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 KALF SKIRLAUGH,
 
 EALF SKIELAUGH 
 
 THE LINCOLNSHIRE SQUIRE, 
 
 % SotjtI. 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWAED PEACOCK, F.S.A. 
 
 IN THEEE VOLUMES. 
 VOL, I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1870. 
 [TJie right of Translation is reserved hj the AutJior.]
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
 
 6 " -', 
 V.I 
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 i CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Sucli tales as old men tell, 
 
 When age has frosted and when toil has numb'd them, 
 2 "When all the bright and glowing things of life 
 
 »~ Have melted into nothing : and there stands 
 
 Naught but the rigid frame -work of the past, 
 A map of life, but not the life we lived." 
 
 The Squire's Testament. 
 
 It was late in the evening of an early autumn day 
 V. in the j^ear 175 — , that William Skirlaugh, the nephew 
 ';5 and partner of Mr. Eobert Skirlaugh, a well-known Lon- 
 4 don solicitor, descended from the high perch-like stool 
 J which he had occupied almost without intermission 
 ^ since the time of breakfast — an early hour 120 years 
 '^ ago — and proceeded to make things safe for the night. 
 *- The first duty was to arrange the various papers he 
 had used, many of which strewed the floor around, 
 V and to fold up neatly, first in white and then in brown 
 paper, the ponderous deed of eight skins of parch- 
 ment, the examination of which had occupied his time 
 
 C««l VOL. I. B
 
 ^ P.ALF SKIKLAUGH. 
 
 during the greater j^art of the day. These carefully 
 locked up in his own desk, the next thing was to light 
 a small dip-candle that stood in an oval brass stick on 
 the upper ledge of the office desk, the bowl of which 
 formed a convenient receptacle for ends of sealing- 
 wax, buttons, pins, and wafers. Tlie light in the 
 larger candlestick, a fabric of tin, which stood imme- 
 diately adjoining the writing ledge, was at once put 
 out, and a search commenced through all the six low 
 rooms of which the offices consisted to ascertain that 
 the windows were shut and made secure by the nume- 
 rous fastenings ; for Synion Bedale and Koger Home, 
 the two clerks on whom this office nominally devolved, 
 had left their work at six o'clock, and had they been 
 still on their stools, no man who knew them would 
 ever have dreamt of trusting anything that required 
 care or forethought to two young men, who were, indeed, 
 steady enough as times went, if you gave them a docu- 
 ment to cop3^ or a message to carry, but who had no 
 more prudence or thought for the morrow, when left 
 to themselves, than the choice assortment of 'prentices 
 with whom they frequented the galleries of the second- 
 rate theatres, and played at single-stick, football, and 
 bowls when the toil of the day was over. 
 
 After the fulfilment of these minor duties, the gi'eat 
 work of the closed day was to be undertaken. This 
 Mr. Skirlaugh could trust to no one but liimself or his 
 nephew; and the latter person, although a gi*eat 
 favourite with his uncle, had only been advanced to 
 this, high post of confidence a few months before — at
 
 RALF SKIIILAUGH. 3 
 
 the time wlien he was taken into partnership. The 
 work was, indeed, a serions one. It consisted of lock- 
 ing, barring, bolting, and applying a dozen other 
 elaborate contrivances, which we cannot without equi- 
 vocation call locks, bars, or bolts, to the huge strong- 
 box in which the most important papers of the office 
 were contained. This was an occupation that required 
 much time and a good memory, for if but one screw 
 were touched out of its proper order, or a single spring 
 unloosed ere its time was come, the effect of the 
 whole arrangement came to nothing, or worse than 
 nothing ; not onl}^ on these occasions did the box 
 remain unfastened, but bolts and bars shot out of 
 unforeseen places and hindered the lid's being even 
 shut ; nor could these misplaced securities be returned 
 to their proper sheaths until some one who knew the 
 whole secret of the machinery had set matters right 
 again. Notwithstanding that the nephew had been 
 most carefully drilled by his uncle in the intricacies of 
 this complex mechanism, and had more than once 
 been required to rehearse the ceremony of locking and 
 unlocking in that relative's presence, it occasionally 
 happened that, like an ill-said incantation, his labours 
 had produced no further result than a severe trap of 
 the fingers. At these times his fate had been similar 
 to that of the unhappy Caliph of Bagdad, who, when 
 turned into a stork, forgot the formula by aid of 
 which lie was to re-assume his human figure ; for when 
 such an unfortunate oversight happened, there was no 
 resource left for the blunderer, but to wait patiently
 
 4 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 until his uncle came to look after him ; for so tena- 
 cious and so fearful of loss was that gentleman that 
 the idea of his nephew leaving the office without 
 shutting the great chest, even when that office-door 
 was locked and tlie key in his pocket, would have very 
 much displeased him. The younger Skii'laugh, how- 
 ever, had his wits about him. He determined not so 
 entirely to trust to his memory as to dispense with 
 external aid. He therefore made a string of verses, 
 which, while seeming to the ear to struggle after sense 
 in halting rhyme, contained for the one person for 
 whose use they were meant, the necessary dii'ections. 
 By their aid, for they were slowly said over, as each 
 screw was turned and notch touched, all went well, and 
 the three keys, a large one and two little ones that 
 might have hung on a watch-chain, were withdrawn, 
 the candle extinguished, the office-door shut, and with 
 a whistle of .relief the young man stepped out into the 
 little narrow court, and breathed what might be called, 
 when compared with the ill-ventilated room in which 
 he had spent his da}^ the free air of heaven. 
 
 *' Thank God, this drudgery is over for a time, and 
 one may now think of something else besides pens and 
 parchment. I wish I'd been a soldier, or even a 
 grazier, like old Beckwith. He can see clouds and 
 trees, can feel storm or sunshine when he has a mind. 
 It is surely quite as becoming for a gentleman to 
 haggle about the juice of steers and sheep as it is to 
 vend blotted sheepskin and tortuous advice in a room 
 called an office." So soliloquised the young man as
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. & 
 
 he passed, weary in body and mind, to what was by 
 no means a genial home. So most of us dream and 
 maunder over our i^resent lot. Happily some few keep 
 this slow dribble of bitter fancies under such check 
 that their nearest companions hear not the sound 
 thereof. The greater part of mankind, however, put 
 no such restraint upon themselves, but give free vent 
 to the expression of their vain imaginations. 
 
 Skii-laugh's sadness was but momentary, a passing 
 cloud over a cheerful landscape, not a continuous fog 
 atmosphere ; yet our readers might have forgiven him 
 if his character had possessed a tinge of melancholy. 
 His life, perhaps, could not be called an unhappy one, 
 but if, since he had jiassed from the mystic realm of 
 infancy, he had met with little of absolute sorrow, 
 yet there had been scarcely anything to give his 
 career colour or brightness, to strengthen his hopes, 
 or stimulate his ambition. 
 
 As we shall have much to say about them in the 
 sequel, it may perhaps be as well to give here at the 
 outset a few notes on the history of the Skirlaugh 
 family. To group them all together in one place is to 
 put before our friends a block of dr}^ reading as hard 
 and unsavoury as the friar's parched peas. They had 
 better, hoAvever, munch them all for breakfast, rather 
 than be troubled by iinding such hard morsels scat- 
 tered among more appetising food, when they are 
 longing for refreshment towards the end of their 
 journey. 
 
 AVilliam Skirlaugh, the only member of the family
 
 b RALF SKIELAUGII. 
 
 we liave as yet seen, was a 3'oung man of about five- 
 and-twenty years of age, the nephew and ahnost the 
 only near relation of a person who stood high in what 
 it is the fashion among those who do not know the 
 nature of English institutions to call the lower brancli 
 of the law. The elder Skirlaugh's father had come u}) 
 to London in the reign of Charles II. almost porticm- 
 less, a cadet of a cadet of an old feudal famil}-, which 
 had suffered much both in blood and lands for its 
 devotion to the monarchy during the great Pm'itan 
 revolution. Tlie law seemed the most favourable 
 means of subsistence ; he therefore entered himseK as 
 a clerk to a solicitor, who was the son of a tenant on 
 the family estate. By judicious management, and tlie 
 advantages of an elegant person and refined manners, 
 he had succeeded in much increasing the business, 
 even while in a subordinate position. When, however, 
 it came to pass in process of time that his master took 
 him into partnership, and shortly after he became the 
 husband of his daughter and heiress, Thomas Sku'- 
 laugh was enabled to augment the joint funds of the 
 firm in many ways that had never occurred to tlie 
 careful and narrow-minded father-in-law. With in- 
 crease of business came increase of expense, and as 
 Thomas and Milescent his wife were not only liand- 
 some and clever, but also really accomplished and 
 agreeable, and as the husband was known to be sprung 
 of gentle blood, they were, notwithstanding profes- 
 sional impediments^ received into society much above 
 their own rank. Tlic times thev lived in were in some
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGII. < 
 
 things mucli more like our own than the intervening 
 generations have heen. The okl feelings which had 
 bound societ}^ together and kept classes apart had been 
 broken up. The restoration of the monarchy had 
 ended, or seemed to have ended, the great struggle for 
 freedom, but it had not refixed life on its old basis. 
 Many of the wealthy men of the day who wished to 
 make a figm^e in the world knew, in their shortsighted- 
 ness, no other means of gaining respect or shining in 
 society except that which is the easiest of all — expen- 
 sive Hving — and Skirlaugh, with a large professional 
 income, and the consciousness that he had ability and 
 force, of character sufficient to make his way in life, 
 was not the man to hold back. He had too much real 
 taste and feeling to indulge in extravagance for its own 
 sake, but the unhappy atmosphere of luxury in which 
 he lived would too often cause him to make an excuse 
 for what a strict censor would have called waste, on 
 the ground that it w^as necessary for his social x)osi- 
 tion, his duty as a leading member of his i^rofession, 
 or that he could do no other as a gentleman and man 
 of taste. With all its vanities and its vices, its dark 
 crimes, and gigantic baseness, the age of Charles II. 
 had some characteristics which we of latter times have 
 lost with little advantage. The Stuart kings mmgled 
 in the society and sports of their people, and their 
 palaces were open for harmless glee and merry-making, 
 as well as for vice, in a manner to which we have not 
 been accustomed since the accession of the Ime of 
 Hanover.
 
 8 RALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 Skirlaugli and his wife were sometimes at Court. 
 The}^ often mingled in Court society, and their most 
 intimate and valued associates were among the warmest 
 friends of the Duke of York. He was, in fact, a kind 
 of connecting link between the City and the Court — a 
 man of too good blood and too high character to be 
 insulted by the profligate wits of the one, and too 
 much sense to despise the sterling quahties of the 
 other. Hence it followed that he was on many occa- 
 sions the channel, with great gain to himself, of those 
 pecuniary transactions in which courtiers often find it 
 needful to engage with the trading classes. If we add 
 to the above sketch that Mr. Skirlaugli did not, like 
 many of his companions, injure his health and cha- 
 racter b}^ drunkenness and other low -sdces, but that 
 he did sing a good song, and w^s suspected of dabbling 
 in poetry with his own pen, that he played deftly at 
 cards, and like his friend, Mr. Pepys, of the Ad- 
 miralty, had a i^assion for the theatre, and conse- 
 quently thought John Dryden the greatest of dramatists 
 and poets ; we have, we think, given as full a picture 
 as is necessary of a man who died many years ere om* 
 history begins. 
 
 Mr. Skirlaugh's first wife, the daughter of his 
 partner, died about five years after marriage. Her 
 only child was the gentleman who now conducted the 
 business. The father was an aft'ectionate husband, and 
 mourned deej^ly for his lost wife. All the hopes of 
 his life now centred in their boy. In this j'outh, as 
 he gfew up, he hoped to see those quahties, which he
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 9 
 
 valued in himself, shown forth in a higher degree, and 
 as it were ideaHsed by the tender love and cautious 
 training that he showered upon him. The best masters 
 of their respective crafts were engaged to teach him 
 to dance, sing, and fence ; the best tailors to make 
 his clothes ; the most cunning hairdressers to torment 
 and distort his hair; but all this labour was of no 
 avail. As the boy grew up, his father became sorrow- 
 fully aware that he inherited only one side of his own 
 nature. He saw that he would be at least his equal 
 in moral and business-hke qualities, that he would 
 never flagrantly break the decalogue or neglect his 
 cash account, but that of the graces of society — the 
 song, the dance, the revel; nay, even those courtesies 
 which give half the pleasure, and surely some of the 
 poetry, to life he woiild for ever be as i^rofoundly 
 ignorant as if he had been born the heir of a higliland 
 drover. This was a severe disappointment to one who 
 believed that what we now call *' success in life " was 
 at least as much the result of good manners as of 
 plodding industry. Notwithstanding these great draw- 
 backs, he could not as a parent resist a feeling of 
 pride and pleasure at the high moral tone of the lad, 
 and his sturdy though stolid industry. He gave pro- 
 found attention to the dryest details of his education, 
 mastered the Latin Grammar with readiness, wrote a 
 clerkly hand, and was careful and penurious of his 
 money, his clothes, and his words. He had read 
 " Glanville " and " Fleta " ere he was twenty, and 
 mastered the intricate forms of feudal tenure (it was
 
 10 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 then necessary for all lawyers to know sometliing of the 
 history of their profession) hefore the age most youths 
 have settled what their profession is to be. *' Father," 
 he said, one day when he was suffering rebuke for 
 being unlike other young men, and neglecting theu* 
 accomplishments, *' I can learn my business and do 
 my dut}^, but I cannot dance and sing." And truly 
 the son was right. No one save an over-fond parent 
 would ever have thought that those long, angular 
 limbs and the liarsh voice that accompanied them were 
 ever designed to make their way in courtl}' revel. The 
 father was deeply mortified. He consoled himself, 
 however, with the reflection that taste and position go 
 by destiny, and that his son might peradveiiture be 
 born to be a mere lawyer, even as a learned divine of 
 the Church of England had proved in his own hearing 
 that the Protestant martyr. Sir Edmondsbury Godfrey, 
 "was born to be a justice of peace."* ''And after 
 all," soliloquised he, "what matters it? England is 
 not now what she once w^as. Song has died with John 
 Dryden, and innocent mu'th fled away with my royal 
 master to the Court of Saint Germains." When 
 Bobert Skirlaugh was one-and-twenty, his father, now- 
 far past the prime of life, contracted a second marriage 
 with a lad}^ much younger than himself. After three 
 years she died, leaving two children — a son and a 
 daughter. Her death was a severe shock to her 
 husband, who soon followed her to the grave. 
 
 * Williani Lloyd, Dean of Bangoi-, Funeral Sermon on Sir E. (t., p. 14.
 
 EALF SiaPtLAUGH. 11 
 
 What Eobert Skirlaugli's feelings were on liis 
 father's second marriage we may surmise, but no 
 one ever heard him utter a word of blame. It is 
 j)er^ps rash to judge him b}^ what we may think our 
 sensations would have been in his circumstances. If 
 there were bitterness in his heart, his father, who 
 knew him best, had good reason for believing that it 
 soon passed away, or was kept under strong restraint 
 by high moral principle ; for when arranging his 
 affairs a little before his death, he left his eldest son 
 sole executor of his property and guardian of the 
 infant children. The rest of the family history may 
 be told in a few words, sorrowful ones they must be, 
 like most other chronicles of domestic life. The boy 
 as he grew up to manhood showed signs of a disposi- 
 tion the reverse of his guardian. Gay, thoughtless, 
 frivolous, with little of the stern devotion to the 
 reahties of life which had guided his father through a 
 long and intricate career : he plunged into wild com- 
 pany with the recklessness of one wdio had no idea of 
 the uses of money or the value of character. 
 
 It will be easily understood that such conduct was 
 not only highly displeasing, but well nigh incompre- 
 hensible, to his guardian. He reasoned with the 
 youth, after his dry formal manner, more than once 
 paid his debts, and gave him what he called a new 
 .stai*t in life, and at length, when he found that all 
 hope of checking him in his wild chase after ruin was 
 over, cast him off for ever. 
 
 With his sister Henrietta it was far otherwise.
 
 12 HALF SKIRLAUGir. 
 
 Her smaller knowledge of the world, or deeper intui- 
 tion into human character impelled her to take a far 
 more lenient view of the scapegrace who had been her 
 only pla3anate and companion. They were always 
 warm friends. More than once, out of her own 
 resources, slender alwaj^s, and at the time we speak of 
 rigidly under the control of her elder brother, for the 
 girl was not of age, she had taken what were then 
 considered long, and what certainly were expensive, 
 journeys to nurse him in illness or soothe liim in 
 affliction. 
 
 The career of the wasteful is not, in the middle 
 classes, of long duration. The black sheep sunk 
 lower and lower, until at length Eobert Skirlaugh was 
 compelled to exercise his authority as his sister's 
 guardian to prevent her from holding any commimica- 
 tion with the reprobate. A violent quarrel ensued — 
 the only one they ever had. It ended in a lifelong 
 separation between the brother and sister. Under all 
 provocation Eobert Skirlaugh was as kind a relative as 
 his hard and sunless nature could understand how to be. 
 As Hem-ietta could no longer dwell happily with him, 
 he made arrangements for her living with her 
 mother's sister, a widow lady, whose home was on a 
 little freehold property on the banks of the Yore — 
 having first extorted a positive promise that she 
 would see the face of her degraded brother no more. 
 This vow was made very unwillingly, and with a 
 reservation that it should terminate as soon as she was 
 of age, but no such proviso was needed. On the
 
 HALF SKIRL AUGH. 13 
 
 evening before the day on which it had been arranged 
 that Henrietta was to set out on her tedious journey 
 to the North of England news came that her unhappy 
 brother had grievously wounded a certain Mr. William 
 Brierley in a duel. A large reward was offered for the 
 capture of the culprit, but it was never claimed. For 
 upwards of a fortnight Robert Skirlaugh was in hourly 
 fear of hearing of his brother's capture. The police 
 of those days were neither skilful nor vigilant, it would 
 seem, for during the whole of that time Frank Skirlaugh 
 succeeded in hiding himself in London or its immediate 
 neighbourhood. One night after it had become dark 
 the unhappy young man entered the room where his 
 brother and sister were sitting. He bore a sleeping 
 infant in his arms. His face was far more haggard 
 than his relatives had ever before seen it, but his step 
 was steady and his voice firm. ** Brother," he said, " I 
 bring you the youngest of our race ! Care for him 
 as you fear God. — You, Henrietta, will love him for 
 his father's sake." As he said this, he placed the little 
 child on his sister's knee, and left the room. 
 
 " All was so quick, that it might seem 
 
 A flash of lightning, or a dream." ' 
 
 Eobert Skudaugh was never rapid of S2)eech or 
 motion. When he found the use of his limbs he 
 rushed to the street door to discover that it was locked 
 on the outside. Some time was lost in runnine- round 
 to the other door which afforded egress into the small 
 com-t that divided the dwelling-house from the busiuess
 
 14 HALF SKIRLAUGir. 
 
 office. Ere lie had got beyond liis own premises, Frank 
 had dived into the labyrinth of low streets and alleys 
 that lay on the west. 
 
 Robert Skirlaugh never heard anything further of 
 the criminal. Some persons surmised that he had 
 taken ship for America and been lost on his passage 
 or murdered by the natives ; others that he had 
 enlisted in the French army. Brierley recovered, 
 and it was a sad reflection to those who believed 
 Francis Skirlaugh dead, to think that his would-be 
 murderer had passed away without the satisfaction of 
 knowing that the wound he had inflicted was not 
 mortal. Degraded as he was, his friends knew that 
 he had the remains of many good qualities, and could 
 not but hope that he did not die with the feeling that 
 lie had blood on his soul. 
 
 The most searching inqumes were made after 
 Francis Skirlaugh, for the double purpose of saving 
 him, if possible, from punishment for his last criminal 
 act, and of gathering particulars as to the history of 
 the infant. Nothing, however, could be made out, 
 except that Henrietta was aware of the baby's exis- 
 tence, and that she said — and her word could be fully 
 relied upon — that she knew her brother could prove 
 the child he had left in their charge to be born in 
 lawful w^edlock. She had herself seen the documents 
 in his possession. It was suggested that the hurry of 
 flight and the agony of mind which the culprit must 
 have suffered in being the means, as he thought, of 
 sending a man who was once his friend to an early
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 15 
 
 grave, might have made him forgetful of the duty of 
 furnishmg the necessary evidence. Many were the 
 gTave discussions on this difficult case that Robert 
 Skirlaugh held with his friend Serjeant Morvill. We 
 shall, however, not afflict our readers with an abstract 
 of them, as the interest of the following tale,, if it 
 chance to have any, depends in no degree on the 
 legitimacy of its hero.
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 *' My uncle was a scrivener, 
 
 That dwelt in Bristol city, 
 My father was a roving blade, 
 
 The more for me's the pity. 
 
 "My mother died when I was young. 
 
 My aunt on me attended, 
 If I turn out a decent chap, 
 
 They'll say the old stock's mended." 
 
 Street Ballad. 
 
 William Si^iulaugh was soon seated with liis uncle 
 at their evenmg meal. Tea it was not, for the old 
 lawj^er was a conservative in matters of meat and di*ink, 
 and that decoction was then almost unused in houses 
 where women's influence was not in the ascendant. 
 "When taken at all, the tiny quantities in which it was 
 doled out were unfit for those to whom eating was a 
 matter of business, not a mere pastime in an idle 
 round of pleasure. Bread and cheese, a round of cold 
 spiced beef, and a trencher of oat cakes, — these last a 
 present from the Yorkshire dales, — formed the pro- 
 vender for a substantial meal. A silver tankard with 
 fi ciipid on the top, holding a promegranate in his hand, 
 
 /^
 
 HALF SKIRL AUGH. 17 
 
 and with another and larger pomegranate for the 
 liandle-knob, contained the fragrant hot ale with 
 which the rej^ast was seasoned. The room was neatly 
 fm-nished in the style of Queen Anne's days, but stiff 
 and cold-lookmg. The walls were covered with cases 
 mostly filled with law-books, a map of England graced 
 a recess on one side of the fire-place, and a plan of 
 London, done with the pen, the corresponding com- 
 partment. Three oil paintings hung opposite the 
 mndows, and a pair of prints, in narrow sham-ebony 
 frames, occupied the place of honour and dust over 
 the chimney-piece, whose shelf was ornamented with a 
 pewter tobacco-box, two clay pipes, three battered 
 conch shells, a rusty silver-mounted horse-pistol, and 
 a pair of boot-hooks. 
 
 The young man devoted himself assiduously to " the 
 sustentation of his animal functions." The legal work 
 that had occupied all the day, except the few minutes 
 he had snatched at noon for a hasty meal, had made the 
 repast an object of very serious interest to him ; not so 
 the elder Skirlaugh : his food lay all but untasted on 
 his plate, while his small and piercing grey eyes wan- 
 dered around the apartment, now glancing from the well 
 filled bookshelves, whose contents he at one moment 
 seemed counting, to the * Vera efiigies viri clarissimi 
 Edoardi Coke equitis aurati,' a jn-int cut from the 
 fourth volume of that knight's 'Institutes,' and occupy- 
 ing one of the before-mentioned black frames; then 
 gazing vacantly at the window, and at length resting 
 with a look of contentment on the opposite picture.
 
 18 HALF SKIRLAUGir. 
 
 It was a portrait of a 3^oung lady, long dead, wlio had 
 in youth won the heart of the now grave old bachelor. 
 Death had separated them, and he, unlike most of us, 
 had remained faithful to the memoiy of his first love, 
 a companionshij) of forty years unclouded by the 
 troubles of family life, unbroken by failing s3T2ipathy. 
 The contemplation did not last long, an uneasy glance 
 towards the place where the fire should have been, and 
 a fidgeting and twisting about in his chair, showed him 
 impatient for the conclusion of the meal. " Come, my 
 boy, haven't you done? — I want my pipe," were the 
 first words with which he had enlivened the repast. 
 
 A careful observer might have noticed a slight 
 family likeness between the uncle and nei)hew, but 
 this only made the contrast between the handsome 
 young man and his then hardfeatured relative the 
 more striking. There was the same general cast of 
 features in each. The head and face were modelled on 
 the same proportions, but there never could have been, 
 anything more than a faint resemblance. Could the 
 seams and furrow^s that now puckered the senior's 
 countenance like the .skin of a melon have been 
 smoothed out as they were in j^outh, we should 
 have before us a set of features almost as hard and 
 unprepossessing as nov\^, but without the repose of 
 expression which age gives to all but the imliealthy or 
 the abandoned. 
 
 The supper w^as now removed, but the ale tankard 
 remained on the table, and one solitar}- candle bore it 
 company. Mr. Sku'laugh proceeded leisurely to fiU
 
 EALF SKIELAUGH. 19 
 
 one of the pipes from the contents of the tobacco box, 
 to light it, and seat himself in his leathern armchair 
 by the fire-place. 
 
 " Have you again counted all the deeds and com- 
 pared them with the schedule ? " inquired he. 
 
 "Yes, sii%" replied the nephew, *^ and folded all, 
 except the present conveyance, in papers properly 
 labelled, and put them with the fines and escheats into 
 the leathern bag. The present conveyance with the 
 schedule I will bear about my own person." 
 
 *' I would have sworn it," rejoined the uncle. *' As 
 if thine own work were better than all that had gone 
 before thee. Why, man, dost thou value thy precious 
 handy-work, which is at present mere sheepskin, 
 Iiaving no more weight, force, or virtue than the cover 
 of a ledger or the cheek of a battledore, "so much that 
 thou thinkest it more to be cared for than the records 
 which evidence the title of the estate ? " 
 
 " I have heard you sa}^, sir, that a lawyer is in some 
 sort regarded by the care he shows in the small things 
 of his business which belong to him as a scrivener 
 rather than as a member of a liberal profession. I 
 thought our cousin would ill like to see that wdiich 
 shall cost him not a little tumbled, and maybe, frayed, 
 by jolting on the back of our nags from London to 
 Lincolnshii'e. New deeds are bigger than old ones, 
 and don't pack so well." 
 
 " It seems George Shelley, when he taught you 
 I)enmanship, had an apt pupil. Did that coxcomb 
 make you believe that all the world set as much store 
 
 c 2
 
 20 RALF SKIIILAUGH. 
 
 by quips and cranks, flourished swans, dragons, and 
 butterflies as the fellow that gets his living by teaching 
 his most foolish art ? You will find, as you go out into 
 the world, that these vanities affect not the minds of 
 men. I have bidden you be neat in wi'iting and 
 ai)parel, but for the crumpling of a deed that has to 
 go a hundred and fifty miles on horseback I have 
 never told you to have care. ' De minimis non cui'at 
 eiiiptor.' " 
 
 " I have an idea, su*," rejoined William, " from what 
 little I have seen of our relative, which is, as you 
 know, long ago, that he w\as a man lilvcly to take heed 
 more than most men of these trifles." 
 
 " I would advise you then to dismiss, ere you go 
 from this city, that and all other ideas you may have 
 formed of Kalf Skirlaugh; they are sure to be foolish 
 ones, and mayhap bring you into trouble. Bethink you 
 that you have seen him but twice ; once when you were 
 but a child — a schoolboy — an infant, incapable in law as 
 in fact of coming to right judgment — ex cdtatis dcfectu ; 
 and another time when, though somewhat more ad- 
 vanced in wisdom, you saw my honoured client but for 
 five minutes," said the elder lawyer, with a tone and 
 manner that seemed intended to make a deej") im- 
 pression. 
 
 Young men of William's age and position, in our 
 own days, would probably be not a little rufiled if an 
 address such as we have repeated were delivered to 
 them by an elder, in however close relationship. The 
 stifliiess of past ages has as entirely gone as hau'
 
 RAIiF SKIRLAUGH. 21 
 
 powder and dress-swords. All three were commonly 
 worn then, and it probably did not strike William 
 for a moment that his uncle's speech was wanting in 
 courtesy. He Imew it was kindly meant, and therefore 
 replied gaily: "I am not liliely to forget the earlier 
 interview, when I was a lad with my aunt in Yorkshire ; 
 for he put more silver pieces into my hand than I ever 
 conceived would pass into my pocket during the whole 
 course of my life. It is from that meeting I mostly 
 gathered my ideas of my cousin's character. AVlien 
 he was a prisoner in the Tower in 1746 on that absurd 
 charge of treason I saw him, but in a most transient 
 manner." 
 
 " Absm*d charge do you call it *? " exclaimed the Uncle. 
 ** Well, of course it was absm^d, because levying war 
 against the Elector is not treason, but loyalty to king and 
 country ; but, on my conscience, Willy, — I may speak 
 freely to you now that we are in partnership about 
 office secrets, — on my conscience, my boy, the charge 
 was so far from absurd, that I feared for Balf 
 Skirlaugh's life more than I can bear to think of. If 
 his business had not come on late, when the blood- 
 hounds were gorged, I don't think we could have 
 saved hun. If he had not had very powerful friends 
 in the Government, it would have gone very hard with 
 him as it was ; thank God, I'd got the estate made 
 safe in any case ; trust me for that. I am afraid even 
 now that his indiscretion may get him into trouble 
 some day. But mind yours does not land you there. 
 Don't dwell on any conclusions you may have come to
 
 22 EALF SiaRLAUGII. 
 
 about Ealf Skiiiaugli ; he is a kind and good man, 
 but as full of twines as a sheep track, and as angular 
 as a Flemish fortification. If you don't jolease him, 
 he will — though he has been a courtier — let you know 
 it in such rough language as will put the memoiy of 
 the half-crowns you talk of out of your head for many 
 a day ; and the likeliest way to offend him is to talk, 
 as you will, if I don't tether that rambling tongue of 
 yours, of the cousinship that is between you. AVhy, 
 you've mentioned it three times since last I lifted the 
 tankard." 
 
 '* Our relationship, su% is a fact for which I am not 
 responsible ; and of which I am not aware that either 
 he or I need feel shame," said William, with a touch 
 of pride in voice and manner. 
 
 *' Well, of course it is. Nobody but a fool ever forgot 
 the fact that he came of noble ancestry, and no one but 
 a knave ever pretended to disregard it ; but there is a 
 diiference between cherishing a sentiment and using 
 the facts on which it rests as a ladder to scramble over 
 other people's heads. Ealf Skirlaugh has as much 
 family pride as any man. Now, if he saw any in you, 
 the chances are one to ten that he might like it ; but 
 they are ten to one that he might think it the vulgar 
 assumption of an attorney who wanted to put himself 
 on a level with one whose dii'ect ancestors have held of 
 the crown in cap'itc from the reign of Henry III. 
 This sort of assumption has not been uncommon of 
 late.. We shall find something of it in the history of 
 England and the Statute-book," said the elder, re-
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. '23 
 
 ligliting liis pipe, wliicli liad gone out during this 
 latter si^eech. 
 
 His companion did not smile at the feeble sarcasm, 
 if indeed satire or wit were intended by the last 
 remark, but, mtli a slight tone of irritation in his 
 manner, replied, — 
 
 ''I see your meaning, sir; and will endeavour to 
 act as you desire. If, however, Mr. Skirlaugh is v/liat 
 3^ou describe, he will hardly blame me for cherishing 
 the memory of his own ancestors." 
 
 The Uncle felt from the last repl}' that he had given 
 pain, 'and tried in his homely fashion to set matters 
 straight again. 
 
 "Look you, my boy," said he ; '' j^ou are, as usual, 
 letting that hasty head of yours run to all sorts of 
 wild conclusions. I never said of Ralf Skirlaugh 
 what you try to make me say. I do say he is an honest 
 and true man, — wise, resolute, even sometimes wary ; 
 one who has not wasted his life in Court vices, or sunk 
 into a foxhunter and a sot ; but he is unused to town 
 life and manners ; — has never had to work for his 
 bread, and associated little v/ith those who have — us of 
 the middle class, at least. I would not have him 
 think ill of you, my lad ; not only because he is rich 
 and may employ you when I am gone, but because he 
 is the liea,d of our famil}^, and has that about him 
 Avhich in these hard days wins something more than 
 respect." 
 
 '' I think we agree, sir. I, with the inexperience of
 
 24 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 
 
 youth, use less becoming language," was William's 
 laconic reply. 
 
 "No doubt of it — no doubt of it; and I, darus 
 atqiie infelix, am a crabbed old man of seventy. Let 
 us, however, talk of our work, not of ourselves." 
 
 As the kind-hearted old man said this he knocked 
 the ashes from his pipe and drew towards the table, 
 which he speedily covered -with i^apers from his own 
 pockets, and from drawers in the adjoining bookcases. 
 The conversation that followed might, perhaps, inte- 
 rest a legal antiquar}^ ; but is, under present circum- 
 stances, hardly worth reporting. It was interlarded 
 far more freely than lawyer's talk is now-a-days with 
 scraps of Latin. Of its spirit, those may judge who 
 have had the pleasure of talking after office hours 
 with a modern conveyancer whose heart and soul are 
 in his business.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " What, not my dinner ? Why, you have dined well, 
 And I will dine, in spite of any lord. 
 Oh, I love dining ! " — The Thorpiad. 
 
 At an early hour the next mornmg our hero and 
 his attendant mounted their horses, and set off on 
 what was then considered a very long journey. Why 
 did William Skirlaugh make his pilgrima-ge into Lin- 
 colnshire on horseback ? our readers will ask. Why 
 not by the coach ? Does not all the world know that 
 in the year of grace 175 — the Mercury Flying Express 
 took its departure (God willing) at six o'clock a.m. on 
 each Monday morning from the Golden Cross at 
 Charing, and arrived at the Angel Inn in the City of 
 Lincoln — roads, highwaymen, and weather permitting 
 — at ten o'clock on Wednesday evening ? And is it 
 not a fact that is understood of all men, that a similar 
 vehicle, called the True Fly, departed on each suc- 
 ceeding Wednesday from the Bull and Mouth in 
 Aldersgate, bound on a like errand ? Were not these 
 things duly recorded in the advertising columns of the 
 London and provincial newspapers of the time, and
 
 26 TtALF SKIRLAUGK. 
 
 does not the manuscript department of the British 
 Musemn contain among its stores more than one bill 
 receipted by Mr. Cox or Coe — we cannot make out 
 the signature with certaint}', and are particular as to 
 our character for accuracy — for the sum of thii'ty 
 shillings, being the fare from town to the capital of 
 Lincolnshire ? All these statements are, no doubt, 
 true beyond shadow of cavil; and yet Mr. William 
 Skirlaugh, notwithstanding the temptations to " swift 
 and expeditious travelling " — the tautology is that of 
 Mr. Cox or Coe, not the author's — preferred the more 
 old-fashioned method of transit. We are not bound 
 to explain to our readers why he did so, such of them 
 as know the sensation of having a good horse under 
 them, and of being able to wander at will along the 
 tree-shadowed lanes of the midland counties, will not 
 wonder that a young man, going out into the world 
 almost for the first time as his own master, should 
 prefer this means to that of lumbering along the high- 
 way at the rate of six miles an hour, outside — or, still 
 worse, inside — a machine as rudely constructed, and 
 much worse fitted to keep out heat and cold, dust and 
 rain, than are the carriers' waggons of the present day. 
 We are not contemners of past times — we sometimes 
 look back with longing to the days of our youth, when 
 life was not so fast, when men travelled slower and 
 saw more ; we shall not readily forget the pleasmit 
 chat with the coachman, or the smiling visage of the 
 landlord. AVe would have our readers believe that 
 we can call to mind, as vividly as though railways
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGir, 27 
 
 were not, each hostelry on the northern road from 
 the Green Man at Barnet to the Queen!s Head 
 at Newcastle ; but it must be remembered that coaches 
 as people who are now alive knew them, were in the 
 height of their perfection. Mr. Palmer had worked a 
 reform in English travelling, the most important that 
 had then been known, or could be conceived ; one 
 that would have handed his name down to posterity 
 among the great benefactors of his country and man- 
 kind, had it not been echpsed, or rather extinguished, 
 by that social change which brought about the En- 
 glish railway sj^stem. His is not the first great name 
 that has gone down unrecorded in a revolution ; 
 we fear it will not be the last. When, however, tlie 
 time comes to gather up the memorials of those who 
 but for the seetliings of the popular cauldron would 
 have been famous, let a small corner in the reliquary, 
 or a line or two in the biographical dictionary, be 
 spared for one who, through no flaw in his own genius, 
 fell short of popular greatness. Stephen Hardmg, 
 Jordano Bruno, and Samuel Hartlib will not object to 
 his company. The coaches, as we lament them, were 
 as different from the Despatches, Mercuries, Flying 
 Posts, Transits, and Eclipses of the last century, as 
 the slowest mineral train is from the London and 
 Holyhead Express, things which only the poverty of our 
 mother tongue compels us to call by the same name. 
 
 We are fond of topographical gossij), and would 
 gladly ride beside our hero and tattle with our 
 readers concerning every village, footpath, and mile-
 
 28 HALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 stone that he passed on his wa}-. AVe should like to 
 tell them who lies buried in that church, of the 
 horrible murder that took place near this pollard elm, 
 and of the hoard of silver pennies which a drainer 
 unearthed in that meadow ; but such tediousness is 
 not tolerated now, even in county histories ; so we can 
 indulge no hope of being permitted to oppress our 
 readers with it here. We will, therefore, pass on at 
 once to nearly the end of the journey. 
 
 The afternoon of the fourth day was about half 
 spent when William Skirlaugh rode into the last inn- 
 yard which it was to be his fortune to enter before he 
 arrived at his cousin's home. The highway on which 
 he had travelled was straight as an arrow — it was, in 
 fact, one of the great Roman thoroughfares which had 
 done duty for fifteen hundred years as one chief means 
 of communication between Southern England and the 
 Border Country. This road had been carried by its 
 contrivers on the eastern side of the slope of one of 
 those long, low hills, which make the map of Lincoln- 
 shire look almost as rigid as a geological section. By 
 so doing he had effectually hindered the wayfarer from 
 refreshing his eyea with the beautiful scenery of the 
 western slope and the wide valley of the Trent below ; 
 but he had found that which was all important in his 
 eyes — a platform on which to lay out a good level 
 pathway, a thing he could by no means have dis- 
 covered, either in the marsh where the Ancholme 
 stagnated, or on the rough brow of the hill. A more 
 uninteresting piece of ground to travel over coidd
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 29 
 
 scarcely be found in England. Large slieep wallis, 
 separated from one another by low stone walls, with 
 here and there an enclosure of eight or ten acres for a 
 " coney garth," or of a large tract of land for a rabbit 
 warren, without a tree bigger than a whitethorn or an 
 elder-bush, or any other shrub but furze, was all that 
 William Skirlaugh could see to admire. The slight 
 depressions in the way had not even brooks in them, 
 for the porous oolite rock sucks up the water as fast 
 as it comes, except during periods of great rainfall. 
 
 After riding for a couple of hours over an uninteresting 
 region like this, it was pleasant to the traveller on 
 gaining the brow of a small hill to see in the hollow 
 beneath him, by the side of a little lakelet, a cluster 
 of trees, a large rambling house, and some white- 
 washed cottages. The village was Merespital ; the 
 large, heavy-looking house, the St, George and 
 Dragon. As he rode through the little street, if the 
 collection of huts standing at every possible angle on 
 each side of the way be worthy of that name, he could 
 not but be struck with the picturesque situation of the 
 hostelry. The lake was formed by an artificial mound 
 that had been thrown up ages ago, over the course of 
 a little stream that welled up out of the limestone on 
 the western side of the hamlet, a natural artesian well 
 which let out the waters of the Sheffield moors upon 
 the cliffs of Lincolnshire. On the banks of this little 
 lake — ^its detractors might have called it a pond, it was 
 so small — shaded on all sides but the west, where it 
 faced the road, by large elm trees, stood the inn, a
 
 30 RALF SiaRLAUGII. 
 
 building telling a tale to those who chose to listen, of 
 many times, and the strange doings of many men. 
 
 Merespital had been, before the Eeformation, a 
 hospital or lazar-house, governed by Franciscan friars. 
 The fomider, a Vipqnt, who had lost his three sons by 
 the plague during the crusades, had endowed it, with 
 the intention of providing for the sick — no idea of 
 establishing an hotel had ever entered into his head. 
 He fixed upon this site because there was water, 
 shade, and rich feeding land. It happened, however, 
 that at this point one of the great tracks across the 
 western lowlands of Lincolnshii-e fell into the Roman 
 way, and the friars w^ho tended the sick often found it 
 a duty incumbent on them to give food and shelter to 
 benighted wanderers. It would be a question of some 
 antiquarian interest to discuss, whether these worthies 
 did, as time went on, in reality turn theii* new build- 
 ings into an inn, or whether the food and fare — 
 
 " Tlic brown ale for the peasant, 
 lied wine for the lord," 
 
 which they dispensed so freely was left unpaid for. If 
 it was not made a matter of direct traffic, the transac- 
 tion was as like it as a counsel's honorarium is to a 
 lawyer's charge for consultation. When the churcli 
 property fell into the hands of the king, ]Merechapel 
 was granted out — sold, that is, to the highest bidder — 
 to a certain speculative lawyer — -we shrink from men- 
 tioning his foul name, even though three hundred 
 years have passed away since he went to his place —
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 31 
 
 wlio pulled down a great part of the monastic build- 
 ings, turned the poor sick inmates adrift, and converted 
 the spacious guest-house into a real inn. There was 
 no mistake about its destination now. He did not 
 even remove the statue of St. George, the patron, that 
 stood over the gateway, nor efface the inscription 
 underneath, which set forth in all the illegibility of 
 black letter that 
 
 i'Hcat anU td-gnit as I luin 
 ©iff K ta icaste ^ tkt to mait 
 JFar ge lof of <&oti E pra 
 5ag pater nostcr anft auc 
 Jpar tfje saull Df broticr Eaulf 
 2l2E|ja htggitr tfjis far tijcyr bcfjaulf. 
 
 This first purchaser was a parsimonious, Plutus-fearing 
 man. With the aid of some red and white paint for 
 the saint, and some blue, black, and yellow for the 
 dragon, he made a reasonably good sign out of the old 
 image. The neighbours did not take to the device 
 readily at first, but continued to call the place the 
 Spital as in times past, but travellers soon learned to 
 speak of the house as the St. George and Dragon. 
 Why should they not ? After all, the change was not 
 greater or more incongruous than that of Jupiter 
 Capitolinus into a certain fisherman of Galilee, a 
 transformation that has taken place " permissu supe- 
 riorum " in one of the churches of Kome. 
 
 The land jobber did not keei:> the place- long in his 
 family — such vermin as he do not thrive. It changed 
 hands very frequentl}?^ during the next hundred years. 
 When all Endand was aflame vfith the c;i*eat Piuitan
 
 32 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 revolution, it liappenecl on a certain day in 1643 that 
 a troop of Sir John Hotham's guerillas from Hull 
 garrison having passed over the Humber on an expedi- 
 tion for reducing malignants to obedience "to the 
 King and Parliament " — so the phrase went in the 
 governor's despatches, which, being interpreted, meant 
 that they had gone forth to i)illage the homes of all 
 persons who were not strong enough either in force of 
 arms or social connection to overawe them — stopped 
 at the hostelry to refresh themselves. They saw the 
 papistical emblem, though they could not read its nide 
 legend. Their pious hearts were moved by the beer 
 and strong w^aters with which the landlord had supphed 
 them, to such deep commiseration of his unhappy state 
 in having an idol for a sign, that they forthwith plucked 
 it down and flung the fragments into the lake. 
 
 From that time to the day on which William Sku'- 
 laugh entered the village little change had occurred. 
 The sombre-looking building from which he now heard 
 voices of revelry and snatches of loose song was the 
 same, and bore almost the same aspect as when the 
 lawyer turned the friars out of doors, or when, a century 
 later, cavaliers and roundheads refreshed themselves 
 with meat and beer and the new luxury, tobacco, under its 
 roof. "What little change there had been had of coui'se 
 taken the direction of degradation. Some of the Gothic 
 windows had been divested of their tracery and fitted 
 with sashes. The niche from which England's patron 
 had been dethroned was still untenanted save by 
 martens' nests. A new sign, where some ^illage
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 33 
 
 Titian liad given an eighteenth century version of his 
 beautiful legend, swung from a gallows-hke erection 
 near at hand. The work was not lovel}", but it w^as 
 highly symbolic. The saint, whose face bore a striking 
 resemblance to that of George the Second on a five- 
 shilling piece, had a very red rose in his button-hole 
 and a black cockade in his Roman helmet. The 
 dragon was expiring upon a parterre of white roses ; in 
 his death agony he vomited forth a ribbon inscribed 
 
 REBELLIO. 
 
 William's long ride made him desirous of refresh- 
 ment. He at once threw the reins of his horse to his 
 servant, slung the saddle-bags, in wdiich Avere the 
 papers, over his arm, and entered the hostelry. 
 
 Signs of riotous festivity appealed to more than 
 one of his senses. The chorus of a drinking song 
 rung along the passages. The scent of roast meats 
 and mulled wines pervaded the whole house, the 
 kitchen tables and several of the chairs were loaded 
 with dirty Crocker}^, cooking vessels, and the remains 
 of courses that had not been consumed or found their 
 way back to the larder. A fat old woman, who might 
 perhaps fill the office of cook when awake, sat fast 
 asleep in a wanded chair near the fireplace. Two 
 dapper-kirtled servant-maids and a dirty, ill-clad 
 middle-aged woman were engaged putting things in 
 order. A thin wiry man of middle size was warming 
 himself at the fire. He had divested his person of his 
 coat, and his hands were stuck deep in tlie waistband
 
 84 P.AT.F SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 of liis breeches. He was not good-looking, but his 
 face indicated honest}^ and jolly good-humour. A 
 phrenologist, if there had been quacks of that descrip- 
 tion in those days, would certainly have found a ver;,- 
 large bump of self-esteem on his cranium, after but a 
 short term of acquaintance. 
 
 *'Nell, my lass, th' horn's been empty this quarter 
 of an hour. Is th' barrel dr}', or wearn't th' tap 
 run ? " observed the man before the fire to one of the 
 hand-maidens. 
 
 " Thoo may fill it thee sen as thee can, Mr. Eobert. 
 I've summuts else to do besides runnin' efter thee noo, 
 besides yer noan so civil, do yer think I'm a gooin' 
 to be call'd Nell by every cadger 'at comes to warm liis 
 sen at our fire ? Here, Nan, draw him another pint 
 out o' th' far barrel, I'll ha' none on him," said the 
 damsel, repenting, as more distinguished orators have 
 been known to do, of the earlier part of her speech 
 before she had got to the end, and endeavouring to 
 soften things down in the final sentence. 
 
 *'Wliew — w — w ! That's it. Mistress Ellen. "Why 
 noo if I wasn't a very patient man an' a very humble- 
 minded man, I should gie ye the rough side o' my 
 tongue for callin' me a cadger ; but it's all th' same to 
 me, Mistress Ellen. I'm not a prood man, an' you'll 
 be glad to be call'd Nell again when ye want owt," 
 said the coatless man, with the slowness of mock 
 humility. 
 
 ** Why, ar'n't ye- a cadger, an' nowt else ? Ar'n't ye 
 runriin' aboot th' whole countrv side at all hours o'
 
 TtALF SKIULAUGII. 35 
 
 days an' neets, not stoppin' at home an' eatin yer 
 victuals an' seein' yer understrappers do their work as 
 ye shoukl do ? I don't call ye a groom at all ; I'd 
 sooner say ye was a ratcatcher, if it wasn't for that 
 greasy green coat ye mostlins wears." The arrowy- 
 tongued maiden's pretty eyes sparkled as she finished 
 the sentence, for at the same moment she produced 
 from a corner cuphoard a bottle of strong waters, alias 
 Hollands, and a handsome stalked glass to aid in its 
 consumption, adding as she did so, " Here, you good 
 for nowt, that's more in your v/ay, I'm thinkin'." 
 
 " I'd be a ratcatcher all th' days o' my life if I could 
 be like oud Nicky Peart, an' hev a well of this kind of 
 stuff in my back yard, if I had to be plagued with thee 
 for a wife into the bargain," responded the^ gentleman. 
 
 "For shame o' thy sen to say so. Bob," replied the 
 pretty kitchen-maid, with one of those half-frowning 
 half-smiling expressions that artless women use when 
 the producer thereof is not quite sure whether it is the 
 proper thing to cry or laugh. Hesitation did not last 
 long; a bright smile succeeded. " Tak' that for a 
 drinkin good for nowt," and so sa^dng she administered 
 a sharp box on the ear, and retiring to the other end 
 of the apartment, busied herself, or affected to be 
 busy, in what she would have called *^ siding away the 
 things." Mr. Bob bore the blow with the equanimity 
 of a philosopher. The Hollands were plentiful, 
 and he probably thought he could administer re- 
 tribution on another occasion. Silence reigned for 
 a few seconds ; at length the young woman's curiosity
 
 36 HALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 got tlie better, and she asked, '' AVliat old woman's 
 tale have 3^011 gotten hold on now, about Nicky 
 Peart ? " 
 
 *'It's no old woman's tale, or I shouldn't be-talkmg 
 about it to thee, Mistress Nell, but as true as Scrip- 
 tur'. I heard our Squire himself talkin' about it to 
 Mr. Callis — that's our chaplain, ye knaw — and the 
 priest. Father Tempest, as they call him, that goes to 
 those papist folks at Scalhoe, and they both believed 
 every word on it, and said it was aweful, and Mr. Callis's 
 a goin' to put it in that big book he's alus a writin', 
 and Father Tempest said it must be true, for he'd 
 seen something just like it wi' his own eyes i' forren 
 parts." 
 
