them 
 into danger, (unless they peach, which they must 
 not do :) and they may as well share the advan- 
 tage. I will take care that they shall, Gill ; 
 though they are rather young hands, and can't 
 help us much." 
 
 " Thank you, Sir/' said Gill, with a heavy heart. 
 
 The lads were brought in, whiskered, chalked 
 and sworn in a trice. Bunney laughed aside with 
 the doctor at Jack's awe-struck countenance when 
 he kissed the book, observing that the boy never 
 looked graver at church. And the lawyer and 
 doctor giggled together over the title-page of the 
 account-book. 
 
 " Hush ! they will think us very profane," 
 said the doctor. " What is Sprechen about ? " 
 
 " I want to see them in line," said Sprechen. 
 " Don't they look like soldiers ? " 
 
 " Like soldiers on the stage," the doctor agreed. 
 And sixteen was as large a regiment as could be 
 expected on a country stage. 
 
 At last they set 06, issuing from Tyrrel's back 
 door at half-past eleven. They entered Miss 
 
HARMFUL AS KITES. 155 
 
 Fermor's manor first, and there met with no 
 opposition. Two or three hares were obtained: 
 but the main booty was in pheasants. Scarcely a 
 shot missed;. for the birds could be seen in the 
 leafless trees, against the sky, like balls, presenting 
 an easy mark. Some of the party would have 
 been satisfied to go no further ; but their leader 
 was bent on a visit to the colonel's woods, and 
 led the way there somewhat impatiently. Gill 
 shot, and saw the bird fall from a tree, on a small 
 farm that they passed, and was stepping over the 
 fence to pick up the bird when Tyrrel desired 
 him to come on. 
 
 " In a moment, Sir." 
 
 " That is a garden : don't go in there." 
 
 " Only just to fetch the bird, Sir. It is a 
 matter of five shillings, Sir, to throw away, 
 besides its being evidence to-morrow, if it is left." 
 
 Gill possessed himself of the bird, and did not 
 injure the garden: but some feathers lay under 
 the tree which did as much harm as evidence as 
 the dead bird could have done. 
 
 After passing some way along a lane, they made 
 a short cut through farmer Tilleray's yard. For 
 an instant they paused, on the dog barking : but 
 some one said it was behind the house. Two or 
 three next agreed that they had seen the figure of 
 
156 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 a man, in the shadow of the house, and they 
 thought the person had hidden himself ahout the 
 sheds. Was it one of their own party turning 
 craven ? or a foe ? They counted their party, 
 and found sixteen complete ; whereupon Rush 
 declared aloud, 
 
 " If any of our party runs, I will blow his leg 
 or his arm off." To which there was no reply. 
 
 When the party reached the Bat green, one told 
 the leader that there were certainly some men, 
 no doubt keepers, standing near the wicket- 
 gate of the Dairy wood. 
 
 " So much the better," said Tyrrel. " They 
 may follow us, if they please, to Thorngrove ; for 
 that is where we are going." 
 
 And he led the way through the shaded part of 
 Bat green, on the greater part of which the moon- 
 light was now lying brightly, to the gate which 
 opened upon Thorngrove. There he encouraged 
 the sport, even more than before he knew the 
 keepers to be within hearing. There was a whisper 
 that some keepers were in an alley to the left of 
 the gate : but not the less did the party move 
 up the main ride, popping off shot after shot, 
 and going among the trees after the fluttering 
 birds. 
 
 When they came near the second turn to the 
 
HARMFUL AS KITES. 157 
 
 left, Henry Croft told Tyrrel that he saw a man 
 peeping round the corner, with his body bent. 
 
 " Let him peep ! " said Tyrrel. " We can much 
 better peep at him, for the moon shines full down 
 that walk, while we are in shade. But we may 
 as well form. You stand by my right hand, and 
 be firm ; and . . . . " 
 
 Here Gill ranged himself on the left, and the 
 others drew up close, in two lines, behind the three 
 front men. They wheeled into view of the side 
 walk, keeping in the main ride, and saw that a 
 foe was indeed awaiting them. Two men faced 
 them, backed by a few more. A single shot was 
 fired on the side of the poachers ; but whether 
 at bird or man nobody knew, or would afterwards 
 tell. One of the two front keepers then stood out 
 in the moonlight, flourishing a stick, and shouting, 
 
 " Huzza, my boys ! Fight like men ! " 
 
 The comrade who had stood beside him, now 
 stepped into his place. It was Woodruffe : and 
 the one who shouted was Graham. Both retreated 
 a little, and the poachers advanced quietly and 
 steadily. Graham and Woodruffe knew that seven 
 of their companions, all of whom carried sticks, 
 but no guns, were drawing up close at their heels ; 
 and that ten more must be coming on in the rear 
 of the poachers. But the poachers also became 
 
158 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 presently aware of this. A second shot was fired, 
 certainly by one of the three front men. It took 
 effect on Woodruffe, who sank down, doubled 
 himself up, rolled on his left side, gasped twice, 
 and moved no more. 
 
 A third shot was fired, which wounded Graham 
 in the thigh. The poachers then rushed forwards, 
 arid became intermixed with the keepers. There 
 was a rattle of sticks and guns, and many blows 
 struck ; and, in a few seconds, a cluster of shots, 
 five or six. Then the keepers gave way. Some 
 fell, with groans and cries, some hid behind the 
 trees some fled in any direction that seemed 
 safest. Two stood their ground. The poachers held 
 together, passed over the bodies of Woodruffe 
 and the wounded keepers, and took their way 
 down the main ride. As they went, one cried 
 out " Glory ! glory ! " but was silenced by many 
 saying "Whisht ! " And the silence was unbroken 
 till Gill picked up the butt of a gun in the 
 Bat green, and asked whose it was. Henry Croft 
 said it belonged to him, but had been carried 
 by another man. This bit of conversation 
 seemed to loosen Tyrrers tongue. Not a sound 
 had hitherto been heard from him since he 
 stepped over WoodruftVs body : but at last he 
 spoke. 
 
HARMFUL AS KITES. 159 
 
 said he, "Tom Tippet's debts are 
 paid/' 
 
 He led the way cheerily across the Bat green 
 through the Dairy-wood, to the Cow-grass, a 
 steep slope, where the party did not keep the path, 
 but made a short cut to a stream, leaving traces 
 which were carefully followed up the next morn- 
 ing. At the stream, the party washed the black 
 off their faces, and brushed the white out of their 
 hats, and then went on. 
 
 On entering a field near to the point where 
 they were to separate, Tyrrel's voice was heard 
 crying " halt ! " When all stopped, he said, 
 
 " We must not tell the dearest friend on earth : 
 for there are two or three dead. We must come 
 to an oath again." 
 
 They joined hands, and vowed they would never 
 peach on one another, so help them God ! 
 
 TjTrel then told them that all would be hanged, 
 without mercy, if it was found out. 
 
 " I thought it had been seven years' transporta- 
 tion," said Barton. " I heard nought of hanging." 
 
 " Whisht ! " said some again ; while one told 
 Barton, in a low voice, that it would be as he said 
 for the poaching : but this present case would be 
 made murder. 
 
 Again, a dead silence ensued. 
 
 At every turn now, one or more dropped off 
 
160 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 homewards. When only five were left, there was 
 some whispering. 
 
 " What 'a that abont ?" asked Tyrrel. 
 
 Gill said that the Wells lads wanted him to 
 take their guns home with him : and he was will- 
 ing, only that he had not any very safe stowing 
 place for such things. 
 
 " Put them in the straw in my cow-house/' said 
 Tyrrel. " Go round and do it now/' 
 
 Tim and Solomon Wells disappeared; and 
 there remained only Tyrrel, Gill and Jack, and 
 Ben Lacy. 
 
 " Now," said Tyrrel, " do you go round by the 
 cow-house, home. No : I'm going to Bunney's, 
 just for a minute, that he and the doctor and 
 young Sprechen may be able to say I was with 
 them at this hour. I shall get home by one or 
 soon after, as it is. Good night !" 
 
 And he walked away rapidly in the direction of 
 Bunney's house. 
 
 Gill and his young companions hardly spoke a 
 word, though they had a considerable way to go 
 round. By the light of the stable lantern, they 
 hid the guns carefully in the straw, and then they 
 stole home. The clock struck one just after Gill 
 was in bed : and he lay, sleepless and chilly, hear- 
 ing the striking of every hour till it was time to 
 be up and looking after the cattle at Tyrrel's. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FOLLOWING WAR WITH ALL MEN. 
 
 THE next day, Friday, was a heavy and a dreary 
 day to everybody. Though everybody was busy, 
 in one way or another, about the affair of the pre- 
 ceding night, there was a stealthy air about each 
 separate proceeding, a want of communication 
 and confidence which gave an impression of hush 
 and stillness, most unnatural after such an event 
 as WoodrufiVs death, and the wounding of many 
 men whom everybody knew. If the mischief had 
 been done by lightning or a flood, or if it had been 
 murder by a stranger, or by some bad member of 
 society in the village, there would have been the 
 comfort of sympathy and complaint, and of joint 
 exertion : but in this case, every man distrusted 
 his neighbour; and each group of silently busy 
 people seemed to be trying to circumvent and 
 detect some other. It was a strange and even 
 fearful thing to see the working men of the neigh- 
 bourhood all about their work, as usual, neither 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
162 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 speaking of the murder which was exciting the 
 whole country round, as fast as the tidings could 
 spread ; nor offering the slightest attempt to dis- 
 cover the murderers. This spectacle suggested to 
 the gentlemen who rode through the village the 
 chilling thought that this was just the state of 
 society in which, if their houses should be fired, 
 as threatened, in consequence of the proceedings 
 they were taking, no neighbour would lend a hand 
 to put out the flames. 
 
 After the appearance of the hand-bill, the colo- 
 nel had privately had his fire-engines put in order. 
 This morning, he was irresistibly impressed by 
 the foreboding that, in case of fire, there would be 
 nobody but his own and Miss Fermor's servants 
 to work them. He was in for the whole struggle 
 now, however. He had pledged himself inex- 
 tricably to the maintenance of his game-rights at 
 all hazards : and he must carry the matter through. 
 Nor was he troubled with a moment's doubt as to 
 his course, past, present or future. Taking his 
 stand on the law, and the rights of property, and 
 not suspecting that he could possibly have misun- 
 derstood or exceeded the law in any one parti- 
 cular, he carried himself this day with the air and 
 consciousness of a man charged with a great 
 public duty in the avenging of his private wrongs. 
 
FOLLOWING WAR WITH ALL MEN. 163 
 
 He had first sent an express to London to 
 desire the immediate presence of a Bow-street 
 officer : had then communicated with the coroner 
 about the inquest on WoodruflVs body ; and had 
 made arrangements with Lord A.'s head keeper 
 (his own being wounded, and in no condition for 
 business) to have every man in the village watched 
 this day who was not unquestionably in the inte- 
 rest of the game-preservers. He visited each of 
 the wounded keepers, speaking to them without 
 Avitnesses. One of these, and only one, threw a 
 ray of light on the question who the poachers 
 were. He declared his strong persuasion that one 
 of those who stepped over him after he fell was 
 farmer Tyrrel. The colonel could hardly think 
 this possible : but Newson was firm in his belief, 
 though, as he said, he could not take his oath 
 of it. 
 
 Perhaps it was in consequence of this that some 
 spjdng began in the village, while the colonel 
 was sitting down to breakfast, and saying to his 
 quests (for he always had guests when himself at 
 :he Hall) that as poor Woodruffe was killed in his 
 service and on his property, he should feel it his 
 iuty to pursue the offenders with the utmost 
 igour. That, he felt, was as clearly obligatory 
 n him as to maintain WoodruflVs widow and 
 M 2 
 
164 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 fatherless children, and supply means of recovery 
 to the five wounded keepers. One inexperienced 
 and ill-bred guest having observed that such obli- 
 gations were very onerous, and that a sporting 
 gentleman ought to be blessed with fine resources 
 who bound himself to such generous deeds, the 
 colonel checked him by the remark that there was 
 no generosity in the case, it being the barest 
 matter of duty for a man to take care of his 
 servants. 
 
 " Yes, certainly," replied the young man, who 
 had the misfortune to think his low thoughts 
 aloud. " I see that : but it is a costly affair for 
 you, the doctoring these five men, and main- 
 taining the widow and children, and bearing 
 the expenses of the prosecution, and so on : and 
 all in addition to your great outlay for the game, 
 and the preserving it." 
 
 " It cannot be helped," said the colonel. " One 
 cannot admit that sort of consideration." 
 
 " And Mr. Bullen is not aware," observed Mr. 
 Sprechen, who had been sent for early this morn- 
 ing, " how small such collateral expenses are in 
 comparison with the original cost of game-keeping. 
 Why, Mr. Bullen, the colonel could tell you that 
 his bill for barley alone for his pheasants last yeai 
 was 800. For mere barley for his pheasants, Sir/ 
 
FOLLOWING WAR WITH ALL MEN. 165 
 
 " Do let us talk of something else/-' said the 
 colonel. "You have not seen that widow this 
 morning, as I have; nor my wounded servants, 
 or you would not talk of expenses in such a busi- 
 ness. Sprechen, a word with you in the gun- 
 room, when it suits your convenience." 
 
 While this was going on at the colonel's, Sam 
 Blicket, a little shopkeeper in the village, came 
 up to TyrrePs, about some potatoes. He met 
 Gill in the forecourt, and asked him whether 
 he had heard of the affair in Thorngrove last 
 night. Gill replied that he had heard there had 
 been a scuffle, but knew no more. Blicket told 
 him there was one man killed and eight wounded ; 
 and then they agreed that it was a very shocking 
 thing. At this moment, Tyrrel was seen coming 
 out of the house, with the key of the stable in his 
 hand, and Blicket hastened to him, to speak about 
 the potatoes. Of course, his news of one killed 
 and eight wounded soon came out; and Tyrrel 
 observed in reply, " They should bide at home, as 
 I do." 
 
 Blicket agreed that no good came of men being 
 out at night, when they should be asleep in their 
 warm beds; and went away not much the wiser 
 for his visit. 
 
 Gill was in want of flour, and he now asked 
 
J66 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 Tyrrel for some. While Tyrrel was weighing it 
 out in the kitchen, Gill observed, with downcast 
 eyes, that it was bad news that Blicket brought. 
 
 "It is five men wounded, not eight," said 
 Tyrrel. 
 
 " Well : that 's not quite so bad ; but Fm very 
 sorry for it." 
 
 " They should bide at home, as we do," observed 
 Tyrrel, fixing his eyes on GilPs face. 
 
 " I '11 say so," declared Gill, now understanding 
 his part. 
 
 When he passed the window, he saw Black the 
 tailor peeping about in the forecourt, and it struck 
 upon his mind that he had not remembered to 
 rake and smooth it over, early this morning. The 
 frost had melted off a good deal ; but still the 
 ground showed marks of being much trodden. 
 From Black he might have learned anything he 
 wished about the keepers ; for the tailor had been 
 hired to watch with them last night; but Gill 
 slipped out hastily at the back door, and hid him- 
 self in the washhouse till Black was gone. 
 
 Then it occurred to him that the tailor, or some 
 other spy, would be molesting Jack in his absence ; 
 and he ran home with his flour, as quick as he 
 could go. Jack was trenching in the cottage 
 garden, but not whistling, as usual. 
 
FOLLOWING WAR WITH ALL MEN. 167 
 
 "Anybody been here, Jack? Anybody been 
 speaking to ye?" 
 
 "No/' said Jack, striking his spade into the 
 ridge, with a sigh. " I 've seen nobody this morn- 
 ing. And," after a pause, "I don't want to see 
 nobody/' 
 
 " That 's right. Bide at home, and work. You 
 remember, Jack, you remember, if anybody 
 should come and question ye, you're not to 
 peach, you know." 
 
 " Peach ! " exclaimed Jack, in an astonished 
 whisper. " Why, I 've sworn not to, han't I ?" 
 
 " He'll do well, I trust," thought Gill, as he 
 returned to his work. " It was only his innocence 
 I feared, for he is not so clever as some. But 
 he is a boy of his word; and that'll make him a 
 match for wiser men. He '11 keep his tongue, I 
 believe now." 
 
 Another gleam of comfort visited him on his 
 way home. He met Rush, who told him that the 
 game they had brought away was all got rid of. 
 It had been hoisted up on the early morning mail, 
 by a safe hand, who had taken care that the guard 
 should hear first what had happened in getting it. 
 The guard was thus so far implicated that he would 
 be no trouble, but rather an aid. 
 
 For once, the absolute order and regularity of 
 
168 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 Miss Fermor's breakfast were broken up. After 
 waiting a full quarter of an hour, she and Miss 
 Wright sat down, without the lieutenant, her 
 nephew, and without the attendance of any ser- 
 vant but the upper housemaid. Such a thing had 
 never happened before as the men servants being 
 all out of the way. Miss Wright was silent and 
 rather pale : Miss Fermor restless, but unable to 
 decide whether she was most grieved or com- 
 fortable. 
 
 " It is such a fortunate thing/' said she, " that 
 none of my people were out with the colonel's this 
 particular night ! They were out with them five 
 nights last month; and I dare say that is the 
 reason why Lord A. was applied to this time. But 
 I am very thankful. If Mitchelson had been killed, 
 it would have made me very miserable. I am 
 . sorry enough for poor Woodruffe, as it is." 
 
 Then there was a pause. After which she said, 
 
 " My dear, you have nothing on your plate. 
 There is pheasant on the sideboard : but there is 
 nobody to give us anything. I do wish somebody 
 would come in. It is so forlorn, we two sitting 
 here, deserted, as it were, and not knowing any- 
 thing !" 
 
 " I was thinking of going down to the village," 
 said Miss Wright: "but I do not like to -leave 
 
FOLLOWING WAR WITH ALL MEN. 169 
 
 you alone. If you are as anxious to know the 
 truth as I am, I will go directly." 
 
 " I am very anxious indeed : but it does look 
 such a bleak morning for you, my dear. But for 
 that, I would go with you myself; but it does look 
 so cold !" 
 
 Miss Wright was just leaving the room, when 
 the lieutenant came in by the back way from the 
 stables, accompanied by the clergyman. 
 
 " I have brought in Mr. Dancaster, aunt," said 
 the lieutenant. " And now, if you will give us 
 some breakfast, I will tell you what we have 
 done." 
 
 Miss Wright returned to her post; and Miss 
 Fermor entreated her to take another cup, as she 
 herself meant to do, now somebody was come. 
 But Miss Wright declined; and Mr. Dancaster 
 had not a thought to spare for eating and drink- 
 ing ; and it ended in the lieutenant's breakfasting 
 alone. 
 
 " We have traced them with the utmost cer- 
 tainty, as far as your boundary,"^said the lieu- 
 tenant to his aunt. 
 
 " And not further ? Did they harbour here ?" 
 
 " O ! the traces went on, distinct enough ; and 
 we have sent one of Lord A/s helpers and the tailor 
 to follow them up. We hope their evidence will 
 
170 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 do : but realty it appeared unsafe to employ tlie 
 constable, the suspicion is so strong that he was 
 one of them ; and then, you know, he would have 
 sworn the opposite of the fact, and made a diffi- 
 culty. So he is set upon some harmless business 
 that will occupy him and save appearances." 
 
 " What a state of things it is !" exclaimed Mr. 
 Dancaster. 
 
 " And why did not you send some of my people, 
 even Jones, as the most sensible?" asked Miss 
 Fermor. "You know I should be most happy, 
 Frank ; for I feel it my duty to promote the cause 
 of justice." 
 
 " I know it, aunt : but, for Jones's own sake, 
 we would not let him go. We would not let any 
 of your people go beyond your grounds, for fear 
 of their being observed. It might cost them their 
 lives between this and the trial." 
 
 Miss Fermor groaned. 
 
 " Don't be afraid, aunt. Nobody saw us, I am 
 confident. No one of us put our heads out of the 
 grounds. But they say at the Hall that these 
 desperate fellows are a regiment ..." 
 
 " Quite an army, Jones tells me." 
 
 "The keepers say from fifteen to twenty, last 
 night. A man who counted them in Tiller ay's farm- 
 yard says either sixteen or seventeen ; and . . . . " 
 
FOLLOWING WAR WITH ALL MEN. 171 
 
 " And how many on the keepers' side ?" asked 
 Miss Wright. 
 