 ''And what is it. Bob?" inquired the girl, now 
 really interested. 
 
 '' Well, I'll tell ye the tale just as I heard our 
 Squire tell it not a week sin' ; but I've heard it ower 
 and ower again ever sin' I was a bairn. You knaw 
 there's a little square hoose, thack'd wi' reeds, just at 
 Yalton Lane end, where Billy Peart, the mould man,* 
 lives. Now, this Bilh' — thoo knaws him very well, 
 he's a lame man, and alust hugs about wi' him a little 
 spade wi' an iron point at t'other end estead of a hilt — 
 hed a granfather just such an another man for all the 
 warld as he is, nobut he wasn't lame, thoo knaws, an' 
 he wasn't a quiet, steady goin' man lilvc him as lives 
 there noo, but a real randy good for nowt, alus 
 
 * A person wlio kills moles.
 
 EALF SiaRLAUGH. 37 
 
 drinkin' an' feightin', an' warse, for noos and tliens he 
 would steal our owd Squire's rabbits an' hares, an' 
 may be an odd time by chance pick wp a sheep if it 
 suited him, an' nobody was gain hand a lookin'. Well, 
 it was one Wivilby t' Andra' fair, reight i' middle o' 
 winter, may be fift}- years sin', an' Nicky hed been 
 drinkin' at th' Black Swan wi' a lot o' nor' country 
 horse-cowpers. Hoo long he would ha' staid I don't 
 knaw, may be a week if his brass hed lasted out, but 
 just when twelve o'clock struck he remembered he hed 
 to be at AVhitton town end next mornin' about some 
 smugglin' concarn, an' may be summut else as well. 
 So up he jumps, saddles his galloway, and off he sets 
 home along th' top road. It was strange an' cowd, but 
 as leet as day, for th' moon was at full. Nick}^ was used 
 to hevin' a good mess of drink o' board,- and jogged 
 away all reight, sometimes thinkin' about nowt, some- 
 times may be laughin' to his sen at the lees he'd been 
 tellin' to them Yorkshire peppers, for Nicky was a 
 strange leein' chap. Howmswever, just when he got 
 about a hundred yards past Mottle-Esh turnin' he 
 hears summuts whistling i' th' dikin. * What's that?' 
 thinks he ; * may be it's a hare in a snare,' and he pulls 
 up the galloway to listen, and he hears it agean directly, 
 a sharp, ask squeal, just for all the warld like a hare. 
 * I'll hev it,' thinks Nick, and off he jumps, and runs 
 to the place where the noise came fra, and there he 
 sees, not a hare, but what do you think ? Why, a 
 little man, not six inches high, all dressed i' green, 
 with a little red cap on his head wi' a feather in it, and
 
 38 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 tlie poor little feller had got one of his legs fast in a 
 rabbit trap. Nicky wasn't a bad-hearted feller at 
 bottom, though he did lee and swear and steal things 
 parlous. So he lowps down into the dikin boddom 
 where the little chap was, may be never givin' it a 
 thowt what sort on a creatur he was nieddlin' wi', 
 and helps th' little man out o' th' trap. ' Thank ye/ 
 says he ; * ^^ou've been a rare good friend to me. If it 
 hadn't ha' been for you I should ha' been froze to dead 
 afore mornin'. Now, what can I do for you ? Though 
 I am nobut little, I can do a deal.' ' Well,' says 
 Nick, ' there's so many things I want I hardly know 
 what to say. I^et me see ;' and off Nick goes into a 
 study like. But the little man soon wakken'd him up 
 wi' that sharp voice o' his. ' Nicky,' sa3's he, ' I can't 
 wait. Tell me now what it's to be. Ye shall liev ony 
 single thing ye've a mind to ax for, but there can 
 nobut be one axin', and you mun hev it out directly ; 
 an' mind an' never tell nobod}- about it, for if ta does 
 thou'U loss it altogether, an' may be get summuts else 
 then ta bargain'd for to boots.' Well, I tell'd ye Nicky 
 lied been drinkin' all day at th' Black Swan, an' 
 though he could walk midlin' straight an' talk fairish, 
 he wasn't altogether square in his head, an' he did feel 
 parlous dry, so says he, may be wi'out a thowt, may be 
 to get time for thinkin', says he, ' Dang it, I wish I'd 
 a well i' my hempgarth o' th' best red Avine Squire 
 Skudaugh lies i' his cellar.' ' That's sattled,' says th' 
 little man, and away he bolts into th' hedge boddom. 
 Nicky gets on his galloway an' gallops home, an' thei*e
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 39 
 
 sure enough in the hempcroft aback o' th' hoose he 
 fun a well o' as fine red wme as ony man ever laid lip 
 to. He'd no mug to drink out'n, so he laid his sen 
 down up o' th' mou'ds all his length, an' drunk, an' 
 drunk, an' drunk till he could swallow down no more, 
 an' then he run into th' house an' begun to holler to 
 his wife about it, but she never heard a wod he said, 
 for as soon as he begun to shout he fell down clean 
 dazed like, and knew no more about owt at all till 
 nine o'clock next mornin', when he wakken'd up an' 
 fun his sen laid i' th' middle of a snaw reak by the dike 
 side ommust agean Mottle Esh, just at th' place where 
 he'd seen th' little man, wi' his galloway stanin' 
 agean him. When he got home he looked all ower 
 for th' well, but he never could find it nowhere, though 
 he said there was fair to see in the new dug molds the 
 print of his body where he had laid hisself down to 
 drink." 
 
 ''What an awesome thing, Robert; but you don't 
 really think it's truth?" said the girl, evidently strongly 
 inclined to believe every syllable of the narrative. 
 
 " Wl\y, yes, of course I do, it was a fairy. Fairies 
 are common enough now. There used to be scores on 
 'em then. Wliy, when I was a lad, one real rainy 
 neet when it was as dark as soot, I was walkin' by my 
 sen ower Brownlaun Hill, and just when I was passing 
 that big stone wi' the readin' on it " 
 
 At this point in Mr. Robert's youthful reminis- 
 cences, William Skirlaugh's entry interrupted him. 
 The cook, as we have said, was asleep. It was her
 
 40 EALF SKIIILAUGII. 
 
 usual liabit to dose b}' the fire when dinner liad been 
 served u]^. The dirty sLittern, who might fiv^m her 
 wretched clothing, head-gear and shoes, have passed 
 for a gipsy, and Maggy, the other servant, who was 
 the groom's sister, were the only persons on duty. 
 
 " Can you tell me wliere the waiters are ? " said he, 
 after a moment's glance at the situation. 
 
 ** Yes, they're U2:>stairs wi' the quality, or else do^^ii 
 stairs wi' the qualities' gentlemen," responded the 
 groom. 
 
 " AVliere shall I find some one to wait on me ? I 
 must have some dinner, and be off." 
 
 " They're all throng upstairs an' down — we've no 
 room in the house for travellers ; you'll be like to 
 ride on." 
 
 *' This is very extraordinary— very. They have 
 strange manners in Lincolnshire," thought "William 
 Skirlaugh. '^ See here, my good girl, I have to go 
 further on. You can give a traveller some dinner, 
 however bus}" you are," said he, addressing the maid 
 servant, whom the reader knows as Xell. 
 
 " We can't indeed, sir.; Ave 're quite full, and all tlie 
 servants has more then they can do already," she 
 replied. 
 
 *' She's right, th' house is as tight as a dog-tick," 
 chimed the man without his coat, oracularly. 
 
 Nell left the kitchen. William Skirlaugh, however, 
 continued firm. He would not go without his dinner 
 if it were possible to procure it. 
 
 "See here, my man," said he, ''addressing; the
 
 RALF SKIELAUGH. 41 
 
 person who seemed to be the self-constituted com- 
 mander of the garrison, " you seem well known here, 
 I am a stranger; can jon contrive that I ma}^ see the 
 landlord, or someone else, that will help me to some 
 refreshment ? " 
 
 " Bless yer heart, no ; you mun live a long ways oif, 
 or you'd know that when Jemmy Sargisson's gotten 
 good company, he's alus as drunk as a lord by two 
 o'clock, — and there's a real lord in the house, noo." 
 
 This last piece of information did not seem to strike 
 so much awe into the wayfarer, as a similar announce- 
 ment has been observed to do at hotels in more recent 
 da3^s. The speaker, therefore, proceeded : — • 
 
 " You'd better ride on, for I can't say when ther'll 
 be ought to be gotten here. The folks they hev are 
 a random lot, an' mak' the sarvants as baxl as their- 
 sens. It isn't far to AVivilby or Brigg. You'll be 
 goin' to toner on 'em, I'll uphoud you, so you'd 
 better ride on." As he finished the sentence he took 
 a long pull at the beer-horn, and stretched it out with 
 a smile of good-humoured impudence to the new 
 comer, adding as he did so, " Tak' a drink o' this ; 
 a man may do without beef and bread who has plenty 
 of good beer." 
 
 Young men may know the world instinctively, many 
 who have lived a life of close seclusion do so better than 
 those older children who have been knocked about 
 in it for years ; but very few of us, under thirty, have 
 such command over ourselves as not to resent hastily 
 anything that seems like the presumption of an in-
 
 42 
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGJI. 
 
 ferior, least of all can one bred in London do so, 
 where the vast congregation of men who have no as- 
 certained place in the social pyramid makes persons 
 ever on their guard to repress wanton familiarity. 
 
 ''You are mistaken in me; I have come into the 
 kitchen to give my orders. I am a gentleman travelling 
 northward, not what you take me for, a kitchen guest," 
 answered Skirlaugh, haughtily. 
 
 '* Kitchen or parlour, 3'ou'll get nothing, so 3'ou'd 
 better be off," replied his adviser. "Here's to j^our 
 good journey and prosperous trading. I think Bob 
 Drury should knaw a bagman vvhen he sees liim, if he 
 hedn't his pokes about him, as you liev." Saying 
 thus he raised the rejected horn to his lips, and 
 after emptying its contents, clattered the vessel down 
 upon the dresser with a report that was probabty in- 
 tended to give additional emphasis to the expression 
 of comic conceit and self-satisfaction into which he 
 twisted his features. 
 
 '' This is unbearable," exclaimed the traveller, as 
 he strode out of the kitchen in high dudgeon. 
 
 While this dialogue had been going on, an abnost 
 similar scene had been transactmg itself between Mr. 
 Skirlaugh's servant and the people in the j-ard. The 
 ostlers assured him that there was no stable room, and 
 gave ocular demonstration of the fact. Every stall 
 was occupied b}" the horses of Lord Carlton, liis 
 friends, and their attendants. The man, however, was 
 a person of resource ; it was not his first visit into 
 these parts. He soon discovered an empty shed, and
 
 EALF SKIRL AUGH. 4o 
 
 extemporized two corn cribs out of washing-tubs to 
 w^hich lie helped himself from the adjoining laundry. 
 William Skirlaugh made some hasty inquiries of the 
 servants in the yard, missed seeing his own, who was at 
 the moment busy about the tubs ; but ascertained that 
 what he had heard in the house was true, and that 
 there was not the slightest hope of getting anything to 
 eat or drink, except by sitting down in the Idtchen in 
 the society of the groom. In another part of Eng- 
 land, or on another occasion, he might have done this ; 
 but so near his relative's house, and in close proximity 
 with a man hke Lord Carlton, it was impossible. He 
 had no desire of encountering again the menial who 
 had insulted him in the kitchen, still less of falling in 
 with Lord Carlton, whose habits and character were 
 not unknown to him : so he strolled foi'tli to pass 
 aw^ay the time (the blasphemous phrase to Idll time 
 had not then been imported) by a leisurely survey, on 
 an empty stomach, of what there might be around of 
 interest. The eastern gate of the stable-yard was 
 open, a footpath, on which a large white pig was bask- 
 ing in the rays of the evening sun, led tlirough an 
 enclosure, which was either a very grass-grown court, 
 or a very foot-worn paddock upon the margin of the 
 lake, where several swans sailed in royal dignity at a 
 considerable distance from a large flock of geese ; a 
 pike now and then darted forward — struck is the 
 technical term — and marked the water with a thousand 
 tiny ripples. Two or three black water-hens were to 
 be seen running- timidlv hither and thither among the
 
 41 RALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 thick weeds of the margin, scared b.y liis npproacli. 
 In the far-off distance were the wokl liills, on the 
 north a Large mass of woodLand, on the south the 
 quaint okl buiklings of the hostehy, and on the west 
 the stately trees, the straggHng cottages, and a rude 
 chapel of ease. As he gazed on the scene, whose still- 
 ness was only broken b}' a stray note of song from the 
 revellers, which lost its words, and therefore its evil, 
 in the passage, he could not but think that he had 
 seldom looked upon a more peaceful or calmly pictu- 
 resque spot. If this were not an inn, but a home, 
 mused he, how happil}^ might a man dwell here for 
 ever ? 
 
 So think all town-bred men. Your citizen — be- 
 cause the big wilderness of walls in which he lives is 
 to him, at times, a prison, and he seeks the country 
 with a desire for which thirst is scarcely a figure of 
 speech — fancies that the scent of the meadows and 
 the cawing of the rooks will never pall U2)on him — 
 that the eternal freshness of Nature will be ever 
 fresh to him. 
 
 Experience teaches otherwise. To the happy few 
 the world without is a treasure of beauty, because of 
 the light within. To ordinary dull souls, when the 
 novelty has worn off, Ben Nevis is as stupid as Fleet 
 Street, the Lago di Como but a bigger Serpentine, 
 transparent to the bottom. 
 
 The path Avidened as he skirted the water. At the 
 point where it fell" into the Pioman road, stood the 
 little chapel of the village. It was ruintnis and deso-
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 45 
 
 late, a gable cross j^et stood at its eastern end, and 
 a dilapidated wooden liutcli, like a cliicken-cooi) with- 
 out ends, still held a small bell. Something might 
 possibly be here that would interest him, or at least 
 help him to while away the quarter of an hour that 
 the horses would yet require to consume their pro- 
 vender. Happy beasts, they were getting their dinner. 
 The door was open, it did not seem to have a lock. 
 Some stained glass, with the coats-of-arms of now 
 forgotten donors to the hospitium, yet shone in the 
 wmdows ; a few half-worn-out inscriptions, which he 
 could not read, were visible on the green, mouldy 
 floor ; a rickety pulpit, a few deal benches, and one 
 very large pew completed the furniture of this neg- 
 lected house of God. The lead on the roof — church 
 restorers had not stolen that as j^et, but it is gone 
 now — had cracked, so that in many places the light 
 of heaven came through. He was about to go 
 forth, with no very elevated idea of the religious 
 fervour of the inhabitants of Lindsey, when he ob- 
 served in the darkest corner of the building, under a 
 low arch, an effigy in mail armour. A mere passing 
 glance would have been all that he would have be- 
 stowed upon it — for he, like most people of that age, 
 had little knowledge of such things — had he not seen 
 the Skirlaugh arms on the shield which the warrior bore. 
 This was interesting ; like many an antiquary, who 
 has since become as notable as such obscure plodders 
 are permitted to be, he was aroused to some degree of 
 attention by what appealed to his personal feehngs.
 
 46 HALF SKIELAUGH. 
 
 He took from liis pocket-book a letter, and began 
 making a sketch of it on the blank part of the sheet. 
 
 William Skirlaugh was a good draughtsman. The 
 maligned George Shelley had taught him drawing as 
 W'ell as penmanship. Sketching a monument in a place 
 nearly dark, with no table but the knee, is not rapid 
 work. Considerably more than a quarter of an hour 
 had gone before the drawing was complete. He was 
 just folding up the paper and putting liis pencil in 
 his pocket, when another object — this time not a 
 visible, but an audible one — attracted his attention. 
 From the highwaj^ arose the sound of three or four 
 human voices singing, he could not catch the words, 
 in a most unmusical fashion. There was, however, 
 something in the manner, the roll of the verse, and 
 the solemnity" of the cadence, which indicated that 
 it was not the chant of drunken revellers. It seemed 
 earnest, and was therefore attractive. His curiosity 
 w^as excited, he stood by the door, hidden in its 
 shadow, and looked out upon a scene such as was then 
 a subject of much laughter to the thoughtless, but 
 has now become to us who view it through the -pev- 
 spective of the past a matter of great moment. 
 
 An old man, of perhaps sixty years of age, dressed 
 in the garb of a peasant, with long, thin, gray hair, 
 reaching to his shoulders, was standing on a large 
 square stone by the roadside, his little shaggy pony 
 tied to a neighbouring gate. Around him were 
 gathered a few labouring men, who had left their 
 work in the adjoining fields, and most of the women
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 47 
 
 from the surrounding alms-liouses. On one corner of 
 the stone sat — or rather crouched — the poor drudge 
 whom we have before seen. 
 
 WiUiam now observed what he had not noticed when 
 in the kitchen, that the whole of one side of her 
 face was disfigured hj a frightful bum. The sermon 
 had not begun. It was the preparator}^ hymn that 
 had attracted the attention of the sketcher. 
 
 *' Come hungry, come thirsty, come wretched, come bare, 
 Come filthy, come starving, come just as you are, 
 Come sin-stained, come blighted by Satan's dark curse 
 And cast yourselves down before Jesus's cross," 
 
 were the words of the first rude verse the preacher 
 sung, and they were taken up by his auditors with a 
 fervour that might have put to shame many a refined 
 congregation. Psalmody formed a great part of the 
 religious exercises of the early Methodists. The 
 hymns they sung were, many of them, not the verses 
 now found in the books published with the sanction 
 of the body, but rough poetr}^ which had shaped itself 
 in the minds of unlettered farmers and mechanics, 
 whose hearts were filled v>dth " the glad tidings," but 
 who had little power of expressing themselves in that 
 comely style of verse which was alone popular in the 
 eighteenth century. The realistic teaching of Holy 
 Scripture projected itself sharply upon their uncul- 
 tured minds, and produced fruit both in word and 
 action such as the literate classes were in no degree 
 prepared for. Hence the absurd charge of Popery 
 which was freely brought against John "Wesley
 
 48 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 and liis disciples. Silly as this seems to us, who 
 know more of Latin Christianity than our great grand- 
 fathers, we can easily see that the physical imagery 
 in much of the poetry of the early Methodists was well 
 calculated to encourage such an illusion. On the 
 present occasion many more verses followed the speci- 
 men w^e have given, each one calling on sinners in 
 hard but spirit-stirring words to leave the joys and 
 sorrow^s of this world and cast all down at the foot of 
 the Cross. As each fourth line was repeated, with 
 marked emphasis on the final word, the feelings of the 
 congregation became more and more moved ; when the 
 last stanza rolled forth several of the women were in 
 tears. 
 
 The simple-minded preacher — like many of the 
 preaching friars of former days, whose place he oc- 
 cupied, for he was standing on what had ages ago been 
 the pedestal of the village cross — was a natural orator. 
 He saw that the hymn had done its work. Almost 
 before the last sounds of song had died away he gave 
 out his text, — 
 
 ^' Why will ye die?" 
 
 And in fluent, but as his only educated auditor 
 thought, in strangel}^ exaggerated language, began to 
 discourse on love to God. His delivery Avas low and 
 sedate at first — so low, indeed, that Skirlaugh missed 
 the purport of some of the opening sentences, but as 
 the preacher went on, warmed with his own fervour 
 and encouraged by that of his hearers, his utterance 
 became harsher and more emphatic. His wlude soul
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 49 
 
 was bent on converting those who heard him to his 
 own high ideas of reHgious duty. 
 
 " Oh, why will ye die ? Why will you turn away 
 from the only heart that loves j^ou ? We all of us 
 hanker after love enough ; there is not one of us here 
 who has not felt that somebody's love was the greatest 
 thing in the whole world to him — was all that was worth 
 caring for. Tell me, my poor brothers and sisters 
 who stand here, if the happiest thing you have to think 
 of in your whole lives is not somebody's love? Perhaps 
 it was your father's, when he used to take you on his 
 •knee in the chimney-corner after work was done, and 
 let you play with the big buttons on his coat whilst he 
 told you some soft tale, maybe about fighting and 
 murder or fairies, bargests, and such lil^e kelter, or 
 mayhajD sung you some wicked old song a"bout things 
 that men and women should not hear of, let alone a 
 child. Perhaps it was your mother's love — ah, there 
 is no mere worldly love like that — hov/ she would 
 cuddle you to sleej) upon her breast, and call you 
 darling, or how in long winter neets, when the winds 
 were high, and you felt scared for dread of boggles, 
 she would sit by your bedside and comfort you, when 
 perhaps, the good woman was nearly as much afeard as 
 you were. Or perhaps it was some other sort of love. 
 I don't like to speak about that, there's so much that's 
 dark about it — so much of the Devil in it. Perhaps the 
 strongest love you ever felt was for some man or some 
 woman who seemed everything to 3'ou, and yet was a 
 thousand times worse than nowt. P)ut what is all
 
 50 IIAI.F SKIKLAUGII. 
 
 this to the love of Jesus ? Xotliiiig ! nothing ! Your 
 father and mother are dead. Perhaps they didn't 
 behave none so well to ,you after all, when you'd grow'd 
 up, and them that you thought on for a husband or a 
 wife, if it wa,3 of marr3dng you were thinking, turned 
 out worse than nowt. We spend our lives in running 
 after love, in trying to get something to love us, and 
 some of us are so hard up at last that we would fain 
 treat dogs and cats as if they were Christians, sooner 
 than not have some love of some sort ; and yet it is all 
 nought, doesn't last so long as the big rain-drops that 
 run after one another down the window-panes in a 
 thunder shower, that are dried up with the first glint 
 of sunshine, leaving the glass muckier than it was 
 afore. But if it didn't dry up in a day, as we may say, 
 if the love of father and mother, brothers and sisters, 
 wife and husband, lasted all our lives, what would all that 
 be to the love of Jesus ? What is the least leaf on yon 
 trees to him that made them ? Do you know where 
 all the love in the world comes from ? Do you think 
 your father and mother would have loved you if He 
 had not put it into their hearts ? Would your husband 
 or your wife have cared for you if He had not bidden 
 them ? Oh, there is no love in the world but His. 
 He is all in all, and the love that every created tiling 
 gives you was first his before it was theirs. It is His, 
 not theirs, and He is loving you through them, and 
 trying to draw 3"ou throTigh their love from the filthy 
 desii'es that you wallow in, as a sow in a crew- 
 yard sludge-hole, to the joy of heaven, to heaven upon
 
 RALF SKIELAUGK. 51 
 
 earth, the love of Jesus. My dear friends, 3^ou all of 
 you know that you can't live without love of some 
 sort. We have all of us tried it again and again. I 
 tried it on and off for fifty years ; but we can't, we 
 can't — our hearts would break. Come with me, 
 then — come all, come now, to-day, this hour, this 
 moment, to the fountain-head, where all the love in 
 the world comes from. Come, come, come ; throw 
 your past lives behind you, and don't look at tlieni 
 any more. They are filthy rags ; they have tlie plague 
 — the plague of everlasting death, of hell-fire in them ; 
 but come and cast yourselves down at the foot of the 
 cross of Christ — come and be sprinkled with the blood 
 of the Lamb." 
 
 How long the words of the itinerant might have 
 continued we have no means of judging. The vil- 
 lagers who formed his little flock were thoroughly in 
 earnest. The sermon, however wearisome to a culti- 
 vated ear, was music to those whose intellects had 
 never been instructed nor their feelings touched by 
 religious teaching. It was, however, destined to an 
 abrupt termination. 
 
 s 2 
 
 "Stvofounos
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 ** Hinc via Tartarei qujB fert Acherontis ad undas : 
 Turbidus hie cceno vastaque voragine gurges 
 ^stuat." Viryilius, uEn. vi. 
 
 The words of the preacher had attracted the atten- 
 tion of other persons besides the draughtsman. Lord 
 Carlton and his friends occupied the large upper room 
 over the archway. They had already finished their 
 dinner, and sung most of the loose songs which their 
 memories contained ; their favourite anecdotes had 
 all been told, and the various cock matches, horse 
 races, and intrigues in which they had been engaged 
 worn threadbare. Wine and punch had been con- 
 sumed freely, but even, wine and punch, however libe- 
 rally administered, will not in stupid natures produce 
 conversation. It can only stimulate, not create. 
 If there be no sunlight, a prism will show bright 
 colours no more than a pair of tongs. So his lordship 
 and his following were very dull, notwithstanding all 
 their endeavours to the contrary. Their attempts, 
 however, to amuse themselves had been very various 
 and laboriously ingenious. One of them, a fine-
 
 RALF SIQRLAUGH. d6 
 
 looking, middle-aged man, whom the others addressed 
 as Mac (he was miderstood to be the heir of a Scotch 
 baronetcy), was evidently considered the humorist 
 of the -psivtj. He had told more and dirtier tales, and 
 had been guilty of more impudent badinage to the 
 waiters, than any of his convives ; at last, seeing his 
 associates becoming hopelessly dull, and knowing that 
 nothing of an intellectual nature would have a chance 
 of amusing them, he struck out the bright idea of fur- 
 nishing entertainment at the expense of a large gray 
 cat that reposed on the hearth-rug ; it was a happy 
 conception, calculated most accurately to suit the 
 taste of his friends. We regret, however, to add that 
 it was only in a very small degree successful. The 
 plot had in it all the simplicity of genius, it con- 
 sisted in grasping the animal tightl}^ with one hand, 
 wdiile he burnt her tail with a red-hot poker which he 
 held in the other. A scream of applause greeted the 
 suggestion ; the laughter that followed was, however, 
 far more at the operator than the persecuted beast, for 
 the animal, when she felt the burn, instead of darting 
 forward as Mac was prepared for, scorning igno- 
 minious flight, sprung with the energy of a tiger 
 directly at her tormentor's face, causing him to drop 
 the poker upon his own foot, and indenting two long 
 and curiously jagged furrows to a considerable depth 
 in each of his cheeks. In a second the victor was 
 through the open door, out of the house, and high up 
 in one of the elms. Mac sunk into silence, among 
 roars of laughter, which he at intervals seasoned, but
 
 54 EALF SKIRLAUGir. 
 
 (lid not interrupt, by a small dribble of heartfelt oaths. 
 Lord Carlton must, however, be .amused at any sacri- 
 fice, all the company fully realised that, for he paid 
 for the dinner, and there were man}' other good 
 dinners in prospect, not to mention other and far 
 higher gains to be got from a nobleman, wlio, if poor 
 himself, was nearly allied to one of the most powerful 
 Whigs in England. A fat, pursy man, whose figure 
 indicated that he was on the less enviable side of fifty, 
 but whose pasty face seemed to show that he was con- 
 siderably younger, and tliat his ungainly habit of body 
 was the result more of good living than age, tried to 
 raise a smile on his patron's fiice by drawing — the 
 fellow had a low kind of artist knack — men and 
 women with a burnt cork on the white stone chimnej'- 
 piece. While they were mere attitudinizing figures, 
 not a smile could be evoked, but when the brilliant 
 thought occurred to him of representing the scene 
 between Mac and the cat. Lord Carlton again deigned 
 to be amused, and the room was once more in a 
 roar. 
 
 '' By Gad, Smyley, that's the best thing you ever 
 drew; you shall do it again on paper, and I'll liave it 
 framed." 
 
 " Your lordship shall have it engraved on copper, if 
 you will," said the artist. 
 
 " No, brass, Smyle}', brass ! that will be capital ; 
 and then we can give it to all our friends. Do you 
 hear, Mac?" 
 
 The gentleman addressed, who was busily employed
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGII. 55 
 
 bathing liis scored face with the corner of his pocket- 
 handlverchief, looked np and made a feeble attempt to 
 laugh — 
 
 "Your lordship had better let Smyley publish, 
 under your patronage, a pictorial description of our 
 tour." 
 
 " By George, it's a good idea ! you're a Scotchman 
 and a poet, you shall do the writing and Smyley the 
 pictures." 
 
 " You will give your workmen leave to select their 
 own subjects ? " 
 
 " Scribble what you like, only make one laugh over 
 it. If it's half as good as your cousin the Scotch lord's 
 song book, I'd praise it if you made folks laugh at me 
 in every leaf," responded the peer. 
 
 " That's the only book I ever heard your lordship 
 quote," said Mac. 
 
 ''It's the only one I ever read since I left college. 
 I read few enough there, but I've given up the bad 
 habit entirely since. I never read, it makes me think," 
 rejoined his lordship. 
 
 " What a strange ch'cumstance ! " remarked a hard- 
 headed man, with a strong north- country accent, 
 who seemed to be the only one of the part}^ quite 
 sober. "I wish it had the same effect on other 
 persons — most of the reading men I know never think 
 at all." 
 
 *' You know what old Hobbes said, about reading 
 — ' If I'd read,' said he, ' as muclr as you have, 
 I should have been as great a fooi.' That was a
 
 €>;-) r.ALF SKmLAUGII. 
 
 hard hit, Brotherton," said Mac, with patronizing 
 familiarity. 
 
 ''No fear of an}^ one pelting you with such hard 
 sayings, Mr. Mackenzie. I heard you charged with 
 maiiy folKes and vices, hut never wdth over stud}'," 
 replied the hard-headed man. 
 
 '' Come, the hook — the hook ! will you two hoys do 
 it for me as soon as we get to tovm. ? You know what 
 it's to he like. If you do it well I'll reward you hand- 
 somely — I will, hy Jove," said his lordship, on whose 
 clearness of articulation the wdne was having consider- 
 able effect. 
 
 " I'll make my part like enough, ni}^ lord," responded 
 Mackenzie. 
 
 '' Like wdiich, the hook, or his lordship ? " inquu'ed 
 the retainer, feebly. 
 
 " Both, you blockhead. It shall be as witty as the 
 one and as shameless as the other. By-the-bj'e, Bro- 
 therton, it won't do without a spice of learning in it. 
 Dirt won't go down by itself. My Edinburgh educa- 
 tion is ftist running away, you must help me with a few 
 scraps of Latin, and a tale or two from Ovid. ^Vhat 
 say you to this for a motto from old TuUy ; it's no 
 w^orse for being in Adam Littleton's dictionary — 
 
 * Qui cancm et Feleni ut Decs colunt. ' 
 
 I shouldn't have remembered it if I hadn't once had 
 a Hcking anent the said." 
 
 " I hardly understand its application," replied Mr. 
 Brotherton, gravely.
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 57 
 
 "Dear, dear, not see it! why, ar'n't we to do a 
 book setting forth the adventures of my lord here ; 
 and is there, when he's sober, anj'thing in the world 
 he hkes so well as sport with dogs ? Whether it's stag- 
 hunting or hare-liunting, rabbit-hunting, bull-baiting, 
 rat-catcliing, or dog-fighting, isn't it the same to him ? 
 And as to cats, don't my cheeks show the application 
 of fells ; besides, don't jow know how Plautus uses 
 it ? " answered Mac. 
 
 '' Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't. But for shame of 
 yourself for dragging your High- School education in 
 the gutter to please a drunken rabble." 
 
 Dming these latter sentences Mr. Smyley had been 
 thinking, as well as he was able, how he was to show 
 his resentment at the liberty Mac had taken in calling 
 him a blockhead. He had come to no conclusion 
 clearer than that of the Eipon tradesman wdio, when 
 told over his glass at the Unicorn that his back shop 
 was on fire, replied, "Well, then, I suppose sum'uts 
 must be done somev.diere, sometime, somehow." His 
 ideas on the matter would probably have remamed 
 always in the nebulous stage, had not the words 
 " drunlven rabble " struck upon his ears ; of their ap- 
 plication he was not quite certain, but they sounded 
 insulting, and he was not in a state of mind to exer- 
 cise the critical faculty with much caution. 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is, gentlemen," said he, " nei- 
 ther my lord nor myself are accustomed to such lan- 
 guage as this. If Mr. Mackenzie and Mr. Brotherton 
 expect to associate with English gentlemen, they must
 
 5o HALF HKIPvLAUGH. 
 
 leave their "bad words on tlie other side the Border. It 
 should be sufficient for a Scotch fortune-hunter and 
 a schoolmaster to get a seat at an English noble- 
 man's table without presuming to vent his impudence 
 to him and his friends. Blockhead — drunken rabble 
 — I never heard such shocking language." 
 
 The case was becoming alarming. A Scotchman, 
 however debased, is seldom quite dead to the honour 
 of his country ; and it is rarer still to find one who 
 will permit that country to be insulted in his own 
 person with impunity. Mackenzie had himself taken 
 too much wine to see that Smyley was so drunk as to 
 be utterly below notice. He sprung from his seat, 
 and the answer that the artist would have received 
 would have assumed a physical form of very im- 
 pressive character had not Brotherton caught him 
 by the arm and whispered in his ear, *' Don't mind 
 him, he's drunk as a pig now ; settle it to-morrow, 
 and I'll help you." 
 
 Mac had a very high opinion of Brotherton's judg- 
 ment, but he was in a passion and prepared to resist 
 calm counsel, had not Lord Carlton at the moment, 
 without knowing the good he was doing, made a diver- 
 sion. That nobleman, who had been sitting for some 
 time gazing on space, the picture of half-drunken list- 
 lessness, suddenly sprang from his seat, shouting, as 
 he did so, " Lord's sake, look here ! Here's the devil 
 of a joke, and we, like f()ols, nearlj- missed it ; 
 wouldn't have lost it for a hundred pounds, wouldn't, 
 upon my soul." As lie spoke he threw open the
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGII. 59 
 
 window, and the hard clear tones of the Methodist's 
 sermon were distinctly audible within. 
 
 ''Did you ever see the like of this, the canting 
 snivellers ? " exclaimed his lordship. 
 
 '* What are they after?" inquired Mackenzie, who 
 had probabl}' never heard of Methodism. 
 
 Smyle}^ endeavoured to explain; his articulation 
 was not clear, nor his views accurate. He was un- 
 derstood to say, " Damned new religion, like Puri- 
 tans — Noll's days, you know — won't fight cocks, don't 
 drink and sing, but pray like the very Devil." 
 
 " Another bumper, and then we'll squander the 
 hypocrites," cried Lord Carlton, who, tossing off the 
 punch with no ver}' stead}^ hand, rushed downstairs, 
 followed by all but the hard-headed Scotchman. 
 
 *' There go fools too swinish to enjoy themselves, 
 and knaves too rascally to succeed in their own small 
 intrigues." So saying, he selected the most comfort- 
 able chair in the room and placed it near the open 
 window in such a position as to be able to watch the 
 result of the affray which, he doubted not, was about 
 to take place. The staid Scot was not mistaken. 
 With a yell, such as the Mohawks of London gave 
 when they attacked some peaceful citizen, they burst 
 in among the congregation. The preacher' paused, 
 but moved not ; most of his hearers fled at once, two 
 or three of the men only remaining at a very safe 
 distance. The woman, whom we have had occasion 
 to mention before, continued sitting on the corner of 
 the stone in the same attentive attitude as if the
 
 GO EALF SKIRLAUr;iI. 
 
 sermon were still going on. Tlie silent gaze of the 
 Methodist was fixed on the leader of the rioters, who, 
 pouring out curses and threats, menaced liim with 
 instant punishment if he did not '^ come down from 
 his perch." His only method of resistance was re- 
 maining passive. When, at length, a lull came, so 
 that he had a chance of being heard, he said, in a 
 voice almost as calm as if no interruption had startled 
 him, and he were still pursuing the thread of his dis- 
 course, '' Young man, I came to preach the Gospel to 
 the poor and ignorant. The Lord hath sent me those 
 who need it more. Listen ; I have a message for 
 
 you." 
 
 '^ A pretty message you have, 3'ou sniveller. If you 
 don't come off your pulpit, I'll pull you down by the 
 ears and roll you in the gutter," screamed the leader 
 of the part}^ 
 
 "There is a pond near," suggested the more ob- 
 servant Mackenzie. 
 
 " So there is, by Gad. To the pond with liim," 
 cried the peer. 
 
 " To the pond, to the pond ! " echoed his com- 
 panions. 
 
 And so saying, all three dashed at once upon the 
 preacher, crushing, as they did so, the one unfortunate 
 member of his congregation who had remained faitMul, 
 beneath their feet. The threatened ducking seemed 
 inevitable. The old man was, by profession and sin- 
 cere conviction, opposed to violence. If he had been 
 sufficiently powerful it is improbable that he would
 
 RALF SKIELAUGH. Gl 
 
 have aided himself by physical force ; but had he 
 put forth all his little strength, it could have been 
 of small avail against three active men. Their 
 evil design, however, was not to be carried into 
 effect. William Sldrlaugh had been attentively watch- 
 ing the ^proceedings, and Iviiew the characters of 
 Lord Carlton and his friends by report, sufficiently 
 well to be quite sure that, heated as the}^ were with 
 Tvine, they would shrink from no atrocity to which 
 their brutal sense of the humorous might prompt 
 them. His voice, calling on the rioters to desist, was 
 most lilvcly drowned by their own hideous laughtei', as 
 they dragged the preacher from the stone. None 
 seemed aware of his presence until he knocked Mr. 
 Smyle}' down with the butt-end of his riding whip, and 
 seizing hold of Lord Carlton by the collar, proceeded 
 to drag liim from his victim. A well-delivered blow 
 from Mac, which ahnost levelled William by the side 
 of the recumbent Smjdey, forced him to let go his 
 hold. He retained his balance, however, but only to 
 be the object of the united attentions of the peer and 
 the Higlilander. He had learnt the art of self-defence, 
 and could easily have made good his position against 
 either of his antagonists, though he would pro- 
 bably have been at length overpowered by the two. 
 Their victory was rendered more speedy if less glo- 
 rious by the intervention of Mr. Sm^dej^, who, still 
 prostrate on the earth, at a moment when Skirlaugh 
 was delivering a blow with his full force, grasj)Gd his 
 legs and stretched him on the road beside himself.
 
 62 EALF SIOllLAUGII. 
 
 William was now entirely at tlie mercy of the victors. 
 The cry of " To the pond, to the pond ! " again arose, 
 and the three ruffians proceeded to drag their captive 
 to the margin of the lakelet. In a moment more he 
 would have been floundering in its waters ; but, at this 
 juncture, another person appeared upon tlie scene.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " All this being done in such a godly, grave, solemn, and substantial! 
 manner, as would extraordinarily have aifected any truly honest and godly 
 heart to have beheld it." — John Vicars' Jekovah-Jireh, i. 424. 
 
 Call up before your e3'es a liiimaii figure, upv^^arcls 
 of six feet in lieigiit, thin, muscular, and trained to 
 exercise by twelve hours of daily toil ; clothe this 
 figure with nep.t but w^ork-day raiment of Quaker-like 
 complexion — drab coat, drab waistcoat, drab small- 
 clothes, and gray worsted stockings, buttons cloth- 
 covered, not shiny metal, as the use then was ; place 
 on his head a brown felt hat, steeple-crowned, like 
 those worn in the middle of the preceding centmy, but 
 with a narrower brim ; put a heavy ash cudgel in his 
 right hand for a walking-stick, and you have the every- 
 day costume of John Stutting, the Wivilby Tanner, 
 a noted man in his neighbourhood, the leader and 
 chief spuitual and temporal adviser of a small and 
 scattered remnant of Independents, wdio had remained 
 faithful to their conception of truth through the per- 
 secuting times that followed the Restoration, and per- 
 formed the still harder task of confescino" their faith
 
 64 HALF SKIRLAUGir. 
 
 during the clays of toleration which followed the Revo- 
 lution, when fines and imprisonment were replaced by 
 social contempt and obloquy. John Stutting was a 
 sworn foe to all ungodliness and tyranny, under which 
 comprehensive words he included not only most of 
 the things wdiich with us go under those names, but 
 also such venerable institutions as a titled aristocracy, 
 country squires, horse racing, game laws, a hireling 
 ministry, and even the institution of monarchy itself. 
 Add to this that he had travelled much, had lived 
 and fought in America, and visited the Mediter- 
 ranean and the Iberian peninsula as a sailor, vras well 
 off in this world's goods, could read and write *'as 
 well as the parson," and was esteemed on all hands 
 to be a thoroughly honest, upright and downright 
 man, whom no one could intimidate, and King 
 George's exchequer could not bribe, and you have a 
 sufficiently accurate limning of a person who contrived 
 to make some few of his poorer neighbours reverence 
 him almost as a superior being, v>^hile most of those 
 outside the narrow circle of his influence looked on 
 him as a dark and dangerous fanatic. 
 
 As we before said, the rioters had already- reached 
 the margin of the water ; to souse their victim in its 
 depths would be scarcely the work of another second, 
 when Stutting's tower-like form intervened. His 
 stick was in his hand, but there was little menace of 
 voice or manner in the words he spoke — loud enough, 
 however, to be heard by all present — *'Let that man 
 go." Mackenzie and the peer replied not ; the greater
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 65 
 
 part of the physical labour of the row devolved upon 
 them, for Smyley, smce he had performed the feat of 
 putting William Skirlaugh hoi^s de combat by a process 
 not inaptly described in the old ditty : — 
 
 *' It was na' varra bold, 
 It was na' varra canny, 
 It was na' gude for braggin' on, 
 But it was varra handy," 
 
 had reposed upon his laurels, adding to the glory of 
 the victory, only by the noise he made, and to the 
 humiliation of the conquered by an occasional kick in 
 the ribs. He judged by the new-comer's dress that 
 he was a peasant ; his experience of persons of that 
 order had been limited ; such as he had was gathered 
 almost entirely in the southern counties. A brazen 
 face, and a few fierce oaths wiU make him run off like 
 a rat, thought he ; so, without any real intention of 
 violence, brandishing his clenched fist in the imme- 
 diate neighbourhood of the tanner's nose, he begun an 
 address, the exordium of which was, " Damn you, you 
 clodhopper." We regret that we cannot report it 
 further ; like the Faerie Queen it has come down to 
 posterity but a fragment ; for John Stutting, seizing 
 the artist by the shoulder, whirled him round until 
 his body was between himself and the water, and then 
 with one blow on the chest sent the unhappy gentle- 
 man backward into the lake. This was the work ^but 
 of an instant. Before Lord Carlton knew what had 
 happened to his sycophant, he was himself prostrate 
 over the body of his intended victim. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 RALF SKIKLAUGir. 
 
 Mackenzie was a ruffian, but neither a coward nor a 
 fool ; he probahty would not in any case have deserted 
 friends at a pinch. In this instance he knew well 
 that it would be to his advantage, however the af&.'ay 
 turned out, for him to stand stoutly b}^ his associates. 
 He was strong of limb, and therefore by no means so 
 contemptible an antagonist as the others had been. 
 The fight was, however, not destined to come to its 
 natural termination. The hubbub had at length at- 
 tracted the attention of the people belongmg to the 
 inn ; Lord Carlton's own retainers, William Skii'- 
 laugh's servant, and the groom; Brotheiion, too, 
 seeing the course matters were taking, had reluc- 
 tantly disturbed himself. He gathered informa- 
 tion on his way to the scene of warfare, that 
 showed him it was high time to interfere. The 
 whole bevy bore do^\'n on the rioters in a body. 
 For a moment it seemed as if the great increase 
 of numbers was only to lead to a battle on a larger 
 scale. 
 
 At first, the groom was the most important per- 
 sonage. He elbowed his way to the front, shouting 
 out to Stutting, *' Stand to him, John ; I'm here, and 
 will soon sattle ony three on 'em." 
 
 The most demonstrative of Lord Carlton's servants 
 was the coachman. To this person our friend at once 
 offered the courtes}' of the duello. *' Come on," cried 
 he ; "I've told yer afore now, yer lord would dee in his 
 boots ; dust thow want to go where he's gone to, 
 'cause if thow dust, smell o' this, it smells o' dead
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 67 
 
 men," and lie shook his fist in the face of the noble 
 lord's menial. 
 
 The decisive battles of the world — fifteen of them, 
 that is — have met with a knightly chronicler. The 
 battles that might have been decisive, had not fate 
 hindered their being fought out to the bitter end, have 
 not yet found a historian. When one arises, he will 
 have to describe several less hearty turns- to than the 
 one we have feebly sketched. 
 
 Brotherton was but a pace behind the coachman. 
 He pushed him on one side to prevent further mis- 
 chief; flung himself between his countryman and the 
 tanner, and endeavoured with all his force to drag the 
 former from the field of conflict. 
 
 " For heaven's sake be quiet. Do you know what 
 3^ou are doing, and where you are ? " 
 
 " Helping my lord in a row, not looking at him 
 through a window," responded the belhgerent, angrily, 
 making an efl'ort — but by no means a very determined 
 one — to turn again upon his antagonist. 
 
 "You're a fool, sir. If you don't settle this matter, 
 3^ou'll all of you be in gaol within tw^elve hours, and 
 besides, ruin his lordship's prospects. The fellow 
 you've knocked into the puddle is a relation of old 
 Skirlaugh's — nephew or cousin or something — going 
 to see him this very da}^" 
 
 A deep ejaculation of " Good Gad ! " was the onl}' 
 sound that issued from Mac's lips for the space of a 
 quarter of a minute, dm'ing which interval he seemed 
 from the direction of his eyes to be attentively 
 
 F 2
 
 68 
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 considering tlie form «^ncl make of his silver shoe- 
 buckles. 
 
 *' We're wiped out, and no mistake : what is to be 
 done ? " at length ejaculated he, still gazing on the 
 ground. 
 
 ''Done! why pick up 3"our drunken leader; take 
 him upstairs, and scare him half to death, if that 
 Hercules has left him an}' brains to work upon, and 
 leave the rest to me." The Highlander slunk off in 
 no happy frame of mind. Brotherton's words had 
 conveyed to him much more information than they 
 will at present do to our readers. 
 
 Lord Carlton had already been picked up, and was 
 being supported to bed by two of his own people. So 
 Mac turned into the dining-room to refresh himself 
 with the remains of the punch. His sorrow, deep as 
 it was, gave way rapidly before what he saw when he 
 entered the ai)artment. There lay stretched on the 
 hearth before the fire the form of Mr. Smyley, a mass 
 of mud from the lake, and not mere common mud, 
 such as any pond or streamlet might produce, but 
 slime as black as the dregs of an inkstand, and as 
 foetid as the deposit of a sewer. The unhapi\v gentle- 
 man had been hurled just into that s2)ot where the 
 drain of the kitchen sink deposited its filth in the clear 
 water. Mr. Smyley was somewhat of a fop. His coat 
 but an hour ago was bright blue ; his waistcoat buff, 
 picked out with lavender flowers ; his small clothes, a 
 rich chocolate : now all were sable as the hangings of 
 a hearse. No word escaped that gentleman as he re-
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 69 
 
 turned Mac's provoking gaze with a scowl which would 
 have been frightful hut for its imbecility. This was 
 too much for the Scot ; he burst into a yell of uncon- 
 trollable laughter. 
 
 *' Sir, sii' ! dem j^ou, sir ! What do you mean by 
 deriding, sir — ridiculing and insulting a friend who 
 has stood by you ? You're a cowardly, a dastardly 
 sneak ; and I'll be damned if I don't have satisfac- 
 tion ! " 
 
 " Peace, peace, my good fellow," gasped the Scotch- 
 man, with a convulsive effort, but there was no peace 
 for him. The storm of invective still pelted him from 
 the hearth-rug, only now and then modified by deeper 
 and more fervent curses against Lord Carlton, who 
 had led him into mischief, and the redoubtedchampion 
 by whom he had been overcome. Laughter cannot 
 last for ever, even when fed by the stimulus of imbecile 
 rage. When Mackenzie came to himself, he hastened 
 to assure his companion that no harm was meant, but 
 that if it had been "Lord Carlton or King George 
 himself, by gad it must have been the same." He 
 had quite forgotten what had happened before 
 the fight. Smyley, however, thought good to re- 
 member it. 
 
 " It's all very well, sir ; but I am a gentleman, not 
 accustomed to receive such treatment as this from any 
 one ; and I remember, too, the shockingh^ abusive 
 language which you were using towards me just before 
 we left the room. Upon my honour, I believe the pain 
 it gave me to suffer thus at the hand of a friend un-
 
 70 RAI.F SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 nerved me, else how could tliat low fellow have struck 
 down a master of self-defence like me ? " 
 
 *' Ui:)on m}^ word, Smyley, I had forgotten all about 
 it, m.j good fellow, and must beg 3'ou to do the same. 
 Said after dinner — after dinner, you laiow. Why, my 
 head still swims with tliis fellow's brandied port (they 
 had been drinking i)uncli) ! If I could have thought 
 anything I had said could have offended you, by Jupiter 
 I'd have kept ni}- mouth shut as tight as ni}' old father's- 
 purse strings, and that's the fastest thing I know. 
 But I couldn't help laughing if it were to save my soul, 
 that's poz." 
 
 "Your soul's nothing to me, Mr. Mackenzie: but 
 to persecute with scorn a poor fellow like me, suffering 
 from blows and unable to defend himself, is a matter I 
 can't look over; I can't, indeed." 
 
 The Scotchman's amusement was not lessened by 
 this conversation, but it Avas diverted into another 
 channel. He had now no tendency to laugh, but a 
 curious — almost scientific — interest in watching the 
 action of Smyley 's mind. It was clear he was " after 
 something," but that something was not quite so ob- 
 vious. Mackenzie knew him far too well to suppose 
 that he had any serious desire to quarrel with him. 
 When you are studying any natural i^henomenon, whe- 
 ther it be the circulation of the blood in the back of a 
 sender which you have imprisoned in your microscope, a 
 transit of Venus, or the contortions of face of a popular 
 orator while he liarangues a mob, you- will observe the 
 best if 3^ou are silent and calm. Tliis has been pointed
 
 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 71 
 
 out in divers manuals of natural science, and a friend 
 of ours happened to see nearly the same thing repeated 
 in a useful *' Handbook to the Manners of Good So- 
 ciety," which he observed the other day on the table of 
 a newty-elected borough M.P. Hence we conclude 
 that this simple generalization has now penetrated 
 down considerably below the surface of society. It 
 was not taught in Mackenzie's time, as those who are 
 acquainted with its scientific literature well know. We 
 must, therefore, give him some credit for originality, 
 when he filled a glass with punch, sat down by the 
 fire in perfect silence, and gazed intently between the 
 bars. There were no sounds from the prostrate one 
 for some time. At length, in a voice of stage heroism, 
 he exclaimed, " Are we friends or enemies?" 
 