 " Keepers and their hired help together, nine 
 of the colonel's, and ten of Lord A.'s. But those 
 poachers last night were not the whole gang. 
 Some fellows who are notorious poachers were 
 certainly not with them. There is no saying who 
 is who; and all we know is that they are very 
 strong, and wholly desperate. And I thought it 
 no business of mine, aunt, to expose your people 
 to a sly shot, as intended witnesses/' 
 
 " What a state of things !" sighed Mr. Dancas- 
 ter, while Miss Fermor was so alarmed that her 
 nephew was obliged to reiterate that the danger 
 was only till, by help from Bow-street, the guilty 
 should be captured, and lodged in gaol; only, 
 perhaps, till after the inquest; only, perhaps, for 
 this one day. 
 
 " But must any of my people be witnesses on 
 the trial?" asked Miss Fermor. 
 
 " Why, yes : and you know, aunt, you are 
 always anxious, as you said just now, to promote 
 the cause of justice. We have traced the foot- 
 steps all the way through your estate ; and we have 
 found some feathers, hen pheasant's feathers, 
 under the large elm in Taylor's garden. Taylor 
 himself saw two shots fired in his garden, and two 
 
172 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 birds fall. And we must testify to finding the 
 feathers on the ice under the tree." 
 
 " What do you think of all this,, Mr. Dancaster ? 
 Is it not dreadful ?" asked Miss Fermor. 
 
 " Think ! " exclaimed Mr. Dancaster. "It almost 
 deprives one of all power of thinking. When I 
 came, I was told much of this as a game-preserv- 
 ing neighbourhood, involving the difficulties which 
 always prevail where poaching is rife. But I never 
 conceived of anything like the reality, nor of the 
 perplexity of knowing what to do." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Miss Fermor ; " that is always 
 what I feel." 
 
 " One says, confidently enough at first," ob- 
 served the clergyman, " that one's duty is clear ; 
 to uphold the laws, and defend the rights of pro- 
 perty. But when it comes to matters of practice, 
 when I see a poor young man like Tippet shot 
 dead by a spring- gun, and now, the father of a 
 family murdered, and many more wounded, for 
 the sake of such property as that in wild animals, 
 one begins to think . . . . " 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " To think what ?" inquired the lieutenant. 
 
 " I will not say what," replied the clergyman. 
 " This is not a day for thinking coolly of such 
 things. I can only say that I have little comfort 
 
FOLLOWING WAR WITH ALL MEN. 173 
 
 in my office now. There is positive agony in con- 
 ducting the funerals of persons so put out of life. 
 And in preaching, with what comfort can I address 
 myself to a nock of hearers so mixed, so cor- 
 rupted, carrying such thoughts and passions in 
 their breasts ! Only imagine one of the apostles 
 preaching to an assembly bearing such enmity to 
 each other . . . . " 
 
 " O shocking !" cried Miss Fermor. 
 
 " It is shocking," replied Mr. Dancaster : 
 " a mockery, a horrible mockery, of what a 
 Christian congregation ought to be." 
 
 "We must each do our duty," declared the 
 lieutenant : " that is the only course that I 
 see." 
 
 " Certainly," said Miss Fermor. " We must all 
 do our duty. I am sure I am very anxious to do 
 mine, if I knew how." 
 
 "There is one thing, aunt, that I almost an- 
 swered for your being willing to grant : that the 
 magistrates should hold their sittings here, as 
 soon as the inquest is over, and the parties appre- 
 hended. You see, neither Lord A. nor the colonel 
 can have the sittings held there, the colonel 
 being the prosecutor, and Lord A's men having 
 been engaged. Happily, you are out of the 
 affair altogether; and your house is the proper 
 
174 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 one for the magistrates. I am sure you will 
 think so." 
 
 Miss Fermor looked at Mr. Dancaster. He 
 said that justice must now take its course : there 
 could be no doubt about that; and every one 
 should be willing to further that course. 
 
 Miss Fermor therefore charged her nephew 
 with an offer of her house to the three magistrates 
 under whose examination this case must come, 
 desiring him to say particularly how anxious she 
 always was to do her duty in promoting the cause 
 of justice. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HATRED WITHOUT DISSIMULATION. 
 
 ON the Saturday, everybody met everybody else 
 in the village street. The inquest was held at 
 the Rampant Horse; the Bow-street officer was 
 expected by the mail; and no one, whether im- 
 mediately concerned or not, could stay at home. 
 Among those who thus met were lawyer Bunney 
 and the doctor. 
 
 " What is the matter, doctor ? To look at you, 
 one would think you had had an absent fit, and 
 taken a dose of your drugs yourself instead of 
 giving it to a patient, like . . . . " 
 
 " Now, Bunney, have done ! I have no mind 
 and no time for joking this morning. I am sum- 
 moned . . . . " 
 
 " Well ! so am I. But you don't see me look 
 white upon it, like you." 
 
 " You are summoned ?" 
 
 " Yes ; here is a note from the colonel, request- 
 ing me to attend the magistrates at Miss Fermor's, 
 after the inquest." 
 
176 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 " My turn comes first, then/' said the doctor. 
 " I have to open the bod} 7 , and report the cause of 
 death." 
 
 And he again turned so pale, that Bunney 
 dreaded the report his face would give. 
 
 " There were no bullets used, you know." 
 
 " None, that I saw : that is true," replied the 
 doctor, brightening up a little. 
 
 fc That is your strong point, you see." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 " And that ought to set our minds entirely at 
 ease, doctor. It does mine, I assure you." 
 
 They nodded and parted. 
 
 The doctor reported to the Coroner's jury that 
 the deceased certainly died of gun-shot wounds : 
 and, on being cross-examined, said that the shot 
 which had caused his death was common game- 
 shot, such as people shoot hares with. 
 
 As he returned home, and again exchanged 
 nods with Bunney, who was on his way to attend 
 the magistrates, the doctor said to himself that 
 Bunney was a lucky fellow to have such a devil- 
 may-care spirit. There he was now, going as 
 jauntily up the street as if there was a merry- 
 making at the end of his walk. But the doctor 
 thought afterwards that such a devil-may-care 
 spirit may carry a man too far. 
 
HATRED WITHOUT DISSIMULATION. 177 
 
 Bunney kept to his agreement with TjTrel in 
 what he said before the magistrates as to the 
 hours of their visiting each other on the Thursday, 
 their time of parting, and so on : but he ventured 
 on some particulars, in his random way, which 
 were quite inconsistent with parts of Tyrol's 
 statement, and which caused the magistrates at 
 once to issue a warrant for the apprehension of 
 Tyrrel. Moreover, when Bunney's examination 
 was over, he volunteered the observation to two 
 gentlemen (one of whom was a magistrate) that 
 Colonel North and Lord A. had brought it all 
 upon themselves, by setting man-traps and spring- 
 guns : and that he was confident that none of the 
 men would have thought of firing on the keepers, 
 if Tippet had not been killed. This observation 
 being immediately reported to the two sitting 
 magistrates, they told Bunney that it proved him 
 to know more of the murder than he had chosen 
 to disclose. This he denied, and made a sort of 
 apology for having spoken his mind; which, how- 
 ever, he declared to be everybody's mind. He 
 was then asked if he thought the poachers were 
 justified by Tippet's death in doing what they had 
 done : to which he replied he thought them not 
 justified. There was some idea of detaining him ; 
 and the colonel was unwilling that he should be 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
178 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 at large : but as there was no sufficient ground 
 for his arrest, he was allowed to go home for this 
 time. 
 
 Before he reached the village, however, he was 
 passed by the colonel and nearly twenty other 
 horsemen, no one of whom returned his bow. 
 
 <( There they goes to their hunting," he heard 
 a ditcher say, on the other side the hedge. 
 " There they goes to their sport, for all the 
 shooting and hanging that's done to we." 
 
 " You 're wrong, friend," said Bunney, stopping, 
 and following the party with his eye. "They 
 have neither dog nor gun abroad to-day ; though 
 I should not wonder if there be a pistol or two 
 among them." 
 
 " I thought they 'd been out a hunting," said 
 the ditcher. 
 
 "Well; in one sense they may be; gone to 
 hunt down a man or two, for this murder." 
 
 The ditcher leaped into the road, and gazed 
 after the party, now just passing out of sight. 
 
 " Will they get him, think you, Dick ? " 
 
 " What, Tyrrel, or the blacksmith, or who ? " 
 
 "Any of them. Say Tyrrel." 
 
 " Why, they say Tyrrel says that no man can 
 say he laid a hand on him, or ever shall say. So 
 they say he says." 
 
HATRED WITHOUT DISSIMULATION. 179 
 
 "I heard something like that : that he says he 
 would sooner die than go to jail. What do you 
 think of that, Dick ? " 
 
 The man laughed, and said Tyrrel was a very 1 ; 
 particular fellow. There was not so much in just 
 going to prison. A score of as good men 'as 
 Tyrrel, only not tax-collectors exactly, had gone 
 to prison about the hares and the pheasants ; and 
 he did not know that anybody but a gentleman 
 or two thought the worse of them for it. When 
 Bunney moved on, Dick called after him to know 
 if he was going round by TyrreFs, to see what 
 was doing : to which Bunney replied " No," and 
 walked on, saying to himself that he was not 
 quite up to that. 
 
 , Gill was in one of Tyrrel's out-houses when he 
 heard the tramp of Colonel North's party coming 
 up the road. He, too, thought they were going 
 hunting, and his observation to himself was that 
 he was glad they were amusing themselves, and 
 turning their minds away from the murder and 
 its perpetrators. But he drew back out of sight, 
 with, all speed, when he saw that several of the 
 party dismounted, and fastened their horses to the 
 palings, while of those who remained mounted, 
 some stood guard at the gate, while others rode 
 round to the rear of the premises. In two 
 N 2 
 
180 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 minutes, the house was completely surrounded. 
 Gill placed himself where he could peep through 
 a crevice in the shed : and the next thing he saw 
 was a pistol in the colonel's hand, while he heard 
 him say he would have Tyrrel, dead or alive. 
 
 " He lias fastened himself in/' thought Gill. 
 " He will never let himself be taken, if I know 
 the man." 
 
 Gill's spirit rose, every moment, while he wit- 
 nessed the unavailing knocking and summoning ; 
 his party-spirit rose, and his attachment to, or 
 admiration of Tyrrel, as his master, as the man 
 he had been accustomed to look up to, and be 
 guided by. His heart beat, and he rubbed his 
 hands, as he stood at the crevice. But, before 
 long, an upper window opened, and Tyrrel showed 
 himself, asking what he was wanted for ; to which 
 several replied, in a shout, " for murder." Tyrrel 
 drew back without answering, and shut the 
 window. 
 
 The party then began an attack upon the doors, 
 with tools which they had brought with them. 
 Gill's heart was at his throat with every blow. He 
 forgot himself, and even Jack. After a loud 
 crack of the door, the lattice again opened, and 
 Tyrrel appeared, offering to surrender, if the 
 colonel would promise that no one should lay 
 
HATRED WITHOUT DISSIMULATION. 181 
 
 hands upon him. Some parley ensued, during 
 which the door gave way, and resistance was 
 hopeless. As the colonel entered the house, 
 Tyrrel stood at the head of the stairs, with his 
 hands in his pockets, still striving to make his 
 terms, that no one should touch him. 
 
 Gill could understand what was passing within 
 by what he had heard his master say from the 
 window. He now saw the colonel bring out his 
 prisoner, holding him by the collar, and deliver 
 him in charge to two of his own servants. One 
 of the men raised a stick in a threatening man- 
 ner; and this was more than Gill- could bear. He 
 rushed from the shed, crying out, 
 
 " I'll be damned if you strike him. Strike him 
 if you dare ! Fm a witness against you if you 
 strike him." 
 
 The colonel turned at the shout, and seeing a 
 man rushing up, supposed a rescue was in pre- 
 paration, and intercepted Gill with a blow of the 
 fist which laid him flat before he knew where he 
 was. 
 
 " Seize him," the colonel directed, " and carry 
 him too before the magistrates, for attempting a 
 rescue/'' 
 
 Nobody at any of the great houses dreamed 
 before of GilTs being in any way concerned in 
 
182 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 the business. He was known merely as a common 
 labourer, and had not attracted attention from 
 having been seen in any mischief. Now, however, 
 suspicion was turned upon him ; and within the 
 hour a force arrived to examine his cottage. There 
 it was discovered that his step-son had, twenty 
 minutes before, been mounted on a horse of his 
 neighbour Lacy's, by Lacy himself, and had 
 ridden off rapidly down the turnpike road. 
 
 As Gill was detained chiefly on suspicion, and 
 as he seemed a simple sort of man who was hardly 
 likely to keep his own counsel, after so foolishly 
 implicating himself, he was merely cooped at the 
 Hall, made comfortable with the servants, and 
 favoured with some encouraging interviews with 
 the gentlemen. He had never been accustomed 
 to conceal his feelings : and perhaps he had never 
 before had any very strong feelings to conceal : 
 and the revelations of his countenance and man- 
 ner now almost amused those who were watching 
 him. They saw his relief when told that Jack 
 had gone away on horseback; and his dismay 
 when he heard that Jack had been brought back, 
 and up to the hall : his relief again at Jack's 
 stout denial of knowing anything of the whole 
 business : and his dismay again at finding that, 
 in spite of this denial, Jack was not released, 
 
HATRED WITHOUT DISSIMULATION. 183 
 
 Then arrived one harassing piece of news upon 
 another. The mail-guard was taken up, the next 
 morning. Gill thought, on hearing this, what 
 probably all his comrades thought, 
 
 " Ah ! now it is all over with us. His maxim 
 always is to mind his own business, and let others 
 mind theirs. He '11 peach, and save himself. That 
 is what he will call minding his own business : 
 and the hanging he will call ours." 
 
 Then came the news of the capture of this, and 
 that, and the other of the gang ; and then of the 
 disappearance of four of them. Tim and Solomon 
 Wells were never heard of again : and Barton and 
 another stole away. The eleven others were all 
 caught, which, with Gill himself, made up the 
 sixteen who had taken the oath. 
 
 And then, about this oath. The colonel's ser- 
 vants talked in Gill's hearing of their expectation 
 that two of the prisoners would have confessed, 
 before two days were over. Their master, they 
 said, had offered two hundred guineas to either of 
 these men who would confess, and safety to his 
 neck, and removal to America, or some nice place, 
 after the trial, if he would turn King's evidence. 
 Gill's heart swelled in his breast when he thought 
 how it was not in flesh and blood to resist this ; 
 and how his own life and Jack's now hung on the 
 
184 .HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 regard these two men might have to an oath. 
 Of course, his emotion was remarked; and a 
 similar offer was made to him. He uttered no 
 reply, but walked restlessly about the house for 
 hours. 
 
 Next day, one of the keepers mentioned in his 
 presence that Black the tailor had traced sixteen 
 people almost every step of the way the poachers 
 had been on Thursday night, and that he had 
 curious things to tell of Tyrrel's inquiries about 
 the game on Miss Fermor's estate. And then, 
 Gill was requested to walk into the gun-room, to 
 speak with a magistrate who had spent the night 
 at the Hall. 
 
 He went, prepared for the worst : but the 
 magistrate had nothing very fearful to say to him ; 
 and again his heart expanded under the sense of 
 relief. He was told that if he had any brother 
 or son whom he wished to serve, he could save 
 the life of such an one, as well as his own, and 
 provide comfortably for both, by at length doing 
 his duty to the law, and promoting its course. 
 
 "That makes all the difference/' cried Gill. 
 " It is hard to hang one's own flesh and blood, 
 which I consider Jack, though he is only my 
 step-son." 
 
 He still asked for time, however ; and it was 
 
HATRED WITHOUT DISSIMULATION. 185 
 
 not till the next day, Thursday the 25th, that he 
 made his confession. 
 
 He was then allowed to see Jack. It was 
 desirable, as Jack's life was promised, to obtain 
 from him also a confession, to accredit and cor- 
 roborate his step-father's. 
 
 "Ye look but badly, Jack," said his father. 
 " What have they been doing to ye ? " 
 
 " There 's a man they call a Bow-street man, 
 keeps coming and telling me to confess, or Fll be 
 hanged." 
 
 " Well, Jack, that 's what ye 'd better do, and 
 then they can't hang ye." 
 
 " I dunnot know whether they will or no ; and 
 I 'm weary b' lookin' for it. Every time the man 
 goes away, I think they '11 come and hang me, 
 every minute." 
 
 Gill explained to him, to his extreme relief, 
 that he could not be hanged in private at 
 the Hall. Then he urged him to tell all he 
 knew. 
 
 " I can't, because I took the oath not to peach. 
 If I could, I wunnot have let the man talk of 
 hanging me every day. I would have done it at 
 first." 
 
 "But do it now, Jack, and then we will go 
 away after the trial where we will be happy. I 
 
186 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 would not ask you to do what I would not do 
 myself. I have told all I know/' 
 
 "Ye have!" said Jack, with a stare. "Well 
 now, I thought all this time ye had taken the 
 oath not to peach. I thought you all had, afore 
 Ben and I came in. I 'm glad there 'a a way for 
 ye, father, for one." 
 
 Jack was plied in this manner, still in vain, for 
 three more days, when he was at length committed 
 to the county jail, in the hope that the terror of a 
 prison might work upon him to confess. In this 
 hope, he was kept by himself, and communicated 
 with only by those who called themselves friends, 
 that is, the jailer and magistrates or their 
 agents. But these friends of Jack's knew nothing 
 of his hourly expectation of hanging, the week 
 before; or they would not have anticipated so 
 much from mere imprisonment. They could only 
 hope that when the assizes came, he would better 
 understand his situation, and appreciate the ad- 
 vantages offered him by the colonel. 
 
 " How do you get on with him ? " asked the 
 colonel of the Bow-street officer, one day, when 
 two parties met on the road to the county town. 
 
 " We can make nothing of him, Sir. We 
 have let him know now that it was not a real 
 oath that he took : but 'tis all the same. I 
 
HATRED WITHOUT DISSIMULATION. 187 
 
 never met with, a stronger case of honour among 
 thieves/-' 
 
 " And/' said a chuckling keeper, " in such a 
 goose as poor Jack Foote ! " 
 
 " Hold your tongue ! " said the colonel. " Ho- 
 nour is honour wherever you find it, and a thing 
 not to be laughed at." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 } THE HOUSE ON THE SAND. 
 
 THE colonel liad intended to go to London, as 
 soon as the dismal business of the assizes was 
 over, the next April : but he was called home so 
 peremptorily that he arrived at the Hall on the 
 night of the day which closed the trials. In the 
 interest of the events of January, he had since 
 forgotten the hand-bill of October: but some 
 other people were not so careless. The maid-ser- 
 vants had kept up the dread of fire through the 
 winter; and the men-servants had comforted 
 them by pointing out that the threat of incendi- 
 arism was to be fulfilled only on the conviction 
 and sentence of poachers, so that the houses of 
 the gentry were safe till the assizes. Now, the 
 poachers had been convicted and sentenced; and 
 on the very morning after, a charred stick had 
 been found near the door of the wash-house. The 
 alarm spread to Miss Fermor's household; and 
 an express was sent off to the colonel. He waited 
 
TIJE HOUSE ON THE SAND. 189 
 
 only to hear sentence pronounced on Bunney, 
 whose trial immediately succeeded that of the 
 poachers, and then returned to the Hall, accom- 
 panied by a friend or two to help him, if need 
 were. 
 
 He really could not at all tell whether there 
 was danger. All he knew was that he had scarcely 
 a neighbour below his own rank who could be 
 reckoned on as well disposed towards him ; while 
 those who were unfriendly had certainly conceived 
 the idea of burning his house. Whether the 
 danger was real or imaginary, it was clearly his 
 duty to be on the spot, to support his household 
 and friends, and overawe his enemies. Lord A. 
 had so strongly felt the same duty incumbent on 
 him, that he too had gone home, as had other 
 neighbouring proprietors. The colonel's com- 
 panions this night were therefore only Mr. 
 Dancaster and Mr. Sprechen, the lieutenant 
 coming and going between his aunt's house and 
 the colonel's. 
 
 It was a fine April night, with a bright moon, 
 favourable to the purpose of the gentlemen, 
 which was to walk to and fro, before and near the 
 house, to keep off intruders, and beguile un- 
 friendly eyes, while the servants were busy in 
 carrying out from the back doors the most valuable 
 
190 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 pictures, books and plate, and depositing them in 
 the dairy-house till the alarm should be over. 
 Perhaps three heavier hearts could scarcely have 
 been found under the veil of composed and gen- 
 tlemanly manners than those of the colonel and 
 his companions, as they were apparently amusing 
 and refreshing themselves with a moonlight stroll : 
 and indeed the clergyman hardly pretended to any 
 calmness ; but they talked ; and, on the whole, in 
 the tone of ordinary conversation. 
 