 " Don't be sill}-, Smyley — why friendsj^ of course. 
 What is there to have a fuss about ? " 
 
 " My feelings are far too much hurt not to require 
 reparation." 
 
 " Your feelings be damned ! Now I'll teU you what 
 it is : I never meant to insult you, and you know I 
 didn't. You don't want to fight me, and you know I 
 know you don't. Therefore come to the point like a 
 sensible man ; but before you do anything else, for 
 goodness sake, get into some decent clothes. Wash 
 your hands and face, and put a clean wig on your poll. 
 Did any man ever talk about satisfaction and hint at 
 pistols and rapiers, think you, laid reeking before the 
 fire like a big black poodle. You're a disgrace to 
 Lord Carlton's equipage. If you don't go I'll fetch
 
 72 RALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 the fellows who carried off his lordsliip to act as valets 
 to you." 
 
 ** Oh ! don't, don't ! " cried the prostrate form, 
 piteousl3\ 
 
 There was silence for about a minute. During that 
 brief space Mr. Smyley,like other generals, had changed 
 the j)lan of his campaign. 
 
 *' I can't be friends with you any more. To insult 
 the unfortunate is a stain on a man's honour. I didn't 
 think it of 3'ou." 
 
 " Don't talk in that whining voice, but go dress 
 yourself, and we'll make it all right, old fellow," re- 
 joined the Scot. 
 
 *' I won't stir from where I am till you have made 
 reparation, Mr. Mackenzie ; I won't, indeed." 
 
 " What am I to do ? I don't want to quarrel ; you 
 don't want to fight, so we are friends ; but pray, for 
 heaven's sake, get rid of that miserable snivel, which 
 is more like that of a whipped schoolboy than a 
 man." 
 
 " Then 3'ou do wish us to be friends — firm friends 
 again, do you ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course I do." 
 
 "And 3'ou will, as a proof of friendship, sacredly 
 revere a secret I wish to communicate ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! of course I will." 
 
 "It is a verj^ serious aftair, I assure you — one that 
 I would not communicate to any Hving soul but your 
 own ; and had I not the greatest confidence — " 
 
 " Well, well ; we understand all that. What is it
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 73 
 
 you want me to do ? By jingo, I have not a guinea in 
 m}' purse, if that's your aim." 
 
 " It's not money I am thinking of, Mr. Mackenzie, 
 but the tailor. I left all my clothes in London, and I 
 haven't a rag except these, which are now spoilt for 
 €ver." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Why, there's a portmanteau as big 
 as a meal-bin in j^our bedroom." 
 
 " Ah ! but it hasn't clothes in it. I left everything 
 I had at home, except two shirts and these damned 
 black things I have on. What shall I do ? It will 
 take a week to get them down, and we are going to 
 Lord Burworth's to-morrow." 
 
 A dark shadow passed over Mackenzie's face, his 
 eyes only showed signs of merriment, which he sup- 
 pressed with the greatest fortitude. 
 
 " Why have you brought that empty coffin lumbering 
 along with you, then ? Now, no nonsense. Tell the 
 truth, if I am to help you." 
 
 The prostrate form replied not, except by a stifled 
 groan. 
 
 " You are such a touchy fellow, and I reall}^ like 
 you, demme I do, or I would tell you why you left 
 them, and call you a damned sneak into the bargain, 
 but it's no use. What can I do for you ? My clothes 
 won't fit ; they're too big one way, and too little the 
 other." 
 
 To this address there was no response from the 
 hearth-rug. After a moment's thought, the Scot con- 
 tinued —
 
 74 RALF SKIIILAUGII. 
 
 " I've a great mind to believe, Smyley, this is all a 
 trick to deceive me ! " 
 
 Tlie abject suppliant swore he was never more 
 truthful in his life. 
 
 " Then there is no time to lose," said the High- 
 lander, ''not an instant. If I am to helj^ you, it 
 must be my own waj', and that way is to send to 
 Lincoln for some more; but then you must go 
 to bed at once, strip off those stinking garments, 
 and send them over for patterns. There's no 
 time to be lost by a snipper-snapper coming all 
 the way over to measure that round carcass of 
 yours." 
 
 " I can't lie in bed till they're made." 
 
 '' You must." 
 
 " You can't send to Lincoln without Lord Carlton 
 and Brotherton knowing." 
 
 "Lord Carlton's in bed, and will be God knows 
 how long. Brotherton must know. I can't send a 
 servant away without him." 
 
 ''Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!" ejaculated the sufferer, 
 almost moved to tears. 
 
 " It's no use moaning. Trundle off to bed, I tell 
 you, and fling j^our things outside the door." 
 
 Suiting his action to the advice he had given, the 
 Scot dragged the unfortunate into an upright posture. 
 His next duty was to seek out Mr. Brotherton, who 
 was a kind of guide, comj^anion, friend, book-keeper, 
 and sj^cophant to his lordship. Brotherton was gi'ave 
 from nature and design ; but even he could not sup-
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 75 
 
 press a cliuckle at Mackenzie's description of the 
 unfortunate Smyley. 
 
 *' Gad, I wish I had seen him ! — the fool ! — the 
 vain fool ! We must help him ; it will only delay his 
 lordship for a day. AVe must help him; he's very 
 useful. Will lie like a Jesuit and swear like a fishwife, 
 when we want him. Poor Smyley ! His lordship must 
 pay for the clothes, if they ever are paid for." 
 
 A servant w^as despatched with the mud-stained 
 garments to Lincoln. 
 
 We have sufficiently discoursed on Mr. Smyley's 
 dress, and wiU now go on to other matters.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 *' A building of brick, varied by stone copings, and covered in a great 
 part with ivy and jasmine. " — Lord Lytton, Paul Clifford, xi. 
 
 Before William Skirlaugli had collected liis scat- 
 tered senses, so far as to comprehend the novel 
 situation in which he fomid himself, he was alone 
 with his servant. The tanner had seated himself on 
 the old stone where the action had begmi, and, with 
 as calm and unconcerned a manner as if nothing had 
 happened to interrupt his rural musings was, or 
 seemed to be, watching the flight of the swallows over 
 the water. He ordered the horses witliout a moment's 
 delay, and going up to Stutting thanked him for his 
 timel}^ aid. 
 
 " You are called Skirlaugli," abruptly broke in the 
 tanner, " a kinsman to Ealf Skirlaugli, whom men 
 here call the Squire ?" 
 
 The traveller assented. 
 
 " There is then no need to thank me. Ealf Skir- 
 laugli and I know each other. He is a child of dark- 
 ness. I am a child of light. He would if he could, 
 even as his ftithers did aforetime, imprison, scourge.
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 77 
 
 yea, even hang such as I am. Yet from mere carnal 
 tenderness of heart, which profiteth nothing, he will 
 hel^i the poor and the suffering, yea, even w4ien they 
 are of the household of faith. You, too, are no doubt 
 lilie minded. Say, therefore, no more of what has 
 been done through my means. I profess I was not 
 sorry to use my stick about the sides of these sons 
 of Belial. If you are not Hke unto them, I would 
 bid 3^ou avoid their company. They will know you 
 now and hate you. They are powerful through the 
 influence of the man whom they call Lord Burworth, 
 who is one of the tribe of Whigs which as yet sit in 
 high places." 
 
 After thus delivering himself, without salutation or 
 farewell, he strode away in a direction different from 
 that in which "WiUiam Skirlaugh was about to travel. 
 
 If the reader has ever, in early days, when the in- 
 tellect and character were formed, but the manners as 
 yet imperfectly developed, found himself on the point 
 of being introduced into a new sphere of life, and that a 
 socially higher one than his own, he wiU understand 
 our traveller's feelings as he stepped from the au- 
 tumnal darkness of the court into the haU of the 
 Squire's mansion. 
 
 William Skirlaugh had, from childhood, been 
 prompt enough in action, but quickness, firmness, 
 and their allied qualities, though they go far towards 
 making a noble character, are of little help to a 
 person just about to pass into a circle of whose 
 thoughts and tone he knows little, but whose position
 
 78 HALF SKIRLAUGIT. 
 
 and importance have been a frequent subject of 
 conversation and eulogy. His education had been 
 just of the kind calcuhxted to foster this weakness. 
 His bachelor uncle never went into society, and saw 
 no one at his own house but on matters of business, 
 except two or three lawyers like-minded with himself, 
 whose professionally learned talk was the most trea- 
 sured relaxation of his life. The nephew cannot be 
 supposed to have delighted much in listening to the 
 conversation of these friends ; it may be doubted, 
 however, whether, to his imaginative temperament, 
 their ponderously learned talk, interspersed as it now 
 and then was with a word picture — in very neutral 
 tints, it must be confessed — of days different from his 
 own, was not more pleasing than the insipidity, noise 
 or flaunting profligacy of such society as he might 
 have entered. Two worlds he had seen : the sombre 
 one of legal London, and the quiet rural one into 
 which he had glided on his occasional visits to his 
 Yorkshire relative. Both were pure, the latter calmly 
 beautiful. 
 
 Whatever shyness there might have been passed 
 away almost instantly. The warm reception given the 
 traveller by his host, and the kindly manners of the 
 ladies, soon put the young man quite at his ease. A 
 certain school of novelists, and that not the most 
 despicable, are wont to give their readers a descrip- 
 tion of the furniture, animate and inanimate, of the 
 apartments into which they conduct their readers, 
 almost as elaborate as an auctioneer's catalogue. We
 
 RALF SKIELAUGH. 79 
 
 will spare ours this affront to their imagination, sim- 
 jAy observing that the summer parlour in which the 
 guest was now seated formed one of the smaller of 
 a suite of apartments occup3dng the whole of the 
 western side of the building. The persons making 
 up the family party were the Squire himself, a tall 
 slightly-built man of about sixty,-, his wife, a portly 
 dame, perhaps five or six years younger, whose 
 Scottish accent — the old court Scotch, not the bar- 
 barous peasant dialect — slight though it vras, indi- 
 cated that she came of northern lineage ; their oid}' 
 daughter, Isabell, her friend and companion, Mary 
 Morley, and Mr. Callis, the non-juring chaplain. The 
 last was the only one who did not join freely in the 
 conversation. His mind was completely absorbed in 
 the contents of a folio volume in some- one of the 
 less known Teutonic languages, whose very characters 
 would have been well nigh unintelligible to the 
 visitor, had he glanced at them over their reader's 
 shoulder. 
 
 The ladies and the divine retired at an early hour. 
 When alone with the Squire, William felt it to be 
 his duty to introduce the subject of the law affairs 
 which had been the excuse for his long-contemplated 
 jom-ney. 
 
 " A truce, a truce, — an old soldier cries truce, — and 
 if that may not be had, fairly throws down his arms 
 and begs for quarter, any terms, however hard, to be 
 rid of feoffments, leases for a year, deeds of bargain 
 and sale, final recoveries, entails, and suchlike ill-
 
 80 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 omened words. Surely my good cousin, Mr. Bobert 
 Skirlaugh, has not filled your young head so full of 
 law jargon that you cannot spare a relation the first 
 evening you spend with him on the old homestead; 
 besides, you come here to-day not as a lawyer, but as 
 a child of chivalry, a knight-eiTant, a true son of Srr 
 Ingelram de Skirlaugh, who saved the Breton damsel 
 from the Sallee rovers, and whose picture, painted 
 three hundred years after his death, but a striking like- 
 ness, I will show you in the gallery to-morrow. True, 
 you fought for a wizened old methodist preacher, he 
 for a noble maiden : but the spirit was the same. So 
 I must have a full and circumstantial account of this 
 last act of heroism from the chief actor, that Mr. 
 Callis, who is not only the chaplain but the historian 
 of our house, may add it to the family chronicles." 
 
 William gave a modest narrative of his day's ad- 
 venture, suppressing the passages which related to 
 the head groom. 
 
 *' Capital, capital!" exclaimed the Squire, when he 
 had done. " Capital ! By Jove, we'll pay them oft* 
 for it some day. A brave fellow, that Stutting. A 
 stout, trustworthy fellow ; but cracked — cracked — mad 
 as a March hare— believes in the New Jerusalem 
 coming down from Heaven somewhere just here- 
 abouts, on my domain, I foncy, all ready built, streets 
 j)aved, chimney-pots on, knockers ready fixed, and 
 lighted up day and night from within, without sun, 
 moon, or stars, or any expenditure in tallow dips, 
 wax lights, or oil lamps. Preaches, too, to lots of
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. « 81 
 
 people who go to liear him, and tells them it is of no 
 use to keep the Ten Commandments, but that the}^ 
 maj^ all follow their own fancies, so that they don't 
 contradict him. He is a sort of Protestant Pope, 
 just such a fellow as John of Leiden, whose bones 
 yet hang in an iron basket from the big church tower 
 in the market-place at Munster. I've heard them rattle 
 in the wind many a time." 
 
 " I hope my friend of to-day may not come to so 
 fearful an end as the mad tailor whom the brutal Ger- 
 mans tortured to death," said William. 
 
 " Trust Stutting for that. To hear him talk when 
 he raves about religion, and the inward light, you'd 
 think him as mad as the wildest of the Anabaptist 
 crew ; but speak to him on any matter of worldly 
 concern, of hides or tallow, of politics even, and 
 3^ou'll find him a calm, cautious, and hard headed 
 yeoman. If the cavaliers of Lincolnshire had risen 
 in the forty-five, he would have gone with us with all 
 liis disciples. And he could have brought a following 
 of some two hundred men at his back. I am heartily 
 glad he gave Lord Carlton a drubbing. He hates all 
 lords, and I am very much of his way of thinking, at 
 least as to the new ones whose patents are written on 
 Dutch paper or in German text. This Lord Carlton, 
 now, is the grandson of a Cheapside hatter. He has 
 a peerage because his father did dirty work for Han- 
 over, when the Whigs were passing their act of 
 settlement. He has run through all his propert}^, 
 and would be a pauper if my neighbour. Lord Bur- 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 » RALF SKIRLAUGir. 
 
 worth, to wliose settled estates he is hen-, did not 
 heli:> him. He is one of the same gang, but he has 
 brains if not principle. I wonder what they are down 
 in Lincolnshire for; Bm-worth told me that he had 
 made it a condition that he was not to be troubled 
 with his nephew's society. The rascally drunken 
 ruffians Avill drive the i:)oor gouty old gentleman out 
 of his senses if they stay long with him. Now, there 
 are some men of your age who, if they had been in- 
 sulted as you have been, would have talked of pistols 
 and rapiers, sent the chief fool a challenge, and 
 j)erilled theii' own valuable lives against that of a 
 worthless scamp. I am glad to see that you have 
 more sense and breeding. I knov/ the laws of the 
 duello, have served in France, the country where its 
 usages have been reduced to the strictest code, and 
 there can be no doubt that not only are jou not called 
 upon to give this fool a chance of shooting at you, but 
 that 3"ou are explicitly bound b}' the laws of honour 
 not to do so. Had j'ours been a quarrel between gen- 
 tlemen, you must have fought him ; but it was a mere 
 street row, in which you were not bound to be aware 
 that your antagonist was a gentleman ; besides, he 
 was ehrlus, drunken ; and for acts so done a man may 
 well be subject to the common or statute law, but can 
 be by no means worthy of the chivalrous courtesy oi 
 a man of honour." 
 
 William intimated that he had no intention of fight- 
 ing Lord Carlton, unless the combat were forced upon 
 him. Tlie strict religious principles in which he had
 
 EALF SKIRL AUGII. 83 
 
 been educated would not have permitted liim, in any 
 case, to give a challenge, though, under certain cir- 
 cumstances, he might have felt himself bound to accept 
 one, if offered. 
 
 The conversation flowed on for some time in the 
 channel it had now taken. The Squire was a great 
 authority on the laws of honour : his French educa- 
 tion had supplied him with many chances of watching 
 such courteous passages — his semi-military life, when 
 he had served as a volunteer in the French armies, 
 had contributed not a small amount of personal ex- 
 perience, all of which he was ready to pour out for the 
 delectation of his patient listener. Ralf Skirlaugh 
 was a man with few friends. He had quarrelled with 
 most of his Whig neighbours, on account of their 
 politics, and had good reasons of a social nature for 
 seeing but little of the Jacobite gentry around. He 
 was consequently thrown almost entirely upon his own 
 resources for amusement. It was, therefore, a com- 
 plete godsend to him, when he happened, as on the 
 present occasion, to come in contact with a gentleman 
 of " honest principles," who was at the same time 
 a good listener. On this, the first evening of their 
 acquaintance, he poured forth a whole volume of liis 
 French reminiscences ; and was not a little surprised 
 and delighted to find his hearer not only well ac- 
 quainted with the geography of what was then to 
 most untravelled Englishmen an almost unknown 
 land, but that he possessed also no inconsiderable 
 knowledge of the lives and actions of many of the 
 
 G 2
 
 84 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 notable persons with whom he himself had been thrown 
 in contact. 
 
 "I am surprised, and more pleased than I can 
 express, cousin," said he, *' to find in j^ou not only 
 those principles of loyalty which are befitting all who 
 bear our name, but also a cultivated understanding, 
 which does not despise men and things different 
 from what are to be seen at home. Now, I assure 
 you, that among my acquaintances here, there is 
 not one who would not have yawned long ago if I 
 had told him half the experiences which I have com- 
 municated to you to-night. They would one and all 
 have put me off with indecorous jokes about fi'ogs, 
 wooden shoes, and such like gear ; and if they were of 
 the vile Whig gang, would have added some silly gibe 
 about the devil, the pope, and the Pretender, as the}' 
 call king James ; and yet, if I were to talk to them 
 about foxes and hounds, horse-racing and cock-fight- 
 ing, or even killing partridges, they would listen with 
 open mouths and staring eyes, as if it were an oracle 
 that w^as speaking, till long past midnight — as it is 
 now, for I heard the hall clock strike two wdien I was 
 in the midst of that good story about my adventures 
 with the Cape Breton fish-wives. So enough of la 
 belle France and the dannied Whig crew for to-night ; 
 to-morrow you shall have a long ride with me, to see 
 the nakedness of the land. And now to bed."
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 "Lever matin n'estpoinct bon heur," — Rabelais, I. xxi. 
 
 It is a mistake to believe that the upper classes in 
 the last century were early risers. Early of course 
 they were, when compared with those foolish people of 
 to-da}', who breakfast in their bedrooms considerably 
 after wise men's luncheon time, but certainly not early, 
 as a foreigner or even a Scotchman would count earli- 
 ness. It is not surprising that William was the 
 first to make his appearance in the lower world, where 
 only servants were stirring. The hall door was open, 
 inviting the stranger to wander forth to survey the 
 pleasant home in which he found himself a temporary 
 sojourner. 
 
 Skirlaugh Manor was a large, compact house, with 
 little claim to antiquity. The edifice, except some 
 insignificant fragments concealed in the interior 
 arrangements, had been built by the present owner's 
 grandfather. The old house, a square fortified build- 
 ing, with four angle towers, had been so rent by the 
 shot of the besiegers in the unhappy domestic wars of
 
 8G EALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 tlie seventeenth century, that its owner, after many 
 ineffectual attempts at repair, had determined to pull 
 down the whole, and make himself a comfortable 
 modern mansion out of the ruins. This he succeeded 
 in doing, mainly, perhaps, because he discarded all 
 false antiquarianism, and set to work to make a home,, 
 not a sham castle, a Eoman villa, or an Italian palace. 
 Another reason may have been, that he was his own 
 architect. The old fortalice, like many of the latter 
 middle-age secular buildings of eastern England, had 
 been constructed almost entirely of thin dark-coloured 
 bricks ; these, with stone-dressings for windows and 
 corners, made admirable building materials. The 
 simple plan, an oblong block, was rendered picturesque 
 by three gables at the northern and southern pomts. 
 The plain surfaces of the walls were a mass of jasmine, 
 ivy, and roses^ through wdiose tangle peeped at inter- 
 vals a carved shield, monogram, or grotesque head, 
 which the builder had saved from the old wreck, and 
 had, in defiance of all propriety, persisted in using in 
 his new building, in spite of the incongruousness 
 which, as the art critics of the neighbourliood assured 
 him, would entirely spoil tlie effect of his work. 
 There was one point however, the great hall door 
 under the central gable of the south, and the porch 
 protecting the same, where the designer had poured 
 forth all his cunning. No climbing plant was per- 
 mitted to defile this elaborate piece of chiselmansliip. 
 In the rest of the building mere comfort had been con- 
 sidered. Here had been found a fitting place for the
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 87 
 
 higher instincts of man to shew their superiority 
 without restraint. The ponderous stone work was a 
 mass of herahhy ; every form that the Skhlaugh 
 €oat had assumed — and like other okl things, it had 
 passed through various stages ere it came to maturity 
 — every match that a Skirlaugh had made with an 
 heiress of blood, every shield that she had brought in 
 with her, was duly set forth in all the hard grotesque- 
 iiess of that now well-nigh forgotten picture language 
 which our inaccurate ancestors called the science of 
 heraldry. The shields and crests, Avhich seemed a 
 mere jumble of bad carving to one who did not care to 
 master the riddle, told the whole genealogical history 
 of the house to attentive and instructed eyes. Even 
 the true-love knots, scythes, death's-lien:ds, and war- 
 like trophies, in which the family motto, 
 
 fEore JFaitfjfuIl tfjatt jTortunatc, 
 
 was embedded, had each their appropriate meaning. A 
 paved court cut off the hall from the park beyond ; a 
 fountain, where a leaden sea-god spurted a tiny stream 
 of water about three feet into the air, decorated its 
 centre ; an hydraulic contrivance almost as ugly as its 
 sisters in Trafalgar Square, but considered a mhacle 
 of applied science by the simple rustics around. Two 
 Large cedar trees stood one on each side of the 
 wrought-iron gates, and stone benches, much too high 
 to sit upon, were placed at regukir intervals around 
 the fence wall. Not a flowering shrub, a fruit tree, or
 
 88 EALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 even a weed lent its greenness to mitigate tlie stiff 
 grandeur of this prison-like enclosure. The gardener's 
 art was elsewhere not neglected ; trim pleasiu'e grounds 
 of large extent, in which flowers, fruit, and the Inunbler 
 vegetables of culinary and medical use were mingled 
 in picturesque confusion, not kept rigidly apart, like 
 nobles and burghers at an old German festival, spread 
 on both sides tlie manor. Their style would be con- 
 sidered by many persons of the present day repulsively 
 formal. The long, straight walks and^trim fences of 
 our forefathers having gone out almost as entu'el}' as 
 chain armour. 
 
 At Skirlaugh Manor this mode of producing beauty 
 or ugliness was to be seen in full perfection. From. 
 the outer fence, a compact wall of hornbeam, rose 
 at regular intervals limes of large size, whose heads 
 had from earliest youth been taught to grow, not as 
 forest trees, but alternately into the shapes of globes 
 and p3Tamids. The interior was divided into number- 
 less sections by smaller hedges of yew and box, the 
 upper parts of which the shears of the merciless gar- 
 dener had tortured into the semblance of every animal 
 real or imaginar}-, which had a place in the Skirlaugh 
 heraldiy. The same officious hands had been at work 
 endeavouring to improve on Nature in the lower parts. 
 Here texts of Holy Scripture, scraps from Horace, 
 and quaint mottoes of uncertain origin and very 
 dubious spelling, were carved by the shears into the 
 living walls. The contriver of this stiff pleasaunce had 
 not, however, wasted all his thouG^hts on the fences.
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGir. 
 
 89 
 
 The flower beds shone bright with such autumn flowers 
 as are able to bear our climate, and almost every rich 
 foliaged tree that was then known in Britain, might 
 be seen in full beautj- ; nor had he been unmindful of 
 the duty of providing a central point of attraction. 
 A little sheet of water, covered wdth lilies now in the 
 full glory of their large, sleepy, white and golden 
 flowers, enclosed a miniature island, to whose shores 
 a brightly-painted lattice bridge gave access. In the 
 centre of the island rose an octagonal summer-house 
 of small yellow bricks, each of whose sides was guarded 
 by a molten image of a heathen deity, whose stiff 
 draperies and angular limbs indicated that they were 
 the work of the unknown artist to whom the lord of 
 the mansion owed the fountain in his court. 
 
 Yellow brick may not be the proper material of 
 which to build summer-houses ; the present taste 
 points rather to a turf stack, a bee hive, or a stick 
 heap, as the tj^pe of excellence. In George IV.'s 
 time people of taste preferred a Chinese joss-house, 
 or an Indian pagoda. Greek temples, windmills, and 
 churches of lath and plaster, have aU been tried, and 
 found admirers. Here convenience and beauty of a 
 certain low and cold sort were attained, at least, with- 
 out sham. The mind, if not raised above its own 
 sombre brooding, was not put into a combative atti- 
 tude by an ugly and soulless parody. 
 
 William seated himself in one of the comfortable 
 arm-chairs with which the pleasure-house was fur- 
 nished, and gave himself up to a most uncritically
 
 90 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 happy contemplation of the scene around him. It was 
 certainly beautiful, notwithstanding its grave formality. 
 The windows of the pleasure-house corresponded with 
 the main alleys of the garden, and from several of 
 them might be seen a widely extended and richl}^ 
 varied view. To the east the eye wandered over the 
 long range of the cliffs, now clad in old wood, which 
 had succeeded to the Druid forests of our Keltic pre- 
 decessors, interspersed with new plantations of larch 
 and Scotch fir, and then for miles over a mere bare 
 expanse of rabbit-warren and sheep-walk. To the 
 west the Trent was visible, at intervals, for the last 
 twenty miles of its course, its banks dappled by vil- 
 lages, whose whitewashed cottages shone in the morn- 
 ing sun like snow, and runnmg parallel with its eastern 
 margin for nearly the whole of its course, was that 
 strange strip of sandhill and peat bog which furnished 
 the Yorkshire antiquary, Mr. Abraham de la Pryme, 
 with so man}^ objects for curious speculation. A dull, 
 uninhabited region, where wildfowl played in the 
 meres as unharmed and fearless as if they dwelt in a 
 land where their great enemy, man, had not set his 
 foot ; where the red deer, children of those hunted 
 by Koger Mowbray, the crusader, still maintained a 
 precarious existence, in spite of the guns, dogs, and 
 pitfalls of the neighbouring pot-hunters. Beyond the 
 Trent, stretching far as the eye could reach, was the 
 Isle of Axholme, a little wedge of Lincolnshire, cut off 
 from the rest of the county by a broad, unbridged 
 river, and from Yorkshire by wide marshes, impassable
 
 HALF SKIRL AUGH. 91 
 
 «ven in the driest summers, to all but foot people, 
 whose inhabitants kept up an insulated existence, 
 almost as untrammelled by external law or custom as 
 if The Isle, as its indwellers affectionately called it, 
 were a little republic, like San Marino or Andorra, in- 
 dependent of the empire that surrounded it. The 
 history of some passages in the latter career of this 
 fierce and ignorant people, was not unfamiliar to our 
 hero, on account of diverse law pleas — as the Scotch 
 call them — much quoted in the old books, which had 
 afforded food for many a long talk to his legally-minded 
 uncle. 
 
 We have already made the reader understand, if we 
 have not directly told him, that William SkMaugh 
 was a 3^oung man of imaginative temperament. Such 
 persons, unless their minds have, in early youth, re- 
 ceived some unfortunate bias in politics or theology, 
 or been stained by some evil and therefore degrading 
 j)assion, are usually strongly affected by scener}^ and 
 its associations. These influences would at any time 
 have acted with unusual force upon the young lawyer; 
 but he was now peculiarly susceptible to them. For 
 the first time in his life he was at the home of his race, 
 where every village and hill top, almost every solitary 
 tree and patch of green sward was consecrated in his 
 mind by association with that family on whose dignity 
 in former days and goodness at the present, the rela- 
 tive to whose motherlike kindness his heart most 
 fervently warmed, was never weary of dwelling. What 
 wonder is there, then, that he gave himself up to the
 
 92 HALF SKIIILAUGH. 
 
 full enjoyment of the hour, heedless of the flight of 
 time. He sunk into profound reverie ; the new house 
 passed away from before his eyes ; again the old castle, 
 such as he had seen it in his dreams, stood before him. 
 The old garden was again joyous with the laughter of 
 knights, bright dames, and fair maidens, who had been 
 dust for centuries. So perfect was the illusion that 
 his cousin, Isabell, and Mar}' Morle}', as they tni)ped 
 down the central alley, seemed but part of the vision- 
 ary throng, and it was with a start, if not a blush, 
 that he replied when they accosted him. The dreamer 
 may be forgiven who for a moment thought those two 
 lovely forms but children of air ; so fitly did they cor- 
 respond with the scene around, that a more expe- 
 rienced observer of life than William, might have 
 doubted if the vision were real, Isabell was slightl}' 
 the taller of the two, and of a figure whose grace and 
 suppleness was shown to full advantage by her simple 
 morning costume, untrammelled as it was by the 
 hideous ornaments with which our ancestresses but 
 too often endeavoured to add a charm to beauty, 
 or to take oif the full bitterness of uglmess. Her 
 light-brown hair unsullied b}' powder, fell in long 
 waves over her shoulders. The county dowagers, 
 many of whom hated Isabell for her beauty and her 
 father's politics, and more than all, for the well-known 
 Skirlaugh freedom of tongue, a blessing or curse which 
 both fatlier and daughter had inherited, could only 
 object to her, that beautiful as she must be admitted 
 to be now, her form was too rounded, and that some
 
 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 93 
 
 day or other she would be hke her mother, a cata- 
 strophe which, had it been prophesied in her hearing, 
 would not have alarmed the young lady. Mary Morley 
 was of far slenderer figure, smaller, and therefore 
 perhaps even more graceful in her movements; her 
 animated eyes rendered her countenance, shaded as 
 it was by a profusion of very dark hair, more expres- 
 sive at ordinary times than that of her friend, but the 
 featm-es, though lovel}', were less regular ; and if at 
 times they showed the play of thought and life more 
 readily on the surface, indicated much less width of 
 mind than those of her blue-eyed and more placid 
 companion. 
 
 Unconnected by ties of blood, the girls had lived 
 together since childhood. Though without a particle 
 of arrogance or self-assertion in her nature. Miss 
 Skirlaugh's more continuous strength of will and 
 higher powers of reasoning had produced then* na- 
 tural, though unobserved effect. No one knew, least 
 of all, perhaps, the girls themselves, how entirely 
 Mary was dependent on Isabell for the guidance of 
 her thoughts and feelings on all those* sides of her 
 character wdiere circumstance had not given her in- 
 tense convictions. 
 
 ''If it were night, not breakfast time, I should 
 have thought j^ou were some astrologer watching the 
 heavenly bodies, you were so wrapped in thought when 
 we approached," said Isabell, laughing. 
 
 " My thoughts were of the earth, not of the skies. 
 I was so charmed with the beauty of the scene before
 
 94 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 me, that I think I had forgotten everj^tliing else," 
 replied the visitor. 
 
 "Do you call this beautiful? What, the barren 
 sandhills or the long moor, where my father's people 
 dig their firing; or is it this 2)rim garden that you 
 mean ? Wl\y, j'ou must have seen far better lions and 
 elephants at Exeter Change than these green ones we 
 have to show. But pray don't tell John Dent, our 
 poor old gardener, so, or you'll break liis heart. He 
 thinks his holly monstrosities as far above their living 
 originals as my father does one of the Chevalier's 
 knights of the garter above those of the Elector's 
 making, who wear the dark-blue ribbon "and sit in the 
 stalls at Windsor. I am surprised that 3'ou Avho have 
 seen all the glories of our polished capital, should find 
 anything to admire in this grim old place. The 
 gardens the King — Elector that is — what would my 
 father say if he were here ? — has at Hampton Court, 
 are finer, in our own prim style, than these," answered 
 the lady. 
 
 " You do not know tlie craving we Londoners have 
 to get out of sight and hearing of our dim city, and all 
 that belongs to it. Hampton Court is haunted by the 
 buzz of the town, and by the hundreds of underbred, 
 fussy people, who go there for their holiday. But 
 above all, it is not consecrated to me by memories 
 such as you have here. AVlien I look around me now, 
 I think of those who lived on this spot before Hamp- 
 ton Court was built," answered William. 
 
 " C)h, if your talk is of dead people, I must hand
 
 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 95 
 
 you over to Mr. Callis, our cliaplain. He did not 
 speak a word last night, for he had but just received, 
 when you came, from a friend of his whom he has 
 never seen, but with whom he has exchanged Latin 
 letters for some twenty 3- ears — he is a professor at 
 Copenhagen, but what his name is, though I can spell 
 it I won't venture to pronounce — a book in the old 
 Frisian dialect, of which he has been dreaming half 
 his life. If 3"ou just set him off on pedigrees he'll 
 talk for ever," said Isabell. 
 
 *^I will certainly, through your kind intervention, 
 have some conversation on a subject which it is now 
 the fashion to treat as trivial, but which has great 
 charms for me," replied William. 
 
 " I will promise you that Mr. Callis shall tell you 
 as many anecdotes of our people as would set up the 
 j)rinter of the ' Gentleman's Magazine ' for life ; but 
 then there is one difficulty, when the good gentleman 
 once gets you into his study, and has fairly begun 
 somewhere in Normandy, about a hundred and fifty 
 years before the battle of Hastings, you are a prisoner 
 till he has got through his whole stock, and has told 
 you how my father escaped — through no merit of his 
 own — being hanged in the '45, and how I, his un- 
 worthy daughter, was saved, but last year, from being 
 gored by a bull, through the intervention of our 
 groom, Mr. Robert Drury, alias ' Squire's Bob,' " re- 
 plied Miss Skirlaugh. 
 
 *' The picture you draw is not so fearful but that I 
 am willing to run greater risks for so much instruc-
 
 96 HALF SKIRLAUGir. 
 
 tion," replied the visitor, not a little charmed with the 
 young lady's conversation, so different from that of the 
 priml3^-set dames whom he had occasionally met in 
 London. 
 
 " Well, I have put you on 3'our guard, and will now 
 j)roceed to discharge the mission with which I have 
 been intrusted ; but ere I do so, as I fear I have led 
 you mto a scrape, I will point out a wa}^, if the worst 
 comes to the worst — say if the room should take fire — 
 how you may find a means of escape. Did you ever 
 hear a clock strike itself down ? " said the young 
 lady. 
 
 " No ; and have no idea what it is," replied 
 Wilham. 
 
 " Nor do I know the cause. But this I do know, 
 from sad experience, that a few weeks ago my good 
 mamma, w^ho can seldom trust me or an}' of her other 
 domestics to do what she thinks wants care, was wind- 
 ing up the great clock in the hall. You may have 
 noticed it, or rather lin- — being a useful household 
 drudge, ovr people naturally make her feminine, — she 
 lives in an inlaid ebon}' case, with a stufied heron on 
 the top. My mother had got Jier wound up to the 
 very last curl, when suddenly there came a click, then 
 a buzz, and the clock began very deliberately to strike 
 one — two — three. We hoped when twelve o'clock 
 came that there would be peace ; but no, on she went, 
 loudly, slowly, but unceasingly. ]\Iy father, who was 
 in the little room he calls his oflice, where he keejis 
 guns, fishing-tackle, and such things, was on this
 
 EALF SIvIRLAUGH. 97 
 
 lamentable occasion really veiy busy in making up liis 
 half-year's accounts, and was consequently in a bad 
 temper. When he heard the din he rushed into the 
 hall. A hasty question satisfied him of the nature of 
 the catastrophe that had taken place, and without 
 waiting for his hat or walking-stick, he dived into the 
 innermost recesses of the wood, and did not appear 
 till dinner-time. My good mother is prompt in action. 
 Squire's Bob was at once dispatched on the fleetest 
 horse we have to Wivilb}^, for John Chubb, the clock 
 doctor. When that functionary arrived, he took off 
 the weight, and all was silence. M}^ mamma, whom 
 we are all taught to believe, is as learned in domestic 
 matters as Mr. Callis is in useless knowledge, was 
 abashed, and for three days did not censure either 
 Mary or myself for not knowmg what we hadn't been 
 taught. Should you not like to have been present ?" 
 
 ^' Very much. But how would that experience help 
 me, if I wished to escape from Mr. Callis ?" 
 
 " The case is very simple. Mr. Callis is the clock 
 running down, 3'ou are tired and want to escape. You 
 have got, we will say, into the middle of the Wars of 
 the Roses, and you hear the dinner-bell ring, or jou 
 know that our weekly post has come, and you expect a 
 letter. Or lastly, which is also barely possible, you 
 think the society of Mary Morley and Isabell Skirlaugli 
 who now are, preferable to that of their namesakes who 
 flirted with Edward the Fourth. What you must do 
 then is simply to take the weight off. This can be 
 done the first time the good old soul pauses. Ask 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 P.ALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 him then a question, and in that question contrive to 
 introduce the name of the i)resent Elector of Hanover, 
 or his father, taking care to call them by their English 
 titles. He will be so shocked at obsendng such a 
 defection in you, that you will get no more genealogy 
 till I coax him into a good temper, which I will do 
 whenever you wish for another infliction. But I am 
 forgetting the high and important errand on which I 
 have come. I appear as a humble suppliant, craving 
 mercy," said the bright girl, putting on a comical aii* 
 of dejection. 
 
 " Your words are riddles," responded AVilliam. 
 
 " To come down, then, to the level of common 
 sense," replied the lady, laughing, "the gToom, Eobert 
 ])rur3^, the hero of my deliverance from the bull — . 
 a legend I shall leave you to learn from the historio- 
 grapher of our house — tells me that he met you yester- 
 day at the inn at Merespital; that he didn't know 
 who you were, and was very rude in consequence. He 
 had been from home some days on an errand, and had 
 therefore no idea you were coming here." 
 
 WilHam assured his cousin that latter events had 
 quite eftaced the groom's insolence from his memory. 
 
 *' I am sure he was very insulting, and that he 
 richly deserves the severe reprimand which I have 
 given him. If my father knew of liis misconduct, he 
 would be very seriously offended with the ftiithful 
 fellow." 
 
 **I must add my name, too, to the petition for par- 
 don, Isabell," said Mary Morley. " I believe the
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 99 
 
 man would die for any of us ; but I hope joii have 
 scolded Inm very much. His manners to many people 
 are unbearably insolent. It is evident that he considers 
 himself on a perfect equality with almost evei^body 
 he meets, except the few persons who have the happi- 
 ness to bear the name of Skirlaugh, or those whom 
 they honour Avith their especial protection. He is 
 always very civil to me ; but when he goes to Scalhoe, 
 his conversation is of the most easy and familiar 
 kind." 
 
 " I'm sure I wish mine was. When I am there I 
 never loiow what to say when the few commonplace 
 remarks about fox-hunting, which I always keep at 
 hand, are done. I really cannot, even to win the 
 hearts of your relatives, show an}^ enthusiastic admi- 
 ration for the gentle arts of dog-fighting, badger-bait- 
 ing, or pugilism." 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by the thin, 
 harsh clank of a cracked bell. 
 
 "It] is the call for morning prayer," said Isabell; 
 " come with me, and I will show you our chapel. We 
 are cut off, at present, from worship in our parish 
 church ; but my father is determined we shall not 
 grow up heathens, so he not only keeps us a chaplain, 
 but provides us with daily prayer. If you want to 
 win his affections you will not fail to be a regular 
 attendant." 
 
 They threaded their way through the cross alley's 
 of the garden, and soon found themselves at the 
 chapel-door. It was a circular building ; the remains
 
 100 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 of one of the angle towers of the castle, whose upper 
 part had been battered down, and the lower, consisting 
 of the first and second stones only, accommodated 
 with a high-pitched, overhangmg roof of blue slate. 
 The whole fabric looked much like a small bit of 
 candle which has been put out b}" a large extinguisher. 
 As they entered the doorway, William became aware, 
 for the first time, that Mary Morley had not accom- 
 panied them. 
 
 A modern high-churchman would be not a little 
 startled could he see the chapel in which his represen- 
 tatives worshipped. The nonjurors were fervent and 
 orthodox in faith, but had little idea of the outward 
 and mechanical adjuncts which to some people now-a- 
 days, make up so large a part of religion. The room, 
 as we have said, was circular ; a small segment, just 
 big enough to contain the oblong table which served as 
 an altar, and the desk in which Mr. Callis performed 
 the service, was taken off from the side opposite the 
 door by a thick red cord. The congregation, except 
 the squire and the ladies, sat on wooden benches ; for 
 them was reserved the dignity of arm-chau's, planted 
 immediately in front of the rope. The place was as 
 clean as repeated coats of whitewash could make it, 
 but there was not a single ornament to show that it 
 was devoted to sacred uses.
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 " Sucli powers in medicine slie display'd, 
 The apothecaries rued their sinking trade. 
 And as their shoulders they began to shrug, 
 Sung the soft requiem o'er each gentle drug." 
 
 Polwhele, Old English Gentleman, i. 29. 
 
 The service was very sliort. It consisted of certain 
 prayers selected from the morning office of the 
 English rite, with a few^ additions from the more 
 ancient service-books. No terrors of the Act of Uni- 
 formity hindered Mr. CalKs from making the devo- 
 tions which he conducted, truly embody his own and 
 his hearers' faith. The prayer for the king was not 
 the half-hearted form which the latter nonjurors, as 
 our fathers knev>^ them in Scotland seventy years ago, 
 were wont to use, wherein no names were mentioned, 
 but direct petitions for his Majesty King James the 
 Third, Charles Edward, Prince of Wales, and all the 
 royal family. 
 
 Mrs. Skirlaugh's seat was vacant on the present 
 occasion, and when the famity gathered around the 
 breakfast-table, the mistress of the mansion did not 
 make her appearance. A hasty and somewhat queru-
 
 102 RALF SKIIILAUGH. 
 
 lous inquiry from the squire, drew forth the informa- 
 tion that Dr. Chubb, the Jilsculapius of Wivilby, had 
 that morning, sent an express over to the Manor for 
 certain medical herbs which Madam SkirLaugh was 
 known to possess, both growing in the garden, and 
 dried for use in the still-room, but which he had 
 found absent from his own stores the very moment he 
 needed their use. 
 
 Ralf Skirlaugh was an eminentl}' good-natured man, 
 but he had for the greater part of his life been in the 
 constant habit of enjoying his own way in trifles, and 
 therefore very slight things were wont to ruffle his 
 really very easy temper ; such Avas the strange contra- 
 diction of his nature, that the tender love he bore his 
 wife showed itself quite as often in irritation of voice 
 and manner, when that lady was hindered by house- 
 hold cares, or her own somewhat feeble health, from 
 ministering to his amusement, as it did in the really 
 great sacrifices he was prepared at any moment to 
 make for her comfort. The foult, it must be owned, 
 was not all on the Squire's side. His lady had been 
 accustomed ere her marriage to a home where the 
 maxims of Scotch frugality had been intensified b}" a 
 mother of foreign birth, who while she widened in 
 some respects the naiTow parsimony of the Borders, 
 had added b}^ precept and example man}- an additional 
 link to the heavy chain of household care. But it 
 was not the parsimony of his wife that troubled our 
 Squire ; Madam Skirlaugh was not careful in any mean 
 or niggard sense, but it was the daily, unremitting de-
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 103 
 
 votion to what she regarded as her housewifely duties 
 that sat heav}^ on his soul. The good man had no 
 ideas beyond his age. Had he lived fifty years later, 
 he would probably have felt ashamed that the wife 
 of one of the chief landowners of the northern part of 
 his county should know what was going on in the 
 kitchen, or be learned and efficient in the arts of the 
 seamstress, or the science of household surgery. Such 
 silly modern prejudices did not trouble him a whit, 
 but he was much dependent on his wife for companion- 
 ship, and he felt, not unnaturally, that if the heart of 
 his spouse were less set upon domestic economies he 
 should have more of her society, and that her conver- 
 sation, when she did condescend to talk to him, would 
 be more lively and less in the habit of being deflected 
 in the direction of the pantry. 
 
 The Squire's bad temper on the present occasion 
 was not soothed by a servant presenting him with a 
 letter addressed: — 
 
 , " To my honr^ ffriend, 
 
 '' Kalf Skirlaugh of Skirlaugh Manor, 
 " Esquire." 
 
 The missive bore a magnificently large seal of 
 red wax, on which a baron's coronet was conspi- 
 cuous. The gentleman to whom it was addressed 
 remorselessly shattered this splendid imagery. The 
 l)erusal of the letter produced an efl'ect far from 
 soothing. He glanced it over hastily, folded it up, 
 and put it into his pocket, took it out again, re-read
 
 J04 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 it, examined the broken seal, and tlien burst into a 
 discourse, whether of the nature of a soliloquy or 
 of an address to his daughter it would be hard to 
 say. 
 
 " This fellow," no name had been mentioned by 
 him, " is only equalled in effrontery and cunning by 
 the denseness of his stupidity. Here is a man, sj^rung 
 on all sides except his mother's from the scum of the 
 peoj)le, parading on his shield as many quarterings as 
 though his paternal forefathers had served under the 
 Plantagenets, and putting the three stars of Hansard, 
 the only respectable thing of the sort he has got to 
 brag of, in a corner, where one wants a pair of spec- 
 tacles to see it among the other lying frippery." 
 
 Miss Skirlaugh, perhaps to divert her father's 
 thoughts from his spouse's delinquency, j)erhaps 
 because she was really curious about such nonsense, 
 asked to be permitted to examme the impression. 
 
 ''I think, as a work of art," said she, returning it to 
 her father, " that the coronet is far too big, it makes 
 the whole heavy and ugly, far different from the effect 
 produced from the French and Italian seals I have 
 happened to see, where the coronet, however high the 
 w^earer's rank, is always of small size." 
 
 *^ That would not satisfy the pride of its owner, 
 Bella. He wants you to know he is a real lord, and 
 perhaps thinks that Avill give some dignity to the 
 fantastic zoology below\" 
 
 " I thought, too," said the gu*l, " that a gentleman 
 should have his o-\vn coat only, or at least his own
 
 KALF SKIELAUGH. 105 
 
 and the last grand quartering without addition on 
 his private seal." 
 
 " Of coui'se he should," answered the Squire, pre- 
 l^ared, as his daughter intended, to run off on a 
 favourite hobby. " Of course it is vulgar assumption, 
 like a man sticking esquire or justice of the peace 
 after his own name, for a fellow to put a picture of 
 his whole pedigree on every letter he writes." 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Skirlaugh entered the room ; 
 she probably knew from experience that her husband 
 would be prepared with a string of questions as to her 
 absence, which it would be irritating if not difficult to 
 answer, and therefore, with womanly tact, thought it 
 well to give an account of the reasons that detained 
 her. 
 
 *' I am neither an apothecary, a herbalist, or a 
 market gardener, Mrs. Skirlaugh, and I think it very 
 hard that that impudent fellow, Chubb, should keep 
 my wife from her prayers, spoil my breakfast, and 
 throw me wrong for the whole day, just because he 
 wants some pestilent weed which he might have 
 picked out of the nearest ditch if he had not been too 
 idle to look for it." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear, he could do no such thing," 
 repHed the lady, somewhat tartly, for she felt the 
 value of her own collection of simples was being 
 attacked ; " there is not a single plant of this sort for 
 miles around but the one in our garden." 
 
 *' I will tell John Dent to root it up as soon as I go 
 out, if you will only be good enough to inform me
 
 106 JIALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 where it grows. Better far have one curious weed 
 the less, than be deprived of one's wife's society," said 
 the Squire, angrily, but with a smile as if conscious of 
 his own folly just playing about the comer of his lips. 
 
 "I shall not tell you anything about it, and you 
 would not do such an absurd thing if I did. It is of 
 sovereign use in sprains and bruises," answered Mrs. 
 Skirlaugh, evidently quoting some herbal which she 
 had been that morning consulting. 
 
 " And so I suppose," said the irritating man, now 
 himself in a good temper, but endeavouring strenu- 
 ously to conceal the fact. " And so I suppose because 
 some Wivilby farmer's Idtchen-gud has left the cow 
 unhoppled, "and had her milk-kit kicked over for her 
 idleness, and has therefore pretended to sprain her 
 ankle, to escape a well-merited drubbing from the 
 farmer's wife, I am to be disturbed at my devotions, 
 kept waiting for my breakfast, and deprived of j^our 
 advice when I need it most urgently." 
 
 " The doctor," replied Madam Skirlaugh, '' gives a 
 different account of the accident to yoiu's. He says 
 that one of the poor women at Merespital ahns- 
 house was very much hurt by those people who at- 
 tacked our guest j^esterda}^" 
 
 " Indeed, indeed ; then why, woman, didn't you teU 
 me this at once. This puts a very different face on 
 the affair, and I should have been seriously displeased 
 had you not done all you could for the poor thing. 
 These brutes must be corrected. I will see some of 
 our magistrates about it.'*
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 107 
 
 *' Can you tell me which of the poor old creatures it 
 is ? " inquired Mary. " I know them all." 
 