 " I dare say we are taking this trouble very un- 
 necessarily/' declared the colonel, on dismissing 
 a servant with orders ; " but I would not lose 
 some old pictures that I have for want of a little 
 care." 
 
 " Once secure what insurance will not console 
 you for losing, and you may be, so far, tolerably 
 easy," observed the clergyman. 
 
 " Insurance does but little to comfort one at 
 any time," replied the colonel, " and it is good 
 for less than ever just now." 
 
 Mr. Sprechen explained to the clergyman that 
 the insurance offices refused at present to extend 
 insurances on any terms that were worth accept- 
 ing, in this district, and others where the country 
 people were up against the Act of last session. 
 _. "Upon my word, I don't wonder," sighed Mr. 
 
THE HOUSE ON THE SAND. 191 
 
 Dancaster, " at any excess the people are driven 
 to, when half a village is transported, as ours is 
 to be : half the men, I mean; while the wretched 
 women and children come upon the workhouse. 
 I don't know how it is ; .but the penalty of trans- 
 portation never appeared to me before at all as it 
 does to-day. My mind ought, I know, to be most 
 filled with the execution of to-morrow ; and to- 
 morrow it will appear horrible enough, when I 
 have to visit poor old Tyrrel ; and the widow too ; 
 and Croft's widow. But to-day one is haunted by 
 the idea of such a fate as poor Bunney's." 
 
 " I am far from agreeing with you," said the 
 colonel. " I with pleasure asked for mercy for 
 the majority of the gang ; but I could not in con- 
 science ask it for Bunney. The last of the group 
 who would have my compassion would be the man 
 of education, the professional man, who would 
 strengthen his less taught neighbours in their 
 purposes of crime by his presence, and.. . . . " 
 
 He stopped, suddenly remembering the pre- 
 sence of Mr. Sprechen, whose own son had done 
 exactly what he was describing. It was Mr. 
 Sprechen, however, who now took up the word. 
 
 " It was very bad," he said ; " and in my eyes 
 not the better, but the worse, for his taking care, 
 as he says, that it was not a Testament that he 
 
192 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 swore them upon. There was a criminal levity in 
 it; and, I conclude, a selfish and ignorant care 
 for his own safety, while he was sporting with 
 their consciences.-" 
 
 " Consciences, pooh !" said the colonel, as to 
 himself. 
 
 " But," continued Mr. Sprechen, " I put it to 
 your fair and candid mind, Colonel North, whether 
 Bunney would have aided and countenanced, and 
 sworn these men if they had been going out on 
 an expedition which would be universally called 
 criminal ; a going forth to commit highway rob- 
 bery, or to fire a stack-yard, or to steal sheep or 
 poultry." 
 
 " He must have known," said the colonel mildly, 
 "that what all considered crime might or must 
 come temptingly under their hand. They carried 
 sticks, you know. Suppose the guns to have been 
 merely to shoot the game with, there were the 
 sticks : and people do not take pheasants with 
 sticks, though they often knock down keepers." 
 
 "And especially when they know of a large 
 body of keepers armed with sticks, lying in wait 
 for them. It should be remembered that when 
 the numbers in conflict increase as they do in this 
 place, now, in the present case, amounting to 
 sixteen against nineteen, the affair takes more 
 
THE HOUSE ON THE SAND. 193 
 
 and more the aspect of a skirmish, a row, and 
 less and less that of a thieving expedition. So 
 that, while I condemn Bunney's conduct as utterly 
 as you do, I imagine I see more clearly than you 
 the necessity of obviating temptation to such young 
 men ; and I am certainly very far from being able 
 to say ' Pooh ! pooh !' about the consciences of my 
 erring and stricken neighbours. If ever in my life 
 I witnessed an instance of the supremacy of con- 
 science over the very love of life, it was in one of 
 those poor criminals yesterday." 
 
 " How ! what ! What was that ?" inquired Mr. 
 Dancaster. 
 
 "Well, well/' said the colonel; "that little 
 exclamation was to myself : and it was an accident 
 that you heard it." 
 
 "But what was that case you were speaking 
 of?" asked Mr. Dancaster. 
 
 " The most interesting point in the whole 
 affair," said the colonel. " Poor Jack Poote . . " 
 
 " O ! I remember about his refusal to peach." 
 
 " He persisted to the last, even when made 
 aware that he could do nothing to save his com- 
 rades; and also that his oath was not taken on 
 the Testament. He would have gone before the 
 Grand Jury with his father, just because his father 
 did, but for the oath which was in the way. He 
 
 VOL. IT. o 
 
194 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 positively and perseveringly refused to swear, to 
 do anything but take his chance with the rest ; 
 and he now lies under sentence of death." 
 
 A pause ensued ; and then the colonel said 
 
 " Yes, I was wrong in speaking lightly of their 
 consciences, with this case, and even his father's, 
 before me. The poor man is wretched. His main 
 object was to save Jack ; and now he feels he has 
 ruined him with the rest. He knows that none 
 will be hanged but Tyrrel and Henry Croft ; but 
 unless he can get out to the penal colony with 
 Jack, I don't know how he is to bear his life. 
 His remorse is dreadful. And as for telling him 
 he has discharged his duty, and done his best to 
 repair his wrong, you might as well bid a bursting 
 cloud cease to shed water, as hope to comfort him 
 in any such way." 
 
 "There seems some conscience existing here 
 too," observed Mr. Dancaster. 
 
 <( True," said the colonel. e{ I was wrong. Let 
 it pass." 
 
 "In a moment," said Mr. Sprechen. "Only 
 this first. If we are to form an opinion on one 
 another in that matter at all, one party may as 
 well as another. See how, on this supposition, 
 Tom Tippet's death and your conscience, colonel, 
 stand in relation to each other. These men mav 
 
THE HOUSE ON THE SAND. 195 
 
 and do say that it is true you did not take up a 
 gun, and shoot Tom Tippet for getting into your 
 field, contrary to notice : but you anticipated and 
 made ready for such an event. When your spring- 
 gun was charged, it was for the purpose of shoot- 
 ing somebody, if touched: and that somebody 
 was not supposed to be worse than a trespasser; 
 though he might chance to be guiltless of even 
 that much offence." 
 
 " I don't undertake to argue the right and 
 wrong of that matter, Sprechen, there being 
 the law to decide it. I take my stand upon the 
 law." 
 
 "You do?" 
 
 " To be sure I do. How can you doubt it ?" 
 
 " Because it is clear to me that you are mis- 
 taken : that the law does not warrant that act of 
 yours." 
 
 " God bless me ! " cried the colonel ; " what a 
 doctrine to bring up now ! " 
 
 " I know you have followed the practice of men 
 of your standing and neighbourhood, and that you 
 believed yourself fully justified : but those who 
 think otherwise are not only poor Tippet's asso- 
 ciates, but some legal authorities which would have 
 weight with you." 
 
 " But the colonel must have consulted legal 
 o2 
 
196 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 authorities before he charged his guns/' suggested 
 Mr. Dancaster. 
 
 Mr. Sprechen left it to the colonel to answer; 
 and it was some time before there was any reply. 
 
 " Why no/ 3 said he. " I cannot say I ever 
 before dreamed of a doubt upon the subject. And 
 a most harassing one I find it now. It never can 
 be it is inconceivable that I should have begun 
 . . . Well ! I will have every gun discharged till 
 I have obtained the best legal opinions that can 
 be had. And there let it rest for to-night." 
 
 "And for ever," said Mr. Sprechen, "unless 
 you yourself renew the subject. I only wished . . " 
 
 " I see, I see. Your rebuke was fair enough if 
 your law is right. And if there really is an 
 opinion on the other side, I don't know that I 
 would very rigidly maintain my stand on the law, 
 as far as my own property is concerned." 
 
 Mr. Sprechen thought that the sin and doom of 
 the sixteen avengers of Tom Tippet was a pretty 
 strong testimony to the state of opinion in the 
 village. And so deep and loud were now the 
 complaints, from town and country, against such 
 a method of guarding land from trespass, that he 
 had little doubt that the legislature would soon 
 prohibit its use. 
 
 After another turn and pause, the colonel ob- 
 
THE HOUSE ON THE SAND. 197 
 
 served that lie had nothing to say in favour of 
 stretching the law, one way or another; but he 
 owned he did not see what men would have who 
 complained of the present state of things, deter- 
 mined as that was by the law. He did not see 
 what any one could do but go straight forward in 
 the way of right and duty. 
 
 " I will do my utmost/' Mr. Dancaster declared. 
 "Nothing that I can think of doing or urging 
 shall be wanting in this state of things, so fear- 
 ful and disgraceful in an English parish. I will 
 preach, and I am sure it will be from my heart, 
 I will exhort to ' Follow after the things that 
 make for peace/ " 
 
 A quick eye might have seen in the moonlight 
 Mr. Sprechen's glance of apprehension at the 
 colonel, lest he should take this as personal satire. 
 But no such idea occurred to the colonel. 
 
 "I am sure," said he, "you will not have a 
 more cordial hearer than myself. If my neigh- 
 bours would but mind their own business, and 
 leave me and my friends to follow our lawful 
 sports in peace and quietness, they would find me 
 good-natured enough. I love to see them happy 
 and good ; and I do my utmost to throw my weight 
 into the scale of law and order. At least, I have 
 always endeavoured to do so." 
 
198 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 " How is it then that we are in such a state?" 
 asked Mr. Sprechen. 
 
 " And how on earth are we to get out of it ?" 
 exclaimed the clergyman. 
 
 " As for how we got into it/ 3 said the colonel, 
 " God knows, for He alone knows the wicked- 
 ness of the human heart, the wild propensities of 
 fallen man for mischief. Our business, I conceive, 
 is to govern them by the wholesome restraint of 
 law." 
 
 Taking care, I should add," said Mr. Sprechen, 
 " not to natter or exasperate any such propensities 
 by bad laws and unjust arrangements. For one 
 instance, many thousands of men and women 
 have a strong and natural wish to eat game, and 
 do not, for the most part, see any reason why they 
 should not. Many hundreds, not to say thou- 
 sands, have a yet stronger desire to pursue and 
 take the hare which is seen running wild in the 
 lane or fields, and the shy bird which flies, as free 
 as the robin, out of any hedge, and roosts in any 
 tree. But the law comes in, and makes it an 
 offence for the eaters to buy game; for ninety- 
 nine in a hundred lovers of sport to shoot it, and 
 for those who nominally maintain it to sell it." 
 
 " You would legalize the sale of game," said the 
 colonel. "To say nothing of other objections, 
 
THE HOUSE ON THE SAND. 199 
 
 that plan would not answer your purpose. There 
 would be more poaching than ever, I am per- 
 suaded." 
 
 " We ought to try ; that is my persuasion." 
 said Mr. Sprechen. " It is prohibited articles 
 that are smuggled and poached; and to open 
 their sale has been hitherto found the true means 
 of reducing the transgression to the lowest point 
 attainable." 
 
 " It is already done, practically," said the colo- 
 nel. " Here, in this neighbourhood, I could tell 
 you of not a few shabby fellows who sell their 
 game; and nowhere is poaching more rife. I 
 grant you, however, that this is not the same 
 thing, in point of moral effect, with a legalized 
 sale of game. But the moral effect of a legalized 
 sale would disappoint you. All true sportsmen 
 and gentlemen would refuse to sell; and the 
 market would be supplied by poachers." 
 
 " I think it might answer, the qualification being, 
 of course, much extended," said Mr. Sprechen. 
 " But I, in my turn, grant you that we may be 
 quite out in any arrangements we may plan : for 
 there is a fatal peculiarity in the preservation of 
 game, I hardly know what, . . . . " 
 
 " Surely one may see what," said the colonel. 
 <f The peculiarity of game property is the impossi- 
 
200 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 bility of identifying it. It is this which will 
 nullify all the arrangements you talk of: and it 
 is this which renders it necessary, in my opinion, 
 to make it sacred, not to be touched on any pre- 
 tence, but by a well denned and small order of 
 persons, under stringent conditions." 
 
 "And when that arrangement shall have dis- 
 solved, under the pressure of circumstances, never 
 to be restored, what next ?" 
 
 " We must assume it as still existing, and act 
 accordingly," decided the colonel. 
 
 " There is where we differ," said both his com- 
 panions. " It is too much," said Mr. Sprechen, 
 " to sacrifice four lives, and transport and banish 
 fourteen more men from one district, for the 
 maintenance of such an assumption, in regard to 
 a single game-estate." 
 
 " It is too much," fervently declared the clergy- 
 man. 
 
 " But, my good friends, what are we to do ? 
 Here is the game ! ' Here is the law ! What 
 would you have ?" '' ;; . 
 
 " I conceive we must have a continual ameliora- 
 tion," said Mr. Sprechen, "such as has taken 
 place, from time to time, since game became pro- 
 perty. One oppression after another has ceased ; 
 one restriction after another has given way. And 
 
THE HOUSE ON THE SAND. 201 
 
 1 am persuaded that such is to be still the order 
 of things ; and that calamities, like that which has 
 visited our village now, are the signs of approach- 
 ing change. We shall soon have done with the 
 barbarism of traps and all mechanical ambush for 
 men : and soon after, I think we shall see the 
 sale of game legalized, and the qualification to 
 shoot much extended. If these measures do not 
 answer . . . . " 
 
 " Ah ! then, how are we to get back again ?" 
 " The best feature of the change will be that we 
 cannot get back again. To have left our present 
 state behind will be a blessing of itself. If the 
 next steps do not answer, men must go forward 
 again, according to the best wisdom of the then 
 present time." 
 
 " I hope you will please to ask us first," said 
 the colonel, smiling; "to consult us before so 
 disposing of our rights and our property." 
 
 "It will be done by yourselves, colonel. It 
 will be done by parliament, of course. You have 
 legislated freely for your own sports and property ; 
 and you will legislate for the control of your sports 
 and the adjustment of your game property to the 
 interests of society, when society sees this to be 
 required by its interests. That day will come, 
 colonel, as sure as fate." 
 
202 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 " Thank you for the prediction." 
 
 " You may be grateful, I think. In those times, 
 you will not have to act the patrol round your 
 own dwelling, nor keep your best pictures in the 
 dairy-house." 
 
 The colonel was surprised, and almost vexed 
 with himself that he could make no better fight 
 for his prized game rights : but he had no inclina- 
 tion to bring forward now his sayings in praise of 
 country sports, in which he knew his companions 
 agreed, nor his convictions, in which he knew they 
 disagreed, that landlords' residence, with all the 
 benefits of residence on estates, depended on the 
 preservation of game, according to the law of that 
 time. 
 
 It seemed also as if he and Sprechen had 
 changed characters to-night, Sprechen being 
 fired by the insight he had gained through his 
 young son's peril and temptation, in addition 
 to his long professional knowledge of the working 
 of the Game-laws; and the colonel being first 
 depressed by the spectacle of the trials, and then 
 stung to the quick by the doubt, now first raised, 
 whether he had not been an aggressor, perhaps 
 the first and worst aggressor, by setting spring- 
 guns murderously charged. If it were indeed so, 
 where was now his pride of right and legality? his 
 
THE HOUSE ON THE SAND. 203 
 
 dignified stand upon the law? What must he 
 think of his confidence in pursuing his neighbours 
 to banishment and the gallows ? Was there indeed 
 truth in the words of the reckless young man 
 whom he had this day seen standing, white as a 
 corpse, to receive his sentence of seven years' 
 transportation, ruin and infamy for life, for 
 administering the poachers' oath ? was there 
 truth in those words, despised at the time, but 
 now disturbing to the soul, sickening to the very 
 heart, " Lord A. and Colonel North had brought 
 it all upon themselves by setting the guns; and 
 he did not believe any of the men would ever have 
 thought of firing upon the keepers, if one of their 
 own party had not first been killed." 
 
 It was a relief from the pang of his new-born 
 fear to turn to what Mr. Dancaster was saying. 
 
 " You are right undoubtedly," he was saying to 
 Mr. Sprechen. "As a lawyer, and also as a 
 moralist, you are undoubtedly right in aiming at 
 such alterations in the law as may lessen instead 
 of exasperating temptation. I will go with you 
 heart and hand in that. But, at the same time, I 
 remember how all laws have hitherto failed with 
 regard to this particular species of property ; and 
 I cannot be sanguine about any new ones. Whe- 
 ther more or. less severe in themselves, whether 
 
204 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 more or less harshly administered, they appear to 
 have absolutely no effect whatever in protecting 
 game, while they in consequence are very powerful 
 in creating contempt and hatred for law, and the 
 very name of justice. Mend the law, by all means, 
 if it is mischievous : but when you have done 
 this, it is a mere negative good. It may obviate 
 some future corruption ; but it cannot institute 
 a reform." 
 
 " I agree with you entirely," said Mr. Sprechen. 
 " It is the good old truth that you are uttering, 
 that men cannot be made moral by Act of Parlia- 
 ment." 
 
 fc It is a slow and most imperfect expedient, 
 however right in itself," resumed Mr. Dancaster. 
 " The true corrective may be slow too, may take 
 a generation or two for its entire accomplishment : 
 but it may begin at any hour, and work much in 
 a year. My only trust is in education, a truly 
 Christian education which shall . . . . " 
 
 "I agree with you there entirely," said the 
 colonel, eagerly. " Our poor must be taught to 
 resist temptation, to keep their hands from pick- 
 ing and stealing, to be obedient to all who are in 
 authority. When they have learned that, there 
 will be no more poaching." 
 
 " That is true ; but it is not all my meaning," 
 
THE HOUSE ON THE SAND. 205 
 
 declared Mr. Dancaster. "The educational pro- 
 cess you speak of will be an extremely slow one ; 
 hopelessly slow, if pursued by itself. There is 
 another party to the affair, who, as being more 
 capable, and better prepared, ought to learn their 
 lesson first. It is my clear opinion, Colonel North, 
 that the Christian education I speak of should 
 begin with the country gentlemen. They can read 
 their bibles. I wish they would so far study them 
 as to learn practically to deny themselves in some 
 of their liberties, lest they should become ' a 
 stumbling-block to those who are weak/ I wish 
 they would discipline themselves, for one year of 
 their lives, to abstain from a gratification, however 
 innocent in their own eyes, which causes any poor 
 weak brother to offend. The apostle says ' while the 
 world standeth ;' but for unpractised Christians, let 
 us say only till our weak brethren are educated up to 
 something like equality of enlightenment with us." 
 
 " I fancy you have somewhat changed your 
 views, Mr. Dancaster, since you first came here." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, through wider changes that have 
 been going on around me. My attention had 
 never been duly fixed on the morality of rural 
 parishes till this last tremendous winter opened to 
 me such a scene, that I tremble to look into it. It 
 is a spot of rank heathendom which I am called to 
 
206 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 christianize. This is enough to sober the most 
 sanguine to deepen the most superficial man. 
 At first, I was like a child in these matters, these 
 unhallowed contentions of yours. I was violently 
 moved by all I saw, and apt to agree with the last 
 pleader, on any side. But, now I have seen and 
 heard all, I perceive the whole system to be 
 radically wrong which sets up such a competition 
 of violence, selfishness and fraud. You, colonel, 
 are, or ought to be, it is your claim to be the 
 Christian gentleman of this parish : and I have 
 found that your hand is against every man, and 
 every man's against you. Is this the position 
 (putting aside the question of whose fault it is) 
 is this the position for the head of a Christian 
 society? And then, what a marring of all sacred 
 rites have I to blush for in my parish ! My- very 
 voice trembles when I pray in church against our 
 being led into temptation, and for forgiveness of 
 our trespasses as we forgive others. And at the 
 communion tai>le, my heart sinks with fear and 
 shame when I know what hypocrisy is there, 
 that those who eat of the same bread, and drink 
 of the same cup, have nothing short of murder in 
 their hearts " 
 
 " You were saying how wholly inoperative our 
 human laws have proved against this class of 
 
THE HOUSE ON THE SAND. 207 
 
 offences," observed Mr. Sprechen. " It seems as 
 if the divine laws wrought no better." 
 
 " They have never been tried/' said Mr. Dan- 
 caster. " Only try them, beginning with the 
 party who knows them best, or pretends to do so ; 
 and you will see whether in this, as in all other 
 stress, they are not mighty to save. But I have 
 not done easing my soul about our mockeries. 
 We are wont to say that the churchyard is a place 
 of peace; that there, where rich and poor lie 
 down together, where lord and slave are equal, 
 and where the childish cry of contention is hushed 
 in the expectation of the last trump, in such a 
 place of solemn peace, what have our interments 
 been ? Look at the two winch, with shame and 
 dismay, I have had to conduct there, uttering 
 words of calm faith, hope and charity over mur- 
 dered men whose mourners were filled with tumult, 
 despair and vindictiveness. And those two graves 
 suggest the thought of several which ought to be 
 there hereafter, but never will. Two young men, 
 whose last home they never doubted would be 
 there, will to-morrow die, but have no graves. 
 Others who came up weekly at the sound of our 
 Sabbath bell will soon be gone where they will 
 too probably never hear church bell more, but will 
 be laid in wild ground, with the depth of the 
 
208 HEATHENDOM IN CHRISTENDOM. 
 
 globe between their bones and those of their 
 fathers; their now mourning parents, for whose 
 griefs and shame the kindly grave is already 
 opening." 
 
 " They say," observed Mr. Sprechen, " that old 
 Tyrrel wholly disbelieves his son's guilt, and has 
 spent the savings of his industrious life in his 
 defence." 
 
 "I will look to that," said the colonel. "The 
 old man shall not suffer." 
 
 " Shall not suffer ! " exclaimed Mr. Dancaster. 
 " Better promise that he shall 'not die ! He is 
 death-stricken ; so that affairs of the purse matter 
 little to him now. Your best kindness is to leave 
 him undisturbed ; not to agitate him by visit or 
 message ; and least of all by gifts." 
 
 " As you think best. I respect that old man. 
 I need not tell you, Mr. Dancaster, my desire to 
 give what aid and comfort I can. I do, and ever 
 shall, consider myself the injured party ; but this 
 makes me only the more anxious to show mercy 
 in enforcing justice." 
 
 " These cases are beyond your scope of mercy, 
 I fear, or I would % come to you freely," said Mr. 
 Dancaster. " Old Wells is deprived of his stout 
 sons, and must endure a hard and weary old age. 
 Tippet's mother has, a second time, and more 
 
THE HOUSE ON THE SAND. 209 
 
 horribly, lost a son. Hayward's sisters must 
 struggle on as they can : and one of them has a 
 deep heart- wound : she was to have been Noyse's 
 wife ere this. Poor Jack will, I fear, lose that 
 innocence which is nearly all that God gave 
 him .... " 
 
 " I cannot bear this/' said the colonel. " It can 
 do no good to harrow one's soul in this way." 
 
 "If we cannot bear these things," said Mr. 
 Dancaster, "what a spectacle must there be under 
 those shining roofs where the quiet moon might 
 seem to be shedding repose ! Perhaps in time all 
 may agree that there is no good, but fearful evil, 
 in harrowing human souls for rights in beasts 
 and birds." 
 
 "That was a right pretty early and solemnly 
 conferred, if I read my Bible truly," observed the 
 colonel. 
 
 "You mean when God gave man dominion 
 over the fish of the sea, and the fowl of the air, 
 and every living thing that lived on the earth. 
 To me now it seems that we have, by our selfish 
 devices, reversed this promise. In this spot of the 
 earth, at least, it is certain that we have given to 
 the hare in the furrow, and the pheasant at roost, 
 dominion over the fortunes, lives and souls of men." 
 
 VOL. II. P 
 
FOUR YEARS 
 
 MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL 
 FARM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WIDOW FARN was a happy woman; still 
 happy, though she had fully believed, for some 
 few weeks together, that she should never be 
 happy again. Her husband had died, after three 
 days' illness, and left her confounded and amazed 
 with the sense of woe, experienced for the first 
 time in her life ; and then it was that she believed 
 and said that she should never more be happy. 
 Thus far, all had gone prosperously with her : 
 her husband and she had never been ill; their 
 little farm, on which they had dwelt since their 
 marriage, had answered well ; their three children 
 all lived, and were promising in their several 
 ways; and Mrs. Farn had an easy and hopeful 
 temper, which did not give way under the little 
 
214 FOUR YEARS AT .MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 daily crosses of life. So that, though her help 
 and her tears were ready for any suffering neigh- 
 bour, and she supposed she knew all about sorrow, 
 and spoke feelingly of the chequered character of 
 human life, she was in fact as ignorant of the 
 most painful emotions of the human heart as her 
 little son Ned ; without, however, wearing out 
 other people with high spirits as Ned did, but 
 rather enjoying popularity by means of her inces- 
 sant hopefulness and good construction of events. 
 It was a terrible sight to those who knew her 
 well to see the sunk and amazed grief of her 
 countenance, when it first appeared in her widow's 
 cap ; and it moved them to tears to hear the timid 
 and uncertain tones of her voice, when she again 
 assumed the direction of affairs at home. Some 
 said she would never be the same woman again, 
 and that they should preserve, as if she were dead, 
 the remembrance of her former self, as of the 
 most cheerful person they had ever known. Others 
 believed that she would rally, and soon. And 
 these last were right. Habit has much to do 
 with these matters : and, as persons who have 
 been overmuch or overlong tried by misfortune 
 remain apprehensive, and unable to enjoy the 
 securest happiness, so the life-long habit of relish 
 of existence in Mrs. Farn gained upon her sorrow, 
 
215 
 
 and rendered her unable to maintain it. She 
 soon began, not only to admit and see, (as she 
 had ever done) but to feel with joy what a bless- 
 ing of a son Henry was to her : and that Dinah 
 was as sweet a young girl as could be seen ; and, 
 as for Ned, he was her delight above everything 
 in the world. Next, when the spring drew on, 
 and the green blade was coming up in the field, 
 and the young lambs were about the yard and in 
 the meadow, and she heard the cuckoo for the 
 first time that season, and the sunshine spread 
 into the afternoons, so that she descried, after her 
 early tea, a glittering sail on the line of sea which 
 bounded her horizon, her heart sprang up as in 
 former years, her black eyes sparkled again, and 
 her voice was strong in cheerfulness once more. 
 She said to herself what a sin it would be to be 
 gloomy and ungrateful when God nad left her so 
 much ; such children, and a home that she was 
 fond of, and a nice little farm for herself and 
 Henry to manage ; and means of living from this 
 farm enough for the family wants, with a little 
 over in most years, to be spent in improving the 
 land so as to bring in yet a little more, and thus 
 keep their prospects perpetually enlarging. These 
 considerations would not have made her a happy 
 woman, if she had not been so from other causes; 
 
216 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 but they accounted to herself for her being so, 
 and reconciled her to it. 
 
 Maude-chapel farm, her home, which she thought 
 the perfection of beauty, would not have struck 
 a stranger as being altogether so replete with 
 charms. Yet it had its comely features, as every 
 farm must have. It was situated in a country 
 about as far from picturesque as any in England, 
 near the coast, in the flat county of Norfolk, 
 where a rising ground which would hardly be 
 perceived elsewhere becomes almost as important 
 as a hill of sixty feet is found in an American 
 prairie, from the extent of survey which it affords. 
 There were a few undulations in and about 
 Maude-chapel farm which were as good as moun- 
 tains to the dwellers there. They admitted of 
 shadows and partial lights. One eminence afforded 
 a sea-view, with its distant light-house, a greater 
 treasure and glory on a winter evening or summer 
 night than any one of the constellations overhead. 
 Then, there was the heath that stretched sea- 
 wards, with its broom and furze, its harebells and 
 variety of heaths, with its intersecting paths, the 
 greenest of the green. And again, there was the 
 little wood, jutting down between the grass-land 
 and the arable of the farm ; and, though not be- 
 longing to it, as open to the family as if it was. 
 
217 
 
 This little wood was the pride of them all. Ned 
 knew more than he chose to tell anybody but his 
 mother of the birds' nests in it, every spring. 
 Dinah defended the daffodils there, which some 
 persons presumed to despise : and year by year, 
 more snow-drops showed themselves in the open 
 places, and more primroses nestled in the recesses 
 of the roots of the venerable trees. Then, there 
 was a curious old barn, on which the name of the 
 place might throw some light. It was built of 
 stone, had a steep high roof, and had certainly 
 once been lighted by pointed arched windows, 
 whose spaces had long been filled up with brick 
 and mortar. 
 
 Now and then, a stranger with antiquarian 
 tastes who had been visiting the ancient city of 
 Norwich, and was on his way to the coast, in 
 quest of sea breezes or old churches, would stop 
 at the farm, and ask to look at the old barn, and 
 measure the door-posts, and finger the little 
 arches, and inquire for any traditions about the 
 place. Then Mrs. Farn was ready and pleased 
 to offer him new milk ; and she could seldom help 
 pointing out the eminence and the wood, with 
 any light and shadow that might be upon them, 
 and pressing him to say whether he had ever 
 anywhere seen a spot so beautiful. Several such 
 
218 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 visitors rather disappointed her by evading her 
 inquiry, and giving merely general praise: but 
 one or two she found more appreciative, they 
 assuring her that they had travelled far, and that 
 there was nowhere else anything so beautiful as 
 Maude-chapel farm. This she could always quote 
 henceforward ; and feel justified in admiring her 
 home more and more, the longer she lived in it. 
 
 In one sense, it did become more worthy of her 
 affection. It was a much improved place since 
 she and her husband entered upon it, many years 
 before. The farm consisted of 200 acres, with 
 but little good land in it, most of it being a light 
 sandy soil. It was in low condition at first, the 
 land let down, the hedges in bad order, the farm- 
 buildings poor and dilapidated. For seven years, 
 the farmer had held it at a very easy rent ; and 
 for the seven next had been able and willing to 
 pay more. At the time of his death, he was pay- 
 ing a hundred and fifty pounds a year : and at this 
 rent his widow and son now held it on a seven 
 years' lease, and made it answer well. Of the 
 200 acres, 110 were arable : about 80 in grass and 
 pasture; and the rest in hedge, ditch, and the 
 scrubby wood natural to the district. The farmer 
 had proved himself intelligent in the management 
 of his business ; and he had brought up his son 
 
219 
 
 Henry to be as pains-taking as himself, and even 
 more fond of the study of his occupation, by 
 means of reading, and other methods of learning. 
 As, year by year at first, more wild land was re- 
 claimed, and made to bear what compensated for 
 the cost bestowed upon it, so now, year by year, 
 such land bore heavier crops, and supplied the 
 means of further improvement. 
 
 The Farns' landlord when they entered was old 
 Mr. Neville, whom everybody respected as a man 
 and a landlord. He told them the disadvantages, 
 as well as the advantages of the place, and, among 
 the rest, that it was a bad neighbourhood for 
 rabbits, from the nature of the soil: and that, 
 when they had got the rabbits down, they would 
 have to look that the hares did not increase upon 
 them. He did not attempt to interfere with the 
 natural right of the tenant to have the game on 
 his farm ; and, when his steward asked him 
 whether he did not mean to reserve it to himself, 
 said that he had no wish to do so, from the time 
 he was permitted by law to buy game whenever 
 he wanted it. The rabbits were rather trouble- 
 some to keep down : but it was part of the busi- 
 ness of the farm, and it was done, as regularly 
 and effectively as rats are provided against in 
 farms that border on rivers. As for the game, it 
 
220 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 caused little mischief. The farmer sometimes took 
 out a certificate, and shot for his own amusement, 
 and on his own account; and sometimes let the 
 shooting over his farm; in the latter case always 
 taking care that the renter was one who would 
 not do him harm in one way, while, in another, 
 benefiting him by reducing the hares and pheasants 
 to a harmless amount. 
 
 There had been no trouble worth complaining 
 of from the neighbouring land. It was, for the 
 most part, the landlord's estate : and, when the 
 old gentleman died, his agent and his manage- 
 ment continued unchanged, his heir being 
 abroad for some years, on his foreign travels. 
 
 Dinah was a tall girl now, old enough to give 
 much help at home ; but her mother had the self- 
 denial to keep her at a good day-school three 
 miles off, with her younger brother, till she was 
 nearly seventeen. From the next Christmas she 
 was to remain at home; and then Mrs. Farn knew 
 she should never repent having allowed her 
 daughter the opportunity of obtaining a good 
 hand-writing, knowledge of accounts, and of 
 needle-work, and so much taste for books as 
 would make her an intelligent companion for her 
 brother Henry, who was five years older. Henry 
 
HENRY'S PROSPECTS. 221 
 
 was so sober and thoughtful that- his mother was 
 almost too gay an associate for him, when his 
 mind was full of business. His sister had gravity 
 enough for him ; and between them, they would 
 manage all serious affairs, while Mrs. Farn and 
 Ned made as much cheerfulness as was wanted in 
 the house. 
 
 When Dinah's school term was drawing to a 
 close, she came in one afternoon in the dusk, 
 wondering, from the time she entered the yard 
 gate, to see her mother standing in the doorway 
 of the house, in the full draught of the very 
 cold wind. Dinah hastened, exclaiming as she 
 approached 
 
 " Am I late, mother ? I thought I had walked 
 fast ? " 
 
 "I dare say you did, my dear. I was only 
 looking out for you, that 's all." 
 
 By the light from within, Dinah now saw in her 
 mother's face that something good or something 
 droll must have happened. Smiles were on her 
 lips, and glittered forth from her eyes. 
 
 " Why, mother, what is it ? " cried Dinah. 
 
 Mrs. Farn laughed outright as she replied 
 
 "Why, yes, there is something, dear. There 
 are two things to tell you of. Go and find 
 Henry ...... 
 
222 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 " O ! then I know," exclaimed Dinah, clasping 
 her hands in thankfulness. 
 
 " Well ! don't ask me, because I promised that 
 Henry should tell you himself. And Dinah ! " 
 she cried, as the breathless girl was faring off to 
 seek her brother, " come back to me as quick as 
 you can, for I have something else to tell you." 
 
 It was a good while before Dinah returned; 
 for Henry poured out his whole heart to her who 
 had long sympathized in his humble and hope- 
 less love. Hopeless they had both thought it, 
 so entirely unmoved and unimpressed had Fanny 
 King appeared by the knowledge she could not 
 but have had of his attachment, from their school 
 days onwards. Mrs. Farn had always wished that 
 Henry would ask his fate : and he had often 
 planned to do, in despair, what his mother advo- 
 cated in hope : but he had always felt repressed 
 at the moment. The repression to-day had been 
 beyond anything he had before experienced ; but 
 happily it was critical. In desperation he 
 explained himself; and he came home happy, 
 though fully convinced that he had been a cowardly 
 fool for a long time past. 
 
 " How did he look when he came in, mother 1" 
 asked Dinah, on returning from her long con- 
 versation with Henry. " It was so dark just now, 
 
223 
 
 I could not see his face ; and I would not say a 
 word about his coming in, for fear of stopping his 
 talk. How did he look ? How did he tell you?" 
 
 " He was so white, I thought he was going to 
 faint. I came into the room, just as he had 
 dropped down on that chair. e Why, Henry ! ' I 
 said. ' Fanny King ! ' said he. ' Well, has she 
 refused you ? ' I asked. ( No ! ' said he, like one 
 astonished. I never shall forget the sound of that 
 < No ! ' So then I told him that if he had taken 
 my advice, and if he had known his own merits 
 better, he might have been as happy as he is now 
 for a year or two past. However, it is all right 
 now." 
 
 " But he says, mother, that they won't think 
 of marrying for a length of time yet ; not this 
 twelvemonth, at least." 
 
 " I suppose he is right. I dare say he is; but 
 it seems to me they have waited a long time 
 already. It is like years and years since we went 
 a drive one spring afternoon, your father and he 
 and I, to the beach, and he ran on before us, 
 getting into, spirits on the shore : and when I 
 came up behind him softly on the sands, I found 
 him writing r. K. with a stick, over and over 
 again, where the tide was coming up. Your father 
 and I looked at one another, and knew what to 
 
224 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 think from that day forward. But how very long 
 that seems ago ! Well ! he is full of happiness 
 to-night; and that is enough. And you, Dinah, 
 what will you think of having a sister, dear?" 
 
 Dinah sobbed with joy; and her mother 
 laughed at her, while her own eyes were running 
 over. 
 
 " Why, we are as foolish with our tears as ever 
 Henry was with his blushes," said she, brushing 
 away the unwonted drops. "And did not I tell 
 you that there is another piece of news to-day ? " 
 " O yes ! can there be any more good news 
 left ? " 
 
 " Yes indeed, my dear : good for us, I hope ; 
 and the best news that could be for the neigh- 
 bourhood. Mr." Neville is coming down to the 
 Lodge." 
 
 "What, to live?" 
 
 " It is said so. He will try it, at all events ; 
 and God grant he may like it well enough to stay ! " 
 " I suppose it will be a good thing." 
 " A great blessing indeed. Nobody will be out> 
 of work then. It will bring all manner of custom 
 into the neighbourhood. Perhaps some servants 
 will be wanted for the Lodge : and the dairy and 
 the gardens and grounds will be got in order. 
 And if they get up the game . . . . " 
 
225 
 
 "Ah! " said Henry, who then came in, "that 
 is the part of the business that I am least sure 
 about." 
 
 " Why, it will employ so many people ! " said 
 the widow. " You know, the carrier was telling 
 us, the other day, that there are nearly three 
 hundred game-keepers in the next county. Then 
 there are the numbers of men wanted, at the 
 worst season of the year, for helpers to sporting 
 gentlemen, to beat for the game, and look after 
 the horses and dogs, and so on. Think what a 
 number of people this employs ! O ! if Mr. 
 Neville and his friends spend the winters here, the 
 country round will have a merry Christmas, and 
 a happy new year. Eh ! Henry ? " 
 
 " Let us hope so, mother. But we get on pretty 
 well at present, as things are : and that is more 
 than they do in such places as I know where game 
 is preserved." 
 
 " In those places, I fancy the tenants have not 
 the liberty that we have over the game on our 
 farm. It must be quite a different thing, you 
 know, where the landlord reserves the game/' 
 
 " O yes ! that makes a vast difference," Henry 
 agreed. " But if they let the game get up much 
 in the covers, so near as they are to us, it will take 
 a great deal of trouble to keep it within bounds." 
 
 VOL. n. Q 
 
226 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 " O ! Ned will help in that, and delight in it," 
 declared his mother. " But where is Ned ? " she 
 asked of Dinah. 
 
 "He ran off from the school-door, with Joe 
 Green and the Smiths," said Dinah. " I dare say 
 they are in the wood, or somewhere about." 
 
 Henry went out, and whistled the shrill whistle 
 which often brought the careless Ned home to 
 meals, when he had forgotten all about the time. 
 
 " Henry does not want to be kept waiting for 
 his tea," observed his smiling mother, "consider- 
 ing that he has a certain visit to pay afterwards. 
 He shall tell the Kings that you and I will go 
 over to-morrow. You have nearly done with 
 school now, and I shall not mind your staying 
 away for one morning. And we will fix a day 
 for them all to come and dine ; the earliest 
 day they can give us. But I wish Ned would 
 come in." 
 
 In another moment Ned did come in, with 
 great commotion, rushing into the kitchen as if 
 the catcher of the hindmost were at his heels. 
 He and the Smiths and Joe Green had been ditch- 
 leaping, all across the farm, till they found them- 
 selves on the heath, and it was too dark to do 
 anything but come home. As they passed the 
 new hedge, which the hedger had only just left, 
 
HENRY'S PROSPECTS. 227 
 
 they saw some people helping themselves with the 
 stakes. Little Will Tucker was certainly one; 
 and when the boys hallooed, and asked .what 
 business they had there, Mrs. Tucker was seen to 
 let into the ditch a stake which she held ; and 
 then she came forward, and threatened the boys 
 that if they dared to tell at home any lies about 
 anybody having taken anything but ling off the 
 common, they should be the worse for it. Joe 
 Green had told her that he had seen her drop a 
 stake into the ditch, and that he should let Henry 
 Farn know it. Whereupon, Mrs. Tucker had 
 called her husband, who came out of the ditch, 
 with a stout stake, close upon the boys ; and they 
 had run all the way back, sure that Tucker would 
 have beaten them within an inch of their lives, if 
 he could have caught them. 
 
 " I must see after those people," declared 
 Henry, taking down his hat, which he had hung 
 up in hopes of his tea. " I can't go on always 
 making new hedges in the day to be pulled to 
 pieces in the night." 
 