 Mrs. Skirlaugh intimated that the doctor's billet 
 had mentioned no names. He merely said, a woman 
 at the alms-house, probably, not supposing that any 
 member of the family at the Manor would take any 
 personal interest in tlie sufferer. If so, as doctors are 
 wont to be at times, he was mistaken. 
 
 The Squire's mind was running on other matters. 
 
 "We are all going out for a ride that way this 
 morning, and will make mquiries. We shall perhaps 
 see the Doctor. But now let us put away from us 
 pestles, mortars, simples, and broken bones. Eead 
 this," and he passed or rather flung the big-sealed 
 letter to his wife. " Read it aloud, we may want some 
 legal advice ere we' send an answer." 
 
 The missive was as follows : — 
 
 " Dear Sir, — The uninterrupted friendship of 
 more years than I like to count, makes me bold to 
 ask a favour of you which I could never have thought 
 I should be under the necessity to ask of any one. 
 I have suddenly had a call for the sum of 200 libs. ; 
 the money is wanted urgently, so that I cannot find 
 time to send to Lombard Street for it, and besides 
 the roads are now so dangerous that it is not over safe 
 for the servants of a nobleman, especially one of His 
 Majesty's ministers, to travel with much money in his 
 pocket. I therefore make bold to ask you to lend me 
 the above-named sum, and as I know you can obHge
 
 108 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 me, I feel sure the will will not be wanting, and have 
 therefore enclosed with this a note of hand on stampt 
 paper. The accompt shall be settled when the next 
 interest falls due, either b}^ my paying off the sum 
 with lawful interest thereon, or by adding it to your 
 capital, secured on the Mereflat farm, whichever you 
 may most desire. 
 
 " I am sure you will pardon this trespass from an old 
 friend, whom 3'ou have before encouraged by so many 
 acts of unmerited regard. The gout makes me a stay- 
 at-home while in this damp country, which must 
 excuse me for not having paid my respects to Mrs. 
 Skirlaugh and Miss Isabell, both of whom, I hope, are 
 in good health. 
 
 " Believe me to remain, 
 
 "my dear' Sir, 
 ^ " your much obliged ffriend 
 
 ''and servant to command, 
 
 " BURWOETH. 
 ■ * ' Brackenthwaite Hall, 
 Septemb. 4tli, 175—. 
 
 " There is no news from over sea except what you 
 see in the public prints." 
 
 " What is to be done ? " said the Squire, when his 
 wife had finished reading the epistle. 
 
 The lady mused a moment, probably balancing 
 various contingencies in her mind. She answered by 
 another question: " Who has he sent for the money?'* 
 
 " His agent. The man he employs to take care of 
 that young mohawk. Lord Carlton."
 
 KALF SKIRLAUGH. 109 
 
 ''Brotlierton, the Scotchman. Then the money 
 will be all safe. He is a careful fellow, I hear, and is 
 making great retrenchments at Brackenthwaite. He 
 won't let anybody cheat his master but himself. 
 Therefore, whether he is an honest man or a scamp, 
 we may be sure he is to be trusted with two hundred 
 pounds. You had better oblige his lordsliip," said the 
 lady. 
 
 " Well, so I think ; but I don't like it. I'm not a 
 goldsmith or a banker. If I had a good excuse, I 
 would make one." 
 
 The Squire did not like turning his attention to 
 business of this sort, and threw the above out as a 
 feeler, in the faint hope that his wife might fur- 
 nish him with one. He was destined to be disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 The money was counted out, and a short letter 
 concocted for the i)eer, which was sealed with the 
 smallest and least heraldic seal which could be fomid, 
 after a considerable search. They were handed over 
 to Mr. Brotherton, who, during the interval, had re- 
 mained in an apartment far away from the master and 
 his guests. That functionary had seen a good deal of 
 life of various sorts in his time, and was far too much 
 of a philosopher to be in any way offended with the 
 cold and formal manner which the Squire thought fit 
 to put on, and which sat on him so very badly, as he 
 counted the money out for him. 
 
 Philosophers have often a taste for natural scenery, 
 and still more frequently for studymg those portions
 
 110 EALF SKIRLAUGH, 
 
 of the globe where the hand of man lias hni:>roved on 
 nature. There were several ways out of Skiiiaugh 
 Park ; the nearest for him lay in a southerly direction, 
 but he took, from preference, that which led to the 
 east, and gave him a view of a great portion of the 
 garden. As he passed through the gate into the lane, 
 he came upon " Squire's Bob," who was riding in the 
 same direction, exercising one of his master's horses. 
 The two men recognised each other; neither were 
 adverse to conversation, and they jogged on for per- 
 haps half a mile in company, each avoiding anv allu- 
 sion to the place or company in which they had last 
 met. 
 
 *' From the size of the house and grounds I should 
 think your master must keep a good many servants, 
 Mr. Robert," said the Scot, carelessly. 
 *' Yes, a goodish few," replied the groom. 
 *' How many grooms and gamekeepers, now ?" 
 " Bless th}^ heart, I don't laiow. We've as many as 
 we want ; sometimes more, sometmies less," answered 
 Bob, very reluctant to throw any light on his stable 
 econom3\ 
 
 "And gardeners the same, I suppose ? " 
 " No, we're iixtish there. There's old John Dent, 
 the head man. Bill Havercroft, Dick Stocks, and 
 maybe a threepenny lad or two in a busy time." 
 " Are John Dent and you on good terms ? " 
 ''Yes, fairish. He's a cross cantankerous old tyke, 
 but we get on midlin'. He's lame, and can't get often 
 to Wivilby, and I go alm'st every day, so I buy his
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. Ill 
 
 things for liim, and sometimes gives him a bit of 
 'bacca. He's strange and fond o' chewin'," answered 
 the groom." 
 
 "Ah, well, I had a reason for asking. My eldest 
 brother — I come of a working family, you see, Mr. 
 Drmy — is head gardener at Dalkeith in Scotland. 
 He has heard of the superb grounds at Skirlaugh, and 
 is very anxious for me to write to him some account of 
 them. Thinks he can get useful hints, you know, for 
 the improvements he is about to make. Now I don't 
 like taking the liberty of asking yom- master such a 
 favour, but I think you could manage it for me. 
 Here's a guinea, just see what a portion of it mil do 
 in soothing Mr. Dent's temper, and keep the change 
 till I ask for it. I ma}^, perhaps, be over at Skirlaugh 
 in a short time, and shall trust to you to manage this 
 little matter for me quietly," said the agent. 
 
 Squire's Bob had listened in grave attention to this 
 last speech, and drunk in not only every syllable of 
 the words, but the whole tone and manner. He had a 
 profound distrust of his questioner. There were 
 nevertheless obvious reasons why he should not refuse 
 the request point blank. 
 
 ** John Dent's a queer fellow, a very queer fellow ; 
 I a'most doubt if he'll come to. He hates Scotchmen 
 worse than I do small beer," replied he, pocketing the 
 guinea. 
 
 *' He must be strangely prejudiced. Couldn't you 
 say it was for a friend of mine, the gardener to an 
 Earl, who lives in Devonshire ? "
 
 112 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 "Well, yes, I maybe could. I think I can come 
 romicl the old rogue somehow. I'll do all I can for 
 you. But might I be so bold as just to ax, by way of 
 talk like, if them nice young men as you was with at 
 Merespital is likely to come wi' you next time you're 
 here? 'Cause if they do, they mun tread their 
 shoes very straight, or there'll be a row on with oui* 
 Squire." 
 
 The Scot was evidently startled at the question. 
 
 " Nay, I'm not a curious chap ; don't say no'ut if 
 you don't like. If you never tell no'ut, you Imow, you 
 can't hev your tongue bont for backbiting, as my oud 
 grandmother used to say. I'm a strange still chap 
 mysen; that's how I've kep' my place so long," added 
 the groom. 
 
 Brotherton had had time to concoct a reply while 
 Mr. Drury was enunciating his grandparent's wise 
 saw. It was to the effect that he didn't know; aU 
 depended upon circumstances. 
 
 " Well, yes, just so," added the groom ; '' cii'cum- 
 stances is queer things ; they are, as I saj^, just for all 
 the world like stirrup leathers ; if a little man wants 
 to ride you mun draw 'em up to th' last hole, so that 
 there is, in a way o' talkin', no circumstances at all ; 
 but if a big chap gets on, he can do wi' nearly any 
 length of circumstances. If yom* chaps is big enough, 
 it'll not be circumstances as '11 hinder 'em." 
 
 There was an unsatisfactory tone in this last remark 
 which seemed to imply that the groom was awai-e of 
 certain intentions on the part of one of his employers
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. , 113 
 
 which he felt pretty certain had been kept a profound 
 secret. 
 
 "Well! whether the other gentlemen come to visit 
 the Manor or not, you may make sure of my giving 
 you a call some day, to have a peep at the gardens," 
 added the wily agent, carelessly. 
 
 " Honour bright," said Bob ; and leaning over in 
 his saddle till his mouth almost touched the ear of his 
 companion, he said, in a clear whisper, *' You'd better 
 leave them other chaps at home, circumstances '11 be 
 ower much for 'em. Our 'Squire rides wi' long stirrup 
 leathers : " and then he added, in a loud voice, "Why, 
 if there isn't some o' them Bozzel chaps a nippin' up 
 our rabbits." He wheeled his horse, leaped the low 
 sod wall that separated the highway from a warren, 
 and cantered off gaily in the direction of the Manor. 
 When he arrived there the party were mounting their 
 horses in the stable court of the mansion. The house 
 itself was, as we have said, a modern and regular 
 building, not so the out-houses. Many of these were 
 formed out of the castellated outworks of the old for- 
 tress, while others had been built, here and there, just 
 as fancy dictated, to minister to the out-door wants of 
 the successive owners of the place. Thus, whilst some 
 had the appearance of great age, others showed by 
 their less careful masonr}^, the lighter tints and greater 
 thickness of their bricks, that their origin was due to 
 a Yerj recent period. Here and there, to fill up a 
 corner, or provide for some hasty necessity, small 
 turf-covered sheds arose, whose walls were formed of 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 RALF SKIRLAUGK. 
 
 bundles of furze cut from the neighbouring moorland. 
 Although this large collection of offices had grown up 
 without any regard to regularity, most of the buildings 
 stood in some sort of proximity to a large irregular 
 court known as the back-yard. This area was paved 
 with round cobbles. It was scrupulously clean, and 
 free from weeds. The whole Skirlaugh family were 
 fond of pet animals. At times this court was, as those 
 who had no sympathy with their taste averred, more 
 like a wild beast show than the entrance to a Christian 
 man's dwelling. In the centre, if centre could be 
 found for such an irregular inclosure, stood a lofty 
 iir-tree divested of its branches, at the top and 
 bottom of which were the town and country resi- 
 dences of Jenny the monkey. Near, but just out of 
 the reach of that mischievous lady's chain, were the 
 rabbit and ferret houses ; and in cages, hanging on 
 each side of the doorway, were canaries, parrots, and 
 other birds which had, or were believed to have, the 
 faculty of song, or the power of imitating the tones of 
 the human voice. Two burly ravens stalked gravely 
 about among the plebeian rout of ducks, chickens, and 
 pigeons, who made the place their own. They were 
 the onl}^ animals who dared to venture within the 
 magic circle of the monkey's chain, at Avhose strangely 
 human gestures of anger even the dogs were afraid. 
 The dogs, to do them justice, should have a chapter to 
 themselves ; their number and varieties must at j)re- 
 seht go imrecorded. It was really one of the chief 
 amusements of the Squire to watch his pet animals ;
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 115 
 
 but he had, like some wiseacres whom we have known 
 in these da^^s, contracted an opinion that it was below 
 his dignity to do so. He, therefore, readily excused 
 himself by lajdng the blame on his wife, who was quite 
 able and willing to bear it. 
 
 The ii'ritation of the morning had blown over ; the 
 Squu'e, and therefoi'e the whole party, were in high 
 good-humom\ Mrs. Skirlaugh had determined to re- 
 main at home ; she occasionallj^ took horse exercise, 
 but it was very rarely that she accompanied her hus- 
 band in his excursions, for he had a wicked delight in 
 exciting the good lady's nervous fears by conducting 
 her on the most uneven paths, and at a pace far more 
 rapid than was, as she said, suitable for her age and 
 position. By which shallow equivocation she believed 
 she kept from the w^orld the true state of her feelings 
 as completely as the hunted rabbit thinks it has con- 
 cealed its panting body from pursuing dogs when it has 
 hidden them from its own sight by burying its head in 
 a tuft of grass. 
 
 I 2
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 *' Vacui sub umbra 
 Lusimus." Horatius. 
 
 " Here is a siglit for a man to see," exclaimed the 
 Squire, as he pointed with his riding-whip to the 
 monkey, the ravens, the birds in the cages, and half a 
 dozen dogs which were basking in the smi beams. 
 " Since Noah's ark cast anchor, do you think any one 
 man has ever been troubled with such a collection of 
 beasts, wild and tame, as IMadam Skiiiaugh inflicts 
 on me ? " It was his habit, when in good temper, to 
 call his Avife by the popular term INIadam — the title 
 given her b}^ the peasantry. '' She has a perfect craze, 
 mania, infatuation for such like dumb beasts. It be- 
 gan with flowers ; then she took to dogs : — 
 
 * * ' When witli Bologna's lap-dog soft supplied, 
 Her soul iinsated for a monkey sigb'd, 
 And with tlie prating of a magpie blest, 
 A paroquet her longing hopes cai'est.' 
 
 I fear the arrival of a lion soon, and have not a doubt 
 in the world that when the restoration takes place,
 
 PtALF SiailLAUGH. 117 
 
 and King James asks lier what favour he can grant 
 as a reward for her husband's loj^alty, she will say, 
 * May it please your Majesty, I should like a couple of 
 elephants.' " 
 
 "You need not be under any alarm, papa, that the 
 king should ask such an unfortunate question, the 
 well-known gratitude of the Stuarts makes it quite 
 certain that his majesty will have ascertained, without 
 asking, what reward is most suitable for a family so 
 distinguished for its devotion," said Miss Skiidaugh. 
 
 The Squire was at this moment plajdng with the 
 monkey, and may be presumed not to have noticed the 
 sarcasm. Had any one else ventured on such a dis- 
 loyal piece of impertinence, it would not, we may be 
 sure, have passed without a sharp rebuke. - 
 
 The departure of the cavalcade seemed a sign for 
 idleness among servants and w^orkpeople. Trim female 
 heads — presumably those of housemaids and seamster- 
 women, with whom the place was abundantly supplied 
 — peered from many a lattice. The helpers in the 
 stable, the carpenters in the woodyard, even the weed- 
 ing boys in the garden, gathered in knots, perched 
 themselves on the top bars of gates or on the ridges of 
 walls to watch what to them was no uncommon sight. 
 The heads disappeared, the gates and coping stones 
 became suddenly unoccupied, and the saws grated with 
 renewed vigour on the appearance of Madam Sku*- 
 laugh. Her question, " Can ye not find aught else to do 
 than to spend the morning gazing at dogs and horses, 
 Jemmy, when the pigeon-house floor hasn't been swept
 
 118 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 for a week? " was addressed to one of tlie young gar- 
 deners Avliom Squire's Bob had called "threepenny 
 lads ; " it was felt to have a much wider application. 
 
 The retainers may be pardoned for resting fi-om 
 their labours to watch the riding party. It was a 
 pretty sight. First of all went the Squu-e and his 
 guest ; the former mounted on a large black horse, 
 and dressed in a half-military, half-spoi-tmg costume, 
 his hat looped up Avith a white rose, not the manufac- 
 ture of the artist who had supplied that needful article 
 of dress but culled that morning from the tree. His 
 sword by his side, silver-mounted pistols in the hol- 
 sters at his saddle bow, a gold dog-whistle hanging 
 from his button-hole, and a heavy long-thonged riding 
 whip in his hand, he seemed the very picture of a 
 modern cavalier, a man fit for an}^ desperate soldierly 
 adventure, if the rude game of war could be played, as 
 his predecessors had so bravely but vainl}- tried to 
 play it, with the mirth, dash, and wild jollity of a stag 
 hunt, but utterly unfit for those slower, more calcu- 
 lating and deeper laid schemes of butchery whicli a 
 wider knowledge of the science of warfare had now 
 long rendered needful. 
 
 The two ladies followed. Miss Skirlaugh was a 
 splendid horsewoman, her light- coloured, tight-fitting, 
 riding-dress showed to perfection her beautiful figure. 
 Mary Morley's habit of somewhat darker tint was 
 looped up with white rosettes. No political badge 
 was to be distinguished on the dress of Tsabell. The 
 girls, while loving as sisters, diftered nuich in thought
 
 KALF SKIRLAUGH. 119 
 
 and feeling. Mary was a Roman Catholic, tlie 
 daughter of a man who had given up his fortune 
 and the whole energy of his life to the cause of 
 the Eoyal fugitives, and was an exile himself, under 
 sentence of death for his devotion. She threw her- 
 self with all the fervency of a deeply religious but 
 somewhat narrow intellect into the caiise for which 
 her father was a distinguished sufferer. To her it 
 was an act of duty to wear on her person the badge of 
 the fallen dynasty, and to say or do nothing even in the 
 lightest conversation that should seem to imply that 
 there was anything on earth dearer to her than the 
 hope of seeing the Roman Catholic line restored. In 
 the eyes of such a person, the imaginative side of 
 the contest had no charms. The half-dreani}^, half- 
 pretended chivalry, which made so many people talk 
 treason, when no sacrifices were requu'ed to be made, 
 was onl}" one degree less distasteful to her ardent tem- 
 perament than the actions of those sordid plotters, 
 who by using its forms to cover their own meanly self- 
 interested manoeuvres, had done so much towards the 
 ruin of the cause she loved. 
 
 Tales of wild adventures are ill calculated to amuse 
 those whose early lives have been scorched b}^ the 
 fires of civil war. AYlien the Squire was detailing with 
 delight some strange accident that had befallen friend 
 or foe in the Forty-Five, expatiating on the revels of 
 Holy Rood, in which he had participated, or the rout 
 at Preston Pans, stories of which he had heard from 
 the mouths of a hundred of the hej^oes of that fruitless
 
 120 EALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 victory, lier mind would revert in sickened horror to 
 the butcheries of Kennington Common and Carlisle. 
 At such moments the brave men who had perished 
 there by a doom w^e cannot now bring ourselves to 
 contemplate, to gratify the revengeful lust for blood of 
 a terrified and heartless clique, would arise before her. 
 A laughable adventure, or the scrap of some Jacobite 
 melod}", which made Isabell's eyes sparkle with 
 delight, only brought to her mind the mart^T-death of 
 one she had known well — her father's earliest and 
 dearest friend — whose hands she could now almost 
 feel toying with her glossy locks as they did in child- 
 hood, when she sat upon his knee to hear him tell of 
 the holy and beautiful things he had seen in Eome. A 
 shudder near akin to physical torture would run 
 through her frame when some light jest called up 
 before her that pale heroic face, of which all that was 
 now left was a white skull, that the savagery of those 
 who. ruled still condemned to remain bleaching on 
 Temple Bar. 
 
 Two grooms in the green livery of the family came 
 next, and in their charge half-a-dozen dogs, conspi- 
 cuous among whom was Milo, a large blood-hound, 
 the property of Isabell, but an especial favourite with 
 her father. 
 
 The path they followed was not a highway ; nothing 
 with wheels could have travelled upon it, but for 
 horsemen it w^as smooth and level. For a short 
 distance their course lay under the shade of a dense 
 coppice of hazel, yew and maple, the low uniformity of
 
 " RALF SKIRLAUGII. 121 
 
 ivliicli was broken here and there by hirge oaks, the 
 growth of many generations. The riders soon 
 emerged on the brow of the hill ; with one consent all 
 reined in their horses, to admire what is in its owai 
 style of beauty one of the loveliest prospects in 
 England. 
 
 '* There, Cousin William, you've nothing like this 
 to show in London. What have you to see from Eich- 
 mond Hill compared to what I can show you here. 
 See, look to the north-w^est. No, not there, a little 
 more this way, just beside the smoke ; that little 
 point 3^ou see in the distance is York Minster — forty 
 miles away — and now, if you like to venture your neck 
 by climbing into the top of one of these oaks, j^ou'll 
 see the spu'es of our own big church at Lincoln, thirty 
 miles in the other direction. We cannot see them 
 down here for the trees, but I have done so many a 
 time when I was a boy, and could tumble about in the 
 branches as lightly as Jenny does when she breaks 
 her chain. I once prevailed on Jem Nobbins, an 
 Oxford scholar, who wrote a stupid book called A 
 Tractate of Natural Beauty to ascend, and I never 
 was more frightened in my life. Thought we should 
 have had a coroner's inquest. Wlien he got about 
 fifteen feet from the ground he fell down, just for all 
 the world lilce a pig of lead. Un gross saulmon cle 
 plomh, as my good friend, Master Fran9ois Rabelais, 
 w^ould say. I am not a scholar. Cousin William, 
 as you must have found out, but there are three 
 books which I do read, my bible and prayer-book for
 
 122 RALF SKIRLAUGK. 
 
 my devotion as a good Protestant ought, and tlie 
 Vanities of the French Doctor for my amusement. I 
 speak French ahominahly, for I am out of practice, 
 but I can read the old jester till my eyes water. 
 Addison, Dick Steele, or the dirty Dean of Dublin 
 were nothing to him. If you don't know French you 
 should learn, if for no other reason than that you may 
 be able to laugh with me at my old companion's 
 iokes. I have carried him in ni}- pocket about with 
 me for thirty years, and he should be buried ^vith me 
 if I did not think that Madam Skirlaugh would object 
 to his company in the family vault. She's a serious 
 jierson, and has no more idea of a joke than poor 
 Nobbins had. Well, as I was saying, Nobbins 
 plumped down from the second arm of this tree just 
 where we are, and I thought he would never have 
 spoken word more. We got him laid lengthwise on a 
 gate for all the world like a corpse, and carried him 
 home. My wife gave him strong waters, and admi- 
 nistered all manner of bodily consolations in the way 
 of liniments, embrocations and plasters. "\Mien at 
 last he came round, I made Mr. Callis write a Latin 
 inscription, setting forth, with many a flower}^ twist, 
 that here Nobbins fell. It was to have been engraved 
 on a stone, and set up on the very spot as an eternal 
 memorial, but before the stone-cutter could get it 
 finished, Nobbins, ratted — ratted, went over to the 
 damned Whig crew, took their dirty oaths, and ac- 
 cepted as a reward for his apostacy a fellowship at 
 Scrope College, Oxford. The inscription would have
 
 EALF SKIRL AUGH. 123 
 
 been a merry jest, but I never talk about it now, for I 
 have a rule, wliicli I would have you to know, William, 
 that I never joke any more with a person who has 
 seriously oifended me. But I've kept. the stone, and 
 have vowed that my very first act, as soon as the resto- 
 ration comes about, shall be to have it fixed over the 
 gate of his own college. I will go all the way to Oxford 
 myself to see the thing accomplished, and will take 
 Barsabas Brown, my own mason, with me, to do the job. 
 You see those white houses over the Trent, just where 
 the sun is shining on the curl of the river, that's Culver- 
 ness, in the Isle of Axholme, and many a stout tussle 
 have the Isle men had there with the French and 
 Dutch interlopers, who came against their will to 
 drain their commons and spoil the wild duck shooting. 
 The Skirlaughs always took the side of the natives 
 against the foreign invaders. The matter is nearly 
 settled now. Just a riot now and then, a bank cut, 
 and a few hundred acres of plough-land drowned, 
 here and there, perhaps, an annoying person of the 
 new order ducked in one of his own d3^kes ; but 
 nothing serious, as it was in the old time, and I'm 
 very glad of it, for, you see. Madam Skirlaugh, 
 through her mother, who was heiress of one of these 
 settlers, is owner of some of the reclaimed — that is 
 stolen — lands, and I should be much troubled in ni}^ 
 mind whether to go according to family custom or the 
 way my own interest lies. I suppose I should take 
 the former, and have a quarrel with my wife, who has 
 a great aftection for the Culverness cornlands. The
 
 124 HALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 hollow, almost at our feet, where you see the smoke 
 is our brick pit. I burn bricks there every summer." 
 And here the garrulous gentleman ran off into a 
 long account of his bricks and brickmaking, which, 
 diverging into numberless anecdotes of persons and 
 things in the neighbourhood, occupied William Skir- 
 laugh's attention until they had proceeded some two 
 or three miles on their journe}'. The fantastic talk of 
 his host was certainly amusing in itself, and to one 
 who was fond of studying the effects of local circum- 
 stances on human character, had the charm of throw- 
 ing considerable light upon the habits and thoughts 
 of a kind-hearted, but somewhat selfish and eccentric 
 person, whom a life of affluence, cut off from equals, 
 and almost worshipped by his own people, had 
 rendered, in most of his ideas, and some of his 
 actions, as despotic as the kings of that weak race for 
 wdiose children he was prepared to lay down his life, 
 if that sacrifice should be called for in carrying out 
 his own wild plans of insurrection. Entertaiinng as 
 the gossip was, while it had the charm of freshness, 
 William would have much preferred that the ladies 
 should have mingled in the conversation. Such 
 was not the Squire's will ; he preferred a "mono- 
 logue, and they were far too well trained to thwart his 
 wishes. There are, however, breaks of continuity in 
 all things. Even Ralf Skirlaugh himself sometimes 
 interrupted the flow of anecdote and political vitupera- 
 tion for the sake of a few minutes' chat with a game- 
 keeper or tenant ; on these occasions William found a
 
 EALF SiaRLAUGH. 125 
 
 deliglitful relief in the sparkling conversation of 
 Isabell. 
 
 The party had just crossed over a ford, where a tiny 
 stream of water found its way to the Trent, between 
 huge banks of sand, when a turn brought them close 
 to the abode of a person we have met before. The 
 nose, no less than the eyes of the visitors, were in- 
 formed of the nature of Mr. Stuttmg's business. That 
 person's gaunt form was to be seen to great advantage 
 as he followed his daily work. 
 
 If the reader has ever happened in childhood to 
 become acquainted with one of the many early editions 
 of Paradise Lost — the ninth for instance — where a very 
 dull artist, whose name has happily perished, has tried 
 his best to set before him a most unpoetical ideal of 
 the ruler of the underworld, he will, unless a very 
 unimaginative person himself, call it distinctly to his 
 recollection. Some such a figure as Stuttmg must 
 have been before the engraver's eyes when he made his 
 sketch of Lucifer, so lilve was the tanner in his outward 
 form to that fellow's miserable work. 
 
 The ladies were requested to stay outside the gate of 
 the home garth ; the Squire and his companion care- 
 fully threaded their way among the tan-pits with which 
 it was almost entirel}" occupied. By the side of one of 
 these stood the tanner, his head covered by a tightly- 
 fittmg skull-cap, the upper part of his body clad in 
 a coat, from which the tails had been severed, 
 reducing it by that process to the configuration of a 
 school-boy's round jacket. His legs were bare to con-
 
 126 HALF SKIRLAU(;iI. 
 
 siderably above the knees, and liad assumed by iVequent 
 exposure to the elements a bruwn tint not much 
 different in coh)ur from that of tlie water in wliich he 
 soaked his liides. When tlie visitors Mi)proached he 
 was occupied in drawing, with the aid of a long 
 three-pronged fork, a number of half-tanned skms from 
 the depths of one of the pits. The stench that his 
 territories gave off at ordinary times was far from 
 pleasant. AVhen however the deposits were disturbed, 
 it was increased almost beyond the endurance of any 
 one who had not become accustomed to it by long 
 habit. Stutting, tliough evidently aware of their 
 approach, made no pause in his labour. 
 
 " Why, John, your place gets to stink worse and 
 worse, every time I come near you. Vou'll be having 
 the plague here some day, man," exclaimed the Squire 
 as he rode up. 
 
 '' The plague's sent where it's wanted. It's not 
 cow-hides, but God Almighty, that chastises men for 
 their sins," replied the tanner, leaning on liis trident. 
 
 " Well, well, I won't argue with you — you're too 
 much for me when you begin with divinity. I must 
 send Mr. Callis to 3'ou when I want to convert you. 
 If your arguments failed to make him sound a retreat, 
 you could soon raise such a stink as would drive him 
 from the field. By the bye, they tell me the pond at 
 Merespital stinks almost as bad as your tan-yard, if a 
 body, be thrown into it." 
 
 A grim twinkle of the eyes showed itself for a mo- 
 ment like a glimmer of summer liglitning on the hard
 
 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 127 
 
 features. ''I want nobody to convert me. I would 
 gladly, how gladly God knows, convert you, Ealf Skir- 
 laugh, and them that dwell in your house from the dark 
 night of " 
 
 '' Yes, 5^es, exactly, I am sure you would," broke in 
 the Squire, who though sufficiently unmerciful in his 
 own prosiness, shrunk from the long Calvinistic 
 harangues of Stutting with a dread of one who had 
 frequently been under torture. " AVe came to thank 
 you warmly for the brave help you gave yesterday 
 when my cousin was attacked by those young curs who 
 are kenneled at Lord Burworth's." 
 
 " Then you've lost your labour, for as I told the 
 young man, I want no thanks for what I do. It was 
 not to serve him but my Master that I drubbed the 
 cowards. Do you think it would be fitting for John 
 Stutting, when light has been vouchsafed unto him, to 
 let those children of darkness smite travellers on the 
 highway. God givetli not his grace in full measure to 
 those wdio are loth to use it. No, no, I will not tell 
 you as your flatterers would, that it was because his 
 name was Skirlaugh that I helped him. I will tell you 
 that I would have done the same for any packman or 
 beggar that trudges on the higliwa3\" 
 
 " That's no reason, my good man, why we shouldn't 
 be grateful. Help is help, and it's all the better when 
 it comes from a sense of dut}'. You're not a flatterer, 
 but an honest man, though hard of tongue." 
 
 " Don't talk of duty, what duty do I owe an3^where ? 
 Talk of grace, or, carnally minded as you are, talk of
 
 128 RALF SiaPcLAUGH. 
 
 natural love and kindness such as heathen negroes, 
 Greeks, and Komans have shown to one another. No, 
 I am no flatterer, but you would like me better if I 
 were, if I did as other men do. If I touched my hat 
 when I meet you or your wife, called you squii-e, and 
 her madam. Because I tell joii the truth, you say^ — 
 Ah, poor Stutting, he's a good fellow enough but 
 crazy, and call me a Fifth ^Monarchist, a Quaker, and 
 Independent fanatic, or by some one of the other foul, 
 new made names by which the men of this world have 
 taken of late to miscall Christians. Do you think that 
 the lip, the hat, and the knee service, that the j^oor 
 creatures here about give you, is worthy of a man's 
 caring for, who knows there's an everlasting burning 
 hell just under the green grass beneath his feet. No, 
 no, Kalf Sku'laugh, if you knew the things that I 
 could tell you, j^ea even what the letter of Scripture 
 sa3^s, you would be as heedless whether men called you 
 squire or not, as I am whether the bairns that i)lay at 
 taw in Wivilby town street say when I pass — * There 
 goes John Stutting, or, there goes our tanner.' " 
 
 The Squire, although sufficiently gratified by the 
 social deference which his neighbours showed was by 
 no means inclined to be irritated by Stutting's freedom. 
 He would have shrunk from democracy with the loath- 
 ing of a cotton lord had it come before liim in any 
 dangerous shape, but in the grotesque form that it 
 assumed in the person of the tanner, it was amusing 
 without being in the least degree dangerous. The 
 extreme opinions wliich Stutting lield on the one side
 
 RALP SKIRLAUGH. 129 
 
 tallied almost exactly with the extreme on the opposite. 
 The doctrine of the divine right of kings was not more 
 strongly ox^posed to existing institutions than was the 
 Antinomianism of the peasant. Both were anxious to 
 upset the present government ; both believed such a 
 work not only possible but inevitable ; and both looked 
 forward to building up on its ruins an edifice which 
 should completely embody their own ideas. 
 
 " If you'd not come here this morning I should 
 have walked over to see you after work. I must have 
 some correction done about those young Morleys," 
 said the tanner ; " and as you know more of the laws of 
 man than I do, whose heart has been mainly set on the 
 knowledge of the law of God, I want you to give me 
 some advice." 
 
 " Why, what's the matter now?" inquii'ed the Squire 
 in no very easy tone, for these said young Morleys 
 were in a certain sense persons for whom he was 
 responsible, and he knew them to be by no means 
 amiable neighbours. 
 
 " There are two or three things the matter," said 
 the tanner. " The old man never looks after nowt, 
 he's getting past it, and mostty spends his time 
 by the fire side, drinking. He leaves every mortal 
 thing to his sons, mostly to Jim, the eldest. Now 
 their land joins mine, there's only the beck divides 
 'em, but liis is in Scalhoe parish and mine is in 
 Wivilby. Just at the end of tliis garth, very nigh 
 opposite the house, there was a little point of my land 
 run out into the beck. The commissioners of sewers, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 when they made the beck wider, axed me if they might 
 cut througli this bit to make the watercourse straight, 
 and I let 'em, you see ; so it's now a little island not 
 worth sixpence, for it's all sand and stones. But I've 
 put a foot-bridge over to please my daughter Bessie, 
 and she has set it with flower roots. AVell, Jim Mor- 
 ley says as it lays past the mid stream, it's their 
 land ; and every now and then the fellow comes when 
 I'm away, and treads down all the things." 
 
 " Jim Morley's a fool, John, as I will show him 
 when next I fall in with him. When I've talked to 
 him about it, I don't think he'll trouble you again. If 
 he does, you've a clear case in law." 
 
 " He doesn't care two pence about the bit of a roiik 
 o' cobble stones and sand. It's all done to aggravate 
 Bessie, because he thinks if he plagues the lass, that 
 vexes me. They're a bad lot, young and old, little and 
 big, the whole name of 'em ; they hate me because 
 they're Papists," rejomed the tanner, with the conscious 
 superiority which his unimpeachable Protestantism 
 gave him. 
 
 " He's a siUy fellow, I know, but it isn't Poper}^ that 
 makes a fool of him. Many Papists are sensible, kind- 
 hearted i)eople. He can't get on. with you because you 
 won't let him kill things on your land. It's a pity — a 
 great pity — to see a man who should be a gentleman 
 spending his time in doing badly the work of a game 
 keeper." 
 
 " I won't have him or an}" one else killing God's 
 harmless creatures for sport, where I can hinder 'em,'^
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 131 
 
 exclaimed Stiitting fiercely, giving emphasis to liis 
 words by digging the prongs of his trident violently 
 into the earth at his feet. 
 
 " I don't agree with you, John, as you know, as to the 
 sinfulness of sporting, but I do wish very much these 
 young fellows could be taught to respect the rights of 
 their neighbours. You are not the only sufferer. I 
 have told them frequently that they would displease 
 me very much if they IdUed or chased the wild deer, 
 and 3^et when my back is tm-ned, even in breeding 
 time, they are continually after them," said the 
 Squire. 
 
 *' Theii' dogs are such heavy lumbering brutes, that 
 they don't catch many ; but thej^'re never- easy when 
 they're not after them, unless they're serving the devil 
 at a horse-race, a bull-baiting, or a cock match. My 
 daughter feeds the poor things, and they would be as 
 tame as her hens, if it wasn't for Jim and his brothers, 
 and the pack of Wivilby lads he has with him. It's 
 only last Sabbath was a fortnight, when the faithful 
 remnant wdio worship in my house were at prayer, 
 that the whole gang ran hallooing close past, like 
 so many devils chasing a damned soul, and all 
 because they had a hare in chase. It would do a 
 l)ower of good if I was to drop one or two of 'em into 
 one of these pits, and let 'em soak for say twenty 
 minutes. I don't see why it shouldn't be as good 
 sport for me as hunting is for them." 
 
 We presume the last remark was meant in grave 
 irony, — the only sort of jest in which the Independent 
 
 K 2
 
 132 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 ever indulged. Mr. Skii-laugh was not sure that it 
 was not in earnest, and took no little trouble to explain 
 the evil results which would follow from such a course. 
 
 As they rode away by a route different to that by 
 which they had entered the garth, they passed the 
 island garden, where Jim Morlej^'s taste for wanton 
 mischief had been displaj^ed so cruelly. It was co- 
 vered with a profusion of Michaelmas daisies, sun- 
 flowers, marigolds, red and white double daisies, 
 honesty, lad-love-lass, and those other common flowers 
 which are the favourites of the English cottager. 
 Signs of the depredator's hand were visible, though 
 the damage that had been done was repaired or con- 
 cealed as much as possible. Elizabeth Stutting, the 
 girl to whom the little patch owed its cultivation, 
 was standing in its midst ; she had been interrupted 
 in her work by the ladies of the party, who were re- 
 ceiving from her lips a vivid account of the ill deeds of 
 Master Jim. She was a strong, fair-haired comitrj^ 
 lassie, the picture of good health, with face, hands, 
 and arms embronzed by exposure to the sunshme. 
 
 The Squire greeted her kindl}-, listened with atten- 
 tion to her lamentations, promised to lecture her tor- 
 mentor, and to send her some barlej^ for the deer she 
 was endeavouring to tame, and rode away gaily at the 
 head of his cavalcade, leaving one human soul much 
 the brighter for the few kind words he had spoken. 
 
 There are hundreds of men and women in this 
 world who are prepared to make great sacrifices of 
 time, money, or comfort for their fellow- creatures, but
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 133 
 
 how very few there are who will divert themselves 
 from their own thoughts for a minute or two to talk 
 kindly to another person, who may be suffering keenly 
 from one of the minor sorrows of life. The Squii'e was 
 quite unconscious that he made any sacrifice, or that 
 he was doing an act which would add to his popularity 
 by his few seconds' chat with the tanner's daughter ; 
 3^et it was such acts as these, far more than the hospi- 
 tahty of the Sldrlaugh kitchen, or the cheap rent at 
 which he let his farms, which made him the popular 
 hero for ten miles around.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 *' Beyond participation lie 
 My troubles, and beyond relief : 
 If any chance to heave a sigh, 
 They pity nie, and not my grief." 
 
 Words^vortJi. 
 
 WrviLBY, though a market-town, is not much larger 
 than many a neighbouring village. Its claim to import- 
 ance rested, firstly, in the fact that it had the honour 
 of possessing one of the prisons of the shire ; and 
 secondly, that it was in former days the centre of an 
 extensive feudal jurisdiction. At the time of which 
 we are writing the fictitious importance with which 
 the manor courts of its lords had invested it, had 
 become a mere shadow. The terrible penalties that 
 the steward of the franchise could once inflict almost 
 at his pleasure, had been reduced, first by custom, 
 then by statute, until the great man, who had been 
 accustomed, when he held the court leet, to be at- 
 tended by a lordly retinue of trumpeters, javelin men, 
 and standard bearers, had sunk down into the portly 
 person of Mr. Howell, the Wivilby lawyer, whose 
 duties consisted mainly in accepting the surrender of
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 135 
 
 copyholds, enrolling title deeds, and inflicting infini- 
 tesimally small fines on persons whose cattle strayed 
 into other people's corn. 
 
 The rights of pit and gSLllows, furca et fossa, as it is 
 called in the law jargon once so frightfully real, were 
 only kept in memory by the Gallow Hill on the north 
 side of the town, where the Wivilby crones still saw 
 unearthly sights, and heard noises such as belonged 
 not to this world, when they passed at nightfall. 
 
 In the market-place, which stood on the brow of the 
 hill, and whose regular outlines suggested that it had 
 grown up around the entrenchments of a Roman camp, 
 was the dwelling of Dr. Chubb, or rather of two per- 
 sons who went by that name ; for Dr. Chubb, who had 
 taken his degree in medicine at the University of 
 Leiden, occupied a house jointly with his brother, 
 also called Dr. Chubb, but whose art consisted not 
 in mending or marring the physical economy of his 
 fellow-creatures, but in superintending the health of 
 their clocks and watches. Neither of the brothers 
 had ever married, and they lived amicably enough 
 together, occupying the same room, which answered as 
 a surgery for the one, and a workshop for the other. 
 Each confined himself strictly to his own line of busi- 
 ness. It would not be easy to say whether the good 
 folk of Wivilby had more confidence in the doctor, 
 on whom they were dependent for their somewhat 
 vague notions of time, or on his brother, by whose 
 skill they were aided in their passages into and out of 
 this world of shadows, which to niost of them, as to
 
 136 RALF SiaRLAUGH. 
 
 theii' successors at the present, was the only realit}- 
 for which they cared. 
 
 The party paused at the door where the doctors 
 carried on their respective employments. The clock- 
 m^ker alone was at home ; a little man clad in a 
 dressing-gown, perhaps a quarter of a centur}' old, 
 whose chief ornament was a running pattern composed 
 of peonies and sun-flowers. Thinly scattered grey 
 hair clothed his head ; his nose was bestridden -s^dth a 
 pair of horn spectacles, the elasticity' of whose spring 
 kept them firml}^ on the bridge of that organ, without 
 the aid of the lateral supports now in use. 
 
 The loud call of the Squire at once brought the 
 Doctor to the door. With a very low bow he explained 
 that his brother was from home. 
 
 *' I want some information," said Mr. Sldrlaugh, 
 ** about the w^oman who was hurt at Merespital yester- 
 da}'. Which of the poor creatures is it that has been 
 wounded, and what is her name ?" 
 
 " Of the patient's state of health, honoured sir, I 
 can give no information ; but her name I can tell, if I 
 may but be permitted to return into the surgery for a 
 short space," said the little man, disappearing to con- 
 sult his brother's day-book. He returned in an instant 
 with the information that the woman's name was Amie 
 Mason. 
 
 "Which of them is it, Mary?" said the Squire, 
 turning to Miss Morley. 
 
 " The poor woman whose face has been burnt? I 
 know her well ; she is a good creatiu-e, who has seen
 
 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 137 
 
 much sorrow. I hope she does not suffer a great 
 deal." 
 
 "It's only a short ride to the place. You would 
 like to see her, I know. I want the Doctor. I must 
 have full particulars, for I keep an account against 
 these fellows which will call for quick settlement 
 some day," said the Squire to his companions. 
 Then turning to the clocksmith, he inquired whether 
 it was probable that his brother was to be found at 
 Merespital. 
 
 "Indeed, honoured sir, I cannot tell. My brother 
 is a close man. He never says when he returns where 
 he has been, nor when he sets out where he is going. 
 All professional matters are secret. The sciences we 
 follow, Squii'e, are different. He is a physicist. I am 
 a student of the mathematics. Unless he has seen 
 something new in chronometers, clocks, watches, or 
 hydraulical machines, or unless one of the gentlemen 
 or ladies who reward m}^ devotion to science b}^ theii' 
 unsolicited patronage have sent me a message, he will 
 keep silence. Of an evening we talk of the sciences, 
 but not of our own empirical practices therein," 
 replied the horologer. 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, I wish your brother had been 
 sufficiently communicative to have told yon where he 
 was going." 
 
 " I think, if I might be so bold as to make a sug- 
 gestion," said the mathematician, with a bow more 
 profound than ever, " that if you and the ladies took 
 the bridle-road to Merespital, you might not unlikely
 
 188 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 meet him on liis way from thence. He did tell me 
 that he should call at Mrs. Nicholson's to-day, and took 
 a message from me ahout her eight-day clock. She's a 
 new one, by John Wheeler of London, a sweet piece, 
 that tells the day of the month, and the moon's age, 
 and is adorned with a sculpture of Eve giving Adam 
 the apple on the top, most artfully done; but she 
 requires great care, very great care. It's astonishing 
 what humouring even the best clocks want. They're 
 like children. Squire ; to treat a clock like a dumb 
 machine is surely a great error." 
 
 ** Certainly it is, that I can vouch for. You re- 
 member what happened to the big one in my hall ? 
 I'm not likely to forget it." 
 
 *'Ah! a matchless piece; a sublime piece of me- 
 chanism. She was produced long before we mathe- 
 maticians were compelled by law to put our names on 
 our poor works, but it was surely marvellous modest}^ 
 in so great an artist not to leave his name on what must 
 have been his chief work. I have often surmised that 
 she was made by none other than the great Anthony 
 van Leeuwenhoek himself." 
 
 "Not improbably. It belonged to ni}^ wife's mother. 
 But I must lose no time, if I am to catch the Doctor ; 
 so, good morning." The Squire, as he spoke, tui-ned 
 down the narrow street that led eastwards. 
 
 The Merespital almshouses were but hovels. If 
 there had ever been better accommodation for the 
 inmates, centuries of neglect had ruined it, for now the 
 huts of " stud and mud" where the alms- women lived
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 139 
 
 were precisely of the same character as the adjoining 
 cattle pens, except that they possessed the luxury of 
 glass in their v/indows. 
 
 In one of these dwellings the poor woman whom we 
 saw yesterday was stretched upon a bed of suffering. 
 Her tliigh had been broken. The house, though mi- 
 serable in outward appearance as neglect could make 
 it, had somethmg of the aspect of comfort in its inte- 
 rior. The walls were clean with lime-wash, and here 
 and there a rude print illustrating the career of the 
 Prodigal Son — a young man dressed in the fashionable 
 costume of Queen Anne's days — relieved theii* extreme 
 plainness ; a few common plants bloomed in well 
 rudded pots on the window-sill, and a glossy black 
 cat sang her monotonous song of happiness on the 
 hearth ! 
 
 The sufferer was not alone. The girl, whom 
 ** Squire's Bob " had on a former occasion called Nell, 
 was by the bedside administering to its inmate's 
 necessities. 
 
 The English poor have many vices ; they are at 
 times hard, unsympathising ; cruel in their hatreds, 
 and harshly exacting in their love ; but the}^ possess 
 one virtue in a far higher degree, as it seems to us, 
 than those above them. Their kindness to physical 
 suffering knows no limit. True, it is sometimes miwise 
 — often directed to unworthy objects — but there it is, 
 a bright ray of light shining from heaven on their dull 
 and unhappy lives. Soothing the lot of the sufferer by 
 kind words, and calming the heart of the giver not by
 
 140 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 a consciousness of virtue, as some shallow persons 
 would say, but by tlie action of the kindly deed itself 
 upon the soul. 
 
 The door opened and Doctor Chubb entered. He 
 was a fine-looking, rosy-faced man of some sixt}- years 
 old, one on whom age sat lightly. His dress and 
 manners were far removed from those of liis mathema- 
 tical brother. Foreign residence and some 3'ears' prac- 
 tice in London had made him a man of the world. 
 Finished gentleman he was not, but his manner and 
 tone showed at once that he had been in the habit of 
 moving in the society of refined people. 
 
 " You will take care, my good girl, not to leave the 
 patient," said he, in an under-tone ; " her condition is 
 very critical." 
 
 *' I don't know what I mun do, sir. I wouldn't hav 
 owt happen to her at nowt through me not being 
 here, but I belong to th' George, and they'll not be 
 for sparin' me long, I reckon," replied the girl, in a 
 troubled tone. 
 
 **Ah! true, true; it's a sad business — a sad busi- 
 ness. We must see — stop to-day, I'll talk to Mr. Sar- 
 gisson about it." Then, turning to his patient, he 
 inquired which of the rioters it was who had caused 
 the accident. 
 
 " I can't tell what she says, poor thing, can 
 you ? Well, Lord Carlton was at the head of them ; 
 he must do something. I'll ask him to pay for a 
 nurse." 
 
 The patient, who had seemed in a doze, roused her-
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 141 
 
 self to consciousness, and said, feebly, " What did ye 
 say, Doctor?" 
 
 " I onty said that I would ask Lord Carlton to pay 
 for a nurse for you. It's only fair, you know, as he 
 was the cause of your hurt. I shall see him perhaps 
 to-day, I'm going to Brackenthwaite." 
 
 " What's he doing at Brackenthwaite ? Lord Bur- 
 worth lives at Brackenthwaite," asked the sufferer. 
 
 " Yes, Lord Carlton is his nephew, and will get his 
 property, so he might do something for you. He'll 
 have plenty before long, and he shall, Nanny ; I'll see 
 to that." 
 
 " No, no, you'll do no such thing. I'll hev none on 
 his money, no, not a penny. I'll soon be better, 
 and work again for my sen. Nelly '11 stop wi' me for 
 a day or two — won't jou, lass ? Don't ask him, 
 Doctor." 
 
 " Yes, Nanny, I must ; you'll be two or three weeks 
 before you are better. And it was all his fault, a 
 damned scoundrel. I wish I'd been there with my 
 horsewhip. Zounds ! he shouldn't have got off so 
 easily. I don't know what John Stutting was about. 
 He's not generally over tender of Lords." 
 
 " Did you say he was Lord Burworth's son. Doc- 
 tor ? " inquired the sick woman, now aroused to vivid 
 consciousness. 
 
 " No, no, his nephew. His sister's son, not his 
 own. But he'll get all there's left when Lord Bur- 
 worth dies, and that won't be many jears first. I'm 
 going to see him now ; he's got th^ gout again."
 
 142 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 " Poor thing. It's hard to bear, Doctor, to be badly 
 and hev' nobody about you except them as is paid for 
 it. Ah, i)oor thing ! he can't bear pain as I can, he 
 hesn't been so used to it." 
 
 The patient seemed to sink into a troubled sleep 
 ere her attendant left her. He had not gone many 
 yards from the door before he met the riding party. 
 
 *' Well met. Doctor," exclaimed the Squire, shaking 
 the practitioner heartily by the hand, " well met ; I 
 feared we might miss you. I want to know what you 
 think of this accident." 
 
 ''1 think," said the Doctor, looking grave, "that 
 the woman will never recover the use of her limb, and 
 that probabl}^ she will not survive many weeks." 
 