 ' ' Ah ! once caught, those Tuckers will let us 
 alone, I hope," said Mrs. Earn. "You think 
 not ? Well, try what making them ashamed will 
 do. But, Henry, do take one of the men with 
 you. I don't like to think of your going to meet 
 
228 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 that fellow in the dark. No, Ned, you won't do. 
 You are not big enough for that yet ; and you 
 are young enough yet to be making yourself 
 enemies, Fm sure. You will take Hooker, will 
 you Henry ? Very well. Make haste back : and 
 we won't tell Ned any news, good or bad, till 
 you come in." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 FIRST YEAH. 
 
 MR. NEVILLE came down to the Lodge, and 
 staid there till the London season recalled him to 
 town. He brought and entertained a good many 
 friends; and he left behind him very distinct 
 traces of his residence. He had kept open house 
 at Christmas ; had looked a little into his affairs, 
 and approved of most that his steward, Mr. Cosby, 
 had done ; but had ordered alterations enough in 
 the grounds to employ several labourers for some 
 months to come; and had sent for and settled 
 an accomplished gamekeeper from the other side 
 of Norwich, who was to get up the game to a 
 reasonable amount, observing strictly the promise 
 made to the neighbouring farmers that they 
 should not be injured by the game to any extent 
 worth complaining of. 
 
 Mr. Neville hoped that by one device he had 
 done his tenants some good, while saving his own 
 purse. He gave over the rabbits to his game- 
 keeper, as a perquisite, thus, while reducing the 
 
230 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 man's salary, providing, as he trusted, for the 
 rabbits being pretty well cleared off, the demand 
 for them being considerable in Norwich, and in all 
 the towns of the county. These arrangements 
 made, he went away; might pop down to the 
 seaside in the summer, or might not be seen 
 again till the next shooting season. 
 
 He had not been long gone when a few inci- 
 dents occurred which made some of the inhabitants 
 of the neighbourhood feel that, however great 
 might be the good of the landlord's residence, that 
 good was not unmixed. On the very day of his 
 departure, Henry was sending his sheep, as usual, 
 by the way of the wood, from his sward land to 
 his turnip field, when the shepherd came and told 
 him that he could not get through the wood, 
 the gate being locked. 
 
 Henry went to the spot, and found this true. 
 He called aloud, and his well-known neighbour, 
 Tucker, appeared, to learn what was wanted. 
 
 " Do you know," said Henry, " whether any of 
 Mr. Neville's people are about ? " 
 
 " I am here. What do you want ? I am under- 
 keeper at Mr. Neville's." 
 
 " You are ? Then can you tell me where I may 
 find Mr. Cosby ?" 
 
FIKST YEAR. 231 
 
 " He is up at the Lodge. But if you mean about 
 the locking of that gate, it is done by orders of 
 Mr. Neville, that the game in this cover may not 
 be disturbed." 
 
 " There is some mistake," said Henry. " I have 
 a right of way through this wood." 
 
 " Well, you can ask Mr. Cosby." 
 
 Mr. Cosby gave the same account of the matter. 
 Mr. Neville's friend, Lord Z., when down the 
 other day, advised him to make more use of his 
 excellent covers, and orders were given accordingly 
 to his head-keeper, who had engaged two under- 
 keepers who knew the land and the game 
 perfectly. 
 
 Henry smiled, for Tucker was the most 
 notorious poacher within twenty miles. No man 
 indeed knew more of the land and the game. 
 
 These men had decided at once that the passage 
 of sheep through the wood would disturb the 
 game ; and it could not be allowed. 
 
 " But," said Henry, " there is a right of way 
 through that wood which has never been disputed. 
 I am sure Mr. Neville cannot know that : nor 
 that if I am prevented sending my sheep one 
 hundred and fifty yards through that wood, I 
 cannot get them upon my field without driving 
 them more than half a mile round." 
 
232 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 Mr. Cosby could only say his employer's orders 
 were positive, that the gates should be locked ; 
 and of course the sheep could not be let through. 
 Henry took his landlord's present address, and 
 went home, a good deal annoyed ; for the new 
 arrangement made a very serious difference to 
 him, and he could not be so sanguine as his 
 mother about Mr. Neville's setting everything 
 right by return of post. 
 
 In fact, it was not till after repeated applications, 
 and the lapse of many weeks, that he obtained 
 an answer at all ; and then it was merely a few 
 lines referring him to Mr. Cosby. 
 
 Much dismay was caused one Sunday morning 
 by such an event as had never been witnessed or 
 heard of before by the oldest inhabitant. Some 
 children, the oldest not above fifteen, the youngest 
 nine, went out bird-nesting. Four of them got 
 into the wood, saying that people always used to 
 go there, and there was nothing but a gate to 
 hinder them now. The others remained outside, 
 being afraid of the keepers, and having some 
 sense that it was wrong to go over locked gates. 
 Their companions were bringing them a linnet's 
 nest, and a miscellany of eggs in a handkerchief, 
 when the halloo of a keeper was heard, and Tucker 
 appeared. The boys scampered, and all but one 
 
FIRST YEAR. 233 
 
 had cleared the gate when Tucker came up ; and 
 that one was on the top bar. Tucker knocked 
 him off, inside the gate, and struck him with his 
 stick. As the man swore and threatened, and did 
 not enjoy the good opinion of the neighbourhood, 
 the children were afraid he would murder their 
 comrade. They pelted him with stones which lay 
 about. He did not stand this long, but retreated 
 through the wood, shaking his stick at the 
 intruders. They went homewards, sufficiently 
 instructed against trespassing, and some two or 
 three of the more timid doubting whether they 
 had heard the last of it. 
 
 A very speedy certainty succeeded to this doubt. 
 Before they reached the nearest of their homes, 
 they were overtaken by the constable and the two 
 under-keepers, and carried off to the house of a 
 magistrate. Of course, they did not appear at 
 home in time for church ; and their families went 
 without them. It was in church that the report 
 spread that several children were to be carried off 
 to Norwich Castle, for an assault on Mr. Neville's 
 keeper. All that day and the next, the parents 
 tried in vain to obtain access to the boys, or to 
 the magistrate. They were merely told through 
 the medium of the butler, that the case would 
 come on on Wednesday morning, when they 
 
234 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 might attend. On Tuesday afternoon, however, 
 they heard that the case had been heard that 
 morning, the children fined ten pounds for the 
 assault on the keeper, and, being unable to pay, 
 were sent for a fortnight to the nearest House of 
 Correction. 
 
 Every parent whose boys were safe at home 
 that morning was duly thankful : and very serious 
 were the warnings given against going near Mr. 
 Neville's property. Ned Farn looked grave for a 
 longer time than had ever been seen before : yet 
 his mother, like many another mother, was anxious 
 and alarmed if he was out of her sight for an hour 
 that was unaccounted for. 
 
 One Saturday that spring, he had come in from 
 school, and left his satchel; and, finding nobody 
 in the kitchen, had gone out again. He did not 
 appear at dinner, nor at supper, and Henry 
 himself was growing uneasy when the boy's voice 
 was heard without, in loud laughter with another. 
 His mother laughed as heartily as he, partly in 
 sympathy, and partly from the relief to her fears. 
 But Henry continued grave till he heard Ned's 
 account of himself. 
 
 Ned came in, all glowing with delight, with a 
 bat, trap and ball in his hands. He was as eager 
 to tell his mother how he obtained these as she 
 
FIRST YEAR. 235 
 
 was to hear. But lie could not tell any body 
 else; not Henry, nor Dinah. He had, in fact, 
 promised not to tell any body; but he never 
 doubted his mother being always an understood 
 exception. 
 
 His mother lost no time in giving him his sup- 
 per, and getting him to bed, and then holding an 
 anxious consultation with his brother and sister. 
 
 At school, a boy about Ned's age had told him 
 that he knew how to get some money that very 
 day, to buy a bat with. He had an errand to do 
 for Mr. Neville, for which he was to be paid; 
 and Ned and Joe Green should help him, and 
 share the money, if they liked. Of course, they 
 did like it : and Ned agreed, only differing about 
 going off straight from the school, or leaving word 
 at home. He had deposited his satchel ; and his 
 companions would not wait longer. A gentleman, 
 he was told, wanted some pheasants' eggs, and 
 would take partridges' too, if they came in his 
 way : and another gentleman had said, on another 
 day, where such eggs were likely to be found. So 
 the three boys set off for General White's woods, 
 and Mrs. Gibson's fields ; and they had found 
 what they wanted. On their return, their leader 
 bade them walk on along the road, while he carried 
 in the eggs to the person who was to receive and 
 
236 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 pay for them. Joe and Ned did walk on; but 
 they chanced to look behind them, and they saw 
 that the man who came to unlock the gate was 
 Tucker. This first made Ned uneasy about what 
 he had been doing : but his comrade presently ran 
 up, said all was right, showed them the money, 
 sixpence for every pheasants' egg, and three-half- 
 pence for every partridge's, and led the way to 
 buy the bat and trap and ball, and the materials 
 for a kite, which Ned engaged that Dinah would 
 help to make. 
 
 " I am so afraid/' said the widow, " that this is 
 a plot of Tucker's to get my poor boy into the 
 House of Correction." 
 
 Both son and daughter exclaimed against this 
 idea. 
 
 " Why, did not he say that he would be revenged 
 on you? Did not his wife say so, that night in 
 the winter when you found her stealing your new 
 hedge?" 
 
 "Yes: but I don't think this affair has any- 
 thing to do with that. I don't believe they knew 
 that Ned was to be in this at all. I think they 
 are doing what is very common with that sort of 
 people, stocking our landlord's woods with eggs 
 from other people's grounds." 
 
 " What ! Mr. Neville !" exclaimed Dinah. 
 
FIRST YEAR. 237 
 
 " He does not know how it is done, of course. 
 He directs his keeper to get up the game, as fast 
 as he can, and then he goes away. The keeper 
 hires men to help him ; and it answers to him to 
 take, for one, the most mischievous poacher he 
 would otherwise be troubled by. He thus not 
 only disarms him as a poacher on Mr. Neville's 
 property, but learns from him more than any one 
 else can tell of the game on other estates near.'" 
 
 "And then they seduce little boys to go and 
 take eggs ! "What a shame I" cried his mother. 
 
 " It is an intolerable shame," said Henry, grow- 
 ing as warm as his mother. "To think of the 
 hard measure used towards those that went only 
 bird-nesting where they ought not, and now of this 
 corrupting of boys, bribing them to go and steal, 
 besides trespassing ! I had rather that Ned had 
 pelted a dozen keepers than carried pheasants' 
 eggs in his cap." 
 
 "What can be done?" asked Dinah, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 " Suppose you write, and tell Mr. Neville the 
 whole story," said his mother. 
 
 " I would, with all my heart, if it would do any 
 good, mother. But I think it would do nothing 
 but harm. A gentleman's tenants have no chance 
 with him against his own servants. Tucker would 
 
238 POUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 deny the whole, and make the boys out to be 
 poachers and liars, And we have no proof to 
 bring to the contrary. My opinion is that we had 
 better be quiet. To-morrow is Sunday. It must 
 be made a serious day to Ned. We must show 
 him that he has been overtaken in a great fault, 
 betrayed into theft." 
 
 " You will never make him feel that. He knows 
 he meant no harm : and he will tell you he has 
 held our landlord's money in his hand. And what 
 can you answer to that?" 
 
 Henry sighed. His mother, who never enter- 
 tained a painful idea for a minute without looking 
 round for a pleasant one, burst out with, 
 
 " Well ! there is the wedding at Christmas ! 
 That is a happy thing in store ! " 
 
 Henry sighed again ; and his mother looked up 
 at him alarmed. She had never quite forgotten 
 Fanny King's long apparent indifference to Henry; 
 and she mistrusted Fanny's high spirit so far as 
 that her fears were always up in arms for Henry 
 on the barest imagination of anything going 
 wrong. 
 
 Her son either knew this before, or saw it now 
 in her startled look, for he smiled as he said 
 
 " The wedding at Christmas depends on circum- 
 stances, you know, mother. Better not be sure 
 
FIRST YEAR. 239 
 
 till harvest whether it will be at Christmas or 
 later." 
 
 " O ! that's all ! There never was a farmer yet, 
 as I used to tell your father, who did not doubt 
 every year whether he should have a harvest. He 
 doubted it many a time; yet we almost always 
 did very well ; and so will you. So, don't get into 
 a desponding habit, Henry/' 
 
 " Indeed, mother, I don't know that I ever 
 desponded in my life, except . . . . " 
 
 " Ah ! except about Fanny King ; and what 
 else have you ever had an opportunity to despond 
 about, I should like to know ? O ! Henry, that 
 ought to be a lesson to you ! " 
 
 " So it should, mother. So I won't despond 
 about the harvest, (which, indeed, I never 
 thought of doing,) but see what can be done about 
 our wheat. It does not look a bit better as time 
 gets on, but worse and worse." 
 
 " It made my heart ache to see it, a month 
 ago," said the widow : " and I am almost afraid 
 to look at it now. So the rabbits are at it 
 still." 
 
 " Yes, and will be. They bite their way through 
 it, right and left. In some parts, it is laid waste 
 a foot or more, on each side the furrow. When I 
 was in the field early this morning, I gave a loud 
 
240 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 halloo, and the little vermin started out by scores, 
 and off into the wood." 
 
 " How they seem 'to have increased ! and so 
 suddenly \" 
 
 " Nothing like rabbits for that. A couple may 
 come to fifteen in a season : and if it was difficult 
 to keep them down before, I see little chance for 
 us now that they are made the keeper's property. 
 Of course, he will be willing enough to let them 
 increase, while it is only the tenants that suffer by 
 them. The mischief they have done to the tares 
 is extreme; but the damage to the wheat is the 
 most serious. They eat what they like, and 
 destroy many times over as much as they eat." 
 
 "What would Mr. Neville say, if he knew ?" 
 said Dinah. 
 
 " He would say he had done the best he could 
 for us, and we must do the best we can for our- 
 selves, by taking the creatures on our own land. 
 We have done that. We spend more time and 
 labour than I like to give in snaring and ferreting 
 them, when we can get at them. And it seems 
 just so much pains thrown away, by the swarms 
 that come on the land, after all." 
 . " So the rabbits are eating up what ought to 
 furnish the house against Christmas," said Dinah : 
 " That does seem hard." 
 
FIRST YEAR. 241 . 
 
 " I wish it may not turn out worse than that," 
 said her brother. " What I doubt is about im- 
 proving, or even keeping up, the condition of the 
 farm next year." 
 
 " O ! never fear ! " said the widow. " As for 
 the furnishing, your father and I were very happy 
 with the house as it is now . . . . " 
 
 "Why, not quite, mother," said Henry, smil- 
 ing, and looking round him. " You had the same 
 furniture, but it was rather newer before I was 
 born." 
 
 C( Well ! and you will have everything new and 
 nice, the first prosperous year, as you will see. 
 And as for keeping up the condition of the farm, 
 we have never failed to do that yet : and I don't 
 believe we shall now. To-morrow is Sundajr, 
 my dears. We should not carry any distrustful 
 thoughts into the day of rest : and for such a 
 cause as rabbits, of all creatures ! " 
 
 Henry smiled, and she hoped she had set his 
 mind at ease. 
 
 Such was the promise of the spring at Maude- 
 chapel farm. 
 
 As the summer came on, Henry found his 
 temper more tried than it had ever been in his 
 life. He seemed no longer to have his farm to 
 
 VOL. II. R 
 
242 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 himself, in this year of all years when he meant to 
 do some good and clever things of his own devising. 
 His temper did not give way, however. He now 
 bore in his heart a support and a hope which sus- 
 tained him in even the smallest vexations, as well 
 as in some which were serious enough. His mother 
 was pulled two ways by her two strong desires, 
 to discountenance the fact that his business was 
 not going on so well as usual, and to point out to 
 Fanny King how admirable his temper was under 
 provocation. Her usual method was to laugh and 
 be sure that if ever man was made for prosperity, 
 it was Henry, while in private she worked hard, 
 and trained Dinah to work hard, saved carefully 
 every shilling she could in every department under 
 her management, and took Ned from school, 
 not merely for economy, as she said to herself, but 
 because she really believed a thoughtless and play- 
 ful boy like Ned was safer in his brother's employ 
 on the farm than among school-fellows who had 
 once led him to poach, and might seduce him into 
 further mischief. 
 
 Some good many hares, and rabbits innumer- 
 able continued to make their way through the 
 corn, destroying it wherever they wanted to travel : 
 and pheasants harboured in it, unmoved by the 
 
FIRST YEAR. 243 
 
 crow-boy, who could prevent birds pitching upon 
 the wheat, but could not take any measures 
 against such as were in it. Henry now and then 
 took up a gun to make war on the crows. Ned 
 would have liked to be charged with this part of 
 the business of the farm : and when the pigeons 
 from General White's woods began to attack the 
 peas, he begged to bang at them for one single 
 morning: but he was pronounced too young and 
 careless at present, and was told that he must be 
 at least a year older, and very much wiser before 
 he could be permitted to let fly a single shot. 
 Meantime, he was indulged with having the dogs 
 given into his charge; and his great delight was 
 in petting and training them. Nor did he disdain 
 a humbler sort of favourite. His mother was very 
 fond of her house cat : and she rather encouraged 
 Ned in bringing up a family of kittens to mouse 
 in the barn and sheds : and with every one of this 
 useful family Ned was on terms of discriminating 
 intimacy. 
 
 One day, when Henry was shooting crows, he 
 heard a call behind him. On looking round, and 
 seeing that it was Tucker, he took no notice; for 
 it was now a very freqiient occurrence for him to 
 meet, or be followed l>y this man. It was usually 
 on the boundary of the farm that they met, as 
 R 2 
 
244 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 Henry had the right of the game on his occupa- 
 tion : but there were so many ins and outs in the 
 fields and woods of the two occupations, that 
 Tucker could be almost incessantly in view, or 
 could, out of sight, have his eye continually on the 
 proceedings of Henry's people. To-day, he was 
 actually in the field; and he walked up rapidly 
 towards Henry. When he came near, he suddenly 
 stopped, and seemed about to return on his steps, 
 but changed his mind, saying as he approached, 
 
 " I thought it was your youngster, popping 
 away. I could not have thought it was you." 
 
 Henry made no answer, but by a shot which 
 brought down a crow. 
 
 " There ! that will do, for this month or two to 
 come," said Tucker. " Put him up to scare the 
 rest, and they will keep off till he decays. Hie 
 home, man, and lay iip your gun, and don't be 
 disturbing my master's game." 
 
 " Don't come and talk to me," said Henry. " I 
 shall take care of my own crop in my own way." 
 
 "I must tell the head keeper," said Tucker. 
 " We can't have our game disturbed. I must 
 tell the keeper." 
 
 " Pray do : and he will tell you that it is my 
 own business when and what I shoot on this farm. 
 You may walk off, Tucker." 
 
FIRST YEAR. 245 
 
 The head keeper met Henry in the course of 
 the day. He was civil,, but said that neighbours 
 should accommodate, and that any one shooting 
 so near the covers did disturb the game, and he 
 hoped Henry would consider this. 
 
 Henry said he regarded himself as a very ac- 
 commodating neighbour, much against his will. 
 The grain and other crops which he had sown, 011 
 land which he had manured, went, in a large pro- 
 portion, to feed the hares and pheasants which 
 came from Mr. Neville's covers, and the rabbits 
 which belonged to Mr. Neville's keeper . . . 
 
 " Nay," said the keeper. " They belong to 
 you on your land. You have nothing to do but to 
 take them, if you choose." 
 
 " You know that is not possible," said Henry. 
 "You know they come down in the night in 
 swarms, and go back into your covers in the day, 
 besides all I see between sunrise and sunset. 
 We take all the rabbits we can spare time to take, 
 time which I ought not to have to spend in any 
 such way ; and yet my fields are all alive with 
 them often and often, when I take a chance look 
 at them. And last night, at sundown, I saw as 
 many as twenty hares sitting under your cover 
 yonder : and this morning early I counted sixty 
 pheasants feeding in my ten-acre field. If I do 
 
246 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 take out a certificate, and shoot in the season, 
 what can my gun do against such an enemy as 
 that, hatched on another's grounds, though fed 
 in mine ? to say nothing of their having first 
 spoiled my harvest for this year." 
 
 The keeper replied that he really did not see 
 how any man need complain who had power over 
 the game on his own land, to keep it down and 
 destroy it as he chose ; and off he went, after a 
 civil good morning. 
 
 When the hay crop was beginning to be cut, 
 Henry saw Tucker, from a distance, talking with 
 his mowers. Henry went down, knowing that 
 wherever Tucker was, there was mischief. 
 
 "What is this for?" said Henry, finding a 
 patch of the grass standing up uncut. It was a 
 ring left round a partridge's nest, which had 
 sixteen eggs in it. The mowers said that Tucker 
 had advised them to leave such nests for the birds 
 to hatch off, which must happen soon ; and per- 
 haps the mowers would find themselves the better 
 at the end of their job, for every nest they left 
 undisturbed. 
 
 Henry set his foot on the eggs, and told the 
 men that, close as they were to his landlord's covers, 
 the nests in this field were his. He had no inten- 
 tion of rearing vermin on his land, eaten up as he 
 
FIRST YEAR. 247 
 
 was by that which came from elsewhere ; and he 
 offered a shilling for every nest which should he 
 pointed out to him or his brother during the 
 mowing. 
 
 This inspired Ned with the idea of training his 
 little dog Prick to find nests. He thought he 
 could do it by time and pains, so that by next 
 year, Prick should lead him to every nest on the 
 farm. 
 
 " Try," said his brother. " You shall have your 
 share of whatever you save upon the farm by 
 keeping down the pheasants. But, remember, 
 Ned, it must be on the farm, and the farm alone. 
 We have no right over any nests elsewhere. I 
 think you will take care to prevent Prick's stray- 
 ing ; for, as sure as fate, you will lose him, if you 
 let him do mischief." 
 
 Ned promised, and immediately began to train 
 Prick. 
 
 Henry kept down his feelings of irritation at 
 being perpetually interfered with by the keepers, 
 by the same talisman which now preserved him 
 unharmed amidst all troubles. He recurred to 
 the thought of Fanny King. 
 
 " She loves me ! She loves me ! " said he, dwell- 
 ing on the words of magic joy. " Happen what 
 may, she loves me ! I have one for my own : and 
 
248 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 such an one ! How can it be ! But it is really 
 true. It is enough, happen what may/' 
 
 Thus passed the summer at Maude-chapel 
 farm. 
 
 The autumn was far from being the cheerful 
 season that it ought to be in ordinary years, when 
 the fruits of the earth are gathered in under a 
 genial sun. The sun of this harvest was genial. 
 All the influences of nature were as favourable as 
 in any former year : but the widow herself could 
 not but admit that never had she found it less 
 easy to be merry at the harvest-home. The defi- 
 ciency in the crops was so great, from the ravages 
 of the rabbits and game, that she could not say 
 that Henry ought to marry this Christmas, if he 
 himself thought that he should not. Fanny King 
 had been used to every comfort that persons in 
 their rank are wont to enjoy ; and it had been 
 Henry's hope and- thought of pride that he should 
 bring her to a home which might compare favour- 
 ably with that she had left. If he could not this 
 year accomplish this ambition, his mother felt that 
 she could say nothing against his waiting. Never 
 at a loss for hope, however, the widow trusted 
 that Fanny King would find means to intimate to 
 her revering lover that she meant to marry him 
 for himself, and had rather share his lowered 
 
FIRST YEAR. 249 
 
 fortunes than wait to be endowed with such as 
 were good. 
 
 " Do take out a certificate, and shoot down all 
 you can : and I wish I could help you," she said 
 to her son, in her restlessness to be doing some- 
 thing, when they were estimating their losses, 
 after harvest. " And as for the rabbits, cannot we 
 defend ourselves better against them ? " 
 
 " Our men are wiring and trapping, morning 
 and evening; have been for months past, and 
 must be, more and more, for the turnips' sake, as 
 the year gets on : but it seems all of little use. If 
 the keeper chooses to let them increase, we cannot 
 keep them down." 
 
 " Suppose you write to Mr. Neville about it." 
 
 " He answers no letters of that kind, or not to 
 any purpose. But I will see him when he comes 
 down to shoot." 
 
 " Do, my dear. And tell him we could get 
 seven or eight sacks of wheat to the acre, (though 
 the land is none of the best,) but for the game. 
 Tell him we did, before this year ; and that this 
 year we have under six." 
 
 " I will. And I must show him how the farm 
 will suffer, if we cannot do more than turn our- 
 selves round in it." 
 
 " That J s right. And I dare say you will find 
 
250 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 him reasonable enough. He will compensate you, 
 I dare say." 
 
 Henry shook his head. 
 
 " What do you do that for, Henry ? Why should 
 not he make it up to us, when he sees he has 
 injured us ? " 
 
 " He must excuse our whole rent, and more, to 
 make it up to us ; and no landlord thinks of doing 
 that for such a reason/'' 
 
 " But cannot you give him a hint, just drop a 
 gentle hint, you know, about an action for da- 
 mages ? I mean, if you find he won't listen to 
 you without/' 
 
 " No, because he knows that I could not bring 
 an action. I have all the law can give me now, 
 in having the right to kill on my own farm/' 
 
 " Then there ought to be a better law," said the 
 widow. " I 've no notion of a law that pretends 
 to protect us, and then lets us be eaten out of 
 house and home/' 
 
 " Well, that time is not come yet," observed 
 Dinah. " We have a home, dear mother." 
 
 " Yes, thank God, we have, my dears ; and a 
 very happy one, I 'm sure, for all a few losses 
 now and then. We '11 make it up next year, Henry, 
 depend upon it." 
 
 Henry did not reply; for he did not see how, 
 
FI11ST YEAR. 251 
 
 with above 150 deficient, which he had hoped to 
 put into the land, he could expect to prosper 
 better. He could not see how he could help fall- 
 ing back, unless he could induce some great 
 change in Mr. Neville's proceedings. 
 
 Mr. Neville seemed in no degree disposed to 
 make any change whatever in his proceedings. 
 He was not uncivil to his tenant, but seemed to 
 consider him strangely insensible to the benefits 
 he derived from his landlord's game preserving. 
 
 " You must find my keepers a great protection 
 to your property. You ought to bear that in 
 mind, I think/' 
 
 Henry looked surprised. 
 
 " Do you not find it a substantial protection to 
 your hen roosts to have my people about, like a 
 sort of rural police ? And to your hedges, and 
 your property generally? And is it not a check 
 upon the morals of the people in your fields to 
 know, at all times when they are at work, that the 
 keepers may be looking at them ?" 
 
 Henry could only say that they had done very 
 well before the game was preserved. He did not 
 choose to tell what he knew about who the hedge 
 stealers were formerly who did not pilfer them 
 now. 
 
252 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 " And then there are the rats and other vermin 
 that the keepers make war against it must be a 
 benefit to you, Earn, to be rid of them." 
 
 " We could keep them under for ourselves, Sir, 
 as we always did before : and I must say I would 
 rather have to deal with a dozen rats to every 
 couple of your keeper's rabbits, than with the 
 rabbits that are eating us up." 
 
 " It is the rabbits that you complain of ? " 
 
 " Chiefly. We have much injury from hares 
 too. But hares never amount to any very great 
 number where rabbits abound as they do here." 
 
 "And the partridges?" 
 
 "They are of little consequence to us. I do 
 not wish to make any complaint about them." 
 
 " And the pheasants ? " 
 
 " They have damaged me much." 
 
 "I thought pheasants were the farmers' best 
 friends. Do they not save you from much damage 
 from the wire-worm and other enemies ? " 
 
 "We have not been troubled with the wire- 
 worm since your pheasants were so increased. 
 And among so many good friends as you seem to 
 think I have, Sir, I find myself very badly used. 
 The upshot is, that my crops are sadly deficient 
 this year, to more than the amount of my rent, 
 Sir." 
 
FIRST YEAR. 253 
 
 " That cannot be from the game, Farn. You 
 must be laying to the charge of the game the 
 damage owing to other causes/' 
 
 " I do not know of any other new causes of 
 injury this year, Sir ; while I do know that the 
 pheasants have picked off the green wheat, and 
 fed upon the seed first, and then the grain 
 abundantly, before and during harvest. I do 
 know that hares and rabbits have made lanes 
 through my corn, and almost laid the field bare 
 near the cover ; and that they have destroyed the 
 tares, this year. After seeing these things with 
 my own eyes, I find that instead of above seven 
 sacks to the acre, I have, taking the whole field 
 together, under six. And at this very same time, 
 if you would trouble yourself, Sir, to inquire, 
 without getting me into difficulty with your people, 
 how much the Norwich carrier alone has paid 
 your head keeper for rabbits this year, I think 
 you will find which way my property has gone." 
 
 " I can easily do that, Farn. And if I find .... 
 But I am persuaded you exaggerate these things 
 to yourself, which I allow to be very natural. 
 Another year, I hope . . . . " 
 
 Henry waited a moment, and no further specu- 
 lation being offered, proposed his. 
 
 " Another year, Sir, with this increase of the 
 
254 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 rabbits, would half ruin nay mother and me. If 
 our turnips this winter . . . . " 
 
 "Well, well; I will see about it. I have no 
 intention that my tenants shall be injured by the 
 game. I will speak about the rabbits, and see 
 how it is, if they have really not been kept down 
 as I intended. That was the very intention of 
 my giving them to my keeper." 
 
 " I know it, Sir : and that is why I ventured 
 to tell you that the plan has worked the other 
 way." 
 
 " I have listened to you this time, Farn : and I 
 beg it may be the last on this subject. If I had 
 reserved the game on your farm, for myself or my 
 lessee, there might have been some colour for your 
 coming to me to complain. But you, the occupier, 
 holding the game with the land, have a great 
 privilege, and one which is not very common; 
 and 
 
 " But, Sir, it is the tenant's right, by the law, 
 unless he gives it away." 
 
 ' ' Practically, you know, very few tenants hold 
 it. The landlord reserves the game, almost as a 
 matter of course, both in leases and in verbal 
 agreements. The least I could have expected for 
 myself, from your having such an advantage, is 
 that I should be spared complaints about the 
 
FIRST YEAR. 255 
 
 game. You must protect your own crops, Farn, 
 and let me hear no more about them." 
 
 And so ended the autumn at Maude-chapel 
 farm, leaving its impress not only on the fortunes 
 of the family, but on their landlord's opinion of 
 them. He desired his keeper so to bring down 
 the rabbits as that there might be no cause for 
 complaint on the part of the tenants: but he 
 agreed with the keeper that young Farn was a 
 litigious, disagreeable fellow to have to deal with. 
 At the end of the season, he inquired of the 
 carrier, as he had promised, about the amount 
 that the keeper -had received from him for rabbits, 
 and swore and laughed when he heard it was above 
 one hundred and fifty pounds ; and a comparison of 
 this amount with the Farns' rent and the Farns' 
 losses just crossed his mind: but the next moment 
 he told a friend at his elbow that he was a lucky 
 fellow to have no tenants : for that they were 
 saucy prigs who would stand up for themselves 
 against their landlord, and waste his morning in 
 selfish complaints when he had something else to 
 do than be troubled with them. He had tried 
 speaking them fair at first, in compassion for their 
 ignorance of manners : but that would not do at 
 all. He had learned that the only way was to 
 send them to the right about. 
 
256 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 Henry made such provision as lie could for the 
 security of his turnips, by stacking his Swedes 
 pretty early in November. Even then, he found 
 them attacked by the hares and rabbits ; but he 
 hoped the bites would skin over, and the turnips 
 be no worse, as they were secured before the 
 frost. As for the white turnips, they must take 
 their chance on the ground. And a "very poor 
 chance it was, as Henry soon saw, when the frost 
 came. 
 
 His sheep were on the heath during the day, 
 and were turned upon the turnips at night ; in 
 which process, the loss of the right of way through 
 the wood was a serious inconvenience. The turnips 
 soon showed signs of decay ; and half of them 
 rotted, from the frost seizing on such as were 
 bitten. It was a matter of serious and threatening 
 consequence to the farm to lessen its stock : but 
 what else could be done? The original number 
 of sixty sheep had been gradually increased to a 
 hundred and twenty; and it had been Henry's 
 hope to increase it yet further. But his turnip 
 crop so failing him, he could not afford their feed. 
 Unwilling that the land should lose the benefit 
 of their manure, he turned them upon the young 
 wheat, a proceeding which nothing but extreme 
 pressure for food for his stock could have recon- 
 
FIRST YEAR. 257 
 
 ciled him to. But there again, the enemy had 
 been before him. The hares and rabbits had 
 bitten the blade off closer than the sheep could 
 have done ; and there seemed little hope that the 
 portions of the fields which lay near the covers 
 would return the seed, or produce anything worth 
 the reaping. 
 
 Even Mrs. Farn looked rueful when the turnips 
 began to go ; for she was aware of the downward 
 course thus indicated : deficient feed, diminished 
 stock: diminished stock, insufficient manure: 
 insufficient manure, scanty crops : scanty 
 crops, restricted returns : restricted returns, less 
 employment of labour : less employment of 
 labour, increased poor-rate, misery and crime; 
 land, tenant and labourer all going down in 
 succession. 
 
 " What is to be done? " she asked in dismay, 
 as the family sat together one evening in that 
 Christmas week which was to have been the wed- 
 ding-week. 
 
 " Now, mother, I must bid you hope, as you 
 have often bid me," said Henry. " We must try 
 to stop ourselves in this downward course, and 
 trust that those of our neighbours, who suffer as 
 we do . . . . " 
 
 " Nobody suffers as we do, Henry." 
 
 VOL. II. S 
 
258 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 " We do happen to be the nearest to the covers, 
 certainly : but the whole neighbourhood is the 
 worse for this sudden getting up of the game. I 
 have been thinking that we must make a stand 
 against the enemy. We must lay out some 
 money in hurdles, close hurdles, such as will 
 keep out the four-footed game, at least." 
 
 " My dear, it will be such a cost ! " 
 
 "It will: and I only think of hurdling the 
 wheat just round beside the cover ; and one bit 
 more ; half an acre or so, in the middle of the 
 field, for an experiment. If I can bring my land- 
 lord to the spot before harvest, to see the differ- 
 ence that I expect there will be between that half 
 acre and all the rest, I cannot conceive how he 
 can refuse either to give us compensation, or to 
 lower our rent; or at least to change his plans 
 about the rabbits and hares. " 
 
 Here was ground enough for hope for such a 
 temper as Mrs. Tarn's. Henry was so clever and 
 sensible, all would go well with him, in spite of a 
 disaster, now and then. She was sorry now that 
 they, had been so scrupulous about his marrying 
 this; winter. She should have been better pleased 
 with Fanny if she had .... 
 
 " No, no, mother ! " expostulated Henry. 
 " Fanny is .'..." 
 
FIRST YEAR. 259 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 "Well, my dear son, I dare say you know 
 best. But I won't promise to say so, this day 
 twelvemonth, if you are not married long before 
 that." 
 
 There was a pause, after which she resumed ; 
 
 " To be sure, it does not much matter what I 
 say or do not say; for I am sometimes terribly 
 wrong, I must own. A year ago, how confident 
 I was that Mr. Neville's coming to the Lodge 
 would be a great blessing ! How I bade you all 
 be glad of it!" 
 
 "I am sure it was dull enough before he came/' 
 said Ned. " 'Tis capital fun to follow the gentle- 
 men, when they are out shooting. And the 
 keeper promised that I should be one of the 
 beaters, one day soon. And there will be plenty 
 of coursing this winter, Hurra ! " 
 
 And he jumped from his stool, and whirled 
 round on his heel. 
 
 His mother and brother looked at each other, 
 but made no remark, seeing that this was not the 
 time for it. But they determined to find some- 
 thing for Ned to do which should hinder his going 
 out to beat for game, a service which would 
 bring him into company with those who were or 
 had been poachers, and would, by showing him 
 s 2 
 
260 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 where the game lay, offer too strong a temptation 
 to a boy of his temperament to turn poacher 
 
 himself. 
 
 In such prospects and such cares passed the 
 winter at Maude-chapel farm. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 SECOND YEAR. 
 
 NED did not grow happier as he grew up. He 
 had always thought he should: but, somehow, 
 everything appeared to fall out so as to vex him. 
 In other words, his temper did not improve, but 
 the contrary. He felt himself watched; and that 
 was disagreeable; and the more because it re- 
 minded him of the reason ; that he had gone out 
 with the keepers, without leave, knowing that it 
 was against his mother's wish. Though nobody 
 at home was in good spirits, this winter, there 
 were more little excursions made than he had ever 
 known before, a trip to Norwich, (not on market 
 day) a trip to the coast, to see the lighthouse, 
 a trip across the country to a nursery ground, on 
 some business about seeds and seedlings : and 
 these trips, which Ned would otherwise have 
 waved his hat and hurraed over, always happened 
 on the days when Mr. Neville went' out with a 
 great shooting party : so that Ned could not help 
 
262 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 thinking that they were arranged for the purpose 
 of getting him out of the way of the pleasure he 
 liked the best in the world. So, when he had to 
 drive his sister, he drove sullenly and perversely : 
 and when he had to open gates for his brother 
 driving Fanny King, he did it lazily, and tried to 
 skulk behind, and turn back. He did not clap 
 his hands at the sight of the beautiful Norwich 
 spire, as formerly, nor laugh at everything he saw 
 in the city, so as to be nearly run over, now and 
 then, in the narrow streets : nor did he show any 
 pleasure at the sparkling sea, nor breast the strong 
 wind on the shore, nor leap, in a series of kangaroo 
 jumps, down the cliff, from the light-house wall 
 down to the sands. He usually recovered himself 
 before he got home, and sometimes drove up with 
 a dash and waving of hat, and splendid bows to 
 any one who might be at window or door: but 
 his associations with these expeditions were not 
 happy and simple : and his loving mother more 
 than once sighed as she looked after him, and 
 feared he was losing his fine spirits already, and 
 wished he could be happy without ever speaking 
 to the keepers. 
 
 Then, again, she had a sorry satisfaction at 
 times in seeing Ned more angry with the keepers 
 than he had ever been with anybody at home. 
 
SECOND YEAR. 263 
 
 He had been grieved enough when the sheep were 
 sold, and had gone in a passion to the head- 
 keeper, to reproach him with it, to his brother's 
 great vexation : but far worse was the mourning 
 over his cats, as they disappeared, one by one. 
 He found one in the keeper's vermin rack, in the 
 cover, and ran home to tell his mother. Henry 
 would not let him make any complaint, saying 
 that if he could not keep his cat from trespassing 
 in the cover, he must not quarrel with her fate. 
 It was the keeper's business to preserve the game 
 from vermin, from rats that would destroy the 
 eggs, and cats that would learn to prowl, so as to 
 be dangerous to the young birds when hatched. 
 Ned submitted, but did not feel his friendship 
 with the keepers improved. Soon after, he missed 
 another cat which never appeared again; and 
 then he set his teeth, and vowed vengeance against 
 somebody. Once more, he found a third trapped 
 in a fence of his brother's. Away he flew with it 
 to the keeper, who patted him on the shoulder, 
 and said he would excuse his anger, but it was 
 nobody's fault. The poor thing had certainly got 
 into a rabbit snare, when she should have staid at 
 home in the barn. 'Twas a silly cat to roam, 
 instead of mousing in the barn. Ned felt as if he 
 were a silly boy to go home with no better story 
 
264 FOUR YEAES AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 than this : but what could he do ? So he devoted 
 himself a good deal to his solitary cat in the barm 
 amusing her there, to the waste of much precious 
 time (which nobody complained of because it was 
 certain not to last long) and running off from 
 his business, several times in the day, to see 
 whether his cat was safe at home. As was fore- 
 seen, this did not last. Both this cat and his 
 mother's old tortoise-shell were missing one 
 morning. Mrs. Tarn and Henry merely agreed 
 that there was no use in complaining : everybody 
 knew that there was no keeping cats near a game- 
 preserve, and that the mice must now play as they 
 liked in the house and barn. Dinah dropped a 
 few tears over the stocking she was mending ; and 
 Ned did not speak a word all day, only stamped 
 now and then with his foot, and shook his fist in 
 the air. 
 