 " And what do you think of a country and a govern- 
 ment that permit brutal assaults on women in the 
 I)ublic highways to go unpunished, so long as they are 
 done by a lordling, while if a poor cottager snares a 
 hare in a hedgerow for his Sunday dinner he's sent for 
 God knows how long to Wivilby jail ? " 
 
 We need not record Doctor Chubb's reply. It led 
 to a long conversation on the demerits of persons who 
 are already sufficiently odious to our readers. 
 
 The ladies dismounted and entered the cottage. 
 Isabell had never been there before. The place was 
 familiar to Mary. It would have been interesting to 
 watch the two girls in the presence of suffering. Isabell, 
 who had never known acute sorrow nor seen dangerous 
 bodily pain, though her kindness was manifested b}' 
 every word and action, was evidently constrained in
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 143 
 
 the presence of a grief wliicli her bright smile could 
 not dispel, or her charity relieve. Mary, though far 
 more diffident in ordinary life, with much less trust 
 in her own resources in all those matters where 
 Isabell was conscious of power, was at once at home. 
 A few words from Nelly revealed the whole state of 
 aifairs. She saw at a glance what things were wanted 
 to render the sick woman's life as comfortable as cir- 
 cumstances would permit, and gave the needful du-ec- 
 tions with a promptness which showed that Mrs. 
 Skirlaugh's domestic training had produced far more 
 hopeful results on the character of her guest than on 
 that of her daughter. 
 
 " You will not leave the poor thing, Nelly. If they 
 can't do without you at the inn, arrangements must 
 
 be made to find someone else in 3'our room. I 
 
 that is. Miss Skuiaugh will take the responsi- 
 bihty." 
 
 '^ I think, miss. Doctor Chubb will ask Lord Carl- 
 ton or Lord Burworth to give summut for a nurse. 
 He said as he would, but she is strangely again' it, 
 poor thing," replied the girl. 
 
 ^' Yes, of course she is. Isabell, this must not be. 
 Go at once, Nelly, to the doctor, and teU him to say 
 nothing about her to an}^ one at Brackenthwaite. We 
 shall do all that is required. Do you think she will 
 laiow me?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, miss. She has asked for you a many 
 times sin' I've been with her. Nanny, Nanny, here's 
 Miss Morley some to see you."
 
 144 EALF SiaPtLAUGH. 
 
 The patient's e3'es slowly opened. She had caught 
 the meanmg of what had been said to her but imper- 
 fectly. " What are Morleys to me, all the lot of 'em. 
 Go thy ways, lass ; they're no good to thee, nor to 
 none of us." 
 
 Ellen hesitated, blushed, and looked down as people 
 do when some question they have asked has drawn 
 forth a peculiarly unfortunate reply, and then, throw- 
 ing her apron over her head, darted across the road 
 to deliver her message to the doctor. 
 
 " She is thinking of some others of my name, not of 
 me, I beheve," remarked Mary; and, quietl}^ sinking 
 on her knees by the side of the bed, she said, in a 
 low tone, so low as to be inaudible to Isabell, " Nanny, 
 have you forgotten me ?" 
 
 " No, how could I, darlin' ? God bless you for 
 coming to see a poor thing lilie me. I have wanted 
 you bad ever since I was took. Let me look at you," 
 and she gazed with grateful affection on the face of 
 her benefactress. " I want to talk to you about a 
 sight o' things, but I'm clear dazed now along o' that 
 nasty drink the doctor's bin a givmg of me. Where's 
 your father ; I mun see him when he comes this way 
 next time." 
 
 Mary responded, but in an inaudible voice. 
 
 " Oh, ay, I see. Well, gentlefollvs must fight, and 
 head, and hang one another, I reckon. Is it for 
 religion, then?" 
 
 " Well, yes— for the CathoHc king." 
 
 " They do sa}^, the father of the man they've set
 
 HALF SKIKLAUGII. 145 
 
 up now for king in Lnnnon used to be nought but a 
 turnip-lioer, before lie came over sea. 
 
 " Geordie was hoeing liis turnips,* 
 
 ^Vhen tlie sun went down, 
 And np there came an English Lord, 
 
 \Yha gave him a golden crown, 
 Wha gave him a golden crown, 
 
 And gave him sceptres three, 
 Now am I king in London town. 
 
 That once was silly Geordie. 
 
 " I've lieard my motlier sing that, and some more 
 like it. Was it so?" 
 
 " Nearly, but not quite. Let us not talk of such 
 things now," said Mary. 
 
 *' Ah, well, we'd a brewer once for king, they do 
 tell. But I sliould like vastly to see your father agam. 
 Do tell him, if ever he comes, Anne Mason wants him 
 bad." 
 
 The poor woman paused, her eyes wandered half 
 vacantly around the room, and fell on Miss Skirlaugh, 
 of whose j)resence she had not, till then, been aware. 
 
 " Nelty, Nelly ! there's Miss Skirlaugh come to see 
 me ; give the young lady the chair. Dust it for her 
 wi' your apron, lass, first. Do sit down, miss. It's 
 very good o' you to come and see a poor creatur' like 
 me. I thought I'd summat to say, but that hedge he's 
 
 * At Norwich Assizes, 2nd Angnst, 1716, " J\[r. Jlatthew Fern was 
 . . . convicted of drinking the Pretender's health and calling King George 
 a turnip-hougJicr, for which he was sentenced to pay a ■fine of forty mai"ks, 
 to be imprisoned for a year, and to find sureties for his behaviour for three 
 years." — Salmon's Chronological Historian, p. 3G4. 
 
 VOL. T. L
 
 14G HALF SKIKLAUGII. 
 
 given me put it all out o' my head, till Miss Skirlaugli 
 put it in again. They say," as she spoke, she sunk 
 her voice once more to a whisper, inaudible save to 
 Mary, ''they say you're to marry the young Squire, 
 Mr. Ealf. Is it so, ay?" 
 
 Mary hesitated ; the poor peasant was not by any 
 means the sort of person she would have chosen to be 
 the recipient of love secrets ; but her simple natui*e 
 and her religious training ahke precluded equivoca- 
 tion. She at length whispered something about the 
 gentleman being abroad at present, and that many cir- 
 cumstances might have occurred of which she was 
 unaware. 
 
 ** Oh, yes, I know. God bless j^ou both. They're 
 a good house; but they do say, them that knows 'em 
 best, that they're strange, and huncht, and proud. Is 
 it so, miss?" 
 
 *' Oh, no, no ! not to poor people, nor those they 
 
 love ; only to " 
 
 " Ay, I see ; but you're all alike for that. No 
 gentleman or lady was ever good for aught that was'nt 
 full o' pride. I get proud mysen wi' tliinkin' about 
 *em, though I never was a lady no more nor I am 
 now. That young Skirlaugli, who was here yester- 
 day, he's just for all the world the same. I seed 
 him twice. He'll be for marrying Miss Skirlaugli, I 
 reckon." 
 
 Mary preserved her equanimity admirably, while 
 questioned concerning her own love affairs. The 
 novel suggestion now made was more than she was
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 1-17 
 
 prepared for. The extreme improbability of the 
 foretold event caused an almost irresistible tendency- 
 to laugh ; while the knowledge of the very embarras- 
 sing results that the remark might have produced had 
 it reached the quick ears of Isabell, made her blush 
 to the tips of her fingers. No prisoner, on liberation 
 from captivity, was ever more relieved than Mar}^ 
 when one of the grooms brought a summons from Mr. 
 Skirlaugh, saying that lie was impatiently awaiting 
 the ladies' return. 
 
 L 2
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ** A very venerahle man, who is ever with Sir Roger, and has lived in 
 his house in the nature of a chaplain above thirty years. This gentleman 
 
 is a person of good sense and some learning He heartily 
 
 loves Sir Roger, and knows that he is veiy much in the Old Knight's 
 esteem, so that he lives in the family rather as a relation than a depen- 
 dent."— TViC Spectator, 106. 
 
 We need not tell our readers that William Skir- 
 laugli's time i^assed happily among his new friends. 
 A week ghded away almost without observation. The 
 life of the household was very regular, hut full of 
 pleasant change for one to whom a residence in the 
 countr}^, away from the restraints of business, and in 
 constant intercourse with refined people, was of itself 
 an intense pleasure. As the weather was fine, most of 
 the days were spent out of doors and on horseback. 
 The Squire's stores of topographical anecdote were 
 inexhaustible, and the company of the ladies was 
 seldom wanting to add a charm of a far higher 
 kind. 
 
 The young man found a delight in their society 
 which those of our readers who have formed their 
 idenl of female excellence cxclusivclv on what we
 
 RALF SKir.LAUGH. 149 
 
 commonly see around us at present, will find hard 
 to realise. They were certainly well educated women 
 accordmg to the opinions of the time, had no in- 
 considerable knowledge of the lighter literature that 
 was then popular, and had even read some grave books 
 which young ladies of our time would not contemplate 
 without a yawn ; but they were, it must be confessed, 
 almost entirely deficient in several of the accom- 
 plishments which are now thought absolutely indis- 
 pensable to female education. Pianos were unknown, 
 but the spinet or harpsichord, of which they are a 
 development, was common in the houses of wealthy 
 people. Although not insensible to the charms of 
 music, none of the Skirlaugh family had learned the 
 use of that then fashionable instrument. Though 
 both the young ladies had good voices, their natural 
 taste for song had remained so far uncultivated that 
 neither Isabell nor Mar}^ would have dared to delight 
 theii' guest by attempting to sing the most simple 
 melody. When evening closed, conversation, reading 
 aloud in French or English, and a game at quadrille 
 or whist filled up the vacant hours till bed time. If 
 the reading were some light tale, one of Richardson's 
 novels or a play of Shakespere, the ofiice usually fell 
 on one of the ladies ; but if, as was not unusual, some 
 grave book, such as Carte or Clarendon's histories, 
 were selected, the post of lector devolved on Mr. Callis, 
 vrho, not content with the information afforded by the 
 author, frequentl}^ broke ofi' when he came upon a con- 
 genial topic to pour forth his own stores of knowledge
 
 150 KAI,F SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 in illustration of the more meagre details of the liis- 
 torian. 
 
 Ignorant as a little child of the world in which he 
 lived, William had never met anyone who knew half so 
 much of the times that were past. A life devoted to 
 the study of the minute details of history', much of the 
 latter portion of it in the quiet seclusion of Skirlaugh 
 Manor, though eminently unfitted for developing the 
 very few grains of worldly wisdom with which the 
 chaplain had heen endowed by nature, was exactly 
 calculated to insure the happiness of a shy, deeply reli- 
 gious man, whose sole desire, next to the duties which 
 he conceived he owed to his Maker, was to be of service 
 to the ffxmily of his i^atrons, and to store his own 
 voluminous manuscript collections with facts illustra- 
 tive of the social and domestic history of the eastern 
 shires, and to accumulate knowledge concernmg the 
 various branches of what was then called the Gothic 
 tongue. 
 
 In early life the old man had taken orders in the 
 English Church, but as time passed on, and his anti- 
 quarian tastes cut him oif more and more from the 
 main current of public opinion, he became troubled in 
 conscience for having taken oaths of fealty to what he 
 considered a usurping power. When this comdction 
 was firmly I'ooted, with sim2)le-minded consistency 
 he threw up the .small London living which he held, 
 and became an outcast, earning a precarious pittance 
 as a hack author or translator for the booksellers. 
 
 He was of Jjincolnshire extraction, though born in
 
 TtALF SKIRLAUGH. 151 
 
 another county. An ancestor of Ms had produced that 
 memorable book on drainage law, which, notwithstand- 
 ing the labours of Serjeant Woolwrych, yet makes the 
 name of Callis familiar to the fen men. 
 
 On one of his rare visits to the Metropolis, Mr. 
 Sldrlaugh was introduced to the unhappy scholar. His 
 connection with his own count}-, and his sufferings in 
 what the Squire considered the cause of righteous- 
 ness, opened at once his heart and shortly after his 
 purse. 
 
 The good soul was asked to come for a few weeks to 
 the Manor, for the purpose of arranging the library. 
 That hospitable roof was from henceforth his home. 
 Isabell and her brother were children at the time. 
 Mrs. Sldrlaugh was anxiously looking oul for some 
 one who could communicate to them solid knowledge 
 in the shape of languages, penmanship, and the pro- 
 perties of numbers. She was greatly taken with the 
 retiring manners of her guest. A suggestion on her 
 part that Mr. Callis should be retained as chaplain 
 and tutor was readily acceded to by her lord, who 
 wondered greatly that so obvious an arrangement had 
 not occurred to him in the first instance. 
 
 The base of the round tower was fitted up as a 
 chapel, and the apartment over the same turned into 
 a school-room and study. Here the recluse spent his 
 daj^s. Eegular at meals, still more regular when his 
 I)atron required him as a listener in an evening, the 
 rest of his life, excei)t an hour now and then spent 
 on fine days in a sunny walk in the garden, was
 
 152 RALF SIOELAUGH. 
 
 passed in a minute analysis of local liistory or the 
 study of the northern languages. 
 
 It was a foggy morning. The ladies were engaged, 
 and the Squire busy with some agricultural matters. 
 William, therefore, accepted the student's invitation 
 to spend half an hour with him in his study. He had 
 never been there before. An invitation to visit that 
 sanctuar}^ was a great honour reserved by Mr. Callis 
 only for very favoured guests. There were not half a 
 dozen persons in the world, be3'ond the family at the 
 Manor and the old woman Avho occasionally " put 
 things to rights," who had penetrated into that upper 
 chamber since the student set up his staff therein. 
 
 If any imagine such a man surrounded with costl}' 
 folios and preciously illuminated manuscripts, they 
 have greatly misunderstood him. Valuable things 
 there were in abundance among his collections, but 
 few that would have attracted attention except from a 
 person interested in similar pm'suits to their owner. 
 Cases covered the Avails of about a third of the room ; 
 in these were arranged the few printed books which 
 were Mr. Callis's own propert}-, and a larger number 
 that he had from time to time brought for temporary 
 use from the library in the Hall. The rest of the 
 shelves were occupied b}^ piles of his own manuscript 
 collections, bundles of charters, rolls, letters, and other 
 documents which he had gathered in a life devoted to 
 ]3icking up wreckson the shore of the ocean of time. 
 Here and there a chalk or lias fossil showed tliat the 
 owner of the npartment was not entirel}' uninterested
 
 HALF SKIRL AUGH. lOd 
 
 in natural science. The room was not quite without 
 ornament. A veiy pleasing picture of Miss SkMaugh, 
 taken when, at eighteen, she ceased to be formally his 
 pupil, was his most treasured possession. In rivalry 
 with it, and curiously contrasting in feature, was the 
 grave, sharp face of Serjeant Callis, to whose '' Read- 
 ings on the Law of Sewers " we have before alluded. 
 
 Two or tln-ee small miniatures, which his visitor did 
 not particularly notice, completed the catalogue of 
 ornaments. Such of the walls as were not hidden by 
 the bookshelves or pictures were painted by his own 
 hand with a running pattern of green and chocolate, 
 in very bad taste if we judge it by the canons of Greek 
 or Gothic art. Miss Skirlaugh, however, the only 
 critic in whose opinion the artist had any^ confidence, 
 l^ronounced his handiwork to be very pretty. 
 
 " You led me to hope, Mr. Callis, that you would 
 favour me v/ith a sight of the curious vellum roll in 
 which the Skirlaugh pedigree is emblazoned," said his 
 visitor, after he had attentively exammed several 
 curiosities, in which he found little to interest him, for 
 the sake of giving pleasure to his entertainer*. " You 
 vvill remember that when Mr. Skirlaugh asked for it 
 the other evening to show me, you discovered it was 
 here, not in its place in the library." 
 
 " Ah, true ; so I did," answered the student, with 
 some hesitation of manner. " I will get it. It is really 
 valuable as a work of art as well as a cmious genealo- 
 gical record. The arms down to the time of my 
 patron's grandfather were all emblazoned by Gregory
 
 154 EALF SKIRL AUGH. 
 
 King, the prince of heraldic artists. Those that follow, 
 which are of very inferior workmanship, are b}' my own 
 hand." 
 
 This w^as said while Mr. Callis was engaged in dis- 
 entangling the roll from a heap of superincumbent 
 papers, and divesting it of the various wrappers in 
 which it was carefully stowed away. William could 
 not help noticing that there was something of reluc- 
 tance in the old man's manner, which was very 
 unusual. 
 
 Whenever the reader has occasion to consult for the 
 first time a guide-book, county history, or directory of 
 that part of the world in which he hves, he will have 
 observed, if he be an introspective person, that he in- 
 stinctively turns, in the first place, to the part contain- 
 ing an account of the spot where liis own home is 
 situated. Why is this ? It can hardly arise from a 
 preconscious exercise of the critical faculty, for it is 
 agreed b}^ all competent ^psychologists that most of us 
 possess that organ only in its most rudimentaiy form. 
 It may spring from vanity, the pleasure that is given 
 us by finding a record, however slight, of anything 
 with which w^e are personally bound up. The same 
 habit certainly has attached itself to those far fewer 
 persons who con pedigrees. Naturally, unless indeed 
 we have purchased a Norman pedigree (price five 
 shillings per generation ; two-and-sixpence for colla- 
 teral lines), like some of our wealthy neighbours, and 
 ancestry has the fascination of entire novelty, we 
 glance first, not at the Crusaders, knights, or cavaUers
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 155 
 
 wliose names grace the upper portion, but at tlie 
 bottom, wliere om' own name and that of our brothers 
 and sisters, their wives and husbands, form the con- 
 cduding line. 80 did William Skirlaugh. It was the 
 fear of this which gave pain to the kind-hearted 
 chaplain. He knew that William, though not, like 
 himself, learned in genealogy, had a romantic venera- 
 tion for the race from which he sprung. He believed, 
 and with good reason, that much of the purity of his 
 young friend's character was to be traced to that 
 mystic feeling of race, which it had already become 
 fashionable to despise and endeavour to make ridicu- 
 lous by confounding with a certain sort of vulgar pride, 
 the noxious offspring of an entirety different class of 
 intelligence. He therefore feared that the dubious, 
 or rather imperfect way, in which the entry of liis 
 own name appeared would give pain. He was not 
 mistaken. It was, however, for the very reason of 
 seeing what the record testified on that head, that 
 William Skirlaugh had asked to examine it. 
 
 " I see," said he, suppressing a sigh, '' that my 
 father is the only one m the long catalogue since the 
 reign of Edward III., whose wife's name is not 
 recorded. I had a hope, a mere fancy, that it was 
 just possible you might have possessed information, 
 which, from a feeling of kindness, my uncle and aunt 
 might have kept from me. Of course it is mere 
 dreaming, but will you tell me, do you know who my 
 mother was, or where my parents wer'^ married? " 
 
 J\Ir. Callis declared his entire ignorance. He said
 
 156 
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 that he was in London at tlie time of the duel, knew 
 his ftither, aunt, and uncle well, but that he knew 
 nothing further of William's parentage than has been 
 alread}^ recorded. 
 
 " You will, I am sure, excuse me for troubling you, 
 Mr. Callis, with these personal matters, the interest of 
 which is to me so deeply painful," continued William. 
 
 " Most gladly will I. As a priest of God, it is my 
 duty to give comfort to all who ask for it, and surely a 
 man of proper principles cannot but be glad to see 
 one of your age, now so many lax and evil principles 
 are abroad, anxious, yea even if the anxiety causes 
 pam, to clear his birth from any supposed blot that 
 in the eyes of the w^orld might cling to it. Truly 
 the love of ancestors is one of the most sacred feelings 
 we possess. I doubt much if the sanctity of the 
 marriage tie will itself continue to be venerated if 
 mei\ get to think as lightly as some now pretend to do 
 on this almost sacred subject." 
 
 *' Although you, as was natural, know no more than 
 I do, your experience in genealogical researches may 
 be able to point out some means of clearing up a 
 mystery which hangs so heavily upon me. I have 
 determined when I go back to town to leave no stone 
 unturned to dispel the darkness, even if disgrace 
 should be behind the curtain," said William, earnestly. 
 
 "Disgrace, — in the sense of illegitimacy, that is, — I 
 am sure you need not fear. I was one of the persons who 
 were consulted by your relatives at the time, and I dis- 
 tinctly remember your aunt asserting that she had
 
 HALF SKIELAUGPI. 157 
 
 positive knowledge that you were born in lawful wed- 
 lock. No one who knows that lady could have the 
 temerity to doubt her word." 
 
 "I feel certain," added William, sadly, "that my 
 uncle did all he could to clear up the doubts. It is 
 scarcely likely that what so acute a lawyer failed in 
 doing at the time, I should succeed in now." 
 
 "Are you absolutely certain that your aunt has 
 communicated all she knows ? " inquired the genealo- 
 gist. " I remember she left London at once, having 
 had a quarrel, which, as my duty w^as, I vainly tried to 
 reconcile. Her statement ma}^ not be the whole truth, 
 there may have been a secret marriage between jouy 
 poor fiither and some lad}^ of high rank. Your aunt 
 may have promised or even sworn secrery. Such a 
 promise or oath would clearly not be bindmg at this 
 distance of time, as I could demonstrate to 3^ou on the 
 authority not onl}- of the most approved casuists of the 
 Latin communion, but also by the far higher authority 
 of Bishop Taylor, our own great moralist. You may, 
 I think, feel prett}^ certain that whatever the marriage 
 w^as, it was not in a genealogical sense disgraceful. I 
 knew your father, poor Frank, as we called him, and I 
 don't think he would have married beneath him. Of 
 the morals or character of the unknown wife we can 
 predicate nothing, but you are yourself a living testi 
 mony of her gentle birth ; would you have been what 
 you are if she had been ignoble ?" 
 
 AVilliam Sldrlaugh, though sad at heart, could with 
 difficulty repress a smile at the last remark, which,
 
 158 HALF SKIIlLAUGir. 
 
 coming from any one else, would have been fulsome 
 flattery, but from the unworldly student could only 
 conve}^ the idea that the little com-tesies which he had 
 almost unintentionally shown him had caused the 
 withered heart of the old man to open towards him.*- 
 
 "I have no reason to think," continued William, 
 " that my aunt suppressed anything. Still it is 
 certainly strange that she could be positive of what 
 she did assert, and not know more. Is there a chance, 
 do you think, of some hideous mistake on her pai*t ? 
 I have great hesitation in questioning her on the 
 matter." 
 
 *' My dear friend," exclaimed the good old chaplain, 
 touched wdth William's dark forebodings, " there is no 
 fear — none wdiatever — of wdiat you imagine. I knew 
 Henrietta Skirlaugh well, and if any human being may 
 be trusted to tell God's truth, it is she. I do not 
 wonder you shrink from asking what might possibly 
 offend her. I never saw her equal." 
 
 " Miss Skirlaugh slightly reminds me of my amit, 
 but has more animation," added the visitor. 
 
 *' Not more than she had five-and-twenty years ago. 
 I see not a slight likeness only, but a very strong one. 
 They are two of the best creatures the earth affords, 
 but Miss Isabell has never known sadness. Let us 
 pray that she never may," said the chaplain, with an 
 earnest gravity which almost startled his guest. " Let 
 us pray that one so good may never undergo the dis- 
 cipline of sorrow. It is fit for hard sinful hearts 
 lilve mine to pass their days in sadness, and I often
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 159 
 
 wonder tliat God, who knows me as I am, has given 
 me this comfortable home and these friends and books 
 to make me happy. But it does seem that your aunt 
 or Miss Isabell are too pure to need it, as I am sure 
 they are of too Romanlike nobility to let the world see 
 them bow before it." 
 
 The latter part of this speech may not, to modern 
 ears, seem consistent with the piety of what went 
 before. Those who know the noble spirit of much of 
 the High Church theology of the seventeenth century 
 will think differently. There are few points where the 
 modern Anglo -Catholics differ more from the school of 
 Laud or that of the higher -toned Nonjurors than in 
 their notions as to the virtue of humility.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "Hyt is not al for the calf 
 That tlie cow loweth, 
 But it is for the gode gras 
 That in the mede groweth, 
 
 By my hod ! " 
 
 ' — Poem, temp. Edw. II. 
 
 The conversation was interrupted bj^ the advent of 
 Mr. Skirlaugli. That gentleman, after a long and not 
 quite harmonious interviev/ with his wife, had come to 
 seek Mr. Callis, for the purpose of requesting him to 
 write sundry letters of invitation to dinner. 
 
 A dinner party was of rare occurrence at the Manor. 
 The Squire, as we have intimated, was on distant 
 terms with most of his neighbours, and witli those 
 whose society he did at times seek he was not ver}^ 
 intimate. 
 
 Ralf Skirlaugh was emphatically not an unsocial 
 man. He would spend a whole day in gossip with 
 his tenants or work-people ; would ride over to one of 
 the neighbouring villages, or to the rural metropolis of 
 Wivilby, ostensibly, it may be, on some trivial matter 
 of business, but really for the purpose of having a
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 161 
 
 l^leasant cliat with the people whom he might chance 
 to meet. He was dehghted to have William staymg 
 with him in his house, and had really begun to look 
 forward to the time of his departure as a gi'eat per- 
 sonal loss. Nor was he by any means backward when 
 called upon to meet on matters of county business the 
 three or four great titled magnates who towered above 
 the rest of Lincolnshire mankind, heavy and louring 
 as the great rock of Konigstein towers over the valley 
 of the Elbe ; but to those of his own rank, or of that 
 immediately below it, he was rarely hosjoitable. Cu*- 
 cumstances of j^osition, politics, and education might 
 partially, but not wholly, account for this. The real 
 truth lay much nearer the surface. He did not care 
 to put himself out of the way to entertain those who 
 did not contribute to his amusement, or in whose 
 society he could not give a loose rein to his garrulity. 
 The company of the great nobles was so seldom to be 
 had, that the very change gave him a certain amount 
 of pleasure, mostly of the sarcastic kind. He liked to 
 feel, and to remark to his wife and children, that he, 
 who was at least the equal of the best of them in 
 blood, and far superior to the majority in brains, was 
 only a simple untitled gentleman, because he and his 
 ancestors had remained faithful in their allegiance, 
 while the Earls and Dukes, whose names he men- 
 tioned, had purchased their position by subserviency 
 to what it pleased him to call " the foul cabal of 
 scheming plotters, who had disuiherited theu' lawful 
 king and enslaved their countrymen." A long course
 
 162 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 of indulgence in the feelings generated by the here- 
 ditary royalism which had come down to him with the 
 Skirlaugh estates, had made the good gentleman be- 
 lieve — not as a figure of speech, but with real con- 
 viction — that the land in which he was living, in the 
 daily habit of talking treason against the king de 
 facto, was really held in abject slavery by a few great 
 nobles, who had succeeded by violence, briber}^, and 
 cajolery, in depriving the lesser aristocracy, and 
 through them the common people, of that share in the 
 government which was their natural right. This 
 opinion, wild as it maj^ seem to us who were born 
 after the destruction of the tyranny of the great 
 houses, had in it a very large amount of truth. The 
 extreme form in which Mr. Skudaugh held it can 
 scarcely be called irrational in one who had witnessed 
 the despicable meanness and reckless bloodshed, b}' aid 
 of which the members of a few families — under the 
 shadow of the name of a German king — had tried to 
 build up an oligarchic government, as exclusive as that 
 of the worst days of the Venetian Republic. How 
 near the plot was in being successful, those who gain 
 their ideas of history from certain popular Whig books 
 are not likely to know. It would be well, however, if 
 such of us as have no sympathy with the traditions of 
 the Bevolution houses would sometimes consider who 
 they were that hindered the despotic ideal of that 
 small faction from being realised. 
 
 The conversation of tlie peasantry pleased our 
 Squii'e, for reasons very different from those which
 
 KALF SKIRLAUGH. 163 
 
 made that of the few peers with whom he interchanged 
 occasional courtesies attractive. He liked their free 
 manners, racy, provincial dialect, and, perhaps more 
 than all, though he was quite unaware of it, he was 
 attracted by the deference they paid him. Devoid of 
 the common and meaner forms of pride, whose fre- 
 quency has caused a noble virtue to be branded in 
 sermons, catechisms, and such like literature, as a 
 vice, it really gave the possessor of Skirlaugh manor 
 no little delight to be addressed by the title of 
 "Squire" — a half-affectionate, half-courteous term, 
 that our poor never use to any or of any but those 
 for whom they entertain a sincere respect. 
 
 On the other hand, Mrs. Skirlaugh was of a de- 
 cidedly social turn. The gossip of the day interested 
 her much more than it did her husband ; and, being 
 of a far less retrospective and more practical cast of 
 mind, she felt that he lost no inconsiderable portion of 
 the kind of influence he most highly prized by neglect- 
 ing a few social courtesies. Though a lady, not only 
 by education, but by birth on the side of each of her 
 parents, her mind had been formed in early years 
 among a far different class of influences to her 
 husband's ; and, therefore, the very slight matters 
 which in many cases ruffled his temper when in the 
 society of his equals, passed over hers without notice. 
 There was, also, another motive — some will say a 
 higher one — which had much weight with the good 
 lady. Deeply skilled in all those sciences which we, 
 who know them not even by name, must generalize 
 
 M 2
 
 164 RALF SKIUr.AUGH. 
 
 under the one inadequate term — cookery — she knew the 
 effect of her ever vigilant superintendence. She was 
 quite aware that the power she couhl communicate to 
 lier domestics over the forms and flavours of things, 
 was well-nigh unlimited ; and with a feminine vanity, 
 for which such of our readers as enjoy a good dinner 
 will readil}^ pardon her, she was at times, like many 
 other ladies of the period, exceedingly anxious to 
 show her skill. 
 
 "I find," said Mr. Skirlaugh, addressing his con- 
 versation, as it would seem, both to his friend and the 
 chaplain ; ''I find that I cannot get those deeds 
 signed and the balance paid over, without asking the 
 whole Scalhoe kennel to dinner. So we've fixed next 
 Thursday — Friday won't do, you know ; Papists can't 
 eat ni}^ wife's good things on a fast day. "Will you, 
 Mr. Callis, be so good as to write the sort of letter to 
 them that they are likely to understand ? — say we dine 
 at two, but they're to be here at one, that we may get 
 the law matters done before dinner. They'll be drunk 
 after." 
 
 *' Signing the deeds won't take five minutes," inter- 
 posed "William. 
 
 '' Won't it ? You don't know what numskulls 
 you'll have to deal with. If you get it done in an 
 hour, you ma}^ safel}- attribute their brightness of 
 intellect to a special Popish miracle worked in their 
 favour, unless you can believe that the scent of 
 Madam Skirlaugh's Protestant kickshaws and my 
 nonjuring claret has superseded the necessity of such
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 165 
 
 intervention. I'll liave the business clone in a room 
 nigh hand the kitchen, so that the needful stimulants 
 may not be wanting. And while we are doing," con- 
 tinued the Squire, now addressing the clergyman, "we 
 may as well let things go off handsomely, and clear off old 
 scores ; so write also for Jordan and his wife, they'll 
 do to amuse Bella and Mary; and we'll have Dr. 
 Chubb, for my wife's special entertainment." 
 
 "You told me to remind you, too, that when you 
 next asked any friends, Mr. Tempest was to be invited, 
 if at Scalhoe. I believe he is there now," added the 
 chaplain. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly, we must not forget the good 
 father. The only one of the lot that's got any brains 
 or religion, except the Doctor, and he only has the 
 former ; besides, he is Madam's guest, not mine. All 
 the rest will merely eat and drink like my pigs ; he's 
 a good Christian, though a Papist. Mary will like it, 
 too." 
 
 " Mr. Tempest has had the misfortune to have been 
 brought up, and to have taken upon him holy orders 
 in a schismatic branch of the Church, but he is a 
 learned and good man. I doubt not his presence 
 will be a restraint upon those who, but for him, 
 might indulge their appetites too freely," said Mr. 
 CalHs. 
 
 " Not a bit. Not a jot more than yours is to 
 restrain me from swearing at the Whigs. They'll all 
 be as drunk as bagpipers of a Sunda^^ e'en, if I can't 
 devise some plan to hinder 'em,, but I think I've ar-
 
 166 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 ranged a wa}- by whicli we ma}^ ylaj off one i^assion 
 against another. They most of 'em love sporting more 
 even than drinking. "We'll have some night-fowling 
 for the double i:>m'pose of keeping them steady and 
 amusing William, here. They'll all go except the 
 parson, and we can find a bed for him or send him 
 home in a barrow if he can't walk, as they did Dicky 
 Stevenson of "Wivilby. But what is yon? I could 
 swear I heard a carriage drive into the court." 
 
 William, who stood near the wmdow that had a 
 southern asj^ect, said that a yellow coach, dra^^:ll by 
 four horses, had just gone up to the door. 
 
 " It's old Burworth. Gad ! Can the money have 
 been wrong ? " exclaimed the Squire, as he shot down 
 the newel stair. 
 
 The coach stopped at the great door and two 
 persons descended therefrom; neither of them was 
 Lord Burworth. They were guests of that noble- 
 man, whom Mr. Skirlaugh would much less readily 
 have received than their host. 
 
 One was a slim, fViir young man, with sliaqi ej^es, 
 the lid of one of whicli droojied considerably. 
 Drunkenness, almost continual, and other bad habits 
 attendant on a loose life, were writing upon his 
 features the characters of premature age. It was 
 Lord Carlton ; his companion was the stalwai't 
 Highlander who had aided him in the melee at 
 Merespital. The countenances of both showed them 
 to be 
 
 " Deep-mired in vanities and low desires,"
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGII. 167 
 
 but the face and figure of tlie Scot, partly from natural 
 constitution better calculated to resist tlie effects of 
 foul living, and partly because lie was more circumspect 
 in liis sinning, showed fewer mud stains than that of 
 the iDeer. 
 
 They had not long to tarry for the coming of their 
 host. When he appeared he had put on his most 
 reserved manner. No two things in life could be 
 more different than the recklessly free conversation of 
 Mr. Skirlaugh when in a good temper, and in the 
 company of people who understood him, or who he 
 thought did so, and the distant reserve which was also 
 quite as natural to him when compelled to interchange 
 courtesies with those whom he had good reason to 
 dislike. 
 
 " To what am I indebted, my lord, for the honour 
 of your visit?" said he, with a frigidity that would have 
 made the fortune of an actor. 
 
 '' To several cii^cumstances, m}^ dear sir," responded 
 liis lordship. '' I have been greatly hurt at an accident 
 that happened, parti}', as I fear, through a childish folly 
 of mine, to a gentleman I have since learned was your 
 relative, whom I chanced to fall in Avith at an inn, 
 near here. May I beg joii will think no more of it, 
 as it was quite unintentional." 
 
 " I have never thought of it since I heard from 
 those who were present the end of the catastrophe. 
 As far as my cousin is concerned the matter was, of 
 course, perfectly trivial. As trivial as I imagine the 
 suffering you have caused to the poor woman whose
 
 168 
 
 PtALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 leg you have broken, is to yourself," answered the 
 Sqmre. 
 
 " I never heard of that ; ujoon my word I didn't. 
 Did you, Mackenzie? Of course we will make all 
 right with her. I'll send my servant over to-day," 
 said the i^eer, with a not very badly simulated 
 sorrow. 
 
 " That I would beg you not to do. She is, I find, 
 in the alms-house, on my presentation. I am in the 
 habit of maintaining, and, if need be, of seeing justice 
 done to my own poor," replied the obdurate Mr. 
 Skuiaugh. 
 
 " Indeed ! Believe me I am very sorry, especially 
 so, as she is one of j^our people. I hope you may 
 be able to j^oint out some means by which I ma}^ 
 make amends without trenching on your private 
 charities. But I am forgetting, absolutely forget- 
 ting, while talking to one whom I have not seen 
 for so long, a duty of courtesy. Let me introduce 
 3'ou to my friend, Mr. Mackenzie. He's the son 
 of Sir Robert Mackenzie, of Newbiggin, in Peilh- 
 shire." 
 
 " I have met Mr. Mackenzie before. The last time 
 that I saw him was at Edinburgh in a house he knows 
 well, and joii may have heard of, called Holyrood. 
 AVe once had a common friend named Corbet. I shall 
 have no objection to renew the acquaintance with Mr. 
 Mackenzie elsewhere, but not here," said Mr. Skir- 
 laugh, pointedly refusing the offered hand, and utter- 
 ing his words with the slow deliberation of one who
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 169 
 
 wished to say as little as possible, but that every 
 syllable should tell. 
 
 The Highlander gazed on the Squire with a look of 
 real or very well feigned astonishment. 
 
 " Indeed, sir," said he, " 3^ou must be mistaken ; 
 you are doubtless thinking of some one else who bears 
 my name. We Scots have many cousins by blood, 
 and far more by service. It is too bad to blame a 
 man for the acts of every knave who abuses his 
 surname." 
 
 *' The question is hardly worth discussion now,'* 
 responded the Squire. 
 
 " Not at all. But I'm sure if you've heard or seen 
 anything bad of anybody called Mackenzie, and you 
 may have, for as far as I can hear they ha^^en't above 
 half a dozen names in the whole of their country, it 
 won't have been my friend Mac. I have brought him 
 with me on a very delicate errand, because he's the 
 best friend I have," said his lordship, evidently trying 
 to seem quite at his ease. 
 
 " I once knew another person who thought as you 
 do ; his introduction has rendered yours superfluous," 
 replied the Squire, with his temper under complete 
 command. 
 
 A very small thing would often irritate Mr. Skir- 
 laugh. A slight ' domestic jar, such as dinner being 
 late, or his wife not seeming to give some plan of his 
 the sympathetic approval he thought due to it, would 
 cause his temper to ruffle, and curl itself about in all 
 the various forms and hues that the wattles of a
 
 170 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 
 
 turkey-cock are wont to assume at the presence of a 
 shred of scarlet cloth ; but he had the power of meet- 
 ing the more serious crosses of life, in whatever form 
 they might present themselves, with a degree of calm- 
 ness which those who saw only his weak irritability 
 in ordinary life found hard to understand. 
 
 '^ Mr. Skirlaugh will admit he does me injustice 
 when I assure him that he is mistaken ; that I have 
 no knowledge whatever of the persons or things of 
 which he speaks. I must add, however, that if my 
 presence, which your lordship hoped might in some 
 slight degree be useful to you, is in any way a 
 hindrance in the matter on which a^ou have sought 
 an interview with Mr. Skirlaugh, I vd\l at once 
 retire." 
 
 '' No, no, Mac ; for God's sake, no ! " the nobleman 
 ejaculated, as the Scotchman made a move towards 
 the door. 
 
 '' The presence of no one can possibly be an impe- 
 diment to any business Lord Carlton can have with 
 me," said the Squire, arranging himself in an attentive 
 attitude in his arm-chair, with the grave air with 
 which a judge of assize mn.j be seen to settle himself 
 ere he charges the " gentlemen of the jury " in a trial 
 for murder. 
 
 Lord Carlton w^ ould have . given all he possessed, 
 had he been so fortunate as to own anything, to be 
 enabled to cut the interview short. Had he calcu- 
 lated on the reception he had met with, no hopes of 
 success could have lured him on. His experience of
 
 KALF SKIRLAUGH. ♦ 171 
 
 Mr. Skirlaugli liad misinformed liim on several im- 
 portant points in that gentleman's character. His 
 own coarse and vulgar mind entirely incapacitated liim 
 for putting himself in imagination in the position of 
 one whose feelings were of such an entirely diiferent 
 mould. There was, however, it must he confessed, 
 some slight excuse for his want of judgment. When 
 he had hitherto met the Squire he had only seen hun 
 in his jovial and amusing moods ; and, therefore, could 
 form little idea of the character that was natural to 
 him when Ms feehngs were roused. There was a long 
 pause ; at length the Squire broke it by saying, — 
 
 " My lord, will you tell me the object you have in 
 seeking my society ? " 
 
 This was the very thing that the nobleman was most 
 anxiously endeavouring to do, but, alas ! the reception 
 he had met with was so different from that which he 
 had hoped for, that notwithstanding the careful prepa- 
 ration he had gone through, the nicely turned sentences 
 which had been invented for him by the joint efforts 
 of Brotherton and Mackenzie had all come to pieces 
 in his head, and left only an unconnected jumble of 
 pretty sayings. His pale face flushed, he rose, seated 
 himself, changed his position, stood up again, and, 
 holding on to the back of a high chair, delivered 
 himself as follows, — 
 
 " I come," said he, gasping — " I come, moved by 
 the strongest, deepest, most disinterested affection, to 
 solicit, to — to — to — that is, to beg — I should say, to 
 ask — of , you the hand of your daughter."
 
 172 , RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 This was evidently only a small portion of the speech 
 that was to have been cleUvered according to the *' per- 
 fect platform" laid down by his friends. It was the 
 whole of it that was spoken. No interruption on Mr. 
 Skirlaugh's part caused it to terminate abruptly. That 
 gentleman sat as grave and apparently unmoved as the 
 marble caryatides that supported the chimney-piece. 
 Unmoved he really was not ; but had seen too much 
 of the world to give outward signs of being easily 
 startled. His astonishment was none the less because 
 his command of temper was unshaken. Had a mii-acle 
 been worked before his eyes in confirmation of the 
 theological doctrines of the Wivilby tanner, had the 
 Lords and Commons of England waited on liim some 
 morning to offer him the crown, or the sun and moon 
 been both eclipsed at the same instant of time, he could 
 not have been more filled with wonder than he was 
 that the grandson of a Cheapside hatter, a man of a 
 life as foul as he held his lineage to be base, should 
 make a proposal of marriage to his Isabell. After a 
 moment's consideration, in which several modes of 
 action presented themselves to his mind, he re- 
 plied, — 
 
 *^ And I positively decline to grant your request." 
 " I beg — I do beg, dear sir, that you will reconsider 
 this. It cannot but be for your daughter's happiness. 
 You are, perhaps, not aware that by the entail I 
 succeed to my good uncle's estates. For jNIiss Skir- 
 laugh's sake, if not for mine, jn-ay — do, pray, recon- 
 sider your hasty decision."
 
 EALF SKIRL AUGH. 173 
 
 *' This is too much," said the Squire — "too much, 
 young man;" and, walking leisurely across the room, 
 he rung a handbell. " Conduct these two persons to 
 their carriage, James," said he, as, without salutation, 
 he walked out of the apartment.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " There is scarce any virtue incident to a man, but there are singuhar 
 sparks and resemblances of the same in sundry kinds of dogs." 
 
 Gruillim, A Display of Heraldry. 
 
 The excitement of surprise or anger acts ver}^ 
 variously on different temperaments. Probably Mr. 
 Skirlaugh 'had never in tlie course of his life been 
 more enraged than on the i)resent occasion, but the 
 higher feelings of his nature only were aroused. He 
 felt that he ovv^ed it to his own dignity not only to 
 keep his temper, but to conduct himself as if nothing 
 serious had happened to ruffle it. " If I stay m the 
 house I shall be making a fool of myself," thought 
 he ; so he strolled leisurely out into the gardens. 
 He had not gone far before he saw Isabell and 
 Mary sitting on a rustic seat, with Milo, the blood- 
 hound, couchant at their feet. His daughter had 
 been engaged in reading the few dry scraps of foreign 
 news that in those days filled nearly the whole of the 
 small sheet called the Stamford Mcrcurij. Her interest
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 175 
 
 in foreign affairs was, perhaps, not greater than that of 
 English young ladies at present, but she took pleasure 
 in reading about the motions of continental armies, 
 and the splendours of foreign courts, because she con- 
 nected those things vaguely with her brother, who 
 was engaged in performing the grand tour. The 
 newspaper of course threw no light on his indi- 
 vidual career, but it suggested, or at least she 
 thought it did, the sights he had seen, and some of 
 the ideas which might be passing in his mind. 
 Persons who have been long separated from those 
 they love, especially in times distracted by war or 
 violent crime, know how tender hearts seek after any 
 thing that can bring to their ears an echo of an echo 
 of the absent. In one country of continental Europe 
 Isabell had foreign relatives, on her mother's side, 
 with whom she was well acquainted ; their names some- 
 times appeared even in the dry columns of the Stam- 
 ford newsman. Mary was perhaps unoccupied. Her 
 eyes were fixed on the ground, her fingers seemed 
 to be playing with the beads of her small ebony 
 rosary. 
 
 " I cannot make out anything from what I see here 
 as to our chances of receiving letters," remarked 
 Isabell, as she laid down the sheet. " If any had 
 come by this last mail, we should have had them 
 before we got the paper. I think when Ralf writes 
 he will, as he has done before, get some English 
 envoy to enclose his billet under cover to Lord 
 Burworth."
 
 176 EALF SKIELAUGH. 
 
 "My father," replied Mary, ^' will, I fear, hardly 
 try that again, though the audacity succeeded once ; 
 but I shall hear soon, very soon, I hope, by some 
 channel or other. His last letter seemed to say so, if 
 I understood it ; but it was, as they now always are, 
 written by a secretary, and I cannot be quite su]'e of 
 the meaning. The cypher we used to correspond in 
 was much clearer to me than the letters which are 
 written in plain English, but so composed as to ajjpear 
 to relate to entirely diiferent things from their real 
 pmi^ort. It is hard to be deprived of the pleasure of 
 possessing even his handwriting." 
 
 " Ralf will very soon be back, not to leave us again, 
 and will certainly bring you not only a letter from 
 your father, in his own writing and natural style, but 
 volumes of messages such as he dare not trust to 
 paper, in however safe custody it might be. I do 
 wish Ealf were back with us again. For my part I 
 do not see why because a man is born a gentleman, 
 he should have to waste a large slice of his life in 
 wandering about in foreign countries, when his old 
 father and mother, his sister, and, more than all, 
 his lady-love are pining for him at home. I want 
 him very much just now that he may see my cou- 
 sin William. I shall be sadly disappointed if he 
 doesn't return before he leaves. I am sure this new 
 friend of ours is a person Ralf would take to 
 instantly." 
 
 The Squire joined them, humming as he sauntered 
 up the gravel wallv a verse from The Sale of RehcU ion's
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 177 
 
 Household Stuff,^' very inappropriate to tlie times in 
 wliicli he lived, unless lie believed that the jingle was 
 redeemed from utter nonsense by having a prophetic 
 meaning. 
 
 " I have had visitors," said he, '^ two persons of 
 distinction." 
 
 The ladies inquired who had been, with the eager- 
 ness of people not in the habit of being jaded by 
 callers. 
 
 ''No less a person, fair dames, than that distin- 
 guished nobleman. Lord Carlton, son of Dick Carlton, 
 who got a peerage for the Act of Settlement business, 
 grandson of old Carlton, the hatter, and a great grand- 
 son of a puritan knave who helped to supply the 
 rebel armj^ of 1642 with clothes, cheated liis masters 
 about the soldiers' breeches, and got hanged for it. 
 You see, my dears, there are other people who study 
 pedigrees besides the learned Mr. Callis." 
 
 "What could such a person want here, papa? I 
 should have thought he knew you, indeed all of us, too 
 well, to suppose his society would be desired even if 
 he had not insulted our cousin," exclaimed Isabell. 
 
 " So should I, but he didn't. I may possibly have 
 made the fact clear to him. I'll tell you both some- 
 time or other what he came for, but not now. Who 
 do you think was my other guest ? Well, you won't 
 guess, I'm sure. Do you remember a certain person 
 who was the chief witness against poor Corbet, Mary?" 
 
 * " Percy's Reliques," 4th edit. vol. ii. p. 342. 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 KALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 "I can never forget Kenneth Mackenzie," said she, 
 her face flushing, and her eyes flashing. 
 
 '' Lord Carlton brought that person here, and did 
 me the honour of introducing me to him." 
 
 " And did you, could you stand on your own hearth, 
 Mr. Skirlaugh, and receive the miscreant in friend- 
 ship ? " 
 
 " I told him we had met before and might meet 
 again. I could not, j^ou know, Mar^^, fight him here ; 
 but as sure as there's a heaven above us, if ever I 
 meet that fellow outside m}^ own doorstep, I'll send 
 him to join Judas Iscariot and Titus Oates, or another 
 Skirlaugh shall die with three inches of steel in his 
 body. I am thankful Ralf was not at home. I doubt 
 whether the good breeding he has picked up, outre 
 mer, would be strong enough to have kept his hot 
 blood from boiling over." 
 
 *' And has the cold-blooded, calculating murderer 
 of Richard Corbet, and of half the other martyrs, par- 
 taken of the hospitaUty of a friend of his victims ? " 
 said Mary, deeply agitated. '' Received what he will 
 call his friendship, and gone away to tell those who 
 hired him that the Jacobites have sunk so low that for 
 the sake of enjoying their own acres in quiet they 
 will receive into their houses one that even " 
 
 Mary was about to say much more. Unwise her 
 words certainly would have been, for the deepest feel- 
 ings of her heart were aroused. We do not think that 
 anything of hers would have made Mr. Skhiaugh 
 seriously angry ; on the xn'esent occasion his feelmgs
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 179 
 
 were far too nearly of the complexion of her own to 
 cause the wild outburst, as far as it had yet gone, 
 to produce any other sentiment than admiration. 
 " I wish I knew no more of the world than the dear 
 child does," thought he. Isabell, whose temper was 
 calm, perhaps because she had not suffered so bit- 
 terly, pressed the hand of her friend beseechingly, and 
 Mary, accustomed from long habit to obey the dictates 
 of a stronger will, left the sentence unfinished. 
 Stooping to hide her emotions, she caressed the hound 
 at her feet, who, as his large loving eyes gazed into 
 Jier face, seemed to respond to what was passing in her 
 breast much more fully than, as she for the moment 
 unjustly considered, the cold and calculating hearts of 
 her friends. 
 