 Fond as Ned was of his cats, they were not his 
 chief pets. Dear Prick was his chief pet. Henry's 
 two rat dogs were nice fellows, and extremely 
 useful ; but there never was such a dog as Prick. 
 He was the smallest and prettiest creature ! so 
 that not only gentlemen and ladies who came to 
 see the chapel admired him, but the men in the 
 fields looked off their work and laughed when 
 they saw him exploring for nests, and watching 
 
SECOND YEAR. 265 
 
 and obeying every look of Ned's. His training 
 was such that by the spring he could point out 
 any bird's nest on a thorn and, Ned declared, 
 jump up where there was a tomtit's in a hole in a 
 pollard. Some people laughed at this : but Ned 
 protested its truth. Many a warning had Ned 
 about this dog, as gamekeepers are not particu- 
 larly fond of other people's dogs that are clever at 
 finding nests : and so tired did Ned become of 
 such constant warning that he one day asked 
 whether he was not fonder of his dog than any- 
 body, and whether anybody ever saw him happy 
 when the dog was out of his sight, and whether 
 he did not shut him up on Sundays, as he was 
 neither permitted to take Prick to church, nor to 
 stay at home with him ? Yet, in spite of so much 
 warning, he could not tell, one day at dinner time, 
 where Prick was; nor could he conceive. He 
 went about searching and calling, and, when 
 obliged to dine, made all haste, that he might 
 renew the search. Henry, meantime, learned 
 from one of the farm servants that he had seen 
 Prick run over to the cover at noon, when the 
 keepers were there. Had any shot been heard ? 
 O yes, several : but that was nothing uncommon. 
 Henry made bold to enter the cover, and look 
 about. There he found a place where the earth 
 
266 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 was trampled. He thrust in his stick, found 
 that something was buried there; and presently 
 turned up the body of poor Prick, riddled with 
 shot. He was startled by a scream of anger and 
 grief while he was examining the carcase. He 
 would have buried it again, if Ned had not come, 
 and have let it be supposed that the dog was lost : 
 but Ned was at his elbow; and it was too late. 
 The dog was carried home; and all endeavoured 
 to engage the boy's mind with objects of business 
 and pleasure; but it was in vain. Never for an 
 hour did Ned forget his matchless Prick; and 
 never, through life, did his temper recover the 
 injury caused by his death. He was now less at 
 ease in his feelings towards the keepers than 
 towards his own family : and he became less and 
 less amiable at home, and more frequently absent 
 for hours together, of which he gave no account. 
 
 Meantime, the hurdles had done some good. 
 Along the side of the cover where they were 
 planted, the injury to the wheat was not nearly so 
 great as it had been the preceding year in the 
 other field which was this year in clover. But 
 the clover suffered much, and it was plain that if 
 it was to be succeeded by barley, there would be 
 no chance for a crop without some such expensive 
 process of exclusion of the enemy as ought not to 
 
SECOND YEAR. 267 
 
 be imposed on any farmer without large consi- 
 deration in his rent. 
 
 Mr. Cosby agreed in this, one day just before 
 harvest, when he came down to speak to the 
 tenant. He had heard complaints from the 
 keepers of the sauciness and stinginess of young 
 Farn; and, being sent with a message from the 
 landlord, was not sorry to gratify his curiosity by 
 looking over the farm with Henry. Nothing 
 struck him so much as the sight of the crop within 
 the hurdles, on the half-acre in the middle of the 
 field. There the wheat grew up strong, thick, 
 even and well ripened; while, just outside the 
 hurdles, it was comparatively weak, very thin, 
 and, where the four-footed game had travelled 
 through it, so bitten off and laid bare, that the 
 stalks might almost be raked up. 
 
 " You see," said Henry, " that the hares do the 
 further mischief of letting in the winged game. 
 The birds leave the well-grown wheat for the thin 
 parts : and if the whole field were (as it ought to 
 be) like this half acre, they would hardly come 
 at all." 
 
 " I see," said the steward. " It is very striking, 
 I admit: and I am of opinion that some abate- 
 ment should be made in your rent, in considera- 
 tion of such damage as this." 
 
268 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 " That is well spoken, Mr. Cosby, like a candid 
 man. Shall I furnish you with an estimate 
 after harvest, of my losses, this year and the 
 last ?" 
 
 "Why, I don't know about coming to such 
 close quarters as that, considering that your 
 landlord has not the game on your farm. But 
 I will come down again after harvest, and 
 
 SPP " 
 
 see . . . 
 
 " Ah ! do ; and bring Mr. Neville with you, if 
 you can possibly persuade him to come, for a 
 day's shooting, or any reason he pleases." 
 
 " Well ; I'll see. Meantime, he would be glad 
 if you would keep to the old method of reaping 
 your corn, instead of mowing it. This is a condi- 
 tion made with all our new tenants now : and we 
 hope you will not set an example to the contrary, 
 before their eyes. It cannot make much difference 
 to you, waiting for the rest of the straw till 
 October : and after September, you can do as you 
 please." 
 
 " It is not the straw that signifies most to me," 
 said Henry. " It is the length of time that reap- 
 ing takes over mowing. That may be a serious 
 matter if we have variable weather while we are 
 getting in the crop." 
 
 " You must please yourself, of course," said Mr. 
 
SECOND YEAR. > 269 
 
 Cosby. " You are not bound, as the new tenants 
 are : and the game in the stubbles is your own ; 
 only ..-." 
 
 " I was thinking/' said Henry, " what concern 
 any one has with the game in my stubbles/' 
 
 ' ' O ! we ask you for the sake of example, and 
 because I suppose you must be glad of opportu- 
 nities of obliging your landlord. The keepers do 
 say that whatever game is in your stubbles must 
 be ours, because they know you tread on all the 
 eggs you find in the season. But I know keepers 
 pretty well, and . . . . " 
 
 "Tell me then/-' said Henry, "how they can 
 ask me to support your game, when they know 
 how I kill off my own?" 
 
 " It has gone too far, I admit, Mr. Farn. I 
 will speak about it, and see what can be done. I 
 shall advise that there be some abatement in your 
 rent." 
 
 Soon after Mr. Neville had arrived for the Sep- 
 tember shooting, Henry met Mr. Cosby on the 
 road. He asked, 
 
 " Am I to have the honour of seeing my land- 
 lord on my farm, one day soon, Mr. Cosby?" 
 
 -" Why, I don't know, Farn. But I have spoken 
 about the rabbits." 
 
270 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 " But have you asked him to come and see 
 me?" 
 
 " Yes : but the truth is, Earn, he is not pleased 
 about the hurdles. The keepers look upon that 
 sort of precaution as mean, you know/ 7 
 
 "But Mr. Neville himself told me to protect 
 myself. He said I had the power, and must use 
 it. And he refused to listen to my complaints, 
 to speak or hear another word on the subject, on 
 the very ground that it was my business to protect 
 myself." 
 
 "You have the power, of course. But it is 
 customary to oblige the landlord about the game. 
 You see, it was not his doing that the game on 
 your farm was not reserved to him." 
 
 "I see," said Henry, after musing a moment. 
 " I will write to him." 
 
 "What now?" thought Mr. Cosby, as Henry 
 walked away with a thoughtful countenance. 
 
 Henry's note to Mr. Neville procured him an 
 interview. 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Farn," said the landlord. 
 " What is this plan of yours about my having the 
 game on your farm? 1 " 
 
 "I will explain, Sir. I find my having the 
 game is of little or no use, while there is so much 
 in your covers, and, yet more, so many rabbits 
 
SECOND YEAR. 271 
 
 in the neighbourhood. Last year, I lost more 
 than my rent, before my turnip crop was injured. 
 This year . . . . " 
 
 " What a bore I" thought Mr. Neville. " Cosby 
 is the man to hear all this sort of thing. But I 
 will let him talk, till he comes to his proposal 
 about the game." 
 
 " This year, matters are worse," continued 
 Henry. "On our turnip crop, as everybody knows, 
 our fortunes for the whole year depend. Mine 
 failed; and my stock is so reduced that the 
 tillage of the whole farm is let down by it." 
 
 " There are ways, Farn, as everybody knows, 
 of preserving turnips from both game and frost." 
 
 " Very expensive ways, Sir. And, as to the 
 game, the next consequence is that they go the 
 more to the young wheat. The season has been 
 an average season. There has been neither 
 drought nor wet ; neither wire-worm nor fly, nor 
 enemy of that kind. Yet we have lost, by the 
 mere calculable damage, above 300." 
 
 " There must be some mistake about that, 
 Farn." 
 
 " Thanks to a suggestion of yours, Sir, I have 
 proof that there is no mistake. You told me that 
 I must protect myself: and, in order to that, I 
 planted hurdles . . . . " 
 
272 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 " O ! I know all about that. You need not 
 go into that now." 
 
 " May I ask if you know it from Mr. Cosby, as 
 well as from the keepers ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes. Cosby told me something about it. 
 It gave me an idea, I must say, Earn, of pretty 
 close shaving on your part." 
 
 " Perhaps you will tell me, Sir, how much 
 faster than at present you would have my mother 
 and her family go to ruin. We are half ruined 
 now, in two years. You bid us protect ourselves 
 from this ruin, and then accuse us of close 
 shaving/'' 
 
 cc I beg your pardon, Farn, if I have hurt you. 
 I did not mean that. But I think there must be 
 some mistake." 
 
 " You will permit me to show you that there is 
 none. Our rent is one hundred and fifty pounds. 
 Our rates and taxes are forty pounds. I can prove 
 that our losses from rabbits and game are half as 
 much again as our rent and taxation together. 
 Before last year, we got seven or eight sacks of 
 wheat to the acre : and now, this year, the average 
 is under five." 
 
 " For all your hurdling ! " 
 
 " For all our close shaving. The close shaving 
 seems to us to be all on the other side ; for on 
 
SECOND YEAR. 273 
 
 some parts of our land, there has been really 
 nothing to reap : and on others, the crop has not 
 returned the seed sown. Our carrot crop . . . . " 
 
 " Nay, nay, Farn, Cosby is the person to whom 
 you should give all these details." 
 
 " I have your permission, th en, to furnish a 
 valuation of damage to Mr. Cosby " 
 
 ff Why, I think we may manage a more amicable- 
 looking settlement than that. It is Cosby' s opinion 
 that your rent ought to be reduced, and it shall 
 be ; and there y s an end. What is it you wish 
 to say to me about my having the game on your 
 farm ? " 
 
 " That my mother and I shall be glad to give 
 up the farm as soon as you will permit us to 
 quit." 
 
 " Nonsense, Farn ! I tell you, your rent shall 
 be reduced." 
 
 "We would not take it rent-free, Sir, if the 
 thing were now to do. If you let us quit, you 
 can take the game, and do what you will with the 
 farm. In our hands, if you compel us to stay, it 
 will go down to no value at all." 
 
 " You do not mean to threaten that, Farn ? " 
 
 " We cannot help ourselves, Sir. The land is 
 of a light quality, requiring good farming. I have 
 put more manure than my neighbours, thirty-six 
 
 VOL; II. T 
 
FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 cart-loads to an acre, latterly : and for this I have 
 kept more stock in proportion, upwards of thirty 
 head of cattle, and one hundred and twenty sheep. 
 My turnips, carrots and clover being so eaten up, 
 my sheep are reduced to the number my father 
 brought on the farm, and must go down this year 
 again, if I have no better treatment from the 
 game : and all my stock must go down in propor- 
 tion. I cannot manure my land, you see, Sir : 
 and, if you hold us to our lease, we must get what 
 we can out of the land, with the least labour and 
 expense, and try whether we can hold out till we 
 may quit." 
 
 "It is the rabbits; it is all the rabbits," 
 pronounced Mr. Neville. " I made a mistake in 
 giving them as a perquisite, which I thought would 
 have the effect of keeping them down. The fellow 
 has made such a profit of them that I shall have 
 to pension him off : and so, I can't afford, you see, 
 to let my tenants quit before their lease is expired. 
 But your rent shall be reduced, for the current 
 year at least." 
 
 " If you Avould permit us to quit in March . . . " 
 " Now, don't be foolish, Farn ! The rabbits 
 shall be destroyed." 
 
 ; "What news?" asked the widow, as Henry 
 
SECOND YEAR. 275 
 
 entered his own door. And Fanny King, who 
 was there, said as much by her look up at him. 
 
 ' ' O well ! " said his mother, on hearing his 
 story: " I think you have gained a great deal. 
 I am glad you went. We shall do now. It has 
 been a sad season for you young people, to be 
 sure. My heart has ached for you. But now it 
 will be very different. And we have not to leave 
 the dear old place, thank God ! " 
 
 Henry had an intimation, very soon, that his 
 rent was to be reduced two shillings an acre, for 
 the current year, this being just double the re- 
 duction Mr. Neville had ever made to any tenant, 
 on account of the game. 
 
 "Two shillings an acre \" exclaimed his mother; 
 " Twenty pounds ! And is that all, to set against 
 the three hundred pounds we have lost ? " 
 
 " Such is our landlord's idea of justice/' said 
 her son. 
 
 " But then, there is the destruction of the rab- 
 bits, we must remember/' said the widow. "That 
 will be a great thing for us ! " 
 
 It was a curious scene, that of the destruction 
 of the rabbits, during the fortnight devoted to it. 
 Every spare hand was engaged in it ; and the 
 trapping, ferreting and shooting were prodigious. 
 
 T 2 
 
276 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 It was hearty work., in which the neighbours were 
 happy to assist, so hated were these vermin, 
 unconscious of evil as the poor little animals were. 
 The heath and the covers were all alive with the 
 beaters and spectators, all echoing with shots, 
 shouts and laughter; though there were a few 
 who looked grave at the amount of game, properly 
 so called, which came to light in the pursuit of 
 the rabbits. 
 
 The gossips of the neighbourhood, and some 
 who were not gossips, felt great interest in the 
 dark question what the keeper had received for 
 rabbits, up to this Christmas. It was known that 
 he had been paid ninepence a head by one higgler 
 for 2,800, between September and Christmas of 
 this year : and with how many more purchasers 
 he had dealings, no one knew but himself. Another 
 curious question was, how Mr. Neville and he had 
 settled the matter ; how he could have been re- 
 conciled to the loss or diminution of such a per- 
 quisite. The only reply was, that this was an affair 
 between him and his master. 
 
 Henry and Fanny did not marry this Christmas. 
 Mrs. Earn still thought they might; and Henry 
 might have yielded to his hopes and his wishes, 
 but for the grave looks of Fanny's father, and his 
 ever-growing reverence and tenderness for herself, 
 
SECOND YEAR. 277 
 
 which made him recoil from bringing her down 
 from a situation of ease into one of care, and 
 pinching economy, and steady decline of fortunes. 
 He had a strong conviction that she would have 
 married now, at a word from him, though his 
 mother dropped a reproach of Fanny's pride and 
 high spirit, now and then. But that word Henry 
 would not speak. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THIRD YEAR. 
 
 "I HAVE seen such a beautiful sight, mother!" 
 exclaimed Henry, one day at the end of the winter. 
 " You must let me drive you over to the Watkins' 
 farm, the first day we can spare. " 
 
 " I was wondering where you were gone, all this 
 morning/' said his mother. 
 
 " "Pis a morning well spent, mother. I only 
 wish I had gone weeks ago ; for it is weeks now 
 since Mr. Watkins told me of their wire-fence. 
 That is what I have been seeing." 
 
 " And what is it like ? " 
 
 " It is a pretty sort of wire-fence, such as looks 
 well in gardens, for trailing plants to run over. 
 But it is saving Mr. Watkins more than the value 
 of his rent, this year, after paying for itself. He 
 has put it along his hedges, not less than fifty 
 pounds worth of it, where the game has troubled 
 him most ; and it seems to answer perfectly. It 
 would do you good to see what crops he has. To 
 
THIRD YEAR. 279 
 
 be sure, the fence requires some little watching, 
 and will require more, as the crops come on : for 
 his plan is not looked on kindly from the other 
 side his boundary, as you may suppose: but it 
 will well pay watching. I wish I had looked at 
 it, and done the like, when I first heard of it, at 
 the farmer's table. It would have cost us from 
 thirty to thirty-five pounds for the fence, with- 
 out the watching; but it might have saved 
 us .... I won't say what." 
 
 And he sighed, as he had now a habit of 
 doing. 
 
 " We would have raised the money," observed 
 the widow. " It would have been worth some, 
 sacrifice to obtain such an object as that. But 
 we had no other' idea than that we should do well 
 when the rabbits were killed off." 
 
 " I had," said Henry. " I was aware that when 
 the rabbits were reduced, the hares would appear." 
 
 "But already!" 
 
 " Yes. They will not live much among rabbits ; 
 but, the rabbits once gone, they will come miles 
 to feed on Swedes : and you see how they frequent 
 ours already." 
 
 The widow shook her head. After a pause, she 
 said, briskly, 
 
 ' ' Well, we shall know how the Watkins' fence 
 
280 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 has answered, at the end of the season : and then, 
 we can try it next year, and see whether we can- 
 not prosper at last." 
 
 " The question will be how to raise the money 
 to buy it," said Henry, in a melancholy voice, 
 " if we have such deficient crops as I expect."" 
 
 " I did think you would have married this 
 April," sighed his mother. 
 
 " So did I, mother. But we had better not 
 speak of that." 
 
 " There seems to be scarcely anything cheerful 
 left to speak about," said she. " O ! about selling 
 the hares you get, could not we make some 
 better bargain about all the game you kill ?" 
 
 "I must see about that by the next season," 
 said Henry. " It is hard to have to send hares to 
 market, instead of the cattle and sheep we used to 
 take; and it is but little they can bring us to 
 make up for what they spoil. But I must see 
 about it. If I am not allowed to farm, I must 
 make what I can by snaring and shooting." 
 
 " It is a poor way of spending your time," said 
 his mother ; " and not the best lesson for Ned." 
 
 "Ned has learned the worst of his lesson 
 already, mother, I'm afraid. He gets beyond iny 
 control; and he has his pocket full of money at 
 times." 
 
THIRD YEAR. 281 
 
 " I gave him half-a-crown a month since. Henry . 
 I assure you I did." 
 
 " But I have seen him with gold, mother : and 
 I am convinced it was he who got the harness 
 mended, and was at the bottom of the other secret, 
 the new dairy pails that nobody could give an 
 account of." 
 
 " Bless the boy ! " cried the widow. 
 
 "Yes; it was kindly done. But he could not 
 have come by the money by proper means. I 
 have many anxious thoughts about Ned, mother : 
 as anxious almost as any." 
 
 Ned himself here entered with news that farmer 
 King was taken very ill; and Fanny had sent a 
 messenger to beg that Mrs. Farn would go to 
 them immediately. In ten minutes, she and Henry 
 were off. 
 
 Farmer King died. The event appeared at first 
 to cast an additional gloom over the family at 
 Maude-chapel farm; but there is no end to the 
 curious turns in the human lot. In a few weeks 
 Henry came home one day, looking as animated 
 and cheerful as in old times. Fanny and he had 
 arrived at new light about their duty, if not about 
 his affairs. Fanny had always seen, but could 
 never impart her view to her father, that the more 
 Henry suffered from adverse fortune, the more he 
 
282 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 needed her sustaining affection in his home : and 
 that, for her, it was far more painful to live in 
 external ease, looking on his struggles, than to 
 share them. In short, Fanny, who had appeared 
 indifferent and high when he was a prosperous 
 young man, was as devoted to him now, in his 
 adversity, as he had ever been to her. 
 
 How rejoiced was Mrs. Farn to throw the blame 
 of the long delay on farmer King ! How merrily 
 she told Fanny the hard thoughts she had had of 
 her ! And with what zeal did she set about making 
 such arrangements as she could for the wedding 
 and new inmate ! The wedding was, of course, to 
 be as quiet an affair as possible : and the prepara- 
 tions for Fanny's reception were no great matter ; 
 for really there was no money to spare. The whole 
 amounted to little more than shifting and chang- 
 ing, and furbishing up what was always in use, 
 and bringing out for use a few valued articles 
 which had hitherto been hoarded. 
 
 At one stage of the business, Dinah, who had 
 been observed to have tears in her eyes very often 
 at this season of improved cheerfulness to her 
 family, had to discharge her mind of what was 
 upon it. It was some new arrangements about 
 the rooms which compelled her to speak. She 
 said she thought as Fanny was coming, and was 
 
THIRD YEAR. 283 
 
 so clever about the dairy, there would be one more 
 at home than was needed. A dairy-maid was 
 now wanted at the Lodge; and she hoped her 
 mother would see it to be a duty that she should 
 apply for the place. She wished to save her 
 maintenance at home, now Henry was reducing 
 the numbers on the farm to the utmost : and she 
 hoped no opposition would be made to her going 
 out to earn her bread. 
 
 At first, this was gainsaid with a sort of agony 
 of opposition. Henry and Fanny felt as if they 
 had driven Dinah from home and her mother. 
 But as she was in reason right, and they had 
 nothing but feelings to plead against her purpose, 
 they had to give way. 
 