 It is happy for those who can thus translate the 
 language of brutes. Where there is a fellow-feeling 
 of love between us and the nobler animals, it rarely 
 springs from those motives by which certam philoso- 
 phers, now in the ascendant, have endeavoured to 
 explain it. If we loved them merely on account of 
 the good we got from them, the dung-cart that assists 
 in the manuring of our fields, or the umbrella that 
 shades us from the rain, would have a ^proportionate 
 place in our regard. Such persons as are able to feel 
 joy at the affection of a dog, have in them, whatever 
 their lives may be, qualities too noble to be influenced 
 by mere utility. The true ground of our love is that 
 their sympathy is never lacking. Your dog, if he once 
 loves you, loves you for ever. No act of yours in the 
 
 N 2
 
 180 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 outer world, no cruelty towards himself even, will turn 
 his affection into carping criticism. He has no amhi- 
 tion to satisfy, no higher or lower motives to divert 
 him from you, the one ohject of his regard. The 
 hacknej^ed words of the i)oet, so untrue of most 
 human love, are true of his — 
 
 '' I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, 
 I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art." 
 
 Therefore in whatever mood we may he, this sj^m- 
 pathy gives pleasure or relief, not so deej) nor so last- 
 ing, perhaps, as that which some few heings of oui* 
 own kind afford at rare intervals, when, by something 
 approaching to a special providence, they happen for a 
 few moments to stand exactly on the same plane with 
 ourselves, but far more really valuable, because cer- 
 tainly within reach. We know not when entering our 
 own doors, depressed b,y sorrow, or filled with joyous 
 excitement, whether tliose within will be m a mood 
 that does not clash with ours, but the quiet, mute love 
 of our dog, gazing into our eyes, as if longing to tell 
 his affection in human words, or licking our hand in 
 token of submissive devotion, is sure to touch the 
 right chord, because, as distinctive expression is want- 
 ing, we translate his symbols into the words that 
 soothe us most. 
 
 In the middle ages this must have been deeply felt, 
 though we are not aware that the idea has found a 
 place in the literature which has come down to us. 
 There are, however, remains, among the most touching
 
 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 181 
 
 that time has spared, which show how deeply our an- 
 cestors reahsed such thoughts. The writer has before 
 his eyes a certain alabaster monument in a north 
 country church, where, blended in an embrace no 
 human hands will ever sever, there rest the remains of 
 a great feudal lord and his spouse, dame Maud, a lady 
 who brought to him wide lands, and, if we may trust 
 chronicle and sculptured stone, a peerless gift of 
 beauty. On the tomb the husband and wife are repre- 
 sented as they lived, and with such sldll as the best 
 fifteenth century artists could produce. Angels swing- 
 ing censers, and playing on harps, support the cushions 
 where their heads are pillowed. The figures lie side 
 by side ; the lady gazes not on her lord, who seems 
 calmly to await the judgment, with no sign of hope or 
 fear on his noble features, but upwards, as it were 
 tr}dng to catch a glimpse of the celestial visitants who 
 shed around the heavenly music. Her hand seems 
 but a moment since to have been locked in his, but 
 she has withdrawn it ; a sign, it may be, that the choirs 
 of the blessed have more charms for her now than the 
 love of her knightly lord. But the hound on which 
 his feet rest ; he, poor brute, sees no angelic throng, 
 listens to no heavenly harpings, but gazes mournfully, 
 wistfully up into his master's face. The lesson that 
 these images convey is a sad one. Some, perhaps, will 
 be more touched by the affection of the dog for his 
 master, which death could not destroy, than by the 
 lady's longings for a spirit world she could not 
 reahse.
 
 182 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 At this moment of awkward pause in the conversa- 
 tion, a flock of startled pigeons came hovering over 
 their heads, and settled on the walk within a few yards 
 of them. The birds were quite tame, and it was no 
 unusual thing to see them picking about almost close 
 to the feet of the servants in the court, but none of 
 the party remembered a sudden descent like tliis upon 
 the garden. 
 
 " This is very strange, Isabell," said the Squire, glad 
 •of a chance of changing the subject of conversation. 
 "You know the old woman's fable, that when pigeons 
 suddenly become tame it is a sign of death, or great 
 misfortune to some one in the house. Of course it's 
 all nonsense, a remnant of the Pagan notion of augury 
 by the flight of birds ; but it is odd that they should 
 fly to us in this startled manner ; I never noticed them 
 do so before. I have heard my aunt Mary say that 
 my grandfather was sitting in this very garden on a 
 summer's evenmg, when suddenly the pigeons, which 
 were not tame then as they are now, came and picked 
 about almost close to his feet. He was struck with an 
 apoplexy, and died that very night."
 
 CHAPTEK XIV. 
 
 " Post equitem seclet atra cura." — Horatius. 
 
 If Mr. Skirlaugli had known as mucli of what was 
 going on in his own domain as our readers will shortly 
 do, he would not have had the least inclination to 
 believe that the birds conveyed any preternatural 
 warning. 
 
 They may not have forgotten that Mr. Brotherton 
 had expressed a strong desire to feast his eyes upon the 
 beauties of the gardens at Skirlaugli Manor, and that 
 Mr. Eobert Drury was under something not very unlike 
 a promise to aid him in gratifying that inclination. 
 
 The carriage which brought Lord Carlton and Mac- 
 kenzie, contained the agent also. Instead of entermg 
 the house with his patron, he walked round to the 
 stable-j^ard, where he discovered the groom leisurely 
 engaged in platting a whip -thong. He was seated on 
 a corner of the saddle-room table, near a large fire, 
 whose heat he seemed to enjoy, although the weather 
 was mild. A horn of ale was at his elbow, thongs of 
 white leather, balls of twine, and a curious assortment 
 of knives, pincers, and other tools strewed the table.
 
 184 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 " Glad to have found you, Mr. Druiy. I've not 
 forgotten my appointment, you see," said Brotherton, 
 in his most friendly manner. 
 
 The groom raised his eyes. '' Oh, ay, about th' 
 gardins, is it ? Well, this mun be kept very squat. 
 It'll never do for our maister nor madam to know. 
 She's warse about them sort o' thmgs then he is. I 
 really omast think I'd better liev nowt at all to do wi' 
 it. It's a tickle job, I can tell ye.'' 
 
 *' WeU, reaUy, Mr. Drury, I'm very sorry. I quite 
 depended on j^ou. You promised that you'd do me 
 this little favour next time I came, and I've wTitten to 
 my brother already about it. He'll be as much dis- 
 appointed as I am," said the agent, in a coaxing 
 tone. 
 
 " Promise, did I ? Well, I'll see then ; but I mun 
 get this little job for Squire done fost. He'U be 
 wantin' it, maybe, when th' company leaves. Will 
 ye just give us that there lump o' bees-wax off o' the 
 shelf 3^onder, it's agean the colic drink bottle ? I hev 
 said a word or two to oud Dent. He tuk the ginney 
 like a man, he did. If he'd been as much used to 
 pocketing ginneys all his life as thoo lies, he couldn't 
 hev done it no better. We'll hev no bother vri him 
 now, but you knaw our gardins is strange an' big, 
 there's acres an' acres on 'em, and then there's the 
 wood, all like a Gillian bower, wi' walks, and rides, 
 and seats, and things. Now what is it ye'd like to see ? 
 You can't tek it all in at a view no more then ye can 
 th' four sides o' a chetch steeple all at once."
 
 KALF SiaRLAUGH. 185 
 
 " Oil, I shall be satisfied with seeing far less than 
 you have described. My brother is not particularly 
 anxious about any other part except that on the east 
 wing. The Morning Pleasaunce, I think it is called," 
 replied Brotherton. 
 
 " Come, then, let's be off," exclaimed Bob, who, 
 seized with a sudden fit of energy, jumped from the 
 table, rubbed the new made thong with pipe-clay, 
 drank off the beer, bundled his various tools into a 
 drawer, stuck a stable cap on one side of his head, his 
 hands into his pockets, and strode off in the direction 
 of the garden with an energy very disproportionate to 
 his former apathy. Their route lay along a devious 
 path among the out-houses. They soon reached a 
 small gateway, whose lower portion was furnished with 
 two doors studded with nails, waifs from the demo- 
 lished castle, one communicating with the offices, the 
 other with the Morning Pleasaunce. Between them 
 was a little dark room, some eight feet square, sup- 
 porting a chamber where the tame pigeons resided. 
 
 '' Noo thoo sees this is th' road, but t'other door's 
 locked. I'll run round and oppen it. Afore I do, 
 though, thoo mun go in here and let me lock the door, 
 for feerd madam should come, she's alm'st alus pychin' 
 about." 
 
 The agent was reputed to be a subtle man, he cer- 
 tainly considered himself to be so. He had however 
 no suspicion on the present occasion. He entered the 
 little windowless cell without a moment's hesitation ; 
 Bob turned the key and walked jauntily away. Brother-
 
 186 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 ton was as ignorant of the topography of the premises 
 as the good monks of Ferrieres, concerning whom 
 Kobertson and Maitland have discoursed, are said to 
 have been of the geography of Flanders. He sur- 
 mised that the distance the groom would have to go 
 might be considerable, and was therefore not at all 
 uneasy at his captivity until perhaps ten minutes had 
 elapsed. When a quarter of an hour had gone over 
 his head, he really began to be fidgety, but still the 
 idea that a trick had been played upon his creduHty 
 did not strike him. " The fellow has been called off 
 by liis master," thought he. 
 
 At length the doubt loomed darkly on his mind — 
 "What if the man has been playing off a rude 
 practical joke upon me. His manner is repulsively 
 familiar. He evidently has not that respect for 
 superior station that he should have." A ready answer 
 seemed to be furnished to this dark suggestion, by the 
 fact that a trick of this peculiarly senseless land (all 
 practical jokes do seem particularly foolish to those 
 who suffer from them) could afford no amusement to 
 the operator, because it would be necessary to keep it 
 quite private, for fear of the wrath of the Squu-e and 
 his lady. Jests are made to be laughed at. It did 
 seem therefore very improbable that the menial would 
 take the trouble of concocting one where this result 
 could certainly not be obtained. How long Mr. 
 Brotherton would have continued balancing proba- 
 bilities in his mind without coming to any definite 
 conclusion, we do not know. His speculations and
 
 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 187 
 
 suspense were alike cut short b}^ the rumble of the 
 carriage wheels as Lord Carlton drove away. The 
 reception he had met with put everything else out of 
 the nobleman's head. He ordered the coachman to 
 drive off without a thought as to how Mr. Brotherton 
 was to get home. Even had it occurred to hun that 
 that gentleman would have to take a long walk in con- 
 sequence of his own impetuosity, he certainly would 
 not have delayed his departure for an instant. 
 
 The sound of the wheels had hardly died away ere 
 Bob's heavy footsteps clattered on the path which ap- 
 proached the gateway, not on that side to which he had 
 promised to come for the purpose of opening the garden 
 door, but on that at which he had entered. 
 
 ^' Oh Lord, oh Lord ! " shouted he, " we-'re in for it. 
 You'll be killed, and what's warse I shall lose ni}^ 
 place, all a long o' you and this offil old gar din. If jq 
 speak a wod, or if ye so much as move yer toes inside 
 yer shoe leathers — whatever on earth's the matter I 
 doant knaw, but I never i' all my born days seed our 
 Squire in such an a tackin'. He's bundled them two 
 chaps as came wi you out o' th' house, as thof they'd 
 been a couple of dogs as had gotten th' maunge, 
 clodded 'em into th' carriage, an' teld Keuben th' 
 coachman to drive wi' 'em to Hell an' tell oud Nick it 
 was him as hed sent 'em, an' noo he's rampagin' up 
 an' doon wi' his gret horsewhip i' his hand, — jou seed 
 me a mendin' on it this mornin', Mr. Brotherton — an' 
 swearin' by all 'at's good that if he can nobut leet on 
 you — for he knaws you cam wi' 'em, he'll cut yer skin
 
 188 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 i' sucli small ribbins 'at they'll be ower narrer for th' 
 fairy lasses to tie their shoes wi'." 
 
 Brotherton was fully aware of the object for which 
 Lord Carlton had that morning sought Mr. Skirlaugh's 
 society. He knew, too, some little by personal expe- 
 rience, and much more by vague report, of the habits 
 and character of that gentleman. It did not strike 
 him as at all improbable that the Squire would be 
 highly incensed, and if such were the case he was quite 
 sure that no respect for Lord Carlton's position, much 
 less for his own, would restrain him from ventmg liis 
 feelings in any w^ay that might suit his pleasure. The 
 awful tale which the groom told did not, therefore, 
 strike him as improbable. Cowardice takes various 
 forms. Brotherton could not have been considered a 
 timid man in ordinary cases. - He had plent}^, a super- 
 abundance indeed, of that kind of moral courage which 
 enabled him to carry out his own designs in the teeth 
 of opposition. He was not fearful of danger when it 
 •was far away, nor particularly timid when near, if he 
 saw any feasible mode of eluding it ; but he was entii-ely 
 without that moral dignity which enables some persons, 
 even if otherwise bad, to face pain and danger in its 
 most unheroic forms with manlike courage. If the 
 agent had been on trial for his life for felony, or on the 
 scaffold about to suffer the last penalty for that crmie, 
 it is probable that he would not have borne himself 
 worse than other villains have done in similar posi- 
 tions. But in the present instance, threatened with 
 what he believed to be a very real, but at the same
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 189 
 
 time vague danger, with no stimulus of vanity, no liope 
 of reward to lure him on, his courage rapidly gave 
 way. 
 
 " What is to be done? Oh, Mr. Drury, good Mr. 
 Drury, do let me out and help me to escape," ex- 
 claimed he in a suppliant voice. 
 
 " Let ye out ! Why if I was to oppen the door, our 
 Squire would pounce down on ye in a minnit, like a 
 kite scraggin' a whitterick. You'd not hev a whole 
 bone i' yer body as big as a copper ha'penny afore I 
 could say Jack Robison." 
 
 " What am I to do, then ?" whined he. 
 
 '^ Do ! wh}^ not be bellowin' out there like a bull 
 cauf i' a peat moor dykin', bud lig still an' do'nt speak 
 a wod. If ye yowl out i' that form ye'll be scarein' th' 
 pigeons, an' then out they'll puther, an' if he sees 'em 
 fljdn', he's sure to knaw what's up, an' then he'll be 
 efter ye soon, I'll uphowd it." 
 
 As Bob was finishing his sentence he poked a long 
 willow rod, which he had provided for the purpose, 
 through one of the holes by which the birds entered 
 theu^ abode. The startled bevy, unused to such dis- 
 turbance, poured forth, flapping their wings, in no 
 little consternation. 
 
 " There, then ! It's just as I tell'd yer. Noo he's 
 sure to see 'em, an' you'll soon see him. I'm strange 
 an' sorry I put a new thong on his whip this vary day. 
 It's a real heavy un. You seed it, may be. Bud I 
 mun be off, or he'll be a catchin' me an' all." 
 
 With these words the tormentor departed, but his
 
 190 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 schemes of mischief were not over. He retraced his 
 steps into the saddle-room ; called to one of the 
 " threepenny lads," and handing him the instrmnent of 
 torture, bade him crack the dust out of it. " Don't do 
 it here," said he, " or you'll scare the pultry, Ben, but 
 go back o' th' sheds." 
 
 The agent^ had the clearest recollection of the big 
 whip which he had seen in the saddle-house. He 
 dreaded every moment that the door would open and 
 the form of the Squire armed with that frightful 
 weapon present itself. Sunk on the floor, for there 
 w^as no seat, he felt that whatever torture the future 
 Ufe might have in store for him, nothing in tliis world 
 could exceed the agony of the present. An addi- 
 tional pang was yet added by the bo}^ on whom de- 
 volved the congenial duty of whip-crackmg. He 
 perhaps had never handled a real riding-whip before. 
 Play no doubt he had with vulgar articles called whips 
 of home manufacture, where a thatch peg does duty 
 for a stock and some platted " tarmarl " stolen from 
 the roof of a neighbouring corn stack, furnishes the 
 lash, but a real whip with a stock of polished Indian 
 cane, a steel hammer inlaid with silver for a hook, and 
 a thong of the whitest of white leather tricked out at 
 the end with a lash of green and red silk cord, was a 
 treasure not to be handled lightly. It were almost a 
 metaphor to call the low, dull sound that the boy's toy 
 whip produced, a crack ; but this was an instrument 
 whose report resounded far and near, and raised echoes 
 in eve'ry part of the home domain. As the groom had
 
 EALF SiaRLAUGH. 191 
 
 lioped, lie devoted himself thoroughly to this new em- 
 plo3'ment. Every time the sound, so congenial to the 
 urchin, struck on the ears of the prisoner, he thought 
 that the enraged Squire, who he believed to be hunting 
 for him, was venting his baffled rage. *' It can only be 
 a work of time," groaned he ; " in a few minutes he 
 must find me." 
 
 How long the cracking would have gone on, if unin- 
 terrupted, our juvenile readers, should we chance to 
 have any, can probably conjecture. Old John Dent, 
 the gardener, happening to come into the yard for a 
 tool which he required, was much scandalised by find- 
 ing Ben, one of his own particular retainers, doing 
 what he was pleased to call the groom's '' idle wark." 
 He at once sent the truant off to his weeding, glad to 
 have escaped a cuffing by the loss of the remainder of 
 the pleasure he had promised himself. 
 
 When the cracking ceased, Brotherton had faint 
 hopes that the Squire was in some degree pacified, and 
 begun once more fervently to desire the presence of his 
 jailer. Hour after hour glided silently away, and no 
 Bob appeared. It was too dark for him to see the 
 face of his watch ; the cawing of the rooks saying 
 their evening prayers, informed him that the horn* of 
 sunset was past, but his liberator came not. Could 
 he have forgotten him? His mind had been too pain- 
 fully occupied to think of food ; but now, in the dead 
 stillness of evening, he became aware that he had par- 
 taken of none since breakfast. Another hour passed ; 
 the hunger increased. He began to turn his thoughts
 
 192 EALF SKIRLAUGK. 
 
 to the possibilit}' of some way of escape. Could one 
 of the doors be forced from its hinges ? Was it possible 
 for him to climb to the next storey, and break a way 
 through the roof ? He tried the door, and found that 
 the strength of no one man could burst it open. He 
 remembered observing when he entered that the little 
 trap-door by which access was obtained to the pigeon- 
 chamber was, as is usual in such places, in the middle 
 of the floor, and that it was therefore quite impossible 
 to reach it without a ladder. 
 
 Hope, then, there was none. In a state but little 
 removed from despair, he was preparing himself to meet 
 the worst, when he heard footsteps. The key tm-ned 
 in the lock, and the groom stood before him. He be- 
 gan to pour out most heartfelt thanks to his liberator. 
 
 *' Stop, stop ! Let's have no slaverin' talk like that, 
 but be off wi' 3^er like shot, or some o' th' chaps will 
 be seein' yer, and then it's all up, I can tell yer. 
 Squire's gen orders that if ony on us sees yer (for he's 
 sure you're about somewhere), we're to collar yer 
 straight off, and tak' yer to him. You knaw what that 
 means." 
 
 *' No, I don't ; surely he wouldn't kill me ! " groaned 
 the captive. 
 
 " No, I don't think he would do that ; for, ye see, 
 ther'd be yer carcass then a lumbcrin' about, and the 
 crowner would be gettin' to hear on it, and then ther'd 
 be an inquest like, and he'^ hev to give th' jurymen 
 a dinner i' th' kitchen, and ax the crowner into th' 
 room. But, ye know, there's the vaults."
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 193 
 
 " Tlie vaults ! and what are they ? " said Brotherton, 
 a thrill of horror darting through his mind. 
 
 " What ! ha' ye lived so long, and never heard o' 
 them ? Why, yer knaw when old Sir Ingram, om* 
 Squire's grandfather, j)nlled down the castle, he left 
 the big prisons and dungeons, and built th' new house 
 up o' th' top on 'em. We use some on 'em now as 
 cellars, but they're mostlins locked up, and no one else 
 but Squire ever goes into 'em, or if anj^body does, he 
 niver comes out agean to tell us nowt about it. Some 
 on 'em runs just under this very place where we are a 
 stannin' now. If you was once putten in there, you'd 
 never be heard on no more till there cam a week wi' 
 three Thursdays in it." 
 
 The agent took in every word of this audacious lie. 
 He had been accustomed in his youth to hear of the 
 wild deeds of the lawless Scottish nobles "lang syne," 
 and had seen with his own eyes some of the subter- 
 ranean dungeons of their strongholds. Had it been 
 broad daylight, or had he been in his usual unexcited 
 frame of mind, it is not likely that such an improbable 
 story would have had more effect on him than it now 
 has upon the reader. The conviction that he was the 
 object of fierce, if not murderous, hatred, the certaint}^ 
 that he deserved to be so, and that if Mr. Skirlaugh 
 could know the plans he was projecting, he would be 
 justified in deahng with him as severely, if not quite as 
 summarily, as Bob had described, predisposed him to 
 beHeve anj^thing. 
 
 " Do but get me out of this, Mr. Drury, and I'll 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 EALF SKIRLAUGir. 
 
 give you all I have in the world ! " exclaimed the 
 terrified wretch, who already felt himself, in imagina- 
 tion, in the dungeon, which the mischievous fancy of 
 the groom had created. As he spoke he thi'ust liis 
 purse into Drury's hand. 
 
 " Tak' that rammil hack ; I don't want none on it, 
 man ; nohbut be still, and I'll get ye off this tmie ; but 
 just listen to me : there's a little bod been a tellin' me 
 what yer after, and if I tell'd our Squire ye'd not get 
 off, if ye was at Brackenthwaite, or i' Lunnon itself — 
 mind that," exclaimed sBob, striking his right hand 
 violently on his thigh to give emphasis to his words. 
 
 The agent began a confused reply. He was cut 
 short at once. 
 
 "Be still. Yer more frangy than a blood-foal fost 
 time it's a helter j^utten on it head. Here's Nob, 
 ould Isaac the shepherd's pony ; you may ride home 
 on her, if ye lilie ; but you mun send her back agean 
 afore six i' th' mornin', or you'll get wrong, I can tell 
 yer." 
 
 • With many protestations that the pony should be 
 returned at the time specified, the agent momited, and 
 the groom opening the gate, let him out of the yard 
 into the woodland road. 
 
 It was a moonless night, the few stars that were 
 shining gave a faint light sufficient to guide the tra- 
 veller on his way. The road was a rough cai't-track, 
 on which the thoughts of the roadmasters had never 
 expended themselves in the form of gravel. Here and 
 there miniature lakes, which we Lincolnshire men call
 
 EALF SIvIRLAUGir. 195 
 
 flodges, stretched across the whole path. There had 
 been no rain for some time, but the stiff clay held the 
 water as in a basin. No somid broke the death-like 
 stillness, except the splasliing of the pony's feet, or 
 the occasional cry of some night-flying hiid. The 
 intense relief that he experienced in being dehvered 
 from captivity and the dread of the Squire's ferocity, 
 made Brotherton, notwithstanding hunger, for the 
 moment somewhat light of heart. Reaction, however, 
 soon set in. His not unnatural feehngs of resentment 
 against his tormentor were mingled with anxious 
 curiosity as to the meaning of certain hints that he 
 had tln^own out. " What if the fellow really should 
 know that which his words seem to suggest ? " thought 
 he, as the irritating fancy struck him. His reason told 
 him that it could not be, or that if some part of liis 
 plans were vaguely guessed at, he could certainly out- 
 manoeuvre such a person by a ver}^ immaterial change 
 of tactics. Conscience hinted that the miserable 
 schemes of self-aggrandisement which led him to plan 
 evil deeds for the gratification of his worthless patron 
 must end in misery. Conscience had frequently said 
 the same before, but the only effect of the voice was to 
 draw forth the reply, '' I must go on and help Lord 
 Carlton in this. There is no way else. I have sold 
 myself to the devil, and must make the best I can of 
 the bargain." Thus he muttered, almost aloud, as the 
 pony tm^ned a slight curve, where the road seemed, in 
 the dim light, to narrow to a mere footpath, completely 
 overhung by bushes. The words were hardty uttered 
 
 2
 
 196 HALF SKniLAUGH. 
 
 ere an unearthly yell rung through the wood, and the 
 foul fiend himself sprung on his pony behind him, and 
 clasped his arms around his neck. The scream the 
 victim gave was almost as loud as that of his grim 
 tormentor. Nob, whose pace had been thus far that of 
 a peaceable, well-disj)osed nag, was as much alarmed 
 as Brotherton himself. Putting her nose between her 
 legs, she galloped off in a j^erfect frenzy of terror, 
 not in the direction of Brackenthwaite, but down the 
 western slope of the hill. The agent was, by no means, 
 a bad rider. Scotch peasants in former days were 
 used to tumble about on the backs of ponies almost as 
 soon as they could walk. Fear deprived him of all 
 power of guiding the terrified animal ; but he stuck 
 on firml}", though the pace with which the}' swept down 
 the decline was frightful. When he tried for a moment 
 to give his attention to the pony, the fascmation of 
 the spiritual x^i'esence was too strong for him, and he 
 turned round, in an agony of fear, to gaze on the 
 incubus on the crupper. There could be no doubt 
 about it. There sate behind him, distinctly visible, 
 in the dim light, the form which he had so often heard 
 described by the cottage fireside, which he had seen a 
 hundred times in picture-books, and certainly not less 
 frequently in his dreams. Tlie dark, thin body, the 
 long, skinny arms, the horrible face, — every trait was 
 there by which the Scottish peasant distinguished that 
 being whom one of their writers has called the Pope of 
 Pandemonium. Each time he attempted to gaze the 
 sight became one of more unearthlv horror. Eeason
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 197 
 
 did not, however, entirely forsake the victim. When 
 he reached the bottom of the hill, although the pace 
 was not less rapid, his seat was, in some degree, less 
 perilous, and he turned deliberately round, determined 
 to speak to his unearthly companion. The frightful 
 visage was within six inches of his own ; the horrible 
 eyes, he averred, shone with the very light of the pit 
 itself; and curses, deep and long, rung in his ears — 
 such curses as, to use his own words in after days, 
 when, converted from a life of sin he settled down as 
 a ruling elder and whisky distiller in his native village, 
 "it is not fit for human lips to report." 
 " Avoid thee, Sathanas, in the name of — " 
 The exorcism was cut short by Satan grasping him 
 fiercely b}^ the nose. At the same instant of time the 
 pony swerved round a corner, and the horrified Bro- 
 therton saw before him what seemed to. be the wall of 
 a castle, all on a red glow with intense heat. It had 
 not the appearance of a building which had taken fire, 
 but of one to which fire was the natural element. 
 Tongues of flame — long blue flame — shot through 
 every door and loophole, glimmered in every crevice ; 
 and each individual brick shone and " lowed " with the 
 intense heat. '' As I am a Christian man," thought 
 he, " this is verily the mouth of the pit ; and I am 
 lost — lost for ever, for — " His exhausted frame could 
 bear no more. He fell fainting from his pony. 
 
 Some hours after, the man, whose duty it was to 
 see to the fires of the Squire's brick-kiln, went out to 
 make all right for the night, and found the agent
 
 198 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 
 
 senseless on the ground, bleeding from the effects of 
 his fall. In the morning the pony, saddled and bri- 
 dled, was discovered rubbing herself against the wood- 
 lane gate. It was also obsei'ved that Jenny, the 
 monkey, had that night broken her chain, although the 
 good dame, if she had Avandered abroad, had retui'ned 
 to her residence with punctual regularity. 
 
 Brotherton, to the day of his death, believed that he 
 had had a personal interview with Satan, and dated 
 the sowing of the first seeds of his conversion there- 
 from ; seeds which, as our readers will see, like haws 
 and American walnuts, took a considerable time to 
 germinate. Those who know the wild tales of diablerie 
 with which the Scottish fireside was formerly illu- 
 mined, as it were, by the very flames of Gehenna, who 
 have read the monstrous legends in the Analecta of 
 Wodrow, the pious covenanting historian, will not be 
 surprised that Mr. Brotherton should have thought 
 he had met the Devil while engaged in plotting to 
 gratify Lord Carlton's unhol}" pleasm'e.
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 " Believe 't that we'll do anything for gold." 
 
 Timon of Athens, act iv. s. 3. 
 
 The night was dark and the wind moaned fitfully in 
 the chimneys in harmon}^ with the sad soft rain that 
 was falling without unheard, save when a gust of more 
 than usual strength drove it against the Teaded win- 
 dow panes. At other times no sound whatever broke 
 the deep silence except the dripping of the water from 
 the eaves, as it fell with a pleasant monotony upon the 
 flags of the court below. A solitary man was sitting 
 in a small old-fashioned room. On the table lay a 
 leather travelling desk, a few papers, and one or two 
 books. He might perhaps have been writing letters, 
 but was not doing so now. His chair was turned 
 away from the table, and he sat, his feet upon the 
 fender, with his body bent down and his head resting 
 on his hands. His eyes were fixed upon the logs in 
 the grate as if watching the angular forms into which 
 the heat clove the burning wood. The modern inven- 
 tion of a fireplace in which to burn coal had not yet 
 been introduced into the apartment wliich he occu-
 
 200 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 pied. The expression of liis face was unhappy — sad 
 would not be the fit term to use. It was sternly, bit- 
 terl}' unhapp3% but had none of the mellow autumnal 
 hue which sorrow if borne manfully gives to the fea- 
 tures ; neither were there signs of the weak irritability 
 often seen on the countenances of those who do not 
 bear it manfully. If, however, dignity were wanting, 
 there was in its room a dogged frowning earnestness 
 which supplied its place not inaptly. If the man 
 whom we now see before us ruminating on painful 
 subjects were of fairly vii'tuous life, we might safely 
 predicate that the share of the imaginative faculty 
 with which he had been endowed by nature was very 
 small, that the shadows of his life had had ver}^ few 
 rays of light from within to produce beauty b}^ the 
 contrast. If his character were vicious, it would not 
 be unsafe to conjecture that he had wandered far in 
 the paths of sin, and had picked his way among the 
 pitfalls not unwarily ; that the thoughts of repentance 
 which had crossed his mind had been kept sternly in 
 check by a strength of will that might have gone far 
 towards making a noble Christian character had it 
 been exercised in curbing evil thoughts and wandering 
 desires. As he raises himself up from his croucliing 
 attitude and leans back in his arm-chair, we get a full 
 view of his featm-es as they are lighted up by the 
 dusky blaze. 
 
 The faculty of keen, quick imagination is certainly 
 not wanting ; there is that about the expression of his 
 dark eyes and the humorous curve of liis well-formed
 
 EALF SiaRLAUGH. 201 
 
 full lips which at once precludes any one who can read 
 the soul in the features from coming to such a con- 
 clusion. The heavy protruding under-jaw indicates a 
 strength of purpose which the general character of the 
 features would lead us to think had been often exer- 
 cised in planning schemes of evil. He was thinking 
 earnestly, but no mmnnur escaped his lips. Such 
 characters are not sufficiently child-like to think 
 aloud. The only bodily action by which the most 
 acute observer could have guessed at what was gomg 
 on within was the movement of his fingers, which now 
 went gently to and fro like those of one playing on a 
 keyed instrument, and then suddenly, as some bitter 
 memory or anticipation struck him, clenched them- 
 selves tightly together. Whatever the thoughts were 
 that troubled him, they evidently occupied all his 
 faculties, for a low tap on the door failed to attract his 
 notice. It was repeated. As he arose his features 
 assumed their ordinarily gay, somewhat roiit^ air. He 
 opened the door and received Mr. Brotherton with a 
 hearty shake of the hand. 
 
 " I thought I shouldn't see you to-night," said he, 
 " and was just debating whether to go to bed, or waste 
 an hour over a book." 
 
 " I was sure to come, Mr. Mackenzie, but I have 
 had a hard day. Lord Bui'worth finds me plenty of 
 employment without our other cares," answered the 
 new comer. 
 
 " Have you accomplished anj^thing satisfiictory 
 in our line," asked Mackenzie, setting the other
 
 202 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 arm-chaii- for his friend comfortably near to the 
 fire. 
 
 "Well, yes, I tliink I have. I've seen the men, 
 and they're all right, though I'd more to pay than I 
 thought of. There's one thing troubles me. I'm not 
 clear of the way — the road I mean ; we must know 
 that," answered the agent. 
 
 "Certainly; but there's time enough yet. Come, 
 have something to drink. I can't get any hot water, 
 but there's plenty of cold, and the spirits are on the 
 side-table." 
 
 '^ It's a cold, wet night ; we Scots should be untrue 
 to our country if we made a dry bargain," replied 
 Brotherton; and, stepping to the sideboard, he helped 
 himself to a strong glass of hoUands and water. 
 
 "I won't take any to-night, I've to drink so much 
 when Lord Carlton's here, that I'm as abstemious as a 
 hermit when he's in bed. His lordship's been there all 
 day," added Mackenzie, in a tone that showed some of 
 the contempt that he felt for that distinguished member 
 of the Upper House. 
 
 " As I expected," replied Brotherton. '' How the 
 ass could think that a man lilve old Skirlaugh — as 
 prouci an old patrician as ever talked treason or 
 spurned his betters for some silly conceit of pedigree 
 — would accept him as a suitor for his daughter, 
 passes my understanding." 
 
 *'It was a fool's errand; but what you have men- 
 tioned was not the most foolish part of it. It might 
 have been possible by some accident that the old man
 
 KALF SKIRLAUGH. 203 
 
 could have been talked round ; but what chance would 
 he ever have had with the ghi herself? She's one of 
 the handsomest lasses I ever saw; and I hear from 
 those who know her that she has a strong will of her 
 own, and that her father never contradicts her in 
 anything. You may tell her character by the 
 way she manages her horse. She sits him lil^e a 
 queen." 
 
 " Where have you seen her ? " inquired the agent," 
 surprised that Mackenzie should be able to speak in 
 any part from personal knowledge. 
 
 "I've not been idle while you've been across the 
 Humber. I picked up the acquaintance ot the son of 
 a certain Jacobite squire — Morley they call him — who 
 lives at Scalhoe, about two miles over there. He 
 thinks it rather a grand thing, I fancy, to know a 
 friend of Lord Carlton's, and has shown me no end of 
 courtesy. This very day he took me to see a duck 
 decoy at — I forget the name of the place, it was his 
 father's, and they've just sold it to old Skirlaugh. 
 While we were on the bank of the pond, and he was 
 explaining to me the uses of the nets and pipes, we 
 heard horses, and up rode the old man, his daughter, 
 and some more people. Like Moses, I was hidden 
 quietly among the reeds, but had a good Adew of the 
 whole part3\" 
 
 These remarks were probably made more for the 
 pm^pose of introducing the name of Morley than to 
 explain how Mackenzie had had the opportunity of 
 beholding the lady. After a pause he added,
 
 204 PtALF SKIRLAUGIl. 
 
 " Morley of Scalhoe is brother to the plotter, but 
 he's a mere hard-drinking, sporting squire." 
 
 " Could 3'ou make out an^'thing from his son of the 
 man we want ? " 
 
 " No, not a word. I touched on the subject once, 
 but my companion, who is able to talk of nothing but 
 dogs, horses, and such like, took fright. Thought 
 for the moment I might be a spy, perhaps. But I've 
 heard something important from another source. A 
 despatch from London informs me that a letter, 
 certainly from Marmaduke Morley, although in a 
 clerk's hand, has been seized. It is to his daughter, 
 the girl that's to marry young Skii-laugh. It says, if 
 we can understand the old fox, that he's coming to 
 Skirlaugh ver}^ shortly," said Mackenzie. 
 
 "Indeed! pray God we may trap him," ejaculated 
 the agent, in a tone which was either the echo of his 
 pious Scottish education, or one of the first fruits of 
 that conversion which was slowly setting in. " A\liat 
 are your plans, Mr. Mackenzie ? " 
 
 "To catch him myself, and get aU the reward, or to 
 bargain with you to help me, and go shares according 
 to circumstances." 
 
 Brotherton gazed on his companion attentively, as 
 if he did not understand him, but remained absolutely 
 silent. 
 
 " I think I can catch him by myself, but I'm not 
 anxious. I suppose you'd like it to be a co-partnery 
 job?" continued the former si^eaker. 
 
 " Certainly," answered the agent.
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 205 
 
 " Well, then, let it be so ; but, mind, I mustn't be 
 seen in it. Not directly, I mean. It may be my vigi- 
 lance, and all that, which has brought it about, if you 
 like, but not my hand that tightens the cord. I can't 
 afford that, if I'm to share the prize with you." 
 
 Brotherton hesitated. He was willing to give any 
 substantial aid he could in capturing the outcast, but 
 shrunk with a natural horror from doing the deed 
 himself. He had hoped that the fouler part of the 
 work would fall to the lot of one so well accustomed 
 to it, and that his share would be of a kind that could 
 be kept in the background, hidden, except from his 
 own conscience, and, perhaps, even glossed over 
 there. 
 
 ^' Oh, you hold back, I see ; well, never- mind, we'll 
 think no more of it then ; I'll do it all. You'll then 
 be clear of all blame, and only lose five hundred 
 pound. It's best, as we say across Tweed, for every 
 old wife to wash her own foul clothes by her own 
 midden,". said Mackenzie, with an air of carelessness 
 very well affected. 
 
 " 1 don't like it, I really don't, Mr. Mackenzie. I've 
 no hesitation about the other job, though there's far 
 more danger in it, but to get a man hanged like a dog 
 just for so much money, makes me think I shouldn't 
 be happy again. You know w^hat the feeling is lilve. 
 Don't you wish sometimes when you're in bed at nights, 
 and the wind is moaning and sighing romid about the 
 house as it does just now, that you were clear of the 
 hangings of forty-six."
 
 206 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 "What a question to ask a man. Why, no, to be 
 sure. Do j^ou think I would go out of still water if I 
 was afraid of being sea-sick ? Come, come, you're 
 tii'ed and unsettled to-night, and hav'n't forgot the 
 fright t'other night at the brick-yard. I shall begin 
 soon to think you're as great a coward as most people 
 are who think they see old Nick," said Mackenzie, 
 
 gaily. 
 
 " As sure as I live, I did see him ; and I would not 
 have such another sight for all the blood-money in the 
 secretary of state's keeping. Let's not talk of it to- 
 night. I'll arrange with you by daj^light. I don't 
 like it now, I can tell you," answered Brotherton, 
 in a tone which showed fear was contending with 
 avarice. 
 
 " Well, well, you'll be all right in the morning, old 
 fellow, I see ; take another glass, and I'll join you just 
 for old Scotch friendship and brotherly love, though 
 my head would be the clearer without it." 
 
 The Highlander arose, and mixed the spiiits for 
 himself and his friend, continuing the conversation aU 
 the while. 
 
 " This is oui- plan, you see. The letter that has 
 been stopped, had it reached its destination, would 
 have given the Skirlaugh folks time to prepare for the 
 fugitive, and then they would have baffled us. He 
 would have been smuggled off into Yorkshire, Lanca- 
 shire, or the devil knows where." 
 
 "Pray, don't talk about the devil now, Mr. Mac- 
 kenzie," broke in the aqent in a beseeching tone.
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 207 
 
 " Upon my word, Brother ton, who would have 
 thought that you who always take upon yourself to 
 lecture me for weakness when to please the peer I get 
 drunk, could be so unnerved b}^ a mere dream. Cheer 
 up, man, or you'll be unfit for any action in this hfe 
 more serious than robbing a hen-roost, or lagging a 
 vagrant. As I was saying, if they knew he was 
 coming, they would baffle us, and they might except 
 him, even if the letter didn't reach them, so I've 
 written a note in his style, as near as I can imitate it, 
 and I don't think I've done it badly, to be given to 
 his daughter. Can j^ou get it convej^ed to her by 
 some safe and unknown hand? They're accustomed 
 to get letters of tliis sort by all sorts of roundabout 
 ways ; here it is," and saying this, Mackenzie took the 
 note from his desk, and handed it to Br other ton. 
 The agent read it. 
 
 ''I will take care she gets it. It will do exactly. 
 Poor girl ! I can't but feel sorry for her, poor thmg ; " 
 and an expression that showed the man reall}- meant 
 what he said clouded for a moment the weaker 
 schemer's face. 
 
 " Pshaw ! who would have thought you were so 
 weak. Why you never saw the lass in your life. Now 
 I knew her well when she was a child, have plaj^ed with 
 her at ball and bhnd-man's buff, many a time when 
 I've been stajing in Cheshire with her micle, Corbet, 
 who was hanged. She used to call me. Uncle Kenneth, 
 though I was no relation of theirs, and liked me, I 
 fancy, better than any one has done since, or will do
 
 208 RALF SiailLAUGII. 
 
 again. But what's all that now but a thing to forget 
 or remember, just as it gives one the most pleasure. 
 When we were school lads at Auld Reekie, we used to 
 kill buttei-flies. You've played at Scotch and English. 
 We killed 'em for no fault of theirs, but just because 
 they were of the wrong colom\ This is nothing more, 
 unless, indeed, there be, as I sometimes thmk there is, 
 a slight additional pleasure, just a touch of romantic 
 pathos, such as Shakespere writes now and then. I 
 really don't know that I shall not enjoy this hunt a 
 little more when I think of her grief, she'll do it so 
 beautifully. There's no acting like nature, man. Gad, 
 I think I can hear her speak. Shall I tell you what 
 she'U say ? " 
 
 " No, no ! " ejaculated the horrified Brotherton, 
 appalled by his companion's utter heartlessness. 
 
 It would have given the Highlander real pleasure to 
 have enacted the scene, but he felt that if he went too 
 far in outspoken villany, he might lose a useful all}' ; so 
 checking himself, he replied to the agent's thoughts 
 wliich had not yet clothed themselves in words. 
 
 ^' My good fellow, you have one foult, a very grave 
 fault it is. You are so tender hearted that you take 
 all these things as seriously as a felon does the con- 
 demned sermon. You don't know how very easily 
 they're borne by women. They haven't the tender 
 feelings we men have. To them it's almost nothing. 
 I've had much experience, have watched them care- 
 fully, and know all about it. Why, man, in this very 
 case, of wliich we're talking, there'll be a few tears ;
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 209 
 
 tlie old man will hang lilve a dog, then a few more 
 tears ; she'll put on mournmg, and put the wedding 
 oif a twelvemonth, then she'll marry this young 
 Skirlaugh, who'll tell her he loves her the better for 
 her suffering ; they'll settle down hereabouts, and 
 when the children can understand her, she'll talk to 
 them of her martyred father just as coolly as we are 
 now." 
 
 *^ Mr. Mackenzie, it's bed time ; we'll talk of these 
 things to-morrow," said the agent, rising and lighting 
 his candle. The demon ride of a former night had made 
 him pecuharly susceptible to spiritual impressions. He 
 felt that the conversation of his companion was little 
 short of fiendish. He closed the door, but re-opened it, 
 only to put in his head and say, '' I must have one 
 word with you, on a matter which other business has 
 put out of my head. We must hasten our work here. 
 Lord Burworth told me to-day, that he was very 
 anxious for his nephew's departure. If he learns who 
 you are, you'll have to go at once.'' 
 
 "I suppose he'll be as bad as old Skirlaugh," said 
 Mackenzie, jauntily. 
 
 "Pretty nearly. Good night," and so saying he 
 closed the door. " There sits the deepest, cruelest 
 ruffian living," thought he ; " a hardened atheist, who 
 has no more hesitation in murder than I have in the 
 ordinary little rogueries of business. I have a very 
 good mind not to help him to capture Morley, for his 
 poor daughter's sake. The reward is a thousand 
 pounds ; I shall onl}^ get five hundred, but that, with 
 VOL. I. r
 
 210 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 
 
 the other eight hundred I have, and the sixt\^, and the 
 forty, and — and — and — ." He had spun a long line 
 of figures ere he got to liis bed-room ; and the spirit 
 distillery, to which he looked forward as a haven of 
 rest, stood in imagination before him. " I suppose I 
 must do it," he said, as he began to undress, and j-et 
 I have half a mind not. I wonder if I went over to 
 Skirlaugh to-morrow morning and told the Squire 
 everything, whether it would not pay as well." The 
 vision of that terrific potentate arose before him, 
 obscuring the phantom distillery. He felt that come 
 what might he dare not face a being so terrible in his 
 ire, especially with a confession of the manifold 
 wrongs which he was helping to x^lot. 
 
 Brotherton had called Mackenzie an atheist. How 
 little we know of human nature. This hardened 
 criminal, who was prepared for any outrage that could 
 furnish him with money to spend in the gratification of 
 his vicious passions, had a far fuller and deeper reali- 
 sation of religion, that is, of the spirit world around us, 
 and the future life beyond, than the wicked, but still in 
 a sense conscientious Presbyterian. To Mackenzie 
 the holiest and purest human feelings were notliing, or 
 worse than nothing, a subject for jests of a nature that 
 w^e cannot reproduce. He laid liis plans of death for 
 some, of life-long misery for others, with the deep 
 deliberation of one to whom the atmosphere of sm w^as 
 so habitual that he had got to take pleasure, such as 
 hagiologists tell us the devils have in outraging the 
 purest and noblest feelings of his victims. So long
 
 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 211 
 
 had lie pursued this course, so carefully, almost 
 tenderly, had he watched and schooled the emotions of 
 his own mind, to fit it for his unholy work, that it is 
 probable the pleasure he anticipated in handing over 
 Marmaduke Morley to the gallows was in no slight 
 degree heightened by dwelling on the agony which he 
 knew would be thus caused to the pm^e-minded girl 
 whom he hated for the very reason that she was pure, 
 innocent, and beautiful. Such he was ; we could add 
 darker traits even than these if it were fitting to soil 
 our pages with such morbid anatomy, and yet ere he 
 retired to rest he knelt and said the old Catholic 
 prayers he had learned in infancy at his mother's knee, 
 seemingly without any consciousness of the foul 
 blasphemy he was adding to his other crimes. 
 
 It is a strange thing this hatred of beauty and good- 
 ness, merely because they are good and beautiful. So 
 strange is it that there are people who have lived long 
 in the world and are not ignorant of some of its evil 
 ways, who are unable to bring themselves to beheve m 
 its existence. The testimony of many a broken heart 
 and many an early grave might be invoked to refute 
 such benevolent scepticism. 
 
 P 2
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 *' Come, let's to dinner." 
 
 Henry the Fourth, Pt. 11. , act iii., s. 2. 
 
 ' ' On painted ceilings you devoutly stare, 
 "Where sprawl the saints of Verrio or Laguerre, 
 Or gilded clouds, in fair expansion lie, 
 And bring all Paradise before your eye." 
 
 Pope, Epist. IV. 143. 
 
 A DINNER-PARTY was a rare event at Skiiiaugli 
 Manor. When, however, the Squii-e did make up his 
 mind to endure such an infliction, it was his habit to 
 do it in a veiy handsome manner. He was on this 
 occasion the more anxious that everything should go 
 off well, as he had a particular desire to show courtesy 
 to old Mr. Morley, a gentleman of, as Tom Hearne 
 would have said, thoroughly " honest lu'inciples," and 
 one who represented a decayed gentihtial family, for 
 which he had a great respect. Mr. Skirlaugh's rever- 
 ence was confined entirely to the political principles 
 and pedigree of Mr. Morley, and by no means ex- 
 tended to that gentleman in his i^ersonal capacity. 
 Both the owner of Scalhoe himself and his sons, he re-
 
 EALF SKIRL AUGH. 213 
 
 garded as bearish persons, who disgraced, by low pur- 
 suits and vulgar habits, the gentle name they bore. The 
 fact, however, that Morley the elder was the brother 
 of that Marmaduke Morley, of whom we have so often 
 heard, and the uncle of Mary, the dear girl he loved 
 almost as much as his own children, and who was 
 soon to be his daughter-in-law, would alone have 
 induced him to perform any act of politeness to him 
 that did not entail much sacrifice of patience. There 
 were other strong reasons why on the present occasion 
 he should be as hospitable as possible. 
 
 One of his forefathers upwards of two centuries ago 
 had sold off from the Skirlaugh domain a certain 
 small estate which, after a variety of fortunes, had at 
 last become vested in the Morley family. It was a 
 cherished whim of the Squire to repurchase this frag- 
 ment, and for twenty years he had been using all his 
 eloquence with Mr. Morley to induce him to part with 
 it. The old man, perhaps, feeling that as it was the 
 only portion of his property not settled in strict entail, 
 it was wise to keep it for some great emergency, had 
 always rejected these offers. Now at length the emer- 
 gency had come. His own careless husbandry of liis 
 resources and the extravagance of his sons had re- 
 duced him to the necessity of parting with the land 
 He therefore naturally offered it to one to whom he 
 was under many obligations, and whom he knew more- 
 over to be so desirous of possessing it, that he was 
 prepared to give more than its real worth. The object 
 of or excuse for William Skirlau^h's visit had been to
 
 214 EALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 bring over the title-deeds, which had long reposed in 
 the London office, and to see the conversance executed. 
 Money there was not much to pay, for the Squire 
 had already advanced a considerable sum by way of 
 mortgage. 
 