 So, at Midsummer, when Henry brought home 
 his bride, and the two families had dined together 
 in a very sober style, Dinah bade them all good 
 bye at the same time that Fanny's brothers and 
 sister were going away, in order to make the least 
 of the parting. She went to her room for the last 
 time, took off her best clothes, and laid them by 
 in a drawer, unable, in spite of herself, to keep 
 down her choking tears. She hoped she should 
 not meet her mother in going out ; it would make 
 her mother cry all this wedding evening. Mrs. 
 Farn was on the watch for her, however, in the 
 
284 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 fore-court; so Dinah slipped out the back way, 
 and ran through the kitchen garden till the turn 
 to the wood should put her out of sight from the 
 house. On turning that corner, however, she ran 
 into somebody's arms. Henry had waylaid her. 
 
 " O ! Henry," said she : " to come out about 
 me, on this day of all days ! " 
 
 "Because on this day you are my own dear 
 sister, more than ever you were before. If we can 
 but prosper again, Dinah, I will come for you, the 
 very first thing." 
 
 " Thank you, good bye," said Dinah, sobbing. 
 " Bid my mother good bye again for me. She is 
 in the fore-court. But be sure you don't tell her I 
 have been crying." 
 
 " Don't cry so, dear, don't ! I can't bear it, 
 Dinah ! Come back with me, after all." 
 
 " No, 110 ! It 's nothing. I shall be singing to 
 the cows to-morrow, that they may get to be fond 
 of me, as ours will get to be fond of Fanny, you 
 know." 
 
 And she kissed him once more, and ran on. 
 
 When Michaelmas came, prosperity seemed 
 further off than ever. The crops, already im- 
 poverished by Henry's inability to farm as highly 
 as the soil required, were again one-fourth de- 
 
THIRD YEAR. 285 
 
 stroyed by game, the hares having come up in 
 proportion as the rabbits went down, and the 
 rabbits being still plentiful enough for much mis- 
 chief. 
 
 It was formerly an object with Henry, as it had 
 been with his father, to keep back his crops from 
 the market till they could command the best 
 prices. But now he was so pressed for money for 
 his rent, found it so hard to turn himself round 
 at all, that he was compelled to sell at the earliest 
 possible moment, when, of course, prices were 
 lowest, after harvest. He had sold his wheat, and 
 much of his barley, when he one day met his land- 
 lord and another gentleman, out shooting. He 
 opened a gate for them, and was passing on, when 
 Mr. Neville said 
 
 " O ! Farn, is that you ? Have you seen Cosby 
 or the keeper about the barley ? Have they told 
 you what barley we shall want ?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir." 
 
 " Very well. Set that off against the rent, if 
 that is any convenience to you. We are pretty 
 good customers to you this year, eh, Farn?" 
 
 Henry bowed. 
 
 "Why, now, how much have we had from 
 you, this year or two past ? reckoned in money ? 
 eh?" 
 
286 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 "About fifty pounds worth last year; and it 
 
 will be a little more this." 
 
 " Ah ! that is pretty well. In my opinion, it is 
 a great convenience to you to have a market at 
 your own door, as it were." 
 
 He looked at his companion, who nodded assent. 
 
 "And at your own prices, I hope, Earn. My 
 people don't beat you down, do they? They 
 don't dispute your prices ? " 
 
 " There can be no dispute about market prices, 
 Sir. You have my barley at market prices." 
 
 " And without the trouble of carrying it to 
 market. Come now, with all your dislike of the 
 game, you must acknowledge that to be an advan- 
 tage. Come now, admit that." 
 
 " It is just the same to me whether I sell my 
 barley at market or to the Lodge. And you know, 
 Sir, what your people buy is only what is left 
 after your game have got all they can without 
 buying." 
 
 Mr. Neville laughed and walked on. 
 
 " "What an inveterate grumbler that fellow is!" 
 said he to his companion. "I never see him but 
 he comes out with some sauciness like that." 
 
 " What sort of a tenant is he ? How does he 
 serve your land ? " 
 
 " O ! badly enough. He is not like his father, 
 
THIRD YEAR. 287 
 
 who brought the land into very good condition. 
 It is going down now, year by year, Cosby tells 
 me. The mischief is, farmers pretending to farm 
 without capital enough. We want a more sub- 
 stantial set of men, you see. This young fellow 
 works late and early, and is really clever in his 
 business, Cosby tells me : but he can barely turn 
 himself round, sells off his crops almost before 
 they are reaped, manures less, and employs a man 
 or two less every year, and so on." 
 
 " Ah ! the land must go down, at that rate. 
 Could not you get rid of him, before it is too late, 
 and put in a man with more capital ? " 
 
 "Why, I begin to think I had better have 
 taken him at his word when he wanted to throw 
 up his lease, some time since. If he said any- 
 thing about it now, I think I would. But his 
 mother is a respectable woman, the widow of 
 the old tenant : that was one thing. And they 
 pay their rent duly. They are really very respect- 
 able people; only they should not attempt to 
 farm without capital enough to do me justice." 
 
 " You will take care of that point, I suppose, 
 when a new tenant comes upon the land : and 
 that, I imagine, must happen soon. You will 
 make sure of his having capital enough." 
 
 " I shall. And another thing I shall do : I 
 
288 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 shall reserve the game. It was not reserved in 
 this case, the lease being given before my time. 
 In this case, the occupier is in no way benefited 
 by having the game, to judge by his wearisome 
 complaints. He is as dissatisfied as any tenant 
 on my property. His having the game has done 
 him little or no good ; and it has been a great 
 restriction on me. I shall guard against that in 
 the next lease of Maude-chapel farm/-' 
 
 " And I will tell you something else you must 
 do, by a clause, if you give a lease, and by a 
 clear understanding if you do not. I have seen the 
 advantage of a yearly holding, in a case this last 
 week, and learned a lesson which I may as well 
 give you the benefit of. You know Hartwell 
 farm, on Gerald Benson's property. We went 
 shooting there one day . . . . ' 
 
 " Yes, yes, I remember." 
 
 " The tenant there is one of your saucy fellows 
 about the game. He made a laugh at the farmers' 
 table at Norwich, a year ago, which has made 
 him cry by this time, I should think. They were 
 grumbling about the game, as usual ; and one of 
 them said that there was no use in complaining 
 to the landlord ; and, for his part, he would rather, 
 and did rather, suffer in silence, than get his 
 landlord's ill-will. Whereupon, the man I speak 
 
THIRD YEAR. 289 
 
 of, Watkins, said he had a great opinion of the 
 silence, but not of the suffering. There was a. 
 laugh, you know, and the thing spread ; and his 
 neighbours kept their eyes on him to see how he 
 would manage." 
 
 " It will be a new thing if there turns up a 
 farmer who disclaims suffering by game." 
 
 " Well : what did he do but quietly put a pretty 
 little wire fence all round his best crops, a new 
 device, you see, which could not have been guarded 
 against in his lease, if he had had one, which, 
 happily, he had not." 
 
 " And what happened in regard to the game ?" 
 
 " O ! they were stopped out, almost entirely." 
 
 " And what were his crops ? " 
 
 "They say, of course, that he has had magni- 
 ficent crops this year." 
 
 " Ah ! that is of course. The grumblers will 
 be sure to say that, without regard to the weather, 
 or any other influence than the game." 
 
 " Gerald Benson has given him notice to quit ; 
 and there you see the benefit of a yearly holding. 
 If you give a lease, however, you will do well to 
 guard against your tenant stopping out the game 
 like so much vermin, in that unhandsome way." 
 
 " You have got their very word," said Neville. 
 " It is the fashion at the farmers' table to call 
 
 VOL. II. U 
 
290 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM, 
 
 game vermin. And in the same breath, they say 
 they don't want it rooted out, only enough left 
 for gentlemen's sport, without too much damage ! " 
 " Is not that just what we say of foxes ? " 
 "Ah ! so it is. I forgot that. But there is 
 somehow a great difference between a fox and a 
 pheasant or a hare." 
 
 " Yes, there is certainly. Now, we shall have 
 a shot ! Look at Footfall ! " 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 FOURTH YEAR. 
 
 " Now, my dear children, do let us see whether 
 we cannot contrive it/' said widow Farn to Henry 
 and his wife, one night after supper. " If we 
 could accomplish this one point of the wire fence, 
 so as to save our crops this year, who knows what 
 might come of such a beginning ? And we cannot 
 have notice to quit served upon us, like Mr. 
 Watkins. We could stay, and reap the advantage. 
 Cannot we make the effort ? " 
 
 "It is too late, mother," said Henry. "We 
 are too far gone. Look at the condition of the 
 land and the buildings ! Nothing that we could 
 get out of that land now would repair those build- 
 ings, after maintaining us ; and our stock . . . . " 
 
 " The truth is, Henry, you have lost your spirit. 
 Is it not so ? " 
 
 " It may be, mother. It well may be. But as 
 a matter of figures, I could show you from my 
 books that we should not be justified in raising 
 money now for any further efforts on this farm. 
 
292 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 Fanny's brothers are very kind ; but it would be 
 dishonest, in my opinion, to use their money in 
 the same business in which we have lost nearly 
 a thousand pounds of our own." 
 
 " Ah ! how many years of thrift and industry, 
 and hope and fear, did it cost your father and me 
 to gather that thousand pounds ! and how soon 
 it is gone ! " 
 
 " It is a bitter thought to me, mother/' 
 
 " My dear son, you should not say that, if you 
 mean that you are thinking of me." 
 
 " And Dinah, mother, and poor Ned." 
 
 "Why, Henry, it is no fault of yours. We 
 did hope to have a little portion for Dinah, and to 
 see Ned 
 
 She stopped a moment, but in consideration 
 for Henry, presently went on. 
 
 " We did make our little plans, and have our 
 little wishes for you all. But it does not rest with 
 us to bring them to pass. All that any one could 
 do, you have done, Henry. If it had been other- 
 wise, I should have been miserable indeed. As it 
 is, my dear son, I am very happy in you, 
 should be quite happy, through everything, but 
 for " 
 
 She could not again name Ned; and it made 
 the strong-hearted Fanny's eyes overflow to see 
 
FOURTH YEAR, 293 
 
 the quivering lips, quivering with grief, which 
 spoke of happiness. . -. . 
 
 " Come, Fanny, dear, tell us what you think," 
 said Mrs. Earn, clearing her voice, and resuming 
 her ordinary tone of cheerfulness, 
 
 " I think as Henry does, that we had better 
 not attempt anything more here. Whatever my 
 brothers will be kind enough to lend us will be 
 best employed, I think, in settling us, when we 
 are obliged to leave this farm." 
 
 " And when will that be, Henry ?" 
 
 " Whenever we cannot pay the rent, mother; 
 and that, I suppose, will be next Michaelmas." 
 
 " God bless me, Henry ! What shall we do ? 
 Where shall we go ? I don't see how we can take 
 another farm." 
 
 "No, mother; do not hope it. We shall be 
 sold up, and have nothing left." 
 
 There was a pause. Mrs. Earn was the first to 
 speak. 
 
 " I have heard of such things, my dears ; and 
 people have got over such a .... such a . ..." 
 
 te Ours is no uncommon case now," said Henry* 
 " But I must, and ever will say that it is a very 
 hard one. It is becoming more and more common 
 for people of our class to be ruined wholly and 
 solely by game," 
 
294 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 " There is some small comfort in being ruined 
 in such a way," Fanny declared. " The mischief 
 must come to an end, mother, when many such as 
 you and Henry are ruined in a way so shocking 
 and absurd. And, for my part, I have no notion of 
 being ashamed of it. I am rather disposed to 
 hold up my head, and say f Come and look at us. 
 Here we are, working hard, spending little, 
 understanding our business, and left untouched 
 by misfortune from God; here we are ruined 
 wholly and solely by our landlord's game ! Come 
 and see!'" 
 
 " Bravo ! Fanny," cried her husband ; seeing 
 that his mother smiled. 
 
 " And then," Fanny went on, " I think they 
 could not but see the sin and folly of this way of 
 game-preserving. There was something manly 
 and reasonable in men finding pleasure in sport 
 when they pursued animals that were naturally on 
 the land; and nobody would object now to any 
 amount of that sport, done at any amount of 
 damage by the way. But I do say that the original 
 notion of sporting was neither more nor less than 
 getting rid of a nuisance in a pleasant way ; whe- 
 ther it was against lions or bears, or boars or deer, 
 or hares and pheasants : and now, to nourish up a 
 nuisance at other people's expense, in order to put 
 
FOURTH YEAR. 295 
 
 it down for one's own pleasure, is such child's play, 
 such insolent and ignorant child's play, that I 
 can't conceive how any grown man can stoop to it." 
 
 " Bravo! Fanny!" 
 
 "We see our labourers/' continued Fanny, 
 " set up nine-pins, to knock them down again : 
 and very innocent sport that is ; for the nine-pins 
 spoil no wheat and bite no turnips, while the 
 labourers' children have not enough to eat : nor 
 do they take work out of the labourers' hands, as 
 the four-footed nine-pins do. O ! if we could but 
 persuade the gentlemen at the Lodge to knock 
 down nine-pins instead of hares and pheasants, 
 what a fine thing it would be for this neighbour- 
 hood ! Or, if we could make a few mock pheasants 
 and hares for them, like flies for fishing and auto- 
 maton mice, that might be bait enough to draw 
 them into the country, without so much damage 
 to us j if indeed, they cannot relish the country 
 without a treat of child's play. Or, I have no 
 doubt we could do very well without them if they 
 would go to the moors, instead of coming here. 
 They can shoot away there, as much as they please, 
 without hurting anybody." 
 
 " They would tell you that you know nothing 
 about the matter, Fanny. They would say you 
 can know nothing of manly sports." 
 
296 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 "Then my answer would be that either they 
 know nothing of the ruin caused by their sports, 
 of, if they do know, they are anything but manly 
 to pursue sport at such a cost. And I am more 
 sure of the soundness of my answer than of the 
 truth of their objection. Do not let us give way, 
 mother; do not let us give way, Henry > if it 
 should come to the worst. I could bear to be sold 
 up, if it would but make thinking people look into 
 the cause." 
 
 " No, my - dear ; we will never give way," said 
 widow Farn. 
 
 It did come to the worst. They were sold up, 
 the next Michaelmas. It was a bitter season, but 
 they weathered it : and this was partly owing to 
 Fanny's spirit. By the aid of friends, they were 
 set up in a public-house in the neighbourhood 
 where they were so well known and so much re- 
 spected. Fanny wanted to have it called the Hare 
 and Hammer, saying that this would bring the 
 custom of all the discontented farmers round. But 
 it was thought that this would hardly do, either 
 in point of manners or policy. However many 
 farmers felt with this ruined family, and under- 
 stood the cause of their ruin, few would venture to 
 say so in so clear a way as by patronising a public- 
 house which should appear to defy the Lodge. 
 
FOURTH YEAR. 297 
 
 There seemed some excuse for Mr. Neville's 
 way of thinking and acting when it was seen how 
 many applications were made for Maude-chapel 
 farm, on and before the day of the auction. 
 Though Mr. Neville reserved the game, and sti- 
 pulated that the tenant should preserve it, there 
 were applicants who took his simple word that 
 they should never be injured by the game. It can 
 hardly be averred that these applicants were wholly 
 satisfied by this mere assurance ; but they thought 
 it would be ill-mannered to press for further secu- 
 rity, or more precision in terms : and all hoped 
 that, by some means or other, they should con- 
 trive to prosper better than poor Farn had done. 
 
 Mr. Neville was not wholly satisfied, either, 
 though he was able to point to the number of 
 applications for the farm. It struck him that 
 there were no men of any substance among the 
 applicants, no men of good capital, skill or know- 
 ledge. He suspected that they were tempted by 
 the lowness of the rent ; and he observed to Cosby 
 that it was very odd what a propensity men had 
 to go into the farming business without a suffi- 
 ciency of capital ; he supposed the same thing 
 would happen over and over again that had hap- 
 pened with poor Farn, who had split on that rock 
 of insufficient capital ; that it really was very hard 
 
298 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 on the landlord, not only to have his tenants fail 
 in their rents, but to be compelled to sell them 
 up, which was anything but pleasant to his 
 feelings. 
 
 He then asked whether it was true that the 
 Farns were about to open a public-house in the 
 neighbourhood; and desired Cosby to have his 
 eye on them, as it would not do to have such a 
 place made a rendezvous for poachers, as he 
 thought it likely to become, from young Farn's 
 inveterate enmity to the game, and from his 
 having a brother who had certainly taken to bad 
 courses with the poachers of the neighbourhood. 
 Mr. Cosby said what he could for the respect- 
 ability of the family, all but Ned; but Mr. 
 Neville told him that no young man ever set him- 
 self, as Farn had done, against his landlord, and 
 the interests of the gentry, without there being 
 some vice at the bottom of it ; and that he would 
 see this family going further down the road to 
 ruin yet. 
 
 This was apparently true before long. At first, 
 the public-house appeared to answer ; but, between 
 its real respectability, which made it no place of 
 resort for the class whose patronage, in the vicinity 
 of game-preserves, is the most lucrative, and the 
 
FOURTH YEAR. 299 
 
 suspicion with which Mr. Neville was known to 
 regard it, and which Tucker took care to foster, 
 the custom of the place fell off. Henry would 
 not await another insolvency; and the rather 
 because the family discovered to each other that 
 this was a way of life most disagreeable to each of 
 them; and that they would rather live in the 
 humblest cottage that they could have to them- 
 selves than lead the disturbed life of a public- 
 house on any terms. 
 
 So, to a very humble cottage they have gone. 
 There lives Henry, a farm labourer on ten shil- 
 lings a week, looking, in three years, twenty years 
 older, from his grizzled hair and furrowed brow, 
 rarely speaking when outside of his own fence, 
 and still somewhat shrinking from people of his 
 own class, for Fanny's sake, not from false 
 pride in himself. Fanny is more than ever the 
 lady of his soul. Her bright smile when she sets 
 on the table the rare occasional meal of bacon, 
 her clever merriment with the baby in her arms, 
 are to him more exquisite than he thinks any 
 other man ever conceived of. The only tears that 
 he has seen wrung from her were about this 
 infant in her arms, when her husband was 
 thinking aloud one day about whether it was pos- 
 sible that any child of hers should be destined to 
 
300 FOUR YEARS AT MAUDE-CHAPEL FARM. 
 
 grow up a clod-pole like the children of most 
 people in their circumstances. At the moment, 
 she said nothing, because she could not speak : 
 but afterwards she told him that she had been 
 thinking about that matter, and her opinion was 
 that they must educate their children to the 
 utmost of their power, give them of their* own 
 knowledge and habits of mind, trusting that their 
 Maker would, in his own time, place them in 
 circumstances favourable to the exercise of their 
 powers. 
 
 "You know," said she, " this is the case of all of 
 us under God's rule. Every one of us is a great, 
 immortal being in humble and confined circum- 
 stances, with powers cramped up in us which we 
 hope to use hereafter in a better place. Let us 
 take example by our Father's method with us all, 
 and do the same, as nearly as we can, with our 
 own children." 
 
 " You are right," replied her husband. And 
 his eyes rested on the family Bible, the only 
 article they had saved of all they had at Maude- 
 chapel farm. "By that book, and our own con- 
 stant endeavours, we will try, Fanny, with God's 
 blessing, what we can do for our children." 
 
 Dinah remains dairy-maid at the Lodge. She 
 is so well approved that Mr. Neville has more than 
 
FOURTH YEAR. 301 
 
 once told her, on meeting her with her pails, that 
 she may ask Tucker now and then for a hare for 
 her mother, for whom he has a respect. 
 
 She has a few hours on Sundays, between 
 church and milking time, when she goes down to 
 the cottage. She gives her mother her arm for a 
 little walk ; and that walk is always to the same 
 place ; to the rising ground on the old farm, 
 whence the sea-view may be had. Mrs. Earn is 
 not old; but Dinah suspects that night-weeping 
 has dimmed her eyes ; for she cannot now discern 
 the light-house. Now and then, however, she 
 catches the flash and sparkle of the sunny sea ; 
 and then her heart springs up, as young as ever. 
 In those walks she confesses that she did think 
 that Henry, so sensible and clever as he is, was 
 made for prosperity, as she used (too presumptu- 
 ously perhaps) to say : but that it is not for her 
 to complain. Wherever and however she may be 
 destined to die, it has pleased God that she should 
 live the best part of her life in this beautiful 
 place ; and there cannot be a sweeter spot in the 
 world than Maude-chapel farm. 
 
 END OP VOL. II. 
 
LONDON : 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, \VHITKKKIARS. 
 
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