 We need not detain our readers with an account of 
 the manner in which the conveyance was '' sealed, 
 signed, and delivered." Nothiijg occurred to render 
 that formidable operation any way worthy of record, 
 except old Morley's discovery that he had left his 
 armorial seal at home, and that there was considerable 
 danger of the deed going down to posterity ^yith the 
 office seal of the London firm impressed on the wax 
 instead of the rampant lion of his own ancient house. 
 The difficulty was a grave one, as he would ceiiamly 
 have insisted in putting off the execution of the docu- 
 ment until a special messenger could have been de- 
 spatched to and returned from Scalhoe, had not his 
 son Jim remembered that a similar seal was appended 
 to his own watch. As no other troubles impeded the 
 flow of busmess, we will at once adjourn to the apart- 
 ment where the servants were engaged in setting out 
 the table and covering the sideboard with the contents 
 of the well-filled plate cupboard. 
 
 The dining-room occupied a considerable portion of 
 the eastern side of the house, the windows looking 
 into the Morning Pleasaunce. The furniture was 
 costly, and seemed to have been little used. The 
 high-backed walnut chairs, covered with green leather, 
 on which was stamped a rich gold pattern, miglit but
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 215 
 
 yesterday liave come from the hands of their maker, 
 had not the change of fashion akeady given to them a 
 somewhat antique appearance. Over the chimney- 
 piece hung a fine picture of King Charles's general, 
 the gallant Earl of Lindsey, who fell at Edgehill, 
 said to be from the hand of Vandyck. All the rest of 
 the walls and the ceiling itself w^ere covered by the 
 works of a far more prolific artist. Verrio, King 
 Charles 11. 's favourite limner, had been employed to 
 decorate Burleigh House, in the south of the county, 
 and when that w^ork was done had found time to come 
 somewhat further north for the purpose of painting 
 the new dining-room which Sir Ingram, the Squire's 
 grandfather, had just finished. If the knight were not 
 delighted, he was surely hard to please. ~ Nothing in 
 unassisted nature, and but few things in aj)phed art, 
 save the raw contents of a colour-shop, could excel in 
 brilliancy the works of the distinguished Neapolitan. 
 Sea-gods, sea-nymphs, cupids, satjTs, fauns, and demi- 
 gods sported among waves of the bluest ultra-marine, 
 wandered over endless marble staircases, or lolled on 
 banks whose vivid green surpassed nature's verdure, 
 as far as the sums of money that this tawdry craftsman 
 received for his works did the modest pay for which 
 Michael Angelo had been content to labour. 
 
 The room was seldom opened, except on occasions 
 like the present. Mrs. Skirlaugh thought its decora- 
 tions very lovely, and the Squire himself was b}^ no 
 means ashamed of them, although he had a vague 
 sense that the}^ were somewhat . overdone ; still, they
 
 216 RALF SKIRL AUGII. 
 
 both preferred a smaller and less sumptuous aj^art- 
 ment for the ordinary purposes of domestic life. Our 
 readers would, we are sure, pronounce the work abomi- 
 nable. The fashion, which is nicknamed taste, has 
 wandered far away from the showy and theatrical 
 mythologies of former times, and now disports itself 
 in doing honour to that kind of painting which its 
 admirers call photographs of real life, such as " Grand- 
 mother's Wedding-Day," or the ^' Footman in Repose." 
 If we are to be troubled b}^ bad art, we are by no 
 means sure that the fleshy Venuses and thundering 
 Joves of Verrio are not more tolerable than the vulgar 
 imbecility which now insults us. He, poor fellow, did 
 his best to copy Raphael ; can their admirers tell who 
 certain painters of domestic scenes ivy to imitate ? 
 His gods and goddesses do bring to our minds, though 
 in no very pleasing manner, the beautiful im'thology 
 which preceded the dawn of Greek civiHsation. What 
 do the others suggest that any rational man or woman 
 Avould care to remember ? 
 
 Imagine that the dinner-hour has come, and behold 
 Mrs. Skirlaugh seated at the top of the table in a rich 
 brocaded white sillv dress, ornamented with silver and 
 pink anemones, the train tucked up, and the petticoat 
 short enough to make her small feet, of which the good 
 lady was sufficiently proud, distinctly visible. On her 
 head arose an erection of hair, which, were we to 
 describe it, our lady readers, even those who rejoice in 
 chignons of the largest volume, would pronounce pre- 
 posterous. AVe will abstain, not from anv dread lest
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 217 
 
 their feelings should be hurt by the satire which they 
 might think to be implied, but for fear that if we treated 
 the costume of the mother of Isabell irreverently, our 
 heroine should lose some of the regard that is her due. 
 On Madame Skirlaugh's right behold the elder Morley 
 — Squire Morley as he was called when Mr. Skirlaugh 
 was not present. A little man in plum-coloured coat 
 and green waistcoat, whose well-powdered, new-looking 
 wig made his very red face appear more fiery than on 
 ordinary occasions, when he w^ore his old one, which 
 was never powdered, except at the rare times when he 
 anticipated a visit from one of the neighbouring gentry, 
 or when he and his sons took a long ride, say to Don- 
 caster, York, or Pontefract, for the sake of enjoying 
 the sports of the racecom'se. His dialect, when he 
 spoke, showed that in early days he had had the training 
 of a gentleman, but that constant association with in- 
 feriors — mixing, indeed, on terms of familiar equality 
 with the small farmers and yeomen around — had so 
 confused his ideas of language that, despite his endea- 
 vours to talk gentle English, especially after the 
 punch-bowl had circulated, he constantly slipped into 
 the vernacular of North Lincohishire. His wife sat 
 at the opposite corner to her husband, on the Squire's 
 right. She was a large, thin woman, with some 
 remains of personal beauty of the more homely sort. 
 Theirs had been a love match. Like many of the 
 lesser Eoman Catholic gentry of that time, Mr. Morley, 
 when young, had found himself almost entirely cut off 
 from the society of his equals b}^ those violent religious
 
 218 HALF SiaRLAUGH. 
 
 prejudices which made a Protestant ahnost afraid to 
 receive a Papist as a guest into his household. He 
 had, therefore, not unnaturall}^ sought for a wife in a 
 rank beneath his own, and found one, if report said 
 truly, in the person of a daii'^maid. If that had been 
 Mrs. Morley's original occupation, she was so far 
 raised by marriage that now there was little difference 
 in manner between the pau\ Perhaps her more 
 southern- dialect — she was a Warwickshire woman — 
 might render it a little easier for her to avoid slii)S of 
 the tongue. Her dress, though not so rich, was quite 
 as fashionable as that of her hostess. The mass of 
 hair with which she adorned her head was, perhaps, 
 a Httle bigger, and the ears of wheat, poppies, and 
 other ornaments which decorated it were several degrees 
 more incongruous. 
 
 Jim and Dick, their two sons, who sat opposite to 
 each other near the centre, were considerabl}^ rougher 
 than their f^ither. In personal appearance their 
 mother's pattern seemed to have been followed ; that 
 lady's taste was also probably to be seen in their 
 bright blue coats, and large, deeply pocketed scarlet 
 waistcoats. Dr. Chubb we have seen before ; he need 
 not detain us further than to say that his dress was 
 the usual professional light drab. His bright riding 
 boots, a cross between the true jack-boots of the 
 seventeenth century and the ugly top-boot of our 
 fathers' days, showed that he felt he must not unbend 
 so far as to be unprepared for a sudden exit, if 
 needful. Mr. Tempest, the Catholic priest, a rather
 
 HALF SiaFvLAUGH. 219 
 
 fine -looking, somewhat florid man of about fifty, wore 
 a costmne of dark brown, perhaps a little more sombre 
 than that usualty worn by laymen, having about it no 
 mark of the clerical office, unless the absence of a 
 sword could be held in those days to indicate that he 
 belonged to a peaceful caste. 
 
 At a time like that of which we are speaking, when 
 the penal laws were in force, though then- •rigour had 
 been mitigated by the decay of the persecuting spirit, 
 it was not safe for a priest of the fallen Church to 
 indicate his profession by his dress. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Jordan alone requii'e notice. The}^ 
 were the only Wliigs present, for the worthy Doctor, 
 though reputed to be lax in his religious notions, had 
 far too much regard for the health of his patients to 
 profess any opinions which might have a tendency to 
 shock delicate nerves. The parson certainly did 
 honour to his opinions as far as his own person was 
 'Concerned. He was by far the heaviest man in the 
 room; and if his large, inexpressive, grey eyes, broad 
 low brow, and full, wide nostrils could be taken as 
 adumbrations of the light within, was certainly not 
 deficient in that form of good taste which would make 
 him appreciate Mrs. Skiiiaugh's cuhnary merits. His 
 wife was little, simpering, dark-skinned, and possessed 
 of a sharp, declamatory voice, which had been largely 
 cultivated by exercise ; for her husband, as well as 
 discharging the light duties incumbent on him as Vicar 
 of Skii'laugh, Eector of Scalhoe, and Cm*ate of East 
 Culverness and Gunnulby, kept a school for little boys,
 
 220 P.ALF SKIIILAUGII. 
 
 and on his spouse fell many of the minor duties of 
 that irksome task. It is true she did not teach them 
 to spell, write, extract cube root, say musa, or hammer 
 out Caesar. (Why should the very name of the gi-eatest 
 of the Romans, we would ask in a parenthesis, have 
 been made hateful to the children of upwards of ten 
 generations, by associations with the birch and the 
 cane ? Brutus was content with murder ; he would 
 have shrunk from mutilating the harmless trunk. 
 Schoolmasters and emperors might surely find in 
 Latin literature some less illustrious person — one 
 more nearly on a level with themselves — under whose 
 shadow to commit their barbarities.) It fell, however, 
 to Mrs. Jordan's lot to inculcate the equally difficult 
 lessons of face-washing, hair-brushing, shoe-scraping, 
 and the thousand other virtues which the tlu'ee I have 
 selected so beautifully tj^pify. 
 
 Let us suppose the party seated, and the dinner 
 begun. Would that we had the art of setting before 
 our readers, in language sufficient^ exalted for the 
 occasion, an account of the good things of which it 
 consisted. Alas ! the power to call up so savoury a 
 vision from the forgotten past has been denied to us. 
 The talk flowed on in a dull ripple during the first 
 course. Soup and fish, though the latter were carp 
 from the Squu'e's own stew pond, were not fomid 
 strong provocatives of conversation. The roast beef 
 came at length, and when he saw it, the Squire's face 
 evidently brightened. Roast beef was not a particu- 
 larly national dish in the old days, but in the last
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 221 
 
 centmy it had begun to be thought so. The facultj- 
 we all have of looking back with reverence to a past 
 that never was a present, on this occasion gave Mr. 
 Skirlaugh no little degree of j^leasure. He was not a 
 gourmand, but a man of his nature felt considerable 
 delight in doing a peculiarly English act. He raised 
 the silver-handled carving implements, and cut the 
 meat with a sense of the awful importance of his office, 
 little inferior to that felt by the Druid priests when 
 they severed with theii' golden knives the sacred 
 misletoe from its parent oak. 
 
 " Thank God, Morley, we've our old English roast 
 beef left yet, whatever else we've lost. What with 
 you Papists trying to force your fasts upon us, and 
 the cursed Hanoverians with their turnips, beet, sour 
 craut, and I know not what other abominations, a good, 
 old-fashioned Englishman is like to go without eating 
 altogether." 
 
 " The Whigs don't fast, at all events. The Vicar 
 will testify to that," replied Mr. Morley, gazing at Mr. 
 Jordan, who was consuming, at a ver}^ rapid rate, very 
 large sHces of the sacred food. 
 
 " Certainh^ not," said the gentleman appealed to 
 after a rather long pause, which was quite needed to 
 adapt himself for conversation. " Certainly not ; it 
 was allowed at the Keformation as a condescension to 
 Popery on the one hand, and fanaticism on the other, 
 but was always opposed to the principles of the Es- 
 tablishment. It went out of practice among genteel 
 peoj)le — genteel Protestants, I mean, of course ; no
 
 222 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 offence, I assure j'OU, is meant, Miss Morlej' — after 
 the restoration. I myself always make a point of 
 preaching against it once a year — usually on Good 
 Friday."- 
 
 '' I shouldn't have thought j^our flock much addicted 
 to that form of sin. Do you preach from the text of 
 Dives and Lazarus?" asked Isabell. 
 
 The Vicar had no time for reply. He was, when 
 eating, slow of speech. Long before he was able to 
 begin his response the Squu-e broke in, — 
 
 *' It's all very well, Bella, for our friend Jordan and 
 his brethren to preach against fasting, but their lords 
 and masters at Westminster make our poor folk fast 
 far harder than ever the Papists did. Trust a AMiig 
 for going without his own dinner, when there's aught 
 in either his own or his neighbour's larder. Dives let 
 the poor beggar pick up the crumbs that fell from his 
 table : a modern AVhig justice of peace would have 
 sent him in the custody of the parish constable for a 
 month's imprisonment in Wivilb}^ Gaol. Eating is a 
 cardinal point of the Whig religion. If BiUy the 
 Thu'd had altered the Prayer-Book as he once threat- 
 ened, there was to have been another article put in 
 about the virtue of it, to make up the round two score. 
 For a Whig to go -without eating when he's able is as 
 unnatural as for a Paj)ist to stint himself in the matter 
 of drink." 
 
 "Even your Church has never imposed a f\ist upon 
 drink, I believe ?" said Mr. Jordan, inquii-mgly to the 
 Catholic priest.
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 223 
 
 *' Certainly not," replied the ecclesiastic. 
 
 " And don't you know why ?" continued the Squire. 
 ^' I see you don't, so I'll tell you. I learnt all about 
 it when I was in France. You see, when the Refor- 
 mation began in that country, about half the nobility 
 and country squires v/ere on one side, and half on the 
 other. They fought and tussled, burnt and hanged 
 one another with the most Christian perseverance, but 
 they didn't for all that seem much nearer getting 
 matters settled. At length the news came that the 
 Council then sitting at Trent was about to forbid the 
 use of wine on fast days. ' Gad,' said the Papists to 
 a man, ' if this is the game, we'll be shot if we'll burn 
 another Protestant. Sooner than be docked of our 
 wine, we'll swear by John Calvin and final perse- 
 verance.' The bishops and clergy were alarmed, took 
 fright, like a blood-horse at a bonfire, and fled to the 
 Pope and cardinals at Trent. They were only just in 
 time ; the decree had passed the Council, and only 
 wanted the Pope's signature to make it perfect law. 
 He was sitting in the vestry of the big church there 
 with a pen in his hand, all ready dipped in the ink-horn. 
 His name would have been scrawled at the bottom in 
 another minute, when in rushed the French bishops 
 and clergy. They didn't pull off their hats, or so 
 much as sa}^, * It's a fine day, your Holiness,' but the}^ 
 swore great round oaths that if their wine bins were 
 tampered v/ith they'd have a bran new church and 
 somebody else for Pope. Who it was to be they 
 weren't agreed. Some were for our good Queen Bess,
 
 224 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 others for Geneva Jack, and a few said tliat they 
 didn't want a Vo-pe at all, but that every man should 
 do the infallibility for himself. "Well, to cut a long 
 story short, the Voi>e got frightened. * I begin to 
 see,' says he, ' there's a mistake somewhere. I was 
 only just thinking of what St. Paul said about it as 
 you came in. Although never Poj^e, he was a car- 
 dinal, high in the confidence of the Holy See. He was 
 dead for wine on fast days. It will never do for us 
 to set the example of going against authority. I'll 
 make it all right, but you know there should be some 
 slight acknowledgment, some little honorarium in 
 return. What do you say to a couple of pipes of the 
 best claret and a hogshead of champagne ever}' Christ- 
 mas during our Pontificate ?' The bargain was struck. 
 The Pope got his wine as long as he lived, and so 
 pleased were the Pa-pists with the result of theii* 
 mission, that on their return they burnt at the stake 
 five Calvinist preachers and seventeen women and 
 children as some small testimony of the devotion they 
 bore to the Hol}^ See. You know this is true liistor}^, 
 Mr. Callis. Just give the authorities for it to show 
 my learning." 
 
 Mr. Callis replied that he did not remember having 
 met with an}^ mention of the circumstances either in 
 Father Paul or Pallavicino. 
 
 *' Then they've missed setting it down througli'some 
 confounded Jesuitry. Father Paul was general of the 
 Jesuits, you know. ^Mr. Tempest will back ,me in 
 that."
 
 EALF SKIRL AUGH. 225 
 
 The priest seemed reluctant to sui^port even so well 
 known a trutli by the weight of his authoritj^ 
 
 " Ah, well," continued Mr. Sldrlangh, " the fault 
 isn't all on the side of our natural enemies, the 
 Papists ; I wish it was. In the countries where they 
 rule a man may eat as much as he Ukes, off a fast day, 
 at a small cost, but here, thanks to the Vicar's friends, 
 there's not a thing one wants to swallow that is not 
 taxed. Come now, Jordan, you're fond of a dinner, 
 man ; what do you say to these new taxes ? Why, 
 there's not a thing on this table, unless it be the water, 
 that's not made twice as dear as it should be by their 
 confounded excise laws. Even the water doesn't 
 escape, for, though it's free, yet they tax the things of 
 "which our pumps are composed." 
 
 Mr. Jordan was miderstood to say that the fault 
 was not in his friends, who were necessitated to raise 
 money to i^slj a standing army for the protection of 
 the land against a foreign power. He carefully 
 avoided mentioning by name either the Pope or 
 the Pretender. 
 
 "Ah ! so you kick the rightful master out of his 
 house, and starve the old servants that you may find 
 
 victuals for a lot of lazy, lubberly " The Squire 
 
 was continuing with singular eloquence in the same 
 strain, when he was interrupted by his wife, who drew 
 the attention of all b}^ knocking with the butt-end of 
 her fork on the table. 
 
 " Mr. Skirlaugh," said she, " we have laws here 
 which you as sovereign have no right to break. What- 
 
 VOL. I, u
 
 226 r.ALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 ever England ma}- be, Sldi'laugli Manor is a consti- 
 tutional monarch}^ ; and one of the chief limitations of 
 the King's power is the ancient statute wliich enacts 
 that no one shall talk theology or politics at meal- 
 times." 
 
 '' I stand corrected, madam," rejohed her lord in a 
 submissive tone. "I profess I won't so much as 
 mention God or the King any more to-day in the 
 presence of my faithful Commons, but will confine 
 myself entirely to the most opposite subjects— the Devil 
 and old Noll, for instance." 
 
 Mrs. Sldrlaugh had gained her point. She had 
 broken a thread, which, though amusing enough to 
 some of the gentlemen, w^as not likely to tend to har- 
 mony. She had also succeeded in gaining some 
 share of attention for the ladies, whose voices had 
 hitherto been almost unheard. They had not been 
 quite idle, however. Miss Skirlaugh, with feminine 
 modesty, had almost entirely confined herself to a 
 pleasant tete-a-tete with her cousin, and Mrs. Jordan 
 had availed herself of the very good opportunity that 
 presented itself of getting some medical advice gratis 
 from the Doctor, who sat next her, by asldng several 
 questions as to the new and very, successful cure for 
 the ringworm which that eminent man had recently 
 introduced into the neighbourhood. 
 
 Near Jim Mojiey the wild ducks happened to be 
 placed, and upon him devolved the no easy labour of 
 dividing them into parts. Jim was not a good carver, 
 therefore Mr. Jordan, wdiose habits as a schoolmaster
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 227 
 
 made him particularly fond of giving advice, threw out 
 to him sundry hints and suggestions which the young 
 man did not take in such good part as he would have 
 done had he studied the manners of polite society with 
 the unremitting devotion which he bestowed on the 
 arts of the chase. He was heard to say he could cut 
 them up very well. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it, Mr. James," interposed Mrs. 
 Skirlaugh, addressing the carver with tender firmness 
 — " very glad to hear it, indeed ; but pray don't say you 
 can * cut up ' a duck for the futm^e. Such a process 
 cannot be performed. There are, as you should know, 
 separate words to distinguish what jon call the cutting 
 up of each kind of game or bird. You say unbrace a 
 duck, unlace a rabbit, dismember a heron, thigh a 
 woodcock, rear a goose, allay a pheasant, and wing a 
 partridge." 
 
 Mr. James was profuse in his thanks, but expressed 
 a desire to know why one word would not do for all 
 kinds of carving. His teacher was prepared with a 
 judicious reply, — 
 
 " Sui^pose," said she, "you were invited to dinner, 
 and had but one dish set before you, you would think 
 your host a niggard, or the knowledge of the hostess 
 verv imperfect. You will readily understand from your 
 o^Ti delight in the pursuits 3^ou follow that one -half of 
 the pleasure of anything we do consists in talking 
 about it. Now, if we havn't 2^roi)er words to express 
 ourselves, much of that pleasure is lost. But do, Mr. 
 Jordan, let me give you a little of tliis hunter's 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 KALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 pudding. I am talldng of the names of things, and 
 forgetting the realities before me." 
 
 She helped the divine to a large portion, and then 
 fell into a lively discourse with him as to puddings in 
 general. Mrs. Jordan observed it, and felt that a 
 time like the present might be improved in another 
 direction. 
 
 ** Perhaps, my dear, Mrs. Sldrlaugh could teU us 
 how cowslip puddings are made," said she in a loud 
 voice from the other end of the table. 
 
 The whole room was attention, for none of the 
 persons present, save the Jordans and Mrs. Skii-laugh, 
 had ever heard of that delicacy. 
 
 " I can't tell you now, but I have a recipe for 
 making them which answers admirablj^ My daughter, 
 I think, will copy it out for you." 
 
 " Thank you a thousand times," said the divine, 
 something very lilce emotion shining in his big grey 
 eyes. " If I were to tell you of our many failures, of 
 the domestic jars that have ensued thereon, I am sure 
 you would sympathise with me. It was only last 
 summer that several pecks of them were gathered by 
 my boj^s and made into puddings — rowlj'-powlys, with 
 very rich crust ; but when they came to table no one 
 could eat them. I don't know when I have been so 
 much disappointed. I had quite looked forward to it 
 as a little treat. I had eaten them vears acjo at the 
 Earl of Hembleton's, and have longed to taste them 
 again ever since I lived in the country."
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 "How does the fowler seek to catch Ms game 
 By divers means ? All which one cannot name : 
 His gun, his nets, his lime twigs, lights and bell : 
 He creeps, he goes, he stands ; yea who can tell 
 Of all his postures ? " 
 
 John Bunyan. 
 
 The advent of a large silver punch bowl was the 
 signal for the ladies to retire, and the gentlemen to 
 draw round the hearth. 
 
 " The embargo's off now, and we can talk politics. 
 I've a host of questions to ask anybody who has got 
 news to tell about the forthcoming election. Who 
 knows whether we are really to have a contest, or 
 whether the Whig Squire means to draw in, and save 
 the expense of a fight?" asked Mr. Skirlaugh. 
 
 *' I'm sure it will come to a poll. I have had a 
 communication, only this morning, from one of the 
 most influential Whigs in the county, who, after 
 urging me to bring up every voter over whom I have 
 any influence, says it was positively arranged last 
 Tuesday, at a meeting at the White Kart at Lincoln, 
 that our side should fight to the last. You, Mr.
 
 230 EALF SIHELAUGH. 
 
 Skirlaugh, know what the Tories are prepared for 
 better than I can profess to do," said the clergjTnan, 
 with the air of one who had exclusive informa- 
 tion. 
 
 ''Not a bit, my dear sir; I take no interest in the 
 silly child's play we call i)olitics now. If our quarrels 
 could be fought out with pike and gun, as we used to 
 do, and shall, I hope, do again, then I should know 
 what to make of it ; but I'm quite out of place in 
 your electioneering intrigues. Besides, it doesn't 
 matter to men like me the value of a sixpence whether 
 the Whig Squii^e goes to London avowedly to support 
 the existing ]3ower, or the Tory goes not avowedly for 
 that end, when we all know that Whigs and Tories 
 ahke will sell their country for a tag of ribbon to hang 
 in their waistcoat button-holes, or a fine new handle 
 to stick before their names. For old friendship's sake, 
 I shall tell such of my people as are freeholders to go 
 for the Tory ; but, for any other reason, I don't care 
 the crack of a pistol which has it. I doubt if I shall 
 be at the trouble of going myself to see the fun. I've 
 seen men with flags in their hands, and heard trumpets 
 blow, when the silk and the noise meant sometliing," 
 said the Squire. 
 
 The whole party, except William and the clergy- 
 man, expressed sorrow and sm'prise at Mr. Skiiiaugh's 
 implied decision. 
 
 */ You must show yourself there, Squire," ejaculated 
 the elder Morley, who actually paused in the serious 
 occupation of helping himself to a second tumbler of
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 231 
 
 punch for the i^iirpose ; '* you must, indeed. Tlie 
 Kesteven people will think you've deserted the cause, 
 if you stay away." 
 
 *'And suppose they do — what then? They know 
 that I am ready enough to support it if there's any- 
 thing to he done; but I can't vote if I do go. 
 They'll tender me the oath," answered Mr. Skir- 
 laugh. 
 
 "Yes; but your presence will be worth fifty votes. 
 It will bring over a host of shilly-shally people, who'll 
 go the other way if you don't show. Half the poor 
 creatures our parson here takes with him, when they 
 see the Squire there a lookin' at 'em, and may be 
 axmg after their wives and daughters, darn't, for very 
 shame, vote agen the land. Why, half tlieir fathers 
 have been bred and born under you, and the rest have 
 pouched hares and rabbits, let alone deer, wild-ducks, 
 and salmon many a time," said Morley, in a tone which 
 showed how anxious he was that the Squire should 
 honour the Lincoln saturnalia with his presence. 
 
 " Besides," said Jim, following, as in duty bound, 
 his senior's lead. " Besides, half your folks won't go 
 if they don't think you care about it. And then we 
 want you to talk to some of our own people about 
 getting the penal laws off, and to know if we can't 
 persuade you to subscribe to the Lincoln races. If 
 there was a Skirlaugh Cup there, Mr. Tafferton says, 
 they'd be as good as Doncaster, and better." 
 
 *' Oh, I see ! Then it isn't that -^^ou care for the 
 cause, as you call it, or for the penal laws ; but that
 
 282 BALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 3'ou want to get a quiet, homely man, who has no 
 spite against anybody's life — no, not even a German 
 elector's — to give his money to encourage the gentle 
 art of neck-breaking. No, Jim ; if old friendship 
 won't drag me there, you'll not draw me by such silly 
 gear. If gentlemen thought as seriously for six 
 months of the condition of the country, as they do 
 about racing and birding, we should be soon all of a 
 mind again." 
 
 " Lord Burworth has given fifty guineas," said Dick, 
 with some hesitation. 
 
 *' Has he ? Now, you see how it is ; those follvs 
 who want to keep us in slavery know the weak side of 
 such men as you. They know, while your heads are 
 full of horses and dogs, there'll be no room for king 
 and country. I wish, for my part, what you call sport 
 was all at the devil." 
 
 " It may be soon," ejaculated Jim. *' He was seen 
 here in the wood not a week since." 
 
 ** Nonsense ! What old woman's tale have you got 
 hold of?" interposed the priest, unwilling to see one 
 of his flock make an ass of himself on so serious a 
 subject. 
 
 *' It's as true as the gospel, Mr. Tempest ; I had it 
 from a man, who had it from the very person to whom 
 he appeared. It's a real true story. He got on his 
 horse behind him, and rode I don't know how far/' 
 reiterated the last speaker. 
 
 *' It's all moonshine, man. ^Vliy, I've been in that 
 wood at all hours of day and night, and never seen
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 233 
 
 anything worse than myself," interposed his father, as 
 if anxious to stop the conversation. 
 
 " Well, I don't know what you call nonsense ; but 
 Mr. Taiferton, Lord Burworth's great friend, who is 
 down with him shooting at Brakenthwaite, told me 
 that Mr. Brotherton, his lordship's agent, was here 
 five or six days since, that he left just when it was 
 dark, and that he'd no sooner gotten into the wood 
 than all the houghs began to sigh and sough, just as they 
 do before a thunder-shower ; and that the devil him- 
 self jumped on behind the fellow, and hugged him fast 
 in his arms ; the horse galloped away, and he would 
 sure enough have been carried straight to hell if the 
 girths had not broke. He was found next morning, 
 with a strange smell of brimstone on his clothes, as 
 dazed as though he'd been drunk." 
 
 Mr. Skirlaugh listened attentive^. He believed 
 the whole story to be mere fiction, as he had no idea 
 that Mr. Brotherton had been a visitor at his mansion. 
 The interest of the anecdote to him consisted entirety 
 in the fact that he thought he discovered, under the 
 name of Tafferton, the person whom the world knew 
 as Mackenzie. 
 
 " You know who this Mr. Tafferton, your informant, 
 is, I suppose, Jim ?" said he. 
 
 "Oh yes, sir. A very great friend of Lord Bur- 
 worth's. He's to be made a lord soon. He's a Pro- 
 testant himself, but is a great friend of the Catholics ; 
 and is here now partly to consult Lord Burworth about 
 taking off the penal laws."
 
 234 HALF SKIELAUGH. 
 
 "Indeed! Now, I may be wrong, but I have a 
 very strong suspicion, not far removed from certainty, 
 that this fellow's name is not Taiferton. He's a tall, 
 powerful man, rather spare and pale — is he not ? " 
 
 Jim admitted that the descri2:)tion was exact. 
 
 " I beheve he is no other than the person who 
 called here with Lord Carlton, a few days back. I am 
 well acquainted with that man's history. His reasons 
 for being here are not what you sui)pose ; and I don't 
 for a moment believe that Lord Burworth would have 
 him in his house for an hour if he knew who he was. 
 I have good reasons for keeping what I know of him 
 secret for the present, for if I told you what I know 
 you would be more likely to commit some foolish act 
 of violence, than to hsten to such a man's gossip, 
 which, I doubt not, has been manufactured with some 
 knavish intention." 
 
 Jim sank into abashed silence. He was in the 
 habit of deferential obedience to the Squire ; but was 
 not by any means satisfied that his new friend was 
 such as that gentleman had suggested. 
 
 The break was satisfactory^ to the giver of the enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 **Gad! the punch is all done," said he; *' and 
 we've no time for more, if we're to see am- sport to- 
 night. Now then, hats and great coats for the la}'- 
 men, and the drawing-room for the parsons. Hillo ! 
 are you lay or cleric, Chubb ? " 
 
 The doctor expressed liis desire to join the ladies. 
 
 " Then tell them that when we are coming to White
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 235 
 
 Cross Garth I'll send a boy to let tliem know, so that 
 they may come mto the Pleasaunce to see the end of 
 the fmi. Now then, off we go." 
 
 And off the whole party set, in the direction of the 
 kitchen court, where a large body of servants, with 
 nets and the other necessaries for the sport, were 
 already arranged, employing the time they had to wait 
 in consuming cans of beer and hunches of bread and 
 cheese. 
 
 The " generall manner of taking of land-fowle by 
 night, in champayne countryes, is with the lowbell," 
 saith Gervaise Markham, a man once of great authority 
 in field s]3orts. The custom of netting partridges has 
 become so entirely a practice confined to poachers, 
 that we fear we shall experience considerable difficulty 
 in making our readers believe that, httle more than a 
 century ago, it was not only a recognised way of cap- 
 turing game for the use of the table, but also a very 
 popular amusement, in which not only the sports- 
 men themselves joined, but almost all the little boys 
 and idle men of the neighbourhood. It may be 
 briefly described as sweepmg the stubble fields with a 
 long and very broad net, during the progress of which 
 a deep-toned bell was rung at intervals, for the sake of 
 creating a noise terrible to the birds. The flames of 
 cressets, burning tow attached to long sticks, torches, 
 and all other means of making a blaze that could be 
 thought of, were freely resorted to as an additional 
 means to terrifying the game into repose. 
 
 The Squire led the way, down the very lane where
 
 236 liALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 Brotherton had had his fearful ride ; but no evil spirit 
 molested him or his friends. The stubble fields in 
 which the sport was to be carried on were near the 
 wood. For a short time a death-like silence reigned. 
 It was a necessary precaution that no noise should be 
 made until the " engines " were ready for action. 
 When the net-pullers were arranged in proper order, 
 and the net itself spread out, the low bell, in the 
 hands of Mr. Eobert Drury, began to toll deeply — at 
 the rate of about six strokes in a minute. This was 
 the sign for the netters to move on. At the same time 
 all the cressets and flambeaux blazed out with a flood 
 of dusky flame. William had, we much regret to say, 
 little of the sportsman in his nature ; but the novelty 
 of the scene, and the lurid beauty of the small portion 
 of the landscape that was visible to him, was very 
 charming. He did not regard the poor bii'ds either 
 from the point of view of the sportsman or the 
 epicure ; but there was something strangely attractive 
 to him in this picturesque way of taking them. 
 
 Jim and Dick were in ecstacies ; but they had work 
 to do which prevented them from giving way fully to 
 their delight. The rabble gathered together on such 
 occasions was great. They werej it is true, most of 
 them the children of the Squu-e's people ; but it by no 
 means followed that their ideas of the feudal homage 
 due to that person would have prevented them from 
 running over the net when in motion, or gratifying their 
 uriosity to " hev' a look at th' bods," by opening the 
 hampers and thus letting the captured fowl escape.
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 237 
 
 When not engaged in withstanding the impetuosity of 
 the mob, they both at once poured into William's ears 
 their extreme dehght at the sport that had been pro- 
 vided for their edification. Jim *' would bet anybody 
 anything that nobody this side Lunnun had so many 
 partridges as Squire Skirlaugh." Dick was quite sure, 
 if they had, nobody except himself miderstood how to 
 capture them half so well. It was a strange thmg to 
 him that the Squii-e, who knew more about such things 
 than anybody in the whole country side, should care 
 for them so little. They had hardly satisfied them- 
 selves with shouting out their pseans on the capture of 
 one covey, ere the net paused again, and they had the 
 delight of seeing another family of birds consigned to 
 one of the wicker cages that had been prepared for 
 their reception. William gave attentive ear to their 
 talk, partly because he took a lively interest in 
 varieties of character, and partly because he thought 
 it right to be as agreeable as he could to Mr. Sldr- 
 laugh's guests. This little courtesy, almost unthought 
 of on his part, raised the listener much in the yomig 
 men's estimation. The vulgar follower of field sports, 
 however stupid he may be, has generally some concep- 
 tion that his tastes are lower than those of culti- 
 vated people, and is, therefore, usually not a little 
 pleased when such persons seem to enjoy his conver- 
 sation. There is a sort of ignorance which puffeth 
 up; but, happily, among such persons this is com- 
 paratively rare. They usually fall into the other 
 extreme, and are but too apt to give to gentle manners
 
 238 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 and out of the way knowledge greater honour than is 
 their due. 
 
 Several fields were netted in this way. The cages 
 were rapidly filling, the torches becoming fewer, and 
 the time running on. The master of the game 
 ordered his people to their last field, the White Cross 
 Garth. It was at the eastern end of the Pleasaunce, 
 and communicated Tvith that place by a gate. A sunk 
 fence, and a low yew hedge, cut off one from the 
 other. To reach this garth the road had to be 
 traversed for perhajos a couple of hundred j-ards, 
 when the stile of a footpath presented itself. Squire's 
 Bob led the posse, with one solitary beacon boy 
 trotting by his side to show a light. On the stile sat 
 a little, old man, with a pan* of bagpipes under his 
 arm. Seeing the procession come near he begun 
 to play a low, melancholy tune, then well known, 
 which was a great favourite of the common people. 
 
 '' Houd 3^er noise, Charlie, ye fool ; we're bod- 
 catchin' — you'll scare 'em," shouted Drm-y, ere he 
 reached him. 
 
 The music ceased, and the little man crouched 
 into a corner, evidently afraid he had ofiended that 
 important personage. 
 
 " It's all right, Charlie, I'm not mad wi' yer ; but 
 ye mon't skirl now, or ye'll scare the partridges up. 
 We've just done, then we'll hear yer, and gi' ye a bit 
 o' supper maybe," said the groom, patronisingly. 
 
 The musician slunk into the procession, imme- 
 diately behind Bob. Though White Cross Garth was
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 239 
 
 but a small iiiclosure, several cove3^s of birds were 
 found therein ; but the Londoner, attracted either bj^ 
 the charms of the music in prospect, or by some other 
 lower motive, deserted his companions, and, entering 
 the gate, joined the ladies and clerics in the garden. 
 
 The old man, whose singular figure he could now 
 see more clearly, stood immediately outside the fence, 
 with his instrument of music ready for immediate 
 action when called upon. 
 
 " Who is that odd-looking man ? " he asked of 
 Isabell. " A Scotchman, I suppose, by his bag-pipes ? " 
 
 " No ; he's a Lincolnshire man. Did his pipe 
 make you think him a Scot ? " inquired she. 
 
 "Yes ; I never heard of bagpipes out of the land of 
 cakes. All the pipers we have in London say they're 
 Scotchmen." 
 
 ** That is because Londoners don't think anything 
 worth having unless it comes from some place a long 
 way off. The bagpipe is our native music, the only 
 one our people play, and the only land they much care 
 to listen to. AYhen my father was a child, every 
 village had its piper; there are now few of them 
 left. The religion of the common people makes them 
 dislike music." 
 
 " I should imagine, by his readiness to perform liis 
 part in the amusements of the evening, that the old 
 man is well known here," continued William. 
 
 " As well as I am myself. He lives, if he can be 
 said to have a home at all, in a hut on the moors, 
 between this place and Scallioe ; but really principally in
 
 240 PtALF SKIELAUGH. 
 
 the kitchens and stables of Skirlaugh, Brackenthwaite, 
 and a few other such places. Charlie is a necessity of 
 the neighbourhood. We could no more do without 
 him than without our chaplain," replied she. 
 
 " Our functions are different, Mr. William ; but you 
 will find that wherever the clerical order is respected, 
 the art of music has been held m honour. The 
 chm'chwardens of former times, ere Puritanism had 
 trampled on the hearts of the people, were wont to 
 charge regularly in their accounts for the payments 
 they made to pipers for amusing the villagers," said 
 the Nonjuror. 
 
 ** Bagpipes are instruments of ecclesiastical music 
 at this moment in Italy," added Mr. Tempest. 
 
 " One of the great angels in the choir at Lincoln is 
 playing on a bagpipe, and on a stall on the north 
 side of the chancel in Boston church there is a 
 jesting sculpture of a bear plajdng on an organ, a pig 
 on the bagpipes, and a dog accompanying them on a 
 drum," continued Mr. Callis, glad to give the conver- 
 sation an antiquarian turn.*" 
 
 *' As we have such good authority for it, I will ask 
 the old man to play," said Isabell. " I should have 
 liked to give him that pleasure at first, but dreaded that 
 I might be charged with frivolity by my superiors." 
 
 Mrs. Skirlaugh, the only superior who was likely to 
 thwart Isabell's wishes, made no sign of objection; 
 
 * The Reverend gentleman might have directed his friend's attention to 
 the angel playing on this instrument sculptured on the corbel over the last 
 column at the west end of the north aisle of Holy Trinity Church, Hull.
 
 EALF SKIRL AUGH. 241 
 
 to 
 
 SO Charlie was invited into the garden, and began to 
 pour forth his sad, monotonous ditties, to an audience 
 far more refined than those before whom he usually 
 practised his art. 
 
 *'Do you like it?" asked Isabell, in an under 
 tone. 
 
 William hesitated. He did like it very much, but 
 *' feared the people." He hesitated to say that he was 
 pleased with that which he thought she, like most 
 other so-called cultivated people, would consider 
 barbarous. 
 
 " Oh, I see, you, like the rest of the world now, 
 have an ear for music, and despise these uncultivated 
 strains. Now I, who am happy enough to -have none, 
 really enjoy this far more than most of the music I 
 have heard in London ; and, really, almost as much 
 as the organ at Lincoln Minster," continued the 
 lady. 
 
 "William hastened to assure his cousin that it was 
 only fear of uttering an unpopular opinion, that made 
 him hesitate to avow similar feelings. 
 
 " I am exceedingly delighted that j^ou are on my 
 side here, for the Morley people — not Mary, of course 
 — persecute the old man, as they do Bessie, the 
 tanner's daughter. If they see you like his music, I 
 should not wonder if it made them more humane to 
 him. You are a great favourite with Jim ah'eady : he 
 took the trouble to come into the garden before the 
 sport begun in the field, to whisper your praises in 
 my ear." 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 242 HALF SiaRLAUGH. 
 
 The sport was now over. Mr. Skiiiaugh and his 
 party came to the gate. The hampers were opened ; 
 a sufficient number of the finer birds retained for 
 home use and to be given away to the guests, and the 
 rest turned out among the long stubble. Two men 
 were told off to watch the field duiing the night, for 
 fear some of the lookers-on should be tempted to 
 return and pick up the frightened birds, who would 
 not regain the wonted use of their faculties till da}'- 
 light came. 
 
 '* Stop that din, Charlie," said the Squii'e, in the 
 middle of a tune. *' The gentlemen are just going, 
 and you'll frighten their horses if 3^ou skud now." 
 
 This was a hint intended for the guests, as well as 
 the musician. The latter did not pause at the mo- 
 ment, thinking, we imagine, that his duty to the ladies 
 imperatively required him to finish the tune. Mr. 
 Skiiiaugh was a man who was used to his commands 
 being instantly obej^ed. 
 
 *' Silence, man!" shouted he; *'or I'll cut a hole 
 in that confounded bag, and let all the tunes out at 
 once ; or take it from you altogether, and give it to 
 tlieir fine new chm'ch at Gainsburgh 
 
 * to make the great organs roar 
 And the little pipes squeak higher 
 Than ever they squoke before,' 
 
 as the song says." 
 
 The terrified old man slunk away out of the Squii'e's 
 sight, among the bushes; and the party moved on* 
 wards to the house.
 
 KALF SIvIRLAUGH. 248 
 
 William liaci hoped for the pleasure of escorting 
 Isabell through the mazes of the garden, but was 
 liindered by Jim, who was again vehement in 
 his praises of her cousin, whom he averred to be 
 " one of the pleasantest, freest gentlemen " he had 
 ever seen in his life, *' let alone a Londoner, who are 
 generally strange high feUows." As a mark of his 
 extreme approbation of WiUiam's good qualities, he 
 asked Isabell if she thought he would like to see the 
 Northolme duck-decoy; because, if he would, there 
 was nobody on earth, as he assured her, w^ho was so 
 well able to expound its mysteries as himself. Miss 
 Skiriaugh was of opmion that the said cousin would 
 be pleased by a sight thereof ; so Jim at once hurried 
 to make arrangements with Wilham for a visit to that 
 l)lace on the morrow. 
 
 During the whole time the party were in the garden 
 — nay, almost ever since those of the clerical order 
 had joined the ladies in the drawing-room — Mr. 
 Jordan and his wife had been m the closest attend- 
 ance on Mrs. Skiriaugh, hearing her, and asking her 
 questions on the whole circle of the gastronomic 
 sciences. That lady, though proud of her attainments 
 in these high branches of human knowledge, was not 
 a little fatigued by the catechising she had to Undergo, 
 and heartily wished for some of her husband's political 
 or reHgious personaHties, m exchange for this vapid 
 talk. As a judgment, no doubt, for sins of a like kind 
 on her own part, no relief was afforded her, for the 
 priest, the nonjuror, and Mary were too courteous to
 
 244 HALF SKIRL AUGH. 
 
 interfere; and Isabell enjoyed the retribution too 
 much to think of rendering assistance. As they 
 walked up the garden the two persecutors still stuck 
 to their victim. 
 
 ** I have really often tliought we were very deficient 
 in the uses we make of even the commonest things. 
 Seed cakes and light cakes are the only changes we 
 can have from commonplace household bread. Now, 
 I have heard that in France there are seventeen kinds 
 of hot cakes that are eaten at breakfast," said the 
 Vicar. 
 
 " Some are eaten with wine, some with meat, others 
 with eggs, others with fruit," interposed his spouse. 
 
 *' The Marquis of Luddington told me, that when 
 he was there, it was usual to have for breakfast a 
 delicious, thm, octagonal cake, which was specially 
 made to be eaten with grapes. Neither he nor his 
 valet, unfortunately, could tell me how they were 
 made. I have no doubt you know, Mrs. Skiidaugh ? " 
 continued the divine. 
 
 *' I never heard of them," said the jaded lady; 
 " but here comes my husband, who will, no doubt, 
 know all about it. My dear, our friends are very 
 anxious to know if the French make eight-sided cakes, 
 and eat them with grapes at breakfast ? " 
 
 "Yes, of course, they do. I've eaten them often 
 enough," replied the gentleman addressed. 
 
 "Oh, would you tell us how they are made?" 
 exclaimed husband and wife at once. 
 
 " I would if I could, but, you see, I'm not a cook;
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 245 
 
 all I know is, that tliey are, as Rabelais says, heavenly 
 eating, viancle celeste ; but he doesn't tell how to make 
 'em, he confines himself to their effects ; but, now I 
 remember. Father Tempest is sure to know all about 
 it, for La vie de Gargantua et cle Pantag7'uel is a class 
 book in all the theological colleges in France. No 
 man can be ordained priest unless he has shown 
 himself able to explain all the allusions there. You 
 should ask him, by all means." 
 
 Mr. Jordan's learning was confined to English and 
 the classics. He therefore rushed off at once to the 
 Catholic priest, confidently hoping to learn from so 
 well drilled an authority all that he wished to know. 
 
 Mary walked up the garden alone, behind the rest. 
 The old piper had often been intrusted to bring her 
 letters from her father. These precious documents 
 were in the habit of reaching England by various 
 unsuspected routes. Their first receivers would send 
 them on, as opportunity offered, to the next Jacobite 
 household that was in her father's confidence ; and so, 
 by a roundabout method, they would at last reach the 
 anxious daughter. The last stage of their journey 
 was usually performed about the person of Piping 
 Charlie. The poor old fellow had no politics, little 
 feeling of any kind bej^ond that which attached him 
 to his gentle art, and to the persons who patronised 
 Imn ; but he was thoroughly to be trusted. His 
 appearance so late in the evening made her almost 
 certain that he had a missive for her. She was not 
 mistaken. As she passed a tall holly, the old man
 
 240 BALF SKIRL AUGH. 
 
 came from his hiding-place, and, drawing from his 
 inside waistcoat-pocket a dirty-looking billet, put it 
 into her hand, saying, as he did so, — 
 
 ^' I'm not clear sm'e it's all right, my lady. It was 
 gi'n to me by a man I never seed afore."
 
 CHAPTEK XYIII. 
 
 '* He lieretli the melodyous armony of fowles ; lie seetli tlie yonge swannes, 
 heerons, duckes, cotes, and many other fowles weyth tlieyr brodes." 
 
 The Bokc of St. Allans. 
 
 Jim Morley was prompt in fulfilling liis engage- 
 ment. Ere breakfast was over that gentleman ap- 
 peared at the Manor in full sporting costume, armed 
 with a very long fowling-piece, and accompanied b}^ 
 two yellow and white setters. Great was his disap- 
 pointment at finding that AVilliam intended only to 
 accompany him to see the sights he had to show. He 
 had vainly hoped that he might have been induced to 
 join actively in the sport of the season, and was with 
 difficulty made to understand that his new friend, 
 having no property qualification — that is, a hundred a 
 year in real estate, and not being the son of a lord or 
 lady of a manor, nor a gamekeeper by the appoint- 
 ment of such a dignitary — it was contrary to law for 
 him to enjoy the sports of the field except as a looker- 
 on. The Squire endeavoured to help him out of the 
 dilemma by offermg to make him his gamekeeper for 
 the season, but to this the Londoner objected, not
 
 248 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 from any feeling of pride, for such a means of evading 
 the law was then a commonly recognised practice, but 
 because the amusement of shooting had few attractions 
 for him, and he was glad of a dignified excuse for 
 evading it. 
 
 Their route lay across hedge and ditch in a southerly 
 direction. 
 
 Although William had little delight in the sport, the 
 excursion was a pleasant one. The walk opened out 
 an entirely new country to his view, and he found his 
 companion very entertaining. *^ A little of such people 
 goes a long way," as an artist once remarked to us 
 about the conversation of a certain farmer who had 
 been discoursing to him for a couple of hours on short- 
 horns, Mr. Swinburne's verse, the j)rice of corn, the 
 end of the world, and the evils of reform in parlia- 
 ment. But until one tires of it the conversation of a 
 thorough sportsman, if he be well master of his sub- 
 ject, is a most amusing change to a man from the non- 
 sporting world. 
 
 Jim was a good talker in liis own homely fashion, 
 and although his mind was as blank as that hackneyed 
 sheet of white paper which John Locke, gent., was the 
 first person to introduce to the British thinldng public, 
 on all other subjects of human interest, yet on the 
 questions which the * Sportsman's Dictionary ' and the 
 * Kacing Kalendar ' treat of, he was a thorough profi- 
 cient. 
 
 It was interesting to watch such a man, to see the 
 artistic way in which he handled his fowling-piece as
 
 HALF SiaRLAUGH. 249 
 
 if she were a thing endowed with life, to observe the 
 j)erfect training of his dogs, and the masterly manner 
 in which, ere entering it, he surveyed each stubble- 
 field, holt, and dingle. 
 
 There are not many things more strange than the 
 power of the human mind to resist knowledge on 
 points which are not attractive to it. A man may have 
 been the keeper of a picture gallery for fifty years, and 
 still not know the difference between a Titian and a 
 Teniers ; may have lived all his life with a talkative 
 metaphysician, and not learned to distinguish be- 
 tween noumena and phenomena, or accident and 
 substance ; may have warmed himself by coal fires 
 ever since he could run, and never perceived any 
 difference between the produce of the Welsh and the 
 Yorkshire coal-fields; or, what is perhaps the strangest 
 of all, may have dwelt for years in a place rich in 
 the grandest associations of the past — -Kome, Aachen, 
 or Oxford — and yet know no more of it than some 
 poor wanderer — say a Cooke's excursionist — who has 
 run wild therem for a few hours. Here was a man to 
 whom not only the outer world was a blank, but 
 all that part of his own world which was not 
 immediately connected with slaughter. He knew the 
 habits of every game-bird from the heron to the snipe, 
 with an almost perfect knowledge, just so far as was 
 necessary for him to do, that he might kiU them, but 
 not a jot further. The very idea of there being any 
 interest in observing the wild things that God has 
 made for their own sakes, was quite beyond his under-
 
 250 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 standing. So, too, the grass of the fiekis, the heather, 
 and bracken were familiar to liim; he could tell by the 
 tints of the one and the curve of the other where he 
 was most likely to find his prey at morn, noon, or even- 
 ing ; knew that the partridge delighted to sun itself on 
 sandy slopes where the wild thyme and jxUow-lady's- 
 bedstraw flourish ; that the heron only frequented the 
 river flats at the fall of the tide, and varied his visits 
 daily with the regularity of the moon itself; that the 
 pheasant is particularly attached to such coverts as 
 possess a tangle of briars among the undergrowth. 
 But this knowledge had not in the slightest degree 
 lighted up his soul, or given him one feeling of 
 sympathy for, or unselfish interest in, the things 
 around him. 
 
 Jim's conversation was not onlj^ entertaining because 
 it dealt with these things, but because in its wa^- it was 
 so x)erfect. Most of us spoil our talk b}^ laboured en- 
 deavours after variety, or by the natural changeableness 
 that indicates we have no fixed ideas. His never 
 varied. Its text was always slaughter, its objects, or its 
 instruments, except when it diverged to certain amuse- 
 ments that are confined to cruelty, and do not neces- 
 sarily include death. The local, genealogical, and 
 political gossip of the Squire abounded with anecdote. 
 His tales were often introduced, not as illustrations, 
 but as good thmgs in themselves. With Jim it was 
 very different. He had little more idea of a joke than 
 the dej)utation of a Missionary Society has. "When 
 he told a tale, as he sometimes did, it was as a mere
 
 EALF SiaRLAUGH. 251 
 
 example, wliicli, however tragic or comic, was not 
 repeated for its jocosity or its pathos, but used solely 
 as an exemplar, like the shreds of verse and prose in 
 a Latin Syntax: introduced, not for its own sake, but 
 as an illustration of some truth he w^as anxious to 
 bring down to the level of his hearers' understanding. 
 
 Decoys for taking wild ducks are rare things in 
 England ; so we can imagine that some of our readers 
 will be offended when we tell them that, after serious 
 deliberation and after having consulted our wife 
 and daughters, as well as two other persons whose 
 positions give them peculiar advantages for knowing 
 the popular taste of the day — one is a fashionable 
 West End hairdresser, the other a curate in large 
 X)ractice at a well-known inland watering-place — we 
 have come to the conclusion that it is better to leave 
 out of the present chronicle the full and particular 
 description of the same, which Mr. James Morley 
 gave William Skii-laugh. We are sorry that we have 
 been compelled by the advice of our counsellors to 
 make this sacrifice, but the subject, to do it justice, 
 required a long chapter; and those judicious monitors 
 had before their eyes the terrors of the pubHsher and 
 the reviewers, — awful judges, — whom the poor author, 
 carried away by his microscopical regard for accuracy, 
 is apt to forget until his manuscript suffers from the 
 shears of the one, or his printed pages from the 
 merciless justice of the other. 
 
 The Northohne decoy had been formed on a small 
 flat piece of land that lay by the side of a tiny runnel
 
 252 EALF SiaRLAUGH. 
 
 of water. Here had been excavated a pond, much in 
 the shape of that singular object known now as the 
 Three Legs of Man, once the cognizance, if we may- 
 use an armorial term so far out of chronological order, 
 of the Isle of Sicily. The centre part was open water, 
 the legs from the feet to the knee, to carry on the 
 simile, were enclosed by network. The side of the 
 hill and the flat around was covered by a dense coppice 
 of alder, birch, hazel, and elder ; on the more moist 
 X)arts grew a dense forest of reeds. 
 
 This i^lace, secluded as it was, lay within a few 
 furlongs of Northolme Hall, the purchase which had 
 been conveyed to Mr. Skirlaugh by ^Ir. Morley the 
 day before. Here our friends lunched. While they 
 are thus engaged we will spend a few lines in the de- 
 scription of a i)lace which we may again be called upon 
 to visit. 
 
 Northolme Hall, as it was called from being the only 
 house of any pretension in the parish, for it was not a 
 true Hall, never having had a manorial franchise at- 
 tached, stood away from the mud cottages, fom- or five 
 farm-houses, and Norman church, which composed the 
 village, a short quarter of a mile. A little valley lay 
 between, through which a nameless brook found its way 
 to a somewhat bigger streamlet, whose waters in flood 
 time almost reached the dignity of a river. The house 
 seemed to have been built early in the reign of 
 Henry VIII., or perhaps during the rule of his 
 father. It had little of distinctive arcliitectural 
 character about it. Originally, like most houses of
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 253 
 
 the time, in which people of the upper classes resided, 
 it had formed three sides of a square. The eastern 
 wing had disajipeared. The centre, consisting of hall 
 and drawing-room, remained, and on the west a large 
 range of kitchen offices, two of which had in 
 more modern daj^s been converted into parlour and 
 dining-room. As originally constructed, it had been 
 built of stone up to the floor of the first story ; all 
 above that had been made up of oak rafters, with 
 pargetting between the open panels. The roof was 
 covered with large flat tiles, but here as elsewhere 
 restoration had not been improvement. When repairs 
 were wanted the place of the old covering had been sup- 
 plied by the modern hollow tile, which we~have so un- 
 happily imported from Flanders. The result w^as, that 
 the roof presented a patched and unsightly appearance. 
 The windows of the low^er rooms were of stone and 
 strongly barred with iron. It had probably not occurred 
 to the builders that persons wishing to attack the 
 house might furnish themselves with ladders, for 
 those of the chambers above were spacious, though 
 their size had been mcreased, in many instances, at 
 the expense of their gracefulness, hj sawing out the 
 Gothic tracery which once ornamented their heads, 
 and the oak muUions that had supported it. The 
 small garden was mostly devoted to culinary vege- 
 tables. A large weeping willow grew on a lawn in what 
 had once been the court in the centre of the building, 
 and a few gay flowers bloomed beneath the parlour 
 window. This latter garden was cut off from the
 
 254 HALF SIORLAUGH. 
 
 home-field — it was not a park, and liad never risen 
 to the dignity of being called one — by a row of white 
 pales, and from the kitchen domain by an i\y-clad 
 wall. The whole place looked cold, damp, and de- 
 solate. A dignity not its own was lent to it by the 
 shadow of two enormous ash trees and a few walnuts, 
 and sycamores of lesser, but still of large, growth. 
 
 The refreshment was soon consumed. As they 
 set out on their journey homewards, William vainl}^ 
 endeavoured to learn from his companion something 
 of the history of the place ; but he found that he 
 knew nothing and cared less, and that therefore the 
 only way of continuing their pleasant chat was to 
 let Jim take the lead and discourse on some of the 
 branches of his one subject. Their homeward 
 course lay mostly through grass fields where there 
 was little game, so the sportsman was able to give his 
 whole soul to the theory of his art. He even went so 
 far as to surrender his birding-piece into the hands of 
 the game carrier, while, he illustrated with bits of stick 
 and his pocket-knife the proper way of making the 
 stop-catch of a gun-lock, an improvement which he 
 had never seen, but which he was certain would 
 answer. The method then in use he averred to be 
 not only highly dangerous, but what was of far gTeater 
 consequence, singularly awkward. He had not only 
 known of men who had shot their friends or keepers 
 by accident through its failing to act, but had seen sad 
 effects arise from its actmg when it should not. He 
 had twice himself missed beautiful shots with tliis his
 
 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 255 
 
 favourite gun ''Ben Eayner" during tlie present season, 
 and lie was, as lie assured "William, and as might be 
 readily perceived, a most careful man. 
 
 Following liis lead, his companion remarked that he 
 believed most of the bad shooting so prevalent arose 
 more from carelessness than sheer want of ability. 
 
 ''Well, I don't know that," replied Jim. Now, 
 there's my brother Dick, as careful a fellow as I am ; a 
 man that never misses a shot through any hurry or 
 bustle, that's always up to the mark and never before 
 his time ; yet he can't knock 'em over as I can ; and 
 then there's the Squire, a man who's got some of the 
 finest shootin' in Lincolnshire, but who doesn't care a 
 toss about it, perhaps doesn't go out six times in the 
 season, and when he does go handles his gun like a 
 hay-fork ; yet when he does fire I tlimk he's a deader 
 shot than I am myself. I like going out with him; it's 
 a real pleasure to see the birds fall, but I'm always 
 afraid I shall be fallin' myself, too, some day through 
 him." 
 
 " Do you mean he is careless with his fowLuig- 
 piece ? " inquired William. 
 
 " Careless ! I don't know what you call it. It's as 
 bad as being in a battle to be within forty yards of him, 
 for a gun in his hands is tied to bring down summut. 
 Why, I'll tell you a trick of his. I was out with him 
 only a week or two before you came. We were rabbit- 
 shooting at Askliam Elder Woods, a place full of sand 
 hoes. Well, there was a smuice through the hedge 
 just again' where I was stan'in', and I stooped
 
 256 EALF SianLAUGH. 
 
 down to look through it, with my feet wide apart 
 so " — and the sportsman put himself in position for 
 the purpose of illustrating hia narrative. *' Well, just 
 as I was looldn', a hare came and sat down about 
 twenty yards off, just opposite. I was raising my gun 
 to fire when I seed all the sod between my legs plewed 
 up, and heard the Squire's gun go bang. I thought I " 
 was shot, but it happened all the corns had gone 
 straight between my two feet, but just where they'd 
 have been if I'd been stood as I was a minute before. 
 Od, says I, Squire, you've near done for me this time. 
 If you'd nobut been three foot higher, it would have 
 been a strange good thing for Dick. ^Yell, do you 
 know he laughed as if he'd done a clever trick, and 
 said he alw^ays shot straight, but he didn't mean her to 
 go off then^ but while he was thinking of sum'ts else, 
 he'd just pressed his finger on the trigger." 
 
 *' You must find the pleasure of shooting with Mr. 
 Skirlaugh much diminished by the danger, if tliis be a 
 fair specimen," remarked his interested listener, with 
 singular want of sportsmanhke tact. 
 
 " Not a bit. You see he's such a grand fellow to 
 talli to ; he's not only a real gentleman, and that's a 
 good deal to a man like me, but he and all his family 
 are the best folks in the country. Why, look at Miss 
 Isabell; she's fit to be a queen; and then there's 
 Mary, my cousin.; joii couldn't think, to see her 
 and hear her talk, that she was aught akin to us. 
 That's all through livin' wi' them. If she'd been my 
 sister instead of cousin, and lived at Scalhoe instead
 
 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 257 
 
 of Skirlaugh, she'd ha' been no more fit to marry 
 Mr. Ealf than I should be for Miss Isabell. I don't 
 know how it is, for as to family, they do tell me that 
 we're very nigh, if not all out, as good as they are. 
 And I'm sure it's not because they are richer than us, 
 for our Mary hasn't a penny but what the Squire gives 
 her — ^no, not for pocket money." 
 
 It required great power over the facial muscles on 
 the part of our hero for him not to laugh outright at 
 these very true remarks. He did restrain himself, but 
 not wishing to encounter another equally severe test, 
 " harked back " to the former part of the discourse. 
 
 "I shouldn't have thought," said he, "that any 
 pleasure you might have in Mr. Skirlaugh' s society 
 would have made up for the risk you profess to run 
 every time you go out with him." 
 
 "Bless ye, when he once gets a talldn', you would 
 think nothing of it if his gun were pointed at the 
 middle of your body and you saw his finger playing 
 wi' the trigger. There's plenty of folks that can 
 shoot, but there's nobody knows so much or can tell 
 so many funny tales, or has half so much good m him 
 as our Squire. I've never been mad at him in my life, 
 and I never seed my father real cross with liim but 
 once, and then it really was past all bearing." 
 
 William expressed a strong desu^e to know what a 
 person so beloved could have done that even the nar- 
 rator thought anger justifiable. 
 
 " WeU, you see it was this — but now I wouldn't tell 
 any living soul but you, nor you neither, if you wasn't
 
 258 EALF SKIRLAUGII. 
 
 like one of tlie family. You must promise never to 
 mention it." 
 
 Our hero gave the necessaiy pledge, and the chroni- 
 cler proceeded — 
 
 ''It Avas last year, and the Squii'e had asked my 
 father and me to go and have a day wi' him, as it was 
 the first day of the season. We thought we must 
 mind and he early, so we got there hom^s afore he was 
 up. He seemed in no hurry when breakfast was over, 
 but at last we were all ready for startin'. You've been 
 in madam's still-room, perhaps, — a little room near the 
 kitchen. Well, the Squire was there, sitting in a chair in 
 the corner between the fire-place and the window, screw- 
 ing on his gun-lock. M}^ father, who's getting rather 
 dull of sight, v/as standin' in the do or- way, makin' the 
 flint fast in his gun, and I was outside in the yard having 
 a spree wi' one of the servant lasses, when all of a sudden 
 there was a bang enough to awake the twel'month dead. 
 I thought at first the world had certainly come to an 
 end, and should have begun to say the ' De Profundis,' 
 onl}^ I couldn't remember how to start. The cannons 
 lettin' off at Hull garrison is nothing to it. Well, in 
 less time than you can think, wop comes a big black 
 thing down atween me and the young woman I was 
 talkin' wi', as big as the stone of a cheese-press. If it 
 had hitten either of us we should have been crushed as 
 flat as a barn floor. To make a longstoryshort, just when 
 the Squire was aU ready for startin', he found out his 
 powder was damp and wouldn't go, so as madam wasn't 
 by he slipped into the still-room and put it in the oven
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 259 
 
 just to take the cold air off, and tlien fell to thinkin', 
 first about a tale he was tellin' my father, and then 
 about his gim-lock. If he'd let it stay m one minute 
 less it would ha' been all right. It's that last 
 minute that always does the mischief, Mister 
 William. The Squire, thank God, wasn't hurt at all, 
 not a hair of him singed. The oven went clean 
 through the window and missed him, but a great blast 
 of flame and soot flew out at the door and singed every 
 bit of hair off one side of my father's wig, and it was 
 a bran new 'un, bought at Lincoln not a week before. 
 You really should have heard him swear. I often 
 hear him rap out when there isn't a gentleman, a 
 priest or a parson, by, but to hear him then^ when the 
 Squire wasn't over fower yards off, and the ladies, 
 ma3^be, close to, was something fearsome." 
 
 " Were not the ladies very much alarmed at the 
 accident ? The report alone was enough to have 
 frightened them very much." 
 
 " I can't say about the young ladies. I never seed 
 'em. Madam wasn't, but to hear her rate the Squire was 
 something dreadful. I'd rather hear ten men like my 
 father swear again' one another for a summer's day 
 than that. However he bore it I can't think, but he 
 did, and just saying, ' I'U never do so again, Lucy,' 
 waUied away, got another powder flask in the stables, 
 and stayed out till it was as dark as pitch." 
 
 s 2
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " Rien ne peut I'arreter 
 Quand la chasse I'appelle." — Louis XIV. 
 
 The conversation, of which we have given but a 
 brief abstract, lasted until the shooters had i^assed 
 over a considerable stretch of meadow and entered 
 upon a wild region of sand-hill, as perfectly bare as 
 the sea-shore itself, except that here and there grew 
 patches or rather lines of that hard wire-like grass 
 which may be familiar to some of our readers, fi'om 
 their having seen it on the dunes which protect the 
 coast of the Netherlands from the storms of the Ger- 
 man Ocean. 
 
 Path there was none. The whole region had an 
 appearance of bareness, only relieved from absolute 
 desolation by the purple heather and sweet-scented 
 ling which flourished in the peaty soil of the valleys. 
 As the sand-hills hid the prospect of the neighboming 
 slopes entirely from the traveller's view, except when 
 he crossed their tops, it was a place where any person 
 not well diilled in local knowledge might have wan-
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 261 
 
 dered about for liours without finding himself any 
 nearer to the place of his destination. Jem was, how- 
 ever, in no danger of being lost, as he had been in the 
 habit of amusing himself there, ever since he was old 
 enough to stray away from the paternal homestead. 
 Thus, every hillock, however much like its neighbour 
 it might seem to others, had to his practised eye a 
 peculiar form and character of its own. He had there- 
 fore not the least hesitation about his way, but plodded 
 on, with "William by his side and the setters at his 
 heels, as unhesitatingly as if he were traversmg the 
 high road leading to his father's home. The sun had 
 set, but it was by no means dark. They were on the 
 point of emergmg from this wilderness, and ah-eady 
 the row of tall poplars that marked the northern ex- 
 tremity of John Stutting's property was in sight, 
 when the dogs sprang from behind theii^ master and 
 almost pounced upon a fawn which was couched among 
 the heather. They were a moment too late. The 
 agile creature sprang away, and the dogs dashed 
 in full chase after it, followed by Jem, hallooing 
 and cheering them on at the very top of his loud 
 voice. 
 
 William remembered the conversation that had taken 
 place between his relative and the tanner, and he 
 knew, also, that Mr. Skirlaugh had, no longer ago than 
 that very morning, cautioned Jem that he was on no 
 account to injure the deer. But he had, as it seemed, 
 no power to hinder the atrocity he was compelled to 
 witness. To make Jem heed him in his present mood.
 
 262 r.ALF SKIRL AUGH. 
 
 when under the full influence of the madness of the 
 chase, would have been veiy difficult, even could his 
 voice have been heard; but to make him hear anj^- 
 thing, when he was shouting at the full pitch of his 
 own voice, was a manifest impossibility. 
 
 When under strong excitement we usually find 
 inaction the most difficult of all forms of labom'. 
 William did not stop to think what good he should do, 
 but set off running at the top of his speed, vainly 
 hoping, perchance, to come up with his companion, 
 and induce him to call oif the dogs. If so foolish a 
 thought shot through his brain, a few seconds must 
 have disj)elled it ; but he still ran on as fast as he 
 could. The dogs gained rapidly on the quarry. 
 Their speed was much less than that of a full- 
 grown deer, but it was more than a match for the 
 young creatm-e they had roused. The frightened 
 animal ran directly for Stutting's homestead ; but this, 
 which should of itself have been a hint to the lumter, 
 only gave an additional zest to the chase. 
 
 Before reaching that place a highway had to be 
 crossed ; the form of the piper sitting on a heap of 
 stones caused the fawn to curve out of its direct course 
 in a northerly direction. This gave William a great 
 advantage, as he kept on in a direct line. The animal 
 quickly doubled again, and running within a few yards 
 of him, its pursuers obviously gaining on it at every 
 bound, leapt from the high bank of the stream into 
 the midst of Bessie's island garden, followed at the 
 same instant by the two dogs and William Skirlaugh.
 
 RALF SiaRLAUGH. , 263 
 
 Jem Morley was but a few paces behind ; lie was, how- 
 ever, too late. The fawn, in its leap, had entangled 
 itself in the net with which Bessie protected her 
 flowers from such intruders, and would, in an instant, 
 have been in the jaws of its pm-suers, had not WiUiam, 
 with a presence of mmd worthy of one whose life had 
 been devoted to the chase, at the very instant crushed 
 down the net with his foot, wliile he grasped both dogs 
 firmly by their collars. The hunted animal, with a 
 bound, cleared the stream, and rushed for protection 
 to Bessie, who was seated at the cottage door, in con- 
 versation with her father and another person. The 
 dogs ku'ched violently forward, almost dragging their 
 captor into the beck beneath. At the sajne moment 
 he felt Jem's hand heavily on his shoulder, whether in 
 the form of a blow or an endeavour to save him from 
 rolling downwards, he was not quite sm-e. He re- 
 mained stooping, still grasping the dogs, until he was 
 quite sure the fawn was safe, and then arose, prepared 
 to receive a volle}^ of abuse, if not phj'sical violence. 
 The face of his companion was swollen with passion, , 
 but the chase had, for the present, deprived him of all 
 power of articulate utterance. The young men stood 
 for a second or two, gazing in each other's faces in a 
 manner wliicli indicated that high words might not 
 unlikely be soon succeeded by blows. This dumb 
 show was, however, terminated by the advent of 
 Stutting, accompanied by a companion fewer in years 
 and as muscular as himself. From the seat beside 
 Ms door, where he had been refreshing himself after
 
 264 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 
 
 the work of the day was over, he had been a witness of 
 the whole proceedings. 
 
 "James Morley," said he, " I have seen the course 
 you have taken. I thought Ralf Skirlaugh might per- 
 adventure have kept you from law-brealdng, harrying 
 God's creatures, and spoiling my goods. It seems 
 you care no more for Ralf Sldrlaugh's will than you 
 do for mine, or for the Lord's. Had youi* beasts 
 killed that dumb thing, as I live I would have made 
 you so that you should never have hunted deer more. 
 You may thank the young man who is with j^ou that 
 you are able to go home. And now go ; and remem- 
 ber that if you, or any of your kin, be they man or 
 woman, come here again, I will use them as I would 
 wild beasts. If the law of God won't hold you in, 
 force shall. I profess I will show no more mercy than 
 do the Christians in America to the Red Savages, 
 whose land the Lord hath given to the saints for a 
 possession." 
 
 Jem, who hated the tanner for many bygone affronts, 
 would by no mans have shrunk from doing battle with 
 him, notwithstandmg his superior strength, which 
 could at any time have given him the victory. Now, 
 however, such a contest was out of the question. He 
 was blown with running, and John had by his side a 
 companion who was unlikely to have an}^ chivabous 
 scruples as to the .singleness of the combat ; but he 
 was loth to beat a retreat without a sufficient excuse 
 for delivering a volley of the notable oaths for which 
 the Morleys of Scalhoe were celebrated. He there-
 
 EALF SKIRLAUaH. 265 
 
 fore put liimself in a threatening attitude, so as to 
 command the plank that connected the isle with the 
 mainland. 
 
 " Go, I tell you, man," cried Stutting. '^ Go, or 
 the presence of your companion shall not preserve you 
 longer. Go." As he said this he walked forward 
 upon the narrow bridge. 
 
 ''For heaven's sake leave the place; jon are in 
 the wrong," whispered William. Jem knew resistance 
 would be useless, so with a broadside of cm*ses he 
 leapt the stream, regained his father's land, and wallied 
 sullenly away. 
 
 The companions paced onward in silence for some 
 minutes ; at length Jem exclaimed in a tona very much 
 like that of a naughty boy who is trying to be good, 
 " Gad, I'm a fool — a natural fool. You'll not think 
 anything of it, I hope, Mr. William. I can't help it ; 
 I can't, upon my soul." 
 
 After a proper rejoinder from his companion he con- 
 tinued, "I'm very sorry — more sorry than I can 
 make you believe ; but. Gad, if it was to come over 
 again, I must do the same. There are some men who, 
 if you keep 'em away from the sight and smeU of 
 liquor, never want it ; but once let 'em see it, no 
 power on earth can hinder 'em from getting drunk; 
 and I'm just like that, only it's not drink wi' me, 
 though I do have a randy bout now and then ; it's 
 partridges, ducks, pheasants, and 'specially deer, that 
 oversets me. If the squire should get to know, he'd 
 be very mad ; but maybe lie'U not, Mr. William."
 
 266 KALF SiailLAUGH. 
 
 Mr. William took the broad hint, and relieved his 
 companion's fears by promising that he would not per- 
 form the part of an informer. 
 
 The person whom we saw in company with John 
 Stutting was a farmer from the south of the county, 
 a respectable, upright young man, of the same re- 
 ligious persuasion as himself, who had been for some 
 time engaged to his daughter. When the sj)oii:smen 
 took their dejoarture the others entered the sanded 
 kitchen of the cottage. Bessie busied herself in setting 
 out the table for the evening meal, and the two men 
 fell into grave conversation as to the evil times in 
 which they were living. Such talk has been but too 
 common with persons holding their gloomy views in 
 all ages of Christian history. The events which had 
 just occurred had added an additional shade of 
 sombreness. 
 
 "I have half a mind, Isaac, to sell up all I have 
 and go to America again. I would at once if I didn't 
 think that Bessie could ill bear the sea. These 
 fellows make England well nigh unbearable to an 
 honest man. One day I'm fretted by the tax-gatherer, 
 the next our drunken parson wants his tithe; then 
 somebody conies for a church-rate, or the Commis- 
 sioners of Sewers are down upon one ; and worse than 
 all, one is liable at all times, clean against law, to 
 have one's property harried by a pack of graceless 
 Pagans, who call themselves gentlemen. Gentlemen, 
 forsooth; there'll be no more good in Old England 
 till the gentlemen are all turned adrift, as the monks
 
 RALF SIOELAUGH. 267 
 
 were. Wliy sliould there be respect of persons on 
 earth ? — there's none in heaven." 
 
 The future husband of the tanner's daughter was 
 too much accustomed to Stuttmg's manner to dream 
 of expressing any doubt as to the truth of this last 
 very questionable statement. The nearest approach 
 that was seemly for him, was a suggestion that Jem 
 Morley's bad conduct arose from propensities not 
 essentially connected with aristocracy. 
 
 " They're all alike, Isaac. The only difference is, 
 that they don't all get in my way. There are three 
 sorts of 'em. First, there is Skirlaugh, and men like 
 hun — mere heathens ; worldlings with no more idea of 
 the Gospel than a flint-stone has of a fire, till you 
 strike it ; men who love justice and hate iniquity for 
 this world's sake. Their hearts are eaten up with 
 pride, and theii' minds full of hard things. If they 
 had their wa}^ they would grind us between two heavier 
 miUstones than ever the Whig Parhament in London 
 will be able to set rolling a top of one another. And 
 yet I don't deny that if these men had grace, there 
 might be much good in them. There's a worse sort 
 than them. Fellows like Woorme, of Todholme; 
 feUows who call themselves gentlemen, and are as par- 
 ticular that esquire should be put after their names, 
 as you and I are that ours should be written m the 
 book of life ; who run after any of the big men when 
 they see them, whether they be Whig or Jacobite, as 
 if their clothes would cure sick men, like the hand- 
 kerchiefs that had touched the body of Paul of Tarsus;
 
 268 RALF SICIELAUGH. 
 
 and if they meet a poor man, snap him off as if they 
 belonged to a different world from his, and had only 
 come down here on a visit of pleasm-e, as you might 
 go down into a Yorkshire coal-pit. These are mostly 
 sons of linendi'apers, ironmongers, publicans, and 
 such like, who've had lands left to them by miserly 
 relations, and have bought their gentility ready made, 
 as sailors do their clothes, — that's why neither of 'em 
 fit. But neither of these sorts hurt me. It's the 
 Papist kind, who spend all theii' tune in himting, 
 racing, drinking, and what's worse, who take a real 
 devilish delight in persecuting me, because I am a 
 God-fearing Christian man." 
 
 "If it wasn't for Mr. Skirlaugh, father, Jem 
 Morley, and them that go with him, would be ten 
 times worse than they are. I know he tells them 
 every time he sees them, that they're to let our things 
 alone," interposed Bessie, who had a strong re- 
 gard for Miss Isabell, which reflected itself upon 
 her father. 
 
 " Very likely, lass — very likely ; and much good it 
 does. Wh}^ do you think old Skirlaugh has any more 
 power over them than I have ? I tell you they're 
 mad; drunk with their superstition, which shuts their 
 eyes to everything in this world that's cleanly and of 
 good report, and opens them wide to all foulness and 
 evil doing. A Papist can no more be a good man, as 
 the world counts goodness, even, than a wild beast 
 that delights in blood can be gentle as a lamb. It is 
 against nature. They are idolators, members of the
 
 EALF SKIELAUGH. 269 
 
 foul synagogue of Satan, and heirs of the retribution 
 prepared for the devil and his angels." 
 
 '*But, father, Miss Mary Morley, who is, as they 
 say, to marry the young squire, is a Papist, and I am 
 sure she is a Idnd-hearted lady." 
 
 " Tiger-pups are sweet, soft things to play with, till 
 their claws are grown. It's a shame that Half Skir- 
 laugh should marry his son to a heathen; a crjdng 
 sin and shame. Are there not plenty of worldly 
 women hereabouts, to pick from, without seeking one 
 who worships stocks and stones? Don't you know, 
 child, what the Scriptures of the old covenant say of 
 idolators, and remember that there was an excuse for 
 the old heathen who worshipped Moloch, which there 
 is not, now that the light has come for those who pray 
 to Mary, Peter, and other dead men and women, and 
 deny the Lord who bought them? I would rather 
 take into my house a lion or a mad dog, than a 
 Papist." 
 
 Bessie was too well aware of her father's peculiar 
 views — opinions she, as was natural, in a great mea- 
 sm-e shared — to seem to contradict him ; as, however, 
 many Httle ch^cumstances had led her to have a lildng 
 for Maiy, she recounted several anecdotes which told 
 very much in that lady's favour. The tanner heard 
 her narratives to the end, with the condescension of 
 one wdio is so sure of his own position that it is a 
 pleasure to hear all his adversary has to say. When 
 she had done, he looked at her gravely, and said — 
 
 " Bessie, joii have often heard me read to you, and
 
 270 EALF SIORLAUGH. 
 
 tell of Hell — of the lake of fire and brimstone which 
 bui-ns for ever and ever, just below the green fields and 
 cool waters. Now, if there be one thing clearer than 
 another, alike from the letter of Scripture and from 
 the faith, that God puts into the hearts of liis elect, it 
 is that all idolators shall have their portion there — 
 whatever their works have been. I don't deny that 
 some of them have done what men call good w^orks ; 
 but I am sorry, heartily sorry, when I see or hear of 
 them ; they profit nothing to save from everlastmg 
 burning, and they do take off from the hate one should 
 feel to the enemies of God. 'Do not I hate them 
 that hate thee, oh Lord,' is fitter in the mouth of a 
 Christian woman, like thee, than w^hat thou hast now 
 spoken." 
 
 The girl was silenced, perhaps comdnced. Her 
 father enlivened the evening meal with other theolo- 
 gical discourse, the tone of which is sufficiently indi- 
 cated by what we have recorded.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Heel. — Silence, and let us proceed, neighbours, witli all the decency and 
 confusion usual on these occasions, 
 
 \st Mob. — Ay, ay ; there is no doing without that. 
 
 All. — No, no, no. 
 
 Heel. — Silence, then, and keep the peace. "What ! is there no i-espect 
 paid to authority ?— Foote. The Mayor of Garratt. 
 
 Mr. SiaRLAUGH never had any serious intention of 
 depriving the citizens of Lincohi of the benefits that 
 his presence might afford them at the election of a 
 knight of the shire. He cared nothing whatever for 
 politics, as commonly understood — had not the least 
 interest in the result of the contest, but the Tor}^ can- 
 didate was a personal friend of his own, and a man 
 who carried the extreme principles he professed so 
 very far, that there was but a shade of difference be- 
 tween the Toryism of the one and the open rebellious- 
 ness of the other. The hair that divided them was 
 the oath to the ruling dynasty. This Mr. Skirlaugh 
 firmly refused to take, while his weaker brother swal- 
 lowed it, without, as far as could be seen from his 
 conduct, its making any change in his devotion to the 
 exiled family. Devotion is of different sorts. The
 
 272 RALF SIQELAUGH. 
 
 Squire's was of a kind that would not have shrunk 
 for an instant from translating itself into action ; that 
 of the candidate consisted principally in talking trea- 
 son and drinking disloyal toasts, when among his own 
 friends. The Squire, though lax of tongue, was 
 habitually sober, the candidate was more in harmony 
 with the times in which he lived ; and when he had 
 consumed more punch than he could control, he was 
 sometimes in the habit of giving public vent to opi- 
 nions which even the free-spoken Mr. Skiiiaugh 
 thought it unwise, if not dangerous, to utter. 
 
 William had, during the last few days, more than 
 once suggested that the time was arriving for his de- 
 parture. He felt that to stay much longer in such 
 congenial society would unfit him for the life of retu'ed 
 drudgery to which he seemed destined. He knew, 
 too, that his affections were becoming rapidly fixed on 
 one who he was certain could, if she thought of him 
 at all when out of her sight, only regard him as a mere 
 pleasant casual acquaintance, and to whose hand, 
 raised as she was by the accident of social position so 
 much above himself, it would be impossible for him to 
 aspire. 
 
 Notwithstanding all that men, wise with the wisdom 
 of this world, have endeavoured to prove to us, we are 
 not always masters of our own actions. Fate, accident, 
 providence, use which word you will, is stronger than 
 our resolutions for good or evil. In spite of the firmest 
 resolves to the contrary, the 3''0ung lawyer was seldom 
 alone without his thoughts turning to Isabel. Her
 
 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 273 
 
 lightest words clung to his memory ; the sound of her 
 voice was in his ears, even when the Squire, who to 
 his praise he it told, seldom repeated himself, was 
 narrating his raciest stories. He felt that the time 
 when he ought to have gone, had he valued his own 
 peace of mind, was long past, and that it was now, at 
 all events, little short of a duty to himself, if not to 
 another, whose happiness he valued far more than his 
 own, to hasten his departure. When this deliberation 
 was mentioned to the Squu^e, he would not entertain 
 the idea for a moment. 
 
 "My good fellow," said he, ** the election is just at 
 hand ; you must stay and see the Sldrlaugh people in 
 force. That is a sufficient reason for your lengthen- 
 ing your visit ; but I have a better and a reaUy very 
 grave one. My son will be home soon, perhaps in a 
 day or two, and you must see him for two reasons. 
 In the first place, you and he are hoth good fellows, 
 and will no doubt like each other; and, secondly, 
 because h^ will soon marry Mary, and I shall want 
 some legal advice as to settlements. The poor girl 
 hasn't a farthmg now, but she must have something m 
 the way of a dowry. It won't do for Marmaduke 
 Morley's heiress to be wedded like a pauper. Her 
 father has lost all his own, and her mother's fortune, 
 also, in the service of the King, Avho wiU no doubt 
 make it up handsomely some day ; but till the time 
 comes, we must provide what is fitting Now I can't 
 talk on these things properly when Ealf isn't here." 
 
 This seemed a sufficient reason for protracting his 
 
 TOL. I. T
 
 274 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 visit for a few days, which William did not see how to 
 evade, though he felt that he ought to put it aside 
 manfully, but the desire of indulging a little longer in 
 what, however pleasant, he felt was but a dream — the 
 first, and perhaps the last, of his wakmg life — was too 
 strong for his better judgment. It was therefore 
 arranged that he should stay till after the election, in 
 the hope of young Skirlaugh's retmni, but that if the 
 traveller did not come back within a very few days 
 of that event, he should go to his office-desk again, 
 without making his acquaintance. A letter notifying 
 this was written to his uncle in due course, who was 
 already anxious for his nephew's return, not only 
 because there was much business which requii-ed his 
 attention, but also because he found liis days pass 
 slowly without his companion. 
 
 Mr. Skirlaugh's intention of going to the election 
 had been kept a profound secret. Not only were the 
 Wliig squii-es and parsons of the neighbourhood in 
 complete darkness on the subject, but also nearly the 
 whole of his own people. Such of them as had votes, 
 and most of his tenants and other dependents were 
 possessed of small freeholds, had notice to assemble 
 at a certain point of the road, remarkable in their 
 minds as the site of a small public-house, known as 
 the " Crooked Billet." They had all received orders 
 to be at that place at nine o'clock in the morning. 
 Long before that hour, not only the kitchen, parlour, 
 and passages of the said hostehy were crowded with 
 thirsty men, but the com*t-yard, and even the road
 
 RALF SKIRL AUGH. 275 
 
 adjoining, were occupied by a motlej^ throng of persons, 
 who, if they had not now a vote to give, were very 
 happy to drink the beer the Squire had i)aid for, as a 
 pledge that if ever they should be raised to the rank of 
 freeholders, their votes and interest would be entirely 
 at his service. The orders were for beer to be given 
 to all comers who wore the proper-coloured ribbons in 
 their hats; but wisely was the precaution taken of 
 only issuing them the day before, so that Mary Moss, 
 the hostess of the estabhshment, was unable to lay in 
 such a stock as to create any great amount of intoxica- 
 tion in the neighbourhood. The public-house stood, 
 as these old wayside houses of refreshment were wont 
 to do, at the junction of four roads. One of them led 
 from Scalhoe, and riding down this, at a little before 
 nine, might be seen Mr. Morley, accompanied by 
 both his sons. Their presence was not unlooked 
 for, but was by no means a welcome addition to the 
 party. 
 
 '* Did our Squire tell 'em to come to tak' care on us, 
 I wonder ? " asked a red- vested farmer of his neighbour, 
 as they sat on a bench beside the door. 
 
 *'No, man," rephed the person questioned, who was 
 happy in possessing exclusive information, his daughter 
 being one of the housemaids at the Manor. '* It's not 
 a likely thing, and I wonder you should ax such an a 
 question. He none tell'd 'em to come, but they know 
 he's aboone this sort o' thing hiself, and so they think 
 they'll look big by makin' theii'selves look lilie our 
 maisters." 
 
 T 2
 
 276 HALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 " The road's as free to them as it is to us ; but I'm 
 not a goin' to hev it said that I am't fit to tak' care o' 
 my sen at 'lection time wi'out them drinkin', pot- 
 huntin', swearin' fellers puttin' their sens for'ad to 
 look a'ter me," rejoined the first speaker, who, after 
 so long an address thought it necessary to refresh him- 
 self with a deep draught of beer, and then went on : 
 *'I wonder our Squire stan's it; he's ower good- 
 natur'd by half. Why, there isn' a thing in the place 
 that they don't powch or make away wi'. It's not the 
 deer, only ; it's hares, pheasants, rabbits, eYery thing 
 in the world. They're as fell as a otter for fish, an' 
 all. I wouldn't so much as look at 'em if I was 
 him." 
 
 *'You don't know everything, Eobert. You see 
 Miss Mary, who's niece to old Morley, is to marry the 
 young Squire this back end, and it wouldn't do to fall 
 out wi' th' girl's relations, though they ai'e a low lot. 
 And then the}^ do say, neighbour, how far it may be 
 true, I don't know, but the}^ do say that yomig Lon- 
 don chap is to hev' Miss Isabell, and he's strange, an' 
 thick with Jem and Dick, and 's out spreein' about 
 wi' em every day, be owt it be Sundays." 
 
 It was, as the malcontents had anticipated ; no 
 sooner had the Morlej' P^i'ty arrived than the}' began 
 to assume the post of leaders. Theii* first act of sove- 
 reignty was to declare that Mr. Sldrlaugh had in- 
 formed them of his determination to stay at home ; 
 their second was to intimate, if not broadly aflirm, that 
 he had requested them to guide his people through
 
 RALF SIOELAUGH. 277 
 
 the perils of the election. Advice they scattered freely 
 on all hands. One man was told at what inn he had 
 best put up his horse ; to a second the mysterious pro- 
 cess of recording the votes was explained in elaborate 
 detail, and a third was cautioned in a whisper, loud 
 enough to be heard by many of the bystanders, that 
 he wasn't to let Justice Woorme see him, for if he did 
 he'd make him vote " yallow," because of that mort- 
 gage he had on his place. 
 
 All this was very offensive. The Morleys were 
 not popular. Their religion, their manners, the vulgar 
 admixture of coarse familiarity and bustling dignity 
 which they assumed, and their entire want of tact in 
 dealing with then' fellow-creatures, tended to make a 
 body of men who were quite independent of them 
 resent an assumption of authority which their own 
 landlord would never have thought of exercising. 
 They were, however, all three, quite deficient in that 
 sense of the incongruous which makes some of us know 
 when we are doing, an unpopular act, without a plain 
 statement of our delinquencies being growled into our 
 ears.' It is not improbable that something very like a 
 quarrel would have arisen, had not the noise of wheels 
 startled the throng, and the green and yellow chariot 
 of Mr. Skirlaugh appeared in the distance. 
 
 Carriages were rarities in those days. The one that 
 was now before the eyes of the people, and that of the 
 Whig Lord at Brackenthwaite, were the only vehicles 
 of the kind that most of the crowd had seen, and this 
 pai'ticular chariot was but seldom visible. The Squii'e
 
 278 HALF SIQRLAUGH. 
 
 treated it with the same care that Su' Huclibras did his 
 learning — seldom used it, for fear of wearing it out. 
 Horseback was his favourite mode of travel. It was 
 only on great occasions, when he felt that display- 
 was a duty, or when the ladies had to go a long 
 distance, that this stately machine was imswathed 
 from its many coverings, and dragged into the light of 
 common day. 
 
 When he halted at the door of the Crooked Billet, 
 it w^as observed to contain not only the Squire him- 
 self, in his own proper person, but also his daughter, 
 his guest, and his chaplain. A loud cheer greeted ]\Ir. 
 Skirlaugh, as he alighted, and shook the nearest of the 
 bystanders kindly by the hand. A few sensible words 
 of direction, and one or two good-humoured jests re- 
 moved the ill feeling that the intrusion of the Morleys 
 had caused, and the great man drove off — not, how- 
 ever, without a hint to his coachman, to keep on the 
 grass at the side of the road as much as he couhl, for 
 fear of scratching the paint on the carriage-wheels — 
 leaving behind him the impression that the Lord of 
 Skirlaugh Manor was certainly one of the greatest 
 people on earth. 
 
 The carriage, with its inmates and outriders, had 
 not been the only addition to the part}^ Close in its 
 rear came Squire's Bob, with a body of followers whom 
 he called his voters. Bob was himself a freeholder. 
 He had inherited a small bag of guineas from his 
 grandmother, and had saved several more in the ser- 
 vice of his master. These he had judiciously invested
 
 KALF SiaRLAUGH. 279 
 
 in one of the villages of the Isle of Axholme, in what 
 is called a land end — a local term, wliicli it may be 
 needful to explain, as the phrase does not convey a 
 distinct meaning to the uninitiated. 
 
 The Trent, as people know who look at maps, is a 
 winding river. One of the mam roads on the Isle of 
 Axholme, skirts the west bank of the Trent, but for 
 obvious reasons of convenience, does not follow every 
 twist of the stream. The fields in those days were all 
 open, many of them are still so, and the numerous 
 freeholders, among whom the arable land was divided, 
 held it in long, narrow slips, called lands. Each of 
 these lands was raised by continual ploughing one way 
 into a high ridge for the purpose of cbainage, and the 
 furrow between them was a sufficient boundary. The 
 highway cut across these strips, leaving a small bit of 
 land belonging to each allotment between the river 
 and the road. These were, and are still, usualty called 
 land ends, and from their nearness to the river, and 
 the extreme richness of their soil, were very valuable. 
 Their size fitted them exactly for spade labour. Mr. 
 Eobert Drury had bought one of these land ends, 
 dreaming, perhaps, if things prospered with him, that 
 it would form the nucleus of a larger property, and in 
 the meantime be a safe investment for his capital. 
 Bob was, however, not only in the proud position of 
 being a voter himself, but in the stiU more exalted one 
 of being able to influence several other people. His 
 sister had married a person, half fisherman, half 
 smuggler, who lived at Barton-upon-Humber ; and not
 
 280 EALF SKIRLAUGH. 
 
 only he, but several of his kin and allies, were de- 
 lighted to oblige Bob, by going to Lincoln at the 
 Squire's expense. It is not probable that they had 
 any views whatever on the political questions involved 
 in the contest, but they had strong reasons for wishing 
 that the Squire and his retainer should continue to 
 think well of them. 
 
 As Bob had the care of his own convoy, he was re- 
 lieved from attendance on his master, who, for the 
 sake of being able to descant upon the interesting objects 
 on the way, took, after leaving the Crooked Billet, the 
 longer but much more picturesque road which runs on 
 the brow of the hill above the villages. Drury did not 
 think that his friends would appreciate the scenery of 
 the villages so much as the fleshly cheer which he had 
 orders to provide for them at Merespital, he therefore 
 went by the shorter route. When he and his party 
 arrived at the St. George and Dragon, the old inn was 
 full to overflowing. Mr. Sargisson, its master, was 
 sober at the early hour when our friends arrived, and 
 he and every one of his people were busy servmg out 
 food and drink to the gay crowd of travellers whose 
 yellow, white, and blue ribbons indicated that thej^ 
 were jom-neying to the local capital with their souls 
 bent on politics. Bob was fond of good cheer, and 
 still fonder of good compan3\ He knew, however, 
 that he should have enough of both when he arrived at 
 Lincoln, and therefore preferred, on the present occa- 
 sion, to sacrifice these lower desii'es to the shrine of 
 his love.
 
 RALF SiaELAUGH. 
 
 281 
 
 Our readers are, we think, aware tliat he had a 
 tender regard for Nell, the servant in whose company 
 he was first introduced to their notice. That maiden 
 was still absent from the inn, engaged in attendance 
 upon the poor woman at the almshouse. To that 
 cottage Bob directed his steps as soon as he had seen 
 his companions comfortabty seated, and had, as he 
 expressed it, ''just weshed the dust out of his mouth." 
 He found the place scrupulously neat, the cripple 
 sitting upright in her bed, supported by pillows, em- 
 ploying her hands in knitting, while at long, distant 
 intervals, she let drop a few words to Nell, who was 
 sewing by her side. Conversation it could not be 
 called. What she said to her companion seldom 
 extended to more than a few words of remark, or a 
 brief question. She was not, however, quite silent. 
 Her lips constantly moved, often in inaudible whis- 
 pers, sometimes snatches of songs, the prayers she 
 had learned in infancy, and words that had, in after 
 life, made a deep impression upon her, mingled in dis- 
 cordant and often painful confusion. Her mind was 
 evidently failing through weakness of body, but, like 
 many others in her condition, she had, at times, a 
 strong craving to hear news wliich she forgot the 
 next moment, or only remembered in such a frag- 
 mentary fashion, that if any portions of it were pro- 
 duced again, the teller was startled by the variations 
 they had undergone. 
 
 Drury had, on several occasions, been sent over 
 from the Manor with presents of food, and was well
 
 282 RALF SKir.LAUGH. 
 
 known to Anne Mason. Although he spoke to her on 
 entering, she seemed hardly to notice him. The 
 animated conversation which passed between the 
 lovers seemed quite lost upon her. Bob had told his 
 companions that they were to be ready to start on 
 their journey in a quarter of an hour, but double that 
 time passed away in Nell's societj^, without the gi-oom 
 discovering that it was time for liim to depart. Yet 
 neither he nor she were quite at their ease. The 
 swain had sufficient ef&'ontery for most of the occa- 
 sions of life, but the dull, scarred features, and 
 cold grey eyes of the sufferer, unlit by any sentiment 
 that he could understand, acted on him with a 
 strongly depressing effect. The occasional mutterings 
 of prayers and verses, which were certainly not of a 
 religious nature, added to his discomfort. 
 
 "Nell, my lass," said he, in an midertone, "I 
 mun be goin' ; she's strange and dour. I wonder 
 you're not scared to be wi' her by your sen at 
 darklins." 
 
 Anne noticed something in his manner which 
 indicated that she was the subject of remark. 
 "What's that je say about me'?" said she, in a 
 shrill voice. 
 
 Bob was silent. Nell, to help him out of the diffi- 
 cult}^, said, " He thinks you're not so well to-day, you 
 don't talk much." 
 
 " No ! and w^herefore should I talk, there's no- 
 body cares to hear me now. Tell Madam Skir- 
 laugh I'm much obhged to her; and Miss Mary
 
 RALF SKIRLAUGH. 283 
 
 tliat I wants strange and bad to see him we was 
 talkin' on." 
 
 Bob promised to deliver the messages, and arose to 
 depart. As he was moving towards the door, Anne 
 called him back. 
 
 " Thou mo'nt go yet," said she. " Thy lass has 
 got smnmiit to tell thee she's forgetten. Sit thee down 
 here," and she pointed to a seat near herself. " Tell 
 him what that man frae Barton said, Nell." 
 
 " Bless me, mother, I'd forgotten all about it, and 
 I didn't know you even heard what he said." 
 
 *' I was like to hear when he tell'd a thing like that. 
 If ye'd lived among trouble as I hev, ye'd not forget 
 things as je do," rejoined Anne. 
 
 "It's may be as well that she's named it. It's just 
 this. Bob. A few days sin Brother Dick frae Barton 
 was here, and he came in to sit half an hour wi' us, 
 and he tell'd me as how tliere had been somebody, he 
 called him a gentleman, but didn't say who he w^as, 
 had been axin' him ower and ower agean which was 
 the straight way frae Skirlaugh to Barton across the 
 closes. He said he knew the public road, but he 
 wanted to learn about th' pad they call th' smugglers' 
 trod. This is a thmg chaps like him keeps to their 
 sens, and so he wouldn't tell him nowt about it." 
 
 " Umph ! And he didn't say who this gentleman, 
 as he called him, was ? " asked Bob, musingly. 
 
 "No, not a word." 
 
 " Then I mun try and find out, for I'm sure there's 
 summut up that shouldn't owt to be. I'll tell ye a
 
 284 EALF SiaRLAUGir. 
 
 trick I played on a gentleman o' that sort 'at com' to 
 our house pychm' about, when I come back, but I 
 mun be off now." 
 
 And giving his lady love a hearty smack on the lips, 
 the groom departed to put himself at the head of his 
 convoy. 
 
 END OF VOL I. 
 
 r.RADBURV, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTErvS, WIIITEFRIARS.
 
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